MT. AMURA — UPPER POOLS
TWOHUNDRED THIRTYSIXDAY, NONE
They had chosen a stone glade facing the desert. The pool of water, sheltered from the star’s mid-afternoon heat by the peak above it, was cool and inviting. Roe dangled her feet in it, enjoying the feel of cold rock and moist dirt beneath her hands. Braan was stretched out under one of the mountain evergreens, looking through the crevice to the plains below. On, on and still further, until sight was lost in an immense waste of sand. She did not doubt he saw it as clearly in his sleep as he did now. The guaard was hidden, as always.
There were no more games to play. The search parties were back, with the report that their group had aroused the suspicions of the waste dwellers, the paranoid Wasuu. Corymb had openly suggested the twins were dead and that the tribes, by their very silence, were refusing to help. Everyone’s nerves were on edge, and a pall seemed to have descended upon the mountain. Despite the first blush of turquoise and gold in the tilled fields, the whispering had begun. Not enough planted—not enough food. A conspiracy by a small group to garner controlling interest in the plantings. A Toli invasion from the north. Other rumors, some even more ridiculous. But many people had begun to fear that they were true.
Roe briefly wondered if it was of any use to have accompanied Braan. But he had looked so pleased when she had asked to come, forsaking husband, children, work and puppies. To what end? She knew Braan was blaming himself just as surely as she knew that no other way would have been practical. Air cars would have deeply offended the Cied; an army would have been insanity. She sighed. Now someone had to go. But who?
Gid or Jaac. They were the only two with both the authority and the experience to go and return—alive at the very least. Hundreds of tribes to investigate, their invisible territorial lines dividing the ciedär, their hates as fresh as the new seedlings. How could Braan choose? She twisted a long strand of hair and looked up quickly at the sound of approach from below.
Jaacav stepped into the small clearing, shaking free of evergreen needles. The lump of fur near Braan woofed in greeting, and rolled over.
“Such a welcome. At least you could have wagged your tail,” the woman said to Zair. Perceiving that he was being spoken to, the dog thumped his tail against Braan’s leg. Braan smiled and beckoned for her to join them.
“A good day’s work?” he asked.
“The shield is finished.” The words seemed heavy, dropping like a stone to the bottom of the pool. Roe wondered at her own reaction and then knew that there was nothing—not even Braan’s disapproval—to keep Jaac from going out into the ciedär.
Braan managed a sigh. “The first test may be all too soon,” he murmured.
“I do not intend to be here for it, but I will give you the desert report on its effectiveness.” Braan, studying her intently, did not reply. “I am going into the ciedär to look for survivors from the first expedition. I come to ask your permission to take Moran and Lyte, if they will go.”
“But not my permission to leave?”
“I am not only the watch officer but the captain of the guaard as well. You have failed to honor our rights on several occasions, and in this case especially I have let you have your way.”
“And?”
“This shall redeem for all. I believe they are still alive and that a Stigati or Wasuu tribe is holding them, awaiting outside orders. Whether the Dragoche’s, Corymb’s, or another’s orders is not important. I also think that they will not be alive much longer and that we must act quickly. We have perhaps thirtyday to check every Stigati and Wasuu tribe in the 200 Kilon—no more. I cannot believe Genuar is condoning this action. He is probably unaware of it now, but he has his spies. If the perpetrators think the Dragoche’s heir is onto their scheme, whatever it is, they will dump the survivors immediately. It calls for action—no more conversation.”
“Agreed.” Braan’s voice sounded very grave. “I do not want this, but I cannot deny it. Why Moran and Lyte?”
“I want fresh eyes and hearts to help the search, and no conflicts over what paths to take within the spiral. They are trained in ways like ours and have improved these last long days with hazelles and lack of weapons. Lyte no longer leaps for a blaster that is not there. Besides, they need to feel as if there is something they can do. I regret taking him from you, Roe, but I believe it is right.”
Her heart twisting suddenly at the loss of both of them, Roe whispered, “Yes. Do you think Lyte will come?”
“No. But I intend to ask. He will want to, even if he refuses.”
“Gid?” Braan asked.
“No. You need him here, Atare.” It all appeared settled in her mind.
“Tomorrow?”
“I think tonight,” Jaac replied. “With the proper witnesses, of course.”
“Of course,” Roe echoed. “Of course.” To be going ...
NUAMURA, MT. AMURA
TWOHUNDRED THIRTYSIXDAY, VESPERS
Lyte waited, sitting at a crossways, watching through a hole in the wall the glittering star fall toward the sea. He felt the tightness in his face, cursed it, but could do nothing to stop it. Moran would be coming soon. And what was he going to say to him?
Jaac had been straightforward. Pure clandestine work, in and out, not a soul aware—he and Moran were the only ones she wished to have accompany her into the ciedär. Spy out the situation, find and free any living travelers and silently return. Nine shriveled bodies had been found, only the Atares and Teloa unaccounted for. Briefly, he wondered which was harder on Braan, his missing brothers or the Caprican woman. A chance to be moving once again, a chance to do what he and Moran were best at.
Why do I hesitate? He had asked himself the same question for an hour, ever since he had turned Jaacav down. Whom do I punish? That pulled him up short - was it spite? Was his anger at this planet superseding everything else? This damn planet. Holding him, trapping him. It already had Moran. He had ceased to think of leaving, was actually supporting Braan’s decision as the Nualan tossed out law after law. Damn these crazy Nualans!
Moran charged around the corner and stopped abruptly. Lyte did not give him time to assess the situation. “Packed?” he asked conversationally, knowing that his tratore face would not fool Moran.
“Yes. You?”
“I’m not going.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not.”
Moran sat down next to him on the stone ledge. “That doesn’t make the slightest bit of sense. A chance to do what we’re trained for and love to do, and the possibility of recovering Kal alive so you can resolve your problem with Shinar.”
“There’s no problem with Shinar. She’s near her time. I think she’d like me around.”
“But you don’t intend for it to be permanent; nor does she. She wants Kal, and I think he still feels the same. Have you changed your mind?” There was a pause. “You’ve never let a difference of opinion keep you away from the action before. Not trouble with co-workers, not trouble with superiors. Why should this be different? Lyte, in the names of the gods, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” He heard the edge to his voice, and the bleakness behind the words. Moran did not answer. Lyte suddenly wondered if Roe had figured out what was bothering him, and had spoken to Moran. Wish she’d tell me ... The Axis Republic was dead, or dying—he was a warrior without a war to fight. Except against this planet. On whose side? He was not sure about Braan, or anyone else, except possibly Shinar. And Corymb. He knew where Corymb stood. At least he knew where he, himself, did not.
“I’ll miss you,” Moran said finally. Lyte waited for the famous Moran temper to blow, but the man was quiet, his expression sad. Reaching out Moran gently took hold of his friend’s shoulder a moment. Then he stood and walked toward his apartment to take leave of his wife.
Lyte sat there until long after dusk.
UPPER CAVERNS, MT. AMURA
TWOHUNDRED THIRTYSIXDAY, VESPERS
Ronüviel leaned against the ledge of the enclosed porch, her eyes idly scanning the horizon. The child she held close did not move; he slept soundly, oblivious to all that had passed above him in the previous hour.
They were gone. Just the two of them; Lyte had refused to the end. But she had questioned Moran at length when he had appeared, for every word, every thought. And she began to understand what was troubling Lyte. She also saw that it was something none of them could help him with—he had to resolve it on his own. A soft sigh escaped her, and Bree stirred slightly in response. She clasped the infant closer, as if trying to draw comfort from him. Then, deciding that she was being selfish, she gently set him back in his cradle. Roe carefully pulled the light blankets over both babies, her gaze lingering on them. She could see Moran there—mostly in Arien but in Bree also. She knew that someday she wanted more children but she hoped Mendülay arranged it in the future. Exhaustion crept up on her, scattering her thoughts. She wanted Moran to be the father. She wanted him for herself. Please, Lord, sweet Mendülay ...
She sat at her desk, trailing her fingers along the dark, polished wood, surveying the communiqués, the history 3AVs, the theology texts. For the last fifteenday she had done nothing but sleep, be with the babies, and study. She remembered Moran’s amusement when she admitted she needed to hire a homekeeper, and her relief when Liel volunteered to take on the work. Ronüviel had grown accustomed to the privacy of the apartment and was not ready to return to the huge entourage of palace days. Sometimes she could even forget who she was and what she represented.
What lay before her was everything the Amuran archives possessed on the Ciedärlien. She had analyzed it and tried to find answers. Her major finding was the simple fact that she needed more information. That could be easily accomplished; surface communication had been reestablished, and it was once again simple to send a message across the continent.
Reaching for a message capsule, she punched out brief requests to the prime ministers of Atare city, Merigwin, Tolis and Seedar, along with several minor coastal towns. They all had something in common; they traded with the Cied. She asked them the same question. Did they have any recorded information on the tribes? If so, would they send a copy of each notation, no matter how obscure, to the Ragäree by private communiqué? She sealed it with her name seal, now combined with the stars of the Brethren, the traditional addition marking the Ragäree’s sign. Moving to the entranceway, she softly asked one of the two warriors at the door to take the capsule to the communications station, wait while they were all sent, and then destroy the capsule. Roe stressed the need to make sure no one else gained knowledge of its contents. The capsule vanished into a pocket, and with a brief nod the warrior disappeared.
Roe returned to the window, knowing the guaard would take care of everything. It did not matter if spies in the various cities discovered her inquiries. By the time the information reached Corymb, Roe hoped to have formulated some concrete answers for his and the synod’s questions.
oOo
Darkness was falling when a knock came at the bronze shield.
“Enter.”
The dark-haired young woman swept in, setting a tray on the desk with a flourish. Liel dropped into the rocker with an exaggerated sigh, pushing her hair out of her face and looking momentarily younger than her sixteen standard. “The lifts had lines a kilometer long, so I took the stairs! I was worried when you did not come to dinner.”
“I forgot. The babies were hungry and with Moran leaving ... You should not have bothered.”
“You must eat,” Liel replied sternly. “You do not need to lose any more weight, just tone up what you have left! Time to start running up and down the stairs.” She uncovered a dish. “Cheese and noodles, and fresh fruits, whole grain bread, and—”
“Do you think they are alive?” Roe interrupted.
Liel was silent. “I am naive enough to believe that somehow we would know if they were gone. Have you felt any sendings from the hereafter?”
Roe smiled. “No.”
“Then eat your dinner. No more talk about morbid things. I have had enough of that. Lyte is in the hall, I think I shall go tempt him with one of these loaves. Oh, several groups requested a story tonight, if you are not too tired. Something hopeful, please, they are still scrubbing the tearstains off the rocks from the last one you told.” Liel flew out the door.
“But a mythmaker is not supposed to tell stories people want to hear,” Roe said aloud. “A mythmaker is a seeker of legends ... an interpreter of the truths that rise from the subconscious. My historical tales are merely pastry cream.” She picked up a piece of fruit and nibbled on it, wondering how the year really had gone for Liel. Her sixteenth birthday had ended with the destruction of her city. A tale was buried in there somewhere.
Roe ate quickly of what she wanted, a mood growing on her. Finishing the passion fruit, a fine ending to a comforting meal, Roe slipped on her sling carry.
As if by magic Liel appeared, no doubt summoned by the guaard. “Will you speak tonight?”
“Yes. Put Arien in the sling and bring Bree.” They gathered up the blankets, body liners and other paraphernalia required for baby travel, and then walked into the corridor. One warrior led them, one appeared from the darkness to watch the room, and the third followed as they walked toward the lifts. Passing the crossways, Roe found Lyte was still sitting by the hole in the cave wall, his hands playing with the bread loaf.
“Coming?” Roe asked. “I am going to tell a gatuhlpa.” Lyte did not turn his head. “I would like you to come.”
That got through to him. “In a little while.” Roe nodded for the warriors to continue.
In the garedoc a large crowd had already formed. Shinar came forward over the rocks as swiftly as her advanced state of pregnancy would allow, scooping up Arien from Roe’s basket.
“Odelle wants to hold her,” Shinar explained. Liel was settling in with Bree, the liner bags piled at her feet. Ronüviel pried herself loose from her thoughts about her children, her sister, and the fragile Odelle, whose pale face glowed at the prospect of holding Arien. The Atare woman walked slowly toward the great fire in the cavern’s center. All the family fires had burned down to nothing, the only light source in the garedoc the central pit. Several people threw more wood on the pyre, and Roe stood next to it, letting the warmth creep into her bones. Even with the approach of summer it was always so cool in there.
She took a small sachet from her pocket and threw it into the fire’s center. Green, blue and purple flames spouted among the red and gold. Slowly the garedoc grew silent, so quiet that the absence of sound was almost tangible. Roe lifted her head and hummed a few soft, tentative notes. Then a melody went up—mournful, almost poignant—and at the sound of it even the faxmur birds in the trees outside the cavern ceased to sing. Roe continued. Her tune was lonely and yet dignified, as if no other song could hold court in its presence. None of the people seated around the fire had ever heard it before, and those who could still separate heart from mind knew that it would not be heard again. Finally, an end was reached. The notes faded into silence.
“Hear, oh my people, the words of the Ancients. Twenty thousand times has Sol traced his ecliptic migration since mankind first recorded life. Cities, nations, rose and fell, rise and fall. Peoples reach for the pinnacle and collapse into dust. Great works are begun, laws set down, civilization finds its heights—all is forgotten. All ash, death in the winds. Once mankind was a free people, a seeking people, doomed to mortality, doomed to curiosity, never seeing Truth. Now they are in bondage of their own making; and they do not dare to raise their eyes to the stars.”
Roe was walking, circling the fire, her arms raised in entreaty. There were faces out there, faces she knew, but the trance cared not, refused to acknowledge them. She was absorbed, ready to perform, to interpret.
“Among the peoples, among the seed of Earth, of Terra, we alone have survived. We alone flourish. Others forget and are forgotten, while we seek the secrets left to be found. For fivethousandyear we have been the Brethren. We are the Brethren. We are Nuala.”
She could feel Braan’s presence as she warmed to her work, feel the power within her, in her words; the recognition of it in her people. The story continued, of a mechanical probe that certified Nuala as a paradise for colonization; of the brave peoples who chose to test their skills against new elements. The Atare, the Dielaan and the Seedar, three transport ships; well-seasoned for their voyage. Perhaps newer or older vessels would not have made it. Disaster, almost total disaster, wreckage everywhere, deaths by the hundreds, by the thousands.
“The hard rains fell on the burnt-out transport ships, spreading disease and deformity. And the people lifted up their voices for help, but no help came. And the lingering generations passed.” Her own throat tightened here, as did the others, but she left the thought, moving on to the next sequence. Perhaps the most tragic words in their history.
Turned around. Their past, their future held on a string and turned around by one family, one man. Habbukk, the first Atare, though he would not have called himself that. The shield laws—no, she had bypassed them, but they could be woven in, later, at the first crisis.
More wood on the fire and it burned low again. The whole history ... not at once, too much; a thousand lifetimes must be told, and still it is not everything. So she left it at the birth of Habbukk’s sister’s son; born normal, born fertile. Born to lead the people toward a new beginning. Out of death, madness, despair ...
“We move toward new life!” Her voice ran in exultation, and she was standing on the ceremonial rock, arms outstretched to embrace the willing crowd, though she had no memory of climbing there. As if a spell had been broken, the people withdrew, shaking themselves awake. The light of the three moons pierced the darkness of the chamber, natural and manmade shafts bringing the bittersweet joy of the planet to their feet scant nights before the trine.
A question was asked, concerning the story, the history of it. She answered as if in a dream. Another question, the reply coming from Liel as she brought Arien to Roe. Cuddling the child, exhausted, ready to feed them and sleep, Roe faced her people, their faces visibly marked from the spiritual and emotional intensity of the telling. “Is there anything else, Brethren?” she asked the group.
“Yes,” came a penetrating whisper she recognized as Lyte’s. She turned toward the stairs, the source of the voice. “The rest of the story.”
Ronüviel bowed her acknowledgment.