On the South Bank, the windows of the Low City showed yellow between the dark masses of the groves, the spray of lights muted by the dwindling rain.
He folded the letter the courier had given him an hour ago, tore it in half, tore it again and again. The Amrapake was coming with his army to reclaim his sister and clean out the Low City. “It won’t be long now,” he said aloud. “Ah Rey, I wish you’d been sensible and got out.” He shook his head, slid off the windowseat, dropped the bits of paper into the fire and went to bed.
Goddance. The Twelfth Year
Abeyhamal towers over the forge, taller, juicier, stronger by far than she’d been as the dance began. Her fimbo is as thick as the Ancient God’s arm; it shines with a darkly golden light. She dances power around the Iron Father, around and around as if she is spinning a web about him, gradually tightening the strands so his movements grow more restricted with every circle, more feeble.
With the Kassian Tai and the Honeychild reinforcing her commands, the Falmaree Penhari Banadah pulled the Low City into order.
Honeychild and Honeygirls danced the wynds and kariams of the High City, called women to them, leading them across the Wood-Bridge, emptying the High City of all but slaves, habatrizes and shadow-side women.
Chumavayal Iron Father swings his tools with increasing violence and decreasing effect. Sweat runs down his face, he strikes out at her again and again. His footing is less stable. He stumbles, nearly falls on the Forge. The fire flickers, many of the coals gray over and start to cool.
He strikes again at Abeyhamal and by the luck of the game he cuts a shallow groove in her arm and she drips honey ichor on the Forge Floor. It sizzles and boils on the stone; the sound it makes is like a whimper.
The Amrapake arrived with, his army, the attack on the Low City begins. Juvalgrim fell, taking the Salagaum with him.
The GodDance goes on; the end draws near.
Sibyl
The Sybil stands beside her chair, one hand resting on the stone back. Her eyes have a distant look on them. She herself is insubstantial, little more than shaped and shadowed smoke.
I sit and see the Change is nigh
One by one the signs drift by
Life Force flows
To Low from High
The Forge Wind blows
The Land’s sucked dry
Strangers fly
And so must I
I can do nothing for my pets. My mouth is sealed, my reach is gone. If either comes here or calls me, I’m nowhere.
Gods!
This is the point I loathe. I’m a fool for growing fond of these ephemerals.
Power. Why is it the stupid, the greedy, the mean who have it? Is that inherent in the weave? Is there something about power that repels intelligence and compassion? And yet there is Juvalgrim, a flawed man but a good one; he played with power like a pretty bauble, never took it seriously. Why is one emphemeral corrupted, another almost untouched? I am as old as the earth and I have not resolved that question yet. Power. My limits grate on me.
Honeychild, High Kasso, Salagaum-somehow I’ll manage to keep you clear.
Life is better than burning, memory or not; at least one can say that.
I’d best go now and think of ways of managing this rescue, if rescue there’s going to be.
Chapter 24. Attack
Ma’teesee wriggled out on the limb high in the Sequba until she reached the bald spot she’d seen from below. She settled herself and looked south across the roofs of the Low City toward the South Eka Kummata. “Chooee.” She whistled with surprise, then called down to the others, “I can see most the Eastend. Weird. There’s a army out there.” She giggled, a shrill sound that sent the moththeries wheeling in the air, flying away from her. “And one jegger’s just bounced off the Barrier. He went riding at it flags flying and now he’s on his back and his horse is running off. Sil-ly. What’s that, Zindi? I didn’t hear…”
On the ground, the Honey Dancer Zinduki cupped her hands about her mouth, yelled what she’d said before, “You see Fa or the Kassian?”
“Nayo. Nobody out there but the lancers and the hostas unloading from the barges.”
› › ‹ ‹
Areia One-eye tilted the stone jar over a mug, passed it along to Dossan, shook her head at Zinduki. “Teesee wouldn’t see them, you know. They’re over on Wood Bridge waiting for the Amrapake’s Herald.”
Zinduki nodded, cupped her hands around her mouth. “Never mind Fa,” she yelled up at Ma’teesee. “What else is happening?”
› ‹
Ma’teesee slapped at a moththerie she glimpsed from the corner of her eye, grabbed at a side branch as the limb shook under her.
The Lancers were riding at the Barrier, cutting at it with sabers, hurling their lances at it. The lances hit and came bouncing back at them, some of them slapping and pricking the horses who reared, screamed and bolted, some of them hitting heads butt first, knocking the men from their mounts. She enjoyed their misery, her laughter a faint snuffling at the back of her nose. It was chaos compounded by the ta-ras of the signal horns, the rattle of the cadence drums.
So excited that more than once she came close to falling off, Ma’teesee called down what she saw. The moththeries belonging to this Sequba flittered around her, sipping at her laughter like bees after nectar; she scratched absently where they landed. “And there’re people out on the roofs all along the Barrier,” she shouted, “far as I can see. High Kumm Penhari, she’s really choused ’em out this time. Looks like they having fun, can’t hear what they yelling, but I’m sure those potzes wouldn’t like it if THEY could. Choo-ee, there’s a bunch of fooffas riding up and yelling at them, must be the officers. Almost makes y’ sorry for the poor jeggers on the ground. Ooh! He took a whip at the jegger, the yatz. Hope he tries the Barrier… nayo nay, not him, he’s galloping back to the barges…”
“Ma’teesee, come on down, that’s enough.” Areia One-eye tossed out the dregs in her mug, pushed the cork into the mouth of the bottle. “Dance could start any time now. It catches you up there, you’ll fall and break your neck.”
“Vema vema. Nothing much left to see anyway. You hear that last horn call? They backing off, making circles like they’re gonna camp there till time ends.”
There was a violent shaking and rustling as Ma’teesee began back-crawling to the trunk. A moment later they saw her fitting her toes into the deep cracks in the bark, coming down almost as fast she’d climbed up.
She danced toward them, brushing herself off, scrubbing her hands along her body to get rid of bark fragments and sap. “Reea, Reea, pour me a drink, I’m dry from looking at all that dust.”
Areia One-eye snorted. “You would do it, Tees.”
Ma’teesee giggled, pranced before her, arms up, hands fluttering. “Gonna gonna gonna kick and scratch,” she chanted. “Gonna gonna gonna…” She danced away as Zinduki grabbed at her, circled around, and dropped to a squat beside Dossan. She took the mug her friend handed her; emptied it at a gulp. “You shouldda seen it, it was soooo funny.”
Dossan rubbed at her face. “What’s happening on Northbank, Tees? Could you see? Is it going to be worse for our Mums?”
“Not to worry, Dossy. Army’s sitting on Southbank. Didn’t see much doing otherside.” She put the mug down, wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. “So? Reea, when do we start? I wanna stomp some Mal.”
Areia One-eye shrugged. “When Abeyhamal commands. Same as always.” She rose onto her knees, reached round behind her for the basket. “Come on, help me get this stuff packed away.”