by John Dalmas
Vessto had led him and Eltrienn scrambling up a steep path, close-walled by bristly shrubs, to a rocky outcrop where they'd sat for what must have been close to an hour. Brokols had asked Vessto questions about Hrum and Hrummlis. Vessto had actually given answers, too, more or less, and in turn had asked him questions about Almeon and life there, his childhood and his function in Hrumma, and the Book of Forbiddances. And the ship.
While they'd walked back into town, it had occurred to Brokols to wonder how Vessto knew about the book; he was quite sure he hadn't mentioned it to him. Probably he'd mentioned it to the teacher in front of Eltrienn, and Eltrienn had said something about it to Vessto at an earlier meeting.
His meeting with Vessto Cadriio was the most successful he'd had with a clergyman of Hrummlis, despite the way the sage lived, and he'd arrived back at his apartment clearheaded, though physically tired. What he had in mind was a peaceful night's sleep, because the next day he'd begin a weeks-long trip around Hrum with Eltrienn, to become familiar with the rest of the country.
* * *
After Vessto Cadriio had bid his brother and the foreigner good evening, he'd stayed seated on the rock outcrop far into the night, meditating. It was not pure meditation. It had another objective than contemplating Hrum-In-Him, or losing himself; he was looking for something, an answer. But none came to him.
* * *
Brokols' sleep that night was a frenetic sequence of dreams, largely sexual, more or less outrageously so. Lerrlia was prominent in them, but there were also Valda, and other women recognized or seemingly new to him. In one dream, the prostitute he'd visited, back in Almeon, had found him on the roof coupling with a sea woman, a sellsu, but with legs. The prostitute had turned and fled, calling back that she was going to tell. Which, Brokols knew, meant tell Kryger. By that time the child of the waves was no longer a sellsu, but a lovely young girl, or more likely a pleasure droid, who laughed joyously with him as they walked along a beach. He'd wakened to darkness then, certain he'd been laughing aloud in his sleep.
And remarkably, throughout his dreams it seemed that what he did was not vile but quite all right, albeit amazingly virile.
When he woke up, he felt rested and alert, though the dreams stayed somewhat on his mind through breakfast. If Kryger ever found out what he'd actually done . . . but there was no reason that Kryger should ever know, and Brokols felt no anxiety over it.
* * *
Vessto Cadriio had never seen the trail to Panni Vempravvo's cave or heard anything about where it was. Nonetheless, after finishing his dawn porridge, he'd bidden his people stay, then walked the five miles alone, finding his way by knowingness.
The last half mile was away from the rough road, on a trail that angled up to a ridgeline, then along its top. From the crest, he could see across a lesser ridge to hazy-blue sea, and on the slope below the path, several men seated singly in the sun, half hidden by grass and wildflowers that were higher than his knees.
The last hundred feet of the path was downhill again. The shallow cave at its end had been modified at some past time. The wide opening had been mostly walled over with squared, dry-set stone; coarse blankets had been hung on the inside. At one end of the wall a fireplace had been built; an opening had been left at the other as a door.
Neat piles of bedstraw vine were lined along the back wall, each with a sleeping mat folded on top. A twig broom stood beside a straw broom in one rounded corner, and a disciple squatted near the wooden water cask, eating a late breakfast with his fingers from a clay bowl. His master, he said, was meditating, and went outside with Vessto to point the way.
Going to Panni, Vessto squatted down a few feet away, facing him. That he didn't assume the meditation posture marked how concerned he was with something. Panni's eyes focused and moved to him, waiting for whatever the younger man might say.
"I have come for help," Vessto said.
"The foreigner," Panni answered.
"The foreigner." Vessto told him then what he knew—had read in the man for himself and been told by others, notably Rantrelli's hired adept. "Clearly the great king, the emperor of his land, intends to conquer us, both the Djezes and Hrumma. And has great resources. And it seems to me that I should do something about this, but action of that kind is . . .." He shrugged. Such action, unless it was precisely correct, would be a resistance, which would make the difficulties more solid.
Panni's mouth curved in the slightest of smiles. "Who are you?" he asked.
"I am myself. But in this life I am being Vessto Cadriio."
"And what world do you live in?"
"My own world. Upon the creation of Hrum." This was from the children's catechism.
"Whence came the wisdoms you are said to have spoken? And the knowledge I myself have heard you voice?"
"From Hrum-In-Me."
"Yet you come to me instead of opening yourself to Hrum-In-Thee?"
"Hrum-In-Me does not answer on this matter."
"Ahh. Are you neutral on the subject?"
"No. I have been unable to be neutral on it."
"Well then—in that case, who writes your script?"
"Me. As Zan, and Naz."
The smile widened. "Would it be all right for you to simply follow it? Doing whatever seems best as you go?"
"That's what I have done. In coming to you."
Panni grinned broadly. "Very well. You may come to me whenever you wish. Perhaps sometime I will have advice to give you that you aren't already following. Meanwhile, in living a role with strong importances, strong preferences, be prepared to feel afraid and anxious and torn. And perhaps angry. Remember that these are on the surface, regardless of how deep they feel.
"And if sometime you need quiet from them and cannot find it, you may wish to meditate in the presence of Tassi Vermaatio. He is the very Is-ness of Hrum, and will undoubtedly allow it."
When Vessto had left, Panni continued briefly to sit in the sun, soaking up its warmth, regarding what the young man had said. He laughed. Things were moving about within the backstage of Hrum's world: Scripts were being altered, props shifted.
After a time he got up and, wrapped in his own world, strode to the trail. It was time to contact other people's worlds again. He could access them from his hill, but not so readily as when he was among them, nor in anything like such numbers.
I am not yet a Tassi Vermaatio, he told himself cheerfully. And did not regret it. He'd almost forgotten what regrets were.
Fourteen
Eltrienn arrived while Brokols was packing his bag. The ambassador would carry two dress suits, carefully folded, for whatever special audiences there might be. On the road he'd wear an ordinary traveling suit and carry another.
Brokols could see problems in travel here that hadn't been foreseen back in Almeon when the mission was being planned. They hadn't appreciated how hot it would be. Hrummean summer clothing was cool and easily cared for. His own clothing, on the other hand, was woolen, from fleece of the porta. He was, after all, an Almaeic nobleman. But woolens were hot, and not properly amenable to cleaning while traveling. Here at their lodgings, Stilfos could maintain them nicely, with careful laundering and ironing, but Stilfos would remain in Theedalit to look after the apartment instead of traveling with him. And nothing at all could be done about how hot they were, unless one cut off the legs and sleeves, which was unthinkable.
It was tempting to obtain Hrummean clothing, but Brokols had decided it wouldn't be proper; a representative of the emperor should look the part.
They rode off behind a matched pair of kaabors, in a strong-wheeled shay with the top let back, beneath a dazzling sky that seemed not to have heard of the summer monsoon. And over the next two weeks, toured a broad cross-section of Hrumma.
There were no other cities than Theedalit. The infrequent sizeable towns, with three or four thousand people, might have their main street paved, but otherwise dirt streets were the rule, sometimes graveled and with the softer places cobbled. And invaria
bly their water came untreated from streams, dug wells, and cisterns. Still, their people were civilized. Their buildings were almost always whitewashed, while planted trees, shrubs, and flowers were abundant.
Most of the country was less prosperous than the rural valley above Theedalit. They visited fishing districts where the people lived on tiny subsistence farms along the shores of firth or inlet, people who worked with net and set-line, drying rack and smokehouse and large pickling crocks, to produce fish for local consumption, cartage to other districts, and export to the Djezes.
There were also rough mountainous districts where almost the only economic activities, aside from tending the household's fruit trees and vines and vegetable gardens, was the herding and shearing of vehato, an animal rather like the porlo but horned, the spinning of thread from their fleece, and the weaving of textiles. An animal called kienno was used to help herd the vehato. The kienno was seldom used for other purposes, the Hrummeans regarding it as a sophont not properly kept subject to humans.
Sausage was also made, highly spiced to prevent spoilage. Much of what was produced from the vehato—cloth, yarn, fleeces, sausage—was consumed in the home district, but cartage to other markets and to harbors for export was an important business.
Less rugged hill districts bore vineyards and orchards, or were grazed by gleebor bred for milk or meat. In thick-walled houses with cool sod roofs, or in caves where there were any, farm wives and daughters made cheeses that would be eaten at home or sold. Here too, meat was smoked, chopped, ground with spices, and stuffed into gut to be shipped as sausage.
In broader valleys, fields of food crops were tended for waiting bins and sheds. And there, a much smaller carnivore than the kienno was common. Slender, short-legged, pointy headed, it seemed invariably present around graneries and storage cellars. Called chissa, it too was regarded as a sophont, and as an associate of man was more independent than the kienno. Chissas served the purpose of controlling vermin, and farmers put out milk to encourage their presence.
Almost every rural home had its lorrchios, short-furred omnivores kept penned or sometimes tethered, fattened on wastes of the kitchen, the creamery, the orchard and winepress and butchering table. To be butchered themselves in their time. There were two evident varieties, one fairly large and rangy, one small and round, to suit the family and the farm.
Though agriculture and fisheries were by far the largest industries, Brokols saw ships being built, and only half a day's ride from Theedalit, a limestone quarry and cement mill. The mill was an ingenious-looking arrangement of sheds and ramps, and cylinders some twenty feet tall, with carts, barrows, gleebor-driven capstans, and smoke. While one narrow firth they visited was astink with fumes from a factory that cooked down vats of oil fish to provide for Hrummean lamps.
A common element everywhere were the archery butts. Outside every village where the two of them spent their evenings, men and boys would gather after supper to shoot at targets. Their skill was impressive, both in measured fire and rapid. Several times, Brokols and Eltrienn had gone to watch. Eltrienn had shot a set once, very creditably, and with a borrowed bow at that.
And everywhere, Brokols found the people wearing cool summer clothes of plant fibers, the cloth imported from the Djezes, mostly Djez Seechul. And as important as the fabric was the coolness of its cut, the general bareness or partial bareness of limbs. For the people in the countryside were less style-conscious and wore less clothing than in Theedalit. Children commonly ran naked till seemingly age eight or ten. Brokols wondered what games such children played behind the stone fences or in the dense coppice patches. Or what games the adolescents and adults might play, inflamed by the sight of each others' limbs.
He was more comfortable with these thoughts, though, than he might have expected. It was as if that night on Tirros's boat, or whoever's boat it had been, perhaps reinforced by the strange dreams of the following night, had dulled his sense of propriety and morals.
In every district there were coppice woods, with stout stumps scant inches tall, a ring of shoots sprouting from their bases to be cut off for fuel when they'd reached the thickness of a wrist, more or less. Seemingly every farm had its own small coppice stand, for home fuel. Other stands were large, for commercial production. These fed the charcoal kilns that supplied smithies—and towns, for they too needed fuel. And for more than just cookery. Winter would come to Hrumma in its time, winter cool enough for woolens, though mild compared to those in Almeon or inland districts of the continent north of Hrumma.
Winter weather in Hrumma tended to be dry and breezy, he was told, with infrequent days of mists and rain. On winter nights it sometimes froze, especially in the higher interior valleys. Now and then, brief damp weather even brought transient snow, which might persist for two or three days in the interior, or longer on the higher plateaus and hills.
* * *
After fourteen days, Brokols had seen much of Hrumma—a representative cross-section, according to Eltrienn—while being rained on only six times. On the fourteenth evening they sat in an inn, eating a late supper and talking.
"You know," said Brokols, "I haven't seen your metal works—the factories or shops where you make steel. Nothing but little local smithies."
Eltrienn nodded. "They're in the deep valleys of the east coast, where most of the ore is. They're too far; it would have taken too long. And in Hrumma, they're a very small part of our economy. All together they employ fewer people than we saw working in the fields that one short afternoon above Theedaht."
He changed the subject then. "Tomorrow we'll cross the Aettlian Plateau. There'll be little to see but gleebor herds—few villages, and the houses are far apart—but the country is mostly near flat, and we'll make good time. The soil is fertile, but too stony to cultivate; it's the greatest pasturage in Hrumma. We'll carry our lunch, and in late afternoon stop at a villa that belongs to the Hanorissios', called Sea Cliff. They own several thousand acres of rangeland there. Zeenia Hanorissia manages it, and if you let her, she'll tell you more than you want to know about the business. We'll spend tomorrow night there and be in Theedalit the next afternoon."
Brokols nodded, staring absently at his glass as he swirled the sour and watered wine. Something else had occurred to him, but he didn't know how to broach the subject. Simply begin, he told himself, but that was difficult. In Almeon, discussion of sex and reproduction would be almost out of the question, but here, he thought, it might well be acceptable. And if he offended his friend and guide, he'd rely on communication and the centurion's good nature to repair any damage.
"Eltrienn—" he began, then stopped. It occurred to him that he didn't know the Hrummean word for sexual intercourse. He'd have to translate the Almaeic euphemism and hope it was understood.
"Yes?"
"Do the Hrummeans—do they, uh, couple a lot?"
"Couple? What do you mean by couple?"
Brokols took a deep breath. "By coupling, I mean—do the men and women . . ."
He stopped, Eltrienn looked quizzically at him. "Make babies," Brokols finished. "A lot, I mean."
Actually it wasn't what he meant. From the way they dressed in Hrumma, and the way Tirros and his two girls had comported themselves, it seemed to him you'd see a lot more children around than he'd actually noticed. The number of children in Hrumma seemed rather low in fact, for the number of adults.
"You mean fuck?" asked Eltrienn.
Brokols blushed. The Hrummean word was unfamiliar to him, but he was pretty sure . . . the very sound was uncouth, suggestive, much like the sound of coupling while sweaty. "I believe so," he said. "Yes."
Eltrienn didn't look at all perturbed at the question; only curious. "Why do you ask?"
With that, a little haltingly, Brokols told him how the partial and juvenile nudity seemed to him, yet there didn't seem to be a great number of children.
Eltrienn's expression was surprised and bemused. "I suppose," he answered slowly, "that we're used to seeing sk
in. In the right circumstances it can be quite—stimulating of course, but ordinarily it's not."
It occurred to Brokols that pleasure droids might well be engineered to perform sex well but not have strong sexual desire. Or perhaps it was simply as Eltrienn had said—they were used to seeing skin.
"As for the number of children," Eltrienn was saying, "Hrum would have us live in harmony with the land. For a long time now, in Hrumma, our number has not much increased."
"But then . . ." The notion of no increase was utterly foreign to Brokols, and to the Book of Right Comportment. "But then, do you stop coupling, once you've had two or three children? Or four?"
Eltrienn misunderstood, or rather, understood only the lesser part of Brokols' reaction. "That's no problem," he said. "There's an herb that grows along brooks; I can show it to you. We call it lamb foil; vehatos sometimes eat it, when they're hungry enough, and if they eat it in breeding season, they don't conceive. They breed, but there aren't any lambs. The flowers of lamb foil, dried and powdered, can be added as a condiment to food and protect a woman from conceiving. Many people raise it in their gardens."