Earthborn (Homecoming) (12 page)

“You killed him.”

“My father . . . was ambivalent. The man spoke very powerfully. Some believed him—including one of Father’s priests. The best of them. He was my teacher, a man named Akmadi. No, that was Father’s name for him. I called him Akmaro, because he was my honored teacher, not a traitor. I was there at the trial of Binadi, when Akmaro rose to his feet and said, ‘This man is Binaroak, the greatest teacher. I believe him, and I want to change my life to measure up to his teachings.’ That was the crudest moment for my father—he loved Akmaro.”

“Loved? He’s dead?”

“I don’t know. We sent an army after him, but he and his followers must have been warned. They fled into the wilderness. We have no idea where they are now.”

“Those are the ones who believe that men of every kind are equal before the Keeper?”

“If only driving away Akmadi—Akmaro—were our worst crime.” Ilihiak stopped to draw a breath; it was a tale he didn’t want to tell. “Father was afraid of Binadi. He didn’t want to kill him, just to exile him again. But Pabulog, the chief priest—he insisted. Goaded Father.” Ilihiak stroked his hair back from his face. “Father was a man who was very susceptible to fear. Pabulog made him afraid to leave Binadi alive. ‘If he can trick and trap even Akmadi, then how will you ever be safe?’ That sort of thing.”

“Your father had bad counselors,” said Monush.

“And I fear that you think he also had a disloyal son. But I wasn’t disloyal during his lifetime, Monush.
It was only when I was forced into ruling in his place, after he was murdered—”

“Do your troubles have no end?”

Ilihiak went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Only then did I realize the extent of his corruption. It was Binadi—Binaro—who understood my father. Well, he’s dead now, and I’m king over Zinom, such as it is. Half the men have been killed in wars with the Elemaki. After the last one, we bowed down and let them put their foot on our neck. It was then, in slavery, that we began to lose our arrogance and realize that if we had only stayed in Darakemba, wings in our faces or not, we would at least not be slaves to diggers. Our children would have enough to eat. We wouldn’t have to bear with insult every day of our lives.”

“So you let Binaro out of prison?”

“Out of prison?” Ilihiak laughed bitterly. “He was put to death, Monush. Burned to death, limb by limb. Pabulog saw to it personally.”

“I think,” said Monush, “that it would be wise for this Pabulog not to come to Darakemba. Motiak will apply his laws even over actions committed while Pabulog was in the service of your father.”

“Pabulog isn’t among us. Do you think he would be alive today if he were? He fled at the time they killed my father, taking his sons with him. Like Akmaro, we have no idea where he is.”

“I’ll be honest with you, Ilihiak. Your people have done terrible things, as a nation.”

“And we’ve been punished for them,” said Ilihiak, his temper flaring for a moment.

“Motiak isn’t interested in punishment, except for a man who tortures one chosen by the Keeper. But Motiak can’t allow people who have done the things you’ve done to come into Darakemba.”

Ilihiak kept his kingly posture, but Monush could see the almost imperceptible sagging of his shoulders. “Then I shall teach my people to bear their burdens bravely.”

“You misunderstand,” said Monush. “You can come to Darakemba. But you will have to be new people when you arrive.”

“New people?”

“When you cross the Tsidorek the last time, you won’t use the bridge. Instead your people, all of them except the little children, must walk through the water and then symbolically die and be buried in the river. When you rise up out of the water, you have no name and no one knows you. You walk to the riverbank, and there you take the most solemn oath to the Keeper. From then on you have no past, but your future is as a true citizen of Darakemba.”

“Let us take the oath at once—we have a river here, and at the waters of Oromono, where the rains fall from the cliff forever, there is water as holy as any in the Tsidorek.”

“It’s not the water—or, rather, not the water alone,” said Monush. “You can teach your people the covenant, so they understand the law they’ll be accepting when they leave here for Darakemba. But the passage through the water has to take place near the capital—I don’t have the authority to make you new men and women.”

Ilihiak nodded. “Akmaro did.”

“The passage through the water? That’s only done in Darakemba.”

“The rumor we heard was that when he was in hiding at Oromono, he took people through the water and made them new.” Ilihiak laughed bitterly. “The way Pabulog explained it, they were drowning babies. As if anyone would believe such a thing.”

Monush wouldn’t bother trying to explain to Ilihiak that it was only the king of the Nafari who had the right to make new men and women. Whoever and wherever this Akmaro was, his usurpation of the power of Motiak had nothing to do with the negotiations today. “Ilihiak, I think you have nothing to fear from Motiak. And whether your people choose to take
the covenant or not, one way or another you’ll find peace within the borders of Darakemba.”

The king shook his head. “They’ll take the covenant, or I won’t lead them. We’ve had enough of trying to live as humans alone. It not only can’t be done, but also isn’t worth doing.”

“That’s settled, then,” said Monush, and he started for the door.

“But where are you going?” asked Ilihiak.

“Wasn’t this the secret you wanted to tell me?” asked Monush. “What your father and Pabulog did to Binadi?”

“No,” said Ilihiak. “I could have told you that in front of my council. They all know how I feel about these things. No, I brought you here to show you something else. If the Elemaki knew about this, if even a hint of a rumor reached their ears . . .”

Hadn’t he already promised to keep all secrets except from Motiak? “Show me, then,” said Monush.

Ilihiak walked to his bed, a thick mat that lay on the floor in the center of his chamber. Sliding it out of the way, he brushed aside the reeds and rushes and then his fingers probed a certain spot in one of the stones of the floor and suddenly another large flagstone dropped away. It was on hinges, and where it had been, a dark hole gaped.

“Do you want me to bring you a torch?” asked Monush.

“No need,” said Ilihiak. “I’ll bring it up.”

The king dropped down into the hole. In the darkness it had looked as though it went down forever, but in fact when Ilihiak stood upright his shoulders rose out of the hole. He bent down, picked up something heavy, and lifted it to the floor of the chamber. Then he climbed out.

The object was wrapped in a dirty cloth; the king unwound it, revealing a basket, which he opened, then took out a wooden box. Finally that, too, was open, and inside was the gleam of pure gold.

“What is it?” asked Monush.

“Look at the writing,” said Ilihiak. “Can you read it?”

Monush looked at the characters engraved into the gold leaves. “No,” he said. “But I’m not a scholar.”

“Nor am I, but I’ll tell you this much—it isn’t in any language I’ve ever heard. These letters have almost no similarities with any alphabet, and the patterns are wrong for our language, too. Where are the suffixes and prefixes? Instead there are all these tiny words—what could they be? I tell you, this was not written by Nafari
or
Elemaki.”

“Angels?” asked Monush.

“Did they have writing before the humans came?”

Monush shrugged. “Who knows? It doesn’t look like their language, either. The words are all too short. As you said. Where did you get it?”

“As soon as I became king, I sent out a group of men to search for Darakemba so we could find our way back. My grandfather deliberately destroyed all records of the route he took to lead our people here from Darakemba and he refused to let anyone ever tell. He said it was because such information was useless—we were never going back.” Ilihiak smiled wryly. “We knew we had come up the Tsidorek—that’s not hard—but it’s not as if my men could ask directions from the local Elemaki. We had trouble enough already without them finding us sending out exploring parties. So they found a likely river and followed it. It was a very strange river, Monush—they followed it down and down and down till they reached a place where the water was very turbulent. And then the river continued in a straight line, but now the water was flowing the opposite way!”

“I’ve heard of the place,” said Monush. “They found the Issibek. It’s the next river over. It’s really two rivers flowing directly toward each other. Where they meet, there’s a tunnel leading through solid rock for many leagues until the river spouts out of the rock and forms a new river flowing to the sea.”

“That explains it. To my men it seemed to be a miracle.
They thought it was a sign they were on the right path.”

“They found this writing there?”

“No. They followed the river to its northern head, and then found their way among ever lower valleys until at last they must have left the gornaya entirely. It was a hot, dry land, and to their horror it was covered by the bones of dead humans. As if there had been a terrible battle. Thousands and thousands and thousands of humans were slain, Monush—beyond all numbering. And all the dead were human, make no mistake about it. Not a digger, not an angel among them.”

“I’ve never heard of such a place, though the desert is real enough. We call it Opustoshen—the place of desolation.”

“That sounds like the right name for it,” said Ilihiak. “My men were sure that they had found what happened to the people of Darakemba, and why they hadn’t found the city anywhere along the river.”

“They thought these dead humans were
us?”

“Yes,” said Ilihiak. “Who can tell, in a desert, how long anything has been dead? Or so they said to me. But as they searched among the bodies, they found these.”

“What, lying on the ground, and nobody had already looted them?”

“Hidden in a cleft of the rock,” said Ilihiak. “In a place that looks too small to get anything inside. One of the men had had a dream the night before, and in the dream he found something marvelous in a cleft of rock that he said was just like the one he found near the battlefield. So he reached inside—”

“The fool! Doesn’t he know there are deadly snakes in the desert? They hide in shaded clefts like that during the day.”

“There were a dozen snakes in there, the kind that make dancing music with their tails—”

“Deadly!”

“But they were as harmless as earthworms,” said
Ilihiak. “That’s how my men knew that the Keeper really meant them to get these. And now here they are. The Elemaki would melt them down in a moment and make them into ornaments. But I was hoping that Motiak . . .”

Monush nodded. “Motiak has the Index.” He looked Ilihiak in the eye. “That, too, is a secret. Not that people don’t suppose that he has it. But it’s better if people are unsure, so they don’t bother trying to find it and see it or, worse, steal it. The Index knows all languages. Motiak can translate these records if any man on Earth can do it.”

“Then I’ll give them to him,” said Ilihiak, already rewrapping the leaves of gold. “I didn’t dare ask you if the Index was still had among the kings of the Nafari.”

“It is,” said Monush. “And while the Index sat silent for many generations, it awoke in the days of Motiak’s grandfather, Motiab, and told him to get down to Darakemba.”

“Yes,” said Ilihiak. “And my grandfather rejected that decision.”

“It’s never good to argue with the Index,” said Monush.

“All messengers of the Keeper are scared,” said Ilihiak, and shuddered.

“The blood of Binaro is not on your head,” said Monush.

“It’s on the heads of my people, and therefore it
is
on my head. You weren’t here, Monush. The mob gave full approval and cheered when Binadi cried out in agony. Those who hated what we did—they’re with Akmaro wherever he is.”

“Then it’s time, isn’t it, for us to teach them what the convenant will mean and let them decide whether they want to go to Darakemba.”

Ilihiak pulled his bed back over the hidden trove. “Though how we’re going to win our freedom from the place without bloody war I have no idea.”

Monush helped him arrange the bed just as it had
been. “When they’ve agreed to take the covenant, Ilihiak, then the Keeper will show us how to escape.”

Ilihiak smiled. “Just so
I
don’t have to think of a way, I’m content.”

Monush looked at him intently. Did he mean that?

“I never wanted to be king,” said Ilihiak. “I’ll gladly give up all thrones and privileges, when I can set aside the burdens of office as well.”

“A man who would willingly set aside the throne? I’ve never heard of such a thing,” said Monush.

“If you knew all the pain that reigning here had brought me,” said Ilihiak, “you’d call me a fool for staying in the job so long.”

“Ilihiak, sir,” said Monush, “I would never call you a fool, or permit another man to call you that in my presence.”

Ilihiak smiled. “Then may I hope, Monush, that when I am no longer king, I might still have the honor of being your friend?”

Monush took Ilihiak’s hands and placed them flat on his own cheeks. “My life is between your hands forever, my friend,” said Monush.

Ilihiak took Monush’s hands and repeated the gesture. “My life was worthless until the Keeper brought you to me. You were the awakening of all my hope. I know you came here only to do your duty to your king. But a man may see the worth of another man, regardless of rank or mission. My life is between your hands forever.”

They embraced and touched lips in a kiss of friendship. Then, smiling, tears shamelessly on his cheeks, Ilihiak unbarred the door and returned to the tiny world where he was friend of no man, because he had to be king of all.

When Mon missed his target for the third time, Husu flew to him and stopped him. Others—most of them young angels in the earliest stages of training for Husu’s flying army of spies—continued their practicing, filling their mouths with darts, the points protruding,
then rapidly firing them one-handed through their blowtubes, trying to get them somewhere near the targets. Someday they would learn to shoot accurately while they beat their wings in flight, one foot holding the blowtube, the other foot holding a burden. For now, though, they practiced while standing on one foot. Mon was usually furious with himself when he missed—after all, he could hold the tube with two hands, could aim while standing on two feet. But today he could hardly bring himself to care.