all the more awkward now Ashtenzim spoke directly to her, "Welcome, Pevan Atcar. I am Ashtenzim, occupied as spokesone for those you will know as Separatists."
"Come again?" She caught herself short of showing too much bafflement. Ashtenzim was worse at human mannerisms than most Wildren. Pevan waved a hand in front of her mouth, hoping the Wilder understood the gesture, and began again. "I'm sorry, your welcome confused me. I'm Pevan Atcar, Gatemaker of Federas." The ritual greeting restored her equilibrium, but Ashtenzim shuddered as she spoke.
"Ashtenzim speaks for the Separatists," said Chag, studying her. "They're the Children of the Wild I wanted you to meet."
"Separatists?" Pevan glanced from Ashtenzim to Chag and back.
"The word explains itself, Pevan Atcar." Ashtenzim waved polyps sideways, a Second-Realm gesture, except that Pevan found she could see the creature's irritation in it.
"I ask your pardon to explain, Ashtenzim." Chag bowed his head as he spoke, but his eyes never left the Wilder.
Ashtenzim rippled, the breathtaking grace of the motion spoiled by the underlying emotion of contempt. Pevan reeled as it washed over her.
Chag steadied her, and said, "The Children of the Wild don't all agree with the Gift-Givers. Even some of those groups which don't see us as food find us... unpleasant to deal with." He glanced at Ashtenzim, who had retreated to the mouth of the cave, and lowered his voice. "The Separatists are the most powerful of those. They want to break the Gift-Givers' power in the Second Realm and put an end to interaction between the Realms."
A stone sank into Pevan's gut. "You can't be serious. What about feral predators?"
Chag shook his head, "It's more drastic than that. They claim they have a plan to actually separate the Realms, for good."
"Separate?" She gaped at him.
"Hence the name." He managed a weak smile. "I haven't been able to understand any of the details they've offered, and they aren't telling me everything, either."
"And you trust them on this?" Pevan knew she should leave it at that, but the thief's attempt at lightness deserved worse. "What's this got to do with your crimes?"
He had the decency to flinch. "That's complicated. It's to do with Second-Realm politics, but not in a way we can understand."
"Not good enough." Pevan turned to Ashtenzim, saw awareness in the rigid angles of the Wilder's pose. "Ashtenzim, please explain as best you can. Why did you send Chag to rob those towns?"
The Wilder's voice matched its form, harder even than usual. "Talerssi was taken from the Gift-Givers."
"What is Talerssi?" Pevan heard the heat creep into her voice. "Was it worth the deaths?"
Ashtenzim shrank as the emotion in the words reached it, its limbs writhing in distaste. "Curb your anger if you wish to make requests."
Pevan bit back a yet angrier retort. Bad manners could still get her censured or killed here. Chag put a hand on her sleeve, but she shoved it away. The little man said, "Will you at least let me show you what they showed me? I can't make you believe me, but I was as dutiful a Gifted as you and your squad before I came here the first time."
"What were you doing this far from your village, then?" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ashtenzim retreat further. Turning her anger on Chag clearly hadn't made the Wilder any more comfortable.
"Looking for Rissad." Again, Chag gripped her arm. "Please? I swear if you're not convinced I'll go back to Federas with you, no trouble." His face creased with pleading intense enough to look pained.
"We have not agreed, nor will we agree, to such an arrangement." Ashtenzim cut through Chag's desperation.
The thief straightened, "I made no promise to serve you indefinitely, Ashtenzim. Either way, this is the wrong time for that argument." He turned back to Pevan. "Please? You did promise to hear me out."
Which was true, though it also showed up how ill-thought-out the promise had been. She had not been her best at the time. Still, she gave Chag a stiff nod.
He turned to Ashtenzim and swallowed slightly, his jaw tight. "With your leave, Ashtenzim, I'd like to introduce Pevan to Delaventrin."
"You have my leave." The Wilder's voice fell so flat it almost became sardonic. "Delaventrin is in the Shtorq."
The cave twitched slightly at Ashtenzim's last word, as if the whole Realm and everything in it had instantly shifted a half-inch to the right. Pevan staggered as her body tried to compensate for a movement that hadn’t happened. Chag crooked his fingers at her, then pointed from himself to the back wall of the cave.
It struck her suddenly that, as a Witness from a safe town far from the Wilds, he'd probably spent his training wondering whether he'd ever use any of it. Either he'd practiced obsessively, or someone had given him a very thorough refresher. His signals had been crisp and clear throughout the journey. And how many Gifted could use the tapping code fluently? Well, Rel and Dora, probably, but other than them?
Had Chag's training come from the Separatists? If so, it spoke well of their power and diligence. Ashtenzim's awkwardness might be born of hostility rather than poor familiarity with First-Realm logic. She glanced back over her shoulder at the tangled, confusing shape of the Wilder where it hung in the cave-mouth, re-evaluating. Taking her eyes off the creature gave her an uncomfortable shiver.
The back of the cave looked like crumpled paper, and it unfolded as they approached. It flowed flat, so that they walked down a narrow canyon between sheer white walls. Reflected light made looking up too high impossible, which, Pevan reflected, was probably a good thing. She had the sense that they walked between the pages of a giant book that threatened to slam shut any moment.
Ahead, the crack of light grew suddenly into an opening, rushing toward them and stopping as Pevan flinched. Chag caught her wrist with an unexpected ferocity and yanked her forward. She stumbled, bit back a curse, and fetched up against the handrail of a marbled balcony. Behind her, there was no sign of the opening where she'd just paused.
She surveyed the room to avoid wondering what Chag had saved her from. A huge cylinder of white stone, blazing with light from some hidden source, stretched away above them and a good way below, immaculate surface broken here and there by the tooth-like protrusions of balconies. A fat brass pipe spiralled around the room, swinging close to the railing where Pevan leant, its colour striking after the monochrome cave. Below, cradled in the tail of the pipe, a small platform floated steady on a sea of darkness.
Chag stepped up beside her and called out, "Delaventrin? May I have your pardon?" The chamber rang with his words until the air seemed to hum.
"Welcome, Chag Van Raighan." Delaventrin's voice came just as Pevan reached up to cover her ears against the echo of Chag's. She dropped her hands and spun, sure the Wilder must be right behind her. White, blank and unmoving, the wall glared back at her. If there was a Wilder on the balcony with them, it was invisible. It spoke again, and again, the words seemed to emerge from the air just behind her ear, "You have brought Pevan Atcar?"
Pevan rubbed her neck, trying not to shudder. "I'm here."
"Indexicals are a waste of words, Pevan Atcar." The words carried none of the ambience that had amplified Chag's. They were a gentle, smooth stroke running through her ear canals, too demure even to be sensual. The voice of a small creature, which perhaps explained why she couldn't see anything that might be Delaventrin on any of the nearby balconies. The Wilder finished, "Both of you, please descend."
Pevan yelped as Chag vaulted the balcony-rail and landed astride the pipe. He slid away downward before she had a chance to call after him. Shouting would have been no good anyway, as her yelp bounced around the cylinder, filling her ears with a steady, painful whine. Eyeing the darkness below warily, Pevan climbed onto the rail and reached out to touch the golden surface of the pipe.
It hung just out of reach. Pevan flailed her other hand and managed just barely to escape slipping off the rail by grabbing hold of it. Her strained wrist protested, but she pulled herself back upright. Chag's leap had spoken of
substantial practice. Could she match it? Did she dare try?
No, her tired mind insisted, but no other option presented itself. Teetering, feeling her legs start to tremble, Pevan got to her feet on the flat top of the handrail. Her boots were just small enough to give her steady footing, but bracing to leap forced her to look down, and she slipped. Her breath seized in her throat. As she began to topple, she thrust outward, pushing as best her legs could manage.
The pipe hit her in the belly, and she scrabbled at the too-smooth surface through a haze of pain. The metal was so slick it felt wet beneath her touch. Had her body not hung down on the far side of the pipe, Pevan realised she'd have slid off into the blackness beneath. As it was, gravity pulled her down around the spiral, draped across the pipe like a rag.
She stretched out, trying to shift more of her weight forward, but the motion unsettled her balance. With the ponderous inevitability of an old tower block finally crumbling into collapse, she slipped around the side of the pipe. Pressing her hands flat to the gleaming surface offered no extra purchase. She caught a glimpse of her weather-ravaged face and hair reflected in the metal as she fell away. Not a dignified way to go.
Some combination of stone wall, hammer and Chag Van Raighan hit her from the side just as her feet started to go cold from contact with the black whatever-it-was. She bore him to the floor in a
Falling Off the Face of the Earth Page 5
