I fondled the yellow, red, and white flower petals making up the necklace now drooping over my hoobit. Pleasing to the touch, if not in meaning, I thought. Ragem and I each wore such necklaces, the petals being the badge permitting us to travel on Artos. They'd been treated with a compound that would keep them fresh for three Artican days; on the fourth, we'd been warned, the petals would rot, falling off the string to brand us breakers of the taboo.
"Keep your ship launch-ready, Captain-Kraal," I advised him. "This Ket will take responsibility if the spaceport objects. We don't plan to be here long. S'kal-ru-Kraal will hear of your service in her name."
He shook his head doubtfully. "I hope so, Madame Ket."
* * *
38: Valley Morning
« ^ »
THE Quartos Ank possessed an atmosphere-capable flyer, a small, rugged machine completely stripped of the gauds and decorations found elsewhere in the scoutship. Ragem and I had the blessing of the Keeper to fly it on Artos, as long as our trips followed a straight line between Ansky's home and the spaceport, and as long as we traveled before the sacred hour of noon.
"Was noon sacred before?" Ragem asked, checking over the controls with a confidence casual enough to be reassuring. I hadn't piloted very often before—if I'd wanted to fly in an atmosphere, there were other forms—and never in a Kraal machine. Skalet-memory was available if I wanted to search for it, but there was no guarantee she'd ever been her own pilot either.
"Noon? No," I answered. "My last information put the sacred meeting an hour later, after lunch."
Ragem nodded, as if filing away the detail. Then: "Ready?" At my wave, he activated the grav unit within the tiny airship, the result much less vigorous than I'd endured in the D'Dsellan hoverbot. We rose until clear of the Quartos Ank's nose, then Ragem set in the course I'd provided. A smooth bank to the right, and we were off, heading, as far as my Ket eyes could tell, straight for a black line of mountains.
"Are you staying in this form, as a Ket?" Ragem asked before I could relax. I peered over at him. He looked mildly curious, an expression I'd grown very accustomed to seeing. "Do you get tired of one form?"
"Do you ever stop wondering about things, Ragem?" I shot back.
His mobile mouth stretched in a smile. "Why else did I up-ship and join a first contact team?"
He had me there. "I'll stay Ket on Artos," I said, trying to find a compromise between dangling my arms in the way of the controls or curling myself into a ball. On the other hand, my feet were half again too long for the floor space in front of this seat. "I'd rather not," I confessed after squirming for a moment. "I could use a rest from it." My hands were no longer sore, thanks to the healing technology of the Rigus, but they ached at night if I overused them—which Ket had to do.
The landscape flashing beneath us was pastoral, charming in fact. The Articans were predominantly farmers, most in this region growing the flowers used in the many ceremonies and rituals that governed their days. The result was a patchwork of color counterpointed with the green/golds of pasture. The occasional small village clustered around its church.
The churches were no longer so charming. The last few phases of the God of Bones had been dark ones, and the churches, now called shrines, had been rebuilt to reflect that darkness. The buildings were the mottled color of bone left to rot in swampwater, their surrounding grounds a black gravel against which the gray walls seemed to crouch, about to spring. From the air they looked like sores amidst the brilliant blues, yellows, and pinks roofing the other structures in each village.
To each its own, I reminded myself firmly, somewhat shocked to feel such an emotional response. Must be due to associating with ephemerals so much.
"How long until we reach the valley?" I asked Ragem, more to distract myself than from impatience. Though I would be very glad to see Ansky and know for myself she was safe.
He checked an indicator. "Well before its Boniness says we have to land." Ragem tugged at his floral necklace. "Itches."
"Keep it on," I advised him for at least the third time. "All the time, too. And I don't think you should take their God lightly, Ragem."
He sighed, looking out the screen on his side. "I don't, Es. How could I? Let's get your Ansky and get off this planet translight, okay?"
Ansky went by her own name on Artos, a rare convenience of language. She hadn't been on this world very long, by ephemeral or Web standards, yet had managed to carve out a niche for her form's sake.
She'd opened a bar.
To be precise, she bought and now operated an inn, the Sleepy Uncle, nestled in a village lovely even by Artican standards, tucked at the front of a valley Lesy had despaired of capturing in paint. Lesy.
The Sleepy Uncle seldom functioned as a inn, I'd explained to Ragem as we wrestled our carrysacks up the building's narrow stairs to the second, and topmost floor. The road its broad front windows watched over so closely saw traffic once or twice a week, less after harvest. Ansky maintained only two guest rooms, primarily for those fools who drank a bit more than was wise and were unlikely to make it home before the evening curfew. Being outdoors after midnight was, of course, an offense to the God of Bones and taboo.
Ansky could care less that her inn's bedrooms were usually empty. She'd bought the place because the Sleepy Uncle boasted a huge dining room, used by most of the villagers on a daily basis. Skalet's passion for strategy and war was matched among our web-kin by Ansky's strangely similar devotion to the study of relationships and more personal conflicts. Last I'd heard, Ansky'd convinced the village council priests to hold their daily meetings in her dining room, a guaranteed window on Artican conflicts if ever there was one.
However, when Ragem and I had arrived, the inn had been virtually deserted, an emptiness occasioned, we were informed, by the urgency of taking off the magitteri flowers before the sacred hour. Every able-bodied villager was in the fields, explained the child behind the counter, a polite being who could have passed for an eight-year-old Human male, if it hadn't been for the juvenile Artican hairlessness of his head and the lingering nictitating membranes in both eyes.
He'd given us room keys, being charged with running the inn in Ansky's absence, and, after a moment's deep thought about the proper ceremony with aliens, had decided not to take chances with his God and given Ragem and me blessing candles to take up with us.
Ansky would be back shortly, the child had promised, clutching his apron, his eyes blinking rapidly. I hoped "shortly" was well before the child could run to the priests and report on Ansky's latest, and most unusual, guests.
"Nice place," Ragem commented, putting down his carrysack and trying the softness of the large mattress. As he sat, he suddenly tilted to one side and made a quick grab for the nearest bedpost to save himself, a comic look of dismay on his face. "How's your room?"
"The same. It will do for the night," I said, noncommittal. I wasn't fond of the combination of country charm and bone-strewn corner altars. No missing where our candles were to be placed: the skulls were coated with runnels of once-melted wax. "We must leave first thing in the morning, Ragem."
"First thing in the morning it is," he agreed.
"First thing in the morning? I don't think so."
We'd found Ansky, or rather a thunderous knocking on Ragem's door had announced her finding us. Articans hugged, so I'd endured the intimacy for a moment before rescuing my poor Ket toes from under her well-shod and heavy feet.
After introducing Ragem, I'd gone straight to Skalet's plan, deciding not to wait and share in private. I was in a hurry.
Ansky wasn't. The harvest wasn't complete.
"Others can pick flowers, Ansky," I said forcefully, hands almost blue on the hoobit. "You must come with us as soon as possible."
"Now, Nimal-Ket, I don't see how one more day makes any difference to you, S'kal-ru, or this fine young man here. But it finishes the harvest. Maybe you'll like to chip in and help?"
I glowered at her. Ragem, her fine young
man, hid a smile. It wasn't easy glowering at Ansky. She was imperturbable, a charming rock against which others' haste simply crashed and slipped away unnoticed. Admirable in a being living among those I frankly considered intelligence's lunatic fringe, but completely frustrating now. Actually, it had been frustrating in the past, too.
"Come with me," I growled, wrapping my long Ket fingers around hers and tugging toward the nearest door. "We need to talk. Excuse us, Paul-Human."
Ansky didn't resist, saving me the indignity of trying to pull her significantly greater mass into motion. She nodded graciously at the Human, then sailed out of the room, trailing a scent of crushed flowers behind her.
Her round features only accentuated the owlish look she gave me as Ansky paused from gathering up her clothing. "I don't believe Ersh would approve, youngest," she said breathlessly. "I'm not sure I do. Dear Gods old and new. Lesy gone. Mixs. What has happened to us?"
Her words were mere vibrations in air. I huddled on the floor in a corner of the bedroom, aghast after assimilating Ansky-memory. Bad enough her latest adventures with several paramours. How had she found time for so much, and so many? Most of this I was sure Ersh would have filtered at least in part for me.
Worse was the appalling list of newly taboo activities on this world and the punishments now dictated by the God of Bones. How could any intelligent race turn on itself?
"Are you all right, Esen?"
I looked up, remembering the perfection of her web-form, my mind trying to overlap the Ansky I knew as part of me over the Artican's generous curves. "How can you live here, Ansky?" I said, my voice hoarse to my own ears. "They're getting worse."
"Oh, yes." She finished wriggling into the dress discarded during her cycle to web-form. "I'd predicted it."
"You did?"
"Of course. This is hardly the first such society I've watched implode, youngest. The Ompu were definitely similar."
"The Ompu are extinct," I countered.
She shrugged, running her hands through her hair in a futile attempt to arrange its mass of red curls. "Exactly."
"How long do you give the Articans?"
Toiletry complete, Ansky threw herself down in a chair and looked at me. Her Artican eyes were a sky-blue, usually twinkling, now their expression was as grim as I'd ever seen. "If the Commonwealth bans trade with this world, which they should really, I'd say no more than a decade—two at most—before their society collapses to pre-tech. The next stage is almost here. They won't tolerate offworlders much longer. You were lucky to come when you did."
"You know luck had nothing to do with it." I pulled myself to my feet, feeling more Esen than Ansky at last.
"The monster." her teeth caught at her lower lip to stop its trembling; her hands folded themselves in a tight knot. "Why would it come here?"
"You shared. You know how it found Lesy. You know its hunger is for us."
"The Articans—"
"Can't stop it. Besides," I added more gently. "It is after us, not them. You have to leave before it gets here and kills other beings."
She closed her eyes, and blue teardrops slid down her rosy cheeks. I didn't know what to do. Ansky was older, my birth-mother. Uncertain, I obeyed Ket instincts and went to her side, pressing my long fingers into the locked muscle of her shoulders. "Ragem will help, Ansky," I said, running one sensitive finger along her cheek, following a tear's trail. "And don't forget—Skalet has a plan." I hoped.
Ansky's eyes flashed open and she turned to me. "Skalet's a fool," she said, the harshness of this condemnation a surprise from my usually complacent birth-mother. "We must go to Ersh; our place is by her side, not in some trumped-up excuse for a battle in space. Skalet would shed blood just to watch the drops explode in vacuum."
"No," I said sharply. "Ersh is where we can't go. Not until it's destroyed." How much to reveal? How much to hide? Ersh's past threatened to bubble into my present and I fought it away with an effort. I saw Ansky's bewilderment fading into something closer to suspicion. "It hunts us for what we are, Ansky," my words hurtling out as if to hold her. "Ersh is our center. It will want her most of all."
"Esen, listen to sense. Even if you're right, Ersh can defeat it," she argued. "She is Eldest."
"We don't know she can. We can't risk her, Ansky," I said, shaking my head sadly. "I wish we had some way to be sure, but we don't."
"You truly believe this—thing—could threaten Ersh." I felt oddly older, unsure if it was my own feeling or the burden of Ersh-memory. "I know it."
* * *
Out There
DEATH wasn't hungry. Without expending energy to travel, it had no immediate need to hunt. There was satisfaction in having others serve. The little convoy of ships moved steadfastly in the direction leading to what Death truly wanted.
More.
Death spread itself thinner against the hull, taking pleasure from the feel of life so very close.
It might be hungry soon.
* * *
39: Inn Evening
« ^ »
"NOW don't you try and tell me one serving was enough. Young men have their appetites." Ansky's assertion and subsequent overloading of poor Ragem's plate should have brought at least an understanding chuckle from our neighbors, given the Artican sense of humor.
Instead, the crowd gathered tonight in the Sleepy Uncle's dining hall remained as silent as the bones of their God's altars. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought there was a taboo against talking indoors. The final tap tap of Ansky's spoon on Ragem's plate rang in the silence.
"Maybe we should eat in our rooms, Ansky," I whispered as she flounced behind me, the immense bowl of chilled vegetable stew under one arm, hand brandishing the spoon as if ready to dole out more.
"Too late for regrets," she said loudly, boldly eyeing her other customers until they found their own tabletops of engrossing interest. "You eat what you've ordered. Besides, my spedinni is the specialty of the house, Madame Ket."
We wore our floral badges giving us the blessing of their God—or at least the permission of their planet's gatekeeper—to be here. We'd sat in a corner far from the area Ansky kept for the locals. We'd been so unremarkable as to be invisible.
But we weren't. The dining hall had filled steadily, by ones and twos, since we'd come down for our evening meal. Ansky's cheery greetings to her regulars had been ignored. No one else had ordered food or drink. The Articans merely came in the door, looked to see if we were there, then took a seat. They were waiting. I didn't like it.
"We're in trouble," Ragem mumbled around a mouthful of stew, his eyes measuring and wary.
"Ansky knows these people," I said, more for myself than him.
He dropped his voice a shade lower. "This is a mob waiting for something to happen, Es. I've seen it before."
I looked around casually, and knew Ragem was right. There had to be over forty adults here now, three more just walking in the door, outwardly a normal-enough sampling of the local population. They were a bit too well dressed for farmers taking their ease after a hard harvest. And, despite our low conversation, none had uttered a word.
A necklace of preserved flower petals hardly seemed sufficient protection. "This mob will have to keep waiting, then," I decided. "Because we're leaving. Now."
In hindsight, I should have paid more attention to everything in the room. I should have seen which of us the eyes followed most: I should have known who was really at risk. Instead, I worried about keeping myself between Ragem and the crowd, believing if the worst happened and they attacked us, I had the best chance at protecting him. But Ragem wasn't the target.
We stood, putting down our napkins and pushing in our chairs as if leaving normally. I brushed my long fingers against the soothing grain of the wood, trying to keep outwardly calm. Every sense seemed keener. I looked around, catching Ansky's eyes as she reappeared in the doorway to the kitchen, carrying out a carafe of some steaming liquid. I noticed the steam, the bone altar to the left of the doo
rway, the way light from the kitchen spilled around her feet and ran into the main hall, brighter than that provided by the purple candles on every table.
I noticed everything but the way every Artican's attention riveted on her.
Ragem did. His arm swept me to one side as he walked straight into the middle of the room, passing between tables crowded with silent, brooding Articans as if in his own lounge on the Rigus. "Barkeep," his voice sailed out, cheery and loud, his pronunciation of the Artican trade tongue not bad under the circumstances. "I wonder if you've any of that fine stew left in your kitchen."
I froze, finally alert to the anger in the room and its focus. Ragem, you fool! I thought. She can look after herself.
Ansky smiled at Ragem as if the two of them were alone and he were her next consort. "As I promised, good guest," she said. "There're no empty bellies in my house."
"A House of Sin!"
I twisted to see the latest arrivals at the inn: a pair of priests who strode in through the main doors as if taking ownership. Both wore the red-rimmed vests of black animal hide signifying they were Seekers, engaged in the lawful hunt to find and punish those who violated their God's taboos. Behind them were guards, male this time, more than I could count through the doors, their weapons' glint about all I could see clearly.
"My inn, Seeker Preador?" Ansky asked just as bluntly, putting the carafe down on the nearest table. "What sin do you expect to find here, among my good and pious neighbors?"
"This!" The Seekers stepped farther in, moving one to each side of the opening. Between them, the guards pushed in a hunched little figure, so curled up and busy moaning its distress I had trouble identifying it for a moment. But that voice wasn't Artican, or anything else remotely humanoid.
"Deny you kept this hidden, Innkeeper!"
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