Raising The Stones (49 page)

“How many more?” Nils wanted to know.

“As many as there are places which need Tchenka in them,” said Saturday. “Not only here, but in Ahabar, as well. As many as there are Tchenka to come into this world.”

“There are many Tchenka,” said Pirva, wonderingly. “So very many.”

“We should do it every place there are Gharm,” suggested Nils.

“Every place there are people,” corrected Saturday. “Whether they are Gharm or human.”

“But the humans do not care about Tchenka!”

“They will. In time. No doubt there are Tchenka for humans, as well.”

Pirva, who knew what the legends said to the contrary was diplomatically silent on that point. “What if there is not enough of the web?”

“Then cut some of the second web, and of the third,” said Saturday. “Each time a Tchenka is raised, you may take sections of the web, provided only you do not take too much. You must leave two thirds of it, for the sustenance of the God.”

“Meantime,” said Nils in a practical voice, “we must do a burial here. Who is dead today in Sarby?”

“In the town,” whispered Pirva. “There are always Gharm dead in the square, where the posts for whipping are.” And so speculating among themselves, they went off into the night to find which of their people had been killed that day, while Saturday and Jep went to Jep’s room to sleep.

They were wakened later when the Gharm returned. Nils shook them awake and asked them to come supervise the burial, the laying of the stuff upon the dead Gharm’s breast, the covering over.

“To be sure this first time we do it correctly,” whispered Nils.

“His name was Lippet,” said Pirva of the dead Gharm. “He was beaten to death. He was of the Water-Dragon clan. Born from the Night-bird people. His personal totem was the sky bug. What Tchenka will rise from this?”

“I do not know which one,” said Saturday. “Only that one will. Or perhaps more than one.”

When it was done, the Gharm stood staring at the place on the ground, now filled in, invisible, branches dragged across the soil, leaves scattered upon it to hide all evidence anything had been buried there.

“It is hard to believe,” whispered Pirva, her voice catching in her throat.

“Does grain grow from the soil from seeds no one sees?” asked Saturday. “Do trees grow in cracks of the rock? There is nothing hard to believe about it. I am She-Goes-On-Creating, and I say to you that the Tchenka will return.”

Pirva threw her arms around Saturday’s waist and sobbed. Saturday patted her, hugged her, got her quiet again. “The Tchenka will tell you what they need. You, Pirva, and you, Nils. You are the Ones Who will hear what the Tchenka says.”

“How long before we will hear?”

Jep looked at Saturday, shrugging, trying to remember, trying to translate his recollections into Voorstod days. How long had it been from the time Bondru Dharm died until Birribat Shum was raised. “As long as I have been here in Sarby,” said Jep. “One hundred days, perhaps. A little longer, maybe. The longer it grows, the easier it will become for the Gharm. And the closer the time, the more you will hear the Tchenka speaking. It speaks like a dream, or like one’s own voice in one’s ears.”

“Like a thought that will not go away,” Saturday agreed. “Try to get a burial in Cloud as soon as you can.” She shivered, remembering the prophet. “There is great need for it there. There’s a slaughterer in Cloud, driving the people like sheep.”

“Cloud is a great city,” said Pirva, turning the packet of white fiber over and over in her hands. “So I am told.”

“Cloud will probably need more than one burial,” agreed Saturday. “Cloud may need many more than one. But we must start with one, as soon as possible. Then when that one is raised, more, and more, until they are everywhere.”

•
While Saturday and
Jep were busy with the Gharm, Sam wandered about the edges of the forest, getting himself into endless philosophical tangles. Theseus was not with him on Ahabar, Sam was quite sure, and while he wasn’t completely surprised at that, he was disturbed. He had thought that Theseus would be here with him, invisibly, perhaps, but still providing the benefit of his wider experience in travel and adventure. Theseus’s not being here cast doubt upon his reality.

Though his absence might mean only that Theseus couldn’t or wouldn’t use a Door. Or it could mean that Theseus had reality upon Hobbs Land, but not elsewhere. Theseus might be dependent upon Hobbs Land, dependent, perhaps upon the God? In which ease it was not Theseus alone who spoke, when he spoke.

Sam stood beside a tall tree and fretted over this. If Theseus was dependent upon the God, then the conversations Sam had had with Theseus had been conversations with the God. With the God pretending to be Theseus, who had, more than once, been pretending to be Phaed Girat. No one else had such conversations, not that Sam knew of. The God did not “pretend” with other people. Neither Jep nor Saturday had ever mentioned such a thing. So why pretend with him, Sam?

The idea of pretense was worrying. Was pretending the same as lying? If one, for example, “pretended” to a child and the child didn’t know the difference, was that a lie? Did the God regard Sam as a child, who needed to be “pretended” to? Had the pretense been intended only as a sop, to keep him quiet for a time, until something else could happen?

And here, here on Voorstod, what was real here? Was there pretense here, as well? People pretending to do one thing while actually being something else? And why had Phaed Girat not yet come to see his son? When Theseus had played the part, Phaed had been eager to see him. Though that had not been Phaed, really, but the God pretending to be Theseus, pretending …

“Phaed Girat didn’t know anything about their trying to get Maire back,” said Jep, when he and Saturday returned from the burial and Phaed’s name came up in conversation. “He didn’t know they’d taken me. When he saw you all at the concert, he was angry. Surprised, and angry.”

“He didn’t know?” Sam asked, becoming in that instant wholly confirmed in his opinion that Phaed had been much maligned. Then again, more surely, “He didn’t know!”

“He didn’t know,” Jep confirmed. “But he’s one of them, Sam. He really is.”

Sam did not hear the warning. He sat smiling, vindicated. Jep fingered his collar and wondered if any of them were ever to be free again. Of course, if they lived until the Tchenka rose up, assuming they did rise up, they would probably go free then. If it worked in Voorstod as it worked on Hobbs Land. If the Voorstoders weren’t immune. If the three of them lived that long.

Saturday stayed at his side, sharing his fear, worrying over Sam, who was not afraid. “He’s crazy,” Africa had said. “He may do something crazy.” Fear, Jep and Saturday thought, would have been more sensible than this calm acceptance.

Late on the second day, Mugal Pye came to demand that Saturday write to Commander Karth saying that she would be raped and then tortured to death if the blockade were not immediately raised.

Saturday had been working at controlling her fear since she had entered Voorstod. Since the burial here in Sarby, she had felt more sure of her way, almost as though the new thing growing gave strength to the old thing she carried within her. She had resolved that no matter how much she feared, she would not be moved by threats. “No,” she said to Mugal Pye, in a voice that shook only a little. “No.” Her throat dried, and she could say nothing more.

Sam put his hand upon her shoulder and faced Pye with burning eyes, finding a new justification for his own presence at this confrontation. “If you send such a letter, the army of Ahabar won’t just sit on your borders. They’re being patient now because Maire Manone has asked them to, because she doesn’t want more bloodshed. You do something nasty or outrageous to this child, and the army won’t wait any longer. If you want the army to stay where it is, do what you have agreed to do. Send us out of here, then Maire Manone will return.”

“I spoke to the girl!” thundered Pye.

“But I’m speaking to you,” shouted Sam, just as loudly.

Saturday had found her strength. “Kill me or not, torture me or not, I will write nothing.”

Mugal went away in a fury and did not come back again. There was much hindsight being explored on the matter of Stenta Thilion, and those who had committed the deed were not in good odor among the prophets in Cloud or elsewhere in Voorstod. Mugal had wanted very badly to hurt Saturday just now, as he would have hurt any of his own womenfolk or children who offended him, but he had not dared.

More days passed. On the fourth day, Preu Flandry and two other men showed up with a device to unlock the collar Jep wore. They took it off of Jep, then the two men held Sam while Preu fastened it upon him. The men went away. Sam shouted at Preu, calling him such names as he knew, which were not much to a Voorstoder. Preu was not impressed.

“Yell all you like, Sam Girat.”

“This wasn’t the agreement!”

“We made no agreement except to trade the boy for Maire. Well, he’ll be traded. You’ve no one to blame but yourself for coming along unasked and unwanted. We could have kept the girl, too, but we decided not.” The younger prophets had decided not. The prophets had wanted no excuse for an invasion. “Settle yourself, man, you sound like a fool. Your father wants to see you, and the collar’U keep you where he can find you.”

Sam took a deep breath and told the children to go.

“They must let you go as well!” Jep cried.

“Go,” said Sam, shaking the boy by the shoulders, adding softly, “Jep, my father wants to see me. You heard Flandry say so. Go. My father won’t hurt me. I know that.”

They didn’t
know
. They only hoped. Still, some hope was better than none. There was no time to say goodbye to Nils or Pirva. Within moments Preu had dragged the two young people into the flier and they were aloft, flying swiftly eastward, then south along the mountains.

Preu said, “The prophets want you out—not the Awateh, but the others, the younger ones. They figure you’re dangerous to have around. If you stay, the Awateh will eventually get hold of you and learn you’re the girl who sang, and then he’ll make an example of you, and no one knows what Ahabar would do if that happened. The prophets tried a few things, sending messages of various sorts to Maire and the Commander. He didn’t answer at all, and she sent them all back, saying no and no and no, she’d come in when you came out, and that was all. She could do nothing about the blockade.”

“She told you the truth,” said Jep. “She did everything she could in keeping it merely a blockade and not an invasion. Why are you keeping Sam?”

“Ah, well, who knows? We did a deed the prophet approved of. Then, when we’d done it, the prophet didn’t approve and he insulted Phaed a bit. So Phaed wants some of his own back, and snatching Sam away under the nose of the prophet, that’s part of it, no doubt. Then, too, Phaed simply wants Sam. Sam’s his son, after all. The prophets aren’t to know we’ve kept him with us, and if you value his life, you’ll be quiet about it.”

“How can we be quiet? The whole Ahabarian army will see he didn’t come back with us.”

“True,” mused Preu. “All too true, but Phaed says he’ll take that chance.”

“I’m not sure Maire will come in, with Sam still here.”

“We think she will. Phaed says she will. With everyone in such a temper at Phaed, he’s turned to brooding on the wrongs life deals to a dedicated man. I suppose it’s only right the old man should have something for all his time and effort, since he got no thanks for it.”

Saturday sighed. “Why does the prophet want to kill us?”

“The Awateh?”

“Yes. What have we done that he should want to kill us?”

“Nothing,” Preu said, shaking his head. “Or nothing much. He still doesn’t know you’re the girl who sang, there at the concert, so it isn’t that. Mostly it’s just that you’re not one of us. If you’re not one of us, you’re an unbeliever. Everyone not part of us is part of the devil: you, the people of Ahabar, the people of Phansure, everyone. Our Cause is to destroy the devil, all of it. We’re the only true followers of God. We have the truth. It was revealed to us, long ago, on Manhome.”

“But the women don’t act as you do,” said Saturday. “The priests aren’t like you.”

“The priests are left over from another tribe. They were driven out when we were. Our leaders were Voorstod and the prophets. They made a compromise. They let the priests live, but on the final day, when our Cause is fulfilled, we will kill all the priests. On that day all the women will go into seclusion, like the wives of the prophets, and they will not need priests ever again.” Preu sighed. “Do not think ill of the Awateh. He is impatient, that’s all. He’s dying. He’s waited all his life for the final days to come, and he wants to see it happen, before he dies.”

Jep could not believe it. “He really wants everyone dead except his own people?”

Preu bridled at his tone. “Don’t say ‘he’ in that manner, boy. He wants no more than all of us.” His voice had turned ragged, and he breathed heavily.

“You believe that, too?”

“Of course I believe it. It is my Cause. It was my father’s Cause, and his father’s before him. Even on Manhome we killed the unbelievers.” He stared at Saturday with wide, unfocused eyes, as though saying the words had put him into some beatific state. His voice rose into a chant. “We killed many. Our slaughterers went among the sheep and put the knives to their throats. We shattered them in the air. We slaughtered them upon the sea. We took them hostage and made great countries pay ransom. But evil men came against us in great numbers and drove us into the wilderness. …” He was in an ecstasy of recollection.

Saturday listened, trying not to feel. She hated him. She hated what he said, what he stood for. To her, he seemed totally evil, as did all his prophets and his friends. The world he saw was not the world she knew. She wanted to kill him and knew she could not. Her mind and belly burned, as though with fire. Her throat was tight. She hurt, and there was not enough of Birribat Shum left inside her to stop the pain.

“What will you do if Ahabar invades?” Jep asked, after the chanting had stopped and Preu’s breathing had become more or less normal.