"On my honor, I will not"
"Hold tight, then."
She dug her knees into the strider. When it leapt the whole world seemed to blur around me, and my empty stomach lurched. We were airborne for only a moment, and then alighted on a bank not far from where the main fighting raged. The little ring of Mold Men held tight, despite the loss of roughly half their forces. A strider had just gone down from the thrust of an obsidian lance. Most of the poisoned beetles had been spent, and the armored raiders now fought with lances of their own, tipped with sharpened chela.
"This was supposed to be a skirmish," Hajed said. "Now we're taking casualties."
She cupped her hands around her mouth and let loose a series of whoops. A blue-armored rider broke off from the melee and leapt his mount beside her. He'd taken a javelin through the shoulder, between a gap in his chitin. Despite the pain such a wound must cause, he saluted without a trace of discomfort.
"We're out," Hajed said. "Tell the other
Kuars
the Blues have captured an important prisoner, and are heading back to brief the Priestess."
The rider nodded.
"And don't try to yank that out until we're home," she added.
"Yes,
Kuar
." The rider stole a glance at me, before leaping back into the fray.
"So I
am
a captive. What happened to 'guest'?"
A tight smile lit Hajed's face. "You'd rather be a prisoner among the rotting ones?"
"I see your point."
Moments later a half-dozen blue armored riders assembled around her. She surveyed their wounds, clucked, and nodded her helm towards the jungle. The great spiders leapt. Warm air rushed past, and vertigo made my eyes spin. For a second I was
sideways
in relation to the ground, many yards below. The strider clung to the trunk of a huge frame tree. Then it bounded again, upwards, and we crashed through small branches and scarlet foliage to reach the highest canopy.
From this vantage the jungle no longer seemed dark or menacing. It was beautiful: a world of tree-tops set beneath scudding ochre clouds. Insects danced in great magenta whorls. I drew an appreciative breath.
"Stunning, isn't it?" Hajed said. "I bet you don't have vistas like this, where you're from."
"The jungles of the north are green, rather than red," I told her. "And I've seen views from the skyward weirs of the Crimson Men that would make your heart shudder. But this place does have a certain unique beauty."
I gave her hips an extra squeeze.
"Flattery. How quaint." Her booted foot struck the strider's flanks and we were moving again, leaping from tree to tree at a speed I'd not thought possible. The closest comparison would be soaring atop one of Jaryk's black-furred
Xhats
.
A tall shape appeared along the horizon. Distracted as I was, I mistook at first for a frame tree grown to cloud-scraping height. But this was no natural growth. A tower of black basalt thrust itself against the sky, the walls peeling outward at the top like the petals of an enormous stone flower. I could not judge its scale, given the distance. But I knew without a doubt I'd set eyes on the tower of Siroth Hadz. The massive structure dwarfed even Gann Lorci's domed fortress.
Hajed must've sensed my awe. "Remember what I told you before," she said in a low voice. "Siroth Hadz is not revered among my people. Speak only to the Priestess Mother of him, and chose your words carefully."
"The Priestess is your ruler?"
"For all practical purposes. We're governed officially by a Council of War, but it's the Priestesses wisdom that has allowed us to domesticate insects. Without her guidance, we'd be as primitive as those Mold Men back there."
"I was only their captive for a short time," I said, "but I didn't sense they were entirely hostile."
Hajed shrugged armored shoulders. "What does it matter? They're diseased. Infected. We fight to thin their numbers, lest their curse spread."
An unpleasant thought occurred to me. "How contagious are they?"
"Don't worry. You'd have to live among them for weeks before the first patches of mold would appear."
I nodded with relief.
Ahead the jungle gave way to rocky terrain. What looked like ancient lava flows had cooled and cracked, forming hundreds of small canyons among the dark stone. The striders made a final leap down from the frame trees and scuttled onto the rocks. Their speed diminished. From the relieved looks spreading over the faces of my fellow raiders, I sensed we'd reached a destination.
"Welcome to Black Gorge Crèche," Hajed said.
Before us gaped the largest of the canyons; a deep wound in the rocks a quarter-mile across. Down one side ran a steep trail. We took it single-file, the strider's nimble legs finding easy purchase. The walls at the bottom were riddled with caves of black granite. Faces peered from their mouths. Hajed called out a glad whoop and men, women, and children came pouring onto the canyon floor, to surround the riders. They wore identical tunics of drab gray silk, regardless of gender. Dark haired and pale skinned, they could've passed for any Mainlander tribe to the north.
Hajed barked orders. A pair of young males helped the injured rider down from his mount and carried him off to a nearby cave. Others grabbed at the striders' harness straps and guided them with tugs and clicking sounds towards a huge stone pen.
Hajed dismounted and allowed her own strider to be led away. She slid the carapace helm from her head. More braids spilled out, held in tight coils of fine silk thread. Her young face was thin, ascetic, and seemed composed of all hard angles. It was also very beautiful. I felt a stirring after my long weeks at sea.
"You seem pleased, all of a sudden," she said.
"Just grateful."
"I imagine you must be." She took me by the hand. "Come. Let's put some food in you."
"What about my sword?" The blade was still attached to her strider's harness, being led away.
"We'll attend to your sword later."
She led me into one of the larger cave mouths. The interior had been carved smooth and polished, with striated bands of black, reddish-brown, and slate. Farther in, wicker cages stuffed with glowing beetles provided a wan, greenish light. The air was cool and dry; a pleasant change from the insufferable jungles outside.
We passed a chamber where several gray-smocked workers bent over the shape of a giant millipede. The creature had been lashed down with silken ropes, its segmented back undulating in waves. Workers reached underneath with stone cups and drew out long strands of some clear, acerbic-smelling liquid.
"They're milking it," Hajed said, anticipating my question, "for pheromones. A special kind of scent. We use it to communicate with our insect stock."
"That's what makes your tribe special, isn't it? Breeding insects for war."
"The northern tribes do not?"
"They work metal, mostly. A few have the understanding of more advanced weapons."
She shook her head. "We have very little metal here, in the south. Siroth Hadz has laid claim to all of it."
"Do you war with him?"
"Not if we can help it. Most of the time we fight the other crèches—Blue Vale and Stone River. We raid them for stock. Blue Vale, for example, is breeding a Hunting Mantis the size of two men. We're trying to do the same, so they don't gain an advantage."
The tunnel ahead widened into a huge cavern, unworked, with narrow shafts of sunlight streaming down from cracks overhead. A rustling, fluttering sound seemed to echo from every direction. After a moment I realized what I took to be motes of light were actually swarms of gold-colored moths, spiraling down from the ceiling towards a smoky bonfire on the stone floor. When the moths drew too close, their wings singed and they fell. An attendant with a blackened branch drew the sizzling remains out of the fire.
Hajed squatted down and gestured for me to do likewise. The attendant came over with a bowl of the blackened moths and a striped gourd. Hajed drank first, then passed the gourd to me. The water inside tasted faintly of sulfur. She snatched up a moth and shucked the wings and head before popping the remainder in her mouth. My stomach was too empty to feel squeamish. This was cooked food, at least. And, I discovered after a few bites, tasted better than anticipated.
"I appreciate your hospitality," I said, "but I still intend to speak with Siroth Hadz at the soonest opportunity."
She glanced behind her to make sure the attendant hadn't overheard. "Quiet. I warned you." She added in a low voice: "You must rest first, and then speak with the Priestess. She may be willing to help."
"That would be welcome."
"You have come all this distance, braved many dangers in a foreign land, just to deliver a head? Your people must take their obligations seriously."
"They do. But there is another reason I would speak with ... whom I named before."
She arched an eyebrow.
I saw no reason to be secretive. "The wise men of the Sea Clans tell me disturbing things. They say the ocean has become shallower, in the span of one man's lifetime. The Deep Folk are dying off. Also, from time to time the Mainland shakes, as if the ancient volcanoes there would re-open and spew forth liquid rock."
"I know nothing of these things."
"Nor do I. But the wise men say they are troubling portents, and would have me ask the last of the Sorcerer-Priests what it means."
She put her hand on my knee. "Rest, Vin. Then you may assay all these troubles. Come."
She led me from the moth-cave, back out into the blinding daylight of the canyon. The remaining
Kuars
had returned with their red, yellow, and green armored riders, a few bearing wounds from the morning's skirmish. Hajed spoke with them briefly, and I received hard stares. She made no attempt to explain my presence, other than I was slated to talk with the Priestess later on. Nor did the
Kuars
question her about me. From their deference, I surmised Hajed enjoyed some kind of special status among the tribe.
We climbed a stone ramp leading past a series of smaller, individual caves. I had to crouch to follow her inside one. The floor had been polished and niches carved in the wall to hold weapons and tools. A raised wooden platform piled with soft fronds stood in one corner. Hajed secured a paper screen over the cave's mouth, turning the outside light amber. Without ceremony, she untied her chitin plates and tossed them onto a clattering pile, then slid out of the silk tunic underneath to stand naked before me.
"Your turn," she said, motioning at my harness. "Let's have a look at you."
Her breasts were small and athletic, her limbs corded with lean muscle. How different from the soft curves of my Rhadma, yet compelling all the same. Feeling a flush of anticipation, I stripped off my own harness. Hajed nodded in approval.
The ways of Venus are not those of Earth. On that hostile planet, where death by venom, fang, or sword always hovered close, the concept of 'monogamy' seemed foolish, even profane. Men and women took their pleasures where they could get them, without shame. It would've been an affront to my hostess if I did otherwise.
* * *
For a long time I slept, my first true rest since coming to the Southern Continent. Hajed's insistent voice woke me. The paper screen no longer glowed amber. Its surface had gone dark. Only the greenish haze of caged beetles lit the little chamber.
"Put your harness on," she said. She wore a saffron robe dotted with complicated designs, like the markings on a moth's wings. Over her face she fitted an enameled mask, depicting a pair of multifaceted eyes and a curling proboscis where a nose should be.
"Do I get one of those, too?" I asked, grinning.
"This is not a time for jokes. I'm taking you to see the Priestess Mother."
"Now?"
"She sleeps during the day."
The mask muffled her voice, hid her features. It was like talking to a statue. Not the same flesh-and-blood woman I'd just shared a sleeping pallet with. I didn't like her transformation, but I couldn't see any other action besides compliance. I buckled on the harness. Without a sword, or at least a knife, I felt very much a captive in this strange tribe.
The ruby bracelet pulsed a little. Or was that my own heartbeat?
Hajed moved the screen aside. Pale dots of starlight flickered through the cloud-haze, lighting the canyon floor. We descended. A sentry bearing a huge, triple-horned beetle on a silken tether marched past, pausing to give Hajed a nod. I could see the furred silhouettes of at least a dozen striders in their stone pens, chittering and restive. We mounted another ramp and climbed to a cave mouth smaller than the others. Beetle-lights flickered down its length.
"You might have to stoop in places," Hajed said. "The entrance tunnel has a low ceiling."
"Hardly auspicious for your spiritual leader."
Hajed's mask regarded me without comment.
I followed her down. The tunnel grew narrow, then twisting. My only view was the stippled patterns on the back of Hajed's robe. We emerged at last in an oval-shaped chamber lit by a stunning mosaic of countless phosphorescent beetles, glowing green, mauve, and electric blue. The insects crawled along a series of stone grooves cut in floor and ceiling, forming living geometric shapes.
A woman sat in the chamber's center, atop a bench of cut shale. Curling golden hair spilled out behind an enameled mask similar to Hajed's. She wore scarlet robes that hugged tight to a voluptuous figure and flowed down over the bench's sides, obscuring her feet. From her immobile posture, I couldn't tell if she was alert to our presence or sound asleep. Hajed bent down on one knee and lowered her head. I did likewise.
How long we knelt like that was difficult to say. My foreleg began to tingle with lack of circulation. Eventually, the golden-haired woman stirred and cleared her throat.
Eyes downcast, Hajed said: "I bring you a prospect, oh Ithal."
The woman spoke in a whispering, reedy voice that seemed out of place with her apparent youth. "He is well-formed. Have him stand, so I may appraise him better."