Читать книгу The Constant Tower - Carole McDonnell - Страница 16

CHAPTER 10

SUDDEN LOVE

The Wheel Clan boys carried torches, the Iden children sang. Inside the cave, the loamy ground under Maharai’s feet unsettled her. She feared the dark and the dark monsters that croaked, creaked, and clicked under the muddy water. Raising Eala higher up on her shoulder, she resolved to show no fear. The king’s son, Netophah, walked at her side. She had not liked him at first. She had had to tune her ears to his mangling of her language, but he had spoken so sweetly to her, asking her to be “compassionate” toward him and to speak slowly, and his eyes had been so gentle as they walked together. She no longer believed the Wheel Clan wanted to steal either herself or her sisters.

“We play here,” he said. “Here and elsewhere. You see?”

“I can see better now, yes.” She drew out the words, spoke the same thought again in different words, that he might understand her. “My eyes can see in the dark now.”

Something slimy crept near her sandals. The shadows and laughter of the Wheel Clan and Iden children moved and echoed along the walls.

“Stay here.” Netophah squeezed her hand. “I go, I return.” He disappeared further into the cavern before she could protest.

Maharai stroked the whimpering child’s back and swayed slowly, comforting it. In the darkness, she saw Netophah’s figure—already, she recognized it—returning, carrying two poles: One pole ended with a knife-like hook, the other attached to a net.

“The net catch small fish,” he said when he reached her. “The hook large ones.” He drew his face closer to Eala’s. “Do you want nursing, Eala? Milk? Maharai to nurse you?”

Unsure if Netophah had intentionally joked or had used the wrong word, Maharai said, “I can’t nurse her.”

“I know.” He laughed, then touched her breasts. “They very tiny breasts.”

She moved the child upward to block his arm. Still, she liked him. “They’ll grow when I get bigger.” A defense, a promise.

He moved his mouth closer to hers. “Promise? No, no, they won’t grow. Always the same size.”

She turned the conversation from her breasts. “You gave my brothers only nets. No hooks?”

“Girlie,” Netophah attempted to touch her breast again. Again, she quickly blocked him. “Hooks dangerous,” he said. “Father say keep Iden brothers safe. Our new allies not accidental pierce selves, each other. Why cannot I you touch you? I see you want.”

She did not say that she had allowed Gidea’s hateful son to touch her because he had bullied her often, did not say he had opened his trousers before her and forced her to kneel before him and…“Mother says men should not touch me there.”

“I not a man.” He kissed her cheek and his hand traced a gentle line along her neck. “We same age.”

She liked his arrogance, liked him because he was handsome and his body slender and well-built and because he liked her. She wondered if she should allow him to kiss her—just once. It would be nice to be kissed by one who was handsome and young and who loved her. But Little Eala was in her arms and it would all be so clumsy. Yet she allowed it. She leaned toward him and his lips touched hers. Her body trembled. Warmth course through her veins. She felt a throbbing in her vagina. Only joy, and none of the fear and disgust she often felt when Gidea’s son forced her to suck and suck. She didn’t feel the passing of the time, such joy she had with Netophah.

* * * *

Two sharp whistles pierced the quiet fields. Voices called out to Nahas from the bottom of the hill. Nahas raised himself onto his elbow and looked toward the Iden longhouse. His demeanor grew serious, distant as if he suddenly remembered he was a king. Ktwala sat up, followed the king’s gaze. Three men—two in the brown Wheel Clan short leather cloak, the other in green.

“Your subjects call you.” She handed him his tunic, looked about for her own clothing.

“They’re two of my captains.” Nahas took the tunic, rose from the grass. “Lebo and Orian. The third is Gaal, steward over all these fields and all the fields of the Wheel Clan, my dearest friend.”

“That one doesn’t wear brown.”

“Among my people, the son belongs to its father’s clan. One such as Gaal with a foreign father can only be a farmer or a steward. He wears the clothing of stewards. Yet, he is—like all my stewards—as good a fighter as any.” He raised his right hand and signaled the steward who nodded. “And of all my warriors, he rests closest to my heart. Ktwala, my warriors await me. There is much for me to do.”

“It has been years since I lay with a man,” she said, laughing. “Except Ouis. I had forgotten how grievous parting was. If I could, I would lie here with you til third moon came.”

She dressed hastily, aware that his eyes admired her body, but sad they were to part. “Already I long for you,” she said. “Til the day when our towers meet again?”

“We will be apart for only a little while.”

“How long does it take to learn tower songs and the songs of far regions?” she asked.

“The day is far spent.” His voice accused. “My people journeyed here to honor our dead. A hard and long task. Yet I have spent the day lying here with you. And now you speak of towers?”

“I grieve for your dead, Nahas. Forgive me. I only…unless you seek us out, you will be lost to me. Long ago, the men in my longhouse warred against each other. When peace could not be restored, it was decided another longhouse should be built and the sub-clan divided. Those who left took all our keening knowledge with them. Help us, Nahas. Don’t leave us at the night’s will.”

The king’s eyes searched hers. “And what science will you give us in return?”

Her right hand indicated the orchards, then the corralled fields. “What can I give a Wheel Clan king?” She wrapped her arms around him, kissed his lips. “Be not so distant, Nahas, and trust my love for you.”

His voice was distant, his eyes—sky blue and sky bright—full of suspicion. “You speak of love and tower science in the same breath?”

“Do you think I gave you my body as payment for your lore? I did not.”

He shrugged, frowned. “It seems I’ve mistaken a barter for love.”

How wary and suspicious the Wheel Clan king is! Hurt, she kneeled at the king’s feet, spoke boldly. “I would not have lain with you if I did not love you, Nahas! King or not, your heart has found its place in mine. But, my people are the world’s dust, tossed where the night flings us. This is why I ask that you make our paths and journeys straight, that you make our lives as orderly as yours.”

“Your people charm and bend animal hearts to their will,” he answered. “Teach us this skill, and we will teach you to keen. But not all our tower lore.”

He speaks like one bargaining at a marketplace. Ktwala watched the wind play with the topmost branches of the far-off trees. “Skill for skill, yes. But song for song as well. For the songs of pleasant regions, we’ll teach you the songs of water reptiles. For the chords that make crystals hone homeward, we will teach you whale songs. And our people are strong. You are no victim of a bad bargain. Ally yourselves to us and we will help you battle your enemies.”

“Are you such good warriors?” he asked.

Such wariness in his voice. Should one so powerful seem so afraid? “Not good at all. But we are well able to learn.”

He lifted her from her knees. “You plead well for your people, Ktwala. Fear not. I will teach your people tower science, enough that our longhouses may routinely meet.” His finger stroked the nape of her neck. “Only, you must live with me. Marry me and be my queen.”

Leaping into the king’s arms, Ktwala threw her arms around his neck and covered his face with kisses. His hands on her large buttocks and thighs, the king laughed, steadying himself as he carried her down the sloping meadow.

“It is good to see the Wheel Clan king laugh,” Ktwala said. “You almost made me fear you.”

From the bottom of the steep hillside, a young warrior ran toward them.

“That warrior’s name is Lan,” Nahas said. “He knows the Peacock tongue.” He placed Ktwala’s feet on the grassy ground. “He will report this new alliance and our marriage to the women of my people. Rain, an honored elder among our clan, will acquaint you with our ways. All this night my warriors will remain in your longhouse and teach your brothers tower science. In the morning, we men will return. Then, you and I will be wed.” He winked. “Officially.”

“My children, King Nahas? What of them? May they stay with me or must they stay with my father’s clan? Will they be as your own people? Ouis’ father is not of your clan. Will he be a warrior? Will he be your son?”

Nahas answered, “Ouis will be as my sons are.”

She flung her arms around his neck.

Nahas pointed to the orchard at the bottom of the hill. “Wait there while I speak with Lan.”

All around her, the ripening fruit filled her senses. How fruity-sweet their fragrance!

On the slope of the hill, the king and his warrior spoke, hands and body agitated as if some quarrel had risen up between them. Then the boy grew silent, his shoulders slumped. He walked sullenly toward Ktwala. She followed him but he did not speak to her. Near the longhouse, Prince Psal met him. A moment only the boys spoke, then Psal limped up the hill to his father. Then father and son seemed to argue, hands and heads shaking, pushing. Moments later, the studier hobbled down the hillside. When he drew near Ktwala, he did not look at her, but turned his face toward the ground and pushed past her into the longhouse.

Have I offended this great people on the day they bury their dead? Ktwala asked herself. To lay here in the meadow with Nahas? Is that why this warrior and this prince rage at their king?

* * * *

When darkness fell, Maharai heard Lan’s voice calling to her and Ouis from the cave’s entrance.

“I come, Lan,” she said and picked up Little Eala who sat on a rock her feet dangling in the dark water.

When Maharai and Eala arrived at the cave entrance, Lan stood in the half-light, a worried expression on his face. “Where’s your brother?” he asked her.

“Swimming and fishing with the others.”

“Call him. The king commands you and your brother to remain with your mother in our longhouse,” Lan said then spoke to Netophah in the Wheel Clan language.

After Maharai called him, Ouis came running up, wet and holding a net with a small brown fish with no eyes.

“Can I stay and play a little longer?” he asked, looking from Netophah to Lan. “Our new Wheel Clan brothers are teaching us to use these nets.” He shivered from the cave’s dampness. “Please, let me stay a little longer?”

“Nahas and your mother are to be married,” Lan said. “Our women wish to meet you.”

“Married?” The little boy grinned at his sister. “We’re getting a new father?”

“And you will live among us,” Lan added.

Quick marriages were commonplace—especially in night-tossed longhouses—when there was no certainty of longhouses meeting again. Ktwala’s sudden marriage didn’t surprise Maharai. Her trust in the Wheel Clan had grown since morning, and she was glad the Wheel Clan king was taking Ouis and her along. Still, she didn’t want to be without the rest of her sisters. “Are any of my kinswomen coming with us?” she asked Lan. “Will I see my grandfather again?”

“Yes,” Lan said. “Other women will come with you.”

“I saw the way your eyes ate up Tolika. Tolika is coming as well? Gidea won’t like that.”

“They will not be far from each other,” he said. “Both longhouses will be bound together.”

Maharai clapped her hand. “You’re a very organized people,” she said to Lan.

“More than you know,” he answered and walked outside. “Come.”

She called for the other boys to come but Netophah rested his hands gently on her shoulder, warm hands wet with the blood of fish he had recently hooked. “The girls come our longhouse, meet our women. The boys, with our warriors, the men’s feast. Travel tonight, all men. Travel tonight, all women. Tomorrow all together, meet again.”

“Ah!” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow? And don’t worry. You’ll learn our language soon now that you’re my brother. I’ll teach you.”

They stepped outside the cave under a sky that had gone blue-gray and she walked with Lan toward the Wheel Clan longhouse, admiring its watchtower and its ramparts encircling the longhouse watchtower.

* * * *

Inside the gathering room of the royal longhouse, the Iden and Wheel Clan women feasted. The Iden longhouse always smelled of animal dung and urine, but blood, pharma, sweat, and the odor of corpses pervaded the Nahas longhouse. Even the aroma of sizzling hot spices, fermented meats, honey beverages could not blow away the odor of death. Old Jion had told her of the great Peacock chief’s longhouse, a chief named Tsbosso, whose longhouse had ebony carvings and walls covered with animal skin. She couldn’t imagine it being any lovelier than the interior of a Wheel Clan longhouse, the home of a great king who was to become her father. She placed Eala in her mother’s lap and looked around the gathering room in amazement.

Jion had called the Wheel Clan “the masters of the lathe.” But Maharai had never imagined the perfection and charm that now shone in the Nahas longhouse. The low-lying steps near the hearth on which the women sat: the pegs, grooves, and carvings of decorative bone, ivory, wood, and polished crystal placed neatly in shelves; the woolen hangings; etched trays; wheeled toys; and the tiny swinging cots in which the Wheel Clan babies slept so peacefully.

Lan introduced her to an older woman with long, graying red hair. The woman was sitting beside Ktwala and all the other women surrounded them. “Her name is Donie. We call her ‘Rain,’ in our language. She is much-honored among us.” Lan pointed to a woman with crescent-shaped eyes sitting to Rain’s right. She seemed about the same age of Gidea. “That is Satima, a Waymaker foundling married into our clan. She speaks your language. She will also help you understand our clan.”

“Your men don’t look like your women,” Maharai observed. “Did you steal all these women? And where are your old mothers, and your old fathers? Why is Rain the only old one I see? Does the Wheel Clan kill their old ones to preserve food?”

Lan blinked. “Are you serious?”

“I am.”

“These women all married into our clan at the beginning of the war. As for the old ones, they live in steward longhouses far from trouble.”

“They’re sent away from their home longhouses?”

He squeezed her shoulder gently. “Maharai, I have duties to attend to. Rain will explain all.” He bowed then walked down the corridor to the left.

The old woman had a pale face and kind green eyes. I like her, Maharai thought. But why is this particular old one still here? Shouldn’t she have been sent away like the others? But perhaps she’s the king’s mother and he did not wish to send away his mother.

* * * *

Psal was waiting for his patient—a young warrior rescued from the Orian longhouse—to wake from pharma-induced sleep when Lan entered.

“Firstborn,” Lan said, “the king demands you and Ephan battle by my side.”

“Am I a warrior?” Psal asked. “No, I am not. I will not. The king cannot insist that studiers battle.” A small hearth had been built into the sick rooms as well and now Psal lay his surgical knife on the rectangular white stone in the middle of the red coals. The blood on the knife sizzled away. “Am I—a studier—to harm others? No! I will not do it.”

“A chief should learn to harm others, Firstborn.”

“Take my part, Lan, or cease speaking with me.”

Lan did not immediately answer. He stood near the Studier’s Hearth, staring at the embers. Then, like the glowing stone, his face lit up. “Firstborn, I have an idea. Can you not use the ancient covenant to protect this people?”

Psal grimaced. The Principles always gave him a headache. The Master of the Wintersea had given his students so many possible interpretations of the Creator’s Principles of Reconciliation that Psal hardly knew what they meant. The fact that the spiritual laws hadn’t allowed for a Firstborn not being heir of a clan didn’t exactly make him respect them. “There is nothing in the seven principles about studiers learning to kill.”

“Doesn’t it declare that if a Firstborn marries into a clan, the clan cannot be harmed?”

Lan’s interpretation of the Principles was always exasperatingly muddled. And now—studier’s son that he was—he was reciting them. They rolled from his tongue like a scroll:

To those who would be holy, hear the laws of the Creator:

Let not Samat usurp your pleasures and your sorrows. Guard the doors of your heart against his wiles. Do not allow him to overtake your senses or rule your mind. The Malevolent One lies near and far, in small matters and in large. He roams the world like a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour. Therefore, hear the Creator’s laws and do them:

If you find a night-tossed child, you must by no means leave it bereft but you will take the child into your home and rear it as one of your sons and daughters. You shall in no wise allow Samat to allow you to ignore the poor and the outcast. If you find a foundling marked as outcast, feed him and do not search out the nature of his crimes. Nevertheless, let him not enter your longhouse that his guilt does not defile you. If you meet the poor, you shall give to them all they ask of you, whether thing living or non-living, whether thing tangible or intangible. For the Creator’s eye is upon the orphan and the outcast, and the poor are Children of the Creator as you are;

If you fight your enemy and he falls weak at your feet, you shall in no wise leave him bound at nightfall, no not to living, dead, or non-living thing. You shall in no wise allow Samat to lead you to sin. You shall in any case provide your enemy shelter and leave his feet, torso, and hands unbound. If you fight your enemy and capture his house, and find foundling and the night-tossed living with him, you shall in no wise harm the foundling; the night-tossed is not your enemy. If you find a corpse unburied, you shall in all wise, bury it and not leave the dead uncovered. If you desire to kill, refrain from killing. Nevertheless, if you fight your enemy and he dies, you will cover his body that the land may not be polluted; Your enemy is the Child of the Creator, as you are;

If at any time, the night brings you to a place where you find your enemy’s landmark, you shall in no wise remove it, for other clans are Children of the Creator as you are. You shall in no wise allow Samat to convince you otherwise. If the night tosses you to an unclaimed place, you may reclaim the land by fire, water, or axe. But only that which you can reclaim in a single day shall be yours. All that fire, water, and axe have not claimed within each day shall not be included within your landmark. The land, fire, water and even your strength belong to the Creator and it is He who creates each day and apportions your lot;

You shall in no wise lie with or marry a woman born in the same longhouse as you. Whether your longhouse contains ten or ten thousand, she is your sister, and your daughter, and your aunt, and your mother. If at anytime you war and find among your enemy’s clan a woman your heart longs for, you shall take the woman but for her sake, you shall spare those in her longhouse. You shall ally yourself to them, or you will destroy their crystals that their tower be night-tossed. But you shall not in any wise slay her kinsmen, for your children will be her children and they will rise up against you. The woman shall grieve forty-nine days. Then you shall take her to your bed; If the day brings you a woman, living alone without a clan, if she has no child and desires one, you will give her a child. Nevertheless, in no wise shall you force her to lie with you. Nor will you refuse her request to lie with her. If you desire another man’s woman, refrain from taking her. If you desire another woman’s man, refrain from seducing him. The man and the woman are Children of the Creator, as you are;

If the night brings you to a fertile place and the animals of that region threaten to over-run you, you shall in no wise kill one kind of animal and let all others roam free. You will study the numbers and the kinds, then you will apportion and kill. For the Creator has set one kind of animal against another that all Odunao will live in harmony;

The Firstborn of your clan shall be unto you as the Greater Light. You will bring all disputes and grievances to him and he will resolve them. The law from his mouth will be like the law from the Creator’s mouth. If there arises among you, one who disobeys the Firstborn, that one shall be cut off from the people. You shall not kill that disobedient one but you shall make him outcast because he has disobeyed the Firstborn who is your Greater Light. If there arises one among you who willfully and continually murders, then the Firstborn—the Heir of your clan—shall mark such a one and judge him, for all judgment has been given to the Firstborn, the Heir of your clan. You shall not kill the murderer but you will send him into the cold dark climes or cast him into the night that his Creator might unmake him.

“Are you thinking of the enemy marriage Principle? or the Principle concerning Firstborns?” Psal asked when Lan had finished. “When I met him on the hill just now, I spoke of both principles. He would not heed my counsel either.”

The young warrior sleepily opened his eyes. Psal stroked his patient’s forehead.

“Aythan, you have awakened in time for today’s so-called battle. But, resist the urge to maim and kill until your arm heals. And today you will miss a most ignoble battle.” Kneeling, he helped the boy sit up. “See, now it is all over.”

Aythan nodded and while Lan warned the boy against looking at his arm and nursing any ideas of wasting away in a steward longhouse, Psal called for Satima. She came running immediately.

Empty-handed. “Didn’t I tell you to bring water and cloths?”

“Firstborn, I forgot.”

“Of course you forgot,” Psal sneered. “You’re too busy laying a trap for innocents. Does it satisfy your soul to scheme? You were not born among us, Satima. You were a foundling, rescued and wedded. Why then do you delight in returning vengeance to those who have not personally hurt you?”

“Firstborn!” She lifted her fingers to her mouth and peered nervously toward the gathering room. “Lower your voice. What if they understand you?”

“Then I would raise my voice even higher. Get me water to wash in. Now!”

She muttered some inaudible defense, hurried past the gathering room, then returned later with a basket of cloth in one hand and a bucket of water in the other.

“Where’s Daris?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Firstborn.”

“Find him!”

She dropped the bucket and basket and hastened away, tripping in the hallway in her attempt to escape Psal’s wrath. He watched her struggle to get up. You and the rest of these Wheel Clan women are much too pleased with your treachery. He washed his hands, doused the sick room hearth, then walked with Lan into the keening room where Ephan waited for him. Daris had arrived, and was chewing a piece of grilled honeycomb with bee larva.

“Daris, where were you just now?”

“With the warriors, Chief Studier.”

“You left your mother’s side?” He slapped Daris hard against the left ear. “You’re a studier. You should not stoop to cruelty and deception.” The redness on the child’s cheek and the boy’s tears brought Psal back to his senses. “I’m sorry, Daris. I shouldn’t have hit you.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t a good studier, Chief Studier.” Daris hastened, crying, from the room.

“Go to your mother, Daris,” Ephan said. “You’re becoming like Nahas, Storm. Striking those who anger you. The child is still young. He yearns to be like the others.”

“He’s a studier, he can’t be like the others.” Psal turned to the tower. “And you, when you realized their tower was coming to a Wheel Clan region, why did you not warn it?”

“The listening tower of the Iden branch lacks crystals,” Ephan said.

“Don’t excuse it!” Psal shouted.

A war whistle sounded. If the Peacock women visiting the Nahas longhouse heard it, they probably thought that in the distance a bird struggled in a water-logged nest. Or that seabirds skated on waves of some far-off river, or night-birds were welcoming the second moon atop high-hanging branches.

“Is there nothing that can dissuade you from this integrity of yours?” Lan asked, walking toward the corridor.

“Nothing.”

Lan bowed and left.

“We cannot remain here long.” Ephan entered the base of the tower and began taking several keening crystals from a shelf and putting them inside his studier’s pouch. “Even if we do not kill, we should be beside our warriors. As a kind of—”

“Compromise?”

“Not compromise. More like…well, I suppose I really don’t know. Today I’ve found myself thinking about the old master and what he said as we journeyed with him night-tossed.”

“He said many things. About women. About valor. Nobility. The stupid Principles.”

“True, he was rarely quiet. But, I was thinking of what he said on the day he named us. You argued with him when he called you ‘Coming Storm.’” He exited the tower’s base, looked at the crystals in his hands, frowned. “These will suffice.”

“And did you like the stupid name he gave you? ‘Cloud?’”

“I understood it to be the right name so I accepted it. We are often unmoored, or tossed, or in danger of drifting, you and I. Our names suit us. You surely didn’t want to be called Rocky or Sandy or some such thing, did you? But, do you remember what he asked us on that day?”

“It’s all a blur.”

“He asked, ‘What do you love, and is your life worth that love?’”

“Ah yes, I do remember.”

“How did you answer him?”

“I said I loved the Wheel Clan, and that my life was worth that love.”

Ephan lifted his studier’s sack. “Can you love our people still? I find no honor in this. And yet, they are my people, who found and fed me. I must stay at their side. All this day as we traveled back and forth, bringing them keening poles, branches, and crystals—did you see how hopeful and happy the Iden looked?”

“They called us their saviors.”

“And now, we kill. And yet, if we refuse, what will we say when Nahas challenges us?”