The twins were fond of this grotesquely carved place and had chosen it as a wind break. It was called the painting rock because of its major use—as a trysting place for tribes, most of which no longer existed. They met here, at the marker for what was once the edge of the sands, and traded wares, stories and information, fostering out their children for the season as well. Those Cied who chose to learn the trade of ceremonial recording then recounted the most important and impressive information on the rock surface itself, with colors ground from the various delicate berries that appeared just after each monsoon season.
The tribes were gone; even their language was dead and decipherable only by scholars. But the colors in the interior caves were as bright as the day they were crushed into new life, and certainly the rock did not care that the edge of the ciedär was now three days west of it. Tay had immediately preferred to be on it instead of next to it, the biomorphic cavern entrances reminding her of the sad eyes of some gigantic alien creature. But she had admired the paintings and the rising star long enough.
A sharp cry aroused her. It was harsh, a sound of anger and alarm. Fighting the urge to race back to the camp, Teloa slowly crawled toward the lip of the ledge, at the same time hooking the face veils on her Cied-like robe. She was unarmed except for the knife Braan gave her and unskilled at any other weapons. No matter what the problem was—a small crawly thing dropped down someone’s robe or a large predator—she would be no help and possibly in the way. Trying to calm her overactive imagination, Tay peered over the edge.
Worse than her fears. Large predators—human ones, or marginally human. Teloa at first thought they were the Cied traders the Amurans had passed the day before, but the robe markings were different. The traders’ hems and sideseams had been embroidered with an intricate black design—these Cied had a red pattern, bold and abstract, and confined to the hem and left side. She stared hard at the pattern, memorizing it before it was obliterated by blood.
She realized the odds were at least six to one, and had time to notice they had captured one of the Atares but killed without hesitation the warrior trying to free him. Then she saw the battle moving her way, and crawled back to her hiding place. Damn! Anything for a laser blaster in her hand. But it was not allowed—Eon had the only one.
oOo
The sounds of battle ceased. The star rose in the heavens, pulsating its power as the hot spell approached. It was not until vespers, however, when Kee had sunk into the Sonoma Mountains, that Teloa finally stirred. She crept again to the ledge, and saw several hazelles moving listlessly. There was no other movement. Standing, Tay looked as far as she could see in every direction. There was no sign of life. She slowly started down the rocks.
The fighting had shed enough blood to attract the krwb, the moisture-seeking creatures of the sand, and they had done their work well. Every single drop of fluid left in the corpses had been drawn out, an orgy of water, enough to last a troop of krwb the rest of their short lives. She could still recognize the victims by their clothes or hair. All six warriors were accounted for, the two elders and the planter Brett. Poor Brett, he had been so pleased to go on this trip and so interested in Teloa since she’d arrived.
“Tikki-tikki-tikki!”
Teloa spun about, the knife in her hand. Several hazelles were grazing nearby, and on top of one of them, perched among the packs, was Tikki. She flicked an ear at Tay, and twitched her whiskers. Teloa laughed in hysterical relief. “So you didn’t want to be left behind and decided to hide until the trouble was over?” Tay walked to the hazelles and extended an arm, the akemmi running up it to nestle in her hood. “Enough—we belong together.”
The hazelles were still hobbled, and after tracking down the food, Tay left them that way. Apparently Eon had been correct when he said that their small group would be of no interest to casual thieves; the packs were untouched and the bodies unsearched. She found five hazelles grazing in the area, three dead and her own trapped in a crevice, afraid to back out. The poor animal must have been in it all day, or the raiders would have taken it: the three missing beasts, along with her own, had been the best of the lot. Eon had mentioned Cied contempt for city-bred animals.
Tay settled in on a ledge, preferring to meet any enemies while on solid rock. Tikki helped to eat the dried seeds and fruits and wanted a tiny sip of water. Akemmis did not seem to need much fluid. As darkness fell, Teloa surveyed her domain and took stock of the situation. Strangely, or perhaps not so strangely, she felt very calm. Her steady family upbringing had prepared her for emergencies in a small farm community. This was merely one more emergency.
They had wanted the twins—alive—or several of the attackers would have not allowed themselves to be injured capturing them. Though not experienced, the young men had proven to be fierce fighters when cornered. The warriors had spent most of their time trying to defend the elders and Brett. Eleven of their enemies lay dead to attest to their skills against overwhelming odds. Teloa toyed with taking one of their robes and then discarded the idea. She had no way of knowing which tribes were currently friendly toward each other and which hostile, and had no intention of falsely allying herself. They came up so suddenly, the guard did not see them until the last moment. How did they know where to seek?
Tay sighed. The implications were not good. Someone had to tell them which of all possible routes would be taken. The question—to turn back or go on? No one would blame her if she went back; a stranger, unfamiliar with the terrain, no weapons or concrete directions. But if she went back, how long until another group left? If ever? No help would come for the current plantings, barely in the ground. And could an army brave the ciedär? She doubted it. Lack of water would defeat them, if nothing else.
“Is that all you can offer them, lady—to go back and starve with them?” Tay asked aloud. She shivered, expecting an answer from the ghosts of the dead men. She had not known them, except for Brett, and he was little to her. But she could mourn strong life ended prematurely. Not knowing the rituals of the Nualans by heart, she could only say a Qu’tai prayer for them and light a candle.
There were no candles. So she chose a torch, enough light for all of them, the Amurans and their enemies. She went deep into the wind-carved rock to light it, fearing the curious might come to inspect the glow. And as she sat inside the cave, the mournful, spectral Cied drawings staring back at her, Teloa made her decision.
She would go on. Discovering yesterday that she understood the dialect of at least one of the tribes gave her confidence. Her need to listen very closely, and the fact that she did not expect any words to sound a certain way, improved her chances for interpreting. She had actually ended up giving the formal farewells when Kalith realized her talent for language. And a tiny fear was growing within her: What if there were people who questioned why she had survived and the others had not? The desert seemed friendlier than her potential detractors. She would need two hazelles, one to ride and the next best for packing. The rest she’d cut loose and hope they’d find their way to a safer place. The food, water, all the swords—Eon said he would steer by the moons and two stars.
oOo
Teloa never did know (though the mythmakers later recorded it) about her part in the legends of the painting rock. The newest came from the Pecaio tribe, and they spoke in low awe and dread of the battle at the monolith, where much Cied blood was spilled and every enemy slain or taken. Since the Nuala do not believe in ghosts, the only explanation for the eerie glow illuminating every cavern was the presence of angels, sent by Mendülay, to light the paths of the dead.
Chapter Sixteen
MT. AMURA — UPPER POOLS
TWOHUNDRED THIRTYSIXDAY, NONE
They had chosen a stone glade facing the desert. The pool of water, sheltered from the star’s mid-afternoon heat by the peak above it, was cool and inviting. Roe dangled her feet in it, enjoying the feel of cold rock and moist dirt beneath her hands. Braan was stretched out under one of the mountain evergreens, looking t
hrough the crevice to the plains below. On, on and still further, until sight was lost in an immense waste of sand. She did not doubt he saw it as clearly in his sleep as he did now. The guaard was hidden, as always.
There were no more games to play. The search parties were back, with the report that their group had aroused the suspicions of the waste dwellers, the paranoid Wasuu. Corymb had openly suggested the twins were dead and that the tribes, by their very silence, were refusing to help. Everyone’s nerves were on edge, and a pall seemed to have descended upon the mountain. Despite the first blush of turquoise and gold in the tilled fields, the whispering had begun. Not enough planted—not enough food. A conspiracy by a small group to garner controlling interest in the plantings. A Toli invasion from the north. Other rumors, some even more ridiculous. But many people had begun to fear that they were true.
Roe briefly wondered if it was of any use to have accompanied Braan. But he had looked so pleased when she had asked to come, forsaking husband, children, work and puppies. To what end? She knew Braan was blaming himself just as surely as she knew that no other way would have been practical. Air cars would have deeply offended the Cied; an army would have been insanity. She sighed. Now someone had to go. But who?
Gid or Jaac. They were the only two with both the authority and the experience to go and return—alive at the very least. Hundreds of tribes to investigate, their invisible territorial lines dividing the ciedär, their hates as fresh as the new seedlings. How could Braan choose? She twisted a long strand of hair and looked up quickly at the sound of approach from below.
Jaacav stepped into the small clearing, shaking free of evergreen needles. The lump of fur near Braan woofed in greeting, and rolled over.
“Such a welcome. At least you could have wagged your tail,” the woman said to Zair. Perceiving that he was being spoken to, the dog thumped his tail against Braan’s leg. Braan smiled and beckoned for her to join them.
“A good day’s work?” he asked.
“The shield is finished.” The words seemed heavy, dropping like a stone to the bottom of the pool. Roe wondered at her own reaction and then knew that there was nothing—not even Braan’s disapproval—to keep Jaac from going out into the ciedär.
Braan managed a sigh. “The first test may be all too soon,” he murmured.
“I do not intend to be here for it, but I will give you the desert report on its effectiveness.” Braan, studying her intently, did not reply. “I am going into the ciedär to look for survivors from the first expedition. I come to ask your permission to take Moran and Lyte, if they will go.”
“But not my permission to leave?”
“I am not only the watch officer but the captain of the guaard as well. You have failed to honor our rights on several occasions, and in this case especially I have let you have your way.”
“And?”
“This shall redeem for all. I believe they are still alive and that a Stigati or Wasuu tribe is holding them, awaiting outside orders. Whether the Dragoche’s, Corymb’s, or another’s orders is not important. I also think that they will not be alive much longer and that we must act quickly. We have perhaps thirtyday to check every Stigati and Wasuu tribe in the 200 Kilon—no more. I cannot believe Genuar is condoning this action. He is probably unaware of it now, but he has his spies. If the perpetrators think the Dragoche’s heir is onto their scheme, whatever it is, they will dump the survivors immediately. It calls for action—no more conversation.”
“Agreed.” Braan’s voice sounded very grave. “I do not want this, but I cannot deny it. Why Moran and Lyte?”
“I want fresh eyes and hearts to help the search, and no conflicts over what paths to take within the spiral. They are trained in ways like ours and have improved these last long days with hazelles and lack of weapons. Lyte no longer leaps for a blaster that is not there. Besides, they need to feel as if there is something they can do. I regret taking him from you, Roe, but I believe it is right.”
Her heart twisting suddenly at the loss of both of them, Roe whispered, “Yes. Do you think Lyte will come?”
“No. But I intend to ask. He will want to, even if he refuses.”
“Gid?” Braan asked.
“No. You need him here, Atare.” It all appeared settled in her mind.
“Tomorrow?”
“I think tonight,” Jaac replied. “With the proper witnesses, of course.”
“Of course,” Roe echoed. “Of course.” To be going ...
NUAMURA, MT. AMURA
TWOHUNDRED THIRTYSIXDAY, VESPERS
Lyte waited, sitting at a crossways, watching through a hole in the wall the glittering star fall toward the sea. He felt the tightness in his face, cursed it, but could do nothing to stop it. Moran would be coming soon. And what was he going to say to him?
Jaac had been straightforward. Pure clandestine work, in and out, not a soul aware—he and Moran were the only ones she wished to have accompany her into the ciedär. Spy out the situation, find and free any living travelers and silently return. Nine shriveled bodies had been found, only the Atares and Teloa unaccounted for. Briefly, he wondered which was harder on Braan, his missing brothers or the Caprican woman. A chance to be moving once again, a chance to do what he and Moran were best at.
Why do I hesitate? He had asked himself the same question for an hour, ever since he had turned Jaacav down. Whom do I punish? That pulled him up short - was it spite? Was his anger at this planet superseding everything else? This damn planet. Holding him, trapping him. It already had Moran. He had ceased to think of leaving, was actually supporting Braan’s decision as the Nualan tossed out law after law. Damn these crazy Nualans!
Moran charged around the corner and stopped abruptly. Lyte did not give him time to assess the situation. “Packed?” he asked conversationally, knowing that his tratore face would not fool Moran.
“Yes. You?”
“I’m not going.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not.”
Moran sat down next to him on the stone ledge. “That doesn’t make the slightest bit of sense. A chance to do what we’re trained for and love to do, and the possibility of recovering Kal alive so you can resolve your problem with Shinar.”
“There’s no problem with Shinar. She’s near her time. I think she’d like me around.”
“But you don’t intend for it to be permanent; nor does she. She wants Kal, and I think he still feels the same. Have you changed your mind?” There was a pause. “You’ve never let a difference of opinion keep you away from the action before. Not trouble with co-workers, not trouble with superiors. Why should this be different? Lyte, in the names of the gods, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” He heard the edge to his voice, and the bleakness behind the words. Moran did not answer. Lyte suddenly wondered if Roe had figured out what was bothering him, and had spoken to Moran. Wish she’d tell me ... The Axis Republic was dead, or dying—he was a warrior without a war to fight. Except against this planet. On whose side? He was not sure about Braan, or anyone else, except possibly Shinar. And Corymb. He knew where Corymb stood. At least he knew where he, himself, did not.
“I’ll miss you,” Moran said finally. Lyte waited for the famous Moran temper to blow, but the man was quiet, his expression sad. Reaching out Moran gently took hold of his friend’s shoulder a moment. Then he stood and walked toward his apartment to take leave of his wife.
Lyte sat there until long after dusk.
UPPER CAVERNS, MT. AMURA
TWOHUNDRED THIRTYSIXDAY, VESPERS
Ronüviel leaned against the ledge of the enclosed porch, her eyes idly scanning the horizon. The child she held close did not move; he slept soundly, oblivious to all that had passed above him in the previous hour.
They were gone. Just the two of them; Lyte had refused to the end. But she had questioned Moran at length when he had appeared, for every word, every thought. And she began to understand what was troubling Lyte. She a
lso saw that it was something none of them could help him with—he had to resolve it on his own. A soft sigh escaped her, and Bree stirred slightly in response. She clasped the infant closer, as if trying to draw comfort from him. Then, deciding that she was being selfish, she gently set him back in his cradle. Roe carefully pulled the light blankets over both babies, her gaze lingering on them. She could see Moran there—mostly in Arien but in Bree also. She knew that someday she wanted more children but she hoped Mendülay arranged it in the future. Exhaustion crept up on her, scattering her thoughts. She wanted Moran to be the father. She wanted him for herself. Please, Lord, sweet Mendülay ...
She sat at her desk, trailing her fingers along the dark, polished wood, surveying the communiqués, the history 3AVs, the theology texts. For the last fifteenday she had done nothing but sleep, be with the babies, and study. She remembered Moran’s amusement when she admitted she needed to hire a homekeeper, and her relief when Liel volunteered to take on the work. Ronüviel had grown accustomed to the privacy of the apartment and was not ready to return to the huge entourage of palace days. Sometimes she could even forget who she was and what she represented.
What lay before her was everything the Amuran archives possessed on the Ciedärlien. She had analyzed it and tried to find answers. Her major finding was the simple fact that she needed more information. That could be easily accomplished; surface communication had been reestablished, and it was once again simple to send a message across the continent.
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