Gods of the Greataway (6 page)

“But $$$ what
is
it?” asked Dad Ose.

Ana knew. She looked at him and smiled, the way a young mother smiles at her child. She looked at him and saw beyond the wrinkled skin and barrel chest. She saw him as the Quicklies saw him, and she knew he would never believe what they were doing. So she said nothing.

So rapt were the three that when the other two finally arrived they were barely acknowledged. The Girl and Zozula nodded at Manuel, Ana and Dad Ose, then they, too, turned their attention to the almost-rainbow. It was small, the thing they watched, just a bright arch a little over a meter high on a beach under the stars, but it absorbed all their senses and they spoke no more.

The Quickly was
very old. His shoulders were bowed, his eyes closed, his tiny fists clenched. Companions sat with him now, almost as motionless as he, supporting him and willing him to continue.

The rainbow had little more than a centimeter to go, and little sparks flashed where the twin columns were beginning to join. It affected senses other than vision, and Manuel was aware of a feeling of hope, of growing joy, of many things. Dad Ose felt all this, too, and mistrusted it; it reminded him of nothing so much as a couple of times when he’d been incautious enough to examine Manuel’s mind-paintings. Ana just watched, smiling. The Girl and Zozula sat still, understanding.

The Quickly trembled, and began to go out of focus. The rainbow flickered.

The Quickly fell forward, supported by his companions. They turned him and laid him gently on his back, where he died. The rainbow, still incomplete, winked out, leaving a lumpy mass of damp sand and weed. A low moan ran along the beach like the wind, an ululation of loss from a thousand Quicklies. And the two armies flew at each other, and clashed, and the beach was a whirling battleground.

Manuel turned away and, together with the others, climbed the bank out of harm’s way. For the first time he became fully aware of the newcomers.

“Oh … hello, Zozula,” he said. “Hello, Girl.”

Zozula said, “You’re lucky, Manuel. All we humans are. We have time — time to finish what we begin.”

And Manuel looked at Ana. Dad Ose would always remember that, looking on it as one more hurt to remember through the years to come, never knowing how much history hinged on Manuel’s looking at Ana.

She said, “Come with us, Manuel.”

D
ad Ose had
gone back to his church.

The Triad sat in Ana’s cave and Ana leaned in her usual position, elbows and breasts resting on the counter. Manuel was tired, yet excited at the same time because of what Zozula had said to him. The Girl dozed, exhausted.

Zozula had said, “I think I know where Belinda is, Manuel. Caradoc is beginning to understand how to reach some of the old memories in the Rainbow, and it seems there are people out there at sea. But the islands they live on — they float. That’s why we couldn’t find them on the old charts. They move about with the currents. Caradoc showed us. We saw people with slim bodies — True Humans.”

“Did you see Belinda?”

“No — we were viewing some kind of historical scene. But I’m sure she’s there.”

Manuel had been silent for a long time, thinking and hoping …

And now Ana had, in some subtle fashion, taken over. She had brought them back to her cave and they were discussing plans. Outside, the night was quiet and there were no travelers on the road, neither man nor animal. The wind gently stirred the sapa cloth hanging over the entrance, the tiny rodents shuttled endlessly to and fro in the corner, and Ana spoke of the sea.

“You have
a boat, Manuel — I’ve often seen you fishing in it.”

“I built it myself. It’ll take me anywhere.”

“Belinda came from the sea, so she probably went back there. We can follow her, but I don’t think your boat is big enough for four of us. We must build another, and you can show us how.”

Manuel said doubtfully, “I think the sea is empty. There’s never been anything out there except me.”

“You have no idea just how vast the sea is, Manuel. You could sail for days and never come to the end of it.”

“No, you couldn’t.” Manuel was practical. “The wind always blows you back.”

“Always?” And she leaned forward, her shoulders smooth, her dark hair falling across her face. Her eyes glowed in the lantern’s light. “Always, Manuel?”

“Well … except at the time of the snake clouds. And nobody can sail then. Everybody goes to the Life Caves, or else they die. Even the guanacos go away.” He asked the question that everyone had asked themselves from time to time. “Where do
you
go, Ana?”

She pointed to the back of the cave. “In there. I have plenty of lifeweed there.”

It was a comfortable evening in Ana’s cave, with the warm draperies, the fat cushions to sit on, the friendly glow of the lantern, the company of one another and, most particularly, of Ana. She fed them a hot stew, which bubbled before a fire of a type that Manuel had never seen before. The fireplace was cut into the sandstone and the chimney was a separate tunnel, so that the smoke didn’t get into the cave. Manuel made a mental note to build a chimney like that for his shack, at the same time feeling a little foolish that he hadn’t thought of it himself.

The stew was tasty and full of strange meats and herbs that Manuel found delicious, although Zozula, accustomed to the bland food of the Dome, thought it a little too spicy. He didn’t say so, though. Like many men before him, he had fallen completely under Ana’s spell. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she moved about the cave serving them food. When she bent low to hand them fruit, he could see the heaviness of her breasts; when she tended the fire, her body was outlined through the sapa cloth. Yet he didn’t feel any lust. Men felt lust when they thought of Ana from a distance. When they were with her, they felt only wonder. Zozula felt an uncomplicated fascination for this practical, mature woman. The Girl, too, watched her with admiration.

Later Manuel fell
asleep on his couch of soft cushions, to the low voices of Zozula and Ana discussing the future and the voyage. He fell asleep in safety, with the feeling that everything was being taken care of. He didn’t really believe he would ever see Belinda again, but meanwhile he was warm and full and with friends. He slept comfortably against the soft plumpness of the Girl.

Zozula said, “The idea scares me, Ana. Going out there at the time of snake clouds? The villagers call it the Chokes, and I know why. I was caught out there once, years ago, and …” He fell silent, remembering an old woman who had saved him, and her daughter, who in some way reminded him now of Ana.

“It’s only the idea that’s frightening, Zo. We’re all so used to running for shelter when the snake clouds come — it’s drilled into people from childhood. All I’m really suggesting is that we take our Life Cave with us. We build a cabin on the boat, and we put plenty of lifeweed in it.”

“You’ve been talking as though you’re coming yourself.” Zozula hesitated. “We’re grateful for your ideas, Ana, but … This voyage is for Manuel, the Girl and me.”

She came close and took his hand, and later he remembered having looked into her eyes for a long time.

And later, also, there seemed to be no question about it. Ana was coming with them.

*

They built the boat under the skeptical eyes of the villagers, on the beach near Manuel’s shack. In fact it was a raft rather than a boat, ten meters by six, with a cabin set centrally, big enough for four people to lie down beside their provisions and a big mound of lifeweed. During construction of the cabin Ana proposed a modification: The lifeweed would be better laid on tiered shelving. It gave off its essence better if it was spread out, and it was easier to keep it uniformly damp that way, too, for it died if it dried out.

Hasqual
the wanderer, watching from the clifftop, called down, “A raft can’t sail against the wind, Manuel. You need a keelboat — surely you know that?” He clambered down, anxious to help.

“We sail at the time of snake clouds,” muttered Manuel, embarrassed at how ridiculous that sounded.

Hasqual didn’t laugh. Instead, he investigated the raft, opened the cabin door, saw the shelving and put two and two together, then said, “That makes sense.” And he set to and helped, tying vines around the logs with expert knots, making suggestions for rain-proofing the roof. “Dad Ose has been praying for you,” he said at one point.

“That’s good. I haven’t had a chance to speak to God lately.”

“You’re going to need all the help you can get. I … Maybe I ought to come along, Manuel.” There was a longing in his eyes as they drifted from the raft to the blue sea. The old wanderlust was getting to him again.

Manuel looked for the others, but they were farther up the beach, cutting vines. “There’s not really room,” he said. “Ana’s coming as well, you know.”

“Ana …? Yes, that’s a good thing. She’s a clever woman. I … I wish you the best of luck, Manuel. I suppose you’re hoping to find that girl, eh? The sea’s a big place, you know. Don’t be too disappointed, will you? And … Come back here, afterward. You may not realize this, but we need you in the village.”

Two days later, Insel, lying on his back, cloud-struck and mumbling, forecast snake clouds.

*

The sail filled, and Ana held the sheets while Manuel and Zozula splashed through the shallows, guiding the raft into deeper water. Then, with the thin air whistling in their lungs, they hauled themselves aboard.

“In the
cabin, you two,” said Ana. “Quickly!”

They shut the door after them and, breathing the rich essence of the lifeweed, soon recovered.

The wind had changed within a day of Insel’s prediction, shifting around so that it blew directly from the distant mountains. The puffy, rain-laden horse clouds of the trade winds had disappeared, to be replaced by the sinister lofty trails of the snake clouds. The villagers had fled for the Life Caves, so nobody was at the clifftop to watch the great departure. Or so Manuel thought, sadly, as he emerged from the cabin and watched his home receding.

Then a lone figure waved. Manuel waved back and, feeling better, sat beside Ana.

So began what is called in the Song of Earth “the Voyage Without an End.” Of course, the voyage did have an end, because it is recorded that Ana reappeared at Pu’este; and the further adventures of Manuel, the Girl and Zozula are well known. But of the voyage itself there is no factual record — only hearsay and legend — because the Rainbow does not monitor the happenings on the oceans of Earth. Did Manuel find his Belinda? On some happentracks he did, and the Girl mourned the loss of him.

S
he was the
prettiest girl in Polysitia, and she was brave and intelligent, too, but all this was of no use to her when the crisis came. In the end it was Starquin himself who saved her, the minstrels tell. They sing of Kelina to this day, of her escape from a fate that used to be described as worse than death, her adventures following the escape, and her final death — by the hand of Starquin, so they say …

Tall, slim and brown-skinned, she was a king’s daughter, and people often thought she was proud, although in point of fact she was shy. Every day she would walk to the water with a skin of triggershrimp shells on her head — she may have been a king’s daughter but he was a very small king, and nearly all Polysitians must work — and she would throw the soft shells to the guidewhales and the orcas, who would gather round the island’s edge to feed on the debris. She rarely spoke, rarely looked at the poor jerkfishermen sitting on the edge of the island, rarely acknowledged the women tending the grass and working at the fishponds. She was torn between her desire to be friendly and her fear that it might be misinterpreted as condescension. So she walked alone, and there were many young men who longed to light the fires behind those beautiful, slanting Polysitian eyes.

None more so than Rider
Or Kikiwa.

Kelina’s father was King Awamia, ruler of all Uami, which was one hundred fifty square kilometers in extent, and Or Kikiwa was one of his Riders, and probably the least trusted one.

“I can’t think why you ever Mounted that man,” Queen Lehina said.

“He performed a Feat of Valor,” King Awamia told her once again. “I had no option.”

“I consider his Feat suspect. And on the basis of one suspect Feat, he now rides an orca and is granted lands. It’s not right, Awamia. There are more deserving men.”

“His lands are in poor state.”

“Healthy enough for him to build a tower and treat his workers like dirt.”

Polysitians have no written or computerized history. Everything of importance is remembered by minstrels and sung at the evening meals beside the sunset walls of the towers, when work is over. The most important songs — or possibly those containing the most vivid images — are those remembered. The story of Kelina was both vivid and important. Historians of a later era discovered it on a remote floating island, and made the essential connection between it and the Song of Earth.

Kikiwa’s Feat is part of the story and, according to the latest versions, that Feat was certainly suspect. It seems that Kikiwa was once a trainer of orcas, little better than a worker but, through an accident of birth, a protégé of Or Halohea, a Rider of some renown. The island at that time had fifteen Riders, brave men clad in sealskin who rode the killer whales, driving away any predators who might seek to tear at the fabric of the island or worry the domestic fish that lived beneath the shoreline. In token of their station, Riders were granted land and assigned workers.

One day Kikiwa was exercising Or Halohea’s whale while the Rider was at his tower, dealing with Riderly matters. Kikiwa sat upright behind the dorsal sail, grasping a rein of kelpite, holding his breath as the whale plunged and gazing arrogantly around whenever he surfaced. He wore the tough elephant seal skins of the Rider, a pretension that did not endear him to the jerkfishermen sitting on the shore. He uttered shouts of instruction to the whale, although he was, like many Polysitians, in empathy with the beast and probably could have directed him telepathically.