A Triumph of Souls (11 page)

It was at this point (though no one can put a precise date to it) that a fed-up Granni Scork revealed to one and all that
she was actually truly indeed a witch, as had been claimed all along but had since been forgotten by neighbors more interested
in slaughtering one another than in following up on such hazy accusations. Observing the chaos that was consuming her beloved
islands and threatening the very fabric of civilized society there, she resolved to deal with it in her own particular peculiar
manner.

Seeing the faces all around her distorted with hate, and suspicion, and fear of one’s neighbors, she dealt with the problem
in a manner most admirably straightforward. From that point on, she declared, faces would be banned from the islands. Unable
to narrow their eyes and draw up their noses and twist their mouths in expressions of animosity and dislike, the people of
the Tilos would not be able to provoke reactions among their fellows. It would no longer be possible to flash looks of envy,
of loathing, of disgust or dismay.

Of course, the absence of faces also eliminated any expressions of love, or caring, or just casual interest, but that was
the price of peace among people too embittered to deal with the situation that had arisen and gotten out of hand in any other
way.

At first there was panic, general and profound. But as soon as the initial pandemonium died down and people discovered that
they could go on with their lives much as before, it was generally agreed that life was far better without the incessant fighting
and conflict. Despite the absence of faces, people found that they were somehow able to perceive their surroundings sufficiently
to carry out
every activity that was necessary to life. To a certain extent they could still somehow see, hear, and smell. These senses
were much muted, but not entirely absent. This impossible contradiction was generally ascribed to the magic of Granni Scork.

As for that redoubtable old lady, she saw to it that her own countenance traveled the same path as those of her neighbors.
The loss didn’t bother her. She had never particularly liked her face, and had in fact ceased caring for it very much some
forty years earlier. When queried about its absence, she readily admitted that she was glad to be rid of the damned thing.

Much to the Tiloeans’ surprise, they discovered that many of them agreed with her. One unexpected consequence of the loss
of face (so to speak) was that within the society of islanders, all jealousy was eliminated. Without a face, no one could
be accounted beautiful on sight or, more importantly, ugly. With everyone possessed of the same flat, blank visage, other
qualities came to define a person’s worth. Kindness, intelligence, good humor, skill at work replaced the superficialities
of beauty when it came to judging another individual. With nothing to covet, covetousness too vanished among the Tiloeans.

Gradually they came not only to resign themselves to their loss of face but to give thanks for it. Fighting not only vanished
as a social component of island society, but life among the Tiloeans was better than ever. They returned to the tending of
their farms, to their harvests and gathering, and to the cordial neighborly relations that had prevailed when the islands
were first settled.

So convinced did they become on the subject that a special corps was designated to make the rounds of all Tiloean
buildings. It was their job to remove faces from every piece of art, sculpture, and craftwork in the islands, so that these
artifices would appropriately reflect the new look of the inhabitants and the restored peace it had brought them. Only one
problem remained.

What to do with all those expunged human facades.

For while Granni Scork had been able to remove them, her skills did not extend to obliterating them entirely. For many months,
dislodged eyes, noses, ears and mouths drifted like clouds of fleshy butterflies over the islands, fitfully seeking places
to rest. After Granni Scork’s death, the now faceless people debated what to do with these persisting flocks of aimless facial
components. While they did not want them to threaten the wonderful peace that had settled over the islands, neither could
they quite bring themselves to extirpate something that had, after all, until recently comprised an intimate part of their
individual selves.

There was much debate on the matter. Friendly debate, since it could not be disrupted by angry expressions among the participants.
Eventually it was decided to make a celebration of the business at hand. Fishermen busied themselves weaving more of those
ultrafine nets that were used to catch the very smallest fish. An islands-wide party was held, following which there was a
great roundup of face parts in which every citizen participated.

With much shouting and yelling and waving of hands and reed screens, the emancipated noses and mouths, eyes and ears were
herded together to be caught in the mesh nets. These were then taken to a small but secure central repository that had been
built into the mountainside of
Greater Tilo, where they were stored in a large locked chamber with no exit. And everyone was satisfied.

People passed on, and when they died their respective facial components perished with them. As part of the ritual attendant
on the birth of a new child, that infant’s face was ceremonially expunged and evacuated to the repository, there to join hundreds
of similar floating bits. Each year a festival was held to commemorate the original gathering of the emancipated faces, with
the celebration terminating at the repository in the presence of much good food and drink. For the islanders were still able
to eat, passing sustenance through narrow, inexpressive slits in the lower portions of their faces where lips and teeth had
once reposed.

Similarly, they could hear through tiny dots in the sides of their heads, and smell through dots in the center, and see, after
a fashion, through dots situated higher up. The arrangement was too minimal to be called a face, and each was utterly identical
to that of its neighbor. These openings only manifested themselves when they were required. When a person did not need to
smell, for example, no dots were present in the center of his or her head.

Occasionally, visitors arrived in boats that pulled up on the shores of the Tilos. They were immediately taken in hand lest
they disturb the delicate faceless balance that made life in the islands so agreeable. Their faces were removed and placed
in the repository with all the others. After an initial period of anguish and despair (but no screaming, in the absence of
mouths), these unwilling immigrants slowly adapted to their new lives, blending in successfully with the original islanders
and adding vigor and energy to what otherwise might have become a decadent and inbred stock. Because of this, the Tiloeans
actually
looked forward to the rare visitations from representatives of the outside world.

There came a day when a much larger vessel than usual arrived in the archipelago, sailing on a westerly heading between Greater
Tilo and Hookk. It did not run up onto a beach but instead anchored offshore. This was understandable, the local fisherfolk
knew, due to the visitor’s size and the water she drew. As was standard procedure in such cases, a formal greeting committee
was chosen from among the most respected islanders and given the task of visiting the ship preparatory to welcoming its occupants
into Tiloean society.

There was no reason for those on board the visiting vessel to suspect treachery. From experience, the Tiloeans knew that craft
that called at the islands were usually in search of replenishments for their stores. So the fishing boats that sailed out
to greet the newcomers were loaded down with the best the islands had to offer: marvelously fresh vegetables and fruits, baskets
of shelled nuts, racks of filleted fish, and cooked carcasses of the eocardia and isocromys and other strange rodents and
rabbitoids that roamed the islands’ rocky reaches.

Observing this approaching bounty, those on board the vessel overcame their initial revulsion at the sight of the people without
faces. Their queasiness quickly gave way to camaraderie as the Tiloeans boarded the craft and announced their intention to
supply the visitors with whatever they might require in the way of food and water. This was not a lie. The islanders thoroughly
enjoyed sharing the munificence of their harvest with callers from the outside world. It was a way of introducing them to
the good life that Tiloean society had to offer.

Through their subdued senses the islanders wandered about the ship, finding much to admire in its construction and design.
As experienced sailors, the crew of such a vessel would find plenty of work on the islands. It was a bit of surprise to find
that they came not from the west, as was commonly the case for those who found themselves in the Tilos, but from much farther
away, from the distant eastern lands that lay far across the open reaches of the Semordria.

No matter. They would make good citizens one and all, as soon as their initiation was complete. A feast was decreed to celebrate
their arrival. It would take place on the deck of the ship that very evening. The Captain proved agreeable to this offer,
and her crew positively enthusiastic. In the calm, safe anchorage formed by the two islands, it would be possible to enjoy
the promised festivities on a steady deck.

Everything was supplied by the islanders: food, drink, and entertainment. Their excitement was infectious, and they quickly
had the crew relaxing and enjoying themselves. And why not? The enthusiasm of the Tiloeans was genuine, reflecting their delight
at the imminent prospect of so many new bloodlines from outside joining with their own. Indifferent to all the noise and human
activity, Ahlitah promptly abandoned the main deck in search of a quiet place below where he could sleep undisturbed.

Engulfed by such a sea of open and honest conviviality, the sailors let themselves go with an abandon they had not felt since
their last days on the mainland. The upper deck of the ship became a scene of riotous exuberance, lit by the lamps hung in
the rigging and marred only by the inability of the islanders to laugh in concert with their new friends. For that, real lips
and mouths were required.

But the Tiloeans managed to convey their pleasure in other ways that readily communicated themselves to the exhilarated sailors.
Among other things, the islanders had become masters of dance. When several of the extremely comely men and women who had
come aboard for the celebration proceeded to divest themselves of their attire, a corresponding number of mariners happily
joined them in mutual dishabille.

The party went on well into the early hours of morning, by which time nearly all the celebrants had fallen unconscious either
through the effects of strong drink or simple contented exhaustion. Nothing was suspected by the crew since the visiting islanders
had eaten and drunk of the same victuals as they. Unbeknownst to them, subtle seasonings that affected a person’s consciousness
had been cooked into all the food. As a consequence, they slept harder than would normally have been the case.

A small flotilla of fishing boats soon surrounded the visitor. From within, islanders ready with ropes and nets boarded the
silent ship. The carousing citizens who had partaken of the night’s celebration would be returned to their homes to recover
from the effects of the soporific seasonings in their own beds. As for the somniferous members of the crew, they were carried
one by one into the fishing boats and taken ashore.

Zealous, willing hands affectionately unloaded them onto waiting wagons for the brief journey to the repository. There they
were lovingly placed on clean cots, one for each man or woman. When the last had been transferred from the wagons, the priests
entered. These were the heirs of Granni Scork, insofar as she had any. They were there to bless the transformation of the
sailors from irritable, anxious
folk capable of such primitive emotions as rage and envy and mistrust into serene, gracious residents of the Tilos.

When the priests had finished their work, bestowing their benedictions on the new citizens-to-be, they relinquished the repository
to a solemn line of villagers carrying ropes and soft leather cuffs. Among them were many fishermen, these being the best
and most knowledgeable people when it came to the securing of bindings and knots.

One by one they tied the visitors to their beds. Not to make prisoners of these nascent friends and neighbors, but for their
own good. Tradition held that travelers newly deprived of their faces were not always immediately receptive to the painless
transformation, and tended to go on wild, mad rampages of despair and self-destruction, injuring themselves and sometimes
other unwary Tiloeans. So they would be kept secured until they came, each in his or her own fashion, to accept the inevitability
of their new lives.

Earnest attendants maintained a watch until the faces of the visitors began to reflect their new surroundings and the work
of the priests. Ears were usually the first to go, followed by nostrils and then the rest. As these rose like newborn moths
from the faces of their sleeping owners, they were shooed and herded into the back of the repository and into the great domed
chamber where hundreds of other facial elements waited to greet them. One by one, the sleeping countenances of the newcomers
were reduced to smooth, featureless blanks.

Commotion filled the room when they began to wake and discover themselves faceless. Instantly, gentling attendants were at
the newcomers’ sides, soothing them with
soft, wordless sounds and reassuring touches. These would be needed in quantity over the next few days, until the panicked
sailors began to exhaust themselves or otherwise calm down.

All of the frenzy and hysteria was physical. The newly faceless tried to scream, but in the absence of lips and mouths could
utter only terse, noncommittal sounds. They tried to cry; an impossibility in the absence of eyes. Communication with one
another and with their new benefactors would have to wait until they were taught the language of soft utterances and signs.