A moment’s dread made her grip the dagger Arnanak had given her. No, it fled, not I… Regardless, I’d better get on back.
While she strode, faster and faster, she tried to conjure the shape forth as it had stood in the red beams. A T-beast, beyond a doubt. Whatever life had been like on Tammuz a billion years ago, when it started anew from microbes on Ishtar it did not follow the same course as ortho-life, or Earth’s. There were three sexes. There was no elaborate symbiosis, nor hair or milk; and instead of plant chemistry or perspiration, the homeothermic animals, like many plants, controlled temperature by changing color. There were vertebrates of a sort, but none descended from an ancient worm, rather from a thing like a starfish—no true head but a branch, the fifth limb changed into a carrier of mouth and sensory organs. There were a few bipeds—
But they were small. This had been a giant of its kind. The petals atop its branch would have reached to her chest. On the abdomen she thought she had made out three eyes above the central bulge of the genital sheath.
Legs had been long and powerful for the size; it was more a leaper than a strider. Yet the boneless-looking arms were well developed also, ending in a hand of five fingers arranged in a star.
Hands? Fingers?
Yes, if she wasn’t crazy. She’d seen the right arm lifted, digits spread, as if caught by astonishment at sight of her. The left had been carrying what seemed to be a knife.
Illusion. Got to’ve been. I’ve made a remarkable discovery, sure, a T-beast never suspected before. Probably come down from the north because of changing conditions. Only a beast, though!
Windows appeared yellow ahead of her. She burst into the hall, pushed through its crowdedness, blurted to Innukrat what had happened.
The female traced a sign. “You met a daur,” she said uneasily.
“A what?” Jill asked.
“I think best we wait for Arnanak about this, too.”
“But—” Memory stirred. Primavera did have xenological data on the Valenneners, mostly taken secondhand from members of the Gathering, yet filling a few books which she’d read. “Daur. Dauri.” Yes, I seem to recall, they believe in a kind ofelfor pooka or minor demon—“Are those, uh, are they beings that haunt the wilderness— magical powers—?”
“I told you, wait for Arnanak,” said the chieftain’s wife.”
He returned some days later. Jill didn’t know how many; she’d ceased keeping count.
She chanced to be home when he arrived. To save her human clothes, she’d begged a length of the coarse cloth the natives wove from plant fibers, and stitched together several knee-length shifts caught by a rope belt. She was no Ishtarian whose life depended on ample sunlight; hereabouts, Bel could bum off her skin. Head, arms, and legs were sufficiently tanned to be safe if she took due care. Next she wanted footgear. Her shoes stank from overuse.
The household produced most of what it consumed. Occasionally Valenneners needed boots. The female who was best at leatherwork proved quite willing to make Jill two or three pairs—maybe because that got her out of her ordinary chores, maybe because it was a challenge, maybe from simple kindliness, or a combination of these. She required the girl on hand, to be a living dummy and to explain with gestures and a few Tassu words how the things should fit.
Jill stood at the booth, holding up a parasol she had made against heat and glare. Shouts lifted, foot-thuds, a rattle of iron. Into the courtyard dashed Arnanak and his followers. Jill dropped the parasol. For a second she went dizzy. Then: “Ian!” she yelled, and sped heedless across adobe which tried to blister her soles. “Ian, darling!”
And into his arms—She burrowed against the human male strength, hardness, sweat, and warmth of him. She kissed him so teeth clashed together; after having drawn back just enough to look upon his beaky face through tears and wonder, she kissed him again with a trembling tenderness which turned into the way of lovers.
At last they stood apart, hands in hands, dazedly regarding each other. It made no difference that scores of Ishtarians milled around in the white and crimson dazzle.
“Oh, Ian,” she stammered, “you came… to fetch me—?”
Joy drained from his countenance till the bones stood forth like reefs at low tide. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he answered in a voice gone dull. “No release yet.”
Her first emotion was bewilderment. “What? Then why’re you here?”
“I couldn’t leave you alone, could I?” He marshaled himself and spoke fast. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here by agreement. Arnanak isn’t ready to let us go—he and Larreka made a very limited bargain that didn’t change anybody’s objectives—but he’s anxious to get on good terms with us humans eventually. Two hostages are better than one, he thinks. The idea is to exchange us in due course for concessions—which might amount to no more than establishing a kind of diplomatic relations with his kingdom—and for that, obviously we’d better be well treated meanwhile. We talked a lot on the road. He’s really not a bad chap in his fashion. For now, well, I’ve brought along food, medicine, clothes, as much stuff as I could for you. Including, uh, what I think are your favorite books.”
She searched the blue-green eyes and knew; He is in love with me. How could I not have been sure?
“You shouldn’t have,” she forced out.
“Like hell! I, I’ll explain the situation—got a lot of news to pass on—but it amounts to me being the logical choice. How’ve you been? How are you?”
“All right—”
“You’re looking good. Kind of thin; but, you know, that sun-bleached hair against that sun-tanned skin, you’re damn near a platinum blonde.” In haste: “Everybody was okay at home, at least they were when last we heard in Port Rua. They send their love. The whole community wants you back.”
“Chu,” Arnanak’s Sehalan joined their English, “will you not come indoors? Go to your room, you two guests of mine. The males will bring your baggage. Later we will feast. But you must have much to talk about.”
Most certainly they had much.
Sparling knew her better than to soften his tidings. “No real compromise. Just a couple of minor arrangements to make the war less destructive on both sides, which can’t affect the outcome either way. The Tassui won’t stop till the last legionary is out of Valennen or dead in it. The Zera will hang on as long as it possibly can, in the hope of reinforcements. I can hardly blame the barbarians. According to Arnanak, if they stay penned in their homelands. Fire Time—he calls it Fire Time—will kill most of them. We, we humans, should’ve given more thought to that. We should’ve mounted programs for the relief of this country, too. Not that that swine Dejerine would let us carry them out.”
“Yuri is no villain,” Jill said. This made Sparling look so grim and hurt that she must stroke his cheek and lean closer to him. They were sitting side by side on the boughs and straw mattress which made her bed, backs against a rough log wall, legs stretched across a clay floor. With a loose-woven blind over its single window, the room was dim and halfway cool. It had no door; a similar curtain in the entrance let through the sounds of readying for rejoicing which filled the hall.
“Neither is Arnanak,” he said, milder the moment she chose him to be. “Still, they both have missions, and Lord help whoever gets in the way. Arnanak means for his people to grab off territory less hard hit by periastron and its aftermath than here—territory to live in, and live well. Of course, that involves breaking up the Gathering. It couldn’t stay idle while that many of its members were overrun, displaced, subjugated, slaughtered. And when the Gathering’s gone under, Beronnen will lie wide open. The end of civilization on Ishtar—again. Arnanak made no bones about that to me.”
“Nor to me,” Jill said. “Though he does think his descendants will inherit and rebuild it.”