Just now a large wagon was easing its way down onto the sandy track that led to his home. It was a solid, well-built vehicle, with raised, gilded carvings on its flanks that bespoke the attention of skilled woodworkers and much money. Drawn by a trio of hulking tethets yoked in single file, the wagon was clearly the conveyance of choice for a prosperous merchant or family. Wealth could be inferred not only from the fine manufacture of the conveyance itself, but from the worked and polished golden metal that capped the trimmed horns of the protesting tethets, as well as from the beautiful designs that had been shaved into their brown, black, and white fur. His suspicions, and hopes, were confirmed when the driver brought the elegant transport to a halt in front of the crude but unavoidable gate. An attendant hopped down to open the wagon’s side door.
It required only a single step for the two adult occupants to descend to the road from the vehicle, which was built low to the ground. Circular upper and conical lower attire billowing around them in the sea breeze, they approached the waiting Ebbanai with anxious expressions on the faces of both the male and his mate. The richness of their raiment matched that of their transportation. Ebbanai would have to work most of a year to afford one such flattering outfit. Perhaps Storra had laboriously woven some of the cloth from which these very garments had been fashioned, he mused. On closer inspection he decided not. The fabric was of too fine a thread, and woven from a much more expensive material than seashan.
The female’s attire, he speculated thoughtfully, would look even better on his own estimable mate.
Ordinarily, the pair who now confronted him would affect a superior air, especially if they by chance happened to encounter him in town. Here, and under very different circumstances, the situation was reversed. It was they who deferred, almost submissively, to the humble net-caster. While the female spoke, her mate kept casting glances beyond the gate, as if some vast wonderment or apparition might at any moment appear on the horizon.
“You are the one called Ebbanai?” she inquired respectfully.
“I am.” It was to Ebbanai’s credit that while circumstances would have allowed him to assume an air of arrogance, such a condition was so foreign to his self-effacing nature that he did not know how to go about doing so.
“You are the one who determines access to the Visitant?”
Ebbanai responded with the sweeping gesture of magnanimity he had developed and refined over the preceding days. “The Visitant is very busy, and has an agenda of its own.”
She looked at her mate, apprehension and concern writ large in her lean, rangy face. “Will it see us?”
Ebbanai affected an air of indifference, his skin flaps lying loose against his body. “Perhaps. Which of you is the supplicant?”
“It is neither of us. Our offspring.” Turning, she called softly toward the wagon.
A Nurset appeared. Stunted and broad of shoulder and hip, with an extra gripping flange growing from the tip of each forearm, the raisers of Dwarra young comprised a distinct subspecies of the dominant sentients. More than anything, they resembled squashed-down versions of those they served. The relationship was more symbiotic than master–servant. Without the Nursets, the Dwarra could not raise their young properly. Similarly, without the intelligence and abilities of the Dwarra, the Nursets could not long survive on their own.
This particular well- but severely dressed Nurset was, unsurprisingly, carrying a young Dwarra on its broad back. Uncharacteristically, however, the youngster was not gripping the Nurset in the traditional manner. Instead, it was held in place by an elaborate brace. The instant Ebbanai caught a glimpse of the offspring’s face, the reason for the adults’ visit, as well as their grave concern, became immediately clear.
Their offspring was brain-damaged.
As to the severity of the problem Ebbanai could not speak. This might be one of those cases where even the talented alien biped could do nothing. But Ebbanai did not voice his reservations. He had long ago overcome any compunction against doing so. Besides, in all honesty, he had already seen his honored guest Flinx work miracles, had watched it accomplish feats of medicine beyond the skills of Metrel’s most revered physicians. Who was he, a simple caster of nets and collector of baryeln gryln, to say what the alien could and could not do?
The look on the female’s face was heartbreaking, her grief profound. Out here, on the outlying Pavjadd Peninsula and far from her fine home, she was not a member of some rich and powerful family; only a mother seeking relief for her broken offspring. Ebbanai looked away, feigning indifference. Under Storra’s prodding he had become business-like, but he could not render himself unfeeling. He was relieved the female did not try to twine Sensitives with him. He was not sure how he would have handled the ensuing torrent of emotion.
“Can the Visitant do anything for such a—a problem?”
“I don’t know. It’s not for me to say. It can only try, I suppose.”
“Will it try?” reiterated the edgy male from nearby.
Ebbanai’s Sensitives thrust out to the sides of his head, an indication of ambiguity. “One can but ask. Such efforts are tiring for it. And it is a complicated creature, one who requires much attention and care.”
The net-caster did not have to hold out a hand. The packet that the anxious male placed in the gripping flanges of Ebbanai’s second left hand was more than adequately weighty. “A good beginning for you, I am certain,” he assured the fretful couple by way of response. Stepping back, he pushed on the counterweight and swung the gate aside. Rejoining the wordless Nurset and its drooling, head-lolling burden, the female re-entered the extravagant wagon. Her hesitant mate lingered a moment longer.
“I know that we have to approach the vestibule on foot. That much was explained to us.”
“Yes,” Ebbanai acceded. “It is necessary to demonstrate your humbleness, your need.” He gestured past the male. “You must also leave your transportation in a designated place, a proper distance from the bar—from the vestibule, so as to further indicate your status as mere hopefuls.” He hesitated briefly. “That will not be a problem for you?”
“No, no,” the male assured him hurriedly. “Nothing is a problem, so long as the Visitant agrees to see our offspring.”
Ebbanai gently hefted the heavy packet. “I think there will be no problem for you. Once you reach the place, my own mate will direct you further. I wish—I hope that the Visitant can help your offspring. There are no guarantees. Its knowledge is vast, but not infinite.”
“We know. We have heard,” the male murmured. “For our offspring, there is no other hope. Everything else has been tried.” Once again, his anxious gaze roved past the gate. “Now this being has come among us, and we have been given another chance where for so long there seemed to be none. That is all we ask for.”
That is all you are likely to get, Ebbanai thought—but he did not say it as he stood aside to let the stylish travel wagon rumble past. With both the turnoff and the main road empty once again, he entered the little covered shelter he had built to keep off the sun. Removing a single panel from the simple wooden floor exposed a four-handled portable metal cistern of the kind used to carry gryln syrup to market. Into this he carefully deposited the heavy money packet the male had handed him in hopes of securing access to the Visitant.
Have to move this tonight, Ebbanai thought to himself. The cistern was nearly full, and soon would be too heavy to lift.
Noble Essmyn Hurrahyrad eyed his fellow members of the consecrated tripartite Kewwyd that ruled the expansive territory of Pakktrine Unified, and brooded. Flood conditions had prevailed throughout the western part of the country for several eight-days now, there had been a mutiny in the law enforcement forces of the province of Meydd that had been costly to deal with in both time and money—and now, this.
“There are no gods.” Noble Kechralnan looked up from where she was squatting at the end of the third point of the gemstone-inlaid, three-pointed star table. “There are only the Dwarra, the Nurs
ets, and the lesser creatures.” Tilting her head back, she spread both arms and all four forearms wide, grasping flanges open to the high ceiling of the fortress meeting room and by implication all that lay beyond its intricately frescoed ceiling.
Noble Peryoladam begged to differ, albeit not vociferously. Much more excitable than her counterparts, she was bright and efficient—both qualities that had contributed to her stellar ascension to the ruling triumvirate that was the Kewwyd. But she was still unsure of herself in many things, and tended to defer to the more experienced Kechralnan in areas where she had less expertise.
No reason for her to do so now, Hurrahyrad felt, since no one had any expertise on the topic presently under discussion.
“I do not feel we should dismiss these rumors out of hand,” he insisted, waving his gleaming metal prosthesis. He had lost the first right forearm as a youth. In a battle with the scions of Jebilisk, his war tethet had been slain under him, and in falling had crushed the missing limb beyond repair. As a result he had lost in addition to the forelimb itself two of his eight gripping flanges. But the prosthesis that had replaced the missing limb was excellent for jabbing with, either for stabbing an opponent or to emphasize a point. He used it thusly now.
“Why not?” Kechralnan stared at him, the colorful yet tasteful circular rings painted around her eyes reflecting the ambient light of the well-lit chamber. “If we choose to investigate such obvious idiocies, we only give credence to our own credulity. We are already under fire for our handling of the floods. Why allow our political enemies to add accusations of stupidity to those of incompetence?”
Hurrahyrad was about to snap off a suitable rejoinder when Peryoladam spoke up. Though low in volume, her voice was oddly compelling. “Perhaps Noble Kechralnan is right and there are no gods. But might the greater cosmos not be home to other creatures? Perhaps some even cleverer than the Dwarra?” She gestured upward, though not as expansively or dramatically as had her colleague. “After all, while we know much about Arrawd, we know nothing of other worlds.”
“That is because there are no other worlds,” declared Kechralnan in exasperation. “At least, none boasting the intelligence of the Dwarra. The other planets that circle our sun are empty and dead. The lights in the sky may be other suns, as some astronomers insist, but there is not an iota of evidence to indicate that other worlds circle them, and even less to suggest that another intelligence dwells somewhere way out in the depths of the sky.”
Hurrahyrad was surprised to detect a touch of anger in the other administrator’s reply. “It must be a great comfort to be so certain of that which we know nothing about.”
Forestalling argument that would get them nowhere, and least of all advance the afternoon’s already demanding agenda, he did his best to get between them: rhetorically if not physically.
“Both viewpoints are valid, surely. Myself, I tend to think this whole business a clever ploy of the Wullsakaans to distract us, and others, from matters of genuine import. While I refuse to be so easily dissuaded from reality, I see no harm in sending a spy or two to investigate further. It will be done quietly and with as few as possible knowing the true nature of the visit. That way,” he added, eyeing Kechralnan, “if this is all nothing but mischief-making on the part of Wullsakaa, our interest will pass unremarked upon.”
Despite her counterpart’s assurances, the other senior administrator could not resist one more objection. “Everything costs money these days. Even spies require taxes to support their activities.”
Hurrahyrad dipped his Sensitives in her direction. “Then we will only send a little spy. One who does not eat very much, and files reports but sparingly.”
Shrinking down into her lower torso and deliberately holding her Sensitives back, she responded with a disparaging wheeze. Kechralnan’s unmatched experience and vast knowledge, Hurrahyrad knew, allowed one to overlook her utter absence of humor. But only just.
Thinking the matter done and dealt with, he was prepared to move on. But Peryoladam was not quite finished. “I believe there is one more thing to consider in regard to this matter before we can consider it as closed. Or, more properly, tabled.”
Hurrahyrad felt like shoving the second point of the table through the middle of her body. He was tired, and it was growing late. “What might that be?” he inquired wearily of his persistent younger colleague.
She was not intimidated. She rarely was. There was a difference between showing deference and being intimidated. “What if the rumors are essentially true?”
Kechralnan could hardly hide her contempt. “You think a god has come down to Arrawd?”
“Not a god, I suppose, no. I don’t know that anything has come down to Arrawd. But if something has—a being from another world such as ours, and a superior one at that—then we have no choice but to consider how to deal with the development, which is complicated by one significant factor.”
Hurrahyrad tried not to stare at the bejeweled, freestanding chronometer in the far corner of the room. “Which is?” he asked impatiently.
Her gaze did not waver as it shifted between the two other members of the Kewwyd. “The creature, if it truly exists, is dwelling and working in the land of Wullsakaa, and not glorious Pakktrine Unified. No matter what its nature either as an individual or as a representative of another intelligent species, I submit that this geographical reality cannot be to our advantage.”
It was true. The junior administrator had raised a conundrum that could not be ignored—much as Hurrahyrad might wish to do so.
As if this day had not started out with problems enough.
What am I doing here? Treappyn found himself wondering as he guided his tethet off the main road and onto the sandy dirt track. This was no place to advance oneself. The farther he got from Metrel, the deeper he sank into gloom. Worst of all, he could not get the image of that decrepit oldster Srinballa smirking snidely as his younger counterpart was hoisted by his own hubris.
Treappyn knew it was his own fault. When he had argued that the rumors of a miracle-working alien needed to be checked out, he had never dreamed that the Highborn would order him, personally, to perform such a task. That was footwork best left to the lower ranks. Now he found himself nearly at the tip of the Pavjadd Peninsula, far from the nearest decent eating establishment, forced personally to seek verification or refutation of a rumor.
The country simpleton half asleep at the gate that barred the counselor’s progress had to be roughly jostled awake by one of Treappyn’s two accompanying bodyguards. At least the bumpkin was properly deferential. But there was about him also an air of confidence that did not fit with his apparent station in life.
“Your pardon, Noble Treappyn. I did not recognize you.”
Was this cloddish individual having a joke at his expense? Treappyn wondered. The counselor’s unusually expansive frame was well-known throughout the length and breadth of Wullsakaa. Still, in a backwater like this, he supposed such ignorance was possible.
“I must make a note to ensure that you are not one of those assigned to man a critical border entry in time of war,” the counselor harrumphed. While two sets of gripping flanges clutched the side prods that guided his tethet, he gestured forcefully with the other pair. “Please move the barrier so that we may continue onward.”
“You have come to seek the blessings of the Visitant?” Ebbanai asked tentatively.
So that was what they were calling it. The rumor had a name. “I come in search of a degree of reality, not some quack remedies for imaginary ills.”
“That will be easily acquired, Noble.” Ebbanai stood waiting patiently.
Waiting for what, an increasingly irritated Treappyn could not imagine. “Well—move the gate so that we may proceed.”
Ebbanai remained deferential, but insistent. “There is the matter of access, Noble. Caring for the Visitant’s needs is an endless and often difficult task. It requires constant supervision. The cost...” He let his words trail away, to be carr
ied off by the sea breeze.
Sudden realization of what the speaker was hinting at struck Treappyn, leaving him with a modicum of astonishment. If nothing else, one had to admire the bumpkin’s boldness. “Ah. Now I understand completely.” The gripping flanges of his second right hand reached toward his side. Ebbanai looked on expectantly.
His expression changed sharply when the Noble withdrew not a money packet, but a longknife. Flanking him, his bodyguards proceeded to unsheathe their swords. Their expressions were not benign.
“Noble, what is this?” Moving a pair of forelegs, Ebbanai took a nervous step backward. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s very simple. You say that this individual requires constant care. Clearly, he would be better off in the absence of parasites. Such as yourself.”
Ebbanai began backing away, all four forelegs working nervously beneath him. “Noble Treappyn, I assure you that—I am certain an exception can be made for the good of the Highborn’s representative. I did not mean to suggest—”
“Yes you did,” declared Treappyn, interrupting briskly as he resheathed his weapon. “No matter. As counselor to the Highborn, it is incumbent on me to encourage the enterprise of Wullsakaa’s people. Just not when it happens to be directed personally in my direction.”
Ebbanai relaxed—but not completely. The counselor’s bodyguards still had their swords out. “I will bring you to the place myself, Noble Treappyn.”
He had to run hard to keep up with the three mounted visitors from Metrel. Only the short limbs of the tethets allowed him to do so. Built low to the ground, they could trot along all day on their powerful eight legs, but their short stride did not allow for great speed.
“So this ‘Visitant’ has come to us from the sky?” Treappyn addressed his wheezing guide without looking down from his saddle. All four feet were firmly ensconced in the forward stirrups, his legs parallel to the ground as he rode. “It must be very strong indeed, to have survived such a great fall.”
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