“Thanks, lads.” Huldar smiled thoughtfully and added find a new campsite to his already extensive list of things to do. “I’m afraid I hadn’t thought that far in advance.”
“Probly too busy thinkin bout the Lady Andel an all.” The brothers exchanged a knowing wink.
Huldar peered into his bowl, not sure how to respond.
“Now, now, don’t be gettin upset,” Topper said. “But we water-finders, we see which way the wind’s blowin, and say nowt about it, if that’s what’s wanted.”
“Does anyone else know?” Huldar asked.
“Well, no, not everyone.” Bush turned to his brother. “There’s lord Duvät Gok, now. Bet he don’t know, eh Topper?”
“Probly not.”
“An the Lady Andel herself?” He elbowed his brother’s ribs. “Think she’d be knowin?”
“Probly not.” Topper slowly shook his head. “Be obvious, don’t it. If she did, she’d be all over following the lord Huldar here like a nasca-fly for glitter!”
“Glitter!” Huldar shook his head. “Here,” he said, and fished a bottle of Lethian Besh from Qalān. “I’ve just the thing. Is this glitter enough for you?”
“Sure got some sparkle!” the brothers agreed.
As the fire dimmed, the night sky and its unfamiliar patterns crowded down as if willing him to make sense of them. Low in the east, the main part of a great circular constellation had arisen. If he stayed awake long enough, he was sure he would see the bottom of it, shining like a huge wheel in the dark. But as he drifted off to sleep, it was the bottle of Besh and Topper’s toast that still sang in his mind … “To diviners! May we always see more than the rest.”
CATCH THE RAINBOW
Duvät Gok stood on the lonely beach, watching for signs of schooling fish. All was as his grandfather had described – the moons were rising in the correct sequence, the sea was at the right level, and this morning, blue crustaceans had washed up on shore. He had been vigilant, seen all these signs fulfilled, all but the one-eyed sea-creatures that were central to his plans.
Small waves lapped the shore. A whiff of rotting shellfish teased his nostrils. Sand stretched away on either side as far as he could see. His robes flapped, playthings for a light sea breeze. Behind him, rows of dunes arched gracefully toward a green forested strip, then to an unbroken wall of snow-covered mountains. Far away, across the curve of the waters, dark ridges clawed through the snow, gaining ground as the thaw intensified. Huge rivers of ice-melt gushed and gurgled to the sea, but not here. Here, all was calm … waiting.
He wondered what the creatures would look like. Were they big or small? Would they be slimy? Would they scream? He rubbed his thumbs over his manicured nails. How would be the best way to end their lives? What if they fought back? What if he got hurt? The prospect of fish-scales and blood on his skin made him nauseated.
The sun drew perspiration. His feet weighed holes in the sand. One by one his outer robes were shed, but the signs his grandfather noted had occurred and he dared not leave his post.
After an eternity of squinting at the sea, an anomalous ripple crested beyond the breakers and his body stilled. Was that a fin, knifing through the furthest waves? Gaze anchored to the locus, he hardly dared breathe. Finally his great patience was rewarded with a second sighting – Breath of El, and a third!
Soon, the water was alive with roiling fins and long, eel-like bodies and a sound began to throb from the waves. His heart pumped as he made his way to the edge of the water. The alien voices swelled above the sigh and crash of the seas until he could hear little else – and the mass circled over and over, as if finding the courage to do what they must do … as if they knew he was waiting for them.
He grabbed his long knife from Qalān. A breaking wave ruined his slippers, but he hardly noticed. His robe slapped against his legs, but the discomfort was forgotten as the first silver bow-wave shot through the waters and a dark head surfed ashore.
The sea-creature’s single eye gleamed upward, a refractive orb even more beautiful than the gem in his pocket. Duvät was transfixed by the sight: the culmination of his expectations. It surged past him, close enough to touch, twice as long as he was tall, and thick through the trunk. Filled with purpose, its silver-striped body undulated toward the dunes, blue-tipped dorsal fin waving back and forth like a tethered wing aloft in the breeze. Its mouth was open, still singing as if calling its brethren to follow.
Duvät shuffled awkwardly beside it and brandished his knife. The smell of salt and seawater filled his nose. His robes clung. Slippers squelched. Deep sand sapped his strength. He stopped and the creature forged on. His grandfather hadn’t said how big they were.
More sinuous bodies wriggled from the waves, flaunting their eyes. He meant nothing to them. His glorious future, it was right there! Yet after all this effort, he had failed. His grip on the knife wavered. Shame filled his heart. Was he so weak? Then one of the creatures made a shrill squeal, and some long-buried memories flooded back.
He had killed a barbet once when he was small. His mother had beaten him for it and his father’s disgust had stung his mind – but the joy, the thrill of power, that had been good. The barbet had been a stupid thing: stupid to trust him, stupid to get in his way. Even with its legs cut off it had still tried to get away; even with its head smashed, its body had kept twitching, trying to run. He remembered now.
Another sea-creature wriggled past. It didn’t even notice him or his knife. It didn’t recognize the danger. It was stupid, like the barbet. It deserved to be killed.
With a cry, he launched himself at its back and stabbed down hard. Flesh parted. Slimy blue fluid oozed from the wound, but the creature wriggled on. Its song continued without pause.
Stupid thing! Stupid, stupid, stupid! He clung to its back and stabbed it again and again. His chest and arms were sticky with blood and slime. Its movement flung him from side to side, but he drove his knife in hard and used it to haul himself toward the head.
With a last great effort, he took aim and plunged his blade at the creature’s skull. Its spine severed with a gritty crunch. The creature flopped helplessly, unable to proceed. Slime clogged beneath Duvät’s fingernails as he fought to hold it steady, and all the while, it continued to sing. Finally, he straddled the head and pounded his blade down.
The creature jerked and lay still. Its voice faded at last. Others continued their advance on the dunes as if nothing had happened.
He clambered to his feet. Sand stuck to him. Juices seeped through his shirt, warm and tacky against his chest. Their slow tickle downward excited him. He’d done it! He’d killed the beast! Adrenalin thrust through his veins. He turned to the next creature that came toward him, and with a manic howl leaped astride its head and killed it with a single blow. The dying eye stared up at him and its rainbow began to dim.
“No!” Duvät cried. The prize was losing value as he watched!
With the edge of his knife, he sawed around the fading orb, trying to excise it before the color fled completely, but the flesh was hard and rubbery and the stench clogged his nostrils. In frustration, he threw the knife aside and clawed at it with his fingers. To his surprise, he reefed the orb from its socket quite easily. It was firm to his touch and hardened quickly into crystal. There were score-marks where his blade had scraped it: a lesson for next time. He put the damaged eye into a rough bag and looked around. More creatures writhed up the sand, each one housing a spectacular prize. He would have to work fast to kill them all.
His arm rose and fell. His fingers plunged beneath more shining trophies, each one a donor to his future fortune. His legs tired from clenching victims’ heads. His knife-hand was blistered but there was no healer to soothe the sting or mend the soft skin of his palm. Anger flared in his soul. It was not fair! He was no Ashik warrior. Why should he have to wield a blade? With a snarl, he launched himself at the next of the beasts and simply gouged its eye from its socket. Blood spurted from the hole in its skull. Its th
rashed aimlessly, leaving trails of blue ichor as life slowly faded. Other sea-serpents blundered into it before changing direction.
“Stupid!” Duvät snarled. He turned from one suffering creature and captured another.
His new method was much quicker. Soon another bag was wet with ooze. As he moved across the path of the swarm he left a trail of sightless creatures that bumped from body to body. Their song was disrupted by cries of agony that turned the ether to chaos, yet ever more of them squirmed from the sea, forging trails through the maze of the dead and dying in their efforts to reach the dunes.
By late afternoon, Duvät was exhausted. As he wandered back to the portal, he weighed a last bag of orbs in his hand. He’d killed an astonishing number of animals today, but next time they beached he would be ready, and the next. His future was assured, so long as the Uri’madu did not find out, nor the guild.
He paused before returning to camp and took a last look at the scene below. Sightless creatures lingered on, crying in confusion. Although many simply gave up, one long silver-striped body made it through the tangle and burrowed into the face of a dune. Why it would do so with such urgency, Duvät Gok neither knew nor cared. Then the sands of the hinterlands seemed to shimmer as packs of small sand-colored lizards swarmed from beyond the dunes and quickly submerged the dead and mortally wounded as if the beach itself had swallowed them. His one worry had been how to disguise the physical evidence of what he had done, and it seemed the Breath was with him even in this. Would the scavengers be a danger to him? After a short time he relaxed. They attacked only carcasses or those too weak to continue. He’d seen and dealt with far worse on his travels to other worlds.
Back in his tent on the central continent, clean again and somewhat refreshed, he laid out the gore-encrusted bags to examine his treasures. The contents of the first two bags were much as he’d expected; clear, palm-sized spheres, each with a rainbow inside. In subsequent bags, the orbs taken ‘live’ had shrunk to one third of their original size, but, as if in compensation, their color had intensified to nothing less than a droplet of liquid rainbow. A simple polish with a soft cloth was all it took to bring them to their full glory. More amazing still, when he placed the gems together, their auras combined in a cohesive show of light that turned his tent-walls into a palace. When moved, the rainbow fractured and shimmered until a new resting point was found, then it healed itself back into a cohesive whole.
As he poured the orbs into a fresh bag, light flared through his fingers. After he tightened the drawstrings, he had to open them again, releasing the rainbow to flood his jaded goals with hope. When he closed the bag for good, his hands shook so much with excitement that he fumbled the knots. His voice croaked, barely able to sing the charm that would prevent anyone but himself from opening them.
“My grandfather was a fool!” he murmured. “The eye he left me must have been taken from a creature long dead. Trash! Not like these living ones … gems incomparable.” He stroked the smooth fabric as a plan swam through his mind. “I could pay the Faythans off with the dead eyes – they’re larger, and wonderful enough when one hasn’t seen the real thing – then, just when they think they’ve gained the advantage, when they think I’ve been forced to surrender my greatest prize – and they’ll sneer at the lowly Gok, the gambler and fool – ha! Then I’ll show them the real prize, my prize, the true Eyes of Bel Nishani, and then they’ll see I’m no weak-minded shuna for them to milk. Ha! Then we’ll see the tables turned!”
As he lay down to sleep, he cuddled a lumpy bag close to his chest and breathed in its fishy, ocean-fresh odor. The blisters on his knife-hand throbbed and his legs and shoulders ached. Although there was no healer to tend them, he took heart that the indignities suffered would be well worth the outcome, and just for now, he could hold his winnings in his arms and dream of pleasures to come. When he returned to the Uri’madu, all knowledge of the Eyes of Bel Nishani must be shut away, not even the slightest hint available for scrutiny. But perhaps tomorrow, there would be more creatures to kill.
He must be vigilant.
He must be ready.
THE FIVE LEGS
After months camped on the vast plains of the Great Eastern Continent the Uri’madu moved to the foothills of the coastal ranges to escape the baking desert that the grasslands had become. Work continued, and the map in the workroom was slowly fleshed out as teams surveyed, cataloged and made notes. If Duvät Gok had been more reclusive than he had been on past expeditions, no one complained. The atmosphere in camp was decidedly better in his absence. However, when at last the Overlord settled into the Eastern foothills with them, he made his presence felt by calling a meeting at which all were required to attend.
That evening, Andel entered the marquee and made her way to the table.
“Ah! Lady Andel!” Tam said. “I see you’ve managed to divine your way to the honey-cakes.”
“Tam!” Andel grinned and reached for a golden-brown treat. “It’s good to see you too.”
“Tea?”
“Thank you, Sari.” Andel smiled. “That would be most welcome.”
Sari turned to Lind, who was closer to the tea-things. “While you’re there, could you make one for Lady Andel too?” Sari brushed the top of a large cushion, one of a pile they had arranged near the hearth. “Here, you sit with us. Nice and close to the fire.” She looked over to see how the tea was progressing. “Lind! Lady Andel prefers galano, not dar-leaves.”
Lind rolled her eyes and reached for a jar of galano twigs. With great ceremony, she arranged three of them one by one in a ceramic mug with the rune of Trianog emblazoned on the side.
Satisfied, Sari leaned closer to Andel. “Now, tell me – is it good to be home?”
“Home?” Andel looked around the marquee. Gento and Cobar stood chatting; Gento met her gaze and saluted with his mug. She doubted it was simple tea that sloshed from it. Ronnin smiled gruffly over a bowl of Tam’s best aromatic stew. All wore light clothing but the fire still smoldered in the hearth. On the plains where their former campsite had been, temperatures were baking hot. Here in the foothills, the summer days were only slightly cooler, but in the evenings a misty sea breeze kept the heat at bay, and at night the temperatures could plummet.
Bush and Topper pushed through the door, laughing. They wore bright shirts with swirling botanical patterns as if to mirror their playful mood. Behind them, Huldar seemed tall and strangely graceful. His plain loose shirt was unlaced at the neck. Worn khaki pants fitted well over narrow hips. He looked at her and smiled. She gave a small wave but when Ubaid signaled for his attention he seemed almost relieved.
Andel turned to see a mischievous glimmer in Sari’s eyes.
“What?” she asked. Her cheeks flamed.
Sari merely grinned and looked up as Lind arrived with the tea. “Oh, that’s lovely,” she said. “And this one’s mine? Thank you.”
Lind passed the mugs but didn’t sit down.
“You’re not going to join us?” said Andel.
“I’ll be back later,” she said. “Save me a spot for when the fun begins.”
As the rangy angel sauntered toward Ubaid and Huldar, Andel felt a touch of hostility in her mind, although it was slight and quickly veiled.
“Perhaps it was the fuss about the tea?” she said to Sari.
“The tea?” Sari shook her head. “She’s always been keen on him.”
“Keen on who?”
“On who? Lord Huldar, of course.” She smiled. “But you needn’t worry, Lady Andel. He’s never shown her the slightest interest – not in that way.”
“Why should I worry?”
“Worry?” Sari’s brow lifted. “Why, there’s no need to worry at all.”
As if sensing their conversation, Huldar flashed a glance their way. The intense blue of his eyes halted Andel’s thoughts.
“Not at all,” Sari repeated. A secret smile curved her lips.
“Have you a husband, Sari?” Andel asked.
“Husband? No, not me.”
“Family?”
“Sister back on Lentath,” Sari said. “Old and stringy now, like me. Married to a fine Nhadu spell-singer, Dursin. Blessed three times, no less.”
“Three children? El’s blessing indeed.”
“Yes, and two grandchildren now as well.” She paused to stare at the glowing fire-pit. “Makes up for me, I suppose.”
Andel glimpsed a deep loneliness in Sari’s heart and reached out to touch the angel’s arm. “What do you mean?” she said gently. “You might find someone. El may bless you yet.”
Sari shook her head. “Thanks to our peculiar biology, there’s no blessings for we Annangi without marriage, and that’s not likely. Still, it’s not that I … What of your family, Lady Andel? Who waits for you back in the Realm?”
Andel smiled. When she got home her mother would be difficult to face, but that was nothing new. On the other hand, her father would want to hear every last detail of every assignment on the wild planet. “Would you like to see them?”
“To see them?” Sari nodded. “That would be lovely.”
Andel took Sari’s hand for ease of contact and shared images of her mother – short yet imposing, her hair neatly bound as always while she tended the garden; and her father, taller, with brown hair like her own and warm, yellow-brown eyes that were kindly and enquiring. But then her imagery faltered.
I had a brother too, she said. “… I’m sorry. It’s too difficult.” She broke the contact. Tears prickled beneath her eyelids. Her hand crept up to her breast pocket and the small memento she kept there.
Sari smiled encouragingly. “But your parents look like fine people, archangels of course, and well to do – and they love you very much. I can see it in their eyes.”
She was grateful when Sari turned to watch the fire again, giving her a chance to adjust her inner veils and return her aspect to its customary calm.
“My own parents died long ago,” Sari said.
Planet Walkers Page 10
