Hellspark (31 page)

Layli-layli calulan was lighting a jievnal stick. Maggy hesitated to interrupt her thinking, but with Tocohl and three others in danger, she could not ignore even so low a probability.

She brought the arachne to its feet. “Please, I’m sorry to interrupt, but may I use your console?”

It was not polite, she knew, but she had already started the arachne toward it.

“Yes,” said layli-layli calulan

, after what seemed to Maggy a very long pause.

Maggy thrust the arachne’s adaptor into the console and searched for the team’s personnel files.

She met stubborn refusal. “As bad as Kejesli,” she said. The computer was obviously keyed to hold certain information for authorized personnel only. She could break the coding but it would take time.

“What are you looking for, maggy-maggy

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?”

The question startled her, too much of her attention had been on the coding to notice that layli-layli calulan had moved to watch the display. Breaking codes on other computers was technically illegal.

Maggy had no idea what layli-layli would think of it, so instead of volunteering any information, she answered the question as strictly as it had been phrased:

“Further information about Timosie Megeve.”

Without comment, layli-layli calulan touched the keyboard, then spoke aloud, “

Layli-layli calulan

.” The records were obviously voice and fingerprint keyed. “It will oblige you now, Maggy.”

“Thank you.” The arachne touched the keyboard and watched the display, slowing it to human speed so that she did not offend layli-layli

. The details of Megeve’s training and employment inched by and probability took a jump upward: Megeve had trained in electronics on Hayashi

.

“Will you help me to act on a probability of point-oh-six?”

“A hunch?”

Layli-layli calulan knelt to look directly into the camera eye. “Yes—if you’ll answer a question for me. Fair trade, Hellspark?”

“Fair trade,” Maggy told her.

“Is there really a Hellspark ritual of change? The truth, maggy-maggy

, in exchange for my help.”

Now Maggy understood why Tocohl considered trading an art. That was a question she had not anticipated. She couldn’t lie, having declared a fair trade; yet to admit that she had lied…

Layli-layli calulan had lied too—and there Maggy found a possible solution to the dilemma.

“There is now,” Maggy said firmly. “The gods Hibok Hibok and Juffure have so decreed it.”

Layli-layli calulan gave a shout of laughter. When she at last caught her breath, she said, “Now, tell me about your hunch, maggy-maggy

.”

Thunder jolted Tocohl to consciousness with a convulsive jerk that sent a searing pain through her side. She gasped and pressed a hand to the pain’s source, pushed herself to a sitting position with her free hand. The pain did not ease. The moss cloak whipped about her. Grateful for the distraction, she tucked its edges firmly beneath her thighs.

Moss cloak? she wondered suddenly, fingering it.

“The sprookje returned it while you were passed out,” Om im shouted over the roar of rain.

“Maybe

Sunchild thinks the cloak is for injuries.”

Tocohl glanced at the crumpled Alfvaen, whose face Buntec sheltered from the rain with Om im’s cape. Why not Alfvaen then? Om im said something further.

“What?”

“I said,” he repeated, “how are you feeling, Ish shan?”

“Blunt, rusted, nicked, and burred,” she said. “Aside from that, I’ve never been better. How long have I been out?”

“Ten, twenty minutes. You’re not holding us up, the storm is.” He reached toward her, pried her crimped hand from her side. When she tried to resist, he said, “Ish shan, I’ve done enough fieldwork to have earned a degree in emergency medicine. It’s blade right, and you know it.”

She did; she let him probe the injury, gasping once or twice despite his gentleness. At last he sat back on his haunches. She could not see his expression but his tone was anything but relieved: “It could be broken, Ish shan. You can’t travel: you risk puncturing a lung.”

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“Are you volunteering to carry me?” She kept her tone light but it was sufficient to silence any further warnings.

Lightning flickered, small stuff this time, but enough to light his face and let Tocohl see the depth of his concern for her. “Talk to me,” she said, “I could use the distraction.”

He gave her the Bluesippan thumbs-up yes and moved closer, just as another massive bolt of lightning struck not five feet above their heads. A great sheet of light enveloped them; at the periphery of their blasted heath, zap-mes lashed into action. An acrid smell, like that of burning insulation, assaulted

Tocohl’s nose.

She gave a wan grin at Om im and observed, “Smells like one or two of those zap-mes overestimated their current requirements.”

Om im batted at his ear. He had clearly not heard her over the still-reverberating thunder.

Not willing to risk repeating that, Tocohl shouted, “I thought you said thunderstorms were a time for talking.”

Om im shouted back, “Only for sprookjes!”—and pointed.

Twisting to look renewed the stabbing pain. More cautiously, Tocohl moved her whole body to face in the direction he’d pointed.

Two sprookjes kept each other company; their luminescent feathers, streaming with rain, shone in the gloom. Eerie light rippled along their bodies as the wind ruffled and twisted their feathers into pattern after pattern after pattern.

“To your left is Timosie’s—Sunchild,” Om im said next to her ear, “on the right is van Zoveel’s.”

Tocohl scrutinized the two. At last she said, “I don’t know how you do it, Om im. I can’t distinguish any difference in feather patterns—certainly not in this light!”

He was close enough that she could hear his chuckle over the sizzle of rain. “It’s a gift, Ish shan—and it has nothing to do with the patterns on their feathers.” He waited out a boom of thunder, then continued, “The same way I knew you were Hellspark.”

“I assumed Buntec had told you—” Tocohl thought back. Om im had not been among those that

Buntec had notified on their arrival. “How—?”

Om im spread his hands. “I honestly don’t know. I’ve often been accused of an unusual espability but it can’t be that because I can’t tell the sprookjes apart if I can’t see them.”

“I’d hardly call this seeing,” Tocohl said. A crackle of lightning whited out the gloom, in no way belying her comment. When she felt she could be heard again, she added in a shout, “Or think seeing the

key component when you’re seeing them from across the compound.”

“There you’re wrong, Ish shan. Across the compound or across the playground—I’ve been able to do this, whatever this is, since I was a kid.”

He wiped rain from his face and went on, “I knew a pair of identical twins, only they weren’t identical, not to me. Drove me crazy because everybody thought they were when I could see so clearly they weren’t—even across the playground. When I objected, strongly, to everyone who called them identical, and proved that I could tell them apart even at a distance, I got run through the whole bank of espability tests as a reward.”

Again he chuckled. “I shouldn’t say that. What I got for reward was two of the best friends I’ve ever had. They were so pleased to have found someone who never once mistook the one for the other…”

“I think I can understand that. Even identical twins are different to themselves. Their voices are different: one hears the other through air but himself through bone conduction. The difference between how your voice normally sounds to you and how it sounds from a tape.”

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“I think it had more to do with my outrage. By my blade, Ish shan, to this day I still do not understand how anyone can mistake the two—they move differently. I could see it across a room! Why can’t anyone else?”

A flash of lightning, this time farther away, lit and broke the scene into eerie segments like the flash of a strobe. Tocohl saw Megeve’s sprookje shift and twist, saw its larynx bob. Neither sprookje blinked or winced at the ferocity of the skies.

She saw, in fact, something she should have seen on the tapes, had she not been distracted by the crests and yokes of the so-called wild sprookjes. Had she not been so stupid

!

With a wrench that shot pain the length of her body, she turned to face Om im. Tears sprang to her eyes, to be washed away by the torrential rain. “Om im!” she said, gasping it past the pain in her chest.

“The wild sprookjes!

They don’t have a larynx

! She tried to explain but found she had no breath to do so.

Alarmed, Om im caught her shoulders and firmly eased her to the ground. “Tell me later, Ish shan.

Lie down. Lie down or, by my blade, I’ll tie you down!”

She had no strength to fight and enough sense to obey. She let him stretch her out. Vaguely, she remembered the pain of a second probing of her injury, then she slipped into a fitful doze…

When she awoke, the storm had passed. She tried to rise, found her way barred by a firm but comforting arm across her shoulders.

At the sign of movement, Om im withdrew his arm. He brought his face into her line of sight, raised a gilded brow inquiringly.

“You can’t handle me and Alfvaen,” she said.

“I know. But—carefully, Ish shan.”

She turned up her thumb in agreement. With his assistance, she eased herself to her feet. A trial step told her she could walk but that too would have to be carefully done or she would know the pain of it.

Alfvaen slept on; Buntec hoisted the Siveyn onto her shoulders as if she weighed little or nothing.

Sunchild—Tocohl saw that van Zoveel’s sprookje had departed—but Megeve’s had remained behind. To guide them. There was no longer any doubt of that in her mind. Sunchild rose too, ready to travel.

Following her glance, Om im said, “Now what was all that about sprookjes and larynxes?”

Tocohl smiled wanly and said, “Want to see a trick?” At his frown, she added, “That’s not a non sequitur, I assure you. Want to see a trick you taught me?”

Without awaiting his answer, she fixed it firmly in her mind that this was Megeve’s sprookje and that, like Megeve, it too spoke Maldeneantine. Walking gingerly, she approached the sprookje as she would have any Maldeneantine and, in that language, she said, “My name is Tocohl Susumo, and I greet you with a full heart.”

Word for word, the sprookje echoed her.

This time, layli-layli calulan’s search party consisted only of Maggy’s arachne and swift-Kalat, a feat layli-layli had achieved by waving her “divination” sticks at Captain Kejesli and invoking no less than eight fictitious gods. John the Smith had been asked, in confidence, to remain behind and keep a watch on Megeve. There, layli-layli had simply invoked friendship.

While the other search parties followed up John the Smith’s suggestion, that of checking every lightning rod stand in the immediate area of the downed daisy-clipper, swift-Kalat guided
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his upstream.

From the shaman’s capacious lap, the arachne recorded the passing flashwood.

When the arachne’s joints buckled, layli-layli calulan said, “Stop here. If Maggy is right about the jammer and the range of it, Buntec’s party is within a mile of us.”

Swift-Kalat let the craft hover as he marked the spot on his computer-generated map, then guided the craft into the woods while layli-layli calulan watched the forest below.

They zigzagged for fifteen minutes, marking the spot each time Maggy’s arachne came to or lapsed from consciousness, then they headed straight for the rough center of the disturbance.

“There!”

Layli-layli calulan stabbed a beringed finger at a shimmering grove of frostwillows.

Swift-Kalat brought the daisy-clipper to an abrupt halt, swung it at right angles to its previous position, to peer in the direction indicated. “Only a sprookje,” he said, not pausing to wonder at the disappointment where a day ago there would have been joy.

Then Buntec stepped from the cover of a monkswoodsman. Howling a greeting, she waved awkwardly from beneath her burden. Joy came and went, as swift-Kalat recognized that her burden was

Alfvaen… bound and unconscious!

Even before he could react and ground the daisy-clipper, layli-layli calulan had laid Maggy’s arachne aside to transform the seat behind her into its emergency-bed mode. As the daisy-clipper settled into the groundcover, layli-layli calulan leapt out. Together, she and Buntec eased Alfvaen aboard where layli-layli began to check her over.

There was nothing swift-Kalat could do to assist layli-layli calulan

, so he turned instead to the rest of the group that straggled from the flashwood. Om im bowed jauntily to Tocohl, took her hand, and laid it on his shoulder; she straightened—a brief spasm of pain crossed her face—and accepted the support, to walk the last few steps to the daisy-clipper, begrimed features held high and proud.

Om im said, “Take Alfvaen and Tocohl to camp. We’ll wait here, Buntec and I, for the second lift.”

But Tocohl had found the arachne. “Maggy!” she demanded—and the sprookje echoed her as if for emphasis—“What’s happened to Maggy? Is she all right?” She lifted the arachne, wincing at the pain the action caused her, and shook it as if to bring it back to consciousness.

“Maggy’s fine,” said layli-layli from the rear of the daisy-clipper. She was stripping the 2nd skin from Alfvaen. “She told us how to find you. She thinks an Hayashi jammer’s been planted on you—and the fact that we found you where she said we would bears that out. Check your throat mikes.”

Layli-layli ran her fingers lightly over Alfvaen’s back; she drew in her breath.

Alarmed, swift-Kalat craned to look but only caught a glimpse of gray before Buntec shoved him aside to get at the daisy-clipper’s tool kit. With the smallest screwdriver to hand, she attacked her own throat mike. “Nothing,” she said after a moment’s scrutiny—slammed the throat mike onto the daisy-clipper’s floor and held out her hand for Tocohl’s.