by Amy Thomson
Once, during their training, Ukatonen had taken them into a cave in the mountains to show them the strange blind frogs, white lizards, and misshapen pink fish that lived in its depths. They entered a large cavern, and Ukatonen had them uncover all of the many glows they’d brought along. Eerin cried aloud in noisy, echoing wonder when the glows illuminated the glittering walls of the cavern. There were fragile crystal formations so delicate that a breath would crumble them into powder, and rippling limestone walls like waterfalls turned to stone.
Eerin had been delighted by the cave, but it frightened Anito. She had never seen a place with so few living creatures in it. The cave would still be there, unchanged, long after she had crumbled to dust. Nothing there would decay and return to life again. It would merely exist, changeless and perfect. Makitonen’s presence reminded her of the cold, eternal beauty of that cave.
Makitonen moved through Anito, examining her minutely, searching for physical flaws, imperfections in the way she maintained her body. Anito looked on, worrying. Had her self-repair been adequate this morning? There were still signs of fatigue in her body, which she hadn’t repaired because she was afraid it would leave her too drained for this test.
Finally Makitonen pulled back, radiating mild approval. Anito’s physical body was acceptable, even with its flaws.
Then Makitonen had Anito examine her. The enkar’s body seemed as ancient and strong as the hills. There was no weakness, no flaw. Makitonen’s body felt as static in its cold perfection as that beautiful, lifeless cave.
Anito pulled back, radiating awe. Makitonen had her look again. Their communication was wordless, deep, but Anito understood her perfectly. She looked again, and suddenly there was a tumor growing in the enkar’s liver. Anito repaired it. Another problem replaced it, this time an irregularity in Makitonen’s heart valves; that too was fixed. A broken leg. A ruptured kidney. A stomach blockage. The nightmare procession of physical problems went on and on. As soon as Anito repaired one, another would spring into existence. At last, a deep, hemorrhaging wound proved too much for her. She had no strength left to heal Makitonen. She was exhausted, her reserves gone. If she healed this injury, it would kill her. She stopped, drew back, prepared to pull out of the link and summon the help of the enkar who were watching.
Makitonen stopped her, holding Anito in the link. As she watched, Makitonen arrested the bleeding and healed the ravaged flesh. Then she restored Anito’s depleted reserves, and repaired the physical toll of fatigue that the test had taken.
Makitonen broke the link, and Anito emerged. To her surprise, it was only the middle of the afternoon. It seemed to her that it should be nighttime.
“We will eat and rest for a while before continuing with the rest of the examination,” Makitonen announced.
Anito fought back a flicker of surprise and chagrin. She had thought the test was over. A quick ripple of amusement passed over Makitonen.
“First we tested your physical abilities in allu-a. Now we must test your emotional skills.”
Anito bolted down as much food as she could hold and stretched out in a corner to sleep for as long as they would let her.
It seemed as though she had only closed her eyes when Ukatonen woke her later that afternoon. She sat up and stretched, trying to force her sleep-sodden brain into wakefulness.
Makitonen sat like a stone in the same spot she’d been in all day. Anito sat down before her, and they linked. Makitonen began testing Anito’s defenses, pushing against them, probing for weaknesses, then lunging with sudden feints, and pulling back again. Each time, Anito blocked Makitonen’s thrusts.
At last the ancient enkar yielded, flooding the link with her approval. Anito held her defenses tight. Only after Makitonen lowered her shields, leaving herself vulnerable, did Anito let down her own guard. She risked offending the ancient enkar, but it was better than being caught unprotected.
As soon as Anito relaxed her defenses, the next phase of the test began. They moved together, cautiously at first, then merging, blending into harmony. Each time they approached harmony, Makitonen threw the [[.-;]] out of balance, plunging them into emotional turmoil. Laboriously [[-.-".:o]] drew them back into harmony. The struggle for balance was wear[[- -.£.]] her down. If the test continued, the next fall would be her last. She :.;used her entire being on achieving equilibrium, on blocking Makito[[- -en’s]] attempts to unbalance the link.
Makitonen drew Anito in. They spiraled toward equilibrium, drawing coser and closer to harmony. Anito relaxed. Makitonen was going to let things proceed to a balance point. She had passed the test.
Then Makitonen took her down again. Anito fought all the way, scrabbling against the force of Makitonen’s presence, but she had been taken by surprise. Utterly exhausted, she was plunged into the maelstrom of her cwn pain. She felt anew her grief at Ilto’s death, her anger at being forced to care for the new creature, her loss at leaving the village. It was like falling into a nest of fireworms. She writhed and struggled against her own fear and despair, but she was caught like an insect in a dinnari’s silken trap. Escape was impossible. She collapsed, exhausted by pain and the effort spent fighting it, and lay there amidst her grief. She had lost control and failed the test. She let her anger and loss go, let it sweep through her and drain away, leaving her as empty as a broken gourd.
Makitonen lifted her up, filling her with joy and peace, letting her rise like a bubble toward the surface. They joined in exhausted harmony for a few moments. Beneath the cold, ageless, impassive depths of the enkar’s presence, Anito felt a deep, echoing emptiness. She wondered how Makitonen could live with such emptiness inside her. Anito reached out instinctively to fill it, despite her exhaustion and failure, but Makitonen blocked the attempt and broke the link.
A circle of senior enkar welcomed them as they emerged from allu-a, enfolding teacher and pupil in a gentle, healing link. They treated Makitonen’s presence with profound awe, faintly tinged with pity, fear, and curiosity. They knew about the empty place inside Makitonen. Anito could feel them carefully avoiding that emptiness as they replenished the ancient teacher’s depleted reserves. What must it be like to be Makitonen? Not only to live with that emptiness, but to be treated with such pity by the others.
Then the enkar enfolded Anito in their solicitude, and the puzzle of Makitonen fell into the depths as she was flooded with joy. Anito emerged from their link feeling euphoric, despite her poor performance on the test.
Ninto and Eerin had a meal waiting when Anito and Ukatonen returned to their room. The remnants of Anito’s euphoria faded as she began to eat.
“I’m sorry, en,” Anito said, when she was through eating. “I failed the test of my allu-a. I hope you will forgive me.”
“How do you know you’ve failed?” Ukatonen asked.
Anito described the test, how she had given in to her anger and despair.
Ukatonen touched her shoulder. “Tomorrow is your final day of testing. Focus on tomorrow, not today.”
Ninto touched her tareena’s arm. “I felt bad after this test too. In some ways it’s the hardest. It gets easier after this. You’ll think hard, and work hard, but the emotional strain isn’t as bad. Wash up and get some sleep.”
Anito brushed Ninth’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she said, grateful for her tareena’s gentle sympathy.
She fell into sleep like a koirah diving onto its prey, and slept till nearly noon. Waking, she stretched luxuriously, scattering leaves from the pile. The enkar’s healing had gone deep. For the first time in days, nothing hurt. She stuck her head out of the bed of leaves and looked around.
Ukatonen was sitting beside her bed, eating a tumbi fruit. “The others are out hunting, but they’ll be back in a bit. How are you feeling?”
“Very good,” Anito told him.
Ukatonen nodded. “Most candidates do on the morning after the allu-a test.”
Anito sat up and studied Ukatonen. He looked worn and tired, and his skin seemed stretched over his bo
nes. He was sponsoring two candidates at once, healing them and giving them strength. It must be very draining.
“You’ve been giving too much of yourself to us.”
Ironic amusement flickered over his chest. “I’ll be all right,” he told her. “Today’s the last day of testing. I’ll manage.”
She was failing Ukatonen, after he had given so much of himself to her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking away. “I’m going to fail, and you’ve done so much…”
Ukatonen brushed her shoulder. “Stop that,” he said. “Don’t fail yourself. The enkar don’t always judge you the way that you think they will; I’ve been a judge myself, and I know. Keep going. If you stop to doubt yourself, you will fail.”
“Thank you, en,” Anito said. “I’ll try not to worry about yesterday.”
Ukatonen gestured toward the water gourds standing in the corner. “Get up and eat. Take the afternoon off, but don’t do anything too strenuous. You’ll need your strength for the quarbirri test tonight.”
Anito spent the afternoon lounging in quiet solitude beside a water fall, occasionally diving into the pool below for a leisurely swim. It was good to get away, to let the afternoon pass moment by moment, like thick drops of honey. How long had it been since she had an afternoon with nothing to do? One year? Two? Whether she passed this test or not, she was going to do as little as possible for a while. Moki and Eerin had been talking about a fishing trip. Perhaps she would go with them.
Long, golden beams of late afternoon sunlight were gilding the pool when she took her final swim and swung back to the enkar’s gathering. One more examination, and then she could rest for a while.
When it was time for the quarbirri test, Ukatonen led her out to the na tree grove, where all the enkar were seated in a circle. They watched her walk to the speaker’s mound, where she had stood for her first examination. Stepping to the top of the low mound, she turned toward the judges, ears spread to indicate her readiness.
Figotonen stepped forward. “Greetings, candidate. Perform the quarbirri of the river hermit Hassa.”
Relief soared through Anito like a rising flight of birds. She knew this story well, and liked it.
She crouched beside the assembled musical instruments, thinking over the quarbirri. Hermit Hassa told of the hermit’s life along the Hassa River. He sat on a big rock beside the river for many seasons. Generations of trees grew tall, grew old, and died while he sat there. Whatever he needed, the river provided. It was said that the river brought him fish and fruit, even honey and yarram. The river spoke to him, in patterns of light on the water, teaching him all the things that the river knew. It taught him the flavor of each stream that gave itself to the river; it taught him the art of making stones smooth, and the dance and shiver of the fish in its depths. It taught him the power of the rapids, and the gentle, patient grace of slow water.
Hermit Hassa had a friend, an enkar named Mubitonen, who would come and sit beside him. Sometimes Hassa talked to her about what the river had taught him. One day, Mubitonen asked if she could become Hassa’s disciple. She wanted to learn everything that he knew about the river. Hassa refused. Several years later, Mubitonen returned and asked again. Again Hassa refused. Each time Mubitonen visited, she asked the hermit if she could become his disciple. Hassa always refused. This went on for many, many years.
Finally Mubitonen asked Hassa why he wouldn’t teach her. The hermit sat still for a long while, watching the river.
“I don’t know enough yet,” he said. “You may become my disciple when I am a worthy teacher.”
Mubitonen went away with a sorrowful heart, and she didn’t visit her friend Hassa for many years.
Then one day, as she was returning from a journey by a route thai took her close to the place that Hassa lived, Mubitonen decided to visn her old friend.
Hassa greeted her excitedly. The river was about to tell him its final story. Once that happened, she could become his disciple. To celebrate they went on a long fishing trip up one of the tributaries. While ther fished, Hassa told her countless stories of the river. Mubitonen drank them in, happy that Hassa was finally going to let her become his disciple The enkar and the hermit feasted on fish and remembered the good times they had spent together.
They returned to Hassa’s place by the river near sunset. Hassa was very happy. Tonight, the river would tell him its final story.
“What story is that?” his disciple asked as they sat beside the river eating dinner.
“I want to know what happens to the river when it meets the sea,” he said. “I have learned everything but this one, final secret. Now it is time for me to learn that. Then everything I have learned will be yours.”
Hassa went out to the rock where he always sat to watch the river. The enkar went to bed, eager for the next day to come. In the morning Mubitonen went down to the river to see what Hassa had learned. In his place was a large upright boulder. The river had taught Hassa his final lesson and taken him away.
Anito mused over the story while she tried various flutes. One of the reasons that she liked it was that it could mean so many things. Told one way, it was a tragedy about the death of Hassa; told another, it was a teaching story about rivers. It could be the story of two old and devoted friends, or a parable about trying too hard to be perfect.
She found a flute with a tone that she liked and selected a set of wrist and ankle rattles made of shells. How should she tell this story to the enkar? What did they want to hear?
She looked up at the audience, the judges, the enkar, the candidates. Ukatonen was sitting right in front, with Moki and Eerin beside him. She wondered what Eerin would think of the story.
Then she knew how she wanted to tell this quarbirri. It was risky, but then, after failing her allu-a test, it really didn’t matter. She would tell it in a way that felt right to her, even if it defied every tradition of storytelling.
She looped the thong of a hand drum over her wrist, picked up a rainstick, and stood, flute in one hand, rainstick in the other. She spread her ears wide to let the judges know she was ready, and drew herself up proudly.
Anito inverted the rainstick, and the tiny pebbles inside pattered like falling rain as they dropped to the other end of the stick. With gentle, almost invisible motions of her heels, she began to shimmer the rattles on her ankles. She lifted the flute, and played a simple thread of melody: Hassa sitting beside his river.
She began the story, describing Hassa and his history, creating a word portrait to match her sound portrait, lulling her audience with the ancient, traditional story.
Then she introduced Mubitonen. She used human skin speech, delivering Mubitonen’s lines in a mixture of human and Tendu. The enkar sat up, magenta with surprise, ears spread, but too fascinated by her storytelling to look away to talk to each other. Anito continued, using the story of Hermit Hassa as a parable of humans and Tendu, of the friendship they could have, of the things they could teach each other, and the danger of being swept away by too much change.
When she finished, the audience was still for a long moment. Anito swallowed, afraid that she had offended them. Then they erupted in ripples of excited approval. Anito bowed her head, closing her eyes in relief she dared not show on her skin. As she stepped off the speaker’s mound, Naratonen came up to her.
“That was very well done,” he said. “People will be talking about tonight for a very long time.”
“Thank you, en. You were my teacher.”
“ ‘The student honors the teacher by surpassing him,’ ” Naratonen said, quoting an ancient saying. “Ever since that argument I had with Ukatonen and Eerin about learning from the humans, I have been trying to think of a suitable way to talk about it in a quarbirri. Now you’ve done it for me.”
Ukatonen held out a packet of omkina paste and a gourd of fruit juice.
“There isn’t much time. Eat, drink. You’ll need the energy.”
She bolted the food, washing it down wit
h the fruit juice and a full gourd of water as the judges finished conferring. She rinsed herself off with another gourd of water as Figotonen stepped to the speaker’s mound to announce the next quarbirri.
Ukatonen squeezed her shoulder. “You did well,” he said, and slipped back to his place at the front of the crowd.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of concentration. First there was the group quarbirri; then she had to reenact scenes from a number[[ : ]]other quarbirri.
“Thank you, candidate. That is all for tonight,” Figotonen announced.
It took Anito a moment to realize that the test was over. Her knees were weak and watery; her skin felt tight and tired. Eerin and Ukatoner? were heading toward her. She longed to collapse into their arms and 1; them carry her back to her room, but she was going to be an enkar. Sh wouldn’t let them see how tired she was. She drew herself up and walke^ out of the circle of enkar unaided, and then somehow forced her tirec muscles to make the long, hard climb home.
As soon as she readied her room, her legs folded beneath her, weak as waterweed. Eerin gathered her up in her short, strong arms and set her on the bed. As Eerin piled the bedding around her, Anito remembered how patiently the new creature had cared for her when she was recovering from werrun. So much had passed between them in the four years since. She reached out and touched Eerin affectionately on the arm, flickering thanks.
“The Hermit Hassa piece was wonderful,” Eerin said, taking her hand. “I’m glad I recorded it. It has a lot to say to my people, as well as yours.”
Eerin slid her hand up Anito’s forearm, until their spurs were lined up for allu-a, her skin darkening to the purple of inquiry.
Anito flickered Yes, and they linked briefly, feeling the human’s alien strength flowing into her body, along with her gentle, warm spirit, so different from the Tendu, yet so good to link with. Eerin had given her so much. She felt her gratitude rise and enfold Eerin, felt the human’s familiar, deep affection well up and receive her thanks.
