"I see. What've you got in mind?"
"I take the flit up, set the otto:P, ditch myself in the river, and swim out. You could help by giving me a course so it'll do least damage to your people." She brought her arm round in a sweep to take in Rohant, Kikun, herself. "And one that will maximize our chances of surviving."
He got to his feet. "Back along the river. Set the otto:P at 250. About twenty iskals inland there's a Royal Enclosure, the Iskota Estate; if it gets that far without exploding, it'll be shot down, which means the search should be concentrated there, it's an obvious target for an attack by what they call terrorists. The kanaweh, if you didn't know, those are the Nistam's security police, your lice, they'll be out like ants (one's contribution to the field of insectile simile) swarming round the estate. With a little luck, we'll be beyond the bounds. One must concede it, Singer, this is a good idea." He glanced at the sky. "There's less than an hour till dawn. You'd better get started."
She sweated out the lift, got the otto:P engaged more by will than skill, slapped the go button, and went over the side.
It took her forever to hit the water, when she did she wished she hadn't, it felt like her ankles broke, she went in and down, her arm hurt, she'd forgotten the wound, she couldn't get any pull with that arm, the current seized hold of her, rolled her over and over until she didn't know up from down…
A blinding light…
She struggled, toward it…
Her head broke surface, she gulped in air and water, began fighting toward the light. She knew what it was now. The Fanatic's flare.
"Shadow."
Rohant. His arm came under her. He was on his back, kicking powerfully. She collapsed against him, let him tow her.
The current sucked at them, it wouldn't let go, they were being swept down and down… a shout… Kikun. Something hard and rough slapped against her, started pulling along her body. Rope. She felt Rohant's body convulse and drop away from her. He still gripped her tightly, he was dragging her across the current now, water was in her eyes, her mouth, she didn't know what was happening until he managed to find footing and start walking out, carrying her.
Chapter 10. Myth before breakfast
With chill dawn drafts eddying around her like scalpels probing the places where they'd hurt the most despite the dry clothes and the blanket she'd pulled around her, Shadith sat shuddering with depression and fatigue in the corner of the shack; she hated her feebleness, she felt like some fainting miss falling out at hide 'n seek, but she just couldn't go any more. Much of the time she stared at the dead smelling dirt of the shack floor, dirt she could barely see, and wallowed in uselessness, but when she was at her most morose, she flagellated herself by watching Rohant, Kikun, and the Fanatic (that epithet didn't fit any longer, but she had no other label for him) bustling about, collecting wood for a fire and castoff tree fronds to drape across the rafters and stuff into wall cracks so fliers passing along the river wouldn't spot light leaking through the rotted out places in the roof and walls. The Fanatic had put his gun away somewhere inside his clothes, as if he were embarrassed by it, and was toting fronds into the shack with an amiable determination that amazed her; it would have amused her if she'd had any humor left in her.
They finished with the fronds and went out, pulling the ragged door shut after them, leaving her in there with the wind whistling through the cracks in the walls and a young fire in the far corner that flickered and threatened to go out but never did. She watched the feeble, uncertain flames shiver in the drafts and thought if fires could feel, that one had to feel about like her.
Left behind with her, Sassa perched in the rafters, waiting for Rohant's permission to hunt while the hungry, fractious cats stalked about the shack like shadows snatched from the fire.
Rohant brought in an armload of boards torn off the other shacks, knelt beside the fire, breaking them over his knees and coughing, stopping now and then to wipe his nose; coming into the river after her had finished off his immunities, looked like he was in for a long hard cold. She ground her teeth and wallowed in guilt.
Kikun came in with his arms full of fat tubers. He used a knife, a hefty baynet that he'd acquired from somewhere, not one of hers, to loosen the dirt, then he scraped out a hole with a piece of board until it was big enough to hold the tubers. He covered them over, built a smaller fire on top of them and went trotting out again, resilient as a length of gray-green rubber. Water, weariness, hunger, cold, they rolled off his back and left him untouched. It was more than depressing, it was disgusting.
The Fanatic brought in a dripping can of river water, left it by Rohant, then went to squat in the other corner on Shadith's end of the shack, looking from her to the Dyslaeror with a bemused, faintly amused expression on his square face. His forearms rested on his knees, his hands hung empty before them; he seemed tired but content.
"You asked me why we're here," she said, driven by an impulse born out of a growing distaste for her own mentations. "I think you know more about that than we do."
Rohant sneezed, grumped under his breath as he got to his feet; he called Sassa, held the door open for him, whistled to the cats, and went out with them prowling at his heels.
The Fanatic rose, stretched, then went to the door and stood looking at the sky. "I wonder if it's blown yet."
"The flit? I don't know. You said twenty iskals. You know interlingue. How long's an iskal?"
"Little over a kilometer. Say one and a half."
"Thirty kilometers." She flattened her hand on her leg, scowled at the ringchron. "And more than an hour since I went in the river. Even if it wasn't shot down, it shouldn't 'ye lasted this long."
"Odd we didn't see anything."
"I didn't know, maybe it hit ground first." She yawned, rubbed at her forehead. "Maybe it missed the Estate altogether and it's still going. Whatever, it's not something we have to worry about any more. Talking about worry, why are a clutch of outsiders so important you'd kill them before letting them out of your hands?"
He didn't say anything for several minutes, then he sucked in a long breath and let it out slowly. Still saying nothing he turned from the door, moved across to the fires and laid wood on each. Finally he stood with his back to them, his face in shadow, his hands clasped behind him. "You ask a difficult question."
"Seems simple to me."
"That, my dear girl, is because you don't know anything about us. Ignorance is a great simplifier."
"I had a master said that once. I poured peppersauce in his tea." She giggled, sobered. "So?"
Kikun came in with a battered pot he'd collected somewhere, some heavy wire and an armload of smooth stones which he arranged in a cee-shape at the edge of the larger fire; he scraped part of the coals from the fire into the cee and laid the wire across the stones, filled the pot from the can and balanced it on the improvised grid, setting the water to boil. After adding wood and reshaping both fires so they burned more evenly, he moved a short distance away, dropped to the dirt and sat watching the other two, the firelight turning his eyes to orange lava.
Shadith raised the harpcase on end, tipped it over so it was leaning against the wall; she rearranged herself, curling up with her back against the case. Despite the drafts the fires were beginning to warm the shack-and her-and she'd turned the curve on fatigue, passing the point when the need to sleep was overwhelming; if she didn't move much or try to push her thoughts too fast, she was all right for the next hour or so. She yawned, blinked at the door Kikun had left open a crack. The darkness outside had lightened to a steely gray and the sounds of dawn were coming in to her, bird twitters, a honking bray, a motor coughing, its sputter muted by distance. Maybe Rohant would be back soon with meat to add to Kikun's tubers and brew. She'd stopped feeling hungry, but she knew her lassitude came partly from lack of fuel in her system. You should sleep, Shadow. You can eat later. I don't want to sleep, T m too tired to sleep. Tired! Huh! I'm tired of scratching and scrabbling and it making no difference. I plan and do and it turns out a waste of time. Like with the guard and then those bars. Well, you couldn't know that ahead of time. And if things hadn't turned out like they did, what you did would've got you out of a mess. I suppose so. You can't read the future, take a cue from Ginny and trust your luck. All right, all right. So, see what you can squeeze out of our resident local. He can probably tell you something about why Ginny's doing this to you and Rohant and Kikun.