Ties of Power (Trade Pact Universe) (31 page)

“Let’s give it a try now, Levertup,” I said, proud of the confidence in my voice if sure it was nonexistent anywhere else.

Another moment of bustling with instruments and gadgets. Some of the Heerii were occupied at a long, complex console that had appeared from the smooth wall—a not-uncommon trait of Drapsk machinery. As I understood it, these were all monitors of some type, to let the Drapsk know if I were successful.

As to what I was to do, all they’d been able to tell me was based on a song, chanted to two notes, and important enough to have been passed down through the generations within every Tribe. I hummed it to myself, now, having listened to it through several, thus far meaningless, repetitions.

It rhymed. That was about all I could say about it. The Drapsk were no better at explaining, except to add that they hadn’t evolved on this planet. They’d colonized Drapskii, moving their entire population here, because of the strength of the Scented Way they discovered, implying the planet itself had some connection to the M’hir. There had been some kind of golden age. Then, a few generations ago, this connection had become tenuous, then was lost completely. The Drapsk had suffered ever since. They didn’t elaborate on how they had suffered, but felt strongly enough about it to have curled into dismal balls of upset for several minutes after these details were revealed to me by Levertup.

I was to reconnect Drapskii to the Scented Way. How, they had no idea. Since I didn’t know either, I thought I should verify one important detail.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” I reminded them. “No matter what happens.”

I took the inhalation of tentacles as a yes.

As Sira di Sarc, I’d studied more than most of my kind, at first in order to uncover some way out of my dilemma as unChosen, but eventually because I found my curiosity about anything unfamiliar to be an itch constantly in need of scratching. My time as Sira Morgan had only added an innocent wonder to my interest. So I’d experimented within the M’hir, testing and probing; it was never safe there, but I’d found ways to explore its potential. I was perhaps better prepared than any of my kin to attempt what the Drapsk wanted, not that any of them would.

The Drapsk had, at my suggestion, coaxed a long low couch-like bench from the floor. I stretched out on it now, the three Drapsk I considered my friends, if the word meant anything comparable to them—Captain Makairi, Maka, and Copelup—taking positions beside me. They dipped their antennae until I could feel the feathery tips on the bare skin of my lower arms and hands. “Remember, You must not risk yourself, Mystic One,” the two Makii said in harmony. “Return to the Makii, your Tribe.”

I closed my eyes, opening fully the other vision I possessed, pushing my consciousness from this place and this body, into the black heart of the M’hir. . . .

I was the center of the universe. Power coursed toward me, spinning me about, tempting me to stay with its seductive, unheard voice. This I knew and dismissed, looking deeper.

The Rugheran had been a clue, its ability to move within the M’hir, instead of through it, sufficiently different to guide me now. I sought something other than the ever present crackle of energy, some of it my own. Something solid, like the grains of powder I’d held up to the sunlight.

There.

I flung myself back, thoroughly startling my Drapsk companions as I sat up. It would seem to them I’d only just closed my eyes, but there was a limit to the subjective time one could spend in the M’hir. I knew better than to linger without returning. “I’ve found it,” I said triumphantly, breathing heavily as though I’d climbed stairs at a run, grasping tightly to my own sense of self.

There were machine hums and purrs overlaying the quiet murmurs of the Drapsk. Maybe they hadn’t needed the announcement, I said to myself uneasily, laying back down. For a second time, I pushed . . .

Knowing my target let me focus more quickly. I had no physical sense of what it was I’d found, but I recognized it on some level as belonging to the Drapsk, a something similar to the flavor of the potential I’d sensed between the individuals during lar-gripstsa—immensely stronger. Perhaps it was the planet.

Whatever it was, it was slippery. Even as I reached for it, a process indescribable in any other terms but definitely not part of my body’s repertoire of movements, the something I thought was Drapskii faded, becoming stronger at the edges of my perception.

Maybe I shouldn’t reach for it, I decided, dreaming a little, riding the waves of dark and terrible beauty around me. Sure enough, as I drew away, the sense of Drapskii increased, falling toward me with increasing speed.

As should all here, I dreamed, knowing myself the core, the center. This was my rightful place, my palace . . .

Pain!

Secrets. They were her business to uncover and expose—to those who should know. There was no question of this. Yet the Watcher hesitated, for once in conflict with her purpose. She should alert the Council, send warnings to the other Watchers.

Then again, she could wait. She could Watch.

And find out just what the daughter of di Sarc was doing.

 

Secrets within secrets. Faitlen di Parth, knowing full well that the best secrets bestowed power on their possessor, cherished this one close to his heart.

And protected it deep in his thoughts. Jarad di Sarc’s was the greater power—so far. No point taking any chances.

Faitlen also knew others thought him weak willed, easily led. It was true, in part. He had always been painfully aware his Talent alone could never make him first—or even close to first—within the Clan. Until now, he’d approached that goal by clinging to those who did rise. Now? There were other ways.

Five lay in the boxes arrayed in front of him, their delivery precisely timed and as precisely arranged to avoid notice. It had taken months of planning and funds moved with a deviousness only a Queeb could appreciate. Faitlen ran his hand over the nearest box. “You are the future of the House of di Parth,” he whispered, though alone in this receiving hall. Elsewhere, technicians busied themselves with preparations. “Soon you will know the honor I have granted you.”

He moved from one box to the next, greeting its unconscious occupant, until he stood between the final two.

There, Faitlen pressed his hands flat on both, bowing his head briefly. His thin features were resolute—this was a decision made long before, the final payment for the future glory of di Parth. “Sleep, daughters,” the Clansman said softly. “You need never know.”

Nor, he devoutly hoped, would the Watchers. And so, Jarad.

Chapter 30

“MYSTIC One?”

I waved one hand feebly, pushing away whatever was tickling my face in the process, realizing too late it was someone’s appendage. “Sorry,” I mumbled. My head felt stuffed with feathers as well. “What happened?”

“She wakes!”

I blinked involuntarily, having opened my eyes as breezes fought their way over me, relieved the Drapsk were happy—though I wished they could express it in a less drafty manner. I shivered and someone, a Niakii, thoughtfully pulled a sheet up to my chin.

I was still lying on the couch in the center of the small amphitheater, still surrounded by ranks of gadget-fascinated Drapsk of every possible color. Nothing had changed.

It didn’t have time to, I thought, remembering. Then I shivered in earnest. Like some fool, I’d almost lost myself in the M’hir. These beings had saved my life. And quite simply, I found, examining a red mark on my forearm. “You pinched me,” I accused Copelup. Hardly a technological approach.

The Skeptic didn’t appear repentant in the least. In fact, he hooted three times in succession.

“And you should be grateful, O Mystic One,” he said when able to speak. “We wish your help, not your corpse.”

“Can you try again?” This in an overlapping confusion of voices as most of the Drapsk bent their plumes hopefully in my direction.

“The readings are most promising,” Levertup encouraged, coming closer. “The best we’ve ever had.”

Well, I thought, it had been my fault I’d skirted disaster, and the Drapsk had been able to save me from myself. I nodded, closed my eyes, and pushed myself from the room for the third and I hoped, the last time . . .

Drapskii wasn’t hard to find now. The insubstantial webbing my mind labeled as the planet surrounded me when I entered the M’hir, as if I’d come close to luring it from the M’hir with me.

Was that what the Drapsk hoped?

No, I thought, while holding very tightly to my sense of place this time. What’s wrong here isn’t the location of the planet within this other space. It’s the way it is coiled on itself, severed and independent from surges and patterns beyond. Carefully, experimentally, I reached for just one tiny part of the webbing, teasing it free. Once released, it glowed with what I recognized as power along its length, as though the exposed end were a leaf collecting radiation from some unknown sun.

It felt right.

I began teasing more parts free, watching their neighbors begin to copy the action on their own, multiplying so that for each one I untangled, dozens more spontaneously freed themselves.

I held myself together firmly, intent on doing as much as I could before returning to myself; in truth, so fascinated by my unsuspected ability to affect this place I was reluctant to leave.

It was this fascination that came close to ending my life. I didn’t sense what approached until it was on me.

How to describe what happened next? It was as if every vein in my body was being torn open and sucked dry; every emotion I’d ever felt was being ripped from my mind. Worse was the sensation of power pouring out of me until I realized in horror I was about to dissolve.

Pain! Pain!

The Drapsk were fighting for me, too, but it wasn’t enough. Something was keeping me in the M’hir.

Why, I was fading, I realized with numb surprise. In another moment, there would be nothing left to return to the body I’d abandoned. At least there was no link to pull Morgan to this death with me.

Morgan. All that was worthwhile in my life. His name, the rightness of him, coursed through me like a stim. He needed me. How dare I die?

Very easily. The force, or whatever it was holding me, cared nothing for my sudden struggle, for my frantic efforts to find out what was happening. I’d gained a handful of subjective seconds, if that. I searched desperately for some tool, some escape.

Drapskii. I reached for the nearest glowing tips, aghast as some snapped and died at my touch, but finding I could hold others. From them, energy flowed back into me. More, more. Then, suddenly . . .

It was enough.

 

I opened my eyes, aware of three things at once.

I was surrounded by Drapsk, bending over me so all I could see was a rainbow cloud of feathery plumes. My body was, I felt myself hastily, completely intact, despite the sensation of having been torn apart for some feast.

And my arms were covered with small pinch marks, already sore.

“Dear Drapsk,” I think I said, before everything went peacefully blank.

“How much longer?” Morgan asked, fuming.

His driver waved his hand, the poison spur at the base of the thumb a warning glint of white against gray. Morgan had a healthy respect for this natural armament, enough to have updated his antivenom supplies, taking a shot before coming insystem. “Who can say?” the Retian answered peacefully, both bulbous eyes closed and webbed feet dangling in the water to one side of the mudcrawler.

Morgan’s glare was wasted on both the relaxed Retian and the source of the mid-marsh traffic jam, a straggling herd of migrating brexks complete with outriders. He’d seen vistapes of the Retian food beasts, but not until now appreciated their size.

Or stink. The Human added a second filter pack to his breather, seeking some relief for his burning nostrils and mouth. It wasn’t a smell, he said to himself, eyes watering. It was an all-out assault. An outrider scooted past, controlling its skidder—a one-rider version of the mudcrawler and as agile as its name suggested—with practiced insolence. Morgan ducked under his plas blanket in time to miss most of the resulting spray of mud and water.

Morgan was impatient with any delay. His destination was in sight past the distant ring of muddy dike works. Ahead lay the lumpy buildings forming the outer edge of Jershi; just within that edge was the All Sapients’ District, where the Retians rented space to offworld entrepreneurs. And on one of the few high and dry spots—fortunately considered marginal real estate by the amphibious Retians, was the storefront of Malacan’s Fine Exports.

Morgan found himself grinding his teeth and deliberately relaxed his jaw. Malacan Ser was his only reliable contact on this world. That didn’t guarantee Malacan’s cooperation or that he’d have any useful information, but it was a start.

Except that between them was a line of over two hundred mud-splattered, grumpy-sounding, smelly beasts, each easily three times the size of this or any of the other mudcrawlers floating in wait.

Another skidder plowed through the marsh dangerously close to them. Morgan prepared to duck, then spotted his driver slithering over the side. He disappeared with a plop in the dark water just as a second skidder appeared coming from the other direction.

Morgan reacted instinctively, pulling himself clear of the waterproof and motion-restricting sheet. There wasn’t much of a side rail on the vessel, but he found what cover he could beside the engine mount, flipping open the holster of his sidearm. He didn’t draw it yet. This could all be more Retian fun in the water; Human-baiting was a popular sport.