The Faded Sun Trilogy (66 page)

A’ani.
Challenge. She’panei did not share: the she’pan served by the most skillful kel’en, survived.

Melein prepared herself.

He returned in silence to the hall below, curled up in the corner, massaging his aching arms and reckoning in troubled thoughts that there was killing to be done.

“Is she all right?” Duncan intruded into his silence, unwelcome.

“She will not leave. She is talking to it, with
them.
She speaks of wars, kel Duncan.”

“Is that remarkable for the People?”

Niun looked at him, prepared to be angry, and realized that it was a failure of words. “Wars. Mri wars. Wars-with-distance-weapons.” He resorted to the forbidden mu’ara, and Duncan seemed then to understand him, and fell quickly silent.

“Would that the dusei would come,” Niun declared suddenly, wrenching his thoughts from such prospects; and in his restlessness he went to the door and ventured to call to them, that lilting call that sometimes, only sometimes, could summon them.

It did not work this time. There was no answer this night, nor the next.

But on the third, while Melein remained shut in sen-tower, and they fretted in their isolation below, there came a familiar breathing and rattle of claws on the steps outside, and that peculiar pressure at the senses that heralded the dusei.

It was the first night that they two dared sleep soundly, warm next their beasts and sure that they would be warned if danger came on them.

It was Melein that came; a clap of her hands startled them and the beasts together, wakened them in dismay that she, though one of them, had found them sleeping.

“Come,” she said; and when they had both gained their feet and stood ready to do her bidding: “The People are near. An-ehon has lit a beacon for them. They are coming.”

The storm days past had left banks of sand heaped in the city, high dunes that made unreal shapes in the light that whipped about the square.

Duncan looked back at the source, a beacon from the edun’s crest that flashed powerfully in the still-dark sky, a summons to any that might be within sight of the city.

And the People would come to that summoning.

They took nothing with them: the pan’en, the sled, everything they owned was left in the edun. If they fared well, they would return; if not, they had no further need. There was, he suspected, though Niun had not spoken overmuch of their chances, no question of flight, whatever happened.

The dusei were disturbed, the more so as they neared the city’s limits. Niun scattered them with a sharp command; it was not a situation for dus-feelings. The beasts left them, and vanished quickly into the dark and the ruins.

“Should I not go also?” Duncan asked.

The mri both looked at him. “No,” said Niun. “No,” Melein echoed, as if such an offering offended them.

And in the dawning, on the sand ridge facing the city, appeared a line of black.

Kel’ein.

The Face that is Turned Outward.

“
Shon’ai,
” Niun said softly,
Shon’ai sa’jiran,
the mot ran. The cast is made: no recalling it. “She’pan, will you wait, or will you come?”

“I will walk with you . . . lest there be some over-anxious kel’en on the other side. There are still she’panei.
We will see if there is still respect for law.”

And in the first light of Na’i’in, the black line advanced, a single column. They walked to meet it, the three of them, and there were no words.

The column stopped, and a pair of kel’ein detached themselves and came forward.

Melein stopped. “Come,” Niun said to Duncan.

They walked without her. “Keep silent,” Niun said, “and keep to my left flank.”

And at speaking-distance, only barely, the strange kel’ein stopped; and hailed them. It was a mu’ara, and not a word of it could Duncan understand, but only
she’pan.

“Among the People,” Niun shouted back, “is the hal’ari forgotten?”

The two strangers came forward still further, and paused: Duncan felt their eyes on him, on what of his face was not veiled. They knew something amiss; he felt it in that too-close scrutiny.

“What do you bring?” the elder asked Niun, and it was the hal’ari. “What is this, kel’en?”

Niun said nothing.

The stranger’s eyes went beyond Niun, distant, and came back again. “Here is Sochil’s land. Whatever you are, advise your she’pan so, and seek her grace to go away. We do not want this meeting.”

“A ship has touched your lands,” Niun said.

There was silence from the other side. They knew, and were perturbed: it did not need dusei to feel that in the air.

“We are of Melein s’Intel,” said Niun.

“I am Hlil s’Sochil,” said the younger, slipping hand into belt in a threatening posture. “And you, stranger?”

“I am daithon Niun s’Intel Zain-Abrin, kel’anth of the Kel of Melein.”

Hlil at once adopted a quieter posture, made a slight gesture of respect. He and his elder companion were clad in coarse, faded black; but they were adorned with many
j’tai,
honors that glittered and winked in the cold sun—and the weapons they bore were the
yin’ein,
worn and businesslike.

“I am Merai s’Elil Kov-Nelan,” said the elder. “Daithon and kel’anth of Kel of Edun An-ehon. What shall we
say to our she’pan, kel’anth?”

“Say that it is challenge.”

There was a moment’s silence. Merai’s eyes went to Duncan, worrying at a presence that did not belong; Worrying, Duncan thought, at questions that he would ask if he could. They knew of the ship; and Merai’s amber eyes were filled with apprehension.

But suddenly Merai inclined his head and walked off, he and Hlil together.

“They sense something wrong in me,” Duncan said.

“Their she’pan will come. It is a question for her now. Stand still; fold your hands behind you. Do nothing you are not bidden to do.”

So they stood, with the wind fluttering gently at their robes and blowing a fine sifting off the surface of sand. A tread disturbed the silence after a time; Melein joined them.

“Her name is Sochil,” Niun said without looking about her. “We have advised her kel’anth of your intentions.”

She said nothing, but waited.

And in utter silence the People came, the kel’ein first, ranging themselves in a circle about them, rank upon rank, so that had they intended flight there was no retreat. Duncan stood stone-still as his companions, as did the hostile Kel, and felt the stares that were fixed on him, on them all, for surely there was strangeness even in Niun and Melein, the fineness of their clothing, the
zahen’ein
that they bore with the
yin’ein,
the different style of the
zaidhe,
with its dark plastic visor and careful folding, while their own were mere squares and twists of cloth, and their veils were twisted into the headcloths, and not fastened to the metal band that theirs had. Hems were ragged, sleeves frayed. Their weapon hilts were in bone and lacquered fiber, while those of Niun were of brass and gold and
cho
-silk wrappings: Duncan thought even his own finer than those these strangers bore.

A figure of awe among them, Niun: Duncan did not know the name that Niun had called himself—
daithon
was like a word for son, but different; but he reckoned suddenly that the kinsman of a she’pan ranked nigh the she’pan herself.

And himself, Duncan-without-a-Mother. He began to wonder what would become of himself—and what this talk was of challenge. He had no skill. He could not take up the
yin’ein
against the likes of these. He did not know what Niun expected him to do.

Do nothing you are not bidden to do.
He knew the mri well enough to believe Niun literally. There were lives in the balance.

Gold robes appeared beyond the black. There stood the Sen, the scholars of the People; and they came veilless, old and young, male and female, lacking the
seta’al
for the most part, though some few bore them, the blue kel-scars. The Sen posed themselves among the Kel, arms folded, waiting.

But when Melein stepped forward, the sen’ein veiled, and turned aside. And through their midst came an old, white-robed woman.

Sochil, she’pan. Her robes were black-bordered, while Melein’s were entirely white. She bore no
seta’al,
though Melein did. She came forward and stopped, facing Melein.

“I am Sochil, she’pan of the ja’anom mri. You are out of your proper territory, she’pan.”

“This city,” said Melein, “is the city of my ancestors. It is mine.”

“Go away from my lands. Go unharmed. This is neutral ground. No one can claim An-ehon. There can be no challenge here.”

“I am Melein, she’pan of all the People; and I have come home, Sochil.”

Sochil’s lips trembled. Her face was seamed with the sun and the weather. Her eyes searched Melein, and the tremor persisted. “You are mad. She’pan of the People? You are more than mad. How many of us will you kill?”

“The People went out from the World; and I am she’pan of all that went out and all that have returned, and of all the cities that sent us. I challenge, Sochil.”

Sochil’s eyes flickered as the membrane went across them, and her hands went up in a warding gesture. “Cursed be you,” she cried, and veiled, and retreated among her Sen.

“You are challenged,” Melein said in a loud voice. “Either yield me your children, she’pan of the ja’anom mri, or I will take them.”

The she’pan withdrew without answering, and her Kel formed a wall protecting her. None moved. None spoke. A misery crept into taut muscles. The side of the body turned to the wind grew chill and then numb.

And came kel’anth Merai, and two kel’ein, one male, one female.

“She’pan,” said Merai, making a gesture of respect before Melein. “I am kel’anth Merai s’Elil Kov-Nelan. The she’pan offers you two kel’ein.”

Melein set her arms in an attitude of shock and scorn. “Will she bargain? Then let her give me half her people.”

The kel’anth’s face betrayed nothing; but the young kel’ein at his side looked dismayed. “I will tell her,” the kel’anth said, and tore himself away and retreated into the black ranks that protected Sochil.

“She will not accept,” Melein predicted, a whisper to Niun, almost loss in the wind.

It was a long wait. At last the kel’ein gave way, and Sochil herself returned. She was veiled, and she stood with her hands tucked into the wide sleeves of her robes.

“Go away,” Sochil said softly then. “I ask you go away and let my children be. What have you to do with them?”

“I see them houseless, she’pan. I will give them a house.”

There was a pause. At last Sochil swept her arm at the land. “I see you destitute, fine she’pan with your elegant robes. I see you with no land, no Kel, no Kath, no Sen. Two kel’ein, and nothing more. But you will take my children and give them a house.”

“I shall.”

“This,” said Sochil, stabbing a gesture at Duncan, “is
this
called of the People where you have been? Is this the reward of my Kel when it defeats your kel’anth? What is this that you bring to us, dressed in a kel’en’s robes? Let us see its face.”

Niun’s hand went to his belt, warning.

“You demean yourself,” Melein said. “And all this is without point, she’pan. I have told you what I want and what I will do. I will settle your people in a house, either half or all, as you will. And I will go and take clan after
clan, until I have all. I am she’pan of the People, and I will have your children, half now, all later. But if you will give half, I will take them and withdraw challenge.”

“It cannot be done. The high plains cities have no water. Stranger-she’pan, you are mad. You do not understand. We cannot build; we cannot take the elee way. We are enough for the land, and it for us. You will kill us.”

“Ask An-ehon that was your teacher, Sochil, and learn that it is possible.”

“You dream. Daughter of my ancestors, you dream.”

“No,” said Melein. “Mother of the ja’anom, you are a bad dream that the People have dreamed, and I will make a house for your children.”

“You will kill them. I will not let you have them.”

“Will you divide, she’pan, or will you challenge?”

There were tears in Sochil’s eyes, that ran down and dampened her veil. She looked on Niun fearfully, and on Melein again. “He is very young. You are both very young, and in strange company. The gods know that you do not know what you are doing. How can I divide my children?—She’pan, they are terrified of you.”

“Answer.”

Sochil’s head went back. Her glistening eyes nictitated and shed their tears, and she turned her back and stalked off.

Her people stood silent. They might have done something, Duncan thought, might have shown her support. But Melein would claim them; they would remain Sochil’s only if Sochil would return challenge.

Sochil stopped in her retreat, among the ranks of her Kel, turned suddenly. “
A’ani!
” she cried. It was challenge.

Melein turned to Niun, and carefully he shed the belt of the
zahen’ein,
handed the modern weapons to Duncan; then with a bow to Melein, he turned and walked forward.

Likewise did Merai s’Elil.

Duncan stood still, the belt a weight in his hands. Melein laid her hand on his sleeve. “Kel Duncan: you
understand . . . you must not interfere.”

And she veiled herself and walked away through the enemy kel’ein, and likewise did Sochil, in her wake. The wall of kel’ein reformed behind them.

There was silence, save for the whistling of the wind.

In the center of the circle and Niun and Merai took up their positions, facing one another at fencers’ distance and a half. Each gathered a handful of sand and cast it on the wind.

Then the
av’ein-kel,
the great-swords, whispered from sheaths.

A pass, in which they exchanged position; the blades flashed, rang lightly against each other, rested. A second pass: and kel Merai stopped, and seemed simply to forget where he was; and fell. The blade had not seemed to touch him.

But darkness spread over the sand beneath him.