“But it has no significance for you,” Matri said.
“I eat eggs,” I protested. “I eat them all the time!”
“We all do, Briarris,” he smiled. “This is for someone who chooses to work on a farm. When you’re old enough, if you make that choice, I’ll get it then.”
“No, now!” I cried. “Look how it goes with the turquoise.” Already I had an eye for beauty. Then I had an inspiration. “There were fish-eggs in the river. I saw them. They were under the water, where you couldn’t see.”
“Fish-eggs are this color.” He pointed to a midnight blue.
“Not the ones I saw! They were like this.”
“I’ll take it,” Matri said to the cloth dyer.
“It doesn’t belong beside Symba-turquoise,” he said, being a conventional artist who demanded rigid order. I knew when to hold my tongue, and I held my breath, too, for good measure. I even sucked in my belly, as Matri often urged me to do.
“This is a lifedance, not fabric art, as are yours,” Matri answered him mildly.
“You’re encouraging him to lie.”
Matri bent down and looked me in the eye, close enough that I could feel his breath. “Fish-eggs are midnight blue, Briarris. I’m buying this to signify that you are now old enough to be responsible for choosing the fabrics in your own lifedance.”
“I’m sorry I lied, Matri,” I said gravely. “I won’t ever again.”
*
A third cough interrupted my reminiscences. Ignoring it, I stepped down to admire the effect of my lifedance, with its bright strips of fabric fluttering in the movement of air from the fans. I’d considered not adding Igt’ur’s gray to it, but I was a councilor now and had better means of altering traditions.
From outside there came more coughing, becoming a little scratchy—was his throat tiring? I gave one last look around. My feather mattress and headroll lay on the sleeping ledge that jutted out four handspans above the floor at the base of the wide west window, where the breeze could ruffle my fur all night. The east window extended two handspans from the ceiling to a handspan above the floor, where Igt’ur would roll out his sleeping mat.
I replaced the Bria chair I’d been standing on beside the other two, along one side of the heavy, low table. Igt’ur could put the two Ghen stools he brought on the other side. The dishes my parent had given me as a joining gift were neatly stacked on the shelves beside the cooking oven, built against the south wall under a smaller window to the left of the door. The house was sparse of both furniture and decorations, but it would suffice. Finally, I opened the door.
Igt’ur came in and offered me the ritual salted meat, as though I would ever touch it; I turned away in distain. I did not need a Ghen to bring me food, especially not Ghen food. He put it in the cold food box and began to place his possessions about my home. When I could stand it no longer I went to my sleeping ledge and lay down, praying to Wind to blow down upon us soon and end stillseason, to free me from the confines of this Ghen-shared house.
*
That night I dreamed of Rukt’an. In my dream I was perched upon his shoulders, shrieking with glee as he strode about the house. He’d put a rushmat across his back to protect my legs and buttocks from his rough scales. I was very young, my fur had not yet grown in thick enough to cover my tender skin. My small heels drummed happily against his huge chest as the walls of the room swayed wildly around me. I was dizzy and exhilarated with the power of being so tall—I could have touched the ceiling if my arms hadn’t been engulfed in his strong palms, holding me secure.
My sibling, Ocallis, had already had his ride, but Rukt’an’s child followed at our heels, clamoring for his turn. When Rukt’an stopped I cried in protest. He lifted me easily over the huge bony crest that rose above his forehead, despite my struggles to retain my perch. His wide jaws opened, lips curled back, in that breezy, fang-studded grimace that was his laughter. He lowered me to the floor and reached for Durt’an.
As he lifted Durt’an, the mat slid from his back onto the floor revealing the sharp gray scales angled toward the hard ridge of his spine all the way down his back. The thick, tough leather of his arms, chest and underbelly was safe for me to lean against but too high for my reach. Nor could I grab onto his large, scaled legs as Durt’an had; my hands and arms would have been criss-crossed with bleeding cuts in minutes. I stood weeping as Durt’an rose into the air away from me and Rukt’an stepped back, back, his movements slower and slower until he was as motionless as stillseason, until he and Durt’an were only an outline, a shadow, a memory...
I awoke weeping, but quieted at once for fear Igt’ur might hear. I heard the rustle of scales on his mat and held my breath, but he did not rise or approach me. After a few minutes I relaxed and lay in the darkness, remembering.
I had dreamed this same dream often the year after Rukt’an left, when I was two.
“Make him come back!” I’d demanded of my matri.
“He is Ghen, Briarris,” Matri explained patiently.
When I persisted, he said, “Ghen leave. Ghen return to their compound as they should. Rukt’an and I are no longer joined; his child is weaned. Now Rukt’an is needed on the wall.”
“But you can speak to him.”
He looked at me sternly. That was a private matter.
“You can, you can!” I insisted, barely preventing myself from adding, I’ve seen you.
“We will no longer,” he said. “All that is over.”
How weak I felt, how helpless and small, when all Rukt’an’s strength and power had gone away.
When we were five, we studied government in school. In the Bria-Ghen Council I sensed another power, the power of the councilors who rule our city. To ride the shoulders not of a single Ghen, but of the entire community of my fellow Bria!
I knew at once that I must be a part of it. Who need fear anything while directing the mighty intellect of the Bria? What could not be accomplished from such a height? I longed to serve my city in this way.
When I reached my specialization year, I chose administration and government. I passed head of my class and was offered the first year seat on Council.
But first, I must be joined. Only joined Bria and Ghen could sit on Council. And those who sat on Council were joined for life.
This was the price of serving my city and leading my people into a new age of enlightenment, unfettered by the fears of the past. I knew the price and I accepted it, despite my dislike of Ghen, who hide their yen for violence under laughter and lies and breakable ties.
What are these ugly, two-eyed Ghen that they should live off us? Bria manage the city. Ghen may help to build our homes, but Bria create the oil lamps and swinging fans that brighten and make them livable. Bria sow and reap, raise and cook the food in ovens Bria make. Bria bear and rear and educate our children. Bria make and enforce the laws that maintain Bria civilization.
Meanwhile the Ghen lounge, arrogant and indolent, within our lovely city. They are flesh-eaters, hunting and killing their food; the blood sport sustains them as much as the meat itself. Ghen teach their children warfare and use their useless training in constant vigilance along the wall, guarding the industrious Bria against imaginary monsters. They claim the wall at the northern perimeter of our city was built to hold back Broghen. That may be true, our ancestors were very superstitious, but why should we put up with such nonsense now?
I planned to wield my council seat against the Ghen, to evict them from our city into the forest with the wild beasts they so loved to stalk; or further south, beyond the farms and woodlands to the tip of our peninsula, where they do their bog-ore mining. To take from them the undeserved luxuries of the civilization that we supplied, that we maintained, and allow them access only to Festival Hall during stillseason when mating must occur.
So my thoughts ran in the first night of my joining, until at last I slept.
*
Council opened as soon as stillseason ended. Council Hall had just been re
built, fashioned into a series of rectangular rooms surrounding a large courtyard. It was the most impressive building in the city, not only because of its modern style but also because Council chamber, which occupied the entire front section, was twice as high as any other structure, in order to accommodate tiered seating in the audience section and two oversized windows at either end. Covered verandahs wrapped around both the outside and the inner courtyard side, with doors to every room opening onto them, so that the verandahs served as external hallways leading from room to room.
I walked slowly up the wide stairway onto the outer verandah, brushing my hand like a caress over the ornately carved railing. Passing through the huge double doors, with glass windows set into them to symbolize the transparency of all governance proceedings, I entered the Council chamber.
The wind blew freely through the eight-handspan square north-south windows at either end of the hall. The wall ahead, facing the courtyard, held two more large windows, also open, on either side of the door to the inner verandah. In the middle of the hall, in front of the courtyard windows, stood a long U-shaped table.
Facing each other around this U were the twenty-six Council seats for thirteen Ghen and thirteen Bria. I walked forward and took my place in the first-year Bria chair.
Beside me was an empty Ghen bench, then the second-year Bria, Perallis, and then another empty bench. Ghen regulations required them to do two years of duty on the wall before they served on Council, so Perallis’s and my mates would not sit beside us until we each reached our third year on Council. However, in an emergency, Chair Ghen could temporarily set aside that regulation. Of course, this never happened.
Twenty-six seats plus two, ornate and raised, placed just above the open end of the U for Council Chair and Chair Ghen. My back was to the front door, on either side of which stretched the public gallery, which occupied the rest of the room, rows of benches at graduating levels. This location pleased me. I wouldn’t be tempted to glance at visitors when I should be focusing on the Chair and my fellow councilors, but the slightest turn of my head to face the Chair and I could cock my left ear to catch every sigh the audience made, while my right ear remained tuned to Council.
Chair opened session and welcomed me to Council. I almost wept for love of my city then, and for the great things I would do. But perhaps it was also with relief at the empty bench beside me. I had to live with Igt’ur and the adjustment was hard.
I found his constant presence in my home oppressive. I resented his gaze as he sat watching me. Sometimes I would sit very still, deliberately insulting him, but he could see me easily even then. It felt like an invasion of privacy. Whenever Igt’ur ceased to move, after a few minutes I became unaware of him. That’s Bria perspective, of course; the two-eyed Ghen don’t need motion to see. Occasionally I wondered if he minded retreating into the background of my vision as much as I minded never being out of the foreground of his.
I said very little in Council in my first few months. I was watching the play of councilors; who supported whom, who spoke up on which issues, who translated for their joined Ghen and who did not. I spoke only in support; when I opposed a motion, I cast my ballot in silence. I worked diligently to understand each issue, asking Perallis, across the empty chair between us, any questions I might have. I hoped to make him my ally. And I watched the Ghen, as they watched Chair Ghen.
Council Chair’s fingers were never still. Although only Chair Ghen understood his signs, he translated everything. Often councilors waited to speak while he finished signing a previous speaker’s comment, but none watched his hands except Chair Ghen. Language between a joined pair was private; it bound the two together. Only once did Chair Ghen raise his hand and grumble in his gutteral language to the suddenly watchful Ghen. The discussion concerned a repair to the wall, hastily done and in need of further work. Ghen business.
I watched and planned my strategy. Here was my battle ground; here I would gain victory over the arrogant Ghen.
*
I trembled as I rose to make my motion, hiding the tremor in a courteous sway. I had prepared painstakingly and I began by calling attention to the empty seats of year one and year two Ghen and the frequent absences of year six Ghen, preoccupied with the training of his offspring.
From the problem of attendance I moved on to the language problem, referring to the fact that every comment had to be translated by Council Chair to Chair Ghen, and then by him to the other Ghen councilors. How slow and drawn-out this process was, lengthening Council meetings so that, more often than not, Chair Ghen refrained from translating and entire meetings passed without a single word being understood by the Ghen.
“This might make sense if the Ghen were involved in city administration,” I concluded, “but running our city is Bria work, and no concern of Ghen!”
I addressed my speech to the Chair, as was proper, but I kept my ear turned to the audience. I had hinted of my motion to groups of single Bria who I knew would be sympathetic and the gallery was gratifyingly filled. At my proud words stamping broke out across the rows of the audience, long and enthusiastic.
My ears twitched with pleasure and I swayed more confidently in its rhythm. When the cheerful noise died down I urged my fellow councilors to eliminate Ghen from Council and sat down, pleased by the applause that rose again at my back.
There was a heavy silence. The other councilors could think of no rejoinder to my arguments! Finally, one of the older Bria councilors rose to say he did not mind the time taken by Council Chair, in order to include Ghen in the process of running our joint city. Another rose and moved the immediate dismissal of my motion, but it had already been duly supported by Perallis. An angry muttering and stamping of feet across the tiered rows of the gallery prevented further suggestions of discharging the issue precipitously.
I listened attentively as the uneasy debate continued into late afternoon, almost twitching with eagerness to join in. Their arguments were pitiful. Tradition, that was what it amounted to—a stupid reason to do anything. But this was my first year on Council and I would not be expected to speak twice on an issue.
Despite the support of my audience, I could tell it was going badly. The turning point came when Chair Ghen, translated by Council Chair, rose to speak. He moved only slightly. Representing all Ghen, he pointed out their critical defense of the wall. Without Ghen on watch there would be no city. The walls did not protect us; we protected them, guarding them for our safety—only the ignorant thought otherwise.
I opened my mouth. Council Chair glanced at me. I shut it, grinding my teeth.
Did not Ghen refrain from comment on all matters pertaining to city ordinance? Chair Ghen continued, as if he had not seen me. But it was their right, no, their duty, to be present at Council when issues involving city defense arose.
The wall again. How much time is wasted on that antiquated wall! Somehow I must move my people to think beyond the wall. I rose to speak despite the disapproving glance of Council Chair.
“We don’t need Ghen to guard the wall!” I cried. “No Broghen has been seen in all our lifetimes. Bria birth only Bria and Ghen infants, and have since the Creator Wind spoke to Dayannis!”
I sat down amid thunderous cheers from the gallery. I thought the religious reference would appeal to the older Bria on Council, but every Bria councilors’ face, except those in years two and three, was still and pale. I’d gone too far. I had insulted their faith, I realized then, by using Dayannis’s name to undermine traditions he set up.
When the vote was taken it was merely a gesture to formalize my mistake. The second-year councilor, Perallis, and even the third-year Bria councilor, big with his unborn infants, voted with me. All of the older Bria, and of course the Ghen, opposed.
When Council adjourned, the Bria in the gallery gathered around me to show their support and encouragement; but I had failed to convince the councilors and nothing else mattered. I expressed my gratitude and eased away to be alone.
Alone
! Where could I be alone? Igt’ur was waiting for me at home, perhaps a greater symbol of my defeat than even the vote had been. I walked street after street, watching dusk fall upon my city. My Bria city, which I had failed today.
As far back as I remember, I have loved my city; loved the long, low lines of the buildings hung with brightly-colored streamers that tossed in the wind and caught the sun, throwing patterns of color to dance upon the walkways. I loved the slender green fronds of the tall ugappas that waved above us and the quadruple leaves of the shorter, broader cappas that shook like the wide belly of a laughing grandparent. I loved the silver grasses that rippled like a whispered melody underfoot, as soft as walking on the wind.
Even the wall, useless bit of antiquity that it is, encircling the northern half of our city like a generous hug, with its small, triangular pennants snapping in the breeze above it; even the wall I loved because it defined our city, divided it from the dark forest of the mainland above our secluded peninsula.
What pleasure could I take in the sight of my city this evening? Its very beauty was a reproof to me now.
It was almost dark by the time I reached the Symba. Normally I hated the darkness, as all Bria do, but tonight I welcomed it. I peered across the river at our farmlands. I could barely make out the tall grains swaying in the wind and beyond them at the edge of my vision the southern woods, so black they appeared still, as still as death. I took a step toward the river, and toward the blackness beyond.
How could I ever go back, after such a defeat? I stared down into the water, so dark and still, and its stillness called to me. I was hesitating on the bank when the street lamps were lit.
Reflected in the water I saw my city, shining in the night. I turned. The large oil lamps, hanging high upon their posts, swayed in the wind, so that from the riverbank the entire city seemed to be alight, dancing in the darkness. So beautiful, my city, beckoning me back. Wearily, I turned toward home.
Walls of Wind, book I Page 2