Mid-afternoon on the tenth day, the wagon labored across the floor of the crater and pulled up before an immense broken Bubble of black volcanic glass.
The PseudoNistam climbed down and vanished into the housing cavern while the VraiNistam took his seat in the crystalpalace (pellet proofed glass on an armorsteel cage), on the crystal throne with his court around him.
The Kam priests got the wagon into the store cavern and unhitched the kekelipis.
The Gospah and his Na-priests herded the rest of the sacerdotes and the Three up one of the twin ramps into the black-glass Bubble and began laboring to bring order out of Chaos.
By sundown they all were settled in, pilgrims and Pliciks, prisoners and priests.
Small fires bloomed across the crater floor and climbed the walls as high as people could perch. The Otcha Cicip hummed with sound, laughter, music as people ate their dinners and exchanged the gossip they'd packed in with them. The noise rose to a peak as Sisipin Full reached zenith, then faded as families and clans and single travelers settled to sleep.
Shadith crouched by the front of the cage they'd put the prisoners in and watched the moonshadows crawl across the floor. Three days, then the Fire. She reached into her boot, touched the welt that hid the crystal knife and was tempted. Then she sighed and took her hand away. There was a solid rank of Na-priests sitting like stone teeth across the mouth of the Bubble and a score of others rolled in their blankets, sleeping on the floor. She wouldn't get two steps before she woke at least one. No chance. Not now. Gods, Lee, put your foot down and GET HERE!
Chapter 23: Shadowplay
Invocation-the first morning:
The Gospah Ayawit's mellifluous voice dripped out over the pilgrims from speaker-towers twenty meters high scattered about the five-squared kilometers of the crater floor. Clad in cloth of gold with Kiskaid totem symbols wrought with colored gemstone beads and Kiskaid holy writ in gold and silver wire with diamond accents, the Gospah Ayawit shimmered and glittered like the sun himself from screens ten meters tall. "Mat Weh Kat ta ti…," chanted the Gospah, calling Oppalatin to witness their worship, calling the folk to listen, hear the bells of change ring out, hear the word of Oppalatin: Mat Weh Kat ta ti Oppalatin Ma! Illiloo Kiskaiwin Eh ishi shikahisheeaywin Keh kah Sak kehaaa din Kid Ma! Kid Ma! Kid Ma…
The antique syllables went on and on, slithering and sliding past the ears of pilgrims mostly ignoring him-talking, laughing, doing clapsongs and slapdances, setting out their blankets and their jugs of wine and fruit drinks, their crisps and popcorn and pretzels and fried fowl and roasted kipsi fruits and the thousand other things they'd packed in for the occasion, tieing on their ribbons and testing the bells on their leggings, the wooden clackers on thumb and forefinger, their bone pipes and baby kitskews, their drums and rhythmbones. The sun was pleasantly warm with a few cloud puffs to turn the sky bluer than blue and just enough of a breeze to make the crowding comfortable. They looked up now and then to see the Gospah glitter, to see the Longhorn Pipers standing on their benches, the Palaka Dancers dancing on the Great Drums: Ni-tahwaikis in husks and seeds; Tahnokipo Waposh in tortoiseshell and polished stone with clackers on his legs and soundstones in his hands; Shapostim Mayah in feathers and ribbons with strips of bells along his legs and tinkly, tiny cymbals on his fingers.
Shadith watched from the cage at the back of the Bubble. Kikun was stretched out on a lumpy pallet laid along the left side of the cage, recovering from the battering of the trek here; Rohant knelt by him, holding his hand. Miowee was huddled at the back of the cage, sunk into a black depression that Shadith had a hard time shutting out-especially since she was looking fire in the face, at the moment a more literal fire than the one that had been haunting her. Bonfires crackled energetically, one on each side of the stage at the front of the broken Bubble, near where the ramps went, down. These weren't the Sacrifice pyres-those were set up at the back of the Bubble, cameras focused in tight on them, carved posts and carved sticks saturated with aromatic oils. Now and then an errant breeze brought her the odor of those oils, nauseating her. Bumdeath-it scared her witless. As time passed and hope evaporated, she was more and more out of control… turning into a quivering mess.
The sun went down and supper was served.
Shadith couldn't eat.
Kikun wouldn't eat, couldn't lift himself off the pallet.
Rohant raged at them. Teethtips bared, he shook Shadith out of her lethargy, shoved bread and meat in her mouth and held his hand over her face until she swallowed. When he was satisfied she was aroused enough to keep the juices flowing, he tore small pieces of bread and cheese and fed them to Kikun. He wasn't interested in Miowee and left her in her gloom until Kayataki pulled at his sleeve, crying because she couldn't get any reaction from her mother. He slapped the streetsinger into fury, got her energized enough to eat on her own, then went back to feeding Kikun.
The Shadowplay Goddance began in the early afternoon on the second day.
The Palaka Dancers stamped on the Drums, shook their clackers and their bells. The Longhorns hooted, low grumbling sounds that entered the body not so much through the ears as the pit of the stomach.
Rohant marched from the cage and climbed upon a broad and massive bench, the cats beside him, heiratic symbols out of history and dream; Sassa rode his arm, gold eyes glaring, head erect with fierce and deadly pride. The image of that ensemble was repeated over and over out across the crater, cold-eyed predators staring down on the pilgrims from hundreds of screens.
On his feet more by will than intrinsic strength, Kikun danced onto the low flat drum at the front of the stage; he wore no bells or clackers, only a loincloth and the black and white paint. His image crossed and recrossed Rohant's.
Grim beneath her whiteface paint, Shadith walked slowly from the cage. Miowee and Kayataki were already in place, chained to the floor with gilded paper links, loaded down with rustling chains until only their hands and arms were free, Kaya to play the finger cymbals, Miowee with her kitskew. Shadith sat upon the ivory banc and tuned the Paleka Kitskew until she was satisfied with the sound. Then she sang.
Kikun danced.
Rohant posed.
The cats leaped down from the bench and danced with Kikun, writhing and winding about him, black flows moving in time with the song.
A sigh passed across the throng of pilgrims, faces turned to the screens, she could feel them coming together as she'd felt them not together before…
The Gospah stood in front of Rohant, on the floor of the Bubble, his head barely past the Ciocan's knees. The Mime Ni-tawaikis stood beside the lefthand fire, still as a graven image. The Mime Tahnokipo Waposh and the Mime Shapostim Mayah stood beside the righthand fire, still as graven images.
Shadith brought the song to its end.
Kikun froze.
The Longhorn players puffed through their three meter pipes and the Palaka Dancers, swung into stamping circles; behind them the Kam priests chanted: Ma Ma Ma Ma llillo Kiskaiwin Ma Ma Ma…
The pilgrim wave began to break apart.
The Gospah blew on his little pipe; the shrill note broke through the, chant, brought it to an end. The Longhorns fell silent. Shadith sighed, moved into the second song of her program, Miowee and Kaya singing with her.
About halfway through, the pilgrims took up the song, the sound was a low hum at first that rose and spread and filled the whole of the crater, even unto the sky… ..and Shadith felt her power on her, without the hallucinogens of Avosing, nothing but the intensity of the belief before and behind her. And Kikun squeezing down that force and funneling it into her. Even the Gospah was in the circuit which would have surprised her if she'd had mind enough left for wonder; he burned with fervor. Nothing he was doing now was cynical, he believed in his righteousness and in the thing they were evoking, believed it with a force of will and spirit that had nothing to do with that part of him that maneuvered so skillfully and ruthlessly for power and influence, the part of him that could watch unmoved as his Na-priests tortured a rebel. The pilgrims elbow to elbow across the crater were perhaps less complex, less divided against themselves, but their belief was as strong, each individual reinforcing the reaction of the individuals around him, each family group, clan group, accepting and reflecting the fervor of the groups before, behind and to the sides…