Skeen's Return by Jo Clayton Read Free Book Online Page B

bells.
    The sound itched at him, lovely as it was. He hurried up his chewing and when he finished, wiped his lips with the napkin Memo Julso gave him and put it neatly by his plate. The boy sat off a bit, chewing on his bratta. Vitrivin beckoned him over. “Her,” he said and pointed. “Who is she?”
    â€œOh, her. She is the Corbi and she’s tolling.”
    â€œIt is a strange but charming performance,” he said, with the same heavy artifice he’d used before. He was not certain he should venture further, but a mix of fear and curiosity dissolved his prudence. “Why is the Corbi doing that?”
    â€œBecause that’s one of the things Corbis do.”
    Before he could ask what tolling was, Memo Julso came out and called her son to her. Vitrivin’s prudence congealed again. He got to his feet, gave the Julso a ponderous bow and a clumsy compliment and before he was half finished, she was smiling and relaxed. The boy leaned against her thigh and put his hand on the hand she laid on his shoulder and then he smiled lazily at Vitrivin, his ice crystal eyes shutting to slits. With a chill in his gut though he didn’t show it, Vitrivin chirked his sample cases into a hasty shuffle and herded them out. The tolling bells and the Corbi’s chant followed him eerily as he went back to his selling rounds.
    Children came from nowhere and danced around him.
    Skooo ah nair sko ah nair
    Braay fuss bro tair
    Over and over they chanted that, over and over till they broke and ran and other children came to dance round and round him.
    Oy da tis ay glow ka nair oy da di o ti enthay.
    Pag gi day so sko a nair, ap pa tay.
    So sou tis ay
    Glow ka nair sko ah nair, day oh say
    Fai nay, fai nay, kik lon doan
    Prauto, prauto, tris eh own
    He continued to ignore them and moved from shop to forge to shop, his gut in a gelid knot. He didn’t hurry, but he didn’t linger either; he no longer tagged anyone, he simply wanted to get out of here and let the meatmen begin their harvest.
    Day oh say, sko ah nair—so the children sang.
    Air ka par ah Corbi-me, air ka, air ka, tris an dris—so the Corbi sang and mingled magic syllables with the tintinnabulation of her singing silver bells.
    He walked slower and slower; his feet seemed to stick to the bricks and pulling them loose took more and more of his energy. His thoughts moved slower and slower, but the chill, driving terror in his gut snapped them loose and the beast that lived within went round and round struggling to escape.
    The children danced round and round him, chanting at him.
    Somewhere behind him, the Corbi rang her bells, chanting with them.
    And he finally understood what they were saying, from the first of the circle chants; he understood what they were doing to him.
Weave weave the binding ring,
That the children sang.
About him thrice, three times around.
Slave maker, listen, slave maker hear us.
That the Corbi sang.
Shadow man, shadow man
That the children sang.
Baby eater
I know who you are, gray man, I know why you’re here.
I will trap you, shadow man, I will trick
You, I will so.
Gray man shadow man, I am binding you
Weave weave the binding ring
About him thrice, three times around
I am binding you
That the children sang.
Come to Corbi, come, come
That the Corbi sang.
Come oh come, you tear making men
    His body stopped completely and stood like stone on the bricks. He felt more than saw a shadow pass overhead, heard the whine of the meatwagon. He knew then what the Corbi tolled because the meatmen weren’t due until he left and signaled them. The beast within shouted in fury and frustration, trapped inside stony flesh where no one and nothing could hear him.
    The whine groaned down to a subsonic growl. The bells rang louder, the rhythms more jangled, the sound reaching deep and deep, stirring things in him he didn’t want stirred up; he fought but the music was far stronger than him, he was meshed in a web