The Gate that Locks the Tree

by Sharon Lee

  "I will touch the muscles and warm them some, and they will be able to relax, some. When they do the other muscles will fight – don’t kick! If you need, Mary will hold your hand – squeeze that if you hurt, but don’t twist away. So, open your hands and let Mary have one..."

  Vertu followed the ruts back to the proper road where the ghost tracks of passed vehicles could barely be searched out in the lights.

  "You want to go right just here," Yulie said from the backseat. "Not too sharp, 'cause it might be best to miss where the other tracks was. I’m thinking there’ll be a rock pile kind of shining off the side in your lights, 'cause the snow’s going cold and fine now so we can see better. Come summer there’s a spring near that rock, so sometimes we get a squiggly slick spot in winter if the ditch catches freewater."

  He was right, of course, about missing the tracks, and the news about the potential ice was useful.

  Vertu drove, saw the rock face, felt the small lurch as the traveled over one ice stream, and another, and another. She just let the cab find its own way through, and when they were through the worst of, she touched the accelerator gently.

  "Relax that spot now," Anna said to her reluctant patient. "Yes, you can. I will touch you here and you’ll feel the spot. I will rub it and we’ll let the muscles relax, they are as tight as if you stood on tip toe – and you do not. Yes, see, when I touch the warm will help you relax... very good. Now it doesn’t hurt as bad, and it will hurt less soon."

  "Going to hurt awhile," came the reply ... "that’s my driving foot, you know! If I don’t drive I can’t eat!"

  "Tonight you’ll eat, and tomorrow," came the soothing voice, "and after that, too, I’m sure. "Driving is only delayed a few days..."

  "Here then, hold your glove. I will try to see if there’s anything more wrong – squeeze hard if you need ..."

  "Sleet, sleet, sleet!"

  "Squeeze and be a little quiet – Miss Vertu needs to concentrate!"

  Gloves made Vertu recall the other new passenger. She glanced to that side, noting that cat and bag had been tucked into the floor, between the woman's boots; Rascal sitting firmly on the door side of those same boots.

  "Toragin, your name is?" Vertu murmured. "Toragin was a Lazmeln name some generations ago, if I recall my lineages properly."

  "And is now," the woman admitted, "though for how long is a guess. I am Toragin del'Pemridj Clan Lazmeln."

  "Whatever your line, Toragin, you might take your gloves off now, and open your coat. This car is not so cold as the other, and the gloves will be holding cold. Your boots may hold some cold, too, but I have the heat up – as well as I may and still see the road – on feet."

  The young woman divested herself of her gloves, doing her best not to disturb the cat in the footwell.

  "You sound of Solcintra," she ventured. "You are?"

  Vertu glanced at the passenger wryly.

  "The Council of Clans made it possible for me to find work on Surebleak – and on Surebleak I am Vertu Dysan."

  "Ah," said the knowing tone. "And Vertu was at least twice a name in a line in Solcintra." After a short pause and a glance at Vertu she went on, "I cannot put my clan in debt for this rescue, I fear, but Chelada and I both See you, Vertu Dysan, and somewhere there will be Balance for your timely assistance."

  Vertu made a short motion with her hand – a Surebeak usage of a pilot’s shorthand –

  "Call this neighbor-work, Toragin. You would have done the same for me..."

  Neighbor work – well, that was more properly a Surebleak thing than a Liaden one as well.

  "I have no such connection," Toragin said, "Those I know here to recognize are some of Korval, and of course, the Tree beyond Korval's gate, and whoever else has shied away without formal notice, of whom there are many, I’m told. I had been neighbor to the Tree until it was chased away by the Council of Clans."

  Vertu reconciled the map in her head now with the memory of fares delivered in years past, and indeed Lazmeln’s clan house was – had been –in the physical shadow of the Tree.

  Silence for a moment or two then, which Vertu was glad of as the cab skittered on some unseen unevenness below the snowy surface.

  The silence gave way then to a cooing noise.

  Toragin had taken the purring cat into her lap and was speaking in cat-like tones, expertly petting and perhaps stroking a flank or belly. The purr fell into a breathy pant; Toragin’s posture changed as she became more alert.

  Vertu did an extra scan of the road; but saw nothing that might have claimed the other woman's attention. Instead Toragin carefully placed the cat into the bag at her feet, staring into the darkness there.

  "Is it this close to your time then?" Toragin’s voice was low. "I think I feel contractions, Chelada!"

  "Here! Yulie, hand this up to the front! The cat has need!"

  Anna was moving things and at that sound there was rustling behind Vertu’s head and then:

  "Toragin, that’s right – take this."

  This was a mostly dry blanket of bright green, threaded over the seat tops ...

  "She will not wait, or cannot," Anna said. "Help her make a better nest for her four."

  "Let Rascal come back here with us," said Mary. "There's room on the floor, and another blanket."

  Anna spoke in that other language. In the screen, Vertu saw the dog carefully jump to the seat-top and then over, into Mary's arms. Anna reached out to tug an ear, and then down he went to the floor and his own blanket.

  Vertu sped the cab up just a little, wishing she had a better idea of where they were.

  ACT FIVE

  In the Hall of the Mountain King

  THE RUCKUS ROOM HAD the air now of a council of war, with Jeeves reporting on results of scans borrowed from ships in orbit and aircraft in flight, of radio waves interpreted and – "There are two cabs thought to be on the road between here and the city proper; one driven by Vertu Dysan, carrying Yulie Shaper and other fares to his home. The other is a wild cab which may be carrying one or more passengers from Finifter’s Shave," Jeeves said. "It seems that the passengers of both cabs have consolidated, and that the House may be called upon to host eight, of whom five are known. We have not yet received permission to reveal the names of the remaining three, though this is perhaps imminent, as one of the principals has taken up recriminations."

  "Recriminations against the Tree?" Val Con murmured. "How could such a thing be so?"

  "The Tree has erred, Master Val Con. It feels its error, keenly."

  "Gotta admit, that's something new and innerestin," Miri said.

  "Perhaps not entirely new, though I allow it to be a rarity," Val Con answered, and looked to Jeeves.

  "The nature of these recriminations interests me. Do they presage violence against the Tree, or, indeed, the House? Is Korval considered a party to this – error?"

  "The Tree is attempting to ascertain the answers to these very questions," Jeeves said.

  "The travelers, as I understand, have been having an adventure, and the Tree is not acclimated to carrying on communications – conversations – with those not of Jela's Line, especially not at a distance, when the communicant is distraught. The Tree does not know this individual, merely is aware of them as a ... closely affiliated ally."

  "Or even as a one of a number of carefully engineered guard pets," Val Con murmured.

  "You are unfair, sir," Jeeves said, chidingly. "Also, I would suggest that the Tree finds itself in a unique situation, which it is working to understand, and to resolve in such a manner that all parties are satisfied – and safe. This is perhaps not the time to distract it with more recrimination."

  "You are quite correct," Val Con said. "I am insupportably rude. I withdraw my tasteless irony until such time as the Tree and myself are less dismayed by the imminent arrival of a stranger who may wish to visit harm on my lifemate and our child."

  "Thank you, sir. Your understanding is appreciated."

  Miri snorted. Val
Con sighed, and reached over to take her hand. They were occupying the pillow corner, sitting crosslegged atop the blanket, cats in various attitudes of alertness and repose scattered about. Talizea had been sent up to the nursery, accompanied by a guard of six, Mrs. pel'Esla having been directed to allow the cats to sleep with the heir, if they, and she, so desired.

  "I wonder," Val Con said now, "if you will hazard a guess as to the Tree's core problem with this recriminating individual? I understand that we are looking at approximation rather than exactitude."

  "Yes," said Jeeves, head ball glowing and pulsing in shades of orange. "It is my understanding that the Tree is dealing with the weight of ... guilt."

  "Guilt?" Miri’s startled response beat Val Con’s by a quarter second.

  "Yes. It has lately been expressing concern over decisions made long ago. The severing of Tinsori Light’s last link to the crystallized universe inspired a great deal of thought, of what might be called introspection, as if there had been a tension for centuries between the great resistance and the smaller deeds. Now that there is no great resistance to be concerned with, the importance of small deeds becomes magnified."

  A pause. The head ball flickered.

  "Guilt. Remorse. Regret – I have only analogs to work from, you understand, because the Tree’s sentience is not like yours, or mine, and it encompasses far more that we can comprehend. Simply put – now that the great resistance has collapsed, the Tree considers what it might have done – differently."

  "So it's depressed," Miri said.

  "Possibly," said Jeeves. "The analogs –"

  "Yes," said Val Con. "We deal in approximations. It is not so uncommon, when a large, all-consuming project has finally seen completion, to experience a sense of – disorientation, even sadness. A sense, perhaps, that victory ought to have been something – more."

  "Healer?" Miri murmured.

  "If so, it would need to be one of us, who grew up under branch – and received the – pardon me, the benefits of the Tree's long interaction with our bloodlines."

  Miri looked thoughtful.

  "Tree's really old," she commented. "Maybe the Clutch could help?"

  "That," said Jeeves, "is a useful thought. Collectively, the Clutch elders may be as old in this universe as the Tree was in the Crystal Universe. There is no adequate or useful comparison of age, but the Clutch sentience is far closer to the Tree’s than to human sentience – or the sentience of an Independent Logic designed by humans."

  "We ought also to consider the norbears, in that wise," said Val Con. "Perhaps we ought consult a counsel of elders."

  "Clutch, norbears, Tree, Free Logics, humans." Miri was shaking her head. "Would that include Uncle?"

  Val Con lifted his eyes to the ceiling as if seeking an answer to that question, then returned his gaze to Jeeves.

  "Do we need a Healing? Or a council of elders?"

  Jeeves' head ball dimmed somewhat, signaling deep thought.

  "I believe we do not, in the short term, need either. An informal council of elders is an idea deserving consideration. Such a council might have understood the problem of the Department much sooner. Given open information, such a council might have managed an answer to Tinsori Light as well, but such openness would not come easily."

  Miri wrinkled her nose. Val Con shook his head.

  "We shall place the council of elders aside just now. For the moment, what is required in order to honor the Tree's ambition to resolve the present situation in a manner that is both satisfactory and safe for all?"

  "I –" Jeeves began, and stopped, head ball flashing red, then returning to orange.

  "Lord Pat Rin calls via relay," he announced. "He asks first for the Road Boss. May I put him through?"

  "Of course. Here if you will."

  Miri joined Val Con at the com screen. Pat Rin was there before them, his smile wry. "My immediate need is for the Road Boss, but I also have a brief question for the delm: The next time the clan requires rescue will you please find me a clement planet to suborn?"

  "The delm," said Miri, "is sitting undertree in the puckerbrush in a stay-don't-move blizzard. The delm chooses to smile gently at your levity..."

  "Yes, I suppose they do. I thank the delm, most sincerely, for their forbearance."

  He gave a casual pilot’s hand sign – next order of business – "I have news from Mr. McFarland that Vertu Dysan is in the midst of a rescue and wishes to stop, with her passengers, and shelter at Jelaza Kazone for the evening, given the difficulty of driving. I gather contact is intermittent in this storm. Also, I’m informed that at least one of the seven passengers insists the Tree itself has issued an invitation."

  "Heard a rumor like that ourselves," Miri said. "Tree’s not being all that communicative right now."

  She heard Val Con's agreement inside her head before she saw his nod.

  "Rooms are being prepared," he said. "Pass that along if you get contact back. Otherwise, we are forewarned, and the gate will be open for them."

  "Excellent. I expect that we will speak again in the morning. Luck willing, we will not have to speak again, tonight."

  The contact ended, screen now showing a view from the spaceport – the packet ship Finifter’s Shave bathed in bright lights as snow drifted and blustered across the tarmac and receded into darkness.

  Weather aside, there was a silence in the ruckus room as the humans looked one to another, and it appeared the cats as well. Then a cat made a brief sound, and shared it again, as did another, and soon there was an undercurrent of restless feline muttering – never quite so formal as meow nor as quiet as prrt – as the gathered cats mustered themselves into a company before splitting into tribes and leaving on their own business.

  "Is it possible, Jeeves, that you might get the Tree’s attention? I ask since Miri and I will shortly settle ourselves down and consider the Tree until it considers us. The Tree must understand that whatever its past misdeeds, we must talk, and talk now, before our guests arrive."

  ACT SIX

  Scene One

  Exploring Inner Landscapes

  TORAGIN WAS NOT FLUSTERED. Say rather that she was anxious. Or perhaps it was beyond that, to something more personal and more powerful. She was, in fact, bordering on that strange cliff between awe and frustration that breeds a righteous – well, she wasn’t supposed to feel the stress that bordered on anger. Not. Supposed. To.

  She’d felt Chelada’s contractions, and was familiar enough with the process; getting the dog out of the way and the blanket down made things easier, but still, here she was having what must stand for an adventure, on a world she’d never heard of before Korval’s Tree had gone away. She was not an adventurer. She did not believe in adventures.

  But she did believe in promises.

  Promises? Oh, she’d had promises from her grandmother, who knew that Toragin’s barely socially acceptable "not of the usual-type" was something the Healers would not Heal and the matchmakers never bothered to challenge. The promise to "let the child do worthy work and have her cats" ... oh, that promise had covered pregnant cats and feral, that promise had covered mystery organizations sending cat food and cat-vets around Liad and even to Lowport – but now? Here was the result of that promise to let the child be who she was ... and Chelada’s labor was within moments of producing her first kitten in the midst of dangerous weather on a dangerous world, when she had been promised the comfort and safety of birthing those kittens beneath the Tree's very branches.

  Chelada had earned that promise. Toragin had earned the right to be taken seriously. Or so she had thought. Now it appeared that, yet again, she had no rights in the face of another's necessity. That – was such a constant in her life, she had scarcely noticed the slight.

  But Chelada.

  Chelada had been promised, and Toragin had stood witness to that promise.

  So, when it came apparent that Chelada would have kittens, Toragin had done research – she was good at research – found the new
location of the Tree, transit time, cost, and only then told her delm of the necessity of taking Chelada to the place where she might redeem her promise.

  Her delm had asked a few perfunctory questions about the potential of a secret lover having gone to ground on Surebleak, and had authorized purchase of the tickets, one way, with the understanding that a return fare would come from Toragin’s quartershare. She had also acquiesced to the demands of the nadelm, who had "grave misgivings" about Toragin's ability to travel alone, and called in the Healer who was most familiar with Toragin's case.

  To him, Toragin had said, "Yes, Chelada is pregnant and bears a promise from the great Tree of Korval. Her kittens are to be born under – they must be born under – the Tree’s protection."

  The Healer had bowed. It was, he said, apparent that Toragin believed this to be true to the very base of her being. The cat’s claim on the Tree was not as accessible as the cat’s claim on Toragin, and Toragin’s on the cat, but he allowed such claims, also, to be true, and strong. The Tree’s claim on Toragin was a matter for some consideration. Was it a child’s fascination grown into a obsession? Was it a child’s fancy grown into compulsion? If it was either, ought it to be Healed?

  The Healer thought not. The Healer, and the Hall, found the Tree disquieting. If Toragin were "Tree-mazed," said the Healer, best she was left to sort it out on her own. And if the method of sorting out was a trip to Surebleak and a confrontation, that was surely for the best.

  And now, here she was – not under the branches of the Tree, and Chelada giving birth, not safe, but in appalling danger.

  Though, they must be nearby. She could – well, hear was scarcely accurate. Not like she could hear the cats. But she felt attention on her, caught nuance, and she spoke to it, careful to keep her voice low, so as not to disturb the driver's concentration.