"He used you in an Inverted triad!" She shook her head, astonishment turning to acceptance. "I admit I'm dismayed, but one learns to expect that where Jindigar's involved. Tell me, how did you feel when you discovered that the Emperor's accusation against Dushau was partly true?"
"Betrayed," she said truthfully, then explained about the Desdinda Loop. "It was mostly her attitude and seems to be gone now. You'd only withheld one planet, not dozens, and I think the report was correct—the natives make this place uncolonizable. Better the Dukes never get their hands on these natives!" She looked at the Dushau woman in a new light. Frey had not wanted to know anything about how an ephemeral felt. "May I ask a personal question?"
"Certainly, though I might not answer."
"Are you Invert too?"
She chuckled. "I see why Jindigar likes you!" Sobering, she added, "Jindigar's survival indicates he hasn't abused Inversion—though if he dies now, it'd seem otherwise. I respect him for that, but I'd rather have nothing to do with Inversion or, no offense, ephemerals."
"No offense. I'm beginning to see it's not healthy for Dushau to associate too closely with ephemerals." Or perhaps vice versa! But she noted Darllanyu's phrase, "with Inversion," not "Inverts." Was she being tolerant because she wanted Jindigar as a mate this Renewal? Krinata turned as Cy, cloak dripping, reaming water off his face, came back to the fire, and Darllanyu asked, "All secure?"
"Every line's tight. No sign of prowling animals."
"Nor likely to be," said Darllanyu. Thunder growled in the distance. "But there could be tornadoes," she added.
"Should I wake everyone?" asked Cy.
Darllanyu seemed to consider, eyes unfocused, communing in triad with her zunre at the settlement. Then, rising, she shook her head. "Not yet. The worst of the disturbance is over the Squadron's base camp. We should be in the clear, at least for a while. I'm going to sleep." She went to where Jindigar lay cocooned among extra bedrolls and, after checking on him, slid into her own sleeping bag, fending off the two restless piols, and seemed to be instantly asleep.
"It's almost my watch," said Krinata, intently feeding the fire. "Why don't you go get some sleep too?"
"What's the matter? Have I offended you?"
"I only offered to take part of your watch. Is that unfriendly?"
He settled at the fire, countering, "It's noble."
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked defensively.
He stood again and gave a courtly bow. "May I introduce myself again, more correctly. Cyrus Benwilliam Lord Kulain." He sat again, "I inherited the title when my two older brothers died mysteriously after refusing to institute some of the Emperor's harsher edicts, but I don't use it because it puts people off. I prefer being just Senior Outrider."
"I'm just a Programming Ecologist. But Zinzik ruined everything, resurrecting the old titles."
He glanced toward the Dushau. "Jindigar's a Prince, isn't he? That's what they have against you two."
"They?" she asked, automatically pretending not to know who he meant. Then she had to confess what she'd heard Adina telling him. "But they know Jindigar's only—a friend."
"He sounds like the kind of friend I'd like to have."
They talked on for a while, Krinata relieved at his attitude, then checked on the lashings as the wind picked up, and on Jindigar, whose condition remained unchanged. Then Cyrus went to sleep, telling her, "Watch that west guyline."
She tended the fire and made rounds, pausing at intervals to stare out at the dark sky etched with the branched trees of lightning that grew, hung for a moment, and flickered to darkness again. She saw it with Takora's eyes, a symbol of life's energies flowing into manifestation driven by such power that it could scorch and burn if not guided to ground by the trained will.
As she repeatedly lashed down flaps of tarp loosened by the wind, she peeked out again and again, ever more drawn by Takora's view of the lightning. It was as vital as being caught up in the triad, offering insights for which her whole being hungered. An Oliat was a group bound by the agreement to observe reality, to discover how everything connected to everything else. But they knew, however penetrating their perception, that they could not possibly grasp it all.
To Invert an Oliat, or a subform, and use that imperfect understanding to act directly on the fabric of reality was to risk doing more damage than the group could possibly repair. That was why Inversion so terrified Dushau; it was like reaching out to grasp a lightning flash with bare hands.
If, however, that imperfect understanding was used to guide hand tools to affect environment, it was possible to correct accidental imbalances with other hand tools, to survive and learn from mistakes.
Either hand or mind was controlled by the trained will. Part of that training was to select goals and find where and how to apply the will to achieve those ends.
Peeking between tarps, face drenched in cold rain, she consumed each lightning flash, hypnotized, seduced by promise of further understanding. Mind blanked, worded thoughts silenced, she understood why an Oliat didn't have to Invert to deflect tornadoes or any disaster. The tight, knotted storms that were striking all around them were as much a part of the fabric of nature as they, themselves, were. They had only to perceive then" correct place, and be there, and the storms would miss them.
A phrase floated into her consciousness and hung, as if written in advertiser's glowgas: Efficacious Helplessness. That was an Oliat goaclass="underline" to observe the proper place to be, and be there. But if you were wrong and disaster rolled over you, you couldn't mend things, as Desdinda had tried, by striking back in fury at that which was in its correct place when you were not.
All the Aliom disciplines were aimed at perceiving what was connected to what, what caused what, so one could know one's niche in the scheme. Knowing, one could "strike"—act, as Jindigar said, without thinking—and be right. She'd done it, so some deep part of her knew, but only inadvertently, in fragmented moments of unthinking reaction. What would it be like to know constantly?
An indeterminate time later she noticed that the lightning had stopped, and she was staring into opaque blackness. Even the rain and wind had stopped, leaving the night freakishly silent. Exalted vision fading, she felt silly. Mopping her face dry, she built up the fire to reheat some soup. Every sound she made echoed against the quiet blanketing the land.
She'd only finished half her soup when a sudden gust hit the tarps like a solid blow. Startled, she dropped the cup in the fire and yelped as the scalding liquid burned her hand. But before she could even be sorry for waking people, the wind redoubled its efforts to demolish their shelter. There was an increasing roar, like fate approaching on the winds of eternity, accompanied by lightning sizzle-crack strikes ever nearer them. In moments the children were yelling, the piols running around, and everyone was fighting to hold the shelter together.
Darllanyu announced calmly, "There's a tornado touching down west of us—we think it will miss us."
Cyrus kicked dirt over the fire while Storm broke out the lightsticks. They couldn't risk anyone being blown into the fire and hurt.
A fist-size hailstone fell through the smoke hole and sputtered in the embers. The tarps bounced, and one mooring broke, the two Holot using their weight to tie down the loose flap. Frightened, all trace of her transcendent insights gone, Krinata went to tuck another sleeping bag around Jindigar, against the suddenly frigid wind. His body was still flaccid, his breathing barely perceptible.