Ortnar found this difficult to understand. “But you are Tanu—and they are just filthy murgu. I will kill them for you, do not worry.”
“Part of me is filthy murgu too, Ortnar, you must never forget that. I grew up with them—and do not see them as you do. Put aside thoughts of hatred for a short while. Help me make this place safe for them, then we will go on.”
Ortnar looked at the murgu: one of them yawned and he stepped back at the sight of the rows of conical teeth. “If this is what you want, sammadar, then I will help you. But I cannot lie and say that I like it—or even understand your reasons for doing this thing.”
“Thank you for your help—that is all I ask. Now let me tell them what has been decided.”
Kerrick waited until the screams of agony had turned to wails of despair before he silenced them.
“Wet-from-ocean—or fearless-males? Which are you? Here is your opportunity to live, to be free of the females and the hanalè. To be strong and independent. We will build a shelter against the rain. Before we go you will be shown how to use the hèsotsan, to hunt and to fish. And when I return from the north I will come for you. Meanwhile all you have to do is stay alive.” They trembled with fear. “A female could do it,” he added maliciously.
Ortnar cut branches with his knife to make a shelter, then cut poles to place them upon. The two Yilanè watched him with great interest.
“I could do that as well, even better,” Nadaskè said. “Ustuzou hands are clumsy, not enough thumbs.”
“Try it then,” Kerrick said, passing over his flint knife. Ortnar saw the motion and jumped away from them, his own knife ready before him. Kerrick sighed.
“Ortnar—it is only fit that they build their own shelter. I think your skills would be better used if you took your death-stick and hunted some fresh meat for us.”
“That I will do,” Ortnar said, happy to be away from them. Nadaskè and Imehei were equally pleased when he left.
“Waxy-uncommunicative,” Imehei said. “And I fear the stone tooth on the stick.”
“He is hunting for us—so let us finish this work. Take my stone tooth and cut more branches. We will use them to finish the shelter. But first I will show you the secrets of the hàsotsan so you will be able to defend yourselves and kill fresh meat. There are fish and shellfish in the lake and they will be easy to catch—if you know how.”
Kerrick finished the instruction on the hèsotsan well before the hunter returned, knowing that Ortnar would have reacted strongly if he had seen the Yilanè holding weapons. They were hidden out of sight in the completed shelter before Kerrick issued his final instructions.
“Only use the preserved meat when there is no fresh meat or fish, since there is not a big enough supply to last very long.”
“Pain-in-hands, fatigue-of-body,” Nadaskè signed. Imehei flashed palm colors in agreement. Kerrick controlled his temper.
“Forceful-demand for all of your attention. You must do as I have said—or you will die of starvation. A slow death as the flesh wastes away, the skin hangs in loose folds, the teeth decay and drop out . . .”
Nadaskè’s wail of agony and movements of submission meant he had their attention.
“That won’t happen if you are wise, for there is plenty of game about. Your biggest danger may be the female Yilanè who will find you unless you take precautions.” He had their wide-eyed and silent attention now. “You know of the birds that fly and return with pictures. So keep under cover as much as you can—and look out for the large birds. When the boughs on the shelter die replace them with fresh ones. Do these things, and you will not be found and returned to the hanalè—and the beaches.”
Kerrick and Ortnar left at dawn, the two Yilanè watching their departure with widened, fright-filled eyes. Yet they were here by choice. Kerrick had done what he could for them, supplied them with food and weapons. He hoped that they would learn how to hunt before the preserved meat ran out. If it did, they at least had a choice the Tanu did not. They could return to their own. Enough. He had done what he could for them. Now he would think of himself and the long trek ahead of them. Think of Armun somewhere in the north, somewhere there. Alive.
The lake and the shelter vanished behind them, hidden by a curve in the trail.
efenabbu kakhalabbu hanefensat sathanapté.
THIS UGUNENAPSA SAID.
Life is the balance of death, just as sea is the balance of sky. If one kills life—then one kills oneself.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Enge had woven a shelter for herself from the broad leaves of the palms, then had secured it between the tree trunks to protect her from the nightly storms. The rainy season had begun here on the coast of Entoban* and the ground under the trees never dried out. To keep off the damp she had also made a platform of branches and was sitting on this now, facing out into the sun-filled clearing. Large and colorful dragonflies, each as long as her arm drifted through the air before her—yet she did not see them. She was looking instead inside herself, at her memories of Ugunenapsa’s words, at the multilayered truths behind their apparent simplicities. She had water in a gourd from the nearby stream, as well as food that her followers had brought from the city. She needed nothing else—not when she had the words to examine. She was grateful for this opportunity for uninterrupted meditation, day after warm day, and could have asked for nothing else.
So great was her attention to this inner voice that she was not aware when Efen and Satsat came from the forest and crossed the clearing before her. Only when they stood close and their bodies came between Enge and the bright sky did awareness penetrate.
“You are here,” she said, signing welcome with her thumbs.
“We bring you fresh meat, Enge,” Satsat said. “That beside you has gone rotten from the heat.”
Enge moved one eye downward. “So it has. I did not notice.”
“You did not notice, nor did you eat any part of it. Your flesh is going—and from your arms down to your legs I can see each bone of your ribcage clearly. To eat is to live.”
“I have been eating the words of Ugunenapsa so living a life of endless splendor. But you are right, the flesh needs life as well. Tell me of the city.” She listened attentively as she ate the cool, limp flesh.
“As you have told us we mingled with the fargi and have gone through the city and have seen the life of Yebèisk. There is a stream that flows through the ambesed, crossed by many golden bridges, and fargi crowd into the ambesed in large numbers. The fields are rich, the animals are beyond counting, the harbor busy with uruketo, the sun warm, a city of delights.”
“What of the Daughters of Life? Are there any in the city?”
Efen sat back on her tail with motions of unease and unhappiness, as did Satsat. “I spoke of the day things first in order to bring light to events of the night. The Daughters are here, we have seen them but cannot talk to them. They work in the orchards, are imprisoned there as well, behind a tall wall of poison thorns. Each day they bring fruit for the beasts to the exit, but may not leave. The fruit is taken away and meat put in its place. There are many guards there. We asked and were told only that inside were the Daughters of Death, no further questions permitted, prompt orders to leave. When Omal heard this she touched our thumbs and told us to bring this message to you. Those within must not be kept from the truth of Ugunenapsa and the truths of her teaching that we have received. She said that you would understand. She went forward then and spoke with the guards who struck her to the ground and then locked her in with the others.”
Enge recoiled at the thought of the violence done in the name of Life, but made motions of appreciation at the same time. “Omal is the strongest of us and she has done what I would have done myself had I her strength.”
“Yours is the strength that carries us all, Enge. She knows our will, knew you would go. So she went in your place so you would not be the one who was trapped. You must be free to teach the words of Ugunenapsa.”
“And I shal
l—and Omal will be freed. Tell me of the eistaa.”
“She is much liked and respected,” Satsat said. “All may approach her in the ambesed if there is need.”
“There is need,” Enge said, rising and brushing bits of meat from around her mouth. “In the days of peace here I have thought of Ugunenapsa’s words and how their clarity can be applied to our lives. I have considered how best to bring her teachings to all and the answer when it came was simplicity itself. I ask the question—why are we hated and feared? I answer the question—because our beliefs are seen by the misinformed as a threat to the rule of the eistaa and the succession of power that descends from her to the city. She commands the power of life and death, and when the power of death is taken from her she feels that power is diminished. So here is what I must do. I must talk to the eistaa and reveal the truth of Ugunenapsa’s words. When she understands she will be a Daughter of Life and will find that her rule is not diminished but enhanced. This is what I have do.”
“Don’t!” Efen’s voice was a wail of pain; Satsat echoed her movements as her own limbs twitched in expressions of despair. “We are too few and they are too many. You will be taken to the orchards and all will end there.”
Enge made calming motions of trust. “This is imminent-pain-of-departure speaking, not strong Efen. Each of us is unimportant; speaking of Ugunenapsa’s words is all. I do what must be done. Follow me to the ambesed but do not reveal yourselves. Wait and watch and learn. If I fail here you may succeed here or in the next city. Now—let us go.”
They went along the shore because this was the easiest way to enter the city. And here they could look with pleasure at the young playing in the sea, even a juvenile efenburu standing waist deep in the water, staring at them with wide, worried eyes. Mature, yet afraid to face the unknown land. Enge made colored motions of warmth and welcome with her palms but they took fright and vanished back into the sea. Farther along were the guarded beaches and they paused on the hill that overlooked them, stopping at a much-visited viewing place. Below them the torpid males basked in the sun on the sand, or were rocked by the shallow water. It was beautiful and relaxing and gave them strength to go on.
The ambesed was as Efen had described it. The fresh stream of water ran through it and many bent over to drink from it. Light bridges of golden metal spanned the water at various places and the most decorative bridge of all rose high, then dropped down before the eistaa where she sat in her place of honor. Graceful designs were painted on her body, and about each wrist were decorations of golden wire worked in patterns that echoed the design of the metal bridges.
Enge waved the others away from her, then bent over when she reached the stream and let the cool water wash over her hand. With the wetness she cleaned the dust from her face and forearms, let them dry for a moment in the sun. Then, head high, she walked steadily forward across the golden bridge to stand before Saagakel, Eistaa of Yebèisk, stood in the posture of expectancy, lower to higher.
“You are new to my city, welcome,” Saagakel said, appreciating the strength of line of the new arrival, noting at the same time the positive recognition of her authority from one with authority of her own. She liked that. It was seldom seen any more and even the best of her assistants used the formal lowest-of-low to highest-on-high.
“I am Enge and I have come from far Gendasi* and bring you word of what has happened there.” The circle of advisers around Saagakel gasped at the signs of death and destruction behind her words. “Do I have permission to speak now?”
“Speak, for these my closest are all of my efenburu and will know what I know. The water behind you is not there by chance. All are free to cross, none are free to stay unless I will it. Speak freely, though I bend like a tree before a storm at the sense of despair your thoughts tell us.”
“All will be told. How Inegban* came to Alpèasak, how Yilanè came to battle with ustuzou—and how that great city was destroyed.”
Though Enge could not lie she could tell the record of events in any manner she cared to. Therefore she waited until the very end to reveal the part that she had taken.
“Thus the city died. The fire consumed it and all there died within the burning city.”
“Yet you are here, Enge, are you not? And there was no indication of ending to your last words which signifies that there is more to come. But before you speak let me drink from a water-fruit for I feel that fire in my throat. Once when I was very young I saw fire and touched it. See.”
Saagakel held up her right hand, and there was a murmur from the watchers when they saw the white scars that replaced one of her thumbs. Then, while she drank, those about her spoke pained questions.
“All dead?”
“The city gone?”
“Ustuzou that use fire and talk and kill?”
Instant silence fell when Saagakel willed it. She put the fruit aside and signed Enge to continue. They all watched in horrified silence as she spoke.
“I have told you that Vaintè was my efenselè and I know of these events because I was the one who taught the ustuzou to speak. I did not teach it to hate, yet it hates Vaintè just as she hates it. The ustuzou lives, Vaintè lives, one of the very few who came away on the uruketo. For when the city died all who had not been eaten by the flames died as well—for how can a Yilanè live without her city?” There was a murmur of horrified agreement from the advisers but not from Saagakel who sat unmoving and still. “The commander lived, for the uruketo is her city. Vaintè lived, perhaps because she had been eistaa and the eistaa is the city. I lived as well.”
Saagakel understood, even if her advisers did not. “Tell me why you lived, Enge—or should I tell you.”
“Whichever pleases you, Eistaa. You are the city.”
“I am indeed. You did not die because you are a Daughter of Death.”
“Daughter of Life, Eistaa, for I am alive.”
Both spoke with the minimum of revealing motion. The advisers looked on in shocked silence.
“Have you heard of our fruit groves?” Enge signed response in the positive. “Good. Is there any reason why I should not send you there at once?”
“Every reason, Eistaa. I know things about Gendasi* known to no others alive. I know of the ustuzou there and can speak with them through the one I taught—who spared my life when the other ustuzou would have killed me.”
“Yes, these are matters of interest. But not sufficiently interesting enough to keep you from the groves, would you not agree?”
“I agree. There is only one reason to keep me from the groves. I know of life and death and have lived where all others have died. That is knowledge you should have, Eistaa—and I can teach it to you. You now have the power of death of every Yilanè in this ambesed, even your efenselè. You have only to command—and they die. But that is only half of what you should have. Life is the balance of death, as sea is the balance of sky. I can teach you of the power of life.”
With that Enge fell into static silence, looking and waiting. Ignoring the uproar from Saagakel’s advisers, just as the Eistaa did. She looked back at Enge in the same silence, the process of her thoughts invisible.
“All here will be silent,” Saagakel ordered. “I have decided. As interesting as your arguments are—they are equally dangerous. You said it yourself—the existence of the Daughters of Death threatens an eistaa’s rule. Therefore an eistaa has but a single choice.” She made a gesture calling the nearest two of her advisers forward. “Seize this bold creature, bind her and lead her to the groves. There will be no sedition spread in my city.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Strong thumbs bit deep into Enge’s flesh as she was seized and pushed down to her knees, held there as one of the retinue hurried away for bindings. Saagakel sat back with dignity as an excited babble of conversation sounded behind her. Above all this one voice rang out clearly, ordering them aside; there was one yipe of pain as a foot was trod upon. Through the assemblage a Yilanè pushed, made her way forward to stand
before Enge, to look down at her closely.
“I am Ambalasi,” she said hoarsely. Now that she was close Enge could see the lines of age on her face, the ragged edge to her pale crest. Then she turned about to face the eistaa and raked the claws of one foot along the ground in a sign of great disapproval. “I don’t think that this is wise, Saagakel. There is much of importance in what Enge says, much to be learned from her.”
“Too much of importance in what she says, wise Ambalasi, to let her remain free to spread her poison. I respect your great knowledge of the working of science—but this is a matter of politics and I listen only to my own advice.”
“Do not close your mind, Eistaa. The teachings of the Daughters relate directly to our biological selves which in turn relate directly to our very existence.”
“What do you know of their teachings?” Saagakel broke in, astonished.
“A good deal—since I have talked with the Daughters at length. In a crude way they have stumbled across a mind-body link that is of immense importance to the biology of longevity and aging. Therefore it is my polite request that the prisoner, Enge, be released in my custody for study in the place of science. Will you permit that?”
Although the expressions were polite, they were spoken loosely with only surface formality, close to insult since there were hints of negative qualifiers in the mode of address-to-Eistaa, and superiority-to-all in relation to science.
Saagakel roared with anger as she sprang to her feet. “Insult of insults—and in my own ambesed! I have respected your great knowledge and great age, Ambalasi, respect them still. Therefore I do not order your instant death but instead order you from my presence and from my ambesed, to return here again only if I will it. Or better still—leave my city. You have been talking of leaving, have made your plans to go far too many times to remember. Now is the time to do as you have threatened . . .”
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