by Jim Grimsley
“We have been rather arrogant,” Vitter agreed. “We could hardly have approached our relations with you in a more self-aggrandizing way.”
“You’ll find the Erejhen haven’t really noticed, their own arrogance having acted as a buffer. As far as they’re concerned, you’re a struggling people and you’ve done a great deal to overcome your handicaps. They think you’ve accomplished a lot for a race denied the use of magic. The only question, really, is whether you deserve their help now that you’ve met.”
More laughter at that line. Jedda had a feeling of complete ease, settled against the cushions of her chair, the table disarranged comfortably now that the meal was moving into its final phase. Opit’s householder brought after-dinner liquors, along with the sharp, bitter fruit, infith, that left such a pleasant aftertaste in the mouth.
“What an irony,” Vitter mused, “that what’s ordinary in one world is so extraordinary in the other.”
“It’s the kind of irony that requires an author,” Opit said.
“Meaning?” Vitter asked.
“There are times when I think this whole place, Irion, is nothing but an incubator. Maybe designed to produce exactly this force that we’re talking about.”
Himmer leaned forward, suddenly full of interest. He had hardly glanced at Jedda all evening, except when the conversation turned to her; she was feeling the same indifference. “Explain, please.”
Opit took a moment, studied Himmer’s face. “Have the researchers on the other side made any progress in figuring out what kind of space Irion occupies? Do we have any idea where this place is?”
Himmer shook his head slowly, in a dreamy way. “We’ve never been allowed to study very much, of course.”
“They’re very strict about technology, your Prin,” Vitter agreed. “We haven’t been able to get anything past them, in terms of real instrumentation.”
“A simple telescope will tell you what you need to know,” Himmer said. “This is flat space. We knew that much immediately. Objects don’t fall out of sight beyond the horizon, they simply dwindle. We think this space is bounded, but we haven’t been able to explore to the limits of the ocean or fly over the mountains, as we’d need to do to find out where and how they end.”
“What about the stars, the sky?” Jedda asked.
“They’re our stars and our sky. Exactly as you’d seen them if Irion were a continent in the Inokit Ocean.”
“So Irion is here, on Senal, but hidden, in some way?” she asked.
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “But there are some problems with that idea. Since this planet was completely unoccupied except by wildlife when our ancestors found it. This planet meaning Senal, of course.”
“I don’t understand the problem.”
“Who made this space and hid it here?” Himmer asked. “There was never any civilization on Senal, not the first hint of one. So, if this space was constructed in some way and hidden here, who did it?”
“Irion?”
Brun laughed. “He’s old, but he’s not that old. And he’s powerful, but he’s not that powerful.”
“You think this place was constructed in some way?” Jedda asked. “Is that what scientists are thinking?”
“Scientists are doing what they always do, chewing on the information they have and speculating. Even the ones who agree that it’s possible to create some kind of extradimensional space, which we’ve never managed to do with all our tech; even the ones who think it is possible have no idea how it would be done. We have no control over time and space at the level we would need. We had come to believe that kind of technology was not possible. It’s certainly not part of the science that came with us.”
“Came with you?” Brun asked.
“Our own world, Senal, is not our original home. Our own people came here from another world, a long way off.”
She looked skeptical. “You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds like a fairy tale,” Brun said. “Flew here from somewhere else.” She looked at Opit, who touched her hand, though gingerly; the tension between them had continued since the discussion of magic. “You believe it?”
Himmer and Vitter simply laughed. Opit said, “I suppose I didn’t ever tell you that story, did I?”
“No.”
“Well, we’re pretty certain it’s true. We have the original colony ship that brought us here, in orbit. It’s a sacred place to us. And in space it will last forever, of course, properly maintained.”
Brun was clearly in disbelief, but attempted to mask her doubts. “So that’s what you meant when you said earlier, there was nothing here when you came. No other people.”
Jedda felt a flood of warmth for Brun, surrounded by strangers, including a husband who must at times still seem much too different from the rest of her world. She reached for Brun’s hand, cupped it under hers. “That’s all right, Brun. I don’t believe it, either.”
The smile Brun flashed was quick and uncertain. She rose to clear the table, and Opit, seeing her expression, moved at once to help.
On the walk back to the guesthouse, Himmer asked Jedda, “Is that really true, what you said? You don’t believe in Earth?”
“I think I’d say it a different way. The story is so remote from the present day, I think it hardly matters whether it’s true or not. Maybe we came here in the Merced, maybe we didn’t, maybe it’s all a hoax out of Craken’s day. What does it matter? The story’s from so long ago, there’s no way to arrive at any truth that’s in it, any more.”
Himmer stirred restlessly at the door. He was agitated, now that they were about to part, and wished she would come to his room. But she had been with him in that way for the last time. She kissed him on the stubble.
In the world of the stat this decision would have made its way to Himmer discretely, via the network that webbed the two of them together. Here and now, he appeared to get the message in a different way, from her posture, from her avoidance of eye contact, her need to survey the interesting landscaping. “I’m seeing some strain between Brun and Opit,” Himmer said. The shift of subject was deliberate. His face was so pleasant when he was thinking about something other than sex. “Maybe about these issues?”
“Who knows? They’re married. That’s enough to explain a few moments of strain at a dinner.”
“You know what Opit wants?”
“Give me a better question than that, Himmer.” She looked at him and waited.
“You know what he wants to cause here, you know what he wants Malin to do?”
“He’s said a few things. I can’t pretend I understand.”
“She’s to conquer us.”
Quiet, the lawn, the night, the calls of birds, the steady peaceful breeze from the sea. She listened to the steady beat of water, the sound of ocean, a constant miracle. “He said something like that to me. I couldn’t pretend to understand what that would mean.”
“We would have a queen,” Himmer said. “An empress. Another Craken.”
“Why?”
“Are you asking me, presuming that’s what I want, too?”
“Yes. Isn’t it true?”
“I have a lot of thinking to do before I come to any conclusions.”
“So that’s why you’re here.”
“And Vitter. And a couple of others you haven’t met.”
“I don’t understand, Himmer.”
“We’ve been given a choice. By Irion, using Malin as his messenger. We can invite them to cross into our world, or not.”
“I can’t think about this now,” she said, her hand on the door latch. “You’re all sounding a little crazy at the moment.”
“It’s a serious proposition, Jedda.”
She had the feeling he meant both the one discussed and the one implied. Waiting, breathing to three, she answered, “I understand it is, Himmer. I take it seriously. Being here. I’ll help the discussion where I can. But I don’t know what I think.”
Opening the
door, she slid inside, closed it behind her, gathered to herself the quiet and the darkness of her room, waiting for his footsteps to recede beyond the door. He coughed and turned and walked away. She heard him on the stairs and stepped into her darkness, glad of the peace. She slipped out of her clothes, let the bedcovers settle over her, and slept.
10
Arvith woke her early for the beginning of the journey. He had finished her packing the night before, as she could see in the watery daylight through the drawn hangings: a large trunk and a smaller version, along with her backpack, which was as she had left it, including the useless stat. “Goodness,” she said, in Alenke. “So early.” She repeated the words in Erejhen, and Arvith nodded, busy with some last repacking of the smaller trunk.
“You’re going with the first group,” he said. “You’ll have Kethen for company.”
“We’re going in groups?”
“There are too many for one big caravan. Herself prefers to travel alone. We’ll meet in Arroth for the final journey to Cunevadrim.”
“I thought we were moving to Evess first?”
“You and I aren’t. We’re traveling in the first group and we’re heading to Arroth right away.” He spoke patiently, but she could feel his irritation, and headed into the water room to dress. Puzzled.
But Arvith was correct, as it turned out. He led her to the back of the guesthouse, to a service lane that she’d never noticed, where several putters were waiting in a row. Opit was there already and smiled at her when she approached. His face had a lined, gray look, as if he hadn’t slept well. The creases under his eyes would have sent most Hormling to an age specialist for emergency treatment.
“Arvith explained to you that you’re heading straight to Arroth?”
“Yes,” Jedda answered. “I wasn’t quite sure I believed him.”
“There’s been some news from across the gate. I’m not exactly sure what it is, but it has disturbed Malin, and caused her to change her plans. Malin wants to hurry along to Vyddana herself, though she’ll head west by another route. She wants you in the city when she gets there so she can proceed to Cunevadrim even if the rest of us are lagging behind a bit.”
“Really? What’s the rush?”
“I suppose she wants a moment of private conversation with Irion. Before the whole delegation arrives. That appears to be what she’s arranging. The rest of us are to rendezvous in Arroth and then proceed up the mountain.”
“I’ll be riding with Kethen.”
Opit raised a brow. “Arvith told you so?”
“Yes.”
“That’s quite interesting.”
Arvith signaled to Jedda that the putter driver was ready. Opit embraced her cautiously. “Be careful,” he said.
“What on earth for? Opit?”
“I believe Malin has some interest in you. Be careful with her.”
“Opit, this is no time to be enigmatic.” She studied him, the familiar and yet unfamiliar face impossible to read. “All right. I’ll see you in Cunevadrim, then. I’ll have an adventure.”
They embraced a last moment and Jedda backed away.
The putter was a standard size, and six people could have fit in the passenger compartment. Arvith and Jedda sat in it alone, instead, as the putter driver wound his way through service roads to an underground door near the rear of the palace complex. Jedda was guessing the direction but figured it was a good guess, remembering the initial trip here from Evess. After a few moments Kethen and two companions climbed into the cabin. Jedda recognized, with some surprise, Karsa, Malin’s steward, as one of them.
“Good morning,” Kethen bowed his head. He looked as if he’d just awakened, a slight heaviness to the upper lids, though he made an elegant figure in dark leggings, a shirt of the cloth called eflen, unmistakable to Jedda’s practiced eye, the threads knotted and irregular but soft and supple, falling liquidly on Kethen’s bulky shoulders. He wore a variation on the Prin overrobe that Jedda had never seen before, dark brown, unembroidered, a supple fabric she could not recognize. His dark eyes had such a merry look today that the scar seemed almost ornamental, and Jedda felt herself so drawn to him that she was immediately wary.
“I wasn’t expecting so long a journey today,” Jedda said. “I was looking forward to time in Evess.”
“The Lady wishes to reach Irion more quickly,” Karsa explained. “She has some news which she needs to discuss with Lord Irion.”
Kethen was watching Karsa without any detectable emotion. As the putter accelerated evenly forward, it occurred to Jedda, looking at their faces, that something was amiss, that her own presence in this group was not as a translator, since there was no one here for whom she must translate. There were no other Hormling. This disturbed her deeply and yet when she decided to ask about it she found her nerve failed her. By then the putter was gliding evenly onto the deck of the ferry that would carry it, without delay, not to Evess but south to a village called Eregosk, where they would follow the putter road up the river valley along the Charnos ridge. This much Karsa explained, pulling back the hood of her traveling cloak, a kind of cloth with which Jedda was unfamiliar, woven of many colors of thread, but the colors all muted, tinged with gray or dulled in some fashion. Her companion, to whom Jedda had not been introduced, was a woman wearing a similar cloak.
“What’s the news?” Jedda asked. “Is it from across the gate?”
“Pardon?” Kethen affected not to understand.
“We don’t know ourselves,” Karsa said, glancing at Kethen momentarily, the quick, steady assessment of one adversary to another.
“At least you claim you don’t,” Kethen said.
“At times even you and I can trust each other. I’m telling the truth. This morning.”
Kethen laughed in delight, but there was something unpleasant in his expression.
“Really, Kethen, you can relax.”
“Especially since you have your pononter with you.”
“I don’t know about any of this,” Jedda said. “Is it allowed for me to ask?”
“Why would it not be allowed?” Kethen asked.
“You’re not a prisoner,” Karsa said.
Jedda watched the Bay of Anin roll by. The ferry rode on an air cushion, a smooth glide over the waves. Was the ferry pilot one of the Anin?
On a long trip on Senal, Jedda might have availed herself of many forms of silent, head-space entertainment; might have requested an adjustment of her stat to put her to sleep; might have caught up on any sort of work left to her, details of the import-export business she had begun two decades ago, itineraries for her next buying trip into the interior of Irion; but here in the putter, she had nothing to do but fret about her circumstances.
As soon as the ferry touched land, Kethen appeared to doze, head relaxed against his headrest, though he might have been meditating; his eyes moved oddly under the lids. The putter road wound near a south-flowing river, wide banks, old trees with trunks as wide as the road hanging over the riverbed. Karsa’s companion began to chew a leaf, and smiled and offered one to Jedda. Karsa said, “It’s himmel. To chew it brings a feeling of calm. We take a leaf when we ride in this contraption for long distances. Go ahead, chew, it won’t harm you.”
“I thank you,” Jedda said, bowing her head toward the companion, attempting to show as little curiosity as possible.
“Do you know the word pononter?” Karsa asked, glancing at Kethen smoothly, keeping watch on him. The companion was subvocalizing, eyes almost closed. Arvith had begun to snore, seated in the back with the luggage.
“No.”
“Two Prin are required to sing the world stuff into being. One can’t sing alone. Two Prin who are mated to one another, body and spirit, are pononter to one another, and they make the dual magic far better than two strangers or even two friends can do. This is my pononter, though I don’t name her.”
The leaf, pungent, acidic in taste, grew soft as Jedda chewed it, and soon numbed her lips and tongue. A fe
eling of well-being flooded through her. “The Drune don’t have such a restriction?”
For the second time the companion spoke, eyes flicking to Jedda’s, amused. “We don’t look on this as a restriction.”
“But it’s true,” Karsa added, “the Drune have no need to work in pairs. And, in fact, unless a pair is pononter, as we are, two Prin will be no match for one Drune.”
Jedda sat back, let the words rattle in her head. Was it deliberate, this sideways method of imparting information? Perhaps it was rooted in the same part of the Erejhen culture that allowed Karsa to say, quite openly, that she refused to say her lover’s name, or that allowed any stranger to give a false name to any other stranger. Indirection was part of the game. For what Karsa was telling Jedda, most clearly, was that she and her pononter were here to keep an eye on Kethen; and further, that the Prin saw themselves, in some ways, as opposed to the Drune.
Finally, with the confidence imparted by the himmel leaf, she was able to ask the question that had made her curious before. “Why am I here?” she asked Karsa. “There’s no need for a translator, if there are only the five of us heading to Arroth.”
The companion smiled. She had a lovely shape of mouth, and a way of pouting. Karsa took her hand, answering Jedda. “I would suppose then that there are other reasons for which you are needed.”
“Such as?”
“It would not be for me to guess. Maybe in some cases I might risk such a thing, but not where the mind of Malin is concerned.”
“Or the other one,” Kethen murmured, stirring sleepily in his seat. “I’m listening, of course.”
“Of course you are,” purred Karsa’s companion.
Jedda closed her eyes. The putter hugged the roadbed without much vibration, and the seat hugged Jedda comfortably, so that she might have slept herself, except that the leaf had left her with such a dreamy feeling that she wanted to enjoy the sensation. She placed a barrier between herself and the others, imaginary and invisible, but that ought to do, she figured, when what she wanted was to warn three magicians that she wanted to be left alone. The others would be quiet because that was what Jedda wanted. She smiled at the thought.
