Maeve

by Clayton, Jo;

  “And the maranhedd?”

  “Maranhedd means power and wealth, both useful for survival.”

  “A number of young cerdd have been stolen from their homes.”

  Aleytys looked briefly at Grey, then spoke rapidly, translating this new information for him. He frowned, then nodded. She faced the Synwedda again. “I … we didn’t know that. It’s more evidence that the parasite is about to spore. The cerdd were stolen for their bodies. They are to furnish hosts for the spores.”

  Gwynnor shuddered, sickened to his depths by what he heard. He could feel a similar sickness in Sioned and reached for her hand, finding comfort himself in the cool, clean touch.

  “There’s more.” The Synwedda’s quiet voice brought his attention back to Aleytys. Her bright hair shifted as she nodded.

  “I’d stop it if I could.” She paused, looked at the Hunter again, then stared down at her hands. “If the parasite sets its spores before we can destroy it, there is a ship …” She tilted her head and stared somberly at the brilliant blue sky. “Up there. A warship. Set to burn the life off this world if we fail.”

  Gwynnor sucked in his breath and stared up at the blue. Beside him, Sioned struggled to swallow her horror. Her fingers closed on his with painful strength. He could feel her tremble and wondered if she could feel the shaking in his bones. At the same time, the threat seemed strangely unreal.

  The Synwedda nodded quietly. “I understand.”

  Gwynnor was shocked. He opened his mouth to protest, met the Synwedda’s stern gaze and subsided. He turned back to Aleytys. She was staring at her hands again, silent and unhappy. The Hunter touched her shoulder and spoke to her softly. For the first time, Gwynnor was forced fully and finally to understand that no matter how gently and kindly she treated him, he had no place in her life. Somewhat to his surprise, now that he saw her as alien, he didn’t want any part of her. Though he still felt pain around the heart whenever he looked at her, he knew he would be utterly miserable at her side. She was too strong for him. She would swallow him whole, leaving nothing behind. He felt Sioned’s hand move in his and he smiled at her, settling back, content at last to be who he was and where he was. With quiet curiosity he scanned Grey, wondering if the Hunter was strong enough to avoid being absorbed. Because he no longer envied the starman, he could look at him without the distorting veil of jealousy.

  The Synwedda cleared her throat and ran her eyes around the circle, demanding their attention. “The problem, then, is to bring Manhanu here. Get him here, then destroy man and spores both.” She paused, then spoke slowly and forcefully. “With your support, with your strength which I shall borrow, I shall try to summon him.”

  Aleytys lifted a hand slightly and the Synwedda waited for her to speak. “Tell him who’s waiting here.”

  “You think that will bring him?”

  Her mouth twisting into a self-mocking smile, Aleytys nodded. “Where else would he find a collection of such fine hosts? Of beings with such a concentration of power?”

  The Synwedda pinched her lips together, distaste strong in her ascetic face. “I agree. Tell the Hunter what he’s expected to do.”

  Gwynnor watched Aleytys lean toward the man until the bright and dark heads were nearly touching. The Hunter listened a minute, then he spoke. Aleytys shook her head. He protested.

  She turned to the Synwedda. “Hunter Grey wishes to have his weapons here.”

  The Synwedda shook her head. “Not in the circle.”

  “I understand that. But …” She ran her hands through her hair, looking distracted. “I think he should be armed before Chu Manhanu gets here.”

  “Those things are disturbing.”

  “Manhanu will be armed.” Aleytys spread out her hands. “If he comes willingly, then the Hunter can be excused from the circle. Can you be sure the parasite won’t be stronger than all of us?”

  “I cannot,” the Synwedda said reluctantly.

  “Then we’ll need the backup. His gun might not be necessary, but we’d be fools to take the chance.”

  The Synwedda sat with her head down, staring at her hands. The two cludair moved closer together while Sioned and Gwynnor openly clung to each other for support. Grey sat frowning and annoyed. Finally the old woman jerked her head in a brief nod. “Agreed,” she snapped.

  Aleytys smiled, then explained the situation to Grey. He straightened and nodded grimly at the Synwedda. “He accepts the stipulation, recognizing that he is dealing with something he knows little about.”

  The Synwedda reached impatiently for Qilasc’s hand on her left and Sioned’s on her right. “Take hands all.”

  When the circle was complete, Aleytys lifted her head. “Before we begin, tell Chu Manhanu to bring another man with him. One called Han Lushan. Don’t ask why right now. You’ll see later.”

  The Synwedda’s brown-gold eyes searched her face. “Very well.” Then she moved her eyes around the circle. “Lend your wills to me. You will feel the power coming up through your bodies. This you will direct to me. Tell the Hunter, Aleytys.”

  As the Synwedda began a humming chant, Gwynnor felt the down on his body begin to crackle. Then, as the power flow increased, he smelled burning, the ends of the hair on his head and body crisping as the power flooded over and through him. He felt the flow build, passing from him to Sioned and from Aleytys into him. Around and around the Circle. Around and around. Building. One to the other. Faster and faster. Faster and faster. Building …

  Until …

  Until …

  … the seven-fold entity stood suddenly in Chu Manhanu’s office, a glass-walled room high on the tallest turret of the Director’s citadel.

  Manhanu stared at the intrusion, then reached for an alarm. Then froze, unable to move, as the seven-part being moved at him, its fingers gently touching his arm.

  “What do you want?”

  “We wait for you on the island.”

  “Who?”

  “Synwedda. Cerdd Gwynnor. Cerdd Sioned. Cludair Qilasc. Cludair Tipylexne. Hunter Grey. Starwitch Aleytys.”

  Chu Manhanu relaxed and leaned back in the chair, which hummed musically and adjusted to his altered center of gravity. “Interesting. Why should I walk into a trap?”

  “Why not?” The seven-part entity drifted back from the man. “Aren’t we what you want? Bring what weapons you choose. We can’t stop you from arming yourself.”

  “You confess to a weakness?”

  “You may count it a weakness.”

  “I do. I will come. Armed.”

  “When you come, bring another with you, Han Lushan, or you will not be permitted to land. The starwitch will see to that.”

  “What guarantee do I have that she won’t blow the skimmer to pieces around me?”

  “Our word. We will not.”

  “Why should I trust you?”

  “You quibble. You trust us. And we don’t have to trust you.”

  “What good are weapons against the witch?”

  “That’s for you to say. She’s not omnipotent.”

  “What man did you say?”

  “Han Lushan.”

  Chu Manhanu narrowed his dark almond eyes, then nodded.

  “Come. Today.”

  He swung the floating chair around and touched a button. A holograph image of a young male face appeared over the desk. The head bowed obsequiously, then straightened.

  “Find Han Lushan and bring him here.”

  Chapter XII

  The acolyte stepped through the arch, still anonymous in the white robe with its overhanging cowl and too-long sleeves. She came in a silent glide across the grass and bowed before the regal figure of the old cerdd. The Synwedda acknowledged her with a small movement of her head while her old gold eyes watched the two starmen blinking in the sudden brightness of the garden.

  Ignoring the acolyte as she slipped past him and disappeared into the building, leaving Han Lushan hesitating inside the archway, Manhanu strode across the grass toward them
. He stopped in front of Aleytys and lifted a stunner, pointing it at her. “This worked on you before.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Planning to use it?”

  “Do I need to?”

  “That’s for you to decide.”

  The Synwedda lifted a hand, drawing his cold, dark eyes back to her. “We know what you are.”

  “I see.” He looked past her at Grey, sitting in the shadow of the oak, the dull, heavy energy gun resting unobtrusively on his lap. One hand curled around the butt, a forefinger hovering above the firing sensor. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

  Grey shifted slightly on the bench. “I’m not.”

  “I find it difficult to understand your present lively condition. Two purportedly fatal wounds, heart and stomach, my man said. I suppose he lied.”

  “No.”

  “Ah.” His eyes moved back to Aleytys. “Healer?”

  “You already know that. Psi-freak. Like the doctor said …”

  Moving impatiently, the Synwedda snapped, “Form the circled. Aleytys, stand in place. Quickly. We waste time.”

  The corners of Chu Manhanu’s mouth curled in a sardonic smile as he watched them drop onto the grass and reach out for hands to complete the circle around Aleytys, who stood alone in the center. He ran his eyes over the grim-faced figures. “The cerdd cub. My men went to the village for you. How’d they miss?” Gwynnor glared at him without answering. “No matter. This must be the female who got away. Mmmmm.” He smiled at Sioned, visible relishing her nervous pallor. “A waste of effort.” His eyes moved on to Qilasc. “I remember you.” His smile stretched into an exultant grin. “Xalpsalp, of the cludair. I owe you some humiliation, hairy beast.”

  Qilasc kept her large, reddish-brown eyes fixed on his face, ignoring his verbal jabs.

  “And the Speaker for Men. Men!” He sneered at Tipylexne. “Still, you beasts are healthy and have a measure of power among your kind. When the spores take you, you’ll be taking a large step up the evolutionary ladder. But, of course, you won’t be able to appreciate that.”

  Tipylexne was about to speak but Qilasc tugged on his hand. He settled back, watching the Director with a deep anger, hard and cold, behind the shallow red-brown of his eyes.

  When Manhanu focused his reptilian gaze on her, Aleytys trembled with fear and excitement. She smoothed shaking hands down over her body. “Harskari,” she whispered, “you promised.”

  Gwynnor saw Aleytys start shaking, then she swayed, almost falling. Before he could say anything, she straightened and seemed to grow taller, her face lengthening into a stern mask. As the Synwedda began a slow chant, he felt tentative touches of the energy come up through the earth into his body and flow through his arms into Sioned, a slow, calm trickle, nothing like the raw torrent of yesterday. Then the flow came through his hand from Tipylexne. The circuit was completed.

  Manhanu watched with contempt and amusement. Gwynnor saw him beckon to Lushan as Aleytys began a murmuring chant of her own that moved in and around the syllables issuing from the Synwedda. Lushan came reluctantly from the shadows. When he was an arm’s length away from him, Manhanu leveled the stunner and shot him down.

  With the engineer crumpled in a heap a meter from his feet, Manhanu turned the stunner on Aleytys.

  Grey lifted his hand and blew the stunner into red-hot scrap. Manhanu dropped it instantly and jumped back. “You should have killed me,” he said softly.

  “I wanted to, but a promise was made.” Grey sighted along the top of the gun, aiming it at Manhanu’s middle. Then be dropped it back in his lap.

  Shaking his tingling fingers, Manhanu lifted his uninjured hand, a tiny sleeve gun suddenly peeping from his fist. It snapped, blatted, flared, and Grey crumpled, the energy gun spilling onto the ground as his body folded in on itself and rolled off the bench. Before the snarling Director could turn the sleeve gun on Aleytys, Tipylexne jerked his hands free and surged onto his feet. With a cat-quick lunge at Manhanu he snatched the silvery tube and flung it at the side wall where it crashed against the stone with a tinkle of shattering elements.

  The Synwedda cried out as the circle broke, jerking her hands free with violent haste. “Break,” she said hoarsely. “Break!”

  Gwynnor felt heat building with terrifying rapidity. Snatching his hand from Sioned, he imitated the Synwedda and held both hands up, letting the power which was running wild dissipate into the air above his head. He twisted around to look at Sioned, sighed with relief as he saw her hands up, also.

  The Synwedda glared at Tipylexne. “Don’t do that again, cludair! You could kill us all.”

  Tipylexne shrugged. Without bothering to reply, he stepped over Han Lushan’s unconscious body, and walked quietly to the archway where he stationed himself before the single exit to the garden, crossing his arms over his chest and fixing his eyes on Manhanu.

  The Synwedda sighed and stretched out her hands; the circle reformed. She glanced at the swaying, chanting figure in the center of the circle, then began the chant that would feed her own power into that gathered by the starwitch.

  Manhanu sneered. “Useless melodrama.” He stepped back. For a moment, his eyes met Gwynnor’s, then he laughed. “Poor little cerdd. You think all this nonsense makes any difference?” Still laughing, he turned and took a step toward Grey’s crumpled figure. Gwynnor stifled a shout as he realized the Director’s goal, the Hunter’s gun. But he didn’t dare break the circle again.

  Tipylexne blurred past the starman, plucked the gun from the Hunter’s half-open hand, and was back in the archway before the startled Director could stop his futile rush. Settling back with angry satisfaction, Gwynnor concentrated on shifting the building power through his aching limbs, sneaking occasional glimpses of Aleytys.

  She ignored the disturbance around her. Standing with hands lifted, she was chanting serenely. Then the chant changed and her hands began moving, catching the sunlight, rolling it into a fine, pale strand that fell in glowing coils at her feet as she spun golden light into shimmering thread.

  He held his breath each time he looked at her. Beautiful. Terrible. The little flow of power moving through him paled before that fierce glow surrounding her. The nameless, numinous power caught him, trapped him, he couldn’t bear to look at her, he couldn’t tear his eyes from her. He sensed dimly the vortex he was part of stripping away from them all, adding itself to the building glow that extended half a meter from her body.

  After a while, after an endless, timeless while, she stopped her spinning; the pale, fine thread lay in heaps about her feet. Once again the chant altered. Slowed. Deepened. She pulled at the thread trailing from her fingers, tossing a length into the air in front of her where it clung to the glow space. Again and again, she jerked the coiled thread and threw it upward until vertical lines burned red-gold in a nearly opaque curtain. Then she changed the chant once more and whipped a horizontal line across the verticals. Back and forth the lines flew, weaving a fine meshed net one meter wide and two long.

  The Director cursed suddenly and broke free from the daze the chant induced in him. In them all. He took half a dozen swift strides. Unnoticed. Forgotten. He snatched the gun from Tipylexne and darted away, though there was no need for hurry. The cludair was woven into the spell and aware of little that went on around him.

  Manhanu twisted the aperture wide and dropped a finger on the sensor. The killing light snapped out. Mingled with the golden glow. Brightened it. Fed it. Mutated into the force that built the aura. Did no harm at all to the woman standing with only hands moving inside the shimmer.

  Manhanu screamed. His eyes turned back in his head and he collapsed a little distance from the stirring figure of Lushan, his mouth gaping wide, his body twitching like a puppet whose strings were plucked by a playful child.

  A mass of orange-shot, dull gray jelly oozed from the open mouth, gradually obscuring the high-cheeked narrow face. Near the top of the mass, a number of small black specks stirred restlessly. Gradually, the shapeless jelly
around those dots hardened into a transparent horny bubble that began swelling and thinning.

  The net was finished, with so fine a mesh that it looked like a solid sheet of gold. The chant rose to a vibrant, demanding note. She caught the edge of the net as it began to fall and flung it over the Director’s body, the flying edges just missing Lushan as he recovered enough to jerk himself farther away from the hideous thing at his feet.

  As the net floated down to cling around the crumpled body, Gwynnor heard a woody pop as the horny bubble split. The spores were flung out and slammed against the mesh. He saw the net, spun from sunlight, surge and jerk and bump. Then it closed tightly around the dead man, pressing the spores back against his flesh.

  A thread of pale gray smoke crept through the mesh. Then Chu Manhanu burned. With a soundless, heatless, flameless fire, the body burned until nothing was left but a fine dust.

  The terrible pressure dissipated. Gwynnor felt drained. His hands fell away from Qilasc and Sioned, who slumped beside him, drained as he was, close to exhaustion, too tired to speak now that their minds and bodies had dropped free from the spell. After a minute, Gwynnor lifted his head and looked up at Aleytys.

  The starwitch let her hands fall. The wildly swirling red hair dropped to hang lank and lifeless around a tired face, with several strands clinging to her skin, glued there by a slick of sweat. The brightness around her melted like smoke into the stirring air. She spoke one final word … “Finished” … stumbled, almost fell.

  Then she straightened. Running shaking hands through her hair, she stepped past Qilasc and kicked at the faint haze of dust on the withered grass. Then she walked heavily to the benches and sank down beside Grey.

  The Hunter took her hands and held them between his. “You’re right. You don’t need a gun.”