Tiva’s head spun in cycles of grudging fondness and rage. Are you mad as well as a heretic? I’m a whore! I’m cursed by E’Yahavah! I enticed your son from your house, and made him sleep with me out of wedlock because I didn’t want to be desolate alone!
Khumi seemed suddenly more at ease. “Please, Father, if you haven’t already eaten, join us for breakfast. If you’re here about the land, I’m perfectly ready to buy it from you.”
“Thank you. I think I will—eat—that is. Don’t worry about the land. Consider it part of your inheritance. It’s not in my heart to disown you, Son. When I gave you the choice to move out, it was not to make us alienated. I was simply saying that a man cannot go in two opposing directions at once.”
Tiva set out another earthenware bowl and began to spoon out the smoky hot porridge from the small cauldron over the campfire coals. Then she set some honeycomb out for them to melt into the cereal, and sat down with them on the edge of the platform.
Khumi asked, “So what brings you up to visit us?”
A’Nu-Ahki’s eyes sparkled. He seemed barely able to contain himself. “Aside from my wanting to see my son again; two things.”
Khumi smiled. Suddenly his soft peach-fuzz face seemed so boyish. Oh E’Yahavah, Tiva lamented, we should still be in academy somewhere, him playing with tools, and me with crafts and dolls.
“I’m sorry, Pahpa. Work’s been keeping me busy, what between the house, and having to go farther down valley in search of contracts.”
A’Nu-Ahki said, “I understand.”
No, I wonder if you do? Tiva mused sadly. I’m the one who took him away. I’m the one who’s kept him away. If you really understood, you would have cursed me, not blessed me.
“The first reason I’ve come, you may be a bit hesitant about. But let me say that I only did it to make things easier for you and any children you might have together in the time that’s left—or beyond, should you both chose to come with me at some point.”
Children! Tiva almost wept. I only had my first monthly cycle last year! On the outside, I may look almost old enough to be a woman, and I may know how to please a man, but even in this, I’m a fake!
A’Nu-Ahki continued, “I petitioned the Ancient on your behalf. As a Seventh Tier Zaqen, he is empowered to recognize marriages—even those not entered into through, shall we say, fully ‘traditional’ means. As I said, I did this only to make life easier for you and your children—so that nobody would stigmatize them as illegitimate…”
Tiva would have laughed if they had lived anywhere but Akh’Uzan. Who cares about legitimacy anymore? Marriage is nothing but a few pious words, a baked clay tablet, and some dangly beads on a lineage staff!
“…I don’t wish to meddle any further if I’m not wanted. The recognition scrolls with the Ancient’s signet mark, and mine, are being delivered to Henumil and to the Magistracy at Farguti even as we speak.”
I’m a wife—Tiva contemplated with a bittersweet sigh—a real wife.
She almost wondered if this meant she was no longer a whore—until her mother’s face exploded into her thoughts.
Khumi said, “Thank you! I’m not indifferent about it at all and neither is Tiva, are you, darling?”
She said, “No, not at all.” Then she thought, Indifferent, no. Chained to an anvil and sinking into the mire of becoming my own mother, yes!
A’Nu-Ahki’s eyes lit up again. “The second reason I’ve come—the most important one really—is something that will take awhile to explain. Do you have time right now?”
What’s more important to a Lit than marriage tokens, except maybe rooting for the correct disaster for World-end? Tiva wondered.
“We have time,” Khumi said, who did not truly look at all sure whether he ought to be interested or apprehensive. “What is it?”
A’Nu-Ahki said, “I’ve been given new instructions on World-end.”
Tiva somehow resisted the urge to get up and walk away.
Khumi looked down and started to fidget with his hands. “When?”
A’Nu-Ahki said, “Four nights ago. As I told you when I got back from captivity, Khumi, many bad things overtook us at the end of our journey. If it hadn’t been for your brother picking up my slack, I hate to think of what might have happened.
“I’ve spent this last year brooding too much on it—about your half-sisters, Uranna and Tylurnis, freely choosing Samyaza. I felt as though I had lost my faith. Khumi, I’ve experienced only one thing even near that difficult since then—but I’ll spare you that.
Khumi’s father paused. “That boy your brother rescued, who I adopted—he reminded me so much of you—the way he handled his father’s ship across the Great Ocean from the very western to eastern edges of the earth and through the terror of the Floating Lands on the far side of Under-world. To have him come almost all the way home with us, only to see him killed at the very border—at least I know he’s in the Comfort Fields. But it was like watching you die, Son.”
The Old Man seemed to lose himself in the memory. “He could actually see the Holy Ones protecting us at the end. I could not see them. All we saw was that terrible shining disk I told you about, its pale gray demons, and their cold black eyes. They were Watchers, shriveled and fallen, yet able to create panic—almost as if they could reach into our very souls to plant it there without actually doing anything else.”
Tiva found herself oddly fascinated by A’Nu-Ahki’s account. Maybe it had that nice creepy quality that had once enthralled even Farsa, that first night Tiva had come to Grove Hollow, when she had spoken of ancient curses. Maybe the Old Man’s odd fearlessness of seeming weak to his son by speaking with such emotion made him so un-Henumil.
A’Nu-Ahki continued, “We saw Samyaza himself—a being steeped in delusion as much as his most gullible pawn. None of our clan since Q’Enukki has ever had a clearer view of the Watchers in what I guess must be their natural element…” He paused, gazing off into the distance. Then his head tilted, as he said something Tiva had never heard her father say; “No, I’m wrong about that. Now that I think of it, it’s not their true form at all.”
Tiva shocked herself when she asked, “Why do you say that?”
A’Nu-Ahki smiled at her. “The fallen Watchers manifest themselves in so many different ways that I’m not sure they even know what their ‘true’ form is anymore. I think now that they’ve forgotten it, maybe they no longer have ‘true’ forms. Perhaps they live out the ages as hollowed masks, molding themselves over their own hungry emptiness in mimicry of whatever myth the human imagination creates, which men are most likely to believe in a given age. They seep into the background of our imaginations, waiting till the time is ripe to animate such myths, only to turn them into a living madness.”
Tiva whispered, “Like the forest has eyes.”
Khumi looked up. “Scary stuff.”
His father nodded. “More than you can know. They took ‘Ranna and ‘Nissa away from me. How could your sisters be so deceived? Bitter from captivity, I could understand, but to stay with Samyaza willingly when they had a choice? I know you may not understand, Khumi and Tiva, but those two girls were the only living link I had to my old life.”
Tiva had no clue what the Old Man was talking about now, but her husband nodded as if he understood and sympathized. She suddenly wondered if her own father had similar misgivings about her. She somehow wanted to believe that he did, but knowing Henumil, she could not imagine it. Tiva found herself wishing oddly that she could have been born Khumi’s sister rather than his wife. This is getting too weird…
A’Nu-Ahki sipped his tea, and said, “Khumi, I’ve never been so tired before. I’ve hardly been able to pray at all this past year. In the old days, ‘Ranna and ‘Nissa were the center of my affection—after their mother, that is. Was I that terrible a father to them? Sure, I made my share of mistakes—but nothing to earn such unbridled hate! Anyway, while I mulled over these things four nights ago—that was when he came.”
Khumi asked, “Who?”
His father’s eyes brightened, but he did not answer directly. “You know I go into the library when I’m troubled. The scrolls, tablets, and codices fill my life with histories, epics, and proverbs—the meaning of things. It’s really all about meaning, you know. Yet the writings didn’t seem to help this year. I sat there and halfheartedly forced myself to pray, without much hope. Son, I wept like an old woman. I know what I must do now, but that doesn’t take the hurt away. Only he will do that in his own time…”
“Who?” Tiva covered her mouth after the word escaped her lips.
A’Nu-Ahki turned and gazed into her eyes. She averted her face to escape his pain, lest it somehow become her own. It seemed too much as if he could read her mind. I can’t face that hurt again…
Khumi’s Father answered her. “As I sat in the library, a fragrant breeze came in through the window. I found that I was not alone.
“‘Hello, Nu,’ a man’s voice said from behind me. He sounded so wounded and gentle, as if he too sat on the verge of great despair, and would share the pain of my lost daughters and all my dead children with me.
“I turned and saw a comfortably dressed middle-aged man, sitting at the reading table. He could have passed for any son of Seti, deep red skin and a black beard, with cool blue-gray eyes. I watched him lay out a blank scroll across the table and adjust the surface slant downward, so I could see the papyrus as well. He couldn’t have entered the library door without my seeing him, or any of the windows without my hearing.
“‘Who are you?’ I asked, dreadfully afraid. He seemed harmless, but the war and my travels had tuned my senses—I knew I hadn’t dozed.
“The Gentleman answered with a smile in his eyes that revealed endless mirth and bottomless sorrow, ‘You don’t need to ask, do you?’
“My legs fell out from under me. Although his unimposing form seemed nothing like the furious apparition of our first encounter up on Mount N’Zar, the same presence filled the room, and I felt ashamed of my self-pity. ‘Ranna and ‘Nissa had made their own choices as adults. I now had to make mine—again.
“‘Pardon, Master!’ I sensed in the Visitor a restrained anger. Yet deep inside, I knew he directed none of it at me. I even found that his fury against evil was something I could rest in and rely upon. I didn’t have to take it upon myself to be its vengeful agent—I could trust his character. There’s great peace in that.
“The Messenger of E’Yahavah rose from the reading table, and touched my shoulder gently. He told me I could get up.
“I remember cautiously peeking up at him.
“‘You’re tired and discouraged,’ he said. ‘I understand, but it’s time to move on now.’ Then he touched my shoulder again. ‘Go fetch us some wine and honey-bread. I hear your wife bakes the best in all Akh’Uzan.’
“At his touch, I got up full of a joy I had never quite known before. I rushed to the scullery for my two best wine bowls, then to the pantry for the bread and wine. When I re-entered the library, I was relieved to find my visitor seated again at the scroll table.
“‘Sit with me,’ he said, as I poured the wine.
“I reclined across the table from him and placed the refreshment tray on the edge of the rolled-out scroll, between us.
“When he said nothing for awhile, but simply seemed to enjoy his wine, I began to worry. The way he looked at me made me both nervous and elated. Finally, I felt as though I had to say something.
“‘How now may I be of service?’
“I had not touched my wine or any of the loaf—I didn’t feel quite right, eating in front of him at the same table like that. But the Messenger pushed the other wine bowl into my hand and then refilled his own.
“‘Relax.’ He smiled. ‘First we shall drink and visit. Nobody ever takes the time to visit any more. We’ll talk of service later.’
“My eyes met his fully for the first time, while he took his wine bowl and sipped slowly. The beverage’s aroma drifted over us both, carrying with it the breath of a deep, cleansing rest. Then he ate some of your mother’s honey-bread and handed me several pieces. It tasted like your mother’s, but seemed to energize me unlike normal bread. A fire rekindled inside of me that I had feared long extinguished.
“Finally the Visitor removed the tray. ‘Feeling better?’
“I felt like a ‘tween-ager in love for the first time—if you’ll excuse the expression—only more clear-headed than I ever was at that age.
“I answered, ‘Yes, thank you.’
“He said, ‘You probably feel as though you’ve failed more than you’ve succeeded over the years. I want you to know that I don’t see it that way.’
“At the mention of failure, my mood plummeted.
“‘Oh I know all about your sins, both real and imagined,’ he added. ‘I’ve given you my compassion and my power. I will continue to do so, and pay the price for it later, simply because I can. You remind me of another friend I have among your people…” His eyes seemed far away.
“Khumi and Tiva, I had prepared myself for much, but not this. I reminded him of a friend! Who? When? Where? What had I ever done? Nothing came to mind—if anything had, it would have defiled the moment.”
Khumi said. “Maybe it’s like what you told me the day I left home—about how E’Yahavah just decided to be your friend and help you.”
Tiva tried to remember the conversation she had overheard last year from the bushes by the gate of Q’Enukki’s Retreat, between her husband and his father. Some of it came back to her, but only in fuzzy bits.
“Maybe you’re right, Khumi. Maybe it’s just that simple.” A’Nu-Ahki laughed, as his hand reached out and squeezed his son’s shoulder.
Tiva wanted to believe that the gleam in the Old Man’s eyes was the fire of madness. It has to be! Yet somehow, A’Nu-Ahki seemed more lucid than any elder she had ever heard. Not that she allowed herself to believe his story; just in his composure, and the fact that he believed it.
A’Nu-Ahki continued, “Great sadness came on E’Yahavah’s Word-Speaker. He said, ‘I wish the only reason I’d come tonight was for us to visit and speak clearly to each other. Someday it will be like that, but not now.’
“I whispered, ‘The time has come, hasn’t it?’ I could almost hear a war raging in the distance outside.
“He nodded. ‘The end of all flesh is now before me. Mankind has filled the Earth with violence and perversion. You need to be alert, because I’m going to completely destroy all life from the face of the ground.’
“He said it so softly, while the wind began to moan outside. I expected it to storm, as it had up on Mount N’Zar, but it just moaned.
“I asked, ‘What do you want me to do?’
“The Word-Speaker paused before answering. Then he took from his cloak a strange little stylus that produced its own ink from within itself, and began to draw on the blank scroll draped across the reading table. His lines were perfectly straight, as though traced with a protractor, triangle, and drafting square. No human being could have drawn such precision freehand.
“‘Build a vessel out of kapar-processed wood,” he said, as his drawing took shape. “You will construct compartments in the vessel, with watertight seals inside, and shelled outside with kapar cement.’
“The Word-Speaker went silent for a few minutes while he finished his draft. Then he pointed out certain details on the drawing and explained them. ‘These are the volume dimensions you’re to use,’ he jotted the figures down as he recited them, ‘The ship’s length; three hundred standard cubits, its beam; fifty cubits, and the height is to be thirty cubits.’
“I said, ‘A six to one floatation ratio, riding low to the sea with a draft I’d guess of about fifteen cubits fully loaded.” I must have seemed to him a vain peacock showing off what little nautical engineering I’d learned from a pre’tween boy! ‘I’ve never seen this design before,’ I added, twisting my foot just a little more inside my mouth. It actually
looked something like an over-sized river barge, only longer, with a kind of ramming prow.
“He said, ‘It will be the most stable craft afloat. Because of that quality, it will shortly become the only craft afloat.’”
The finality of the statement rang in Tiva’s ears. Stop it, you silly rag! There’re millions of ships at sea! All of them can’t be wiped out!
A’Nu-Ahki went on, “He pointed with his stylus to a narrow raised structure at the crest of the vessel’s roof and said, ‘You need to make a lighting system, with a ventilation loft here, because of the cargo you’ll be carrying. The vent holes each need to be a cubit high, with vertical flues. You can make shutters for the vents if you wish to control airflow. But be sure to finish them above with overhanging eaves on either side.’
“He pointed to an opening on the third deck up, on the starboard side, above the waterline. ‘Make the cargo-hatch here. Below this level, you shall make a second and third main deck for the bulk of your load.’
“The Messenger looked up from his architect’s scroll, and finished the last of his wine. ‘Be alert, because I am about to unleash a World-end of water over the Earth to annihilate every form of life that breathes air from under the skies.’ He measured out his next words with slow, deadly emphasis: ‘Every living thing on dry land shall die.’
“His words rang in my ears. I thought suddenly of my former acolyte—your old teacher, Nestrigati. I owe him much, both for sticking by me in the Haunted Lands, and for rescuing ‘Peti and Pahpo in the trenches during the war. I wondered of his work on the mountain ridge above us. Floodhaven is becoming a small city. Yes, our own Nestrigati, doubtless starting with good intentions, has carried belief in a World-end of water out to its logical conclusion with an entrepreneur’s zeal. The problem is, it’s the wrong application of the right interpretation!
“I’ve watched him target wealthy converts as financial backers this past year, while his sermons promise the poor deliverance for their free labor. It all seems equitable enough when compared to drowning. I felt sick because he’d started building just after he got home from the war, while I was presumed dead. I couldn’t blame him for moving ahead with it.
A Broken Paradise (The Windows of Heaven Book 3) Page 13