Hellspark (41 page)

Om im cocked his head to one side. “I’ll take your word for that, Ish shan. Maybe if I look, I’ll see from now on. How can I help?”

“As I said, the best we can do for the moment is a pidgin. If you’ll pick up and use the same broad gestures I use, I think Sunchild will understand that we have a language in common.”

“I am in your service,” he said, touching the hilt of his blade to remind her that this was literally true.

The sprookje did likewise.

“Yes,” Tocohl agreed, “but try to avoid extraneous gestures like that one. We’ve just confused

Sunchild… Don’t worry: This is as good a time as any to establish a no

.”

It took her some few moments of silent gesturing but she accomplished it to her satisfaction: for no

, fingers scraped emphatically against the thumb as if to rid the hand of something at once noxious and sticky. Sunchild mimicked her with the same enthusiasm it had given the thumbs-out yes

.

“Why so broad a gesture?” swift-Kalat asked. “Sunchild can apparently distinguish very subtle movements.”

“I can’t,” said Tocohl, “I need movement to attract my eye and remind me to look instead of listen.

And a no or a yes

I want to be able to see at a distance.” She rose. “Now let’s see if we can get the other sprookjes to understand as much as Sunchild.” Signing for Sunchild to follow, she headed for the door.

Instantly Sunchild rose. So did Om im, causing the sprookje to thumb yes so vigorously it nearly jabbed Om im in its excitement. “Outside is a good idea,” Om im observed aloud. “We’re definitely running out of room for all this enthusiastic communication!”

Tocohl laughed and led the entire troupe, thumbs out triumphant, back into the sunlight.

Once outside, however, the sprookje’s triumph turned abruptly to distress. Its gold eyes darted from group to group of the surveyors and its feathers bristled.

Tocohl, having had the same experience only a short time before, knew the source of the trouble: the utter confusion of languages it saw danced. Turning Sunchild gently but inexorably to face her, she stroked the sprookje’s wrist feathers. “Don’t panic,” she said,

“watch me,” and she brought both hands, flat and crossed, to her chest. “Follow”—again she extended the imaginary cloak—“me”—again she brought her hands to her chest.

Yes

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, thumbed Sunchild, its feathers subsiding.

Very deliberately, inviting her to do the same, it turned its attention on Dyxte who, having just finished draping streamers of Tocohl’s moss cloak from a dozen places on layli-layli calulan’s cabin, now stood back to admire his work. Obviously pleased, he turned and sought others to admire his work as well.

The sprookjes surrounding him, as excited as they might be, did not serve; nor did the handful of surveyors—all of whom were too intent on observing the sprookjes’ behavior to notice Dyxte’s.

Tocohl drew her party to his side. “Nicely done,” she said and a second sprookje, Dyxte’s, echoed her approving words.

“Thank you,” said Dyxte, echoed himself. Then he crooked a finger to indicate his sprookje.

“It’s still parroting us both,” the two of them went on. “I’m not sure—”

But as he spoke, Tocohl raised her hands to his sprookje’s beak and larynx, as she’d done earlier to quiet Sunchild. Dyxte’s sprookje stopped speaking, leaving Dyxte to finish his sentence alone.

“—You accomplished much—”

Dyxte stopped to stare, first at Tocohl, then at his sprookje, in astonishment. “It stopped echoing me,” he said. “You did it!”

“I don’t think so.” Tocohl eyed Sunchild suspiciously. “I think Sunchild translated for me.”

(Maggy, let me see what Sunchild did while I signed at Dyxte’s sprookje.) The requested image flashed on Tocohl’s spectacles. Watching carefully, she caught the movement she had seen only peripherally as she had gestured to Dyxte’s sprookje. (Again, Maggy, more slowly.)

This time she saw clearly the ripple of feathers along Sunchild’s thigh, the minute shift of stance.

“This,” said Tocohl aloud, “is not going to be easy. But I’ll be burned if I’ll settle for a pidgin.

Obviously, I need feathers. No—stripes! Maggy, stripe my 2nd skin—make it brown, dark brown, and gold.”

The stripes began at the tops of her “boots” and raced upward to vanish into the folds of her collar.

Sunchild watched their progress with startled interest. Sure of the sprookje’s attention, Tocohl said, (Maggy, I want you to imitate that feather ripple by distorting the stripes. Now!); and Maggy obliged.

Sunchild’s eyes widened still farther. It rippled feathers identically, then thumbed a vigorous yes

.

“Got it,” said Tocohl triumphantly, and she and the sprookje thumbed happy yeses at each other.

“Now wait here,” she went on, “I’ve got to see if it works on the rest of your people as well.”

She signed

follow and flicked no

.

Leaving all but Maggy behind, Tocohl crossed the courtyard and plunged into the excited crowd at the steps of Edge-of-Dark’s cabin to find Kejesli. Her presence sparked a babble of greeting and echoed greeting.

“Veschke’s sparks, Tocohl,” Kejesli—and his sprookje—shouted to make themselves heard,

“your rib!” With three preemptory shoves he gave her breathing space in the crowd. “Why are you out of bed… ?” he said, and his sprookje echoed his concern.

She grinned and shouted back, “Because I’ve got a word to say to your sprookje!”

(Again, Maggy. Ripple for quiet,)

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Tocohl said, and the stripes on her 2nd skin flashed into motion.

“You can talk to them? You can really talk to them?” Kejesli said, and this time he spoke without accompaniment. “They told me you’d gotten one to echo you but—” He broke off suddenly, shutting his mouth with almost as audible a snap as the sprookje’s. “It stopped echoing me! What did you do

?” he said, staring at the silent creature beside him as if it were about to bite.

“I told it to shut up,” said Tocohl. “That’s the only phrase I know in sprookje so far—but that’s not a bad start for learning a language without words.”

Y THE TIME the sprookjes had begun once again to look at darkening skies and to flash their tongues in warning, Tocohl had established some fifty gestures, all broad, in pidgin, and with Maggy’s help she could recognize and imitate five—tentatively—in the more subtle and infinitely more difficult

“language” of the sprookjes themselves. Quite enough for one day, she decided, as she watched them vanish into the flashwood at the edge of camp.

(You should be resting now. I’ve got sensors spiking all over the place.) Tocohl stared thoughtfully down at the arachne. (I see you’ve been spending a lot of your time with

Buntec.)

The arachne tilted upward, much as if startled. (Yeah. How did you know? Did I do wrong?) (No, no, not wrong. And I can tell because you’re picking up her phrasing. Just take care to use it appropriately. Bear in mind that Buntec is considered coarse and vulgar by about half the surveyors, even though she’s very refined by her own standards.) (Okay,) said Maggy, then through the arachne’s vocoder, she said, “Om im, Tocohl’s going to rest now.”

“Good idea.” He patted his shoulder, offering it for her support. “Ish shan?” She accepted his aid and found Buntec supporting her from the other side, gently urging her toward the infirmary as the first spatters of rain began to strike. Maggy trotted the arachne along beside them.

“One moment.”

It was the first time Tocohl had heard true command in Kejesli’s voice. Buntec jerked to a halt, her surprise confirming . Om im raised a gilded brow and turned as well.

Hands on hips, Kejesli waited until he had the full attention of his troop of surveyors. “We’ve wasted enough time on this world already. I want your revised reports tonight: the message capsule goes tomorrow morning…” A cheer rippled through the crowd, forcing him to pause momentarily. When it subsided, Kejesli’s manner softened. Smiling at Tocohl, he finished, “At that time, Flashfever passes from our jurisdiction to that of the Hellsparks who, I’m sure, are more than ably represented already.”

His hand sought the pin of remembrance at his lapel. In Sheveschkem, he added, “Veschke guide you, Tocohl Susumo.”

Tocohl responded in the same language, “Veschke got me here… and she’s not one to strand a trader.”

As she touched her pin of high-change, Maggy said, (Yeah, but how is she on people who impersonate byworld judges?)

(I don’t even want to think about it,) Tocohl said as she let Om im and Buntec lead her back to the infirmary.

(I do,) said Maggy, and her had become a thing of wonder.

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I

Too exhausted to do more than note the fact, Tocohl said only, (Then do it quietly,) and, to her relief, Maggy obliged. Blessing the respite, Tocohl settled into her cot and slept. For the next three hours not even the thunder was able to wake her.

When she did awake, it was not to an ear-splitting crash of thunder, but rather to the smallest of protests—an outraged, bewildered, “Hey!” in a voice that was unmistakably Alfvaen’s and it brought

Tocohl fully awake by the time Alfvaen had finished her complaint, “I’m all strapped down!”

Tocohl sat upright. Beside her, Om im chuckled and called out, “We thought we’d give our

Hellspark a chance to recuperate before you broke her other ribs, Alfvaen.”

“Don’t confuse her,” said layli-layli calulan firmly. Just as firmly, she pushed swift-Kalat aside—he was attempting to hug Alfvaen where she lay—to loosen the straps and free her. She sat up into swift-Kalat’s embrace, and for a moment, there was appreciative silence on all sides. Then the two shyly released each other.

Alfvaen stretched and scratched and said, with a sigh, “That’s better

.” As she addressed the remark to swift-Kalat, Tocohl suspected she referred to the embrace as well.

A sound very like a crow issued from the arachne’s vocoder. “The books were right! was right!”

I

The arachne sprang for the edge of the cot, clung precariously by three of its forward appendages until swift-Kalat boosted it onto the bed beside Alfvaen, where it tilted to peer at her. “But you were supposed to win the duel, weren’t you? How are you?” she demanded, rocking the arachne from side to side.

Alfvaen, still bemused, said, “You’re all right, Maggy. I’m so glad. Tocohl was worried!”

“You,” Maggy repeated, doubling the frequency of her rocking, “how are you?”

Alfvaen looked at the arachne and then all about her in wonder. “I feel… fine?” Puzzling over her own sensations, she frowned down at her hands, as if checking their condition might tell her the state of the rest of her body. “The last thing I remember, we were following a sprookje and I was… I was sobering

—without my medication. I feel…

sober

, Maggy, for the first time in years!”

She turned a wide-eyed stare on layli-layli who said, “Yes, although I’d prefer to make a few confirming tests.”

“Oh, of course! The others who have Cana’s disease! Can they be helped too, layli-layli

?”

“I believe so. If the sprookjes are willing.” She glanced across the room at Tocohl. “I agree with Tocohl’s assessment: your serendipity is beyond question.” Then she busied herself with her instruments, checking monitors, and interrupting only to draw another blood sample from the Siveyn while Om im told

Alfvaen what had happened since her last clear memory, that of the vanishing daisy-clipper.

Waiting until layli-layli calulan had finished her tests, Tocohl rose and crossed the room to perch on the edge of Alfvaen’s cot. Hand, palm up in the crook of her elbow, she greeted Alfvaen formally.

“From what Om im tells me,” Alfvaen said, “I slept through all the excitement.”

Om im laughed, startling Alfvaen. Tocohl, smiling, said, “Hardly that. In fact, you were a major portion of it yourself.”

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“What do you mean?”

With a gesture, Tocohl deferred to Om im: “His version is the most colorful one that retains some accuracy.” Buntec’s version had grown to epic proportion in the retelling, to the point that it embarrassed

Tocohl.

Om im touched the hilt of his knife and recounted the duel between the two. He had only begun when a look of horror came into the Siveyn’s green eyes. Surprisingly, her first action was to jerk her head at the arachne. “Oh, Maggy. That’s what you meant! I thought—I thought I dreamed it!”

Splaying her fingers at her throat, she turned again to Tocohl. “I dreamed so many terrible things! I

thought that was only one more!

Your pardon

, Tocohl!”

“You did dream it,” Tocohl said easily. “And like a dream, it’s forgotten on waking. Just don’t do it again—I only lived through it by trickery.”

“But why? Why would I challenge you, and to death? That doesn’t make sense. What grievance did

I claim?” She laid her hand on wrist. “Please,” she urged, “tell me. I only recall something nightmarish, something about you that terrified me…”

“It’s not important,” Tocohl began. In retrospect, it would only serve to embarrass Alfvaen further:

her “grievance” had been downright silly.

But layli-layli calulan said, “Tell her, tocohli

. It is part of the healing.” So Tocohl described the incident, repeating Alfvaen’s challenge and her own responses verbatim.

Alfvaen gasped, but Tocohl said, “

Now

I’ve forgotten it.”

“I haven’t,” said Maggy, “I remember the words but I don’t understand them.”

Alfvaen looked at the arachne unhappily. “I accused her of glamour

, of influencing someone’s emotions”—her eyes glanced at swift-Kalat, slipped away in embarrassment—“by unnatural means: psi powers, love philtres. It’s a terrible crime on my world. Fortunately it doesn’t happen very often.”