“This is designed to the largest scale,” Elem said. “As well as being the latest. Here is Entoban* and across the wide ocean is Gendasi*.”
“And these swirls of color?”
“These, of the cooler colors, are the winds of the sky that sweep like great rivers through the atmosphere. They rise here in the tropics where the sun heats the air, then move north and south affected by the rotation of this planet. These are of utmost importance to me in my studies, but for practical navigation these warm oranges and reds that mark the ocean currents, these are what guide us.”
“Explanation-in-detail.”
“Pleasure-in-expatiation. We are here now, in the ocean west of Yebèisk. At your instructions we continue to swim west until dark in case others follow. We will then be about here, in this red stream, a south-flowing current. We will drift with it during the night; then at dawn, after a position check, we will begin the voyage to our destination. Accuracy-of-swimming, desire-for-knowledge of our destination?”
“Uncertainty-now. Show me what you would do if our destination were Gendasi*.”
“Eagerness-in-enumerating. For Gendasi* we must follow this current as it sweeps south and west to midocean. This is a most interesting area, quite abundant with life. When we reach it we will choose the correct current for our destination. This is the one we seek, which sweeps here past Alakas-aksehent to the green land beyond.”
Ambalasi studied the chart closely, staring at Yebèisk, then allowing her left eye to move across the ocean to Gendasi*.
“A question. We swim in a great arc southwest to midocean, then another arc northwest to our destination. Think how much faster it would be if we simply cut straight across the ocean like this.” She ran the edge of her thumb across the chart in a swift motion. Elem stepped back and gasped, her crest flaring red.
“Impossible!” Modifiers of despair and fear. “What you suggest is . . . unnatural. For short periods, yes, as we do now, or crossing from one island to another, then it is in order. But nothing moves in a straight line. The sea creatures follow the currents of the sea, the birds the invisible currents of the air. Such a course that you suggest, why—it goes against nature. The uruketo would have to be forced away from the currents, though at night it would drift with them, then in the morning recalculation . . . plainly impossible!”
“A simple query of scientific interest, Elem, compose yourself. Since you are a worker-with-knowledge, for the greater good of your labors, I will tell you of the two different states of matter. Or do you already know Atepenepsa’s law?”
“Humble-ignorance, desire-for-input.”
“Stated in its most basic form, invisible matter moves in straight lines, visible matter does not. Remove the glaze from your eyes and close your mouth—you are a picture of fargi stupidity! Do you know of invisible matter?”
“No . . .”
“Lump of ignorance! Gravity is invisible—if I drop this chartweight it goes straight down. That-which-carries light is itself invisible and it moves the light in a straight line from object to eye. Inertia is invisible, yet it keeps a moving object . . . enough. I see that this is all beyond you. Do not feel shame for your imbecility. There are very few Yilanè like myself who have no intellectual limitations. Now, to our course. What lies here?”
Ambalasi placed her splayed fingers and thumbs upon the empty area of the chart beyond Maninlè, south of Gendasi*. Elem gaped. “Nothing, nothing at all.”
“Empty-of-mind, unconscious-of-being-alive! Must I teach you your own speciality? What are these on the chart, here and here?”
“Currents, ocean currents of course.”
“Wonderful. Now, amplification-of-detail, what causes currents?”
“Temperature differentials of sea water, wind, planetary rotation, impact on coastlines, gradient of ocean floor . . .”
“Good. Now these currents, here and here, examine them closely. They do not appear out of outer darkness so suddenly. Trace them backward.”
“I see, I see! Great Ambalasi you have drawn me from ignorance as a fargi is drawn from the sea. There must be a large mass of land here, where you have indicated. Though no one has ever seen it or recorded it—you have deduced its existence from these charts . . .”
As the significance of this was driven home, Elem lowered her head and signed from lowest-of-low to highest-on-high, as she suddenly realized that Ambalasi knew as much as she did of navigation. Perhaps more. Ambalasi nodded, accepting the awareness.
“You are skilled in your own science, Elem,” she said. “But it is I who am skilled in all sciences—as I have just proven. This is not the work of a moment, I have been looking at navigation charts for some years now, making these deductions. This voyage will prove that my contentions are correct. We are going here, to this blank spot on the map. It will never be blank again after we have reached it. Now go, bring Enge here to attend me.”
Enge went with Elem as soon as she was summoned. Ambalasi was standing in an arrogant pose when they joined her, as erect as her aged spine would permit, a chart grasped firmly in her hand. Elem approached the scientist as humble as a fargi. Enge, shaping her limbs with utmost respect, did not quite go that far. Ambalasi held out the chart at arm’s length, utmost gravity-importance in the gesture.
“Now I will show you, Enge. Now I will reveal our destination and the city that is awaiting you there.”
“We have true gratitude for what you have done for us.” Her arms shaped the curved gesture that indicated she spoke for everyone in her group.
“Excellent. Here, here on this chart, at this place, is our destination. While here—is our city.”
She opened her other hand as she spoke, extended it. Resting on her palm was a large and convoluted seed. Enge looked from chart to seed, then back again, before bending her head in appreciative acceptance.
“We are grateful. Since there is only an emptiness here on the chart I can only assume that with your superior knowledge you know of a new land that is there. A land without cities, without Yilanè, so therefore the seed is a city seed that will be grown to shape a city of our own.”
“Precisely,” Ambalasi said sharply, putting seed and chart down with unnecessary violence, ripples of color running along her crest. “You have a first-class brain, Enge, and I look forward to besting it.”
She did not add that she had not succeeded this time, nor did Enge make a point of mentioning it, but signed gratitude and agreement instead. The aged scientist was set in her ways and irascible—but could be allowed any eccentricities after all that she had done for them.
“Is it permitted to ask for more information on our destination in order to enjoy the working of a brain of such infinite magnitude?”
“It is permitted.” The colors died from Ambalasi’s crest as she accepted what was only her due. “Look closely and learn. The strength, the width, the temperature of these currents, these rivers in the sea, are noted on the charts for those with the capacity to understand them. Whose number of course includes me. I will not go into details, you would not understand them, but will give you my conclusions instead. Here is no small island or string of islands, but a great land mass whose size we will discover when we reach it. It lies to the south of Alpèasak which means that it will be gloriously warmer. Do you know the name of this new land, Enge?”
“I do,” she answered firmly.
“Then tell us all,” Ambalasi said with uncontrollable movements of pleasure.
“It is named Ambalasokei so that in tomorrow’s tomorrow, as long as Yilanè speak one to another, they will speak the name of she who brought life to this distant and unknown place.”
“Well composed,” Ambalasi acknowledged and Elem signalled agreement with modifiers of enlargement. “Now I will rest and conserve my energy. You will of course need my guidance so do not hesitate to waken me then even though it troubles you to do so.”
Word of what was happening spread quickly and there was great excitement. The D
aughters of Life pressed Enge to reveal the significance of Ambalasi’s disclosures and she did, standing in the shaft of light that fell from the open fin so all could hear.
“Ugunenapsa, our teacher, told us that the weakest is the strongest, the strongest the weakest. By this parable she meant to instruct us in the oneness of life, to make the point that the life of a still-ocean-wet fargi was as important to that fargi as the life of an eistaa would be to the eistaa. Ugunenapsa spoke this long ago, but the eternal truth of it has been driven home to us again today. Ambalasi, even though she is not yet a Daughter of Life, has profited from Ugunenapsa’s teaching so much so that she has led us from captivity and is leading us now to a new world where we will grow a city—that will be our city. Be humble before the wonder of that thought. A city without persecution for beliefs. A city without death. A city where we can grow together and learn together—and welcome fargi to grow and learn with us. I have said, with gratitude and without a moment’s hesitation, that this new land where we will grow this city will be called Ambalasokei.”
A wave of emotion swept her listeners, a wave of agreement that rippled their bodies in unison as a field of grass is moved by the wind. They were of a single mind.
“Now we will rest, for there will be much to be done upon arrival. Elem will need aid with this uruketo, so all with skills or the desire to assist should go to her and sign readiness and cooperation. The rest of us will compose our thoughts and prepare for that which is to come.”
* * *
Ambalasi, as befitted her age, lay dormant for the greater part of the voyage, though she was the only one. For the Daughters of Life the situation was too novel, too exciting, since for the first time they were in a majority and not being persecuted or derided. They could speak openly of their beliefs, discuss them and seek guidance from those, like Enge, whose clarity of thought they appreciated. While the passing of each day brought them closer to the shining reality of their new existence.
As she had instructed, Ambalasi was not disturbed until they entered the current that carried them away from the route that would have taken them past Maninlè and Alakas-aksehent to the mainland of Gendasi*. After drinking cool water and eating some meat, she rose and climbed slowly up to the summit of the uruketo’s fin. Elem and Enge were waiting for her there and signed respected greetings.
“Warm,” Ambalasi said, her eyes closing to vertical slits in the bright sunlight, signing modifers of pleasure and comfort.
“We are here,” Elem said, indicating their position on the chart with one thumb. “The waters are rich with life and contain unknown fish of giant size.”
“Unknown to you perhaps, and others of limited knowledge, but the ocean keeps no secrets from me. Have you captured any of these unknown fish?”
“They are delicious.” Elem signed pleasure of eating. Ambalasi instantly signed displeasure-of-gluttony and primacy of knowledge.
“You think of your stomach first and your brains last,” Ambalasi said testily. “Before you consume all the scientific resources of this ocean have a specimen brought before me.”
It was indeed impressive, a transparent, smooth length fringed with green fins—that when stretched out proved to be as long as a Yilanè is tall. Ambalasi took one look and expressed dislike-of-ignorance and superiority-of-knowledge.
“A fish indeed! Am I the only one with eyes to see, a brain to use? This is no more a fish than I am. It is an elver. And I see by the glaze in your eyes that the technical term is meaningless to you. Elvers are the larvae of eels—and I presume you know what eels are?”
“Very edible,” Enge said, knowing this would encourage the scientist to greater flights of insult which she obviously took great pleasure in.
“Edible! Again the processes of digestion not of cerebration! I find it hard to believe that we are of the same species. Once again I fill your empty brains with new information. Do you not realize that the largest elver known is no longer than the smallest nail on my foot? And you must know that mature eels grow to respectable—and I hurry to say it before you do—edible sizes.”
Enge looked down at the slowly writhing elver and conveyed appreciation of information—and growing amazement as she spoke. “That will mean that the adult forms will be gigantic!”
“It does indeed. Which is further proof that an unknown land is out there—for eels of that size have been completely unknown—up until this moment.”
A few days later Ambalasi ordered that a sample of the seawater be brought to her. A Yilanè climbed down from the fin to the uruketo’s broad back and dipped the transparent container into the waves that broke about her legs. Ambalasi raised it before her eyes, looked at it quizzically—then put it to her lips. Elem signed danger, knowing that the drinking of seawater could lead to dehydration and death.
“I am pleased at your concern,” Ambalasi said, “but it is misplaced. Taste for yourself.”
Elem hesitantly sipped from the container—then registered shock and surprise. Ambalasi agreed knowingly.
“Only a great river, greater than any we have ever known, could carry fresh water this far out to sea. I feel that we are on the edge of a mighty discovery.”
The next day they noted that sea birds were circling them in large number, sure evidence that they were close to land. Soon they saw floating vegetation in the water which was no longer as transparent and clear as it had been in midocean. Ambalasi took samples for examination before she made another of her positive statements.
“Suspended soil, bacterial life, egg cases, plankton, seeds. We are approaching an immense river that drains a vast area of an even larger continent. I predict, with some accuracy, that we are close to our destination, close to Ambalasokei.”
It rained for most of the next day, but stopped before evening. As the clouds cleared from the horizon ahead they witnessed a sunset of great majesty and color. As the uruketo surged over the long waves they glimpsed a dark line on the horizon below the flaming sky.
They slept that night, as Yilanè always sleep, unmoving and deeply, but all were awake at the first light of dawn. Elem ordered many of them below for the crush on top of the fin was unbearable. Ambalasi took the front position, as was her due, as the land on the horizon grew, came closer. It eventually opened out to reveal a wealth of small islands.
“No river,” Elem said with movements of disappointment.
Incapable-of-comprehension Ambalasi signed with some vehemence. “Small rivers have large mouths. A river that drains a continent carries silt and forms a delta of many islands. Find one of the channels through those islands and you will find our river rightly enough. And on the banks of its rich waters we shall plant the seed of the city.”
“There is no slight doubt within me that Ambalasi is right, for she is never wrong,” Enge said. “Out there, coming close, is our destiny, the beginning of a new life for us all. The new land of Ambalasokei where our city will grow.”
Angurpiamik nagsoqipadluinarpoq mungataq ingekaqaq.
PARAMUTAN SAYING
To a Paramutan a fresh fish is as good as a quick screw any day.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
In the end the decision was made. It took a long time for that is the Paramutan way. Endless conversation, interrupted only by quick mouthfuls of blubber and rotten meat, was the only manner in which to settle important matters. When the meat in one paukarut began to run out the conference was moved to another one. People came and went, some even fell asleep, and when they returned or woke up, they had to be told what had happened in the interim so even more discussion was needed.
Yet the decision had been made. Most of the ikkergaks would cross the ocean to catch ularuaq. But this was a long voyage and they would not be back until the end of autumn, might even have to wait until next spring, and food would be needed in the paukaruts before then. There were fish that could be found in the coastal waters here—so it was decided that one ikkergak would venture south to see what could be caught there, while
at the same time it would carry the Erqigdlit visitors back to their own land. This was something new and exciting and all of the Paramutan wanted to go, but they also accepted the fact that Kalaleq would command the ikkergak since he was the one who had the foresight to bring the Erqigdlit here in the first place.
Once the decision had been made no time was wasted. The ice was beginning to break up as the sun warmed and the days grew longer. The summer would be short—then winter would be upon them once again. With almost unseemly haste, after the protracted deliberations, supplies were struggled out to the ikkergaks. They were stowed aboard and one by one, with much shouting and laughter—long faces and tears would guarantee bad luck on the voyage—the vessels got under way. Angajorqaq hid when their ikkergak was ready to leave, but Armun stopped them from sailing and went back to find her hiding under the furs in the rear of the paukarut.
“You are being foolish,” Armun said, using her knuckle to wipe the tears from the brown fur of the other woman’s face.
“That is why I hid from you.”
“Among the Erqigdlit it is a sign of good fortune to be unhappy when someone leaves.”
“You are strange people and I do not want you to go.”
“We must. But we will return soon.”
Angajorqaq’s eyes widened and she whistled softly, a sign of great respect. “You must be able to see through the ice and through snow and into tomorrow if you say that. I did not know.”
Armun had not known herself—the words had just come as naturally as talking about something sure and certain. Her mother had been able to do that, lift the darkness of night a little and see tomorrow before anyone else could. Perhaps she could do that herself. She patted Angajorqaq’s face, stood and left her. The ikkergak was waiting, and they all shouted for her to run—and she did. Arnwheet jumping up and down happily and Harl shouting. Even Ortnar looked pleased. Only Kerrick still had the black expression that had captured his features ever since the decision to leave had been made. He tried to control it, to smile and to talk lightly, but he never succeeded for long. The look was always close by, ready to return. At night Armun could make him forget the future for awhile when he held her—but in the morning it always came back.
Winter in Eden Page 18
