‘The men at the top of the Mad One have weapons,’ sang the messenger. ‘They are pointing them at the people of Tasmin Ferrence.’
‘Tasmin,’ cried Vivian. ‘Tasmin, you’ve got to get your people down from up there. Please!’
‘Move now,’ Spider Geroan directed. The quivering of the ground had lessened enough that they could move securely upon it. ‘Move fast, and keep out of sight.’
* * *
‘Let the troupes of Bondri and Chowdri surround the men with weapons,’ urged Bondri. ‘A debt of honor is about to come unstuck.’
‘It is not our debt,’ demurred Chowdri.
‘It is the debt of Prime Priest Favel,’ Bondri trilled. ‘Prime Priests are of all troupes.’
The troupes sang this for a few moments in several variations. No one could deny that it was true. Though some sang that a debt incurred before a viggy became Prime Priest might not be binding on all troupes, this was a minority voice, which became only a haunting anharmonic in the finished song.
‘Go then,’ urged Chowdri, somewhat grudgingly. ‘Go to the Mad One, the Presence Without Innerness, the Killer Without Cause, called by the Loudsingers, the Enigma. Fulfill the debt.’
‘Vivian! How did you get here?’
‘The viggies brought me, Tasmin. Listen, there’s no time for questions. The viggies say that the Enigma will kill anyone who tries to sing it quiet. The Enigma is crazy.’
‘Donatella did it before.’
‘Not really. It wasn’t awake, and she got on and then off before it woke up, is all. It’s wide awake today. Tasmin, get her off of there.’
While Tasmin was still staring at Vivian, trying to make sense of what she was saying, Clarin did not wait. Some deep apprehension within herself was verified by Vivian’s first words, and she darted up the slope at a dead run while Tasmin watched helplessly from below, unable even to follow for Vivian was now clinging to his arm. ‘Tasmin, do you have a recording of a viggy song? Tasmin! Do you?’
He tried to focus on her question. ‘Yes. Donatella played it just a little while ago.’
‘You’ve got to give it back to them, Tasmin.’
‘Give it back!’
‘Wipe it out. Something. They’ll try to take it from you, Tasmin, and some of them could be killed. They saved me. They saved Miles. They’ve got Celcy’s baby, Tasmin! Oh, don’t ask how, why. Don’t ask questions, just tell me you will.’
The music was building slowly into a rhythmic pattern, Jamieson’s voice softly soaring, leaping, like the wind. Beneath the sound, the Enigma quieted, shivering almost into silence. Still, there was a quiver.
‘It took me almost an hour last time,’ Donatella whispered.
Jamieson nodded, never losing the line of melody. His eyes swung between the two towers of the Enigma. As they moved between the two, he saw Clarin coming up the trail. ‘She’s in a tearing hurry,’ he told himself, still singing. There was someone with Tasmin on the flatland, pointing and gesturing….
‘It’s still shakin’ a little,’ whispered Myrony.
‘Well, wait until it quits,’ Chantiforth replied. They were working their way down toward the pillars that bordered the clearing where Jamieson was singing. Spider had started before them and was halfway down to the scree slopes on which Tasmin stood.
‘Somebody coming up,’ hissed Chanty. ‘Lie flat and be still.’
They peered between tumbled bits of crystal, watching Clarin as she came toward them up the mountain, panting and pulling herself along at speed. Just a little below them she stopped, positioning herself against a pillar, gasping for breath.
‘What in hell,’ thought Jamieson, not for a moment interrupting the song. Clarin was gesturing, imperatively. He began a repetition, a phrase that was sung again and again, in ascending keys, only to hear her voice moving with him.
‘An-dar-ououm,’ he sang.
‘Bro-oo-ther,’ she sang in thirds below, clear as a bell.
The danger call! The recognition call! His eyes darted around him, he turned. Nothing!
‘An-dar-ououm,’ he sang, his voice rising.
‘Bro-oo-ther,’ in thirds.
Jamieson beckoned to Donatella and began to move down, away, away from the bloody ground between the spires, down toward Clarin, never stopping the song.
‘An-dar-ououm,’ he sang again, voice soaring.
‘An-dar-ououm,’ came half a hundred voices from all around him.
Viggies! In the shadow of crystal he could see their eyes glowing behind the ruby orbs of inflated song-sacks. ‘An-dar-ououm, an-dar-ououm.’
Then he and Donatella were beside Clarin, the three of them moving downward, swiftly, letting the viggies take the song.
‘What’s the matter?’ Donatella demanded. ‘Why did you cry “brother”?’
‘Save your breath, Don. Just get down and out of the way of this thing. According to the viggies, it’s going to blow.’
‘Blow! It’s quiet as a tomb, and getting quieter all the time.’ Donatella stopped, turned as though to go back up the mountain. ‘Is that viggies singing?’
‘Trying to give us time to get out of the way. Us and themselves. Move, will you.’ Clarin grabbed Donatella’s arm and forcibly turned her. ‘Move, down. If we’re wrong you can always come back….’
Then they were down off the ramp and running toward Tasmin and Vivian and Miles and a dozen young viggies who were all staring at the Enigma and at one another with open mouths, immobilized by strangeness.
A quiver.
A small quiver, as though a rug had been pulled beneath their feet. The song was running away, trickling off the mountain on a wave of viggy feet, fleeing. The rug moved once more, this time a good tug. Donatella staggered. The viggies threw themselves down, gesturing, calling in Loudsinger language, ‘Down, down, hold on, tumble down coming.’
And then it came, thunder, the mountain heaving, the spires shimmering, seeming actually to bend and sway as all around them the smaller pillars shattered and roared.
Fragments spun across the sky, glittering shards of bloody light, edged like knives.
Chunks rained from the top of ’lings, bounding, shattering, ricocheting in hissing trajectories.
Against the sky the twin tines of the Enigma shouted, a howling cataract of threat and danger.
The Translator, set at the top of its volume, roared.
‘You’d think after all this time they could get it right.’ Donatella’s voice
