A lanky Fior with a shock of gray hair brought out folding backless chairs whose seats were pieces of heavy cloth stretched between wooden dowels. He clicked the chairs open, snapped home the cross struts, slapped at the cloth to make sure they were secure, then went to take his place on one of the benches.
Metau Chachil and Teseach Ruaim bowed to each other then seated themselves in the chairs. Ruaim closed his hands over worn finials and leaned forward. “Sit if you please,” he said, his voice making a song of the words.
They sat. Shadith positioned the harpcase beside her knee, wondering if she should open it, decided not yet and straightened. From the corner of one eye she could see the Fior who’d served as the Goлs’ contact. Maorgan. His harpcase, like hers, was leaning against his knee. She wondered what his harp looked like. Would it be carved like those ugly chairs? What would that do to the sound?
There was whispering in the benches, creaks and. scuffs as heavy bodies shifted position. Brushing sounds and soft exhalations came from the lattices as the Eolt shifted their holds on the horizontal rods.
The Metau leaned forward and spoke (Shadith translating in a murmur just loud enough to reach Aslan’s ear), “We have listened to the Eolt and the Ard and have given you rooms in our Hostel, Scholar.”
(“Given is not exactly the word,” Aslan muttered to Shadith, “seeing the size of the rent they twisted from us.”)
Shadith smiled; she spoke to the Metau and the Teseach as if she were translating what Aslan had said, “For which we give thanks.”
“What we wish to know is why you want it. What is your purpose here? The traders who came before the mesuch descended on us say University is subject to no one’s will, but we know this, who pays for the song can name what they want to hear.”
Aslan nodded as she listened to Shadith’s recapitulation, then spoke slowly so the phrases could be translated into something like a coherent statement. “My purpose is knowledge, Metau, Teseach. My life-study is gathering the chronicles, songs and lifeways of different peoples, especially those on the verge of great change. All things change. A sage once said you cannot step twice in the same river. But the form of the river can be preserved and the memory of it even though it dries and dies. This is what I do. I document what might soon be erased by the press of time so that when the Wheel turns once more there will be a record of that heritage for those who wish to recapture something of what they were.”
Ruaim leaned forward again. “If we could rid ourselves of those mesuch over there, we wouldn’t need the record; things would go back to the way they were. Can you tell us how we can do that?”
“No. It is the short answer and a simple one, but it is the truth. The long answer is this: The word of your existence has spread too widely and will attract too many who want to wring profit from you and your world for you to be as you were. You could do worse-much worse-than the Yaraka. If you deal with them wisely, they will protect you from the…” Aslan said wolves and Shadith hesitated as she searched for an equivalent, then hurried to catch up. “The tukeol. And right now you need protection. What I can do is teach you about the Yaraka while I learn from you how your lives go. Knowledge brings power; ignorance, death.”
“You speak with eloquence, Scholar, but you don’t say much.”
“What can I say? What I know about you is what I see. I speak with the Harper’s tongue and listen with the Harper’s ears because I haven’t had time to learn your speech. I know even less of who you are and how you live. When one wishes to explain something, one needs to understand at least a little of what the listener knows and does not know, otherwise two people will only speak past each other and much misunderstanding will arise.”
“That is true. But we do not know this Harper. How does she know us?”
“It is her Gift to understand strange speech. I can’t explain, only be pleased to use it.”
“Why do the mesuch want you here?”
“The Chave are testing them, trying to drive them away. The Yaraka don’t have the time or resources to do what I’ll be doing for them, they’ll be too busy defending themselves and conducting their side-glance secret war. You do know about the Chave?”
“The mesuchs across the sea? We have heard. They are different?”
“Different worlds, different interests. Rivals. Enemies. You can use that, you know-if you learn how to play the Yaraka. You can’t get rid of them, but you can control to some extent the change they bring to your lives.”
The talk went on and on, the scribe stamping the wedge-shaped end of xe’s stylo in complicated patterns down row after row of the pages of the tablet. Shadith stopped thinking about what she was hearing, giving the words only the attention needed to translate them.
Aslan explained over and over what her purpose and intent was, what University was, the kind of things she was going to record, what would happen to the record, what was her exact relationship to the Yaraka, what did she know about the Chave, why did they act that way, who would be able to read what she recorded.
“Anyone?” The Metau’s heavy features drew together.
“Anyone who has the money to purchase a readout. As long as the data is not flagged for limited access, which this would probably not be.” Aslan thought a moment (Shadith moved her shoulders, grateful for the momentary pause; she considered asking for a glass of water, but her need wasn’t urgent and she didn’t want to break the flow). “The Yaraka might consider it proprietary information and therefore privileged, but our Meruu of Scholars have strong feelings about unrestricted access to information, as long as the seeker can pay for it. They would probably deny such a request.”
On and on.
The Alsekumers on the benches shifted position, whispered in hisses, went out, and others came in; Shadith could hear the faint rustles of their movements and envied them. She was getting stiff from sitting and her throat was beginning to burn.
A basso note of considerable power broke through a question; there was a sharp edge of impatience to the sound and a demand implicit in it. Shadith looked up.
An Eolt had moved out over the open center, holding position with a single tentacle. A long slit pursed open and snapped closed among the cilia in xe’s base and more sounds poured out of xe, a wordless music that was at the same time an announcement that the Eolt had something to say and was tired of waiting xe’s chance.
Ruaim and Chachil exchanged grimaces, then the Teseach sang, “Mer-Eolt Lebesair, be welcome to Alsekum Meet. Is there word you bring us from the Meruu of the Eolt?” He put frills on the words, made a fine production of the question.
(“What’s that about?” Aslan murmured.
“The Meruu is some kind of council, this Eolt is a rep from that council, here to look us over, I suppose.”
“Wish xe’d opened xe’s mouth earlier. Saved my ears and your throat. Have you picked up any idea what the relationship is between our floating friend up there and the walkers?”
“I’ve a few notions but they’re too vague to talk about right now. Ali! Xe’s warming up for a speech. I need to concentrate for this. When the floaters talk, it’s complicated.”)
3
Maorgan watched the two women as they answered the tedious and silly questions from that phrata pair preening on the dais. The Harper amazed him. After years of dealing with offworld traders and now these invading mesuch, he’d only acquired a few hard won words of tradespeech. To reach out and absorb a whole language well enough to make songs in it-that was a gift of gifts. He couldn’t tell how much she really understood of what she was saying, but she set word against word in a proper way.
It made him think.