“You must enter the birthing place first,” said Human. “You are the invited one.”
Ender stepped out into the open and strode into the moonlight. He could hear Ela and Ouanda following him, and Human padding along behind. Now he could see that Shouter was not the only female here. Several faces were in every doorway. “How many are there?” asked Ender.
Human didn’t answer. Ender turned to face him. “How many wives are there?” Ender repeated.
Human still did not answer. Not until Shouter sang again, more loudly and commandingly. Only then did Human translate. “In the birthing place, Speaker, it is only to speak when a wife asks you a question.”
Ender nodded gravely, then walked back to where the other males waited at the edge of the clearing. Ouanda and Ela followed him. He could hear Shouter singing behind him, and now he understood why the males referred to her by that name—her voice was enough to make the trees shake. Human caught up with Ender and tugged at his clothing. “She says why are you going, you haven’t been given permission to go. Speaker, this is a very bad thing, she’s very angry.”
“Tell her that I did not come to give instructions or to receive instructions. If she won’t treat me as an equal, I won’t treat her as an equal.”
“I can’t tell her that,” said Human.
“Then she’ll always wonder why I left, won’t she?”
“This is a great honor, to be called among the wives!”
“It is also a great honor for the Speaker of the Dead to come and visit them.”
Human stood still for a few moments, rigid with anxiety. Then he turned and spoke to Shouter.
She in turn fell silent. There was not a sound in the glen.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Speaker,” murmured Ouanda.
“I’m improvising,” said Ender. “How do you think it’s going?”
She didn’t answer.
Shouter went back into the large log house. Ender turned around and again headed for the forest. Almost immediately Shouter’s voice rang out again.
“She commands you to wait,” said Human.
Ender did not break stride, and in a moment he was on the other side of the piggy males. “If she asks me to return, I may come back. But you must tell her, Human, that I did not come to command or to be commanded.”
“I can’t say that,” said Human.
“Why not?” asked Ender.
“Let me,” said Ouanda. “Human, do you mean you can’t say it because you’re afraid, or because there are no words for it?”
“No words. For a brother to speak to a wife about him commanding her, and her petitioning him, those words can’t be said in that direction.”
Ouanda smiled at Ender. “Not mores, here, Speaker. Language.”
“Don’t they understand your language, Human?” asked Ender.
“Males’ Language can’t be spoken in the birthing place,” said Human.
“Tell her that my words can’t be spoken in Wives’ Language, but only in Males’ Language, and tell her that I—petition—that you be allowed to translate my words in Males’ Language.”
“You are a lot of trouble, Speaker,” said Human. He turned and spoke again to Shouter.
Suddenly the glen was full of the sound of Wives’ Language, a dozen different songs, like a choir warming up.
“Speaker,” said Ouanda, “you have now violated just about every rule of good anthropological practice.”
“Which ones did I miss?”
“The only one I can think of is that you haven’t killed any of them yet.”
“What you’re forgetting,” said Ender, “is that I’m not here as a scientist to study them. I’m here as an ambassador to make a treaty with them.”
Just as quickly as they started, the wives fell silent. Shouter emerged from her house and walked to the middle of the clearing to stand very near to the huge central tree. She sang.
Human answered her—in Brothers’ Language. Ouanda murmured a rough translation. “He’s telling her what you said, about coming as equals.”
Again the wives erupted in cacophonous song.
“How do you think they’ll respond?” asked Ela.
“How could I know?” asked Ouanda. “I’ve been here exactly as often as you.”
“I think they’ll understand it and let me in on those terms,” said Ender.
“Why do you think that?” asked Ouanda.
“Because I came out of the sky. Because I’m the Speaker for the Dead.”
“Don’t start thinking you’re a great white god,” said Ouanda. “It usually doesn’t work out very well.”
“I’m not Pizarro,” said Ender.
In his ear Jane murmured, “I’m beginning to make some sense out of the Wives’ Language. The basics of the Males’ Language were in Pipo’s and Libo’s notes. Human’s translations are very helpful. The Wives’ Language is closely related to Males’ Language, except that it seems more archaic—closer to the roots, more old forms—and all the female-to-male forms are in the imperative voice, while the male-to-female forms are in the supplicative. The female word for the brothers seems to be related to the male word for macio, the tree worm. If this is the language of love, it’s a wonder they manage to reproduce at all.”
Ender smiled. It was good to hear Jane speak to him again, good to know he would have her help.
He realized that Mandachuva had been asking Ouanda a question, for now he heard her whispered answer. “He’s listening to the jewel in his ear.”
“Is it the hive queen?” asked Mandachuva.
“No,” said Ouanda. “It’s a . . .” She struggled to find a word. “It’s a computer. A machine with a voice.”
“Can I have one?” asked Mandachuva.
“Someday,” Ender answered, saving Ouanda the trouble of trying to figure out how to answer.
The wives fell silent, and again Shouter’s voice was alone. Immediately the males became agitated, bouncing up and down on their toes.
Jane whispered in his ear. “She’s speaking Males’ Language herself,” she said.
“Very great day,” said Arrow quietly. “The wives speaking Males’ Language in this place. Never happened before.”
“She invites you to come in,” said Human. “As a sister to a brother she invites you.”
Immediately Ender walked into the clearing and approached her directly. Even though she was taller than the males, she was still a good fifty centimeters shorter than Ender, so he fell to his knees at once. They were eye to eye.
“I am grateful for your kindness to me,” said Ender.
“I could say that in Wives’ Language,” Human said.
“Say it in your language anyway,” said Ender.
He did. Shouter reached out a hand and touched the smooth skin of his forehead, the rough stubble of his jaw; she pressed a finger against his lip, and he closed his eyes but did not flinch as she laid a delicate finger on his eyelid.
She spoke. “You are the holy Speaker?” translated Human. Jane corrected the translation. “He added the word holy.”
Ender looked Human in the eye. “I am not holy,” he said.
Human went rigid.
“Tell her.”
He was in turmoil for a moment; then he apparently decided that Ender was the less dangerous of the two. “She didn’t say holy.”
“Tell me what she says, as exactly as you can,” said Ender.
“If you aren’t holy,” said Human, “how did you know what she really said?”
“Please,” said Ender, “be truthful between her and me.”
“To you I’ll be truthful,” said Human. “But when I speak to her, it’s my voice she hears saying your words. I have to say them—carefully.”
“Be truthful,” said Ender. “Don’t be afraid. It’s important that she knows exactly what I said. Tell her this. Say that I ask her to forgive you for speaking to her rudely, but I am a rude framling and you must say exactly what I say.”
Human rolled his eyes, but turned to Shouter and spoke.
She answered briefly. Human translated. “She says her head is not carved from merdona root. Of course she understands that.”
“Tell her that we humans have never seen such a great tree before. Ask her to explain to us what she and the other wives do with this tree.”
Ouanda was aghast. “You certainly get straight to the point, don’t you?”
But when Human translated Ender’s words, Shouter immediately went to the tree, touched it, and began to sing.
Now, gathered closer to the tree, they could see the mass of creatures squirming on the bark. Most of them were no more than four or five centimeters long. They looked vaguely fetal, though a thin haze of dark fur covered their pinkish bodies. Their eyes were open. They climbed over each other, struggling to win a place at one of the smears of drying dough that dotted the bark.
“Amaranth mash,” said Ouanda.
“Babies,” said Ela.
“Not babies,” said Human. “These are almost grown enough to walk.”
Ender stepped to the tree, reached out his hand. Shouter abruptly stopped her song. But Ender did not stop his movement. He touched his fingers to the bark near a young piggy. In its climbing, it touched him, climbed over his hand, clung to him. “Do you know this one by name?” asked Ender.
Frightened, Human hastily translated. And gave back Shouter’s answer. “That one is a brother of mine,” he said. “He won’t get a name until he can walk on two legs. His father is Rooter.”
“And his mother?” asked Ender.
“Oh, the little mothers never have names,” said Human.
“Ask her.”
Human asked her. She answered. “She says his mother was very strong and very courageous. She made herself fat in bearing her five children.” Human touched his forehead. “Five children is a very good number. And she was fat enough to feed them all.”
“Does his mother bring the mash that feeds him?”
Human looked horrified. “Speaker, I can’t say that. Not in any language.”
“Why not?”
“I told you. She was fat enough to feed all five of her little ones. Put back that little brother, and let the wife sing to the tree.”
Ender put his hand near the trunk again and the little brother squirmed away. Shouter resumed her song. Ouanda glared at Ender for his impetuousness. But Ela seemed excited. “Don’t you see? The newborns feed on their mother’s body.”
Ender drew away, repelled.
“How can you say that?” asked Ouanda.
“Look at them squirming on the trees, just like little macios. They and the macios must have been competitors.” Ela pointed toward a part of the tree unstained by amaranth mash. “The tree leaks sap. Here in the cracks. Back before the Descolada there must have been insects that fed on the sap, and the macios and the infant piggies competed to eat them. That’s why the piggies were able to mingle their genetic molecules with these trees. Not only did the infants live here, the adults constantly had to climb the trees to keep the macios away. Even when there were plenty of other food sources, they were still tied to these trees throughout their life cycles. Long before they ever became trees.”
“We’re studying piggy society,” said Ouanda impatiently. “Not the distant evolutionary past.”
“I’m conducting delicate negotiations,” said Ender. “So please be quiet and learn what you can without conducting a seminar.”
The singing reached a climax; a crack appeared in the side of the tree.
“They’re not going to knock down this tree for us, are they?” asked Ouanda, horrified.
“She is asking the tree to open her heart,” Human touched his forehead. “This is the mothertree, and it is the only one in all our forest. No harm may come to this tree, or all our children will come from other trees, and our fathers all will die.”
All the other wives’ voices joined Shouter’s now, and soon a hole gaped wide in the trunk of the mothertree. Immediately Ender moved to stand directly in front of the hole. It was too dark inside for him to see.
Ela took her nightstick from her belt and held it out to him. Ouanda’s hand flew out and seized Ela’s wrist. “A machine!” she said. “You can’t bring that here.”
Ender gently took the nightstick out of Ela’s hand. “The fence is off,” said Ender, “and we all can engage in Questionable Activities now.” He pointed the barrel of the nightstick at the ground and pressed it on, then slid his finger quickly along the barrel to soften the light and spread it. The wives murmured, and Shouter touched Human on the belly.
“I told them you could make little moons at night,” he said. “I told them you carried them with you.”
“Will it hurt anything if I let this light into the heart of the mothertree?”
Human asked Shouter, and Shouter reached for the nightstick. Then, holding it in trembling hands, she sang softly and tilted it slightly so that a sliver of the light passed through the hole. Almost at once she recoiled and pointed the nightstick the other direction. “The brightness blinds them,” Human said.
In Ender’s ear, Jane whispered, “The sound of her voice is echoing from the inside of the tree. When the light went in, the echo modulated, causing a high overtone and a shaping of the sound. The tree was answering, using the sound of Shouter’s own voice.”
“Can you see?” Ender said softly.
“Kneel down and get me close enough, and then move me across the opening.” Ender obeyed, letting his head move slowly in front of the hole, giving the jeweled ear a clear angle toward the interior. Jane described what she saw. Ender knelt there for a long time, not moving. Then he turned to the others. “The little mothers,” said Ender. “There are little mothers in there, pregnant ones. Not more than four centimeters long. One of them is giving birth.”
“You see with your jewel?” asked Ela.
Ouanda knelt beside him, trying to see inside and failing. “Incredible sexual dimorphism. The females come to sexual maturity in their infancy, give birth, and die.” She asked Human, “All of these little ones on the outside of the tree, they’re all brothers?”
Human repeated the question to Shouter. The wife reached up to a place near the aperture in the trunk and took down one fairly large infant. She sang a few words of explanation. “That one is a young wife,” Human translated. “She will join the other wives in caring for the children, when she’s old enough.”
“Is there only one?” asked Ela.
Ender shuddered and stood up. “That one is sterile, or else they never let her mate. She couldn’t possibly have had children.”
“Why not?” asked Ouanda.
“There’s no birth canal,” said Ender. “The babies eat their way out.”
Ouanda muttered a prayer.
Ela, however, was more curious than ever. “Fascinating,” she said. “But if they’re so small, how do they mate?”
“We carry them to the fathers, of course,” said Human. “How do you think? The father’s can’t come here, can they?”
“The fathers,” said Ouanda. “That’s what they call the most revered trees.”
“That’s right,” said Human. “The fathers are ripe on the bark. They put their dust on the bark, in the sap. We carry the little mother to the father the wives have chosen. She crawls on the bark, and the dust on the sap gets into her belly and fills it up with little ones.”
Ouanda wordlessly pointed to the small protuberances on Human’s belly.
“Yes,” Human said. “These are the carries. The honored brother puts the little mother on one of his carries, and she holds very tight all the way to the father.” He touched his belly. “It is the greatest joy we have in our second life. We would carry the little mothers every night if we could.”
Shouter sang, long and loud, and the hole in the mothertree began to close again.
“All those females, all the little mothers,” asked Ela. “Are they sentient?�
�
It was a word that Human didn’t know.
“Are they awake?” asked Ender.
“Of course,” said Human.
“What he means,” explained Ouanda, “is can the little mothers think? Do they understand language?”
“Them?” asked Human. “No, they’re no smarter than the cabras. And only a little smarter than the macios. They only do three things. Eat, crawl, and cling to the carry. The ones on the outside of the tree, now—they’re beginning to learn. I can remember climbing on the face of the mothertree. So I had memory then. But I’m one of the very few that remember so far back.”
Tears came unbidden to Ouanda’s eyes. “All the mothers, they’re born, they mate, they give birth and die, all in their infancy. They never even know they were alive.”
“It’s sexual dimorphism carried to a ridiculous extreme,” said Ela. “The females reach sexual maturity early, but the males reach it late. It’s ironic, isn’t it, that the dominant female adults are all sterile. They govern the whole tribe, and yet their own genes can’t be passed on—”
“Ela,” said Ouanda, “what if we could develop a way to let the little mothers bear their children without being devoured. A caesarean section. With a protein-rich nutrient substitute for the little mother’s corpse. Could the females survive to adulthood?”
Ela didn’t have a chance to answer. Ender took them both by the arms and pulled them away. “How dare you!” he whispered. “What if they could find a way to let infant human girls conceive and bear children, which would feed on their mother’s tiny corpse?”
“What are you talking about!” said Ouanda.
“That’s sick,” said Ela.
“We didn’t come here to attack them at the root of their lives,” said Ender. “We came here to find a way to share a world with them. In a hundred years or five hundred years, when they’ve learned enough to make changes for themselves, then they can decide whether to alter the way their children are conceived and born. But we can’t begin to guess what it would do to them if suddenly as many females as males came to maturity. To do what? They can’t bear more children, can they? They can’t compete with the males to become fathers, can they? What are they for?”
“But they’re dying without ever being alive—”
The Ender Quintet (Omnibus) Page 69
