“He has none,” said Tiath flatly. “I know of few Moruians who would set foot in such a vessel.”

  “The members of his … family?” suggested Lisa. “They are mountain weavers,” said the Great Elder, with a first suggestion of a smile, as if he took some pride in Brin’s Five. “A bold, stubborn family, puffed up with their special destiny and their Luck. Born and bred on my own lands to the north. But they are not flyers. They know nothing of engines.”

  “Don’t you have any people of this sort on Torin?” asked Sam, catching my eye.

  “Very few,” said Tiath easily. “What do you say, Ammur? Who are you thinking of?”

  “Your own cousin perhaps,” said Ammur, fawning and smiling,

  “Young Murno?” Tiath laughed. “He is a fool. His teacher might do it … the damned magician.”

  “Nantgeeb,” said Karen-Ru. “Is the magician called Nantgeeb?”

  “So your young fire-cub has told you of Nantgeeb,” said Tiath. “I wonder what a picture of Torin you have received from this Speaker. Yes, Nantgeeb might help to fly that ship. And there was one proud spirit who bore a great name from the Fire-Town—do you remember, Ammur?”

  1 had almost come to the name I feared, and to my surprise the Ningan shuddered and stepped back as if putting a safe distance between herself and the Great Elder.

  “Who was Deputy of Tsagul when you were last there?” demanded Tiath, casting his eye upon me once more.

  “The Deputy was Tsorl-U-Tsorl, Highness!” I replied.

  “A great scientist!” said Tiath. I could not be sure if he said this to tease Ammur.

  “Shall we meet this person?” asked Sam quietly. He gave no sign, even when he heard the answer. I saw how well humans could conceal their feelings; even quick-tempered persons like Sam Deg could, if they tried, give nothing away.

  “He is dead,” said Tiath. “Tsorl-U-Tsorl died here on Itsik; he lies yonder by the Special Compound.”

  He sighed briefly.

  “Scott Gale will stay till we come,” he said. “Now go to the house prepared for you. It is the Eve of a great festival.”

  “May the Speaker, Yolo Ham, be lodged with us?” asked Sam.

  “No!” put in Ammur Ningan. “It must go beyond the stockade.”

  She bent down and whispered to the Great Elder. I wondered if she would be revenged on me. Tiath shrugged, and the Ningan said in her familiar singsong tones.

  “The traveling palace must be purified. Only guests and members of the Great Elder’s household may remain.

  Diviners have come from the ancient temple at Windrock for the ceremonies.”

  She gave a sign, and the guard stepped up behind me again and obediently clamped the folded net about my poor throat. I was marched through the corridor and back into the harsh daylight. I gasped and choked, and the guard released me.

  “Great Wind!” it said. “Your devils can fight well. I thought there would be trouble….”

  I saw that it was a youngish male vassal; by its speech it came from the north.

  “Where will my masters be lodged?” I asked, more hoarsely than ever.

  “See . .. there. The double-round house.”

  I saw that it was a spacious house that had once housed two families of warders; it did not look like a prison.

  “And where are you taking me?”

  “Special Compound,” said the guard. “You’ve come up in the world.”

  We passed out of the shadow of the black tent and crossed the quiet second compound where a few prisoners were making faggots for the festival cook fires. In the main compound there was some holiday activity: the paths were being swept cleaner than ever; there were food troughs and a small kite-flying tower being assembled. A number of the prisoners waved and shouted greetings to me.

  “No tricks,” said the guard nervously. “Be a good fellow…

  “I’m sick,” I croaked. “If I can hardly speak, maybe your damned rope is to blame.”

  “Only doing my job …” he mumbled, marching me as fast as possible to the Special Compound. “You saw how it was in there.”

  “I’m sick,” I repeated. “When you’ve put me in my hut, fetch the Forgan from the sickhouse yonder.”

  “Perhaps I will, at that.”

  So I was left alone in a small round hut built of redwood logs set into the earth, with a flat wooden roof of split logs like the lid of a cooking pot. I lay on a heap of bara straw;I there was a leather water bag on the center post and a wooden waste bucket by the floor drain. Elbin Tsatroy had gone down to death in such a place; Tsorl-U-Tsorl might have burned with fever in this cell. Presently the bar was lifted on the round door and Coth came in, the Doh-troy sick aide.

  “Yolo Harn,” he said between smiling and weeping. “Yolo Harn. She knew that you still lived.”

  I sat up trembling.

  “She has gone,” he said. “Gwell Nu is dead. I am Forgan of Itsik now.”

  Then I wept aloud, and he wept, too, and we sat keening for our dead friend.

  “How did it happen?” I asked slipping the cordial he had brought for my ruined voice.

  ‘Twenty days after your escape, she came down with a chest rheum. She was immune to everything else.”

  “She was a great Healer.”

  “She spoke of you,” said Coth, “and saw you come to the islands.”

  “Yet here I am again, back on Itsik. It is Mid-Year. If I had stayed put, I would be out of time … ready to go back to Tsagul and serve the rest of my sentence … nine whole years with time off for good behavior. I don’t know how I will ever come out of this cave-in.”

  “Fluff and rubbish,” said Coth more cheerfully. “I have heard all about you. You will never be a common prisoner again. You are the Speaker.”

  “And the rest of my sentence… ?”

  “Find your way to some goods or credits, and you can buy yourself out of time if you get back to the Fire-Town,”I he said. “How was it in the islands?”

  “I have seen wonders.”

  “Gwell Nu spoke of other things,” said Coth. “Things I had half-guessed. I am a citizen of Tsagul, too.”

  He turned aside and looked out from the narrow window slit over the graveyard of the Special Compound.

  “About five days after Gwell Nu died—no, she does not lie here, she is in the common place beyond the bara plantation. … About five days after she died there came a grandee from Tsagul; I think it was called Paroyan Doh-troy.”

  “Tilje Paroyan?”

  “That may be. She was making a pilgrimage to the Windrock Temple, so it was said. There was a scribe with her who had a scarred face, and a younger female, a Witness out of Tsagul. The Highness brought presents to Boss Black; she could not be refused much. I saw her stand here in the Specials’ burying ground with her servants … by a certain grave.”

  “The grave of the Deputy, Tsorl-U-Tsorl,” I said. “He lost a leg, do you remember?”

  “He was on the Council when I was last in Tsagul,” said Coth sadly. “I might have spoken to that Highness—I given some hope to her—but I only knew what Gwell Nu said in her last illness. Besides I have never spoken to a grandee. I am only a citizen like yourself, even if we are lumped together into Clan Dohtroy in this place.”

  “It was best to do nothing … to know nothing,” I said. “I do not know how things will turn out. There are still some who need our prayers. Today in Tsagul it is Stiporu, candle-night.”

  “Think of old times!” he said. “Look from your window when it is dark, and I will send out candle boats and a lire balloon for all who need the help of the spirits.”

  He gave me food and more medicine. It was hard to believe, but Coth had served ten years and would never leave Itsik. He had killed his own sib in a drunken brawl and barely escaped hanging. He was a former cook-shop owner in Tsagul, a sober, gentle, strong-armed fellow with a gift for healing.

  When he had gone, I sat and pondered on the nature of the Moruians and of the humans as well. I heard the cold, hooting voice of the Great Elder, and the boom and roar of Sam Deg; I shuddered at the way humans could fight. I thought of violence, breaking out like a grass fire among humans and Moruians alike. Who controlled it better?

  I ate my dish of leather-stew and lay on the bara straw trying to draw the threads of my life together. I thought of Morritt and Old Harn and the streets of Tsagul; I thought of the island—my good, green island of Tsabeggan—where in some part of my mind I would learn and play forever. Then I fell asleep and slept for the rest of the long day before candle-night and dreamed only a simple, kind dream of sailing on a calm ocean with one who could have been the Rope Ward from the salt boat Gvalo.

  I woke in the darkness, the so-called “long darkness” that precedes Mid-Year; there were no fire ceremonies in the main compound of Itsik. Presently I went to the window-slit and looked out over that gray place reclaimed from the sea. Beyond the graves at the edge of the lagoon, I could see a few flickering lights. A single balloon of willow paper rose up like a ghost and blazed high in the air. The candles that Coth had launched on their rafts of bara leaves floated off into the darkness. One by one their flames were quenched by the sea.

  11

  Festival of Wind and Fire

  Mid-Year was a perfect summer day, the sky was clear and pale, there was a good breeze for the kite flying. The tannery and the oil-works had been closed down for five days, and the stench of Itsik had diminished at last. The festival itself was bound to be a poor and simple thing here in the first compound, or so I told myself when no one came to open my door or bring me a bite to eat. All I heard for hours was distant movement and a murmur of voices. I felt well and strong, and my voice was healed;I I tried it out with a few songs and shouts, but no one heard or took any notice. I prowled the tiny cell and did some of Sam’s morning exercises—he had always been disgusted because I could do more pushups than he could, but I saw no sense in it.

  At last, toward midday, when I was very hungry, the door was lifted off my hut and there was a weatherbeaten male in black leather and an almost-new wig who grinned, giving off a whiff of fresh tipsy mash. His face was doubly familiar; he was deeply tanned from an outdoor life, his wrinkles were deeper, but there was the craggy brow, the high-bridged nose, the harsh mouth. Only his hands were strong and broad, not the hands of an aristocrat; otherwise he was the Great Elder’s twin.

  “Come along, Cub,” said Boss Black. “The good folk of Itsik are calling for you.”

  I stepped out, puzzled, and found a party of guards dressed in the colors of every clan waiting for me.

  “Don’t look so scared!” said one. “We ain’t going to toss you in a blanket. They want you for the lucky kite flyer!”.

  They gave me bean bread and a fiery gulp of tipsy mash and explained the custom as we walked from the stockade into the main compound. Every prisoner of Itsik was there;I it was like a gathering of the ghost clans. They were a strange, orderly mob, ranged in rows around the food troughs as if they hardly knew how to rejoice. There was the wooden tower—twice the height of a tall weaver—and on its platform rested a large kite, a winged box that must be flown for luck and to avert the winds’ bane in the coming half-year. A lucky kite demanded a lucky kite flyer, and a female who had returned from the dead seemed a good choice.

  The cry went up for Cub Dohtroy as we approached and willing hands reached out to put me on the ladder. 1I had never flown such a large kite in my life, but I had to admit that, within reason, my luck had been very good indeed. I climbed up into the wind and waved to the crowd.

  “How shall I do this thing?” I cried. “Give me good advice!”

  There was no lack of this. I saw that my ropes were in good condition as Boss Black settled himself on a green-covered platform by the stockade. There he sat with his five and their children, playing the Elder. He blew on his roarer for the flying to begin, and I raised the kite as II had been instructed. The wind on the small tower was strong, and I nearly sailed away with the damned kite. This was the luckiest thing the watchers had ever seen, and ‘I the cheers rose. The kite rose too, steadily into the wind as I played out the cord. It was a fine feeling, the kite was well balanced and rode on the wind like a live creature. II tied it off on the rail of the platform and accepted offerings of food and water.

  There was a sound of clappers and pouch-pipes; the gates of the stockade were opened, and a vassal ran to Boss Black who blew on his roarer. The Itsik warders opened up a pathway and a cry was raised: “More Luck! Great good fortune!” A procession came into the first compound;I the prisoners stood amazed at the amount of luck they were receiving this day.

  First came the musicians, then a middle-aged female in strange antique robes: one of the Diviners from Windrock, as I guessed. She carried a dish of ceremonial fire that burned blue and green. Part of the ceremony of Mid-Year was the quenching of fire in water, and she meant to carry this fire to the harbor of Itsik. Behind the Diviner walked a tall omor in gray and green for the Pentroy household, and on its shoulders rode the Luck of the Avran Pentroy. Umat was dressed fine as ever and in high spirits.

  “Luck! Luck!” he squealed. “I’ve brought you my own kite and a Lucky Person to fly it!”

  The kite was carried by two servants: it was beautifully made, a great blue and yellow bird. The kite flyer, with a house-servant all to herself, was Karen-Ru.

  My head reeled at this chance; I began to feel the day was really a lucky one. Hands reached out again, and soon they were both on the platform beside me.

  “Yolo!” cried Karen. “This is crazy … what are we supposed to do?”

  “There, you see!” said Umat. “Speak to my Ka-ren, Telling-Bird. I brought her here because she was asking after you. At least you are not hard to find.”

  I passed this on to Karen, and she smiled sweetly on Umat who bounced for joy.

  “Watch this platform, Umat Avran!” I said. “Hold still, Highness…

  Up came the splendid Pentroy kite, and I got its strings right and helped Karen to raise it to the wind. It flew readily, but it was difficult to control and went swooping over the heads of the crowd, who cheered and whooped in mock fear. Umat would have taken the strings, but II could not let him; I had a vision of the Pentroy Luck being earned off by the winds. 1 stood on the platform laughing and struggling with the kites like children. Down on the ground the Diviner and the musicians had reached the wharf: a cheer went up as the fire was quenched in the sea. Karen-Ru flew her kite skillfully now, and I unleashed *ny box kite; the two kites soared together high into the pale sky of Itsik, as if to call down on these poor folk a blessing of which they had not dreamed.

  The sound was like distant thunder; I heard and did not hear it in the laughter and cheering. Then there came a string of small explosions, not much louder than a clapping board or a skin drum. Still no one paid attention. Then there was a base note, a humming that began to seep into our heads, like the fumes of tipsy mash. I saw Umat Avran, whose hearing was very keen, shake his head and knock at his ears to make the humming go away. Then, far out over the ocean, there was a fierce boom that echoed eerily over the sea and land. I saw Karen’s hands jerk and tremble on the strings of the bird kite.

  The noise of the crowd stopped for an instant then redoubled as everyone asked, “What was that?”

  The sound came again. It was a sound absolutely new; it fell upon the ears of everyone on Torin for the first time. It was like thunder; it was like a huge rock striking the ground; it was a wrenching and tearing apart of the air as if the winds had gone mad. The base note grew stronger;I Umat screamed aloud and rolled on the platform covering his ears. I looked into Karen’s blue eyes, we stared at each other like two creatures in a dream. I took the strings of both kites and tied them to the rail. The sound grew and changed and pressed down on Itsik like a hard hand. II stared upward shading my eyes and saw a patch of radiance slip away from the side of the Great Sun and begin to come down.

  Karen snatched up the Luck of the Pentroy and held him like a child, covering his head with her cloak. We clung to the rail and watched the crowd below turn by slow pulse beats from a horde of ragged prisoners, their faces upturned, their mouths gaping, into a single creature, mad with fear. I looked for the Pentroy house-servants, who might have taken the dwarf and helped us down, but they had already gone. The crowd was bent down, crouched, all heads were covered; there was a blind surge outward, to left and right. The noise of the crowd was a wailing, windy sound of terror; I shouted aloud, and my voice was absolutely lost in the sound from above and the crowd’s noise.

  The tower rocked and swayed; I turned to the ladder and then saw the movement coming that would unseat the tower, and at the last moment, I jumped to the ground. II landed on my feet on grass, which was luck by itself, and I felt panic-stricken creatures brush past me on either side. I struggled back into the crumbling wreckage of the tower and looked for Karen-Ru. The noise overhead had changed again.

  Karen was not hurt, but she was tangled in the struts of the fallen tower reaching vainly toward something that lay on the ground. I crawled from beneath the little shelter of the wreckage and snatched Uraat’s body from under the very feet of the crowd. I crouched beside Karen and wrapped him in my cloak. She pointed, and I knew that the sound was no longer directly overhead but moving over the second compound.

  The crowd had opened up a way for us, a way that no one else wanted. We ran toward the sound, we ran to the stockade and through the gate into the second compound. The new gate was open up ahead, and I had a glimpse of vassals; I steered Karen into the bara plantation. I looked up and saw it for the first time, the ship of the void, the ship Heron,I high, high in the air, hovering sun-bright and crushing Itsik with its sound.

  “Where?” I shouted. “Where will it land?”

 

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