Descending Road - YOU’VE BOTH GOT ARLEN’S MARKS by Dana W. Paxson

YOU’VE BOTH GOT ARLEN’S MARKS

1563 4D

The van came to the end of the narrow side way, and stopped. The two women heading its escort, weapons in hand, pointed Andrew and Ezzar out of the van to either side. The Corsang beat throbbed in the distance. Andrew lifted Janny out with him and set her down; Ezzar followed them.

One of the men behind the van opened the rear door and stared; Grendel, his head just clearing the top of the van doorway, slid down off the boxes past the man, drew himself up to full height and stretched out his massive arms. As the man gaped, Grendel stared down at him and grinned.

“A rep,” the man said, surprised. He frowned. “You cleared?”

“Jirinai interviewed me.”

“All right. Check your weapons and follow us.” Other women and men had already begun dragging boxes from the van. The escort took the visitors down a single-file passageway, unlocking a steel door and pointing them to some low cushioned seats at one side of a small circular domed room. Fresh air came in through two other open passageways; a low stone table squatted in the center of the room. Andrew ran his fingers across the smooth whitened wall. Golden light came evenly from the entire ceiling dome.

One of the women from their escort joined them and closed the steel door. She wore a brown coverall; her arms bore long raked hatchings rising from her skin in a lighter tan. In her hands she gripped a large-muzzled gun.

Another woman, apparently bent over with age, shuffled in from one of the open entrances, carrying a bowl of fruit. She wore a loose brown wrap; her gray hair, held only by clasps at shoulder level, tumbled long and heavy down over a sagging bosom. She smiled at them; the creases and seams vanished from her round cheeks and full lips. Her deep-black eyes scanned Andrew and the others quickly. Grendel stiffened.

The old woman turned as if to leave, then abruptly turned again and sat on a cushion opposite the visitors. Her eyes sparkling, she pointed a finger at Janny. “Tivo dans?” she said, beckoning. “Bena me, pikki.” Janny jumped up and ran over to throw herself in the old woman’s arms.

Andrew‘s jaw fell. “Janny,” he said weakly.

The old woman smiled at him. “They’re all my children,” she said, “Especially tonight.” She twined knobby fingers in Janny‘s rattail hair. “Especially the little street ones. Ba dansi, pikki, balli balli,” she said to Janny; and Andrew‘s little girl, grinning with joy, popped to her feet and scuttled out the way the old woman had come in.

Andrew scrambled to stand up and follow. He sputtered, “I’m not losing her again.” He took a step forward to follow, and the old woman stood in his way.

Quietly, she said, “She’s safe with us, more tonight than any time, and she’ll be back. Don’t worry. The dance will make her happy.” Her eyes held Andrew. “You’ve lost her before?”

Her words seemed to fasten sharp teeth of shame in Andrew‘s throat. He tried to swallow, and nodded. A gnarled hand rested itself lightly on his arm.

“You’re a City man, right? And from here? Tell me who you are.”

“I’m Andrew Luce. I’m back here to look for my family.” With this, Andrew drew back his sleeve to show his collechi scars.

The old woman withdrew her hand and ran a finger over the roiled patchwork tracery on his forearm. “Engel,” she said.

Andrew stiffened; a chill blew through him. “You’ve seen my son?” He searched her dark eyes. “Where is he? Is he here? Have you seen—“

“He’s here in Sobi. It’s his home. You’ve both got Arlen‘s marks, like Jirinai.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m the old lady. Or just the Lady. And they call me Allashani sometimes, when they’re scared of me.” She chuckled.

Andrew reached out a hand to touch the old woman’s wrap. So Arlen had gotten to Engel too. “When did you see my son? Is he all right?” He held his breath.

“Each day I see him. Yes.” A smile.

Andrew looked past her into the dark doorway Janny had taken. He wanted to see a laugh on her little face, and the excitement of the Run drew him; the news of Engel lifted his heart, filled him with hope. “I’d like to go find Janny now. I’ll be right back.”

The old lady shrugged and tossed her head, sending some loose hair back over one shoulder. “You’re just as restless as your son. See him out,” she said to the woman at the steel door. As Andrew turned to go, she said, “Come back in a little while and see if they’re here. Once you’re home, you don’t have to hurry.”

Her last words echoed in the passage behind Andrew. He was so close now, Engel, Janny, maybe more of them were here too. Maybe poor Martin was wrong. Ahead of him, the beat pounded.

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	YOU’VE BOTH GOT ARLEN’S MARKS 1563 4D The van came to the end of the narrow side way, and stopped. The two women heading its escort, weapons in hand, pointed Andrew and Ezzar out of the van to either side. The Corsang beat throbbed in the distance. Andrew lifted Janny out with him and set her down; Ezzar followed them. One of the men behind the van opened the rear door and stared; Grendel, his head just clearing the top of the van doorway, slid down off the boxes past the man, drew himself up to full height and stretched out his massive arms. As the man gaped, Grendel stared down at him and grinned. “A rep,” the man said, surprised. He frowned. “You cleared?” “Jirinai interviewed me.” “All right. Check your weapons and follow us.” Other women and men had already begun dragging boxes from the van. The escort took the visitors down a single-file passageway, unlocking a steel door and pointing them to some low cushioned seats at one side of a small circular domed room. Fresh air came in through two other open passageways; a low stone table squatted in the center of the room. Andrew ran his fingers across the smooth whitened wall. Golden light came evenly from the entire ceiling dome. One of the women from their escort joined them and closed the steel door. She wore a brown coverall; her arms bore long raked hatchings rising from her skin in a lighter tan. In her hands she gripped a large-muzzled gun. Another woman, apparently bent over with age, shuffled in from one of the open entrances, carrying a bowl of fruit. She wore a loose brown wrap; her gray hair, held only by clasps at shoulder level, tumbled long and heavy down over a sagging bosom. She smiled at them; the creases and seams vanished from her round cheeks and full lips. Her deep-black eyes scanned Andrew and the others quickly. Grendel stiffened. The old woman turned as if to leave, then abruptly turned again and sat on a cushion opposite the visitors. Her eyes sparkling, she pointed a finger at Janny. “Tivo dans?” she said, beckoning. “Bena me, pikki.” Janny jumped up and ran over to throw herself in the old woman’s arms. Andrew‘s jaw fell. “Janny,” he said weakly. The old woman smiled at him. “They’re all my children,” she said, “Especially tonight.” She twined knobby fingers in Janny‘s rattail hair. “Especially the little street ones. Ba dansi, pikki, balli balli,” she said to Janny; and Andrew‘s little girl, grinning with joy, popped to her feet and scuttled out the way the old woman had come in. Andrew scrambled to stand up and follow. He sputtered, “I’m not losing her again.” He took a step forward to follow, and the old woman stood in his way. Quietly, she said, “She’s safe with us, more tonight than any time, and she’ll be back. Don’t worry. The dance will make her happy.” Her eyes held Andrew. “You’ve lost her before?” Her words seemed to fasten sharp teeth of shame in Andrew‘s throat. He tried to swallow, and nodded. A gnarled hand rested itself lightly on his arm. “You’re a City man, right? And from here? Tell me who you are.” “I’m Andrew Luce. I’m back here to look for my family.” With this, Andrew drew back his sleeve to show his collechi scars. The old woman withdrew her hand and ran a finger over the roiled patchwork tracery on his forearm. “Engel,” she said. Andrew stiffened; a chill blew through him. “You’ve seen my son?” He searched her dark eyes. “Where is he? Is he here? Have you seen—“ “He’s here in Sobi. It’s his home. You’ve both got Arlen‘s marks, like Jirinai.” “Who are you?” “I’m the old lady. Or just the Lady. And they call me Allashani sometimes, when they’re scared of me.” She chuckled. Andrew reached out a hand to touch the old woman’s wrap. So Arlen had gotten to Engel too. “When did you see my son? Is he all right?” He held his breath. “Each day I see him. Yes.” A smile. Andrew looked past her into the dark doorway Janny had taken. He wanted to see a laugh on her little face, and the excitement of the Run drew him; the news of Engel lifted his heart, filled him with hope. “I’d like to go find Janny now. I’ll be right back.” The old lady shrugged and tossed her head, sending some loose hair back over one shoulder. “You’re just as restless as your son. See him out,” she said to the woman at the steel door. As Andrew turned to go, she said, “Come back in a little while and see if they’re here. Once you’re home, you don’t have to hurry.” Her last words echoed in the passage behind Andrew. He was so close now, Engel, Janny, maybe more of them were here too. Maybe poor Martin was wrong. Ahead of him, the beat pounded.