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WIND FROM THE ABYSS

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this

book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely

coincidental.

thereof in any form.

A Baen Book

Baen Enterprises 8-10W. 36th Street New York, N.Y. 10018

First Baen printing, January, 1985. ISBN: 0-671-55932-X Cover art by Victoria

Poyser Printed in the United States of America

Distributed by

SIMON & SCHUSTER

MASS-MERCHANDISE SALES COMPANY

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, N.Y. 10020

Contents

I. In Mourning for the Unrecotlected

II. The Wages of Forgetful ness

III. Seeking Stance in the Time

IV. The Gulf of Alternate Conceptions

V. Draw to Crux

VI. An Ordering of Affairs

VI!. Into the Abyss

VIII. The Passing of Khys

IX. The Law Within

X. In Deference to Owkahen

101

152

202

242

273

275

298

318

FRDMTH

Author's Note

Since, at the beginning of this tale, I did not recollect myself nor retain

even the slightest glftn-mer of such understanding as would have led me to an

awareness of the significance of the various occurrences that transpired at

the Lake of Horns then, I am adding this preface, though it was not part of my

initial conception, that the meaningful-ness of the events described by

"Khys's Estri" (as I have come to think of the shadow-self I was while the

dharen held my skills and memory in abeyance) not be withheld from you as they

were from me.

I knew myself not: I was Estri because the girl Carth supposedly found

wandering in the forest stripped of comprehension and identity chose that

name. There, perhaps, lies the greatest irony of all, that I named myself anew

after Estri Hadrath diet Estrazi, who in reality I had once been. And perhaps

it is not irony at all, but an expression of Khys's humor, an implied

dissertation by him who structured my experiences, my very thoughts, for

nearly two years, until his audacity drove him to bring together once more

Sereth crill Tyris, past-Slayer, then the outlawed Ebvrasea, then arrar to the

dharen himself; Chayin rendi Inekte, cahndor of Nemar, co-cahndor of the Taken

Lands, chosen son of Tar-Kesa, and at that time Khys's puppet-vassal; and

myself, former Well-Keepress, tiask of Nemar, and lastly becoming the

chaldless outlaw who had come to judgment and endured ongoing retribution at

the dharen's hands. To test his besting, his power over owkahen, the

time-coming-to-be, did Khys put us together, all three, in his Day-Keepers'

city—and from that moment onward, the Weathers of Life became fixed: siphoned

into a

Xll

Janet E. Morris

singular future; sealed tight as a dead god in his mausoleum, whose every move

but brought him closer to the summed total, death. So did the dharen Khys

bespeak it, himself. . . .

In Mourning for the Unrecollected

The hulion hovered, wings aflap, at the window, butting its black wedge of a

head against the pane. Its yellow eyes glowed cruelly, slit-pupiled. Its white

fangs, gleaming, were each as long as my forearm.

I screamed.

Its tufted ears, flat against its head, twitched. Again and again, toothed

mouth open wide, it battered at the window, roaring.

Once more I screamed, and ran stumbling to the far wall of my prison. I

pounded upon the locked doors with my fists, pressing myself against the wood.

Sobbing, I turned to face it.

The beast's ears flickered at the sound. Those jaws, which could have snapped

me in half, closed. It cocked its head.

I trembled, caught in its gaze. I could retreat no farther. I sank to my

knees, moaning, against the door frame.

The beast gave one final snort. Those wings, with a spread thrice the length

of a tall man, snapped decisively, and it was gone.

When it was no more than a speck in the greening sky, I rose clumsily,

trembling, to collect the papers I had strewn across the mat in my terror.

They were the arrar Carth's papers, those he had forgotten in his haste to

attend his returning master's summons. : 1

2 Janet E. Morris

I knelt upon my hands and knees on the silvery pile, that I might gather them

up and replace them in the tas-sueded folder before he returned.

Foolish, I thought to myself, that I had so feared the hulion. It could not

have gotten in. I could not get out. It could not get in. Once I had thrown a

chair at that impervious clarity. The chair had splintered. With one stout

thala leg, as thick as my arm, had I battered upon that window. All that I had

accomplished was the transformation of chair into kindling. The hulion, I

chided myself, could have fared no better.

Hulions, upon occasion, have been known to eat man flesh. Hulions, furred and

winged, fanged and clawed, are the servants of the dharen. I had had no need

to fear. Yet, I thought as I gathered the arrar Carth's scattered papers, they

are fearsome. Perhaps if I had been able, as others are, to hear its mind's

intent, I would have felt differently. My fingers, numb and trembling, fumbled

for the delicate sheets.

One in particular caught my eye. It was in Carth's precise hand and headed:

"Preassessment monitoring of the arrar Sereth. Enar fourth second, 25,697."

I had met, once, the arrar Sereth. Upon my birthday, Macara fourth seventh, in

the year '696 had I met him, that night upon which my child had been

conceived. I had read of his exploits. He frightened me, killer of killers,

enforcer for the dharen, he who wore the arrar—chald of the messenger. Sereth,

scarred and lean and taut like some carnivore, who had loved the Keepress

Estri, my namesake, and with her brought great change upon Silistra in the

pass-Amarsa, 25,695—yes, I had met him.

I sat myself down cross-legged upon the Galeshir carpet, papers still strewn

about, forgotten, and began to read:

WIND FROM THE ABYSS 3

The time is approximately three enths after sun's rising, the weather clouded

and cool, our position just south of the juncture of the Karir and Thoss

rivers. I highly recommend that you look in upon the moment.

The arrar Sereth, on the brindle hulion Leir, touched his gol-knife. It was

the first unnecessary movement he had made in over an enth. My presence,

alongside upon a black hulion, disquieted him. The brindle, gliding at the

apex of its bound, snorted. He touched its shoulder, and the beast, obedient,

angled its wings and began its descent.

When its feet touched the grass, he set it as a grounded lope. I followed

suit, bringing my black up to pace him.

Sereth regarded me obliquely. I, as he, served the dharen, he thought, and

touched his hulion to a stop.

We had been riding all the night, up from Galesh, where I had met him with the

two beasts. He had served dharen, most lately, in Dritira. And before that, in

the hide diet, and before that upon the star world M'ksakka had he dealt death

and retribution at Khys's whim. And dealt them successfully, though those

tasks had been fraught with deadlier risk than a man might be expected to

survive. His thought was wry, recollecting.

"How did you find M'ksakka?" I asked, to key him, to bring something else

above the impenetrable shield he has constructed. My hulion growled at the

brindle he rode, and that one answered.

"1 will make a full report to Khys," he said, slipping off the hulion's back.

"Let us rest them."

I joined him where he lay upon the grass, staring at the sky.

"I missed this land," he said. "The sky there is dark and ominous, always

clouded. M'ksakkan air stings eyes and lungs. Everything is covered with a

fine black dust. I would not go again off the planet."

4 Janet E. Morris

"Perhaps he will not send you," I conjectured.'

He saw M'ksakka, and that seeing was colored by his distaste, both for the

world and the work he had done there. The methods he had employed displeased

his sense of fitness. The value of the M'ksakkan's death was to him obscure. I

saw the moment: the adjuster's surprised eyes, wide and staring as Sereth's

fingers closed on his throat, around his windpipe; the M'ksakkan's clawing

hand upon his wrist as he ripped out the man's larynx, vocal cords dangling;

then the blood, spurting, and the sound of the adjuster's choking death.

And I saw others he had killed, those who were anxious to try their skills

against a real live Silistran. He had been hesitant to do so, but more

hesitant to face an endless line of their ilk, so he had killed the first

three. Again, his thoughts sank below readable level. The hulions lay quiet,

lashing their tails. The clouds scudded heavy over the sun. A soft, drizzling

rain commenced,

"The dharen is pleased with you," I said.

He sat up, his mind absolutely, inviolate. "What do you want, Carth?" He

stared down at me. I lay perfectly still He made no attempt to read me for his

answer. He merely waited.

"A first impression. You are coming up for assessment," I answered, rising up.

"We want to get some sense of you. Your mental health is now our concern."

He tossed his head, ripping grass from the sward.

"You brought child upon that wellwoman in Dritira," I prodded.

He saw her. In many ways she had reminded him of the Keepress. It had been

passes since he had taken a woman. On M'ksakka there were females, but nothing

he understood to be a woman. He had not couched many of them. And in hide

diet, there were only forereaders. In Dritira, with that woman who reminded

him of the Keepress, he had spent his long-pent sperm. Four times he had used

her, before

WIND FROM THE ABYSS 5

she was more than a receptacle in his sight. And he had abused her, more than

was his custom.

"Get me the forms. I will collect my birth-price," he answered. He did not

want the woman.

"You should take her. We have been considering her. She might yet make a

forereader,"

"Then it is a pity she caught. From inferior sperm can come only inferior

stock."

"Khys has asked me," I said, "to bid you welcome to any of the forereaders we

hold in common at the lake. Spawn from such a union would be doubtless

possessed of talent. The bitterness you hold is out of proportion to the

reality. We all, at one time or another, find there is something we want that

we may not have."

He did not answer me, but rose and went to his hulion. He thought of her as

one thinks of the dead; with acceptance, and then of his life, and what

compromises he had made to keep it. What he let me know, I have no doubt, will

please you. What he did not—that is what concerns me. He allowed me nothing

else for the duration of our return.

His shield, as you will see, is set lower and much farther into his deeper

conscious than any I have encountered. Most of his processing must take place

behind it. Deep-reading him is out of the question. He visualizes barely

enough to verbalize his will. That he is functioning superbly is attested to

by his works. 'That he feels it to his advantage to serve us at present is a

certainty. I worry over what might occur, should he choose, eventually, not to

serve us.

My formal recommendation is for a complete and detailed assessment. Also, I

feel some attempt might be made to pacify him, in light of what he is fast

becoming. Or perhaps even to eliminate him, lest he become, like Se'keroth,

the weapon turned upon the wielder.

And it was signed Carth.

"Carth!" I gasped, as a dark hand snapped the

6 Janet E. Morris

sheet from my grasp. Still upon my knees, I twisted to see him. His dark eyes

gleamed. He ran his hand through his black curls.

"Did you find this informative, Estri?" he asked, towering over me, the paper

crumpled in his fist. Carth was furious. I dared not answer.

I started to my feet.

"Pick them up!" he commanded, pointing.

I scurried to obey him, scrambling for the sheets strewn upon the web-work, my

stomach an icy knot. Once before, I had seen Carth this agitated, when I had

written for him a certain paper. And he had called it audacious, and destroyed

it. I finished, and rose to my full height, handing the tas envelope to him.

My head came to his shoulder. He looked down at me, sternfaced.

"You were ill-advised to do this," he said. "He is not pleased with you.

This"—and he threw the crumpled sheet across the room—"will only aggravate

matters. You had best make some effort to placate him."

"What do you mean?" I demanded. "Has he taken some sudden interest in me?" I

had seen the dharen precisely three times since I had come to reside at the

Lake of Horns: the night he had gotten me with child, the day following, and

once while I lay near death when the child had driven me to seek it. He had

not been at the Lake of Horns when I bore his he-beast into the world. I had

cried out for him during that premature and extended labor. He had not been

available. Now, nearly eight passes later, he had returned.

"Do not be insolent!" Garth's voice snapped as his palm slapped my face to one

side. Tears in my eyes, I put my hand to my cheek. It was what I had thought,

not what I had said, that had brought me punishment. Shaking my head, I backed

away from him. Though I had known Carth a telepath, a surface-reader, rarest

of Silistran talents, never had

WIND FROM THE ABYSS 7

he shown his skills before me, one who neither spoke nor heard the tongues of

mind.

"Estri, come here."

I went to him, my hand trailing from my cheek to the warm, pulsing band locked

about my throat.

When I stood before him, he lifted my face, his hand under my chin, that I

might look into his eyes.

"He is very angry, child. You must realize that what you think is as audible

to him as what you say. I know it was not intentional, that you read what you

did. Forget it, if you can. Concentrate upon what lies before you." He patted

my shoulder, all the anger gone out of him.

"I do not want to see him," I said, toying with the ends of my copper hair,

grown now well below mid-thigh.

Carth pursed his lips. "You have no choice. He will see you in a third-enth.

Make ready." And he turned and strode through the double doors that adjoined

my prison to Khys's quarters. Khys, my couch-mate, was again in residence. The

dharen of all Silistra, back from none knew where, would again rule at the

Lake of Horns.

Make ready, indeed, I thought, combing my hair. I had only the white,

sleeveless s'kim I wore; thigh-length, of simple web-cloth. My jewelry was the

band of restraint at my throat. I retied the garment upon my hips. Throwing my

hair back, I regarded myself in my prison's mirrored wall. My body,

copper-skinned, lithe, only shades lighter than my thick mane, postured at me,

arrogant. I had thought, for a time, that the he-beast had destroyed it, but

such had not been the case. Exercise had given its grace and firmness back to

me. My legs are very long, my waist tiny, hips slim. Pregnancy had altered me

little. My breasts were still high and firm, my belly flat and tight. Good

enough for him, surely. I widened my eyes suggestively, then

Janet E. Morris

stuck my tongue out at her. She made a face back. I grinned and wondered why I

had done so, turning from that wall that ever showed me the boundaries of my

world.

At the window, I waited, looking out upon the eastern horn of the lake. The

fall flames of Brinar, harvest pass, fired the forest. The grass was losing

its battle, browning. Hulions and forereaders and Day-Keepers strolled between

the tusk-white buildings that circle the Lake of Horns like some wellwoman's

necklace. The green lake was calm and still, wearing the sky's clouds for

masquerade.

Angry, was he? I did not care. I cared no more for him than that he-beast he

had put upon me. I would not care.

I had cared very much, once. He had been kind to me that first night. I had no

recollection of other men before him, though surely there had been some. In my

lost past lay all that had occurred before I came to the Lake of Horns in

Cetet of '695, two years, two passes back. And I had cared for him, he who

first touched me, Khys.

He had told me he would do many things. He had done some. He had put on me a

son. He had seen to it that I was reeducated. I had been looked after, but not

by him. He had also said that someday the band of restraint I wore would be

removed from me, that I might explore my talents. That he had not done. After

the pregnancy, he had promised, when I lay near miscarriage by my own hand.

But no release had been given me after I birthed him his precious child,

I touched the warm, vibrating band at my throat. I hardly minded its

tightness. I could often forget that it was there. But its true significance I

could not forget. Khys had explained to me that I wore the band for my own

protection, lest the mindless-ness reach up again and take me. I had learned

otherwise.

WIND FROM THE ABYSS 9

Early in my pregnancy, when they still humored me, I had begged to be allowed

to stay with the forereaders in the common holding, that I might have the

company of womankind. Reluctantly, Carth had agreed.

I had sent for him to take me back, weeping, upon the third day. Among the

forereaders, I was an outcast. Those born at the Lake of Horns feel themselves

better than all others. My skin tone resembles theirs. Those who come from the

outside, or "Barbaria," as the Lake-born call it, are an even tighter group. I

fit neither. And I was the dharen's alone. They were jealous, commonheld. Or

so I thought, until I saw an angry dharener stride into the women's keep and

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