The Call of Earth

by Orson Scott Card

  This was what he had come back to Basilica for. Not those frightened, hungry women in Dolltown, who needed him to be strong and dependable, but this woman, who needed him only to be passionate and flattering and fun. Dol felt herself to be safe and comfortable enough in Rasa's house that she could still be what Basilican women were supposed to be-self-supporting providers for men, needing nothing more from their lovers than a little pleasure and attention.

  She brought him her robe. It probably could have fit well enough, but he made a show of jamming his arm so for in the sleeve that it barely passed his elbow. "Oh, that won't do," she said.

  "It hardly matters by now," he said. "I don't exactly have any secrets from you anymore!"

  Of course, he had dropped the towel to try on the robe. He bent over to pick it up, even as he was taking the robe off his arm. But when he stood again, she took both the towel and the robe away from him. "You're right," she said. "There's little point in trying for modesty now." She tossed the robe and towel into a corner and then brought him a handful of grapes from the food tray on the dresser. "Here," she said.

  She held out the grape, not to his hand, but to his lips. He leaned forward farther than he needed to, and got her fingers into his mouth along with the grape. She let her fingers linger in his mouth as he slowly pulled the grape away. At last he bit down on the grape and felt the juice of it squirt inside his mouth. It was tart and sweet and delicious. He sat on the bed and she fed him another, and then another. But the rest of the grapes ended up on the floor.

  Moozh had waited with great anticipation to meet Lady Rasa at last, and she did not disappoint him. He had installed himself in Gaballufix's house-the symbolism was deliberate-and he knew that she would certainly see the true meaning of his residence here. Lady Rasa would not be a complete fool, that much he was sure of, from what he had heard about her. All that remained now was to see which of several plans he ought to follow with her. She might be turned into an ally. She might be turned into a dupe. She might, of course, be an implacable enemy. No matter which, he would make use of her.

  She did not carry herself with any particular majesty; she made no attempt to entice or intimidate him. But that was just about the only way a woman could impress him anymore. He had been worked on by the finest court women in Gollod, but it was plain that Rasa had no interest in working on him. Rather she spoke with him as with an equal, and he liked it. He liked her. It would be a good game.

  "Of course I want to accept the invitation of the city council," he said. "We are only too happy to help this beautiful city maintain order and security while rebuilding from these unfortunate events of the past weeks. But I have a problem that perhaps you can help me with."

  He could see from the look on her face that she had expected more demands from him-and he knew, too, that she had no illusions about the fact that he was in a position to make demands, and make them stick, too.

  "You see," he said, "the traditional way for a Gorayni general to reward his men after a great victory is to divide up the conquered territory and give them land and wives."

  "But you have not conquered Basilica," said Rasa pointedly.

  "Exactly!" he said. "You see my dilemma. My men performed with extraordinary heroism and discipline in this campaign, and their victory over the ruffians and rioters was complete. And yet I lack a means to reward them!"

  "Our treasury is deep," said Rasa. "I'm sure the city council can make each of your thousand men as rich as you please."

  "Money?" asked Moozh. "Oh, you hurt me deeply. Me and my men alike. We are not mercenaries!"

  "You accept land, but not the money with which to buy land?"

  "Land is a matter of title and honor. A landed man is a lord. But money- that would be like calling my soldiers tradesmen"

  She gazed, at him for a moment, and then said, "General Vozmuzhalnoy Vozmozhno, does the Imperator know that you call these men your soldiers? Your men?"

  Moozh felt a sudden thrill of fear. It was delicious indeed-it had been a long time since he had sat across a table from someone who knew how to take the initiative away from him. And she had struck immediately at his weakest point. For not only had he defied the Imperator's orders about not making any offensive maneuvers, he had also left behind the corpses of the Imperator's public and private spies to come here. His greatest danger at the moment came from the Imperator, who would surely by now have heard of his venture. Moozh knew the Imperator well enough to know that he would not act rashly-indeed, that was the Imperator's primary fault, that he was terrified of risk-but already a new intercessor would certainly be on his way southward, and not without temple troops to back him up. Either Moozh would be able to put a good face on things and win back the Imperial trust, or he would have to commit himself to open rebellion with only a thousand troops and a hundred kilometers deep in hostile territory. It was not a good moment for him to face an opponent who understood exactly what his weakness was.

  "When I call them mine," said Moozh, "of course I recognize that they are mine only as long as the Imperator permits me to be his servant."

  "I notice that you don't deny that you we Vozmuzhalnoy Vozmozhno."

  He shrugged. "I recognize that you are far too clever for me. Why should I try to conceal my identity from you ?"

  She frowned. His flattery and his frank admission had set her back a bit. Now she would no doubt be wondering why he so willingly admitted his true name, and why he was calling her clever. She would assume that because he called her clever, it must mean she had not been clever at all. Thus she would no longer trust her belief that the way to get at him was by exploiting differences between him and the Imperator. He had long since learned that one of the best ways to disarm a genuinely clever opponent was to make him mistrust his own strengths, and it seemed to be working well enough with Rasa.

  "Cleverness doesn't enter into it," she said. "Truth is what matters. I don't believe there's a word of truth in what you say. You don't usually reward your soldiers with land, or you'd have no soldiers left. Your officers, perhaps. But this talk of land is just your first bid in an effort to destroy the land law of the city of women. Let me guess how the game goes: I return to the council with your humble request, and they send me back with an offer to settle your men outside the city. You praise our generosity, and then point out that your men could never be content as second-class citizens of a land they had rescued from destruction. How could he explain to Gorayni soldiers that they could never own land inside the city? Then you would propose a compromise-just to allow them and us to both save face. Your compromise would be that Gorayni soldiers who married Basilican women would be allowed to hold half-ownership with them of their land inside the city. The women would, of course, remain completely in control of the land, but your soldiers could keep their self-respect."

  "You have a gift of prescience," said Moozh.

  "Not so-I'm only improvising," she said. "Half-rights in property would lead within weeks to a series of opportune marriages, and then there'd be pressure for an equal vote-especially since you will have proved that your men are meek and obedient husbands who make no effort to control the property in which they have a titular half-interest. How many steps from there to the day when women have no vote, and all the property of Basilica is owned by men?"

  "My dear lady, you misjudge me."

  "You don't have much time," said Rasa. "Your Imperator will certainly have representatives here within two weeks at the latest."

  "All Gorayni armies travel with Imperial representatives."

  "Not yours," said Rasa. "Or the city guard would know it. WeVe read accounts here of how your army works, and there is no intercessor's tent. Some of your soldiers feel the lack of confession quite keenly."

  "I have nothing to fear from the coming of an intercessor."

  "Then why did you try to fool me into thinking you had one here already? No, General Vozmuzhalnoy Vozmozhno, I think you have to move swiftly indeed to consolidate your positi
on here before you face the challenge of the Imperator. I think you don't have time to deal with any kind of uprising, either-it has to be settled peacefully and at once."

  So she had not been deflected at all by his flattery. The thrill of fear once again pulsed through him. "Ma'am, you are wise indeed. It is possible that the Imperator will misconstrue my actions, even though my motive was purely to serve him. But you're mistaken to think it will take many gradual steps to consolidate my position here."

  "You think not?" asked Rasa.

  "It won't take many marriages, I think, but only one." He smiled. "Mine."

  At last he had succeeded in startling her. "Aren't you already married, sir?" she asked.

  "As a matter of fact I am not," said Moozh. "I have never been married. Until now it has always been politically preferable."

  "And you think that your marriage to a Basilican woman will solve everything for you? Even if they grant you a special exception and let you share in your wife's property, there's no one woman in Basilica who controls so much property that it would make any difference to you."

  "I don't intend to marry for property."

  "For what, then?"

  "For influence," he said. "For prestige."

  She studied his face for a moment. "If you think I have that kind of influence or prestige, you're a fool."

  "You are a striking woman, and I confess that you are of the right age for me-mature and accomplished. To marry you would make life a dangerous and engrossing game, and you and I would both enjoy it. Alas, though, you are already married, even if your husband is rumored to be a mad prophet hiding in the desert. I don't believe in breaking up happy families. Besides, you have too many opponents and enemies in this city for you to be a useful consort."

  "Imperators have consorts, General Vozmuzhalnoy Vozmozhno; generals have wives."

  "Please, call me Moozh," he said. "It's a nickname that I only permit my friends to use."

  "I am not your friend,"

  "The nickname means ‘husband,'" he said.

  "I know what it means, and neither I nor any woman of Basilica will ever call you that to your face."

  "Husband," said Moozh, "and Basilica is my bride. I will wed her, I will bed her, and she will bear me many children, this fair city. And if she doesn't take me willingly as her husband, I will have her anyway, and in the end she will be docile."

  "In the end this city will have your balls on a plate, General," she retorted. "The last lord of this house discovered that, when he tried to do what you are doing."

  "But he was a fool," said Moozh. "I know it, because he lost you"

  "He didn't lose me? said Rasa. "He lost himself."

  He smiled at her. "Farewell, ma'am," he said. "Till we meet again."

  "I doubt we will," she said.

  "Oh, I'm sure we'll converse again."

  "After I return and tell them what you really are, there'll be no more emissaries from the city council."

  "But my dear lady," said Moozh, "did you think I'd have spoken to you so freely, if I intended to let you speak again to the council?"

  Her face blanched. "So you are no different from any of the other bullies. Like Gaballufix and Rashgallivak, you love to hear your own bluster. You think it makes you manly."

  "Not so," said Moozh. "Their posturing and boasting came to nothing-they did it because they feared their own weakness. I never posture and I never boast, and when I decide what is necessary I do it. You will be escorted from here to your own house, which is already surrounded by Gorayni troops. All the non-resident children in your house have been sent safely home; the others will be kept indoors, since from this point on no one will be allowed to enter or leave your house. We will, of course, deliver food to you, and I believe your water supply is entirely provided by wells and a clever rain collection system."

  "Yes," she said. "But the city will never stand for your arresting me."

  "You think not?" asked Moozh. "I have already sent one of the Basilican guard to inform the city council that I have arrested you in their name, in order to protect the city from your plotting."

  "My plotting" she cried, rising to her feet.

  "You came to me and suggested that I abolish the city council and establish one man as king of Basilica. You even had a candidate in mind-your husband, Wetchik, who already had his sons murder his chief rivals and even now is waiting in the desert for me to call for him to come and rule the city as a vassal of the Imperator."

  "Monstrous lies! No one will believe you!"

  "You know that your statement is false, even as you make it," said Moozh. "You know that there are many on that council who will be only too happy to believe that all your actions have been inspired by private ambition, and that you have been involved in causing all your city's misfortunes from the start."

  "You'll see that the women of Basilica are not so easily fooled."

  "You have no idea, Lady Rasa, how happy I would be if the women of Basilica proved to be so wise that I could not deceive them. I have longed all my life to find people of such exemplary wisdom. But I think I have not found them here, with the single exception of yourself. And you are completely under my control." He laughed merrily. "By the Incarnation himself, ma'am, after conversing with you this morning it terrifies me to know that you are even Mve. If you were a man with an army I would be afraid to campaign against you. But you are not a man with an army, and so you pose no threat to me-not anymore."

  She rose from her chair. "Are you finished?"

  "Do your household a favor-don't try to send anyone out with secret messages. I will catch anyone you send, and then Pll probably have to do something grisly like delivering the next day's rations to your house sewn up inside your would-be messenger's skin,"

  "You are exactly the reason why Basilica banned men from the city in the first place," she said coldly.

  "And you are exactly the reason why the city of women is an abomination in the sight of God," he answered. But his voice was warm with admiration-even affection-for the truth was that this woman alone had taught him that the city of women was not as weak and effeminate as he had imagined all these years.

  "God!" she said. "God means nothing to you. The way you think, the way you live-I daresay that you spend every moment of your life trying to flout the will of the Oversoul and unmake all her works in this world."

  "You are close to the mark, dear lady," he said. "Closer than you ever imagined. Now do please bow to the inevitable and make no trouble for my poor soldiers who have the unpleasant duty of taking you home under public arrest through the streets of Basilica."

  "What trouble could I make?"

  "Well, for one thing, you could try to shout some ridiculous revolutionary message to the people you pass. I would recommend silence."

  She nodded gravely. "I will accept your recommendation. You can be sure that I'll despise you in silence all the way home."

  It took six of them to walk her home. His lies about her had been so persuasive that crowds gathered in many places to vilify her as a traitor to her city. That was bad enough, to be unjustly loathed by her beloved city, but it didn't gall her half as much as the other shouts- the cheers for General Moozh, the savior of Basilica.

  FIVE - HUSBANDS

  THE DREAM OF THE HOLY WOMAN

  Her name was Torstiga in the language of her homeland, but she had been so long away from that place, far in the east, that she didn't even remember the language of her childhood. She had been sold into slavery by her uncle when she was seven years old, was carried west to Seggidugu, and there was sold again. Slavery was not intolerable-her mistress was strict but not unfair, and her master kept his hands to himself. It could have been much worse, she well knew- but it was not freedom.

  She prayed constantly for freedom. She prayed to Fackla, the god of her childhood, and nothing happened. She prayed to Rui, the god of Seggidugu, and still she was a slave. Then she heard stories of the Over-soul, the goddess of Basilica, the city
of women, a place where no man could own property and every woman was free. She prayed and prayed, and one day when she was twelve, she went mad, caught up in the trance of the Oversoul.

  Since many slaves pretended to be god-mad in order to win their freedom, Torstiga-was locked up and starved during her frenzy. She did not mind the darkness of the tiny cubicle where they confined her, for she was seeing the visions that the Oversoul put into her mind. Only when the visions ended at last did she notice her own physical discomfort. Or at least, that was how it seemed to her mistress, for she cried out again and again from her cubicle: "Thirsty! Thirsty! Thirsty!"

  They did not understand that she was crying out that one word, not because she needed to drink-though indeed she was far along with dehydration-but because it was her name, Torstiga, translated into the language of Basilica. The language of the Oversoul. She called her own name because she had lost herself in the midst of her visions; she hoped that if she called out loud enough and long enough, the girl she used to be might hear her, and answer, and perhaps come back and live in her body once again.

  Later she came to understand that her true self had never left her, but in the confusion and ecstacy and terror of her first powerful visions she was transformed and never again would she be the twelve-year-old girl she once had been. When they let her out of her confinement, warning her not to pretend to be god-mad again, she didn't argue with them or protest that she had been sincere. She simply drank what they gave her to drink, and ate until the food they set before her was gone, and then returned to her labor.

  But soon they began to realize that for once a slave was not pretending. She looked at her master one day and began to weep, and would not be comforted. That afternoon, as he oversaw construction of a fine new house for one of the richest men of the city, he was knocked down by a stone that got away from the crew that was trying to manhandle it into place. Two slaves suffered broken bones in the mishap, but Thirsty's master fell into the street and a passing horse stamped on his head. He lingered for a month, never regaining consciousness, taking small sips that his wife gave him every half hour, but vomiting any food she managed to get down his throat. He starved to death.