Once inside she realized she should never have used the ampule. She felt as though her heart would explode inside her; she knew her contact with the Gryphon would be affected by the drug. But she couldn’t waste time now. Outside the ledge shook precariously from another tremor, even as she crouched to sit in the cockpit and the other Gryphons clicked noisily, their legs moving up and down as they sought to keep their balance.
Inside there was barely enough room for the standard crew of three. She took the pilot’s seat, cradled in warm leather as it folded about her. In front of her the windshield curved above the Gryphon’s pointed nose. A simple array of instruments was set beneath the window—visual altimeter, old-fashioned computer astrolabe, a line of blinking green lights. The color of the lights seemed an evil omen to Âziz, but she refused to contemplate that either. Instead she pulled her hair from her face, stared at the ceiling with its shining meshwork like webs of frozen rain, and commanded the Gryphon to join her.
She winced as a web floated down to cover her face. It felt cool and slightly moist, and her cheeks and temples prickled as it settled there. Her nostrils filled with the smell of ozone, so strong that she sneezed. Other webs descended to touch her wrists and throat. If she had been an Aviator wearing proper flight attire they would have affixed themselves to her genitals and thighs as well, so that every gesture, every throb of need or desire, would feed back into the craft’s control system, and the Gryphon would calculate all of this in a nanosecond before responding to any command.
If Âziz had been properly interfaced with her craft, it probably would not have responded to her at all; would have dismissed her as not being flight-ready. But Âziz had come armed with a few purloined commands, and these the Gryphon did not refuse.
A moment when Âziz knew nothing. There was a rushing in her head that grew to a roar, then faded. She had a nearly uncontrollable impulse to flee, but thought of Nasrani— he would not have fled!—and grit her teeth. Then,
OrsinaGoAltitudeDestinationTimeFlightNexusKesefOhFourNineteenHoursKesefWaitingWaitingWaiting
She cringed, pressing herself deeper into her seat’s leather folds. Blood filled her mouth where she had bitten the inside of her cheek. The barrage of words and commands continued, along with a stream of images burning across her mind’s eye: clouds, a slash of ocean, flames, and a face black behind its enhancer. Kesef was the Gryphon’s name; the unknown words cues for flight setup and takeoff. Âziz’s mind reeled as the Gryphon began another query loop—
KesefOrsinaLevelTwoWindsFiftythreeKnotsSoutheastSolarActivityRangeOhSevenOhDangerousCraftAlertKesefWaitingWaitingWaiting
An impossibly blue sky filled her mind, fringed with green that reminded her of her dream. Her mouth filled with the muddy taste of nucleic fluid, her eyes burned from trying to focus on the incomprehensibly alien presence she was linked with. Without realizing it her hands clawed at her face, and she felt part of the web tear beneath her fingers, fragile as silk, and felt the Gryphon’s voice grow dimmer. She would go mad if she stayed like this—
She groped at her side until she found a pocket, slid her fingers inside, and drew out a morpha tab. An instant later and she had slapped it clumsily onto her wrist, ripping a piece of the web. The image of green mountains grew faint, then a moment later flared back again. Another moment and she felt the morpha’s first warm calm waves lapping at her spine; a minute later and she could breathe easily once more.
“Kesef.”
She pronounced the name thickly, was rewarded with a spurt of pleasure that nearly overwhelmed the morpha. She knew it wasn’t necessary to speak commands aloud, but when she tried to think them the Gryphon’s presence overwhelmed her.
“Kesef—I need—meet you—hour’s time by Lahatiel Gate—east face—tell no one—”
The shining vision of mountains vanished. After a moment she saw the Lahatiel Gate, the eastern face where a small balcony jutted above the beach, barely large enough for a Gryphon to land. She focused on the image, concentrating until she felt Kesef’s response—
OrsinaKesefOhFiveSeventeenLockgridFiveLevelTwoSecurePathZeroClearedKesefNextCommand
“That’s all!—”
Âziz gasped, tried to clear her mind of the Lahatiel Gate, flashed for a second upon the Compassionate Redeemer pacing in its cage, bit her lip, thought of nothing but blackness, whispered aloud, “Finished— finished—done—”
Her mind went blank. A jolt as she felt the seat gently pushing at her; she had been unconscious. She blinked her eyes open to see the web wafting up from her face, the others floating toward the ceiling like a fine gray mist. Her cheeks felt warm and stung as though she had been slapped. Outside grayish sunlight slanted in long bars across the ground. As she clambered from the Gryphon, struggling with the ladder as her legs wobbled on its narrow steps, the other crafts once more sent their filaments through the warm air to dart about her face. She swiped at them feebly, her head still thick from morpha, and staggered to the gravator that would bring her to the Lahatiel Gate. She did not look back to see the Gryphon Kesef unfurl its great shining wings, raising them in arcs of ebon-gold and green to feel the morning sun.
All things considered, there had been worse things than Reive’s own execution. That dinner party on Thrones, for instance, when a ’filer had gotten into an argument with a member of the Toxins Cabal, over the relative virtues of vivarium-raised fugu opposed to oleander shoots as a means of poisoning a guest. Or the unfortunate dream inquisition when Shiyung Orsina commanded the marabou Scintilla Foot, who was lame and had very poor vision besides, to dance the morgavella on a splintered-crystal tabletop. Or the time she’d gotten lost on Powers and gone for three days without eating.
Actually—they had left the coppery passageway and seemed to be finally arriving at the Lahatiel Gate, and she had had a good deal of time in which to reflect—the only really terrible part had been their journey through the medifacs. Even prison had not been so bad—uncomfortable but not unbearable. Except of course for Ceryl—with a pang Reive recalled her friend’s face bruised and shining with sweat, and felt once again the tears welling inside her; but she consoled herself by thinking how Ceryl had never really been happy, even her pleasant chambers and her position in the Orsinate’s pleasure cabinet had failed to ease her melancholy dissatisfaction with the world.
As if echoing her thoughts a rumble shook the passage, followed by a loud crash. In front of her the dwarf staggered, caught himself, and glanced back in concern at Reive. They were both walking now. Their guards had walked a few feet in front of them; it was obvious their prisoners would not escape. Reive raised a hand reassuringly to Planck and continued onward. She peered about curiously, wondering exactly where they were, and if Ceryl had ever been here. It was blessedly cooler, that was one good thing. She tugged at the front of her linen smock, feeling the sweat dry between her breasts.
“Are we near the Gate?” she whispered. The dwarf stopped to wait for her. His guard trudged on, kicking at drifts of desiccated rose petals and orris root that had been strewn along the ground.
“This is the Path of Atonement,” the dwarf said dryly. The guards glared back at his sarcastic tone, but the dwarf only stared at them with cold blue eyes. “That gateway back there, with the lashes on the doors, that was the Expiation Perron, and in a little while we’ll be at the Narthex of the Redeemer. And that— ”