The Braided World (31 page)

She sparkled at him. In her element now, she was soaring, ready to sing, the devil take her doubts. She had always sung with
nerve
, her critics said. Well, she'd lean on that now.

The king turned to the throng, raising his voice. “I have commanded a song to be sung in my palace. I have a mind to enjoy singing, and you must all enjoy the singing along with me. That is my pleasure.”

At this strange speech, Bailey nodded to him, then turned back to assume command of the river room, even as a wave of voices swelled around her, people murmuring
song
, and
Bailey …

She drew her gaze around the crowd, silencing them.

She knew that the song must be in Italian, since she couldn't translate on the fly. And there were only a few candidate arias for this performance. It must be a celebrity aria, with range and depth. She chose “Sempre libera” from
La Traviata
, because, though it was coloratura, and challenging in its register, it spoke of being finally free … and went with the gown.

She began. The opening notes filled the hall, and to her surprise, she realized that the place had marvelous acoustics, magnifying her voice, which emerged rich and full. Annoyingly a murmur came from the crowd, but she sang over it, as people turned to each other and whispered. There were uldia present, and they frowned, but the majority of the audience looked more surprised by her gifts than anything.

She spun out the melody, singing well, even without an orchestra, allowing the notes to command the very air. Soon the crowd grew silent again, and with relief she continued, allowing the emotion to charge her performance, attacking the top notes without reaching, yes, and no wobble, either. Watching the king, she thought him entranced, though the old fox knew how to act as much as she did. She looked over the heads of the audience, to the river, now deepening from rose to blue as evening came on. It was about time, far past time, that the Puldar heard a fine song.

So, Gilar, my dear
, a corner of her mind said,
this is for you.

Beyond the throng of viven, the common Dassa were listening, out there in their skiffs, and she sang most of all for them, hoping that they liked it. In the end, that was what her career, her signature performance, came down to:
Did you like it, did it move you, did it take you and make you whole?

The song was over. The last note hung for a moment. All
in all, it had been an exciting performance, and the little flaws had probably gone unnoticed. However, the crowd was not clapping. Oh dear, she knew she'd gone a bit stiff in that middle register. But Dassa didn't ever clap, she remembered with relief. The whole room was frozen. She knew she really must do something.

She swept toward the king, curtsying again. “I hope the song pleased you, rahi.”

Vidori said nothing, but turned to the throng outside, gathered on the river. ‘And did Bailey please you?” he asked, in a heart-stopping maneuver that Bailey thought very ill-advised.

She had a clear view down the steps now, as viven stepped aside and gazed out at the skiffs gathered there.

Dassa rocked in their boats, all looking up the steps at Bailey and Vidori. Then a woman in a skiff near the steps slapped the water with her paddle. And again. She was a big woman, of an age to command attention. Nearby, someone else slapped a paddle. Then, from the fleet of skiffs came the clatter of paddles beating on the water, the sweetest applause Bailey had ever heard.

She took this excellent moment to make another, very deep curtsy

The crowd erupted. People cried out and more paddles hit the river, as fists of water rose up and showers flew in all directions.

Then the viven on the steps were cheering, and the cry was taken up deep into the river room. The king looked around approvingly. At last a quiet descended as Vidori stepped down a stair or two. He spoke to the assembled Dassa, to those in the skiffs. He was no fool—he knew where his power came from.

“Since you have approved, I also approve, and say that singing will be good. All may sing, Dassa and hoda alike.”

The king was a gambler, she realized. He had used her popularity to bring song to the river lands, to approve the hoda in an indirect way, to reproach Oleel by raising a hoda
custom high. But not, of course, unless the crowd approved.

Bailey saw that here was a man very much pleased with himself. And relieved, if she was any judge of expressions.

He turned to her, bowing slightly, then spoke to the crowd: “Bailey has brought a fine gift to the Olagong, and I thank her for it.”

At this, the paddles hit the river again, and there was a general commotion, and before long, the idea came forward—Bailey couldn't remember just how—for another song to be sung. And so she agreed to an encore.

Perhaps something a bit more dramatic this time …

She moved to the center of the hall.

Maypong leaned heavily on Anton throughout the day but by afternoon they collapsed into a makeshift camp. Her feet had swollen so badly she had to cut part of her boots away. After a simple meal of peeled roots that Maypong had managed to gather, they huddled together, exhausted.

As he held her, she finally cried. The release took her body shook it hard. Still in jeopardy as they were, she cried silently, and whispered Gilar's name. He knew why she'd had to mutilate her feet in order to grieve. Crying implied rejection of everything she believed in, even herself. Anton held her tighter, opening to her as he hadn't been able to before.

Finally, she was quiet, and he left her to rest, climbing a nearby outcropping to try for a quick view of their surroundings before dusk obscured the forest.

He thought the judipon had lost their trail, but he kept guard nonetheless. Maypong said that Nirimol had acted without Homish's knowledge, and that Nirimol was no friend to the king, or to the king's human friends. If he and Oleel were allies, he might attempt to prove his worth by carrying out the judgment of Olagong law on the humans. Anton decided against contacting Nick for backup. His
tronic notepad could bounce a signal to the ship for relay. But he felt their camp was safe for tonight.

Night fell, fueling the animal cries—the celebrations, signals, and laments of the quasi-Earth creatures.

He was going to be calling the ship's bluff, whether they would abandon him here. Because he wasn't going back without the cargo. Whatever that cargo was.

He looked up at the patch of night sky that he could see through the trees. The small moon was just rising over the emergent trees of the canopy, its sliver not stealing much of the stars’ glory, that of one star in particular—the
Restoration
, a fast-moving speck, three hundred kilometers high.

Hold on, Sergeant
, Anton thought. Were he looking down at the planet now, Anton knew, Sergeant Webb would see nothing here, with the hemisphere inked out in night.
Hold on, Sergeant.

Back in camp, he found Maypong awake, sitting up. “Did you see anything?”

“Stars.”

“You've seen many stars in your lifetime, Anton. That is a fine thing.”

He thought he might have seen more than he ever wanted to, but he smiled at her. In the slight chill of the night, he sat next to her, wrapping his arm around her.

“Are you tired, Anton?”

“I don't know.” He was exhausted. And wide awake.

“I hope not.” She moved closer to him. Her feet were bare, peeking out from her leggings. The sight stirred him. Well, he was an easy mark, alone with the woman he loved in the privacy of the forest.

But he had avoided her for many weeks, and for good reason. Now he couldn't tell a good reason from a bad one. “Maypong, I love you,” he said.

“Yes, and we could also lie together.”

“Is it your duty to offer?” He still wasn't clear about the obligations of cordiality.

“I lie with whom I will, and none other.”

Not a comforting thought, but she was trying. “I wouldn't want you to lie with others.” He thought he might be asking for her not to have sarif with anyone else. He told himself earlier that he wouldn't, there being no way she could do so and still honor who she was. But here he had said it.

“For how long should I not have sarif, Anton?” She was holding both his hands, looking at him, being both earnest and tender.

“Forever,” he said.

“That is a long time not to be cordial.”

It would not be settled tonight. And he wanted her, badly. He began to pull open the fasteners on her shirt. “How about one week, then?”

“Yes,” she whispered, unbuckling his belt.

They made a pile of their clothes and he lowered her onto them, trying to remember what he should and should not do.

She made it easy for him. ‘Anton,” she whispered, “lie with me in your custom. Teach me the human way. I would have you that way first.” She smiled. ‘And then my way.”

He commanded himself to go slowly, and he had to. In a way, she was a virgin. The idea so overwhelmed him that he nearly lost himself on her belly Then he began teaching her his customs, some of which he made up on the spot.

Afterward, they lay on their backs, entwined, covered with sweat. Maypong rose and collected stream water in a gourd, splashing it over them both.

“Come back,” Anton said, “I'm not done with you.”

She sat on top of him, challenging him to begin again.

“But rest first,” he said, letting her win. She toppled over into his arms, and they lay still, letting the breeze wick over them. He gazed at her, this woman of such dark and profound loveliness. “Tell me you love me, Maypong.”

“I love you, Anton.” Spoken tenderly, though on request.

He didn't bother to wonder what it meant. She had no concept of exclusivity. She loved many people. The word for
love
in Dassa meant
care.
But he liked hearing her say it, and liked that she knew what he hoped she meant by it. All so complicated, and irrelevant at the moment.

He focused on the corral of stars in the gap above them. It was like looking at a fire—one could never tire of looking. He remembered the ship glinting overhead …

Then he sat up, leaning on his elbows.

“Anton?” Maypong said.

He was on his feet, then. He pulled his trousers on, thrust his hand into his pocket. His notepad was still there.

Maypong was dressing. “Do you hear something?”

“No. But I saw something.” The image of the ship. Its systems couldn't view him at this distance, but they weren't blind.

He turned to her. “Maypong, what if the ship can see something we can't? All that canyon country. What if the whole area means something?”

“With respect, how can a canyon mean something, Anton?”

He ran his hands through his hair, thinking. “Your traditions say there is wisdom in the canyons. What if the wisdom—of the Quadi—is contained in its layout, as seen from above? Nick heard that Oleel's pavilion was built as a model of the original Quadi site. Is that right?”

“That is our legend.”

“He also heard that it's laid out in the pattern of the Olagong itself, that the palace is a map of the Olagong.”

She paused, frowning. “You think the canyons are a map?” Her voice turned doubtful. “That is not highly believable, Anton. Who could draw a map in the land?”

“The same ones who created the Dassa. They somehow replicated the human pattern here. That's why we're so alike though we were born so far apart. Normally, that wouldn't be highly believable.” Glancing up at the night sky, he added, “I'm going to contact the ship. It can't hurt to
ask.” He voiced a command that brought an immediate connection.

The officer of the watch responded. The corporal thought it might take him a while to find an overflight image of the uplands that wasn't obscured by clouds.

While they waited, Maypong asked, “Why, if the cloud country is a map, would the Quadi urge us to walk, when we cannot see the canyon pattern just by walking?”

“1 don't know why your custom is to walk.” He sat with her now, the notepad balanced on his knee. “Maybe the Quadi knew that someday you
would
see it. They knew that human missions would see it, if we ever came here. Maybe they knew you would be curious when you attained space flight, and you would look down and discern the pattern. Maybe walking meditation is a misinterpretation.”

Maypong's voice was distant. “We will have space flight? Do you think this will ever be so?”

“Someday you will. Just as someday the hoda will be free. Things change, sometimes even for the better.” He held her close, feeling on the verge of something, though it was just a hunch.

“I would like to go into space. With you, Anton.”

He drew back, smiling. “What about all your other lovers?”

“Perhaps just a cordial hug now and then,” she murmured.

Well, she was trying. Things change, he'd told her. Maybe
he
would have to change.

They waited, each letting their imagination play against the dark jungle.

The picture, when it came, was blurry from a haze of clouds. The small screen in the notepad showed an image, green on green, of the canyon lands, not a pattern at all, much less one that told a story. They stared at it. Anton turned the screen in one direction and then the other. He saved the image. Thanked the corporal.

“Anton …” Maypong took the handheld device. “Look
at it this way.” She turned the notepad around again. Pointing, she said, “The stem.” Anton squinted. “The outer leaf, the tuber.” Maypong nodded soberly. “I know this pattern.”

“It's a plant?” He took the screen from her and focused on it.

“Oh yes. An easy one to know. It is the langva plant, our food of the river lands.”

He held the screen at arm's length, finally seeing the pattern. It wasn't a map. It was a simple image. If he tried, he could see a langva plant. He didn't think he was just convincing himself. His excitement mounted. Langva, the plant. But why?

Maypong whispered, awe and skepticism in her voice, “How could they shape the canyons thus?”

Anton paused, looking around the small clearing. “Maybe they created the world, too.”