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perhaps he was alive elsewhere, but neither of the changechildren believed it,
more likely that the Wounded Moon rose whole than that they d find Trithin
walking earthface again.
This is the roll of the living they call out to Brann later: Callim, Cathar,
Duran, Trayan, Garrag, Reanna, Theras, Camm, Finn, Farra, Farm and Idadro.
Eight men, four women.
This is the roll of the dead: Trithin, Sintra, Warra, Wayim, Lotta, Doronynn,
Imath, Lethra, Iannos and Rossha.
At the end of this final sweep the two light smears hovered in the middle of
an empty room and sang to each other the questions that had occurred to them.
What was that thing in the palace, that thing with the groping fin-gers? How
powerful was it that it not only caused the Emperor to commit genocide, but
made Slya herself act deviously, wrenching them from their home space and
sending them to Brann to change her so she could be a vessel for Slya,
bringing Slya here disguised to fight her attackers? They circled each other
and sang their uncer-tainty. Should they tell Brann what they thought about
it? She knew some of it already, knew Slya slept within her and simultaneously
slept within Tincreal, knew Slya drove her as she drove the stone of Tincreal,
with utter disregard for her and those she cared for. The changechildren
contemplated that disregard with a chill in their firebodies that paled the
light and almost sent them into their hiber-nating crystals, the form their
people took when all energy was drained from them and no more would be
available for some considerable time, the dormant form that was not death but
a state for which their folk had little fondness and exercised their ingenuity
to avoid unless the alterna-tive was the dispersal of real death, like
burnt-out stars choked to ash and nothing. The children hovered and shivered
and were more afraid than they d been since they woke on the slopes of
Tincreal and found themselves starving in sunlight.  She might send us back
when she s finished with us, Yaril sang.
 No .... It was a long long sigh of a sound, filled with a not-quite despair;
after all there was much to be said for this world and for the companionship
they shared with Brann.
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 We could talk to her, Yaril sang,  when this is over. Brann too. If Slya
returns us, she ll have to change Brann back.
 Brann, Jaril sang,  is a brown leaf falling, not ignored but not restored.
Why should Slya bother, after she gets the Arth Slyans free again and the
vengeance she wanted for the slaughter? I think the great are the same in all
realities, they use and discard, use and discard, this one and that, for what
they consider the greater good. Their good. Poor Brann.
 Poor us.
 That too.
Two small light smears, very young for their kind with much of the long slow
learning of that kind yet ahead of them, swooped anger-driven through the roof
tiles, melted into twin owls and went powering back to Brann, uncer-tain what
they should or would say to her, hoping with every atom of their impossible
bodies that she slept and dreamed of the bite of pleasure she d worried from
the chaos of her life. They didn t know what to do, how the Slyans could be
rescued without harming folk who were their friends, what to say to Brann if
she asked their advice.
They glided through the open window, blurred into their childforms and tiptoed
to the bed. Brann was deep asleep, her eyes moving under the lids, a small
smile twitching her lips. Yaril looked at Jaril; he nodded and the two of them
retreated into a corner and sank into the catalepsy that took the place of
sleep.
JASSI STUCK HER head in the door, knocked against the wall.
Taguiloa looked up from the glitter sphere he was polishing.
 Someone to see you. She winked at him.  Tightass highnose creep with
Maratullik s brand on him. Imperial Hand, eh man. You musta connect some good
coming up.
Taguiloa set the sphere carefully into its velvet niche, got to his feet and
began pacing about the room. This was an astonishingly early response to his
permit; he d ex-pected several days of rest before the Temuengs took note of
his presence, if they ever did. He stopped at the window, stared at the court
without seeing any of it. I m not ready .... He snapped thumb against finger,
swung round.  That I did. Uh-huh. He smiled at Jassi.  Tell your creep friend
I m busy but if he wants to wait, I ll be down in a little while. If he
decides he wants to hang around, offer him a bowl of your best wine so he
won t be too-too annoyed.
 You could land up to your neck, Taga. She eyed him uncertainly, but with [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]