“To one who hears only the waves, voices of friends are like songs.”
“What are songs?” Arnwheet asked, imitating Nadaske’s movements and sounds for the new word. Kerrick started to explain, then stopped. Arnwheet was here to listen and learn; he was not going to interfere.
“You have never heard a song? Perhaps because I have never sung one for you. I remember one that Esetta* used to sing.”
He sang hoarsely, disturbed by memories.
Young I go, once to the beach,
and I return.
Twice I go, no longer young,
will I return? But not a third…
Nadaske broke off suddenly, sat staring sightlessly across the water, seeing only memories.
Kerrick had heard the song before, in the hanalè where the males had been imprisoned. He had not understood it then. He did now, knew all there was to know about death on the beaches.
“Did someone swim on the beach and drown?” Arnwheet asked, aware of the unhappiness in the song, but not understanding it. Nadaske turned an eye in his direction, but did not speak.
“Do you eat well?” Kerrick asked. “If you are tired of fish I can bring meat…” He grew silent when he realized that Nadaske was not listening.
Arnwheet ran over and took Nadaske by one of his thumbs and shook it. “Aren’t you going to finish the song?”
Nadaske looked down at the boy, then signed inability. “It is a very sad song and one I should not have sung.” He carefully pulled his thumb free and looked towards Kerrick. “But this feeling has been growing since I have been here. What is to become of me? Why am I here?” The weariness with which he spoke muffled his motions, but his meaning was clear.
“You are here because we are efensele and I brought you here,” Kerrick said, worried. “I could not leave you alone back there.”
“Perhaps you should have. Perhaps I should have died when Imehei died. For two there was something. For one there is nothing.”
“We are here, Nadaske. We are your efenburu now. Arnwheet has many things to learn that only you can teach him.”
Nadaske stirred and thought about this, and when he answered some of the great sadness was gone.
“What you say is true. This is a very small efenburu of only three, but that is superior/magnified to being alone. I will think hard and I will remember a better song. There must be one.” His body moved as he thought of the songs he knew, searching for an appropriate one.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
efendasi’esekeistaa belekefeneleiaa, deenkè deedasorog beleksorop eedeninsu*.
The spirit of life, Efeneleiaa, is the supreme Eistaa of the City of Life and we are citizens and beings in this city.
Ugunenapsa’s third principle
As she walked the sunny pathway between the tall trees, Enge felt very much at peace with her surroundings. The trials of her life were part of the past, remote memories of cruelty and death. The present was warm and bright, the future hopefully so as well. When she entered the ambesed these emotions were in her walk and the movements of her body. The others already there saw this and were pleased.
“Share your thoughts, Enge,” Satsat asked, “for we can see they are the finest.”
“Not fine — just simple. As the sun warmed me my memories warm you. As I looked at our city I realized how far we have come. Think about it and join my pleasure. First there was Ugunenapsa and she was alone. She was the creator and her Eight Principles changed the world. Then came the time when a few of us believed what she taught, and for our beliefs we were condemned. Many of our sisters died, and there were the days when death seemed to be the fate awaiting all of us. But we kept our belief in Ugunenapsa always before us and it has now come to pass that we live in the world created by our beliefs. This city of beauty surrounds us, we work in harmony, those who would see us destroyed are distant and unaware of our existence. As we gather this morning in affirmation of our beliefs we can see about us the proof that our faith was not misplaced. We are between the thumbs of Ugunenapsa and find peace there.”
She looked in the direction of the eistaa’s place, as they all did, and raised her clamped thumbs.
“We are between her thumbs,” she said and all the others present repeated the gesture.
This ceremony had come about in a most natural way and it greatly pleased them all. Those who had been chosen to lead in the city’s labors met each morning here in the ambesed to discuss the work of the day, the most natural thing to do, since this was the unchanging ritual of all Yilanè cities. Even though the eistaa’s place remained empty they still gathered before it. Someone had remarked upon the bare and sunwarmed wood and, with sudden insight, Enge had observed that it was not empty for it was Ugunenapsa’s place. Efeneleiaa, the spirit of life, was the eistaa of this new city and ruled invisibly from within this ambesed. Now when they gathered they took strength from the empty wood knowing that it was not empty at all.
The quiet of this satisfying yet simple ceremony was fractured by Far!’s sound of attention to speaking. Before she could say any more Elem broke in.
“Matter of urgency, necessity to speak first. The uruketo hungers. I must take it into the ocean for some days so that it may feed.”
“Do it today, when you leave here,” Enge said.
“Matters of equal urgency,” Far! said, “to be discussed before departure of uruketo.”
“No,” Elem said with great firmness. “The safety and health of the creature comes first, priority ahead of any discussions.”
“Perfectly phrased, content of wisdom,” Ambalasei said as she walked slowly across the ambesed towards them. “I have noted often before that the predilection here for talking far outweighed the physical realities of life.”
She passed by and settled down comfortably in the eistaa’s place against the warm wood. If she was aware of the murmur of consternation that swept the Daughters she ignored it. She knew of the current superstition, therefore enjoyed sitting metaphorically in the invisible Ugunenapsa’s lap.
“It was of this unbeliever that I wished to speak,” Far! said with modifiers of distaste.
Shocked silence followed these bold words and Ambalasei’s crest stirred and flared with color. But before she could reply Enge broke in quickly, hoping to forestall another battle of wills.
“Ambalasei grew this city and it is named for her. You have no cause to speak of her in this insulting manner.”
“Cause enough,” Far! said, still speaking in the rudest possible way. “I have given this very much thought so you must all understand that I do not speak out impetuously. As we do not enjoy yesterday’s sun during this day’s rain, so do we not praise yesterday’s victories in the face of tomorrow’s failures.”
“If there is a point of any intelligence behind these ambiguities — make it,” Ambalasei said with modifiers of even greater insult. “Though I doubt it greatly.”
“You speak truth when you speak of your doubt,” Far! said, her large eyes glowing with the intensity of her feelings. “For you are the great doubter. You sit now in Ugunenapsa’s place and would have us think that you are superior to her. You are not. You block her will. You have removed the Sorogetso from this place and they were our future which is her future.”
“The Sorogetso, Daughter of Dissension, are no part of your sisterhood nor will they ever be.”
“Not now — but they were our hope. From their future efenburu of elininyil would have come the daughters of our future. You have interfered…”
“The first true statement you have made!”
“This shall not be. They must be returned. I have spoken with the crewmembers of the uruketo and none know the place where the Sorogetso were abandoned. You must tell us.”
“Never!”
“Then you condemn us to death.”
Shocked silence followed this cry of pain and only Ambalasei was unmoved by the strength of her feelings, feeling only distaste, then shaping her body so this would be clear
to them all.
“I think we have had enough of your insolence and insults, Ninperedapsa. Leave us.”
“No, for you cannot command me. You shall not evade the results of your evil actions that easily. I said death and I meant it. All here will die one day as all creatures must die. But when the last of us dies this city will also die — and with it Ugunenapsa’s words and her memory. You destroy us all. You take away our future.”
“Strong words from one so frail.” Ambalasei’s anger had faded. She was beginning to enjoy this contest of wills; life had been too peaceful of late. “It was Ugunenapsa who insured the end of the Daughters of Life by not supplying them with any Brothers of Life as well. I am not to blame for the frailties of your philosophy. Show me which of the Eight Principles describes breeding Sorogetso for your own purposes and I will be pleased to acknowledge that I am in the wrong.”
Even as Far! was starting her retort Enge stepped forward and stood between them.
“I will speak. Although I feel great pain at Far!’s manner of address I thank her for reminding us of this great problem. I thank great Ambalasei as well for reminding us that the solution must lie in Ugunenapsa’s words — for it is as she has said. If the answer does not lie there, then the problem is indeed insoluble. I do not believe that this can be so. The wisdom and insight that shaped the Eight Principles must also have considered the future of these principles. If we search we will find the answer.”
“I have sought and I have found,” Far! said. “I asked Ambalasei for aid only to save lives. But Ambalasei is the harbinger of death and aids us not. Therefore we turn our eyes from her and to Ugunenapsa as is only right. We turn our thoughts to the eighth principle. Daughters of Life, we bear the responsibility to help all others to know the Spirit of Life and the truth of the way of life. We must do as we have done in the past, go to the cities of the Yilanè and speak of the truths we know—”
“And die the death you so richly deserve,” Ambalasei broke in, her movements as cold as her words. “You called me the salvationer because I brought you from bondage and gave you a city where you could live without being killed for your beliefs. If you wish to reject this, then that is your choice. I ask only that Ninperedapsa, she who disrupts, formerly called Far!, be the first to go.”
Far! stood, slim and straight, and signed acceptance of all adversities. “I will do that.” She turned to Elem with a motion of query. “Will you take me to the shores of a Yilanè city so I can speak there of Ugunenapsa’s truths? Will you take me and those who believe as I do?”
Elem hesitated, confused and uncertain, then turned to Enge and signed for guidance. Enge accepted the burden of responsibility as she always had.
“This request cannot be ignored — nor can it be answered in an instant. Thought and consideration and consultation are required…”
“Why?” Far! broke in, rudely. “We are all free, all equal. If you stop me from doing what must be done you are restoring the rule of the eistaa who orders all things. This is unacceptable…”
“No!” Enge said loudly with signs of obedience and attention. “What is unacceptable is your coarseness of manner and degree of insult to she who made everything we now possess possible. We will give consideration to what you have said because it is of the gravest importance. But I order you into silence now for the manner of its presentation.”
“I will not be silenced, I will not be ordered. You have said you will consider this — then do so. I withdraw from your presence because that is my wish. But I will return to this place tomorrow at this time to hear your conclusions.”
Having said this Far! turned and left, followed by her acolytes. The silence that followed was filled with distaste and despair. Ambalasei spoke out quietly but with great intensity.
“Had I been there I would have stepped upon that one when she was still in the egg.”
Enge signed weary unhappiness. “Ambalasei, do not speak so, for you stir a response within me that shames me greatly.”
“You wish her disposed of just as I do. Natural enough.”
“She spoke only the truth.”
“And brought night to us in the sunlight of the day,” Satsat said. There were motions of agreement. “If she wishes to leave, perhaps to her death, is there reason to stop her?” The signs of agreement were stronger, perhaps even vehement.
“That should not be done,” Ambalasei said, to their astonishment. “I would be pleased beyond belief to see that one’s crest vanishing in the distance — but it would be a deadly mistake. Think twice before you inform the world of Yilanè of this city’s existence. What we have grown, they can take.”
“I understand your concern on our behalf,” Enge said, “and thank you for it. But it was never our thought to hide from others. We are here and here we shall remain. We have nothing to fear. It is not the way of the Yilanè, the thought itself is unacceptable, to go to another city except in peace.”
“Under what might be termed normal circumstances I agree. But the Daughters of Life are a threat to the rule of any eistaa. Has your presence or your teaching been tolerated anywhere, by any eistaa? I see the answer in your limbs. Never. There are cities to the north that are now threatened by the increasing cold of winter. If one of these cities should learn of your presence here — would they not want to take this empty city for their own?”
“But this city is not empty.”
“To an eistaa it is empty, for no eistaa rules here. Were I an eistaa who found this place I would consider it not as a possibility but as a necessity to bring rightful rule to disorganized chaos.” Ambalasei raised her voice to be heard over the loud cries of disapproval. “I say this from the point of view of an eistaa and it is the truth as she would see it. So beware of this expedition of doubtful value. Instead of bringing back converts it may bring extinction. You have been warned.”
“And you have our gratitude, Ambalasei,” Enge said. “But if Far! and her followers wish to leave they must be allowed to do so. We cannot stop them or order them. We must consider their suggestions as equal to any other suggestion. How are we to insure that Ugunenapsa’s words do not die with us? Search the Eight Principles, I beg you, just as I shall. The solution must be found.”
“And found before the uruketo returns,” Ambalasei said. She looked at Elem. “Suggestion strongly given to leave at once and not return until the creature has eaten its fill.”
Elem signed complete agreement and turned to go. Ambalasei left with her and did not speak until they were well away from the ambesed. “How many days will this take?”
“Three, possibly four, depending upon the fishing.”
“Take seven. If they have not come up with a solution to this problem in six days they never will. Far! is not going to do us the service of lying down and dying.”
Nor did she. Every morning she and her followers appeared in the ambesed. They asked the same two questions always. Have the Eight Principles revealed the answer? For five days they were answered only with silence, after which they asked the second question; has the uruketo returned? Then they left. Ambalasei did not attend these unhappy sessions: if there were solutions of any kind she would hear of them soon enough. She spent peaceful days examining and cataloging the specimens they had brought back. Only on the sixth day did she go to the ambesed soon after the sun rose, taking the eistaa’s place with some satisfaction. She was the first to arrive and acknowledged the greetings of the others as they approached, waited to speak until they were all there.
“Have you found the solution?” she asked. There was a great unhappiness behind Enge’s negative response.
“It eludes us.”
“Undoubtedly because it does not exist. Then you will permit Far! to leave?”
“We cannot stop her.”
“That is to be seen.”
There were movements at the ambesed entrance as Far! and her loyal followers entered. There were more of them now for her intent-of-purpose had inspired many. Ambalas
ei writhed in obvious distaste as Far! came and stood before them, then spoke.
“Has the answer been found among the Eight Principles?” There was superiority in her attitude as she looked at each of the silent Yilanè in turn. As she started to speak again Ambalasei interrupted.
“The answer is yes and no.”
“I do not speak to you or listen to you because you do not believe.”
“Your not speaking is too wonderful to even consider. But you will listen because what you do depends on my permission.”
Far! turned her back with motions of dismissal, would hear no more. It was Enge who spoke.
“Sorrow and apologies for lack of grace/rude behavior of a companion. What permission is it you speak of, Ambalasei?”
“The uruketo returns tomorrow.”
“We will leave then,” Far! said firmly; she had been listening with one eye.
“You will not!” Ambalasei spoke the command loudly and harshly. “I will remind you that the uruketo is mine, taken by me and controlled by me. Do you have any doubt about that?”
As always they turned to Enge for guidance. She stood in silent, unmoving thought, then gestured compliance.
“In this matter we must do as Ambalasei says. Freely she had herself imprisoned with us, escaped with us — and did indeed see that we left that city of unhappiness in this uruketo. She guided us here and grew our city of life. We have used the uruketo, but we use it only as she wills…”
“Wrong!” Far! said loudly. “If she does that then she is our eistaa and we have no eistaa.”
“Nor do you have an uruketo,” Ambalasei said with pleasurable malice. “You will do as I say or you will stay in the city. You are very young, hotheaded, vain and foolish Far!, though others might not agree. But you will do as I say, accept my instructions or try to swim back to Gendasi*. And it is a very long swim, even to one of your great strength of will.”
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