How nice to do as he wanted. How simple to just lie. Her eyes met with Dray-Gon’s. “Will you meet again with Ray-Mon?” she asked quietly.
“By the Gods, Sharita,” Dray-Gon hissed, while he kept a smile attached to his face, “you are the most exasperating woman! At a time like this, what difference does that make?”
“I saw your eyes scan the crowd, as if you were looking for her.”
Something like a growl rumbled in Dray-Gon’s throat. “Sharita, one of your most annoying traits is your effort to finger your way through a man’s mind, and seek out every hidden little corner. There is a part of me that belongs to myself alone!”
Sharita kept her eyes straight ahead, though she too smiled and bowed her head to the right, to the left when someone greeted her. She thought back to the night when she and Dray-Gon had been most carried away in their love for each other, and yet he had whispered Ray-Mon’s name in his sleep.
Ras-Far had eyes only for his daughter, as dirty, tired, and rumpled-looking as the other travelers, and he had never loved her more. He watched as the son of Ron Ka assisted Sharita down from her horshet, and heard the crowd sigh and then cheer, for they were romantics as well as idealists. From this simple act, he knew his daughter had changed, for never before had she allowed anyone to aid her in the slightest way. And in what other ways had she changed? he wondered, as his heart gladdened.
Straight to him, Sharita ran; without dignity or poise she flung herself into her father’s waiting arms, and he was at last a whole man again. The hollow ache in Ras-Far’s chest filled with joy overflowing. Then the princess was embracing her mother…and even the minister, Gar-Rab, who became a study of ruffled and flustered expressions that finally ended in tears trickling from his eyes. Then she came back to him, and stood with her arms about her mother and her father, and watched as every son in blue hurried to his own delegation of waiting relatives and friends.
Sharita tried not to look at Mark-Kan’s parents, at his brother and sister, his uncles, aunts, and grandparents who only stood forlorn and lost in a crowd of so many that were happy.
The exhausted travelers were given time to rest, bathe, refresh themselves from the dust and grime of Bay Sol; then all came down into the great oval council rotunda, and sat with the leaders of twenty provinces, with the king and all his ministers. In the tiered balconies that rimmed the oval room, the families and close friends of the returned delegation to the Gods also sat and waited to hear of their adventures. Breathlessly waited, all very much aware that this was a historic day that would be written about for years and years to come.
No one raised a voice to dispute the right of Ron Ka’s son when he assumed to speak for the other travelers. He had been the captain…he had led them to the Gods, and back again. And oh, it was one strange and fascinating story he told.
They had not in their minds pictured what or who a god was. The compounding complexities of that fantasizing had always left them floundering helplessly, without even an image in mind. Now, they were forced to shift and rearrange their nebulous meanderings into a more defined quintessence. The Green Mountain—not a mountain at all!—but a metallic ship of space, from another, and greater, world than their own! Not once had they looked up at the twinkling, glittering stars and even considered there could be other living life on them. Their yesterdays had been too occupied with scuttling on the ground like bugs searching for a bite to eat, or looking for a hole to hide in.
During the days of building and reshaping their lives inside the transparent domes, not once had they expanded their thinking to look outward into the dark regions of outer space—that abstraction had eluded them. Not even Es-Trall had expressed belief in other peoples, other life upon the stars. All alone they had hitherto believed themselves in the competition against the elements for survival. Oh, yes, truly, this was a wondrous, exciting road without limits for dreams to travel upon!
With difficulty, those in the council room brought their thoughts back to the long table. These were steady men, who took one step at a time, or so they considered themselves. “Tell us, Dray-Gon, son of Ron Ka, in whose hands did the God place the guilt for the death of Bari-Bar?”
Dray-Gon who was standing, looked down at Sharita, sitting close, and he placed his hand over hers lying on the table, and squeezed her fingers tight. Successfully he had come through explaining Mark-Kan’s death, now he must successfully tell this other difficult part of their narrative.
“He was not a God the like of which I expected, absolute and all-knowing, as I had presumed he would be. He is like us, considering when he makes a decision. He made it very clear that he did not and could not know of Bari-Bar, just as he knew nothing of all El Dorraine, or any of us, until we came and tapped on that towering, silver leg of his green ship. He, of his enormous size, knew nothing of our small, minute existence.”
Some people in the room paled on hearing that, so Dray-Gon quickly said, “But didn’t we always suspect that possibly the Gods didn’t see us? They never responded to our prayers or our pleas. Still we kept on believing, for we knew truthfully in our hearts they were there—and they were—two at one time, now only one. And he is a God of such a size it can’t be comprehended, so his wisdom is of that proportional size also. He has seen things we have never thought or dreamed of. He pictured his world for us—and what a size it must have been! It still is, somewhere.
“They had so many problems on his gigantic green and blue world that we don’t have,” Dray-Gon continued. “We have the pufars, a blessing that would have saved them from depleting their world of natural resources in order to feed and care for themselves. They expended everything, without thought of repletion, and wallowed in ways of self-gratification in efforts to satisfy every sense and every appetite. They made their mistakes and paid dearly for them. Now, the God in his wisdom of past experience, says we, too, are making our mistakes, and will pay dearly for them as well.”
Even the king pulled in his breath on hearing this. But no one spoke, just continued to listen attentively as Dray-Gon continued: “Our God says that man was not meant to live beneath a bowl, even a transparent one that allows the lights of our suns to penetrate. He says we have constructed havens of safety for ourselves, and forgotten the needs of the wildlands. It is his theory that the people of Bari-Bar developed their peculiar trait of arguing and quibbling over trivialities out of idleness and boredom, and in this way added needed excitement to their lives. But incessant arguing causes hidden resentments and hostilities that must at some time surface. On that tragic night, the God says, something triggered all that latent anger, smothered hostilities, and resentments—and they ran forth into the night and slaughtered themselves in a frenzy of madness. That most wise God, who would insist he is only a man of another size and color, says that in each of us, there is a bit of animal, a touch of the warfar that seeks to kill and destroy, unless we keep our minds always on high ideals. He said the pufars were sent as a gift to set us free—instead we used them to build cages for ourselves. Then we walked into our cages and told ourselves we were happy to be so imprisoned. We have managed to keep the bad weather out—and in so doing, have locked ourselves in! He believes we have made a huge mistake to sit back and be satisfied with our lives under our pretty protective domes, while we look at our desolate, barren lands and do nothing to save or change them. We took a gift offered by Bay Gar and Bay Sol—and we have given to them nothing in return! So, the God says, we are all guilty of the death of Bari-Bar—every one of us who is so shortsighted, has blood upon his or her hands.”
Very much taken aback, the men at the long table sat silent, stunned and surprised. Long minutes of contemplation passed before someone said, “Then it is Upper Dorraine’s fault, for they built the first domes—they are responsible more so than Lower Dorraine!”
This was immediately, hotly rebuffed. “But for we Uppers, the pufar would never have been discovered, and we would all be dead—think of that!”
In
a commanding gesture, similar to that used by the king, Dray-Gon raised his hand for silence. “We are dealing now with the present, with today, not with the past—we cannot change that. The domes were constructed at a time when we needed them. In the beginning, it was not wrong to do—it is only that we have lived too long in them, and have been too satisfied and cozy within our limited, enclosed horizons. We failed to see beyond our own immediate needs, to the needs of our lands—our wildlands, our bays.”
How strange for the God to speak so, some thought. What had the land ever done for them but hold them back and woe them down with neverending work and grief. But a god was a god, even if he was but a giant man from another world, so they would think about it.
It was at this point, in the lull of heavy pondering, that the Princess Sharita rose to her feet. She disregarded Dray-Gon’s whispers that told her to sit down and keep her mouth shut, everything was going well, she didn’t have to risk spoiling everything.
Regally straight-backed, the princess commanded everyone’s attention as she addressed her father: “Your majesty, I would speak now on another subject that has been passed over lightly.”
The king narrowed his eyes, seeing Dray-Gon’s agitation, so he quietly asked, “Is it important, and relevant to the subject at hand?”
“Only if you consider your wife, daughter, mother, sisters, and all other women important.”
Dray-Gon leaned forward and whispered quickly to the king, “Do not allow her to speak!—or you will be as sorry as I!”
In a quandary, the king inclined his head and quietly considered. Then he addressed Sharita: “Tomorrow we will meet again in this council room, all those who are here today, and we will give you the floor so you may speak out on this important and relevant matter that concerns all the women of El Dorraine.”
“Thank you, Father.”
Ron Ka immediately rose to his feet and objected. “Your majesty, it is against all protocol for a woman to speak in this council room!”
Ras-Far half-smiled. “Is that a rule, Ron Ka? If so, it will be broken tomorrow for the first time. Think ahead to the days when my daughter will be your queen, and she will sit in the chair I now occupy—and I assure you, she will speak out then, just as she will have her turn tomorrow.” The king stood, as did everyone else instantly, for it was the worst possible taste and breach of etiquette to remain seated while royalty stood.
The princess rushed from the room, causing Dray-Gon to hurry after, but she was more familiar with the palace than he, and disappeared before he could break through the crowd that surrounded him and hindered his progress.
5
In Defense
of the Princess
The populace of El Dorraine went to bed that night with new thoughts reeling in their minds and awakened them in the morning, still demanding. It seemed that all the nebulous, mythological nuances that had been threading their minds were actually the glitterings of a light shining on genuine reality! All the time it had been there, a switch, a light, just waiting for their fumbling, hesitating, fearful hands to flick it on and light up the way to their future destiny!
Since their first recollections, they had believed that Gods lived on that distant Green Mountain—and there were—it had been proven. Once there had been two Gods, now only one, but he was real, tangible, not just a dream of religious zealots! Of course they had in their primitive, ignorant despairs named him responsible for their many woes, for their blustering storms, for the main source of all their sorrows, and their sometimes, but too brief, joys. The Gods had been responsible! Even when the Gods were not aware of what they were doing, to those they didn’t know existed, they had still been responsible! The Gods had footprinted their land, and charcoaled it black with their spaceship, then blown their planted ancestors up by the roots, after which they developed legs! Oh, the marvel of it all!
It was strange, though, this truth come so newly on. While they had speculated, questioned, doubted, groveling in fear, truth had been waiting. They were minute little nothings situated on a fleck of dry dust spinning in the black enormity of infinite space—but they had at last found the truth. They had a God of their own! So now they could be strong and daring, whereas they had been weak and fearful. No quest would ever be too much for them to risk again.
But on his bed, in the night, Dray-Gon lay restless, sleepless, tossing from side to side, his head filled with suspicion, with fears of another, less abstract kind. He had found a God and was about to lose the love of his life! Oh, that girl! That stubborn, hardheaded, tenacious, determined slip of a girl, who could drive him up the wall with her willful, rebellious ways. A witch she was! A sorceress who gave him no peace. She would speak the truth and spoil everything! And so needlessly, for he had explained Mark-Kan’s death in a way that everyone accepted without doubt or question—and all for nothing! There were those from the lower borderlands, his father included, who would feel no mercy, who would close their minds to what fate awaited a mere girl when she was exiled beyond the city domes, left in the open for the outlaws to use as they would. He slammed his fist hard into the pillow, so hard it burst open, and quacket feathers flew everywhere.
Springing from his bed, he pulled on a robe, and on bare feet he stole out of his room and down the long quiet corridors of the sleeping palace. He went cautiously, avoiding all the sentries who would question why he rambled about when he should be asleep. Desperately he flipped through his pages of memories, trying to recall the complex, bewildering path that would lead him to the hidden door that would take him up to Sharita’s apartment. Though he looked long and thoroughly, always he ended up in the very hall from which he had started. He swore! Damn this place that shielded her so well!
Deep in despair, fearing the consequences of what tomorrow would bring, and aching to hold Sharita in his arms, Dray-Gon sought to thought-wave his warning to Sharita, knowing that those closely knit often could transfer words in this mysterious way. Eventually he fell asleep, but he resolved a plan that would save Sharita, despite what she confessed.
So they met once more, all the officials, all the important dignitaries and noblemen, with their families seated above in the tiered balconies of the grand oval council room. And very proudly the king ushered in his beautiful daughter, splendidly gowned in blue trimmed with fine lacings of silver and gold, and on her magnificent hair she wore the tiniest of crowns. The queen, seated upon the first balcony, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting, beamed with a pride equal to her husband’s.
She was applauded after her father’s introduction, and stood very solemnly looking over the many faces at the council table, though she refused to let her eyes meet with those who challenged her to stop, think, consider. She heard him whisper, “Please, Sharita, think of our future together.” Even to that she closed her mind. She would have her say, regardless of what happened next.
With great difficulty and stumbling words, she began her story of ugly horror and saw the faces about her turn grim and chastising, not wanting to listen, not wanting to hear, not wanting to believe she was in any way justified for what she had done. The face of her beloved father turned almost gray, and his hand lifted to his forehead as if he had an overwhelming headache. She pitied him, loved him, cried for him, knowing well what he was suffering now.
“So,” Sharita concluded, “now you know the true story of why Mark-Kan didn’t return. His was no heroic death! He brought about his own end by falling on the knife I held clenched fast between my knees, while I attempted to saw the ropes apart that bound my wrists.
“You may wonder why I didn’t let this ugliness stay hidden behind the considerate story Captain Dray-Gon concocted to protect me. Yet I cannot do that, remain quiet like all the other passive, unresisting women who allow this crime against their bodies, rather than strike out and protect themselves. I am compelled to speak out and tell the truth, in an effort to make all of you here see that some of our rules are unjust to women. It has always been so, since the ver
y beginning. My grandmothers were forced into marriage at the earliest possible ages, ten, eleven, twelve. And once married to a man chosen by their fathers, whether or not they wanted that husband, they were expected to bear as many children as possible, one after another. And who cared if those young women died from the complications of so much childbearing? No one cared. Always female babies have outnumbered males. My sex has always been considered expendable, of no intrinsic value! What made Baka a man famous in our history? Was it that he fathered Far-Awn? Or was it that he was, and still is, the only man who has fathered twelve sons in succession, with only one daughter to spoil his record?
“Which of you really care now about the violence that was done to me? Brutality that was committed while I was sick and half-sedated with medicine. You say to yourselves now, because I see it on your faces, that I should have submitted, and yielded to Mark-Kan, and said nothing to no one, because rape is a common little offense committed every day against some woman. And if she isn’t your daughter or your wife or your sister or niece or mother—then none of you care! And how are these men punished, who force women to submit against their will? They are taken out in a public square and given ten lashes on their bare backs!—and the next day they go out and do the same thing over again, and it is considered a joke, an honor to receive as many public whippings as possible!”
“You are a killer!” someone yelled when the princess paused for breath. “A murderess! You deserve the same punishment as any killer! Exile the princess, throw her out on the wildlands, let her survive—if she can!”
Gods of Green Mountain Page 31
