“It was beginning to feel terrible pain,” Akin said. “I helped it die.” He swayed slightly, even though he was seated on the ground. He had tasted the agouti’s life and its pain, but all he could give it was death. If he had not gone near it, Galt might never have noticed it. It might have lived.
He hugged himself, trembling, feeling sick.
Galt nudged him with a foot, and he fell over. He picked himself up and stared at the man, wanting desperately to be away from him.
“How come you only talk to me?” Galt asked.
“First because I wanted to help Tilden,” Akin whispered quickly. The others were coming. “Now because I have to … have to help you. You shouldn’t eat the agouti. The poison I gave it would kill you.”
Akin managed to dodge the vicious kick Galt aimed at his head. Iriarte picked Akin up and held him protectively.
“You fool, you’ll kill him!” Iriarte shouted.
“Good riddance,” Galt yelled back. “Shit, there’s plenty of trade goods here. We don’t need that mongrel bastard!”
Kaliq had come up to stand beside Iriarte. “What have you found here that we could trade for a woman?” he demanded.
Silence.
“That boy is to us what gold used to be,” Kaliq spoke softly now.
“In fact,” Iriarte said, “he’s more valuable to us than you are.”
“He can talk!” Galt shouted.
Kaliq took a step closer to him. “Man, I don’t care if he can fly! There are people who’ll pay anything for him. He looks okay, that’s what’s important.”
Iriarte looked at Akin. “Well, he always knew he could understand us better than any normal kid his age. What did he say?”
Galt drew his mouth into a thin smile. “After I shot the agouti, he bit it on the neck, and it died. He told me not to eat it because he had poisoned it.”
“Yeah?” Iriarte held Akin away from him and stared. “Say something, kid.”
Akin was afraid the man would drop him if he spoke. He was also afraid he would lose Iriarte as a protector—as he had lost Galt. He tried to look as frightened as he felt, but he said nothing.
“Give him to me,” Galt said. “I’ll make him talk.”
“He’ll talk when he gets ready,” Iriarte said. “Hell, I had seven kids before the war. They’d talk all the time until you wanted them to.”
“Listen, I’m not talking about baby talk!”
“I know. I believe you. Why does it bother you so?”
“He can talk as well as you can!”
“So? It’s better than being covered with tentacles or gray skin. It’s better than being without eyes or ears or a nose. Kaliq is right. It’s looks that are important. But you know as well as I do that he isn’t Human, and it’s got to come out somehow.”
“He claims to be poison,” Galt said.
“He may be. The Oankali are.”
“So you go on holding him next to your neck. You do that.”
To Akin’s surprise, Iriarte did just that. Later, when he was alone with Akin, he said, “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.” He ran a hand across Akin’s hair. “I think I’d rather you didn’t, really. You look so much like one of my kids, it hurts.”
Akin accepted this silently.
“Don’t kill anything else,” he said. “Even if it’s suffering, let it alone. Don’t scare these guys. They get crazy.”
7
AT SIWATU VILLAGE, THE people looked much like Lilith. They spoke English, Swahili, and a scattering of other languages. They examined Akin and wished very much to buy him, but they would not send one of the village women away with foreign men. The women took Akin and fed him and bathed him as though he could do nothing for himself. Several of them believed that their breasts could be made to produce milk if they kept Akin with them.
The men were so fascinated with him that his captors became frightened. They took him and stole out of the village one moonless night. Akin did not want to go. He liked being with the women who knew how to lift him without hurting him and who gave him interesting food. He liked the way they smelled and the softness of their bosoms and their voices, high and empty of threat.
But Iriarte carried him away, and he believed that if he cried out, the man might be killed. Certainly some people would be killed. Perhaps it would only be Galt who kicked at him whenever he was nearby and Damek who had clubbed Tino down. But more likely, it would be all four of his abductors and several village men. He might die himself. He had seen that men could go mad when they were fighting. They could do things that afterward amazed and shamed them.
Akin let himself be carried to the raiders’ canoes. They had two now—the one they had begun with and a light, new one found in Hillmann. Akin was put into the new one between two balanced mounds of trade goods. Behind one mound Iriarte rowed. In front of the other, Kaliq rowed. Akin was glad, at least, not to have to worry about Galt’s feet or his oar. And he continued to avoid Damek when he could, though the man showed him friendliness. Damek acted as though Akin had not seen him club Tino down.
8
THERE WERE OANKALI IN Vladlengrad. Galt saw them through the rain at yet another branching of the river. They were far away, and Akin himself did not see them at first—gray beings, slipping from gray water into the shadow of the trees on the bank, and all this through heavy rain.
The man ignored their weariness to row hard into the left fork of the river, leaving the right fork to Vladlengrad and the Oankali.
The men rowed until they were completely exhausted. Finally, reluctantly, they dragged themselves and their boats onto a low bank. They concealed their boats, ate smoked fish and dried fruit from Siwatu, and drank a mild wine. Kaliq held Akin and gave him some of the wine. Akin discovered that he liked it, but he drank only a little. His body did not like the disorientation it caused and would have expelled a larger amount. When he had eaten the food Kaliq had given him, he went out to graze. While he was out, he gathered several large nuts in a wide leaf and took them back to Kaliq.
“I’ve seen these,” Kaliq said, examining one. “I think they’re one of the new postwar species. I wondered whether they were good to eat.”
“I wouldn’t eat them,” Galt said. “Anything that wasn’t here before the war. I don’t need.”
Kaliq took two of the nuts in one hand and squeezed. Akin could hear the shells cracking. When he opened his hand, several small round nuts rolled around amid the shell fragments. Kaliq offered them to Akin, and Akin took most of them gratefully. He ate them with such obvious enjoyment that Kaliq laughed and ate one of them himself. He chewed slowly, tentatively.
“It tastes like … I don’t know.” He ate the rest. “It’s very good. Better than anything I’ve had for a long time.” He settled to breaking and eating the rest while Akin brought another leafful to Iriarte. There were not many good nuts on the ground. Most were insect-infested. He checked each one with his tongue to make sure they were all right. When Damek went out and gathered nuts of his own, almost every one was infested with insect larvae. This made him stare at Akin with suspicion and doubt. Akin watched him without facing him, watched him without eyes until he shrugged and threw the last of his nuts away in disgust. He looked at Akin once more and spat on the ground.
9
PHOENIX.
The four resisters had been avoiding it, they said, because they knew it was Tino’s home village. The Oankali would check it first, perhaps stay there the longest. But Phoenix was also the richest resister village they knew of. It sent people into the hills to salvage metal from prewar sites and had people who knew how to shape the metal. It had more women than any other village because it traded metal for them. It grew cotton and made soft, comfortable clothing. It raised and tapped not only rubber trees, but trees that produced a form of oil that could be burned in their lamps without refinement. And it had fine, large houses, a church, a store, vast farms …
It was, the raiders said, more like a p
rewar town—and less like a group of people who have given up, whose only hope was to kill a few Oankali before they died.
“I almost settled there once,” Damek said when they had hidden the canoes and begun their single-file walk toward the hills and Phoenix. Phoenix was many days south of Hillmann on a different branch of the river, but it, too, was located closer to the mountains than most trader and resister villages. “I swear,” Damek continued, “they’ve got everything there but kids.”
Iriarte, who was carrying Akin, sighed quietly. “They’ll buy you, niño,” he said. “And if you don’t frighten them, they’ll treat you well.”
Akin moved in the man’s arms to show that he was listening. Iriarte had developed a habit of talking to him. He seemed to accept movement as sufficient response.
“Talk to them,” Iriarte whispered. “I’m going to tell them you can talk and understand like a much older kid, and you do it. It’s no good pretending to be something you aren’t and then scaring them with what you really are. You understand?”
Akin moved again.
“Tell me, niño. Speak to me. I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”
“I understand,” Akin whispered into his ear.
He held Akin away from him for a moment and stared at him. Finally he smiled, but it was a strange smile. He shook his head and held Akin against him again. “You still look like one of my kids,” he said. “I don’t want to give you up.”
Akin tasted him. He made the gesture very quick, deliberately placing his mouth against the man’s neck in the way that Humans called kissing. Iriarte would feel a kiss and nothing more. That was good. He thought a Human who felt as he did might have expressed the feeling with a kiss. His own need was to understand Iriarte better and keep that understanding. He wished he dared to study the man in the leisurely, thorough way he had studied Tino. What he had now was an impression of Iriarte. He could have given an ooloi the few cells he had taken from Iriarte, and the ooloi could have used the information to build a new Iriarte. But it was one thing to know what the man was made of and another to know how the parts worked together—how each bit was expressed in function, behavior, and appearance.
“You’d better watch that kid,” Galt called from several steps behind. “A kiss from him could be the same as a kiss from a bushmaster.”
“That man had three children before the war,” Iriarte whispered. “He liked you. You shouldn’t have frightened him.”
Akin knew this. He sighed. How could he avoid scaring people? He had never seen a Human baby. How could he behave as one? Would it be easier to avoid scaring villagers who knew he could talk? It should be. After all, Tino had not been afraid. Curious, suspicious, startled when an un-Human-looking child touched him, but not frightened. Not dangerous.
And the people of Phoenix were his people.
Phoenix was larger and more beautiful than Hillmann. The houses were large and colored white or blue or gray. They had the glass windows Tino had boasted of—windows that glittered with reflected light. There were broad fields and storage buildings and an ornate structure that must have been the church. Tino had described it to Akin and tried to make Akin understand what it was for. Akin still did not understand, but he could repeat Tino’s explanation if he had to. He could even say his prayers. Tino had taught him, thinking it scandalous that he had not known them before.
Human men worked in the fields, planting something. Human men came out of their houses to look at the visitors. There was a faint scent of Oankali in the village. It was many days old—searchers who had come and searched and waited and finally left. None of the searchers had been members of his family.
Where were his parents looking?
And in this village, where were the Human women?
Inside. He could smell them in their houses—could smell their excitement.
“Don’t say a word until I tell you to,” Iriarte whispered.
Akin moved to show that he had heard, then twisted in Iriarte’s arms to face the large, well-built, low-stilted house they were walking toward and the tall, lean man who awaited them in the shade of its roof in what seemed to be a partially enclosed room. The walls were only as high as the man’s waist, and the roof was held up by regularly spaced, rounded posts. The half-room reminded Akin of a drawing he had seen by a Human Lo woman, Cora: great buildings whose overhanging roofs were supported by huge, ornately decorated, round posts.
“So that’s the kid,” the tall man said. He smiled. He had a short, well-tended black beard and short hair, very black. He wore a white shirt and short pants, displaying startlingly hairy arms and legs.
A small blond woman came from the house to stand beside him. “My god,” she said, “that’s a beautiful child. Isn’t there anything wrong with him?”
Iriarte walked up several steps and put Akin into the woman’s arms. “He is beautiful,” Iriarte told her quietly. “But he has a tongue you’ll have to get used to—in more than one way. And he is very, very intelligent.”
“And he is for sale,” the tall man said, his eyes on Iriarte. “Come in, gentlemen. My name is Gabriel Rinaldi. This is my wife Tate.”
The house was cool and dark and sweet-smelling inside. It smelled of herbs and flowers. The blond woman took Akin into another room with her and gave him a chunk of pineapple to eat while she poured some drinks for the guests.
“I hope you won’t wet the floor,” she said, glancing at him.
“I won’t,” he said impulsively. Something made him want to talk to this woman. He had wanted to speak to the women of Siwatu, but he had been afraid. He was never alone with one of them. He had feared their group reaction to his un-Human aspect.
The woman looked at him, eyes momentarily wide. Then she smiled with only the left side of her mouth. “So that’s what the raider meant about that tongue of yours.” She lifted him and put him on a counter so that she could talk to him without bending or stooping. “What’s your name?”
“Akin.” No one else had asked his name during his captivity. Not even Iriarte.
“Ah-keen,” she pronounced. “Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“How old are you?”
“Seventeen months.” Akin thought for a moment. “No, eighteen now.”
“Very, very intelligent,” Tate said, echoing Iriarte. “Shall we buy you, Akin?”
“Yes, but …”
“But?”
“They want a woman.”
Tate laughed. “Of course they do. We might even find them one. Men aren’t the only ones who get itchy feet. But, Jesus, four men! She’d better have another itchy part or two.”
“What?”
“Nothing, little one. Why do you want us to buy you?”
Akin hesitated, said finally, “Iriarte likes me and so does Kaliq. But Galt hates me because I look more Human than I am. And Damek killed Tino.” He looked at her blond hair, knowing she was no relative of Tino’s. But perhaps she had known him, liked him. It would be hard to know him and not like him. “Tino used to live here,” he said. “His whole name is Augustino Leal. Did you know him?”
“Oh, yes.” She had become very still, totally focused on Akin. If she had been Oankali, all her head tentacles would have been elongated toward him in a cone of living flesh. “His parents are here,” she said. “He … couldn’t have been your father. You look like him, though.”
“My Human father is dead. Tino took his place. Damek called him a traitor and killed him.”
She closed her eyes, turned her face away from Akin. “Are you sure he’s dead?”
“He was alive when they took me away, but the bones of his head had been broken with the wooden part of Damek’s gun. There was no one around to help him. He must have died.”
She took Akin down from the counter and hugged him. “Did you like him, Akin?”
“Yes.”
“We loved him here. He was the son most of us never had. I knew he was going, though. What was there for him in a
place like this? I gave him a packet of food to take with him and aimed him toward Lo. Did he reach it?”
“Yes.”
She smiled again with only half her mouth. “So you’re from Lo. Who’s your mother?”
“Lilith Iyapo.” Akin did not think she would have liked hearing Lilith’s long Oankali name.
“Son of a bitch!” Tate whispered. “Listen, Akin, don’t say that name to anyone else. It may not matter anymore, but don’t say it.”
“Why?”
“Because there are people here who don’t like your mother. There are people here who might hurt you because they can’t get at her. Do you understand?”
Akin looked into her sun-browned face. She had very blue eyes—not like Wray Ordway’s pale eyes, but a deep, intense color. “I don’t understand,” he said, “but I believe you.”
“Good. If you do that, we’ll buy you. I’ll see to it.”
“At Siwatu, the raiders took me away because they were afraid the men were going to try to steal me.”
“Don’t you worry. Once I drop this tray and you in the living room, I’ll see to it that they don’t go anywhere until our business with them is done.”
She carried the tray of drinks and let Akin walk back to her husband and the resisters. Then she left them.
Akin climbed onto Iriarte’s lap, knowing he was about to lose the man, missing him already.
“We’ll have to have our doctor look at him,” Gabriel Rinaldi was saying. He paused. “Let me see your tongue, kid.”
Obligingly, Akin opened his mouth. He did not stick his tongue out to its full extent, but he did nothing to conceal it.
The man got up and looked for a moment, then shook his head. “Ugly. And he’s probably venomous. The constructs usually are.”
“I saw him bite an agouti and kill it,” Galt put in.
“But he’s never made any effort to bite any of us,” Iriarte said with obvious irritation. “He’s done what he’s been told to do. He’s taken care of his own toilet needs. And he knows better than we do what’s edible and what isn’t. Don’t worry about his picking up things and eating them. He’s been doing that since we took him—seeds, nuts, flowers, leaves, fungi … and he’s never been sick. He won’t eat fish or meat. I wouldn’t force him to if I were you. The Oankali don’t eat it. Maybe it would make him sick.”
Lilith's Brood: Dawn, Adulthood Rites, and Imago (Xenogenesis Trilogy) Page 34