Crystal Heat

4

The Jilitera locked Lylunda in her cabin before they left the insplit and left her there until the ship was in a stable orbit.

The journey to Bol Mutiar had been shorter than she’d expected; though she’d been unconscious for part of it, it couldn’t have been much more than eight days ’splitting. Which meant they were still within the Pseudo Cluster, just a hop from Hutsarte and perhaps even closer to the nameless heavy world where she’d landed Prangarris and his stolen arrays. Which was a rather unfunny joke on her when she thought about it.

There was another word that haunted her. Why? So many whys.

Why were the Jilitera treating her so well? Why were they teaching her all this?

She knew free traders and how fiercely they protected their markets; she’d heard stories about the Jilitera, who were the most secretive of them all. What she was learning was inside information, something traders never sold or told. Daddy dear, she thought. No doubt he paid them well, he’s not stupid, but he has to have some hold on them, he has to know something so bad they’ll do anything rather than let it come out. Jaink! It’s only a guess, but what else explains this!

“Lylunda ’njai, will you come to the Bridge, please. It is time that we blessed you.”

The smoke that hung thick and greasy in the unmoving air caught her in the throat, and she coughed as she stepped through the door. There was a wide shallow brdzier in the center of the floor, wood reduced to coals filling it, the red of the coals muted under gray ash. A layer of resin crystals was spread over them; these were subliming into the air, spreading a heavy sweet perfume. Beradea and Merekea knelt beside the brazier, stripped to the skin, their bodies covered with lines and whorls of thick paint, black and white mostly but with dots of crimson and amber.

Ordonai the Pilot/Owner stood on the far side of the brazier, stripped also, painted white from hairline to heels, with fmgerdrawn designs laid on the white in a glistening wet black that kept its sheen after it dried. He beckoned her forward, then flicked his hand up, palm out to stop her when she’d come far enough. “Eschewat ched doo ayal,” he chanted. “Desu telab. Desu telab.”

She stood erect and very still, fascinated because she knew she was hearing the secret tongue of the Jilitera, at least that part which she could perceive. And ’frightened because she shouldn’t be seeing this or hearing that, not that she could understand a word of what was being said.

“Dabuxoo devoo,” he chanted and held out a hand. Beredea put a shallow bowl in it, a bowl filled with a viscid golden fluid.

Lylunda’s eyes blurred and she started getting dizzy. She concentrated on keeping her eyes open and her body still; disrupting this ceremony didn’t seem like a very good idea.

“Degoo watuhbey.” He held out his other hand. Merekea dribbled a coarse meal into it until the curve of his palm was filled.

“Da oocid al di sec.” He brought his hands around in front of them, held them into the incense rising from the brazier, then let the meal trickle into the fluid. “Lerxuadid.” He mixed them together with his forefinger. “Ki ti ada.”

Merekea and Beradea rose with a disturbing sinuous grace. For an instant Lylunda saw them as twin serpents, the paint marks converted to scales. They each took one of her arms and led her around the brazier until she was standing before Ordonai.

He chanted something else, but this time she couldn’t separate the sounds from the pounding in her ears. At the same time he dipped his fingers into the bowl, scooping up a mixture of liquid and meal. Still chanting, he smeared the thick sticky mess across her brow, down her cheeks, then thrust his finger into her mouth and put another dollop on her tongue.

She concentrated grimly on keeping the contents of her stomach where they belonged.

The women’s hands tightened on her arms and Ordonai slapped her lightly on the right ear, then the left, then shouted a great word at her.

It was as if he blew out the lights when his breath touched her face.