Alisim — Eye of the Ocean Book Two 207
her shoulder and winked at his looking, then splashed into the water and
“She does that deliberately.” Bolda was staring at his dripping silk. “Aims it.
“Should she be in there?”
Bolda set the braiding frame to one side and stretched his legs out, digging
into the grass with his toes “Have you decided to include her in your worry list?”
Two more flags buzzed from the link, priority labeled and for him. “May I?
The Net, I mean.”
“It's all yours, I'm going to get something to eat. Are you interested?”
“Something to drink.”
“You mean stronger than tea?”
Yes, he had meant stronger than tea, but he shook his head. “Better not, I
have to be back for the rest of the interrogation in an hour. Make it tea, maybe a
sandwich too. Where's Quin'tat?”
Bolda nodded towards the pavilion, then left.
Rit let Gennady's flag unfold first, then Kori's, hers unfolding entire at a single
touch. The freeborn was still in the Holding Center, Allykh with her. Nisstin's
input lay heavy over their security runs, she had left his comments in place,
adding variations and new runs until the report was like a maze, the spin
analysis a small prize in the center.
Rit let Gennady's bare-bone flag repeat. The sasi are falling to seed, the
Zimmer lord had said, and when the sasi die, the world drowns. The flag tore like
wet tissue to an image underneath. He had no perspective of size to what was
happening and then all at once he did. A plate of red mud. A seed like a grain of
dust, then another, another, a tide of them pelting down, each in a drop of water
held by a thin membrane that burst on impact. Above him, the sky was clearing
and something huge screamed with hunger.
“Wake her up,” Gennady said.
Quin'tat was at the far end of the pavilion, overlooking another section of the
garden. Raked sand, moss and rocks backed by a reed fence. Last night, Rit had
gone through the half-moon gate intent on finding where and how the garden
ended and followed a path of mossy wooden rounds set as steps up a gradual
slope. Pine and cedar trees on either side of the pathway; he couldn't tell if there
was any difference to them from the several kinds he thought he knew and found
he didn't when he tried to compare. He had put a cone heavy with seed in his
pocket and later, left it in what was still his room. His books, Bolda's rug by his
bed, the world-altar dish and the tapestry, all there.
He hadn't found any limits to the garden. From the other side of the crest:
the same path down and the pavilion set in a garden of stone and sand, and on
the far side of the wooden building, the lawn and the stone edged pond with the
red bridge over it. A looped-pull, Niv had called it. The Select Ka'lt'ka's garden