Ceremony

by Glen Cook

  Marika nodded curtly. She drew herself together, willing her weariness away, and stalked off. She went into her quarters and isolated herself there, and opened to the All, and stayed opened longer than ever she had before. Despite her exhaustion, when she returned into herself she went looking for Grauel and Barlog.

  “I have a mission for you two,” she announced. “A tough one. Feel free to refuse it if you like.”

  They eyed her expectantly, without eagerness.

  “I want you to accompany Bagnel to the homeworld. I want you to watch over him as you would me while he reports on our visit to the aliens and recruits brethren to replace those lost in this attack. I also want you to assess the situation there. Especially as regards the warlock.”

  Barlog remained as still as stone, not a ghost of expression touching her face. Grauel exposed her teeth slightly.

  They were not happy.

  “I know no one else I can trust. And I dare not send him unprotected.”

  “I see,” Grauel said.

  And Barlog said, “As you command, Marika.”

  “I command nothing. I ask. You can refuse if you wish.”

  “Can we? How? We are your voctors. We must go if that is what you want.”

  “I could wish for more enthusiasm and understanding, but I’ll take what I can get. I’ll assemble a crew and talk to Bagnel. I am certain he will be as thrilled as you are. But you must go soon. Quickness may be essential.”

  She spent a long time with Bagnel, wobbly with weariness, first convincing him--he was more stubborn than Grauel and Barlog--then detailing what she wanted said and what she wanted investigated.

  “You will do fine,” she said to his latest protest of ineptitude.

  “Fine or not, I do not want to go. I have work to do here. Have you seen what they did to my meth?”

  “I know, Bagnel. I know. And I think you will be better for recruiting replacements personally and bringing them out to undo what has been done. You’ve already agreed to go. Stop trying to change my mind.”

  “All right. All right. Will you get some rest now? Before they find you collapsed in a passageway somewhere?”

  “Soon. Soon. I have one more thing to do.”

  She assembled the bath with whom she had ventured to the alien world. They were little more rested than she, though they had been sleeping. She told them what she needed, and told the strongest of the bath she now had her own darkship and a mission to fly it on as soon as she was ready.

  All of the bath volunteered to accompany her, though a passage with a Mistress of the Ship who was not completely tested was risky. They all wanted to see the homeworld again. For several it had been years.

  They bickered about who had the most right.

  “All of you go,” Marika said. “What’s the difference? There are six of you and four will have to go to make a crew. What could I do with the two who are left?”

  That settled, and everything she could do anything about done, she was able to rest at last.

  It was a long time before she came out of her quarters again.

  II

  Marika became intolerable to those who remained aboard the starship and to those who came to visit, though visitors were not common. Few silth believed the attack had been delivered by the Serke who had survived Marika’s capture of the derelict. The dark-faring Communities all eyed each other suspiciously and poked around in the shadows seeking those with guilty knowledge.

  Bagnel did not return, and still did not return. She became more difficult after he became overdue, and the longer overdue he was, the more intolerable was she. More than once she caught herself on the brink of taking a darkship out alone, in a mad effort at limping through the homeward passage by herself. But that was impossible even for one of her strength.

  She was strong enough to make a short passage, one star to another, on her own. But she would need long periods of rest between passages, and there were no resting places at many of the homeward milestars. Moreover, rests would consume too much time. Bagnel, Grauel, and Barlog, even with a weak Mistress, could make the journey several times over while she limped along.

  A daring silth came to her quarters while she slept and wakened her. Marika did not so much as growl. Something dire had to be afoot if the female dared this. “What is it?”

  “Darkship just came out of the Up-and-Over, mistress. Your darkship. It is in trouble.”

  Marika leaped up. “Send out... “

  “Every darkship available is headed that way, mistress. We expect to save them, but it will be close. They came through with only two bath.”

  Marika settled her nerves carefully, turning to old rituals seldom used since her novitiate. She reached with the touch, lightly, for it would not do to rattle a novice Mistress in trouble.

  She found the darkship drifting inward, unstable in flight, damaged. Bagnel was not aboard. Neither was Grauel. Three bath were indeed missing. Barlog was there, at the axis, lying down, apparently injured. The darkships rushing to help had skipped through the Up-and-Over and were closing in. Marika remained close till all four meth had been transferred to safety aboard other darkships.

  Her ship. Her precious oddball wooden dark-faring ship. It had been crippled. The signs were unmistakable. Someone had attacked it.

  She began stalking the passageways of the alien starship, boots hammering angrily. This was it. This was the end of all patience. She would not tolerate any more. Those responsible for this would pay. “I am the successor to Bestrei. Would they have dared this with her? No.” She would make them remember. That fact would become painfully apparent to those responsible. The silth would change if she had to send half the sisterhoods into the dark... Rage sapped by vigorous exercise began to fade into worry. Where was Bagnel? What had become of Grauel?

  She was at the lock when they brought the survivors inside. She said nothing. She just stood there letting the healer sisters get on with their work, spurred by her dark, angry glare.

  More and more meth gathered as the word spread. The atmosphere aboard the starship grew depressing. Marika sensed little anger. That fed her own rage. They were depressed because they knew she would avenge this. Because they knew this outrage meant the beginning of a new era of friction.

  They were not outraged, and that angered her almost as much as the fact of the attack itself. All this time with her and they had given no loyalty to herself or to the project. Or maybe only to the project. They might not care who was in control so long as they could proceed with their studies undisturbed.

  “Move them into the games room,” she instructed the healer sisters. “Prepare sleeping arrangements for five. One of you will be there, on duty with them, at all times.”

  As she started away one of the healer sisters expressed her mystification with a simple, “Mistress?”

  “I want them kept together, in one place. And I want to be there with them. I am going for a few things. Have them in the games room when I get there.”

  And she did move in with them, watching them every instant, scarcely napping. If there was an enemy aboard the starship, he or she would not reach them.

  There were moments when she marveled at her own paranoia, but they were far between. And even then she understood that paranoia was justified.

  The bath she had made Mistress recovered first. She wakened and saw Marika hovering. Relief overcame her. Then embarrassment. Then silth training took hold and she began a formal report.

  “Back up,” Marika said. “Give it to me the way it happened--from the time you arrived on the homeworld.”

  “It is simple, mistress. Your male friend pursued his assignment with great vigor. He irritated many silth by his manner, and was tolerated only because he was your agent. But they are trying to forget you on the homeworld. They are angered by constant reminders of your power, though they have benefited much from what you have done. Already it can be seen where brethren have adapted knowledge we have gained here and have employed it to
the benefit of all meth.

  “But no one believed in our mission. Everyone believed we were spies sent to prepare the way for your return. No one would cooperate. Bagnel garnered what information he could by trading what we learned about the aliens for gossip. He worked long hours comparing what one order said to what others told him.”

  “Am I to assume that lack of cooperation was the reason you took so long?”

  “Yes, mistress. That and the male’s insistence on frequent visits to the mirrors. He learned more there than he did among those who have a logical interest in treating us honestly.”

  “Us. You keep saying us and we. Explain.”

  “We are not of the same Community, Marika, and that has stood between us. There have been moments of friction within our crew. But when we returned home we all found ourselves considered suspect by our seniors. None of our Communities welcomed us. We were all treated coolly and with suspicion, as though we were of an enemy order. Even your own most senior, Bel-Keneke, would have little to do with us.”

  “So what happened? Where are the others?”

  “We were on a flight to Ruhaack from Khartyth, where we had spoken with the Frodharsch seniors, when we were attacked by rogue aircraft. They were much like the alien craft we saw when we visited that world. I amazed myself. I was able to gather those-who-dwell and strike at them. I had not been able to manipulate on the dark side before.”

  “Fear can inspire wonderful things. Rogue aircraft, eh? The Communities have let things go that far? Why do I bother trying to educate the fools?”

  “Terrible things have happened, mistress. A fourth of the world is in rogue paws, mostly wilderness country, snow country, but held as firmly as any Community territory. More firmly, because it was from silth they took the land. The sisterhoods have ignored that, except for the few you organized to fight back. Many have become so frightened that they will not try to control the rogues. But you will find all that in Bagnel’s reports. Let me continue.

  “There were four rogue aircraft. I opened to the All and let it carry the struggle through me. I took the darkship down into rugged valleys where they could not follow, gathered and sent those-who-dwell. The rogue pilots were shielded by suppressor suits. But their aircraft were not protected. I downed three by damaging their control systems. The fourth fled. We sustained only minor damage.

  “But as we neared Ruhaack we were hit by a suppressor beam. We were just two miles from the Redoriad cloister. I reached with the touch and appealed for help. None came. Rogues attacked on foot. There were at least a hundred of them, there in the shadow of that great cloister. It was a long, fierce fight. I slew many who were not protected by suppressor suits. But in the end we ran out of ammunition and they overwhelmed us.

  “During the fighting I appealed repeatedly to both the Redoriad and Reugge cloisters. Finally the Reugge responded to my touch. Several darkships came out. They scattered the rogues and drove them off, but when they fled they took with them the voctor Grauel, the bath Silba, and the male Bagnel. The baths Rextab and Nigel were left dead. The rest of us were uninjured but in poor condition mentally.”

  The Mistress turned inward upon herself, remembering, radiating pain. Marika had to prod her. “Go on, please.” She had a feeling there was more, and maybe worse, though her imagination had difficulty enough encompassing the disaster already set forth.

  “Everyone refused to help us, then. We had been reduced to harmlessness, they thought, and that was enough for them. If they ignored us long enough, we would die eventually, I guess.” A trace of sarcasm. “The threat of Marika’s wrath would have no substance. She would be isolated in a far place. In time, I expect, messages would have gone out for all darkships to stay away from here, and recalling those few Mistresses who were with you. You would have been left to live out your life in exile.”

  Marika controlled the emotions boiling inside her. “I see. But?”

  “I freely admit that some of us would have permitted that to happen had our own orders not treated us like bearers of pestilence. We suffered that for a few days only. Your voctor Barlog was enraged. She was also very determined to rectify the situation and to do something to recover our companions from the rogues--or at the very least to have vengeance. But as matters stood we were powerless. When even your own Community would do nothing... We argued long hours and decided we had to come for you. Still, we were short of crew. And still we could recruit no aid of any sort. Finally our anger and disgust grew so boundless we decided to attempt the passage, feeble though we thought our chances were. The voctor Barlog, with no talent at all, volunteered to risk herself completely by standing bath.

  “But before we departed, she insisted we had to recover Bagnel’s reports from the Reugge cloister. At that point, I think, she was in full command, though she was not silth. We bowed to her age, wisdom, and, most of all, her determination, which is not unlike your own when your mind is set.”

  Marika was mildly amused. It had been a long time since any junior had dared speak so frankly. She found she approved.

  The Mistress continued, “We slipped in by darkship, hovered outside the window of our quarters there, and Barlog broke in. It took her several trips to bring all the reports aboard. During the last of those several Reugge sisters tried to compel us to return them. Barlog was out of patience with silth political nonsense. Her words. She gunned them down. Their voctors fired back before she finished them, too, and she was wounded. I then took the darkship up and headed here. There was no pursuit, probably because they expected us to perish. It was a difficult passage, but we made it.”

  “It was an heroic passage,” Marika said. “If it does not spawn a legend it will be because of the fool nature of silth.” Secretly, she was amazed that the Mistress had made it through--with almost no practical experience, only two bath, and a talent that was marginal at best. Her chances should have been nil. “There is a lesson in it that should not be lost. Determination counts for as much as any other factor. Where are Bagnel’s reports?”

  “Still aboard the darkship. In the carrier baskets.”

  “Thank you. This will not be forgotten. There will be great rewards and terrible reprisals because of what you have suffered. It has destroyed the last of my patience and mercy. You rest. You treat yourself well. I appoint you my deputy in my absence, with full powers to speak as I would speak.”

  “You are going back?”

  “There are debts to be collected. There are friends in durance. This I will not tolerate.” Within the hour Marika had conscripted a darkship crew and had had them ferry her out to her wooden voidship.

  III

  The homeworld of the meth swam before her. She drifted past the mirror in the leading trojan, noting that it was complete and in full operation. Afar, the second was so near completion it would be finished within a month.

  Bagnel’s report declared the long winter beaten. It was in retreat, though it would be a long time yet before it could be declared fully conquered.

  The project was winding down. Briefly Marika wondered what impact that would have upon meth society. Perhaps the unity could be kept alive in projects designed to recover lands and resources the winter had given up.

  She wondered for a moment about her place in history. It did mean something to her, despite her protests to the contrary. It concerned her a little because she had no friends among those who would do the remembering. She feared the silth would recall her for things that seemed to her of little real consequence, and others not for her accomplishments but her tyrannies.

  She did not worry about it long. She was silth enough to have little attention to devote to far futures.

  She drifted past Biter, past Chaser and the lesser moons, past the Hammer and all the stations and satellites that had been orbited during the erection of the mirrors. She moved into position above the New Continent, well inside geocentric orbit, but remaining stationary with respect to the planetary surface, a fraction of her mind devoted to cont
rolling those-who-dwell, who maintained her position.

  They did not know she had come, down there. They did not know out there on the edge of the void. She had come with the stealth of a huntress intent on counting coup upon a rival packstead. They were not watching, anyway. They did not expect her. How could they believe that one novice Mistress with only two bath and a wounded voctor in support could run the long reach out to the alien starship?

  She sent ghosts to explore the world below, carefully, carefully, lest their passage be detected. She found very little beside disappointment.

  Skiljansrode--that Gradwohl had created, and she had shaped into an engine of silth-managed technology, and that Edzeka had developed into her personal technical Community--was no more. A gutted ruin, the surrounding snows littered with the corpses and machines and airships of those who had brought it low. Edzeka had been overconfident of her fortress, it seemed. But as she had promised, the warlock had paid a high price for his vengeance.

  He had survived the quirky engine she had created in hopes of controlling him. Had outlived it and had prospered. As Bagnel had reported.

  Bagnel’s pessimistic reports were not pessimistic enough. Exploring the rogue areas, she found them stronger and more numerous than he had suspected. They had installations everywhere. But, she was pleased to note, not all were protected by suppressor systems.

  She found no trace of Grauel, Bagnel, or the missing bath. That did not surprise or dismay her. She had not expected to find them easily.

  She pinpointed the rogue installations upon a mental map, then went on to explore everything the meth had in orbit. She was quite surprised to discover that no weapons had been orbited since the defeat of the Serke. Perhaps silth disunity was of some value after all. Maybe they had not been able to agree on the best ways to shut her out.