“Frightened? In the beginning, I suppose I was. But I wasn’t alone, they had also captured this girl, I forget her name. But they killed her.” The memory was still just as clear, the emotion just as strong. The murgu with the girl’s blood on it turning towards him. Vaintè. “Yes, I was afraid, very afraid. I should have kept quiet, but I talked to the murgu. I would have been killed as well if I hadn’t talked to the one who held me. I did, I was that afraid. But I should not have talked.”
“Why should you have kept quiet if talking saved your life?”
Why indeed? He was no hunter then, brave in the face of death. He had just been a child, the sole survivor of his sammad. There had been no shame in speaking out, he realized now. It had saved his life, brought him here, brought him here to Armun who understood.
“No reason, no reason at all,” he said, smiling up at her. “I think that was when I stopped being afraid. Once they could talk to me they wanted me alive. At times they even needed me.”
“I think that you were as brave as a hunter, even though you were just a boy.”
These words disarmed him, he didn’t know why. For some reason he felt close to tears and had to turn away from her. Tears, now, he a hunter? Without reason? Good reason perhaps, they were the unshed tears of that little boy alone among the murgu. Well, that was well past, he was no longer little, no longer a boy. He looked back at Armun and without intending to reached out and took her hand. She did not pull away.
Kerrick was confused by what he felt now, for he did not know what it meant, could relate the powerful and unknown emotions within him only to what had happened those times alone with Vaintè, when she had seized him. He did not want to think about Vaintè now, or anything else Yilanè. Unknowingly his hand closed, hard, hurting her, but she did not pull away. A warmth swept over him as though from an unseen sun. Something important was happening to him, but he did not know what it was.
Not so Armun. She knew. She had listened often enough when the young women had talked, listened also to the older women who had children, when they told about their experiences, what went on in the night, in the tents when they were alone with a hunter. She knew what was happening now and welcomed it, opened herself to the sensations that overwhelmed her. More so because she had always had little hope, even less expectation. If only it were night now and they were alone! The women had been explicit, graphic about what was done. But it was day, not night. Yet it was so quiet. And she was too close to him now. When she pulled gently Kerrick opened his hand and she moved away. Rose and turned away from the look in his eyes.
Armun stepped outside the tent and looked about her. There was no one in sight; even the children were silent, gone. What did it mean?
The singing, of course, and when she realized this she began to tremble. Ulfadan had been a sammadar. They would all be at his singing, all the sammads, everyone. She and Kerrick were alone now.
With careful, deliberate movements she turned and went back into the tent. With sure hands laced shut the tent flap.
Just as surely opened the laces of her own clothing and knelt, pulling aside the furs, entering the warm darkness beneath them.
Her figure loomed, half-seen above him. He could not move much because of his leg. But he did not want to, and soon forgot about the leg completely. Her flesh was soft, unexpectedly warm, her hair brushing over his face in silent caress. When he put his arms about her the warmth of her body matched his as well. Memories of a cool body began slipping away. She was closer, closer still. She had no hard ribs, just warm flesh, round and firm, pushing with unexpected pleasure against his chest. His arms tightened, pressing her to him, her lips to his ear speaking sounds without words.
Outside the morning sun was burning through the mist, lifting it, taking the chill from the air.
Inside the tent, beneath the warmth of the furs, the heat of their bodies melted his memories of a cooler, harsher body. Pushed aside memories of a different life, a different existence, putting in their place a tender reality of infinitely greater worth.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
entaposop otoshkerke hespeleiaa
All life forms are mutable since DNA is endless in time.
Alpèasak churned with life, seethed and writhed from first light until dark. Where a few fargi had once moved along the broad avenues of the city between the trees there now paraded Yilanè on foot, Yilanè of rank born on palanquins, fargi alone and in crowds laden with burdens, even well-guarded groups of males, round-eyed and silent as they looked about at the incessant movement. The harbor had been greatly enlarged, yet was still not large enough to accommodate all of the arrivals, so that the dark forms of uruketo coming in from the ocean had to stay in the river, nuzzling against the bank, awaiting their turns. Once they were docked struggling masses of fargi unloaded their cargo, were pushed aside by the Yilanè passengers anxious to set foot on land after the long voyage.
Vaintè looked down at all the bustle with excitement, with pride in every taut line of her body. Her city, her labors, her ambition now fulfilled. Inegban* had come to Alpèasak at last. The union of the two cities brought an excitement with it that was impossible to resist. The youth and rawness of Alpèasak was now tempered with the age and wisdom of Inegban*. This union had produced an amalgam that seemed to be far superior to either of them alone. It was the world born anew, the egg of time just hatched, with all things possible, all promise bright.
There was a single shadow on this sunlit present and future, but Vaintè put that from her now since it was something that would be considered and acted upon later. At this present moment she wanted only to bask in the sun of her pleasure, warm herself on the beaches of success. Her thumbs gripped hard on the firm branch of the balustrade while so great was her excitement that all unknowing she shifted her weight from one foot to another in a solitary march of victory.
The voice spoke as from a great distance and Vaintè turned away reluctantly to see that Malsas‹ had joined her on the high platform. Yet so great was Vaintè’s pleasure that there was room for the other to enter and join in as well.
“See, Eistaa,” Vaintè spoke with pride in every movement. “It has been done. Winter will not come to Inegban*, instead Inegban* has come to endless summer here, one as warm and beneficent as any in the heart of Entoban*. Forever now will our city grow and prosper.”
“It is as you say, Vaintè. When we were apart our two hearts did not beat as one, our two cities were different and separate. Now we are one. I feel as you do, that our strength is limitless, that we can do anything. And we shall. Will you not think a second time about sitting beside me, working with me? Surely Stallan can lead the fargi and wipe the curse of the ustuzou from the northern land.”
“Perhaps she can, perhaps. But I know that I can and I will.” Vaintè drew her thumb down between her eyes in a swift gesture. “I am as two. Now that health has returned the hatred that filled me so fully has grown smaller — but still remains firm. A hard ball of hatred that I can feel within me. Stallan might be able to crush the ustuzou. But it is I who must do it in order to destroy this rock of hatred inside my body. When they are all dead, when the creature I raised up and nurtured is dead, only then will this rock dissolve and vanish. Then I shall be whole and ready to sit at your side and do as I am bid. But this other must I do first.”
Malsas‹ signed reluctant agreement. “I need you with me, but not when you are driven like this. Crush the ustuzou and crush the rock within. There is still the fullness of time ahead for Alpèasak.”
Vaintè signed her thanks and appreciation. “We gather our strength now and will be ready to attack them as soon as the weather warms in the north. The cold that drove us from Inegban* drives them south as well. But here the winter chill is our ally. The ustuzou must hunt now where we can reach them easily; they are watched. When the proper time comes they will die. We will sweep over them, then move north to strike the others. We will do this over and over, strike them again and again, unti
l they are all dead.”
“You will not use the boats? You spoke of attacking across the land instead?”
“They will expect us on the water. They do not know that we now have the uruktop and some trakast as well. It was Vanalpè who knew of these creatures, who traveled to Entoban*, to the far city of Mesekei , distant from the ocean, where creatures like these are used. She told them of our need, of the ustuzou who threaten, and was given the strongest breeding stock. The uruktop grow to maturity in less than a year. The young are now of a size, strong and ready. The tarakast are larger, take longer to mature, so only a few immature specimens were brought back, but even these will be of great aid. When we attack now we will do so by land. The ustuzou who escaped me now leads them, and it is with the group in the south. I have seen the creature in the pictures. He dies first. The rest will give us no problems when he has gone.”
Vaintè looked into the future, planning her revenge, seeing only cruel death for this one she hated. As her thoughts darkened so did the sky above as a thick cloud drifted before the sun and shadow closed in over them. When the shadow touched their skins, so did an even darker shadow touch their thoughts, something even more troublesome than the ustuzou. It was always this way, for bright as any day begins it always ends in the darkness of the night. There was a darkness in this city of light that always entered their thoughts when they saw what they were seeing now.
A line of Yifene, bound together at the waist, were moving slowly by below. The first in line looked around, then glanced upward, her quiet gaze drawn for some reason to the two figures looking down from above. The distance was not great so she was able to recognize them, recognized Vaintè.
Her hand moved in quick and warm recognition, one efenselè to another, then she was past.
“From my own efenburu,” Vaintè said bitterly. “That is a weight that I can never put down.”
“The fault is not yours,” Malsas‹ said. “There are Daughters of Death in my efenburu as well. This is a disease that eats us all.”
“This is a disease that may have a cure. I dare not speak more of it now; we could be overheard. But I will say that I see a possibility of hope.”
“You are first to me in all things,” Malsas‹ said, sincerity strong in every motion. “Do this, cure this disease, and none will be higher.”
Enge had not meant to acknowledge her efenselè, the gesture had been done unconsciously, yet even as she had done it she had realized her mistake. Vaintè would not have been pleased by it at any time. But now, with the Eistaa present, it might be considered an insult. Enge had not intended it so. It had been a mistake but not a deliberate one.
The line had halted before the barred gate, waiting for it to open, waiting for release. Release into prison, but for all of them it was a freedom. Here they were one, here they were free to believe the truth — and more important — speak the truth.
When she was with the other Daughters of Life, Enge no longer felt bound by her pledge not to speak to other Yilanè of her beliefs — for they all shared the same beliefs here. When Inegban* had come to Alpèasak the city’s unwelcome burden of believers had come as well. There were so many of them that this compound had been grown, walled and guarded so that their intellectual poison did not spread. What they spoke of between themselves, behind these walls, was of no importance to the rulers outside. Just as long as these treasonous thoughts stayed behind the sharp thorns of the wall.
Efenate hurried up to Enge, her slight form quivering with news. “It is Peleinè,” she said. “She is talking to us, answering our questions.”
“I will join you,” Enge said, the stiffness of her body scarcely concealing her troubled thoughts. Ugunenapsa’s teaching had always been clear to her, a beam of sunshine in the dark jungle of worry. But her teachings were not always seen that way by others, were open to interpretations and discussion. That was only right, for Ugunenapsa had taught about the freedom of the power of the mind to understand everything, not just the power of life and death. Although Enge agreed with this freedom, she was still disturbed by some of the interpretations of Ugunenapsa’s words, and of all the interpretations Peleinè’s disturbed her most of all.
Peleinè stood on the raised root of the large tree so that all those gathered around could understand what she was saying. Enge stopped at the edge of the crowd, settling back like the others onto her tail to listen. Peleinè was speaking in the new manner of discussion that had become so popular, using questions and answers to tell them what she wanted them to know.
“Ugunenapsa, the fargi still wet from the sea asked, Ugunenapsa, what makes me different from the squid in the sea? Then Ugunenapsa answered, the difference is, my daughter, that you can know of death, while the squid in the sea know only life.
“But knowing of death, how can I then know of life? The answer that Ugunenapsa then spoke was so simple and so clear that had it been spoken at the egg of time it would still ring clear tomorrow and tomorrow’s tomorrow. The answer was that which sustains us, for knowing of death we know the limits of life, therefore we live when others would die. That is the strength of our belief, that is the belief that is our strength.
“Then the fargi, wet from the sea in her simplicity, asked what of the squid I eat, do I not bring it death? And she was answered, no, the squid brings you life with its flesh and since it knows not of death it cannot die.”
There was a murmur of appreciation at this from the listeners, and Enge herself was moved by the clarity and beauty of the thought and for the moment forgot all reservations she may have had about the speaker. Eager in her desire for knowledge, one of the Yilanè cried out from the listening crowd.
“Wise Peleinè, what if the squid were so large that it threatened your life, and its taste was so horrible that it could not be eaten? What would you do then? Would you stand and be eaten, or would you kill even though you knew that you could not eat?”
Peleinè acknowledged the difficulty of the problem. “Here is where we must study Ugunenapsa’s thoughts closely. She spoke of the thing within us that cannot be seen, that enables us to speak and separates us from the unthinking beasts. To preserve this unseen thing is worthwhile, therefore killing the squid to preserve the unseen thing is worth doing. We are the Daughters of Life and must preserve life.”
“What if the squid could talk, what then?” someone called out, and since this was the question closest to all of them they were silent and attentive. When Peleinè spoke they all listened.
“For Ugunenapsa there was no answer for she knew of no talking squid.” Peleinè made her answer more explicit. “Nor were there talking ustuzou. Therefore we must seek in Ugunenapsa’s words for her true intent. Does speaking alone signify the knowledge of life and death? Or can an ustuzou speak, yet know not of death? If that is true, then to save our lives we might kill that ustuzou that speaks, for we know that we know of the difference, yet we know not if the ustuzou is aware. This is a decision that we must make.”
“But we cannot decide,” Enge called out, much disturbed. “We cannot decide unless we know, for if we do not know for certain then we violate all that Ugunenapsa taught.”
Peleinè turned in her direction and signed agreement yet worry. “Enge speaks the truth, but speaks the problem as well. We must consider the reservation that there is only the possibility that the ustuzou may know of life and death. This must be balanced against the fact that we surely do know of life and death. On one hand a doubt, on the other a certainty. Since life is the thing that we value the highest I say we must hold to the certainty and reject the doubt. There can be no other way.”
There were more questions, but Enge did not hear them, did not want to hear them. She could not escape her deep-felt belief that Peleinè was wrong, yet could not see her way clearly to expressing this certainty. She must ponder on it. She sought a quiet place away from the others and turned all of her attention inwards.
So wrapped was she in her thoughts that she did not notice t
he guards who went through the crowds seeking out a work party. Did not hear the little cries of distress when their teacher, Peleinè, was one of those selected, as though she were no different from the others. The working parties were chosen, leashed together, led away.
Those with Peleinè were not bound as were the others because they were taken away in smaller groups for different work. None of them noticed that in the end Peleinè was left alone. The guards were sent away as well by a Yilanè of authority who led Peleinè by a long route around the city to a door which opened for her. Peleinè went in unhappily, for this had happened before and she was still not sure within herself if what she was doing was correct. But until she decided she could make no protest, could not refuse to be here. Reluctantly she entered and closed the door behind her. There was only one other Yilanè present in the room.
“Now we will talk,” Vaintè said.
Peleinè stood with her head bowed, staring unseeingly at her hands as she nervously laced and unlaced her thumbs. “I feel that what I am doing is wrong,” she said finally. “I should not be here. I should not talk to you.”
“You have no cause to feel that way. I merely want to hear what you have to say. Is it not a duty of a Daughter of Life to speak to others about her beliefs, to bring enlightenment to them?”
“It is. Are you then enlightened, Vaintè? Do you now call me a Daughter of Life instead of a Daughter of Death because you believe as I do?”
“Not yet. You must talk to me more, present more convincing arguments before I join your ranks.”
Peleinè straightened up, suspicion in every movement of her body. “Then if you do not believe as we do — what need have you of me? Do you see me as a sower of dissension in the ranks of the Daughters? At times I see myself that way too, and wonder just where my process of careful analysis of our teachings is taking me.”
“It is taking you to the truth. It is convincing you that the ustuzou who kill us deserve killing in return. There is justice in that. We defend our beaches, we kill those creatures that threaten our existence. I do not ask you to change your beliefs. I ask you only to aid us in this just war. If you do this the benefits will be great for all of us. Our city will be saved. The Eistaa will remove your bonds and you will all be citizens once again. Your beliefs will be recognized as legitimate because they will not threaten the existence of Alpèasak. You will be the true leader then of the Daughters of Life and will follow the footsteps and teachings of Ugunenapsa.”
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