The Burning Ground tst-2

by Jo Clayton

  Guard yourselves. Be not alone.

  Believe me or not, it does no harm to be sure. Blessed be Linojin.

  May its peace endure.

  11

  The Trivadda is the sign of decisions. The parting of ways, The sundering of past and present.

  Chapter 9

  1. Transit

  With filthy water lapping at xe’s heels, Thann scrambled up the ladder in the maintenance shaft. It was corroded and shaky and, from the layers of crud on the rungs, hadn’t been visited since the war began. The darkness in the shaft was thick, impenetrable.

  A rung sagged suddenly as xe put xe’s weight on it and xe slipped. For a moment xe hung from one hand while xe’s feet felt for lower rungs. Xe’s free hand waved about, went past the outside of the ladder into an opening beside it, fingers plunging into light-weight, granular rubble. Xe jerked xe’s hand back, knocked it into a rung, and grabbed onto it.

  When xe’d caught xe’s breath, xe wrapped an arm about a rung and began exploring that hollow place. It was a shallow niche half filled with litter, big enough to hold xe. Trying not to think about what xe was touching, Thann scraped away much of the dry, crumbling rubbish, swung off the ladder and made xeself comfortable in the niche.

  Xe leaned back, closed xe’s eyes and set xeself to begin a thinta search for Isaho, not really expecting to find her within xe’s range. Xe thought xe’d have to have to get into the Fort and sneak about the streets, testing places xe couldn’t reach otherwise. This workshaft must go somewhere. Any thought of moving, though, would have to wait until after nightfall. Xe reached out as far as xe could and began sweeping the thinta in a circle…

  Xe laughed aloud as xe touched a pair of familiar fires-the peddler and his cretinous son. He was raging while the mallit was a bundle of sullen resentment.

  Thann tracked them for a while, built up a picture of a haphazard search by a mal who hadn’t the beginnings of an idea where to look for xe. At first that was satisfying, but xe’s complacency faded when the peddler stood still for what felt like an eon. His rage died down until only embers were left, overlaid by a sense of cool but intense thought.

  A moment later he was marching away, taking his son with him.

  Thann scratched the fold in xe’s upper lip, puzzled by his actions. With a sigh, xe dropped the touch and went back to xe’s search. The few clues the thinta had brought xe were not sufficient to let xe even guess what he meant to do.

  Xe reached further and nearly fell out of the niche. Isaho! She wasn’t in the town at all. She was on one of the ships tied up out there.

  Bait! He’s going to use Isaho as bait to catch me.

  Thann steadied xe’s breathing and drew the thinta back into xeself; xe was afraid to touch the child more deeply because it would distract xe from what xe had to do. If Isaho was on a ship, xe had to get to her, but there was no way xe could get onto that ship with these chains on xe’s arms and legs.

  Xe shifted position, got the fork and spoon from xe’s trouser pocket, grimacing at the reek of xe’s clothing. Xe probably should have hidden the trousers and shirt somewhere outside, but xe hadn’t thought of that, and it was too late now.

  Working by touch and using the handle of the spoon as a lever, xe bent one of the tines back from the others so xe had a. short stiff probe. Xe set the spoon beside xe, worked the cuff on xe’s, left leg around so xe could get at the lock, then began trying to lift the wards. It was a simple lock, xe’d seen the key, it couldn’t have more than two wards, all xe needed was patience and care… again and again xe thought xe had it, pushed a little too hard so the probe slipped or turned in xe’s hand… again and again xe lost the wards… again and again xe took a deep breath and tried once more…

  Xe felt the click through xe’s whole body. One ward lifted. Xe tugged at the cuff-gently-but the lock still held. The second ward surrendered more quickly now that xe had the feel in xe’s hands. Xe opened the cuff and sat a moment with xe’s eyes squeezed shut, xe’s hands pressed hard against xe’s thighs to stop the shaking, then xe went to work on the second cuff.

  The leg irons made a satisfying splash when xe dropped them into the water.

  The lock on the left wrist cuff came open with no fuss, but using xe’s left hand to pick the last lock was frustration multiplied. That hand was stiff and awkward and lacked the delicacy of touch of the right. Again and again the probe slipped off the ward. Xe’s hand started shaking and twice xe nearly dropped the fork over the edge.

  After the second time near disaster, xe set the fork down at the back of the niche, moving carefully, slowly because xe’s hand wouldn’t quit trembling. Xe set the palms of xe’s hands on the sides of the niche, cold stone, God’s gift to the builder. Xe narrowed xe’s mind to that, called the strength and solidity of the stone to come into xe and prayed for the calm that would let xe finish the task and swim to the boat where Isaho waited.

  When all the words were gone from xe’s head, when prayer was gone, xe went back to the simple rhymes xe’d taught Isaho so many years ago, the night prayers before she climbed into bed, the morning prayers before she started her day. Over and over xe said them until a vast lassitude filled xe.,

  Perhaps xe slept a while. It was likely xe slept because time slipped away and there were dreams-at least, xe thought there were dreams though xe couldn’t remember what they were.

  Too mind-dulled and limp to be afraid or even to care whether xe succeeded or not, xe took up the fork and inserted the tineprobe into the lock.

  A moment later the wrist irons followed the leg irons into water.

  The splash took a lot longer. Xe frowned. Time? How much time had passed? Xe scraped up a handful of the debris on the floor of the niche, dropped it. Listening to the slap of the water against the stone. Xe must have slept and while xe was dreaming, the tide had turned. It was going out. Ships went out on the tide.

  Hastily xe sent the thinta searching.

  Isaho was still there. But… oh, God, the activity around her, the mix of anxiety, anger, the dregs of a long drunk, the lassitude of too much sex, impatience, greed… all that urgency on and around that ship. They were getting ready to leave. Could be sailing out any time now. And-yes-the peddler was nearby. Not-moving. Sense of patience and malice. Yes. Waiting for xe to come for Isaho.

  Xe took several deep breaths, then dropped xeself into the water.

  Thann clutched at the cross beam and gasped until the dizziness left xe and the worst of the shaking stopped. Without the suction from the receding tide, xe would have drowned in that hole. Xe whispered a blessing to God for One’s care, then began making xe’s way toward the ship that held Isaho.

  When xe was clear of the outfall, in water marginally cleaner, xe became aware of the stench that xe brought with xe. Though the delay put knots in all of xe’s stomachs, xe backed as deeply’into shadow as xe could, stripped off xe’s clothing, dipped and squeezed it, rubbed it against the tarred sides of the heavy piles; xe sniffed at the tunic and trousers, repeated the washing and rubbing until xe was mostly smelling tar and fish.

  Dressed again, xe swam and wriggled xe’s way along, passing directly under the peddler; xe couldn’t see him, thought he must be sitting on one of the bales xe’d seen scattered about the wharves. Watching for me, xe thought, vumah vumay, let him watch.

  Staying in the shadow under the wharf, xe crept along beside the ship, listening to the grinding and squealing as the waves rubbed the fenders against the heavy planks.

  The mooring on the far side was empty and xe got a better view as xe clung to a cross beam and examined the ship. It was a coastal steamer, one of those with the stubby masts kept for use if the engines died and the ship started drifting toward the Fence. The davits were groaning and squealing as they lifted the loading nets and swung them round, lowering cargo through one of the gaping hatches along the deck, or depositing it on the deck itself. Crewmals swarmed everywhere, guiding the nets, loading crates and bales on dollies and shoving the
m into stowage areas.

  Thann drew several quick breaths, then jackknifed deep into the murky green water, down and down until xe was swimming below the huge twin screws. Using the ship’s shadow as guide, xe kicked upward and surfaced to the slap slap of a net dangling just above her head. Blessing God for the chance, xe scrambled up the net without considering why it hung there, tumbled over the rail and in among a haphazard huddle of bales.

  By the time xe’d caught xe’s breath, xe realized the net was there to pin down those bales; it was a more professional equivalent of the old sail the peddler pulled over his goods. Which meant xe had to get out of there as soon as xe could, because the crewmals could be along any time to sort out the mess and get it properly stowed, the net hauled over and tied down.

  Xe lowered xeself onto xe’s toes and elbows and crept to the rail, then along it until xe reached a section of deck cargo that was already prepared. Xe realized why once she wriggled under the net and into the tiny open space between the outcurve of the rail and the sides of the crates. There was offworld writing in red which-xe couldn’t read, but scrawled over it in black paint the word DANGER, under that: Pellet rifles. Ammo. Grenades. Mines.

  Xe knew then where the ship was bound. The neutral cities of Impixol. Icisel, Gajul, Yaqshowal. Where anybody could buy anything they wanted. Weapons. Girls. And anyas, xe reminded xeself.

  Xe wriggled on, found a gap between odd-sized crates that was just big enough to hold xe and settled there to wait for the ship to finish loading and slip its moorings. Xe had no water, no food, xe’s clothing was soaked and already xe was beginning to shiver from a chill, but xe was safe for the moment and Isaho was somewhere below xe. The rest could wait.

  2. Decision

  Wintshikan laid out the cards and frowned at them, then glanced irritably at the radio Luca had found in the gear of the thieves. It was sitting on one of the packsaddles a short distance off, turned as loud as it would go, blaring out tinny, static-ridden music.

  Luca and Wann were dancing what had once been a sacred dance from the Great Gathers, turning it into something wild and corrupt that troubled Wintshikan, especially when she saw how entranced Zaro and Kanilli were. That was the Mating Dance. They were too young to even see that.

  Zell patted her arm, whistled a soft, comforting chirrup. +The last reading said Change,+ xe signed. +What God has set going, Pixa will not stop. Read the cards, Wintashi.+

  They’d left the foothills behind a little past midafternoon and reached this barren shore as the sun went down, the back end of a long narrow bay like a blue finger of brine. There was no fresh water, so the place was left to the wind and the sand and the long-legged brown birds that ran along that sand.

  Wintshikan touched the base card. “Death again. No matter how I mix them, Death is always the base card, Zizi.”

  +I think it’s that we aren’t ready to be reborn yet.+

  “It could be.” She contemplated the determinants. “Cauldron, Spindle, Drum. Cauldron with Spindle, that’s a plot. A plan is cooking and we’re part of the stew. I don’t understand the Drum being there. Rhythm, music? The plot’s march? Or that God-cursed radio interfering? I don’t know, Zizi. Have you any notion?”

  +It will come clear later, such things always do.+

  “I’ve no patience these days, I’ll admit that. Hm. The guides. The Eye of God. A blessing. That is a comfort. The Balance. Seek the balance when the change is done. Ah, Zizi, I’m afraid when that Balance comes, it will be so strange I won’t recognize it.”

  She gathered the cards, began wrapping them in the silk scarf, troubled eyes on the children dancing and giggling while the others snapped their fingers in time with the music from the radio.

  The music stopped. A man spoke. “For all those who have suffered, we play these songs. Let the killing stop.”

  A woman’s voice came into the sudden stillness of the camp, strong, pure, unaccompanied, something about it that reached under the skin.

  “Child of the hill,child of the city

  Why do you march so happy to war? happy happy happy to war

  Oh, Pixa upon your barren rock

  Do I bend my neck in feigned complicity, march at your beck to the chopping block? chop chop the chopping block

  Oh, Impix who bends and burns the heart of God in funeral urns: your factories foul, your mills. bow your head indeed and as you bleed in blessed simplicity

  Praise the god who yearns for your return yearns oh yearns for your return.

  I hide at my back the hacking knife in fatal duplicity.

  I hold your head low let the blood flow. let it flow, let it flow.

  From my leather jack

  I drink your life.

  So.

  Child of the city, child of the hill

  What will you do when all breath is still?

  What will you do when there’s no one to kill? (the voice rose to the word kill until it was a crystal knife pointed at the heart, then dropped so the next words were tender, dulcet.)

  What will you do when there’s only you two?

  What will you do?”

  Luca made a face and shut off the radio. She reached out for Wann, hugged xe tightly for a moment, then she laughed and spun away. “Mouth music,” she cried. “Let us have mouth music and finger music and Zaro and Kanilli will dance for us and chase the sorrow away.”

  In the morning the radio was playing again as they rode along the shore of the inlet, mostly music, some news.

  … bombardment of Khokuhl continues. The city is still holding against the attempts of the Pixa fighters to enter and destroy the Impix command there. Reports have come from the far south that the declared neutrality of Yaqshowal has for the first time been violated by artillery forces and repeated incursions by so far unidentified phelas apparently intent on raiding the storehouses for weapons, fartalk radios and other items of use in the war..”

  It was easy going, the sand hardpacked and more or less level; there were a few patches of scraggly brush hardly higher than the ankle, but the rest of the green was mostly a mix of sea grass and broadleaf weeds. The jomayls walked steadily along, their necks curving in an easy arc, their dark crimson eyes half shut. Luca and Wann rode ahead, nearly out of sight, scouting for them, Nyen and Hidan rode rearguard. Wintshikan walked along near the middle of the line, leading the first of the packers, Zell perched on its panthers, Xaca and the children following with the others. She tried not to listen to the radio, focused instead on the sounds of the hooves: Crunch crunch, doin’ the job, doin’ the job.

  … and here’s a song for all young bonclers, setting up families in hope and trust.”

  “Anya Alina, oh, love of our hearts, be the true bond that closes our ring, Anya Alina, oh, star of our…”

  Around midmorning the land on the right began to tilt upward. The brush was taller and thornier, there were patches of berry vines with canes so thick with thorns that they resembled saw blades. Wintshikan began to see trees again, wind-twisted nyenzas and bushy bohalas. Long-legged brown birds ran on the sand and songbirds hid among the foliage. Large white seabirds rode the winds high overhead, their raucous calls falling like stones through the blare of the music from the radio.

  Luca and Wann were out of sight for a short time as the line of jomayls began to turn the end of the hills to start north again. They came galloping back. Luca slid off her mount and held up a hand to stop the others.

  “There’s a village about half an hour on. It backs up onto the shore, and there’s a wall around it, the trunks of lekath trees with the limbs chopped off and the top ends sharpened to points. We need water, but they don’t look very friendly.”

  Wintshilcan frowned. “We’re Pilgrims. Surely…”

  Luca shrugged. “How do they know that? If we’d trusted Old Bukha, we’d be bones for the boyals to fight over.”

  “There’s truth in that. How much open space is there in front of that wall? Enough so all but one can wait and be safe from the gun
s they’ll have?”

  “Far as we could tell.”

  “Good.” She took the Shawl from Zell and wrapped it round her shoulders to show she was speaking as Heka of the Remnant. I am still that, she thought. For a while yet. “Listen to what I say. The Remnant will stop out of range and line up so that the villagers can see that you are ferns, anyas, and children. I am what I am and it’s easy enough to see what that is. I’ll do the approaching and the talking. Luca, if you see anything that bothers you, get the Remnant away. If I can talk myself loose, I’ll join you. If not, so be it.”

  Zell tugged at her arm. +I’m going with you.+

  “No, Zell. Anyas in this war attract more evil than ferns and mals combined. Come with me and you may bring on trouble that wouldn’t happen otherwise.” A knot twisted tight around her heart as she saw the pain in her anya’s eyes, but Zell knew she spoke the truth though it was a very hard truth. “If they won’t give us water, at least they may tell us where to find some.” She glanced at the sun. “The day’s sliding away from us. We’d best get started.”

  There were mals on the wall, standing behind the pales, silent, stone-faced, looking down at Wintshikan as she crossed the open sand and stopped before the door. She looked up. “I am Wintshikan Heka of the Remnant of Ixis Shishi. We are Pilgrims bound for Linojin and mean harm to none. We have no water and would ask of you, give us water or tell us where to find it.”

  The mals looked at each other, then one of them leaned over and spoke. “That all there are of you? I don’t see any mals.”

  “Our mals are dead. We are the Remnant of Shishim.”

  “Those little ‘ns, they anyas, huh?”

  “The littlest are femlits, but, yes, there are anyas among us. Will you give us water? Will you help us on the way to Linojin?”

  “Why go on? We can give you shelter here.”

  “We have sworn an Obligation to visit the Grave of the Prophet and pray for our dead. Until this is done, we cannot think of our own needs.”