Daughter of Elysium

by Joan Slonczewski

  Below the city, farmlands descended in terraces, ending abruptly at a stone wall that traversed the girth of each needle rock. Only the surface of each needle rock had been treated for human agriculture. Eyeing those few precious bits of soil on slopes so steep even Clickers would hesitate to till, Raincloud guessed that Urulites might well wonder where their next meal would come from, for all the gold on their palaces.

  The shuttle landed with surprising grace; that pilot must have known his business after all. An icy wind whipped across the grass, enough to make her welcome her goatskin jacket. Two columns of guards saluted them with horns. The guards rode Urulite llamas, sleepy-eyed beasts with long necks and elephantine legs, specially bred to withstand high gravity. A cart drawn by llamas drove up to bear the visitors to the Central Palace. The road was steep and full of cracked flagstones. The beasts’ performance impressed Raincloud. She could use some of that stock in her fields back in Tumbling Rock.

  When they reached the Central Palace, no one needed to be told. The structure was hard to believe, despite all the images Raincloud had seen; even Lem was impressed. Gold covered all the outer wall and spiral ledge, with countless figures of the gods worked in bas-relief, inlaid with turquoise. Raincloud blinked and had to look away as the reflected sunlight hit her eyes. Only as the visitors approached closer could she see that some of the gold leaf was flaking off without replacement, and that ominous pockmarks marred the wall.

  The carts stopped. Dhesra muttered, “This guard will show you to the ladies’ quarter.”

  Taking her cue, Iras stepped out with the baby, an octopod behind her. Raincloud anxiously watched them disappear behind the Palace.

  An enormous pair of double doors swung back, on hinges thicker than Raincloud’s arm. As they dismounted from their cart with their octopods, Verid and Lem unfolded their trains, shortened to avoid need of trainsweeps. Zheron and Dhesra led them all into the Hall of the Azure Throne.

  Zheron’s demeanor underwent a marked change, Raincloud noticed. He seemed tense as a drawn bow, his eyes turning back and forth as if alert to the slightest deviation from protocol. Footsteps echoed on the marble floor as they strode forward between the lines of warriors. At either side of the hall rose columns covered with ornate decoration. She noticed, though, that some of the corners could have used a good cleaning, and that fissures and discolorations marked the floor.

  They crossed the hall, nearing the black edge of the traditional Ring of Death. Behind the ring stood the Azure Throne, pale blue stone with golden symbols full of countless ancient meanings. Vessels of incense at either side released exotic odors. Beyond the throne rose richly patterned curtains; Raincloud guessed that the higher ranked ladies of the court waited behind.

  A salute of drums and horns announced the pending entrance of the Imperator. At this point, visitors normally were supposed to bow low to the ground until the royal personage took his seat. The Elysians had debated for hours whether or not to do so, given the democratic principles of the Fold in general and Elysium in particular. At last they had settled on a limited bow from the waist, approximating the Elysian gesture of respect; Zheron had assented, observing with irritation that if Elysians all had bad backs, he would have to make allowances.

  So Raincloud bowed, while Verid and Lem beside her did the same. Then she looked up.

  In the throne sat a man who looked just like her old teacher Rhun. There was no mistaking the thin lips, the huge dark brow, the forehead sloping up into coarse black hair. Imperator Rhaghlan was a sim.

  Raincloud froze as she stared. For a moment time seemed to stand still. Rhun—and yet not Rhun, of course, not the ghost from her past. A sim nonetheless; by the Goddess, how did he manage to keep the throne? No wonder that devil Zheron had blustered about blood.

  She caught herself, hoping her shock had not registered. Of course, she was an idiot, for Zheron had warned them in his own inimitable way.

  Beside her Verid and Lem kept admirable composure. Some sort of announcement was being made, which she hurried to interpret for them. Just how many Urulites had simian blood in their veins…

  “In the name of the Urulite Imperium,” Lord Dhesra was saying, “the Imperial Champion challenges the barbarian Lord Raincloud to fight to the death!”

  A giant of a man entered the marble Ring of Death. Tall even by Bronze Skyan standards, his girth was like that of a tree trunk. There was no trace of sim in him. His back was erect, his face round, and his eyes blue as twin moons.

  “Choose your weapons, Barbarian Lord,” added Dhesra.

  Raincloud exchanged a quick look with Verid. Verid’s eyes were impassive, but Raincloud knew she had expressly ruled out the “barbarian” stuff. She replied, her voice reverberating strangely in the vast hall. “In the name of the peaceful people of Elysium, I ask for spirit only.”

  Soldiers muttered at this, and one of them banged his spear on the floor as if to object. It occurred to her, these men might never before have heard the name Elysium in the context of peace. Still, their leaders ought to have prepared them better. It was hardly a good sign.

  The Champion merely nodded and handed his own sword and particle blaster to an attendant. Raincloud swiftly sized him up. Perhaps three times her weight, he left little room for error. One swipe of his arm might be enough to clear her across the line—and marble was not a nice place to fall. For once she longed for the infuriating Elysian servo medics.

  On the other hand, this fellow could hardly change direction once he got moving. That was the key to rei-gi, if only she could get him pointed the right way.

  She stepped forward easily, her arms swinging lightly, as if she were inattentive. In fact she watched the man closely, trying to see where he flexed his limbs in response. He did not move much; he did not try to make her circle back, as Zheron had cleverly done. She drew closer, just outside his reach, she estimated. He would have to make the first move, but he seemed in no hurry to do so. Why should he, when any move she made would merely bounce off him?

  A sword clanged loudly, off to her left. Raincloud turned her head, as if distracted; in fact, her peripheral vision was well trained.

  The man fell for it. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his fist coming, nearly the size of her head. With her right foot she stepped forward to meet him, then pivoted aside, precisely as the fist swept past her, brushing the back of her shirt. He stumbled heavily beyond her, his feet thudding on the floor.

  The hall filled with laughter and uncomplimentary noises. Raincloud was satisfied; his reflexes seemed no better than she had guessed, but he might not have tried too hard. She watched him return to face her, his features somewhat hardened now. Perhaps he might actually get mad, she thought; that would help.

  Wiping his hand beneath his chin, the man suddenly hurtled toward her again, much faster than before. Again Raincloud evaded him, just in time, using a slightly different maneuver; it was unwise to try the same one twice, although those unfamiliar with rei-gi rarely caught on. But this time, her opponent knew enough to check himself and turn about sharply. To escape him, Raincloud had to leap backward, nearing the danger zone of the ring. The onlookers cheered.

  The man took a step toward her, then another, keeping his weight low. Now at last he got the idea that Zheron had before, that he could maneuver her step by step toward the ring. This left Raincloud the dangerous alternative of letting him close enough to reach her again, perhaps even grab her arm. If he did, she would try “Falling Leaves.”

  But as she deliberated, her opponent lost patience. His enormous arm slashed toward her left shoulder, as if to wipe her out once and for all.

  Raincloud saw immediately that this time the man’s momentum would serve her well. Stepping forward with her right foot, she raised her left arm to meet his, crossing his wrist from the inside. With both hands she caught his leading arm, deflecting it downward in a circle. To complete the circle, she pivoted to the right, his own arm continuing to circle overhead. “Round the
Mountain” he went.

  As she completed her turn, a heavy crack echoed from the hall, and beneath her feet the floor vibrated, like an earthquake. Surprised, she dropped the man’s arm where he lay on his back, instead of immobilizing him as she generally would have done. Her mind flew instinctively to the exit; if this were an earthquake, how many seconds would she have, and how many children could she scoop up on her way out?

  The Champion had taken a bad fall on his head. He drew himself up, slightly stunned. In the floor beneath him, jagged cracks radiated out from the spot where his skull had cracked the marble.

  “The gods have spoken.” A voice called from the throne. The Imperator raised his arm. “The earth itself opens, and the gods of the earth call up to us. It’s a sign: Our contest is done, with honor for all. Let this event mark the reign of peace for our time, and for generations to come.”

  All the warriors fell silent, like children when the Clanmother speaks. The Champion turned to Raincloud and bowed; she did likewise, careful to match his angle precisely. But her mind spun around the enigma of this Rhaghlan: the simian like her teacher; the liberal Imperator, proclaiming peace; and still, the murderer of his three brother princes.

  Chapter 12

  RAINCLOUD ENJOYED A BRIEF REUNION WITH HER BABY, while Iras formally “introduced” Verid to the Imperator, as well as Lem in lieu of his mate; the Elysian rituals were much modified for this occasion. Then came the banquet in the guests’ honor. Raincloud returned to translate for Verid and Lem, while Rhaghlan sat across from them. Zheron hovered intently at Rhaghlan’s side, like a coach, Raincloud thought. The young Imperator actually looked older than she had expected, at least as old as herself; but then, sims tended to age early.

  “I believe we shall see a golden age for Urulan,” Rhaghlan was saying. “Already I have removed several impediments to freedom for sims. I have bestowed upon sims the right to own property, as well as the right to testify in court, except against their own masters.” Beside him Zheron and Dhesra nodded approvingly, their fair blue-eyed faces a sharp contrast to their simian leader.

  Raincloud had figured out that only enslaved sims were referred to as such; the partial simian status of a free person was not acknowledged, at least in public. She began to wonder how many other Urulites might have a sim ancestor, back a generation or two. Now that she looked, she had noticed several sloping foreheads and pushed-in noses among the warriors. Rhaghlan himself must be at least an eighth gorilla, if not a quarter. As for his mother…

  “Your people have made impressive strides,” Verid agreed, raising her goblet of wine. “You understand, of course, that full membership in the Fold requires full rights of citizenship for all the world’s inhabitants.”

  A servant approached Rhaghlan from behind with a folded piece of paper. Rhaghlan took the note in his thick fingers and opened it. He read it, then sketched a brief reply. The servant took the reply and withdrew to disappear behind the curtain which separated the ladies. Raincloud watched with great curiosity. She could not help wondering to herself why the goddesses put up with such treatment, and how their men ever managed to rule themselves.

  “And of course, full rights must extend to the females, as well,” Rhaghlan added. “That may take longer, as females lack the capacity for warrior’s honor, an essential basis for citizenship. Nevertheless, all things are possible.”

  Raincloud translated, wondering whether the irony of it could be completely lost to them.

  “Many things are possible,” Verid agreed. “Economic assistance may help in surprising ways. Of course, all trade with Fold worlds requires a treaty of peace, and renunciation of interstellar missiles.”

  At her shoulder, a servant offered more roast lamb. Raincloud shook her head; the meat was delicious, but full of so much spice that her throat burned. She gulped some water in between translations.

  “We, too, have conditions for trade,” Rhaghlan told her. “We have abolished all fetal experimentation and related evil practices which only lead to enslavement and cultural decadence. I have issued a family protection decree which holds that all infant life is sacred, from conception through birth and beyond. We expect all our trading partners to uphold this standard.”

  “An excellent standard,” Verid assured him after Raincloud’s translation. “Of course we Elysians have always held all viable human life sacred.”

  Raincloud started to translate, until she reached the word “viable”—which for Elysians meant, “immune to senescence.” There was no honest equivalent in Urulite. She stumbled and coughed, reaching again for her water glass. “All human life is sacred,” she muttered in conclusion, averting her eyes.

  Shortly afterward the Imperator excused himself to attend to other affairs of state. Verid left as well for her guest quarters, pleading exhaustion from the trip. In fact, Raincloud knew she planned to make secret contact with the ship and its satellites for preliminary count of the missiles.

  With their leader gone, the Urulites visibly relaxed. A musician appeared, hauling an instrument that consisted of five rows of bells of varying sizes. When struck, the bells sang a lovely melody, eerie yet beautiful.

  Lem turned to Zheron. “Your Imperator made a magnificent gesture this afternoon. His courage and vision impressed us.”

  Dhesra frowned and made a fist on the table. “I don’t like it,” he exclaimed. “The duel of death is sacred to the gods. Too many traditions are crumbling, too fast.”

  “But he invoked the gods,” Zheron insisted. “Rhaghlan is the god, don’t you forget it. Besides,” he added shrewdly, “we’d only look worse if our guest had won.”

  “Why must all the females have warrior’s honor, too?” Dhesra added. “Whatever has that got to do with peace and trade, can you tell me that? It’s fine for barbarians, but our females are our own business. My own woman’s hard enough to manage already.”

  Zheron laughed and pounded Dhesra’s arm. “You don’t beat her enough, that’s why.”

  The servant brought another note from behind the curtain, which Zheron read. “The Imperial Queen Mother calls. She reminds me, it’s her turn for Raincloud.”

  So it was time to switch genders again. “Might I see Iras, first?” Raincloud asked. She really wanted the baby; her breasts were getting full.

  “As you wish.”

  Dhesra rose from the table and motioned her to follow. He led her to a different curtain, before a side room.

  The curtain parted, and a female servant appeared in a black hooded robe. A plain white mask which she held up by a long wooden handle covered her face. She led Raincloud through the curtain, leaving Dhesra outside in the men’s section.

  Iras sat on a reclining couch off to the right, unmistakable in her talar of butterflies. She was surrounded by ladies in robes of brightly colored velvet with jewels ornamenting their hoods and masks. In the absence of men, the ladies relaxed and let down their masks now and then; they seemed to do double duty as fans.

  To Raincloud’s relief, she caught sight of Blueskywind being passed around. The baby seemed to enjoy the attention well enough; but as soon as she saw her mother, she let out a wail and made sucking motions with her mouth.

  The masked faces all turned toward Raincloud.

  “There’s the mother, all right,” observed one. “Hurry up, feed her!”

  “She’s had food earlier,” Iras assured Raincloud. “She loves pureed pickles.”

  “Yes, but that’s not enough. Go on,” the Urulite insisted.

  Raincloud said hesitantly, “If you’re sure it’s all right…”

  Blueskywind wailed again and struggled in the lady’s arms. Raincloud took her and sat down, opening her breastflap just enough for the baby to reach. The baby nursed immediately, relaxing in Raincloud’s arms.

  One of the Urulite ladies sighed in amazement. “She really is a female, after all.”

  “Maybe that’s what the Champion really needed this afternoon.”

  Shrieks of la
ughter followed, and the masks tilted in every direction as the ladies shared their amusement. Then the laughter died, and the ladies rose to their feet.

  A newcomer approached the group. She wore a robe of crimson, and a gold tiara pinned her hood down upon her head.

  Iras arose, with her Elysian instinct for introductions. “Her Imperial Highness the Queen Mother Bhera,” she announced. “May I introduce, uh, Raincloud Windclan,” she added, prudently avoiding any gendered titles.

  “So I hear.” Queen Mother Bhera spoke in a slurred tone, as if she had a speech impediment. A common problem for sims; even Rhun had had had a touch of it. She lifted a white-gloved hand.

  Without a word the rest of the ladies got up and seemed to glide out of the room, their shoes barely visible beneath their robes. Raincloud eyed them incredulously. She had never seen such a subservient group of goddesses in all her life.

  A servant came forward to help the Queen Mother into a chair. She must be in pain, Raincloud realized; her back was hunched, and she moved stiffly.

  Iras touched Raincloud’s sleeve. “If you can manage, I’ll retire now.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself,” the Queen Mother commanded Raincloud as she nursed. “Take your time.” The servant poured her a cup of hot liquid, which she handled awkwardly in her gloved hands.

  Meanwhile Blueskywind was finishing her feeding; it only took a minute or two, now that her diet had diversified. She smiled broadly at her mother’s face and reached up to play with her braids.

  The Queen Mother leaned over curiously to inspect the child. Blueskywind returned the stare, momentarily transfixed by the sight of the jeweled mask. Then she put her tongue to her palate and produced a loud “Pop!”

  At that the Queen Mother sat up sharply, as if startled. “Extraordinary!” she exclaimed. “A most extraordinary child.”