Jo Clayton - Diadem 2 - Lamarchos

Lamarchos

Diadem, Book 2

Jo Clayton

1978

The diadem that crowned the head of Aleytys was in contact with her central nervous system—and

invisible to outsiders. But even that star-born fugitive herself did not know what the diadem’s powers

were or what it could do to or for her.

What she did know was that it made her the target of the diadem’s unrelenting and non-human owners

who had tracked it across space and were still on her trail. She herself had started in search of her own

people—but before she could make progress she would have to conquer both the unyielding mind-slave

band she wore and the menace it held for all in contact with her.

Jo Clayton’s first novel produced this comment from the national magazineBooks: “Andre Norton fans

should check it out…Clayton’s style and subject matter are in many ways similar to Norton’s.”

Lamarchosis a novel that may be read independently of any other. It further verifies the high quality of

excitement, fantasy and galactic visualization of this talented new author.

The diadem sang,

flowing in phantom splendor on the blue-black hair while in her head fragmented images of cool wary

black eyes flickered hazily at the rim of mental vision, triggering confusion and a ravening curiosity in her.

Her body moved, clumsily at first, then with a swift sureness that startled and delighted her. For the first

time since the diadem had started taking her body she wasn’t wholly pushed aside, a helpless prisoner in

her own skull. She shared the grafted skill, and the pleasure she found in it added to the confusion that

wheeled in her head.

Stavver’s strained face, Maissa’s hate-ugly one reflected the phantom sparks of flickering colors from

the jeweled centers of the diadem flowers as they caught the light and reflected it back.

“Let her go.”

Her voice sounded strange to her as if it struggled toward a resonant baritone an octave below her

normal tones….

Part I

Chapter I

“Still raining?” Stavver ducked into the lock and knelt beside her, eyes on the rain which fell in a

depressing, grey curtain.

Aleytys brushed her hands over her black-dyed hair, breaking up the clinging drops of mist that had

drifted in from the rain, then glanced briefly at the moisture beaded on her forearms. “Not a break yet.”

“Maissa will be spitting like a cat. She hates getting wet.”

“I can’t get the feel of her.” She waited for a response. “Sometimes she actually frightens me.” More

silence. “So much anger…” Still no answer. Flicking a hand upwards, she said, “What about up there?”

“A Karkesh skimmer went by a minute ago. Still no sign they know we’re here.” He relaxed against the

far side of the lock and smiled at her. “You don’t look like yourself.”

Aleytys glanced down at her altered body. Her breasts were bare, except for pale blue tattoos of

butterflies fluttering in a line to her shoulders. A wide coarsely woven batik, printed in pale blue, wound

twice around her hips and pinned with a silver wire brooch. Her skin was darkened to a warm russet.

“Each time I look in a mirror I get a shock.” She ran her eyes over him, assessing his changes as well:

white hair dyed black, pale blue eyes now deep brown, skin dyed darker than her own, finally, the bold

blue lines of tattooing on face, arms, and shoulders. “Each time I look at you…” She chuckled. “I woke

up last night and nearly had a fit when I saw the stranger in my bed.” She yawned and stretched. “What

about you, Miks?”

“Standard tactic in my profession, Leyta.”

“Well I haven’t your vast experience with all this changing about. This is only the third world I’ve seen

and Maissa wouldn’t let me off ship to see more than a snatch of the place where we picked up Kale.”

He wrapped his fingers around her ankle and waggled her foot back and forth, ignoring her protests.

“Poor, innocent, little mountain girl.” He chuckled. “I’ve seen you in action.”

“That wasn’t me, idiot. Let go.” She pulled her foot free and feinted a kick at him. “You of all

people—you should remember the diadem. You stole it.” She touched her head and made a face at him

when the faint chime sang through the hiss of the downpour outside. “It’s let me alone since we left

Jaydugar, thank the Madar.”

The grin on his face dissolved. He got onto his knees and leaned across her to stare at the ceaseless,

dreary rain. “Damn this weather. We’ve got things to do.”

Aleytys watched him settle back, arms circling his knees, face pulled into a brooding frown. The

pervading, dull hiss of the falling water pounded on the sensitivity which made him a brilliant thief and was

also his major flaw. A quiet tension quivered in the beaded air while she waited silently for the return of

the sardonic mask he used to hide this weakness from the world’s malevolent eyes. She studied him,

sensing a peculiar unease; curious because she could discover nothing in their present circumstances to

justify his anxiety. Feeling about to find what was troubling him, she voiced a thought that lay like a

wrinkle under the surface.

“Are we really supposed to fool anyone into thinking we’re natives of this soggy… ?” She shrugged and

jerked a thumb out the lock where the rain had begun to thin. Ghost images of several trees were

developing in the greyness.

Stavver blinked slowly and lifted his head, the somber frown flowing into blandness. “Maissa explained

all that.”

“I still don’t believe we’d convince a blind baby we belong.”

Stroking the darkened skin beside the jutting beak of his nose, Stavver said patiently, “People see what

they expect. Would the nomads on Jaydugar know Maissa wasn’t a caravaner?”

Aleytys rubbed her shoulders against the ridged metal of the ship, frowning thoughtfully. “Isn’t this

different? You said there aren’t as many physical types on this world as we had at home.”

“You’re the key, Leyta. If they accept you as genuine—and why shouldn’t they, aren’t you a genuine

healer?—you cover any slips we make. You’re to be gikena, healer and worker of small miracles. We’re

merely humble nonentities attached to your service.” He dipped his head in a servile bow. “Who would

look twice at us?”

“It only takes one. The right one.”

“So we’re all from across the sea. Strangers. That should explain any oddities. If the natives accept us,

the Karkiskya certainly will. From what Kale told us, his people have very little contact with them.” He

grinned at her. “Kale says you’ve got the language down better than any of us.”

Aleytys heard the dry note in his voice and turned her face away. “One of my talents.”

Outside, the rain was only a trickle of wetness, the shimmering, orange circle of the sun visible through

the thinning clouds as it hesitated just above the western horizon. Swinging around so her legs hung out

the lock, she gazed thoughtfully at the dark, steaming earth with its thin patches of short, prickly grass,

debating whether to say what she had to say or leave it till Maissa returned. She walked her fingertips

over the heavy, batik material, drawing a measure of reassurance from the familiar feel of herself. “Maissa

puzzles me,” she said slowly.

Stavver’s long back was curved into a section of lock-side, while his thin, wiry legs stretched out over

the black, rubberoid flooring. He ran lazy eyes over her body, the smiling mask back on his face again.

“No doubt.”

“My skin crawls when she’s around you or Kale.” She waited for an answer. When he stared past her

out the lock, saying nothing, she gave an impatient exclamation. “Dammit, Miks, this isn’t idle chatting.”

“She doesn’t like men,” he said reluctantly. “I don’t want to talk about her, Leyta.”

“I guessed that,” she said dryly. “All men?”

“Yes.”

“And you said she hates getting wet?”

“Yes.”

“Mmmhh.” Aleytys slicked the mist off her knees and stared thoughtfully at the rain pools below. Silence

spread through the lock, vibrating tensely against the irregular pattering of the breaking rain. The warm,

humid air made their lungs labor and their nerves tighten but neither made a gesture toward the more

temperate atmosphere of the ship. The shadows of the grey half-light deepened their facial lines and

occluded their eyes, obscuring expression and giving a somber harshness to both faces.

“She’s due back about sundown. How long is that from now?”

“The ’phemer lists the day length as nineteen hours. That leaves her about two to play with.”

“She went to get caravans with horses. She didn’t say how she planned to acquire them. Do you know,

Miks?”

“What difference does it make?” His mouth tightened repressively. “Let’s not discuss it, Leyta.”

She glanced around at him, eyes moving over his curved shoulders and forbidding face. “Why not?”

“You won’t like the answer.”

Aleytys reached back and set her hand on his leg, feeling the hardness of the long, wiry muscles in his

calf. “She’s a killer?”

He nodded. “It’s how she gets her kicks.”

“You called her to us.”

“You remember how close we came to getting snatched by the Rmoahl Hounds? She was the only one I

could reach that day.”

“I’m not blaming you, Miks. But I also have to remember the price we pay for her help. Stealing the

treasures of the Karkiskya for her. I don’t like being a part of slaughtering the innocent.”

“The Karkiskya are far from innocent.” The next words came out slowly, painfully. “Keep clear of

Maissa. Don’t question what she does; do what she says, don’t get underfoot, and you’ll stay alive.”

“If she’s so dangerous—”

“Leyta, believe me, Maissa in a fury is capable of anything.”

“Am I so helpless? Even without the diadem I crossed a world alone and pregnant.”

“Aleytys, my Lee, my innocent, healthy-souled mountain girl—you’ll never understand Maissa. Never.

To know her you’d have to walk in her shoes, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.” He sighed and

moved to sit beside her, his long legs dangling out the lock. “She was born on Iblis. Her mother was a

two-obol whore on Star Street in Shaol. Her father—who knows?” He stared gloomily at his bare feet.

“She was raised to the infant trade. Knifed her mother when she was seven and took to the streets.”

“Knifed her mother?” Aleytys felt a sick horror clutch at her stomach.

“Her mother. The woman who rented her child to anybody who’d give her the price of a drink. Maissa

was two years old the first time.”

“Madar.” Aleytys shut her eyes, a sour taste in her mouth. “Two years old.”

Stavver shifted slightly, his skin squeaking across the metal. “Right. Since then—well, she’s survived.”

“You’re right, Miks. I’ll never empathize with the result of that life. Madar! I won’t try.” She shuddered.

“So walk lightly around Maissa until this game is over.”

“Isn’t there some way to help her?”

Stavver made a brief, impatient sound. “She doesn’t want help. Let it lie, Aleytys. Don’t interfere in

what’s none of your business.”

Aleytys wrenched her thoughts from the sickening images in her mind. “Well,” she said briskly. “All that

being true, then you’d better know this right away. If this world doesn’t welcome me, you can forget

about my being gikena.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Aleytys smiled tightly and watched her toes wiggle. “Exactly what I said, Miks. If the natives don’t

accept me, they can make it impossible for me to do any of my ‘tricks.’ Better put the ladder down so I

can ask them to let me play the game.” She glanced up at the dark grey blanket of clouds. “At least the

rain has stopped for a while.”

“Superstitious nonsense. Wake up, mountain girl. You left your witches and demons behind on

Jaydugar.” With his narrow face pulled together in a frown, he jerked her around and glared into her

face. “God, woman, if you spoil Maissa’s plan…”

She caught hold of his thin wrists and pulled his hands away from her. “Can I fly a starship? Can I walk

into a fortress like you and steal the teeth off the guardians without disturbing their sleep? No, and I’d

never try it. I haven’t the training or the wish. So, don’t you question me, Miks, when I tell you what I

know of my own skills.”

“All right.” He dropped his hands to his knees. “Explain.”

“Each world has…” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “The shemqyatwe. Remember them?”

“The witches. I remember. When we rode with the wagons of the nomads. Khateyat and her girls. So?”

“They called the ones I’m trying to explain the R’nenawatalawa.”

“I’ve heard the word—some kind of native gods.”

“No. Not gods. They whoare .”

“They? What th’ hell… ”

“They who are the essence of each world.”

“Some kind of elementals?” His voice vibrated with skepticism.

“Yes, I think so.” She shrugged impatiently. “What does a name matter? They are… they.”

“So?”

Aleytys nodded at the scene outside. “So this: let down the ladder, I need to touch the earth. If this

world is hostile to me, it will fight everything I try to do. Let down the ladder and you can see for

yourself.”

Face skeptical, Stavver got cautiously to his feet, keeping his head down, his back bent so he wouldn’t

hit his head on the curving top. He thumbed the touch plate, waking a faint hum as the ladder extended

downward. “Make it fast. I don’t think Maissa will be very understanding.” He sat back down, legs

dangling over the rim of the lock.

Mouth twisted into an unhappy smile, Aleytys pulled the cloth from her waist, stabbing the brooch

through the folds so it wouldn’t get lost. “Wish me luck, my friend.”

“Luck, Aleytys.” He touched her ankle briefly.

She dropped down the extruded ladder until her feet squelched into the earth the rain had churned into a

semi-liquid mud. After paddling through water and mud to a grassy hillock several meters from the base

of the ship, she knelt in silence, feeling for the elemental forces that had their ambiance in this particular

conglomeration of matter. Then she bent over and placed her hands, palm down, flat against the soil.

She could smell the dark brown richness of the wet dirt, the sharp green peaks of the grass and leaves.

A cool-warm breeze coiled around her flanks while a living warmth crept up through her arms and filled

her. At peace, she settled, legs crossed, hands resting lightly on her knees. Her breath slid in and out in

gentle serenity while she waited for them to come closer.

She felt a probing. Fingertips rippling through her body: exploring, curious, excited. She felt like laughing;

like leaping joyously to her feet to dance a maenad dance. As it pulsed through her, she felt the different

aura these had. Unlike those of Jaydugar, these were not slow, vast, immensely wise, these were

sprite-like. Somehow younger. Given to practical jokes and rippling laughter. Feelings of exuberance and

joyous abandon. She felt their excitement racing through her quiescent body.

Softness brushed against her knee. Tilting her head down she looked into bright, black eyes that

examined her with disconcerting intelligence. A small animal, fur a bright russet brown, sat on rabbit-like

hind legs, fore limbs ending in agile black three-fingered hands held crossed over a cascading ruff of

white fur. She smiled affectionately down at the small one. “I greet you, friend.”

The pointed ears that stood tulip fine over the small dome of his skull twitched amiably as he scrambled

onto her knee, the nails of his narrow nervous feet pricking rapidly over her skin. Fluffing his fur to shake

off lingering traces of rain, he settled contentedly into the curve of her hand. “Sister.”

Aleytys blinked, a little startled under the surface of her calm, to find an animal speaking to her. “Yes?”

“I am speaker. The voice of Lakoe-heai.”

“Ah.” The words in the high voice were clear and distinct. She gazed into the bright, black eyes and

understood that the speaker was the means of communication they had chosen on this world. They.

Lakoe-heai they called themselves here. Addressing the intelligence behind the black eyes, she said

softly, “You know we come as thieves?”

The animal moved restlessly, shifting against her palm. Aleytys cautiously lifted her free hand and

scratched him behind the ear. He sighed plaintively as her searching fingers found a nerve complex where

their probing brought delight to his small body. Joy bubbled feverishly through her. A fluttering laughter

fell on her senses like rose petals while a bright, beaming interest surrounded her, vibrating the air until it

tickled her skin.

“You don’t care about that. You have a purpose we serve?”

The small head moved once again against her palm. “Not one but four.”

She chuckled. “Four out of one. Thrifty.” Then she sobered. “One of us—one will kill.”

“We hear. It is known. There is already blood.”

“Ah.” The pleasure soured in her. “I feel there will be more. It sickens me.”

“Not your doing, forget it. Life and death are both parts of the whole, one flowing into the other, death

and life.” The speaker smoothed his small, black hands over his stiff, springing whiskers.

“Ah.” She sucked a breath deep into her, expanding her stomach, then let the air slip out in small bundles

until no more would come. Sitting in silence she felt warm in the energetic approval of the Lakoe-heai.

Warm in spite of the thickening mist that threatened to break into rain again, and happy to be out of the

artificial womb of the ship, happy to be in touch with the earth and the world’s life. Once again, she grew

aware of the complex hierarchy of smells that matched the interweaving of life sparks. They rose in a

glistening crescendo even to the clouds where unseen birds circled and soared among the drifting

minutiae of the aerial bacteria that spread across the sky in brightly colored swirls.

After a dreamy, timeless time she sighed and stirred. “Then I may play at being gikena?”

“Sister.” The small voice gleamed silver in her ears. “Be what you are.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.” Laughter circled joyously around her, hidden in thunder that boomed

through the clouds, filled with a whooping amusement that brought images to her mind of soap bubbles

bouncing wildly through bright spring air. The speaker animal snuggled against her stomach, ears

flickflicking in response to the forces whirling wildly around them. The small voice spoke again, filled with

amusement. “Sister, you are gikena born.”

“But I’m not born of this world.”

“Sister.”

The word suddenly had meaning for her. “You call me kin?”

“Sister.”

Aleytys looked dreamily down at the tiny beast curled in a ball of white and russet fur against her

stomach, his head tilted back so the black eyes met hers, the look of intelligence startling in his beast

face. She sighed and slid her hands under him to lift him back on the ground.

Tiny, black fingers closed around her thumb. “Keep the speaker. He is necessary to the gikena. Keep

him with you while you walk our paths.”

“I thank you, Lakoe-heai.” She stumbled a little over the word, repeated it. “Lakoe-heai. I bless you for

your friendship.” Cuddling the speaker against her breast, she lurched to her feet on stiffened legs, feeling

the presences circling proprietorally around her, then retreating gradually as she stumbled toward the

ship, shivering with sudden chill. When she put her foot on the lowest rung of the ladder they were only a

vague ripple in her awareness, an intimation of an interest so distant she could sense it only when she

threw her own awareness out toward the horizon.

Quietly happy, almost tranced, she clambered heavily up the ladder, hampered by the speaker until he

moved up onto her shoulder and clung to her hair so that her hands were free. As she stepped into the

lock the rain came down again in impenetrable sheets that played on the nerves like clumsy, hurtful hands.

Stavver thumbed the plate, starting the ladder sliding home. “Well?”

“Yes.” She drifted past him, tapped open the inner lock, and ducked into the interior of the ship.

Stavver picked up her abandoned batik and shut the outer iris. He caught up with her in the cabin as she

bent over her son’s improvised crib, letting the small furry beast settle himself beside the sleeping baby.

“Are you crazy?” He stepped past her and reached for the speaker. “That’s a wild animal. No telling

what diseases it carries.”

She stopped him. “Don’t be silly, Miks. I wouldn’t harm my little one.” She yawned and moved toward

the shower. “Madar, I’m tired. And filthy.”

Smiling at the bemused expression on his face, she added quietly, “I know some things very well, Miks.

I might not have your experience in the murky places of the universe, but wild things belong to me.” She

yawned suddenly, startling herself. “I’ll explain, Miks, as soon as I wash this mud off.”

Stavver shrugged. “It’s your baby.” He sat on the bed to wait for her.

Aleytys stepped into the shower alcove and let the hard driven needle spray wash the caked mud off her

body, washing her fatigue away with it. When she stepped out, Stavver held the batik for her while she

wheeled around wrapping herself firmly in it. She pinned the brooch at her waist, driving the pin through

the triple layer of cloth. Then she dropped onto the bed, patting the hard mattress beside her. “Come sit

down, Miks. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Is it so damn obvious then?” He collapsed beside her, leaning back against the wall, hands clasped

behind his head.

“To me. You relax with me, Miks. You let your guard down.”

He moved his shoulders restlessly. “I work alone, Leyta. I always work alone.”

“You don’t trust Maissa.”

“She comes through on contracts.”

“That’s not what I mean. You don’t trust her to manage this thing.”

“I trust my own skills, Leyta. I know them.” He shrugged. “You compound trouble when you take a

partner. And these… ” He jerked abruptly, impatiently, to his feet and began pacing back and forth

across the narrow width of the cabin. “I know Maissa too well to depend on her. Her mind is good. But

her obsessions ride her too hard. The whole business can fall apart in a minute if she blows. Then there’s

Kale. He’s some kind of outcast on this world. What a recommendation! The whole thing’s a disaster

already. I don’t think it’s going to work, Leyta, There’s too much about it I can’t control.” His long, thin

hands closed into tight fists, then opened helplessly. “But we owe passage. We’ll have to make it work.”

“Miks.” Her quiet voice pulled him around to face her. “Come sit down and relax. The Lakoe-heai are

on our side. At least, they’re friendly.”

He frowned at her. “What are you talking about?”

“Come.” She waited until he slumped beside her. “Put your head on my lap and let me work the tension

out of you.”

Stavver sighed and stretched his long, thin body out along the mattress. “Magic fingers.”

“Mmm. Come now, relax, best of all thieves….” She smoothed her fingers gently over his forehead a

while then slid her hands down and kneaded the tense, hard muscles in his neck and shoulders. He

sighed, this time with deep pleasure, eyes closing, hands falling limp and relaxed.

Aleytys chuckled, a warm, slow sound that slid like honey over his nerves. “Poor thief… let your

planning go… don’t worry your head about Maissa. We’re all caught in the web of another’s weaving,

we’re on this world to their purpose, puppets with strings in strange hands…. But that’s not so bad, that

means they’ll help us, help things go smoothly….”

He opened his eyes, still calm under the soothing effect of her smoothing hands. “You’re talking riddles

again, Lee.”

“I mean the Lakoe-heai of this world have taken us into their own plotting, my love. We don’t have to

give up what we came for, but they’ve got us marked for their own purposes, so relax.”

“ ‘Walk into my parlor’ said the spider to the fly—relax?”

“Speaking of spiders, I haven’t dreamed the Hounds since we left Jaydugar.”

He pulled away from her hands and sat up. “Thanks, Lee.” He stretched and yawned then leaned

against the wall, eyes searching her face. “We’re still broken loose of them?”

“Mmmmh.” She tapped a forefinger against her temple evoking the ghost chimes. “I think as long as I

wear the diadem they’ll sniff me out.”

“Pleasant thought.”

“I’ll just have to keep running fast.”

“One comes.” The reedy, small voice cut into the conversation, pulling both pairs of eyes to the crib.

“And one other.” The speaker’s small head, alert ears wiggling erratically, dark eyes glittering, nestled

between tiny, black paws clutching at the foot of the crib.

Aleytys ran her fingers through her tangled hair. “Maissa… ” She yawned and rubbed her face. “So it

begins.”

Stavver stood up, his face drawn in an intent inward look, radiating a feeling of unease and diffused

anger. Anger at himself, at Maissa, at the whole situation which forced him to submit himself to the

caprice of others, and anger at Aleytys for arousing feelings in him that imposed a responsibility for her

safety on his reluctant shoulders.

The strip of batik around his hips began to unwind as it slid down beneath the wide leather belt.

Jo Clayton - Diadem 2 - Lamarchos

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