When she rounded the screen, the stench of Pilgrim sweat and dirt hit her in the face, no breeze to dilute that consequence of days of walking and privation. She took shallow breaths, let her eyelids droop while she examined what lay ahead of her and listened intently to the questions so she’d be prepared to answer them when her time came.
Long table. Four Brothers of God seated with pen, ink, bound registers, writing down the responses.
Two doors in the far wall. Those with money for their keep went through the righthand door, those who cast themselves on the Mercy of God passed through the left.
“Pixa or Impix?”
“Pixa.”
“Name.”
“Lankya of Ixis Wendlu Clan Enzak.”
“Reason for visit.”
“Sanctuary. I am hohekil.”
“Have you coin to keep yourself, or will you be a Guest of God?”
“I have coin to keep me for a while.”
“You understand, it is not likely that there will be paid labor you can do.”
“I understand.”
“This is a place of peace. Weapons are not allowed within the walls. If you have any such, they will be sealed and returned to you when you leave.”
“I have this.” She took her belt knife from the sheath and laid it on the table. “No more.”
It was a lie, of course, but she wasn’t about to let herself be wholly disarmed. Besides, even if they searched her and found Cerex’s stunrod taped to her back, they wouldn’t know what it was.
He took the knife, wrote on a strip of paper, and sealed the paper to the knife with a bit of heated wax. He set the knife in a box by his feet. When he straightened, he said, “If you are found with a weapon inside the walls, you
THE BURNING GROUND
will be cast out and not allowed to return. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“You will be required to do Service to God for five hours each week. You will be given a token for each hour completed and should display those tokens to any Brother, Bond Sister, Anya of Mercy, or Prophet Speaker who requests to see them. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
He opened the much carved wooden chest that sat at his elbow and took out a small bronze square with a hole in one corner. “This is a luth. It is your key to the Freedom of Linojin. You will see that today’s date is stamped into the metal. Six months from today you will go to the Grand Yeson and put forth your reasons for remaining in Linojin. If these are accepted, you will be given another luth at that time. If they are not, then you must leave. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Carry the luth with you always. If you are found without it, you will do penance and then must leave. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Then welcome to Linojin, O Pilgrim. God’s blessing be yours.”
13
The Cauldron brews both poison and health. There are plots on the boil around you.
Chapter 6
In the distance the smell of hibiscus crying out risk us eyeing with askance
I sing the mythos of cosmos in prim pose preening for glances…
Shadith dropped the stylo onto the clipboard’s magnet, leaned against the bitt, and let her legs swing, her bare feet almost touching the water the high tide had brought in. The scribbles on the sheets of paper were there as camouflage, an excuse for sitting where she was sitting and staring out across the water (though she’d surprised herself by rather liking some of those lines).
Graska Wysp. The island chain was a sprinkle of dots just beyond the mouth of Lala Bay. She had a good view of the largest island, the one called k’Wys; the wharf where she sat was at the edge of the bay, old and deserted, rotting back to the earth it was built on.
Though the north end of k’Wys was a rocky for with scraggly windblown shrubs growing from every crevice,, the southern third was flatter, a tangle of brush, vines and heaps of pumice except for the areas cleared off for the flier pad and a large hangar. The fliers in that hangar were the only ones allowed in the air over the sea between Ptak-K’nerol and Impixol.
The water was deep under her feet, but the currents were strong and there was a lot of crosschop-probably why the wharf was no longer in use. An ancient eel lived in a hole below her, a huge creature long as a python and three times as thick, with the temperament of a rabid wolverine. She knew him well by now, having mindridden him a dozen times, using his predator’s eyes to explore the area around k’Wys. Old Tiger had given her some wild rides.
During high tide she swam him into the blowholes that riddled the base of the island, forced him to follow one after the other and stick his nose out the surface openings until she’d found the one she needed, the one that led to the surface north of the hangar, in a waste area filled with twisted stone and stunted thornbush. His temper got worse the longer she rode him, but after a few slashing fights with the smaller eels that laired in those holes, he settled down and was tractable enough when she took him out again.
The eels were part of the islands’ defense-no swimmers in those waters. As she leaned back and swung her legs, the picture of an idle dreamer, she saw another part of that defense.
Jet boats were zipping back and forth on the lake beyond the islands, pairs of them racing, others playing elaborate games of tag and bluff. One of them turned through too broad an arc and passed on the far side of a bright red buoy. The man at the wheel went limp and fell in a heap, the boat’s motor died. A few moments later a patrol shell left k’Wys and came alongside the intruder.
There was a swift flicker along the water as the field shut down. The men in the shell tossed a howler into the jet boat, then shoved it past the buoy into unwarded water. They sat a moment listening to the howler whoop and watching to make sure the current carried the boat away from k’Wys, then a lifted arm brought a second flicker as the field went on again. The shell hummed back to the landing.
Why does everything on this world have to be double the work? Shadith reached for the clipboard, tapped the stylo against her chin. After a moment she started writing again.
Howl said the honeybear Shaking in a shrieking fit
Growl said the hoaryboar Dropping in a digger pit
Foul said the holyman Cursing at a, biting nit
She wrinkled her nose, scratched the lines out, started as a voice sounded behind her.
“Why’d you do that? I kinda like it.”
She looked round. It was the old man she’d spoken to the first day. He was leaning on the bitt, looking over her shoulder. He’d come up so silently she hadn’t heard a thing-though that might also be due to the howler which was still going off at short intervals as the jet boat rocked and turned in the waves.
“Mp. You spooked me. Why? Too forced. Whimsy that feels forced is worse than week-old cake.”
“Got y’self fired, huh?”
“She started using her hands on me. I’ll take a lot but not that.” Shadith dropped the stylo onto the magnet, patted a yawn. “Thought I’d have a little vacation before I started looking for work.” She grinned up at him. “Nice out here and cheap entertainment. Been pondering on getting a pole and fishing for dinner. My da had a fishboat and I went out with him sometimes when I was a kid.”
“You want to be a bit careful along here. Seen the eels?”
“Yeh. One thing sure, swimming’s not on my program.”
He chuckled, straightened, shading his eyes with a gnarled hand as he watched a pair of polizer ‘hots fly over to the jet boat and start towing it back to shore. Shadith nodded at the boat. “He dead?”
“Nab, just stunned. In an hour or so he’ll come out of it with a bodyache that’ll make him sorry it didn’t kill him. Told you. Don’t mess with the Graska Wysp.”
“Not much chance of that; with my finances I’d have to walk on the water to get there.” She felt around, found her sandals, and began strapping them on.