The Shasht War (37 page)

"But why must there be so many people?"

"Another good question. Our rulers say we must supply the Gods with worship. And they are hungry, our Gods, especially He Who Eats. The people must be numerous to sustain him."

"But when they are so numerous, they must also go hungry."

"Well, such is the fate of the world."

"It does not have to be that way. In my homeland starvation was unknown before the men brought war. Even in the coldest winters, after the worst of harvests, we made our way, because we could work harder in the sea pond despite the cold and we could hunt in the forests. Our numbers never overwhelmed our land."

"Ha!" the man laughed and slapped his thigh. "You breed slowly, then. That is not the case with hot-blooded Man. The rabbit is our God of breeding. Every man wants children to remember him. But children die so often that every woman must bear six, seven, or eight to keep two or three."

"That means your numbers will grow without restraint."

"Well, yes, but when they can't feed 'em the poor sell the children. That keeps the slave takers happy."

"Slavery," murmured Thru, "we do not have slaves in my homeland."

"By Kipchaki's dusty feet! What an incredible thing..."

"No one, not even a chook can be owned by another. They have the right of contracts, the right of law to exist as free beings."

"Who would've imagined? Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would live to hear that. No slaves. Then, how does anything get done?"

"We have no need for slaves."

"Then, you must live like savages, half naked in the wilderness."

"Not so. We have many of the same arts. My father carves wood. I am a weaver."

"Gracious. That means you must work with your own hands! No one will do that. That is for slaves. I'm afraid your ways would not work well in Shasht."

Thru felt his eyebrows loft at the thought of men who did nothing for themselves, generation after generation. They had to become soft, dependent, weak.

"No, no, no, my dear fur-covered friend. You see, the free man is the superior being. He stands above all women, and above all slave men. The man who falleth into slavery belongs in that position and must be treated as no longer human. That is our way, it made us strong."

"But your land is worn-out. Your numbers have drained it of life."

"True, but that is our way. Now will come our downfall. Already we have turns of starvation. The poor suffer terribly in the droughts and floods. The catastrophe comes, but not yet. So it is written, so it will be."

The man seemed to accept this disastrous future. He shrugged after a moment and spoke again.

"And your home is so different then?"

"Your land is but a desert in comparison."

"Well! Your land sounds like it comes from the Appian Age, when Shasht was young and the Old Gods ruled. Ah, but I wish I could go hunting in this land of yours. It must teem with game."

"Our land is rich in life. We hunt for rabbit and wood turkey within a few miles of the village. We take deer in the winter within a day's walk."

"By the Gods, what our hunters would do on such lands! I'd like to see this land of yours. There weren't many deer when I was young. Probably aren't any now."

Thru wore a sad smile. "There's no game in these hills. That's why I had to raid the farms."

"Yes, far too many hunters here, heh heh. So you had to raid the farms, understandable, of course, but caused a problem didn't it? Actually, that reminds me, I have something to tell you that may be important. I received a message today from the village. They claim that a fugitive slave savaged their dogs. They claim the said fugitive then took shelter in this tower. They have asked for my report."

The Eccentric paused, grimaced.

"Of course, I told them I knew nothing of the matter. They may send someone to investigate, but on the other hand they may not. It's a long hike up here from the village, and the fat, perfumed officials of the county aren't known for their eagerness to hike up hills. I never see them."

Thru nodded. He would have expected no less, and it was good to hear that the officials were lazy. But clearly, he would have to be ready to leave in a hurry. The safety of the great tower was an illusion. Certain preparations would be necessary.

"I see. Thank you for warning me, and again, many thanks for your aid. I owe you my life."

"My friend, I sense that you would have done the same thing for me, were I to show myself at your door, exhausted with hunters on my trail."

"If I ever return to my own land, I will tell everyone about the kind Eccentric who helped me survive."

"That's very good of you, very good."

"And I wonder if I could have the use of a razor?"

The man stared at him for a moment before understanding came into his eyes.

"Oh, why, yes, of course, of course. And if they do actually show up you'll just slip away, will you?"

"Well, it would be best if they did not find me here."

"Yes, probably right about that. Well, they probably won't bother. But if they do, let me say that it's been a pleasure to have you stay here. Truth to tell, I see nobody at all to talk to, and you've been a patient listener." The man grinned, Thru was impelled to reach out, and they clasped hands warmly.

The next day Thru opened up the roof, removed the rotten patches of thatch, and cut out the beam that had rotted underneath. A good selection of tools were kept in the cellar. Axes, adzes of various sizes, good saws and hammers, drills. There were also supplies of wooden pegs and rope, pitch and gum. Metal, of course, was too scarce in the world of Arna to be used for nails.

Before nightfall, he had rigged up a frame to support a cover of canvas for the night. The Eccentric climbed the tower the next morning to inspect the work. He found Thru replacing the beam.

"You have great skill in this kind of work."

"Thank you, but I am not so skilled. I learned it all from my father, who is indeed skilled, and that helps a lot."

"Well, you've done more in a day than I would have expected in three from the workmen they usually send up here."

"Thank you, but aren't those workers slaves?"

"Yes, of course. Free men don't work in this way, not here."

"So they are not working for their own gain in any way?"

"Well, if they don't work they'll be whipped!"

"So they have to work, but I expect they work very slowly."

"Yes, that is the usual complaint." And suddenly the man gave a vigorous nod as if this simple realization had never crossed his mind before.

"Yes," he said. "You are right. They don't work hard because they are slaves."

Perhaps it hadn't, thought Thru, so blind was Shasht to such aspects of its own culture.

In the afternoon Thru put up fresh roofing boards and replaced the canvas cover. Working in that high, lonely spot, with the bare world spread out below him, Thru felt a strange sense of exaltation. He was alone, deep in an alien world, and he was not exactly free from danger. For the moment he felt alive and imbued with purpose. He would survive. He would go home. He would not die in this alien land. Somehow he would get to the sea and steal a boat.

That evening they dined on the usual fare, the hard biscuit, the looga beans, and the hot red paste. As always the Eccentric grumbled to himself as he ate. Thru ignored the Eccentric and thought about the thatching of the roof. He had worked with reed stems before, though his father preferred to thatch with bush stalk. He would need to carefully recall the techniques for stemming and bunching. A different pattern was required than one would use for bush stalk.

Suddenly the Eccentric broke into these thoughts with a question.

"I have been thinking about what you told me about your religion, my fur-covered friend. You said you have no Gods, no Goddesses either."

"We do not have such things. We speak to the Spirit only."

"But how can you speak to something that is only a spirit. If it has no personality."

"'Personality' is only something you invent. The Spirit is everywhere, in everything. It is subtle, but huge. It rules the universe, but we cannot normally sense its presence."

"Hmmmm. The 'Spirit' sounds very vague to my ears. There's nothing to get hold of, no image, no figure of the God."

"It is not necessary to give an image to the spirit."

"Well, I might agree with you. I was never the most religious of men. But our religious thinkers say that men are special, that we are only temporarily part of the world. Free men, that is, not slaves or women. Free men when they die are supposed to go to heaven and sit with the Great God."

Thru shook his head in dismay.

"I do not understand such things. You were born into this world, and you have lived all your life within it. How can you be beyond it?"

"Well, because I am Man and I am blessed by the Gods. The Gods created Man in their image. The Gods look after men and are worshiped in return."

Thru did not tell the man that the mots of the Land had been created by the High Men.

"I have seen your temple in the city. I know what they do there."

After a moment or two of silence, the man shifted, embarrassed, perhaps.

"Ah, yes, well, then you know how it is with us. The cult of He Who Eats fulfills something in the people's heart. The folk love the rituals of the temple. All the seats are always filled."

"You admit then that men enjoy the spectacle of such slaughter?"

"Yes. It is true, there are many who do. But that is not all there is to us. The human spirit is capable of much more. We have advanced all the arts to the highest levels. Can your people match our sculptors? Our painters? Our embroiderers? You should see the great Chorales, when thousands of singers gather to sing the hymns of the Great God. And then there are the theaters! Such comedy, such tragedy, all enacted on the stage."

Thru nodded as he heard this passionate defense of Shashti society.

"We have artists, too. We are not so different in that regard."

"Well, well, well." The Eccentric took another look at Thru. "Well, of course, you are men of a sort, different from us, but still men."

Thru felt his eyes bulge, but he controlled his anger.

"We are not men," he said firmly. "We live within the world, we tend to it and water it, men destroy it."

"Yes, yes, but you produce art. You can speak good Shashti, all of these things indicate that you really are men."

"No, we are not men."

And on this point, Thru would not be swayed.

The next day Thru completed the thatching and was collecting the tools when he heard a noise down below. He looked out the window and saw a group of men at the gate, arguing with the Eccentric.

Thru left the tools where they were and sped down the stairs to the ground floor. He took down the emergency pack he had prepared and slipped out the door.

The message had come an hour before dusk. A soldier knocking at the door of the house, the whispers in the hallway, and the feet hurrying to her room. Simona was already awake and ready when the serving girl handed the envelope through the door. Everything then took on enormous significance: the huge seal bearing the letter "A," the knife to break the wax, a candle to read by. And Simona already knew what the message must mean.

Aeswiren warned her to leave the city at once. The time of danger that he had spoken of had come. She sensed that it had come sooner than the Emperor had planned. He fought powerful enemies within his own administration and inside the temple. He expected that all would end well enough, but in the meantime he wanted Simona far from the city.

After sending a message up to Shalee, the butler of the house at Shesh, to tell him she was coming, Simona left the city in a plain purdah wagon. She rode with four other women of good family, heading up to the mountains with their maids. The women rode in the main booth, on well-padded seats. The maids were crammed in the back section, sitting on the luggage. Everyone was going up-country for the coming Festival of First Snow and, of course, the big topic of conversation was whether there would be snow or not. The Almanacs did not agree this year, and that was a big source of comment, even passionate argument, for some of the women were advocates of one or the other Almanac.

Simona tried to pay attention and to keep up her end of this conversation, but she found it hard not to think about more important matters.

First was her overpowering concern for Nuza. She assumed that the Emperor had already taken steps to move Nuza to safety, because Simona understood that Nuza was a target for the ire of the priests. The Emperor had intimated as much, the last time they had met, a few days before.

"Nuza does not sleep here anymore" was all he had said.

Once, Simona would have offered up a prayer to the Great God. But she had lost all her faith in him, if indeed she had really ever had any. She knew of the Older Gods and she thought of them fondly, but she could not believe in them, either. When it came to the Gods, she was lost.

And so she thought of Nuza's face and hoped that she would see her again someday, when the danger was over and the Emperor was triumphant. Simona was certain that the Emperor would triumph. The power of Aeswiren III had always resonated in her life. Even now he retained that aura of strength.

But during the struggle poor Nuza would be alone, without anyone who could speak her language properly. This made Simona feel miserable.

However, she was thankful for her wonderful father. With the dawn light breaking over the city, he had struggled to wake up at her sudden appearance in his room and then had immediately granted her her wish to go up to Shesh Zob. He'd gotten up and embraced his wonderful daughter and told her that he was happy for her to get out of the city for the festival season.

"I cannot go myself, but if you go then it will serve to show that we have not forgotten our friends and relatives. It has been weighing on my conscience. For really we should go this year. Haven't been up to the Zob in years. Many old friends of Chiknulba will be there, they will want to know what happened. But, I cannot leave my work. We have designed the larger instrument, and it is now being built. I have to be there. It will be three times more powerful than the first one. We have done a great deal of work on lenses. There are strange qualities to light, properties that I cannot understand." He tapered off into silence, and she sensed that he was straining against the limits of his time. Never before had she seen the faraway look that his eyes held now.