Maksim let his voice roll (not so solemn and sonorous this time, he was fond of the deplorable little gossip), “Rosaper Rospall, I demand of you, tell me who among the gods are plotting and working against me.”
Rospall’s arms jerked with each of the words, his hands flew about with feeling gestures; he whimpered as he touched again and again the burning unseen wall about him. His blunt muzzle writhed in a way to confuse the eye and sicken the stomach, but he managed a few words. “No one works against you, chilo, no one no want no cant no can none works against you.”
Maksim frowned. Rospall never lied, but his truths were strictly limited. He reworked his next question. “Mmgjii and the Godalau are scheming against someone, perhaps several someones. Who is it? Who are they?”
“Juh juh juh, scheme dream stir the pot not not who but what.”
What’s the what?”
“BinYAHt.”
Maksim’s eyes snapped wide, then he smiled and nodded. “I should have been expecting that. Amortis is in this?”
“Amortis disportis cavortis, BinYAHt’s the hook in her, who cares, the fisherman dances to her tugging, hugging, happy sappy Amortis. No. No change for her no danger in her.”
Maksim nodded, answering his own thoughts more than Rospall’s words. “Who works with Thngjii and the Godalau, who set the hook in them and got their help?”
“In the wind, a whisper, Perran-a-Perran, lord of lords, piranha of pirhanas, he consents, in the wind, a whisper, Jah’takash perverse, spitting snags and checks and worse your way, in the wind a clink of links, the Chained God blinks and blinds and minds the mix.” Hooting laughter. “From the rest no nay or yea, they gossip and they play. And they wager who will win and when.”
Maksim felt a tremble of weakness deep within, saw Rospall’s bold black eyes get a feverish glow. Enough, he thought, I’ve got enough to think on now. He gathered himself, let his voice roll out, filled with power, never a tremble in it. “APHISTARTI, OY YO ROSAPER ROSPALL, APHISTARTI ENTHA DA ROSPA.” And his hands moved again through their erotic dance.
The visitor’s body shuddered, for a moment he seemed to fight his dismissal, then he broke into fragments and the fragments faded.
Maksim didn’t move until the last wisps of the presence had vanished utterly, then he sighed, shuddered, lay back limp in the chair, eyes closed. For several minutes he lay there breathing deep and slow. Finally, as the need to sleep began to overwhelm him, he forced his eyes open, used the staff to lever himself out of the chair. He stood and stretched, yawned enormously, then flicked himself up to his bedroom for a few hours of the sleep he needed so badly.
Todichi Yahzi cooed protests as he hovered about watching Maksim dress himself for the Lot ceremony. “Sleep,” he warbled, “anyone can see you are exhausted, Mwahan, you do not need to be there, you do not enjoy being there, why do you go?” He repeated this until Maksim snarled him into silence.
Later, as Maksim strode through the murmuring park toward the Yron, he regretted his harshness and made a mental note to apologize when he got back. Poor old Tbdich, he kept pecking and pecking at a place, but he couldn’t know how sore that spot already was. One had to take responsibility for one’s acts, one doesn’t slide away and pretend that nothing’s happening. He’d set that burden on himself in those wild first days when Cheonea teetered on the verge of a slide into chaos. when he knew he’d have to use BinYAHtii. The stone had to be fed when it was used or it fed itself from the user. Forty years he’d fed BinYAHtii, ten times a year, once a month. Forty years, once a month he’d walked this path and climbed to the high seat behind the austere stone railing and watched the children file in. Self-flagellation, reminding him not to forget why he was doing these things. If he allowed himself to be corrupted by wealth, power, by the infinite capacity in the human soul for self-justification, then these children were torn from their parents for nothing, then one of the three chosen died for nothing at all.
At his private entrance the waiting Servant opened the door for him and bowed him inside.
“Kori.” Polatea’s voice broke into confused dreams suffused with sick anxiety.
Kori stirred, sat up, rubbed at grainy eyes. “What time…”
“Breakfast in five minutes; wash and dress, come down as soon as you can, I’ll save some food for you. “ Polatea brushed the straggles of hair out of Kori’s eyes. “You can sleep some, more, if you want, after the Lot.”
“If I’m not chosen. “
A long sigh. “If you’re not chosen.
Tre looked her over. “Your skods are crooked. “
Kori clicked her tongue, adjusted the covered cords that held her headcloth in place. She and Tre were together in the Hostel court, waiting to be put in line. She used one end of the headcloth to rub at her eyes, not sure she could manage to keep on her feet till the Lot was over; she felt as if she were walking two feet under water that was sloshing about, threatening to knock her over. “I got everything done,” she muttered, hiding her mouth behind the corner of the cloth. “It’s started. “
Tre stepped closer, nestled against her. “You think it’ll make any difference, Kori? Do you think she’s got a chance against HIM?”
“A chance? Yes. There’s more than just her. Daniel’s in. You didn’t dream?”
“No. -
Sinan blew the cow’s horn and the lines began sorting themselves out, girls in one, boys in the other, eldest at the front. The gave her arm a last squeeze and drifted back to the end of his line, he was the youngest boy this year. She was two from the front of her line. Dessi Bacharikss was two months older, Lilla Farazilss a week and a half. Dessi’s twin Sparran led the boys’ line, he was a tall rather skinny boy with a wild imagination and a grin that was starting to make Kori’s toes tingle. He looked around at her winked, then straightened and sobered as the signalhorn hooted and the lines began to move.
Maksim watched the children file in, grave and rather frightened, their sandals squeaking on the polished marble. Ignoring the boys, he scanned the first few girls, smiled tightly as he saw Kori’s red-eyed, weary face. He crossed his arms, his hands hidden in the wide black sleeves of his heavily embroidered and appliquйd formal overrobe, began the gestures and the internal chant that would bring the blue lot to Kori’s searching fingers. His smile broadened a hair. There was no sign of the interference that had protected her last night.
Kori thrust her arm deep into the bowl; the capsules seemed oddly slippery this year, it was a breath or two before she could get hold of one and bring it out. She took a deep breath and moved on, hearing the capsules rattle behind her as Sallidi Xoshallarz reached for hers. She crossed to the gilt bowl, tried to ignore the feeling that HE was staring down at her ill-wishing her; it was easier to grab this time, she got her second egg and went to take her place on the girls’ bench.
It is done. I have her, little ferret, ah what a fine fierce girl she is, tired now but she doesn’t give in to it. Look how straight and bold she sits, waiting to see if fate will pass her by. Not this year, little ferret. Your last year, isn’t it. You shouldn’t have got so busy with things you don’t understand. We’ll have to do something with you; not one of Amortis’ whores, that would break you faster than marrying one of your clod-cousins and disappearing into the nursery with half your mind shut down; lunm, you could be trained to teach… With some difficulty he repressed the laughter rumbling in his belly. Not with what you’re apt to teach my restive folk. Would you like to be a scholar, child? I wonder. I could send you east to study in Silili. Study what? Magic? Have you got a talent there? There’s something in you that calls to me. Yes, you have a talent in you waiting to unfold, oh child, if you deny it, how terrible for you. I’ll make you see it. Why weren’t you born a boy? It would be so much easier if you were born a boy.