Earthborn (Homecoming) (31 page)

“He didn’t really answer,” said Shedemei. “He said, ‘To answer that, I would have to be the Keeper.’ ”

Chebeya thought for a few moments. Then she said, “But that
is
an answer. The same answer Edhadeya gave.”

Shedemei smiled. “Oykib always was a trickster. He had a way with words.”

It was disturbing, this tendency of Shedemei’s to speak of the Heroes as if she knew all their secrets.

They spent the rest of the day in the school and sat at Shedemei’s table at supper. The food was plain—many a rich woman would have turned up her nose at it, and Luet could see that Edhadeya didn’t even know what some of it was. But in Akmaro’s house, Luet and her mother had eaten the simple fare of the common people all their lives, and they ate with relish. It was plain to Luet that everything that happened in Shedemei’s school—no, ‘Rasaro’s House’—was a lesson. The food, the mealtime conversation, the way the cooking and cleaning up were done, the way people walked quietly but briskly in the halls—everything had a point to it, everything expressed a way of life, a way of thought, a way of treating people.

At supper, Edhadeya seemed giddy, which Luet understood, though it worried her a little. It was as if Edhadeya had lost her sense of decorum, her gentle carefulness. She kept goading Shedemei into saying something, but Luet had no way of guessing what the older girl had in mind.

“We
heard
that you were dangerous, teaching the diggers to rebel,” said Edhadeya.

“What an interesting thought,” said Shedemei. “After years of slavery, the thought of rebelling doesn’t occur to the diggers until a middle-aged human suggests it? Rebellion against what, now that they’re free?
I think your friends are consumed with guilt, to fear rebellion now that the reason for it has finally been removed.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” said Edhadeya.

“Tell the truth now. No one actually said these things to
you
.”

Edhadeya glanced at Chebeya. “To Luet’s mother, of course.”

“And why not to you? Is it because you’re the king’s daughter, and your father was the one who freed the slaves? Do you think they’ll ever forgive your father for that blunder?”

Edhadeya suppressed her laughter. “You really mustn’t talk that way to the daughter of the king. I’m not supposed to listen when people say my father blundered.”

“But in the king’s council, isn’t he criticized freely? That’s what I heard.”

“Well, yes, but those are his men.”

“And what are you, his pet fish?”

“A woman doesn’t pass judgment on the actions of a king!” Again Edhadeya suppressed laughter, as if this were hysterically funny.

Shedemei answered dryly, “Around here, I gather that a woman doesn’t squat to pee unless some man tells her that her bladder’s full.”

This was too much for Edhadeya. She burst into loud laughter and fell off her stool.

Luet helped her up. “What’s got into you?” Luet demanded.

“I don’t know,” said Edhadeya. “I just feel so . . .”

“So free,” said Shedemei helpfully.

“At home,” said Edhadeya at almost the same time.

“But you don’t act like that at home!” protested Luet.

“No, I don’t,” said Edhadeya, and suddenly her eyes filled with tears. She turned to Shedemei. “Was it really like this in Rasa’s house?”

“There were no earth people or sky people there,”
said Shedemei. “It was another planet, and the only sentient species was human.”

“I want to stay here,” said Edhadeya.

“You’re too young to teach,” said Shedemei.

“I’ve had a very good education.”

“You mean that you have excelled at your schooling,” said Shedemei. “But you haven’t yet lived a life. Therefore you’re of no use to me.”

“Then let me stay as a student,” said Edhadeya.

“Haven’t you listened to me? You’ve already completed your schooling.”

“Then let me stay as a servant in this place,” said Edhadeya. “You can’t make me go back.”

At this, Chebeya had to interrupt. “You make it sound as though you were monstrously mistreated in your father’s house.”

“I’m ignored there, don’t you see? I really
am
Father’s pet fish. His pet something. Better to be a cook in this place. . . .”

“But you see that we all take our turn at the cooking,” said Shedemei. “There’s no place for you here, not yet, Edhadeya. Or perhaps I should say, there
is
a place for you, but you’re not yet ready to fill it.”

“How long must I wait?”

“If you wait,” said Shedemei, “you’ll never be ready.”

Edhadeya fell silent then, and ate thoughtfully, wiping sauce from her bowl with the last of her bread.

It was Luet’s turn, finally, to say the thing that had been bothering her most of the afternoon. “You refused Mother’s invitation because you were too busy,” said Luet. “But this school fairly runs itself. You could have come.”

Mother was annoyed with her. “Luet, haven’t I taught you better manners than to—”

“That’s all right, Chebeya,” said Shedemei. “I refused your invitation because I’ve seen the houses of rich men and kings. Whereas
you
have never seen such a school as this.”

Mother stiffened. “We’re not rich.”

“Yet you have the leisure to come calling during working hours? You may live modestly, Chebeya, but I see no streaks of dirt and sweat on your face.”

Luet could see that Mother was hurt by this, and so she plunged in to turn the conversation back to something less difficult. “I’ve never heard of a woman schoolmaster,” she said.

“Which only proves how dishonest the men who taught you have been. Not only was Rasa a schoolmaster, she was also the teacher of Nafai and Issib, Elemak and Mebbekew, and many, many other boys.”

“But that was in ancient times,” said Luet.

Shedemei gave one bark of laughter and said, “Doesn’t feel that long ago to me.”

After supper was over, they walked slowly through the courtyard as the children sang together, in their rooms, in the bathhouse, or reading in the waning light of day. There was something strange about the song, and it took a while to realize what it was. Luet stopped suddenly and blurted it out. “I never knew that diggers sing!”

Shedemei put an arm around her. Luet was surprised—she had never thought this cold woman would be capable of such an affectionate gesture. Nor did she do it the way men sometimes did, putting an arm around a lesser man to show affection but also power, superiority, ownership. It was . . . yes, it was sisterly. “No, you never knew they could sing. Nor had I ever heard their voices raised in song until I started this school.” Shedemei walked in silence beside her for a moment. “Do you know, Luet, for all I know the diggers never
did
sing during all those years that they lived in such close proximity to the angels. Because they were always at war. Perhaps because singing was a thing that ‘skymeat’ did, and therefore was beneath their dignity. But here in slavery they lost their dignity and learned music. I think there might be a lesson in that, don’t you?”

Luet assumed that Shedemei had been planning to tell her this all along, and that the lesson must therefore
be aimed particularly at her, though later she would realize that Shedemei really was simply making an observation and meant nothing by it. “I think I understand,” Luet said. “I was in slavery once, you know. Do you think all the songs of my life come from that? Is captivity a stage we should all pass through?”

To her surprise, there were tears in Shedemei’s eyes. “No. No one should go through captivity. Some people find music in it, like you, like so many of the earth people here, but only because the music was already in them, waiting for a chance to get out. But your brother didn’t find much music in
his
captivity, did he?”

“How do you know my brother?” asked Luet.

“Did he?” insisted Shedemei, refusing to be diverted.

“I don’t know,” said Luet.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t think his captivity has ended yet.”

Another silence. Then Shedemei answered softly, “No. No, I think you’re right. I think that when his captivity finally ends, he, too, might find a song in his heart.”

“I’ve heard him sing,” said Luet. “It isn’t much.”

“No, you haven’t,” said Shedemei. “And when he does sing, if he does, it will be a song such as you have never heard.”

“Whatever it is, if Akma sings it, it won’t be on key.”

Shedemei laughed and hugged her close.

They were near the front door of the house, and one of the teachers was already opening it. For a moment Luet thought that she had opened it in order to let them out, but it wasn’t so. There were three men on the porch, and two of them were humans of the king’s guard. The third was an angel, and after a moment Luet realized that it was old Husu, who had once been head of the spies and now was retired to
the supposedly less demanding position of an officer in the civil guard. What could he possibly be doing here?

“I have a book of charges for the woman called Shedemei.” It was hard for him to get his mouth around her name.

Before Shedemei could speak, Mother pushed forward. “What is this about?” she asked.

Husu was immediately flustered. “Lady Chebeya,” he said. Then, noticing Edhadeya, he took a step backward. “No one said . . . I’ve been misled, I think!”

“No you haven’t,” said Shedemei. She touched Chebeya lightly on the shoulder. “You may be a raveler, but you’re not Hushidh, I’m not Rasa, and this good man is definitely
not
Rashgallivak.”

In vain Luet searched her memory for details of the story Shedemei was alluding to. Something about Hushidh the raveler destroying the army of Rashgallivak. But Husu had no army, not anymore. She didn’t understand and wasn’t going to.

“Husu, you have a book of charges?”

“Shall I read them to you?”

“No, I’ll simply
tell
them to you,” said Shedemei. “I assume that I’m charged by a group of men from this neighborhood with creating a public nuisance because of the number of poor people who call at my school, with incitement to riot because I’m teaching the children of former slaves right along with other girls, with confusion of sexes for having appended the male honorific
ro
to the end of the name of Hero Rasa in the name of my school. And, let me see—oh, yes, I’m sure there’s a charge of blasphemy because I call the wives of the Heroes Heroes in their own right—or is that merely a charge of improper doctrinal innovation?”

“Yes,” stammered Husu, “improper doctrinal . . . yes.”

“And, oh yes, mustn’t forget—treason. There’s a charge of treason, isn’t there.”

“This is absurd,” said Chebeya. “You must know it is, Husu.”

“If I were still in the king’s council,” said Husu, “then yes, I’d say so. But I’m in the civil guard now, and when I’m given a book of charges to deliver, then I deliver them.” He handed the polished bark to Shedemei. “It’s to be tried in Pabul’s court in twenty-four days. I don’t think you’ll have any trouble finding lawyers who’ll want to speak for you.”

“Don’t be silly, Husu,” said Shedemei. “I’ll speak for myself.”

“That’s not done by ladies,” said Chebeya—and then laughed at her own words, realizing whom she was talking to. “I suppose that won’t make any difference to you, Shedemei.”

“See? Everyone has learned something today,” said Shedemei, also laughing.

Husu was astonished at the lightness of their tone. “These are serious charges.”

“Come now, Husu,” said Shedemei. “You know as well as I do that these charges are deliberately stupid. Every single crime I’m charged with consists of something that Akmaro the high priest has been teaching people to do for thirteen years. Mixing poor with rich, mixing diggers with humans and angels, mixing former slaves with freeborn citizens, applying the honors of men to women, and denying the authority of the king’s priests over doctrine—that
is
the substance of the treason charge, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“There you are. These charges have been placed against me specifically because if I am put on trial, Akmaro’s teachings will be on trial.”

“But Pabul is not going to convict you of a crime because you’re following the teachings of my husband,” said Chebeya.

“Of course he’s not. It doesn’t matter what he does. The enemies of the Keeper don’t care how the trial turns out.
I
don’t matter to them. It may be the very fact that you came to visit me today that led
them to decide to lay these charges. They probably expect me to call you as witnesses on my behalf. And if I don’t, they’ll call you as witnesses against me.”

“I won’t say a word against you,” insisted Luet.

Shedemei touched her arm. “The act of calling you is what matters. It ties Akmaro’s family with the case. The more you defend Shedemei, the more credit the enemies of the Keeper will gain with the public. Or at least the part of the public that doesn’t want to stop hating the diggers.”

Husu was livid. “What is your source of information? How did you already know what the charges against you were?”

“I didn’t
know
,” said Shedemei. “But since I deliberately broke every one of those laws and made it clear to anyone who asked that I knew I was breaking them, I’m not at all surprised to find them on the book of charges.”

“Did you want to be put on trial for your life?” asked Husu.

Shedemei smiled. “I assure you, Husu, no matter how things turn out, the one certainty is that
I
will not be dead.”

Still confused, still angry, Husu and the two human guards left the house. “You do know the custom that you may not leave the city,” Chebeya said.

“Oh, yes,” said Shedemei. “I’ve already been advised of that.”

“We’ve got to go home, Mother,” Luet said. “We have to tell Father what’s happened.”

Mother turned to Shedemei. “This morning I didn’t know you. Tonight I’m bound to you by cords of love as if I’d been your friend for years.”

“We are bound together,” said Shedemei, “because we both serve the Keeper.”

Mother looked at her with a wry smile. “I would have thought so until the moment you said that, Shedemei. Because there was something about what you said that is . . . not a lie . . . but. . . .”