by Clayton, Jo;
Shadith seemed embarrassed. She kept fading out. “It’s your body.”
“Sometimes I wonder about that.”
“Lee!”
“Just joking. Stop dithering, Shadith. What do you want?”
“Music!” The word was packed with an almost desperate longing. “I’m a singer, Lee, and a maker of songs. How long since …”
“You want me to wake Gwynnor?”
“NO!” Shadith’s violet eyes blazed. “No, Lee. I want … I want your body. For just a little.”
“Why bother to ask?” Aleytys frowned. “You never did before.”
“If I tried it without your consent, Harskari would peel me raw. She’s got a bad case of ethics, that lady.”
“I suppose she’s listening now.”
“My god, I hope not. She and Swardheld have gone off …” Shadith’s face contracted into a thoughtful scowl, “It’s hard to explain.”
“What are you really, all of you?” Aleytys moved her hands slowly over the crumpled grass beside her thighs. “I’ve got a sort of interest in knowing,” she said dryly.
Shadith giggled. “Point to you, Lee.” The thin brows shot up into the exuberantly curling hair. “How the hell should I know?” She shook her curls until they danced about wildly. “All I really know is that I’m aware. I feel that I’m the same person I was before the diadem trapped me. I think. I feel—at least I do when the diadem’s on a living body. I remember. I learn. What am I? God knows. I sure don’t. Maybe Harskari does, but she’s not talking.”
Aleytys frowned. “But you’re the one who knows about complicated technology.”
Shadith shook her head. “You’ve got an exalted idea of my learning, Lee. So I can deal with machines a trifle more sophisticated than a hammer. Ha!” She turned thoughtful. “I suppose, since you come from an agrarian-pastoral context, you would find a machine-city culture difficult to understand, making me look smarter than I am.”
“Funny.”
“What?”
“This is the first time I’ve really just talked with one of you. We share a body and we’re still strangers.”
“Which brings me back to the beginning. I starve for music, Lee. It’s been forever since I’ve been able to do more than listen to snatches of sound. Please?”
Aleytys felt a painful reluctance to let another intelligence displace her, but she shook off the brief distaste. “Go ahead, Shadith.” With an uneasy laugh she flowed her hands down along her body. “Such as it is, it’s all yours.”
Briefly disoriented by the transition, Aleytys scratched around inside her head until she felt comfortable, then she relaxed and lay back to enjoy Shadith’s enjoyment of her skill.
Shadith lifted the flute and examined it, touching the polished wood with gentle reverence. She lifted the flute to her lips and blew, exploring the possibilities of the instrument as she got to know more about the possibilities of the body she wore.
Slowly, quietly, the tentative notes smoothed out and began blending into a complex, exciting music, something far beyond anything Aleytys had ever experienced. The music grew stronger and louder, penetrating to the bones of her body, going far far beyond the simply pleasant and tuneful. Demanding music. Disturbing. Demanding. Irritating. Demanding. Beautiful. Terrible. All at once and all in turn.
Gwynnor woke. He sat up, became conscious of his nakedness. Half-dazed by the music pouring around him, he fished for his tunic and slid it over his head, smoothing out the wrinkles as he turned to face the starwoman sitting beside him, legs crossed and back straight to give her lungs maximum expansion. She had his flute and was playing … extraordinary … he could make no judgment of the sound, but the skill … extraordinary. It shamed him. He grew angry and jumped to his feet.
She ignored him.
Fiercely, he snatched the flute from her hands. “Why didn’t you tell me? You let me boast my skill when you …”
“Gwynnor!”
The word struck through his anger, stopping the rush of words instantly. It was not Aleytys’ voice, not the voice he had begun to know as well as his own. Timber, accent, sound, all different. One of the demons had her. He swallowed and took a step backward. “You … you aren’t …”
“I am called Shadith.”
He moved his head, looking anxiously and hopelessly around, “Let her go. Where is she?”
“Here.” Shadith laughed, the sound, a silver trilling wholly unlike Aleytys’ contralto chuckle. “Come back and sit down, Gwynnor. Aleytys gave me her body for a little time.”
He shook his head trying futilely to drive out the fog of confusion roiling around inside. “I don’t understand.”
Her mouth curled into an impish smile while the blue-green eyes danced with mischief. “Gwynnor, shame. You guessed about us long ago.”
“Demon!”
“Don’t be silly. Ask Lee when she’s back. More like guardian angels, although I can’t claim to be very angelic.” She sobered. “I’m sorry, seeing this bothers you so much. Damn. Harskari will peel me for sure. It’s just I was so very hungry to make music.”
“Aleytys is here?” He stared at her. “How?”
Shadith sighed. She looked wistfully at the flute held loosely in his fingers. “All right. Walk a way into the forest, please. When you return Aleytys will be here.”
Some minutes later he came slowly out of the shadow. He came over to her and bent down to stare into her face.
“It’s me, Gwynnor. Shadith is gone.”
His fingers trembled on her cheek, then his hand cupped around the curve of her face. “How could it happen?”
“I can’t explain, Gwynnor.”
“Cannot? No. Will not.”
“Yes. That’s true.” She moved her head away from his hand and groped about her for her tunic. “It’s a private thing.”
“How can you …” He dropped to his knees and touched her face, her hair. “How can you suffer such violation?”
She shook her head and moved away again, drawing the crumpled tunic over her head and smoothing away the creases. “I can allow a man within my body without it being violation. You should know that.”
“It isn’t the same.”
“It is. What is given freely and with affection can never be stolen. They are my friends and my companions.”
Overhead, the moon had almost left the clear space. Aleytys got up and walked over to stand beside the stream, letting the soft brush brush of the waterflow come into her and work the timeless water magic, the elemental song that nearly always brought peace and healing for a time, at least, to her troubled spirit.
On his knees, Gwynnor watched her move away from him. He felt like running to her and holding her tightly, not letting her go, never letting her go. Holy Maeve … He pressed his hands over his eyes. We’re too different, he thought. I have a life. She has a life. He jumped to his feet and left her standing beside the stream, so absorbed in thought she didn’t even notice when he went.
Chapter XVIII
Ghastay grinned at Aleytys. “Same old tree.”
She looked up into the heavy foliage. “Same tree. You go back and let Tipylexne know we’re in place, keeping an eye on what’s happening.”
He nodded briskly and raced away. Aleytys turned to Gwynnor. “We’d better go up now.”
He nodded and went down on one knee so she could use the other as a step up. She looked at him and sighed.
“Gwynnor …”
He looked up, his face grim. “You made it quite clear, Aleytys. This morning. Your life and mine are separate.”
“Damn. We were friends.”
“I thought so. Before.”
“You knew all along I wasn’t going to stay. Did I ever lie to you about that?”
“Not with words.” He got onto his feet and stood, glaring angrily into her face.
“Nor any other way,” she insisted. She put her hand to touch his arm. He jerked away. “All right, I shouldn’t have slept with you.” She shrug
ged. “I don’t claim to be perfect.”
“You act like you think you are.”
“Ay-mi, we sound like quarreling children. Come on, relax.” She chewed on her lip. “You seem to think I’m some kind of … I don’t know. I’m a fallible human and so are you, but can’t we approximate maturity?”
He took a deep breath and let his petulance slide away. “You expect a lot.” He knelt again and grunted as her weight rested briefly on his knee as she sprang for the limb. When she was settled she lowered the rope and he climbed up beside her.
The Director came striding from the forest accompanied by Qilasc, Tipylexne, and several stony-faced guards with a double line of immature females beating a slow ponderous rhythm on large nut shells, the whole presenting a face of immense dignity. Watching from her perch, high up in the tree at the edge of the clearing, Aleytys smiled, momentarily delighted by the absurdity of the whole scene.
The door on the harvester opened. First came two armored guards, then the engineer. Han scanned the trees around the clearing with wary eyes, then turned to face the procession.
Chu Manhanu held up his hand, halting the parade. He waited solemnly for the engineer to approach.
Lushan bowed deeply, schooling his face to the proper respect. Even from her tree, Aleytys could feel his startled appreciation and knew it was for her, not Chu Manhanu. He’d wondered how she’d pull it off. Again she smiled. Now he’d see.
Manhanu nodded, grudgingly acknowledging the engineer’s profound obeisance. “Han Lushan,” he said brusquely, “you wasted time and lives. More important, this operation has been unprofitable.”
Han Lushan waited, a growing bitterness behind his obsequious mask. Aleytys frowned, remembering his prediction of trouble after Manhanu got back. Apparently he was to be appointed goat for this operation. She chewed her lower lip hating the idea.
Gwynnor touched her arm. “You can’t mother the world,” he whispered.
She wrinkled her nose. “I know,” she whispered back.
In the clearing the Director was explaining how he had, by his consummate diplomacy, talked the forest people into providing tribute semiyearly, wood and wood products at no cost whatsoever to the Company. Hence there would be no need for the harvester; it was to be transported to the city and transferred from there to Hagen’s world where, hopefully—this was said with heavy sarcasm—the next man in charge of it could avoid getting it wrecked beneath him.
Aleytys felt the amusement and deepening appreciation concealed by Lushan’s Company face. She lay along the limb resting her chin on her crossed hands, watching the play unfold beneath her. Judging by his words, the Director was convinced that the agreement made him look good. He’d have a strong incentive to maintain it. Each time she probed him, though, she felt vaguely uncomfortable. To reassure herself, she tried again.
Anger … satisfaction … an eerie double aura … as if Manhanu himself had two minds … like the doctor in a way … a weak, innocuous dying-away glimmer and a cold savage overlay … she could feel but get no hold on him … if there was a second life in him it was hidden beyond her ability to discern.
For a moment the Director looked up, his face turned toward her. As if he could see her. As if he knew she was there. Watching. She shivered. He smiled and looked away.
Qilasc bowed deeply to Manhanu. She gestured to the young females who began the slow, steady beat once more. Once, twice, Qilasc bowed again. Then, with a silent Tipylexne beside her, she turned and marched slowly from the clearing, stepping in time with the hollow beat of the nutshells. As they vanished under the trees the Director stalked into the harvester, the engineer trailing behind.
Gwynnor stirred. “What happens now?”
“We wait and see what he does.”
“Will he keep his word?”
“I don’t know.” She scanned the clearing with eyes and mind. “He’s not trying to start the harvester. At least, there’s that.”
“He looked at you.”
“Um. There’s something really peculiar about that man. Let’s wait here until he takes the machine away. If he does that …”
“How long will that take?”
“If he means business, I expect he’ll move it before the day’s out. It’s still early and with these long days …”
The steamy heat worsened as the sun rose higher. Nothing much happened in the clearing. A guard came out one time—no armor—walked around the harvester, came to the forest and relieved himself against a tree, then went back inside.
A little later, a skimmer came from the south and settled beside the machine. The Director came out accompanied by the engineer, talking in low tones. Although Aleytys strained to hear, she could catch none of the words. Then Lushan went back inside and Manhanu climbed into the skimmer. A minute later it rose, hovered a moment just above treetop level, then darted away.
More waiting.
“I’m getting sleepy.” Gwynnor slid back along his limb until he was braced against the bole. “Much more and I will go to sleep, and fall out of this damn tree.”
Holding onto a secondary branch, Aleytys swung around to face him. “I’ve got to stay here until I make sure the harvester’s gone. Why don’t you go back to the village and see if you can arrange supplies and a boat to take us down river and around the cape to the city.”
He nodded. “You take care.”
She lay down again, eyes fixed on the clearing. “I will.”
Chapter XIX
A fresh breeze slid along the water, stirring through her hair and making the furled sail slap against the boom. Aleytys wrenched her eyes from the silent, watching cludair and examined the river. It was several meters wide here, larger than any river she’d seen before … except maybe the one Captain Arel landed by, six worlds back. What was that one called … she shook her head … so many worlds, so many strange names … she could hear a waterfall somewhere to the west. Walking closer to the water, she leaned out and found she could see the edge of the plateau, visible as a level shape against the paler blue of the sky. She thought she could see a vague vertical cutting the blue. The waterfall? It was further away than the sound seemed to suggest. She shook her head.
Silent as green ghosts in the gloom under the trees, Qilasc and Tipylexne waited for her to step into the boat.
Gwynnor sat in the sailboat’s stern, holding it against the bank, a paddle thrust behind the root of a tree that was gradually leaning farther and farther out into the water. One day soon it would fall and go floating off to the sea. Like us, she thought.
“Aleytys, you going to stand there another hour? My arm’s about to break off.”
She looked unhappily at the small bobbing craft. “I’m supposed to get into that thing?”
“Unless you want to walk.” Gwynnor grinned at her. “Just move slow and careful. Jump around and you’ll have both of us in the water. The boat’s a bit tender in its handling.”
“I won’t put a foot through the bottom?”
“No, Aleytys, that’s not what I mean. Come on before my arm really does fall off.”
Aleytys glanced at the forest for the last time, saying a silent farewell to the forest people. Then she gritted her teeth and swung one foot into the boat. It shifted under her weight and she grabbed wildly at the mast, knocking her hip against the boom, sending it swinging around, nearly decapitating Gwynnor. The boat rocked back and she slammed her head painfully into the mast.
Gwynnor ducked as the boom came around at him, pulling the oar free so that the boat drifted out and began moving faster as the main current caught it and pulled it along. He grabbed the tiller and steadied the boat’s wild swings, edging it into the center of the river where it began moving swiftly and smoothly through water, glassy green and deep.
Aleytys clutched at the mast, gradually regaining her nerve. A narrow ledge ran along the curved sides of the boat. Without thinking, she started to lower herself onto this seat.
The boat began rocking ominousl
y as her weight shift destroyed its trim. Gwynnor threw his body to the opposite side as Aleytys froze in mid crouch. “Aleytys.”
“Wh … what?”
“Dammit, when you move remember, you balance the weight on one side of the center with the weight on the other. Or we capsize.”
She nodded, a small tight dip of her head, being too scared to venture on any larger movement. Holding onto the mast so hard her fingers ached, she lowered herself until she was sitting in the exact middle of the boat on the floorboards. Carefully, she unlocked her fingers and flexed them slowly, then folded them on her lap.
“You all right?”
She looked up. “Yes.” Her eyes moved beyond him. The tongue of the forest touching the river had already vanished, hidden around a curve. The banks on both sides changed to gradually rising rose-red cliffs. A vast desolation hollowed her. Tears gathered in her eyes. Angrily, she brushed them away. Crying. What the hell for? The desolation spread. Chilled her. She pulled her knees up, ignoring the slewing of the boat, surrendering to the violent emotional storm that threatened to tear her apart. In a last concession to her pride, she dropped her head onto her knees, hiding her face behind crossed arms.
Gwynnor relaxed as the river slid the boat down the channel, swift, smooth, and steady. No need to raise sail. Going fast enough. He looked back over his shoulder. Farewells are always difficult, he thought He straightened again, blinking as the low morning sun shone right into his eyes. He frowned.
Aleytys was bent over, head on knees, her body shaking with hard, hoarse sobs. “Aleytys!”
She didn’t seem to hear. The great wrenching sobs that shook her body, even shook the boat, went on and on endlessly.
He clutched at the tiller, scowling at feathers of white water breaking the jade not far ahead of the bow. Miserable in his turn, he sat helpless, tied to the tiller bar, unable to touch her, comfort her, as he wanted. Able only to wait for her storm to subside. To wonder why? What had brought it on? To be reminded, painfully reminded, that this was an alien being, another species whose thoughts and emotions were sometimes incomprehensible.
