“The other side of it. Now that I am a little older, I don’t think we should have been out there in the first place. It was a careless and reckless thing to do. They simply did not have the knowing Tor has—or even the good sense to know that the grass was tall and dry, the wind blew hard, there was no water.”
“Tristal, I didn’t know your parents. But I do know this—and it is not different from the problem we are in with Celeste now. It may be, you know, that the best thing we could do for the Heart River peoples is to kill her.”
Tristal stood suddenly, horrified, but the Protector simply held up her hand and motioned him to sit down again. “No. We won’t. She is a child to be cherished, so we will care for her and hope to bring her health back. Then what? And what of the rest in the dome? Will they rip the life of the Heart River open the way the Tantal almost did? Do you know why we will cherish Celeste? It is normal. We are launching out across a dry area, with tall grass, and no water anywhere. Don’t condemn your parents. It is part of the weave of human life to do such things. Now. Do you see why you must go to Jestak? Do you see why it must be unofficial and unknown? At least he must come and see Celeste. He has traveled widely. We have Celeste. It is the others we must decide about. From what I hear, unless we do something, they will likely die. If we do attempt to help them, then what?”
“Why are you telling all this to a boy like me?”
“I am surprised at that. You practically told me the same thing before I started. Didn’t you? You have the right combination of unobtrusiveness, discernment, and ability. Besides, I know what Jestak could do when he was your age.”
“I am not Jestak.”
“No. But you are Tristal. I will send the message to you before morning, then. Is it agreed?”
“Of course, Protector.” The Jestana stood, walked around the table, and embraced Tristal, patting his back with both hands. She smelled like age and dried mint. After a long moment, Tristal embraced her in return. Then they exchanged one last glance in the lamplight, and Tristal left the room.
The Protector sat a long time, then reached for paper and a quill pen. She wrote slowly, an old woman alone in the night, small moths circling her lamp. Lines etched her face, which sagged slightly beneath the weight of years, but the set of her jaw stayed firm, and her eyes pooled with the depth and reserve of the ancient quarry ponds. Twice she smiled slightly. Finally she stood and walked to the doorway, where a braided cord hung, which she pulled. She resumed her seat.
After a time she heard a guardsman greet the hall guard, and a tall man with a fierce shock of dark hair entered, smoothing down his tunic. He came to attention.
“Dailith. Get Ahroe for me, please.”
“Ahroe, Protector? She comes on duty at high night.”
“If necessary we will get a substitute. Please tell no one.”
“It is about Celeste, Aunty Jes?” The Protector didn’t reply. “I only said that to show you that it will be plain, Protector. I am sorry.”
“How is Lantin?”
“He is much better, thank you.”
“Tell Ahroe to come alone. It would be better if she could stand her watch. This is not a riverside picnic.”
“Yes, Protector.” Dailith bowed and left. The Protector rose, got a message tube, rolled her letter, and put it in. Then she wrote another small note and sat, waiting.
Finally Ahroe appeared, her eyes still puffed with sleep. Her sturdy face showed its guardsman’s hardness through a still youthful beauty, like a dusting of powder. She stood at attention. The Protector motioned her to sit at the table across from her. Ahroe was nonplussed. Guardsmen never did such things. But she sat.
“Lean over so we may talk softly. May I trust you?”
“Of course, Protector.”
“Say, Jestana.”
“Of course, Jestana. I am indebted to you. When Stel and I returned, you helped us start our new family name. We are grateful.”
“Thank you. This is not for you, however, or for me, though some will think it is. This is for the whole Heart River.”
“It has to do with Celeste?”
The Protector sighed. “Does all Pelbarigan talk of nothing else, then?”
“The city is deeply worried.”
“Should we put a guardsman at her door?”
“Yes, Protector. Not tonight, though. Tor is there with her.”
“I will tell Oet. Now, by tomorrow Tristal must be gone, supposedly to look in on the reed-gathering. But he will really go to Northwall to take this to Jestak. Have him tie it in his quiver. He has agreed. This other note is for Tor. Stel may know, but no others. If asked, Tristal has grown restless with building and was given this other message to allow him to roam the prairies. Is that understood? Is that acceptable?”
“Yes, Protector. Of course. Tristal?”
“He is not an old rope, Ahroe. He will hold. Now, will you go? I am sorry to have awakened you. Can you stand your duty at high night?”
“Of course, Protector.”
“Good-bye, then, Ahroe Westrun. Don’t worry about the hall guard. She is ours. Kiss Garet for me.”
“Good-bye, Protector. Thank you.” Ahroe melted through the door.
High up in the room Celeste occupied, the young girl was restive. The room lay almost completely black, but she seemed to see a shadow move. “Tor, are you there? Tor?”
“I am here, girl.”
“Are you asleep?”
“No. How can anyone sleep in such a shut-in place?”
“I thought I saw—”
“Nothing. The shadows of the moon.”
“I did not say what it was.”
“Were it a person, I would kill him before he could walk across the room. No good person comes in the dark.”
“There. It moved again.”
Tor laughed. “Here, I will light the lamp for you,” he said. He stooped to the punk box, blew gently, and eventually drew a flame from the welling smoke. The lamp threw strange shadows on the room.
“See?” he asked. He glanced out the doorway down the hall. “If you will feel safer, I will shut and lock the door.”
“Yes. Please do that. Where is Raran?”
“With Tristal.”
“Could Raran be with me?”
“Not now, little one. Move over.” Celeste moved close to the stone wall, and Tor blew out the light and lay next to her. She put out her hand and curled it around his arm.
“It is like the four of us at the overhanging place again.”
“Yes. Can you sleep now? You mustn’t tell the Haframa. She will have it that I will give you more diseases.”
“Perhaps you will, but I think I have had most of them now.” Celeste said no more, and soon Tor heard the slow breathing of her sleep. He lay unmoving, staring into the dark. The shadow had been a person. Tor had felt him in the hall before he entered the room—it was a scent, a taste of smoky earth, the sense of fear. Celeste had called out when the presence was two steps into the room. Tor’s hand had gone to his axe and begun to lift it from its looped sheath. So the Pelbar conservatives feared the girl that much. Well they might, really. But this would not do. Sick or not, Tor would take her from the city if necessary. Eventually he rose quietly and checked the door. Then he returned to the bed, and he too fell asleep—about the time Tristal drifted across the river on a log to the west shore, where he could travel more openly. Raran swam beside him.
VI
AFTER she stood her guard, and was relieved at dawn, Ahroe went through the high halls to Celeste’s room. The door resisted, so she rattled it slightly. Tor slipped the bar almost immediately, let her in, and shut the door again.
“What is this?”
Tor shook his head slightly and shifted his eyes toward the dozing girl.
“This is from—This is for you.” She handed him the note. He took it to the window and read it slowly, frowning slightly. Ahroe waited by the door.
“Have you room at your house for Celeste?
” he asked.
“What has happened?”
The girl stirred, and Tor turned to her and said, “We’ll be out in the hall. I will not go before the Haframa comes.”
After they closed the door, Tor said, “Someone came into the room in the dark last night.”
“I was afraid of that. What did you do?”
“I came within a dog’s whisker of killing him. Celeste saw a shadow and spoke out, and I answered. Then he slipped out and I locked the door.”
“The Protector has decided to put a guard on the door at all times.”
“Can she be at your house? Can a guard be put there? I am sorry that Raran is gone for a time.”
“Moving her is up to the Protector—and the Haframa. But I can see that we will have to have a full council meeting on her soon. It is curious. She is so young.”
“In some ways. She explains about her microorganisms and her chemicals and what are they—molecules? Ions? She makes the heads of your best people swim. They don’t believe her, but she dazzles them with mathematics, then goes to sleep again with a fever.”
“You believe her knowledge, then.”
“Yes. I don’t understand it. But it has the right feel. She is so sure of it.” He paused, then added, “I brought her. Perhaps I should take her away.”
“To what?”
“That is it. To nothing. Nothing but safety. At least Pelbarigan has something of the same feel for her as the dome, I think—enclosure, stone, barriers.”
Later that day, Celeste was removed to the small stone house that Stel and Ahroe had built on the bluffs, outside the city to the south. She was carried by guardsmen on a litter, the Haframa attending. It was for her health, it was said. Clusters of citizens watched from walls and windows as she went. The routine of her convalescence set in. Tor was free to take a run to the oxbow lakes, but he was gone only two days. Celeste seemed to look for him constantly, but she never seemed to notice that Tristal was not around.
Toward evening three days later, Tristal, astonished, stood on the west bank of the river below Northwall. He knew that the Shumai had begun to gather there, but the flat land on the west side of the river stretched far with cultivated fields. Stone houses stood in streets, and across the river, other houses climbed the low bluffs and stretched east behind the city. Flatboats and log rafts lay in the river. Smoke rose from numerous fires, and people moved in the fields and streets. Cattle and horses grazed in pastures. Horse-drawn carts were visible. Following the Protector’s instructions, he picked out what he thought must be Jestak’s house in a cluster of dwellings on the hills north of the city.
It was dusk when he reached the area. In front of a nearby house he saw a bald man, somewhat stooped, sitting alone. He gave the man the Shumai greeting, then put his finger on the man’s lips, quickly and lightly.
“You must be Stantu. I am Tristal. I must see Jestak.”
“He is inside there, Tristal, if you can get by his daughter.”
Tristal smiled, but Stantu’s look maintained his deep sadness. The young Shumai left Raran with Stantu and went to the entryway of Jestak’s house, then rapped on the heavy door.
It was opened by a girl slightly younger than he—Jestak’s daughter, Fahna. She was just catching the bloom of young womanhood, at an early age. Her mother’s dark beauty had been poured out on her, so that even this young she turned heads when she passed. She was used to it and enjoyed it. She was Jestak’s daughter. It was a proper homage to pay her. And her mother, Tia, was also both beautiful and prominent, as the special friend of the former Protector, the famous Sima Pall, who had helped Jestak transform Northwall.
Fahna saw the Shumai boy, so fair he seemed wholly a bundle of dry wheat. She was prepared for the shock, confusion, and pleasure in his eyes, but he seemed to look through her.
“I am Tristal. I have come to see Jestak,” he said.
“You? You must know he is too busy to see boys. Come back later—perhaps tomorrow.” She went to shut the door, but his foot held it. She frowned.
“What is your business? Get out of here.”
“I have told you my business,” he said simply. “I am Tristal. I must see Jestak.”
She stamped at his foot, but he moved it, holding the door with his shoulder. A woman came, saying, “What is it, Thistle? Oh, who are you?”
“Tristal. I must see Jestak.”
“Come in.” Tia smiled and opened the door, much to Fahna’s dismay.
Tristal entered, and when the door was shut, and Tia waited, he said, “I have a message.”
Tia went to an inner door and opened it halfway. Light angled out from inside a rear chamber. Tristal could see heads behind Tia’s. “A young man with a message for Jestak,” she said.
He was ushered into the back room, and the door shut Fahna out. Her eyes narrowed. It was unfair. Strangers always came in to her own house, and she was kept away from them. And this wretched boy, all knock-kneed and high-voiced—he had not even noticed her. She went outside, where Stantu smiled slightly at her, his hand on Raran’s head. She turned and went back inside.
Inside the room, Tristal unlaced his quiver and handed Jestak the tight roll from his mother. Two of those inside were Shumai, both men. A Sentani man and woman also sat at the table, and Tag, Stantu’s Pelbar wife, stood leaning over it, still studying the map spread out on its surface. It showed a series of streets, and a perimeter, but Tristal only glanced at it. He watched Jestak—the great Jestak—reading the message he himself had brought, his eyes flicking across the lines.
Jestak sat down. He tapped the message on the table edge a few times.
“What is it, Jes?” said Waldura, an older Shumai dressed like an axeman.
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. I may have to go to Pelbarigan. But I must have a reason. My mother says this girl we have heard of—Celeste—is indeed from the dome the Shumai watch at equinox. This young one and his uncle found her.”
“His uncle?”
“Tor.”
“Tor, then. The southern axeman. This must be a story. You—what is your name?”
“Tristal.”
“Have you eaten? Can we get him some food? We will have to hear it all.” A stew was brought, and all listened to Tristal—even Fahna, who had come in with the food—as Tristal recounted the events relating to Celeste, accenting the need for secrecy. As he spoke, Fahna frowned quizzically. He was in love with the girl. She could see that. The wretch. Even though he described her as weak and spindly, he loved her. Anyone could see that—except these stupid adults. Well, then, forget him. But still, he was earnest and modest, and even if he were a boy yet, he had a fine profile, with that true Shumai verticality of facial planes, as her father loved to call it.
Finally, when Tristal finished, they fell to musing.
“What does your mother say, Jes?” Waldura asked.
“Here, I will read you the part about the dome people—which is most of it,” he replied, holding the paper quite far away:
“Beyond what you have heard about the child, Celeste, and the dome, there are some larger considerations. I have talked to her enough, and heard enough more, to know she is a chink through which the knowledge of the ancients pours, but increased. Our conservatives are afraid of this. If the ancients destroyed all once, they hold, does it seem right to reintroduce the new knowledge? What we know of the time of fire, from our tradition, from your travels, and from such other sources as the journey of Stel and Ahroe, indicates a destruction of almost unbelievable scope.
“Our conservatives say we must grow in wisdom before we can risk knowing so much again. I fear some would go so far as to harm the girl and destroy the dome. Most are merely worried, seeing the coming events as a real forking of possible futures for the Pelbar. But you would be surprised at how wide the concern is. Some, like Stel, want to go to the dome and make immediate contact with the people inside. Tristal thinks the girl is afraid of what is inside, though she will not
talk about it. I am inclined to think he may be right, though it is only surmise.
“Would Northwall want to take a hand in this? Can you come and see the mood here? Can you talk to Stel and Ahroe, and to Tor, the Shumai? He is a remarkable man, though developed in only one direction.
“If you come, it should be on some pretext. The conservatives would resent my throwing your weight behind my views—and that is the way they would see it. Tristal must come separately in time and direction. Please read this letter to the Protector in confidence. We will not act independently of her, or Northwall, but I would much appreciate it if the Lauryna could empower you, on her advice, to convey her views to me. Perhaps Waldura could give the opinion of the Shumai, through you. In such a matter, your small Sentani community must be consulted as well.
“I believe we may in the end send a very small group to try to make contact, but this may be the last of my important official acts if we do. That is all right with me, because I wish to retire to Northwall to be near you. However, the transfer of power must not be to the Dahmena, who is, as you must imagine, the chief opponent.
“I look forward to news also of these rumors of a movement of the Peshtak. Are you safe with your outlying settlements? If you cannot come, please send a message by Tristal. Feed him well, and that smelly dog of his. Give my love to . . .”
Jestak sat back again and looked around. Waldura sighed. “If I come, then it will be obvious that we have been asked. That would not sit well.”
“No. Pelbarigan is already upset that we have outgrown them, and that we are more than half outside tribesmen now. They would tend to choose what we do not want.”
“We would want, I assume, to make the contact,” said Rayag, the Sentani woman. “I can see no way to avoid it, really, and be true to Atou.”
“Perhaps Mother already sees the direction of compromise—a very small group may go, so small it may not succeed. There will be a full council, no doubt.”
The Dome in the Forest Page 9