Off-Grid
“Great Ones?” said Kencia afrinBorer. “Our poor aunt grows weary in her bondage. There are no gods.”
Tekelia looked at him with sudden interest. Kencia’s talent was chaotic in the extreme, to the point where it was best to scrutinize any odd utterance closely.
“Who,” Tekelia asked, “said anything of gods?”
Kencia frowned.
“I…did I say gods?”
“You said gods,” Tekelia assured him. “What vaulted you to that opinion?”
Kencia held up his hands. “The words came out of my mouth, Cousin. Chaos speaking, I fear it.”
“And yet it makes a certain sense,” Emit torikSelter said in her turn. “If we posit those who are more powerful even than the dramliz, what can we have but gods?” She moved her shoulders. “Small gods, perhaps, but surely that is the next step?”
“Being gods—even small ones—what can they want from such as us?” Kencia said. “No, it’s as I’ve said, our aunt is in need of a rest. The Civilized push her too hard, and she’s become confused.”
There was great respect for the Oracle among the Haosa. She was, after all, one of them—a chaotic talent who dealt directly with the ambient field. There was also anger among the Haosa on behalf of the Oracle, imprisoned by Civilization and put to use for its benefit. The Oracle belonged with them, that was the feeling among the Haosa, who felt a fondness for the idea of the Oracle, though most had never seen her, though she did join their celebrations and deliberations from time to time, in spirit, when the ambient favored them.
“My notion,” Tekelia said carefully, “is that these Great Ones are the Reaver masters, and the service they will require from us is the return of their slaves.”
There was a small silence.
“There is some weight there,” murmured Emit, who had Sight of a sort which made Civilization uneasy. A Seer ought not, said the rule-bound Civilized, be able to judge the most likely future by weighing the lines of probability. “The question then comes: How do we answer?”
“I think the truth must be our best answer,” Banedra said. “They died—and not at our hands. Surely, even Great Ones—gods or not-gods—must accept that mortal creatures die. The ambient will attest our innocence.”
There was some murmuring at that, for the slaughter of Reavers had been discussed by the Haosa, who had supported employing other options—first. The ambient could not…always…be counted upon to differentiate between idea and action.
“Our innocence would be a deal more obvious if we could demonstrate a likely cause of their deaths,” Tekelia murmured and held up a hand. “Whereupon we have my question, which I had placed before the ambient during our last dance, to resounding silence—”
Tekelia looked ’round at what Civilization understood to be the governing body of the Haosa—counselors, they called themselves, for they both gave and took counsel. They did not, however, govern. Haosa associated governance with Civilization, and Haosa were, at best, scornful of the Civilization which had determined that they were both dangerous and dismissible.
Until such a riddle as the Reavers arose, and the Warden called upon the Haosa to stand up as Civilization’s champions.
The irony of this escaped none of the Haosa.
However…
“My question,” Tekelia said now, “is very simple, Cousins. It is only, why did the Reavers die?”
Maradel arnFaelir, who was a medic and a Healer, leaned forward.
“They died of a massive shock to their autonomic systems,” she said. “The signs were very clear upon those I examined.” She moved her hand, rocking it back and forth slightly. “I did not examine all of them, but every Reaver I did examine had died of shock. We are, I think, within our rights, and the realm of what is reasonable, to assume that all fell thus.”
She frowned at Tekelia. “I told you this.”
“You did,” Tekelia agreed. “I have perhaps phrased my question clumsily, and therefore earned the ambient’s rebuff during our last dance. What I mean to ask is why did they die here? How could they have died here, Cousins—particularly here—where the ambient informs and supports us all?”
Maradel sat up sharply.
“You mean that the ambient ought to have—preserved them?”
“They were talents, every one,” Tekelia answered. “Why would it not?”
“For one thing, their purpose was to enslave us!” Kencia cried.
Tekelia considered him thoughtfully.
“Now, that is so, but was that their own intent, or that of their master? Would it have mattered?” Tekelia paused, then spoke again into the disquieted silence. “Could the ambient have…acted?”
“To preserve us, you mean?” Yferen asked. “I don’t know as I like that idea, Cousin.”
“Nor I,” said Maradel. She turned to Banedra. “Have we a precedent?”
The Rememberer held up a hand as she closed her eyes. The rest of them waited in respectful silence until she opened her eyes again, and turned both palms up, empty.
“No precedent. The ambient has never been observed to behave in any way that would suggest intent. It no more has the ability to withhold itself from select individuals than the atmosphere has.”
“And yet—what caused this massive systemic shock which killed only Reavers?” Tekelia asked. “We need to identify the cause, Cousins, whether we are to host gods or puppetmaster.”
“I see it!” Emit cried, her eyes fixed on something over Maradel’s head.
She started to her feet, dancing, entranced, her gaze fixed on the lines of probability. Catching her thought, Tekelia leapt up to dance with her, open to the ambient, between it and the Seer’s ecstasy.
“I see it!” Emit cried again. “A silver blade descending. Black ribbons part. They recoil, returning to those who are bound. Struck, they are stunned. They fall. And so quickly are they gone from us. Gone!” she shouted, her voice ringing against the roof beams. “Dead, and lost!”
She stumbled, dancing no more, going to her knees with a cry that became a wail of grief. Yferen went to her and brought her to her chair. He knelt and held her hands as she grieved a loss that was not theirs.
Tekelia went to the buffet, filled a cup with fruit juice, and returned. Yferen took the cup carefully, and lifted it to Emit’s lips.
“Drink, Cousin,” he murmured.
“Stunned,” Maradel said. She was standing, turning slowly around so that she faced each of those gathered, one by one. “They had no time to reach out, or to open themselves, and be saved.”
She took a hard breath and met Tekelia’s eyes.
“This answers all,” she said. “Why it was only Reavers who fell. Why they all died at once. The very shock to their nervous systems.”
“The puppetmaster is dead, then?” said Kencia, halfway between a question and a statement.
Tekelia turned to face him.
“You don’t sound certain, Cousin.”
“Well, I’m not,” Kencia returned, frowning at Emit, who was still sipping her juice. “The lines were cut, so we’re told. What we’re not told is that the master shared the fate of their playthings.”
“But even if not,” said Maradel, “they will have no reason to come here, demanding explanations and reparations.”
“True enough,” said Kencia, flapping his arms in one of his characteristic gestures. “All that’s needed is for them to send more.”
“If they have more,” Maradel snapped. “How many puppets do you imagine one master might hold?”
“We don’t know that there is only one master,” Kencia retorted.
Emit had finished her juice. Yferen rose and crossed the room to fetch her another, and something to eat.
“That’s true,” Tekelia said, and sighed. “Nor do we know if the puppetmaster has a master.”
“But we have been told,” said Banedra, “to expect gods.”