Ceremony

by Glen Cook

  Sleepy-eyed, the untouched huntresses had come out to learn the cause of the commotion.

  Marika’s bath raced toward the wooden darkship, pre-flight rites forgotten. Marika tossed her rifle across her shoulder and dashed after them, shouting, “Come, you two. The Serke.”

  Grauel and Barlog raced for the darkship after snatching their weapons.

  One voidship was off the ground already, rising swiftly. Marika’s eyes were fiery as she glared at her senior bath, who was not hustling the silver bowl around fast enough to suit her.

  “Wait!”

  Bagnel wobbled toward them, trying to keep his trousers from tripping him by holding them up with one paw.

  “No,” Marika said. “This is the real thing, Bagnel. There are Serke up there.”

  Bagnel played deaf. He lined up for his turn at the silver bowl. The bath muttered something unappreciative, let him sip. Grauel extracted another flask of liquid from the locker under the axis platform and dumped it into the bowl. Then she dug out a spare rifle and forced it upon him. “One I owe you, male.”

  “I see you still carry the one I gave you at Akard.”

  “It has been a faithful tool. Like me, though, it is getting old and cranky.”

  Marika swore. The other darkship was aloft now. The first had dwindled to a speck, its Mistress driving it hard. And she had not yet gathered her ghosts. “You meth strap down good,” she said. “Everyone strap down. This is going to be the ride of your lives.”

  Bagnel was strapped already. He began disassembling the weapon Grauel had given him. The huntress nodded with approval. Seated, she and Barlog did likewise with their own weapons.

  Marika snatched the bowl from the senior bath, gulped its contents, then bounced to her place at the tip of the wooden dagger. She went down through her loophole and snagged ghosts, lifted off, and continued gathering ghosts as she rose, dropping smaller specimens as she snatched ever bigger, stronger denizens of the otherworld. She pressed mercilessly.

  She overhauled one darkship at fifty thousand feet and the other before it made orbital altitude. All the while she caressed the void with the touch, tracking the Serke darkship as it fled toward where it could clamber into the Up-and-Over. She soon had its line of retreat clearly defined in her mind.

  It pointed toward a section of cloud she had not yet explored. She sketched an imaginary circle around that line, finding only four stars within it. She discarded the one farthest off center.

  She reached with the touch and told the other two Mistressess of the Ship, We will pursue. There are three stars close to their line of flight. I will take this one. She sent a picture of the stars and indicated which she had chosen for herself, then assigned each of them one of the two remaining. Push yourselves. Try to arrive before they do.

  That was unlikely, she thought. Even for her, with her advantages. Though time lapses in the Up-and-Over depended on the strength and talent of the individual Mistress of the Ship, the Serke Mistress had a long start and death raving behind her to motivate her.

  Marika began pushing down her chosen course before she reached orbital altitude and began gathering ghosts for the Up-and-Over long before she reached the traditional jumping distance. She grabbed at the Up-and-Over only minutes behind the Serke--long before she should have. Echoes of silent terror came from her bath, whom she had pushed near hysteria already with her demands.

  Blackness, twisting. A sensation of infinite nothing. A hint of a deep space ghost, a great black ghost, startled by the voidship’s passage.

  Then light again. The target star lay nearby. Marika struggled to gain her bearings, groggy from the violence of her plunge through the Up-and-Over.

  The bath recovered more slowly than she. While she waited on them Marika reached into the surrounding void, searching for the Serke darkship.

  Mentally righted, the senior bath left her station to prepare another silver bowl.

  Marika’s probe revealed that the star had no planets. It might have had at one time, but something had happened. Perhaps too close a brush with another star. The surrounding void teemed with rocky fragments, some of them bigger than the moon Biter back home. None were big enough to retain an atmosphere, and nowhere could Marika sense the betraying glow of life.

  There were no Serke bases here.

  And no Serke darkship.

  She stalked up the blade of the wooden dagger to see how Grauel, Barlog, and Bagnel had fared. She had drawn upon them as well as upon the bath, though the strength they had to lend was feeble.

  Bagnel looked sick, like he might vomit any second. He was down, clutching the framework with his eyes sealed. Grauel and Barlog looked strained and a little stunned by the savagery of the passage, but they had been with her long enough and had been through enough to be accustomed to the occasional violent passage. Though this had outdone everything that had gone before.

  Marika touched Bagnel briefly, gently, encouragingly. The one silth ability for which she had very little talent was healing, but she tried to let well-being flow from her to him. He nodded. He was all right. He was just shaken.

  She suspected, in her more dark moments, that she was a poor healer because she was not sufficiently whole and at peace within herself.

  She started back toward her station.

  Plop!

  It had the feel of the sound of a pebble falling into water as heard from beneath the surface, only it fell upon the silth part of her mind.

  The Serke darkship.

  Where?

  She searched, found a line, drove toward the enemy darkship. If she could strike before they recovered...

  They sensed her coming, turned, gained velocity rapidly. Marika swept into their wake, skidding like an aircraft in a tight turn, began gaining, began snapping up stellar landmarks as she went. Those were few indeed. This deep in the cloud only a dozen stars were visible in any direction.

  The Serke ship vanished. Marika fixed its line of flight and a target star and grabbed for the Up-and-Over herself.

  She did not press as hard this time. She guessed she need not strain so to arrive first.

  Correct.

  From that second system, in the dense heartstream of the dust, only three stars were visible. One was that from which Marika had come.

  There was no life in that system. Nor had there ever been any, for the star was a dwarf of a type never associated with planets. Marika scanned star and system only casually. Then she concentrated upon those two farther stars.

  One was a red giant.

  The other was a yellow, like the meth home sun.

  Elation filled her.

  She had sniffed out a hot trail at last.

  She gathered everyone at the axis and had the senior bath pass the silver bowl again. Once everyone had sipped and taken a few moments to relax, she pulled the darkship into the Up-and-Over again and returned the way she had come. Back to the base world.

  Let the Serke think they had eluded her.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I

  Bagnel left the wooden darkship at the Hammer. Marika scanned the surrounding void. The Hammer was just one of a dozen huge orbital stations now, and far from the largest. Near space seemed almost uncomfortably crowded. There had been many changes during the years she had been gone. Some she had heard about, of course, but the seeing was nothing like the hearing.

  She wanted to make a pass by the leading trojan, to see her brainchild, but responded to the anxieties of Grauel and Barlog. They had not set foot on the homeworld in nearly seven years. It was time to be attentive to their needs. Time to take the darkship down. The mirror would be there forever.

  Too, the huntresses wanted to move fast, lest some unpleasant welcome be arranged.

  Marika did not arrive ahead of the news of her coming. Bagnel had not been able to keep her return quiet simply because there were meth who had known he was with her. Random touches, mostly unfamiliar, brushed her, curious. She descended toward Ruhaack, ignoring t
he touches, sending only one of her own ahead, to warn the Reugge cloister that she was coming in.

  Most Senior Bel-Keneke herself came out to meet Marika. Marika fixed her gaze upon the Reugge first chair, ignoring the amused silth studying her wooden darkship and the firearms that she and her companions bore. She tried to read Bel-Keneke.

  She had been gone so long. This would be a changed world, perhaps a different world...

  Assuredly a different world. She could feel the difference. There were new smells in the air, smells of heavy industry, such as had plagued Maksche when the air was still. But Ruhaack was far from any industry. The smell must be everywhere.

  Had it become a world remade in the image of a brethren dream? Had it become what she had battled to avoid, simply because that was what had to be to escape the grasp of the grauken winter?

  She glanced up. The mirror in the leading trojan stood high in the sky, almost too bright for her eyes. Yet the air seemed colder than she remembered.

  Snow lay everywhere. It looked very deep.

  She could not recall what the season should be. She suspected the snow would be there no matter which. Bagnel had said the permafrost line had moved far south of Riihaack before it halted.

  The silth awaiting her looked thin and haggard. They had not been eating well. So. too, the bonds waiting to handle the darkship. So. How much worse for the run of meth?

  Marika let the darkship drop the last few inches, formally reuniting her with her homeworld. When she stepped down she nearly collapsed. She had pushed herself too hard making the long journey homeward.

  Bel-Keneke greeted her with elaborate honors. Marika returned the greeting formulas, pleased that her stature had not suffered in her absence.

  “Welcome home, far-fared,” Bel-Keneke said, now speaking for herself rather than as the voice of the Community. “We wondered if we would ever see you again. There have been repeated rumors that you had perished in the dark gulf, that you lived on only in legend, that the Redoriad were only pretending you were still alive to keep the warlock and his ilk afraid.”

  “I have gone farther afield than any silth before me, Bel-Keneke. I have seen ten thousand stars and marveled at ten thousand wonders. I can tell ten thousand stories that no one would believe. So. I have come back to the world of ice. I have come home.”

  “You have abandoned the hunt? You have given up? We surely can use your help here.”

  “No, I have not given up. Not exactly. Why would you need my help?”

  “Rogues.”

  “Ah. And my friend Bagnel was convinced no one would want me around, poking my nose into that business. That everyone would be happier were I to stay a legend among the stars.”

  “No doubt there are a great many high silth who would feel that way. Your return is sure to be the topic of discussion in every cloister. It will be searched and researched endlessly for meaning. But I speak only for myself and the Reugge. We are glad to have you here, and we will welcome your help.”

  “Tell me.”

  “That can wait. We are standing in the weather. You have just set foot to earth. You need rest more than you need news.”

  “This is true. Are there quarters for me?”

  “The same as always. They are being cleaned and the heat let in.”

  “Good. Will you attend me there at your earliest convenience? Would that be too much of an imposition?”

  Bel-Keneke blinked, glanced at Grauel, Barlog, and Marika’s bath, none of whom had departed for bath quarters. “I think not.” She was feeling around, trying to recall how one dealt with the wild silth Marika.

  Marika, too, was trying to remember. Seven years she had done without the artificial protocol and ceremonial of homeworld silthdom. Seven years since she had seen Bel-Keneke. Perhaps the most senior no longer felt indebted.

  Marika nodded. “Please do not speculate. To anyone, or even within yourself. I am here. That is enough for now. Let other sisterhoods drive themselves silly trying to figure out what I am about.”

  “Yes.” Bel-Keneke seemed amused. “Will you need anything? Other than your quarters, and food?”

  “A roster of all the current most seniors and ruling councils of all the dark-faring sisterhoods. Eventually, I suppose, the interesting and relevant data on the rogue problem. Though I may not be inclined to help those who have not helped themselves.”

  “I will see to it.” Bel-Keneke blinked some more. “Welcome home, Marika.” She hurried away.

  Marika watched her go, a little puzzled. She had not been able to read Bel-Keneke well. Had she lost the touch while away? Perhaps because she had been with so few meth for so long, and all of them well known?

  Bel-Keneke vanished through a doorway. “Come.” Marika gestured. Grauel, Barlog, and the bath followed her, trying to ignore the stares of the meth in the landing court. That the bath did not go to the bath dormitories would fuel wild speculation, Marika knew. But she doubted anyone would strike on the truth, and to allow them a chance to let that slip seemed a greater risk.

  It was a strain, keeping her eyes open till Bel-Keneke arrived. The others she sent to rest as soon as they had eaten and the workers had been chased from the still frigid apartment. She tossed more wood on the fire, paced before it awhile. She had been on warmer worlds too long.

  Pausing to gaze out the window, she watched a small brethren dirigible drift down and begin unloading firewood and what probably were food stores. Perhaps she had been unwise to take the old Serke cloister as the new Reugge main cloister. Maybe she should have chosen a site nearer the equator.

  She had to give up. Her eyes refused to remain open. She put still more wood on the fire, then slouched in a chair before it.

  Bel-Keneke’s scratch at the door did not waken her. But the squeak of hinges as she let herself in did. Marika sprang up, rifle swinging to cover the most senior.

  “Oh. I am sorry, mistress,” she apologized. “I dozed, and out there we are accustomed to... “

  “No matter,” Bel-Keneke replied, regaining her composure. “I believe I understand. May I?” She indicated another chair.

  “Of course. Come close. Singe your fur. It is very cold here. Is it winter, or has the weather turned this bad? Or have I just forgotten how bad it was?”

  “It is the heart of winter. The coldest time. But these days the summers are little better. You could have forgotten. I do not recall the winters having been much more harsh when you left. And the mirror meth tell us that from orbit you can see that the project is beginning to have an effect.”

  “My friend Bagnel told me the permafrost line has been halted.”

  “So they say. The energy from the mirrors falls day and night. When both are finished there will be no more night. What will we silth do if we do not have the dark?” She twitched her ears to signify that that was a joke. “I have hopes of seeing another summer before I join my foredams in the embrace of the All.”

  “The project continues well? Asking Bagnel did me no good. He is as determined a pessimist as ever.”

  “Very well. It remains ahead of schedule, more or less. The sisterhoods and brethren remain unified and determined, much to my amazement. If you had asked me when we began I would have said there was no chance there would be any enthusiasm left at this time. But there is. I suppose because those with the training can see positive results. There is, however, that element I mentioned before.”

  “Yes. It is just possible I may have a cure for that. I have come home to... “Marika paused. Some great reluctance held her tongue. It was almost as if some part of her did not want an era to end.

  Bel-Keneke waited expectantly.

  Marika forced it. “I have found them.”

  “The rogues?”

  “The rogues and Serke. Yes.”

  “Why are you here? You have dispatched them?”

  “I have not. It is not something I wish to hazard alone. For many reasons. No. I have come home to ask for a convention. For this I want to
gather all the voidfaring darkships of all the Communities.”

  “I was certain you would... “

  “Go after them myself? Perhaps the Serke think the same. I hope so. It will keep them confident that they have not been found out. But I would not try it alone. I am not that wild novice from the Ponath anymore, Bel-Keneke. I have learned to regard consequences. And our enemies are not the Serke of yore. They are not true silth at all anymore.”

  Bel-Keneke did not care to comment. She just sat there toasting her boots, face composed in a mask of neutrality, waiting.

  “Were I to go in alone, and challenge Bestrei alone, and were I to defeat her, still nothing would change. They would not accept the failure. They would destroy me and keep on. They put the old ways, the traditions, the laws, aside long ago, the day TelleRai died. Would the meth who cast down the fire upon TelleRai... “

  “I understand. I do not like it, but I understand. They have backed themselves into a position where they must do what they must to survive.”

  “Then you understand why they must be approached with all the force that can be mustered.”

  “I see it, but I do not think you will win much support. Many of the old starfarers have retired now. They are content working the mirror project. They may be content letting the Serke lie. Those who do venture to the starworlds now are younger. They are not motivated by the hunt. For them, come from here, the grauken is a danger more to be feared than the legendary Serke. I believe times have changed. Though I could be wrong. Certainly there are those of us who do remember, and who still hurt.”

  “We shall see. What I would like, if possible, is a quiet gathering of the most seniors of the dark-faring silth. Those who do remember and who have the power to order done what needs doing. If we move quickly, we can strike before the news reaches the rogues.”

  “You are sure they do not know you have found them?”

  “Only one meth outside my crew knows. And the crew only suspect. And them I intend to keep here in the apartment till decisions are made and action begun.”

  “Who is that one?”