CELL 1
The squat black powerboat surged past a long string of barges, swept round a bend and went into a wild, slew as Asteplikota saw the Branch he was looking for, where the ancient delta was once, where the present-day Wetlands began. Shadith fought the current, clawed her way back to the mouth of the Branch and started down it, slowing as quickly as she could so she wouldn't run aground before she got far enough from the river Kinosipa.
The trees closed in over the boat and the POV dipped lower. The stream was sluggish, a greenish-ocher brew that looked solid enough to walk on.
The boat-worked north along the edge of the Wetlands as the sun passed zenith and crept toward the western mountains. it was twilight-a stinking, steamy twilight under the giant ferns and the squat, spongy palms with their festoons of moss and tangles of vine-when they reached an islet of fair size, relatively dry, with thick grass, a cluster of trees and even a small, clear stream.
They piled out of the boat, unloaded it, stood arguing for several minutes, then Kikun turned his back on Rohant and walked away. He stepped into the boat, reversed the water jets until it was clear of the mud, then went scooting away from the islet, vanishing almost Immediately into the murk.
Hands on hips, Shadith stood looking after him, then she shrugged and went to join the others setting up the camp.
Pukanuk Pousli scowled at the cell, swung round. "Ginny, should I give the Makh Hen a yell? You don't want that bunch runnin loose in Aina'iril. They're too hard to handle long distance."
Ginbiryol Seyirshi looked up from the pathecorder. "Not yet. And not when they are with Asteplikota. I prefer to keep him out of the hands of the Nistam or the Gospah. He is the planner; the balance wheel, the rebellion will sputter to nothing without him." That is so obvious, he thought, why do I have to keep saying it? Ah well, it is the nature of the beast; if he were smarter, he would be unusable. "No, Puk. Kiscomaskin needs his brother. If the Avatars decide to go with Plikota to the Islands until the stir dies down, we will let them keep running. The Islanders have no skipcom for us to worry about and time is a thing we have plenty of. If the Avatars break off and head for Aina'iril, then you may inform Makwahkik where they are so he can pick them up. I will expect you to see that Plikota is sent on his way unharmed."
"That might be touchy, sir. What if that little bitch starts dumpin what she knows? He'll be spooky as a three-legged rabbit."
"I think you will find he cooperates with whoever is sent to draw him off. He is a modest man, but a clear sighted one. He knows the weaknesses in his brother, he knows how much he is needed to keep Kiskomaskin steady. Discretion, Puk. You know whom he would be most likely to trust, arrange for such an individual to be available if he is required."
"Yes, sir. Ahh, one thing I might mention, the Makh Hen's gettin resty, he wants us to Pin the Avatars for him."
"Quash that immediately. Inform Makwahkik that we will withdraw completely if he presses us."
"He's not goin to like that. He don't follow the bit, he got a hard mouth on him."
"You must simply be harder, Puk. I trust your gifts in that direction. Once the point has been made, however, you may sweeten him with a personal handarm and slightly more advanced surveillance equipment than we have provided before. Tickle his ambitions and he will quickly forget the strings."
"Yes, sir."
Chapter 11. History for dinner
As the sun went down, blackflies, gnats, and other biters rose in thick clouds; with them came flocks of small, hairy fliers who went swooping through and through the swarms, sucking, in the insects like whales straining plankton out Of seawater, yet even they scarcely made a dent in the hordes; more and more of the biters appeared as if the air itself squeezed them from, the dark. Shadith scratched and slapped, then pulled a blanket around her and huddled close to the fire, privately mourning the absence of bugbombs and silentscreamers; technology might have its drawbacks, but meeting nature face to face wasn't all that great either. She waved the endbit of a dried frond back and forth before her face and squinted across the fire at Asteplikota.
"Pakoseo," she said. "What is that? I know this much, it's some kind of pilgrimage."
He looked up from the pot where he was stirring the soup he was making from the remnants of supper. "History lecture?"
"Yeh. About the Pase-something-um-wapal, something long like a river."
"Pasepawateo Mitewastewapal, from the god-tongue, the god-time. It means the time of dreaming and desire when lightning strikes the heart. Where'd you hear that?"
"About and about, I'll talk about that later." She whipped the frond fan back and forth, taking out her irritation on the bugs and air. "It's your turn, professor." She dropped the fan in her lap. "Give us your lecture, historian, tell us what's going on here."
Asteplikota moved the stirstick round and round the pot and frowned at the fire. "So. Lecture as requested."
Five thousand years ago the People came here to escape the chaos of dissolution, a thousand worlds pulling and tearing apart. The Omniskaal Empire. We were out on the edge, fair game to any warlord with the power to take and hold us. Those who could, left. There were three ships in our lot. Do I need to tell you their names? Right. Nataminaho. Opalekis-Mimo. Nikamo-Oskinin. We came here, not by choice,, we came trusting to fate which. almost killed us. We were flying on fumes when we landed.
We fled and found and thought we were safe.
It was a cold world, harsh everywhere except around the equator. We landed where we had to and marched south. It was a terrible march and only a tenth survived it. Myth tells us that Nataminaho hunted for us, OpalekisMimo found the path and led us along it, Nikamo-Oskinin sang strength and endurance into us, sang the worst of the evils away from us. It is possible this is sign for the captains of the ships, I don't know, there's very little written from that time.
For a thousand years we lived there in those high-walled fertile valleys and fiords. We prospered and spread out. And we exiled into the icy northlands anyone who disturbed the peace of the wealthy and the powerful. We sent our criminals and rebels to that high plateau with its monster glaciers. We sent them to die off where we wouldn't see them suffer. And we shot them if they came back. We lost a lot on the hard trek south, books, technology, history; sometimes I think we lost our souls.
At the end of a thousand years, everything changed. The sun kicked into a new phase, it was suddenly much brighter, much hotter. The ice began to melt off the northlands, the lowlands became unlivable even before they flooded. The powerful claimed the mountain slopes, then the mountain tops, fighting to keep their hold on the riches they saw as their right. They were not given to flexibility. As far as they were concerned, what had always been would always be.
Bit by bit the rest traveled north and tried to claim land there. The difficulty was, the northland wasn't empty any longer, the exiles were there. The Pliciks they called themselves. Yes, our present day landlords and rulers. They were nomads, hunters, trappers, herdsmen. The melting of the ice nearly destroyed them before they figured out how to change with the changing land. At first they killed the people coming north; they had centuries of hate to purge. Then some Plicik had a bright idea and-made slaves of the newcomers, used them to help him and his clan not only survive but prosper.