Singer from the Sea (52 page)

“You’ve been ordering equipment from off-world, haven’t you? On the Lord Paramount’s account.”

“Now how did you know that!”

“Inference. You have some quick way to go, do you? An airship? Or some kind of powered boat?”

“I do, yes. I can get there very soon.”

“Then go, my friend, for I am about to tell you something that will be useful to our world. Though I am confused about most things, there is one thing I am sure of. The evil that besets Haven must be ended, and perhaps what I tell you will help to end it, when the time is right …”

“And how will I know when that is?”

“Oh, you will know, Veswees. Believe me, you will know.” And she drew him close and murmured into his
ear for a long time, while he nodded and nodded, murmuring, “Yes. I can do that. Yes, that can be done.”

When she had finished, he stared at her, mouth open. “You’re sure this is right?”

She laughed softly. “Sure? Oh, Veswees, who of us has time to be sure a thing is right? I am sure it is necessary. Will that do?”

He leaned forward, kissed her on the forehead, then lifted the trapdoor and went humming down the stair. She did not follow him, for he had given her the idea that she could act on her own, without having to believe anything. He had told her she could decide what needed to be done, and that warranted thinking out.

She had not really believed Aufors when he had told her she was an intelligent person, though his flattery had pleased her. She knew she was clever, yes, at scholarly things. Able to remember and compare. Able to feed back what had been taught. But intelligent? Or wise? Oh, if only she could believe that she was wise! If she could believe she had spent her life mastering something of value when so much of what she had learned was valueless, even evil! But, if she knew, if she claimed to know, she would have to make herself do all those things she had learned not to do. She would have to speak out, claim much, and spout like a geyser! She would have to assert! Demand! Rally!

“Genevieve?” Melanie’s voice from below.

“I’m up here,” she admitted, just loudly enough to be heard.

“I know. Veswees said. Will you come down now, or will you be busy thinking?”

The idea was startling! Busy. Thinking. Was it acceptable to be busy, thinking?

“Yes,” she called, with only the slightest quaver. “I am busy thinking, Melanie. I will be thinking for some time.”

“Later will be fine. There will be a lengthy welcoming ceremony, and the chieftains need to have something to eat and a bit of rest first. Take as much time as you need.”

Genevieve did not ask “first” before what. No doubt Melanie thought that she already knew. She leaned in the
embrasure once more, staring at the dawn and thinking of the lichen.

Mankind had always sought cures and reliefs in the local herbage, looking for omens in the shape of a leaf or the color of a pod. A leaf that was shaped and colored like a lung became lungwort, not because it actually cured sick lungs but because it should. A bandage-shaped leaf must be woundwort, a bladder-shaped pod, bladderwort. So the original observer of P’naki—the one who had first seen the lichen’s rapid growth in response to blood—must have believed that anything burgeoning like that had to be a treatment for wasting diseases. Such as aging. So, he tried it, perhaps on himself, and the patient lived, and lived, and lived.

Now that discovery threatened thousands, maybe millions of lives, a fact that was known long ago by the powers that be, whatever they were. Stephanie-Tewhani and her sisters had been sent into Haven to breed up a crop of long-nosed cellar singers, female visionaries, presumably either to come up with or to expedite an answer. Genevieve was apparently one of them. So much effort on her behalf should culminate in an epiphany at least!

Take a deep breath and await the descending fire.

Nothing. Not a spark.

All that enormous effort had to have meant something! Had Mother known what it was for? Certainly Lyndafal had known nothing of what Genevieve had learned. Nor had Alicia. The song-line had failed in that line of descent. Perhaps in other lines as well. Despite all Zenobia’s daughters, perhaps it had failed, over and over, leaving
only
Genevieve to hear the voice in the deep, only Genevieve to reply, only Genevieve who knew what she knew, though only heaven knew what it was good for?

Did it matter whether she was
one
or the
only one!
No. It really made no difference. A duty devolved upon
one
to the same degree as upon
only one
, if the
one
or the only could figure out what it was.

Now she could see the approaching company in some detail, a dark people, as dark as Stephanie had been, with tattoos on their faces and arms and legs. Their hair was knotted on top of their heads and decorated with sprays
of green leaves. The group came toward the refuge in a choreographed movement, those at the center tall, facing forward, those on either side rowing their way across the sands with actual oars, carved and painted, flashing as the sun crept above the horizon. The assembled corps came in the guise of a fabulous ship, and she was reminded of canoes, marvelous canoes hewn from huge trees, with sails made of woven mats, moving across the stars. These were the descendants of the Kaikaukau Whetu, the star swimmers, the servants of those in the deep.

Of many such thoughts are understandings grown.

She went from window to window in the tall tower while light flooded the desert, while the nighttime cool leaked away, while the sun skipped into the sky like a released balloon. She saw a black-toothed wheel in the sky to the north, a gyre of carrion birds that plunged a few at a time while others assembled from the far hills and the shores of the sea, come to tidy up after the butchers. She put her face into her hands and shed tears once more for Barbara’s son, somewhere in the fortress below her, and for her own son, somewhere unknown and unreachable.

Then she dried her eyes as the gates opened below her. Her mind heard the singing before her ears did, a woman’s voice inside the tower singing an invitation: the kai karanga calling to the guests,
Haeremai, Haeremai, whakaeke mai
—welcome, welcome, come forward. She knew that song. Mother had taught her that song.

A woman from among the visitors sang an equally familiar reply, the karanga whakautu: We are the servants of the spirit, come from far islands to hear the words of the singer.

And again the call and the reply, the call in different words, but with the same sense. You of the spirit are welcome. With your ancestors, ascend into the house of our people. With your children, ascend into the house. Women’s voices to call and women’s voices to reply, for only women were free of warlike pride enough to know when it was safe to invite outsiders in, when it was safe to accept the invitation. Even as the women called
welcome
,
the men postured
but beware
, threatening with their clubs. Welcome, but beware.

At last the women’s voices won out and the people came into the courtyard, the servants of the deep into the refuge of marae morehu, place of survival.

There were further songs in the courtyard, ancient expressions of the culture of a sea and island people whose identity had been lost among the great press of other peoples on Earth; a people whose language had been preserved only in ritual; a people who had been chosen for a sacred duty, to fulfil a specific purpose. So said the words of Tewhani tapairu parauri. Stephanie, Dark Queen.

Unconscious of having made any decision, she found herself halfway down the stairs as the last of the songs dwindled to silence. She had been busy thinking. Now she had thought. It was time to talk to the chieftains of the people.

“We attack the malghaste to the south,” said the Shah to his minister. His voice was high and petulant. His mouth was pursed. He looked, thought the minister, like a fretful baby. “The malghaste have for too long existed on our border, affording refuge to those who escape from us.”

Saelan knew that the escape of the Havenite woman annoyed the Shah past endurance. No woman could be allowed to escape. The Shah needed more women, not fewer of them!

“It is very early, and Your Effulgence has not had breakfast. Perhaps the decision …”

The Shah waved him silent, crying in a high, treble voice, “We will raze the nest of the rebels.”

“Effulgent One, we do not know that the woman went to the place the malghaste call
mahrei.
Indeed, it is unlikely in the extreme. Her water bottle and a broken sandal were found far to the southeast, on the trail to Zimmi oasis …”

“It doesn’t matter. If she had come to this
mahrei
, they would have taken her in.”

“Effulgent One, is this … is this a proper time to
wage war? You are holding Prince Delganor and the Marshal …”

“They are my guests,” interrupted the Shah, with a curled lip and raised nostril. “As they must be, since their ship departed. I think, however, that I will make them my allies. The Marshal is a military genius, so he tells me. Perhaps I will put him in charge of the army. He can quell the malghaste in their
mahrei.
He can find his woman child and take her out in the desert, dedicating her to my use. Then I will consider elevating him.”

Ybon Saelan swallowed deeply. “The ship departed, Effulgent One, because the Captain panicked, thinking the demonstration was directed at him or his men.” As certainly it had been. Ybon had counseled the Shah against attacking the ship. Had the ship been destroyed, the Prince would have had no way to return home; the shipments of grain and fiber and other necessary material would not have arrived in Mahahm; the people of Mahahm-qum might well have arisen against the Shah. Driving the ship away was just as bad, since there was no way to reach it. The foolish people left in the house had destroyed the communications devices. All of which the Shah should have understood. Would have understood, in prior years.

He murmured, “We will hope that the Captain of the ship returns soon, Your Greatness.”

“We will cut the Captain into pieces,” said the Shah. “Before the eyes of the Prince. If the Marshal does not help us, we will cut the Marshal to pieces, as well.”

Cursing silently, Ybon bowed. “Great One, the Marshal is of the nobility. And the Captain may be needed to return the Prince to his own land. From which our foodstuffs come. From which our bodies are clothed. From which our needs are met.”

“Then we will take members of the crew. They cannot trifle with us in this way, Saelan! I am weary of it. The razing of this
mahrei
place will distract me while we wait for the ship to return.”

The minister sighed and said the only thing he could. “Your Effulgence’s word is our law. We will go south.”

Inside himself, Ybon felt a tiny click, as though a switch had been thrown. As though a machine he had forgotten
was there was now energized. As though a certain line of thought that had been unthinkable had been opened for leisurely contemplation.

In the marae, the people were ready to confer. The seven representatives of the many chieftains did not use their names while on such business, Melanie explained to Genevieve. Their names were local, tribal, familial. When they spoke for all the people, they used only their numbers, the order in which they had been appointed to this duty. First for the people, Tuatahi, had served longest. Seventh, Tuawhitu, had served least long. When a member died or resigned, the numbers below moved up a notch and a new seventh was appointed. Whoever was First at any given time was also chairman, and this one was tall and bulky, with long, strong brown arms and legs and a muscular torso half hidden by the length of fabric wrapped around his waist. Both men and women wore this garment, plus a loosely woven top to shield their shoulders, backs, and arms from the ardor of the sun.

The garments only partially hid the tatoos, which could not have escaped notice even though the contrast between the black patterns and the dark skins was not great. The patterns covered all faces, necks, and arms plus the backs of the women, the backs and chests and thighs of the men. Beginning at the sides of the faces, they swirled’ across cheeks and foreheads, symmetrically across chins and noses and lips, meeting in the center like the markings of some fabulous beasts. No two were marked alike, though all the designs were similar.

“It is polite to wait patiently while the chieftains speak,” Melanie said, in an urgent tone. “Sometimes they speak rather lengthily, saying what everyone already knows, but it is still polite to wait.”

Genevieve set herself to be patient, which was one thing she had learned that she could use. When she was seated before the committee, all of them seated in a Une, their symbols of authority arrayed around them, First gave her a long, weighing look, and then began to speak:

“Our ancient tongue is used now only for matters of
honor and wisdom, mana and tapu. I speak in the language of your understanding, the language of this world:

“Long ago, when the canoes came to a new land, while most of our people worked to make us secure upon that land, a few of this family and that family were called aside and given great mana and heavy tapu, which we held secretly throughout the ages, for we were the star swimmers, the servants of the deep.

“From father to son and mother to daughter this knowledge was given, and those who learned it practiced it in hidden places. In the ages that followed it was known only to those who held it. Our foregoers called themselves the patient ones, nga whakamoumori, and we remained true, unmixed, learning in each generation the secret things of that generation, the mea huna, the mysteries.

“As the ages passed, men proliferated upon the earth and in time the earth was sickened unto death. Only man was left in any numbers, and the spirit of the world spoke to our people from the sea, saying that it must depart the earth, for the earth was dying. So, we went among the people of the world, and we cried a great shaming in the parliaments of mankind, speaking only of the creatures who should be saved, but not of the spirit, whom the powerful despised. Still, the spirit moved them to be ashamed, and the parliaments saw to the building of ships to carry the ancient creatures of the world away, to new worlds.” He fell silent, to a murmuring among the listeners.