Maeve (14 page)

Humming softly, she waded into the stream and sat down so the water flowed around her, coming up her ribs almost to her breasts. With handfuls of bottom sand she scrubbed the sweat and stains from her body until she felt comfortably clean. She stretched, yawned, then waded out and sat down on the grass to let the breeze flow over her and fan her dry, leaving her skin feeling sweetly cooled.

A tree cat padded from the shadow across the stream and stood watching her. Aleytys leaned back against the tree trunk, lacing her fingers behind her head, watching the cat with a grave curiosity of her own. She probed gently at the predator, exploring its feral psyche, then let it drink and sent it away, sighing with the memory of her magnificently terrifying companion so long ago, the black tars, Daimon. Idly, she wondered whether the big catlike animal was still alive, roaming the mountains of Jaydugar where even man was little threat to his well-being. But she was too content just now to dwell on the past. She stretched again and yawned hopefully.

Something clattered beside her. She looked down. Gwynnor's flute. She picked it up and looked it over worriedly, exploring the smooth, polished surface of the instrument for possible injury. No nicks or cracks. Good. She chuckled as the shape of the flute and the way she was handling it reminded her of her activities not so long before. Still holding the flute, she settled back against the tree.

A purple glow expanded then contracted in her head. Then hovered there, pulsating with a vaguely apologetic air.

“Shadith?”

Purple eyes opened hesitantly. “Lee …”

“What's wrong?” Aleytys sat up and looked around alertly.

“Nothing. I … I just wanted to talk to you.”

“You never hesitated before.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“You needed us.”

Aleytys relaxed against the tree, sniffing appreciatively as her back pressed perfumed oil from the bark, a wryly amused smile turning up a corner of her mouth. “So?”

Shadith seemed embarrassed. She kept fading out. “It's
your
body.”

“Sometimes I wonder about that.”

“Lee!”

“Just joking. Stop dithering, Shadith. What do you want?”

“Music!” The word was packed with an almost desperate longing. “I'm a singer, Lee, and a maker of songs. How long since …”

“You want me to wake Gwynnor?”

“NO!” Shadith's violet eyes blazed. “No, Lee. I want … I want your body. For just a little.”

“Why bother to ask?” Aleytys frowned. “You never did before.”

“If I tried it without your consent, Harskari would peel me raw. She's got a bad case of ethics, that lady.”

“I suppose she's listening now.”

“My god, I hope not. She and Swardheld have gone off …” Shadith's face contracted into a thoughtful scowl, “It's hard to explain.”

“What are you really, all of you?” Aleytys moved her hands slowly over the crumpled grass beside her thighs. “I've got a sort of interest in knowing,” she said dryly.

Shadith giggled. “Point to you, Lee.” The thin brows shot up into the exuberantly curling hair. “How the hell should I know?” She shook her curls until they danced about wildly. “All I really know is that I'm aware. I feel that I'm the same person I was before the diadem trapped me. I think. I feel—at least I do when the diadem's on a living body. I remember. I learn. What am I? God knows. I sure don't. Maybe Harskari does, but she's not talking.”

Aleytys frowned. “But you're the one who knows about complicated technology.”

Shadith shook her head. “You've got an exalted idea of my learning, Lee. So I can deal with machines a trifle more sophisticated than a hammer. Ha!” She turned thoughtful. “I suppose, since you come from an agrarian-pastoral context, you would find a machine-city culture difficult to understand, making me look smarter than I am.”

“Funny.”

“What?”

“This is the first time I've really just talked with one of you. We share a body and we're still strangers.”

“Which brings me back to the beginning. I starve for music, Lee. It's been forever since I've been able to do more than listen to snatches of sound. Please?”

Aleytys felt a painful reluctance to let another intelligence displace her, but she shook off the brief distaste. “Go ahead, Shadith.” With an uneasy laugh she flowed her hands down along her body. “Such as it is, it's all yours.”

Briefly disoriented by the transition, Aleytys scratched around inside her head until she felt comfortable, then she relaxed and lay back to enjoy Shadith's enjoyment of her skill.

Shadith lifted the flute and examined it, touching the polished wood with gentle reverence. She lifted the flute to her lips and blew, exploring the possibilities of the instrument as she got to know more about the possibilities of the body she wore.

Slowly, quietly, the tentative notes smoothed out and began blending into a complex, exciting music, something far beyond anything Aleytys had ever experienced. The music grew stronger and louder, penetrating to the bones of her body, going far far beyond the simply pleasant and tuneful. Demanding music. Disturbing. Demanding. Irritating. Demanding. Beautiful. Terrible. All at once and all in turn.

Gwynnor woke. He sat up, became conscious of his nakedness. Half-dazed by the music pouring around him, he fished for his tunic and slid it over his head, smoothing out the wrinkles as he turned to face the starwoman sitting beside him, legs crossed and back straight to give her lungs maximum expansion. She had his flute and was playing … extraordinary … he could make no judgment of the sound, but the skill … extraordinary. It shamed him. He grew angry and jumped to his feet.

She ignored him.

Fiercely, he snatched the flute from her hands. “Why didn't you tell me? You let me boast my skill when you …”

“Gwynnor!”

The word struck through his anger, stopping the rush of words instantly. It was not Aleytys' voice, not the voice he had begun to know as well as his own. Timber, accent, sound, all different. One of the demons had her. He swallowed and took a step backward. “You … you aren't …”

“I am called Shadith.”

He moved his head, looking anxiously and hopelessly around, “Let her go. Where is she?”

“Here.” Shadith laughed, the sound, a silver trilling wholly unlike Aleytys' contralto chuckle. “Come back and sit down, Gwynnor. Aleytys gave me her body for a little time.”

He shook his head trying futilely to drive out the fog of confusion roiling around inside. “I don't understand.”

Her mouth curled into an impish smile while the blue-green eyes danced with mischief. “Gwynnor, shame. You guessed about us long ago.”

“Demon!”

“Don't be silly. Ask Lee when she's back. More like guardian angels, although I can't claim to be very angelic.” She sobered. “I'm sorry, seeing this bothers you so much. Damn. Harskari will peel me for sure. It's just I was so very hungry to make music.”

“Aleytys is here?” He stared at her. “How?”

Shadith sighed. She looked wistfully at the flute held loosely in his fingers. “All right. Walk a way into the forest, please. When you return Aleytys will be here.”

Some minutes later he came slowly out of the shadow. He came over to her and bent down to stare into her face.

“It's me, Gwynnor. Shadith is gone.”

His fingers trembled on her cheek, then his hand cupped around the curve of her face. “How could it happen?”

“I can't explain, Gwynnor.”

“Cannot? No. Will not.”

“Yes. That's true.” She moved her head away from his hand and groped about her for her tunic. “It's a private thing.”

“How can you …” He dropped to his knees and touched her face, her hair. “How can you suffer such violation?”

She shook her head and moved away again, drawing the crumpled tunic over her head and smoothing away the creases. “I can allow a man within my body without it being violation. You should know that.”

“It isn't the same.”

“It is. What is given freely and with affection can never be stolen. They are my friends and my companions.”

Overhead, the moon had almost left the clear space. Aleytys got up and walked over to stand beside the stream, letting the soft brush brush of the waterflow come into her and work the timeless water magic, the elemental song that nearly always brought peace and healing for a time, at least, to her troubled spirit.

On his knees, Gwynnor watched her move away from him. He felt like running to her and holding her tightly, not letting her go, never letting her go. Holy Maeve … He pressed his hands over his eyes. We're too different, he thought. I have a life. She has a life. He jumped to his feet and left her standing beside the stream, so absorbed in thought she didn't even notice when he went.

Chapter XVIII

Ghastay grinned at Aleytys. “Same old tree.”

She looked up into the heavy foliage. “Same tree. You go back and let Tipylexne know we're in place, keeping an eye on what's happening.”

He nodded briskly and raced away. Aleytys turned to Gwynnor. “We'd better go up now.”

He nodded and went down on one knee so she could use the other as a step up. She looked at him and sighed.

“Gwynnor …”

He looked up, his face grim. “You made it quite clear, Aleytys. This morning. Your life and mine are separate.”

“Damn. We were friends.”

“I thought so. Before.”

“You knew all along I wasn't going to stay. Did I ever lie to you about that?”

“Not with words.” He got onto his feet and stood, glaring angrily into her face.

“Nor any other way,” she insisted. She put her hand to touch his arm. He jerked away. “All right, I shouldn't have slept with you.” She shrugged. “I don't claim to be perfect.”

“You act like you think you are.”

“Ay-mi, we sound like quarreling children. Come on, relax.” She chewed on her lip. “You seem to think I'm some kind of … I don't know. I'm a fallible human and so are you, but can't we approximate maturity?”

He took a deep breath and let his petulance slide away. “You expect a lot.” He knelt again and grunted as her weight rested briefly on his knee as she sprang for the limb. When she was settled she lowered the rope and he climbed up beside her.

The Director came striding from the forest accompanied by Qilasc, Tipylexne, and several stony-faced guards with a double line of immature females beating a slow ponderous rhythm on large nut shells, the whole presenting a face of immense dignity. Watching from her perch, high up in the tree at the edge of the clearing, Aleytys smiled, momentarily delighted by the absurdity of the whole scene.

The door on the harvester opened. First came two armored guards, then the engineer. Han scanned the trees around the clearing with wary eyes, then turned to face the procession.

Chu Manhanu held up his hand, halting the parade. He waited solemnly for the engineer to approach.

Lushan bowed deeply, schooling his face to the proper respect. Even from her tree, Aleytys could feel his startled appreciation and knew it was for her, not Chu Manhanu. He'd wondered how she'd pull it off. Again she smiled. Now he'd see.

Manhanu nodded, grudgingly acknowledging the engineer's profound obeisance. “Han Lushan,” he said brusquely, “you wasted time and lives. More important, this operation has been unprofitable.”

Han Lushan waited, a growing bitterness behind his obsequious mask. Aleytys frowned, remembering his prediction of trouble after Manhanu got back. Apparently he was to be appointed goat for this operation. She chewed her lower lip hating the idea.

Gwynnor touched her arm. “You can't mother the world,” he whispered.

She wrinkled her nose. “I know,” she whispered back.

In the clearing the Director was explaining how he had, by his consummate diplomacy, talked the forest people into providing tribute semiyearly, wood and wood products at no cost whatsoever to the Company. Hence there would be no need for the harvester; it was to be transported to the city and transferred from there to Hagen's world where, hopefully—this was said with heavy sarcasm—the next man in charge of it could avoid getting it wrecked beneath him.

Aleytys felt the amusement and deepening appreciation concealed by Lushan's Company face. She lay along the limb resting her chin on her crossed hands, watching the play unfold beneath her. Judging by his words, the Director was convinced that the agreement made him look good. He'd have a strong incentive to maintain it. Each time she probed him, though, she felt vaguely uncomfortable. To reassure herself, she tried again.

Anger … satisfaction … an eerie double aura … as if Manhanu himself had two minds … like the doctor in a way … a weak, innocuous dying-away glimmer and a cold savage overlay … she could feel but get no hold on him … if there was a second life in him it was hidden beyond her ability to discern.

For a moment the Director looked up, his face turned toward her. As if he could see her. As if he knew she was there. Watching. She shivered. He smiled and looked away.

Qilasc bowed deeply to Manhanu. She gestured to the young females who began the slow, steady beat once more. Once, twice, Qilasc bowed again. Then, with a silent Tipylexne beside her, she turned and marched slowly from the clearing, stepping in time with the hollow beat of the nutshells. As they vanished under the trees the Director stalked into the harvester, the engineer trailing behind.

Gwynnor stirred. “What happens now?”

“We wait and see what he does.”

“Will he keep his word?”

“I don't know.” She scanned the clearing with eyes and mind. “He's not trying to start the harvester. At least, there's that.”

“He looked at you.”