Jo Clayton - Drinkers 3 - A Gathering Of Stones

A Gathering Of Stones

Drinker of Souls Trilogy, Book 3

Jo Clayton

1989

“BRANN, YARO IS TRAPPED!”

Brann looked questioningly at the change child Jaril. “Trapped?”

“I was round a bend about twenty feet behind when the thing closed round her.” Jaril shud-dered in

his peculiar way, his outline melting and reforming, his hands growing transparent, then solid. “I tried to

get to her. There was a barrier. I couldn’t see it, I couldn’t feel it either, not re—

ally, I just couldn’t get to her. I tried going over it. Around it. Under it. I went into the mountain

it-self, I slid through stone. That’s dangerous, it’s so easy to get confused so you don’t know up from

down, but I did it. No good. It was a sphere, Brann, it was all around her. I couldn’t reach her. I

couldn’t even feel her there. Do you understand? My sister. The only being in this place who’s LIKE me.

If I lost her, I’d be alone. I went wired for a while, I don’t know how long.” He shuddered again, the

pulses of fleshmelt moving swiftly along his body.

“When I knew what I was doing again, I was eagleshape, driving south as fast as I could fly. I

couldn’t think why for the longest, I wasn’t capable of thinking, Brann, but I kept flying. After a while, I

decided I was coming for you. Brann, we need you. . . .”

Jo Clayton has written:

The Diadem Series

Diadem From The Stars

Lamarchos

Irsud

Maeve

Star Hunters

The Nowhere Hunt

Ghosthunt

The Snares Of Ibex

Quester’s Endgame

Shadow Of The Warmaster

The Skeen Trilogy

Skeen’s Leap

Skeen’s Return

Skeen’s Search

Duel Of Sorcery

Moongather

Moonscatter

Changer’s Moon

The Soul Drinker Trilogy

Drinker Of Souls

Blue Magic A Gathering Of Stones

and A Bait Of Dreams

Impetus: The Drive Toward Rebirth Begins:

The Chained God looked at h/itself and found little to like in what h/it saw. Even as h/it watched, cells

died and h/its intelligence diminished by that much. Wits LIFE dimin-ished. Time is, h/it thought. The

harvest is due. Bring forth the Tools. Draw in the Catalysts. Let the Rebirthing commence.

Bring Forth The Tools:

COME THE GENIOD

THEY—

(plural in the limited sense that there were many discrete units and in the fuzzier sense that there were

a number of agglomerations of these units with varying degrees of self-awareness)

THEY—

were hunger and desire in a self-created void. They were fierce with life but already beginning to die,

turning in a frenzy on each other, the stronger devouring stray units and smaller agglomerations. They had

been too greedy here, had eaten life with an appetite never satisfied, breeding and breeding, splitting and

joining until the reality they occupied was filled with them, the geniod, a name they’d swallowed with

some long-forgotten life-form and adopted along with the knowledge of NAMING.

THEY—

knew despair as their numbers dwindled.

A LIGHT appeared in the darkness, a pinpoint, then a fire.

THEY—

drew back, frightened; density increased, desire rose and drowned fear.

A VOICE called: COME AND FEED.

THEY—

hesitated. They had been stung before, their units, their ogienowad, were trapped and consumed by

the creatures they were grazing on, food rebelling against its destined role.

The LIGHT expanded to a shimmering oval.

IT screamed: LIFE! ENERGY! COME AND TAKE.

THEY—

milled about a second longer, then the largest geniod leapt for the GATE and swept through it, the

rest swept along behind it, exploding into a new reality—dropping into a forceweb that closed around

them, the trap they’d feared.

I HAVE A BARGAIN FOR YOU, GENIOD: AGREE AND LIVE: REFUSE AND DIE.

We agree. We agree. We agree.

What do you want?

We serve better when we work for ourselves as well. What do you want?

LISTEN.

We hear. We hear. We hear.

ASSEMBLE. COLLECT. DELIVER.

What do we deliver?

THE STONES.

What do we get for doing this?

FREEDOM. FOOD. A WORLD TO GRAZE ON.

You can promise this?

I CAN.

We accept.

##

These assemblages of ogienowad merged and grew larger, took the forms of men and women and

traveled about the World, dining on the sly, their greed constrained by fear—fear of the GOD who’d

summoned them. He told them where to go and what to do, he found them a place to rest and ruminate,

a cavern of crystals like the inside of an immense geode where they could hover and glimmer and wake in

those crystals fantasies of light and color.

These are the tools the Chained God used to break the stonebearers loose and send them out to

acquire the Stones, these are the geniod

—First among the assemblages, the strongest in will and skill and power:

PALAMI KUMINDRI geniod Who took the form of a Jorpashil courtesan

—Her servant and Housemaster:

CAMMAN CALLAN geniod Who took the form of a Temueng wrestler

—Another Courtesan, not so intelligent or powerful as the Kumindri:

TRITHIL ESMOON geniod Who took the form of a Phrasi courtesan

—The last of the named geniod (unimportant, except for his effect on Settsimaksimin):

MUSTEBA XA geniod Who took the form of Settsimaksimin’s teacher and master

—Numerous others, unnamed but very busy at the Chained God’s work.

Draw In The Stonebearers: They Are The Chosen—By The God And By The

Stones Themselves.

1. BRANN

2. YARIL and JARIL

3. SETTSIMAKSIMIN

4. KORIMENEI

5. TRAGO

6. DANNY BLUE

1. Brann, The Drinker Of Souls, affinity: Massulit

Called (by friends and those fond of her), Bramble, Bramble-all-thorns, Thornlet.

She was born in the mountain valley called Arth Slya, her father a potter of genius, her mother a

weaver of tapestries. When Slya Fireheart thought up a plot to get at some Kadda witches who were too

powerful for her to touch directly, the god reached into the realities and plucked forth two juvenile energy

beings, JARIL and YARIL; Brann was changed so she could feed them and in that changing became

DRINKER OF SOULS and effectively immortal. In the course of Slya’s plot, she rescued her people

from slavery, opened a Gate for Slya who came stomping in and destroyed her enemies. Then she was

turned loose to live how she could, an eleven-year-old girl in the body of a woman in her twenties.

She wandered about the world for a hundred years, set-tled for another hundred years as the Potter

at Shaynamoshu. At the end of that time another God—the Chained God—meddled in her life and drew

her into his scheme to acquire the Great Talisman BinYAHtii, using as instruments KORI PIYOLSS and

the sorceror/king SETTSIMAKSIMIN along with the sorceror Ahzurdan and the out-reality starman

Daniel Akamarino. In the final battle between Brann and Settsimaksimin, the God acquired the Talisman,

Settsimak-simin’s heart gave out and he nearly died. Because she’d found much that was admirable in

her enemy—disregarding a little thing like repeated attempts to kill her—Brann healed the wounds

BinYAHtii had inflicted on him and the weak-ness in his heart; having saved his life, she carried him off to

a lovely island (Jal Virri) in the heart of the Myk’tat Tukery where they spent the next ten years in

friendship and peace.

2. Jaril And Yaril, The Changers, affinity: Churrikyoo

Petnames: Jaril called Jay; Yaril called Yaro

Juvenile energy forms drawn from one of the layered realities.

Their base forms were lightspheres (at first just big enough to fit within a man’s circled arms, later

larger), Yaril’s slightly paler than Jaril’s, but they could take many shapes and appear convincingly solid

in them though the eyes they saw from were clear crystal and marked them as demon. At first they were

completely dependent on Brann; she drained life energy from men and beasts and fed it to them to keep

them from starving. In the course of the action against Settsimaksimin, Brann won their freedom from the

Chained God; he changed the Changers so they could once more feed directly on sunlight and similar

energy sources. They were still linked to Brann by strong ties of affection, but they were no longer her

nurslings. The two hundred years on the World have brought other changes; they passed through their

equivalent of puberty and acquired sexual drives and needs that they could not satisfy without others of

their kind and age. After Brann took Settsimaksimin to the island Jal Virri, Jaril and Yaril ranged

restlessly about the World, trying to work off the energies that threatened to destroy them.

3. Settsimaksimin, affinity: Shaddalakh

Called (by friends and those fond of him): Maksim, Maksi, Maks.

He was born in Silagamatys the chief city of Cheonea, sold into slavery at the age of six, a

child-whore until he was ten, bought out of the pleasurehouse by the Sorceror Prime Musteba Xa who

wanted to use the boy’s Talent to enhance his own.

After releasing himself from his apprenticeship by killing his Master, he studied and practiced and

became one of the four Primes among the sorcerors of the World. Around this time he came upon the

Talisman BinYAHtii; this sparked his ambitions for his homeplace. He returned to Cheonea, kicked the

corrupt and feeble king off his throne and took the reins of power into his own hands. It was a long

struggle, but he broke the power of the Parastes (the local lords), put the land into the hands of the folk

who worked it, outlawed slavery, hung some slavedealers, burned the ships of some slavetraders and

began setting up a new sort of government where the peasants and the so-called lower orders would

have some say in the circumstances of their lives. To do this he had to keep BihYAHtii fed (the life of a

child a month was the price for access to the Talisman’s power) and alter-nately cajole and compel the

god Amortis to act against his enemies. Being warned (as part of the Chained God’s schem-ing) that

Brann Drinker of Souls would be drawn into the fight against him, he struck first and sent Tigermen

demons to kill her. The Changers arrived just in time to save her and the battle was on—a battle

Settsimaksimin lost after a haid struggle that cost him much, including his hold on Cheonea.

At the end of ten years on Jal Vim he was growing restless, tired of living without ambition or effort.

4. Korimenei Piyolss, affinity: Frunzacoache

Originally her name was simply Kori (which could mean either Maiden or Heart), but when

Settsimaksimin put her in school and compelled her to remain there for ten years, she took the name

Korimenei (which meant Heart-in-Waiting).

The Finger Vales of Cheonea had served the Chained God since the time when the Wounded Moon

was whole, which meant essentially forever, but when Kori was thirteen-going-on-fourteen, the

soldier-priests of Amortis came to Owlyn Vale, tied the Chained God’s priest to a stake and lit a fire

under him. Then they declared the folk on Owlyn Vale must serve Amortis instead. A few months later

Kori’s youngest brother (the closest to her of all her kin) came to her with the Chained God’s mark on

him, chosen for the new priest. Once that was out her brother would be burned also. She was the several

times great-granddaughter of liana Hazani who carried a promise from the Drinker of Souls: She or any

of her descendants could call on Brann in time of trouble and Brann would come to give whatever help

she could. Kori looked into Harra’s Eye, located Brann and sent a cousin to summon the Drinker of

Souls to fight Settsimaksimin and help her keep her brother alive.

Some months later she was in Silagamatys for the Lot (where three children, were chosen, a girl to

serve in the Temple as teacher or priestess, a boy to serve as a priest or soldier and another—either boy

or girl—to be fed to Bin-YAHtii, though only Settsimaksimin knew this, the people thought the third child

was sent to Havi Kudush to serve in the Great Temple of Amortis); during this time, Settsimak-simin

became aware of the strong Talent she had in her, plucked her from her people and sent her off to school

in Sitill, half a continent away from Cheonea, getting her out of his hair and keeping her safe at the same

time he liked her and was proud of her spirit. To keep her in school he imprisoned her brother in crystal

and informed her only she could set him free. All she had to do was go to the Chained God’s altar in the

mountain cavern where she’d found Harra’s Eye and set her hand on the crystal. No one else could

wake her brother; if she got herself killed, he’d sleep forever in that spell-crystal. At the end of the ten

years, when her training was finished, she could leave with his blessing; if she tried to leave before that the

Mistress, one Shahntien Shere, was instructed to punish her at the first attempt and kill her at the second.

The ten years passed pleasurably enough, she, enjoyed her schooling after she’d got used to the

constraints on her and she’d proved an excellent student, beyond even Settsimaksimin’s expectations (he

kept an eye on her from Jal Virri, sent his eidolon to talk to her every few months), but as the time for her

passing-out ordeal approached she was getting more and more anxious about her brother, more and

more eager to go release him from his enchanted sleep.

5. Trago Piyolss, affinity: Harra’s Eye

Called Tre by friends and family.

A six-year-old boy used as a pawn, by the Chained God first to bring Brann into play against

Settsimaksimin, then by Settsimaksimin to keep his hold on Kori Piyolss, he slept under enchantment in

the Altar Cave of the Chained God.

6. Danny Blue, affinity: Klukesharna

Danny Blue was one man, two men, three men. One man, because he had a single body. Two men

because he was made from two men and their memories and personali-ties lingered within him. Three

men, because Danny Blue had developed a life of his own, a personality that was both more and less

than a blend of his two half-sires with memo-ries that belonged to him alone.

He was born in the body of the Chained God (an ancient starship) where the flesh of his two sires

was merged into one man by the power of the God, where Brann Drinker of Souls was midwife to the

birth of his personhood as well as his fleshbody.

AHZURDAN was once a student/apprentice of Settsi-maksimin’s. When he met Brann and was

drawn into the Chained God’s scheme, he was a second rank sorceror of considerable ability but

regrettable habits, being addicted to dreamdust and in flight from reality. He was born into a Phrasi

merchant family of considerable wealth and social ambition; his mother belonged to the minor nobility and

impressed into her son all her attitudes toward lesser beings. He was a momma’s boy and didn’t get on

with his older half-siblings at all well, though that was not entirely his fault, they were an intolerant lot. He

was also an unsatisfac-tory son, being totally uninterested in the family business. When his talent came on

him, he nearly burned down the house and did singe a spiteful older brother. By this time his father was

quite happy to pay the fees and bond him to Settsimaksimin’s service for the usual seven years. He

worked hard and learned fast, but he never managed to match his Master and left his service at the end

of those seven years resenting Settsimaksimin, jealous of other apprentices, an-gry and unhappy.

DANIEL AKAMARINO was born in a reality where magic was fraud and wishful thinking; he made

his living on assorted starships as Communications Officer, Propulsion Engineer or Cargo

Superintendent/Buyer, having a Masters Rating in all three. He was a man not bothered by much, seldom

felt the need to prove anything about himself or his beliefs; impatient with routine, he drifted from job to

job, quitting when he felt like it or because some nit tried to make him do things that bored him like

wearing boots instead of sandals and a uniform instead of the ancient shirts and trousers he got

secondhand whenever the ones he had were reduced to patches and threads. He had no plans for settling

down; there was always something to see another hop away and he never had trouble finding a place on

a ship when he was done with groundside living. The Chained God snatched him in mid-stride and

transferred him to the World, landing him in a road in Cheonea.

He joined the Owlyn Valers as they went to Silagamatys for the Lot, met Kori, through her linked up

with Brann and Ahzurdan and went with them into the Chained God’s pocket reality, where he and

Ahzurdan became DANNY BLUE and went with Brann to fight the final battle with Settsimaksimin.

When that battle was finished and Brann was concentrating on healing the sorceror, he picked up the

Talisman BinYAHtii—and was snatched back to the Chained God’s body.

That was how the Chained God acquired BinYAHtii.

Danny Blue roamed about the ancient rotting starship and struggled to relearn Ahzurdan’s magic; all

the sorceror’s WORDS and mindsets had to be reconfigured to suit the new personality. When he felt

strong enough, he tried to attack the God, but was seized and slammed into a coldsleep pod where he

spent the next ten years in stasis.

Draw In The Catalysts: These Are The Stones Of Power, The Great

Talismans:

BinYAHtii Held by the Chained God.

Manifests as a rough circle of reddish stone

pendant on a massive gold chain, set in a

heavy ring of beaten gold.

Churrikyoo Held by the Servants of Amortis in her Temple in Havi

Kudush, the holy city in central Phras.

Manifests as a small glass frog, bat-tered,

chipped, filled with thready cracks.

Frunzacoache Held in the essence pouch of a shaman of the

Rushgaramuv Temuengs.

Manifests as a never-withering berry leaf

pressed between two thin round layers of

crystal set in a ring of tar-nished silver cable,

pendant from a silver chain.

Harra’s Eye Held in the secret, sacred Cavern of the Chained God.

Manifests as a sphere of crystal about the size

of a large grapefruit Not known as one of the

stones of power because it is a new focus; it

has lain dormant in the Cavern, waiting. None

of the first rank sorcerors has learned of it or

used the power locked in it.

Klukesharna Held by Wokolinka of Lewinkob in the Henanolee

Heart, in the island city Hennkensikee.

Manifests as a small rod of black iron melted

off a meteor, cooled in the shape of a clumsy

key.

Massulit Held by the Geniod in the chamber of crystals sunk

within the, white cliffs of the Lake Pikma ka

Vyamm, the in-land sea in the heart of the

Jana Sarise.

Manifests as a star sapphire the size of a

man’s fist, the color of the sky at the zenith on

a clear spring day.

Shaddalakh Held by Magus of Tok Kinsa in the holy city of the

Rukka Nagh.

Manifests as a spotted sand dollar made of

porcelain.

THE REBIRTHING: PHASE ONE

The stonebearers are set in motion

I: Brann, The Drinker Of Souls

Jal Virri in the Myk-tat Tukery Brann and Settsimaksimin

In the tenth year of their hab-itation within the Tukery,

they are restless.

1

The wide bed creaked as Brann rolled onto her side. Maksim muttered a few shapeless sounds

without waking enough to know what he was protesting. She finished her turn and lay on her back,

staring at a ceiling swimming in green-tinted light. The sun was barely above the horizon, shining directly

in through the tight profusion of vines Maksim had coaxed across the windows. Given his choice he

would come grudg-ing out of bed sometime past noon and would have hung thick black curtains over the

windows, but Brann needed a free flow of air and a feeling that the outside penetrated the room, that she

wasn’t shut into something she couldn’t escape from. The vines were a compromise. She smiled at the

shifting leaf-shadows; the light that came through in the very early morning was such a lovely green.

Maksim was sleeping soundly again now the nights were cooler and Brann was once more sharing

the bed with him. Solid, meaty, comforting to sleep against once he settled down, he was a furnace that

got hotter as the night went on, a blessing—in winter but impossible when the nights heated up. When the

hot season arrived, Brann moved into the other bedroom and Maksim was once again tormented by the

bad dreams that wracked his sleep when she wasn’t there to chase them off; he’d lived a long time and

done things he refused to remember; he had reasons he consid-ered adequate at the moment but they

didn’t ease his mind when he looked back at them. During the day he pottered contentedly enough about

Jal Virri, reading, working in the many gardens beside the sprites who tended the place, but when night

came, he dreamed.

Braun and Maksim slept together for the comfort they took from each other, body touching body.

They shared a deep affection. One might have called it love, if the word hadn’t so many resonances that

had nothing to do with them. Maksim found his loves in Kukurul, young men who stayed a night or two,

then left, others who loved him a longer time but also left.

Brann went through a short but difficult period during the first days they spent on Jal Virri; she

wanted him, but had to recognize the futility of that particular passion. It was a brief agony, but an agony

nonetheless, a scouring of her soul. His voice stirred her to the marrow of her bones, he was bigger than

life, a passionate dominating complex man; she’d never met his equal anywhere anytime in all her long life.

She shared his disdain for inherited privilege, his sar-donic, sympathetic view of ordinary men; her mind

marched with his, they enjoyed the same things, laughed at the same things, deplored the same things,

were content to be quiet at the same time. Anything more, though, was simply not there. She too went

prowling the night in Kukurul, though it was more distraction than passion she was seeking.

There was enough of a nip in the air to make her snuggle closer to Maksim. He grumbled in his sleep,

but again he didn’t wake. She scratched at her thigh, worked her toes, flexed and unflexed her knees. It

was impossible; how did he do it, sleep like that, on and on? She never could stay still once she was

awake. Her mouth tasted foul, like some-thing had died in it and was growing moss. Her bladder was

overfull; if she moved she’d slosh. She pressed her thighs together; it didn’t help. That’s it, she thought.

That’s all I need. She slid out of bed and scurried for the watercloset.

When she came back, Maksim had turned onto his stom-ach. He was snoring a little. His heavy

braid had come undone and his long, coarse hair was spread like gray weeds over his shoulders; a strand

of it had dropped across his face and was moving with his breath, tickling at his nose. She smiled tenderly

at him and lifted the hair back, taking care not to wake him. Lazy old lion. She shaped the words with her

lips but didn’t speak them. Big fat cat sleeping in the sun. She touched the tangled mass of hair. I’ll have a

time combing, this out. Sorceror Prime tying granny knots, it’s a disgrace, that’s what it is. She patted a

yawn, crossed to the vanity he’d bought for her in Kukurul a few years back.

The vanity was a low table of polished ebony with match-ing silver-mounted chests at both ends and

a mage-made mirror, its glass smooth as silk and more faithful than she liked this autumn morning. Maybe

it was the green light, but she looked ten years older than she had, last night. She leaned closer to the

mirror, pushed her fingers hard along her cheekbones, tautening and lifting the skin. She sighed. Drinker

of Souls. Not any more. I don’t have to feed my nurslings now. They’re free of me. She stepped back

and kicked the hassock closer, sat down and began brushing at her hair. There was no reason now for

the Drinker of Souls to walk the night streets and take life from predators preying on the weak. The

changechildren could feed themselves; they weren’t even children any more. They came flying back once

or twice a year to say hello and tell her the odd things they’d seen, but they never stayed long. Jal Virri is

boring; Jay said that once. She paused, then finished the stroke. It’s true. I’m petrified with boredom.

I’ve outlived my useful-ness. There’s no point to my life.

She set the brush down and gazed into the mirror, exam-ining her face with clinical objectivity,

considering its planes and hollows as if she were planning a self-portrait. She hadn’t been a pretty child

and she wasn’t pretty now. She frowned at her image. If I’d been someone else looking at me, I’d have

said the woman has interesting bones and I’d like to paint her. Or I would have liked to paint her before

she started to droop. Discontent. It did disgusting things to one’s face, made everything sag and put sour

lines around the mouth and between the brows. Her breasts were firm and full, that was all right, but she

had a small pot when she sat; she put her hands round it, lifted and pressed it in, then sighed and reached

for the brush. It won’t be long before I have to pay someone to climb into bed with me. She pulled the

bristles through the soft white strands. Old nag put out to pasture, no one wants her anymore.

She made a face at herself and laughed, but her eyes were sad and the laughter faded quickly. Might

as well be dead.

She rubbed the back of her hand beneath her chin and felt the loosening muscle there. Death?

Illusion. Give me one man’s lifeforce and I’m young again. Twenty-four/five, back where I was when

Slya finished with me. No dying for me. Not even a real aging, only an endless going on and on. No rest

for me. No lying down in the earth and letting slip the burden of life. How odd to realize what a blessing

death was. Not a curse. Well . . . once the dying was finished with, anyway. Dying was the problem, not

death. I wonder if they’d let me? She got to her feet, looked over her shoulder at Maksim. One massive

arm had dropped off the bed; it hung down so the backs of his fingers trailed on the grass mat that

covered the floor.

She went out, walked through rooms filled with morning light, swept and garnished by one of the

sprites that took care of the island, the one they called Housewraith. The kitchen was a large bright room

at the back. She pulled open one of the drawers and took out a paring knife. She set the blade on her

wrist. It was so sharp its weight was enough to push the edge a short way through her flesh; when she

lifted the knife, she saw a fine red line drawn across the porcelain pallor of her skin. She put the knife

down. It wasn’t time yet. She wasn’t tired enough of living to endure the pain of dying. Boredom . . . no,

that wasn’t enough, not yet.

She set the knife on the work table and drew her thumb along the shallow cut, wiping away the

blood. The cut stung and oozed more blood. Rubbing her wrist absently against the side of her breast,

she wandered outside, shivering as the frosty morning breeze hit her skin. For a moment she thought of

going inside and putting on a robe, but she wasn’t bothered enough to make the effort. She looked at her

wrist; the cut was clotted over; the blood seepage had stopped.

Ignoring the bite of dew that felt like snowmelt on her bare feet, she walked down the long grassy

slope to the water and stood at the edge of the small beach listening to the saltwater lap lazily at the sand

and gazing across the narrow strait to a nearby island, a high rocky thing sculpted by wind and water into

an abstract pillar, barren except for a few gray and orange lichens. All the islands around Jal Virri were

like that; it was as if the lovely green isle had drawn the life out of them and spent it on itself. Arms

huddled across her breasts, hands shaking though they were closed tight about her biceps, her feet

blocks of ice with smears of black soil and scraps of grass pasted on them, she watched the dark water

come and go until she couldn’t stand the cold any longer. It’s time we went to Kukurul again, Maks and

me, or me alone, if he won’t come. She stood quite still for a breath or two. I don’t think I’m coming

back. I don’t know what it is I’m going to do, but I can’t vegetate here any longer. She turned and

walked back toward the house. I’ve been sleeping and now I’m awake. I never could stay in bed once I

woke up.

2

“Hoist it, Maksi.” She jerked the covers off him, slapped him on a meaty buttock. “Wake up, you

bonelazy magicman, I need you.”

He grunted and cracked an eye. “Go ‘way.”

“Uh-uh, baby. You’ve slept long enough for ten your size. Pop me to Kukurul, luv. I woke up

wanting.” He closed the eye. “Take the boat.”

She took his earlobe instead and pinched hard.

“Ow! Stop that.” He grabbed for her arm, but she jumped out of reach. “Witch!”

“If I were, I wouldn’t need you.”

He groaned and sat up. “You don’t need ine.”

“Come on, Maksi. Housewraith decided to make break-fast this morning. It’s spelled to wait, but

I’m hungry. I’ll take the boat all right, but I want you with me.”

He shoved tangled hair off his face and looked shrewdly at her. “What is it, Bramble? Something’s

eating at you.”

“No soulsearching before breakfast, if you please. I’ve run your bath for you, I’ve had mine already.

I’ll wait twenty minutes no more, so it’s your fault if your eggs are cold.”

3

The fire crackled briskly behind the screen; the heavy silk drapes were pulled back to let in the

morning sun. Brann paced back and forth, her body cutting through the beams, her shadow jerking

erratically over the furniture. She swung round, scowled at Maksim. “Well?”

“Of course I’ll go with you. Matter of fact, I’ve been thinking for several days now it’s time for

another visit.” He rubbed his hand across his chin. “What’s itching at you, Bramble-all-thorns?”

“The usual thing. What else could there be?” She turned her back on him and stared out the window.

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh you.”

“Me.”

She moved her right arm in a shapeless, meaningless gesture; she started to speak, stopped, tried

again, had even less luck finding words for what she wanted to say; the trouble was, she didn’t know

what she wanted to say. “I’m useless. There’s nothing to do here.” She turned round, hitched a hip on

the windowsill. “Nothing real.” She lifted her hands, let them fall. “I don’t know, Maksi. There’s no point

to anything. Nothing I try . . . works. I tried potting, you know that, you shaped my kiln for me. It was

horrible. Everything I did . . . mediocre . . . bleah! At Shaynamoshu I was content a hundred years.

Happy. Here. . . ? I paint a pretty flower, don’t I. Dew on the petals, pollen on the stamens, you can see

every grain. Lovely, right? Horrible. A dead slug has more soul. Useless, Maksi. Out to pasture like a

broke-down mare. Even the damn gods don’t need me anymore. Maybe I should go to Silili with you

and give Old Tungjii a boot in the behind. Maybe something would come of that.”

“It probably would. I doubt you’d be pleased with what-ever it was.”

“Pleased? That doesn’t matter. It’d be something to do. Some reason to get out of bed in the

morning. To keep on living. You know what I’m talking about; you’re restless too, magicman.”

“Brann, I. . . .”

“No. You don’t need to say it. I know what’s going to happen. You’ll go to Silili to see your protege

through her Passage Rite and you won’t come back. Why should you?”

“Thornlet, come with me.” He lay back in his chair and laughed at her and let his voice boom out,

dark velvet rubbing her bones. “Come wandering with me and see the world. Sure somewhere there’s a

prince who needs his bot-tom whacked, a lord to be taught his manners, a bully who needs his pride

punctured. Let us go out and do good, no matter how much chaos we leave behind us.”

“Ah Maksi m’luv, you’re such a fraud, you evil old sor-ceror, you bleed at a touch and put yourself

to endless inconvenience. I don’t know. Maybe we just need some hard living for a while so we can

appreciate peace again.

Anyway, let’s scratch our ordinary itches and see what comes of that.”

4

Kukurul. The place where seapaths cross. The pivot of the four winds. If you sit long enough at one

of the plaza tables of the café Sidday Lir, it’s said you’ll see the whole world file past you. Kukurul.

Expensive, gaudy, secretive and corrupt. Its housefronts are full of windows with screens behind them

like the eyes of Kukrulese. Along the Ihman Katt are brothels for every taste, ranks of houses where

assassin guilds advertise men of the knife, women of the poison cup; halfway up the Katt there’s a

narrow black building where deathrites are practiced for the titillation of the connoisseurs, open to

participation or solitary enjoy-ment. At the end of the Ihman Katt is the true heart of Kukurul, the Great

Market, a paved square two miles on a side where everything is on sale but heat, sweat, and stench.

Those last are free.

Brann patted at her face with a square of fine linen, removing some of the dust and sweat that clung

to her skin. It was one of those fine hot airless days that early autumn sometimes threw up and the

Market was a hellhole, though few of the shoppers or the shopkeepers seemed to notice it. She pushed

the kerchief up her sleeve and lifted a graceful vase. Eggshell porcelain with an unusual glaze. She

frowned and ran her fingertips repeatedly over the smooth sides. Unless she was losing her mind, she

knew that glaze. Her father’s secret mix and Slya’s Breath, never one without the other. At Shaynamoshu

she’d tried again and again to get that underglow, but it was impossible without the Breath. She examined

the lines and the underpainting. It wasn’t her father’s work or that of any of his apprentices, but there was

something there ... the illusive similarity of cousins per-haps. Biting at her lower lip, she upended the vase

and inspected the maker’s mark. A triangle above an oval, Arth Slya’s sigil. The glyph Tayn. The glyph

Jo Clayton - Drinkers 3 - A Gathering Of Stones

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: