Forge of Heaven (46 page)

And now, it seemed, that old rift had led to uneasy relations with the director’s successor, Brazis, and Luz, of course, had found a sympathetic ear in the Ila. The two of them, disliking Brazis, complained of his continuation of the old director’s programs. Luz clung close to the Refuge, which the Ila never left, while, tired of the disagreement, Ian lately lived with Nai’ib, a mortal woman from the tribes, out on the Paradise shore.

Ian sulked, working on his rockets, his robots, machines that supported certain of his desert roads, and occasionally made his own forays into the eastern desert. Ian was consequently in closer contact and sympathy with the tribes than Luz had ever been willing to be, herself. The tribeswoman living with Ian was only one cause of the rift between them.

“Wasting his time,” Luz had complained to Marak two years ago, and asked if he had a better understanding than she did of Ian, the man who had been her lifelong partner. “What in all reason does he do out there?”

“He receives reports from the riders,” had been his observation.

“He does the same as always. He tests his machines.”

Biology and mechanics, life and cold, scarce metal, which Ian hoarded for his projects and sought in the wreckage of villages and the Holy City itself, up on the Plateau. Such were Ian’s consuming passions. Luz was the theoretician, the planner, the builder—and oh, the Ila was a builder and a planner, herself, no question of that.

Now he feared they would see the result of all this diverse planning, disturbance in the heavens and this ill-timed schism in the Refuge—or a very well timed one, chosen to break out just now, when he was not at hand, when the heavens were besieged by angry allies.

But if Auguste was hurt in this assault, Ian had been quick to protect all of them whose watchers might be affected. Luz, who might well have figured by now that she had been deceived, would be busy reasoning with the Ila and trying to protect the relays themselves: that would be her first thought. Luz would 3 0 0 • C . J . C h e r r y h

banish until later, in her realization, the thought that flesh and blood might be in danger, might feel pain, might die. That was the way they were, Ian and Luz. It was why he attached himself more to Ian.

But now he asked himself if Ian drifting away to the Paradise shore with Nai’ib might be why Luz continued lonely and upset, and why she had fallen more and more into the Ila’s company.

That association had its inevitable outcome. Luz was betrayed, now, it seemed, by an expert at betrayal. And would she learn? For a century or two. Maybe.

But there was nothing he and Hati could do now but go on as they were and keep careful track of their lacework of escape routes, making sure no shortcut brought them back up to a dead end, if the worst suddenly happened at Halfmoon. Negotiate with the Ila, he might, but not with the earthquake.

And once they had the beshti back, if the heavens and earth wanted to quarrel for a century or two, they would still have the beshti, and the boys, and the canvas. Let them all do what they liked, Brazis and the Ila, Ian, Luz, and the rest. They were un-touchable out here, give or take another hammerfall, once they got back to safety. There had been quarrels before. There had been long silences in the heavens. The
ondat
were the problem. The one uncertainty. The threat none of them wanted to wake.

“We shall be soaked before nightfall,” Hati estimated. She tapped her beshta with her heel as it showed interest in a thorn-bush, and shortened up on the rein.

The beshta squalled a protest at this injustice, swayed from side to side under the taut rein and kept squalling to the heavens. The cliffs above echoed with her indignation.

And found a new source not so far distant. Beshti called to beshti, in the uneasy smell of the wind.

Then the old bull bellowed out, throwing up his head.

That brought a second distant answer, three, four voices, female.

And a raucous challenge.

“Aha,” Hati said. “The young bull out there is worried now. We may get them yet.”

“Marak.”

A quiet voice from the tap, this. Ian’s. He was by no means Fo r g e o f H e a v e n • 3 0 1

sure he wanted to listen. His headache persuaded him it might not be safe.

“Marak, do you hear me?”

“Ian. We have very little patience for this.”

“Marak-omi, there’s trouble in the Refuge. The Ila has invaded systems
aloft and killed her oldest watcher. She has demanded Procyon’s return to
duty in your name. Luz has now entered her apartments and attempted
to reason with her. The force of the Ila’s action has done damage to all the
watchers.”

Forgotten, the beshti, everything, in the vivid imagination of the Ila’s establishment in the Refuge, the Ila and her aau’it and her guards, Memnanan still among them. Memnanan would be put in a very difficult position if the Ila bade him bar Luz from her premises.

Without hesitation, headache and all, he reached out for the Ila himself, the system being open for the moment. He did not do it as he wished, like a thunderbolt, but reasonably, quietly, well under control. “Ila. What have you done?”

“There
you are, Marak Trin Tain. And how do you fare?”

“Well enough, until I hear earth and heavens are in an uproar.

Why should you kill your watcher?”

“Why? Why not?”

Temper. High temper. “Ila, favor me with an answer. Why would you harm an innocent?”

“For your safety! For the safety of the world, with traitors in the heavens and the ambitions of the small, stupid men who protect them, now let
loose to cause all of us grief! Be silent, Luz! We
will
tell him! Listen,
Marak. Are you listening now?”

“I am listening, Ila.”

“This watcher of ours, this long-trusted watcher, this
innocent,
requested information of us regarding the watcher nanoceles. She said this
was the request of the director, to investigate suspect development at another station. With this answer, she evidently, and on her own mischief,
misdirected what details we told her to the very culprits at issue, who are
complete fools, and who have now been detected, not only by every authority in their vicinity, but by Earth, which should have never been involved at all. The director’s establishment has lied to us, Marak Trin Tain.

A watcher has misrepresented her authority and betrayed us to fools.

3 0 2 • C . J . C h e r r y h

Compton
installed this treacherous woman when he was director, and
that fool Brazis has allowed this liar to continue in her office for a decade,
in a trusted post, when by now even remote Earth had gotten wind of her
actions. How were we to know? Wherein are we at fault? Now they dare
accuse us—us!—as if this were our initiation and our doing. Damn them,
we say! We are outraged!”

As if she were the most innocent of parties. And who was to know the truth of it, once the watcher in question was dead?

“Ila.”
That was Ian.
“You should have told us the moment there was
such a request made of you. Why should you keep it secret?”

“This person claimed it was investigatory, and that you were not to be
brought in. How were we to know if your own watchers were in question?

You, honest Ian, we did not doubt. But the watchers, who can ever know?”

Hati looked at him, that long-eyed sidelong look. She had heard.

Hati had never trusted Luz, and least of all trusted the Ila at any time. It was a plausible story . . . if there had not been ages of history behind it.

“Now,”
the Ila said,
“someone has attempted to kill this Earth lord. We
have not breached the Treaty. Their notion of our deception is utterly false;
and they have attempted to blame this innocent boy of yours, while Brazis
has done nothing to find him or protect him from these rival authorities.

We, mind you,
we
have located Procyon with no trouble. He was injured
in the attack on the Earth lord. He is attempting to get to safety with no
help at all from Brazis, even in Brazis’s own territory, and now, now, of
course, just as we locate him, Brazis leaps in and disturbs the contact. Ask
what hope this boy has while the powers that rule him maneuver for advantage. Ask where he may be now, in whose hands, asked what questions.

Brazis wishes to divert all our attention to a dead traitor. But where is the
danger? In a dead watcher? We think not. We have all been lied to. We answered a watcher’s questions to control a breach in security; and now that
Earth is offended, Brazis makes diversionary attacks on your watchers.

Ask yourself, Marak, what does Brazis intend? Why did he give you no
warning that this great quake was coming, when he has accurately predicted others? One might think Brazis was a fool and too compliant; but
we, at least, have never thought he was a fool, or compliant in anything.”

Marak listened, and met Hati’s burning gaze the while. There was a small silence from Ian and Luz.

Fo r g e o f H e a v e n • 3 0 3

“I will find Procyon,” Marak said. The beshta under him, at a standstill, shifted uneasily, as, far distant, he heard a stone roll and saw it make a track down a sandy slope.

A very minor quake. But the minor shiftings of the earth no longer alarmed them, in the scale of things. The Ila and what was happening back at the Refuge had sent out tremors of their own.

And a hapless boy was involved in things far, far older than his knowledge, where it was likely those in power had set him far down the list of their concerns.

“Ian,”
Luz said urgently.
“Come home. Come home,
now.
I need you.”

“I would, I assure you. But I’m trying to put together a mission to get
Marak back.”

“I shall deal with my own situation,” Marak said. “Go home, Ian.” If Luz forgot she was angry at Ian, if she forgot about the tribeswoman, then she was truly alarmed, whether by what the Ila had just said, or by what she feared the Ila might have done without her knowledge, or at the situation she herself was in. If the makers were indeed loose in the heavens, with the
ondat
and the rest of the powers alarmed, there was ample reason for Luz to re-consider her quarrel with Ian and question her alliance with the Ila before everything slid to perdition.

“We are quite enough to deal with this,”
the Ila said.
“If we approach
Brazis, we can settle matters without Ian.”

That might be, but Ian had heard that.
“I’m on my way.”

“Nonsense,”
the Ila said, irate, and pain lanced through Marak’s head.

He fired back, spiked the contact as high as he could, and gave the Ila as good as he got, reckless, for the moment, of Hati on the system.

He
was as near a relay station as the Ila was near the center at the Refuge.
He
threaded his way through Ian’s contact and into the main systems.

And having done that, he broke through all the relays and onto the uplink. Auguste was not his target. Not at all. He used a different code, one he had known a long, long time ago.

“Brazis,” he said, in no mood now to temporize. “Answer me!

Where is Procyon?”

3 0 4 • C . J . C h e r r y h

*

*

“Lord Marak,” he said. “I hear you. Enough! I hear!”

“Brazis.”
Marak was clearly not in a reasoning mood.
“Is there an
outbreak of makers in the heavens?”

“No,” Brazis said, too-quick denial of what he could not wholly dismiss as a threat, denial to the wrong party. He amended that.

“We don’t believe it’s actual. It’s a fear Earth has.”

“Where is Procyon and what has he to do with such things?”

“Lord Marak.” Brazis’s mind raced. The tap system was adaptive. It tried to cooperate. Even when the system had the spike mechanically damped, its inclination was to respond and attempt to go on working. “The Ila’s senior tap is dead, Marak-omi. Be careful. I hear you. Quieter, sir. Quieter. The system is bringing you through quite clearly.”

“Where is Procyon?”

Where is Procyon?
encompassed a world of trouble. Marak had clearly reached the end of his patience. In answer to that question, he might know down to a quarter block on Blunt
where
Procyon had been, but Procyon was not there, not now. Agents, racing to the area, had failed to locate him. Jewel, stationed with Reaux, reported Reaux’s men hadn’t snatched him . . . not that Reaux knew about.

“I don’t know where he is at this exact moment, lord Marak. I am alarmed by his situation. I do assure you we’re trying everything to find him.”

A small silence.
“I find no response from him.”

“Nor do we.” It was the truth, and it could mean Procyon Stafford was unconscious, or dead. “We’re actively searching the system. We know where he was a while ago. He’s not there now.

How are
you
faring in the meantime, sir? Are you safe? We’re extremely concerned about your situation.”

“We are not in immediate difficulty, lord Brazis, but the stink of flood
is strong on the wind, and the quakes continue, one after the other, bringing down rocks from the cliffs. I am not in great patience as matters stand.

Fo r g e o f H e a v e n • 3 0 5

Now I hear trouble in your vicinity and trouble at the Refuge. Is there or
is there not an outbreak of makers?”

“Earth fears there is. I entirely doubt it. Complicating our situation, someone has attempted to kill Earth’s representative, who was here investigating the matter, but—” Dared he be honest with Marak, who did not forget, or readily forgive? The ground he stood on was less steady than Marak’s. “I have a strong suspicion it was another Earthman who did it, a traitor who wants a foothold here, perhaps one of the man’s own allies. We have a complex and dangerous situation, and it may involve a ploy to establish someone’s power or presence here, endangering the Treaty.”