Hot Sleep

Hot Sleep Page 23

by Orson Scott Card

  “And what do you know,” she said bitterly, “about quality in a man?”

  “Enough,” he said, and he got up and left, as Dilna tried to force her trembling hands to carve true. She couldn’t, and she, too, walked out of the public house.

  She went down the dusty road toward the house that she and Hoom had shared since their marriage. It was much more elaborate now— prosperity had helped it grow—but the original cabin was still there, a back room now.

  She went inside, suddenly bone weary, wishing she could go to sleep and wake on another planet, as Stipock kept saying people did. A crazy man. For all these years, we’ve followed a crazy man. No wonder we do crazy things.

  The house was clean inside, and the cupboards were full. Hoom, for all his mildness and lack of initiative, was a good provider. She sold her carvings because it made people prize her work, not because she needed the money. And it was like Hoom—to dig up young trees, plant them, and sell the fruit. He only needed to plant once, and he reaped forever, only pruning now and then. His orchards spread from the Heaven River far inland. Tame trees. Hoom thought he could tame anything or anybody. Except me, she thought bitterly. Only I cannot be tamed, no matter how I long to be.

  Why Wix? she wondered. And why now? Why a week ago? Why not ten years from now, or never, or always, so that Hoom would never have loved me, would never have been hurt. And how the hell did Hoom know? Too many questions. Does everyone know?

  And if Stipock had only been guessing, she had certainly confirmed his guess. What a fool I am, Dilna reminded herself.

  When Hoom got home Dilna was asleep, but she roused herself with a groan when she heard the door open, wrapped a blanket around her, and went into the common room, where Hoom and Wix were saying good night. Wix waved a greeting at her, and then disappeared silently as Hoom swung the door shut.

  “Well?” Dilna asked. “How did the meeting go?”

  “I’m tired,” Hoom said, collapsing on a chair in an exaggeration of weariness.

  “Tell me,” Dilna insisted.

  “And what will you give me if I do?” Hoom asked with a lazy smile. Dilna sighed and walked over to him. She sat on his lap, wrapping the blanket around them both. He rubbed his hand across her bare stomach and laughed. “Ah, the wages I get in this house!”

  “Tell me,” Dilna said, “or I’ll put roaches in your bed.”

  “You would,” he said. “So I’ll tell you: Noyock’s willing.”

  “Good,” she said. “That’ll defuse that bastard Billin.”

  “Don’t call names. What’s much more important, my dear, is that father’s willing, too.”

  “You spoke to your father?”

  Hoom smiled, but he didn’t look amused. “It would have interfered with the negotiations if I hadn’t. After all, he is the leader of the Uniters.”

  “That’s one nice thing about the opposition— they’re very orderly, always appointing leaders.”

  “We don’t have to appoint one: we have one already.”

  “But Stipock refuses to say what he wants,” Dilna said, getting up and walking to the cooking fire, which still had enough heat to stir it back to flame. “Want some broth?”

  “As a second choice,” Hoom said.

  She put the kettle over the flames, its brass long since blackened by smoke. “What did Aven say?”

  “That if we were willing to accept the general leadership of the Warden, they’d consent to a separate vote and a separate tax.”

  “No, silly,” she said. “What did he say afterward?”

  “He tried to get all emotional and pretend that there was a reconciliation. But I left as soon as I could.”

  Dilna felt strangely irritated. “It was awfully petty of you, not to let things smooth over.”

  Hoom didn’t answer, and she knew he was angry. Oh well, what the hell. He’d forget as soon as she climbed into his bed. Instant forgiveness, she called it. Privately, of course—it would never do to let Hoom know how transparent he was.

  Change the subject: “Any doubt about the vote?”

  “No. Even if half the Uniters don’t go along with the compromise—which is likely enough, too many old people believe the History says that Jason has commanded us always to be united no matter how widely we spread out—we’ll have enough votes to turn the difference.”

  The broth had already been warm, and now it was steaming hot. She ladled some into a bowl and carried it to Hoom. “Thank you,” her husband said as she went back for a bowl for herself. They drank the broth in silence. When it was gone, Hoom went outside to relieve himself and Dilna went to the bedroom and turned down the blankets on his bed. Even though Hoom never treated her like a possession (as a lot of the older men treated their wives, and too many younger ones, too), she still liked to do small services that made his life more comfortable.

  As she turned back the blankets she wondered: Does he know?

  She thought of how Wix had looked afterward, half-covered with damp leaves and his face twisted in—what, grief? Regret? Disappointment? He should have married, the bastard, and then he never would have been tempted by her, nor she by him. There was no way Hoom could know.

  He came into the room, stripping off his shirt as he walked. “Getting chilly now. Jason’s due back in a month. From today. Noyock wanted us to wait until he came.”

  Dilna turned in surprise. “Actually, why not? That isn’t a bad idea. After all, the whole idea of voting was put in after Jason’s last visit—why not let Jason see it in action?”

  “Because,” Hoom said wryly, “he might take offense at it and abolish the practice, and every old bastard in Heaven City would give it up just like that. We haven’t mentioned it much, but that’s one of the reasons Stipock’s been pushing us to get the decision now, before the old god returns from the Star Tower.”

  “So Stipock does have opinions.”

  “One or two,” Hoom said. “So do I. I’m of the opinion that I married the most desirable woman in Heaven City.”

  As he caressed her she laughed and said, “What about the most beautiful?”

  “Goes without saying,” he answered. But she wondered anyway whether he knew: why had he chosen to call her desirable? Did he know who had desired her? And been satisfied?

  She didn’t go back to her own bed until nearly morning, wondering as she did why she had insisted on that arrangement a year after they married. A sign of independence, she supposed. Everybody had to have their little signs of independence.

  Because Hoom’s orchard needed little tending at this time of year, he spent most of the day in the house, and there was a constant stream of visitors. Dilna usually would have been in the common room joining into the conversations, but today she didn’t feel like it, and instead she climbed up onto the shingled roof (Wix’s innovation, and it had made him rich before he turned eighteen) and lay there, occasionally carving, but usually looking up at the clouds that promised rain (but not a drop fell, of course, for the winds were from the west and not until they shifted to the north would the fall rains begin).

  Once she climbed to the crest of the roof and looked out across the river, where now four boats made regular trips back and forth. Eternally back and forth—boring. Wix and Hoom talked of following the current, going down the river to see where it led. As soon as the vote was taken and things were settled. Well, that’s tomorrow, Dilna thought, and I’ll be packed five minutes after they vote.

  She wondered vaguely why she was so anxious to get away, but when her mind made a connection to that day a week ago in the woods to the west, she slid halfway down the roof (damn the splinters, I’ll slide if I want) and carved furiously for a while.

  She had fallen asleep on the roof when Hoom found the ladder and climbed up. She was surprised to see it was nearly evening.

  “Trying to kill yourself?” Hoom asked, concerned.

  “Yes,” she answered, and then realized that Hoom really had been concerned. “No, Hoom, I couldn’t possibly fall o
ff.”

  “Yes you could,” Hoom said, and then he helped her carry her things back down the ladder.

  “The visitors all gone?”

  Hoom nodded and led the way into the house. “But they aren’t all happy about the compromise.”

  “Why not?”

  “Billin says he can’t tolerate having the Warden over him. Though why he should hate Noyock so badly I don’t know.”

  “He’s a fool sometimes,” Dilna said. “Noyock’s bound to be replaced next month when Jason comes. Who knows? Maybe Stipock will be Warden—now there’s a thought that makes me want to throw the vote away!”

  Hoom laughed. “Stipock Warden? The way he feels about Jason? I should tell you—there’s even talk of separating from Jason himself. That’s what Billin wants, anyway.”

  Dilna was silent for a while. Separate from Jason? Well, of course, no one thought Jason was God anymore, at least not in Stipock’s village on this side of the river. But separate?

  That made her uneasy. She was eager to cut ties—but all the ties? That felt like Hoom’s feud with his father: wrong somehow, a wound that should be healed, not widened. And would Jason stand for it? He had tools—like the little box he had held in his hand when he killed the ox that went wild. Would he turn that against a man? The thought made her shudder. Of course not. But they’d never separate from Jason—that was just Billin’s talk.

  Hoom and Dilna spent the evening weaving and sewing together, and then went to bed.

  In the morning she felt a familiar nausea, and vomited before breakfast.

  “Well?” Hoom asked her as she came back from the privy.

  “Damn,” she said. “Why now?”

  “It’s hard to pick the time,” he said, laughing. “This one we’ll have,” he said. He held her tightly around the waist. She smiled at him, but there was nothing behind the smile. She knew when her last fertile time had been—damn Stipock for even telling them about the cycle within the cycle— and it was possible, just possible, that Wix was the father. And he and Hoom looked so different.

  Don’t borrow trouble, she told herself. I’ve got months yet, and heaven knows the chances are better that it’ll look like Hoom.

  As always, Hoom misunderstood what she was worried about. “Two miscarriages aren’t that bad,” he said, consoling her. “Plenty of women have had two and then on the third pregnancy, the baby was born. Which do you want, a boy or a girl?”

  “Yes,” she answered, reviving the old joke from their last pregnancy, and then she told him she felt good enough to go to Firstfield.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Once I throw up I’m always fine,” she said. “And I’m sure as hell not missing the vote.”

  So they walked to the shore and got in Hoom’s small boat. This time Dilna was at the tiller, the less strenuous job, while Hoom tended sail. The wind from the west and the current from the east made crossing tricky—every gust of wind meant quick adjustments so the boat wouldn’t veer in the current. But they sailed into Linkeree’s Bay, where dozens of other boats were already landed, and still more were just coming across the river.

  The group from Stipock’s Bay walked to Firstfield together, as their friends and sympathizers—mostly young—from Heaven City joined them along the way. The talk was cheerful and neutral—about anything but the upcoming vote—and they arrived in Firstfield in good humor.

  Once there, however, they quickly got down to business. “What’s the count?” Hoom asked, and Wix smiled as he said, “I don’t think anybody stayed home today. On either side.”

  “How will the vote turn out?” Dilna asked.

  “Well, Aven’s sure that at least half his people will vote for the compromise. And with ours, there’s no chance of it failing.” Wix looked around. “Even Billin’s smiling and looking happy. And he swore he’d do anything before he’d let the Warden keep power over us.”

  Hoom put his arm around Dilna. “When it comes down to it, Billin’s a pretty sensible man. Just loves to hear himself talk.”

  But Dilna was watching Billin as he chattered happily not far away, surrounded by his supporters. Billin had been talking for weeks of how nothing short of complete freedom from the Warden—and from Jason—would be acceptable to him. He seems too happy right now, she thought.

  I’m just depressed because of the pregnancy, she thought.

  But she was not the only one depressed when the no vote was considerably louder than the yes vote. Concerned, Wix leaped to his feet at the same time as Aven, and both of them shouted for a count. “Closer than we thought it would be,” Wix said as he sat down. “Trust the diehards to yell louder.”

  But the count made it even more obvious. In favor of the partial independence were a clear majority of the Uniters. But among the people of Stipock’s Bay, fully two-thirds were opposed.

  Noyock finished the count, and shook his head. “People of Heaven City, I don’t understand you!” he shouted.

  Aven leaped to his feet. “I understand! Those crossriver bastards make all kinds of promises, but nothing comes of it!”

  Many of the older people grumbled their agreement, and Billin shouldered his way through the crowd to the front. “May I speak?” he asked. Noyock shook his head. “Anybody who wants to listen to you, Billin, is free to. But I’m closing the council. Heaven City stands as a unit. The vote was against separation, and that’s all I can do.”

  Noyock walked away from the front, and many of the older people gathered around him followed him away from Firstfield. Billin, undisturbed, began to shout.

  “Why did we vote against the so-called compromise?” he asked.

  “Who the hell cares!” Wix shouted back, and those who had voted for it laughed.

  “We voted against that so-called compromise because it was a trap set by these Jason-loving old men, to keep us under the thumb of their precious Warden! Well, we don’t need you here in Heaven City, and we don’t have to settle for your outmoded, rigid, stupid laws and decisions! We’ll cross that river, and take all the boats with us, and you can keep your Heaven City and we’ll be a new city! Stipock City! A place where people are free!”

  A thin cheer arose from those who had voted with Billin—and a few others.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Dilna said.

  “I agree,” Hoom said.

  “What I want to know,” Wix shouted, even as he was walking through the crowd to leave with them, “is what you plan to do for metal if we don’t cross the river!”

  “That’s Wix for you!” Billin shouted. “If he didn’t think of a plan himself, he doesn’t like it!” Laughter. “Well, Wix, three days ago Coren, Rewen, and Hanlatta came back from a little exploring party to the north of the river. And sure enough, they found what they were looking for! Copper! Tin! A supply as good as anything here on this side of the river! We’re independent in every way now! So let the old men and the old women sit over here for the rest of their lives. We’ll build a city that’s a decent place to live in! We’ll have no Warden! We’ll have no God who tells us what we can and cannot do! We’ll have no… .”

  Dilna, Hoom, and Wix were far enough up Noyock’s Road that they didn’t have to listen anymore. Several of their friends were with them, and the silence was depressing as they walked up the hill.

  Soon, however, they began joking, clowning, mocking each other and the events of the day. And by the time they reached the rest of the hill, they were laughing.

  Stipock was standing, alone, on the hill.

  “Didn’t you go to the council?” Hoom asked him.

  Stipock shook his head. “I knew how it would end.”

  “I didn’t,” Hoom said. “I wish you’d told me. Before we set ourselves up as idiots.” Hoom laughed, but the mood was suddenly somber again.

  “I might have been wrong,” Stipock said. Wix laughed, spoke loudly so all could hear: “Do you hear that? Write it down—it’s the first time we’ve heard him say it. Stipock might have been wrong!”

&
nbsp; Stipock smiled thinly. “The feelings run too deep. Too many people love to hate. People aren’t willing to work together.”

  “As the man who taught us that division was a wonderful thing, it’s odd you should suddenly love peace and cooperation so much.”

  Stipock looked very tired. “You don’t know. I was born and raised in the Empire. Too many laws, so much oppression, everything far too rigid. And overnight I was put here, and I had to fight those laws, relieve that oppression, loosen things up.”

  “Damn right,” Wix said.

  “Well,” Stipock said, “it can get a little out of hand.” And then he looked down from the hill toward Linkeree’s Bay. And all the eyes followed his, and saw the flames and the smoke rising. The boats were burning.

  They shouted, and most of them ran down the hill, screaming threats that they couldn’t possibly carry out, shouting for them to stop, not to burn the boats.

  Only Dilna stayed with Stipock and they walked slowly down the road toward the bay. “Your plans didn’t work, did they, Stipock.”

  “Or worked too well. The one thing I didn’t count on, you see, was the fanaticism of the people I converted too well, and this kind of reaction from the people I antagonized too much.”

  “There it is, you know,” Dilna said. “You’re just like Jason in your own way, Stipock. Twisting people around to do what you want them to do. Playing God with their lives. And what do you think will be left when the smoke dies down?”

  And Dilna sped up, leaving Stipock walking slowly behind her.

  At the burning ships, Wix and Hoom were having a shouting match with Aven and Noyock. Dilna ignored them. Just watched the flames and the red coals of burnt wood.

  “… Have no right! …” she heard her husband shout, and she only sighed, marveling at how people who hated laws pleaded for rights when their opponents, too, turned lawless.

  “… Won’t have this city split apart by children… .” came Noyock’s voice, angry and yet still, in his own way, trying to reason.

  “Our homes are on the other side!” Wix cried out. And Noyock answered, “We’ll let anyone who swears to loyally support and obey the laws Jason gave us build a new boat and cross the Heaven River.”

 

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