by Amy Thomson
“No,” Anito said. “It isn’t right that the villagers are uninterested, but then, it isn’t right that the enkar should make the villagers change. They like their lives.”
“The villagers are our atwa,” Naratonen argued. “Like other animals, the Tendu must either change or die out. Sometimes it seems like the Tendu are like a dying pond left behind by the flood. Our world gets smaller and smaller. How soon before we stagnate and die? I look at the new creatures, and I see them bringing things to make our world large again. Already, I am learning better ways to teach. I watched some of the new creature’s plays and movies. There are ideas and techniques that we could use in our own performances. I’m tired of teaching the same traditional quarbirri over and over again. We make a new one every twenty years or so, but no one wants to learn them, because they’re not traditional! It isn’t enough. I want more!”
Anito sat, mesmerized by Naratonen’s words, which were almost a quarbirri in themselves. He was right, but so was Ukatonen. How was she, barely even an elder, supposed to guide the Tendu through this? How could she bring harmony out of this chaos? She realized then the terrible frightening task that the enkar had taken upon themselves. No wonder most people shrank from becoming enkar. Who would want the responsibility of determining the future of the Tendu?
Eerin stood and laid a gentle hand on Naratonen’s arm. “Excuse me. en, but it isn’t that simple. Knowledge is a knife with two edges. It can cut cord, or skin game, but it can also hurt and kill. Not all the things my people know are as benign as this computer,” she said, using the new creatures’ word for her talking stone. “Even this computer contains things that might be harmful for your people to know.”
“What sort of things?”
“Hunting equipment that can be used to kill another Tendu.”
Anito looked at Eerin in puzzlement. What she was saying didn’t make sense.
“Why would we wish to hunt ourselves?” Ukatonen asked, his skin deeply purple in puzzlement. “That would be silly.”
“My people have always killed each other in anger,” Eerin said, her skin deeply brown with shame. “Sometimes they have killed each other in large numbers. It is what we call a war.” She looked away; water was flowing from her eyes. Her skin was a muddy turmoil of shame, anger, fear, and concern. Moki put a protective arm around her.
“My people are different from the Tendu,” Eerin went on. “We don’t wish to hurt you, but we do bring ideas that might cause harm.” With that, she got up and walked away into the forest, shrugging off Moki’s attempts to follow her.
Juna sat on a rock by the river, letting the low, constant murmur of its flow soothe her. The Tendu needed to know about her people’s flaws as well as their virtues, but she felt deeply ashamed. Even now, there were wars on Earth. When she left Earth, the news net had been full of bulletins about the escalation of an ethnic conflict in Punjab.
Even before her great-great-grandfather’s time, people had been working to create an end to war. They had succeeded in some ways. Little wars no longer escalated into world wars, but still people killed each other over lines drawn on the dirt. Living in space, seeing the Earth revolving below, those fights had seemed strange, but even in space, tensions between Earth and the colonies had occasionally erupted into blockades and skirmishes.
There was a rustling in the leaves behind her. Juna looked up. It was Naratonen. He squatted beside her.
“Why do your people kill each other?” he asked.
“We fight over land and water. We fight over different ideas. We fight because one people looks different from another people. We have always fought, en. Some have tried to stop the fighting, but there is always a new battle somewhere. There are very many of us, en. Too many, and there isn’t enough food or water for everyone.”
“There should be fewer people.”
“We’re trying, en. It’s a long, slow struggle. There are less of us than there were in my grandfather’s time, but it will be many years before there will be enough for all. Children still starve to death, en. Not as many as before, but—” Juna looked away, remembering her own hunger.
Naratonen touched her shoulder. “Once, many years ago, our people were as numerous as the leaves on the trees. There was not enough room or food for us all. We chose, as your people did, to let fewer of us live. The enkar decided to let sickness loose among our people. We also began eating our narey then, and have continued to do so to keep our numbers down. Some of us went to live in the ocean, and became the lyali-Tendu.
“There are many sad quarbirri from that time. Half the Tendu died from the sickness we created. Tinka, bami, elders, and enkar died in equal numbers. Whole villages died or disbanded. It is sad when someone dies, but their memory is held by the people of the village. When a village dies, the memory of all those people dies with them. It is as though they have died twice.”
“You made a sickness that you knew would kill your own people?” Juna asked.
Naratonen flickered agreement. “The enkar who made this judgment were among the first to die. They went from village to village spreading sickness, then died alone in the forest. Only one survived. He was the one who knew how to stop the sickness when it had done its work. When it was time, he taught the others a cure. Then he went off into the forest, and let the sickness kill him.”
“How could you do such a thing?” Juna asked, horrified at the scale of the enkar’s genocide.
“You have wars, we have sickness. Is there a difference? Which one of us is better than the other?” Naratonen got up and walked off into the forest, leaving her there in the darkness to ponder his unanswerable questions.
Chapter 25
ISut Gikitonen said that the population levels of ganro in the upper Hirrani valley were more influenced by rainfall than by the levels of mik-karra,” Anito said to Ninto.
“Yes, but the levels of mikkarra are dependent on rainfall. You can’t separate the two factors.”
Juna sighed and looked away. She was tired of these abstruse technical discussions of ecological theory. She would be glad when it was all over. The last three years had been a steady grind of tutors and training. The intense study had taken a heavy toll on Ninto and Anito. They were thin and weedy-looking, their tempers short, and they thought of nothing but their training.
A flicker of resigned agreement passed over Moki in response to Juna’s sigh. Juna brushed his shoulder affectionately. The others’ focus on the upcoming test had thrown the two of them together more often, strengthening their bond. It was one of the few good things to come out of all this training.
“It’ll be over soon,” she told him. “Ninto’s test begins tomorrow, and Anito’s will start four days after that. We’ll be done with all of this in less than half a month.”
“Can we go fishing when the testing’s done?” Moki asked in plaintive hues.
Juna laughed and flickered agreement. “Yes, we can go fishing after the testing is done. Until then we need to take care of Anito and Ninto.”
Ukatonen and Ninto went off to spend the night before the test in the peaceful refuge of the forest. Juna and Moki stayed in the gathering with Anito, helping her review for her test.
Ninto and Ukatonen returned the next day, and headed directly to the center of the ring of na trees for Ninto’s first test. Anito joined the other two candidates waiting to be tested. Juna and Moki were sent out to gather food; Ninto would be hungry when she was done with the examination. They came back with bulging gathering sacks of fruit, game, greens, and omkina tubers. Moki peeled the tubers and pounded them into a smooth paste while Juna butchered game and laid out the fruit and greens.
Ninto came back from the questioning weak, shaky, and exhausted. She was too tired to speak more than a few words. They fed her, washed her, and helped her into bed. She was asleep when Anito came in.
“How is she?”
“Exhausted,” Ukatonen told them. “It was a difficult session.”
“Did she
do well?” Moki asked.
“I won’t know whether she passes or fails until everyone has been tested. It will depend on what the judges think,” Ukatonen said.
Juna thought Ukatonen seemed worried and withdrawn. She glanced at Anito, but she couldn’t tell whether she had noticed it too. She remembered her own dissertation defense. She had been an utter wreck by the time it was over. She understood what Anito and Ninto were going through.
These tests were a trial of the candidates’ endurance as much as a test of their knowledge and skill. Each examination left Ninto more drained and exhausted than the last. Ukatonen, Juna, and Moki fed her, linked with her to repair her exhaustion, and helped her into bed. Anito tried to help, but Ukatonen sternly forbade her to do more than prepare and serve dinner. She had to save her own energy for the upcoming test. Flickers of rusty red frustration passed over Anito as she watched them heal Ninto.
The final examination tested the candidate’s skill at quarbirri, and was open to anyone who wanted to attend. Ninto performed a solo quarbirri, and took part in a multiple quarbirri, both chosen at random by the judges. Then the judges asked her to act out scenes from the traditional quarbirri that Naratonen had taught them.
This was one of the most physically demanding tests. Even though Ukatonen had linked with her between phases of the test to give her strength, Ninto was visibly tired by the end of her final scene. Ukatonen helped her back to their room. She ate a little fruit and honeycomb, linked briefly with Ukatonen, and then fell asleep. Anito squatted protectively beside her tareena’s bed.
“Worried?” Juna asked, sitting near her.
Anito looked away. “Ninto’s older, more experienced than I am. If she’s this tired, how will I do?”
“You’ve both studied very hard. You’ll do all right,” Juna reassured her.
“I wish we had never left Narmolom. I’m not ready for this.”
Juna patted Anito on the knee. “Yes, you are. Just don’t wear yourself out worrying. Eat well, sleep a lot. Let us help you through it as much as we can. That’s what we’re here for.” Juna held out her arms.
Anito flickered her thanks, and the two of them linked, Anito sharing her fear, and Juna reassuring her. Then they unlinked and Ukatonen shooed them off to bed.
Anito woke just before dawn. Today her testing began. She stared up at the thick grey night mist, and tried to remember what she needed to know. For a terrifying moment, nothing happened. Her mind was blank. Then she remembered the pollination cycle for the ika flower, and everything else flowed into place. She was as ready as she could be. Even if she failed this time, as most of the enkar candidates did, she could test again next year. Most candidates passed on their second attempt. A few failed and went on to a third try. Those that passed became enkar; the rest no one spoke of.
She rolled over and woke Ukatonen. They got up and gathered fruit and greens for breakfast. Anito bagged a sleeping urranga, which they butchered and ate immediately. After washing off in the river, they raced each other back to the gathering. Anito won, bursting into the midst of a solemn procession of enkar heading for the testing, nearly bowling one of them over before she could stop herself. She started to apologize, but then Ukatonen hit the same branch and collided with another enkar. The entire group rippled with amused laughter, and escorted Anito to the center of the ring of na trees.
Fear descended upon her like a falling branch as she entered the crowd of assembled enkar. Ukatonen touched her shoulder in reassurance. Anito fanned her ears wide and flickered acknowledgment. She noticed Eerin and Moki in the crowd. Eerin raised a hand and turned a deep, reassuring blue.
Moki slipped through the enkar, and handed her a leaf-wrapped package of food. “For when you get hungry,” he said, and slipped away again.
Anito glanced down at the neat package in her hand. She looked at Ukatonen, at Eerin, and at Moki, and felt her nervousness ease.
“You’ll do fine,” Ukatonen said. “I’m proud of you.”
Figotonen, the eldest enkar in the gathering, held up her hand, fingers spread, and the flickering conversations stilled.
“Who sponsors this candidate?” she asked.
Ukatonen stepped to the speaker’s mound. “I do, en.”
“Tell us about her studies.”
As Ukatonen named the enkar who had taught her, and described what she had learned from them, Anito remembered her training. They had traveled up and down the length of the land, and spent time swimming with the lyali-Tendu while Moki and Eerin worked at Lyanan.
She and Ninto had learned the name of every village between the coast and the mountains, as far north and south as the Tendu’s territory extended, and the names and locations of other Tendu enclaves around the world. Ukatonen had taught them about the various councils and gatherings of enkar, what they did, and how they worked together. They had studied tracking and hunting with a thin, wiry mountain hermit who seemed as old as the mountains and as serene as a cloudless sky. Narato-nen had taught them the full traditional cycle of quarbirri, and many more that were not part of the cycle. He had also coached them in the art of public speaking and formal manners.
Makitonen taught them how to link. She was the enkar who had taught Ukatonen. Linking with her had been like linking with the earth itself. She was one of the oldest Tendu now living, and had seen generations come and go like so many short-lived kika flies.
It had been a long, demanding three years. Most enkar candidates took five years to learn what Anito had learned in three. Some of the enkar doubted the wisdom of pushing her so hard, but Ukatonen wanted her to be an enkar by the time the new creatures, the humans, returned.
Ukatonen’s recitation of her training ended, and Anito snapped out of her reverie. The testing was about to begin.
Ukatonen stepped off the speaker’s mound and brushed Anito’s shoulder, flickering reassurance at her.
Figotonen stepped forward. “Greetings, candidate,” she said. “Tell me about the villages south of the Wainu River.”
Anito suppressed a flush of relief. She was starting with an easy question. “There are only four villages south of the Wainu, en. They are Balla-nari, Anakra, Frenamo, and Wallana.” She went on to describe the four villages’ boundaries, their population, and the names of their chief elders.
There was a long silence, as if Figotonen was waiting for something else.
“There is another village site south of the Wainu, en,” Anito said at last. “It was the village of Manalim. It was abandoned after the last Cold Time, and allowed to return to the wild lands. When the next Cold Time comes, it will be started up again.”
“Very good, candidate,” Figotonen said. “Please describe the mating dance of the kinirri.”
“Do you want me to describe the dance of the mountain kinirri or the lowland kinirri?”
“Please describe both, candidate.”
The questions continued for hours. Each one contained tricks and details that required close attention and subtlety of thought to catch. Figotonen stepped down and was replaced by Naratonen, who was replaced by another enkar, and then another one after that. The afternoon rains began and ended as the questions continued. Anito’s skin was tired and sore when Ukatonen stepped forward to ask a question.
“What is the name of the chief elder of Narmolom?”
A ripple of amusement ran over the assembly.
Anito stopped, examining the question carefully on all sides, looking for the catch, the trick that would slip her up and make her fail. She could find none. Perhaps the trick was that there was no trick.
“Miato is the chief elder, en. You chose him yourself.”
“Very good, candidate. The questioning is over. You may rest now. Tomorrow we will test your skill at allu-a.”
“Thank you, en,” Anito said. Though she felt like dropping on the spot, Anito stepped off the speaker’s mound and strode out of the central clearing as if she were fresh and ready for more questions. Eerin and Moki followed
her. Ninto met her at the door to their room. Anito collapsed as soon as she was inside.
“How did it go?”
“Hard,” Anito said. It hurt to talk. “Hungry. Thirsty. Need rest.”
Ninto handed her a gourd of pounded omkina tubers mixed with honey, bird blood, and arana eggs. Eerin handed her a large gourd of water.
The sweet, starchy omkina roused her appetite. She gorged herself with food and drink, then burrowed into the damp, comforting warmth of her bed.
The next morning, her skin felt tight and bruised from too much talking. She got up slowly, stiff muscles protesting, and limped over to where a large breakfast had been laid out. She ate, and then settled herself in a corner and turned her awareness inward to ease her aching, overused skin and sore muscles. She wanted to balance herself today, as a warm-up for the test of her skill at linking. Afterwards, she ate a little more, then went back to bed until it was time for the test.
Ukatonen woke her shortly before noon, and escorted her to Figotonen’s room for the examination. Her teacher Makitonen was there among the senior enkar. Anito’s ears lifted, surprised at Makitonen’s presence.
“Are you ready for your test, candidate?” Figotonen asked her.
“Yes, en,” Anito replied.
Figotonen gestured at Makitonen. The ancient enkar held her arms :ut, spurs up. Anito’s skin stripes tightened in fear. Familiarity only intensified the fear and awe she felt when linking with Makitonen. She had been a tough, fair teacher, and Anito was sure that her testing would be as thorough as her teaching.
Anito glanced at Ukatonen. He nodded, a gesture of encouragement they had both learned from Eerin. Strengthened by Ukatonen’s reassurance, Anito reached out and laid her arms on Makitonen’s, grasping her teacher’s forearms near the elbows. They linked, and she was plunged into the cold immensity of Makitonen’s presence.
