The elderly female sympathized. “I hope the Visitant will do right by you. My hopes are more modest.” With one right forehand she gestured in the direction of the barn; so close, yet so unapproachable. “The blessed couple who serve the Visitant say that the required donation is enough to gain access to it, but I myself am taking no chances. I have been praying ever since I started for this place.” She seemed well-satisfied with her decision. “The proof that it worked is that I am now here, not far from the Visitant itself, while others in need of its aid remain back in my village, bickering among themselves.” All eight gripping flanges were wrapped tightly around the tall walking stick she used to support herself.
The metalworker and the male supporting his master looked at one another. “Perhaps we should pray to the Visitant, too,” the metalworker declared. “It might make this line move more quickly.”
Releasing one set of flanges from the walking stick, the insightful elder wagged a knowing limb at him. “What matters is not the speed with which the line is moving, but what the Visitant decides when at last you stand before it in all its glory. It is then that it will know of your honest prayers—or lack of them.”
Both males found this line of reasoning more than sensible. “Perhaps you could instruct us, offer some suggestions?” the one holding up his male parent inquired politely.
“I am happy to do so. The more mollified is the Visitant when we four reach its presence, the more likely it is to grant our requests.”
This suggestion traveled swiftly up and down the line, accompanied by much muted discussion and entwining of Sensitives. By the time it reached the barn at one end and the beginning of the line on the other side of the homestead, the steady susurration of softly voiced prayers formed a polyphonic counterpoint to the subtle shuffling of hundreds of foot flanges. Taking note of this new development, Ebbanai and Storra did nothing to discourage it. If the supplicants now chose to regard their guest as not merely gifted, but divine, it could only enhance their prospects. Who would question the payment of tribute to a god?
Knowing Flinx as they did, not simply as a sophisticated alien but as an earnest individual, they understood that if he became aware of this new development he would probably try to discourage it.
Aware that he already had a great deal on his mind, in addition to being swamped with desperate supplicants, they thoughtfully decided not to tell him about it.
CHAPTER
9
“He is not a god.”
Counselor Noble Treappyn sat in the bath beneath one of several stone spouts carved in the shape of a vomiting cyklaria, letting the warm, mildly acidic liquid that spilled from its gray-blue mouth cascade over him. The smelly solution exfoliated his skin and enhanced the flexibility of his gripping flanges. One just had to be careful to keep the eyes closed when submerged, or when enjoying a shower as he was now. A little of the sparkling fluid would clear the eyes. Too much would start to dissolve them.
Across from him, the Highborn Pyrrpallinda lay half in and half out of the elaborate bath, the four forelimbs of his August body sprawled in all directions. It was not a dignified posture, but other than Treappyn and counselor Srinballa there were none present to see it. Given the especially sensitive nature of Treappyn’s report, even the usual attendants had been banned from the royal bath.
Unusually for him, Srinballa looked satisfied. “Then it can be killed.”
“In theory, yes.” Treappyn had no hesitation in agreeing with the senior counselor’s assessment. “In practice...” He let the implication trail off.
Srinballa was persistent. “What is to prevent such a course of action, should someone wish to take it?”
Raising one pair of forearms, Treappyn used them to stroke clean first one Sensitive, then another, dipping the appendages forward down toward his eyes to make them easier to reach. He did not need a mirror to see what he was doing. It was an instinctive, and ancient, Dwarran behavior.
“It is difficult to see how an assassination might be successfully carried out on a being who can sense the emotions of anyone in his vicinity merely by perceiving their intent, and without having to make physical contact via Sensitives. Also, the alien, who calls himself Flinx, is never far from the company of a small winged animal that he claims can do the same and, furthermore, has the ability to spit a deadly toxin.” Sliding out from beneath the gushing spout, Treappyn steadfastly regarded the other counselor who was his senior in age if not authority.
“That is what I have learned from having observed and spoken with the creature. Of perhaps more significance is what I was not able to observe. This being possesses many wonderful instruments for healing. It would be foolish in the extreme to assume he does not also possess similarly advanced means for defending his own person.”
“Why would we want to kill it, anyway?” Shifting from a slanted to a squatting position in the deep rectangular basement pool, Pyrrpallinda allowed one of the tiny chouult that lived in the acidic hot-water spring to scour and scrub his lower body for parasites. “It hasn’t threatened us and it heals, without asking for payment, the ill and injured of Wullsakaa.”
“Well, not entirely without payment, Highborn.” Treappyn proceeded to detail the means by which the alien’s hosts went about extracting money from arriving supplicants.
Pyrrpallinda wheezed a combination of indifference and mild admiration. “Good for them. I am always appreciative of those among our citizenry who prove enterprising. You say the alien receives none of this income?”
“Based on interviews with others, I don’t think he’s even aware of it.” Treappyn moved nearer to the Highborn and leaned back slightly against the tiled wall of the pool. “In fact, from my conversation with him, I am of the opinion that if he knew, he would disapprove.”
Pyrrpallinda’s eyes contracted as he pondered the unprecedented state of affairs that had been thrust upon him. “So. What are we to do with this alien altruist who has dropped uninvited into our midst?”
“We could kill it,” Srinballa suggested, apparently unable to put aside that morbid line of thought, “and appropriate its wonderful devices for our own.”
“And do what with them?” Pyrrpallinda appreciated the elder counselor’s guidance, but in this matter the Highborn felt his senior advisor was out of his depth. “Do you know how to operate them? Or repair them if they fail? And what do we know of this being’s provisions for its own welfare? Suppose, despite what it said to Treappyn, it is required to regularly report its status to others of its kind. What happens when they don’t hear from it, and possibly come looking for it?”
“He says he travels alone, out of a desire to be alone,” Treappyn put in.
Pyrrpallinda made a sound of distaste. “Have you learned so little of the way things work? Or having met and been enchanted by this creature, do you think it incapable of lying?”
Abashed, Treappyn let his Sensitives fall flat against his forehead. To show that he was an evenhanded admonisher, Pyrrpallinda also turned his ire on the second counselor.
“We’re not killing anybody. At least, not without good reason. Besides,” he murmured introspectively, “a live god is potentially far more useful than a dead one.”
Both young and old counselor perked up. “Your Augustness has something in mind,” Treappyn observed sagely.
“A small something, perhaps.” The Highborn was nothing if not modest. “You say this Flinx is not a god. Yet hundreds, perhaps thousands, of common folk have come to regard it as such. Gods can be useful to have around, if only for reasons of public relations.” He eyed each of them meaningfully. “Especially if it’s your god. Most especially if it’s not someone else’s god.”
“You speak possessively,” Srinballa commented.
“With eloquence, I hope.” The Highborn waited for his counselors to digest the implications behind his comments, and to counsel.
As expected, in this matter Treappyn’s mind was racing ahead of that of his senior. “I
think I see where you are leading this, Highborn. However, such a course of action will not be of much use to us if, as the alien insists, he intends to leave soon.”
Pyrrpallinda had anticipated the objection. “Then a means must be found to induce it to remain among us. And by us I mean, of course, not the Dwarra as a species, but specifically the citizens of Wullsakaa.”
By now Srinballa was wheezing to himself. “To claim a god for our own...” He peered across the softly steaming water at the half-submerged Highborn. “This is a dangerous game. Attempting to gain advantage through bluffing is always dangerous.”
Pyrrpallinda was not put off. “What if it’s not a bluff? What if we really can claim this creature as our own?” He turned expectantly to Treappyn.
Put on the spot, the younger counselor was unable to stall. “I don’t see how we can do that. He’s already told me that he regards all Dwarra as one people. I don’t think he’d side with Wullsakaa, or any other territory, against another. He has already expressed remorse that he’s interacted with us to the limited degree that he has.”
Beneath the water, the Highborn adjusted his stance to allow the busy chouult better access to his nether regions. “Even aliens may react to circumstance. As wise Srinballa points out, if we put the pieces of this proposed game in motion, the consequences could be dangerous.” His voice was strong and devoid of indecision. “The rewards could be proportionate to the stakes. We could lose everything—or gain everything.”
“August Highborn, I am not sure that I—” Treappyn began.
Pyrrpallinda cut him off impatiently. “I will lay it out so that even an immature offspring could understand. If word reaches the abominations of Pakktrine Unified, or the vile scions of Jebilisk, or any of the other neighboring and nearby territories that covet the lush fields and bountiful fisheries and industrious lands of Wullsakaa, that a god from the sky not only dwells among us, but dispenses miracles in our favor, it will not only give pause to their traditional belligerent intentions toward us, but also enormously strengthen our flanges in any future dealings with these meretricious governments. This hugely beneficial intangible would be, of course, in addition to any material assistance we might persuade the alien to render.”
Treappyn’s response was muted, but specific. “As you state, August Highborn, it is a proposition fraught with great potential.” He employed a forearm to gesture to his left. “It is also, as counselor Srinballa points out, one that floats atop an ocean of risk. If the Kewwyd of Pakktrine, for example, were to discover the ruse, their outrage at any resultant circumstances would be exceeded only by their fury at having been so thoroughly duped. I have to believe that in such an instance they would initiate a response more significant than coarse language.”
Using legs and arms, Pyrrpallinda boosted himself up onto the smooth tiled edge of the pool. Disappointed chouult, their work not entirely finished, fell away in droves from beneath his skin flaps in their rush to return to the acidic water of the bath. From a distance, it looked as if the flanks of the Highborn’s body were weeping silver.
“That is the beauty of it. If those who yearn to attain mastery of Wullsakaa decide to attack us, for reason of perceived insult or anything else, we can then call upon our own ‘god’ to respond.”
The counselor was taken aback by the audaciousness of the Highborn’s plan. He chanced risking everything on the reaction of an alien about whom little was known. Treappyn felt he would be shirking in his duty as advisor if he did not hurry to point out the potential flaws in his respected ruler’s reasoning.
“August Highborn, such a stratagem greatly multiplies the risk of simply letting loose the rumor that a god dwells among us. To employ such a commoner’s tale to our diplomatic advantage is one thing. But to rely on the alien to actually come to our aid in a moment of dire need perhaps presupposes too much.”
Pyrrpallinda was not dissuaded. “That’s where you come in, counselor Treappyn.”
As decorously as he could manage, a horrified Srinballa scuttled as far away from his younger colleague as the tiled boundaries of the steaming pool would allow.
Treappyn swallowed, his round mouth contracting so tightly it barely allowed a squeak of a response to emerge. Further reflecting his distress, his Sensitives alternated as they bobbed back and forth. “I, Highborn?”
Enjoying the effect his announcement had produced, the ruler of Wullsakaa squatted on the side of the pool while the cool circulating air rising from the fortress’s lower regions dried his gaunt, angular form.
“You are the only one besides the two country folk who have been its hosts who knows anything about this creature; about its mode of thinking, about its likes and dislikes, about its desires and greater intentions. You must persuade it to remain longer among us and, preferably, to come here to Metrel.” Pyrrpallinda gestured expansively with all four pairs of gripping flanges, his skin flaps lifting in unison away from his body.
“Tell it that it can continue its work here. Etrenn knows there is plenty to do. As many are sick in the city as in the countryside. Perhaps it can also instruct, imparting some of its superior knowledge to our own willing but technically wanting physicians.”
Desperately, Treappyn tried to think of a way out of, or at least around, Pyrrpallinda’s proposal. “The alien will sense the deception, Highborn.”
“What deception?” Confidence underlined every word of the ruler of Wullsakaa’s response. “Is not the capital infested with the ill? Am I not honestly seeking to help them? Are we not all at risk, every day, from enemies on all sides?”
“I told you, Highborn,” Treappyn reminded his liege, “the alien will not side with one group of Dwarra against another.”
“No one is asking it to do so. We request only that it continue its work here instead of away out on that forsaken, empty peninsula. If it wishes, as you say, to spend its time among us helping the unfortunate, there is far more opportunity for it to do so here.” Mouth and eyes contracted in knowing concert. “And if the minions of Pakktrine Unified, or Great Pevvid, or anyone else should take offense at that good work or, worse, feel threatened by it sufficiently to respond, it might just be that the alien will be compelled to react proportionately in order to ensure its own safety.”
“But what if it does not, Highborn?” Though uncharacteristically silent during much of the foregoing conversation, Srinballa had missed nothing. “What if, say, the Kewwyd of Pakktrine does feel threatened, and reacts accordingly—and the alien responds by doing nothing? Or, worse, decides that that is the time for it to leave our world.”
Ever the far-seer, Pyrrpallinda had anticipated the elder counselor’s objection as well. His rejoinder, however, was less than reassuring. As it had to be.
“I have recognized that this strategy carries risks. The opportunity to gain extreme reward often demands the taking of extreme risk.” His skin flaps now lay flat and tight against his body, hugging his flesh. “I have said that by putting this plan in motion we could lose everything. We could also see the last of our old enemies. Not until the next skirmish, not until the next disputation, but permanently. Is that not worth taking some risk?” Prudently, neither Treappyn nor Srinballa responded.
Well content with the reaction he had provoked, a nearly dry Pyrrpallinda straightened to his full height. “Then it is settled. You, counselor Treappyn, will return to the Pavjadd and utilize every iota of your considerable skills to try and convince this alien to shift its good work to the capital, where all might be improved by its efforts.” He turned to his right, where Srinballa stood hoping to be spared.
“You, good counselor, will lay the groundwork for the alien’s arrival.” Pyrrpallinda drifted into contemplation. “It should be properly respectful. Impressive without being garish.” He eyed Treappyn. “That would be the right approach, yes, counselor?”
Treappyn found himself gesturing concurrence. “Quite, Highborn. Nothing flashy. It doesn’t suit this creature.”
�
�So much the better,” Pyrrpallinda murmured. “Ceremony is expensive. Srinballa, I will leave it to you to maintain the ambiguity surrounding our visitor’s possible divinity. There is to be no open worship, no raising of body flaps in prayer. Those at court are to be instructed to keep their personal feelings to themselves.”
“A fine notion, Highborn,” Treappyn readily agreed, “with only one drawback.”
Frowning, Pyrrpallinda turned back to the younger counselor. “And what might that be, Treappyn?”
The younger advisor’s mouth pulsed slightly as he replied. “In the presence of the alien, it is impossible to keep one’s feelings to oneself.”
The elegant yet functional riverboat carrying the Kewwyd of Pakktrine Unified was reflective of the progressive country through which it was presently cruising. The people of Pakktrine were proud of their steady development, of their advancements in science and technology and modern agriculture. Unlike reactionary regimes such as those that ruled neighboring Jebilisk and Wullsakaa, the Kewwyd of Pakktrine encouraged new ways of thinking. Its government promoted speculation and subsidized experimental ways of doing things. Driven by steam instead of sail, the multiwheeled riverboat was a prime example of such forward thinking, and the pride of the land-bound territory’s riverine navy.
At present, all three members of the Kewwyd were lounging on the forward deck, relaxed in squatting postures as they contemplated both the seralune-lined islands through which their craft was loudly motoring and the looming crisis that might be nothing more than energetic rumormongering on the part of their enemies. In addition to the slender trunks of the pink and maroon carnivorous seralune that dipped thousands of barbed fronds into the slow-moving water, the islands and the opposite shores were thick with tall, mauve-colored spreading teraldd, their feeding branches turned into the wind from upstream, and muddy green thickets of puourlakk trees. It was a lush, productive environment, one much envied by the citizens of sere Jebilisk and windswept Wullsakaa. In their turn, the Kewwyd lusted after Wullsakaa’s access to the sea, and Jebilisk’s desert mines.
Running from the Deity Page 14
