by Jo Clayton
The ge’mel flicked out of nothing, sat perched on the richly polished wood, its oval black eyes lively and shining with its demon laughter; its face was triangular, vaguely batlike, it had huge green jade ears with delicately ragged edges that matched the greenleaf lace on its tailend. Its wings were bone and membrane, the membrane like nubbly raw silk, green silk with tattered edges. Its body was lined and ridged, almost white about the shoulders, growing gradually greener down past the leg sockets until the taillace was a dark jade. Its four standing limbs were hard and hooked, much like those of a praying mantis, its two front limbs had delicate three-fingered hands with opposable thumbs. It held its forelimbs folded up against its body, hands pressed together as if praying. “Yes yes, new master,” it said; its voice was a high hum, not too unlike a mosquito whine, but oddly pleasant despite that. “What do you wish? I, Yimna Himmna Lute, will do it. Oyee, this is a fine table.” It pushed one of its hind limbs across the wood, making a soft sliding sound. “Lovely wood.” It tilted its little face and twinkled at T’Thelo. “Are you an important man, sirrah? I like to serve important men who do important things, it makes my wives and hatchlings happy, it gives them things to boast of when the neighbors visit.”
Maksim chuckled. “Now how in modesty could the man answer that, Yim? I’ll do it for him. Yes, little friend, he is a very important man and the work he gives you will be very important work, it might save his land and his people from a danger coming at them.”
Yimna Himmna Lute bounced happily on its hind-limbs, rubbed its dainty hands together. “Good good splendid,” it fluted. Wings fluttering in the wind of its impatience, it fixed its black beady eyes on T’Thelo (who was rather disconcerted since he had nothing for Yim to do at the moment, having called up a monster to get a look at it, only to find there was nothing monstrous about the little creature; he’d had chickens a lot more alarming and certainly worse tempered.)
“Unruffie, Yim. The man just wanted to meet you, be introduced, as it were. Voice T’Thelo meet Yimna Himmna Lute, the swiftest surest messenger in all realities. Yim, meet Hrous T’Thelo, Voice of the Land-men of Cheonea.” He waited until T’Thelo nodded and Yimna finished its elaborate meeting dance, then said, “Voice T’Thelo, now that the introductions are complete, perhaps you could send Yim back home while you think out and write out the messages you want it to carry for you.”
T’Thelo blinked, raised tangled brows. Yim gave him another elaborate bow, coaxing-a reluctant smile from him. The Voice rubbed his thumb across the smooth black obsidian, thought a moment, said, “Pi’yen Na.”
Little mouth stretched in a happy grin, Yim whiffed out like a snuffed candle.
“Cheerful little git,” T’Thelo said. He pushed his chair back, stood. “I thank you, Phoros Pharmaga, I will not waste your warning.” He followed Todichi
Yahzi to the door, gave a jerk of a bow like an afterthought and went out.
Todichi Yahzi came back and stood before Maksim; his deepset eyes had deep red fires in them. “I have served you long and well, Settsimaksimin, I have not made demands beyond my needs,” he sang in his humming garbled Cheonese, “I do not wish to leave you now, but if you die how do I go home?”
“Todich old friend, did you think I had forgot you?” Maksim got to his feet, stretched his arms out, then up, massive powerful arms, no fat on them or flab, he yawned, twiddled his long tapering fingers, held out a hand. “Come, I’ll show you.”
The bedroom was at once austere and cluttered; Todichi Yahzi clucked with distress as he followed Maksim inside. It’d been weeks since he’d been let in to clean the place. The bed was a naked flocking mattress in a lacquer frame, sheets (at least they were clean) and thick soft red blankets twisted into a complex sloppy knot and kicked against the wall. A blackened dented samovar on a wheeled table was pushed against the frame near the head of the bed, a plate with flat round ginger cookies, a sprinkle of brown crumbs and the remnants of a cheese sandwich sat on the floor by the table. A book lay open beside it, turned face down. Robes, sandals, underclothes, towels, scrolls of assorted sizes and conditions and several leather pillows were heaped on or beside rumpled rugs. Maksim crossed to a large chest with many shallow drawers. He opened one, poked through it, clicked his tongue with annoyance when he didn’t find what he was looking for, snapped the drawer shut and opened another. “Ah ah, here we are.” He lifted out a fine gold chain with a crooked glass drop dangling from it. “Here, Todich, take this.”
Todichi Yahzi held the drop in his dark leathery palm, looked down at it, gleams of purple and brown flickering in his eyes.
“When you know I’m dead, throw the drop in a fire; when it explodes, you go home. Don’t try it while I’m still alive, won’t work. And ah don’t worry about it breaking, it won’t. I’ve been meaning to give you that for months, Todich.” He lifted his braid off his neck and swiped at the sweat gathered there, rubbed his hand down his side. “Every time I thought of it, something came up to distract me. You understand what to do?”
Todichi Yahzi nodded, closed his fingers tight about the drop. His chest rose, fell. After a tense silence, he sang, “May the day I burn this be many years off.” He looked around, shuddered. “Maksim friend, will you please please let me clean this… this room?”
A rumbling chuckle. “Why not, old friend. I’ll be below.”
Todichi fluted a few shapeless sounds, fidgeted from foot to foot. “I will work quickly. And you, my friend, you take care, don’t spend yourself to feed your curiosity, come back and rest, eat, sleep.”
Maksim smiled, squeezed Todichi’s meager gray-furred shoulder with gentle affection, snapped to his subteranean workroom.
Danny Blue yawned, smiled across the fire at Brann. This night was much darker than the last, clouds were piling up overhead, wind that was heavy with water lifted and fell, lifted and fell, there was a sharp nip in the air, a threat of frost come the morning. She was seen and unseen, face and hands shining red-gold when the dying flames flared, slipping into shadow again when they dropped. Made irritable by the electricity from the oncoming storm, the changers were out in the dark somewhere, male and female mountain cats chasing each other, working off an excess of energy as they ran sentry rounds about the camp. “He doesn’t seem to care that we’re in the Plain.”
Her knees were drawn up, her forearms rested on them, she held a mug of tea with both hands and was sitting looking down at it, her face empty of expression as if her thoughts were so far away there was no one left behind the mask. When he spoke, she lifted her head, gazed thoughtfully at him. “Is that what you think?”
“Me? Think? Who am Ito think?”
She, gave him a slow smile. “Ahzurdan I think, hmm?”
“Ahzurdan is dead. Daniel Akamarino is dead. I’m Azure Dan the magic man, Danny Blue the New. Three weeks old, alive and kicking, umbilical intact, chain umbilical welded in place, no surgeon’s knife for me; the Chained God jerks and I dance, don’t I dance a pretty dance?”
“A personal, intrusive god isn’t so attractive now, /limn?”
“It’s like trying to reason with a tornado, you might come out of the experience alive but never intact. And whenever you try, you don’t make a dent in the wind.”
She smiled, a slow musing smile that irritated him because it seemed to say I have, I have dented a god more than once, Danny Blue, when you talk about wind, whose wind do you mean? She said nothing, looked at her mug with a touch of surprise as if she’d forgotten she was holding it. She sipped at the cooling tea and gazed into the puzzle play of red and black across the coals of the little fire. She was strong, serene, contented with who and what she was, she had already won her battle with the god, she’d got what she wanted out of him, freedom for herself and the changers, all she was doing now was paying off that debt; anger flashed through him, a bitter anger that wanted to see her bruised, bleeding, weeping, groveling at his feet; part of him was appalled by the vision, part of him reveled in it, all of him wanted to
break the surface of her somehow and get at whatever it was that lay beneath the mask. “Sleep with me tonight.”
“I smell like a wet mule.”
“Who doesn’t. What you mean is not before the children.”
“What I mean is, what you see is what you get.”
“If I didn’t want it, would I ask for it?”
“Would you?”
“You keep your hands off my soul and I’ll keep mine off yours, it’s your body I want.”
She smiled, slid her eyes over him. “It’s a point. Why not.”
“A little enthusiasm might help.”
“A little more Akamarino in the mix might help.”
“I thought you didn’t like him much.”
“I liked his hands, not his mouth, rather what came out his mouth.”
“Akamarino is dead.”
“You said that.”
“You don’t seem to believe it.”
“I do, Dan. I don’t like thinking about it, I…” Her mouth twisted. “Why not. No doubt the god knows quite well how I feel. Somehow I’m going to make it hurt for that, Dan. I don’t know how right now and I wouldn’t tell you if I did. You intend to keep talking?”
Maksim lay stretched out in his tiltchair, watching the mirror, listening to the conversation. His hair hung loose about his shoulders, the sleeveless workrobe was pulled carelessly about him, a fold of it tucked between BinYAHtii and his skin, his legs were crossed at the ankles and his fingers laced loosely across his stomach. The chair was set parallel to the table so he could reach out and touch the mirror if he wished. For the past several days he’d been snatching scarce moments between conferences to watch what was happening in the mountains and the Forkker Vale, puzzled for a while by the male figure who rode with Brann and the changers. The mirror followed him as if he were Ahzurdan, yet he was not, he was at least a span taller, he was broader in the shoulders, his face was different, though there were hints of Ahzurdan in it as if this man might have been one of his half-brothers. Several times Maksim had focused the mirror on his face, but he couldn’t get it clear, the lines blurred and wavered, the closer he got the less he could see, though he could hear most of what the man said. That blurring was something he associated with Daniel Akamarino when he joined Brann and Ahzurdan in Silagamatys. By the time they reached the Vale Maksim had an idea what the Chained God had done, though he couldn’t wholly accept where his logic led him, it seemed so unlikely and he couldn’t dredge up a reason for doing it, but listening to this hybrid Danny Blue, announce the deaths of the men that made him, he had no choice, he had to believe it. Why was it done? What did it mean? He brooded over those questions as he watched Danny Blue get to his feet, move round the fire to join Brann on her blankets. There was that odd and effective weapon Daniel had brought with him from his reality. I’ll have to get that away from him somehow before they get here. He watched the maneuverings that combined caresses with the shedding of clothing and decided that trousers were a nuisance he was pleased to have avoided most of his life. The vest went. It’s in there, in one of those pockets. He leaned over, tried to focus the mirror on the vest but the blurring was worse than with the man. They’re close enough, maybe I can… He reached for the vest and tried to snap it to him. He couldn’t get a grip on it. He hissed with annoyance and returned the mirror to its former overlook. They’ll be on the Plain early tomorrow, he thought, what do I do about that? I think I leave it to T’Thelo and whatever he contrives. Ha! Look at that, oh, Baby Dan, you’re not so dead after all, I know your little ways, oh yes I do…”
“Dan, I’m here too.” When he didn’t bother listening to her, she pushed his hand off her breast and started wriggling away from him.
He caught one of her wrists, pinned it to the ground beside her shoulder, slapped her face lightly to let her know who was in charge. He grinned at her when she relaxed, laughed in triumph when she stroked his face with her free hand. That was the last thing he saw or felt.
When he woke, his head was wet, there were jagged pebbles and twigs poking him in tender places, a damp blanket was thrown over him. Brann dropped the depleted waterskin beside him and stalked off. She was dressed, her hair was combed and she looked furious but calm. She sat down on the blanket she’d moved across the fire from him and watched him as he chased the fog from his head.
“I was raped once,” she said. “Once. I wasn’t quite twelve at the time, I was tired, sleeping, I didn’t know what was happening to me but I wanted it to stop, so I stopped it. I got a lot more than an ounce of jism from that man, Dan, something you should remember. The kids dumped his body in the river for me. Ahzurdan, if you’re in there somewhere, you also should remember what happened to your grandfather when he decided it was a good idea to slap me around. Do you know why you’re alive? Don’t bother answering, I’m going to tell you. I pay my debts. When I say I’ll do something, I do it. Damn you, Dan, that’s the second time you’ve got me wound up and left me hanging. Believe me, there won’t be a third time. I’m a Drinker of Souls, Danny Blue, get funny with me and you’ll ride to Silagamatys in a vegetable dream.”
Maksim smiled as he watched Danny Blue sleep; the hybrid twitched at intervals; at intervals he moved his lips and made small sucking sounds like a hungry baby. Across the dead fire, Brann was in her blankets, sleeping on her side, knees drawn up, arms curled loosely about them, her pillow the waterskin, newly plumped out from the river nearby; now and then there was a small catch in her breath not quite a snore and she was scowling as if no matter how deeply she slept she took her anger with her. “I like you, Drinker of Souls, Forty Mortal Hells, I do, but I wish you smudged your honor some and let Baby Dan chase you off. AAAh! I owe him a favor, a favor for a lesson, no no, more than a lesson, it’s a warning. You don’t get within armlength of me, Brann, you or your changeling children.”
A long lean cat slipped through the camp, nosed at the sleeping man, went pacing off, a whisper of a growl deep in his? yes, his throat. “Hmm, I wouldn’t want to be in your sandals, Danny Blue, the changers are not happy with you. Aaah! that’s an idea, good cat g0000d, next time through you might let your claws slip a little, yes yes?” He got heavily to his feet, thumbed off the mirror and snapped to his rooms.
Todichi Yahzi was whuffling softly in a stuffed chair, having gone to sleep as he waited for Maksim to return. Maksim bent over him, smiled as he caught the glint of gold in the short gray fur on his neck; Todich was wearing the chain. Maksim shook him awake. “Now what are you doing, Todich? Go to bed. I’ll do the same soon as I’ve had my bath.”
Todichi yawned, worked his fingers. “Yim showed up with a message from T’Thelo,” he humspoke. “Sent it to me not you because mmmm I think he was frightened of what Yim might carry back to him. He said Servant Bulan wanted mightily to know what you said to him, said he said you wanted him, T’Thelo, to assemble a report on the village schools, that you said it was important right now to know how the children were doing, what the teachers and landsmen were thinking. He’s slyer than I thought he was, that old root, I thought you were making a mistake talking to him like that. He said that he, T’Thelo, is going to do that along with the rest, it will be a good camouflage for the other things he has to do, besides it’s something that needs doing.” He passed his hand over his skull, smoothing down the rough gray fur that was raised in ridges from the way he’d been sleeping. “The scroll Yim brought is in there on the bed, there’s some more in it, but I’ve given you the heart of the matter. Mmmm. I sent a stone sprite to overlook Bulan, he called his core clique at the Grand Yron to the small meeting room off his quarters, he harrangued them some about loyalty, said some obscure things about a threat to Amortis and the Servant Corps and told them to send out Servants they could trust to visit the Kriorns of all the villages to find out what’s happening there. The Strataga went nightfishing with his aides, I sent some ariels to see what he was up to, but you know how limited they are and the Godalau was swimming around near harborm
outh, they don’t like her and won’t stay anywhere near her. So I don’t know what they were saying, they were still out when I went to sleep, I made a note of which ariels I sent, you can probably get a lot more out of them than I could. The Kephadicast did a lot of pacing, but he didn’t talk to anyone, he wrote several notes that he sealed and sent out to Subdicasts here in Silagamatys, asking them to meet with him day after tomorrow, I haven’t a notion why he’s putting the meeting off that long. Harbormaster went home, ate dinner, went to bed. No pacing, no talking, no notes. I wrote all this up, every detail I could wring out of the watchers, Maksim. The report is on your bed beside T’Thelo’s note. The next council meeting is tomorrow afternoon, what do you want me to do about all this mmmm?”
“Go to bed, Todich, you’ve done more than enough for tonight. I’ve got to think.” Todichi Yahzi looked disapproving, pressed his lips tight as if he were holding back the scarifying scold he wanted to give. Maksim chuckled, a deep burring that seemed to rise from his heels and roll out of his throat. He stretched mightily, yawned. “But not tonight, old friend, tonight I sleep. Go go. Tomorrow I’ll be working you so hard you won’t have time to breathe. Go.”
Unable to sleep though he knew he should, Maksim pulled a cloak about his shoulders, looked down at the naked legs protruding dark and stately from his nightshirt, laughed and shook his head. “Be damned to dignity.” He snapped to the high ramparts and stood looking down over his city.
Clouds were blowing up out of the west and the moon was longgone, it was very dark. Silagamatys was a nubbly black rug spread out across the hills, decorated here and there with splotches and pimples of lamplight and torchfire except near the waterfront where the tavern torches lit the thready fog into a muted sunset glow. The Godalau floated in the bay’s black water, moving in and out of the fog, her translucent body lit from within, Tungjii riding black and solid on her massive flank. She drifted past Deadfire Island, a barren heap of stone out near the harbor’s mouth; her internal illumination brushed a ghostly gray glimmer over its basalt slopes. She passed on, taking her glimmer with her and Deadfire was once more a shadow lost in shadows. Maksim leaned on the parapet, looking thoughtfully at the black absence. I let them leave my city and I lost them. Mmm. Might have lost them anyway and half the city with them. Deadfire, Deadfire… yes, I think so. He laughed softly, savoring the words. Live and die on Deadfire, I live you die, Drinker of Souls and you, Danny Blue. Let the Godalau swim and Tungjii gibber, they can’t reach me there, and your Chained God, hah! Brann oh Brann, sweet vampire lass, don’t count on him to help. The stone reeks of me, it’s mine, step on it and it will swallow you. He reached through the neckslit of the nightshirt and smoothed his hand across BinYAHtii. You too, eh? Old stone, that’s your stone too, you’ve fed it blood and bones. There’s nothing they’ve got that can match us… mmm… except those changers, I’ll have to put my mind to them. Send them home? Send them somewhere, yesss, that’s it, if they’re not here, they’re no problem. He stroked BinYAHtii. It might take Amortis to throw them out, Forty Mortal Hells, the Fates forfend, I’d have to figure a way to implant a spine in her. He gazed down at the city with an unsentimental fiercely protective almost maternal love. Blood of his blood, bone of his bone, his unknown M’darjin father had no part in him beyond the superficial gifts of height and color, his mother and Silagamatys had the making of him. Amortis! may her souls if she’s got them rot in Gehannum’s deepest hell for what she’s done to you my city. To you and to me. If I did not still need her… He shivered and pulled his cloak closer about his body. The rising waterheavy wind bit to the bone. Out in the bay the Godalau once more drifted past Deadfire. Maksim pushed away the long coarse hair that was whipping into his mouth and eyes. That’s it, then. We meet on Deadfire, Drinker of Souls, Danny Blue. Four more days. That’s it. He shivered. So I’d better get some sleep, I’ve underestimated the three now two of you before, I won’t do it again.
