The Dome in the Forest

by Paul O. Williams

  Jestak laughed. “No, Mother. I have traveled since before daybreak and entered a rebellion. I am tired, but this is too interesting.”

  “I have changed my mind. Go to Ahroe’s cottage. See Hagen if you can. If he is awake, send him my comfort and thanks. See to the others also.”

  “Of course.” The two embraced, and Jestak abruptly left. The Jestana sat down again, thinking. Then she stood, moved the table, put her hair up for the night, changed to her night robe, removed all the chairs but one, and sat in it, turning the lamp to throw its light away from her.

  The guardcaptain knocked, and the Jestana sounded her small bell of admittance. Ithring entered with the Dahmena, who was pale and tight-mouthed. The Protector looked up at her and sighed.

  “I trust that your relative, this Cyklo, will recover in good time, and I hope that he has not been hurt badly.”

  The Dahmena said nothing.

  “Guardcaptain, please search the Northcounsel and remove any weapons she may have with her.”

  “But—”

  “Do it.”

  “Protector, I protest,” said the Dahmena. “I will bring this up to the full council.”

  “Stand, Dahmena. I intend to carry out the orders of the Protector.”

  “I will requite you this dishonor.”

  “You have already. I assume you were addressing me.”

  “Yes . . . Protector.”

  “Thank you. Now, for once, you will listen and I will talk.”

  Ithring removed a small knife from the sleeve of the Dahmena’s robe and a thin folding knife from her waistband. She handed them to the Protector, who hefted them in her hand. “Is it usual with you to carry weapons, Northcounsel? That seems an odd procedure for a council member.”

  “This is an odd council, Protector, and these are odd times. You see I have violent people in my own family. We see the whole Pelbar system undermined before our eyes. A strong Protector could halt this change. Not you. I am afraid now. I feel the need to protect myself. We lived over a thousand years with closed walls. We could do it again and preserve our way of life.”

  “Not over a thousand years, Northcounsel. It was hundreds of years after the time of fire before Pelbarigan was built, as you must know. But that is not the point. You must realize that it is the duty of every social leader to help the society to survive. If we are to survive, we must meet the world on its own terms. Before the world began opening up again, the old Pelbar way served admirably. It no longer does. If we shut out the Shumai and Sentani, while Northwall has admitted them, quite successfully, and to its own enrichment, then we are dividing the peoples. You must see that.”

  “Why must I?”

  “It is so obvious. You would otherwise be stupid.”

  “You seem to allow for no breadth of opinion, Protector.”

  “I do not? It is a marvel you should say that. Your family has had that reputation as long as I can remember. But I do not propose to argue the obvious with you, merely to offer you the options. First, continuing as things are is not one of them. You have gone too far. You will realize that our investigations will be full, and they will disclose what now lies hidden. I am absolutely sure that you will not retain your seat on the council. You may, as you proposed, take your party and construct a new settlement. We will even help you do it. You may, with the permission of Threerivers, join them. You may request a council vote on the matter.”

  “If we leave the city, the heart goes out of it. We have always been the backbone of Pelbarigan.”

  “You are its appendix, Dahmena. And infected. Now go.” The Protector rose to leave the room.

  “A curse on you,” the Dahmena hissed after her.

  “Are you addressing me?” the Protector asked, turning.

  “A curse on you, Protector.”

  “That is better. As you leave, you might explain to yourself how the backbone of Pelbarigan curses when Aven does not curse and we are all worshipers of Aven. Now, Ithring, remove her.”

  The guardcaptain took the arm of the Northcounsel, not gently, and steered her toward the door.

  As Jestak approached the cottage of Stel and Ahroe, he heard a slight sound in the shadow. “Who is it?” he asked.

  “Tor.”

  “Tor. Good. I am Jestak.”

  “Come and talk a moment.”

  Unhesitatingly, Jestak moved into the shadow, and the two palmed hands in greeting. Tor stood a full head above Jestak, who was not short for a Pelbar.

  “Celeste, Tor? Is she safe?”

  “Yes. She is snug and hidden. Where is Tristal?”

  “He is on his way here, I assume. He is a fine young man. If you want Celeste to go to Northwall, she will be safe there, and we will welcome her.”

  “That may be best. We will see. She is only a child. It is foolish to treat her as she has been.”

  “She is a child, but also a charge of explosive. She stands to transform Heart River society, and some of us can’t stand it.”

  “So I have seen. By the way, I took Celeste out the back—Stel’s special provision—when we heard them coming. We were downriver on the bluffs when I heard one nearby. Celeste moved, so I had to pitch him off the bluff.”

  “Ah. That explains it. He is in the city now. He had blood on his sword, so they assume him to be the one who slashed Hagen.”

  “Hagen? Is he dead, then?”

  “I don’t think so. I have come to see to him in part. We should go to the house.”

  As they entered, they found Hagen lying, weak and pale, in the front room. His eyes shone when Tor entered and leaned to embrace him. Ahroe sat by him, her face wet. Tor introduced Jestak, whom Hagen had never seen, and the old man felt a certain awe in the presence of the man who had so changed the Heart River peoples.

  Jestak knelt by him and took his hand. “Again the Pelbar have much reason to thank you. I’m afraid we have been much trouble to you.”

  “No trouble. I am glad everyone is safe.”

  “Safe? And how is the waif?” Stel asked Tor.

  “Safe, too. Let’s leave the rest to the guardsmen and go to bed,” said Jestak. Tor waved to them and glided out into the darkness.

  Deep in the north quadrant, a small meeting of women from several families heard the Dahmena say, “I have never been so humiliated. I seem to have lost control even of my own quadrant. Who authorized the attack on the girl? They all think I did.”

  “But, Dahmena, if you didn’t, you surely indicated that you wished her out of the way.”

  “This time we have been so undercut that we may never regain position. We must have some reserve. Increasingly we are in the minority. Some drastic change is coming. This old city has been our home for so many centuries. How can we give it up?”

  “Give it up? You mean you want us to leave Pelbarigan?”

  “How else can we live?”

  “We can perhaps adjust, you know, Dahmena.”

  “Adjust? Do what they say? They are destroying all that is precious. Never!” The Dahmena punctuated her statement by stabbing her palm with her forefinger. As she spoke, her voice rose, and for a moment she seemed to generate such an aura of anger that the whole room seemed to tremble with white light.

  “Dahmena, you must realize that although we stand together as a quadrant when we can, I am not a Dahmen. I can’t follow you in all things. Cyklo’s action is hardly one of the whole quadrant.”

  “Nor of the Dahmens. I never authorized anything like that.”

  “But you made it clear that you wished it. I feel you have so weakened yourself that you must accede.”

  “I must do nothing not in our interest.”

  “Ah. You have already. Or it has been done. I know four families will not stand with you.”

  “I will repudiate Cyklo. I mean it.”

  “You have sharpened the knife and will not take it back now that it is bloody?”

  “I will not accept that description.”

  “Moder is right,
Dahmena,” said the Judgema, head of the second largest of the north-quadrant families. “I’m afraid that you must listen. I have a proposal that has the backing of six families.”

  “Six? What is it?”

  “Send for Ahroe. Ask her to come here and talk frankly. We must draw together and heal the wounds.”

  “Never.”

  “Then we will meet with her without you. We will explain our feelings. We join with you in deploring the presence of the girl. We do not wish to pursue contact with the dome. But we see the necessity of being civilized. If we lose our case, then we have lost, but as Pelbar. If we are afraid of renewed savagery, then we must not illustrate it ourselves.”

  “You would do that without me?” Again the Dahmena’s anger took her. “I am still Northcounsel.”

  “At the moment.” The Judgema went to the Dahmena and put her arms around her. “Please? We beg it of you. I think we have lost, yes. But we must act decently. We must recover our honor.”

  The Dahmena freed herself. “This shame is more than I can bear.” She turned and left the room.

  Moder turned and asked, “Well, should we ask Ahroe to meet with us?”

  “I don’t know. It is of little use now. Let us see what lead the Dahmena will take when she has thought further. We will have to play the numbers on the dice as they were cast.”

  Not long after, the Dahmena let herself out the small south door. A guardsman stood outside it. “It is late, Northcounsel,” he said.

  “Too late, I am afraid, guardsman. Do you object to my leaving by this door?”

  “No, Dahmena. Some of those who attacked Ahroe’s cottage are still outside, we believe. We are simply noting who is coming in.”

  “Yes. Very prudent. Good night.”

  “It is past midnight. Good morning, Dahmena.”

  She did not reply, but walked out into the dark and disappeared. He could hear her footsteps crunch the gravel path leading toward the river. Apprehension crept into him. She had violated no rule. But what she was doing was odd. Well, he would report it at guardchange. Shortly after, the door opened again, and Moder stepped out.

  “Guardsman, I wish to speak with Ahroe. Is that possible?”

  “I believe she is asleep, ma’am. Is that where the Dahmena went?—No. She went toward the river.”

  “The Dahmena? Toward the river? When?”

  “Just now. Two sunwidths. Something is amiss, isn’t it?” He put his horn to his mouth and blew four short notes. “Wait here, please,” he said to Moder.

  The guardcaptain soon trotted up, panting. “Yes?”

  “Moder wishes to talk with Ahroe. But the Dahmena just a while ago left the city here and walked toward the river. I fear something is wrong.”

  “The Dahmena? That way? Good Aven, what now? Stand your post. Blow six.” As the guardsman blew, the guardcaptain ran down the path toward the city front, where, in response to the six blasts, torches flared on the corner post and south on the bluffs near Ahroe and Stel’s. The guardcaptain appeared, running by the four guardsmen at the city corner, calling and waving.

  “Bring your torches. To the river. We will see what is up now.” They ran down along the bank, holding the torches high so as not to flare in their eyes. The flickering orange glow caught a figure downstream, waist deep, wading out.

  “Halt,” the guardcaptain called, panting, plunging into the water after the figure, which leaned forward, wading faster. The guardcaptain surged out into the dark river and caught the Dahmena at shoulder depth. She struggled, grim and silent. He twisted her arm back and gripped her across the chest, backing up as a second guardsman took her feet.

  “Let me go,” she screamed. “I have committed no crime. You have no right. I insist.”

  “Perhaps. Now, quiet. If you are correct, we will apologize. Come now. We have you. Relax. This is no place for an old woman.”

  “Old woman! What strange curse is on me? I can do nothing. I am thwarted even in my own personal wishes.”

  “Yes. Later. Look, here is Ahroe come down to the shore. Come now.”

  “Get her away. Let me go.” The Dahmena struggled.

  “Bring her up to my house,” said Ahroe, grim-faced.

  “Never. No.”

  “Please, guardcaptain. Mother. Please, Mother. Please come to me.” Ahroe reached out to her as the guardsmen set her down, and held her mother against her. The old woman seemed to sag, panting, nearly limp. Ahroe supported her tightly. The Dahmena began to sob, uncontrollably. Ahroe said nothing, but waited for the older woman to recover her composure.

  “You can’t call me Mother. You repudiated the family when you returned from the west. I want nothing to do with you.”

  “For once in your life, Mother, can’t you shut up? Come up to the house. You are all wet. Please? See? You are shivering. Look. Here is Stel. The guardsmen have a litter. We will carry you.”

  “Never,” said the Dahmena, but when the litter was laid out, she sighed and lay down on it. Stel and Ahroe picked it up and carried her to the cottage on the bluffs. One guardsman carried a torch alongside.

  The guardcaptain and the others stood on the shore looking after them. “I’ll be a limp-eared, fish-gutted son of an everlovin’ muck heap,” he said. One of the other men laughed. The guardcaptain glared at him, then began to laugh himself. “Come on. I’m soaked. What stinking mud. Let’s go and clean up. Urch. You go and get Sorge to replace me, and get Spon to come for Hayl. I can’t believe it. Look where she is going, the old dried apple.”

  Stel and Ahroe laid the Dahmena down on the mats on the front-room floor. Stel got a towel and dry robe, then left the room as Ahroe helped the old woman out of her wet clothes and into dry ones. Nothing was said. Stel reappeared with a cup of hot tea and handed it to the Dahmena, who took it and sat down in a soft chair. Ahroe put a cushion behind her and kissed her. The Dahmena looked grim.

  Finally she said, “I never sent those men up here. I would not do that.”

  “All I know is that they came,” said Ahroe. “Hagen is badly hurt in the other room. I don’t know why everything the Dahmens touch turns to misery. Surely you must feel it, Mother. Does it need to be that way?”

  “Everyone laid the debt at my door. I tried to pay for it. I was prevented.”

  “No one wishes your death, Mother. Can’t we just let all this go? Can’t we say that the old Dahmena kept walking into the river and I have my mother back? Can’t you just let politics take its course and calm down and live?”

  “So much is wrong. It is just wrong.”

  “Please, Mother. Let all this wrong, wrong, wrong go its own way. Relax. It is a big world. There is room for everyone.”

  “My world is Pelbarigan. I have lived here over seventy years, most of it shut away in fear of the tribesmen. It was a good world. It had order, discipline. Now that is all broken and sliding away.”

  “If clinging to it is such bitterness, why cling?”

  “I am weary to death. Do you have anywhere I can sleep?”

  “In our room is best. Hagen is there. There will be a little light because I am sitting up with him. He is asleep, though. I will be nearby.”

  “With Hagen? Well, that will have to do. I cannot go back home now.” The Dahmena rose slowly, put down the teacup, and walked, with her hand on Ahroe’s arm, into the back room. The doorway seemed to recede before her in her weariness.

  Once in bed, she looked up at Ahroe, sitting in a chair, and at the old Shumai sleeping across the room. She was panting. Then she drifted off to sleep, and when she awoke again, it was broad daylight, and she looked up at Tor. He took no notice of her. He was frowning down at Hagen; then he reached down and adjusted the blankets. The old man stirred. Celeste stood behind him, thin and tired, looking at the old woman with fear. The Dahmena shut her eyes again. She was weary of all this. Fear, worry, hurt. Perhaps Ahroe was right. How had she let herself be brought here? She heard Tor talk softly in the front room, then heard Jestak’s voice.r />
  He was talking to Celeste. Would she know how to cure Stantu? No, she feared she would not. It was radiation sickness, Celeste thought. Royal would know. Who was Royal? The child had never mentioned anyone in the dome before, and when questioned, she didn’t reply. The girl was frightened. See? Didn’t that prove the Dahmena right? But strangely, at the moment the old woman was little interested in being proved right. She was still tired, so deeply tired she felt she would melt and seep into the mattress. She breathed hard. Her feet were cold.

  Toward high sun a low, moaning cry startled her to wakefulness. Ahroe rushed into the room, looking haggard, followed by others, including the Haframa.

  “Hagen. What is it, Hagen?”

  “I can’t move my legs. They—they lie there like wood.”

  The Haframa undid the bindings on Hagen’s neck, while he winced. The wound was angry and swollen. Celeste looked over the Haframa’s shoulder, grimacing with sympathetic pain.

  “I don’t understand,” said the Haframa.

  “Have you no antibiotics, then?” Celeste asked.

  The Haframa turned and looked at her, puzzled. “No. It is infected. We tried to clean it as you described. No. We have nothing.”

  “It is the swelling. It has pressed the nerves in the neck or something. Unless they were damaged by the blow itself. It is serious.”

  “I can see that. It is beyond my skill now, except to dull the pain.”

  “If Royal were here . . .”

  “Royal? From the dome?”

  Celeste frowned. “He would be no good without his materials, though. Could we take him to the dome?”

  “No, child. I do know that.”

  Celeste began to cry. Garet moved next to the old man and put his small arm around him. Ahroe drew her son away. They covered the wound and stood back, unable to lift him to drink because of his pain. Tor stood silent in the middle of the room, his mouth tight, through the whole procedure. Hagen looked up at him, and they exchanged a long, silent communication.