Reclamation (5 page)

“All right. For some reason his people”—he swept his hand at Basq in a gesture that was much grander than the language he was using—“want you to answer some questions. No matter what I say after this, you keep your mouth shut until they bring your namestones back, understand?”

The Notouch plunked herself down on the chair. She looked up at him with her lips pressed dramatically together.

Eric spread his hands to Basq again. “She won’t talk until she gets her namestones back.”

Basq said nothing, but Eric could see anger forming in his normally impassive eyes.

“Listen to me, Ambassador. Try to understand. This Notouch is a believer. What you we … think of as a superstitious and primitive religion is reality to her. She can’t disregard it any more than you can disregard the laws of physics, do you understand?”
Never mind that she’s already broken a dozen or more tenets just by the way she’s been talking to me.
“She’ll act according to what she knows as real. Those stones are
onar,
a … a … bond between her and the Nameless Powers. She’ll die before she helps the ones who have them.”

Come on, swallow it. Swallow it, you arrogant dandy.

Eric waited while Basq thought. He could almost hear the circuits buzzing in the other man’s head. Nothing was plain here. Nothing clear or simple.

What in the Realm of the Nameless do you want with Notouch talismans?

Who in the Realm of the Nameless is this Notouch you’ve found?

And how do I get myself out of here before you translate this conversation for yourselves?
Eric did not glance at the walls. It would have been pointless. There was no way he was going to be able to see Vitae surveillance equipment.

Two red spots had appeared on Basq’s cheeks. “Tell her that she will speak. We will hurt her if we have to.”

Eric translated the declaration into the Realm’s most formal command grammar. “The Skyman says if
dena
Arla Born of the Black Wall does not speak, they will torture her.”

She just looked at him and said nothing.

Eric waited for what seemed a decent interval. “You are either going to have to give her back the namestones, or hurt her,” he told Basq. “I’ve made the situation as plain as I can.”

Basq laid his hand on the door and spoke. Eric touched his translator. Whatever language Basq used, the disk in his ear couldn’t cope with it.

“The stones are being brought back,” Basq announced. “Tell her that and then tell her we will have her cooperation.”

This time, Eric relayed the message word for word.

“As soon as the stones are in my hands, I’ll answer whatever he asks me.” The Notouch kissed her fingertips and held her hand toward the ceiling to send the words from her mouth to the ears of the Nameless.

Eric translated her words faithfully. Basq stayed silent this time and Eric took that to mean “good enough.”

For now, anyway.

The cell door swished open and a slender Vitae, as bald as Basq, handed the Ambassador an opaque plastic tray. On its ribbed surface rested a trio of polished spheres, each the size of a baby’s fist and the color of winter ice.

Eric sucked in a deep breath.

“Arlas.”

The Notouch pushed past Eric and snatched the spheres up. One at a time, she held them toward the ceiling. The light glinted against their curved sides.

“What did you say?” demanded Basq.

“Arlas.” Eric repeated as the Notouch turned her treasures over in her hands. “It means star, or eye, or, well, diamond, I suppose would be close. I’ve only ever seen one set. In the Temple vaults in First City. No one’s found any new arlas in … hundreds of years.” He stared at the Notouch. “Arla Born of the Black Wall,” he murmured her name. “Where did you get those?”

“They’re my namestones.” Apparently satisfied that the spheres were genuine, she began unwinding her headcloth. “You’d be surprised, Teacher, what you find in the swamps.” Ignoring the fall of tangled, black hair that dropped across her cheeks and shoulders, she wrapped a fold of cloth around the stones. With practiced motions, she knotted the material to make a long-handled pouch.

Basq nodded to the messenger. He tucked the tray under his arm and touched the door.

“Now we will begin,” said Basq.

Eric opened his mouth. Before he could speak, a blur of motion cut across his peripheral vision.

THUNK!

Basq toppled to the floor. The Notouch whirled her pouch and swung it down. The stones cracked against the messenger’s skull and he fell in a heap next to Basq.

The door opened. Eric stared at the fallen bodies.

“Move, you high-house fool!” shouted the Notouch.

Eric’s senses and reflexes reasserted themselves. He shoved his foot against the threshold to keep the door in place and scanned the corridor. Empty, but that didn’t mean safe. The Vitae had to be watching them. There was nothing he could do about that.

Eric sprinted down the hall, vaguely aware of running footsteps behind him. From here, he could see the door to the main station shut tight. He did not allow himself to think about how the floor of the empty corridor could be brought to life at the touch of a remote key.

Eric skidded to a halt in front of the door. There was no time for finesse or distraction. He laid his palms on the thin line where the door met the wall and reached deep into the back of his mind, down into his soul where his power gift lay. He opened a path for it to stretch down his arms and out through his fingertips. Its tendrils coiled around the slender, metallic bars that held the door shut.

“Break,” he ordered.

His gift seized the bars. Eric’s heart froze. The lock cracked sharply and his heart beat again, hammering against his ribs. Eric pressed hard against the door and leaned sideways. The door slid back. Pain shot up his legs and Eric doubled over. A hand seized his arm, dragging him into the open station hallway.

“Which way out!” The Notouch stared wildly around her.

For a second, Eric wondered what she was talking about, then he remembered she had no idea where she was. He had no time to explain. There were six stories of station between him and the dock that held the
U-Kenai.
A call had probably already gone down to security.

They’ll hold the ship, seal the docks. Watch both. They’ll close my access to the networks, and watch the halls. When they see me, they’ll come get me.
He glanced up at the security cameras.
Hello, there.

His mind raced down unfamiliar paths.
There’ll be two guards, three, maybe. Darts, tasers, and uniforms. Orders to take me quietly. Don’t panic the paying customers.
He eyed the passing crowd, each one of them a paying customer.
Don’t damage the goods either, I hope.

Eric ran. He dived into the crowd, shoving aside anyone who didn’t get out of the way fast enough. He risked a glance behind him. Arla followed his mad dash, almost overtaking him.

The jumble of faces and colors broke apart to give him a clear path to the farthest corridor entrance and he raced toward it.

Footsteps pounded the floor behind him and he fervently hoped they were Arla’s. Eric pushed a man in trader’s motley into the wall and hurdled a maintenance drone. The footsteps closed, but no shouts to stop came.

Eric ducked around a left-hand corner and yanked on the emergency override for the security door. Alarms blared and the door came open. Eric swung himself up the maintenance ladder. As he did, he saw Arla duck through the threshold, her poncho flapping around her. She took the time to slam the door shut before she grabbed the ladder rungs to follow him.

Up. All the way up, until the metal rungs bit into his hands and his heart pounded in his throat.

They could shut the hatches, trap us. Send guards in to get us. No. They figure why bother? They know where I’m going. Only one place I could be going from here. They’ll already have guards there. Why not wait for me to turn up?

Guards trained to use their weapons. The ones who’ve been told by the Rhudolant Vitae I’m unarmed and she’s primitive and neither of us know what we’re doing.

Idiots. You’ve only seen one part of my life.

Three bulkheads passed by them. Four.

“How big is this place?” gasped the Arla.

Eric didn’t have the breath to reply.

Five. Six. He stepped off the ladder and pulled the release for the door. It slid aside. Past it waited the corridor to the airlock that was sealed to his ship. The big hatch to the main station had been closed. A red light shone on the airlock door. Sealed for security reasons. Two men and a woman in crisp, black coveralls stood between him and the airlock. All three of them were armed with tasers, which were out and ready.

Eric’s ears rang from exertion and adrenaline. “Soldiers,” he said to Arla between gulps of air. “The things in their hands are distance weapons, like slings.”

Do I still remember how to fight?
He raised his hands slowly until they were over his head.
Do I still remember anything?

“That’s it,” said the broader of the two men. “Easy now. You too, woman. Hands up.”

Arla stared at the guard, and then at Eric, her mouth open in disdain and shock.

“Don’t do it,” he said urgently.

“Then who will?”

Arla ripped her homemade sling off her belt and whirled it over her head. Before she brought it down, the woman guard took her aim calmly and fired. The taser wires snaked out of the barrel and sank into Arla’s chest. The shock ran into her and she screamed. The sling crashed against the floor and Arla dropped next to it, curled up like a fetus. All the guards watched her fall.

Eric lunged. His hands clamped down on the nearest guard’s outstretched arm and swung him around. The guard crashed into his comrade and they both reeled against the wall. A taser clattered to the floor. Eric slammed the edge of his hand against the first guard’s throat. The man gurgled and collapsed. The second guard reached across the fallen body and grabbed Eric’s shoulders, effectively blocking the woman’s aim. Eric flung himself sideways. He and the guard both hit the deck. With a wrench, Eric rolled them over until he came out on top. He shoved the heel of his hand against the man’s nose. Blood spurted across his palm and the guard went limp.

Eric flung himself across the floor and rolled again. Above him, the woman took fresh aim. Eric kicked both legs out and caught her ankle. She crashed against the floor. He hauled her shoulders up and cracked her skull against the deck plates. She grunted and sagged in his arms. His fingers found the catch on her bracelet terminal and snapped it loose.

Eric scrambled to his feet. He shoved the plug from the stolen bracelet into the socket beneath the warning light and twisted. The light blinked from red to green and both sides of the airlock hatch swished open.

Something sharp slammed between his shoulder blades and Eric sprawled across his own deck, pinned down by a weight that squirmed. Reflexively, he rolled, ready to swing his fist out, but the weight had scrambled out of the way. Arla towered over him for a split second. In the next, she bolted down the short hall toward the common room and the view wall.

“Cam! Get us out!” Eric shouted without even trying to stand up.

The engine’s hum became a rumble. Over its noise came a scream of pure terror followed fast by the sound of a body hitting the floor.

The Notouch had looked out at open space, and had passed out, as Eric had known she would.

It was, after all, what had happened to him.

Relief and exhaustion blurred Eric’s mind until the world took itself away.

The Nameless Powers walked their Realm and spoke among themselves. They named the Walls, and the Walls grew strong. The Nameless spoke of the people then and each life they named became True and took up its place in their Realm.

From “The Words of the Nameless Powers,” translated by Hands to the Sky for all who follow.

B
ROKEN TRAIL
DENA
RIFT
in the Clouds, don’t do this.”

Trail ignored Cups’s urgent whisper. She kept on looking toward the darkness that hid the walls of Narroways city. The wind blew hard, brushing her cheeks with warmth from the dying fire at her back. Thankfully, it was a dry night and she could sit outside with nothing worse to worry about than cold. Around her, the tents flapped and creaked in the wind that whistled down Painted Canyon. A baby whimpered from the left and someone, it had to be Yellow Stones, snored loudly enough to call back the Aunorante Sangh. No one had woken up when she crawled outside. No one, of course, except Empty Cups.

“She’s been gone too long.” Trail pulled her poncho around her. “I am going to find out what happened to her.”

Cups sighed and crouched beside her. “She wouldn’t thank you for it if you did. I saw her face when she left. No interference, that’s what she wants. Let her be, wherever she is, Trail.”

“No.” A lump of wood broke apart in the fire, setting loose a shower of sparks so, for a moment, Trail could track the wind with her eyes. “I am going to find out what the Skymen have done with my sister. I’d be going even if Mother didn’t tell me to, that’s the whole of it.”

The baby’s whimper became a wail and groans arose from all around as tired women tried not to wake up.

“Trail”—Cups laid a hand on her head and shook her gently—“think, would you? We need your hands in the pens tomorrow. I’ve got a promise of two bolts of whole cloth and three new pots if we get …”

Trail jerked her head away. “You’ve got the brains of an ox, Cups. The Skymen are here. They’re trying to win over King Silver. The Nameless know why and we need to find out.”

“As if it’ll make a difference.” Cups gouged a fistful of dirt out of the ground and held it up for Trail. “As long as there’s mud we’ll be sitting in it”—she threw the lump down again—“be it owned by the Nameless, the Heretics, or the Skymen.”

“Haven’t you heard the story about how, after the Servant moved the Realm, the power-gifted started taking lives on their own authority, not the Nameless’s, so the Nameless Powers allowed the People to raise their hands against the Teachers for a time.”