Hellspark (27 page)

This time, however, a dozen jievnal sticks, set at precise intervals—precise for a human, Maggy

corrected—around her burned dully.

Layli-layli

’s plump hands flashed and wove with the intricacies of the koli thread. Maggy read her moving lips without difficulty:

“… This for the love of woman to man”—her hands wove another knot—“this for the love of woman to woman”—still another, the thread shortened and twisted—“and this,” she said, grasping the two tiny ends of thread that protruded from the glittering tangle, “is for death.”

She gave a slow, steady pull and all the apparent knots in the koli thread came inexorably unraveled, to leave nothing but the straight gold string to link her hands.

It was the death-song of a woman for a beloved sister whom she named Oloitokitok.

When layli-layli calulan looked up at last, Maggy raised two of the arachne’s appendages and held them out before her. Despite its limited likeness to the human gesture, she hoped layli-layli would understand she meant to extend sympathy. Then, drawing the ritual words from a tragic drama of Yn origin, she said, “I must speak of one whose life is intertwined with mine.

Let the dead be dead, and grant them the peace of tuli-tuli the beast.”

The dark eyes were calm, the broad mouth turned up at the corners despite her mourning.

Layli-layli calulan said, “I will speak to the living. What is the problem, maggy-maggy lynn

?”

“Will you, layli-layli calulan

, permit my sister to speak with you?”

“Who is your sister?”

“Her name is swift-Kalat twis Jalakat, and I claim her as my sister by right of the Hellspark ritual of change.” There was Maggy’s lie; no such ritual existed. She waited, observing layli-layli calulan carefully for change of manner that might suggest anger, a common reaction to an uncovered lie, or amusement, a less frequent but a possible response. While Maggy had seen both, she was not sure how either would appear in an Yn; she kept her Yn files active.

There was a pause, one that Tocohl would have categorized as thoughtful. Then layli-layli calulan said, “And her true name?”

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The lie had passed for truth.

“Her true name is hers alone, not mine to give.” That part was not a lie, thought Maggy—perhaps she should be amused—because she had heard swift-Kalat’s soft-name but doubted that anyone in the survey knew it besides Alfvaen.

“You share the name of strength, maggy-maggy lynn

. I will speak to your sister. Bring her to me.”

Once more, Maggy held out the arachne’s two appendages in sympathy. Then she sent it back to swift-Kalat at a run—for the second part of her lie.

Dyxte was still with him. Maggy checked through all the examples of lying she had and found Tocohl saying, “The fewer the witnesses the better…” It had been said with a smile, but Maggy knew Tocohl’s smile did not always negate information. Besides, she had little enough to go on. “Please leave us, Dyxte,” she said, “I must speak to swift-Kalat alone.”

The look they gave the arachne she interpreted as puzzlement, but Dyxte said, “I’ll speak to you later,” and walked away. Swift-Kalat bent to listen.

Now, thought Maggy, something to satisfy swift-Kalat. “Hold out your hands,” she instructed, and when he did, she placed two of the arachne’s muddy extremities in them. “Please say the following after me…”

Recalling a tape of a Ringsilver magician who, in Tocohl’s frame of reference, could change a hard-boiled egg into a live bird, Maggy checked it through. Even knowing it to be illusion, Tocohl had been enchanted. Maggy hoped Tocohl would be as delighted with this illusion, so she said aloud, “

Hey, presto

!”

“Hey, presto!” repeated swift-Kalat. “What did layli-layli calulan say, Maggy, and what’s this all about?” He wiped his muddy hands on his thighs.

“That was the Hellspark ritual of change,” said Maggy, “that makes you, legally speaking, a woman.

And layli-layli calulan is willing to speak to you now because you are my sister.”

“Is that possible?” swift-Kalat squinted at the arachne.

“I just did it,” said Maggy, in a tone she’d heard Tocohl use many a time for a fait accompli.

“Come talk to layli-layli

.”

The arachne led the way to layli-layli calulan

’s cabin and entered behind him. The shaman looked up from her magically patterned mat and said, “You dream, swift-Kalat.”

Swift-Kalat obviously recalled the exchange he’d seen between Tocohl and the shaman. He replied, “As do you.”

“Be seated, sister and sister of my sister,” the shaman said. Maggy folded the arachne’s legs and placed the body on the floor where she could keep her camera eye on both; swift-Kalat knelt on his heels. “Now speak,”

layli-layli calulan said.

With great care, swift-Kalat chose the words to tell layli-layli calulan what had happened to

Tocohl’s party. To Maggy, it sounded completely reliable, even in GalLing’, but it was not enough to explain swift-Kalat’s sudden decision to begin the search immediately.

Layli-layli listened without comment until he had finished. After a moment’s pause, she looked at him closely and said, “That is not all. If that were all, you would have waited the twenty minutes Maggy specified.” When he didn’t speak, she added, “Tell me what else is happening in the camp, or has happened, or will happen. You will not judge, but perhaps I
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will.”

There was a brief jangle of bracelets. Without a downward glance, swift-Kalat jammed them to his elbow to silence them. “Oloitokitok died while Megeve repaired the transceiver. Megeve repairs the transceiver now, and Maggy cannot speak to Tocohl or to Alfvaen.”

Maggy added that bit of information to stores and ran extrapolation on it. The results wouldn’t have appealed to Tocohl, and they did not appeal to Maggy on the same grounds.

“I hear what you will not say,” said layli-layli calulan

.

Sweat beaded swift-Kalat’s forehead. “Can you speak it without adding to the risk?”

“I can.”

Layli-layli calulan twisted the bluestone ring from her right forefinger. “With this hand, I will.” She rose from the mat in a single smooth motion, gathered up the jievnal sticks. A rumble of distant thunder made her face suddenly passionate. “Hurry! We may already be too late!”

She sprang for the door and darted across the compound at so light and quick a pace that even swift-Kalat found it hard to match.

By the time the arachne caught up with them in Kejesli’s quarters, Maggy found layli-layli calulan in the midst of an elaborate lie. Like Maggy, layli-layli took advantage of Kejesli’s lack of knowledge of her culture, a lack Maggy did not share.

Nothing new in technique, Maggy noted, but she recorded it for her growing file on lying, for its style and for its purpose, which she hoped might become clear.

“The gods Hibok Hibok and Juffure,”

layli-layli was saying, “have sworn vengeance against our enterprise. The jievnal sticks”—she thrust them, smoking, before Kejesli’s face—“tell me that only a red-haired woman can prevent disaster to us all.”

Y herself was the only Yn god, and the jievnal sticks were not used for divination. Swift-Kalat was no likelier than Kejesli to be aware of that but for her to speak of disaster…! Didn’t layli-layli calulan know what effect that would have on a Jenji? Maggy searched the files, looking for a way to mitigate the damage, as, gasping, swift-Kalat flinched from layli-layli calulan to cradle his braceleted forearm as if he were in pain. Nothing, Maggy could find no precedent—

Hearing the gasp, layli-layli calulan glanced his way. Still holding the jievnal sticks inches from

Kejesli’s face, she stretched out her bare right hand to clasp it about swift-Kalat’s wrist. “I speak a dream, swift-Kalat,” she told him, in a tone that commanded. “A dream can be turned.”

Whether her words or her espabilities did the trick, Maggy couldn’t tell, but swift-Kalat took a deep breath and said, “Do what you must.”

Without releasing swift-Kalat’s wrist, layli-layli calulan fixed her eyes once again on Kejesli. In the same tone of command, she said, “I invoke taboo.”

Now Maggy understood the purpose of the lie. Only by claiming a taboo situation could layli-layli calulan force Kejesli to an action he had forbidden.

Kejesli, coughing from the smoke, braced a hand against the ceiling. “What is it you need

?”

“A daisy-clipper and permission to take it out despite the broken transceiver,”

layli-layli calulan said, “nothing more.”

Kejesli lowered his hand; halfway down, it bobbed once in a Sheveschkem shrug. Relief, Maggy decided, as Kejesli crossed to his computer console. He tapped a code and, even before a face appeared, demanded, “John, what are the weather conditions?”

It was Dyxte’s face that sprang into view. “Captain, that storm is going to be nasty—and we can’t reach Buntec’s party to let them know it’s coming because—”

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“The transceiver is out of commission,” Kejesli finished for him. “Could we send a party in person?”

“If we do, they’ll be caught in full storm on their return.” Dyxte scrubbed his forehead as if to erase the deep lines etched above his brows.”We’ve got about ten minutes before the storm hits camp.”

Kejesli broke contact without a further word and turned, his hand still clamped to the console’s edge.

“I can’t let you go, layli-layli

, no matter what your gods say.” Shoulders gone taut, he stared past her.

“They’ll be all right, you know. Buntec will ground the daisy-clipper. As long as they stay inside, they’ll be fine.”

Layli-layli calulan held up a forefinger bare of its ring. “They had better be,” she said quietly. On the roof above, rain began to drum.

OU COULDN’T SEE the ship from here anyway,” Buntec said, “much less tell if anything were wrong.”

Tocohl brought her hand down, saw that it was shaking. “If it were dark…”

“You said geosynchronous orbit. Even in the dark, you couldn’t get a glimmer. Besides, this is

Flashfever—stupid planet doesn’t believe in dark any more than the Port of Delights.” She thrust out a hand. “Let me have a look at that thing.”

Tocohl passed her Maggy’s hand-held. Buntec laid it on her knee while she prodded pockets;

eventually she found what she had been looking for, some small implement adequate to open the back of the device. She glanced up in mid-examination to say, “Don’t worry, Hellspark, I don’t have the faintest intention of going after your implant. That could have been damaged when we got battered around. Are you hurtin’ from it?”

“No,” Tocohl said, rubbing the area. There was nothing to feel, neither bruise nor swelling.

(Maggy?)

she said; there was still no response. “No,” Tocohl said again, “I lost contact with her before the crash—I’m sure of it. She’s very protective. If she’d been in contact, I wouldn’t have bruises.”

Buntec snapped the hand-held shut. “Nothing wrong I can see but even locking’s a bitch without the right tools. Well, even if the problem’s at the source, the ship’s in geosynchronous orbit…”

Meaning, Tocohl thought, the ship will be fine. She bit down hard on her anger, said only, “You mean a problem at the source can be repaired… yes. But, Buntec—the result might no longer be

Maggy.”

Her urgency was lost on Buntec. Tocohl should have expected as much. Buntec hadn’t had the hour by hour contact with Maggy she’d had for so many years. Unable to explain, Tocohl lapsed into silence—and shivered at the depth of that silence.

Out of habit born of precaution, she manually ran spectacles and 2nd skin through their test modes:

warmth, yes; heightened vision, yes; infrared vision, yes.

It was thornproof still and tougher in fact than the 2nd skins the rest of the party wore. The sensors on its surface made tiny patterns against the skin of her back and shoulders. Buntec was up and pacing, she realized, and realized as well that she could not have interpreted the patterns without hearing

Buntec’s actions.

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(Oh, Maggy,) she said and then, into the silence, in Sheveschkem she added, (Veschke guide thee!)

She took a deep breath. First things first: that meant Alfvaen. It might well be necessary to walk back to base camp. If only she had some better idea of Alfvaen’s condition.

Alfvaen scratched furiously.

A sharp curse from Om im distracted them both, jerked them about to face the river.

A surge of water swelled the river and Buntec jumped back to avoid it. The swell splashed noisily against the hull of the daisy-clipper. With a hideous squeal of metal, the craft tore loose from the bank and rushed downstream like some ponderous underwater beast. Buntec howled with rage and stamped her foot obscenely after it.

Startled, the sprookje jumped to its feet and backed a dozen steps so quickly that the moss cloak closed, as if protectively, about it. Then its head snapped from the swollen river to the horizon. Its feathers bristled. Its beak jerked open, revealing a tongue that glowed the ominous red of a warning telltale.

It turned its head slowly and carefully, as if to display the tongue at its human companions. Like a deer flagging the white of its tail for danger, Tocohl thought. When Sunchild looked again to the horizon, she looked too.

“Eight-footed and bare-toed.” That was the first understandable thing Buntec had said. “We’ll have to follow that eight-footed—follow the daisy-clipper,” Buntec went on, “Old Rattlebrain’ll never find us unless we’re sittin’ right on top of it, twiddlin’ our toes.”

There was a grunt of firm assent from Om im, a “Yes” from Alfvaen.

But Tocohl did not take her eyes from the lowering line of sooty black clouds that moved toward them. More than the dramatic loss of the daisy-clipper, the approaching storm frightened the sprookje.