Eye of the Ocean Book 3 Ji'jin Station

Eye of the Ocean – Book 3: Ji’Jin Station
Yellowed nails almost but not quite touched her arm. The fish stink was
worse... and strangely familiar. “You should go in now, the drums will take you
in. Listen to them.”
Ulanda took a single step forward but stopped again to look back. A wide
corridor, with people at the far end watching, most of them Camerat. No water,
no reeds. Low tables, cushions and mats on the floor. Statues like those in the
frame of the door, but not stone or wood, these were clipped bristle brushes of
dried reed, masses of hair-fine reeds. The corridor was a meeting place. There
were still torches, she thought, although the more usual lighting would be glow
globes, darkened ones were set on the walls at regular intervals. At least there
were still torches. And guards and drummers.
One way or the other, she couldn't stay here. And was inside the door before
she realized she had moved, the Salin walking beside her as the drumming grew
stronger. The Net died in a whisper as she crossed the threshold. How did I get
here, she wondered, fighting the panic that threatened to overwhelm her, and
taking short rapid breaths now that the soft drumming had changed to something
slower again. Am I always one step away from matching what I'm supposed to?
Granite pillars, gray and black, but with red in the stone. A reflection from the
last of the light coming through the open dome. The sky flamed with the
Grandfather's slow sunset. They were all familiar to her, she had seen them over
and over, felt the smooth soapy flecks in the stone, watched the light drag across
the wall. Listened to the drums, even the sound of her feet on the marble. Always
to the point where she was now and then the vision would stop.
Now. She stood near the central mound, an aide to either side of her. A deep
cut in the spiral was directly under her feet and she moved back a step. People
milled about in the promenade, more Camerat, and she recognized a Poultat and
a Piltsimic. A couple of ti'Linn, they were common on the trade ships. A Wa'tic, or
was that two, the other almost on top? Zimmer. Some humans or at least from a
close line to hers. A few others she couldn't begin to name.
Now. She wet dry lips and even with the stink of Camerat in her nose, she
tasted the scent of the soil on the mound. Home? Like the soil after a dry
summer, when the heavy rains of winter start but the soil is warm enough for the
bacteria and molds to rot a summer's worth of death. Altasimic mark crossed the
mound: six and three.
The small dark haired Priest walked around the double spiral, singing the
Opening in High formal. Poultat, her braids were cobalt blue, and cords of the
girdle as well, dividing the stiff white robe she wore into sections. The woman's
eyes brushed over her and Ulanda looked away, disturbed. One at a time, the
drummers responded to her song. Stronger, wilder. Ulanda found her body
moving to the new rhythm and willed herself to let go to the sound.
Laurel Hickey www.2morrow.bc.ca