Forty Thousand in Gehenna

“Gen‑ley,” he said, not looking at him, watching kinsmen’s eyes. There was no answer. He had expected none, not the way that spear had hit. He stood there the space of several breaths. “I want Ma

Parm came. Stood quietly. Jin saw him unfocused, to the side; his eyes were all for Vil, who had not yet said a word. All about the camp, everywhere, men were on their feet, weapons ready. He found himself shaking, voiceless in the vastness of his suspicions: Parm Tower, Parm, which had harbored a grudge of which the starmen were the center. Parm, defying him.

Parm, who was allied with Green Tower, had a Green Tower woman; Green had Parm’s.

The silence went on. It was Vil’s to speak. Or Parm’s himself. The calibans were off at hunt. From the river came splashes, grunts. There would be one already to deal with, its rider dead, when it discovered it.

“I’ll settle it,” Parm said.

It would not be safe. There would be Parm to watch. Parm knew that. They all did. But the structure was too fragile.

“Want those starmen back,” Jin said quietly. “Want this settled with Vil.”

“He’ll get them.”

“You be careful,” Jin said. He spared a slight shift of his eye to Parm. “You get this man out of my way. Hear?”

There was a slow sorting‑out, slow movements everywhere. Already an ariel had come to investigate the bodies. It tugged at one of Genley’s fingers.

Jin drove his spear through it, pi

Men came and went around him, moving softfooted. He sat there still, with his mind busy, ignoring the rage that had him near to trembling. There was Parm to reckon round now. This man would have to be killed. There were the calibans. When the dead man’s came in, that was to settle; kill the beast, before it spread. Let Vil make amends if he would; kill this man too, like killing infection, before it spread.

A tower had to fall over this. No, there was no stopping it. Unless Parm could die in battle. He considered this, more and more thinking of it.

“This Parm,” he said to Blue, who sat close by him. “Tomorrow.” He made a tiny sign.

Blue’s eyes lighted with satisfaction. He closed his fingers in a circle: band.

Jin met Blue’s gaze and smiled with the eyes only. Yes. Decimate the band. Blue would find a way, tomorrow, in battle: put Parm and his lads–Vil too–where they could die.

It would save a tower. Save the unity of the towers.

Thorn came in. So other calibans came, to the scent of blood, to the rumor of ariels. Thorn swung his head, swept the ground with his tail. “Hsss,” Jin said, leaning back when that great head thrust itself into his way. He grasped the soft wattle skin and pulled, distracting the caliban, but it wandered off, to walk stifflegged about the camp, just in case.

So he was whole again. Blue’s came. The pattern took shape again, men shifting to his side, gathering all about hisfire and not to Parm’s, not joining the search that Parm and his men made.

And when Parm brought the starmen back, he was obliged to cross the camp with his prisoners, to bring them to him, like an offering…offering it was. A placation. The starmen–muddy, wet, bedraggled–“Genley,” Ma

“Vil will pay for his mistake,” Parm said, having added up, it seemed, this silence in the camp.

Jin looked elsewhere, not willing to be appeased. The bands had made their judgement, silently, ranged themselves with him. The calibans were at hand, quiet on the fringes of the light.

“I will see to it,” Parm persisted, further abasement.

“Do that.” Jin looked at him. There was no reprieve. The man had lost his usefulness; now he lost his threat as well. Jin breathed easier still, assumed an easier expression; but Parm knew him. This was a frightened man. And would die before he recovered from it. Jin rose and dusted off his breeches, looked at the starmen.

Ma

“These caused the trouble,” Jin said, snapped his fingers and pointed at Kim. “Kill that one.”

Kim started to his feet. A knife was in his back before he made it. He tumbled backward, and hit the ground the while Ma

“Now you see how it is,” Jin said, squatting down, face to face with Ma

Faces met his, settled faces, things secure again, men certain they had taken the stronger side. He walked away to the other fire, to let Blue deal with smaller things, like being rid of Kim.

A waste, that. And not a waste. They did not mistake him now. Perhaps the killing of Genley was no accident. Perhaps Parm misjudged, how important starmen were to him, or where in matters they fitted.

There was respect around him. He was sure of it again.

“In the morning,” he muttered, for those who stood by to hear. “ In the morning,”others echoed, and it went through the camp–enough delay, enough of waiting on Elai’s coyness.

In the morning, revenge, blood, promises kept: no real opposition. He would not sleep this night; he wanted to see this thing done at last, Cloud put under his feet, Parm most deftly scotched.

Genley my father.

He mourned. His mourning confounded itself with his rage. He clenched his hands and thought on killing, on killing so thorough none of Cloudside would survive. They would tell tales of him, the things that he had done.

“Jin,” a man said, bringing him a thing, a sodden mass of pages. Genley’s. He had seen it often. He looked at it, the crawling marks that made no sense to him, dim in firelight and in the fading. His history.

“Give this to Ma

lii

205 CR, day 114

Cloudside

Calibans moved, ru

Riders scrambled for weapons. McGee collected her spear, her kit.

“Up!” Elai was calling to them; “up!”

They ran, confused in the dark; calibans nosed past riders. Dain doused the embers of the nightfire: the tumult ran down and down the shore, a murmur of voices in the night, the hisses of calibans as if some strange sea were breaking at their backs. “Hup, hai!” someone cried, near at hand, a man’s voice. “Up, up, up!” There were splashes from the river–not attack: McGee had gained a sense of this–it was another sudden move. But something was close. She clutched at her clothes, hurried for the shore in the dark, skipped as ariels flowed like water about her feet, avoided stepping on one somehow.

“Brown,” she called; it was all the name it had. Brown, don’t leave me here! She whistled as best she could in panic. Riders were moving out, in the dark, no sense or order in it. “Hey!”

A shape came toward her, a tongue quested, found her. A head‑butt followed, and that was Brown, all slick with water–had to be Brown. McGee clambered doggedly up with a ruthless spring onto Brown’s foreleg the way the riders did it, her spear in her hand and her bag of belongings slung about her with her precious notes. Brown started to move along with the others, confused as the others, shouldering others in haste–