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Part II
Binge
Higher Level Eigenstates

Early morning light filled Kamoj’s room. Jul had yet to rise above
the forest, so no rays slanted in the window, which someone had
opened while she slept. She lay alone staring at a tapestry on
the wall across from the bed. The hanging depicted two fierce
women in warrior garb engaged in a duel over a youth. They were
facing off in a forest clearing, one with a bowball cupped in
her palm, her arm raised to throw it. Their young man stood leaning
against a tree with his muscular arms crossed, looking appropriately
dashing. He also looked rather disconcerted, which Kamoj suspected
was closer to the truth of whatever legend had inspired the tapestry.
She felt lethargic, unable to face the day. She had watched Vyrl
for more than an hour last night, afraid to intrude on his solitude.
Exhaustion finally forced her to choose between sleeping on the
floor or returning to bed.
Still, lying in bed solved nothing. She got up and went into the
main bedroom. It was empty of Vyrl, but two trunks stood against
the foot of his bed. Her trunks.
Her mood lightening, she went over to the trunks. The first held
her clothes and the second had personal items, including the dolls
from her childhood collection. She picked up her favorite rag
doll, enjoying the familiar feel of its yarn hair against her
cheek.
"Governor Argali?"
Startled, Kamoj looked up. A housemaid stood in the doorway of
the entrance foyer. She must have been on the landing outside,
waiting for Kamoj to wake up. "I heard you opening the trunks,"
the woman said. "Would you like help dressing?"
Kamoj reddened, embarrassed to be caught holding a doll. Lowering
it, she said, "Not today. But thank you."
"Yes, ma’am." The woman bowed and withdrew.
Putting away her things took several hours. Then Kamoj went to
the bathing room. Someone had swept up the glass and opened the
window, letting sunshine in and the rum smell out. Bracing herself
for icy mountain water, she slid into the pool. What she felt
was even more of a shock: warm water. How? She saw no steaming
stones or other heat sources.
Then she remembered her heel. Holding onto a claw of the quetzal
statue, she pulled her foot out of the water. All she saw was
healthy pink skin with a slight bruising. That rapid healing impressed
her as much as all the other marvels she had seen here.
After her bath, she ran naked back to her chamber, racing across
the main bedroom. She wasn’t sure why she ran. Vyrl had seen her
without her clothes, and besides he wasn’t here. But she ran anyway.
For all she knew, Morlin watched everything.
In her room, she started to take out a tunic. Then she changed
her mind and put on a rose-cotton farm dress instead. It gave
her pleasure to think Vyrl might enjoy how she looked. None of
her dresses fit anymore, though. Her breasts plumped out the neckline,
the waist was too tight, and the skirt barely reached her knees.
She pulled up lacy ruffles from her underdress to cover her breasts
and tugged her underskirts down until their ruffles swirled around
her knees. Then she pulled on grey leggings made from Argali wool,
followed by her suede farm boots.
Kamoj left the suite and paused on the landing at the top of the
stairs. She was hungry, but she wasn’t sure where to find the
kitchen. She also had to find Vyrl, to discuss Argali. Theirs
was a tricky situation, one with no precedent that she knew. The
union of provinces through a dowered merger of two governors was
almost unheard of. She and Jax had agreed to split their time
between Argali and Ironbridge. With Vyrl she had no idea. He could
demand control of Argali or leave it to her, tax her province
to death, shower it with riches, ruin it, or ignore it.
She descended the stairs, listening to the forest, the wind in
the trees and the blue-tailed quetzals calling, even the trill
of a gold-tail. Flaring the membranes in her nostrils, she inhaled
the scents of the forest and its scale dust. It wasn’t until she
reached the bottom that she heard the voices. As she walked down
the Long Hall, they resolved into an argument between Vyrl and
Dazza.
"I can’t," Dazza was saying. "I haven’t the equipment."
"Don’t treat me like a stupid farm boy," Vyrl said. "The Ascendant has more than enough facilities. It’s a flaming city."
The voices came from the entrance foyer. Kamoj hesitated in the
Long Hall, near the entrance to the chandeliered ballroom, unsure
whether to stay or leave.
"These aren’t simple alterations," Dazza told him. "I would have
to change your lungs and hemoglobin, redesign the way your body
absorbs oxygen and carbon dioxide, and add filters for impurities.
Who knows what side-effects it would cause? I couldn’t even begin
until I made a thorough study. Surely you realize the magnitude
of what you’re asking."
"Contact the Ascendant," Vyrl said. "Tell them to send down what you need."
"The web systems in this building aren’t sophisticated enough
to run the equipment," she said. "If you want me to work on you,
we have to do it on the ship."
"No!"
Dazza spoke in a placating voice. "Vyrl, listen. Why change your
body? Doesn’t the respirator let you breathe in comfort?"
"I don’t want a metal face."
"You asked for metal. It doesn’t have to be that way. If it bothers you,
we’ll redesign the mask."
He made a frustrated noise. "The people here don’t need respirators.
If I’m going to live on this planet, I want to go out without
anything."
"Why? Is this temporary exile worth such drastic changes to your
body?"
Kamoj tensed. Temporary exile? Vyrl was going to leave Argali?
What did that mean for her people? For herself?
She walked through the ballroom and stopped in the doorway to
the Entrance Hall. Vyrl and Dazza were at the other end of the
hall, in front of the entrance foyer. Azander and two other stagmen
were standing back from them, trying to accomplish the impossible
by being simultaneously attentive to their liege and oblivious
to his argument.
"I told you what I wanted," Vyrl told Dazza. "Do it. I’m going
riding."
"You’re in no condition to ride–"
"Contact the Ascendant, damn it."
Dazza crossed her arms. "And if I refuse?"
"Don’t push me, Colonel."
She exhaled. "Vyrl, stay here. Let me give you something to deal
with the alcohol. Or let it work out of your system. When you’re
sober, we’ll talk modifications."
"You’re not putting more of your bugs in my blood." He grimaced.
"Those bloody things never die."
"Nanomeds aren’t bugs. And meds designed to flush out alcohol
do ‘die.’ They dissolve after a few–"
"No," he said.
She scowled at him. "If I alter your body so you can live on this
planet unaided, you’ll need even more self-replicating meds than
the ones you carry now for health maintenance."
"Fine." With no warning, he spun around and strode up the hall,
straight toward Kamoj. His sudden attention caught her off guard.
She hadn’t even realized he knew she was there.
A farmhand must have given him the clothes he was wearing, an
old white shirt, soft and worn with washings, and rough pants
tucked into scuffed boots. Although Maxard wore old clothes when
he worked the farm, it was still the garb of a highborn man. It
startled her to see the wealthiest man in the Northern Lands,
possibly on all Balumil, dressed like the poorest farmer.
Before she could react or retreat, he reached her. He didn’t even
stop, just slid his arm around her waist and swung her around,
then pulled her with him as he headed back down the hall. His
longs legs covered ground so fast she had to run to keep up with
him.
He stopped in front of Dazza. "My wife and I are going riding."
Propelling Kamoj ahead of him, he stalked into the entrance foyer.
He left her in the middle of the chamber while he went to where
his cloak hung on the wall like a patch of evening sky.
Kamoj pushed her hand through her hair. What if she refused to
go with him? Perhaps she was naïve, but she didn’t believe he
would do anything more than leave her behind. The idea of his
going alone bothered her more. Could he safely ride, as drunk
as he seemed right now? Suppose he fell from his stag and broke
a limb? Or worse? She didn’t know how it worked with his people,
but among her own, a man thrown from a greenglass could die alone
in the forest before anyone found him.
Vyrl smacked his palm on the wall, and a block of stone slid to
the side, revealing a cubical cavity. He pulled out his silver
mask. Crumpling it in his hand, he swung around and looked at
someone behind her. "Bring Greypoint out front," he said.
Turning, Kamoj saw Azander by the great double doors of the entrance.
A bruise purpled the stagman’s chin where Vyrl had hit him last
night. Azander pulled back the heavy bolts on the doors and leaned
his weight into the left one until it swung open, letting blue-tinged
sunlight pour into the foyer. Then he walked through the shimmer
curtain, out into the autumn day.
Dazza spoke from the foyer’s inner archway. "Vyrl, at least let
Kamoj ride her own stag. She’ll be safer that way."
"Safe from what?" Vyrl swung his cloak over his shoulders, the
blue cloth swirling through the air like a swath of midnight-blue
sky. "Military witch-doctors who want to fill my blood with bugs
to stop me from enjoying a drink, but who refuse to fix my body
so I can goddamn breathe?"
"Don’t go riding," Dazza said. "Wait until you’re sober."
Bi-hooves clattered on the flagstones outside. Vyrl came over
to Kamoj and took her arm. Pulling her with him, he strode through
the shimmer curtain, out into the sunlit courtyard.
Dazza called from behind them. "Vyrl!"
When he turned to the colonel, Kamoj’s hope jumped. Would he change
his mind and go back?
Dazza was standing in the palace entrance now, behind the shimmer
curtain. "Your respirator," she said.
He watched her, the mask still crumpled in his fist. Then he spun
around and drew Kamoj over to where Azander held a stag ready.
The animal was huge and muscled, with gigantic greenglass antlers
that shaded from emerald at their base into silver tips. Despite
the stag’s great height, Vyrl swung up onto its back with mesmerizing
grace. Greypoint pranced sideways, shook his head, and stamped
his four front legs. Then he stilled, becoming a statue as he
looked down at Kamoj. His eyes, huge and green, with vertical
pupil slits, stared at her with unsettling intelligence.
When Vyrl motioned, Azander put his hands on Kamoj’s waist and
lifted. At the same time, Vyrl reached down and grabbed her. He
hauled Kamoj up in front of him so she straddled the stag, her
flared skirt foaming over her thighs and knees. It happened so
fast it made her dizzy. Or maybe it was the air, so thin after
the palace. Vyrl held her around the waist with one arm, his mask
clutched in his fist, while Greypoint danced under them, agitated
with Kamoj’s unfamiliar weight.
Suddenly the greenglass reared on his back legs, rising up, up,
and up to his full height, his front four legs pawing the air,
their scales splintering the light. Clangs filled the courtyard
as he crashed his bi-hooves together. He threw back his head and
bared his fangs, the opaline teeth glittering like daggers. And
he screamed at the sky.
For one frozen instant Kamoj couldn’t move, terrified she would
fly off the greenglass. From this height the fall could break
her neck. Then she grabbed its antlers, their velvety green scales
slippery in her hold.
"Damn it!" Dazza shouted. "Vyrl, don’t do this!"
The greenglass came down, jerking his head until Kamoj released
his antlers. Vyrl’s labored breaths rasped behind her. Kamoj twisted
around to see him staring at Dazza, his face flushed. As Greypoint
danced beneath them, on the verge of rearing again, Vyrl yanked
a narrow slab out from his cloak, a rectangle covered with lines
and symbols. Extending his arm, he pointed the slab at Dazza.
"You can forget about having your orbital monitors track me, Colonel.
I’m setting up a jamming field–" He pressed a blue light on the
slab. "–now."
Dazza paled. "We want you here, Vyrl. What if something happens
and we can’t locate you?"
"Is that all any of you think about?" he rasped. "What you want?"
He thrust the slab back in his cloak and grabbed Kamoj’s shoulders.
"Look at this. My wife. A farm girl like a virginal sex goddess out
of an erotic holomovie, and all she asks is a simple life, a husband
who doesn’t beat her, and the freedom to walk in the woods. Did
it ever occur to all your generals, politicians, and strategists
that maybe that’s all I want? That what I want might actually
matter? Or are you all too busy plotting how to use your oh-so-valuable
prince to give a flaming damn what I think?"
He jabbed the stag with his heels and Greypoint leapt forward,
racing for the forest. Vyrl held the reins with both hands now,
his arms around Kamoj. He was gasping, choking as if every breath
hurt.
"Vyrl!" she shouted. "Put your mask on!" The wind carried away
her voice. Desperate, she shouted in her mind. Vyrl! Your mask!
His arm moved and his breathing stopped. Dismayed, she twisted
around–and stared into a face of silver scales. Jerking at the
sight, she lost her balance. Vyrl caught her as she fell, but
he misjudged his strength and almost shoved her off Greypoint
in the other direction. She turned around and hung onto the stag’s
neck while they raced through the iridescent trees.
The dirt path they followed sloped upward, trees towering on either
side, branches meeting overhead. Despite the cloudless day, thunder
rumbled above the forest. Kamoj stiffened, wondering what other
"marvels" Vyrl’s outburst would call up.
"It’s just a shuttle engine," he muttered against her ear. He
slowed Greypoint to a walk and prodded him off the path, into
the woods. The stag had calmed, his fire eased by the race. He
trotted between the widely-spaced trees, his six legs moving with
such smooth coordination that Kamoj barely felt the bumpiness
of his bi-hooves hitting the ground. His muscular, long-legged
grace reminded her of Vyrl.
They went deep into the mountains, always headed upward. Every
now and then an "engine" grumbled overhead. Each time the sound
came, Vyrl tensed, and each time it faded he relaxed again.
Eventually Kamoj said, "Where are we going?"
"Away. Until they find me." He sounded tired. "Actually, they
always know where I am. But usually they let me come back on my
own." He paused. "Except today I took the jammer. They’ll have
more trouble this time."
"Jammer?"
"What I pointed at Dazza," he said. "It works best against electromagnetic
sensors."
"Lector’s senses?"
"It confuses the things they use to find me." His voice slurred.
"Neutrinos are harder to fool, though. They go through anything.
But this jammer is a real beaut. It can create false shadows to
throw off even neutrino sensors."
"Oh." Kamoj wondered if the rum made him babble, or if his words
had some actual sense.
"What do you think is this Current you all worship?" Vyrl asked.
"Electromagnetic radiation. Light. Those threads in your light
panels are just optical fibers."
That gave her pause. In Iotaca, Optical Fiber was the full name of Lyode’s husband, Opter Sunsmith. If their
line ran true, their children would inherit the sunsmith talents.
Opter’s brother Gallium Phosphide Sunsmith worked in the sunshop
with him. Other provinces had other gifts, such as the Amperman
and Ohmston lines in Ironbridge. The Argali temple was dedicated
to sun spirits, like the Glories and Airy Rainbows, but Kamoj
had always seen them as guardians or even servants of the Sunsmith
line, rather than deities.
"Why do you think we worship the Current?" she asked.
"Don’t you?"
"The Current just is. Like rain, clouds, and sun."
"Not like the sun," Vyrl said. "It is the sun. Well, not just the sun. But light."
"Of course, Prince Havyrl."
"Don’t call me that."
"That?"
"Prince Whatsit. You’re my wife. Call me Vyrl."
"Yes, Vyrl."
"Why are you so formal? Last night, I even thought you were afraid–"
Suddenly he stopped. "Saints almighty. I am an idiot."
Kamoj blinked, again caught off guard. Never, in a hundred Long
Years, would Jax have ever said such a thing about himself.
"You had no choice, did you?" Vyrl said.
"Choice?"
"About the marriage. Bloody flaming hell. I should have seen it
before. That wasn’t a dowry. It was a purchase order." He pulled
Greypoint to a halt and dismounted, swinging his leg over the
stag’s back and landing on the ground with leonine grace. Greypoint
danced sideways, and Kamoj had to grab the bridle to keep from
falling.
Standing with his back to her, Vyrl looked normal, a man with
a mane of tawny hair. Then he turned and she saw the silver mask
on his face. She tensed, almost as unsettled now by that blank
expanse of metal as the first time she had seen it.
He peeled off the mask. "I hate this thing."
"Vyrl, no. You need to breathe."
"You must hate me."
"I don’t hate you." Every time she thought she began to understand
him, he went off on a rant again.
He crumpled the mask. "You think you have to say that."
Although she meant what she said, his words gave her pause. Had
Jax asked if she hated him, certainly she would have denied it.
Otherwise he would have hit her.
Vyrl was concentrating as if she were a tangle of threads he was
trying to unravel. "I’m not going to beat you. Gods, Kamoj, I
would never do such a thing."
Her face gentled. "I like being with you. It’s just . . ."
"Yes?"
"I don’t understand you."
Vyrl gave her a rueful smile. "That makes two of us." He pressed
the mask onto his face, then came over and reached for her. As
he helped her off the stag, she put her arms around his neck and
hugged him. He held her with her feet dangling in the air while
he pressed his lips against her hair.
"I have a place out here where I go to be alone," he said. Then
he set her down on the ground and took her hand.
They went to an outcropping of moss-covered slabs half-buried
in the ground. Bridle bells clinked as Greypoint followed them.
Vyrl stopped and rubbed his mount’s neck, pressing on the scales
in that way greenglass stags liked. Greypoint stood quietly, patient
while Vyrl removed the bridle and tended him. The stag pushed
his long snout against Vyrl’s palm, nipping at his fingers with
fangs that could have torn Vyrl to pieces, had Greypoint wanted.
Then the greenglass took off, running in a graceful six-legged
lope among the trees.
Vyrl glanced at Kamoj. "Don’t worry. He’ll come back."
She spoke softly. "I know." Greypoint’s behavior told her far
more than Vyrl realized. After working all her life in the glasshouses
stables at Argali, she knew greenglass stags. Greypoint was wild,
never broken or tamed. A gifted stagman might attract the interest
of a wild stag, but never one as high-strung and powerful as Greypoint.
That the animal freely chose to follow Vyrl impressed her more
than all Vyrl’s wealth, titles, and palace repairs.
Vyrl led her through an opening in the rocks into a small cave.
It had a roof half again as tall as Vyrl and a floor of packed
dirt, with boulders jutting out here and there. He knelt at a
platform beside the entrance and ran his fingers over its dark
surface. Despite all the wonders Kamoj had seen here, it still
stunned her when lights appeared within the platform, glowing
and winking. A hum began, and a shimmer curtain appeared in the
entrance of the cave, blending into the rocks on either side.
Vyrl sat back on his heels. "The generator will bring the atmosphere
to normal. Normal for me, that is."
She stood just inside the entrance. "Why can’t you breathe the
air?"
"A lot of reasons. Too much carbon dioxide. Too little oxygen.
All the scale dust in it." He seemed distracted, either tired
or depressed. "The irradiation from your sun is lower than the
human standard. That means it doesn’t give Balumil as much light.
The extra carbon dioxide helps keeps the temperature up." He touched
the mask on his face. "This concentrates oxygen and filters out
CO2. It also filters out impurities that gives gamma humanoids
a severe form of asthma. Fatal, in fact, if we breathe it too
long."
"Gamma humanoid?"
"Like me." He pressed his palm against his chest. "I can tolerate
the air here for a short time, but some people can’t bear it even
for a few seconds."
"It doesn’t bother me at all."
Vyrl smiled. "You’re a theta." He took off his mask and dropped
it on the console. "Your lungs have filters that mine lack. Your
people’s hemoglobin was redesigned and your circulatory system
responds to different partial pressures of oxygen and carbon dioxide."
He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.
"This world is almost uninhabitable for those of us without your
modifications, especially during winter and summer. That’s why
your ancestors wore space suits."
"Space suits?"
"You know those pictures of ancient stagmen in full-body diskmail?"
When she nodded, he said, "Those are space suits."
She poked her finger into the shimmer curtain. "And this?"
"It’s an airlock. It surrounds the cave." He paused. "I’m not
sure how to describe it in a way that would make sense to you."
"Tell me in your own words then. I like to hear them." Now that
she knew he wasn’t mocking her ignorance, she found a beauty in
his words, the promise of knowledge and wonders.
"The curtain is a membrane," he said. "A modified lipid bilayer."
He tapped the platform. "This applies an electric potential to
it. There are enzymes in the membrane, like keys, but so tiny
you can’t see them. They fit certain receptor molecules. Certain
locks. Different potentials activate different keys. When a key
opens a lock, it changes the permeability of the membrane." He
paused, lines of fatigue deep on his face.
"Are you all right?" Kamoj asked.
"Yes. Fine." He stood up. "Right now the membrane won’t let air
pass, but water can diffuse through it just fine. The generator
recycles our air, so we don’t suffocate. It also seeds the air
with nanomeds that take dust out of the air."
Kamoj thought of the firepuff fly that had stuck to the shimmer
in her chamber last night. "The curtain lets us pass through it."
"On this setting, yes. We’re easily strong enough to push through
it. Your body becomes part of the interface, keeping the seal."
He pressed the heels of his hands against his temples. "A picoweb
within the membrane remembers its original form, so after you
pass, the curtain returns to normal."
"Vyrl, are you sure you are all right?"
"It’s just a headache." He pulled a bottle out of his cloak and
unscrewed the top. Then he drank deeply, tilting his head back
as he swallowed.
Watching him, Kamoj felt a sense of helplessness. Her only experience
with anyone who drank this much was Korl Plowsbane. Would Vyrl
become that way, decimated and dulled, with no family or friends,
only the bottle he loved above all else? She had no idea what
to do. She had seen how angry he became if Dazza even mentioned
it.
He walked across the cave, his boots scuffing up swirls of iridescent
dust. The generator hummed, making its nano-meds to carry the
dust out of the air, so it wouldn’t kill her husband.
Vyrl turned to her. "That day at the river–you have no idea. I
was so close to going after you. Just one bodyguard you had, to
my four stagmen." He raised his hand, palm up. "‘But no,’ I thought.
‘Do you want her to hate you? What of honor? Decency? All that.’
So I courted you. Or I thought I courted you." He took another
swallow of rum. Lowering the bottle, he spoke with self-disgust.
"Seems I raped you anyway."
"That’s not true." How could he be so empathic and not see that
she liked him? She had never wanted Jax to touch her, but after
Vyrl’s gentleness last night even the thought of Ironbridge revolted
her.
"I knew, damn it!" Vyrl said. "I knew you wanted me to stop last night.
You even cried it in your mind." He sat on a hip-high boulder
and took another swallow of rum. "Self-delusion is remarkable,
isn’t it? I convinced myself you wanted me."
"You weren’t deluding yourself," she said.
"You think you have to tell me that. Because I bought you." He let the empty bottle slide out of his hand. It hit a
half-buried rock and broke into pieces. Watching her, he said,
"You aren’t bound to me, Kamoj. You’re free. I’ll have the Ascendant move our base to some other place. We’ll tell your people–hell,
tell them what? That I went back to my own ‘land’ and will send
for you. Then we’ll send word I’ve been killed. That way you’ll
be free of me without being humiliated."
"Killed?" She couldn’t believe what he was saying.
"Imperial law recognizes unions made in the colonies, even the
rediscovered ones like this. That means we’re married by my law
as well as yours." He spoke awkwardly. "I’ll have someone arrange
divorce papers."
How could he speak her language, yet say so much she didn’t understand?
Enough made sense, though. He meant to dissolve their merger.
The realization stabbed like broken glass. With news of Vyrl’s
"death," Jax could claim the widow. Ironbridge would get everything:
Argali, the redone palace, Morlin, all of it.
Kamoj went over to him and toed aside the broken bottle. Shyly,
she put her arms around his waist. "Stay with me."
His arms went around her. "You don’t have to say that."
"I know." She hesitated. "Unless you want to go."
"Gods, no." His hand moved over her hair. "Are you sure?"
"I’m sure."
"Even after last night?"
"Especially after last night." She tried to recapture her feeling
from then, so he would too. Rubbing her cheek on his chest, she
inhaled his scent. Then she reached for him with her hand, seeking
to give to him what he had given her. As she held him, he brushed
his lips over the crown of her head and stroked his palm down
her back, over her curls. After awhile, he pulled off the scarf
she used for a belt and helped her fold it around him. Tensing
with his release, he exhaled, then he murmured words from an old
Argali harvest song: "‘So soft is her touch on grain full with
nectar . . .’"
Smiling, Kamoj looked up at him. As he relaxed against her, his
eyelids drooped. Their metal lashes made a glittering contrast
to the dark circles under his eyes.
"Let’s lie down," she said. "I’m tired." She wasn’t actually,
but Vyrl obviously needed to sleep. Why he fought so hard against
it she had no idea, but perhaps he would do for her what he wouldn’t
do for himself.
"All right." He straightened his clothes, then stood up and swung
off his cloak. It swirled through the air and settled on the ground.
As Kamoj sat on it, he watched her like a greenglass mesmerized
by night lamps on a coach. "So pretty . . . your dress. That color.
What d’you call it? Rose? ‘S nice the way you fill it out–" He
suddenly turned red. "Ai. I’m rambling. What an idiot you married."
Kamoj couldn’t help but smile at his boyish expression. "No, you
aren’t. Don’t ever say that." She patted the ground. "You lie
down. I’ll rub your head."
"Won’t argue with that." He lay down and put his head in her lap.
As she massaged his temples, his eyes closed. Within moments his
breathing had settled into the steady rumble of sleep.
Watching Vyrl sleep, Kamoj wondered how to understand him. He
spoke like a highborn man, dressed like a farmer, carried a title,
had a laborer’s callouses, moved like a dancer, and had a stagman’s
gift with greenglasses. The silver in his hair and the lines around
his eyes suggested he had reached his forties, yet he had the
powerful physique and vigor of a younger man. His wide-open emotions
and beguiling flashes of mischief made him seem almost boyish.
Beneath all that, though, buried also under his mood swings, his
drinking, and his tormented dreams, she sensed a slumbering satisfaction
with life that came from well-advanced years, not for everyone,
but for some. He obviously wasn’t happy now, yet for some reason
she believed she picked up a deeper contentment, the kind it took
a lifetime to form. Was she imagining it?
"Vyrl, what are you?" she murmured. Elderly, middle-aged, or young?
Prince or farmer? Athlete or stagman? Drunkard or wise man? Or
all of that? Brushing back his hair, she decided she would simply
try to accept him for himself.
After a while she moved out from under his head and lay down beside
him. Outside a quetzal called and another answered. Branches creaked
in the wind. She could imagine the woods, ancient trees nodding
together, their heads lifted high above the ground. If she were
a bird, she could rise out of the forest and see it rolling in
wave upon iridescent wave through the mountains, beneath the limitless
violet plain of the sky.

Sword And Ballbow
Perturbations

A shudder racked Vyrl’s body, waking Kamoj. Deep in his dreams,
he made a strangled noise, his face clenched. She pushed up on
her elbow and massaged his head until he calmed.
When he was resting well again, she went outside and stood watching
the forest. Morning had passed, bringing them into early afternoon.
Overhead an "engine" rumbled. She wondered if it knew Vyrl was
here.
When she returned to the cave, she found him sitting up. Although
fatigue still lined his face, he looked more rested.
"Is there anyone out there?" he asked.
"I heard an engine. I didn’t see anyone, though." She sat cross-legged
in front of him. "May I ask you a question?"
"Of course."
"What are you a prince of?"
He shrugged. "Nothing, really. I’m just a citizen of the Skolian
Imperialate. It’s about nine hundred worlds governed by an assembly
of elected counselors."
"You are not a prince?"
"I’ve the title. But it doesn’t mean much." He considered her.
"Tell me what you know of Balumil’s history."
She thought of the stories she had learned as a child. "Long ago
the Current gave light and warmth to our houses. And voices."
Like Morlin, she realized. Vyrl had given the Quartz Palace back
its voice. "Sailors brought the people here on ships that flew
above the sky."
"That fits."
His response surprised her. She would have expected him to smile
at their fanciful tales. "How does it fit?"
He rubbed his neck, working out the kinks that came from sleeping
on the ground. "The ancient Ruby Empire established this colony.
That’s why I know your language."
It didn’t surprise her that their language had remained constant
enough for him to understand. Her people never changed anything.
Change brought upheaval, upheaval threatened revolution, and revolution
was anathema.
But still, it had been a long time. "The sky sailors vanished
five thousand years ago."
"That’s when the Ruby Empire collapsed. Five thousand standard
years ago."
"Standard years?" That sounded like the scroll in Jax’s library.
"About the length of the year on Earth, or on the world Raylicon.
Just a bit more than one of your short-years." He stretched his
arms. "Originally we all came from Earth."
Earth. The word had an odd familiarity, in the same way as did
the pupils of Vyrl’s eyes. "What is Earth?"
Softly he said, "Home, Kamoj. For all of us. Green hills, blue
sky, sweet fresh air."
His words evoked a sense of ancient mysteries, of mythical quetzals
without scales flying in an eggshell blue sky. "If home is a place
called Earth, why are we on Balumil?"
Dryly he said, "Many people would like the answer to that." He
pushed a lock of his hair behind his ear. "About six thousand
years ago, around 4000 BC, an unknown race moved a population
of people from Earth to the world we call Raylicon." Anticipating
her next question, he said, "We don’t know why. They disappeared
without so much as a ‘Sorry about this.’" He shrugged. "My ancestors
eventually developed interstellar travel and went searching for
their lost home. Although they never found Earth, they built the
Ruby Empire." A grin flashed on his face. "But Earth found us.
Just a few centuries ago."
"Is that how your people were able to return to the stars?"
He scowled, obviously offended. "Of course not. We relearned interstellar
propulsion ourselves, well before anyone from Earth showed up."
Then he laughed. "Ai, Kamoj, what a great surprise it must have
been. When Earth’s emissaries reached the stars, they went looking
for alien cultures and found us instead, their own siblings, busily
rebuilding empires. Gave ‘em one hell of a shock."
Smiling, she said, "You look quite smug about that." When he chuckled,
she asked, "And Balumil was a colony of your Ruby Empire?"
"That’s right. We’ve been reclaiming the old colonies and settling
new worlds. We call ourselves Skolia now, though, or the Skolian
Imperialate."
She tried to fit it together. "How are you a prince?"
Vyrl shifted his weight. "My mother descends from the Ruby Dynasty."
"Ruby Dynasty? From the Ruby Empire?"
"That’s right. The House of Skolia."
"Skolia is your family name?" When he nodded, she spoke quietly.
"You are a great man, to rule nine hundred worlds."
He looked uncomfortable. "It’s a meaningless title. My family
hasn’t ruled anything for thousands of years. I’m just a farmer."
She sensed unspoken subtleties in his words. "Dazza’s people hold
you prisoner because you have value to them."
He stiffened. "I’m not their prisoner." When she just looked at
him, he said, "They have their reasons."
"Good reasons or bad?"
The question seemed to surprise him. "Valid reasons."
"Why?"
After a pause he said, "The Ruby Empire had a thriving slave trade.
My ancestors in the Ruby Dynasty outlawed it. That was one reason
the old empire fell. The Traders went to war against my family."
Tiredly he said, "Now it’s all started up again, even worse than
before."
She tensed. "Is that why you are a prisoner? Is Dazza a slave
trader?"
He appeared taken aback by the question. "Good gods, of course
not. Dazza Pacal is a colonel in the pharaoh’s army, the oldest
branch of Imperial Space Command, the Skolian military. The army
dates back to the Ruby Empire. One of my ancestors, the first
Ruby Pharaoh, founded it."
Relief washed over Kamoj. "So it is your people who are holding
you captive."
"If you mean, did ISC bring me here, the answer is yes." He shifted
his weight. "I wouldn’t use the word ‘captive.’"
"Then why won’t they let you go?"
"Members of my family have neural structures that make our brains
more sensitive to certain atomic and molecular interactions. What
I told you last night. Our ancestors were designed that way."
At her puzzled look, he said, "It means we can power Ruby machines
that have survived the millennia. We haven't relearned the tech
yet, but we can use what we have."
"This is a thing of value?"
"Very much. It allows us to access universes with different laws
and characteristics than the spacetime we inhabit. Relativity
as we know it has no meaning there."
She gave him a dubious look. "These odd-sounding things have value?"
Vyrl smiled at her expression. "Indeed. They make possible almost-instant
communication. Signals are otherwise limited by the speed of light."
"You mean by the Current?"
"That’s right." His grin flashed again. "We can beat the Current,
Kamoj. It gives ISC a speed and precision the Traders can’t match."
His smile faded. "It’s the only reason we’ve survived against
them."
That he could beat the Current impressed her. No wonder his family
had such great value to his people. "But where is the rest of
your family?"
This time his silence stretched out so long she wondered if she
had given offense. Finally he said, "My father came from another
of the rediscovered colonies." He spoke with difficulty. "He was
a simple man. A farmer. But he was also that one in a trillion,
a Ruby psion." Anger leaked into his voice. "We’re thoroughbreds,
exotic and rare. For reasons our geneticists don’t yet understand,
attempts to make us in the lab fail." He shrugged, a gesture all
the more eloquent for its attempt to indicate a nonchalance he
obviously didn’t feel. "But my parents could have children. So
the assembly made them do it."
"Hai, Vyrl." She watched his face, trying to understand the shadow
on his mood. "And your ISC needs you to protect your people?"
When he nodded, she asked, "What about Earth? Do they fight too?"
"They stayed neutral during the last war. But they provided protective
custody for my family." He pushed his hand through his curls.
"The problem was, after the war ground to a stalemate, Earth refused
to release us. I’m the only one they don’t have. ISC keeps me
guarded because they fear I will be kidnapped or assassinated
otherwise."
"I see. I think." Kamoj tilted her head. "Your own people hold
you prisoner to keep you from being held prisoner by the allies
who were supposed to protect you from being taken prisoner or
murdered by your enemies."
He gave a rueful laugh. "That about sums it up."
She took his hand. "Why did you come here?"
His fingers curled around hers. "I asked ISC to let me live in
an agrarian culture similar to that of my homeworld, Lyshriol.
A place where life revolved around the land and the harvest."
"So you really are a farmer."
His face gentled. "Yes. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do."
That she understood. Lifting his hand, she kissed his knuckles.
He pulled her into his arms and they sat in silence, listening
to the rustle of the forest.
A twig cracked.
Vyrl swore under his breath. They stood up, and he went to the
entrance, where he paused to one side, poised and tense.
A man stepped through the shimmer. He wasn’t one of Vyrl’s guards,
however. Rather, he wore the garb of an Ironbridge stagman. An
archer. He had his bow up and aimed at the place where Kamoj and
Vyrl had been sitting just seconds ago.
Vyrl didn’t wait to see if the man meant to attack or only threaten.
Lunging forward, he yanked the bow out of archer’s hands. When
the startled stagman clenched his fists together and brought them
up under Vyrl’s chin, Kamoj tensed, afraid the archer would snap
back Vyrl’s head and injure his neck. But Vyrl twisted with an
easy grace, making even the agile stagman look clumsy. The blow
just glanced off his cheek.
Then Vyrl hauled off and socked the archer. Staggering back, the
archer hit the wall and knocked his head on the rock. As he slumped
to the ground, Vyrl lunged forward and pulled the man’s sword
out of its sheath with a hiss of metal. While Vyrl stepped back,
holding the sword, the dazed archer looked up at him.
"Does Ironbridge know you’re here?" Vyrl asked.
The stagman rubbed his face, recovering himself. Moving stiffly,
he stood up and brushed off his clothes. Then he turned to Kamoj
and said, "Slut."
As Kamoj’s mouth fell open, Vyrl said, "Call her that again and
you won’t have a tongue any more. What’s the matter with you?"
The man snorted. "Be quiet, boy."
"Oh." Kamoj finally understood. "Vyrl, he thinks you’re a farmhand."
Vyrl regarded him. "Is that true?"
The stagman had the sense to start looking worried. "Yes."
"I’m Havyrl Lionstar," he said. "And if you ever call my wife
a slut again, then after I cut out your tongue I’ll hang you upside
down from a tower of the Quartz Palace and let the bi-hawks peck
out your eyes."
Kamoj wondered if he were serious. The stagman stared at him for
a full count of five before he remembered himself. Then he dropped
to one knee and lowered his head so his hair fell forward, leaving
his neck bare. "I have no excuse, Governor Lionstar. Use my sword."
Vyrl made an exasperated noise. "I’m not going to cut off your
head. Get up and tell me why you were skulking around my woods."
Moving with obvious, albeit belated, humility, the stagman stood
up. "Please accept my most abject–"
"Just answer the question," Vyrl said.
"I was riding to the Quartz Palace, bringing salutations from
Ironbridge on your wedding." The man paused. "When I came by here,
I saw the bridle and thought a rider was in trouble. I investigated
and heard voices. I recognized the woman." He glanced at Kamoj,
then quickly shifted his gaze to Vyrl. "I heard her call you a
farmer and your agreement. It seemed that given the, uh, appearance
of this matter, I ought to apprehend–I mean–what I thought–"
"I get the idea," Vyrl said. "Why are you up here? The road to
Ironbridge is on the other side of the palace."
"I was coming from another errand for Governor Ironbridge."
Vyrl motioned toward the entrance. "Outside."
The man obeyed, his back stiff, either with fear or shame. Kamoj
didn’t believe for one second Jax had sent "salutations." He was
having her watched.
As Vyrl followed the stagman, he nodded to Kamoj. At first she
wasn’t sure what he wanted. Then she remembered. The mask. He
couldn’t do something as simple as walk into the forest without
endangering his life.
She retrieved the mask and also Vyrl’s cloak. With her arms full
of Argalian wool, she stepped out into a breezy afternoon. Vyrl
and the stagman were standing about twenty paces away, Vyrl still
holding the sword. He looked as if he was threatening the stagman
with the man’s own weapon, but as Kamoj came closer she realized
he was only giving the archer directions to the road.
It didn’t surprise her that Vyrl intended to let him go. The archer
looked tense, though. Disbelieving. That didn’t surprise her either.
Had one of Vyrl’s stagmen attacked Jax, Ironbridge would have
sent the attacker to prison, possibly even executed him.
Then, in her side vision, she saw the trees move. "Vyrl!" she shouted. "Look out!"
Vyrl spun around just as a bowball hurtled toward him, the kind
with an arrow embedded in the marble. It slammed against his side,
the arrow stabbing deep into his body. Then the weight of the
falling ball yanked out the arrow, pulling shreds of muscle with
it.
As blood spurted from the wound, Vyrl staggered, and the stagman
lunged to regain his sword. He almost recovered it; Vyrl was already
injured, and the stagman was well trained. But Vyrl handled the
weapon like an extension of his body. Metal flashed in the dappled
forest–and Vyrl thrust the blade into the stagman’s chest.
"No!" Dropping Vyrl’s cloak, Kamoj ran toward them. A second bowball
whistled through the air and hit Vyrl. He was moving, so it missed
his heart and slammed into his chest below his shoulder. This
time he managed to grab the shaft of the arrow before the falling
ball ripped it out of his body. The weight of the ball broke the
arrow, leaving its upper end embedded in his muscles.
A great roaring noise filled the forest, and the cry of a siren.
With shock, Kamoj realized the siren was coming out of Vyrl’s body. Wind thrashed the trees overhead.
As Kamoj came up to Vyrl, another ball hurtled between them. Vyrl
tried to shove her away, to safety. "Stay back!" He had to shout
to be heard above the noise.
He sank to his knees, his face contorted with pain. Blood soaked
his shirt and pants, and the stagman lay dead at his feet. No,
not dead; blood still pumped out of his wound. But Kamoj recognized
mortal injuries: neither Vyrl nor the stagman would live much
longer.
Dropping next to Vyrl, she pressed the mask over his face, trying
to make it stay as he gasped for air. Before she had it in place,
someone grabbed her arm and yanked her back. Twisting around,
she found herself looking up a second Ironbridge stagman, another
archer, almost certainly the one who had shot Vyrl. She struggled
as he dragged her back, but she couldn’t pull free. Frantic, she
threw the mask at Vyrl–and saw it hit the ground beyond his reach.
"Let me go!" she shouted at the stagman.
His mouth moved, but she couldn’t hear him. The whole forest was
in motion now, come alive, trees parting overhead while the wind
roared.
Incredibly, Vyrl made it to his feet and stumbled toward them,
his hand clutched on his side, blood running over his fingers.
Then he fell, barely managing to put his hand out in time to cushion
the impact. His face had gone pale, a mask of death to replace
the silver mask that lay beyond his reach.
"Let go of me!" Kamoj shouted. Wrestling in the archer’s grip, she looked up–
And froze. A giant black and gold bird was cutting a swath through
the trees, blasting away scales and dirt. The roar of its descent
drowned out even the siren from Vyrl’s body.
As soon as the bird landed, its mouth gaped open. People ran out of its throat, Dazza and others in gray uniforms, all
sheathed in shimmers that molded to their bodies. Two Lionstar
stagmen came also, Azander and another man. The unfamiliar Lionstar
man raised his arm and pointed a tube at the Ironbridge archer
that held Kamoj.
"Ah–" With a stunned expression, the archer collapsed. The Lionstar
man looked disconcerted, as if he hadn’t been sure what would
happen when he did whatever he had done with the tube.
Kamoj tried to run to Vyrl, but one of the shimmer-sheathed strangers
caught her and held her back. The other healers were kneeling
around Vyrl. As one of them placed a translucent mask over his
face, Dazza worked dials on a cylinder connected by a cord to
the mask. Two other healers lifted him onto a stretcher.
Impossibly, the stretcher rose off the ground on its own. Grabbing
its ends, the healers ran for the metal bird. Dazza went with
them, running by the stretcher. Two more of Vyrl’s people laid
the dying Ironbridge man on a second stretcher and followed the
first group. The siren from Vyrl’s body still rang throughout
the trees.
Kamoj struggled in the grip of the healer that held her. "Let
me go with him!" she shouted. When he only tightened his grip,
she screamed, "Let me go!"
Still running, Dazza glanced back. "Let her come," she called.
Then she disappeared into the bird’s throat.
The instant the healer released her, Kamoj took off. She had no
time to consider the consequences of running into the mouth of
a giant metal bird. Its jaw was already closing. She barely had
time to race inside before it snapped shut behind her. Two more
steps took her through the throat–and into a nightmare.
The bird’s stomach was a demon’s nest of tubes and metal curves,
surfaces that gleamed, light panels, other things she had no names
for, looping coils and projections like clawed hands.
Suddenly the bird lurched. Kamoj lost her balance and slid to
one knee, her shoulder hitting the metal "wall" that lined the
beast’s gut. A roaring filled the air and the bird vibrated around
her. As it grumbled and boomed, a great invisible hand shoved
her against the wall of its stomach.
The Lionstar stagman who had knocked out the Ironbridge archer
knelt on one knee at her side, his presence both reassurance and
an offer of protection. She managed to incline her head in gratitude.
He nodded back, his face as pale as a white-skeeted snowlizard.
She suspected he had no more love of riding in the innards of
giant metal birds than did she.
A few paces away from them, Vyrl lay on a pallet enmeshed in coils
and jointed metal arms. The siren coming from his body abruptly
cut off, leaving a calm broken only by the muted clinks and hissing
of the bird’s guts. The Ironbridge man lay on another pallet,
surrounded by healers. Kamoj couldn’t tell what was happening
with him, or even if he still lived.
Vyrl, however, was very much alive. He had ripped the mask off
his face and was grabbing at a tube Dazza kept trying to press
against his arm.
"I won’t be put to sleep like some wild animal!" he told her.
"Stop fighting," Dazza said. "It will drive the arrows deeper
into your body."
Either he didn’t hear or didn’t care. He kept struggling, until
finally the healers fastened down his limbs with straps. Still
he fought, his face flushed as he strained against his bonds.
It terrified Kamoj to see him that way, like a man possessed.
"Prince Havyrl, you have to hold still," a man said. "We can’t
get the arrows out." In almost the same instant, Dazza said, "The
sedative isn’t working," and another man said, "I’ll try Perital."
As the man pressed a tube against Vyrl’s arm, Vyrl swore, the
tendons in his necks as taut as cords. His eyes rolled back into
his head and his body went rigid–no, not rigid, it was jerking–
Someone yelled, "What the–?" and a new siren went off. In the
same instant, Dazza shouted, "Give me an air-syringe!" while a
woman said, "Saints almighty, what kind of neural map is that?"
Vyrl’s entire body spasmed against the restraints, convulsing
back and forth. As Dazza slapped another tube against his arm,
someone else said, "I’m reading discharges all over his brain,"
and another healer shouted, "We have to clear–damn! The arrow
punctured his lung."
Kamoj rocked back and forth, agonized. Vyrl was dying and she
was helpless to do anything. Even his healers couldn’t stop the
demon that wracked him like a stick-man made of twigs.
"Give him more meds!" Dazza said. "Double-dose the chest wound."
"He’s got too many in his body already," a man said.
"Do it!" Dazza ordered.
A woman said, "Heartbeat and blood pressure dropping below critical
levels. Colonel, we’re losing him."
"No. Gods, no." Dazza gripped the pallet. "Vyrl, come back! Don’t let go. Not
now. Not after you’ve come so far."
"The nanomed concentration in his blood is too high," a man said.
"They’re starting to break down his tissues."
"Clean them out," Dazza said. "Neutralize now!"
Vyrl stopped jerking. As his body went limp, a healer said, "Neural
inhibition working. Neurons fatiguing." Riding on the tail end
of her words, a man said, "His right lung collapsed," and another
said, "Med concentration decreasing."
Dazza glanced at a man bent over a panel of lights. "Can we save
the lung?"
"The meds got to the puncture site before we flushed," he said.
"I’ve got the pneumothorax under control and regeneration around
the wound is taking."
The colonel nodded, then turned to a woman who was studying a
collection of ghosts above a silver platform. "What happened to
him?" Dazza asked.
"That was a grand mal seizure," the woman said. "A generalized tonic-clonic attack,
like an epileptic convulsion. I haven’t tracked down the cause
yet."
"There!" a man said. He held up the arrow that had been in Vyrl’s
chest. When Kamoj saw blood gush out of Vyrl’s wound, bile rose
in her throat. It wasn’t the blood; she had tended injured farm
hands with wounds just as serious. But it had never been her husband
before, bleeding away his life. His lung had collapsed. How could he survive such wounds?
Someone said, "We have the second one," and held up part of another
bloody arrow. Kamoj hadn’t even realized part of that one had
stayed in Vyrl’s body. Other healers attached patches to the inside
of his elbows while a man pressed a tube against his neck.
"Colonel, I’ve got what caused his seizure." That came from the
woman bent over the silver ghosts. "The last sedative, the Perital,
interacted with the alcohol in his bloodstream. It set off a reaction
in the series-N nanomeds he carries, which acted on the psiamine
receptors in his brain. With all those extra neural structures
he has up there, it was too much. His neurons started firing like
mad and the excitation spread." She glanced at the doctor. "His
brain went into overload."
Dazza nodded tiredly. "Log the whole cycle, Lieutenant. Next time
we’ll know."
A man’s voice came out of the air. "Colonel Pacal, shall I take
the shuttle up to the Ascendant?"
"Yes," Dazza said.
"No," Vyrl whispered.
Dazza leaned over him, two tears running down her cheeks. "Holy
saints, Vyrl, don’t you ever stop arguing?"
Opening his eyes, he looked up at her. "Never want . . . see that
medical bay again."
Her voice gentled. "We need its equipment."
"Everything you need . . . at palace."
"I’ll feel better with you on the ship."
"Won’t go back there."
"I can have Jak Tager meet us at the docking bay–"
"No! Told you. Don’t need him."
"Vyrl, I’m sorry. But I want you on the cruiser."
His eyes closed. "Then the hell with you."
"Doctor-Colonel," Kamoj said.
Dazza looked up. "Kamoj? Are you hurt?"
"No, ma’am." She tried to make her voice calm, so Dazza would
listen to her, but it made the words come out stilted. "If you
break the spirit of a greenglass, you can still force it to serve
you. But it will serve neither willingly nor well. Break the king
of the stags and the entire herd dies."
"What the hell?" a healer said. Another said, "She’s just a kid.
She’s probably scared."
"No." Dazza was watching Kamoj. "I know what she means." She pushed
her hand through the silver tendrils of her hair. Then she said,
"Major, change of orders. Take us to the palace."
The disembodied voice said, "Will do, ma’am."
Kamoj closed her eyes with relief. When she opened them, Azander
was watching her from the other side of the bird, where he stood
against a wall. He nodded as if to thank her for intervening on
Vyrl’s behalf. Then he dropped his gaze to indicate respect. She
swallowed, grateful he saw her as an ally now instead of an enemy.
"Colonel Pacal." One of the healers working on the Ironbridge
man spoke. "We’ve a problem."
"What’s wrong?" Dazza asked.
"We’re having trouble replicating this man’s erythrocytes. We
need a transfusion from someone native to this biosphere."
"Do you have a compatible donor listed in the files?" Dazza asked.
"We aren’t sure." The healer glanced up at Azander. "Can you try?
You’re the closest match."
Azander nodded, seeming to understand the odd words. He moved
away from the wall and knelt by the Ironbridge soldier. The healers
attached tubes to his arms that went to their various machines.
Silent and tense, they concentrated on their displays, their faces
furrowed as the studied the flickering ghosts.
Suddenly one of them said, "It’s good."
With obvious relief, the healers made more adjustments to their
boxes, then used the tubes to connect Azander with the dying stagman.
Soon red liquid was moving through the tubes. Azander remained
utterly still, like a statue, staring at the liquid as it flowed,
his face pale. With a jolt, Kamoj realized his blood was in those tubes.
Finally a healer said, "We have replication." Others went to work
on Azander and his blood stopped flowing. Soon they had him free
of their machines.
"Will your patient survive?" Dazza asked.
A healer working on the Ironbridge archer said, "It looks like
it."
Kamoj stared at them. Who were these people, that they could give
life to a man who for all intents and purposes was already dead?
Turning back to Vyrl, Kamoj saw he had succumbed to the sleep
makers. Or she thought he had. Then he mumbled something.
Dazza leaned closer. "Again?"
"Kamoj," he said.
"She’s here," Dazza said. "We’re going to the palace."
"Good . . ." Vyrl’s breathing eased into sleep.
He looked so pale. But Kamoj saw no blood, neither on his body
nor spilled onto the bird’s guts. In fact, she couldn’t see his
wounds at all. Where ragged gashes had rent his body, now new
skin showed. Then she realized the "skin" was a bandage.
"Colonel." The voice came out of the air. "We’re coming into the
palace."
Dazza glanced at the healers around the Ironbridge man. "As soon
as we have Prince Havyrl off the shuttle, take your patient up
to the Ascendant. I don’t want him anywhere near the palace until we figure out
why the two of them were trying to kill each other."
An odd sensation came over Kamoj, as if she were falling. The
bird jolted and its dull thunder stopped. In a whoosh of air its
mouth gaped open, leaving only a shimmer. Sunshine poured into
the stomach.
With the Lionstar stagman at her side, Kamoj walked through the
mouth. Incredibly, they came out onto the courtyard in front of
the palace. The stagman glanced at her and spread his hands, the
disquiet on his face mirroring what she felt. Only moments ago
they had been in the forest.
The healers brought Vyrl out on the floating stretcher, with a
silver sheet over his body. Servants threw open the doors of the
palace and the healers strode inside.

* * *

Kamoj slept in a sitting position, leaning against the headboard
of the bed. Vyrl lay next to her, either asleep or unconscious.
Each time she awoke, she saw Dazza in an armchair by the nightstand,
watching Vyrl, dozing, or studying images in her book-box.
Sometimes the colonel spoke to the nightstand. Different voices
answered, most in unfamiliar languages. A few used their odd Bridge
dialect. Dazza discussed Azander’s paramedic training with one, saying she wanted more of the household staff
to learn it. Another voice told her the Ironbridge stagman was
recovering on the Ascendant. Later someone said a delegation from the Ascendant had gone to Ironbridge to speak to Jax.
From what Kamoj gathered, it sounded like Vyrl’s people were holding
the second Ironbridge archer in Argali, until they decided what
to do about his shooting Vyrl. Apparently the Lionstar stagman
had knocked him out with a sleep weapon. Kamoj didn’t understand
how a tube could carry sleep or how a person could throw that
sleep at others, but nevertheless, it had happened.
She was dozing when a rustle of sheets woke her. She opened her
eyes to see Vyrl jerking, restless with his dreams. Dazza sat
slumped in her chair, asleep, but when Vyrl groaned she snapped
awake. The doctor took one look at him, then opened her case and
removed a black tube. She stood up, leaning over Vyrl as she brought
the tube to his neck.
"Wait," Kamoj said. "He hates that."
Dazza exhaled. "I know. But if he jerks like that, it could tear
open his wounds."
Vyrl’s fingers curled into claws. His breathing had grown ragged
and his forehead contorted as if he were in pain.
"There might be another way." Kamoj slid the pillow out from under
his head and put herself in its place, sitting cross-legged with
his head in her lap, his curls spread across her legs in red-gold
profusion. Then she massaged his head. As she worked, his face
relaxed and his breath slowed to an even rhythm.
"Well, I’ll take a launch off a lily-pad," Dazza said.
Kamoj looked up at her. "Ma’am?"
Smiling, Dazza said, "It seems you’re effective alternative medicine."
Kamoj hesitated. "May I ask a question?"
"Of course."
"That sound Vyrl’s body was making today, when he was hurt. How
did it do that?"
"He has an implant," Dazza said. "If he’s in trouble, it sets
off alarms, including the siren. It also activates a neutrino
beacon. That’s how we found him." She paused, her head tilted
as she considered Kamoj. "May I ask a question?"
It felt odd to have the doctor request permission to seek information.
Kamoj had no idea what position "colonel" occupied in the hierarchy
of things, but Dazza clearly ranked high among Vyrl’s people.
"I will answer to the best of my ability," Kamoj said.
"Why did Vyrl try to kill the Ironbridge man?"
"Because he tried to kill Vyrl."
"The Ironbridge soldiers claim they acted in self-defense." Dazza
settled back into her chair. "We’ve done scans on them. They’re
both telling the truth as they see it."
"Didn’t know who I was," Vyrl mumbled. He opened his eyes and
looked at Dazza, his gaze bleary.
She leaned forward. "How are you feeling?"
"Lousy." He closed his eyes. "Flaming sedatives."
"I’m sorry," Dazza said. "But I had to do what I thought necessary."
With the look of someone who already knew what response she was
going to get, she added, "That’s why I’ve posted Jagernauts as
your bodyguards. You will have two with you at all times, even
in the palace. Right now they’re on the landing of this suite."
His eyes snapped open. "Damn it, Colonel. I’m tired of privacy
being a luxury I’m forbidden."
She crossed her arms. "What did you expect? That ISC would stand
by while you steal state-of-the-art special operations gear, ride
off in a drunken rage, and almost get yourself killed?"
Vyrl scowled at her.
In a quieter voice, Dazza said, "Why would an Ironbridge archer
try to kill you?"
After a pause, Vyrl answered. "Because of what he saw. It probably
looked like I was threatening the other Ironbridge man with his
own sword. And I had Kamoj. The archer was defending his partner
and Kamoj’s honor. Or else he thought like the first one, that
Kamoj was committing adultery with me."
"Adultery?" Dazza asked. "With her own husband?"
"Interesting concept, yes?" Vyrl hesitated. "The stagman . . .
?"
"He will live," Dazza said. As relief sped across Vyrl’s face,
she added, "You damn near killed him. Why did you stab him? He
was just trying to recover his weapon."
"Why do you think? Someone shot me. Then this one lunged at me.
I reacted in reflex."
"I hadn’t realized you knew how to use a sword like that."
He shrugged. "I learned on Lyshriol."
"You trained with swords on your home planet?"
"All highborn boys do there. It’s part of the culture."
"It just seems so–" Dazza squinted at him. "Barbaric."
Vyrl scowled. "What, if I crisped him with a laser carbine, that
would be civilized? Hell, we could be really civilized and have
the Ascendant drop an antimatter bomb on Ironbridge."
Dazza didn’t answer, and Kamoj could tell Vyrl’s words bothered
her. She had been prepared to hate Dazza, after what Vyrl had
told her this afternoon. Instead she kept remembering Dazza’s
tears, so uncharacteristic of the craggy colonel, when the doctor
realized Vyrl was going to live.
"What I don’t understand," Vyrl said, "is why Ironbridge stagmen
are prowling around my woods."
Dazza glanced at Kamoj. "Would you feel more comfortable if I
told him?"
Kamoj nodded, wondering what Dazza knew.
"Told me what?" Vyrl asked.
"We sent people down to talk with Maxard Argali," she said. "It
seems your bride was betrothed to Jax Ironbridge."
Vyrl stared up at Kamoj. Mortified, she averted her eyes.
"Their marriage was arranged years ago," Dazza said. "Apparently
Ironbridge is quite fond of her."
Kamoj almost gagged. If Jax was fond of her, she would hate to
see how he treated people he didn’t like.
Vyrl spoke gently. "Look at me, water sprite." When she met his
gaze, he said, "I’m sorry. I should have realized a woman such
as yourself would already be spoken for."
She wished she could disappear into the woodwork. Vyrl glanced
at Dazza and tilted his head toward the door.
"Uh–ah, yes, well." The colonel stood up. "I have to check in
with the Ascendant. I’ll look in on you later."
When Kamoj and Vyrl were alone, he said, "I truly am sorry. I
figured there might be others, but I assumed if something was
serious, you would refuse my offer. It didn’t occur to me that
you would have no choice." After a moment he added, "Or maybe
I didn’t want it to occur to me."
"You established your bid legally," Kamoj replied. "No one could
match it."
"I don’t get it," Vyrl said. "How did the concepts of slavery
and a dowry get mixed up together here?"
"Slavery? What do you man?"
"Don’t you hear what you’re saying? I outbid him for you. How
can you not hate me?"
"You did nothing wrong."
"I bought another human being. That’s wrong. On top of which,
it was a woman who had already given her word to another man."
Dryly he added, "A woman younger than most of my granddaughters."
Granddaughters? Older than her? Surely she heard wrong.
Then again, Jax was Vyrl’s age and he had illegitimate children
everywhere, some of them adults with their own children. That,
she realized, was what bothered her. Not that Vyrl had children
but how he came about them. With Jax she had almost managed to
convince herself she didn’t care what he did. With Vyrl, an agony
of jealousy rose in her.
"What’s wrong?" he asked.
She stopped massaging his head. "Nothing."
"Something about my children," he said. "Their mother?"
"Men can marry only one woman here. Perhaps in your Imperial court
it is different."
He laughed. "Concubines and court intrigue? Gods, Kamoj, that
isn’t me. I may have more titles than I know what to do with,
but I’m still a farm boy from nowhere. All I ever wanted was my
wife, my family, and my land."
She spoke with care. "Then you are widowed?"
"I married my childhood sweetheart when we were kids." In a voice
soft with sorrow, he added, "Ten years ago she took a fall in
the Backbone Mountains. She died instantly."
"Hai," she murmured. "I’m sorry."
"It was a long time ago." His voice gentled. "We had many good
years, twelve beautiful children, over forty grandchildren so
far, and gods know how many great-grandchildren." He paused, squinting
at her. "I get mixed up which of the new ones are grandchildren
and which are great-grand. There’s even a few great-greats in
there."
She stared at him. "But you are so young."
"People marry young where I come from. I was fourteen." He laughed.
"When I told Dazza that, she nearly went through the wall. Legal
age in the overall Imperialate culture is twenty-five, and the
average number of children for a conventional couple is two. By
the time I was ‘legal,’ I had six children."
It didn’t sound odd to Kamoj. In her experience, people married
young and had as many children as possible, with the hope that
at least some would survive until adulthood, and perhaps, if the
family was lucky, even prosper.
But the numbers and his age still didn’t fit. She struggled to
work it out. Although she was better at mathematics than most
people, she usually had wires with beads to do problems as difficult
as this one. No matter how she looked at it, she kept coming up
with the same impossible results.
Finally she said, "Even if your children married as young as you
did, I don’t see how you could have so many descendants, especially
great-grandchildren and great-greats."
"Why? I’m sixty-three."
Her mouth fell open. "What? No. That can’t be."
"It’s true." He grinned. "But if you want to tell me how young
I look, I won’t object."
She smiled. "You can angle for compliments all you wish, my handsome
husband. But I still don’t understand. How can you look so young?"
"Good genes and exercise, I suppose. Also, the nanomeds in my
body do some repairs, enough to help delay aging." He hesitated.
"Did you really mean what you said this afternoon, about wanting
me to stay with you?"
"Yes."
"Even though you could have your betrothed back if we arranged
for me to ‘die’?"
"Jax Ironbridge is a–" The word slug tempted her, but she held
it back. No more appropriate word came, though. She kept imagining
a slug making its way through the mud.
Vyrl laughed. "You can compare my competition to all the slimy
creatures you want."
"I would never speak ill of Ironbridge’s good name."
"You’re tact is laudable." He closed his eyes. "I like your worm
images better, though."
She stroked his forehead. "Lionstar Province has no worms."
A guilty look passed over his face. "I don’t really have a province
on this planet."
"Of course you do."
"I do?"
"Argali and our villages." She thought of Azander. "Your stagmen
come from outlying hamlets, yes?"
"That’s right."
"Most of those hamlets were originally part of the North Sky Islands.
But they’ve become unattached." It appalled Kamoj, actually. Rather
than trying to support villages so distant and so impoverished,
past governors of the Islands had ignored them, until finally,
after many generations, the villages lost all association with
their former province–and with that, their last hope of survival.
"If their stagmen are your sworn liegemen, then you are also now
the authority in their villages."
He opened his eyes. "What does that mean, exactly?"
"A union such as ours is a merger. A business arrangement. In
marrying me, you agreed to help support my people."
"In other words, responsibilities come with power."
She took a breath. "Yes."
"Such as?"
"Food. Work. Tools. Shelter." Softly she said, "Survival."
Vyrl considered her. Then he reached out and pressed a turquoise
stone on the nightstand.
A voice floated into the air. "Colonel Pacal here."
"Dazza, when is Morlin coming back up?" Vyrl asked.
"I’m not sure. The techs are replacing the fiberoptics. Is there
a problem?"
"No. I just need some information."
"Maybe I can help."
He scowled. "Yes, but Morlin never argues with me."
Dryly Dazza said, "What are you about to do that you think will
start an argument?"
"Do you remember our decision to minimize interactions with the
native culture here?"
"Yes."
"Well, we may have a problem."
"What problem?"
"It seems that by marrying Kamoj, I’ve set myself up as a sort
of sovereign in Argali."
Dazza made an exasperated noise. "That’s hardly what I call ‘minimizing
interactions.’"
"I want to send some techs to the villages."
"Why? The villages have no tech for techs to work on."
"That’s the point. These people have a killing winter coming.
We can heat their houses."
After a pause, Dazza said, "I’ll assign a group to it."
"Discreetly, though. I don’t want to scare anyone. Dress them
in native clothes and send some of my stagmen with them."
"All right."
"Some of the houses are old enough to have web systems–"
"Vyrl." Her voice had a warning note. "Don’t push it."
"Can you go down to Argali too?" he asked.
"Me? Why?"
"See if they need medical help."
Her voice turned dry again. "In case you’ve forgotten, I’m an
ISC colonel. I have responsibilities."
"Oh. Yes. Of course."
The silence stretched out. Finally Dazza said, "I have some residents
up on the Ascendant who are just out of medical school. They could benefit from the
experience."
Vyrl smiled. "Good."
"We should send agriculturists too," she said.
"We already have one." His voice grew animated. "Dazza, listen.
I’ve been working on quad-grains. Give me a few years and I could
engineer crops and livestock that would increase production here
tenfold."
"We don’t have a few years."
"Just think about it."
She exhaled. "All right."
"Good." Vyrl grinned. Then he yawned and turned his head until
his lips touched Kamoj’s thigh.
Tears gathered in Kamoj’s eyes. Softly she said, "Thank you, beautiful
lion."
"Vyrl?" Dazza asked.
"I’m sleeping," he mumbled.
"Ah," the colonel said. "Good-night, Governor Argali."
Kamoj blinked at the phrase. "Good-night?" When no answer came,
she said, "Dazza?" The nightstand remained quiet.
So she stroked Vyrl’s hair and watched stars move across the patch
of sky visible through the window on the other side of the room.
Could he truly warm their houses in winter? Heal their ills? Help
them grow ten times as much food? It was remarkable how, when
life seemed to reach its worst, things could turn about this way.
Surely all would be well now.
Surely Vyrl wouldn’t drink anymore.

Above The Sky
Integration

"Water sprite, wake up."
Kamoj moved, then groaned. It felt like pins and thornbats prickled
her legs, where she had folded them under her body. She didn’t
remember sliding out from under Vyrl, but she was sitting next
to him now, her hands tucked between her knees. Moonlight poured
over the bed.
Vyrl lay watching her. "I need you to do something for me."
She smiled, imagining his hands on her body. "Anything."
"In the second drawer of my desk. There’s a bottle I need."
Her good mood vanished. "You don’t need that."
"I can’t sleep."
"Dazza could give you–"
"No!"
"But–"
"I don’t need Dazza’s damn sedatives."
"I can’t get you the bottle."
His voice hardened. "Why not? You have two legs. You can walk
the ten steps it would take to reach the desk."
"The rum hurts you."
"After two days you claim to know me well enough to dictate what
is and isn’t good for me?"
"Vyrl, no. That’s not what I meant."
"Then get it for me." His voice gentled. "Just for tonight. To
help me sleep."
"I can’t. I-I’m sorry."
His gentleness disappeared. "Then get out of my bed."
"But I–"
"Get out."
Stunned, Kamoj slid off the bed and ran across the room, her bare
feet slapping the stone. Inside her chamber, she dropped onto
her own bed. Moonlight shone through the window, creating a swath
of pale colors across the floor.
A grunt came from the master bedroom, followed by the rustle of
blankets. Kamoj froze, listening.
A gasp, labored but brief.
Silence.
Was he having trouble breathing? It was hard to believe he had
suffered a collapsed lung only this afternoon. She started to
get up, then hesitated. Get out, he had said. If she walked in and he was fine, she would look
like a fool.
The crash of shattering glass broke the silence. She jumped up
and ran into his bedroom.
Vyrl was kneeling by his desk, wearing only his sleep pants, his
chest bare, except for the bandages, his arms wrapped around his
body. Shards of broken glass covered the floor, glinting in the
moonlight. A pool of rum was spreading under the desk.
Kamoj went over and knelt in front of him. Up this close she saw
tears on his cheeks, just as she had seen them last night after
his nightmare. She wondered if his waking helped at all or if
his night terrors recognized no boundaries between sleep and reality.
Stretching out his arm, he pulled a strand of her hair away from
her lips. "Touch me, Kamoj. Let me feel you. See you. Smell you."
She reached for him. "Always. Whenever you want."
Instead of responding, he grabbed the desk and pulled himself
to his feet. The window above the desk looked south, over the
Lower Sky Hills that fell away to the plains. Staring out at the
mountains, he spoke in a distant voice. "I’ve a younger brother.
Kelric."
She stood up, trying to understand his mood. "A little brother?"
"Little?" He gave a short laugh. "He’s huge. Joined ISC."
"Is he here now?"
"No. The war took him away."
Kamoj lifted her hand, meaning to touch him, to offer comfort.
Then she hesitated, unsure what he needed or wanted. Uncertain,
she dropped her hand again.
"I have a lot of brothers," he continued. "Althor. I always admired
him. Looked up to him. He joined ISC too. Jagernaut."
"Jagernaut?"
"Cybernetically enhanced star fighter pilot. Like Kelric. Like
those new bodyguards Colonel Pacal gave me."
"Althor is a soldier too?"
"Was." In a wooden voice, he said, "ISC gave him a beautiful funeral."
"Hai, Vyrl. I’m sorry."
He kept on, as if unable to stop. "There’s my sister. Soz. We
were closest in age, out of ten children." He finally turned to
Kamoj. "You look a little like her."
"She is also a soldier? Like Dazza?"
"Dazza served under her."
"Where is she now?"
"Blown to dust."
"Vyrl, I–I’m sorry."
"Sorry?" His words came like leaded rain. "My brother Eldrin is
still alive. The Traders captured him. You know what they do when
they catch one of us? No, never mind. You don’t want to know.
My aunt and her son, they’re gone. Prisoners, maybe. Dead, probably.
Then there is Kurj, my uncle. War leader before Soz. She took
over after the Traders killed him."
"I’m so sorry." It sounded useless, saying that over and over.
She had lost only her parents and that had torn apart her world.
She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose most of a large
family.
He walked away, across the room. Bathed in pale light from the
Far Moon and the aurora borealis, he climbed the dais. Then he
turned to face her. "I’m a good farmer. You want crops with better
yields? Bi-hoxen that can better survive your winters? I can work
it out. That’s what I wrote my doctorate on, the application of
genetic engineering to crop and livestock development. I’ve had
Morlin running DNA simulations here."
"I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me," she said.
"Farming." He stood in the moonlight like a statue, the planes
of his chest stark in the colorless radiance that filled the room.
"I’ve always loved it. You know where I got that? From my father.
He loved the land. And he loved us. His children." His voice broke.
"At least I was there when he died."
She went to him then, joining him on the dais. Gently she said,
"How did it happen?"
He rubbed his palm over his cheek, seeming surprised to find tears
there. "Old age. Old wounds." Dropping his hand, he said, "My
father spent his last days with his family, in our family house,
on our home world. The Allied military let us have that much."
"Allied?"
"The Allied Worlds of Earth." Bitter now, he said, "They were
‘kind’ enough to let us live in our own homes. Of course, Earth
now controls the entire planet where we live."
"Earth? I don’t understand."
"I told you this afternoon. Our ‘allies’ betrayed us. They won’t
let my family go." In a quieter voice he said, "They believe that
without my family to power the Ruby machines, ISC won’t risk another
war. Earth fears that otherwise my people and the Traders will
destroy civilization, the way the Ruby Empire was destroyed, five
thousand years ago."
"But if you were their prisoner, how are you here now?"
"None of my family could get offworld."
"But you’re here."
He looked away from her, out the window across the room. "Do you
know what my father’s dying wish was? His gruesome dying wish?
That his coffin be launched into orbit around the planet."
"Orbit?"
"Above the sky."
"Like the moons?"
"Like the moons. He wanted to be a moon."
"But why? If he valued the land–"
"He loved it. The land. The harvest. The seasons." Vyrl turned
back to her. "Going into orbit terrified him."
"But you said he asked to go there."
"That’s what he told our jailors." A muscle in his cheek jerked.
"We held his true funeral in secret, to do what he told my mother
he really wanted. We cremated his body and spread the ashes over
his land." He swallowed. "Then my family took his coffin to the
starport."
"Why, if he wasn’t in it?"
"The Allieds didn’t know that. There was a body, one their sensors
registered as his."
She stiffened. "No."
He went on, inexorable. "Our family physician on Lyshriol was
an ISC agent. He installed an intravenous system inside the coffin
to feed me. Made the coffin vacuum tight. So I could breathe.
Put in a web system to deceive probes. I weigh more than my father,
so he streamlined everything. Same for the web, not because of
weight, but to minimize the risk of detection. It didn’t even
have a voice mod for conversation. He didn’t want to use drugs
in an unmonitored environment, but finally he agreed to sedate
me, so I wouldn’t get claustrophobic." His voice cracked. "It
would only be for one day, after all."
"They buried you alive?"
Flatly he said, "My mother made a heartbroken plea to our jailors.
Said she couldn’t bear to think of her husband in that cold wasteland.
In compassion for the beautiful bereaved widow, they agreed to
let an ISC ship recover his casket from space. In honor of his
wishes, it would spend one day in orbit, and then ISC would make
the pickup." He paused. "By the time I awoke from sedation, I
would be safe on the Ascendant."
Relief poured over Kamoj. "It was a trick! To get you away from
your enemies. And it worked."
"Yes. It worked." His cheek twitched. "With just one little glitch."
"Glitch?"
"An Allied bureaucrat stalled the pickup." In a quiet voice, he
added, "No one told my family. The Allieds didn’t want to upset
them. But minutes after the launch, someone somewhere along the
line changed his mind and said they wouldn’t give up the body."
Kamoj felt as if her stomach dropped. "No."
"Don’t look so grim." He flexed his fist, jerkily opening and
closing his hand. "Negotiations to recover the body began even
before I woke up."
"You woke up inside the coffin?"
"Yes."
Kamoj tried to imagine it, buried alive, with only a box separating
you from the sky and stars, knowing something had gone terribly
wrong, that you were here when you should have been there, safe and free.
Vyrl swallowed. "Do you know what ‘sensory deprivation’ means?
No sound. No sight. No taste. No smell. No weight. After a while
I couldn’t even feel the inside of the coffin. And my mind–I couldn’t–as
a telepath, I need to be close to people to pick up anything.
My mind opened up, searching for anyone. Anything. Anything. I was wide open and there was nothing."
"How long?" she whispered.
The brittle edge of his voice broke. "Thirty-one days. When the
team on the Ascendant finally got me out, I was screaming, raving insane."
Kamoj had no idea what to say. No words would take away this horror,
no touch heal it.
"Don’t look so dismayed," he said. "They took care of me. Treated
me. Hell, it even helped. To a point." His head jerked. "But the
psiber centers in my brain went dead. ISC got their precious Ruby
psion, but they broke him in the process. Turned me into a crippled
telepath." He swallowed. "Except when I sleep. Then my mind opens
up like in the coffin. But this isn’t space. People are all around.
So I go into telepathic overload. If they isolate me and I can’t
pick up anything, I start to scream again." Dully he added, "And
every time Dazza sedates me, all I can think is that I’ll wake
up in that coffin."
"There must be some cure–something–"
"The rum deadens my brain. It lets me sleep."
She took his hands. "Surely some other solution exists. Can’t
Dazza and her people help you?"
"They can all go to hell."
"But–"
His voice hardened. "Two people on the Ascendant knew my father’s body wasn’t in that coffin: the special operations
officer assigned to the mission and General Ashman, the ship’s
commander. They could have ended it any time by revealing that
a living man was out there. ISC would have lost me back to the
Allieds, but I would have been free from that nightmare." His
fists clenched. "They wanted me any way they could get me, and
to the hell with my sanity."
"Hai, Vyrl." She thought she understood now, both his pain and
the desperation that drove his military to such an extreme. Gently
she said, "When did you start to feel thoughts again?"
"With you." With an obvious effort, he relaxed his hands. "You’re
wide open to me, water sprite. I felt it that day I saw you in
the river."
Kamoj remembered Dazza’s face when the doctor had realized Vyrl
was picking up his bride’s thoughts. Joy. Hope. Elation. All signs
of a healer whose patient had begun a recovery she feared would
never happen.
Vyrl took her hand and climbed onto the bed, drawing her with
him. As they lay down together, the quilts enveloped them in billowy
cloth, soft from many washings and fragrant with the scent of
spice-soap.
She touched his damp cheek. "We have a saying in Argali: ‘Tears
wash clean the debris of the heart.’"
"I’m not crying." Another tear slid down his cheek. "I never cry.
Only children do that."
Kamoj thought of all the tears she had held in over the years.
"Maybe children know better than we."
His voice caught. "Ai, water sprite. Something inside me is breaking.
I don’t know what, only that it’s thawing."
"Like ice on a lake in spring."
He pulled her into his arms. "Be my spring, Kamoj."
Night curled around them, quiet and foggy. As they made love,
a low-lying cloud seeped in the window. Afterward they lay together,
drowsing, their heads together, Vyrl’s lips touching her hair.
Some time later he said, "Look. The Lion came up."
Kamoj opened her eyes. The fog in the room had reached as high
as his desk, but their view of the window was clear. The Lion
constellation was stalking across the sky, his head thrown back,
his mane flowing in a wind of stars.
"See the star in his front paw?" Vyrl said.
"The yellow one?"
"Yes. That’s a sun of my home world. It’s why we made up the name
Lionstar."
"Lionstar isn’t your real name?"
He gave her a guilty look. "It isn’t even close."
"What are you called?"
"A lot of nonsense."
"Tell me."
"You don’t really want to hear it."
She smiled. "But I do. The whole thing."
"All right. But I warned you." With a grimace, he said, "Prince
Havyrl Torcellei Valdor kya Skolia, Sixth Heir, once removed from
the line of Pharaoh, born of the Rhon, Fourth Heir to the Web
Key, Fifth Heir to the Assembly Key, and Fifth Heir to the Imperator."
Kamoj blinked. "So many names."
He touched her cheek. "And you?"
"Just Kamoj Quanta Argali." It didn’t sound nearly so impressive
as his.
"Quanta?" He laughed. "Ai, Kamoj, you’re a bound quantum resonance."
It relieved her to see his spirits lighten, even if his words
were odd. "You think my name means resonance too?"
"Argali refers to a Breit-Wigner scattering resonance. It comes
from the Iotic word akil tz’i." He paused. "Actually akil tz’i originally meant leash. It’s used now for resonance. Some people
say it derives from a Mayan language, but no one really knows."
Kamoj knew nothing about "Mayan," but she had no doubts about
her own language. "Argali means vine rose."
"Not really. It just got mixed up with another Iotic word, akil tz’usub, which means vine runner."
Just like that, he took away her entire name and gave her a new
one, without even realizing it. "What does ‘Mayan’ mean?"
He pushed up on his elbow to look at her, as if her appearance
could give him a clue to his own past. "My people have tried to
determine our origins by comparing our languages to those on Earth.
Some similarities exist between classical Iotic and Tzotzil Mayan.
Other of our words suggest we came from the Mediterranean or Near
East. But no matter how you look at it, none of it makes sense,
unless my ancestors were shifted in time as well as space. Our
history on Raylicon goes back six thousand years, and at that
time no culture on Earth even vaguely resembled that of my ancestors."
"Then how can you be sure about the language?" She shook her head.
"Scattering resonance? It makes no sense."
"It’s like when you roll bowballs on a table and they bounce off
each other." He lay on his side again. "Particles do that too."
"Particles? You mean dust?"
"Smaller. Much smaller. And they can change state."
"What is ‘change state’?"
"Deform, spin different ways, that sort of thing."
"This is what ‘resonance’ means?"
"A resonance is when one ball captures another."
She gave him a skeptical look. "Vyrl, I have never heard of bowballs
capturing each other."
He laughed. "Just try to imagine it. The balls don’t bounce apart
right away. They collide and stick together for a while. That’s
the resonance."
"Why would my name mean such a thing?"
"I don’t know." he admitted. "What are some other common Argali
names?"
She thought about it. "Sable for women. Maxard for men."
"Maxard could refer to a maximum. What is your uncle’s full name?"
"Maxard Osil Argali."
"Osil means life. Maximum resonance lifetime?"
Kamoj didn’t see what sense that made either. "What about Sable?"
"I don’t know about that one. It just means black."
"It is a contraction of Metastable state."
He stared at her. "That can’t be coincidence! Metastable state
refers to a resonance." He looked inordinately pleased with this
strange statement. "You’re all named after scattering processes. Wait until I tell Drake."
"Drake?"
"The anthropologist on the Ascendant. He’s been trying to make sense out of the name ‘Jax.’"
Kamoj stiffened. "What about Jax?"
"It’s actually an acronym. Jks."
"Yes. I know. But Jax is easier to say."
"Jks. They’re quantum numbers. For a free particle. J is angular momentum, k is energy, s is spin." He snapped his fingers. "Jax Ironbridge is a free particle!
Actually, he’s one term in the partial wave expansion for a free-particle
plane wave."
"Good for him," Kamoj said dourly.
His smile faded. "My sorry. That was insensitive."
Free particle indeed. All she knew about Jax was that she no longer
needed to suffer a pendulum of emotions, swinging between fear
of his temper and relief for his tenderness. Which was fine with
her.
After that they lay in silence, side by side, their heads together.
Kamoj was almost asleep when Vyrl made an odd choked sound.
She opened her eyes. "Are you all right?"
He wiped sweat from his forehead. "Yes."
"Shall I get Dazza?"
"No." He pressed the heels of his hands against his temples. "I’ll
be fine."
"I can rub your head."
He glanced at her. "Yes. Thank you."
Kamoj sat up and took his head into her lap. As she massaged him,
his eyes twitched beneath his closed lids. But after only a few
moments he said, "Maybe you better not."
"There must be something I can do."
"Get me another bottle. From the kitchen. That one I broke is
the last I had up here."
"Please don’t–"
His face went stiff, like the precursor to an explosion.
"Wait," Kamoj said. She couldn’t bear the thought of his rejecting
her again, a second time in one night. But how could she do what
he asked?
Then it occurred to her that if she went downstairs, she might
find someone who could give her advice. "I’ll go to the kitchen."
He relaxed. "Thank you, Kamoj."
She put on her underdress and a robe, and left their bed. As she
tied her sash, she crossed to the entrance of the suite, wondering
what she would find on the landing outside. Vyrl’s new bodyguards,
stagmen from the Ascendant.
She eased open the outer door, trying to project a confidence
she didn’t feel. Moonlight filtered onto the landing from a window
in the stairwell. The two men posted outside were huge, bigger
even than Vyrl. They wore black, with no diskmail, only jackets,
pants, and knee boots. Metal bands gleamed on their upper arms,
and the leather guards on their wrists glinted with metallic ribbing.
Each man also wore a black bulk on his hip, not a sword or dagger,
but something else with a handle and snout.
Then Kamoj realized one of the stagmen was a stagwoman. Massive
and muscled, she stood taller than most men of Balumil. How did
Vyrl’s people grow so big?
Both guards were watching her. From their intrigued looks, one
would have thought she was some rare, exotic flower instead of
an ordinary farm girl.
The man spoke in accented Iotaca. "Can we help you, Governor Argali?"
"I need to go to the kitchen," Kamoj said.
He smiled down at her. "Tell Morlin what you need. Then you won’t
have to walk down there in this cold."
"Isn’t Morlin gone?"
"Most of the system is down. But you can use the intercom to page
someone in the kitchen."
"I don’t wish to bother anyone. But thank you." Self-conscious,
Kamoj nodded to them as she would to her uncle’s stagmen. Then
she started down the stairs. To her relief, neither of the giants
tried to accompany her.
No lamps or candles lit the stairwell, but moonlight slanted in
through the window slits–white light, which meant more than one
moon was up, and probably the aurora as well. She reached the
Long Hall on the first floor without seeing anyone. A few lamps
burned on the walls, but the corridor was empty. Further down,
light slanted out of rooms here and there, on either side.
The first of the lit rooms was empty. In the second, a housemaid
was cleaning the floor. Kamoj found Dazza in the third. The colonel
was sitting on a sofa, reading an odd book with glowing hieroglyphic
symbols on its surface.
Dazza looked up as she entered. "Good evening."
Kamoj hesitated just inside the doorway. "My greetings, Colonel
Pacal."
"Did you want to talk to me?" When Kamoj nodded, Dazza closed
her book and motioned to a chair by the sofa. "Please. Be comfortable."
Kamoj came in and sat on the edge of the chair.
The colonel smiled. "What is it, child?"
Child? Kamoj stiffened and said nothing.
After a moment Dazza asked, "Have I offended you?"
Kamoj made herself relax. She hadn’t come here to bristle at people.
"I need your help, ma’am."
"What can I do for you?"
"It’s about rum."
Dazza pushed her hand through her hair, mussing the grey curls.
"Is it rum? Or someone who drinks it?"
Kamoj twisted her hands in her lap. "He wants me to bring him
more."
"Don’t do it. Please."
"He will send me away."
"He won’t."
"He says he will."
"He doesn’t mean it."
"How can you know?"
Dazza’s face gentled. "I do believe he’s already in love with
you."
"He can’t be," Kamoj said matter-of-factly. "We don’t know each
other."
"Apparently it happens this way sometimes, with telepaths."
"Happens?"
"Falling in love."
"Everyone falls in love."
"Not like Vyrl."
"Why is he different?"
Dazza set her book on the couch. "Psions have more neural structures
in their brain than other people. Vyrl, especially. He feels everything
more. Add in that emotional artistic temperament of his and you
get real fire."
Her words surprised Kamoj. Vyrl didn’t strike her as emotional,
but as capable of deep emotions, which she wouldn’t have called
the same thing. She liked the way he expressed himself, open and
warm, full of dash. She wondered, too, what Dazza meant by artistic
temperament.
"Fire?" she asked.
The colonel smiled. "They used to call it ‘love at first sight.’
That turned out to be a misnomer, though. It’s more ‘at first
thought.’"
Wryly Kamoj said, "We have such a saying. ‘Love under the Wild
Moon.’ It is because this love makes your life chaos."
Dazza gave a rueful laugh. "Yes, I can see that."
"But why ‘at first thought?’"
"The fields produced by his brain couple to an unusually large
degree with yours. His mind interprets that interaction in a pleasant
way." When Kamoj shook her head, Dazza tried again. "The process
of thinking creates fields in your brain. You can’t see them,
but they can affect what is nearby."
"Like a magnet?"
Dazza gave her a surprised look. "Well, yes, actually, in a sense.
The various fields your cerebrum produces are more complicated
and less intense, but the basic idea is the same."
"And Vyrl reacts to mine?"
The doctor nodded. "When people are near each another, the fields
interact. Usually the effect is minor, even negligible. But every
now and then two people hit a resonance. Combine that with a strong
physical attraction and you can get intense emotion in a remarkably
short time. Over the long term, it can create an exceptional bond."
Dryly she said, "Poets call it a love ‘deeper than the sea’ or
‘wider than the sky.’ ‘Quantum resonance’ may sound less romantic,
but it’s more accurate."
Kamoj blinked. It sounded like Dazza meant Vyrl’s actions were
more than a drunken whim, that something special about she, Kamoj,
had drawn him to her. It unsettled her to discover just how much
she wanted that to be true.
Feeling awkward, she said, "He is also important to me. But each
time it seems he will be all right, he wants to drink again. I
had thought he would stop."
Softly Dazza said, "I wish it worked that way."
"Can you help?"
"I can treat his withdrawal symptoms. And his craving. But I can’t
make him want to quit." She spoke in a quiet voice. "I’m trying
to reach him. But in the end it must be his choice."
"Can’t you give him something to make him stop?"
Dazza shook her head. "I don’t think so. I could inject nanomeds
that would interact with alcohol to make him sick every time he
drinks. But if I force him to quit that way, it won’t stick. In
the end all I would probably achieve is to earn more of his resentment."
She grimaced. "Besides which, if I did it without his consent,
I would be breaking the law and endangering ISC relations with
the Ruby Dynasty."
Kamoj nodded. She and Maxard had often had to juggle politics
with expediency for the sake of Argali. "Vyrl doesn’t seem like
someone who would drink so much."
"Apparently he never had much interest in it prior to–" The colonel
stopped, then said, "to a sickness he suffered."
"He told me about the coffin."
Dazza stared at her. "He told you?" When Kamoj nodded, the doctor said, "He’s refused to speak
of it with anyone else."
"If he can talk to me, can’t he stop drinking too?"
"It’s not that easy. His body expects it now. Stopping will make
him sick."
"You can help him with that."
She nodded. "Yes. But mentally he also depends on it. He thinks
he can’t survive without it."
"He can."
"Vyrl doesn’t believe it." Dazza exhaled. "I wish I could make
him see. Few people could survive what happened as well as he
has. It’s even more remarkable because his being a psion amplified
the experience, gods only know how much. Something had to give.
I hate what the alcohol is doing to him, but it could have been
a lot worse. He hasn’t tried to commit suicide. And incredibly,
despite everything, he came through it with his mind and personality
intact."
"He thinks the rum does that for him."
"Please, Kamoj. Don’t give it to him."
She twisted her hands together. "He gets so angry."
"I know. But you must refuse."
"This is easy for you to say. You don’t share his bed."
The colonel blinked. "Well, no. I’ve my own husband."
Kamoj doubted Dazza had ever suffered the humiliation of being
banned from her bridal bed. "I am the one who must live with him."
Dazza spoke carefully. "No one will force you to stay in this
marriage if you desire otherwise."
"Your ISC wishes Vyrl and I didn’t wed, don’t they?"
It was a moment before Dazza answered. "It is true that the marriage
complicates an already complicated situation."
"You will all leave here, yes?"
"Yes. Probably soon."
"What happens to me then?"
"The choice to come or stay is yours."
"Is it?" Kamoj made a conscious effort to keep her voice even.
"Vyrl has set himself up as the authority in Argali. If he leaves,
it will bring great shame to my province." And to her. "Especially
given the way he became governor."
"Surely a way exists to let you save face."
Kamoj made an incredulous noise. "More must be saved than ‘face.’
Argali is dying. Why do you think I was betrothed to Ironbridge? Lionstar humiliated
Ironbridge, and if Vyrl leaves, he humiliates Argali as well.
If I stay here alone, what happens to the merger? To my province?
To my line? Unless I am pregnant when Vyrl leaves, I will have
no heir. If I am pregnant, and alone, my uncle will feel honor-bound
to stay as guardian to the child, as he did for me. If I leave
with Vyrl, Maxard will stay to govern Argali. Either way, Maxard
cannot marry his lady in the North Sky Islands. Both Argali and
the Argali bloodline, one of the oldest in Balumil, will end."
Dazza leaned forward. "Rest assured, Vyrl would never leave you
without the full resources of his title and name. And he can return
for visits."
"You think politics will play attendance on visits?" Or loneliness?
Bitterly Kamoj said, "Perhaps it doesn’t matter. If Vyrl goes,
Jax Ironbridge will probably seek his place. Vyrl could return
to find his wife taken, and his child too, if we have one." She
swallowed. "Given the circumstances, I suspect Ironbridge would
eliminate the heir of a rival."
The colonel stared at her. "Saints almighty, Kamoj, we would never
let that happen. Don’t you understand your position? You are a
Ruby consort. Do you have any idea what that means?"
"No."
Dazza paused at the blunt response. In a gentler voice, she said,
"Your marriage gives you the highest standing a person can have
among my people. ISC would never strand you, your family, or your
province." She hesitated. "Assuming it is your wish to remain
married to Vyrl rather than Ironbridge."
A voice came from behind them. "Colonel Pacal?"
Dazza looked past Kamoj. "Yes?"
Turning, Kamoj saw the Ascendant stagwoman in the doorway. "Prince Havyrl wants to know what happened
to his wife," the guard said.
"Hai." Kamoj stood up. "I will be right there."
"Governor Argali," Dazza said. When Kamoj turned, the doctor added,
"One more moment, if you don’t mind."
Kamoj sat down. "Yes, ma’am?"
In a soft voice Dazza said, "Gods know, I may be letting my hope
run away from me. But I do believe Vyrl wants to quit." She paused,
watching Kamoj. "If he can just make it one day without the rum,
it’s a start. Don’t bring it to him. Please."
Kamoj swallowed. "I will do my best."
Gently the doctor added, "And if he isn’t ready to stop, don’t
blame yourself."
Kamoj nodded. Then she stood and went to Vyrl’s bodyguard. The
woman bowed, then accompanied Kamoj back to the tower.
Kamoj reentered the suite to find Vyrl sitting on the edge of
the bed. He watched as she walked up the dais to him.
"Where is it?" he asked.
She stopped in front of him. "I didn’t get it."
"Who were you talking to down there? Dazza?" When Kamoj flushed,
his voice tightened. "Your laws say you’re supposed to do what
I tell you, don’t they? So get it for me."
"You don’t mean that."
"Don’t tell me what I mean." He started to get off the bed. "I’ll
go myself."
"Vyrl, no." Kamoj pushed him back. "You were almost killed today.
You shouldn’t be up at all." She took his hands. "Listen. I’ll
rub your head. We can hold each other. Every time you want a drink,
we’ll make love. So many better ways exist to sooth your demons
than soaking them in rum."
Despite himself, his mouth quirked in a smile. "I like your cures
a lot better than the ones Dazza comes up with." In a gentler
voice he said, "But I don’t need this ‘cure,’ water sprite. It
does more damage than what it is meant to fix. If Dazza told you
otherwise, she’s wrong."
Kamoj lifted his hand and bit at his knuckles in a gesture of
affection common throughout the Northern Lands. "Please."
Instead of answering her, he said, "Men do that where I come from."
He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, pressing his teeth
against them. "Like this."
"Only women do it here."
He pulled her to stand between his legs, his arms around her waist.
"Women this, men that. All these ‘rules’ exist and they’re different
everywhere. Do you know what I think? That under all those rules,
people love the same. They find their way to each other no matter
what."
She put her arms around him. "I can’t bear to see you hurt yourself."
"I just need a drink. It helps. Not hurts."
"It’s drowning you."
"That’s flaming nonsense, Kamoj. Did Dazza pressure you to do
this?"
"No one pressured me. I know what I see."
"Now you’re a medical expert?"
"I don’t need to be."
He brushed her hair back from her face. "If you won’t get it for
me, I’ll go myself."
"Vyrl, please. It’s destroying you."
"How the hell would you know?"
"Cursing at me won’t change the truth."
"It’s your truth. Not mine."
"You almost died today. Because of the rum."
It was a moment before he spoke again. When he did, he surprised
her. "I never used to drink. I don’t like the taste of it."
"Not even now?"
"Not even now."
"Then don’t drink it."
His anger flared. "I can stop if I want."
"Then why don’t you?"
"I don’t want to."
"So why do you care that you never used to drink?"
"I don’t care."
"Then why bring it up?"
"Damn it, Kamoj, let it go."
Her voice caught. "I wish I could make your night-demons go away.
But I can’t. Neither can the rum." A tear ran down her face. "I
don’t want you to send me away. But I can’t do what you want."
He watched her, his face unreadable. "Don’t sound like this."
"Like this?"
"Like your heart is breaking."
"Just one night. Stay away from it for one night."
He didn’t answer, just pulled her closer until her head lay against
his shoulder. She wasn’t sure if he offered affection or couldn’t
bear to look at her. For a long time they held each other, he
sitting, she standing. Gradually she began to hope it would happen,
that tonight he would turn from his blue bottle.
He drew back to look at her. "Very well."
Her hope surged. "Yes?"
"I’ll send one of my bodyguards for it."
"No."
"If you really wanted to be a good wife, you would help me."
"I won’t help you kill yourself." She squeezed his hands. "You’ve
already made it more than halfway through the night. You only
have a few more hours."
His face was set. "If you won’t help, I don’t want you here."
She felt as if he had slapped her. But she forced out the words.
"All right." She let go of him. "I will have my things sent back
to Argali. I can leave in the morning."
A muscle in his cheek twitched. Then he turned and stabbed his
finger at a jade leaf on the nightstand. Defeat washed over Kamoj,
made all the worse by the way her hope had built.
A voice came into the air. "Doctor Pacal here."
Kamoj froze, watching Vyrl. He had an odd startled look, as if
he had surprised himself.
After several moments Dazza said, "Vyrl? Is that you?"
"Yes. Never mind. I’m sorry I bothered you."
"Are you all right? Do you have any pain?"
"No."
"You’re sure?"
"Yes."
"Vyrl–"
"I’m fine."
"I can come up."
"No."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes. Good-night."
"Call me if you need anything."
"I will."
After a while Vyrl said, "Are you still there?"
"Yes," Dazza said.
"I don’t . . . I mean, I’m fine. But I–" He fell silent. Kamoj
wondered if Dazza was waiting with the same held breath as she,
afraid to speak for fear of saying the wrong thing.
Finally he said, "You can treat withdrawal symptoms from alcohol,
can’t you?"
Dazza spoke quietly. "Yes. I can help."
"Can you come up here?"
In an infinitely gentle voice she said, "I’m on my way."
Vyrl touched the leaf again. Then he sat staring at the wall.
Finally he turned to Kamoj. "Just for the rest of tonight."
Tears pooled in her eyes. "Yes. Tonight." In the morning they
would deal with tomorrow, and when the time came, with the day
after that, one day at a time.

Dragon’s Breath
Rearrangement Collision: Ionization and Recapture

The buzz of a bottle-beetle blended with forest sounds, quetzals
calling and wind blowing. The translucent radiance of dawn filled
the room. Kamoj’s mind gradually sorted out what had awoken her.
Someone had said her name.
Turning her head, she saw Vyrl sitting on the bed, dressed in
a work shirt and old pants, his hair mussed as if he had been
out in the wind.
He leaned over and kissed her. "You’re all rumpled and warm under
there."
She smiled drowsily. "How long have you been up?"
"A few hours. I had trouble sleeping."
"Did Dazza’s medicine help?"
He nodded, still leaning over her, his hands on either side of
her shoulders. "I feel like a stardock crane ran over my head,
though."
Kamoj touched his cheek. It was the only way she knew to tell
him how much it meant to her to see him sober this morning. She
feared if she spoke of it, she would disrupt his precarious equilibrium.
So instead she said, "What have you been doing?"
"I was down in the old throne room."
"Throne room?"
"Downstairs," Vyrl said. "The hall on the other end of the palace.
We haven’t finished restoring it yet."
It sounded like he meant the Hall of Audiences. "What are you
going to do with it?"
He started to answer, then stopped. Sitting up straight, he said,
"I’m not sure. I was deciding how to resurface the floor."
"The floor?" Kamoj wondered what he was trying to tell her. She
tried to hold back her yawn, but it came anyway. It had taken
her hours to doze off again last night, and then her fitful dreams
had kept her restless.
"Go on and sleep," Vyrl murmured. "It’s barely sunrise. I have
to talk to Drake anyway."
Her eyelids drooped. "Drake?"
"Drake Brockson. He’s the chief anthropologist on the Ascendant. I asked him to put together a summary of his studies on this
world."
"What does he say?"
Vyrl hesitated. "He thinks the original population here was breeding
stock."
"You mean our animals?" She pulled the covers up around her neck,
content in their warmth. "Bi-hawks have two stomachs."
"The animals weren’t the primary subjects."
"What was?"
"People."
"Bi-people," she mumbled. "Some people have double stomachs, you
know. They can go longer without eating."
Vyrl didn’t answer right away, and she had just about fallen asleep
when he finally spoke. "Yes. That was the intent."
"Intent?"
"Are you sure you want to know?"
"Hmmmm . . ." Just having Vyrl nearby soothed her. Perhaps Dazza
was right, that she and Vyrl had some invisible effect on each
other. "Yes . . ."
He spoke in an awkward tone. "Drake thinks your ancestors were
engineered to be the ideal slaves."
What? She opened her eyes. "How can he say such a thing?"
"Everything points to it."
"Points how?"
He spoke quietly. "Your people’s docility, your drive to please
authority, your reluctance to engage in battle or rebellion, your
physical beauty and heightened sexual response, your ability to
work for long hours in excruciating conditions of climate, atmosphere,
poverty, and lack of food–it all fits the models."
She pushed up on her elbow. "It can’t be."
"Even your names support it."
"Our names?"
He nodded. "Each line has its talent. Ironbridge produces electrical
wizards, like the Ohmstons. Argali has Sunsmiths. By building
your expertise into the brain, your creators avoided having to
educate you. In fact, they probably designed you to have trouble
learning anything else. Smart slaves are dangerous."
It made more sense than Kamoj wanted to admit. Uneasy now, she
asked, "And my name? Resonance?" When he hesitated, she said,
"I want to know."
Vyrl touched the jeweled chain around her neck. "Human nature
prefers freedom. In slaves, that urge must be constrained. Drake
believes the Argali line was an experiment designed to create
humans less resistant to bondage. The ‘resonance’ is an allegory.
Your creators wanted to increase the lifetime of a metastable
bound state."
Kamoj frowned. "And Jax?"
"He probably descends from the owners. The free state. It’s unlikely
they all managed to leave here when the Ruby Empire collapsed."

Knowing she might have been bred by Jax’s ancestors to work herself
to exhaustion was enough to make Kamoj that much more determined
to sleep. Then it occurred to her that Vyrl had invoked more of
their ownership customs than Jax ever did.
He stiffened. "I don’t own you."
"Our laws say you do." Kamoj hesitated. "If a man’s corporation
is larger than the woman can match, she becomes his property.
It isn’t only marriages. We couldn’t match your rent, so we had
to give you the palace."
"A corporation isn’t a dowry."
"Then what is it?"
"The word derives from classical Iotic." Vyrl paused. "It means
a group that, as a body, has the powers, privileges, and liabilities
of an individual. Corporations can buy, sell, and inherit property."
"As you bought me."
He flushed. "I would never consider you my property."
She spoke with care. "It is almost unheard of for a man to offer
a governor a dowry she can’t match. With such a merger, his authority
extends to her entire province. It is the only way, besides inheriting
the title, that a person can become governor. That you were already
a leader makes it unprecedented as far as I know."
He shook his head. "You’re the leader of Argali. I’ll help if
I can, but you’re the one qualified for the job."
Taking a breath, she forged ahead. "Would you sign a contract
to verify that arrangement?"
"Of course."
A wave of relief spread over her. She wondered if he had any idea
what his answer meant to her. Jax’s refusal to sign such a contract
was another reason she had delayed the Argali-Ironbridge merger.
"I will have a judge prepare the documents."
"All right." He hesitated. "I’ll be down at the Ridge."
"You mean the palace tri-grain fields?"
"Yes." Shifting his weight, he added, "I told Jak Tager I would
talk to him."
Kamoj remembered the name. Dazza had spoken of Tager during their
ride in the giant metal bird. "Is he a doctor?"
"Psychiatrist. A healer of emotions." Vyrl’s shoulders tensed
under his work shirt. "It can’t hurt just to show him a few crop
variations I’m working on. I don’t have to talk to him again if
I don’t want to."
"I’m glad, Vyrl." She felt a curious sense of release, as if his
words had lifted a weight from her. She let her eyes close.
"Kamoj?"
She opened her eyes half-way. "Yes?"
"This morning I went riding with my bodyguards. We saw some people
practicing folk dances in the village."
She yawned. "Probably rehearsing for the harvest festival."
"Some were men."
Her eyes closed again. "Men do the Reel of the Greenglass Stags.
They stamp their boots a lot in that one. In the Sun Lizard’s
March they spin torches in the air. And they do partner dances
with the women . . ."
She was almost asleep when Vyrl said, "Then it is accepted for
men to dance here?"
With a sigh, she tried to wake up. "Of course. Why?"
"I just wondered." Leaning over, he kissed her. "Sleep well, water
sprite."
As Vyrl’s footsteps receded across the room, she drifted into
the downy embrace of sleep.

* * *

A smell of burning scales woke Kamoj. The early morning sunlight
had a dirty cast to it. When she widened her nostrils, she almost
gagged on the stench of ashes. She slid out of bed and ran to
the south-facing window.
To her left, the East Sky Mountains towered in forest-carpeted
peaks. Before her, the Lower Sky Mountains spread out in fields
and then fell away in wooded hills to the distant flat lands,
where villages dotted the aqua-blue plains and rivers criss-crossed
the land in silver threads. To the west, the Argali Mountains
descended in great wrinkles until, out of sight, they reached
the village of Argali.
The mountains roared in flames.
Forest fires blazed in the Argali and Lower Sky Mountains. Billows
of smoke rose from peak after rolling peak, and tongues of dragon’s
breath threatened the flat lands. If the outlying hamlets of Argali
weren’t already burning, they would be soon–and then Argali itself.
The floor under her feet vibrated. A giant bird of gold and black
metal roared over the tower, shaking the building with its passage.
It arrowed south, where other birds soared over the fires, their
metal plumage aglitter in the sunlight. One released a purple
cloud that billowed across the flames. The burning orange tongues
cowered, beaten back, then flared anew, relentless in their advance.
"Sweet Saints," Kamoj muttered. Why had no one woken her up? She
had to get out there to help. She had no doubt Vyrl’s first reaction
had also been to join the firelines. Was he out there now, or
had the Ascendant ordered his return to its fortress above the sky, forcing him
to safety against his will?
Kamoj ran into her chamber, to the rose cabinet where she stored
her clothes. As she paused to open it, she saw herself in the
mirror, a young woman with a wild mane of black curls that poured
down to her hips. She wore only a translucent underdress, her
nipples outlined against the pink silk. Rubies and gold glittered
at her neck, wrists, and ankles. Collar and cuffs? Was that the
origin of these family heirlooms? She gritted her teeth, knowing
she would never see her wedding jewels the same way again.
Metal clinked on stone in the master bedroom.
"Vyrl?" Kamoj went back to the bedroom, to see if he had news.
The suite, however, was still empty. She checked the landing outside,
leaving the foyer doors open, but found no one there
either.
Inside the suite, she heard metal scrape stone again.
Puzzled, Kamoj went back into the bedroom. Still she saw no one.
She walked to the window–
And froze.
An iron tri-hook gripped the sill like a huge dragon’s claw, piercing
the shimmer curtain. Even as Kamoj watched, a hand came over the
sill and slapped onto the wood. Then a woman pulled herself up
into view, a husky archer dressed in Ironbridge colors. She hauled
herself up onto the sill in one smooth motion.
Kamoj wasted no time on questions: she spun around and ran. As she raced out onto the landing, she heard boots thud on the
floor in the suite. She ran down the tower stairs, her bare feet
slapping the steps. Why hadn’t Morlin warned her of the intruder?
Was he still "down," whatever that meant?
At the bottom of the stairs, the door to the Long Hall was jammed
open by the body of an elderly butler who had probably been coming
to warn her about the fires. When she saw the gash in his head,
she dropped to his side. Mercifully, he still breathed, unconscious
but alive.
The sounds of pursuit grew louder above her, boots pounding on
stone in the stairwell. Kamoj scrambled over the butler and ran
down the Long Hall. She couldn’t outfight or outrun the archer,
who had both height and body mass over her, but she knew these
mountains far better than Jax’s people. As soon as she made it
outside, she would easily lose her pursuer in the forest.
Bodies lay in the hall up ahead, two maize-girls, bound and gagged.
For a instant Kamoj feared they were dead. Then she realized no
point existed in binding or gagging dead people.
Far up the corridor, near the maize-girls, an Ironbridge stagman
stepped out from a doorway.
"Hai!" Kamoj skidded to a stop. Whirling around, she saw the archer
striding toward her from the other direction, the woman’s long
legs covering ground fast. Kamoj ran straight at her, trying to
reach the nearest doorway before the archer reached her. She made
it and ran into a sitting room filled with gold and white furniture.
Bronzed sunlight poured through its floor-to-ceiling windows,
the promise of escape. She raced toward them–
Someone grabbed her around the waist. As Kamoj yelled, the archer
swung her around, lifting her feet off the floor. Half-carrying,
half-dragging Kamoj, the woman strode back into the Long Hall,
where the stagman met them. When Kamoj tried to shout for help,
the stagman shoved a sponge in her mouth and tied a gag around
her head, while the archer held her arms pinned. Then her captors
each grabbed one of her upper arms and took off, forcing her to
run between them or be dragged.
In seconds they were outside, racing across the courtyard. A cart
waited for them, hitched to four blueglass bi-hoxen, bulky six-legged
mammoths with sparks of sunlight flashing off their scales. The
stagman climbed onto the driver’s seat, a plank of wood set across
the front of the cart. Kamoj caught only a glimpse of his actions,
being otherwise occupied in her struggles with the archer. The
woman hefted Kamoj up and threw her into the back of the cart,
between two rolls of carpet, by a coil of rope. As she vaulted
in after Kamoj, the cart jolted into motion. Kamoj tried to scramble
out of it, but the archer shoved her back down on her back.
The stagman looked around, the reins of the bi-hoxen gripped in
his hands. "Tera, keep her still."
Tera, apparently the archer, just grunted as she and Kamoj wrestled.
Kamoj raked her fingernails across Tera’s arm, drawing blood.
Then the archer flipped her onto her stomach and yanked her arms
behind her back. Kneeling on Kamoj’s legs, she bound her prisoner’s
wrists together with the rope.
The bi-hoxen plodded on, oblivious to the struggle, pulling the
cart up into the North Sky Mountains.

* * *

Ancient trees towered over the path, clogged with moss and Argali
vines. Black-scaled thornbats hissed among the foliage, searching
for puffs to skewer with their needled beaks. Their high-pitched
cries echoed in the hoary forest. Except for the rare Argali rose
or puff lizard, the trees hunkered in dark hues, their scaled
iridescence subdued by the weather. A misty drizzle was falling,
mixed with fog that glinted from the scale dust suspended in it.
The cart rolled on, jolting up the narrow path, crushing vines
and roses under its wheels. Tera sat next to Kamoj, as she had
throughout the ride, silent, watching her captive. Bound and gagged,
Kamoj had shivered at the start of the trip, until Tera wrapped
a carpet around her shoulders.
Kamoj glanced at the boda-bag on Tera’s belt. She had neither
eaten nor had anything to drink since yesterday.
For a while Tera watched Kamoj watching the boda-bag. Then the
archer spoke, her Ironbridge dialect so strong Kamoj could barely
understand her. It sounded like, "Be you still o’piece, move I
yer quieter?"
Kamoj nodded, hoping she had guessed the correct meaning of the
question: will you be quiet if I take off the gag?
Tera removed the gag, then pulled the sponge out of Kamoj’s mouth.
The archer took the boda-bag off her belt and unscrewed the top.
Tilting its narrowed end to Kamoj’s lips, she squeezed the bag,
making wine squirt into Kamoj’s mouth. As much as Kamoj disliked
the harsh mead brewed in Ironbridge, she disliked her searing
thirst even more. She sucked the bag dry.
When Tera lowered the bag, Kamoj said, "Will you untie me?"
The driver answered, what sounded like, "Maybe a’can," to which
Tera responded, "Lector, we cannee risk her a’run." Kamoj wasn’t
sure if Lector was an oath or the driver’s name; either way, it came from a
contraction of Electromotive Force. Legends painted Lector as a great hero who converted humans into
energy. Why converting people into energy was heroic, Kamoj had
no clue, but the name was popular in Ironbridge.
"I won’t try to run," Kamoj said. She almost meant it; she had
no idea where they were now, besides which, she would be even
colder wandering in the woods than sitting here under a carpet.
Even so, she was willing to try an escape.
She didn’t fool Tera, though. The archer made no move to untie
her. "Out there you be peat for Argali vines," she said.
"Look," Lector said. "That wild greenglass again. I’d spend a
Long Year to catch that beaut."
Kamoj looked, and saw a huge stag keeping pace with them, half-hidden
in the trees. She doubted Lector would have success with this
greenglass. Greypoint would never allow anyone but Vyrl to ride
him. And it was Greypoint following them, she was certain. But
why? The Current only knew what the animal had thought yesterday
when a giant metal bird took away Vyrl. Had Greypoint been pacing
the woods since then, undecided whether or not to return the Quartz
Palace?
Tera was watching her. "The animal follows you." She grinned,
showing teeth browned from chewing cabarque leaves. "We caught
us a forest nymph guarded by the king of stags, heh?" Her smile
faded. "Or else we caught us a witch."
"Donnee talk of Argali that way," Lector said.
Tera answered something about, "vile business" and "Lionstar,"
to which Lector nodded in agreement.
Their words were an unwelcome reminder to Kamoj of Vyrl’s dismal
reputation. No one had trusted him before and now he had trampled
their customs. All in the Northern Lands would have the same thought:
if a stranger could overthrow Argali and humiliate even Ironbridge,
no one was safe. Jax must have marshalled that fear to augment
his army, bringing in archers like Tera who usually served on
a highborn woman’s bodyguard. He would have left enough archers
and stagmen to protect Ironbridge and taken the rest with him.
While Vyrl rode on Ironbridge, Jax was somewhere up here, high
in the mountains, sealing his plans for Argali.
As the bi-hoxen plodded onward, Kamoj brooded. Would the Ascendant help Vyrl find her? Could they find her? She had no concept of what the Ascendant could do, no referent to understand either it or its people.
Besides, either Lector or Tera would go back and hide their tracks.
Probably Tera. She had a venerable name, one that originally derived
from the Volterra line in Argali, though the Volterra penchant
for travel had long ago spread it across the Northern Lands. Volterras
had a knack for solving problems that involved a preferred direction.
They made good trackers.
Groggy from hunger and drunk from mead, Kamoj fell into a daze,
watching the trees go by. The cart finally rolled into a high
mountain clearing. Saturated in mist, a camp lay before them,
black tents with purple tassels hanging from their roofs. Stagmen
moved about the clearing, cutting wood, mending clothes, cleaning
weapons, tending campfires. They all wore boots and fur-lined
clothes, protection against the sleet that drizzled from the overcast
sky.
When Tera tugged the carpet off Kamoj, a blast of freezing air
cut through Kamoj’s underdress to her skin. Then Tera pulled her
out of the cart. As Kamoj’s bare feet hit the iced ground, she
gasped and jerked. With her hands tied behind her back, she lost
her balance and fell against the cart.
Lector came over to her. He lifted Kamoj up, settled her in his
arms, and then set off into the camp, carrying her with one arm
under her knees and the other behind her back. She gritted her
teeth against the stares of the encamped army. Her rose-hued dress
was the only bright color in the camp, and she knew glimsilk glowed
on overcast days. It was like a beacon drawing attention to her
loss of status. Jax had stripped her of authority in both a literal
and figurative sense.
Lector stopped at a large violet pavilion with black tassels hanging
from its fringed roof. When he nodded to the two stagmen posted
outside its entrance, the taller man inclined his head and went
inside the tent. Kamoj was shivering uncontrollably now, her dress
frozen in the sleeting rain.
The flap lifted, releasing a puff of warm air. The stagman looked
out at them. "He meets with an advisor now. He be calling you
when they finish."
Kamoj stared at him. Did Jax mean to freeze her?
"Sweet saints, man," Lector said. "She cannee survive this cold."
Another stagman inside lifted the flap, releasing more warm air.
"You may come now," he said.
As Lector carried Kamoj into the tent, warmth closed around her.
She closed her eyes, hating herself for the gratitude she felt.
Did Jax plan these things, or did he just have an inborn instinct
for controlling people?
Silk panels hung on the walls, violet, silver, and black for Ironbridge.
Rugs covered on the ground and a bed made up with purple velvet
stood in one corner. On the floor, braziers with iron grates gave
out heat that rippled in waves, distorting the air above the scrolled
grills.
"Over there," a man said. That voice Kamoj knew. Jax. Looking over her shoulder, she saw him
sitting with a judge at a table across the tent. He returned to
his meeting without acknowledging her.
Lector set her on a pile of furred blankets near a brazier. As
he covered her with the furs, she craned her neck to look at Jax
again. Unexpectedly, he was watching her. When he realized she
had caught him doing it, he turned away, focusing on his advisor,
who was struggling to decipher a map.
Heat from the brazier warmed Kamoj, melting the ice on her clothes.
She began to feel again: rivulets of water ran down her neck from
her hair, Lector’s jacket scratched the skin of her arms, and
waterproofed fur rubbed her thighs. Closing her eyes, she soaked
in the warmth. She knew she was passing out but she didn’t care.
Exhausted, she let darkness carry her into oblivion.

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