One of those trains was moving along the rails as Maorgan rode past Shadith and yanked the bell chain dangling beside a kind of gatehouse set like a wart on the wall beside massive doors. It was late, the sun was already down, just a few streaks of red and purple touching the clouds and the near dozen Eolts drifting above the Dumel.
They were singing the night in, the great organ notes echoing back from the peaks with a beauty that made her heart hurt.
Danor stirred. His hands and arms were confined by the ropes that tied him onto the stretcher, but his head turned back and forth and he muttered. His fever had begun to rise again half an hour ago and she was getting increasingly worried about him. She set her hand on his brow, tried to sooth him with a brush from the mindtouch. It seemed to help. She suspected that grazing of the mind brought back sense memories of the sioll bond and made him forget his loss for a moment or two.
Maorgan was standing now, his caцpa groundhitched beside him, browsing wearily at the new green tips of a bush at the edge of a small green garden. The wind was rising, and between that, the Eolts’ song and the noise of the passing train, she couldn’t hear what he was saying, but the set of his shoulders told her he was angry.
One of the Eolt left the others, rose to a higher air stratum, and began gliding toward them. Melech, probably. Though she hadn’t yet seen enough Eolt to be able to distinguish between them. Xe rode the winds down, slapped a tentacle against the shutter, slid the end of the tentacle across Maorgan’s face with an affection a blind man could read, then let the winds carry xe aloft again.
The argument was over.
Maorgan came striding to her, raised his voice so she could hear above the noise. “Bring the caцpas round to the side. We’ll go in through the stable. It’ll be easier on Danor that way.”
She slid down, took the reins of the litter ponies while he led his own mount, Brйou, and the single packer they had left. “What was the problem?”
“We’re late. They’d already shut the doors and didn’t want to open up again, especially not for strangers. Wouldn’t believe I was Ard until Melech threw xe’s snit. We’re lucky in one thing. There’s a doctor in the blai. Accident at one of the mines. He got back after the Dumel gates were shut.”
A stocky Denchok with a rifle under xe’s arm was standing inside the stable waiting for them. Xe had lifted the bar on the massive portal, but left it to them to haul it open and drive the caцpas inside. Xe glanced at the litter. “What happened to him?”
“Chorek. They’re dead.”
“Good.” Xe relaxed when xe saw the harpcase Maorgan lifted from the packer. “Said you was Ard. Playing for us tonight?”
“We’ll both be playing once we get Ard Danor settled. My companion is also a harpist.”
The hostler looked past Maorgan, looked away without comment. After a minute he said, “You want help moving him? Said I was to ask.”
“No, we can handle it. You just take good care of the caцpas, they’ve given good service and need a little coddling. Leave the packs by the door inside, someone will come pick it up later. Shadowsong, shall we get started?”
The doctor was an old Denchok near xe’s transformation, the lichen-web so thick it was almost continuous. Xe bent over Danor, peeling the bandage away, interested in the tape because it was something that both lines of Bйluchar had simply not thought of; for one thing, neither Meloach flowermoss nor Denchok lichen was compatible with adhesive tape. Xe pointed to the redness and swelling where the tape had been. “While I can see that this was an emergency and you used what you had, Shadowsong, this adhesive substance has provoked an allergic reaction which makes complications.” His voice was a pleasant rumble. “You say the bullet is out?”
“Yes.”
“Cho oy, it was done very cleanly with little damage to the flesh. I commend you. Is the water boiling yet?”
Shadith stepped to the narrow window, where the doctor had set up his brazier, looked into the pot. “Just starting.”
“Good. Would you bring it here, please.”
Xe dropped a gauze packet of minced herbs into the water and set it aside. “So you’re finding our world an interesting place?” Xe fished in xe’s bag and brought out a small ceramic jar, began unscrewing the lid.
She chuckled. “In every sense of the word.”
Xe began spreading cream from the jar across xe’s hands, working it into xe’s greenish-gray skin. “Political?”
“Don’t think so. Maorgan says the politicals always yell at you when they shoot. These didn’t.”
“Take the sieve and strain that decoction in the mug. Then you can see how much you can get down him. That’s a mix of roec and cliso, a feverbane, plus it’ll mute the pain and put him to sleep. About half for now. Save the rest for later. I’ve heard about the mesuch down by shore. Didn’t seem too bad, sort of like the traders who drop by now and then. Caused some stir, though, they did. Say they have fur all over them. Must get hot now that Summer’s here. You now, you’re more like the traders I’ve met. Got drunk once with one of them, man called Arel. Said it was anniversary of something. That’s good. His throat’s working, so he’s swallowing. Talked a lot about a girl… or a woman… he was real confused about that… with a flier etched on her face. Like that thing you’ve got. Said more than he meant to, the old gray empties had him by the scrot if you get what I’m at. I think that’s enough for now. If you’ll get one of those wipe rags and keep the field clear, I’ll deal with that wound.”
Shadith set the cup aside, wiped Danor’s mouth with one of the rags, and gave him a brush from the mindtouch again to help him settle. He looked so frail and ancient a loud sneeze would break him apart. “He gets around. Arel, I mean.”
The doctor opened the wound, then stood back while she wiped away the matter that oozed forth. “You be harping with the Ard tonight?”
“We sing for our supper, or so I understand.” She looked up, smiled at the sudden widening of xe’s eyes. “No no, that’s only a saying, Tokta Burek. Yes, we’ll be playing once we’ve had something to eat and wash up. If you have a favorite tune, let Maorgan know.”
“That I will. That’s enough of that.” He took a sterile cloth and began applying cream from another small jar.
Maorgan began a lively tune with laughter chuckling through the notes. After a moment Shadith caught the rhythm and began weaving her own themes round it, smiling as she did so at the glee on Burek’s face.
“Little Achcha Meloach,” Maorgan sang, his rich baritone filling the room, Shadith chanting unwords in harmony with him.
“Little Achcha Meloach
sitting in a tree
yelling down at Fior boy
can’t catch me
cha oo cha me oh barn ba oh
Little Arja Fioree
running through the wood
chasing yellow angles
catch them if she could
ja ooo fee ree fee ree ra oh
Little Cheon Fior boy
paddling in the flood
throws a fish at Achcha
be-bumping in the mud.
Ghee oh fee oh ba bum bum ba oh.”
Round and round through the antics of the three they went, Achcha, Cheon, and Arja Fioree. The audience-merchants and their clerks, the miners down too late to _ make the town, along with more anonymous travelers heading across the Medon Pass to Chuta Meredel and the workers in the blai-they smiled at first, then snapped their fingers to the beat and began singing along.