Enge was horrified at the thought. “Such a thing cannot be.”
“Why not?” Ambalasi controlled her temper long enough to smoothly wrap the nefmakel back into place again. “Why not!” She turned away from the Sorogetso and snorted with anger. “There will always be incompetents. I have seen laboratory experiments go so wrong that you would be horrified if you gazed at the deformed results. Remember—all you see about you are the successes. The digesting pits hide the failures. We found Ambalasokei easily enough; others could have come before us. Records not kept, knowledge not passed on. We Yilanè have the fault of temporal indifference. We know that tomorrow’s tomorrow will be the same as yesterday’s yesterday—so find it unnecessary to record the passing of time, of events. What records that you do see are simply shadows of self-esteem. Something discovered, something done that will puff up some tiny ego. Records of failures are never kept.”
“Then you believe that the Sorogetso are the results of an experiment that went wrong?”
“Or one that went right—or one that should never have happened at all. It is one thing to tamper with the gene strings of ustuzou and other lower creatures. It is unheard of for a Yilanè to tamper with genes of Yilanè.”
“Even to improve them, to fight disease?”
“Silence! You say too much, know too little. Disease is eliminated by altering other organisms. We are as we are, as we have been since the egg of time. This discussion is closed.”
“Then I will open it again,” Enge said with great firmness. “Statement-now denies statement-past. You aided us to come to this place because you wished to study the relationship of our philosophy to physiological changes in our bodies. Is that not in the nature of an experiment with Yilanè?”
Ambalasi opened her mouth and moved her limbs to speak—but remained silent, motionless. Then she closed her mouth and was still for a long time, rigid with thought. When she finally did speak she framed controllers of respect.
“The string-knife of your mind never ceases to amaze me, Enge. You are right, of course, and I must give this much more thought. Perhaps my instant repulsion at Yilanè experiments was not natural, but a learned and now automatic repulsion. Come, let us eat, for this requires more thought than I am prepared to give at the present time.”
Ambalasi looked about testily but her assistant had gone. She registered displeasure-at-absence. “She should bring meat. She is well aware that I prefer to eat at this period of the day.”
“Pleasure in service, great Ambalasi. I will get it for you.”
“I will get it myself. Hunger undiminished by waiting delays.”
Enge walked with her through the growing city, past the groups of Yilanè engaged in concentrated talk. Enge registered pleasure of observation.
“As never before we can search the truths of Ugunenapsa without danger from others.”
“There is great danger from me to your worthless creatures. There is much in this city that needs less talking and more doing. Do not your Daughters of Despumation realize that without fargi in this city they must dirty their Yilanè hands and do fargi work?”
“We do Ugunenapsa’s work.”
“Ugunenapsa won’t put food into your mouths.”
“I think she has,” Enge said with some pride. “She brought you to us, for it was the strength of her thoughts on our bodies that drew your interest, brought us here. And there you see the results.”
Ambalasi had not visited the food preparation area since she had supervised the establishment of the enzyme processing. With the discovery of the giant eels in the river their food supply, while monotonous, was guaranteed. Nor had she heard complaints of late from the Daughters about how onerous were the labors to supply food for all. Now she saw why.
One of the Daughters, it was Omal, rested comfortably in the shade while three of the Sorogetso labored at the enzyme vats.
“They learn quickly,” Enge said, “and are grateful for the food we give them.”
“I am not sure that I approve,” Ambalasi said, taking the slab of eel on a fresh leaf that the Sorogetso held out to her. The server kept her eyes lowered as she hurried to prepare another for Enge.
“Lack of understanding,” Enge signed, then took her meat.
“Disruption of received order,” Ambalasi said, tearing off a great mouthful of eel. “Interruption of scientific observation. Your Daughters can do nothing right.” She finished the meat and hurled the leaf away from her with anger, then indicated the far shore of the river.
“These pseudo-fargi must be returned to their natural place. Sent away. Your slothful sisters must be made to work. You are disturbing everything. Have you forgotten already that we found the Sorogetso living not as we do but with their males among them—not sequestered in a hanalè? I must discover how this has been accomplished and record my studies. I must observe and record the details of their daily existence. This is an opportunity that cannot be repeated. I need to study them in their natural environment—not here slicing eels for greedy stomachs! Did you not observe the floating tree that guards their settlement? They use inanimate materials like the ustuzou, not animate life forms as we do. This interference with natural order must end—now. Return the Sorogetso instantly.”
“It will not be easy . . .”
“It will be simplicity itself. Order all of your Daughters of Lassitude to gather here, every one. I will speak to them. Instructions will be issued.”
Enge hesitated, thought about what must be done, then signed agreement. The time for a confrontation had finally arrived. She knew that it was due, overdue, for Ambalasi’s expectations and the vital needs of the Daughters were as different as day and night. She knew that they owed their very existence to the scientist, knew at the same time that this no longer mattered. They were here. That part was done. The sides were drawn; the clash inevitable.
“Attention,” she signed to the nearest Yilanè. “Utmost importance, all to gather in the ambesed. Urgent need, time soonest.”
They went there in silence. Although there was no eistaa for this city, still no agreement on how it would be governed, the ambesed had been grown because it was the center of all Yilanè cities. From all sides the Daughters hurried, obeying the urgency of the command, urged on by memories of earlier orders and persecutions. They were as one in their fear. They made way for Enge and Ambalasi. Side by side they proceeded to the raised mound where an eistaa, if there were to be an eistaa, would have her place. Enge turned to face the multitude, signed for silence, gathered her thoughts—then spoke.
“My Sisters. Ambalasi whom we admire and revere, who brought us here, who gave us our freedom and our lives, she whom we respect above all others, she wishes to address us on grave matters of mutual importance.”
Ambalasi stamped to the top of the mound and looked at the expectant, silent Yilanè, then spoke calmly and without passion.
“You are creatures of intelligence and understanding, I cannot deny that. You have all studied and understood the thoughts of Ugunenapsa, have had the intelligence to apply these thoughts to your own lives in order to be responsible for your own lives. But when you did this you broke the thread of continuity that binds fargi to Yilanè to eistaa. You have brought a new way of living into this world, a new society. You are enthused by what has happened, and you should be. Therefore you must devote a good part of your time to consider the effects of Ugunenapsa’s teachings on your lives.”
A murmured motion of agreement swayed the sisters. Ambalasi had their undivided attention. When she saw this she pounced, her body stern with anger, command in her voice.
“A part of your time—and no more! You have abandoned the eistaa and her commands that cause a city to live and grow. Therefore in order to live, to preserve the lives that you have saved from the wrath of an eistaa, you must find a way to order this new society by examining more closely the teachings of Ugunenapsa. But only part time, as I have said. The rest of the time you will work for the life and growth
of this city. Since none of you knows how to grow a city I shall tell you and you will obey my orders. Discussion will not be possible—only instant obedience.”
There were many shouts of pained complaint at this and Enge stepped forward, voicing the thoughts of them all.
“This not possible. You will be our eistaa, that which we have rejected.”
“You are correct. I will be the waiting-eistaa. Waiting for you to produce a more acceptable way of governing your city. As soon as you produce this I will remove myself from this position that I do not welcome, but which responsibility I reluctantly assume since it is the only way to keep this city alive. I say this not as a suggestion but as an ultimatum. Reject my offer and I reject you. If I remove my skills your city dies, remove my food preparation knowledge and you starve, remove my medical skills and you die poisonous deaths. Remove myself and the uruketo and leave you to your waiting deaths. But you are the ones who have rejected death and accepted life. Accept me and you have life. So you can do nothing but say yes to my generous offer.”
Having said this Ambalasi turned about abruptly and reached for a water-fruit; her throat was dry from talking. There was shocked silence, broken only by Far<’s call for attention as she strode to the mound.
“Ambalasi speaks only the truth,” she said with great emotion, her large eyes as wide and moist as a fargi’s. “But within her truth is another truth. None doubts that it was the strength of Ugunenapsa’s thoughts that brought us here to this place. To find the simple Sorogetso waiting here. They will be trained in all the labors of the city leaving us free to pursue our studies of the truths . . .”
“Negative!” Ambalasi said, striding to the mound and interrupting with the coarsest of movements and sounds. “That is impossible. The Sorogetso, all of them, return to their old way of living today and will no longer be permitted to enter this city. You can only accept or reject my generous offer. Live or die.”
Far< stepped before the old scientist, youth before age, calmness before rage. “Then we must reject you, stern Ambalasi, accept death if that is the only way that we can live. We will leave with the Sorogetso when they go, live simply as they do. They have food and they will share it. If some die it is enough that Ugunenapsa’s thoughts live.”
“Impossible. The Sorogetso must not be disturbed.”
“But how can you prevent us, kind friend? Will you kill us?”
“I will,” Ambalasi said without an instant’s hesitation. “I have hèsotsan. I will kill any and all of you who dare to interfere with the natural existence of the Sorogetso. You have done enough damage already.”
“Far< my Sister, Ambalasi our leader,” Enge said, stepping between them. “It is my strongest request that neither of you say things that you will regret, make promises that will be difficult to keep. Listen to me. There is a way. If there is any truth in Ugunenapsa’s teachings it is in the application of those teachings. We believe in ending death for others as well as ourselves. Therefore we will do as wise Ambalasi says, humbly obey her instructions as waiting-eistaa while we seek a more permanent solution to this major problem that confronts us.”
“Speak for yourself,” Far< said, drawing herself up firmly, her limbs shaped in rejection. “Speak for those who listen to you if they wish that. But you cannot speak for all of us, cannot speak for those of us who believe in efeneleiaa, the spirit of life, the common force behind all life, all thinking. The thing that differentiates live from dead. As we meditate about efeneleiaa we experience great ecstasy and powerful emotions. You cannot take this away from us with low labors and filthy hands. We will not be forced.”
“You will not be fed,” Ambalasi said with great practicality.
“Enough!” Enge ordered with a voice of thunder and all fell silent for none had heard her speak with such great firmness before. “We will discuss these matters—but we will not discuss them now. We will follow Ambalasi’s instructions until our studies of Ugunenapsa’s thoughts show us a way to rule ourselves.” She spun to face Far< who recoiled from the strength of her movements.
“You I bid to silence before us all. You condemn the Eistaa who orders our death—then you assume the role of eistaa-of-knowledge who will lead her followers to their deaths. Better that you should die that they should live. I do not will that—but I understand now the feelings of an eistaa who wills one to die so that all others should live. I reject this emotion—but I understand it.”
There were cries of pain from the sisters, moans of despair. Far< closed her great eyes as a shiver passed through her body. Then she began to speak but obeyed when Enge called for silence-for-all, in the name of Ugunenapsa whom they revered. When Enge spoke again it was with humility and sadness, all anger fled.
“My sisters, who are more to me than life itself for I would die happily if my death were needed to let the lowliest of you live. We disgrace ourselves and Ugunenapsa when we permit our divisions to control us. Let us serve Ugunenapsa in serving Ambalasi. Let us leave this place in silence and each of us meditate long on what has happened to us. Then we will discuss our problems among ourselves and work out mutually satisfactory answers. Now go.”
They did, in silence for the most part for they had much to think about, much to consider. When only Enge and Ambalasi were left the old scientist spoke with great weariness.
“That will do for the moment—but only for the moment. You are in for a great deal of trouble my friend. Take heed of Far< who is a troublemaker, who seeks divisions and leads others in her ways. She is a schism in your otherwise solid ranks.”
“I know—and I grieve. There was one once before who interpreted Ugenenapsa in her own manner, who died herself when she finally understood the wrongness of her thoughts. But many of the Daughters died because of her. May this never happen again.”
“It is already happening. I fear for the future of this city.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The first spring rains brought an unwelcome change to the valley of the Sasku. What had been thin vines hanging from the top of the enclosing walls now became burgeoning lengths that dropped lower every day toward the valley floor. They could not be burned, that had been tried without success, and were difficult to approach because of their poisonous thorns. Now swollen, poisonous green fruit could be seen ripening on their stems.
“When the fruit falls—then what? What murgu destruction is hidden within them?” Herilak said, looking up at the mass of growth above.
“It could be anything,” Sanone said, his voice wearier than any had ever heard, the weight of his many years bearing down on him as never before. The mandukto and the sammadar had drawn away from the others as they did often now; to search for answers to problems that were insoluble. Sanone’s face twisted with disgust as he looked at the harsh green growths above them, ringing the valley walls. “Anything could emerge, poisonous, deadly, they seem to change all the time. Or perhaps they contain only seeds to grow more of them. That would be bad enough.”
“Yesterday there was only a trickle of water in the river. Today it is completely dry.”
“We have the spring, there is plenty for all.”
“I want to see what they have done to our water; we have to know. I will take two hunters.”
“One of my young manduktos will go with you as well. Wrap yourselves in the cloth, legs and feet covered as well.”
“I know.” Herilak’s voice was grim. “Another child, dead. The thorns fly up from the sand when disturbed, very hard to see. We have had to pen and guard the mastodons. They will eat anything green. How will this all end?”
“It can end in only one way,” Sanone said, his voice bleak and empty. He turned and left.
Herilak led his small band past the guards and over the barrier that sealed the valley. It was hot in the muffling wrappings of cloth, but the protection was needed. The murgu kept their distance, always retreating when attacked, but the dart-throwers grew everywhere now.
They walked cautiously up th
e valley floor along the dry riverbed, the mud already caked into a hard crust. There was movement ahead and Herilak pointed his death-stick, but there was nothing more to be seen, just a clatter of retreating claws. A few more turns in the valley and they reached the barrier.
From wall to wall it stretched, a tangled mass of vines and intertwined growth, vivid with flowers; a vertical jungle. A little water trickled through this living dam to make a small pool at its base.
“We can cut it down, burn it,” Sarotil said. Herilak shook his head slowly, his face dark with anger, hatred—despair.
“Cut it, it will grow again. It won’t burn. Poison thorns await us if we go close. Come, I want to see where all the water is going.”
As they climbed up out of the dry riverbed there was a quick whistle of darts from above that bristled into their cloth coverings. Herilak fired back, climbed quickly. But there were no murgu there. The mandukto pointed to a shrub still swaying with the release of its burden; long roots from it ran back down the slope.
“We sprang the trap ourselves, when we stepped on the roots. They are growing these plants around us all of the time, more and more of them.”
There was nothing that could be said. They skirted the bush—and the others like it—walked up along the high bank until the living dam was below them. A small lake had been formed behind it which had burst the banks further upstream. The river now found a new course out into the desert and away from the valley.
It was a good thing that they still had the spring of pure water.
Once they were back behind the relative safety of the barrier they carefully plucked out the poisonous darts before stripping off the stifling layers of cloth. Herilak found Sanone waiting in their usual meeting place, and he reported what they had found.
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