***
“I don’t know why Bria shouldn’t see Ghen records,” I signed, when we were safely back in my house and I had stopped shaking enough to boil some ruberry tea.
“Mick’al is concerned about the growing division in our city. He doesn’t trust you,” Brock’an replied, growling as he signed.
“I am not my sibling.”
“So I told him. But you can be... impulsive, when angered.”
I took a sip from my mug. “The records support your belief that we saw a Ghen seed.” As though it were merely a passing thought, I added, “If only there were some other samples to examine.”
“You want a Ghen to sacrifice his youngling for you?” The ridge of scales along Brock’an’s back still trembled from his encounter with Mick’al. It was intimidating to have the residue of that anger focused on me. “Be thankful for what you’ve seen from me. At least my seed would not have been born anyway.”
This was the second time today Ghen anger blocked my work. Were they too stupid to understand its significance? Or were they being very clever at hiding something?
“What are you really looking for?” Before I could formulate a response, he answered his own question: “A Broghen.”
“I need the growth fluid of a second-year-mating Ghen to learn what makes a Broghen,” I signed after a moment’s hesitation.
I couldn’t read his expression as he looked at me. I tried not to hold my breath. Should I have denied it?
Brock’an touched his breath. “That may be possible. Who would mourn the lack of a Broghen, if that’s what it costs?”
His reaction surprised me. Didn’t he realize that if I found what I sought, it would prove their guilt?
And why did he say he wouldn’t mourn a Broghen? He’d been upset enough when I’d killed the monstrous little thing, although we’d never discussed it. But that was a year ago. There’d been more sightings of white Broghen recently, with stillseason almost on us. Whether they were ours or not, violence blows back on the wind that quickens it.
“I’ll go to Festival Hall and see what I can do.”
I kept my surprise to myself. He often humored me, being so much older. And what did I care about his reasons, as long as I got what I needed?
***
When I heard the cough at my door I was annoyed. It was a Bria’s high-pitched cough and I was only interested in hearing Brock’an’s when he returned with samples for my enlarging tube. Nevertheless, I opened the door. Tibellis stood outside, leaning on Yuri’s arm and panting. I greeted Tibellis, ignoring the crippled storyteller. At least it wasn’t my parent or my foolish sibling, come to vex me again.
A breath of heat, barely enough to stir my fur, entered with them. It was time to turn on my house fans. I always put off succumbing to that need.
“I haven’t spoken to you for a while,” Tibellis said. “I wanted to come before stillseason. I think I waited too long.”
What did he expect me to say to that? I could hardly put the fans on now, as though he’d caught me in an oversight. Anyway, I didn’t need them yet. Ahh.
“Do you need me to put the fans on?”
“Yes, thank you.”
It’s hard to believe he’s such a good artist, I thought, as I turned the handle near the door, winding up the large, overhead fan. He has no pride at all. Yur’i limped across the room and took over the task for me.
“What are you working on now?” Tibellis walked over to my sleeping ledge on which I’d set the enlarging tube I kept at home. My sleeping mat was bundled on the floor beneath.
“It’s in progress.”
“May I look?”
I realized I wanted to talk about my project. I had learned, working with Tibellis on his models of my discoveries, that I could trust his discretion. However, although I didn’t think Tibellis sympathized with Single-by-Choice, he hadn’t mated, either; he didn’t know about our birthing Broghen. I couldn’t tell him what I was looking for, but I could show him what I’d found. What would he make of it?
He stared down the tube for a long time. The overhead fan began its slow circles. I heard Yur’i sit on one of Brock’an’s stools at the table behind us.
Finally, Tibellis straightened. “What are they?”
“Ghen seed.”
Almost as soon as I said it, I wished I hadn’t. But it was out, and the look on Tibellis’s face was all I could wish for. He didn’t doubt me for a moment.
“Taken from Ghen growth fluid,” he said, more statement than question. I touched my breath, appreciating his quick mind once again.
He bent down, looking into the tube. “How would I catch that movement?” he murmured to himself.
“Not yet,” I interrupted. “Not until I’m sure.”
He looked at me. “You’re sure. What are you waiting for?”
“I need more samples. Brock’an’s bringing them.”
“This is only one? Why are there so many seeds?”
I waved my hand to show I had no answer.
While we were talking my infants and Brock’an’s woke up from their nap and came into the room. I began pouring mugs of juice for all of us.
When stillseason passed, my younglings would be one-year-olds, old enough to attend storytime if I chose to send them. I didn’t care if they mingled with Ghen, and it would keep them occupied while I did my work. And then, Sandarris was so opposed to storytime being taught by a Ghen, it was worth it to send them for that reason alone. Except that our parent supported storytime. I regretted not being able to frustrate them both.
Yur’i signed to my children.
“He says hello,” Tibellis told them. Their eyes widened. “Everyone signs at storytime,” Tibellis said, “so you can understand one another.” While Yur’i solemnly took their hands and showed them how to sign their names, Tibellis straightened and looked at me. I made no comment.
***
Brock’an returned soon after Tibellis and Yur’i had left. When he handed me six vials, each from a different second-year-mating Ghen, I almost forgave him for getting me with a Broghen. I carried the samples to my tube at once.
And there they were, in every sample I examined, their dark center staring up at me like a glaring eye—the seed that would become a Broghen! They were darker than the Ghen seeds, as night creatures should be, and instead of a tail, each was surrounded by an opaque, oval-shaped rim which appeared to bend inward and push out again in an effort to propel itself forward. They were larger, also, as Broghen are larger than Ghen.
The surprising thing, once again, was that each vial held so many. Perhaps they destroyed each other in the womb, till only one was left? I shuddered at the thought. But if so, did that apply to the multiple Ghen seed, also?
“Did you find anything?”
“Look for yourself.”
He bent over my enlarging tube, closing one eye as he had learned to do, and looked down at the samples for a long time. At last he looked up.
“You think these are Broghen seed,” he signed.
I didn’t even bother to reply, but stared back at him coolly.
“Second-year Ghen co-join at the first mating. Yet Broghen don’t appear in the womb till after second mating.”
I stayed quite calm while he did his best to stir up dusty doubts. When he had done, I signed, “All of that is beside the point. There are two kinds of seeds, and they both come from Ghen. Whichever way you look at it, one must be Ghen, and the other Broghen.”
“There’s something more that you aren’t seeing.”
“I see what you don’t want to see.”
“You see what you want to see. But whichever way you look at it, there must be Ghen in order for there to be Bria.”
I held my temper, but my arms trembled with the effort it cost me. He hadn’t been invaded by a monster, hadn’t been unwittingly used to create something vile. The thought of it was so humiliating and so infuriating I could hardly contain it. I wanted to destroy the Broghen, utterly destroy
them, and I didn’t care what it took to do it. But I was sane enough not to let Brock’an see this.
“I need more samples.”
“What will more samples tell you?”
I turned on him a look of desperate urgency, but I didn’t reply. He assumed it was merely the same intensity with which I had always approached my work and, grumbling to himself, headed back to the Ghen compound.
***
I was waiting impatiently when he finally returned, empty-handed. “Why—” I began to sign, but he looked away. Ignoring me, he called to his youngling.
“I’m taking Jon’an to visit the Ghen compound,” he signed as Jon’an ran to him. He still wouldn’t look at me.
I reached out to touch his arm, but drew my hand back again. Instead I stepped in front of the door. “Where are the samples?” I signed.
“You won’t get any more, Pandarris,”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“Mick’al was there. He spoke to us—to all the Ghen.”
“About me?”
“About your work.”
I was flattered, but also annoyed that I hadn’t been asked to be there. “What did he say?”
“In short, that what you’re doing is wrong. You’re tampering with life itself. Who knows where it will end?”
I waited for him to tell me what Mick’al’s concern was. When I realized he thought he already had, I asked, “It’s wrong not to know where a thing will lead? You mean, we should only learn what we already know?”
“Not knowing isn’t wrong. Not caring is.”
“You think I don’t care?”
“I know you don’t.” Then he reached out and lifted me—lifted me!—aside, and left.
I care! I fumed to myself. You can’t imagine how much I care! But not in the way he meant it. He was right: I didn’t care for a windless moment about the consequences, if I could find a way to destroy the Broghen seed.
I thought of my sibling then, and didn’t like the comparison.
***
It was a full six days before I remembered Tibellis’s offer to help me. By then, I’d been staring down my tube, examining the now-motionless seeds in the second-year-mating samples and comparing them to Brock’an’s, until I thought I would go blind.
We were well into stillseason. I was weary and cross from the interminable heat. My fan was working continuously, yet still I labored to breathe. Surely it couldn’t be much worse outside. I checked to see that my younglings were still napping and plunged through the door before I could change my mind.
How still and silent the streets were. I found myself treading as softly as I could and trying to quiet my breathing. It was foolish; there was no danger within our city. But still I couldn’t help myself. At first I tried to look about, but visual disorientation caused me such nausea I settled for staring at the ground in front of my feet. That, too, was frightening, for I felt lost and unsure of my direction. Would I walk forever, one foot in front of the other, in these deathly-still streets?
I bumped into a lamppost then and the pain, combined with the ridiculousness of my situation, humiliated me. I became annoyed rather than afraid. Looking up to get my bearings, I took a deep breath and struck out more firmly.
One... two... three... I counted each footstep under my breath, glancing up after every sixth one. Finally I saw Tibellis’s house and staggered toward it. Yur’i opened the door. His look of amazement gave me great satisfaction.
“I can’t stay long,” I told Tibellis, as he handed me a mug of ruberry juice. “The children are sleeping.”
Actually, I wasn’t concerned about them; I was afraid that if I delayed too long I wouldn’t be able to make myself go outside again.
“Where is Brock’an?” Tibellis translated Yur’i’s signing.
I waved my hand dismissively.
“Did he bring you the samples you were waiting for?”
I realized he was referring to the last time he saw me. “Yes, but my findings aren’t conclusive. I need more samples, and Brock’an won’t help.”
“Why not?”
I hesitated. He’d find out soon enough, though. “Mick’al opposes it.”
Tibellis looked me straight in the eye. “Because he knows you’re looking for the Broghen seed.”
While I stood there, speechless, a cough came at the door. Tibellis and I turned as Yur’i opened it. Tyannis stood outside, leaning on Saft’ir’s arm.
Tibellis knew them through Yur’i, and introduced me when they came in. They’d read my past work and asked some thoughtful questions about it, which showed their intelligence. There we were, five of us talking and drinking juice as though it were a party—in the middle of stillseason!
I’d read Tyannis’s account of the mountain Ghen and Bria he’d lived among for nearly a year. I’d thought of going to talk to him about it, but I was always too busy. It seemed to me there were gaps in the story. After all, what was so terrifying about being lost in a maze of walls for five days? I asked him.
“There were Broghen in there with us.”
“You saw one?”
“I killed one.”
I looked at him with respect. “Is that why you left? They made you go?”
“That’s why we returned, but not because they rejected us. We were expected to kill the Broghen. It was a test they put us through right after Koon’an and the others left.” Tyannis said this bitterly.
In the tone of someone making a confession, he continued. “All my life, I have believed that killing is wrong. And yet I killed a Broghen. I don’t know who I am anymore. I had to come home to find myself.”
“Have you found yourself?” I only asked to be polite. My initial respect was waning.
“No, of course not.” He glanced at Saft’ir. “Because I’m glad I killed the Broghen, regardless of whether it was right or wrong. Sometimes I dream about it, though...”
“Pandarris is studying Ghen growth fluid,” Tibellis said into the awkward silence, “through his enlarging tube.” He signed for Saft’ir and Yur’i as he spoke.
“What are you looking for?” Saft’ir signed.
“Broghen seed,” I said coolly, when Tibillis translated Saft’ir’s question.
Tyannis looked up. “Have you found it?”
“I’ve found that Ghen won’t give me any samples.”
“You’ve spoken to your parent?”
He meant, of course, had I talked to Briarris as the next-in-line Council Chair.
“He’s barely spoken to me since I killed the infant Broghen I bore.” I watched Tyannis carefully as I said this and was not surprised to see his momentary shock. He recovered quickly, however, and said he understood.
“Me or my parent?”
“Both.” He looked gloomy again. I found this tiresome.
To Tibellis, I said, “I thought Yur’i might have some influence. Could he get me some samples? Particularly from first- and second-year mating Ghen.”
While Tibellis signed to Yur’i and Saft’ir, I held my breath, hoping they wouldn’t realize the possible consequences. I wasn’t dealing with stupid Ghen, however.
“You know you’re asking us to go against our spiritual advisor?” Saft’ir demanded, through Tyannis.
“Yur’i is also a spiritual advisor,” I replied, “What does he say?” I didn’t wait for his answer but pressed on, watching Yur’i, trying to persuade him. “Unless we’re prepared to take risks, we’ll never know much more than those mountain savages you stayed with. Is that Wind’s will?”
“Are you interested in Wind’s will?” Yur’i asked.
His question surprised me. Without thinking, I told the truth. “Not really. But I believe what I’m doing is right.”
“Everyone does,” Yur’i said.
“What if I could find a way to stop Bria from bearing Broghen?”
“Without stopping them from bearing Ghen?” Saft’ir demanded.
“I’m not Single-by-Choice,” I said, insulted.<
br />
Tibellis and Tyannis were so busy signing translations they had no time to speak, but I saw their expressions. I had won them over. Yur’i saw it, too, and he was their advisor.
“We’ll talk about it,” he said.
“Stillseason has already begun. If I don’t get samples soon, there won’t be any for another year!”
“You’re only eleven, Pandarris. You have plenty of years to make amazing discoveries.”
Saft’ir’s words stung. There was some truth in what he implied about my motives. Tyannis interrupted and the two of them signed back and forth for a few minutes while I fumed silently. Then Tibellis signed. He seemed to be agreeing with Tyannis. I wished I could understand their signs. I would learn when I had time, I promised myself, watching their faces intently.
Yur’i stepped in and signed then. His movements had a quiet finality about them. When he was finished the others touched their breath. Saft’ir did so last, somewhat reluctantly.
“Saft’ir and Yur’i will try to get you some samples,” Tyannis told me.
“What did Yur’i say to them?”
“That when we’re in a labyrinth, we need to pursue every path.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We can’t all kill our babies, Pandarris.”
“You prefer to shoot them when they’re older?” I retorted.
He shut his eye for a moment and I wished I’d held my breath. Then he said, “Yur’i thinks you’re going to find us a better solution.”
Not the way it’s going, I thought. But his confidence in me was gratifying and he had talked them into helping me. I began to smile until he added, “Yur’i also believes that Wind is working through you, despite your arrogance and impiety.”
***
Several days later Saft’ir and Yur’i came to my door. Between them they carried five small vials, each neatly labeled with the donor’s name and year of mating. Three were first-year matings and two were second-year. I barely saw Saft’ir and Yur’i out, I was so eager to get the samples under my tube.
Walls of Wind and the Occasional Diamond Thief Boxed Set Page 28
