Authors: Jane Lindskold
The fire was burning well. Sand Shadow would add more wood as soon as she had her bundles off, so Adara went over to Griffin Dane. Dipping her fingers in the jar of bruise ointment, she moved behind him and began to rub the greasy stuff in, trying to be gentle. Her fingers felt the ripple of muscles beneath the fair skin, confirming her impression that Griffin’s incredible paleness was no indication of ill health.
“I am alone here,” Griffin Dane said after a long moment, “not just here in this place, but also in this system. Does your lore contain stories about how there are many planets, circling many suns, and this is but one?”
“Yes,” Adara said, reaching around him to dip her fingers again into the ointment jar. Her arm brushed against his nakedness and she felt a pleasant tingle. “Some of the folk who live where the air is thicker say this is just a legend, but those of us who live where we can observe the stars see this must be true.”
She did not add that Bruin, who had at one time been a student of the Old One Who Is Young, had told her this bit of lore was true and had shown her the evidence in the dance of the stars and planets.
Griffin Dane nodded. Perhaps to give himself a moment to frame his thoughts, he began rubbing the bruise ointment into his left arm.
“I came here by myself, in a small ship constructed to travel long distances without needing much fuel or tending precisely because it carried just one.” He gave a great shuddery sigh, although whether this was because his bruises hurt or because of some memory, Adara couldn’t tell. “I came alone because I was certain I was on to something that would make my reputation and I didn’t want to share the credit with anyone. I suppose that seems foolish to you.”
Adara laughed deep in her throat. “Perhaps it would not make sense to a farmer or a sailor, but to a hunter or a pro … Yes. It makes sense. You were on the trail of big game and thought you could take it alone.”
“And I was wrong.” For the first time, Adara heard bitterness in Griffin Dane’s voice. “If you knew how long and how carefully I prepared … Then to crash the shuttle within minutes of breaking atmosphere … If I ever get over feeling stupid…”
He shrugged, winced, then, defiantly, shrugged again.
Adara finished rubbing ointment into his back. Feeling a certain reluctance—this Griffin Dane really had a very nice back—she moved over to the fire. Sand Shadow had added a couple of larger pieces of wood before returning to lounge in the sunlight.
When Adara sent her thanks, the great cat stretched in pleasure. A graphic, mocking, and very sexual image followed. Most altered creatures were amused by the human capacity for sex at any time and in any season. They claimed that this alone was what set humans apart from beasts and praised the stars for being spared such distraction.
Adara admitted desire was a distraction, but she’d never been one to have sex with just anyone. Such behavior left one too vulnerable. A huntress, a rare occurrence already, must take care not to seem weak. Even so, she’d warmed herself at that fire and been burnt. Her heart twisted as she remembered Julyan. She’d loved him, given him not only her heart, but sought to shape herself into what she thought he had desired. Yet he had walked away without a backward look.
Yes … She must take care not to seem weak. The lore whispered that the seegnur had the ability to command the people of Artemis. As polite as this Griffin Dane might seem, she must be on guard against his wiles.
Interlude: TVC1500
Darkness. Deadness. Purest cold.
Heat. Intense, incredible heat. The beginnings of awareness.
Awareness. Purpose. Purpose displacing darkness. Purpose displacing awareness. Awareness becoming purpose.
2
Lost and Alone
Griffin and Adara were dining on grilled venison steaks seasoned with tiny wild onions and accompanied by a salad of peppery greens when the roar of rock upon rock shattered Griffin’s last hope that there would be a neat and relatively easy solution to his problems.
Despite his bruises and the stiffness that had settled into every bone and joint, Griffin would have rushed to find out what had happened, but Adara halted him with a hand on his sleeve.
“What is is,” she said. “And that place will not be safe yet. If you rush off now, no good will be served, and a very nice steak will be wasted.”
Something in the reverent way she spoke of the steak made Griffin suspect that Adara the Huntress had seen her share of hungry times. In any case, she was right. Rushing would not change anything.
So they ate their steaks, drank from tin mugs a tea so strongly flavored with mint and anise that even the generous dollop of honey Adara added could not dull the flavor. Only when the meal was concluded and the relics of their cooking were stored neatly in the pack Adara slung over her shoulders did they move in the direction from which the sound had come—back, Griffin was now certain, to where he had crashed the shuttle.
He knew what he would find before they got there.
The shuttle was gone—or if it wasn’t, it was as good as gone. Griffin Dane looked down upon the pile of loose, still shifting rock that entombed his ship. Gone were his hopes of salvaging a comm unit, some of his gear, or even a change of clothing. For the first time, Griffin accepted that he might never leave this planet, never see his home system again, never see his
family
again.
The realization hit him harder than any of the rocks that had battered his body.
To this point I haven’t accepted I might be trapped,
Griffin thought.
What happened seemed rather like a lark, an adventure right out of those serials my brothers loved so much, the ones I pretended to sneer at, but secretly watched over the top of my reader. Shuttle crashed. Rescued by a beautiful woman. Dalliance … All right, not quite that, but a rough and rustic meal. Then what?
She’d offer to help me get back to the shuttle. I’d discover the damage wasn’t as severe as I had thought. A few repairs would be needed and then …
Or we’d discover the shuttle itself couldn’t be used, but that key elements of my gear—weapons, medical supplies, a few other wonders—survived. The two of us would travel valiantly to where I could rig what I needed to contact my orbiter. This done, I would depart, promising to return again, someday, and Adara would look after me, the faintest glint of tears dampening those amber eyes …
Griffin shook himself hard, forced himself to look down the slope, really look, to accept that not the smallest tail fin, not even the barest rim of a thruster showed above the rubble.
“It’s completely buried,” he said.
Adara pointed up the slope. “The shock of your falling must have made the area weak. There was a small peak there. It’s gone now.”
“Good thing we didn’t stay to try and salvage anything,” Griffin said, forcing his voice to remain level. “If I’d stayed near, I’d have likely been buried.”
Adara’s lovely mouth shaped a very small smile.
“Then that is twice I have saved your life, eh? Remember that, seegnur. Now, listen to me while I save it again. You accept that we cannot reach your vessel?”
“Not bloody likely!”
“Then I tell you this. The land here remains unstable. I suspect it will be unstable for some time to come. What did your vessel burn for fuel?”
“Burn?” Griffin began to explain, then shook his head. “I don’t think we have the words between us for me to explain.”
“But it made heat,” Adara persisted.
“Yes, but…”
“Will it continue to make heat?”
Griffin considered. “No. I don’t think so. The automatic shut-offs went into effect when the shuttle lost control.”
“Still,” Adara said, “parts of your boat were very hot. Here the ground is very cold and filled with ice, for winter is not long past. Heat and cold do not like each other. For many days to come, the ground in this area will be unstable. We must leave.”
Griffin wanted to protest, some lingering part of his fantasy nagging at him. Reality stared up at him from a heap of still shivering boulders. Unless he could get his hands on earth-moving equipment, there would be no getting to the shuttle—and even then, no promise there would be much useful to retrieve. Ground to atmosphere shuttles were not armored. It was likely that the hull had been crushed like an eggshell.
“You’re right,” he admitted heavily. “But what next?”
“Soonest next,” replied Adara, “we go from here. Sand Shadow and I have a cache farther down this mountain. Next soonest, we find another place to camp, one where we will not be buried if the earth chooses to belch after swallowing your craft. After that? We shall see. Although we are in the growing-longer days, still, daylight hours are short enough. This would not much trouble me and Sand Shadow, but how well do you see in the dark?”
“Well enough,” Griffin replied curtly.
“Good,” Adara said. “Come, then.”
* * *
Griffin Dane did not see at all well in the dark. Indeed, he began stumbling over small shrubs when twilight was only thickening. Exasperated, Adara made camp. She set Griffin to tend the new fire she had kindled, then put him in charge of grilling a couple more steaks. At least he could manage that.
She set about erecting her small tent. Soon, the tent would be an indulgence, but for now, this high up in the mountains, shelter at night was a good thing. Usually, Sand Shadow slept next to her, so Adara did not need to burden herself with any but the lightest of blankets. Now she envisioned complications. Both lore and popular ballads were full of tales regarding the seegnur and their appetite for local lovers. Would Griffin Dane have the same expectations? It wasn’t that she didn’t find him attractive, but she did not care to be told what to do.
Sand Shadow returned from bringing more firewood. She did not shape images, but Adara was aware of sparkling hints of feline laughter at the edges of her thoughts.
To distract herself from that coming awkwardness, Adara turned to matters no less awkward, but at least a little less intimate.
“So the seegnur did not all die,” she said.
Griffin Dane did not reply for a long time. When he did, his answer was not at all what Adara had expected.
“Perhaps,” he said, “what you call the ‘seegnur’ did die. What is a seegnur?”
Adara studied Griffin, but he did not seem to be mocking her. She framed her answer with care.
“‘Seegnur’ is what we call those who came from elsewhere, those the lore tells us made this world and set us to live upon it so that we might serve them.”
She tried to keep any bitterness from her tone but, judging from the glance Griffin Dane sent arrow-swift in her direction, she had not been wholly successful.
Nonetheless, his reply was mildness itself. “Well, then, here is my answer. I came from elsewhere, that is true enough. However, neither I nor the wisest or most skilled of my kind could make this world or make people to live upon it. That knowledge is vanished, burned to ashes by the fires of a war so terrible that it destroyed entire worlds, even suites of worlds. So, whether or not I am a seegnur must be yours to judge.”
Adara considered this.
“Well, I don’t see what else you could be. You are not from Artemis.”
“True enough, although, given what happened to my shuttle, it’s not likely I will be from anywhere else hereafter.”
Adara shrugged. “That I cannot say. If only one tenth of the tales told about the seegnur are true, I cannot see what would hold you from attaining anything you desire. You are not a hunter nor a pro nor a factotum nor of the support staff. Of all the classifications that define this world, you fit only one: seegnur.”
“Classifications?”
“Yay,” Adara replied, deliberately adopting the sing-song cadences in which the lore was most usually recited. “Once upon a time, in the cold and dark of space, the seegnur found a great rock. This rock was barren of life, but rich in metals and minerals. It held within its stones the capacity for the twin staves of life: water and air.
“Pleased with their find, the seegnur herded the great rock through the black pastures and placed it where a sun could warm it. Mystery upon mystery was performed. Oceans were shaped. Mountains were caused to rise. A moon was set high above so that there would be light at night and tides to keep the seas from becoming sluggish. Between oceans and mountains were crafted all the habitats needful for all manner of beasts and plants.
“Then, from the farthest elsewhere that was their first home, the seegnur brought plants and creatures to populate this new world, setting them in fortuitous and beautiful configurations. Thus a world that had been but shaped rock became softened and alive.
“At this juncture, some of the seegnur were content and said, ‘Here we have our paradise. Let us revel in it and be joyful.’ But others among the seegnur protested, ‘Nay. Paradise is not paradise if one must labor. The beasts and plants are lovely, but who will harvest them for us? Who will make our beds and cook our food?’
“And in this was seen great wisdom, so to the world, which was now called Artemis, were brought those who were like unto the seegnur in shape, but not in wisdom or in knowledge. They were given this command: ‘We shall permit you to dwell in paradise, but we place upon you one restriction. For most of your days you shall labor only for yourselves, but when those you will know as the seegnur shall come to you, then you will labor for them as well.’
“And the people accepted this as birds accepted flight and the fish of the sea accepted breathing water, as the way in which they were created. As time passed, the seegnur realized that merely having people who could serve them in menial tasks was not yet paradise. They desired those who would be wise in the ways of Artemis, specialists who would show the seegnur the secrets of this vast world they had created. So were made the factotums and the pros, the hunters and the divers, and all the other specialists.
“At this time, too, were shaped the altered beasts, so that not even the seegnur might be able to predict every creature’s actions. Now even those who had protested said all was good. In this way paradise was finally achieved.”