Patternmaster p-1 Page 7

  Jason passed out without replying. There was nothing permanently wrong with him, no physical injury at all. But Teray had made certain that he suffered at least as much as he had caused Suliana to suffer.

  Back in Teray’s room, Suliana was awake and eating ravenously. She looked up, frightened, as he came in, and he smiled to reassure her.

  “I thought I was going to have to carry you back to your room,” he told her.

  “I don’t have to go back to Jason?” Her voice was soft, tentative.

  “You don’t have to go back to Jason. Ever.”

  “I don’t belong to him anymore?”

  “That’s right.”

  She sighed. “Jackman said that once.”

  “I’m not Jackman. And after the … discussion I just had with Jason, I don’t think he’ll bother you again.”

  She looked at him uncertainly, as though she still did not know whether to believe him. He could have set her mind at ease immediately, simply by directing her to believe, directing her even to forget Jason. That was the way mutes were usually handled. Teray preferred to let her find out for herself. He found himself unwilling to tamper with the mutes’ minds any more than he absolutely had to. They were intelligent. They could think for themselves if anyone ever gave them the chance.

  “If I don’t have to go back to Jason,” said Suliana, “why can’t I stay here?”

  Teray looked at her in surprise, then took a good look at her. She was small and thin—too

  thin, really. But she had an appealing, almost childlike kind of prettiness. And there had still been no one since Iray.

  “You can stay if you want to,” he said.

  She stayed.

  He worried at first that he might forget himself and hurt her, but he programmed himself by his Jackman memories, made the restrictions of his self-programming automatic. Suliana enjoyed the small amount of mental stimulation that she could tolerate, and Teray enjoyed her pleasure as well as his own. He had not made love to a mute since before his transition. He found now that mentally and physically he had been missing a great deal.

  The next day Suliana moved her few belongings to his room. Amber wandered up to check on her, saw that she was comfortably situated with Teray, and grinned broadly.

  “Just what you need,” she told Teray. “I thought you might take my advice.”

  “I wish you’d take mine and mind your own business,” said Teray.

  “I am. I’m a healer, remember?”

  “I don’t need healing.”

  She folded her hands tightly together and held them before her. “I hardly know you,” she said. “But as you damned well know, we’re like this in the Pattern”—she gave her folded hands a shake—“so when you lie to me, don’t expect me to

  believe you.”

  She checked Suliana over briefly and went back downstairs without another word to Teray.

  And as the weeks passed, Teray, in his enjoyment of Suliana and his new interest in his work, began to come alive again. Grudgingly, he admitted to himself that Amber had been right. In a way he had needed a kind of healing.

  Now, healed, he began to think of leaving Redhill Sector. He would run away, escape to a sector where Coransee had less influence. He was not certain how much good that would do if and when Coransee succeeded Rayal. In fact, it might not do any good period, since Housemasters had a tradition of returning one another’s runaways. And there was the even greater question of whether it was possible at all.

  For as long as Teray could remember, travel between sectors had been too dangerous for a person to hazard alone. People moved in groups outside sector boundaries— groups of ten, fifteen, as many as they could. Even Amber, if she managed to get away from Coransee, would probably join one of the caravans of travelers that sometimes passed through the sector. But Teray would not be welcome in such a caravan. No one who knew Coransee would deliberately help a runaway from his House to escape.

  Before the Clayarks gave their disease to Rayal, people had traveled freely, safely, from one end of Patternist Territory to the other. Even mutes had traveled alone, carrying merchandise between

  sectors and making their pilgrimages to the House of the Pattern. But now … In leaving Redhill, Teray might easily be committing suicide. But staying was surely suicide. Coransee might get tired of waiting and decide to kill him ahead of time if he stayed.

  If he left, though, if he went to Forsyth, for instance … The idea seemed to fall into place as though there had never been any other possible destination for him.

  Forsyth, birthplace of the Pattern, home of the Patternmaster. There was no way for Coransee to take Teray back from Rayal if Rayal could be persuaded to give Teray sanctuary. Surely the Patternmaster would resent Coransee competing for the Pattern while its present Master was still alive. In fact, Teray could even recall some kind of law forbidding such premature competition. If Teray could just get to Forsyth to plead his case. And at Rayal’s House he could gain the knowledge Coransee was keeping from him. He could get training enough to make the outcome of his next battle with Coransee less predictable. If Rayal himself could not give the training, perhaps his journeymen would. Even they were highly capable people.

  Teray began handling learning stones that told of travel, that revealed the terrain between Redhill and Forsyth. He memorized whatever he could find—memorized routes, memorized sectors that he would have to skirt. He could not memorize the locations of Clayark settlements because the Clayarks inside Patternist Territory

  had no permanent settlements. They were nomadic, roaming in great tribes, settling only long enough to strip an area clean of food. They had been known to eat Patternists, in fact. But a Patternist was an expensive, meal costing many Clayark lives. The eating was ritualistic anyway, done for quasi-religious reasons rather than out of hunger. Clayarks consumed Patternist flesh to show, symbolically, how they meant someday to consume the entire race of Patternists.

  Chapter 4

  A few days after Teray had decided to run away, he saw the Clayark. It was like a sign, a warning. Teray had taken several learning stones out far from the House to study in the privacy and solitude of a grove of trees. He had been so involved with the stones that he had neglected his personal security. There had been no trouble with the Clayarks within the sector since the day he left school, but still there was no excuse for his carelessness. To let a Clayark almost walk upon him unnoticed …

  Normally, any Patternist wandering away from the buildings of his Housemaster’s estate spread his awareness like a canopy around him. The moment that canopy—perhaps a hundred meters around—touched a human-sized creature, the Patternist was warned. Fortunately, Clayarks possessed none of the Patternists’ mental abilities and had to depend entirely on their physical senses. Unfortunately, the Clayark disease, which so mutated human genes that it caused

  once-normal mutes to produce children in the familiar sphinx shape, also placed the minds of those children beyond Patternist reach. Only Clayark bodies were vulnerable. As Patternist bodies were vulnerable to Clayarks. Teray drew back farther behind the tree that had thus far concealed him from the Clayark.

  The creature was a male, now standing on three legs and eating something with the fourth. Teray found himself watching, fascinated, comparing the creature to Laro’s figurine. He had never had such a close look at a live Clayark before. And now that he was aware of the creature, aware that it was alone, it could not possibly act quickly enough to hurt him. But it was armed. It had the usual rifle slung across its back, the butt protruding over one shoulder so that it could easily be seized.

  The creature threw something away, and Teray saw that it was an orange peel. Doubtless the Clayark had been stealing in the groves of Bryant, a neighbor of Coransee who raised fruit. The Clayark also had something that looked like saddlebags strapped across its back. The bags were bulging, probably with stolen fruit.

  The Clayark was like a life-size version of Laro’s figurine— well-musc
led, tanned, lean, human-headed, and almost lion-bodied. It moved with the easy grace of a cat and wore a flaring red-gold headdress to make up for its lack of a mane. Being furless, it also wore clothing—the skin of some animal fixed about its loins, and another skin wrapped about the torso,

  probably to ease the strapped-on load.

  But most unlikely were those forefeet that served also as hands. For Clayarks who bothered to wear running gloves of the kind that this one was now putting on, the hands remained supple and humanly soft. Clayarks who did not wear gloves developed the heavy callouses that caused the legendary clumsiness of the species.

  Suddenly intensely curious. Teray checked the area once more, making certain that the Clayark was alone, then rose and stepped clear of his hiding place. A moment later, the creature saw him. It froze, stared at him.

  “Kill?” The voice was deep and harsh, but undeniably human.

  “Not unless you make me kill you,” said Teray.

  “Not kill?” The Clayark sat back on its haunches like a cat. “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” said Teray.

  “Boy? Schoolboy?”

  Teray smiled grimly, reached out, and contracted the muscles of the Clayark’s right foreleg. The Clayark gasped at the sudden pain of the cramp, half collapsed, righted itself, and glared at Teray in silent hatred.

  “Man,” said Teray. “So don’t do anything foolish.”

  “You want?”

  “Nothing. Only to hear you speak.”

  The creature looked doubtful. “Your language

  … not much.”

  “But you understand.”

  “To live.”

  “If you want to live, you’d better stop stealing in

  Redhill. The Masters here are already after your people.”

  The Clayark shrugged. On it, the gesture seemed strange.

  “Why do you raid us? We wouldn’t kill you if you left us alone.” He knew the answer, but he wondered whether the Clayark knew it.

  “Enemies,” the creature said. “Not people.”

  “You know we’re people.”

  “Enemies. Land. Food.”

  It did know, then, indirectly at least. Clayarks always needed more land and food. They bred themselves out of whatever they acquired almost as quickly as they acquired it.

  “You had better go,” said Teray. “Before another Patternist finds you and kills you.”.

  The creature stood up and stared at Teray for several seconds. “Rayal?”

  For once, Teray did not understand. He frowned. “What?”

  “You … your father. Rayal?”

  Teray had the presence of mind not to answer. “Go, I said.”

  Catlike, the creature bounded off toward the southwest boundary of the sector.

  Teray stood where he was, wondering how a Clayark had managed to recognize him as Rayal’s son. Well, Coransee had said Teray looked like Rayal, and the Clayarks had gotten a good look at Rayal once years before. Some of them had even lived to tell about it. Perhaps one of them had lived to draw a picture.

  Disease carriers that they were, they had deliberately mutilated Rayal, bitten him to give him the one disease that no Patternist healer could cure—the Clayark disease. Were they now seeking out his children, his possible heirs, to do the same to them? Was that why they had come raiding at Coransee’s House to begin with?

  Teray reached out, searching the direction in which the Clayark had gone. He swept the area, seeking, searching, but the Clayark was gone. That was one of the difficulties Patternists had—not being able to reach Clayarks’ minds. They could locate Clayarks only if those Clayarks were physically close to them—close enough to be touched by a spread canopy of awareness. Teray’s canopy was much wider than usual because Teray was strong. The Clayark must have strained even its agile muscles to get out of range so fast. Teray wished he had killed it when he’d had the chance.

  ************************************

  Hours later when Teray wandered home, he sensed something different about the atmosphere of the House. There were a number of strangers in the common room with the usual clusters of mutes, outsiders, and women. His first thought was that there had been some trouble with the Clayarks and Coransee had called for help. But things were too relaxed for that. The strangers were sprawled about, lazily resting, being entertained by a stone or a figurine, or trying to seduce members of Coransee’s House.

  Teray looked around the room and spotted Amber deeply immersed in the contents of a learning stone. He went over to her and touched her wrist lightly to make her aware of him.

  She jumped, and looked around like a person just waking up. Then she saw him and put the stone aside. “I think you may have come home just in time,” she said.

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “Your friend Joachim. He’s brought one of Rayal’s journeymen here. I don’t think it was a very bright thing for him to do, but I think he did it for you.”

  He frowned at her. “Why would you think that?”

  “You mean how do I know anything about it?”

  “Yes!”

  She hesitated. “Well, you might as well know. Remember that heart attack Coransee gave you on your first night here?”

  He said nothing, stared at her in comprehension and humiliation.

  “It’s so much easier to hurt or kill than it is to heal,” she said. “Especially to heal someone other than yourself. Coransee had to call me to save your life. I didn’t ask any questions then, but I did later—after Suliana. And Coransee answered them.”

  Teray turned away from her in disgust. She caught his arm before he could leave, and held on just a moment longer than necessary. Communication flared between them, wordless, startlingly easy. No information was exchanged. There was only the unexpected unity, closer than Teray had ever experienced, and certainly closer than, he wanted.

  Amber took her hand from his arm, and the unity ended. It did not halt abruptly, but seemed to ebb away slowly until Teray was alone with himself again.

  “I didn’t ask him out of idle curiosity,” she said.

  It took him a second or two to remember what she was talking about. By then, he did not care. “Listen,” he said, stepping back from her, rubbing his arm. “Listen, don’t do that again. Ever.”

  “All right,” she said.

  She agreed too quickly. He did not trust her. But before he could reinforce his words, he received a call from Coransee. He turned without a word and walked away from Amber.

  As he went, he tried to shake himself free of the shared unity. He should have remembered his own resolution to keep away from Amber unless he needed her as a healer. What if she accidentally—or not-so-accidentally—picked up his plan to escape? But no, as he had gotten nothing from her, she had learned nothing from him. She hadn’t been trying to snoop through his thoughts. He would have shielded against that automatically. She had been trying a little seduction of her own. He wondered whether she had heard his “no.”

  In Coransee’s office, the Housemaster himself waited with Joachim and another man, who was built along the same solid lines as Joachim but who was several years older.

  “This is Michael, Teray.” Coransee gestured toward the stranger. “He’s a journeyman in Rayal’s House.”

  Still standing, Teray looked at the man, sensed in him solid strength, surprising nearness to Teray within the Pattern, and quiet maturity. The man could have been a very competent Housemaster on his own, Teray guessed. But apprentices in the Patternmaster’s House often opted to stay on as journeymen and never try for Houses of their own. Apparently, they found prestige enough in being Rayal’s officials. And Rayal, as powerful as he was, still needed powerful, impressive servants. Michael was easily both.

  “Teray,” Michael greeted quietly. “I have some questions to ask you. First, though, I want you to

  know what’s happened. Joachim, who was your Housemaster for a short period, has accused Coransee first of illegally forc
ing you into his House while you were still under the protection of the school—thus, of trading in schoolchildren.”

  Teray winced inwardly.

  “And second, of competing for the Pattern now, before the legal beginning of the competition—while Patternmaster Rayal is still alive.”

  “It’s true,” said Teray. “I was Joachim’s apprentice— technically still in school. Coransee forced me into his House as an outsider so that he could keep me from competing with him for the Pattern.”

  “Why do you say he forced you into his House for that reason?”

  “He told me that’s why he was doing it.”

  Even Joachim looked surprised at that. “It’s clear then,” he said. “Coransee was competing for the Pattern ahead of time.”

  Michael looked at Coransee. “I could look into the boy’s thoughts for verification, but I would rather not have to.”

  Coransee shrugged, almost lazily. “If you expect me to confirm all that, you’re going to have to. It’s true up to a point, of course. I did take Teray from Joachim. And Joachim accepted payment for him. He accepted a very good young artist I had just acquired. I claim that to be a legal trade.”

  “Legal, hell!” said Joachim. “There is no legal way to trade an apprentice.”

  “Why did you trade him then—if he was an apprentice?” It occurred to Teray that Coransee was at his most dangerous when he seemed most relaxed. That was when he had a surprise waiting.

  “You forced me to trade him,” said Joachim. “I’ve told Journeyman Michael about the hold you have on me. It shames me, but it’s a fact. I won’t sacrifice Teray’s freedom by pretending it doesn’t exist.”

  “You sacrificed Teray’s so-called freedom months ago, Joachim. You sacrificed it to your own greed.”

  “I will open to Journeyman Michael to prove that you forced me to make that trade!”

  “Open. Journeyman Michael will see that I forced you to give up Teray—as I did. But I did absolutely nothing to force you to take payment for him. You could easily have given him up as I demanded, without taking payment, and then gone to Rayal to complain if you felt you had been forced to do something wrong. Instead, you made a profitable trade for a valuable artist. Now you come back trying to cheat me out of the price you paid for that artist.”