A World Too Near (36 page)

While Sydney’s little band of supporters gathered outside the tent to wait for her to wake up, Helice retired to her tent, ostensibly to rest. She carried the delicate medical sapient in both hands and placed it on the table next to the assembler. The mSap wouldn’t need the little arms with tools anymore. With a little tinkering from the assembler, it would be strictly for quantum processing. For thinking. She sat back, surveying her two instruments. Assembler and mSap. Honestly, what more did one need in the world? In any world? She was almost content. But there was something else she wanted. A scarf. The little arms would go into the assembler to create a long scarf that she could wind around her head so she wouldn’t be recognized when she went into the fields to see what those frequent herd gatherings were all about. Helice had gotten close enough to them to figure out that the beasts were in some kind of stupor. Something was afoot, and while Sydney’s entourage was focused on the girl’s recovery, Helice would take a little evening stroll.

It was Deep Ebb before the Inyx left their individual pastures and began gathering in one spot. Helice had taken a few stimulants to stay awake, and by the time the gathering started, she was edgy and sweating. This night’s work was a tad risky, because she’d need to be open to the Inyx to figure out what they were doing. That raised the possibility that the beasts would mess with her mind, and she’d rather that didn’t happen. They had come tampering with her before, and she had managed to resist them, or at least not think of secrets. She might have to be a bit more open tonight, though.

She pulled her scarf around her face and slipped among the tents toward the flats, where a massing of the herd was taking place in eerie silence.

The bright coiled above, a lavender-stained cloud that gave off a roseate light. She took a moment to absorb the grandeur of the sight. She was not insensible to beauty and tender feelings, despite what people said who didn’t know her well. The Entire was a land both harsh and intoxicating, its wonders few but massive. She was going to like this place once she found her niche. However, that wouldn’t be in a backward sway where the inhabitants’ notion of high technology was a vole trap.

Lying on her stomach to watch the herd, Helice felt a nudge in her mind, an impression of thoughts on the verge of utterance. So, the beasts were thinking, perhaps in unison.

But of what?

She crept closer. Not even the closest of the mounts responded to her presence. The beasts stood without moving, eyes open but unseeing. Helice looked about for Vichna, the mount she was supposedly bonded to, but couldn’t pick him out from all the others. Riod was no doubt in the thick of them, but there were thousands, and her view was restricted to those closest.

Here goes, she thought. Moving into their midst, she calmed her thoughts and listened. Wisps of impression came, like fleeting shadows. They were flying. Riod was flying. They were moving across the primacy. Opening to these sendings, Helice fell into them. She flew with the Inyx. There were colors of thoughts, a kaleidoscope; there was Riod’s intention shaping them; there was a wave of stealth and hungry curiosity. . . .

She snapped out of the vision to see that she had her hand on the warm hide of an Inyx. Then she sank back into the vision of the pack hunting . . . finding the Tarig . . . swooping down and piercing a consciousness. Then another. She couldn’t say what she was seeing, who she was seeing. Tarig thoughts bombarded her, shouting, screaming. She recoiled.

Helice fell from the sky where she had been swept. She hit the ground, hard.

Mo Ti stood over her. He raised his sword, and down it came in a great fall of metal. She rolled under the Inyx next to her, taking shelter between its four legs.

Mo Ti, more nimble than she had supposed, thrust the sword under the beast, following her. She spilled out the other side, seeing Mo Ti rush around with sword high once more. Instinctively, Helice held onto the mount’s leg, hoping Mo Ti wouldn’t risk the beast. She was right.

The giant bellowed, and reached for her where she cowered by the mount’s hind feet. His big hands grappled around her ankle and yanked her out from under, brutally scraping her back against the rocky ground. Now the beast moved, throwing his head up and sending a spike of alarm so strong that Helice’s head hurt.

Not deterred, Mo Ti lifted Helice from the ground in one ham fist and slammed her against the mount’s flank.

Managing to remain standing, Helice sputtered at him, “Quite a temper, there.”

Mo Ti, still holding the sword, yanked her down, bending her backward over his bent knee. The sword rested against her neck, which made her reluctant to thrash. She grew calm, even as the air around her was shot through with alarm and the screams of mounts.

“Stop, Mo Ti,” came a voice. A creature with four legs and a long neck— they called them Hirrin—brushed against Mo Ti’s arm, trying to dislodge the weapon. “Not the way, no.”

Mo Ti growled. “She is a spider.”

“Sydney will blame you. You risk all for just a spider, Akay-Wat thinks.”

The sword took an edge of blood. Amid the cacophony of the milling beasts, Helice felt peaceful. She stared past Mo Ti’s face into the bright. Its light fell on her face like the smile of God.

Bruised and thrashed, Helice allowed herself to be dragged from the field. She knew where Mo Ti was taking her. Perhaps clearer heads would prevail.

Inside Sydney’s tent, Helice saw that Sydney was waiting for them along with Akay-Wat and Riod. How had they gotten there ahead of her? Oh. Mo Ti had paused to rough her up a little more. Then she had lost control of her bladder, and begged for new clothes, but Mo Ti had brought her straight to Sydney’s tent, stinking and hurting.

Things hadn’t gone well so far. Or had they? The worse Mo Ti acted, the better Helice looked.

“Spying, then?” was all the greeting Sydney offered.

Helice started to speak, but only a bark came out. She gathered her resolve and what strength she could muster. She coughed, testing her voice. “Neither one of us has exactly been honest,” she rasped.

The group eyed her darkly.

Helice wished she could sit down. Actually, she was almost falling down. She grabbed onto the center tent pole. She needed her wits, and right now. The glimpse of the Inyx in flight over the primacy—only a vision, she knew—had told her a story, not only of the probing of the Tarig mind, but of Sydney’s quest to raise a new kingdom. It was so close to Helice’s own intentions that it staggered her. The girl had courage, but suffered from bad advisors.

Helice went on, “Honesty has been in short supply all around. You’re hiding things; I’m hiding things. Not good for relationships.”

Mo Ti stood with his sword drawn, but pointing at the floor. He looked at her like a hungry bear.

Her voice stronger now, Helice pressed on. “It’s been disappointing to me that you haven’t been truthful. I thought we were allies.”

Sydney exchanged glances with Mo Ti. “Allies? You offered me some assistance, and I offered you a haven. We’re not equals.”

“I have a little more to offer than clearing up your eyesight.”

“Why haven’t you offered it, then?”

“A drink of water would be good. I’ve had a long walk from the pasture.” She was sure she looked bad, beaten up and even bloody. Blood was on her tunic. It must be her own. But she needed water so badly she would have killed for it.

At Sydney’s gesture, Akay-Wat lipped a canteen and dropped it at Helice’s feet.

She took a long drink, and began again. “I was going to offer some benefits other than chasing the Tarig out of your sight. Although I thought at the time that that was a rather big favor.” She paused, waiting for a reaction, getting none. “But then I noticed that you have weak links in your organization. That troubles me. Mo Ti, for example, isn’t at your level. He isn’t at home with
complex situations. Good foot soldier though he may be, you really shouldn’t take advice from your bodyguard.”

“But I should take advice from you?”

“Yes. I’ve got an assembler that can make weapons and produce useful devices. You remember how to play chess? Well, that assembler is your bishop’s piece. And then, I’ve got a way out of your larger difficulties. You might call this your best chess piece, your queen. Think of it as a renaissance. I do. It will involve a restructuring of fundamental issues here.”

Sydney frowned. “Fundamental issues?”

“Yes. You think the issue is who rules the Entire. Fine. I like a woman who thinks big. But you have a much bigger problem than that.” She paused for effect. “Do you want to rule an ash heap?”

So far they had been speaking in English. Now Sydney spoke to Mo Ti and Akay-Wat in Lucent, and Helice waited for her to finish translating. Mo Ti made his usual comments, but Helice couldn’t spare any time to worry about him. Sydney was the one to persuade.

Helice continued. “The Entire is headed to be an ash heap. A few hundred years—you’ll still be alive, right?—you’ll be sitting on the throne of the Ascendancy, with me as your advisor. But we’ll rule over an ash heap, because this place is running out of steam. The Entire is dying. No juice. That’s where renaissance comes in.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Mo Ti was fingering his sword.

“To be completely honest,” Helice went on, “it’s your only hope of raising the kingdom.” She cocked her head at Sydney. “Do you want to hear about it?”

“I want to hear.”

Helice nodded. “Of course you do. But could your bodyguard just put the sword down while we’re strategizing here?” She was strangely detached from any fear of Mo Ti, now that he had done his worst to her and she had survived, but he had to be put in his place.

Sydney glanced at Mo Ti, giving a nod.

Mo Ti didn’t move. “I will not kill her yet.”

Everyone’s eyes were on him, as though at any moment they expected him to charge. His face was a weapon in itself, glowering and dark.

Sydney said, “Put the sword by the tent wall, Mo Ti.”

After an interminably long moment, he did so.

The tension in the room subsided a notch. “Now,” Helice said, “we can talk.”

After Helice laid out her full plans, Sydney took new stock of the woman.

Given this new information about a renaissance, as Helice called it, the woman should be seen as a considerably stronger ally than before. In light of this new information, Sydney decided she could forgive Helice’s attempt to spy on the herd.

Mo Ti, however, could not forgive it. He instinctively hated the woman. Even the success of the eye surgery had made little difference to him. As though Sydney’s vast relief counted for so little.

Clearly, Helice and Mo Ti couldn’t both continue at her side, not with the enmity that now lay between them. One of them must leave.

It would be Mo Ti.

When she called him to her side, he was wary of her, surmising that Helice wasn’t disgraced—far from it.

“Mo Ti,” she said, her heart sinking that their friendship had eroded so far. She took stock of him. She had grown to love his bulging face, his stature, his chest as broad as a doorframe. Lately he had frowned at her every decision, drawing away from her. Did he tire of her so soon? They had once been so close, nearly lovers, except that he was incapable. Well, time cooled hearts, she had learned. If this was true now, perhaps it wasn’t a bad thing that he had to leave.

A duty called to her—one she couldn’t fulfill herself.

There were two lands; they couldn’t both last. Sydney was saddened to hear this, because even though she had been cut off from the Rose, she didn’t hate it. But:
They cannot both last.
And not only that, because of the competition between the universes, the Entire was under immediate attack. All this stood in front of the plans she had thought so grand: to raise the kingdom. To raise the kingdom she must first save the kingdom. From her father.

“Mo Ti,” she said, “shall we stop Titus from hurting our land?”

His voice, though soft, always rang with authority. “We have many things to accomplish, my lady. Is this one of them?”

“Who else knows what he intends?”

“Send Helice to stop him.”

She let that bitter statement sit for a moment. “Helice can’t pass for Chalin, and is too small to overcome a grown man. I need a warrior.”

Understanding dawned on Mo Ti. He looked away, his face grim.

“Will you go, Mo Ti? It will be dangerous to go. But who else can I trust?”

“Do you trust me? It seems that lately, you do not.”

“Mo Ti you have my trust.” She wanted to add,
And my love
, but didn’t.

He seemed to sense that she might have said more, and his face crumpled. Finally, in the softest of voices, he murmured, “Will you hate me if I kill him?”

“No, never.”

“Not hating is not the same as love.” After a pause he said, “Command me.”

From her throat came a whisper. “I beg you to do me this service.” She couldn’t meet his eyes. Her father’s voice ghosted into her mind:
I will come
for you. Watch for me. Wait for me.
He could still break her heart with just a few words. It’s too late for that, she answered silently. You wouldn’t have time to save me when the world ends. I will die under the bright. Or you will.

Mo Ti took her chin in his big hand and turned her toward him. “Say it.”

“Kill him, Mo Ti. Kill my father.”

He nodded, bowing.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

My navitar, I see the shore
Where you will go, nevermore.

—from “Death of the Navitar,” a river song

“D
RINK,” LADY CHIRON SAID, holding the cup and urging it on Depta. The brightship was aloft, traveling down the side of the storm wall, along the path of the Nigh, pursuing the renegade navitar vessel. Depta knew they would soon plunge into the binds, a maneuver that brought most sentients into a welcome stupor. Chiron, however, wanted Depta alert. Thus the vile potion, smelling like burned oil.

Why, though, should Depta remain alert? Sleep was the proper mode for those traveling the Nigh—surely the lady knew that. On the other hand, sleep had its own torments these days, as visions haunted Depta’s sleep. Ghoulish images of Chiron staggering through the Magisterium, both dead and alive. The dream was too sensible to be normal. The dream
told
Depta that the lady was a false being, controlled by some unspeakable entities in the Heart, the Tarig ancestral land. Unthinkable. But dreamable.