The Pearl Saga - Mistress of the Pearl Part 67

Eleana smiled. "Did you need me to help you pack the banestones? No, love, you are the Dar Sala-at." Tears tolled down her cheeks. "You are the power and, Miina willing, the glory of Kundala.

You worry about me, I know. That can be a dangerous distraction." She stood, and Riane with her.

They embraced for a long time, drinking in the smell and the feel of each other they had come to know so well, to love so deeply.

"When this is over and Kundala is again ours, we will be together again," Eleana whispered fiercely.

"By everything I love and hold dear, this I swear to you."

Kurgan was brought to full consciousness with an entirely new set of senses. Before that, he had hung in a twilight world filled with nightmare images of his defeat at the hands of the duplicitous Sarakkon Ardinal Lujon. He felt again the terrible agony of being struck by the infinity-blade-not full on, for that would have killed him-but rather a glancing blow, the coruscating edge of the light blade (it appeared to him as light, though it was in fact a focused beam of goron particles) just glancing the side of his head, an almost delicate tap-tap-tap that had set the synapses in his brain to random firing without his volition.

Conscious but utterly helpless, he had watched as Lujon had thumbed the wand, sheathing the light blade. Watched as Lujon's balled fist sank deep into his solar plexus. Watched Lujon's right knee rising up to strike his chin with a sharp snap. Watched the floor come up and hit his cheek as he collapsed. He must have blacked out, for his next memory was of the attic, seen upside down. Blood throbbed in his head, and there was pain in every square centimeter of his body. Mucus crept slowly out of his nostrils.

Lujon stood in front of him. Every so often he would strike Kurgan with the edge of his hand, the blunt blade of his calloused fingertips, the heel of his hand. These blows at first seemed random, but each one caused such excruciating pain that Kurgan soon realized that they were well thought out. Carefully timed as well. The agony of one had faded just enough to give him the illusion of respite when the next one was delivered with admirable dexterity.

He wanted nothing more than to defend himself, but his legs were trussed at the ankle and his arms, hanging down below his head, felt like lead weights. He could not move them at all. Even the simple act of clenching his fists was beyond him.

Pain again, a rat-a-tat of cracks exploding in his chest, cascading up to his brain. White light and shivers, exacerbated when he gasped in a breath. Long ago, in intense physical training, the Old V'ornn had cracked one of his ribs. This was the pain racking him now, only worse. Far worse.The sensations bombarded him, bringing him out of his nightmare memories. A sound from deep inside him, he was certain, familiar as the soughing breath of his father kept in an adjacent place in his memory. Kurgan opened his eyes and saw the wing beating up and down as if fanning him. Translucent, reticulated, it seemed to him both beautiful and frightening.

"How are you feeling?" Gul Aluf moved into his field of view, which was still restricted by his p.r.o.ne position in the alifanon. More than half the fluid had been drained away, so that his back and shoulders, the back of his skull were still bathed in it, soaking up the rich nutrients. "I don't know." "Of course you don't."

"Are you . . . are you Gyrgon?" His voice was a hoa.r.s.e croak he did not recognize.

"I am Gul Aluf. What is known as a Breeder. I make Niths what they are."

He tried to make sense of this, thought of the rubicund light emanating from the hatchway of the lab-orb Nith Na.s.sam had taken him past. The same hue that shone here. "Where am I?"

"Better to ask what am I?" Smiling down at him in a variant of the guise that Sahor knew best, a ravishing Tuskugggun mask, this one drenched in unmistakable s.e.xuality, the better to manipulate her new "child."

"I do not understand." "Look at yourself."

Kurgan did as she bade, and almost screamed. "I am male . . . and female."

"Isn't this what you have always wanted?" "I am . . . am I still Kurgan?" "You are Kurgan, and more."

He could sense differences in whatever he looked at. It was as if he could see the whole thing, rather than just the side facing him. He could understand spatial relationships in a way he had never imagined before and sense the weight and density of objects at a remove from him. Also, but more gradually, he noticed the shift in colors, as if a wider spectrum of light was now available to him. How light reflected off a surface could not only tell him whether the surface was curved or flat but also revealed the composition of the object.

He turned his gaze on Gul Aluf. "What have you done to me?" There was a buzzing in his head, as if he were inside a hive bursting to overflowing with scuttling insects, he put the heels of his hands to his ears as if to blot out the sound, but it was coming from inside his head.

"You are beginning to understand, aren't you?" A mirror appeared between her two hands, and she angled it so that he could see his astonishing reflection.

His skull was a ma.s.s of flickering biocircuits that wound in a double spiral that began on the top of the occipital bone, ran up, meeting and blending at the crown of his head, then separating again as they came down behind his ears and into the nape of his neck. He had eyes that looked like cabochon rubies with bits of silver in their centers. "Enlil be d.a.m.ned!" Voices. He was hearing a thousand, ten thousand voices communicating in neat, orderly conversations, tier upon tier upon tier. He knew now who they were, and in the fulfillment of his desire his hearts leapt.

Gul Aluf, reacting to his expression, laughed in delight. "Welcome to the Comradeship, Nith Kurgan."

Silver rain filled the sky with spears. High in the mountains just above Receive Tears Ridge, Sornnn SaTrryn set the hoverpod down in a small glade in the Marre pine and heartwood forest. Puddles with stippled skin lay in the hollows. Downed logs, smeared with lichen, glistered and dripped. Colonies of unlovely mushrooms sprouted beneath slender fingers of ferns.

"How can you be certain she will come?" Leyytey asked, as he shut down the engines.

"I have something she wants." Sornnn sat with his feet dangling over the side pearled with raindrops.

They wore water-repellent traveling cloaks over traditional Korrush robes. "In a war, you compel your enemy to come to you by providing something he wants. You prevent him coming by damaging him."

"Marethyn is not your enemy."

"The principle is the same."

She nodded. The glade, turned desolate by the rain, made the surrounding forest seem gloomy and ominous.Sornnn wished he was as confident as he seemed. In fact, he had no way of knowing whether Marethyn had received the message he had sent to her via his usual contacts at Spice Jaxx. The security surrounding her-put in place, he had no doubt, by Marethyn herself-was both fierce and absolute. He had told Leyytey that on his way to the Korrush he would stop. After having first heard that she was dead, then alive, he had to try. He would be at these coordinates for precisely one hour. Then he would be gone. He dearly wanted to see her, but if for some reason she could not come, he would understand.

It sounded good at the time. The trouble was he knew that if she did not come, though he would accept it, he would not understand. He possessed a desperate need to see her face, to talk with her.

When one has been told the one he loves is dead, and then, sometime later, that she is in fact alive, there is an imperative deep in the bones to see, smell, feel her. To know absolutely and without hesitation that she is, indeed, alive and well. Taking someone's word for it will not suffice.

Leyytey fidgeted. "Perhaps I should hide."

Sornnn shook his head. "We have been over this. She or one of her Resistance would find you."

"But I am Star-Admiral Pnin's daughter."

"She is the regent's sister. She will understand."

It was still for a time, save for the rustling of the rain through the trees. A golden gyreagle circled twice overhead and vanished behind the treetops. A cl.u.s.ter of saw needles, their six wings an iridescent blur, whirred by.

"Thank you, SaTrryn."

He looked at her. "For what?"

"For trusting me with this."

"It's nothing." But in fact he had thought long and hard about what to do. In the end, he realized that if he could not trust her, if his instincts had failed him, then it was time to retire from the family business.

"It's everything," she said softly, "to me."

He took her hand.

"You still love her, SaTrryn."

How to answer her? The easy answer was Yes, but when it came to Marethyn Stogggul nothing was easy. "I loved who she once was," he said soberly. "I do not know what she has become or whether there is room in her life for me."

Her unasked question hung in the air between them. How to answer her? Yes, he loved her, too, but in what way he had yet to determine. Besides, she was far too smart and clever to ask this of him now or anytime soon. They were together, about to make their contribution to a folk on the cusp of war. For the time being, at least, that was sufficient.

He heard something, and his hand slipped from hers. Leyytey had been prepared for this. Still, she discovered that she was holding her breath. Her hearts pounded furiously in her chest. She found herself afraid, but of what? She wanted Sornnn to be happy, but she wanted the same for herself. As the first of the Black Guard appeared at the periphery of the glade, she was acutely aware of her lack of control of the situation. The two of them could be dead inside of thirty seconds should the Resistance wish it, and there was nothing they could do about it.

"Sornnn SaTrryn," Ba.s.se said, "please step away from the hoverpod."

Without a backward glance at Leyytey, Sornnn slid down the convex side. He showed his hands as he walked toward Ba.s.se. It had taken Sornnn a moment to recognize him, so profoundly changed he seemed to be.

"Long time, Ba.s.se."

"Indeed."

"Majja?"

Ba.s.se shook his head, and Sornnn felt a weight in his heart.

"I mourn for her."

"As do we all."

The glade was now entirely encircled by members of the Black Guard. They were well armed, Sornnn saw, with the latest Khagggun weapons, and from the way they held them they looked like they had beenwell drilled in how to use them.

"Has she come?" Sornnn was able to restrain himself no longer.

Ba.s.se stepped aside, and Sornnn at long last saw her. He exhaled long and deep as Marethyn strode toward him through the dripping Marre pine. Like the others, she was dressed all in black. Like Ba.s.se, she looked different, though more subtly, her features reshaped by events he could not even guess at. As for her body, she appeared taller, all the fat had been stripped off her, leaving strong muscle and sinew.

But the real transformation had occurred from the inside out. It was astonishing to see her in command of a large cadre of heavily armed, battle-hardened Kundalan.

"Sornnn." She had not lost that way of speaking to him that made him melt.

"Wa tarabibi."

They embraced in the center of the clearing as her cadre and Leyytey looked on. They spoke softly so that no one else could hear what they said.

"It was only recently that I felt it was safe enough to send you a message."

He did not want to let her go. He could smell the forest on her. She had become a part of it. He felt her strength, the balance of her, knowing that in this wild and dangerous place she had come into her own.

"It was terribly unfair, I know that. And then when I got your message ... To think you believed me dead!"

He pushed her away at last. "And now, look at you."

"So far from Axis Tyr."

He knew what she meant. "It's all right," he whispered. "It is what was meant to be."

"I've missed you, Sornnn."

"And I you. But..."

"Yes, but..." She kissed him fiercely, desperately. "War is a difficult master."

He was at once elated and saddened beyond words.

"And who is this?" Glancing at the hoverpod. "Leyytey Pnin, the armorer."

Of course she would recognize Leyytey. Their ateliers were not so far apart. "War has come to the Korrush. She has agreed to arm the Rasan Sul."

"Also, she wants to be with you."

"Marethyn . . ."

"It's all right," she said. "Who among us wouldn't?"

The answer was strung like a curtain between them.

"I do, Sornnn." She traced the line of his jaw. Her finger a lightning rod for the profound emotions drawing them together, pushing them apart. Her eyes were full and round and glistening, as if at any moment she would be overcome. But she wouldn't, not in front of her cadre. In this, she had become as strong as any male. "You know I do."

He took her hand in his. "Marethyn, what will become of us?"

"Who can say, Sornnn? But, then, who ever could?"

Giyan, First Mother, returned to the Abbey of Floating White with a full heart and at the head of a long line of Ramahan acolytes. Those who had not left the abbey received them with unconditional love and an understanding of their confusion, guilt, and fear of retribution. Konara Inggres had prepared her charges well, Giyan thought. And yet, there was a subtle difference in the atmosphere. She was aware of it the moment she crossed the outer threshold to the sanctified ground, as a master chef returning to his kitchens will taste a difference in the food prepared by his underchef no matter how subtle the difference.

Something of the one who prepared the food finds its way into the final product. Like a sleuth, it is the master chef's duty to determine the alterations. She became even more aware of it at the feast Konara Inggres had ordered for the return of the young Ramahan. She sat between Konara Inggres and the Nawatir at the head table, overseeing the orderly ranks of the priestesses as they raised their voices inhumble prayer of thanksgiving and began to pa.s.s around the steaming plates of food. Konara Inggres had been properly deferential, even effusive in her joy at their return, but there remained in her a core of withholding that Giyan had not observed before. When Giyan told her about Krys-tren, about how she helped win back the Ramahan, how she took charge of the Sarakkonian vessel and sailed back to the southern continent, she could tell that Konara Inggres' mind was elsewhere. When she tried to hold her gaze, Konara Inggres' eyes slid away too quickly. She started at the sound of a dropped plate, at a burst of honest laughter.

Giyan wanted to ask her what was the matter, but it was neither the time nor the place. Besides, her mind was filled with the Nawatir. He, too, had embraced her upon her return, and she had reveled in the feel of his powerful arms around her. Until, that is, the contact brought on a vision. She saw a dark room, ancient and musty. In it were the Nawatir and Konara Inggres clasped in a feverish embrace. And where was she? In the corridor outside, her back turned to them. She clamped down mentally, trying to snap the skein of the vision as she had been able to do as a young girl. But, as had been happening lately, she was unsuccessful. The visions had become too strong, her power as a seer unleashed. Instead, she became a trapped witness to a future that might or might not occur. She heard their whispered words of endearment, watched their clothes slowly melt away, smelled the heavy musks of their bodies mingling.

a.s.saulted by their moans of delight, their cries of fulfillment, she rose from her seat and staggered into the shadow of a column against whose cool surface she rested her head.

Gradually, her mind began to clear, and she could breathe again. Aware of a presence behind her, she turned.

"Are you ill, First Mother?" Grave concern had darkened Konara Inggres' eyes. "Is there anything I may fetch you?"

Yes, Giyan thought. A different future. But what she said was, "Return to your charges. I am fine.

Just a little fatigue is all. It will pa.s.s."

"I beg your pardon, First Mother. The feast was a bad idea. After the battle you and the Dar Sala-at just fought the best place for you is bed."

"No, no, Konara Inggres. The feast is precisely what the abbey needs now."

Konara Inggres held out a hand. "Allow me to escort you to your quarters."

Giyan held her eyes for a moment. "The Nawatir may do that. Your place is with your Ramahan.

After their long ordeal, they need the rea.s.surance only you can provide."

Konara Inggres ducked her head. "As you wish, First Mother."

"Konara Inggres ..."

"Yes, First Mother."

Now was the time to say something, Giyan knew that. But she could not get the words out of her throat. "Nothing," she said hoa.r.s.ely. "Please tell the Nawatir to come find me."

"At once, First Mother." But Konara Inggres hesitated.

"Yes, what is it?"