They could hear the angry buzzing of the flies even before they reached the spot. There were indeed signs of great slaughter here, but something more important. Their guide pointed at the ground in silence.
Pieces of charred wood and ashes lay in a heap. From the center a gray curl of smoke lifted up.
“Fire?” Vaintè said aloud, as puzzled by its presence here as the others. She had seen it before and did not like it. “Stay back, you fool,” she ordered as the commander reached down towards the smoking ashes. “That is fire. It is very hot and it hurts.”
“I did not know,” Erafnaiś apologized. “I have heard of it but I have never seen it.”
“There is something else,” the crewmember said. “On the shore there is mud. It has been baked hard by the sun. There are footprints on it, very clear. I tore one free, it is there.”
Vaintè strode over and looked down at the cracked disc of mud, bending over and poking at the indentations in the hard surface.
“These creatures are small, very small, smaller than we are. These pads are soft with no marks of claws. Tso! Look there—count!”
She straightened up and spun about to face the others, extending one hand with fingers outspread, angry color rippling across her palm.
“Five toes, that’s what they have, not four. Who knows what kind of beasts have five toes?” Silence was her only answer. “There are too many mysteries here. I don’t like it. How many guards were there?”
“Three,” Erafnaiś said. “One at each end of the beach, the third near the center . . .”
She broke off as one of the crewmembers came crashing through the undergrowth behind them. “There is a small boat,” she called out. “Landing on the beach.”
When Vaintè came out from under the trees she saw that the boat was rocking in the surf, laden with containers of some kind. One of the occupants was holding on to the boat so the creature would not stray: the other two were on the beach staring at the corpses. They turned about as Vaintè approached and she saw the twisted wire necklace that one of them wore about her neck. Vaintè stared at it.
“You are the esekasak, she who defends the birth beaches—why were you not here defending your charges?”
The esekasak’s nostrils widened with rage. “Who are you to talk to me like that—”
“I am Vaintè who is now Eistaa of this city. Now answer my question, low one, for I lose patience.”
The esekasak touched her lips in supplication, stumbling backward a step as she did. “Excuse me, Highest, I didn’t know. The shock, these deaths . . .”
“Are your responsibility. Where were you?”
“The city, getting food and the new guard.”
“How long have you been away?”
“Just two days, Highest, as always.”
“As always!” Vaintè could feel herself swelling with rage that added harsh emphasis to her words. “I understand none of this. Why do you leave your beach to go to the city by sea? Where is the Wall of Thorns, the defenses?”
“Not yet grown, Highest, unsafe. The river is being widened and deepened and has not been cleared of the dangerous beasts yet. It was decided for safety’s sake to site the birth beach on the ocean, temporarily of course.”
“Safety’s sake!” Vaintè could no longer control her rage as she pointed at the corpses, shouting. “They are dead—all of them. Your responsibility. Would that you were dead with them. For this, the greatest of crimes, I demand the greatest of penalties. You are ejected from this city, from the society of speakers, to rejoin the speechless. You will not live long, but every moment until you die you will remember that it was your charge, your responsibility, your mistake that brought on this sentence.” Vaintè stepped forward and hooked her thumbs around the metal emblem of high office and pulled hard, tearing it free. The broken ends cutting the esekasak’s neck. She hurled it into the surf as she chanted the litany of depersonalization.
“I strip you of your charge. All of those present here strip you of your rank for your failure of responsibility. Every citizen of Inegban*, the city that is our home, every Yilanè alive joins us in stripping you of your citizenship. Now I take away your name and no one living will speak it aloud again but will speak instead of Lekmelik, darkness of evil. I return you to the nameless and speechless. Go.”
Vaintè pointed to the ocean, frightening in her wrath. The depersonalized esekasak fell to her knees, stretched full length in the sand at Vaintè’s feet. Her words were barely understandable.
“Not that, no, I beg. Not to blame, it was Deeste who ordered it, forced us. There should have been no births, she didn’t enforce sexual discipline, I cannot be blamed for that, there should have been no births. What has happened is not my fault . . .”
Her voice rumbled in her throat, then died away; the movement of her limbs slowed and stopped.
“Turn the creature over,” Vaintè ordered.
Erafnaiś signaled two of her crew members who hauled at the limp body until it flopped on its back. Lekmelik’s eyes were open and staring, her breathing already slowed. She would be dead soon. Justice had been done. Vaintè nodded approval, then dismissed the creature from her thoughts completely; there was too much to do.
“Erafnaiś, you will stay here and see that the bodies are disposed of,” she ordered. “Then bring the uruketo to the city. I will go now in this boat. I want to see this Eistaa Deeste who I was sent here to replace.”
As Vaintè stepped aboard the boat the guard there signaled humbly for permission to speak. She spoke slowly, with some effort. “It will not be possible for you to see Deeste. Deeste is dead. For many days now. It was the fever, she was one of the last to die.”
“Then my arrival has been delayed too long already.” Vaintè seated herself as the guard spoke commandingly into the boat’s ear. The creature’s flesh pulsed as it started forward, moved by the jet of water it expelled.
“Tell me about the city,” Vaintè said. “But first, your name.” She spoke quietly, warmly. This guard was not to blame for the killings, she had not been on duty. Now Vaintè must think of the city, find the allies she would need if the work were to be done correctly.
“I am Inlènat,” she said, no longer as fearful as she had been. “It will be a good city, we all want it that way. We work hard, though there are many difficulties and problems.”
“Was Deeste one of the problems?”
Inlènat turned her hands away to hide the color of her emotions. “It is not for me to say. I have only been a citizen for a very short time.”
“If you are in the city you are of the city. You may speak to me because I am Vaintè and I am Eistaa. Your loyalty is to me. Take your time and think of the significance of that. It is from me that authority flows. It is to me that all problems will be brought. It is from me that all decisions will radiate. So now you know your responsibilities. You will speak and answer my questions truthfully.”
“I will answer as you command, Eistaa,” Inlènat said with assurance, already settling herself into the new order of things.
Bit by bit, by careful and patient questioning, Vaintè began to build a picture of events in the city. The guard was of too low a station to have knowledge of what had happened in the higher reaches of command—but she was well aware of the results. They were not pleasing.
Deeste had not been popular, that was obvious. She had apparently surrounded herself with a group of cronies who did little or no work. There was every chance that these were the ones who had forgotten their responsibilities, had not taken the other roads of satisfaction when egg-time came, who had instead used the males despite the fact the birth beach was not ready. If this were true, and the truth could be found out easily enough, there would be no waste of a public trial. The criminals would be put to work outside the city, that was all, would work until they fell or were killed or were eaten by the wild creatures. They deserved little else.
The news wasn’t all bad though. The first fields had been cle
ared, while the city itself was over half grown and going according to plan. Since the fever had been countered there had been no medical problems other than normal injuries caused by the heavy work. By the time the boat had entered the river Vaintè had a clear picture of what must be done. She would check on Inlènat’s stories of course, that was natural, but her instincts told her that what the simple creature had told her held the essence of the city’s problems. Some of her tales would be just gossip, but the body of her facts would surely stand.
The sun was setting behind a bank of clouds as the boat pulled in between the water roots of the city, where they stretched out into the harbor. Vaintè automatically pulled one of the cloaks around her as she felt the chill. The cloak was well-fed and warm. It also concealed her identity—and there was nothing wrong with that. Had it not been for the slaughter on the beach she would have insisted on a formal welcome when the uruketo had arrived. That would be unseemly to do now. She would make her way quietly into Alpèasak, so that when the news of the killing reached the city she would be there to guide them. The deaths would not be forgotten, but they would be remembered as the end of the bad period, the beginning of the good. She made solemn promise to herself that everything would be very, very different from now on.
CHAPTER FOUR
Vaintè’s arrival did not go unnoticed. As the boat drew up at the dock she saw that someone was standing there, tight-wrapped in a cloak and obviously waiting for her arrival. “Who is that?” Vaintè asked. Inlènat followed her gaze.
“I have heard her called Vanalpè. Her rank is the highest. She has never spoken to me.”
Vaintè knew her, at least knew her reports. Business-like and formal with never a word about personalities or difficulties. She was the esekaksopa, literally she-who-changed-the-shape-of-things, for she was one of the very few who knew the art of breeding plants and beasts into new and useful forms. Now she was the one with responsibility for the design and actual growth of the city. While Vaintè was Eistaa, the leader of the new city and its inhabitants, Vanalpè had the ultimate responsibility for the physical shape of the city itself. Vaintè tried not let the sudden tension show: this first meeting was of vital importance for it could shape their entire relationship. And upon that relationship depended the fate and the future of Alpèasak itself.
“I am Vaintè,” she said as she stepped out onto the raw wood of the dock.
“I greet you and I welcome you to Alpèasak. One of the fargi saw the uruketo and the approach of this boat and reported to me. It was my greatest wish that it be you. My name is Vanalpè, one who serves,” she said formally, making the sign of submission to a superior. She did it in the old-fashioned way, the full double-hand motion, not in the usual and more modern shortened way. After that she stood square-legged and solid, waiting for orders. Vaintè warmed to her at once and on impulse seized her hand in a gesture of friendship.
“I have read your reports. You have worked hard for Alpèasak. Did the fargi tell you anything else . . . did she speak of the beach?”
“No, just of your arrival. What of the beach?”
Vaintè opened her mouth to speak—and realized that she could not. Since that single scream of pain she had kept her feelings under perfect control. But she felt that now, if she spoke of the slaughter of the males and the young, that her anger and horror would push through. That would not be politic nor help the image of cold efficiency that she always maintained in public.
“Inlènat,” she ordered. “Tell Vanalpè what we found on the beach.”
Vaintè paced down the length of the dock and back, not listening to the voices, planning the order of all the things that she must do. When the voices fell still she looked up and found them both waiting for her to speak.
“Now you understand,” she said.
“Monstrous. The creatures who did this must be found and destroyed.”
“Do you know what they possibly can be?”
“No, but I know one who does. Stallan, who works with me.”
“She is named huntress by design?”
“She is truly named. She alone has ventured into the jungle and forests that surround the city. She knows what is to be found there. Knowing this I have made modifications of the city design that I must give you details . . .”
“Later. Though I am now Eistaa the less pressing duties can wait until something is done about the killings. The city goes well—there are no immediate problems?”
“None that cannot wait. It goes as it should. The fever has been stopped. A few died.”
“Deeste died. Will she be missed?”
Vanalpè was silent, eyes lowered in thought. When she did speak it was obvious that she had considered her responsibilities and weighed her words carefully. “There has been bad-feeling in this city and many say that Deeste was responsible for that. I agree with that opinion. Very few will miss her.”
“Those few . . .?”
“Personal associates. You will quickly discover who they are.”
“I understand. Now send for Stallan and order her to attend me. While we wait show me your city.”
Vanalpè led the way between the high roots, then pushed aside a hanging curtain that shivered at her touch. It was warmer inside and they dropped their cloaks onto the pile beside the door. The cloaks extruded slow tentacles that probed the wall until they smelled the sweetness of the saptree and attached themselves to it.
They passed through the temporary structures close to the waterfront, translucent sheets fastened to skeletal, fast-growing trees. “This technique is new,” Vanalpè explained. “This is the first city to be founded in a very long time. Since the last founding the days were used wisely and great improvements have been made in design.” She was animated now, smiling as she slapped her hand against the brittle sheets. “I developed these myself. A modified insect pupa greatly enlarged. As long as the pupae are well fed in the larval stage they will produce large numbers of these sheets. They are peeled off and joined together while they are still soft. They harden with exposure. Nor is this resource wasted. See, we come to the city tree now.”
She pointed to the network of heavy roots that now formed the walls, where they wrapped and engulfed the translucent sheets. “The sheets are pure carbohydrate. They are absorbed by the tree and form a valuable energy input.”
“Excellent.” Vaintè stopped under a light that huddled next to a heater which had spread its membranous wings. She looked about in unfeigned admiration. “I cannot tell you how pleased I am. I have read all of your reports, I knew what you were accomplishing here, but seeing the solidity of the growth itself is a different matter. It is impressive impressive impressive.” She indicated a repetition and enlargement of the last word. “My first report to Entoban* will say just that.”
Vanalpè turned her head away in silence, not daring to speak. All of the work of her lifetime had been in city design and Alpèasak was the culmination of those labors. The new Eistaa’s unchecked enthusiasm was overpowering. Long moments passed before she was able to speak, pointing to the heater. “This is so new you won’t have seen it in the reports.” She stroked the heater which withdrew its fangs from the saptree for a moment, turned sightless eyes towards her and squeaked thinly. “I have been breeding these experimentally for years. I can truthfully report now that the experiments were successful. They are longer-lived and need no nourishment other than the sugars of the saptree. And feel the body temperature, it is certainly higher than any other.”
“I can only admire.”
Proudly, Vanalpè led the way again, between the curtains of entangled roots. She bent as she went through an opening, holding the roots up so Vaintè could enter, then pointed at the thick trunk that formed the rear wall. She laughed and held out her hand, palm upwards. “It lay there on my hand, that small, it seemed impossible to believe the days and days of labor needed to prepare the mutated gene chains that went into it. And no one was absolutely sure until it grew that our work had be
en successful. I had this area cleared of brush and trees, insect life as well, then I fertilized and watered the ground myself, pushed a hole into it with my thumb—then planted the seed. I slept beside it that night, I couldn’t leave. And next day there was the tiniest green shoot. I can’t describe how I felt. And now—it is this.”
With great pride and happiness Vanalpè slapped the thick bark of the great tree that rose there. Vaintè went and stood beside her, touching the wood herself and feeling the same joy. Her tree, her city.
“This is where I will stay. Tell everyone that this is my place.”
“This is your place. Walls will be planted to ring the place of the Eistaa. I will now go and wait for Stallan, then bring her here.”
When she had gone Vaintè sat in silence until a passing fargi looked her way, then sent her for meat. But when the fargi returned she was not alone.
“I am called Hèksei,” the newcomer said in the most formal manner. “Word has spread of your arrival, great Vaintè, and I have hurried to greet you and welcome you to your city.”
“What is your work in this city, Hèksei?” Vaintè asked, just as formally.
“I attempt to be of aid, to help others, to be loyal to the city . . .”
“You were a close friend of the now-dead Eistaa, Deeste?”
It was more of a statement than a question and the barb struck home. “I don’t know what you have heard. Some people are jealous of others, carry tales—”
Her words cut off as Vanalpè returned, followed by another who wore a sling across one shoulder from which there was suspended a hèsotsan. Vaintè glanced at it, then looked away, saying nothing although its presence here was forbidden by law.
“This is Stallan of whom I spoke,” Vanalpè said, her eyes slipping over Hèksei as though she did not exist.
Stallan made the sign of formal salutation, then stepped backwards towards the door.
“I am in error,” she said hoarsely, and Vaintè noticed for the first time the long scar that puckered her throat. “Unthinkingly, I wore my weapon. Not until I was aware of you looking at it did I realize that I should have left it behind.”
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