Hellspark (21 page)

The sodden pennants that declared the shaman within slapped at the infirmary wall in the gusting wind; the sound made Tocohl jump. She shook her head, half to clear it, half to wonder at the extravagance of emotion Flashfever drew from them all—suddenly aware of an ache across her shoulders.

With what seemed extraordinary effort, she unclenched her hands. The tansy scent of bruised foliage filled the air about her as the moss cloak peeled moistly from her palms. Tocohl inhaled deeply, glad of a familiar scent to soften the sharp tang of Flashfever’s air.

Maggy pinged softly, almost inaudibly.

(I’ll be fine, Maggy,) she said, (give me a moment. Go talk to Alfvaen.) A walk would ease her muscles of their tension-induced stiffness. She was down the infirmary steps and five strides into the compound’s courtyard before she realized, from the soft squish of mud beside her, that Om im was still at her side. His tactful silence was the most likely cause of Maggy’s softened ping.

Tocohl signed her appreciation and began a Methven calming, matching her stride to the rhythm of

the ritual. Slowly she felt her panic fade. When the last vestiges of fear were gone, she found herself at the perimeter of the courtyard, looking out into the brilliant expanse of flashgrass.

There she stopped. The

Methven ritual, she noted with interest, seemed also to have eased her storm nerves.

Layli-layli calulan was right about the ionization effect. Certainly she had been feeling it. Nobody in her right mind would have interfered…

Clicking her tongue at her own behavior, she turned to Om im and grinned wryly. “Still with me?” she asked.

He made the deepest, most flamboyant bow she had yet seen, came up grinning with relief. “I was about to ask you that same question,” he said. “You pile risk on risk, Ish shan.”

“Who accepted Alfvaen’s challenge?”

In answer, he cocked his head and clapped a palm proudly to his chest. “That was only to distract her from poor old Ruurd. I was afraid he might know the ritual too and use it simply because that was the appropriate response, verbally speaking.”

When she glanced at him in surprise, he gave her the Bluesippan thumbs-up yes. “I’ve seen him in an analogous situation. A rote inquiry in a little back street bar led him into a rote response that nearly got his head knocked off.”

Tocohl laughed. She could think of any number of possibilities that could have led to the situation.

Sobering, she said, “It’s not likely that van Zoveel would have taken up Alfvaen’s challenge though, especially as a rote response. He was so angry he was having trouble remembering his GalLing’—every third bellow was in Zoveelian and even that wasn’t what I’d call articulate.”

“It was less likely that Alfvaen would take me up on my offer. I’ve worked with her off and on for nearly twenty years total. I’ve seen her challenge more than once, but I’ve never seen her go through with it.”

“She needs the proper responses,” Tocohl said, “which you provided.”

“I’m not from her culture: I don’t know any better. She was looking for an excuse to break it off

.”

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“How do you figure you rate if van Zoveel wouldn’t?”

He chuckled. “Have you taken a good look at me lately, Ish shan? At my height, I’m visibly not Siveyn.”

Puzzled, Tocohl eyed him askance.

His chuckle turned to a laugh. “No, no, Ish shan. You’re looking with the wrong eye. Don’t look at me in Bluesippan. Look at me in

Siveyn

.”

She did her best to comply to his instructions—and saw precisely what he had intended her to see.

Her laugh joined his.

Of course

Alfvaen couldn’t have gone through with the duel. Who in her right mind would think some alien midget an honorable opponent? Not Alfvaen—

especially not Alfvaen, given her romantic bent. Van

Zoveel, on the other hand, would not have been so lucky. Om im was right, there. Slipping back into

Bluesippan, she turned up her thumbs to tell him so.

“You wouldn’t have had that protection either, Ish shan,” he added. He turned his face up and closed his eyes. “Ah, sun!” he said fervently. “You’ll notice the rest of the team is beginning to turn out. You’ll get your sprookjes soon.”

“About time,” Tocohl said.

He pointed to the perimeter fence at the opposite end of the compound where the flashwood crowded close, dripping water and reflected light. “They usually come out of the flashwood just about there.”

Taking the pointed finger for an invitation, Tocohl started back across the compound.

“Risk upon risk,” Om im said again as he fell in beside her. “The least I could do was handle Alfvaen.

My blade was no help against layli-layli calulan

. When she started to remove that second ring of hers…”

“Am I to understand you credit those bar stories about the Yn shaman’s Death Curse?”

He stopped in his tracks, gave her a mocking look. “What, a cosmopolitan fellow like me believe bar stories? Let’s be reasonable,” he said. His face sobered and so did his tone.

“I’ve seen layli-layli

calulan

’s ability to speed the healing process with her touch and her rituals. What she can do for good, I have no doubt she can do for ill as well.”

When she made no response, he went on, “At any rate, I’m in good company. I saw your face when you attempted to stop her from removing that second ring. I warned you about rash acts, Ish shan, but I

had no idea how rash your acts could get!”

(I’ll be fine, Maggy,) Tocohl said, (give me a moment. Go talk to Alfvaen.) To judge from the readings Maggy was getting from the 2nd skin, Tocohl needed silence for a

Methven ritual of calm. As Om im did not seem to distract Tocohl, Maggy felt no need to warn him to silence, so she headed the arachne back to Alfvaen.

She thought she understood most of what had transpired. It had taken a lot of file-searching though.

The material on Yn shamans was purely non-experiential but there was a lot of it, especially what
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Tocohl tagged “bar stories.” That would ordinarily have put it in the category of fiction but Maggy was still unsure of the differences between fiction and fact, despite Tocohl’s attempted explanation. Listed as fact, she had several scientific papers on the shaman’s ability to help or hinder another creature’s bodily functions, which seemed to give credibility to seven of the bar stories. She continued to search and compare, while she watched them and recorded everything. She was not about to miss a clue to the Y

shaman.

Layli-layli calulan was speaking to Kejesli: “Captain, I offer myself for disciplinary action. The fault was entirely mine. Ruurd van Zoveel has every right to ask for compensation.”

Kejesli gave her what Maggy tentatively interpreted as a bewildered look. Maggy hoped layli-layli would explain, but van Zoveel gave her no chance. “Oh, no!” he said. “That’s not necessary, layli-layli

.

We had a misunderstanding, that’s all!”

If Maggy’s information about the curses was fact, it had been a very dangerous misunderstanding.

“All right,” said layli-layli calulan

. (Except to note that she was no longer angry, Maggy was unable to categorize the shaman’s expression.) She hesitated, then said, in the very gentle tone with which Maggy had heard parents address injured children, “Then swift-Kalat and I may return to our task?”

Van Zoveel opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He tried a second time. Maggy had to enhance his reply to hear it. “Yes,” he said.

“Then you would be less distressed if you did not stay,”

layli-layli calulan told him, again in her very gentle tone.

“Yes,” said van Zoveel. “I’ll be outside. I’d better explain to Timosie, anyway—he was also very concerned.”

That sent Maggy on another file search. She knew, from Tocohl’s explanation to layli-layli calulan

, why van Zoveel had been so angry. But Timosie Megeve was Maldeneantine, so she wanted to see if the same explanation applied.

Alfvaen leaned suddenly back against one of the infirmary beds. She looked very much like she had when Tocohl had asked Maggy to find a real doctor for her. Maggy wasn’t sure if layli-layli calulan was to be considered a real doctor in Tocohl’s use of the term but Maggy had enough points of congruence to assume a similar situation.

She sent the arachne a few steps closer to Alfvaen and said through its vocoder, “Psst, Alfvaen.”

Alfvaen peered down at the arachne. “What is-s it, Maggy?”

Yes, she was having the same trouble focusing, Maggy saw, and the same speech difficulty. That was sufficient confirmation to act on.

On the theory that speaking of infirmities was to be done quietly, Maggy kept the vocoder low.

“Perhaps you are in need of your medication, Alfvaen. Your speech has slurred and—”

“You’re right. I am.” Alfvaen drew the pill box from her pouch. Once again she had difficulty opening it, but Maggy couldn’t help her as Tocohl had. The arachne was less adept at fine control than Alfvaen was at the moment. At last, Alfvaen managed to open the box; she took her pill. “Thank you, Maggy,”

she whispered, “I appreciate it. The worst part about Cana’s disease is that your judgment gets bad just when you need it the most.”

That seemed to call for a response, so Maggy said “I think I understand.”

During their exchange, van Zoveel had left. Now layli-layli bent swiftly to her task.

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Alfvaen peered down again, then reached for the arachne and set it on the bed beside her, where the lens had an unobstructed view of the procedure.

Making a score of delicate incisions at the nape of Oloitokitok’s neck, layli-layli calulan extracted samples of the tissue. These she inserted into—Maggy angled the arachne slightly—a machine which

Maggy tentatively identified as a diagnostic of some sort.

While she waited, layli-layli calulan silently knotted and reknotted her koli thread. It served a purpose similar to that of the Methven ritual for calm, and Maggy noted with approval that the readings from Tocohl’s 2nd skin were dropping to normal.

The machine chimed and issued a neatly racked series of slides.

Layli-layli calulan pulled all the knots from her koli thread, wrapped it several times about her right wrist, then picked up the rack of slides. These she brought to Alfvaen.

Maggy projected that she intended to give them to Alfvaen for some reason but instead layli-layli calulan placed the rack carefully on the bed beside the arachne. Then she touched Alfvaen’s chin to examine her eyes. “I believe you are in need of medication,” she said, confirming Maggy’s private approach to the suggestion.

“Yes,” said Alfvaen, “I just took care of it. Maggy reminded me.”

Layli-layli calulan turned her gaze on the arachne. “Thank you, maggy-maggy

,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” Maggy told her through the arachne’s vocoder since she too seemed more comfortable addressing a discrete entity, “I am glad to have your confirmation.”

Turning to meet Alfvaen’s eyes once more, layli-layli calulan extended a hand to indicate the rack of slides. “Choose for me, please,” she said.

From across the room, Kejesli said, “

Layli-layli calulan

, Alfvaen has Cana’s di—”

The shaman ignored him. “Choose for me,” she said again.

Kejesli made a noise that Maggy stored for later reference, while Alfvaen brushed her hand lightly across the edges of the slides, her face intent. Maggy focused the arachne’s lens tightly on Alfvaen’s face and hands, in the hope that she might record Alfvaen’s serendipity at work.

“Try that one,” Alfvaen said, indicating a slide. Maggy reran her tape twice; whatever Alfvaen had done, it wasn’t on the record.

Swift-Kalat came forward to accept the slide from layli-layli

’s hand. He strode to the microscope, inserted it. Alfvaen picked up the arachne to follow him, holding it carefully before her as if the arachne were very delicate.

Layli-layli calulan and Kejesli joined them to watch without comment as swift-Kalat keyed the computer for display. Images, some stored, some current, played acoss the screen as swift-Kalat examined and fined his examination with the use of various light sources and filters.

At last the screen held a single image.

“Yes,” he said, “if we were to leave the body out of stasis, these would become garbage plants.”

“And what’s the significance of that?” ask Kejesli, as if the question had been drawn from her by force.

Swift-Kalat sighed. “I don’t know. All I can say that, of all the dead creatures we picked up, only that”—he gestured at Oloitokitok’s body—“and the golden scoffer I dissected the same day are growing garbage plants. They were both bitten by sprookjes. If the other golden scoffers have no sprookje bites and no garbage plants, then I would theorize that the sprookjes were responsible for the garbage plants.”

“And what would be the significance of that

?”

It was layli-layli calulan who answered: “If the sprookjes are responsible for the garbage plants, they may also have been responsible for Oloitokitol’s death.”

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OU’LL SEE SPROOKJES any minute,” Hitoshi Dan assured Tocohl, indicating with a wide-flung palm the same area of the perimeter fence Om im had.

His arrival precluded any further discussion of her rash acts but Tocohl knew this was only temporary; blade service gave Om im Chadeayne not only the right but the duty to reproach her for a risk such as she’d taken. Maggy would no doubt add a few words on the subject, as well. On her own part, Maggy minded redundancy not in the slightest. But for the moment, Tocohl had a respite from both.

Respite from Flashfever’s storms brought other surveyors out in number—how was it Om im had phrased it?—to dry their feathers. Tocohl watched as they formed small celebratory clusters, each a hodgepodge of style and manner. In all, the survey team was as diverse a group as she’d seen anywhere, no two from the same culture and most in worlds’ motley.