The People of the Wind

by Poul Anderson

  “Allows. The operative word. But let it pass. Let us assume a degree of democracy. Could we stop immigrants from coming until they outvoted us?”

  “Well… well, no. Citizens are guaranteed freedom of movement. That’s one of the things the Empire is for. Confound it, you can’t selfishly block progress just because you prefer archaism.”

  “There is no more to discuss. Good day, Admiral.”

  “No, wait! Wait! You can’t — condemn your whole people to war by yourselves!”

  “If the Khruaths and the Parliament change their views, you will be informed.”

  “But listen, you’re letting them die for nothing,” Cajal said frantically. “This frontier is going to be straightened out. You, the whole Domain of Ythri have no power to stop that. You can only prolong the murderous, maiming farce. And you’ll be punished by worse peace terms than you could have had. Listen, it’s not one-sided. You’re coming into the Empire. You’ll get trade, contact, protection. Cooperate now and I swear you’ll start out as a chartered client state, with all the privileges that means. Within years, individuals will be getting Terran citizenship. Eventually the whole of Avalon could become part of Greater Terra. For the love of God, be realistic!”

  “We are,” said Liaw.

  Holm leered. Both screens blanked.

  Cajal sat for minutes, staring. They can’t have been serious. They can’t. Twice he reached toward his intercom. Have them called; maybe this was some childish insistence that the Empire beg them to negotiate…

  His hand drew back. No. I am responsible for our own dignity.

  Decision came. Let Plan Two be set in train. Leave the calculated strength here to invest Avalon. Comparatively little would be required. The sole real purpose was to keep this world’s considerable resources from flowing to Ythri and these bases from menacing Cajal’s lines back to the Empire. Siege would tie up more men and vessels than occupation would have done, but he could spare them.

  The important thing was not to lose momentum. Rather, his freed ships must be off immediately to help in simultaneous assaults on Khrau and Hru. He’d direct the former himself, his second in command the latter. What they had learned here would be quite helpful.

  And he was sure of quick victories yonder. Intelligence had failed to learn the extent of Avalonian arming, but not to discover the fact itself; that could not be concealed. By the same token, he knew that no other planet of the Domain had had a Daniel Holm nagging it over the years to build against this storm. He knew that the other Ythrian colonial fleets were small and poorly coordinated, the worlds unarmed.

  Quetlan, the home sun, was more formidable. But let him rip spectacularly enough through the spaces between, and he dared hope his enemies would have the wisdom to capitulate before he stabbed them in the heart.

  And afterward a few distorted molecules, recording the armistice, will give us Avalon. Very well. Better than fighting… Do they know this? Do they merely want to keep, for a few weeks more, the illusion of freedom? Well, I hope the price they’ll be charged for that — levies, restrictions, revisions of their whole society, that might otherwise have been deemed unnecessary — I hope they won’t find the price unendurably steep — because endure it they must.

  Before sunrise, Ferune departed Mistwood.

  That day his home country bore its name well. Fog blew cold, wet, and bunding off the sea. Smokiness prowled the glooms around thick boles of hammerbranch, soaring trunks of lightningrod; moisture dripped from boughs onto fallen leaves, and where it struck a pool which had formed among the ringed stems of a sword-of-sorrow, it made a tiny glass chiming. But deeper inland, where Old Avalon remained, a boomer tree frightened beasts that might have grazed on it, and this noise rolled beneath the house of Ferune and echoed off the hanging shields of his ancestors.

  Wings gathered. A trumpet sounded through night. Forth came his sons to meet their chothmates. They carried the body on a litter between them. His uhoths fluttered about, puzzled at his quietness. His widow led the way. Flanking were his daughters, their husbands and grown children, who bore lit torches.

  Wings beat. The flight cut upward. When it rose past the fog, this was turned to blue-shadowed white under an ice-pale eastern lightening. Westward over sea, the last stars glimmered in royal purple.

  Still the folk mounted, until they were near the top of what unaided flesh could reach. Here the airs whittered thin and chill; but on the rim of a twilit world, the snowpeaks of the Weathermother were kindled by a yet bidden sun.

  All this while the flight beat north. Daniel Holm and his family, following in heavy garments and breathing masks, saw wings glow across heaven in one tremendous spearhead. They could barely make out the torchflames which streamed at its point, as sparks like the waning stars. More clearly came the throb from under those pinions. Apart from that, silence was total.

  They reached wilderness, a land of crags, boulders, and swift-running streams. There the sons of Ferune stopped. Wings outspread, they hovered on the first faint warmth of morning, their mother before them. Around circled their near kin; and in a wheel, the choth surrounded these. And the sun broke over the mountains.

  To Ferune came the new Wyvan of Mistwood. Once more he blew the horn, and thrice he called the name of the dead. Wharr swept by, to kiss farewell. Then the Wyvan spoke the words of the New Faith, which was two thousand years old.

  “High flew your spirit on many winds; but downward upon you at last came winging God the Hunter. You met Him in pride, you fought Him well, from you He has honor. Go hence now, that which the talons left, be water and leaves, arise in the wind; and spirit, be always remembered.”

  His sons tilted the litter. The body fell, and after it the torches. Wharr slanted off in the beginning measures of the sky dance. A hundred followed her.

  Hanging afar, between emptiness and immensity, Daniel Holm said to Christopher: “And that Terran thought we’d surrender.”

  XI

  Liaw of The Tarns spoke. “We are met in the Great Khruath of Avalon, that free folk may choose their way. Our enemy has taken elsewhere most of the might which he brought against us. This is no victory, since those vessels will make war upon the rest of the Domain. Meanwhile he has left sufficient ships to hold us cut off. They are unlikely to attack our world. But they will seek to find and root out our bases among the sister planets and the few warcraft of ours that are left in space. Save for what harassment our brethren aboard can contrive, we have no means of taking the offensive. Our defenses we can maintain indefinitely. Yet no pledge can be given that great harm will not be wrought on Avalon, should the foe launch a determined effort. He has declared that in the end we are sure to be subjugated. This is possibly true. He has then declared that we can expect better treatment if we yield now than if we fight on, though at best we will come under Imperial law and custom. This is certainly true.

  “They who speak for you rejected the demand, as was their duty until you could be summoned to decide. I remind you of the hazards of continued war and the threat of a harsh peace should we lose. I remind you furthermore that if we do resist, the free folk of Avalon must give up many of their rights and submit to the dictation of military leaders for as long as the strife may last.

  “What say the choths?”

  He and his colleagues stood on the olden site, First Island in the Hesperian Sea. At their backs rose the house of David Falkayn; before them greensward slanted toward beach and surf. But no booths or tents had been raised, no ships lay at anchor, no swarms of delegates flew down to form ranks beneath the trees. Time was lacking for ceremonious assemblies. Those elected at regional meetings, and those individuals who signified a wish to speak, were present electronically.

  A computer-equipped staff worked hard inside the house. However taciturn the average Ythrian was, however unwilling to make a fool of oneself by declaiming the obvious, still, when some two million enfranchised adults were hooked into a matter of as great moment as this, the questions and co
mments that arrived must be filtered. Those chosen to be heard must wait their turns.

  Arinnian knew he would be called. He sat by Eyath before an outsize screen. They were alone on the front, hence lowest bench. At their backs the tiers rose, the household of Lythran and Blawsa crowded thereon, to the seat of the master and his lady. Liaw’s slow words only deepened the quiet in that broad, dark, weapon-hung chamber; and so did the rustle of feathers, the scrape of claws or alatans, when someone shifted a little. The air was filled with the woodsmoke odor of Ythrian bodies. A breeze, gusting in from a window open on rain, added smells of damp earth and stirred the banners that hung from high rafters.

  “—report on facts concerning—”

  The image in the screen became that of a rancher. Behind him could be seen the North Coronan prairie, a distant herd, a string of quadrupedal burden-bearing zirraukhs led by a flapping youth, a more up-to-date truck which passed overhead. He stated, “Food production throughout the Plains of Long Reach has been satisfactory this year. The forecasts for next season are optimistic. We have achieved 75 percent storage of preserved meat in bunkers proofed against radioactive contamination, and expect to complete this task by midwinter. Details are filed in Library Central. Finished.” The scan returned to the High Wyvans, who promptly called on another area representative.

  Eyath caught Arinnian’s arm. He felt the pulse in her fingers, and the claws on the two encircling thumbs bit him. He looked at her. The bronze-brown crest was stiffly raised, the amber eyes like lanterns. Fangs gleamed between her lips. “Must they drone on till eternity molders?” she breathed.

  “They need truth before they decide,” he whispered back, and felt the disapproving stares between his shoulderblades.

  “What’s to decide — when Vodan’s in space?”

  “You help him best by patience.”

  He wondered who he was to give counsel. Well, Eyath was young (me too, but this day I feel old) and it was cruel that she could hope for no word of her betrothed until, probably, war’s end. No mothership could venture in beaming range of beleaguered Avalon.

  At least it was known that Vodan’s had been among those which escaped. Too many orbited in wreck. More Terrans had been destroyed, of course, thanks to the trap that Ferune and Holm sprang. But one Ythrian slain was too many, Arinnian thought, and a million Terrans were too few.

  “—call on the chief of the West Coronan guard.” He scrambled to his feet, realized that was unnecessary, and opined that he’d better remain standing than compound his gaucherie by sitting down again before he had spoken. “Uh, Arinnian of Stormgate. We’re in good shape, equipping, training, and assigning recruits as fast as they come in. But we want more. Uh, since nobody has mentioned it, I’d like to remind people that except for ranking officers, home-guard service is part-time and the volunteer’s schedule can be set to minimize interference with his ordinary work. Our section’s cooperation with the North Oronesians is now being extended through the entire archipelago, and we aim to do likewise in southerly and easterly directions till, uh, we’ve an integrated command for the Brendan’s, Fiery, and Shielding Islands as well, to protect the whole perimeter of Corona.

  “Uh, on behalf of my father, the First Marchwarden, I want to point out a considerable hole in Avalon’s defense, namely the absence of a guard for Equatoria, nothing there except some projector and missile launching sites. True, the continent’s uninhabited, but the Terrans know that, and if they consider an invasion, they aren’t likely to care about preserving a piece of native ecology intact. I, uh, will receive suggestions about this and pass them along the proper channels.” His tongue was dry. “Finished.”

  He lowered himself. Eyath took his hand, gentler this time. Thank fortune, no one wanted to question him. He could be crisp in discussing strictly technical problems with a few knowledgeable persons, but two million were a bit much for a man without political instincts.

  The talk seemed interminable. And yet, at the end, when the vote was called, when Liaw made his matter-of-fact announcement that the data bank recorded 83 percent in favor of continued resistance, scarcely six hours had passed. Humans couldn’t have done it.

  “Well,” Arinnian said into the noise of cramped wings being stretched, “no surprises.”

  Eyath tugged at him. “Come,” she said. “Get your belt. I want to use my muscles before dinner.”

  Rain beat through dusk, cold and tasting of sky. When they came above the clouds, he and she turned east to get away from their chothmates who also sought exercise. Snowpeaks and glaciers thrust out of whiteness, into a blue-black where gleamed the early stars and a few moving sparks which were orbital fortresses.

  They fared awhile in silence, until she said: “I’d like to join the guard.”

  “Hm? Ah. Yes; welcome.”

  “But not fly patrol. That’s essential, I know, and pleasant if the weather’s halfway good; but I don’t want a lot of pleasure. Look, see Camelot rising yonder. Vodan may be huddled inside a dead moon of it, waiting and waiting for a chance to hazard his life.”

  “What would you prefer?” he asked.

  Her wings beat more steadily than her voice. “You must be caught in a hurricane of work, which is bound to stiffen. Surely your staff’s too small, else why would you be so tired? Can’t I help?”

  “M-m… well—”

  “Your assistant, your fetch-and-carry lass, even your personal secretary? I can take an electro-cram in the knowledge and skills, and be ready to start inside a few days.”

  “No. That’s rough.”

  “I’ll survive. Try me. Fire me if I can’t grip the task, and we’ll stay friends. I believe I can, though. Maybe better than someone who hasn’t known you all these years, and who can be given another job. I’m bright and energetic. Am I not? And… Arinnian, I so much need to be with you, till this cripplewing time is outlived.”

  She reached toward him. He caught her hand. “Very well, galemate.”

  In the wan light she flew as beautiful as ever beneath sun or moon.

  “Yes, I’ll call for a vote tomorrow,” Matthew Vickery said.

  “How do you expect it’ll go?” Daniel Holm asked.

  The President sighed. “How do you think? Oh, the war faction won’t bring in quite the majority of Parliament that it did of the Khruath; A few members will vote their convictions rather than their mail. But I’ve seen the analysis of that mail, and of the phone calls and — Yes, you’ll get your damned resolution to carry on. You’ll get your emergency powers, the virtual suspension of civilian government you’ve been-demanding. I do wish you’d read some of those letters or watch some of those tapes. The fanaticism might frighten you as it does me. I never imagined we had that much latent insanity in our midst.”

  “It’s insane to fight for your home?”

  Vickery bit his lip. “Yes, when nothing can be gained.”

  “I’d say we gain quite a chunk. We kicked a sizable hole in the Terran armada. We’re tying up a still bigger part, that was originally supposed to be off to Ythri.”

  “Do you actually believe the Domain can beat the Empire? Holm, the Empire can’t afford to compromise. Take its viewpoint for a minute if you can. The solitary keeper of the peace, among thousands of wildly diverse peoples; the solitary guardian of the borders against the barbarian and the civilized predatory alien, who carry nuclear weapons. The Empire has to be more than almighty. It must maintain credibility, universal belief that it’s irresistible, or hell’s kettle boils over.”

  “My nose bleeds for the Empire,” Holm said, “but His Majesty will have to solve his problems at somebody else’s expense. He gets no free rides from us. Besides, you’ll note the Terrans didn’t keep throwing themselves at Avalon.”

  “They had no need to,” Vickery replied. “If the need does arise, they’ll be back in force. Meanwhile we’re contained.” He filled his lungs. “I admit your gamble paid off extraordinarily—”

  “Please. ‘Investment.’ And
not mine. Ours.”

  “But don’t you see, now there’s nothing further we can use it for except a bargaining counter? We can get excellent terms, and I’ve dealt with Governor Saracoglu, I know he’ll see to it that agreements are honored. Rationally considered, what’s so dreadful about coming under the Empire?”

  “Well, we’d begin by breaking our oath to Ythri. Sorry, chum. Deathpride doesn’t allow.”

  “You sit here mouthing obsolete words, but I tell you, the winds of change are blowing.”

  “I understand that’s a mighty old phrase too,” Holm said. “Ferune had one still older that he liked to quote. How’d it go? ‘—their finest hour—’ ”

  Tabitha Falkayn shoved off from the dock and hauled on two lines in quick succession. Jib and mainsail crackled, caught the breeze, and bellied taut. The light, open boat heeled till foam hissed along the starboard rail, and accelerated outward. Once past the breakwater, on open sea, she began to ride waves.

  “We’re planing!” Philippe Rochefort cried.

  “Of course,” Tabitha answered. “This is a hydrofoil. “Ware boom.” She put the helm down. The yard swung, the hull skipped onto the other tack.

  “No keel? What do you do for lateral resistance?”

  She gestured at the oddly curved boards which lifted above either rail, pivoting in response to vanes upon them. “Those. The design’s Ythrian. They know more about the ways of wind than men and men’s computers can imagine.”

  Rochefort settled down to admire the view. It was superb. Billows marched as far as he could see, blue streaked with violet and green, strewn with sun-glitter, intricately white-foamed. They rumbled and whooshed. Fine spindrift blew off them, salty on the lips, spurring the blood where it struck bare skin. The air was cool, not cold, and singingly alive. Aft, the emerald heights of St. Li dwindled at an astonishing speed.