Earthborn (Homecoming) (32 page)

“Lets just say that my service to the Keeper hasn’t
always been voluntary,” said Shedemei. “But it is now, and that’s the truth.”

Mother grinned. “You seem to know more than I do about what a raveler can see.”

“Let’s just say that you’re not the first I’ve known.” Then Shedemei laughed. “Not even the first named Chveya.”

“Nobody can pronounce her name the old way like that,” said Luet. “How do you do that?”

“Humans can say it,” said Shedemei. “Chvuh. Chveya. It’s only angels that can’t, and that’s why the name was changed.”

“It’s silly, isn’t it,” said Luet. “The person I’m named for and the person Mother is named for were also mother and daughter, except the other way around.”

“It’s not a coincidence,” said Mother. “After all, I’m the one who named you.”

“I know that,” said Luet.

“I thought the names were appropriate myself,” said Shedemei. “As I said, I once had dear friends with those names. I knew them long ago and far away, and they’re dead now.”

“Where are you from?” Chebeya demanded. “Why have you come here?”

“I’m from a city that was destroyed,” said Shedemei, “and I came here in search of the Keeper. I want to know who she is. And the closer I stay to you and your family, Chebeya, the better my chances of finding out.”

“
We
don’t know any more than you do,” said Luet.

“Then perhaps we’ll find out together,” said Shedemei. “Now go home before the sky gets too dark. The evening rains are about to begin and you’ll be soaked.”

“Will you be all right?” asked Mother.

“You must believe me when I say that I am the only one who is perfectly safe.” With that, Shedemei hustled them out the door. Impulsively Luet stopped at the last moment and kissed the schoolmaster on the
cheek. Shedemei embraced her then and held her for a moment. “I lied,” she whispered. “I didn’t just come here for the Keeper. I also came here because I wanted a friend.”

“I
am
your friend,” said Luet. Later she would think of how passionately she said those words and wail to Edhadeya that she must have sounded like a schoolgirl. But at the time, looking into Shedemei’s eyes, they seemed the most natural words she could have said.

As soon as Didul reached the court, Pabul ushered him into his private chamber. “Did you see how many guards were stationed around the court?”

“I assume you’ve been getting death threats.”

“I’m flattered by them—not a single bribe. They know I can’t be bought. They’re going to find out I can’t be terrified.”

“
I
can.”

“You know what I mean,” said Pabul. “I’m afraid, yes, of course, but my fear won’t make me judge any differently than I would have.”

“This trial is famous already,” said Didul. “And it doesn’t even begin till tomorrow.”

Pabul sighed. “Everyone knows what’s at stake. All the laws protecting the old order are being used to block the new. I have no idea what kind of defense Shedemei is planning, but I can’t imagine what she’ll say that can overbalance the plain truth that she’s guilty.”

“Guilty,” said Didul. “Guilty of being a remarkable
woman. Among the Kept in Bodika, she’s already being touted as a martyr.”

“I keep hoping that Motiak will take the matter out of my hands by simply announcing that the old laws are repealed.”

“He won’t,” said Didul. “He’s trying to stay above the whole thing.”

“He knows he can’t, Didul.” Pabul fumbled through some of the barks lying on his table. “No matter what I decide, the loser will appeal.”

“Even if you give Shedemei no penalty at all?”

“Have you met her?” asked Pabul sharply.

Didul laughed. “This morning, before coming here.”

“Then you know she’ll appeal even if I pay a fine to
her.
I think she’s enjoying this.”

“Poor Pabul.”

Pabul grimaced. “We’ve dedicated our lives to being the opposite of Father. And now I have to sit in judgment on a follower of Binaro, just as Father sat in judgment on Binaro himself.”

“Nobody will be burned to death this time.”

“No—the treason charge is the one I can dismiss easily enough. But I still have to convict her of all the others.”

“Isn’t there some law about bringing false charges maliciously?” asked Didul.

“The operative word there is
false.
These charges are true.”

“Malicious mischief. Trying to disrupt the public order of the kingdom. And as you said, the treason charge is there only to make it a capital crime.”

“What are you suggesting? That I bring charges against the people who are charging Shedemei?”

Didul shrugged. “It might induce them to drop their petition against her.”

“I don’t know how likely
that
is,” said Pabul. “But if I could find a way to complicate things further, so that there’s no possibility of a clearcut victory or defeat for anybody . . .”

Didul waited for a while, watching Pabul read bark after bark. Finally he patted his older brother’s shoulder and made his way to Akmaro’s house. He came to the back, as he usually did, and waited in silence in the shade of a tree until someone inside the house noticed him. It was Luet who finally came out and greeted him. “Didul, why don’t you just come to the front of the house and clap your hands like anyone else?”

“And what if it’s Akma who answers the door?”

“He’s never here. And so what if it is?”

“I don’t want a quarrel. I don’t want a fight.”

“I don’t think Akma does, either,” said Luet. “He still hates you, of course—”

“Of course,” said Didul dryly.

“But it’s not . . . he’s concentrating on other things.”

“What I want to know is, does he have anything to do with these charges against Shedemei?”

“Isn’t she wonderful?” asked Luet. “Have you met her?”

“This morning. It was rather grueling, actually. She practically held me to the fire before she’d finally believe that I wasn’t a jaguar dressed as a turkey.”

“She knew about your past?”

“As if she’d watched over my shoulder. Everything. It was terrifying, Luet. She asked me . . .”

“What?”

Didul shuddered. “Asked me if I especially enjoyed it when I knocked you around.”

Luet laid a hand on his shoulder. “That was unkind of her. I’ve forgiven you—what business is it of hers?”

“She said she was trying to determine whether it was really possible for a person to change. She was trying to find out if I was really vile before, and became a truly virtuous man now, or if I was vile and now merely pretended to be good, or if I was good all along, and merely misguided.”

“What good would it do her to find
that
out?”

“Oh, I can think of several uses. Anyway, she’s a moral philosopher. That’s one of the great questions,
whether human beings are really capable of change, or if all seeming changes are really a matter of framing the existing character in a different moral situation . . . you know. Philosophy stuff. I’ve just never had anybody actually try to test their ideas against the real world like that. At least, I’ve never been the real world they were testing against.”

“She isn’t much for good manners, is she?”

“Better than you,” said Didul. “She invited me to eat with her at noon.”

“You know perfectly well that you’re already invited to have supper with us,” said Luet, gently shoving him.

He caught her hand, laughing, then immediately let go of her and stood up, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“Didul,” she said, “you
are
strange sometimes.” Then, as she led the way into the house, she commented over her shoulder, “You don’t mind that Edhadeya will be here tonight, do you?”

“Not unless I’ll be in the way.”

Luet only laughed.

In the kitchen, Didul and Luet talked with Chebeya as they helped her prepare supper. Akmaro came home with three young diggers who were trying to get him to take them on as students. “There aren’t enough hours in the day,” he said—obviously not for the first time—as they followed him into the house.

“We don’t want you to stop what you’re doing. Just let us follow you.”

“Like shadows,” said another.

“We’ll be quiet,” said the third.

“Maybe a question now and then.”

Akmaro interrupted them and introduced his wife and daughter. Before he could mention Didul, one of them backed slightly away and said, “You must be Akma.”

“No, I’m not,” said Didul.

The digger, a young woman, immediately relaxed
and came closer. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just assumed—”

“And there you see why I can’t have you following me around,” said Akmaro. “Akma is my son. If you believe the nasty rumors you’ve heard about him, I can hardly have you camping in my home.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be. It happens that at least some of the rumors are true. But you must allow me to have privacy and unless you’re planning to stay for dinner . . .”

The boy seemed perfectly content to accept the implied invitation, but the two girls hustled him away.

“Study with the teachers,” said Akmaro as they left. “We’ll see each other often enough if you do that.”

“We will,” said one of the girls—grimly, as if she were threatening some kind of vengeance. “We’ll study so hard that we’ll know
everything
.”

“Good. Then I’ll come and learn from
you
, because I hardly know anything.” With a smile, Akmaro closed the door behind them.

“Now I do feel guilty,” said Didul. “It seems I routinely get what they’re begging for. And if having diggers around would cause problems with Akma, think of how he’d react if you tried to let
me
tag along.”

“Oh, you’re completely different,” said Akmaro. “For one thing, you know as much as I do.”

“Hardly.”

“So we can discuss things as equals. That would never be possible with them—they’re too young. They haven’t lived.”

“There’s a lot I haven’t done yet,” said Didul.

“Like marry—there’s a thought.”

Didul blushed and immediately started carrying the cool clay mugs into the front room of the house. He could hear Luet behind him, quietly remonstrating with her father. “Do you
have
to embarrass him like that?” she whispered.

“He likes it,” Akmaro answered—and not in a whisper.

“He does
not
,” Luet insisted.

But he did like it.

Edhadeya arrived just before the appointed time. Didul had met her a couple of times before, and always under the same circumstances—dining with Akmaro’s family. Didul liked the fact that she and Luet were such good friends. It pleased him to see that Luet wasn’t just a tagalong, that in fact she wasn’t at all worshipful or deferent, beyond the normal courtesy of friendship. Clearly Luet knew Edhadeya as a person and hardly thought of her as the king’s daughter. And Edhadeya, for her part, was completely natural in Akmaro’s house, with not a hint of affectation or authority or condescension. Her experience had always been different from other people’s lives, but she seemed to be endlessly fascinated with other people’s thoughts and observations, not regarding her own as superior in any way.

The conversation turned quite early to the trial, and Akmaro just as quickly begged them to talk of other things. So they spent a lot of the dinner talking about Shedemei. Didul listened in fascination to their impression of the school, and Edhadeya had so much to say that finally he realized that, unlike the others, she wasn’t just remembering a single visit. “How often have you been there?” he asked.

Edhadeya looked flustered. “Me?”

“Not that it matters,” said Didul. “You just seem to speak as one who is . . . involved.”

“Well, I’ve been back several times.”

“Without me!” Luet cried.

“It wasn’t a social visit,” said Edhadeya. “I went there to work.”

“I thought she said you couldn’t,” said Chebeya.

“She also told me not to wait.”

“So did she let you help?” asked Luet. “If she did I’ll never forgive you for not taking me.”

“She has never
let
me do anything,” said Edhadeya.

“But you still go,” said Didul.

“I sneak in,” said Edhadeya. “It isn’t hard. It’s not as if the school is guarded or anything. I go into the
courtyard if Shedemei isn’t there, and I help the younger girls with their reading. Sometimes I’ve had nothing better to do than take a mop and jar of water and wash down the floors in a corridor while everyone else was eating. A few times I’ve been in and out without Shedemei seeing me, but usually I get caught.”

“I should think that the children or the other teachers would report you the moment you’re seen,” said Akmaro.

“Not at all,” said Edhadeya. “The girls appreciate my help. And so, I think, do the teachers.”

“What does Shedemei say when she throws you out?” asked Didul.

“It’s quite colorful,” said Edhadeya. “She keeps explaining to me that when she said I wasn’t supposed to wait, she meant that I shouldn’t
just
wait. That I should be actively involved in life, getting some experience to help me put my book learning into perspective.”

“So why don’t you do as she asks?” said Akmaro.

“Because I think that sneaking into her school and teaching without her spotting me is an excellent experience.”

They all laughed at that. The subject eventually turned from Shedemei to speculations on what Rasa’s House must have been like, back on the planet Harmony, and from there the conversation drifted to talking about people who had seen true dreams from the Keeper. “We keep talking about true dreamers as if they were all ancient or far away,” said Luet, “but it’s worth remembering that every single one of us has had at least one true dream. I haven’t had any since I was little—but then, I haven’t needed anything as much as I did then. Have you dreamed since those old days, Didul?”

Didul shook his head, not really wanting to talk about “those old days.”

“I don’t really
dream
,” said Chebeya. “That’s not a raveler’s gift.”

“But the Keeper still shows you things,” said Luet.
“That’s the thing we have to remember—the Keeper isn’t just something that our ancestors believed in. She isn’t just a myth.” To everyone’s surprise, tears suddenly came to her eyes. “Akma keeps saying that we’re fooling ourselves, but we’re not. I remember how it felt, and it was different from any other dream. It was real. Wasn’t it, Edhadeya?”