Wild Magic

Wild Magic Wild Magic, Book 1 Jo Clayton 1991 GOD-BUSINESS “You taught me to control wind. Why can’t you teach me rain?” “I can’t, honey.” Faan fumed a minute, then calmed, shaking her head so the bright red and green patches of waxed and painted hair swayed like grass in a strong wind. “Why can’t you?” “Listen to me, Fa. Chumavayal controls the rain.” The Sibyl lifted a hand, let it dmp back. “You don’t interfere with god-business, little Sorcerie. Even Tak WakKerrcarr and Settsimaksimin wouldn’t take that on and they’re Primes, the best there is.” The name Settsimaksimin twitched in Faan’s mind. She blinked, but the faint fragrance that might have been a memory was gone. “Gods!” She chewed on her lip, sighed. “Vema. So what do we do?” “Search.” “But ... “ “Through the demon worlds, not this.” “What do I do?” The Sibyl lifted her hands, held them curved a foot apart. She spoke a WORD and a Mirror spread between her palms. “Look and tell me what you see.” Jo Clayton has written: The Diadem Series Diadem From The Stars Lamarchos Irsud Maeve Star Hunters The Nowhere Hunt Ghosthunt The Snares Of Ibex Quester’s Endgame Shadow of the Warmaster The Duel Of Sorcery Trilogy Moongather Moonscatter Changer’s Moon The Dancer Trilogy Dancer’s Rise

Serpent Waltz Dance Down The Stars The Skeen Trilogy Skeen’s Leap Skeen’s Return Skeen’s Search The Soul Drinker Trilogy Drinker Of Souls Blue Magic A Gathering Of Stones The Wild Magic Trilogy Wild Magic Wildfire The Magic Wars and A Bait Of Dreams

To Penny for her help and the arguments that opened out our minds a crack a time or two or maybe not and what’s it matter? A sister’s a sister. Goddance. The Opening Steps The islands of the Tukery glitter with dew; the sky is dark blue burning at the edges, clear of clouds; a wan-dering breeze twitches at green leaves still on the trees, whirls up and drops again khaki and mustard leaves drying on the ground. The selats—the narrow winding stretches of sea between the islands—are filled with chop and shadow and drifting veils of mist. A small boat slides gracefully along the selat that goes past Jal Virri. The hull is amber and mother-of-pearl, the single mast is yellow sandalwood, the lateen sail silk the color of beeswax; the bow curls up and over like the scroll on a violin; the stern rises in a duck-tail; delicate feathering is carved into the sides. A woman clad in veils of honey-colored mist stands in the stern, honey arms folded across her breasts, gossamer bee wings shimmering from her shoulders, antennas like curved black threads rising above huge black bee eyes. The boat stops improbably in midstream when it reaches the part of the island where a house is visible among the trees and a broad lawn slopes to white sand and the sea water. The Bee-eyed Woman begins to hum. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> “As you use us, Honeychild. I have a hope and a belief that it is different between us. The take and take of friendship as well as need?” Faan swallowed, rubbed at her eyes. “Hope. Not much of that around these days. Vema, vema, friend.” When he grinned so broadly that his beady black eyes shut to slits, she relaxed. “Tell me what I should do.” “Find someone to help you. Cross by the Wood Bridge, not the Iron, don’t touch the Iron. Carry Reyna back to the Beehouse, lay him before the Altar and make your bargain with HER.” “How?” “Tell the Kassian Tai what you need. She will do it.” “Gods!” “Diyo. Don’t say more.” He jumped from the boat to her shoulder, stroked her cheek, leapt into the water, and was gone. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>-> The panel in Wenyanim’s bedroom cracked open. Penhan froze as she heard voices and other sounds. She placed the broom carefully in the corner between wall and paneling, blew the lamp out, set it down and leaned against the crack. Listening. The voices were muffled. A man and a woman, not in the bedroom but in one of the rooms beyond. She couldn’t make out the words, but she didn’t really need to. She caught hold of the panel, tried to ease it farther open, winced as it groaned. “Wha’s zat?” A woman speaking. The man’s voice rumbled, impatience sharpening a few of the syllables so she could hear them, but she still couldn’t make out what he was saying. “Come from in here.” The woman sounded closer. Penhari held her breath and waited, “Rats, that’s all. Come on, you can’t go in there. That jegger’s nose could sniff a leaky keups like you five days gone and fifty miles off.” Chambermassal. Hunh. Talking about rats. Nay, mice. Overrunning the place the minute the cat’s away. How he dares ... Wenyarum would skin him screaming if he knew .... “I swear I heard somethi g.” “Can’t have. No one comes here but that yatz.” “Don’t ... I don’t like inhere. If he found us ...” “K’lann, Hlakki, he’s down in Pili groveling around in dung and ashes with his ass in the air, tonguing ol’ Prophet’s filthy feet.” —You don’t knooow.” “Sure I do. Comma hee-er, bebesha. Ahhh, soft, soft ...” “Don’t! I don’t like it here, I wanna go.” Penhari grimace at the sound of scuffling, glass breaking then a slap and the patter of feet, the slam of a door. The Chambermassal cursed, stomped out, was back before Penhari could get to her feet. She heard the clinic and clatter of the glass; then the brisk rasp of a scrub brush. A moment later the door slammed again. She waited a long dreary time before she shoved at the panel again. After lighting the lamp at the nightglow, she went cautiously into the next room, wrinkled her nose at the stink of brandy. Fool. When the General got back .... She frowned. If he came back .... She set the lamp on the desk, went round it to inspect the elaborate carvings of the paneled wall. This is harder ... not so many cues .... “Where was it? Where ... was ...” He always brought her in here and had her take the gold from Famtoche’s Mizam, made her stow it in the cavity. “Diyo, got it.” She pressed the bosses, smiled as a small square of iron-faced wood sprang at her. The opening was a foot square and an arm’s length deep. She began taking the canvas bags from the stash, set-ting them on the desk, not altogether surprised

to find some of them much lighter than they should have been. She emptied the stash, began going through the bags. At least half of them were plumped out with crumpled paper, there to make a show. She tossed these back inside the hole, put the others in the shoulderbag she’d cobbled together from a pillow sham and some strap-ping. Penhari looked at the piles of coin scattered about the bed. Not much gold left in the mix, mostly silver and copper. Abey be blessed, the last sack still had its fifty-two gold pieces intact; the General hadn’t had time to raid that one. “How am I going to work this? I’m going to have to trust her, that’s all.” She counted out the fifty silver cems for the boatman and his boat, set that aside, counted a hundred more of the broad silver coins, added two gold millefurs, tied them up in a bag, they were Desantro’s fee. She took the rest back to the sham-sack and closed the panel on it. It was as safe there as in her jewelry box, safer probably. She dropped on the bed, rubbed her hand across her face, then grimaced at the streaks of black dust and sweat. Bath. Then work on the clothing, get the jewels tucked away. I can sleep in the daytime. Five days. It sounded like forever when Desantro said it. Abey’s Sting, I’m going to have to work my fingers off >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>< Ma’teesee slapped at a moththerie she glimpsed from the corner of her eye, grabbed at a side branch as the limb shook under her. The Lancers were riding at the Barrier, cutting at it with sabers, hurling their lances at it. The lances hit and came bouncing back at them, some of them slap-ping and pricking the horses who reared, screamed and bolted, some of them hitting heads butt first, knocking the men from their mounts. She enjoyed their misery, her laughter a faint snuffling at the back of her nose. It was chaos compounded by the ta-ras of the signal horns, the rattle of the cadence drums. So excited that more than once she came close to falling off, Ma’teesee called down what she saw. The moththeries belonging to this Sequba flittered around her, sipping at her laughter like bees after nectar; she scratched absently where they landed. “And there’re people out on the roofs all along the Barrier,” she shouted, “far as I can see. High Kumm Penhari, she’s really choused ’em out this time. Looks like they hav-ing fun, can’t hear what they yelling, but I’m sure those potzes wouldn’t like it if THEY could. Choo-ee, there’s a bunch of fooffas riding up and yelling at them, must be the officers. Almost makes y’ sorry for the poor jeggers on the ground. Ooh! He took a whip at the jegger, the yatz. Hope he tries the Barrier ... nayo nay, not him, he’s galloping back to the barges ....” “Ma’teesee, come on down, that’s enough.” Areia One-eye tossed out the dregs in her mug, pushed the cork into the mouth of the bottle. “Dance could start any time now. It catches you up there, you’ll fall and break your neck.” “Vema vema. Nothing much left to see anyway. You hear that last horn call? They backing off,

making cir-cles like they’re gonna camp there till time ends.” There was a violent shaking and rustling as Ma’teesee began back-crawling to the trunk. A moment later they saw her fitting her toes into the deep cracks in the bark, coming down almost as fast she’d climbed up. She danced toward them, brushing herself off, scrub-bing her hands along her body to get rid of bark frag-ments and sap. “Reea, Reea, pour me a drink, I’m dry from looking at all that dust.” Areia One-eye snorted. “You would do it, Tees.” Ma’teesee giggled, pranced before her, arms up, hands fluttering. “Gonna gonna gonna kick and scratch,” she chanted. “Gonna gonna gonna ....” She danced away as Zinduki grabbed at her, circled around, and dropped to a squat beside Dossan. She took the mug her friend handed her; emptied it at a gulp. “You shouldda seen it, it was soooo funny.” Dossan rubbed at her face. “What’s happening on Northbank, Tees? Could you see? Is it going to be worse for our Mums?” “Not to worry, Dossy. Army’s sitting on Southbank. Didn’t see much doing otherside.” She put the mug down, wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. “So? Reea, when do we start? I wanna stomp some Mal.” Areia One-eye shrugged. “When Abeyhamal com-mands. Same as always.” She rose onto her knees, reached round behind her for the basket. “Come on, help me get this stuff packed away.” >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>