by Jim Grimsley
“Vitter, what are you saying?”
“Tarma,” he answered.
She understood in a rush and stared at him. She felt her first moment of real fear. Tarma’s expression as the ships began to vanish, the planes to spiral down. The loss of face involved, having called for the bubble, having summoned the spectators to the ringside seat on the roof of the consulate to watch the Hormling army roll ashore.
“She’s Orminy,” Vitter said. “None of us will get out of here to tell stories about this.”
But the scene as suddenly changed before their eyes. The commotion around them swelled and suddenly the garden was overflowing with other soldiers, Erejhen dressed in military uniforms that looked rather modern, but armed with blade weapons, and with something else that looked almost like a musical instrument that she later learned was a crossbow, and javelins to prod the Hormling to the courtyard near the main entrance to the Hormling building. Those metal blades and long sticks were apparently more effective than the energy weapons the Hormling carried, which had ceased functioning. The security people had small stomach for a fight anyway, not after they had watched a whole naval battle group disappear. No one was hurt, no one was fighting, everything was managed in quite a civilized way.
Jedda asked one of the soldiers, in Erejhen, what was happening, and when it was known she could speak the language the Erejhen soldier conducted Jedda to his commander, and the commander to hers, and soon Jedda found herself face to face with Tarma once again, this time as translator for the shock troops Malin had dispatched to occupy the consulate as soon as the fleet went down.
The name of the company commander was, naturally, Kartayn, and she was one of the thicker-set of the Erejhen, with a bone structure that appeared nearly clumsy. Not a type Jedda had seen often, though she was undeniably handsome in the face, like the rest of them. Kartayn ordered Tarma into the forecourt, dragged out of the building by the arm by two soldiers.
Such a fury had poured through Tarma when none of the Hormling were able to defend her from direct handling by her captors that she nearly curled round herself, spitting and hissing. When she saw Jedda, her eyes narrowed to needles and Jedda knew, without doubt, that Vitter was right. She was moving her lips, not making any audible words, and Kartayn turned to Jedda and asked, “What is she saying? Has she been injured?”
“No, Kartayn. She is simply not used to being touched by others and cannot abide it. She is of a very high rank among my people.”
Kartayn frowned, vexed. “I understood she was important but I did not understand she was possessed.” She spoke to her soldiers, who released Tarma at once.
Tarma looked at Jedda and asked, “What did you tell her?”
“That you are a very important official in the Hormling government and that her soldiers ought to treat you more gently.”
“You will speak to me, please,” said Kartayn.
Jedda translated for Tarma, who bristled, but stood there without response.
Kartayn, who had deep, clear eyes of a color that resembled red-hot flame, said to Jedda in a curt tone, “Please inform your superior that I have been sent here to prepare her for a visit from Thaan Malin.”
“Malin is here in Evess?”
“Yes.” Her tone had become quite dry. “Did you think someone else sank your ships? Malin came, and she did it. And now she is coming here to talk to this one.”
Jedda turned to translate, seeing how big Tarma’s eyes had gotten, but before translating, she asked Kartayn. “What are we to do?”
“Wait.”
So she told Tarma and Tarma stiffened. “She says what? Malin came here and Malin sank the ships. What does that mean?”
Kartayn watched her and apparently understood the gist of the message through Tarma’s delivery. “Tell your superior I am not here to treat with her or speak with her but I am simply here to inform her that Thaan Malin will be coming herself, and she will say all that needs to be said.”
Kartayn’s tone had cooled several degrees and she delivered the words in a manner that left no doubt she was military, as terse as Tuk An had ever been.
Tarma became timid for a moment, hearing Jedda’s translation. She had no training for defeat and was puzzled by it. “Wait where?” Tarma asked. “Am I supposed to stand here?”
Jedda said to Kartayn, “She understands she is to wait here but she is a weakling and has difficulty standing. Could you have someone bring her a chair?”
Kartayn gave a short laugh and spoke a command in that other mode of the language, so very musical. One of the soldiers brought a chair out of one of the buildings into the forecourt and set it at the bottom of the stone stairway.
Tarma sat and looked at her hands. Jedda had sudden pity for her, not because of any newfound sympathy with her personality but because Tarma now discovered herself a prisoner of war, or worse. She looked every bit as dazed as she must have felt, having watched so many million tons of Hormling military hardware sink to the bottom of the bay. How many people in a naval battle group? How many troops to occupy Evess? How much arrogance?
Tarma would not be thinking of this, however. She had been bred to coldness, one could see it in every line of her posture. She would be thinking about her captors, about the fact that the Hormling would not be kind to someone in her position.
Jedda looked around for the people she knew. Tuk An himself stood near the consul, both of them under guard. Jedda saw Melda and Kurn behind one of the foundation shrubs, half hidden, and saw Vitter against the compound wall and tried to catch his eye. After a while he nodded to her. She looked for Himmer as well, but he was nowhere to be seen.
There was chanting in the street outside, and then a line of people dressed in robes of dark colors. Files of these figures entered singing, and the sound made Jedda tremble. She saw that her reaction was shared by nearly everyone except the Erejhen soldiers. Even Evessan civilians, who had come to watch their soldiers, quailed when the chanting began and appeared as cowed by the sound as the Hormling, who had never heard a sound like that. Music to rake the bones. A sound to reach inside the head and shake.
Malin entered the forecourt without more ceremony. As soon as she stepped into the courtyard, the soldiers looked to the ground, and so did the ones chanting, who fell silent. Few of the Hormling were any better, most of them following the example of the Erejhen soldiers. Fear of her was palpable, even among her own people. But Jedda was fascinated and could not take her eyes away.
Breathtaking, the coloring of her skin, her hair, her eyes, same as before, in the middle of the mountain, when Jedda had first seen her. Her lips, so full and finely drawn. The face so awkward and sad, until one saw the eyes. Malin paced the length of the forecourt, stood under the five-story facade, and the light pooled around her like milk, like something she could wrap round herself, or weave with her hand. She was simply looking up. Jedda’s heart had begun to pound.
Malin faced Tarma, looked at her for a long time. Without turning, Malin spoke. “There is one here who can translate for me, is there not?” She was speaking Erejhen. “I find I do not wish to speak the Hormling tongue.”
The Guard Commander volunteered that Jedda had been translating for the soldiers, and Malin beckoned with a hand but went on watching Tarma.
“I’m ready, Thaan Malin,” Jedda said, and at the sound of her voice, Malin turned.
A shiver passed through Jedda. For a moment Malin’s eyes were golden, clear as honey, and then they were green again, the color of a spring forest shot through with light. She blinked, and Jedda heard the word, clear as day, “Opit.” Though Malin had not spoken and no one else had heard anything.
Jedda’s heart raced. Malin turned to Tarma again. “Ask this one what she wishes me to do with her now? Would she like to sail into the bay and join the soldiers?”
Jedda hesitated and Malin said, her voice suddenly gentle, “It’s all right, young one. She won’t harm you.”
So Jedda asked the question and Tarma
paled. Jedda kept her eyes to the floor. Tarma said, “I would prefer to be returned to my government. It is obvious that we have a good deal of reassessing to do, and I believe I could be of use in that process.”
She was pleading for her life, in the most delicate way. Jedda repeated the words to Malin. “This one would prefer to go home, if you will permit. She says she can be of use in explaining what has happened here to those who must understand.”
“She speaks without any subtlety,” Malin said. “She’s afraid to die. Even more afraid to die than to go home. Ask her, how many of the Hormling drowned here? How many were on the ships?”
Jedda asked the question. Tarma, after some hesitation, said, “May I confer with the consul?”
Malin assented, without translation. Tarma and Fimmin conferred. After a moment, Tarma answered, “One hundred twenty thousand, including the land forces.”
Jedda translated. Malin laughed. “Land forces? What a nice way to put it. Occupying army, I believe that is the more accurate term. Tell her what I have said.”
Jedda translated, and Tarma said, “That is accurate. She is correct.”
“Look at me, little one.” Jedda heard and looked into those eyes again, a golden flickering through them. “I want you to make sure to get this right, not simply for this one who sits when others stand, but for all your people who remain. This is to show you who we are and what we can do. I sank your ships today, and I can do more if I need to. Say that much.”
Jedda spoke, and all around the Hormling started chattering, till Tarma snapped, “That’s impossible.”
Malin gave her a warning look and she said nothing else. When Malin moved her head, hair shimmering in the morning light, the courtyard fell silent. Speaking again to Jedda, Malin said, “You Hormling have two days to leave Irion, all of you, except those few who have married here, who have two days to decide whether they wish to remain permanently. I have sent this word to all the cities along the coast and my word is obeyed in all those places. I have spoken to your associates beyond the gate and I have told them to send transportation for you at once. Your consul will arrange the evacuation of your people. I will allow the communication that is necessary to achieve this. After that, in two days, Irion will close the gate.”
Jedda repeated the words and a ripple ran through the room. Tarma said, “We won’t allow it. You know that we can’t.”
“I know you have no choice in the matter,” Malin said to her, directly, in Alenke. “What has to be done will be done. If you send warships into the gate again, they will join their companions at the bottom of your ocean. I have given this message already to those on your command ship and to those whose lives I spared today. I have nothing further to say to you. My Krii will see to your preparations to leave the compound.”
On her way out, she spoke to one of her associates, the one she had referred to as “my Krii,” then she was gone. The Krii stepped forward as soon as Malin vanished and said to Jedda, “Please, Malin had one more wish that I am to make true. Tell them all to wait.”
Jedda translated for Tarma, who stiffened, a look of ice in her eyes.
“Seven were in the delegation to Montajhena, is that correct?” the Krii asked. “Three of you are to remain behind.”
Jedda repeated this to Tarma, and Tarma washed completely white. The Krii said, blandly, “Reassure her that she is not to be one. We will keep, as our guests, the Hormling Himmer Taleratele of the Aesthetic Ministry, the Hormling Vitter Retnelta of the Planetary Ministry, and the Hormling Translator Jedda Martele. You three will please return to your rooms with my escort and pack your belongings for your journey at once.”
Jedda was stunned, her heart pounding. “Where are we to be taken?”
“To the place where Thaan Malin has asked that you be taken,” the Krii said.
Jedda repeated the words to Tarma, whose relief was obvious, who stood and clapped hands for attendants to see her to her rooms. Jedda met Vitter’s eye as she announced the three detainees and she saw the sudden relief on his face.
Tarma was already moving up the steps, under escort, into the consulate. Vitter crossed to say something to her, whispered, and she drew back as though she had been poisoned and spat at him. He drew away, laughing, and Tarma trembled and went inside. Jedda never saw her again, nor expected to. An Orminy factor might execute a member who had seen or caused such a loss of face to the caste; the opera was full of stories like that. A rumor later circulated that this was what happened to Tarma. Her own mother fed her poison and watched her die.
7
Fleets of hoverships were crossing back and forth from the gate, and people in the consulate were in a frenzy, packing, meaning to get out of Irion as fast as possible.
Jedda needed little time to pack her own belongings. She wondered whether to bring the stat; her escort was no help, saying merely that she should bring whatever would please her. Jedda put the useless silicate into the bag mostly because she could not quite conceive of being without it. At least she’d save herself the cost of a new one when she was freed.
Was that the right word? Was she being taken captive? Was she a hostage?
Vitter was ready quickly as well, and waited with her and the Krii. He had changed into clean coveralls and a formal shirt, his large wheeled bag on the stone floor beside him. Himmer took some time, having brought a good deal more luggage in the first place, but at last he was packed and they and their escorts, some Prin and some soldiers, headed out the consulate complex and down two levels of street to a hoverboat.
Why did it surprise her that the Thaan would make use of a modern convenience? Malin had probably come to the consulate by hoverboat herself. They climbed aboard and soon were carried across the bay to the island that sat in its center, entering a gated harbor, sheer high walls rising out of the sea. “What place is this?” Jedda asked the Prin who was her escort, a Kirith rather than a Kartayn.
“Kemur Island,” the Prin said. “The old King kept a palace here, and Malin comes here from time to time.”
“The old King? The one who departed?”
“Yes, that one,” the Prin agreed. “You’ve heard of him?”
“Some stories, yes. I lived in Charnos for several years.”
He used a word she did not know, and she asked him to repeat. He said, as well as she could understand, “Your time may not be my time, don’t be so sure.” But there was more, there were inflections and tonal variations in the words that could shade meaning in more ways than she had learned. The same thing happened when he went on to say, “There is a monastery on the island,” as well, for he might also have meant, “university,” “cloister,” or, with the proper inflections and prenotes, which were nearly sung at times, a score of other things. The Erejhen language had layers and complications in the grammar and the pronunciation that strained the notion of a sentence having only one meaning.
The boat docked at a stone quay, steps leading to a wide lawn, buildings in the northern style; Prin and military people congregated everywhere, so Jedda supposed this must be some sort of government center. Within moments some of the military people loaded the group’s belongings into a putter and them along with it, a six-seater—the three hostages, as Jedda was calling the group in her thinking, along with one of the Prin and two of the military.
The ride was long and bumpy, the putter heaving from side to side. Vitter sat across from Jedda and Himmer next to her, his soft shoulder molding to hers. On the hoverboat they had been separated by their hosts, but now they were more or less alone, and Jedda asked, “Where do you think they’re taking us?”
Vitter looked at Himmer, and for the first time Jedda wondered whether there were some collusion between the two of them. They were not as surprised or concerned as she, or so it appeared to her. Yet only minutes ago Vitter had asked her to help him disappear into the Irion landscape. Vitter said, “We know this island holds a large military complex and is some sort of religious center as well. I’d guess we�
��re in the religious part, now.”
She filed away her suspicions for the moment. “Our guide says Malin has a palace here.”
Soon enough they could see it, beyond a slope of land and then down to the cliffs that marked Kemur Island’s southern shore. The palace faced the open ocean. Built of many pale colors of stone, it defied description in Hormling terms, since a building was hardly ever seen whole from the exterior. Softly rounded columns, arches with a three-pointed design, here and there a slim pointed spire. The overall effect graceful and pleasing. The putter road wound down to the wall and gate, through which they were permitted to pass, though escorted by another putter.
The Prin entered the back compartment of the putter when the vehicle was stopped at the gate. He was looking mildly from one to the other. Of Jedda he asked, “They do not speak my language, do they?”
In Alenke, Vitter told her, “I can understand it in a rudimentary way, if it’s spoken slowly, as he is doing. But I can’t make the sounds properly at all.”
She translated for the Prin, and he nodded. “I will speak to you, then,” he told her. “You are guests of Malin and will be housed in the Chanii house. There are some others of your kind staying there.”
The putter glided along a lane that led through a long, narrow garden and then opened into a courtyard. Three floors of stone and timber rose around the courtyard, open balconies facing the green space, a design of rocks and plants and water flowing from a fountain at the center of the court through and out the building, which arched over it. Water rose out of the fountain as though there were an endless source beneath the rock.
Jedda took her bags in hand and walked over the arched bridge leading into the building, a series of open doors, the outer ones quite sturdy, the inner ones lighter, the inmost of glass. The others were following and she had turned to watch Himmer struggling with his own luggage, one of his big trunk-sized conveyances caught on the stone base of the bridge, when a voice from behind spoke her name, “Jedda.”
