The Ringworld Throne

The bird dropped onto the leather pad that crossed Deb’s shoulders. Deb staggered and swore at it in some alien language, and it rose again.

Spill Mountain People seemed incredibly surefooted.

Tegger and Warvia walked with their arms around each other, trying to stay upright. They’d been in motion too long. The mountain seemed to sway beneath them. The wind searched out every tiniest gap in their furs. Tegger peeped out of his hood through slitted eyes, blinking away tears.

He had some of his breath back. He asked Deb, “That was your own tongue, yes? How did you learn the trade speech?”

Deb’s vowels and consonants were distorted. He had to catch the sense above the shrilling of the wind. “Night People say, tell you everything. But you, you tell the flatland vishnishtee nothing. Keep our secrets. Yes?”

Tegger didn’t know the word, but Warvia caught it. She told him, “Vashnesht,” enunciating it properly, and told the others, “Yes.”

Vashnesht: protectors. Keep secrets from the protectors from below the spill mountains. “Yes,” said Tegger.

Deb said, “Teela came from below, from the flats. A strange person, all knobs, could not resh. You understand, reshtra? Could not. Nothing there. She let us look.

“She taught us to speak. We knew the speech of the mirrors, but we spoke it wrong. Teela taught us, then told us teach the people who ride the balloons.

“Then she went through the passage. Came back seventy falans later, no change in her. We thought she was a vishnishtee, but now we knew.”

They were passing houses now: rectilinear houses made of wood that must have been imported from the forest below. They’d picked up an entourage of curious children: eyes peeking out from fur hoods, and chattering that came in puffs of fog. Warvia was trying to answer them.

Tegger asked, “May we speak to this Teela?”

“Teela went below again, since forty falans or more,” Deb said.

“More,” Saron said flatly.

Je

Tegger looked at Warvia. Warvia temporized. “How can you know of rishathra? Do you have other visitors from below?”

The locals laughed, even the men. Deb said, “Not from below, but from sideways! Folk visit from nearby mountains—”

“But they’re all Spill Mountain People, aren’t they?”

“Wairbeea, the people of the mountains are not all one kind. We are High Point. Saron—”

Here, a door. Tegger eased Warvia in ahead of him. The bird settled on Deb’s shoulder as she entered.

This narrow space was not the house proper, only a tiny anteroom supported by wooden beams and lines with hooks for furs. Doors at the far end opened opposite each other.

Now the furs started to come off. The two species stared at one another, fiercely curious.

High Point People were broad through the torso, broad across the face, with wide mouths and deep-set eyes. Their hair and—on the men—beards were curly and dark. Beneath their furs was cloth enclosing their torsos to the elbows and knees, and below the cuffs, a good deal of curly hair.

Deb was a strong woman in middle age. The bird, Skreepu, belonged to Deb. So did the identical-looking young men, Harreed and Barraye: they were her sons. Je

And Saron was a woman, deep of voice, old and deeply wrinkled. Something about her jaw, her hands: Warvia asked, “Are you of High Point?”

“No, from Two Peaks. A balloon carried us to High Point, far past Short One, where we wanted to visit. The wind blows wrong here. We could not return. The rest flew on, exploring, but I found my man Makray persuasive. He ca

While Deb removed her fur and hung it, Skreepu clung to the leather patch. When Saron led the rest into the main house, the great bird lifted and followed them.

The ceiling was high. Furniture was minimal. There was a high perch for the bird, two low tables, no chairs. This was half of the visitors’ house, divided from the other half by the long anteroom. Tegger wondered if he would meet whatever visitors were living on the other side.

The men propped the bronze web against the wall. Then the High Pointers settled cross-legged in a circle that left space for their visitors.

“This is your place, the visitors’ house,” Saron said. “It is warm enough for most who come, but you may want to sleep in fur.”

Je

“To antispin are Ice People. They live higher and the cold hurts them less. Mazarestch got a boy by an Ice People man. The way she tells it, their exertion moved mountain. The boy Jarth can forage higher than any of his peers.

“Visitors come from far spin and antispin. We welcome them all and resh with them, too, but we get no children together. They tell us it is the same for them. Reshtra is for different kinds, mating is between two of a kind. Folk of near mountains can mate, those from too far ca

“And you?”

Warvia was laughing too hard to speak, less amused than embarrassed, Tegger thought. He tried to put an answer together. “On the flat land travel is easy. We have all species mixed. We see every possible way of rishathra. We Red Herders travel with the animals we tend, for all of our lives. We ca

He could not tell how they were reacting to that: their faces were too unfamiliar. He said, “But some kinds rish for pleasure, some for trade contracts or to end a war or to postpone a child. We hear of Weed Gatherers, near mindless, who rish very nicely, convenient for ones who won’t take the time to—to court. Water People will rish with anyone who can hold his or her breath for long enough, but few there are—”

“Water People?”

“Live under liquid water, Barraye. I guess you don’t have many of those.”

Laughter. Je

“What else is there for my kind when visitors come? But you’ll want to speak to the Night People when they wake.”

Tegger saw Je

“Please understand,” Saron said, “we have only resh with species from near mountains. Spill mountain species, all of us, all very like each other even if we ca

A bit strange? Very queer? Demons from below? Before the silence could grow yet less comfortable, Warvia said, “We hear that protectors can pierce any secret. How can you hope to hide anything?”

“From flatland vishnishtee,” Deb said.

Saron explained. “Vishnishtee are a danger. Teela told us so, the Night People tell us, and the legends tell us, too. But the passage belongs to High Point. The passage is of interest to vishnishtee. The passage pierces the rim wall. They can go out of the world through the passage if they wear their balloon suits and helms with windows. The Night People don’t like to draw attention from vishnishtee.”

“You have protectors here?”

It seemed clear that Saron was speaking for the bronze web as well as Tegger and Warvia. “Three flatland vishnishtee rule the passage. More: they have taken some of us away, older ones, and some of those come back to us as vishnishtee.

“When the Death Light shone, the flatland vishnishtee showed us how to hide. Sod or rock is enough to stop the light that shines through fur and flesh, but better was to hide in the passage itself. Makray was hunting when the Death Light shone,” Saron said. “Half a day from shelter, and no vishnishtee to tell him he wanted it.”