"The rumor we heard was that when he was in hiding at Oromono, he took people through the water and made them new." Ilihiak laughed bitterly. "The way Pabulog explained it, they were drowning babies. As if anyone would believe such a thing."
Monush wouldn't bother trying to explain to Ilihiak that it was only the king of the Nafari who had the right to make new men and women. Whoever and wherever this Akmaro was, his usurpation of the power of Motiak had nothing to do with the negotiations today. "Ilihiak, I think you have nothing to fear from Motiak. And whether your people choose to take the covenant or not, one way or another you'll find peace within the borders of Darakemba."
The king shook his head. "They'll take the covenant, or I won't lead them. We've had enough of trying to live as humans alone. It not only can't be done, but also isn't worth doing."
"That's settled, then," said Monush, and he started for the door.
"But where are you going?" asked Ilihiak.
"Wasn't this the secret you wanted to tell me?" asked Monush. "What your father and Pabulog did to Binadi?"
"No," said Ilihiak. "I could have told you that in front of my council. They all know how I feel about these things. No, I brought you here to show you something else. If the Elemaki knew about this, if even a hint of a rumor reached their ears. ..."
Hadn't he already promised to keep all secrets except from Motiak? "Show me, then," said Monush.
Ilihiak walked to his bed, a thick mat that lay on the floor in the center of his chamber. Sliding it out of the way, he brushed aside the reeds and rushes and then his fingers probed a certain spot in one of the stones of the floor and suddenly another large flagstone dropped away. It was on hinges, and where it had been, a dark hole gaped.
"Do you want me to bring you a torch?" asked Monush.
"No need," said Ilihiak. "I'll bring it up."
The king dropped down into the hole. In the darkness it had looked as though it went down forever, but in fact when Ilihiak stood upright his shoulders rose out of the hole. He bent down, picked up something heavy, and lifted it to the floor of the chamber. Then he climbed out.
The object was wrapped in a dirty cloth; the king unwound it, revealing a basket, which he opened, then took out a wooden box. Finally that, too, was open, and inside was the gleam of pure gold.
"What is it?" asked Monush.
"Look at the writing," said Ilihiak. "Can you read it?"
Monush looked at the characters engraved into the gold leaves. "No," he said. "But I'm not a scholar."
"Nor am I, but I'll tell you this much-it isn't in any language I've ever heard. These letters have almost no similarities with any alphabet, and the patterns are wrong for our language, too. Where are the suffixes and prefixes? Instead there are all these tiny words-what could they be? I tell you, this was not written by Nafari or Elemaki."
"Angels?" asked Monush.
"Did they have writing before the humans came?"
Monush shrugged. "Who knows? It doesn't look like their language, either. The words are all too short. As you said. Where did you get it?"
"As soon as I became king, I sent out a group of men to search for Darakemba so we could find our way back. My grandfather deliberately destroyed all records of the route he took to lead our people here from Darakemba and he refused to let anyone ever tell. He said it was because such information was useless-we were never going back." Ilihiak smiled wryly. "We knew we had come up the Tsido-rek-that's not hard-but it's not as if my men could ask directions from the local Elemaki. We had trouble enough already without them finding us sending out exploring parties. So they found a likely river and followed it. It was a very strange river, Monush-they followed it down and down and down till they reached a place where the water was very turbulent. And then the river continued in a straight line, but now the water was flowing the opposite way!"
"I've heard of the place," said Monush. "They found the Issibek. It's the next river over. It's really two rivers flowing directly toward each other. Where they meet, there's a tunnel leading through solid rock for many leagues until the river spouts out of the rock and forms a new river flowing to the sea."
"That explains it. To my men it seemed to be a miracle. They thought it was a sign they were on the right path."
"They found this writing there?"
"No. They followed the river to its northern head, and then found their way among ever lower valleys until at last they must have left the gornaya entirely. It was a hot, dry land, and to their horror it was covered by the bones of dead humans. As if there had been a terrible battle. Thousands and thousands and thousands of humans were slain, Monush-beyond all numbering. And all the dead were human, make no mistake about it. Not a digger, not an angel among them."
"I've never heard of such a place, though the desert is real enough. We call it Opustoshen-the place of desolation."
"That sounds like the right name for it," said Ilihiak. "My men were sure that they had found what happened to the people of Darakemba, and why they hadn't found the city anywhere along the river."
"They thought these dead humans were us?'
"Yes," said Ilihiak. "Who can tell, in a desert, how long anything has been dead? Or so they said to me. But as they searched among the bodies, they found these."
"What, lying on the ground, and nobody had already looted them?"
"Hidden in a cleft of the rock," said Ilihiak. "In a place that looks too small to get anything inside. One of the men had had a dream the night before, and in the dream he found something marvelous in a cleft of rock that he said was just like the one he found near the battlefield. So he reached inside-"
"The fool! Doesn't he know there are deadly snakes in the desert? They hide in shaded clefts like that during the day."
"There were a dozen snakes in there, the kind that make dancing music with their tails-"
"Deadly!"
"But they were as harmless as earthworms," said Ilihiak. "That's how my men knew that the Keeper really meant them to get these. And now here they are. The Elemaki would melt them down in a moment and make them into ornaments. But I was hoping that Mo-tiak... ."
Monush nodded. "Motiak has the Index." He looked Ilihiak in the eye. "That, too, is a secret. Not that people don't suppose that he has it. But it's better if people are unsure, so they don't bother trying to find it and see it or, worse, steal it. The Index knows all languages. Motiak can translate these records if any man on Earth can do it."
"Then I'll give them to him," said Ilihiak, already rewrapping the leaves of gold. "I didn't dare ask you if the Index was still had among the kings of the Nafari."
"It is," said Monush. "And while the Index sat silent for many generations, it awoke in the days of Motiak's grandfather, Motiab, and told him to get down to Darakemba."
"Yes," said Ilihiak. "And my grandfather rejected that decision."
"It's never good to argue with the Index," said Monush.
"All messengers of the Keeper are sacred," said Ilihiak, and shuddered.
"The blood of Binaro is not on your head," said Monush.
"It's on the heads of my people, and therefore it is on my head. You weren't here, Monush. The mob gave full approval and cheered when Binadi cried out in agony. Those who hated what we did- they're with Akmaro wherever he is."
"Then it's time, isn't it, for us to teach them what the covenant will mean and let them decide whether they want to go to Darakemba."
Ilihiak pulled his bed back over the hidden trove. "Though how we're going to win our freedom from the place without bloody war I have no idea."
Monush helped him arrange the bed just as it had been. "When they've agreed to take the covenant, Ilihiak, then the Keeper will show us how to escape."
Ilihiak smiled. "Just so I don't have to think of a way, I'm content."
Monush looked at him intently. Did he mean that?
"I never wanted to be king," said Ilihiak. "I'll gladly give up all thrones and privileges, when I can set aside
the burdens of office as well."
"A man who wouid willingly set aside the throne? I've never heard of such a thing," said Monush.
"If you knew all the pain that reigning here had brought me," said Ilihiak, "you'd call me a fool for staying in the job so long."
"Ilihiak, sir," said Monush, "I would never call you a fool, or permit another man to call you that in my presence."
Ilihiak smiled. "Then may I hope, Monush, that when I am no longer king, I might still have the honor of being your friend?"
Monush took Ilihiak's hands and placed them flat on his own cheeks. "My life is between your hands forever, my friend," said Monush.
Ilihiak took Monush's hands and repeated the gesture. "My life was worthless until the Keeper brought you to me. You were the awakening of all my hope. I know you came here only to do your duty to your king. But a man may see the worth of another man, regardless of rank or mission. My life is between your hands forever."
They embraced and touched lips in a kiss of friendship. Then, smiling, tears shamelessly on his cheeks, Ilihiak unbarred the door and returned to the tiny world where he was friend of no man, because he had to be king of all.
When Mon missed his target for the third time, Husu flew to him and stopped him. Others-most of them young angels in the earliest stages of training for Husu's flying army of spies-continued their practicing, filling their mouths with darts, the points protruding, then rapidly firing them one-handed through their blowtubes, trying to get them somewhere near the targets. Someday they would learn to shoot accurately while they beat their wings in flight, one foot holding the blowtube, the other foot holding a burden. For now, though, they practiced while standing on one foot. Mon was usually furious with himself when he missed-after all, he could hold the tube with two hands, could aim while standing on two feet. But today he could hardly bring himself to care.
"Mon, my young friend, you're tired, I think," said Husu.
Mon shrugged. "Haven't slept well?"
Mon shook his head. He hated having to explain himself. He was usually a better shot than this, he took pride in it.
"You're a better shot than this," said Husu. "If you had wings, I would already have promoted you."
Husu could not have said words more likely to sting, but of course he couldn't know that. "I knew the shot wasn't right when I blew," said Mon.
"And yet you blew."
Mon shrugged again.
"Children shrug," said Husu. "Soldiers analyze."
"I blew the dart because I didn't care," said Mon.
"Ah," said Husu. "If the target had been an Elemaki soldier, intent on cutting the throats of young angels standing in their roost, would you have cared?"
"I wake up in the night, again and again," said Mon. "Something's wrong."
"Such precision," said Husu. "And when you aim your darts, do you aim them at ‘something'? Why, then, you're sure to hit your target every time. Because you'll always hit ‘something.' "
"Something with Monush's expedition."
Husu looked concerned at once. "Have they been harmed?" he asked.
"I don't know. I don't think that's it. I don't get this feeling when bad things happen or I'd never sleep at all, would I, because something bad is happening all the time. It only happens from bad choices. Mistakes. Monush has made a mistake."
Husu chuckled. "And you don't get that feeling all the time?"
"A mistake about something that matters to me."
"I should think, then, that all mistakes that harm your father's kingdom would keep you awake, and believe me, there are plenty of those."
Mon turned to Husu and looked him in the eye. "I knew my explanation wouldn't please you, sir, but you wouldn't accept my shrug."
Husu stopped chuckling. "No, I want the truth."
"If I were heir to the king, then the whole kingdom would matter to me. As it stands, what matters to me is a very small thing indeed. Monush's expedition matters to me because. ..."
"Because you sent them."
"Father sent them."
"They went because of your word."
"They've made a mistake," said Mon.
Husu nodded. "But you can't do anything about it, can you? They aren't within your reach, are they? No one can fly into Elemaki territory-they hunt down angels and shoot them out of the sky, and at those elevations the air is too thin for us to fly long distances, or very high, either. So-all you could possibly do about this feeling you have is tell your superior officer."
"I suppose you're right," said Mon. oc
"And now I've been told," said Husu. "So-back to training. I'll let you take a nap when you hit the target in the heart three times in a row."
Which Mon did with his next three shots.
"Apparently you feel better," said Husu. "Now go and take a nap."
"You'll tell my father?"
"I'll tell your father that Monush has made a mistake. We'll have to wait and see what that mistake might be."
Monush sat in council with Ilihiak and several of his military advisers. Ilihiak's wife, Wissedwa, sat behind him. This was quite unusual, but Monush said nothing about having a woman present in a council of war. The Zenifi had their own customs, their own reasons for doing things. Monush knew enough-had learned well enough from Mo-tiak-that you don't take offense at the strange customs of other nations, you seek to learn from them. Still, was he wrong to think that some of the men studiously avoided looking at Wissedwa?
It took no time at all for the council to conclude that there was no point in trying to win their freedom through open rebellion. "Before you ever came here, Monush," said Ilihiak sadly, "we fought too many times and lost too many men. We can win a victory in the battlefield, and the underking we defeated merely comes back with armies of his brotherkings."
"Besides," said one of the old men, "the diggers breed like the maggots they are."
Ilihiak winced slightly. The people had agreed that they would take the covenant-that didn't mean their opinion of nonhumans was going to change. And when it came to diggers, it wouldn't much matter, anyway. Most diggers in Darakemba were slaves-captives of war or their descendants to the third generation. The Zenifi could hate diggers and not much bother their fellow citizens in Darakemba. It was their loathing for sky people that would cause problems.
During the early part of the meeting, Monush quickly learned that of all Ilihiak's advisers, it was Khideo who had the king's ear, and rightly so, because he spoke with calm wisdom and without passion. So it was a surprise that he had not been named Ush-Khideo by Ilihiak-that he had no title of honor at all. Now Khideo raised a hand slightly from his lap, and the others fell silent.
"O king," he said, "you have listened to my words many times when we went to war against the Elemaki. Now, O king, if my counsel has ever been of service to you, I beg you to listen to me now and I will be your true servant and deliver this nation out of bondage."
Monush wondered at the formality of Khideo's speech-hadn't he already spoken up several times, just like any of the other men?
Ilihiak touched his hand to his own lips, then opened his palm toward Khideo. "I give my voice to Khideo now."
Ah, so that was it. Khideo wasn't just giving casual counsel. He was asserting a privilege, and Ilihiak had granted it. More was at stake here than just advising the king. If Khideo's plan was accepted, apparently he would be the one to lead the exodus. No doubt Khideo feared that Monush would try to lead the Zenifi out of captivity; Khideo was forestalling any such possibility. Monush would have to be their guide back to Darakemba, and it would be Monush who would introduce them to the great Motiak. But Khideo had no intention of letting Monush supplant him-or Ilihiak-as leader of the nation until the last possible moment. How needless this maneuvering was; Monush was not a man who cared who was in command, as long as the plan they followed was a wise one.
"The great Motiak sent so few men to find us because any larger group would surely have been caught and destroyed by the E
lemaki," said Khideo.
Of course Khideo would remind everyone of how few men Monush had brought with him. But Monush took no offense. Instead, he raised his hand from his lap and Khideo nodded, giving him the privilege of speech. "As it was, if the enemy had not been made stupid by the power of the Keeper, we would have been caught." Even as he said the formulaic words, he wondered if perhaps they might not be true, at least in this case. Why hadn't any of the Elemaki looked up at one of the many times when Monush's men would have been visible moving across the face of the mountains?
"Now we propose to win the freedom of our whole people," said Khideo. "You know at this table that I do not shrink from battle. You know that I don't think even assassination is beneath my honor."
The others nodded gravely, and now Monush began to suppose that he knew why Khideo had no honorific. It could not have been Ilihiak that he once tried to assassinate-but Nuab must have had some enemies when he was still alive as a truly terrible king. Ilihiak could accept Khideo's counsel and even let him lead his armies, but he could never give an honorific to a man who tried to kill a king- especially his father, as unworthy as the old king might have been.
"Our only hope is to flee from this place," said Khideo. "But to do it, we have to take at least enough of our herds with us to feed us on our journey. Has anyone ever tried to keep turkeys quiet? Will our pigs move as swiftly as a fleeing army needs to move? Not to mention our women and children-the nursing babies, the toddlers-will we take them along the faces of cliffs? March them for half a day or more at top speed?"
"At least the Elemaki know how impossible it is for you to escape as a people," said Monush. "Therefore they post only a few guards here."
"Exactly," said Khideo.
"So we kill them and go!" cried one of the other men.
Khideo did not answer, but waited instead for Ilihiak to gently chide the man and return the voice to Khideo.
"I read again in the record we keep of the history of the Nafari," said Khideo. "When Nafai led his people away from the traitorous lying murderer Elemak and the foul diggers who served him, he had the help of the Keeper of Earth, who made all the Elemaki sleep so soundly that they didn't wake up."
Earthborn Page 10
