“He’s one of the new maters, if some fertile female will have him—which I doubt. He rings like a bell—even on the natal pad, something came to him, took his voice, and changed him. A strong dreamer, I suspect. The breeds call it straying—blank eyes, vacant stares, troubled sleep. Puts off the others.” The Shaper regarded Ghentun with a slant of her three mid-distance eyes—accusing, amused, impatient. “Do youstray, friend Ghentun?”
Ghentun did not dignify this absurdity with an answer. “This one seems right. I’ll confer with Grayne, arrange something…”
“Grayne? She’s still with us? Now there’s a piece of work. One of my finest—just goes on and on…”
“She’s a sama now, and march leader.”
“She was so fine in her youth. Shame on us all, sending our pretty children into that wasteland. I’ve never been proud of my labors here, Keeper.”
“No one else requires your talents, Shaper.”
She acknowledged as much. “The Librarian should be pleased. These breeds vibrate to the slightest trembling of the lines. While the Eidolons ride their endless circles of amusement, trying to ignore the obvious—down here, the breeds have become exquisitely sensitive to something I can’t perceive—though I do wonder. Perhaps it is the past…twisting, knotting, in agony. Am I right, Keeper?”
Ghentun did not answer this, either. They both knew it was likely—and the main reason for the existence of the Tiers.
“Yet wake by wake the generators fade—and the Chaos has no patience,” she said. “How long until you get the Librarian’s attention?”
“Soon,” Ghentun said.
“There’s no pleasing Eidolons. I’ve known that all my long life. If the Librarian’s still not happy—” The Shaper reached into Ghentun’s bag, swifter than he could think, and lifted out the green book with fingers so strong they threatened to crush it. “Archaic little treasure. You’ve stolen this from your sama,” she accused.
“Her predecessor, actually.”
“Enlightening?”
“It’s in breed-text. It changes whenever I read it—so I assume it’s not for our eyes.”
“Then why bother?”
“Curiosity. Guilt.” Ghentun made a short grumble—Mender embarrassment, Mender humor. “Aren’t you curious what the Librarian has in store for them?”
The Shaper simply snorted. “We could start over. Improvements are still possible.” She seemed unwilling to give up her work, however much its results, or its cruel necessity, scratched at her sympathies. “What do you think we have, a few thousand years?”
“I doubt it,” Ghentun said. He motioned for her to return the book. Reluctantly, she did so, with finger-marks pressed into its binding. Slowly, resentfully, the book began to heal itself.
“This is our last crop,” he said. “It’s these breeds, or nothing.”
CHAPTER 8
First Isle
“Do you think I’d tell a glowyour secrets?” Khren asked, and from his shocked expression, Jebrassy instantly knew his friend’s guilt.
They both lounged as casually as their present mood allowed in Khren’s niche, surrounded by colorful and meaningless prizes from the skirmish—captured pennants, two padded but heavy stravies, marked with curling leaves on which were scratched wishes for luck and strength—and a magnificent jug of tork that Khren had won in a bet on the nauvarchia.
“What else did you blab?” Jebrassy asked. He and Khren had known each other since being delivered by the umbers, fresh out of the crèche.
“She was curious. She asked questions. I answered. She has her ways, you know that.”
Jebrassy narrowed his eyes and smiled. “You fancy her?”
Khren lay back and gazed at the ceiling, irritated that this pairing might be thought unlikely. “Of course not. I’ve got my eye on another.”
Jebrassy had yet to meet this other, or even hear her name.
“If she were anything to me,” Khren said, “I would have told her a youth march is nonsense and dangerous besides. It’s already got youdisinherited.”
“What could I ever inherit here?” Jebrassy asked.
“There’s nothing wrong with here,” Khren said. “We made out pretty well in the skirmish. Why fight if there’s nothing to fight for? And it looks like you attracted the attentions of a fine glow—by showing off your muscles and dealing a few good thwacks. All very intellectual and rebellious, I’m sure.”
“We have no protection against anything the Tall Ones want to do to us. We’re toys, nothing more”
“I prefer to think of us as experiments,” Khren said, and then shrugged, having brushed up against the zenith of his philosophical abilities.
“What’s the difference?”
“Ancient breed, ancient quality. If we’re experiments, we’ll exceed all the others, and they’ll reward us for our courage by liberating the Tiers. Then, we can go anywhere we like—even the Chaos, if that’s worth a visit. And nobody knows if it is.”
“It is,” Jebrassy said. “I’m sure of it. I’ve got my sources…”
Khren lifted his small ears, showing mild amusement. “So learned.”
“Well, I do.” Jebrassy had worked his way around to the second point of contention. “Why did you have to tell her about my straying?”
“I didn’t volunteer. She asked—as if she knew already. She’s very persuasive.” His voice fell off and he gave Jebrassy as lewd and suggestive a glance as his broad, chiseled face allowed.
“Unlike me, she still has sponsors,” Jebrassy said. “I doubt she’ll talk with either of us again.”
“Ah.” Khren got up and poured himself another tumbler, then flumped back into the cushions—without spilling a drop—and examined the color of his drink in the warm light of the ceiling.
“I don’t need a partner,” Jebrassy said. “I need to get out of here and see how things really are, beyond the gates.”
“You haven’t seenthe gates,” Khren said. “You can’t even describe them—all that out there is just empty words and names. Even if you believe the stories, nobody’s ever gotten that far and come back to tell, and that says something.”
“What?” Jebrassy said. “If we shame the wardens, and they tattle to the officers, those who escape the Tiers but get caught are handed over to the Bleak Warden? Or put in cages for the Tall Ones to enjoy?”
“That sounds pretty cruel even for Tall Ones,” Khren said.
“I hatebeing ignorant! I want to see things, newthings. I hate being taken care of.”
With this outburst, the air between them settled a little and Khren returned to his accustomed role—of being a sounding board. In truth, Khren found Jebrassy’s plans intriguing—he regarded them with a fascinated mock horror, as if, having played them over in his own mind, he had reached an impasse—a wall beyond which he could not foresee making any personal decisions. Khren at times seemed unwilling to believe that these plans meant any more to Jebrassy than they did to him—intriguing but empty talk.
“What did your visitor leave behind the last time?” Khren asked, savoring a final drib of tork. Jebrassy had kept his friend company in drink through two previous tumblers, but no more—he needed a clear head for tomorrow. For the meeting he knew couldn’t possibly happen.
“He’s a fool,” Jebrassy muttered. “Helpless. He knows nothing. An aaarp.” He belched to emphasize that degraded status. The concept of insanity did not exist among the ancient breed. Eccentricity, whims, and extremes of personality, yes, but insanity was not part of their mix, and therefore no one accused another of having lost touch with reality—except as a vague concept, an uncomfortable joke—suitable for belching.
“Well, did he tell you anything more?”
“I wasn’t there. When he comes, I go. You know that.”