“We’re still around. We just stay in one place longer than we used to. We’re still free people, though.”
“I hope I’m around the day you try to leave Coransee.”
“You probably will be. That time’s coming fast. You know, we’re supposed to be talking about mutes.”
Teray let himself be shifted back. “All right. Tell what you know about mute abuse here in the House.”
She turned and looked at Suliana. The mute woman seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Apparently Amber felt it more important that she rest than that she eat at once.
“Open,” said Amber. “I’ll give it to you all at once.”
He was not completely comfortable opening to her. After all, if she had chosen to stay with Coransee, she must have felt some loyalty to him. But then, what could she pick up from Teray that Coransee did not already know? What difference did it make? He opened.
What she handed him made him feel as though he had suddenly been dropped into a cesspool. He digested the list of atrocities weakly, revising his thinking. He had thought Jason an animal for what he had done to Suliana. Now he knew that alongside some others, Jason could qualify as the House humanitarian. No one actually killed mutes, but certain of the outsiders and women made a grotesque game of coming as close to killing them as they could. Having two mutes fight each other, for instance, until one of them was so mutilated and broken that he could no longer control his body enough to fight on. Privileges and possessions were wagered on these fights. And there was a certain Patternist woman who had made an art form of controlling and changing the development of unborn mute children. Already she had created several misshapen monstrosities that had to be destroyed. She got away with what she did because infants and even older children, Patternist or mute, were considered expendable. Those who were defective in some irreparable way were routinely destroyed.
There was an outsider who had researched ancient methods of torture and made a hobby of trying them on mutes. Another outsider took sexual pleasure in stabbing a mute with a kitchen knife several times. And there was a woman who …
Teray shielded wearily and shook his head. “Amber, has this been going on while I’ve been here?”
“Not much of it. People know you’re strong, and they’re cautious. And too, most people repair the damage after they’ve done it—or they call me. But Jason had apparently decided that you’re not going to be any more of a problem than Jackman was.”
“How can Coransee let all this go on? He must know about some of it at least.”
Amber looked away. “He knows. I’ve told him often enough myself. He won’t let me do anything about it unless I give up my independence and settle here. I don’t think he’ll stop me, though, if all I do is help his muteherd avoid getting killed.”
“But doesn’t he care that his mutes are being tortured?”
“There’s only one thing he cares about right now. And even though I understand his problem, it’s driving me away from him.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You ought to know better than I do.” She looked at him curiously. “You’re his brother. Jackman told everybody that. Full brother. I wouldn’t be surprised to find you just like him—sitting around waiting for Rayal to die so you can try to win the Pattern.”
Startled and suspicious, Teray spoke carefully. “I’m not after the Pattern,” he said. “As I told Coransee, I want my freedom and a chance to establish a House of my own. That’s all.”
She looked at him for a long moment, one eyebrow lifted. “I think you’re telling the truth. Which is surprising. Coransee wants the Pattern the way you and I want to go on breathing. It’s just about that basic. If somebody stopped me from healing, I might be the way he is now—climbing the walls.”
“He didn’t seem that way to me.”
“He can’t afford to seem that way. But if you were a healer, you’d know. Or just if you’d known him longer. He does things to people now, or lets things be done, that he would never have tolerated two years ago when I met him.”
“All because he wants the Pattern so badly.”
“More than wants—needs. Holding the Pattern is what he was born to do, and it needs doing. He was all right when Rayal was doing an adequate job of holding it. Now … Rayal has all he can do to keep himself alive, and it might be better for the people if he didn’t even do that. The people need a new Patternmaster, and believe me, it’s a need Coransee can feel. But he doesn’t dare do anything about it until Rayal lets go.”
“You think you know a lot about it.”
“I’m a good healer. I can’t help knowing.”
“If you’re right, it seems to me there’s not much more wrong with Coransee than there is with Jason and probably a lot of other people in this House. They’re confined here together with people they’re far from in the Pattern, and denied the right to do work that would have meaning to them—and denied a few other important things.”
She nodded. “And you see what it’s doing to them, what it’s driving them to do. Think of the damage Coransee could do if he really gave way to his frustration.”
“Don’t think he isn’t giving way to it just because you see him.”
“You’re still alive.”
He jumped, and stared at her, wondering how much she knew. “All right. But if he can neglect his House the way he obviously has and allow the kind of perversion that goes on here, I’m afraid to even think of what he’ll do if he takes on the larger responsibility of holding the Pattern.”
“No need to be. Once he has the Pattern, once desire for it isn’t eating him alive, then he’ll be able to settle down and attend to the details of protecting and leading the people. The way he protected and led his House before Rayal’s health got so bad.”
“You’re biased,” he said. “You care about him. You can make excuses for him.”
She shrugged. “Anything else I can tell you to help with your mutes?” She was getting up to go.
“No. I guess I’ll get this one back to her room.” He looked at Suliana, then at the meal he had ordered. “Shouldn’t she eat?”
“When she wakes up. Why don’t you keep her here? She’s well enough.”
“Mind your own business.”
She laughed, then sobered. “Just keep her away from Jason. That will be plenty for me.” She went out the door, leaving Teray staring after her, frowning. She was next to him in the Pattern. So close that he could have had a free, effortless, almost-involuntary communication with her. In fact, Teray had had to make a conscious effort to avoid such communication once he had accepted information from her mentally. Best to keep away from her. If he did manage to learn something that would help him against Coransee, he didn’t want to inadvertently give it to her just because they communicated so easily.
He glanced once more at Suliana, then cast around the House for Jason. The man was in his room, sleeping peacefully. Teray headed toward his room.
Three minutes later, Jason was wide awake and protesting indignantly from the floor where Teray had thrown him after he’d dragged him out of bed. Jason was not hurt, not afraid. He was angry. Angry enough to lash out hard at Teray without first noticing what the Pattern could have told him about Teray’s strength. He was strong himself, according to the Pattern; nevertheless, it would have been prudent for him to find out what he could about his opponent before he attacked.
But Teray had not wanted him to be prudent.
Teray absorbed the first wild blow and instantly traced it back to its source, through Jason’s shield. Jason was strong all right, but he had no speed. Now Teray held him, left him no more control over what happened to him than he had left Suliana. Teray extended his own screening and enveloped Jason in it so that he could not call for help. Then, quietly, methodically, Teray held the man conscious and beat him. Beat him until he begged Teray to stop, and on until he no longer had the strength to beg.
Finally, Teray gave him a parting thought and
let him lose consciousness. Touch another of my mutes, he sent, and you’ll find out just how gentle I’ve been with you.
Jason passed out without replying. There was nothing permanently wrong with him, no physical injury at all. But Teray had made certain that he suffered at least as much as he had caused Suliana to suffer.
Back in Teray’s room, Suliana was awake and eating ravenously. She looked up, frightened, as he came in, and he smiled to reassure her.
“I thought I was going to have to carry you back to your room,” he told her.
“I don’t have to go back to Jason?” Her voice was soft, tentative.
“You don’t have to go back to Jason. Ever.”
“I don’t belong to him anymore?”
“That’s right.”
She sighed. “Jackman said that once.”
“I’m not Jackman. And after the … discussion I just had with Jason, I don’t think he’ll bother you again.”
She looked at him uncertainly, as though she still did not know whether to believe him. He could have set her mind at ease immediately, simply by directing her to believe, directing her even to forget Jason. That was the way mutes were usually handled. Teray preferred to let her find out for herself. He found himself unwilling to tamper with the mutes’ minds any more than he absolutely had to. They were intelligent. They could think for themselves if anyone ever gave them the chance.
“If I don’t have to go back to Jason,” said Suliana, “why can’t I stay here?”
Teray looked at her in surprise, then took a good look at her. She was small and thin—too thin, really. But she had an appealing, almost childlike kind of prettiness. And there had still been no one since Iray.
“You can stay if you want to,” he said.
She stayed.
He worried at first that he might forget himself and hurt her, but he programmed himself by his Jackman memories, made the restrictions of his self-programming automatic. Suliana enjoyed the small amount of mental stimulation that she could tolerate, and Teray enjoyed her pleasure as well as his own. He had not made love to a mute since before his transition. He found now that mentally and physically he had been missing a great deal.
The next day Suliana moved her few belongings to his room. Amber wandered up to check on her, saw that she was comfortably situated with Teray, and grinned broadly.
“Just what you need,” she told Teray. “I thought you might take my advice.”
“I wish you’d take mine and mind your own business,” said Teray.
“I am. I’m a healer, remember?”
“I don’t need healing.”
She folded her hands tightly together and held them before her. “I hardly know you,” she said. “But as you damned well know, we’re like this in the Pattern”—she gave her folded hands a shake—“so when you lie to me, don’t expect me to believe you.”
She checked Suliana over briefly and went back downstairs without another word to Teray.
And as the weeks passed, Teray, in his enjoyment of Suliana and his new interest in his work, began to come alive again. Grudgingly, he admitted to himself that Amber had been right. In a way he had needed a kind of healing.
Now, healed, he began to think of leaving Redhill Sector. He would run away, escape to a sector where Coransee had less influence. He was not certain how much good that would do if and when Coransee succeeded Rayal. In fact, it might not do any good period, since Housemasters had a tradition of returning one another’s runaways. And there was the even greater question of whether it was possible at all.
For as long as Teray could remember, travel between sectors had been too dangerous for a person to hazard alone. People moved in groups outside sector boundaries—groups often, fifteen, as many as they could. Even Amber, if she managed to get away from Coransee, would probably join one of the caravans of travelers that sometimes passed through the sector. But Teray would not be welcome in such a caravan. No one who knew Coransee would deliberately help a runaway from his House to escape.
Before the Clayarks gave their disease to Rayal, people had traveled freely, safely, from one end of Patternist Territory to the other. Even mutes had traveled alone, carrying merchandise between sectors and making their pilgrimages to the House of the Pattern. But now … In leaving Redhill, Teray might easily be committing suicide. But staying was surely suicide. Coransee might get tired of waiting and decide to kill him ahead of time if he stayed.
If he left, though, if he went to Forsyth, for instance … The idea seemed to fall into place as though there had never been any other possible destination for him.
Forsyth, birthplace of the Pattern, home of the Patternmaster. There was no way for Coransee to take Teray back from Rayal if Rayal could be persuaded to give Teray sanctuary. Surely the Patternmaster would resent Coransee competing for the Pattern while its present Master was still alive. In fact, Teray could even recall some kind of law forbidding such premature competition. If Teray could just get to Forsyth to plead his case. And at Rayal’s House he could gain the knowledge Coransee was keeping from him. He could get training enough to make the outcome of his next battle with Coransee less predictable. If Rayal himself could not give the training, perhaps his journeymen would. Even they were highly capable people.
Teray began handling learning stones that told of travel, that revealed the terrain between Redhill and Forsyth. He memorized whatever he could find—memorized routes, memorized sectors that he would have to skirt. He could not memorize the locations of Clayark settlements because the Clayarks inside Patternist Territory had no permanent settlements. They were nomadic, roaming in great tribes, settling only long enough to strip an area clean of food. They had been known to eat Patternists, in fact. But a Patternist was an expensive meal costing many Clayark lives. The eating was ritualistic anyway, done for quasireligious reasons rather than out of hunger. Clayarks consumed Patternist flesh to show, symbolically, how they meant someday to consume the entire race of Patternists.
Chapter Four
A FEW DAYS AFTER Teray had decided to run away, he saw the Clayark. It was like a sign, a warning. Teray had taken several learning stones out far from the House to study in the privacy and solitude of a grove of trees. He had been so involved with the stones that he had neglected his personal security. There had been no trouble with the Clayarks within the sector since the day he left school, but still there was no excuse for his carelessness. To let a Clayark almost walk upon him unnoticed …
Normally, any Patternist wandering away from the buildings of his Housemaster’s estate spread his awareness like a canopy around him. The moment that canopy—perhaps a hundred meters around—touched a human-sized creature, the Patternist was warned. Fortunately, Clayarks possessed none of the Patternists’ mental abilities and had to depend entirely on their physical senses. Unfortunately, the Clayark disease, which so mutated human genes that it caused once-normal mutes to produce children in the familiar sphinx shape, also placed the minds of those children beyond Patternist reach. Only Clayark bodies were vulnerable. As Patternist bodies were vulnerable to Clayarks. Teray drew back farther behind the tree that had thus far concealed him from the Clayark.
The creature was a male, now standing on three legs and eating something with the fourth. Teray found himself watching, fascinated, comparing the creature to Laro’s figurine. He had never had such a close look at a live Clayark before. And now that he was aware of the creature, aware that it was alone, it could not possibly act quickly enough to hurt him. But it was armed. It had the usual rifle slung across its back, the butt protruding over one shoulder so that it could easily be seized.
The creature threw something away, and Teray saw that it was an orange peel. Doubtless the Clayark had been stealing in the groves of Bryant, a neighbor of Coransee who raised fruit. The Clayark also had something that looked like saddlebags strapped across its back. The bags were bulging, probably with stolen fruit.
The Clayark was like a life-size versi
on of Laro’s figurine—well-muscled, tanned, lean, human-headed, and almost lion-bodied. It moved with the easy grace of a cat and wore a flaring red-gold headdress to make up for its lack of a mane. Being furless, it also wore clothing—the skin of some animal fixed about its loins, and another skin wrapped about the torso, probably to ease the strapped-on load.
But most unlikely were those forefeet that served also as hands. For Clayarks who bothered to wear running gloves of the kind that this one was now putting on, the hands remained supple and humanly soft. Clayarks who did not wear gloves developed the heavy callouses that caused the legendary clumsiness of the species.
Suddenly intensely curious, Teray checked the area once more, making certain that the Clayark was alone, then rose and stepped clear of his hiding place. A moment later, the creature saw him. It froze, stared at him.
“Kill?” The voice was deep and harsh, but undeniably human.
“Not unless you make me kill you,” said Teray.
“Not kill?” The Clayark sat back on its haunches like a cat. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” said Teray.
“Boy? Schoolboy?”
Teray smiled grimly, reached out and contracted the muscles of the Clayark’s right foreleg. The Clayark gasped at the sudden pain of the cramp, half collapsed, righted itself, and glared at Teray in silent hatred.
“Man,” said Teray. “So don’t do anything foolish.”
“You want?”
“Nothing. Only to hear you speak.”
The creature looked doubtful. “Your language … not much.”
“But you understand.”
“To live.”
“If you want to live, you’d better stop stealing in Redhill. The Masters here are already after your people.”
The Clayark shrugged. On it, the gesture seemed strange.
“Why do you raid us? We wouldn’t kill you if you left us alone.” He knew the answer, but he wondered whether the Clayark knew it.
“Enemies,” the creature said. “Not people.”
“You know we’re people.”
Seed to Harvest: Wild Seed, Mind of My Mind, Clay's Ark, and Patternmaster (Patternist) Page 76
