by Kage Baker
“I wonder if you might,” said the old man. “Would you just let him know that a fellow deity wishes to discuss a matter of mutual advantage?”
Lewis and Mendoza exchanged glances.
Company business, transmitted Lewis. We’ve encountered a member of a previously-unknown culture. We’re supposed to investigate and report back to Dr. Zeus, so they can send an evaluation team.
But we’re not anthropologists! protested Mendoza.
We’re Preservers, all the same. And, after all, how many people get a chance to discover a fabulous lost civilization?
Hmf. And if we don’t investigate, we’ll get nailed with a Section Sixteen, won’t we? Damn. So much for a vacation away from mortals.
“Of course, sir,” said Lewis to the mortal. “In the meanwhile, may we be of any assistance? Our master has given us some power to act for him.”
“Has he?” The old mortal considered them, looked at the gear scattered about. “Perhaps.”
“May we speak directly to the god?” Lewis inquired. The old man raised his eyebrows.
“Child, you are speaking to a god. I am Orocobix, Lord of Abundance.”
Lewis gaped and then knelt, grabbing Mendoza’s arm in his descent to compel her to kneel, too.
“Pardon our ignorance, Lord Orocobix,” he said.
I’m kneeling to a mortal… Mendoza ground her teeth. The old mortal gaped, too, and then smiled. He drew himself upright, holding the pole like a scepter.
“Rise, children rise. You may be forgiven; you’re dead, after all. However—” and he looked again at their gear “—you might want to present me with a suitable offering…?”
Lewis glanced over his shoulder. With great presence of mind he ran and fetched the case of bottled water.
“Please accept this, great Orocobix! Pure water in conveniently reusable containers,” he said.
“How nice,” said Orocobix. “Perhaps the lamp as well.”
But I borrowed it from Pan Li in Accounting!
Can’t be helped. Technically it’s Company property, you know.
“Certainly, great Orocobix,” said Lewis, bowing. “Will you permit us to accompany you to your sacred place, bearing these gifts for you?”
“Yes,” said the old mortal, “I think that would be best.” He retreated to the stern of the skiff and sat down. Lewis loaded the water and the FlameCube into the bow, and handed Mendoza up onto one of the thwarts; when he stepped in himself, Orocobix handed him the pole.
“Due east,” he instructed. He reached over and took the flamecube from Mendoza’s hands, and, holding it up critically, brushed some of the mud off.
“How does it burn?” he inquired.
“I think it has to dry out first,” said Lewis, pushing them off from the shallows. The skiff went gliding across the water. “I hope you’ll pardon us, great Orocobix, but I’m certain our god will have a lot of questions to ask us about you. He was under the impression that this part of the world was deserted.”
“Oh, no,” said Orocobix, leaning back. “This has always been our country. We created all this kingdom.” He waved an arm at the surrounding landscape. “Sadly, we have been without subjects for some time now. It is very inconvenient.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that, sir.”
Bloody mortal aristocrats, Mendoza transmitted, glowering.
Orocobix shrugged. “So it goes. Even gods may be obliged to endure difficulties. When did the august lord of the dead extend his dominion this far east, may I ask?”
“Actually, he hasn’t,” said Lewis, leaning into the pole to send their boat gliding forward. “We’re just visiting.”
“Of course.”
“Though of course his kingdom is perfectly immense, you know,” Lewis improvised. “What with mortals dying on a regular basis.”
“How very interesting,” said the old man, stroking his chin. “Has he many wives?”
“Well—not so many, no,” said Lewis.
“Indeed,” said Orocobix. He gave a slight smile and leaned back, clasping his hands in his lap. Seen close to, it was apparent that his garments were a little threadbare, and the feathers of his crown had a somewhat moth-eaten appearance.
Four miles more or less due east, they drew near to an island that was larger than any other they had yet seen. Its sides seemed to be terraced; some stonework was visible here and there. Mendoza stared hard at it.
Cultivation! she transmitted. Lewis, somebody’s farming those slopes. See the manioc? I don’t notice any maize, though…
“You are to be commended on the admirable silence of your sister,” said Orocobix, a little uneasily. “Does your lord prefer his women without voices?”
“No,” said Mendoza.
“She’s just, ah—loath to chatter in the presence of gods,” said Lewis hastily. That seemed to please Orocobix.
“Very wise policy,” he said. “We have reached the sacred mountain, by the way. Put in there, at the boat dock.”
Lewis poled them up to a fairly ramshackle little causeway built out over wooden pilings, and tied off the painter. Several boats had been moored there, but lay now just under the water in various stages of ancient decay. The old man did not trust his weight to the rotten planks of the dock. He hopped straight ashore. Lewis and Mendoza followed his example.
“Do bring the water gift as well, won’t you? You may ascend to the Royal Palace,” said Orocobix, waving a hand at the stone staircase that led up from the landing, a flight of a hundred moss-grown steps. As they gazed at it, a furious commotion broke out somewhere above.
“Merely the sacred birds,” said Orocobix. “Pray do not mind them; they are kept penned up.”
Animal domestication! Lewis transmitted, hefting the case of bottled water to his shoulder.
Whatever, Mendoza replied. She started up the long stair, peering at the terraces as she passed them. By contrast with the island on which they had camped, it was quite a tidy cultivation; manioc, sweet potatoes, small fruit and nut trees Lewis was unable to identify. Several plantings of what were apparently medicinal herbs, to judge from the fragrance. Some terraces seemed to be given over to fish ponds; there were also withy enclosures where geese came to the fence and put their heads over, honking dire threats.
It’s a self-sustaining ecosystem! Lewis was terrifically excited.
Damned if you aren’t right, Mendoza replied. She came to a dead halt on the stairs, staring. What—?
Lewis followed her gaze. Those are cotton plants, he informed her helpfully.
But they’re the wrong kind! Mendoza stepped off the stairway and out onto the terrace, where she bent down to inspect what was growing there.
“My sister is impressed by your garden,” said Lewis. Orocobix, who was following at a slow but steady pace, looked pleased.
“I take it your master has none such?”
“Well—no, not really.”
“Ah,” said Orocobix, with great satisfaction.
They ought to be growing Gossypium barbadense. This is Gossypium herbaceum. It’s African cotton, Lewis!
Aha! Proof of Atlantis!
Oh, don’t be a—
“We have other excellent plants here, also,” remarked Orocobix, as he passed Mendoza. “Come along, child.”
He led them up the last few steps. “The Royal Palace of the Guanikina,” he said complacently.
They stared, and were stared back at.
The palace was a low sprawling building of thatched stone, with wings opening off a central courtyard, green with moss and overhung with forest canopy. In the courtyard sat two mortal women and a man. The man and woman appeared to be in early middle age, clad in the same sort of worn finery as the old man. The other woman was young, in her late teens or early twenties. She had been in the act of fanning herself and was looking rather disagreeable, though her expression changed to one of shock when Lewis and Mendoza stepped into the courtyard.
“My family, I bring you visitors,” said
Orocobix, looking smug.
“My lord,” exclaimed the girl, and rising from her seat she threw herself at Lewis’s feet.
“I’m sorry?” Lewis looked down at her.
Orocobix cleared his throat.
“My child, this is a mere servant of Maketaurie Guyuaba. A dead mortal.”
“Oh!” Blushing furiously, the young lady scrambled to her feet. “How dare you, man of earth!”
“You should have known they were dead by the color of their skin,” said the older lady to the younger, in tones of icy reproof. She turned a brilliant smile on Lewis. “How do you do, child? You may set your offering down. We scarcely expected a delegation from divine Maketaurie. Not in broad daylight, at least.”
“His kingdom is apparently doing rather well,” said Orocobix meaningfully. “And he has few wives.”
“Has he?” The older woman and the younger exchanged glances.
Lewis, they’re all alone here! I can only pick up two other mortal signs. Who the hell are these people?
A royal family with no subjects?
“So, I suppose older deities, who are perhaps not such swift fellows as they once were but nevertheless have a certain amount of wisdom the young cannot possess, do have their uses,” said Orocobix to the other man, with an air of triumph.
“You needn’t preen yourself,” said the other man. He was thickset, with something of the look of a dissipated politician. He turned dull eyes on Lewis and Mendoza. “There are only two of them.”
“But they are authorized by their lord to negotiate on his behalf,” said Orocobix. “And will return to him in a week’s time. Therefore it behooves us to treat them as ambassadors, don’t you think?”
“Of course it does,” said the lady, taking the man by his arm in a rather firm clasp. “Welcome, proxies of great Maketaurie! I am Atabey, goddess of the earth, and this is Agueybana, god of the sun. Regard the goddess Cajaya. Is she not fair?”
“Most fair,” said Lewis, bowing. In fact Cajaya was sallow, angular, and rather pigeon-breasted, but she simpered for him now and batted her goose-feather fan.
“You must excuse the sad state in which you find us,” said Atabey. “No servants to wash your feet, no retainers to salute you! The truth is, our great family has suffered certain reverses.”
“Very sorry to hear it, oh goddess,” said Lewis.
“The end of the damned world, in fact,” said Agueybana gloomily. “Except for us, of course. And your master, obviously.” He gave Lewis and Mendoza a speculative look. “Tell me, has he any live servants at all?”
Careful, Mendoza transmitted.
“A certain number,” said Lewis. “And great multitudes of our kind, of course.”
“But surely it is not mannerly to interrogate our guests without refreshment!” cried Atabey. “Tanama! Tanama, attend at once!”
“Yes, mother,” replied someone from the depths of the house, and a moment later a second girl came forth. She seemed no more than ten or eleven, small and thin, and wore a plain robe of brown cotton. She blinked in surprise to see visitors, but folded her hands and bowed low.
“Fetch chairs for our guests, child, and then bring wine. Bring it in the good service,” ordered Atabey.
“At once, mother,” said the little girl, and hurried away.
Within a few moments Lewis and Mendoza found themselves seated somewhat uncomfortably on cane chairs, watching as the little girl poured something fruity and fermented into cups of pure gold. She presented them with a brief dazzling smile.
“Here is your drink, dead people,” she said. “It’s made from guavas. Is that right? Can you drink the same as us? Because all the stories say—”
“Do not presume, Tanama!” said Atabey.
“It’s quite all right,” said Lewis, smiling as he raised the cup in salute. “We don’t need much. Thank you.”
What on earth is it? transmitted Mendoza, who was staring into her cup in a mixture of fascination and loathing.
It doesn’t matter. Drink, Lewis replied, and sipped. Guava brew, fermented by human enzymes. Without shuddering, he set his cup aside and smiled at his hosts.
“Now, oh great ones, what message would you have me carry to my master?”
“First,” said Agueybana, “extend our greetings to our most mighty fellow divinity—before whom the stars and planets prostrate themselves, before whom he who sends the rain gusts feels inadequate—and so forth and so on.”
“And tell him we do apologize abjectly for not communicating with him earlier, but our situation here—” began Atabey.
“Don’t tell him that! Gods never apologize to anyone!” said Agueybana indignantly.
“Perhaps you ought to say,” said Orocobix, “that we, ancient and powerful as we are, have been so preoccupied with the administration of our own realm that it had not occurred to us to survey its outer regions in some time, and that therefore the discovery of great Maketaurie’s proximity to our neighborhood comes as a pleasant surprise to us.”
“And that we are happy to extend our hospitality to a pair of his servants,” added Atabey.
“Whose undoubtedly unintentional trespass into our dominion we will generously forgive,” said Orocobix, with a graceful inclination of his head in Lewis and Mendoza’s direction. “That they may serve as couriers of our will. Which is, that we propose to our brother Maketaurie a dynastic union of great advantage to himself.”
“We offer young Cajaya,” said Agueybana, raising his voice, “of immaculate and perfect pedigree, in whose bloodline runs the wealth of the earth and golden immortality.”
“I hear,” said Lewis gravely. He remembered a timbered hall on a green hill, where he had watched a druid preside over the betrothal arrangements for a chieftain’s bride in almost exactly the same terms. Not quite the same, though. Golden immortality?
“And in return for this magnificent gift,” said Agueybana hurriedly, “we expect no less than the girl is worth.”
This is like a Jane Austen novel, for God’s sake, transmitted Mendoza.
I’m sure the Company can come up with a suitable trousseau, Lewis responded. Aloud he said: “I hear and will convey your message, great ones. I hope you’ll permit a few discreet questions on my master’s behalf?”
“Naturally,” said Orocobix.
“Thank you, great one. Will it please you to relate the ancestry of lovely Cajaya?” inquired Lewis. “With, perhaps, a digression explaining how her glorious forebears came to rule this place?”
“Of course,” said Orocobix, looking pleased. Agueybana exhaled loudly, folding his arms. Atabey and Cajaya rolled their eyes at each other. He ignored them and, clearing his throat, struck a majestic attitude.
“In the beginning of Time, great Orocobix floated in the void with his people,” he announced. “He was the first great father. His children were Agueybana and Atabey, Kolibri and Tanama, Tonina and Cajaya. Many were the storm-spirits of the void he subdued. Yet in time his children wearied of the flesh of fish, and so great Orocobix thought it good to make a solid world.
“He drew up his celestial boat in this place, which was made up of void and firmament, and sent his servants out to live in it. They planted crops, but there was too much void still. The crops would not grow. Great Orocobix saw that he must make the world more solid, in order that his servants might not starve.
“Wherefore he created sacred Caonaki, who made the crops grow abundantly. And great Orocobix moreover created the solid mountains to rise above the void, where his people might live. There they prospered, and rejoiced, and praised great Orocobix for his wisdom and beneficence. As well they ought,” concluded Orocobix.
Standard run-of-the-mill creation myth, transmitted Mendoza. Void, firmament, mortals multiplying. Same old story.
Not quite, Lewis replied. He bowed politely. “Indeed an impressive tale, great Orocobix.”
“In time,” Orocobix continued, “Great Orocobix wearied of the flesh he wore, and it pleased him to
pass again into the shining void. When he wished to return, divine Atabey bore him new flesh. And so he came again to rule his children and his servants in wisdom. Thereafter, when any of the Children of Orocobix had worn out their flesh, they went away to the void, and shortly returned in new bodies. By this, you may see that divine Cajaya’s ancestry is direct and is as pure as gold.”
They’re claiming to be their own ancestors. Mendoza looked coldly amused. And what a shallow little gene pool it must be!
You never know; maybe the Atlanteans could clone themselves. Lewis bowed and said aloud: “Pure as gold indeed, great Orocobix. I have no doubt my master will be delighted to marry fair Cajaya. Though it is my painful duty, as his servant, to make inquiry touching the apparent absence of your subjects…?”
“Oh, they all got sick and died,” said little Tanama. In the moment of mortified silence that followed, Cajaya looked away and fanned herself more rapidly. Atabey clenched her fists. Agueybana cleared his throat.
“They were disobedient,” he said, “so great Orocobix smote them with pestilence. That’s why we need new ones.”
“It was a great while ago,” said Orocobix, in a tone of sad wonderment. “I can’t really remember it very clearly. In retrospect, it seems rather a foolish thing to have done; but apparently my wrath used to be formidable. I incline to a somewhat more merciful temperament nowadays. Even we gods grow in wisdom.”
“My master himself has often regretted the rashness of his youth,” Lewis hastened to say.
“So you can appreciate our position,” said Agueybana.
“We wouldn’t require much,” said Atabey. “I’m sure your master has plenty to spare—”
“But, of course, this is hardly the sort of petty accounting with which to annoy great Maketaurie,” said Orocobix, with a severe look at his children. “Only slaves beg for favors, after all.”
Cajaya’s fanning reached a speed comparable to the beat of hummingbird wings. Agueybana flushed and stared at the ground. Atabey called sharply, “Tanama! Take yourself off to your duties, stupid child! Do you think anyone here wants to listen to your opinions?”
“At once, mother,” said Tanama, and went back indoors. Mendoza turned to watch her go.
