Earthborn (Homecoming) (27 page)

What am I thinking? I don’t even believe in the Keeper of Earth, and here I am blaming him for this throbbing meaningless stupid insane chant running over and over through my mind. I can’t get rid of my superstitions even when I’m trying to get rid of my superstitions. He laughed at himself.

Laughed aloud, or perhaps just breathed as if laughing—it didn’t take much for Akma to pick up on it.

“But perhaps I’m wrong,” said Akma. “Mon is the one who really understands this. Why were you laughing, Mon?”

“I wasn’t,” said Mon.

Wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong.

“I mean my first thought, Mon, you’ll remember this, my first thought was that all three species should separate, but you’re the one who insisted that humans and angels could live together because of all these affinities between us.”

“You mean this comes from
Mon
?” asked Aronha. “Mon, who jumped off a high wall when he was three because he wanted to fly like an angel?”

“I was just thinking,” said Mon, “that all those things you say about the diggers, the angels could also say about us. Low, bellycrawling creatures. We can’t even hang cleanly from a tree limb. Filthy, squatting in dirt—”

“But not hairy!” said Khimin.

“Nobody’s going to listen to us,” said Ominer, “if we start saying that angels are
better
than humans. And the kingdom would fall apart if we start saying humans and angels should be separate. If we’re going
to make this work, we have to exclude diggers and only the diggers.”

Mon looked at him in surprise. So did Akma.

“If
what’s
going to work?” asked Akma.

“This. This whole thing we’re preparing for,” said Ominer.

Mon and Akma looked at each other.

Ominer realized that he had said something wrong. “What?” No one answered.

Then Aronha, in his measured way, said, “I didn’t know that we had any plan to take these discussions public.”

“What, we’re going to wait around until you’re the king?” asked Ominer scornfully. “All this urgency, all this secrecy, I just assumed Akma was preparing us to start speaking against Akmaro’s so-called religion. His attempt to control and destroy our society and turn the whole kingdom over to the Elemaki, is more like it. I thought we were going to speak out against it now, before he’s succeeded in getting diggers accepted as true men and women throughout Darakemba. I mean, if we’re not, why are we wasting our time? Let’s go out and make some digger friends so at least we won’t be thrust aside when they take over.”

Akma chuckled a little. To others, it sounded like easy confidence—but Mon had been with Akma long enough to know that he laughed like that when he was a little bit afraid. “I suppose that has been the goal in the back of our minds,” said Akma, “but I don’t think it had graduated to the status of a plan.”

Ominer laughed derisively. “You tell us there’s no Keeper, and I think your evidence is conclusive. You tell us that humans never left Earth, that we’re not older than the sky people or the earth people, we just evolved in different places, and that’s fine. You tell us that because of this, all the things your father is teaching are wrong, and in fact the only thing that matters is, what culture will survive and rule? And the way to answer that is to keep diggers
out
of Darakemba and preserve this civilization that has been jointly created
by humans and angels, the civilization of the Nafari. Keep the Elemaki with their filthy alliance between humans and dirt-crawling fat rats confined to the gornaya while we find ways to tame the great floodplains of the Severless, the Vostoiless, the Yugless and multiply our population to such an extent that we can overwhelm the Elemaki—all of these marvelous plans, and you never thought of going out and talking about them in public? Come on, Akma, Mon, we’re not
stupid.”

The look on Khimin’s and Aronha’s faces made it clear that it was the first time
they
had ever thought of these ideas, but of course, given Ominer’s exasperated tone, they weren’t about to admit their shameful stupidity.

“Yes,” said Akma. “Eventually we would have started to speak to others.”

“Masses
of others,” said Ominer. “It’s not as if you’re going to change Father’s mind—Akmaro keeps Father’s brain in his traveling bag. And none of the councilors is going to join us in opposing Father’s will. And if we talk about this stuff quietly and secretly, it’ll look like conspiracy and when it gets exposed it will look as though we’re shameful traitors. So the only possible way to stop Akmaro’s destruction of Darakemba is to oppose him openly and publicly. Am I right?”

Wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong.

By reflex, Mon almost answered with the message throbbing through his mind. But he knew that this message was a holdover from his childhood faith in the Keeper, that he had to overcome this superstition and reject it in order to have any hope of deserving Akma’s respect. Or Bego’s, or his brothers’, whatever, whoever. Akma’s respect.

So instead of saying what was in his heart, he answered with his mind alone: “Yes, you’re right, Ominer. And it’s true that Akma and I never discussed this. Akma probably thought about it, but I know I
didn’t. Now that you say it, though, I know you’re right.”

Aronha turned soberly to Mon. “You
know
he’s right?”

Mon knew what Aronha was asking. Aronha wanted to have the assurance that Mon’s old gift of discernment was committed to this struggle. But Mon refused to consider those feelings as “knowledge” anymore. Instead knowledge was what reason discovered, what logic defended, what the physical evidence demanded. So even though Aronha was asking one question, Mon could answer honestly using the only meaning of the word
know
that he believed in anymore. “Yes, Aronha. I know he’s right, and I know Akma’s right, and I know
I’m
right.”

Aronha nodded soberly. “We’re the king’s sons. We have no authority except as he gives it to us, but we do have enormous prestige. It would be a crippling blow to Akmaro’s reforms if we came out publicly against them. And if it’s not just the Motiaki but also Akmaro’s own son . . .”

“People might take notice,” said Akma.

“Knock them back on their buttocks, that’s what it’ll do,” said Ominer.

“But that’s treason,” said Khimin.

“Not a thing we’re saying denies the authority of the king,” said Ominer. “Haven’t you been listening? We
affirm
the ancient alliance of humans and angels. We
affirm
our ancestors’ decisions that the descendants of Nafai should be kings over the Nafari. What we reject is this superstitious nonsense about the Keeper loving the diggers as much as he loves the sky people and the middle people.”

“You know,” said Khimin, “if you think about it, the angels are the sky people, and we
humans
are the earth people, and the diggers aren’t people at all!”

“We won’t win much support,” said Akma dryly, “if we start calling human beings ‘earth people.’ ”

Khimin laughed nervously. “No. I guess not.”

“Ominer is right,” said Akma, “but I’m also right
when I say that we’re not ready. We have to be able to speak on this subject, any one of us, at any time.”

“Me!” cried Aronha. “I’m not like you and Mon, I can’t just open my mouth and have speech pour out of it for hours.”

“That’s Akma’s gift,” said Mon.

Ominer hooted derisively. “Come on, Mon. We always used to joke, Is Mon awake? I don’t know, is he talking? Then he’s awake.”

The words stung, even though Ominer clearly didn’t mean them to be hurtful. Mon clamped his mouth shut, determined to say nothing else until they begged him to speak.

“My point,” said Akma, “is that we have to act with perfect solidarity. If
all
the sons of Motiak and the son of Akmaro are united in opposing this new policy, then it will be clear to everyone that no matter what the present king decides, the next king will have a kingdom in which diggers are not citizens. This will encourage the newly freed diggers to leave and return to Elemaki territory where they belong. And nobody can say we are against freedom, because our plan is to free
all
the slaves at once—but free them at the border, so we won’t be creating any new free diggers who will want to be made citizens of a nation they don’t belong in. It’s a kind policy, really, to recognize the insurmountable differences between our species and bid a gentle but firm farewell to all those diggers who imagine themselves to be civilized.”

The others agreed. It was a good program. They were united in support of it.

“But if one—even one—of the sons of Motiak is perceived as disagreeing with any part of this program, if even one of the sons of Motiak shows that he still believes in that nonsense about the Keeper that Akmaro is trying to get people to believe . . .”

That our people have always believed in since the days of the Heroes, thought Mon silently.

“. . . then everyone will assume that Motiak will simply make
that
son his heir and disinherit the others.
The result? A lot of powerful people will oppose us simply for political reasons, in order to be on the obvious winning side. But if they know that there is
no
possible heir except those of us who repudiate Akmaro’s entire digger-loving conspiracy, then they’ll remember the fact that kings don’t live forever, and they’ll at least keep silent, not wanting to antagonize the future king.”

“Don’t be modest,” said Mon. “Everyone expects that the high priest’s job will be yours when your father, uh, sheds his spirit like an old cloak.” The others chuckled at the old-fashioned euphemism.

Aronha, however, seemed to have caught some glint of an idea in Khimin’s face, and so at the end of his chuckle had directed a pointed comment at his father’s youngest son. “And in case someone here thinks of breaking ranks with us in order to become the heir, let me assure you that the army won’t respect any heir but me, as long as I’m alive and want the throne after my father is through with it. If your prime motive is a hope of power, the only way you’ll get it in the long run is by staying with me.”

Mon was shocked. It was the first time he had ever heard Aronha threaten anyone with his future power, or speak so nakedly of what might or might not happen after Father’s death. Mon also didn’t like the way Aronha said “my father” instead of “our father” or even, simply, “Father.”

Akma suddenly wailed, “No! No, no,” and bent over on his chair, burying his face in his arms.

“What’s wrong?” They all rushed to him or at least leaned toward him as if they thought he was having some sort of physical crisis.

Akma sat upright, then rose from his chair. “I’ve done this. I’ve driven a wedge between you. I’ve made Aronha speak unspeakable things. None of this is worth that! If I had never made friends with Mon, if we had never come back to Darakemba, if we had had the dignity to die there under the whips of the diggers
and their toady human rulers in Chelem, then Aronha would never have said such a thing.”

“I’m sorry,” said Aronha, looking truly ashamed of himself.

“No,
I’m
sorry,” said Akma. “I came to you as a friend, hoping to win you to the cause of truth to save this people from my father’s insane theories. But instead I’ve turned brother against brother and I can’t bear that.” He fled the room so quickly that he knocked over his chair.

The four of them sat or stood in silence for a long moment, and then Khimin and Aronha burst into speech at the same time.

“Aronha, I never would have turned against you! It never even crossed my mind!” cried Khimin, at exactly the same time that Aronha cried out, “Khimin, forgive me for even imagining that you would think of such a thing, I never meant for you to—you’re my brother no matter what you do, and I—”

Good old inarticulate Aronha. Sweet little lying hypocritical Khimin. Mon almost laughed out loud.

Ominer did laugh. “Listen to you. ‘I didn’t think a single bad thought about you!’ ‘I
did
think bad thoughts but I’m really really sorry.’ Come on, all Akma asks is that we stick together before we do anything public. So let’s work on it, all right? It’s not hard. We just keep our mouths shut about stuff one of us does that bothers the others. We do it all the time in front of Father—that’s why he doesn’t know how much we all hate the queen.”

Khimin blanched, then blushed. “
I
don’t.”

“See?” said Ominer. “It’s fine if you don’t agree with us, Khimin. All Aronha was saying was, Keep your mouth shut about it and we can still accomplish everything we need to accomplish.”

“I agree with you about everything except . . . Mother,” said Khimin.

“Yes yes,” said Ominer impatiently, “we’re all so dreadfully sorry for her, the poor thing, dying as she is of the world’s
slowest
plague.”

“Enough,” said Aronha. “You preach to us of keeping peace, Ominer, and then you fall back into teasing Khimin as if the two of you were still toddlers.”

“We were never
both
toddlers,” said Ominer acidly. “I stopped being a toddler long before
he
was born.”

“Please,” said Mon quietly, inserting the word into a momentary silence so that all would hear it. His very softness won their attention. “To hear us, you’d think there really
was
a Keeper, and that he was making us all stupid so we couldn’t unite and oppose his will.”

Aronha, as usual, took his words too seriously.
“Is
there a Keeper?” he asked.

“No, there’s not a Keeper,” said Mon. “How many times do we have to prove it to you before you stop asking?”

“I don’t know,” said Aronha. He looked Mon in the eye. “Perhaps until I forget that whenever you told me something was right and true, ever since you were little, it turned out to be right and true.”

“Was I really right all those times?” asked Mon. “Or were you simply as eager as I was to believe that children our age could actually know something?”

Wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong.

Mon kept his face expressionless—he hoped.

Aronha smiled halfheartedly. “Go get Akma,” he said to Mon. “If I know him at all, he’s not far off. Waiting for one of us to go and get him. You do it, Mon. Bring him back. We’ll be united with him. For the good of the kingdom.”