So. Duun slipped his finger down Thorn’s arm, to the place on Thorn’s wrist where veins lay next the surface. The pulse throbbed beneath his finger-pad as if the heart that drove it was going to burst.
“Keep your eyes on the horizon,” Duun said into Thorn’s ear. “Helps your stomach.”
“I’m not scared,” Thorn shouted back. But the copter turned off for the west then, sharply, and Thorn’s fingers clenched on his armrest.
The great flat, more hills, an hour and more of trees and roads and herds that raced beneath them in a brown tide. Suddenly the great sheet of a bay spread itself beyond a brown rim of trees, water shining silver in the sun and going on forever to the south. Thorn forgot his terror and pointed— “What’s that?”
“Djohin Bay,” Duun shouted back. “That’s the sea out there, minnow! That’s the great wide sea!”
Land came up eastward beyond that shining surface: outthrusts of the city, a stain against the sky. “What’s there?” Thorn yelled into the rotor noise.
“That’s Pekenan,” Duun said. “That’s the port town. The city’s coming up. There— that’s the shuttle-port, see that gray ribbon there.”
“What’s a shuttle-port?” Thorn asked. “What’s a port town?” His skin was white in the sunlight that streamed through the copter’s side windows. He sweated. It was too soon to have traveled. Sights and strangeness multiplied. (Don’t faint on me, minnow, not here, not now. There’s more.) “Here.” Duun fished out an inhaler from the kit at his feet. He had brought it with their gear. “Put that in your mouth— Breathe in hard.” He pushed the spray and Thorn choked, coughed. Fell back against the seat with a shocked offended look. But he lost the waxen taint. His pupils dilated. “There, Want more?”
“No, Duun,” Thorn said earnestly. He turned and looked out the window.
Duun had little desire to look. He knew what he would see. The capital. Dsonan. The tall buildings where shonunin lived one on top of the other.
“Look at those!” Thorn cried suddenly, pointing at the city-center.
“I’ve seen them, minnow.” Tall buildings failed to interest him. “We’re going to land on one. We’re going to live there. Inside.” To explain more than that took too much shouting. The rotor noise depressed him. He remembered the perspective of the concrete canyons, the buildings passing under them. He took Thorn by the wrist and held his finger on the pulse. Thorn looked at him, knowing what he was doing, looking as if he were vastly ashamed of a heart he could not control. “Look down,” Duun said as they began to fly over the city. “Get used to it.”
Thorn did not flinch. The pulse sped as the perspectives shifted beneath them. (“What’s that?” Thorn asked, when a train whisked below them.) What’s that? Duun had not wanted questions yet. There would have been time. The pulse fluttered beneath his fingertip with unbearable rapidity. “Are we coming down?”
“They never miss,” Duun said. “Watch the roof, minnow. See the circle there. That’s where we land.”
VI
The window gave them a brook, a woodland. Duun cared nothing for it. The wind from the air-conditioning brought wood-scent. It was, like the opal sand on the floor, synthetic and expensive. Thorn marveled at it, touched the window— “Are we turning?”— because the scene moved. “No,” Duun said with acerbity. “Have you forgotten? There’s city behind that wall. Behave yourself. You don’t own this. I don’t. It’s all here, that’s all. Don’t be impressed with it.”
(“Whose is it?”)
Duun regretted then bringing up the matter. And perhaps Thorn suspected then that he had been in the company of more than one illusion maintained for him. Thorn’s ebullience ebbed away and left a look of pain, the fine-drawn look of someone scant of resources. The lack of sleep for days, the purgative, the hunt, the wounds; a heart which had worked harder than the engines had in the copter flight— which had had, perhaps, all a heart ought to bear for a while. Duun went into his room, delved into his kit and took out a sedative, went into the kitchen and mixed it in milk.
The apartment was larger than the house had been. There were four bedrooms, the kitchen, a sitting room, dining hall, office, bath, gymnasium, sunroom (a lie); there was a library; a viewing-room; a sauna; a robing-room; a pantry; a laundry; a servant’s quarters, but that was vacant. A security post. That was not. But Thorn knew nothing about guards and monitors and the hall outside. There were several rooms that feigned sunlight well enough to have growing plants, if one bothered. The bath and master bedroom had a wraparound tridee screen that doubled as windows— gods knew, it was not all nature scenes the builders meant with that. And a man grew tempted. There were recourses in the city. There were places a man or woman could go, amusements to be had. A hatani would be discreet. But even a hatani might— with a woman of discretion— find some out-of-season comforts. Duun laid his ears back. Hours in this place and it was as if sixteen years had not happened. Except for the presence which turned up at his shoulder.
He turned and handed Thorn the cup. “This is yours. Drink it. Go lie down.”
Thorn took it. Perhaps Thorn was not quite that scent-blind. His eyes acquired wariness. And weary puzzlement.
“Sedative,” Duun said. “Drink it. Go lie down. You’ll sleep.”
“Duun.” Thorn set the milk on the counter. His face was white again. He leaned against the wall, not so strong as he pretended; he had been limping when he came in. “Have you been here before?”
“I lived here.” Duun picked up the milk and picked up Thorn’s hand and joined one firmly to the other. “Drink that. Shall I convince you. Thorn?”
Thorn drank it. All. He set the cup down again.
“So you’ve found out what you don’t know,” Duun said. “Does the world scare you, Thorn? You have to pick out the illusions here, that’s all. You have to know what’s real and what’s not.”
“You’ll be with me.”
“Haras-hatani. Thorn. What do I hear? Is that need? Is that something I have and you don’t? What is that thing?”
“Courage.” Thorn’s voice was hoarse and hollow.
“Do I hear can’t?”
“No, Duun-hatani.”
“The meds want you. They want to take you and take that arm apart again; they want to put their machines on you and get pieces of your hide and measure you up and down. I told them to wait a day or so.”
Silence. Thorn’s eyes were dilated. It was not all the sedative. “Thank you, Duun-hatani.”
“Get to bed.”
Thorn went. Limping.
So. So. There was no rebellion. Thorn might have. Duun stared out the vacant kitchen door. The place smelled of remodeling, beneath the wood-scent. Beneath the false wind and the false images. And the sand under his stone-callused feet felt too light, like powder.
He walked into the bedroom and found Thorn in bed. It was night. Duun’s senses knew that, though the wall-images were out of synch and showed mid-afternoon. Thorn slept, the pale blue sheets clutched in a brown, smooth hand. The face had taken on a hollowed look, the jaw lengthened, the cheekbones more prominent.
Final changes. Almost-manhood.
Duun selected for night-image. The lights went out and a dust of stars shone on the walls, about the sleeper. The air-conditioning breathed a noncommittal scent, something synthetic and vaguely like the sea.
• • •
“Well, Duun?”
Duun tucked up his feet cross-legged on the riser (city manners came hard after sixteen years), rested his arms on his thighs and let his hands fall limp into his lap. (Well?) He looked up at Ellud, who sat on his desk, surrounded by the appurtenances of office, monitor, communications. Worm-in-web. Lines went everywhere from here, all over the world. “He’s well,” Duun said. “I don’t think there was damage. A scar or two— what’s that?”
Ellud looked at him: Duun looked back w
ith a forever-twisted smile. It was humor and Ellud seemed finally to decide it was and not to like it. “The deed’s been settled. The countryfolk are abjectly grateful. The matter is closed.”
“Good.”
“I’m fending queries off your neck, Duun. You know that.”
“I know. They’ll keep their hands off him. Tell them all that. He’d never seen a copter. He can run all the household things, well, the dishwasher he’d not seen. He’s what I am. I told you that. The meds will respect him. Or I’ll deal with them. No. He will. I’ll give him leave.”
“I wouldn’t advise that.”
“He’s hatani, Ellud.”
“A handful of farmers damn near killed him. For the gods’ sweet sake, man, they’d have killed him! What were you doing about it?”
“Running. They almost killed me, you know. A half dozen men with guns aren’t to disregard. I didn’t teach a fool. And they surprised him. Not with the guns. With their reaction. They’re lucky he ran. They’re very lucky. Even with the guns. You can tell your staff that.”
“They won’t provoke him.”
“They’re not to talk to him. That rule still holds. Please, thank you, and sit down. Breathe in, breathe out. No comments. Nothing. And respect. They’ll respect him. I do mean that.”
Ellud drew a long, long breath and let it go. “How mature is he?”
“Very— in some ways. Not at all in others. I’m telling you: no one talks to him.”
“For how long?”
“As long as it takes.”
“They want to use the tapes.”
Duun frowned. “Give me a little time with that. I’ll say when.”
“You’ve had sixteen years!”
“So has he. Who knows what he needs? I want your meds away from me, Ellud. Or I find another place. Somewhere the other side of the world if I have to.”
“As long as it takes, is it?”
“That’s the way.”
“All right. I’ll keep them off your neck. I’ll talk to staff. Maybe you should get some rest. Have the meds check you too.”
“That’s not what I need.”
“What is?”
“Is Dogossen still around?”
A silence. “She moved to Rogot, a husband. Second, now.”
The years caught up to him, all in one dull ache. “Well. Hounai? Same?”
“You want a woman, Duun? I’ll ask around on the staff. Maybe—”
“No hatani.” He looked down, studied the patterns of his hands, whole and half. “I don’t want a hatani. Nothing like. It’s been a long time.”
“I hope to the gods it has.”
Duun looked up. It had been half a joke. Ellud’s ears drew back and lay down tighter to his skull under Duun’s stare. “Believe me,” Duun said. “Hire someone. I don’t want conversation. By the gods I don’t want another wife. Let’s keep it business. Not a staffer either. Someone at the port. Let security worry itself.”
“I’m not your—”
“Call it friendship.” Duun’s voice was rough and hoarse. His hands clenched and unclenched when he knew it. And Ellud’s ears lay back. Ellud went on looking at him as if Ellud wished to look away.
“Duun-hatani—” Carefully. With fear and offended sensibilities and prudent questions boiling in him Ellud would never ask. Like harm. And solitude. And sanity. The silence stayed there a long, long time.
“I’ll want staffers too,” Duun said. (So what have you done, Ellud no Hsoin? What do you dread? Violence? Old friend— what do you expect?) “Good ones. Young ones who know how to take orders.”
“That’s a contradiction in terms.” Ellud’s laughter was hasty as if he much wanted to laugh, to turn matters elsewhere. To be light with him. But the laughter died. “How many?”
“Four, five. Male and female. I’ll let you do the picking. He’s got to learn people. They can be older, Say— twenty, twenty-five. They’d better to the gods be stable. You understand.”
A long silence. “I want those tapes started.”
“You’ve forgotten,” Duun said softly. “This is your office. But you don’t control things. I do. Old friend. I’m not your backwoods employee come to the big city. I’m not one of your staffers.”
“They’re putting pressure on me, Duun.”
“They.”
“They council.”
Duun drew a deep breath. Shut his eyes and thought again of the woods.
“Duun.”
His eyes opened. Ellud sat there as if frozen. “They don’t run this either,” Duun said. “Sixteen years. Memories are short.”
“Two members have died. Rothon and—”
“I know. I read all the news out there. What do you think I was doing? I know who’s in and I know what they can do; and that’s too bad: they dealt with a hatani. They can’t undo that.”
“Duun— they might try to kill you. Even that.”
Duun laughed.
“Politics,” Ellud said. “They’d be fools to try, but politics has made fools before. Don’t take it lightly, Duun. That’s my guard at your door. You’d better thank the gods it is. And the woman will be from my staff. I’d feel better. Be polite, Duun-hatani. Some of these young fools worship you.”
He laid his ears down. “Dammit, Ellud.”
“You want to work off something else than that, Duun-hatani?”
“Rescue me from fools.”
“I’m trying to. From one I used to love, Duun.”
Duun stayed still a long, long time. Grinned finally, and felt the scar pull at his mouth. Laughed once shortly; Ellud looked alarmed. “Gods,” Duun said, “I’m drowning, and someone has a rope.”
Ellud looked the more disturbed. His eyes showed whites.
“I own the world,” Duun said. “Women don’t see my scars, my charge adores me, and my last friend calls me a fool.” He laughed again, flung his feet down to the sand and stood up. “I cherish that,” he said. And left.
• • •
Young muscles strained, knotting and stretching under a hairless, sweat-drenched back: the arm held, and Thorn hauled himself upward on the exercise bar, up and down, up and down. Duun walked up on this in the gymnasium, walked up quietly on the well-trampled, sweat-pocked sand and stood there with arms folded a while. Finally Thorn’s efforts flagged, became an upward struggle. In perverse humor Duun landed a swat on a vulnerable backside, claws out, and Thorn flinched and made the lift, then dropped, turning in the movement. Gasping then for breath, but bright-eyed with the morning and his health. Duun pursed his mouth. “Not sore, is it?”
“No.” And a little wariness crept in. Duun studied him. Thinking. Thorn had gotten easy; and now Duun was thinking, and looking at him that way, and that was cause enough for wariness. There was a great deal in this place where things went on behind the walls, where Thorn waked to find himself adrift in the night sky, and stifled a scream which would have brought Duun’s swift disgust. So Thorn turned on the stars each night himself, and walked dizzily to his bed, and flung himself down and made himself look up, about, lying wide-limbed as he had lain on a summer hillside, undefended against the sky that slowly turned. He remembered how it felt to fly. Remembered the land turning giddily under his sight, and the shifts of weight, the falling-feeling amplified by height enough to turn cattle into insects and valleys into folds of cloth. And the dark and the stars took him and whirled him until that flying sensation was back, and he lay there deliberately, overcoming his fear, and going to sleep with it. Some fears Duun set into him for a reason; at this one Duun would laugh, Thorn felt that this was so— and Duun’s scorn was worse that the heights, worse than any falling. He hoped now for Duun’s approval . . . the quickly hooded glance, the tightening of the mouth— for such small things he worked, but they had meaning. The slap that stung— that was a joke; Du
un joked with him, and dared him, and that meant— meant perhaps an end to Duun’s restraint with him— Duun’s pity. Duun’s— (he felt)— disgust with this place and what had brought him to it. (Forgive me, Duun-hatani. Forgive me for all of it. For us being here. For me being helpless and disappointing, and, gods— don’t be angry, Duun.)
Duun poked him in the belly. Hard. Thorn withstood that. He centered himself, expecting— some sudden move. A blow that could take his head off. Because Duun knew he could turn it. Thorn thought of that. Suddenly he was not thinking of the blow; timing-sense deserted him and he shivered, flinched, knowing it. And Duun saw that too.
“Where’s the mind, Haras?”
Thorn centered himself again. Duun walked around behind him. Thorn’s ears strained. He listened to the soft sound of Duun’s tread on sand. His own rapid breathing dimmed his hearing and endangered him. He did not move until he heard Duun on his left, then turned his head, pursuing the movement which teased the tail of his eye.
Slowly Duun extended his right hand toward Thorn’s face— (Attack?) Thorn’s heart jumped and in a critical moment the hand had passed his reaction-point and he let it, let Duun touch his jaw. A two-fingered grip settled gently on either side, where no one’s hand belonged but his teacher’s, but the slow-moving hand too quick for him if he should move. He was vulnerable to that. He knew it. He cherished it. When Duun discovered weaknesses in him he attacked them, but this was the allowable one, this one was his safety that kept the games all games. Duun never took that away. Duun’s dark eyes were on a level with his own, poured force into him, like the dark of night, like the dark and all the stars in which he whirled and perished.
“What is your need, Haras-hatani?”
(O gods, Duun— don’t.)
“What is your need, Haras-Thorn? Why did I get through your guard? To what are you vulnerable? Name me that thing.”
“You, Duun-hatani. I need you.”
The grip hurt. Bruised. “What am I to you, minnow?”
Words failed him. The grip grew harder. Gentler then. The eyes shifted, let him go and he could blink. Duun drew his hand back and Thorn was shaking.
The Deep Beyond: Cuckoo's Egg / Serpent's Reach Page 7
