The Family Tree

by Sheri S. Tepper

  After lunch, Soaz and Sheba went out into the woods to find Oyk and Irk and their friends, and the onchiki went downstairs to meet the new people they had not met last night. Rosa had made herself a place in the corner of the garage downstairs. She had put Dora’s sleeping bag in it, and several large cartons on top, so it was like a cave. If winter came, she said, it would serve as a place for hibernation. I felt she and her children should be far away by the time for hibernation. The kapris had gone out into the woods to browse, leaving the lower door open and staying within sight of the house, so they could take cover at need. With the three ersuns, the pheledas, the six new scuini, the four new kanni, an equal number of kapris and the one armakfatid, there were nineteen new people plus the twelve of us, plus three veebles: thirty-six counting Abby and Dora. We were indeed feeding an army.

  The problem we had feared, that the bear and the big cat would eat the others, was unfounded. If they were not hungry, they said, they would not kill. If they had a choice, they would never kill speaking people. If they were starving, they could not say what they would do. Well. Neither could I.

  We spent some time rehearsing what we would do when the priest of Korè came. In Tavor, the Korèsans worshiped openly, and both Sahir and Soaz could describe the rites. Izzy taught us a hymn as it was sung at the Temple of Korè near Giber. He had not been there. Obviously, a Bubblian prince could not travel to Giber, but he had learned the hymn from non-Bubblians who had been there. I rehearsed my story. The countess told us how we were to arrange ourselves in accordance with protocol.

  Midafternoon, Izzy shouted a warning, and we all hid, for a vehicle had come to the street. It was only Dora, who had borrowed Phil’s car to bring the hay and other things. She went away again, saying she would return in a few hours.

  Late in the afternoon, we turned on the TV and heard once again that Jared Gerber had been killed by a large animal in the basement of his home. Persons were warned not to leave their doors open. Also, said the speaker, evidence had been found linking Jared Gerber to the murders of scientists earlier in the year.

  “I am pleased I killed him,” said Rosa, licking her jaws.

  “You didn’t kill him,” said Izzy in the strained voice he had been using all day. “All you did was make his body unsuitable for habitation. The Woput is not dead.”

  This stopped us for a time, and we all looked at one another fearfully while Izzy explained the Woput had simply moved on. “It must have something to do with the way he came here in the first place. He’s able to exist, at least momentarily, in a disembodied state.”

  “Why didn’t you say so before?” demanded the countess.

  “I thought Dora needed a respite,” he said. “She’s looking terribly tired. I was going to tell her later.”

  “Well, if he’s moved into some other body, he doesn’t know where we are,” said Sahir sulkily. “So we’re safe for the time being.”

  “Of course he knows where we are,” said Izzy. “Or he knows how to find out. He saw Dora; he called her by name; he has been here; he has sent a visitation here, night after night. He knows that she knows where we are. The fact he is in a new body now will not stop him for long.” Izzy stopped for a moment, as though wanting to say something more, but evidently changed his mind. All he said was, “Next time he comes, it will be with something more lethal than a blade.”

  Though Izzy and Soaz had told us all the events of the evening, we had not thought of the implications. Even the countess had not understood what the death of Jared Gerber meant. Not for the first time, I thought Izzy might be smarter than the rest of us.

  After that, it seemed wisest to stay close to the house.

  38

  The Pretender

  Dora started the day pretending surprise at the news of Jared’s death and feigning concern about his being killed by a beast.

  Phil was put in charge of collecting evidence at Jared’s place, without Dora, who might presumably have a conflict of interest. Dora told Phil that Jared had often said some weird things about scientists, that since he worked at the same place as the victim, Williams, perhaps Phil should keep his eyes open for any connection to the three deaths, including any weapon that might have been used. He gave her a funny look when he left, and an even funnier one when he came back with the blades and some notebooks.

  At which point, Dora continued her pretence by feigning shock when Phil told her Jared did seem to be implicated in Winston’s murder, and Chamberlain’s, and maybe others as well. Finally, she spent some time counterfeiting sadness to Mrs. Gerber, whom she phoned to offer condolences. The only feeling which actually touched her was her own weariness and sorrow for Momma Gerber. It was sad to think the woman had not had a son for almost thirty years and had not had the wit to know the difference. Motherhood, so Grandma used to say, can be both blind and stupid. But then, wifehood could be the same.

  The lieutenant conferred with someone higher up about tracking the beast responsible for Jared’s death, but the matter ended up referred to the animal control officers, who recognized bear footprints well enough, but were unable to track that same bear—understandable, since it had departed in a van. Dora took part in the intermittent discussions that went on, shaking her head, foreseeing dire consequences, and being reminded of other, irrelevant cases by her colleagues. She did not have to pretend to weariness and depression, which those who did not know her well read as grief.

  Midafternoon, Dora borrowed Phil’s car and made a hurried three-point shopping trip. The house was impeccably clean when she arrived home with the supplies. Even the garage had been swept and neatened, with cartons and tools piled neatly to make individual spaces for each tribal group. When everything had been unloaded, she went back to the car, pursued by Nassif.

  “Dora, you need to know,” she whispered.

  “What do I need to know, Nassif?”

  “The Woput isn’t dead. The Jared body is dead, but the Woput’s still alive. And Izzy says he knows where we all are.”

  Dora was staggered. Despite her absolute certainty that Izzy was right, the all right, of course, what else clarity of the notion, it had not crossed her mind until that moment that the being who had occupied Jared Gerber could still be alive.

  “Izzy says when Woput comes, he’ll have something worse than a knife,” Nassif murmured.

  “He can’t get it from Jared’s place,” Dora whispered. “There’ve been cops and reporters all over the place since early this morning. He’ll have to take some time to find out whose body he’s in. I imagine it happened more or less at random, so that body may not have access to the things Woput might need.” She stopped. Something she had just said bothered her, but she couldn’t focus on it. There were other things to do at the moment. “I thought we had a little time. We don’t. We have no time at all. As soon as we talk to Harry Dionne’s father, we have to start finding places for all of you!”

  Rubbing her forehead fretfully, she took herself away once more, returning about six by her regular bus-bike route. Abby showed up half an hour later to be given the news.

  “There’s no end to this, is there? How do we kill the damn thing?”

  “Drive a stake through its heart,” Dora said, half hysterically. “Shoot it with a silver bullet.”

  “I’m thinking about it,” said Izzy. “I will think of something.”

  “Think of it in a hurry,” snarled the countess. “I, like Dora, am growing impatient with these troubles. They swarm around us, like gnats!”

  It was beginning to get dark before they heard the distant clamor that became decipherable as it neared: Drums. Panpipes. Lyres.

  “Places everyone,” said the countess in an imperious voice as Dora went down the stairs and out the driveway, Abby close behind.

  Music trickled at them as they stood at the curb. “I remember this,” said Dora, almost fretfully.

  “What do you remember, Dora?”

  “The music. Lately, everything’s been punctuated
by music. Do you know that Kurasawa film, the one about dreams?”

  “I’ve seen it. Short episodes, isn’t it?”

  “One of them is about a village of watermills. And at the end there’s a procession, actually it’s a funeral procession, and it has this same kind of music. Solemnjoyous, all at once.” She hummed, rising and falling on her toes.

  He took her hand. “Shhh. I see them.”

  A dozen robed figures: slender women lifting sistra to make a soft jangle, then pause, then jangle; others tootling on pan pipes, breathy, repetitive phrases. The musicians wore white; they were crowned with flowers. Then came a dozen young men, carrying torches that flared fitfully in the dusk, the flames seeming to rise and fall to the sound of the pipes. Smoke rose from swinging censers, blowing toward them in aromatic clouds to the tap tap of tambours. In the midst of this noise and array walked the archpriest, just as Harry had described him, bearded, robed, crowned in oak leaves and holding a scepter of holly. Beside him, his face frozen into imperturbability, walked Harry himself.

  With sudden insight, Dora realized that facial expression had been hard won. Poor Harry. Think of all the explanations he would have had to make when he was a kid. And since. Think of the family gatherings. With an apologetic glance in his direction, Dora bowed, not so deeply as to seem overawed, but deeply enough to be polite.

  “Dora Henry,” said Harry. “His Worthiness, the Archpriest Vorn Dionne.”

  “Sir,” said Dora, bowing slightly again. “If you and your son would be so kind as to accompany me to my house, just a few feet, your entourage can await you here.”

  “Our business cannot be done here?” murmured the archpriest, in a basso so deep it made the air tremble.

  “We have things to show Your…Excellency. They are private things, matters to do with Korè, for your eyes and those of your son.”

  “If they are to do with Korè, they are not for this son,” said Vorn, making a small, dismissive wave at Harry. “He is not of priestly caste.”

  “As Your Excellency wishes.” Dora threw another apologetic glance at Harry, receiving a shrug in return. “So what,” it said. “I’m used to it. I’ll wait.”

  Dora led the way. Vorn followed without enthusiasm, his very gait expressing doubt. I am here, his footsteps said, but I do not believe you know anything worthy of my notice. They went through the gate and shut it behind them. Assembled outside the door to Dora’s house were Rosa and her cubs, the kapris, the kanni, plus Sheba and Soaz.

  “His Worthiness, Archpriest of Korè,” said Dora in a ringing tone, feeling herself rise to the occasion.

  “Worthiness,” said the assembled multitude, bowing. “Hail Korè. Korè Eaeü.”

  The archpriest staggered. Abby caught him, offering an arm. Vorn drew himself up and away from Dora.

  “What is this? Trickery?”

  “No trickery,” said Dora, giving him a direct look. “Please, come in.”

  The others were assembled upstairs, the scuini, the armakfatidi, the onchiki, Blanche, Izzy and Nassif. They began singing when the downstairs door opened, accompanying themselves as when Dora had heard them first, on the mandolin and harp, on the slide whistle and the drum. It was a hymn to Korè they sang, one Izzy had set to a tune they already knew.

  One of the leather chairs had been moved near the top of the stairs and the archpriest sank dazedly onto it. The song ended. Lucy Low put down her harp, Izzy his mandolin, and they and Vorn stared at one another.

  “Well?” Vorn said at last in a voice that trembled only slightly. “Will someone explain—”

  “I will,” said Nassif, standing forth. “Once upon a time…”

  39

  Opalears: Among the Korèsans

  “Once upon a time,” I said, “a time far away, but in this same world, there will be a remnant of humans at a place called St. Weel….”

  I told what I had been rehearsing on and off all day, in between worries, and the story flowed out, all this I have been telling, plus Dora’s story as I knew it from her, and Izzy’s, and the story he learned from his library as well as the stories learned from the libraries of the emperor and at St. Weel. I told of the creation of our peoples in this time by Dr. Edgar Winston—at which the Vorn showed surprise, even dismay—and of the plague that would come, of the death of almost all the humans, at which the Vorn frowned and shook his head. I told of our survival—the forest people, the river people, the desert people, pheled and scuinan, ponji and armakfatidi, onchiki and kanni, ersuns and kapris and sitidas.

  I told of the Woput, and of his travel into his past, this time, how he sought out the embodiment of Korè and murdered her. I told how the Woput even now endangered us. I told how Korè herself had sent the trees to wreak vengeance, and at this his dismay increased.

  “How do you know this?” he demanded, this old, bearded man. “How can you possibly know this?”

  “I talked to the trees,” said Izzy.

  “Talked?” scoffed the archpriest. “I suppose you’re a magician!”

  Izzy drew himself up. “Why is that so difficult for religious people to understand? Your people do magic here, every generation or so, when you embody Korè in a human form. You do not call it magic; you call it religion. It doesn’t matter what you call it: Korè is an elemental, more powerful than storm, more marvelous than ocean, more potent than volcano. You draw on this power, this marvel, this potency, and you embody it in a virgin girl and you control it, carefully and reverently. Then when Korè is symbolically mated with her people in the person of a priestly son, the power is naturally released. It is poured out, into your people and into the world, for the preservation of life. Isn’t this true?”

  The archpriest glowered. “Where have you learned of this? These are sacred things, secret things….”

  Izzy went on: “In this time, yes. You are a tiny minority in this time. In our time these matters are still held sacred, but they are not held secret from the worshipers of Korè, who are many. It is, you might say, our state religion. Even I, reared in another tradition, am philosophically a Korèsan. Also, I am a good wizard, and I had a good library.

  “The Woput, however, was no Korèsan, he is a bad wizard, and his library was not as good as mine. His sources spoke of the ritual I have described, but only in a general way. They did not explain what really happens. He thought if he killed the girl, the embodiment, he would kill Korè. He assumed if he killed Korè, he would kill the forests and the seas, and the other tribes would die. So he killed the girl, which only angered Korè, greatly angered Her. Then he buried the girl under the floor of Jared’s garage, along with all the unexpended power she had been given. He succeeded in confining that power—though only that—but while confined, it grew and fulminated, and when the tomb was broken, all that force was ready to come out. As it has come out.”

  “This is why the trees have come? They told you this?”

  “Korè told me this, through the trees. The Woput was in Jared Gerber. He took the girl, killed the girl, and buried her where he did because that place was convenient. Korè, however, was in the great tree, sacred to her, as she is to lesser extent in all living things, and from the great tree roots went out to break the slab around the girl. When the accumulated power burst out, the forests began to grow. They are an expression of Korè’s anger, at the Woput and at those who are like him.”

  “Wouldn’t he have known about these forests? Wouldn’t there have been records, in his time?” Vorn looked from person to person, his nostrils flared, his eyes angry and, I thought, a bit frightened.

  It was the countess who answered. “The records the Woput knew of, in his time, were written before he returned here. The forests are a result of his coming here; they were not here before he came. When we go back, if we are able to go back, the records may then speak of forests, but the records did not mention them before.”

  The old man shook his head. “I am astonished at the trees. I am astonished by all of you. Our prophec
ies speak of other peoples emerging from the womb of earth, but we had not known you were already…here. In our councils, in our decisions, your existence and the existence of these new forests are things we had not…had not considered. Had not counted on.”

  “A wild factor,” said Abby, watching him closely.

  “I recognize your confusion,” said Dora. “It’s like a dream. I’ve been living in it for weeks.”

  The old man combed his beard with his fingers, adjusted his leafy crown, then heaved himself to his feet. His face was lined and his eyes were sunken as he said:

  “There is more, much more we must talk of, but now is not the time. The people with me are from our local chapter. They enjoy the music and the incense, the marching about. They do me honor, but they are merely believers, not elders, and it is the elders who must consider this. They will have to come here. There is no other choice. I will stay at my son’s home, awaiting them.”

  He looked down, slightly flushing. “I owe him an apology. Though my affection for him made me respond to his plea, I frankly thought…well, I thought he was being foolishly deluded.”

  “He was courageous to brave your disbelief,” I said.

  “This is not something I can consider alone….”

  “What will you consider?” asked the countess, one eyebrow rising in slight suspicion. “Whether we are worthy of your help?”

  He turned on her in astonishment. “Of course you are worthy of our help! Everything we have done, everything we have decided has always been to make the way clear for Korè, in all her diversity. That means you, all of you. We thought to make a place for you when you came, but you are already here. We will protect you and your people as best we can. Korè would have us do no less. But there are other matters to consider….”