The question was met with a smile. “Please, think no negative thought. I was asking the Teacher for leading.”
“Oh.” Pizzle picked up another plum fruit and ate it thoughtfully.
“I am happy to give you an audience,” the Preceptor said. “Would this evening suit you?”
“That would be perfect.” Pizzle grinned happily.
“You are much changed since you came to us,” the Preceptor observed.
“Was that what you wanted to talk to me about?”
“Yes, and to ask you if you are happy here.”
Pizzle grew solemn. “I’ve never been happier in my whole entire life. I never knew anyone as happy as I am—I didn’t even know it was possible to be this happy,” he declared. “Really.”
“Have you discovered your purpose among us, Asquith?”
“My purpose?”
“Everyone has a purpose given them by the Infinite Father. In order to find true happiness, it is necessary to fulfill your purpose.”
Pizzle thought about this for a moment and had to admit that he didn’t know what his purpose was.
“There is time to discover it, Asquith,” said the Preceptor gently, humor shining in her eyes. “But it does not do to put off the search too long.”
Pizzle nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
The Preceptor rose. “I’ll be waiting for you.” She smiled lightly. “Until this evening, then.”
“This evening,” confirmed Pizzle. He got up slowly, and the Preceptor moved off to greet her people, many of whom had gathered to wait for her. He watched her move among them, giving and receiving blessings, and sharing with them the joy of the day.
Presently he came to himself. Hey! I’ve got to find Starla and tell her! He grabbed a loaf of the sweet bread and trotted off down the beach.
THIRTY-TWO
The Invisibles appeared so suddenly, there was no time for Ernina to put her plan into action. No time for anything except quick thinking and a desperate hope.
One moment she had been bending over Treet. The next, Mrukk and three of his Mors Ultima were standing in the doorway. She stepped around the bed to meet them. “It took you long enough to get here,” she said angrily. “What kept you?”
Mrukk’s eyes flicked from the man in the bed to the flinty old physician. She did not wait for a reply. “Didn’t my Hageman tell you it was urgent?”
The Mors Ultima chief regarded her suspiciously. “No.”
“What did he tell you?” Ernina demanded, hands on hips.
“Out of the way, woman.” Mrukk made move to push past her. She put her hands on his chest and held him back.
“I sent him to tell the Supreme Director. I found the Fieri. The reward is mine. What did he tell you?”
“You sent him?” Mrukk glared at the immovable woman, and signaled to his men to go ahead with the abduction. They went to the bed and pulled Treet from it. He awoke startled, saw the shimmering black yoses, and hollered. He was dragged from the bed kicking and screaming.
Ernina did not risk so much as a backward glance. “Well? Answer me.”
“The Nilokerus and the Hageman with him said he was a lipreader. They said you had vowed to protect the Fieri—” Mrukk glared at her fiercely.
“Protect the Fieri! Trabant take him!” she shouted, her face livid.
“Ernina!” Treet yelled as he was jerked through the doorway. “What are you doing? For God’s sake, help me!”
“Don’t you see what they have done? They have cheated me out of my reward. I intend to see the Supreme Director about this. The Fieri was mine! The reward is mine!” she screamed shrilly. “It’s mine!”
Mrukk backed away a step. “I know nothing about the reward.”
“Liar!” Ernina advanced toward him.
Treet’s cries echoed in the corridor beyond—confused, enraged, helpless.
“The reward is mine. I’m going to the Supreme Director.”
“Do it. I have what I came for. I don’t care what you do.” With that, Mrukk spun on his heel and disappeared.
Ernina fell back on the bed, stunned. So it had been Uissal. She had guessed the moment the Invisibles appeared, mentally cursing herself for being so blind. It was all there for her to see: the young physician’s absence that day, his habit of lurking nearby whenever she spoke privately with a patient, his perpetually guilty expression …
She jumped to her feet. There was no time now for that. She had to move at once. She swept through the medical cluster to her own chambers, gathered up a large bundle from her table, and stood a moment looking at her beloved ancient books, running her hand along their disintegrating spines. Then she swung the bundle over her shoulder and departed.
Tvrdy watched the drills from the wrecked tower of twisted metal that had once served as the outer stairway to a Hageblock long ago reduced to rubble. In the dirt-covered field below, ranks of Dhogs labored to become soldiers: moving here and there in ragged packs, running, diving, lunging, shouting, flailing arms and legs at imaginary enemies under the tutelage of Tanais and Rumon instructors.
The resulting display was so miserable that Tvrdy’s frown had passed directly from anger to despair. The Dhogs were a hopeless rabble—dirty, ill-clothed, and ignorant. Even under tight Tanais discipline, they could not be organized; confusion reigned on the drill field. After he’d seen enough, Tvrdy descended from the tower and called one of his lieutenants from the field for a consultation.
“What is going on out there?”
The Tanais, sweating, his face dark with frustration, answered readily. “The Dhogs cannot be taught. They are too stupid for even simple exercises.”
“Do they accept your leadership?”
“It isn’t that. These nonbeings, Hage Leader, they think with their stomachs only. They say they are hungry.”
“Are they?”
The man shrugged. “They’re always hungry. We all are.”
Tvrdy folded his arms across his chest, lowered his head for a moment in thought. “All right, continue as best you can. But tell them that tomorrow, and from now on, before drills they will be given a meal. Also at night. See that they understand.”
The Tanais instructor nodded to his superior. “As you say, Hage Leader.” He didn’t ask where the food was going to come from, although he wondered.
Tvrdy turned and walked from the drill field. How could men think when their bellies were empty? How could they work without food?
The Tanais Director walked briskly across the field to the Hageblock opposite, where Piipo had set up the Hyrgo headquarters in order to be near the Directors’ command posts, although the growing fields were being established on the Old Section’s outer ring much further away.
“Ahh, Tvrdy!” The Hyrgo leader looked up as Tvrdy entered the ramshackle room. He stood with several Hagemen who were holding transparent sacks of soil for his inspection. “I did not expect to see you again so soon this morning.” To his men he said, “Begin revitalization. I’ll join you in the fields.”
They trooped out and Piipo came over to Tvrdy, dusting his hands. “The soil is dreadful—still, not so bad as I expected. We’ll be able to work with it.”
Tvrdy noticed a keenness in the Hyrgo’s glance and tone. He said, “I believe you are enjoying this, Piipo.”
“It’s true. I can’t explain it, but I find this all very stimulating.” He noticed the gravity in Tvrdy’s tone and asked, “What is it, Hageman?”
“How close are we to feeding ourselves?”
The question took Piipo aback. “You’re serious?”
“Always.”
“Tvrdy, we have not even planted. It will be months. The soil … the water … four or five months at least. I told you at the first briefing.”
“Yes, I know. How long can we sustain ourselves on the supplies we brought with us?”
“At the present consumption level—until the first crops come in. This I also explained during the briefing. Why are you asking me thes
e things?”
“I want to begin feeding the Dhogs.”
“Feeding nonbeings?” Piipo’s expression showed pure astonishment.
“They have no food. They are so hungry they cannot complete even simple maneuvers. We have to build them up if we are ever to make fighters of them. It’s that simple.”
“Starvation is also simple. We feed the Dhogs and our supplies vanish overnight. We can starve right along with the rest—what will that accomplish?”
“I don’t propose to starve, Piipo.”
“Then you must propose to bring in more supplies, because I can’t make the seeds sprout any faster.”
“What word from your Hage?”
“Subdirector Gorov is to be installed as Director pending an investigation of my disappearance. He says the Hage is in full production. The Purge has not touched the Hyrgo yet.”
“This is good.” Tvrdy tugged on his lower lip thoughtfully.
“What are you thinking?”
“I think we must bring in more supplies.”
“Of course, but how can we do that? Jamrog’s checkpoints—”
“Not through the supply route,” said Tvrdy. “We must visit your granaries, Piipo.”
“Raid the granaries!”
“It’s the only way. We don’t have the equipment yet to issue the travel writs and identification. But with Gorov’s help, we should be able to get in and out unnoticed.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“Of course.”
Piipo was silent for a long time. Finally he said, “I don’t like it, but it could be done. Unfortunately, Hage Nilokerus abuts. If anything went wrong, it would not take them long to get to us.”
“Us? You’ll stay here, Piipo. We need your expertise.”
“No, I must go with you. Who knows the Hage better than its Director?”
“We’ll take one of your underdirectors.”
“No. I’m going.”
Tvrdy saw it was no use arguing with the Hyrgo, so he said, “Meet me at the briefing kraam in an hour. We will all sit down and plan the raid. Then Cejka will arrange to get instructions to Gorov at once.”
“When will the raid take place?”
“Tonight.”
THIRTY-THREE
The pale green hills drifted slowly by the ships which stretched out in a long, snaking train along Taleraan’s undulating curves. The boats kept to the center of the wide channel and the deepest part of the river, forging upstream against the slow current. The sails were furled, for now the ships were driven by the crystal-powered engines carried in the outrigged pods which had been attached to either side of the boat. These propelled the ships cleanly and quietly upriver.
Bemused hill creatures inhabiting the thickets and groves along the wide banks halted their foraging to watch the grand procession pass. The Fieri hailed the animals, watching the banks and pointing out each new species to one another. Yarden hung over the rail with the rest, enjoying the scenery and the fauna, quite forgetting her agitation of the night before in the beauty of the day.
At first glance desolate, the hills were actually swarming with wildlife once one learned how and where to look for them. There were creatures that looked like fluffy, long-legged antelopes, floating like tawny clouds as they grazed the rolling hillsides in scattered herds. Lower, among the frilly trees along the riverbanks, scuttled small orange bearlike animals with shaggy golden manes. Larger, darker shapes moved among the shadowed backgrounds, and stout gray-blue water beasts with long necks and rotund bodies plied the shallows, diving and surfacing with water pods in their toothless jaws.
Besides the ubiquitous rakkes, there were avian battalions of swooping, diving fishers with pointed beaks and brilliant green and red banded wings that sliced the air in sharp maneuvers to the delight of their captivated audiences, snatching tiny striped fish out of the water on the fly. Their less pretentious cousins strolled the river’s edge on pink stilt legs, stepping carefully through the turquoise forests of long-bladed watergrass, their bright yellow heads cocked, great round eyes scanning the silted bottom for the jade-colored lizards on which they fed.
Yarden was enthralled with all she saw, and never tired of looking as each new bend in the river revealed a panorama of fresh beauty. The slow, steady progress of the boats, marked by a lulling chorus of bird and animal calls, worked on Yarden like a delicious elixir, and she drank in every brilliant moment.
Gerdes also inspired her, too, but in a different way. Each afternoon the Fieri teacher gathered her brood of eager young artists beneath the ocher canopy on the aft deck of the barge. There she led them through exercises. “A limber body is often the companion of a limber mind,” she told them. “The body is the bridge between the mind and the emotions, just as the emotions are the bridge between the mind and spirit.”
Of the eight students Gerdes had gathered for the journey, Yarden was the oldest by far, and found herself slightly envious of their youth, wishing she had embarked upon her career earlier. An absurd thought, she told herself on reflection, since there was no way she could have come to Empyrion any sooner, and in her other life—her life as an executive administrator to one of the most powerful men in the known universe—the idea of becoming an artist had never occurred to her. Seriously, that is. She had sometimes felt artistic yearnings within her, and thought she might like to do something creative, but always dismissed the urges as inappropriate or impractical.
But here on Empyrion all things were possible. She was not subject to the tyranny of the practical. In fact, her previous life seemed to her now to have been largely a waste of precious time. A waste she would have resented if it did not now seem so remote and inconsequential. In fact, she had to think very hard about it in order to remember her life with Cynetics at all.
Together the eight would-be artists and their instructor filled the afternoon hours with exercises in body awareness and movement, and sessions of mental conditioning. Through all of the exercises, Gerdes imparted nuggets of her artistic philosophy: “Art is thought as well as feeling. An artist’s abilities, mind, and spirit are brought to the act of creation.”
“Why do we spend so much time in movement exercises?” asked one of the Fieri, a stocky young man with black curly hair and a ruddy complexion, full of exuberance and high spirits, but definitely not inclined to patience.
“Because, Luarco, my restless one,” Gerdes said, and the other Fieri laughed, “we already know how to think. We think all the time. The mind controls all we do, sometimes inhibiting motion. The body was made to move, not to think; therefore, we must learn to free the body to do what it knows how to do.”
“But doesn’t that contradict what you just said about the role of the artist’s mind in the act of creation?” asked a young woman sitting next to Yarden.
“Ahh, Taniani, you are always running far ahead. I was coming to that. Once we have learned to move freely, without unnecessary restriction, we can reintroduce the mental aspect in its proper place. Here is the key: balance. In art there must be a balance of the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual.”
“The Preceptor calls that the key to life,” Luarco pointed out—with just a touch of belligerence, Yarden thought.
“Oh, it is, Luarco, it is. It is also the key to great art. Think now! What is the most important component of the work?”
“Skill,” replied a young man sprawled out full-length on the deck, his sandy hair ruffled in the breeze.
“I’m not surprised you would say that, Gheorgi. Your skill is admirable.” Gerdes asked the others, “Is he right?”
“No,” said the girl next to him. “Technical skill by itself means nothing. The thought the artist is trying to communicate is the most important. If the artist has nothing to say, it doesn’t matter how great his skill.”
“It’s the artist’s expression,” said another. “Without the right expression nothing is communicated, no matter how well conceived or executed.”
Gerdes s
miled with self-satisfaction. “Do you hear yourselves? You have proven my point. Who sees it?” Her gaze swept the group. “Yarden?”
Yarden had been engrossed in the discussion, and was startled to hear her name called. “Because,” she said slowly, “any element elevated to the exclusion of the others … ah, works against the piece.”
“Precisely!” Gerdes crowed. “Do you see it? Balance! As in life, all elements are equally important. It is self-evident: exclude one and the work is flawed. Without the physical, there is no substance; without the emotional, it has no heart; without the mind, it has no direction; and without the spiritual, the work has no soul. All elements are necessary. All must be maintained in balance.”
The rippling of water and the clear keening of the rakkes punctuated the silence as the students turned these things over in their heads. At last Gerdes said, “Make this a part of your meditations for tonight. We will begin with brush and ink tomorrow.”
Noting Luarco’s pained expression, Gerdes added, “Yes, black ink, Luarco. Color will come later. First, I want to see your brush strokes live.”
The students broke up, most drifting off along the decks in pairs, continuing the discussion; others stretched out beneath the canopy, now golden with the afternoon sun full on it. Yarden got up to leave and Gerdes came to her, taking her arm and steering her toward the stern.
Fieri sat on benches along the rail, quietly talking, or napped in colored cloth deckchairs. Several youngsters had made paper boats which they floated from the ends of long strings. It was, Yarden thought, a typical tourboat scene from the last century. They found a place on a nearby bench and sat down together. “A very perceptive answer, Yarden,” began Gerdes.
Yarden smiled, but shrugged off the compliment. “You said yourself it was self-evident.”
“Certainly, but we do not always see the obvious—rarely, in fact. Anyway, it showed you were thinking.”
“I am doing a lot of that lately, it seems.”
Gerdes’ kind face puckered in concern. “Not all of it about painting, I would guess.”
Empyrion II: The Siege of Dome Page 20