The Burning Ground

3. Song and riddle

Yseyl shifted position again, ignoring, the glare from the mal sitting on the bench beside her. That bench was hard on the tailbones and she’d been sitting there since the door opened, sliding up inch by inch as one of Noxabo’s aides talked to those ahead of them, arranged appointments for later, or waved the petitioner on to the next hoop to jump through before he got to see the Arbiter himself.

She’d gone first to listen to the Prophet Speaker preach. He was good, he’d gotten that crowd stirred up and seeing visions. He even won through her defenses, started her blood pounding until her mind broke through the glitter of the words and the force that shone from the man, and she remembered how much she didn’t believe the things he was saying.

Still, this was what she needed, if she could just trust him-and get him to believe her.

Yseyl left the meeting and went to find Zot.

“Word is he’s dumb as a rock. It’s his anya that writes those things and tells him what to do. I know one of the girls that clean the Tent. Weird calling that big mess of stone a tent, but there it is. Anyway this Beritha, she says Anya Hukhu’s got the teeth of a shark and a blob of iron where xe’s heart should be. Only thing xe cares about is that wikiwic.”

“So I should get to xe.”

“No use trying unless it’s somethin’ big. And somethin’ that’s gonna make him look real good.”

“It just might be.”

When she went back to the Tent the next morning, there was chaos. People huddling in little groups, shocked, angry, grieved. Others clung to each other, sobbing and wailing.

Anya Hukhu was dead, the Blessed Kuxagan was having hysterics somewhere, no mistaking that voice.

She listened, slipped in a question here, a question there, and built a picture of what had happened.

There’d been some sort of warning about assassins and Hukhu had set up a ring of anyas to screen out all strangers and two rings of armed guards, but the assassins had come through the roof somehow and gotten past the outer ring before they were discovered. Two of them were dead, offworld women they were, and why they tried it no one had a clue. The third had almost gotten to Kuxagan, but Hukhu threw xeself between them and stabbed the stranger with a poison knife at the very moment she was killing xe.

Yseyl slipped away, angry and frustrated. It seemed almost as if the Ptaks had known what she was planning and had struck to stop it. In her calmer moments she knew that couldn’t be true, but the realization didn’t help quiet her stomachs.

Before nightfall the city was buzzing with the news that there were three attempts at assassination, all expected, all thwarted. Six offworlders were dead, the rest had gotten away. And everything was closed down. No suppliants allowed anywhere except the petitioners in the Arbiter’s Office. Noxabo wasn’t there, of course; like the other targets he’d gone to ground. There was speculation about where he was, but it was all wild rumor. Those who knew weren’t talking.

Another four petitioners were called into the Aides’ cubicles. Yseyl slid along the bench, then thrust her feet out over the braided rush matting that covered the floor. She opened her feet into a wide vee, brought the toes tapping together. Did it again. And again. Till the mal beside her dug his elbow into her side.

“Stop that, fern. You’re driving me crazy.”

She scowled at him, shifted the scowl to the far wall.

Assassins. Cerex said the Ptak wanted the war to go on and on till all Imps and Pixa were dead. Until now Linojin’s been out of the war. They’re trying to change that. On the radio… I-need a radio, I’m missing too much just listening to people talk… the news… phelas attacking the neutral cities… they want it all, the Ptaks do, that’s what it is. They want it all. I’ve got the way… if only someone would listen to me… I’ve got the way out… God… I wish I believed… I wish I could pray and feel like it meant something… God! Any god that allows this obscenity…

Three armed mals came from the back room beyond the Aides’ cubicles. They stood by the door looking grim and ready for anything. She’d seen phelas like that, waiting in ambush as she used her gift to slip round them. Those mals were ready to kill anyone in this hallway, to shoot at a cross-eyed look, an unconsidered scuff of a foot.

The oldest of the Aides came out of his cubicle. “Petition time is over,” he said. “Give your names to the scribe at the door. You’ll be first in tomorrow.”

As Yseyl stepped onto the walkway, Zot came from an alley and began walking along beside her. “No joy?”

“Scribe took down names. Aide said those’d be first in tomorrow.”

“Bribe’s two ounces silver to make sure your name stays on that list.”

“It isn’t on there now. I didn’t bother.” She wrinkled her nose at the crimson glow in the west. “One day wasted is more than enough. Want some dinner? I’ll buy.”

“Won’t say no to that. Plenty of time. Mehl] wants to see you, but not till seventh hour.”

“Why?”

“Xe din’t say.”

Zot dragged the piece of bread through the gravy, popped it in her mouth. After she swallowed, she said, “Mehll doesn’t like me talking to you. Xe said I should stay away from you, you’re a killer.”

“Xe’s right.”

“Who’d you kill?”

“You told me once go find a whore, I’ll tell you the same.”

Zot giggled. “That’d be a sight, that would.” The giggles trailed to a sigh. “This place is a dead bore. Mehll says you’re a thief, too. Howdya get to be one? I’m dying to get outta here.”

“You wouldn’t want to try my route, young Zot. I ran away and the first mal who found me was a thief. He taught me about locks and planning. He also had some peculiar tastes.” She blinked, looked into the wide eyes of the child. Not innocent eyes. Zot had already seen more of the evil that people do to each other than any child should. “He was impotent, you know about that? Yes, I see you do. But he could still get those feelings when the setup was right. He liked to watch rough mals beat me and have sex with me. Sometimes two or three a night. He taught me a lot. You wanted to know who I killed. Well, he was the first. There are things a lot worse than being bored, Zot. And if you go where you don’t have friends, you’re going to find them. Real fast.”

Zot’s eyes went wide, then she smiled.

It was easy enough to read what was going through her head.

Not me. Wouldn’t happen to me. I been around, not like some dumb femlit never been out of the mountains.

Yseyl shook her head, but said nothing. Pain and loathing were the only teachers for some lessons.

Yseyl smoothed her hand across the front of her tunic; the stunrod was in place, basted to the waistband of her trousers by threads she could break with a quick jerk if she had to get it out fast. She circled the house, checking out potential ambushes; with the city in such uproar, she wasn’t taking chances.

When she was satisfied, she slipped one hand under her tunic and took hold of the rod, used the other to knock on the door.

+Who?+

“Who you sent for.”

Yseyl shook her head, but said nothing. Pain and loathing were the only teachers for some lessons.

Mehll took Yseyl into xe’s parlor, seated her in a comfortable armchair and poured tea for her, gave her a plate with some triangles of buttered toast, all the while keeping up a stream of chatter about the assassinations and the fishboat that got blown into the Fence and the need for rain.

The old anya settled in xe’s own chair. +I believe you don’t have your own radio.+

“No.”

+Ah ah ah. I’m not going to ask questions. And I don’t want answers. What you do is your own business.+ Xe pointed to the large black receiver on the mantel above the fireplace. Xe signed, +Turn that on, will you? It’s set and ready to go.+

Yseyl shook her head, but said nothing. Pain and loathing were the only teachers for some lessons.

The sound of strings filled the room, a dance tune Yseyl didn’t recognize. She returned to her chair and folded her hands. “Why did you call me here? I doubt it was to listen to pretty music.”

+Your name’s Yseyl, isn’t it. No. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. Xe snapped xe’s fingers. +My curiosity does get away from me sometimes. Yes. I wanted you to hear a song. It’ll be on soon. They broadcast it every day about now. I thought a while and a while about send-ing Zot, telling myself yes then no then yes then no, but this assassination thing, that convinced me. Something has to be done. I think there’s a chance you’ll be the one who’ll do it. In any case, at least you’re new. The rest I wouldn’t trust with a week dead fish. Ah. There’s the announcement. Listen.+

Yseyl shook her head, but said nothing. Pain and loathing were the only teachers for some lessons.

The singer startled Yseyl. There was no oddity to the accent, the words might have been spoken by any midrange Impix or Pixa, but the quality of the voice was alien. Offworlder. How did she come to be singing at the Linojin station?

Yesyl found herself nodding as the cycle progressed-and wondering how the stranger had caught her feelings so precisely, that mixture of rage/sadness and the frustration that was not quite despair. She lifted the cup when the “Song for Yseyl” was announced, sipped steadily at the lukewarm liquid as the words flowed into the room.

Yseyl shook her head, but said nothing. Pain and loathing were the only teachers for some lessons.

“A ghost little gray ghost reaches out her hand her fatal hand an arms dealer cries an arms dealer dies

Yseyl, your tears are red

Yseyl, do you weep heart’s blood?

A ghost little gray ghost gazes at her land her tortured land

How can I end this?

Or is it endless?

Yseyl, your tears are red.

Yseyl, do you weep heart’s blood?

A ghost little gray ghost searches the stars the cold proud stars

To free her land

Her anguished land.

Yseyl, your tears are red.

Yseyl, do you weep heart’s blood?

A ghost little gray ghost

Holds the key the piercing key.

Who would be free?

Who will follow me?

Yseyl, 1 hear your call.

Yseyl, hear me, 1 know it all.

O ghost little gray ghost

You look the wrong way

You take the wrong road

Hear what I say

Let me lighten your load.

Look to the peaks Not to the sea.

Where feet become holy

There will I be.

Unravel this rhyme

Your heart’s wish to find.”

Mehll pushed onto her feet and went to turn off the radio herself. +If I knew what that’s about, I’d have to act on my knowledge. I don’t want to know. We’ll finish our tea, then you can leave.+

Yseyl walked to the end of the dock and stood gazing across the dark water at the Fencelight.

A short distance away Bond Sisters and Anyas of Mercy were kneeling and murmuring through shimbil after shimbil, twelve upon twelve upon twelve, in a litany of pleas to God to open the way, bring down the Fence.

She listened a moment and felt a vast impatience. If she marched over to them right now and said she could open the way for them, that they didn’t have to wait for God to act, they’d probably drown her for impiety.

People. She scraped her hand across her eyes. Those like Mehll, they didn’t want to know. Others… vumah vumay, playing by the rules had never gotten her anywhere, nor had not-doing something ever kept her safe. The offworld woman-she said she had the answer. No need to believe her, just bargain with her. Might be a Sunflower agent sent to fetch back the disruptor. That didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was stopping this misery.

Might as well listen to her. She’s standing on my road not hers. And she wouldn’t be taking the trouble if she didn’t mean to deal. Do me down if she can. Hah! They think they’re so clever these star-fliers, just because they can get away. But they’re only using what other folks built for them… those arms smugglers… so stupid sometimes it was almost embarrassing to do them. Look to the peaks… hm… where feet become holy… probably means the Outlook where the Pilgrim Road starts… I’ll need food… gear… be out there a while… wonder if I can find her before she finds me… it’s a thought… she’s a grand singer… it’s almost worth… ya la, don’t you get stupid, fern… listen to the words she says and forget the voice.

She left the religious to their chant and went to the room she rented to do some concentrated thinking.