Mon paused for a moment, and into the silence came Monush’s voice. “I have no doubt that this dream is true enough, because we know that many humans and angels are kept as slaves among the Elemaki. But what can we do? It takes all our strength to keep our own people free.”
“But Monush,” said Mon, “these are our people.”
Now the whispers were filled with excitement and outrage.
“Let me hear my son speak,” said Father. The whispers ceased.
Mon blushed. Father had admitted him to be his son, yes, that was good; but he had not used the formal locution, “Let me hear my counselor,” which would have meant that he absolutely accepted what Mon was saying. He was still on trial here. Thanks Edhadeya. This could shame me for my whole life, if it goes badly. I would always be known as the second son who spoke foolishness out of turn in a war council.
“They have no sky people among them,” said Mon. “Who has ever heard of such a kingdom? They are the Zenifi, and they call to us for help.”
Husu, the angel who served the king as his chief spy, leading hundreds of strong, brave sky people who kept constant watch on the borders of the kingdom, raised his right wing, and Mon nodded to give him the king’s ear. He had seen this done before at council, but since he had never had the king’s ear himself, this was the first time he had ever been able to take part in the niceties of formal discussion.
“Even if the dream is true and the Zenifi are calling out to us in dreams,” said Husu, “what claim do they have upon us? They rejected the decision of the first King Motiak and refused to live in a place where sky people outnumbered middle people five to one. They left Darakemba of their own free will, to return to the land of Nafai. We thought they must have been destroyed. If we learn now that they are alive, we’re glad, but it means nothing more than that to us. If we learn now that they’re in bondage, we’re sad, but again, it means nothing more than that.”
When his speech was finished, Mon looked to the king for permission to speak again.
“How do you know they’re the Zenifi?” asked Father.
Again, Mon could say nothing more than to repeat what he knew was true. Only this was exactly the point that he wasn’t sure of. They were the Zenifi, but they were not the Zenifi. Or something. Something else. They used to be Zenifi, was that it? Or are they simply a part of the Zenifi?
“They are Zenifi,” said Mon, and as he said it he knew that it was right, or right enough. They may not be the Zenifi, the whole people; but they are Zenifi, even if somewhere else there might be others.
But Mon’s answer gave Father little to go on. “A dream?” he said. “The first king of the Nafari had true dreams.”
“As did his wife,” said Bego.
“The great queen Luet,” said Father, nodding. “Bego is wise to remind us of history. Both were true dreamers. And there were other true dreamers among them. And among the sky people, and among the earth people too, in those days. But that was the age of heroes.”
Mon wanted to insist: It is a true dream. But he had seen at council before how Father resisted when men tried to press their case by saying the same thing again and again. If they had new evidence, fine, let them speak and Father would hear; but if they were merely insisting on the same old story, Father merely believed them less and less the more they pushed. So Mon held his tongue and merely continued to look his father in the eye, unabashed.
He heard bGo’s soft murmur as he spoke to his otherself: “I know what the gossips will be chatting about for the next week.”
“The boy has courage,” Bego answered softly.
“So do you,” said bGo.
In the silence, Aronha stood from the table, but instead of asking Mon for the king’s ear, he walked around behind the chairs to stand behind his father. It was a privilege that only the king’s heir had, to speak to the king privately in front of his other counselors without giving offense—for it was not presumption for the heir to display a special privacy with the king.
Father listened to Aronha, then nodded. “This can be said aloud,” he said, granting permission.
Aronha returned to his seat. “I know my brother,” he said. “He does not lie.”
“Of course not,” said Monush, and Husu echoed him.
“More than that,” said Aronha. “Mon never claims to know what he doesn’t know. When he’s unsure, he says so. And when he’s sure, he’s always right.”
Mon felt a thrill run through him, to hear such words from his brother’s mouth. Aronha wasn’t just standing up for him—he was asserting something so outrageous that Mon was frightened for him. How could he make such a claim?
“Bego and I have noticed it,” said Aronha. “Why else do you suppose Bego risked his own place at the king’s table in order to introduce Mon’s words? I don’t think Mon realizes it himself. Most of the time he is uncertain of himself. He can be persuaded easily; he never argues. But when he truly knows a thing, he never backs down, never, no matter how much we argue. And when he digs in his heels like that, Bego and I both know well, he’s never been wrong. Not once. I would stake my honor and the lives of good men on the truth of what he says today. Even though I think the dream was not his own, if he says it’s a true dream and the people are the Zenifi, then I know that it’s the truth as surely as if I saw old Zenif with my own eyes.”
“Why do you think the dream is not his own?” asked Father, suddenly wary.
“Because he never said it was,” said Aronha. “If it was, he would have said it. He didn’t, so it wasn’t.”
“Whose dream was it?” demanded the king.
“The daughter of Toeledwa,” said Mon immediately.
There was an immediate uproar at the table, partly because Mon had dared to mention the name of the dead queen at a celebratory occasion, but mostly because he had brought the counsel of a woman to the king’s table.
“We would not have heard that voice here!” cried one of the old captains.
Father raised his hands and everyone fell silent. “You’re right, we would not have heard that voice here. But my son believes that the message of that voice needed to be heard, and so he dared to bring it; and Ha-Aron has declared his belief in it. So now the only question before this council is: What shall we do, now that we know the Zenifi are calling to us for help?”
The discussion immediately passed beyond any realm where Mon would be consulted, and he sat down, listening. He scarcely trusted himself to look at anyone, for fear he would break discipline and show a smile of such relief, such gratification that everyone would know that he was still only a child, the second son.
Husu opposed sending any sky people to risk their lives rescuing the Zenifi; in vain did Monush argue that the first generation, the one that had rejected all human association with angels, was surely dead by now. As they discussed the issue, with other counselors chiming in with their own points, Mon risked a glance at his brother. To his chagrin, Aronha was looking right at him, grinning. Mon ducked his head to hide his own grin, but he was happier at this moment than he had ever been before in his life.
He turned then, to glance at Bego, but it was bGo who whispered to him. “What if a hundred die, for this dream of Edhadeya’s?”
The words struck Mon through the heart. He hadn’t thought of that. To send an army so far into Elemaki territory, up the endless narrow canyons where ambush was possible anywhere—it was dangerous, it was foolhardy, yet the war council was arguing, not about whether to risk it, but whom to take on the raid.
“Don’t ruin the boy’s triumph,” murmured Bego. “Nobody’s making the soldiers go. He told the truth and he did it boldly. Honor to him.” Bego raised his glass of mulled wine.
Mon knew to raise his own glass of twice-cut wine. “It was your voice opened the door, Ro-Bego.”
Bego sipped his wine, frowning. “None of your middle-being titles for me, boy.”
bGo grinned—a rare expression for him—and said, “My otherself is beside hims
elf with pleasure; you must excuse him, it always makes him surly.”
Father proposed the compromise. “Let Husu’s spies guard Monush’s human soldiers until they find a way past the outposts of the Elemaki. From what we understand, there’s chaos among the kingdoms in the land of Nafai these days, and it may be far safer than usual to get in. Then, when Monush passes within the guarded borders, the spies hold back and wait for them to emerge again.”
“How long?” asked Husu.
“Eighty days,” said Monush.
“It’s the wet season in high country,” said Husu. “Are we to freeze or starve? What is the plan?”
“Keep five men there for ten days,” said the king. “Then another five, and another, for ten days each.”
Monush raised his left hand in agreement. Husu raised his left wing, but muttered nonetheless, “To bring back worthless bigots, yes, I’m sure that’s worth the trouble.”
Mon was surprised that Husu was allowed to speak so boldly.
“I understand the anger the sky people feel toward the Zenifi,” said Father. “That’s why I take no offense at the mockery in your acceptance of my proposal.”
Husu bowed his head. “My king is kinder than his servant deserves.”
“That’s the truth,” muttered bGo. “Someday Husu will go too far and the rest of us will pay for it.”
The rest of “us”? He must mean the sky people as a whole, thought Mon. It was a disturbing thought, that somehow the sky people would all be held responsible for Husu’s audacity. “That wouldn’t be fair,” said Mon.
bGo chuckled softly. “Listen to him, Bego. He says it isn’t fair—as if that means it couldn’t happen.”
“In the secret heart of every human man,” whispered Bego, “the sky people are nothing more than impertinent beasts.”
“That’s not true,” said Mon. “You’re wrong!”
Bego looked at him, bemused.
“I’m a human, aren’t I?” demanded Mon. “And in my heart the angels are the most beautiful and glorious people.”
Mon had not been shouting, but the intensity in his voice had stilled all other voices. In the sudden silence, he realized that everyone had heard him. He looked at his Father’s surprised expression and blushed.
“It seems to me,” said Father, “that some of the council have forgotten that only those with the king’s ear can speak here.”
Mon rose to his feet, hot with shame. “Forgive me, sir.”
Father smiled. “I believe it was Aronha who said that when you dug in your heels, you were always right.” He turned to Aronha. “Do you stand by that?”
A bit uncertain, Aronha looked his father in the eye and said, “Yes, sir.”
“Then I believe it is the opinion of this council that the angels are indeed the most beautiful and glorious people.” And Father raised his glass to Husu.
Husu stood, bowed, and lifted his glass in response. Both drank. Then Father looked at Monush, who laughed, stood, and lifted his glass to drink as well.
“The words of my second son have brought peace to this table,” said Father. “That is always wisdom, to these ears, at least. Come, have done. The council is over and there is nothing more for us here except to eat—and ponder how the dreams of young girls, brought by young boys, have set in motion the feet and wings of warriors.”
Edhadeya waited for her father to come to her small room to talk with her as he did every night. Usually she was happy that he was coming, eager to tell him how she did in school, to show off a new word or phrase in the ancient language, to tell him of some adventure or gossip or achievement of the day. Tonight, though, she was afraid, and she wasn’t sure which she feared more—that Mon had told Father of her dream, or that he hadn’t. If he hadn’t, then she would have to tell him now herself, and then he might pat her shoulder and tell her that the dream was strange and wonderful and then he would just ignore it, not realizing that it was a true dream.
When he came to her doorway, though, Edhadeya knew that Mon had told him. His eyes were sharp and searching. He stood in silence, his arms bracing the doorframe. Finally he nodded. “So the spirit of Luet is awake in my daughter.”
She looked down at the floor, unsure whether he was angry or proud.
“And the spirit of Nafai in my second son.”
Ah. So he wasn’t angry.
“Don’t bother explaining why you couldn’t tell me this yourself,” said Father. “I know why, and I’m ashamed. Luet never had to use subterfuge to get her husband’s ear, nor did Chveya have to get her brother or her husband to speak for her when she had wisdom that others needed to know.”
In one motion he knelt before her and took her hands in his. “I looked around the king’s council tonight, as we finished our meal, thoughts of danger and war in our minds, of the Zenifi in bondage and needing to be saved, and all I could think of was—why have we forgotten what our first ancestors knew? That the Keeper of Earth cares not whether he speaks to a woman or a man?”
“What if it’s not so?” she whispered.
“What, you doubt it now?” asked Father.
“I dreamed the dream, and it was true—but it was Mon who said it was the Zenifi. I didn’t understand it at all till he said that.”
“Keep talking to Mon when you have true dreams,” said Father. “I know this: When Mon spoke, I felt a fire kindle in my heart and I thought—the words came into my mind as clearly as if someone had spoken them in my ear—I thought, A mighty man stands here in boyshape. And then I learned the dream was yours, and again the voice came into my mind: The man who listens to Edhadeya will be the true steward of the Keeper of Earth.”
“Was it—the Keeper who spoke to you?” asked Edhadeya.
“Who knows?” said Father. “Maybe it was fatherly pride. Maybe it was wishful thinking. Maybe it was the voice of the Keeper. Maybe it was the second glass of wine.” He laughed. “I miss your mother,” he said. “She would know better than I what to make of you.”
“I’m doing my best with her,” said Dudagu from the door.
Edhadeya gasped in surprise. Dudagu had a way of moving around silently so that no one knew where she might be eavesdropping.
Father rose to his feet. “But I have never charged you with my daughter’s education,” said Father gently. “So what in the world would you be doing your best at?” He grinned at Dudagu and then strode out of Edhadeya’s room.
Dudagu glared at Edhadeya. “Don’t think this dream business can get you anywhere, little girl,” she said. Then she smiled. “What you say to him in here, I can always unsay to him on his pillow.”
Edhadeya smiled her prettiest smile back at her stepmother. Then she opened her mouth and jammed her finger down her throat as if to make herself throw up. A moment later she was smiling prettily again.
Dudagu shrugged. “Four more years till I can have you married off,” she said. “Believe me, I already have my women looking for someone suitable. Someone far away from here.”
She glided silently away from the door and down the hall. Edhadeya threw herself back on her bed and murmured, “I would dearly love to have a true dream of Dudagu Dermo in a boating accident. If you arrange those things, dear Keeper of Earth, keep in mind that she doesn’t swim, but she’s very tall, so the water must be deep.”
The next day all the talk was of the expedition to find the Zenifi. And the morning after that, the lofty people and the officials of the city turned out to see the soldiers march away, the spies flying their daredevil maneuvers in the sky above them. Edhadeya thought, as she watched them go, So this is what a dream can do. And then she thought, I should have more such dreams.
At once she was ashamed of herself. If I ever lie about my dreams and claim a true one when it isn’t so, then may the Keeper take all my dreams away from me.
Sixteen human soldiers, with a dozen spies shadowing them from the air, set out from Darakemba. It was not an army, was not even large enough to be a serious raiding party,
and so their departure caused only a momentary stir in the city. Mon watched, though, with Aronha and Edhadeya standing beside him on the roof.
“They should have let me go with them,” said Aronha angrily.
“Are you that generous, that you want the kingdom to come to me?” asked Mon.
“Nobody’s going to be killed,” said Aronha.
Mon didn’t bother to answer. He was perfectly aware that Aronha knew Father was right—there was a touch of madness to this expedition. It was a search party trying to find the location of a dream. Father took only volunteers, and it was only with great reluctance that he let the great soldier Monush lead them. There was no chance that he would send his heir. “They’d spend all their time worrying about your safety instead of the mission I’m sending them on,” Father had said. “Don’t worry, Aronha. You’ll have your first sight of bloody battle far too soon, I’m sure. If I sent you out this time, though, your mother would rise up from the grave to scold me.” Mon had felt a thrill of fear when he heard this, until he saw that everyone else was taking it as a joke.
Everyone but Aronha, of course, who really was furious at not being included. “My sister can have the dream, my brother can tell you the dream—and what is for me? Tell me that, Father!”
“Why, Aronha, I have given you exactly as much involvement as I have given myself—to stand and watch them go.”
Well, now they were doing just that, standing and watching them go. Normally Aronha would have seen the soldiers off from the steps of the king’s house, but he claimed it would be too humiliating to stand beside the king when he had been declared too useless to go. Father didn’t argue with him, just let him go to the roof, and now here he stood, furious even though he had already admitted to Mon that if he were in Father’s place he’d make the same decision. “Just because Father’s right doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.”
Edhadeya laughed. “By the Cottonmouth, Aronha, that’s when Father makes us the maddest!”
Earthborn (Homecoming) Page 5