The Shasht War (16 page)

There was a stir on the benches again. This was an unusual question, far removed from the more common gripes about shortage of polder land.

Sulp chose to answer it himself.

"I have always been interested in the tale of our origins, too. I have studied the story of our birth. Assenzi writings and even some of the ancient records of that time still exist. Few know about them because they are kept under lock and key in Highnoth, the lair of the Assenzi."

Thru blinked at hearing Highnoth described as a "lair."

Sulp continued in his calm, measured voice. Thru could see that Sulp was an excellent host for a meeting of Questioners. He radiated a sense of calm as a lamp radiates light.

"That means it is impossible to have independent access to them. But the Assenzi themselves have written about them, and their works are available. I have read Cutshamakim on this subject. He quotes many diverse sources.

"In the last days of Man, when Highnoth was still a city of power and light, there were great men who were skilled in the highest arts of magic. They were men like Hargeevi and Belnek. This was the time of the High Men. Men who were skilled in the great arts and magic of the former world. They were as different from the men of Shasht as we are from the pyluk."

Thru was listening with full attention now. Thru had spent more than two years living at Highnoth, learning at the feet of the great Assenzi. But even there he had not learned everything about the Origin.

Sulp went on as if reciting a well-learned screed.

"These men took the germ material of certain animals and subjected it to arcane arts that have long since been forgotten. They married the material they had made of animals to the germ of Man himself, and thus they brought forth the peoples of the Land."

This much was widely known.

"It has been asked who was the mother of the folk? Was it wo-man?"

Into Thru's head popped a memory of Simona. Wo-man was like a mor, but perhaps a little heavier and taller. Both were blessed with wide hips for mothering the young and breasts for feeding them mother's milk.

"But the High Men did not use wo-man to be mother to the new folk. By their magic they were able to bring forth the folk from bowls of the purest glass. They brought us up, but they used no mother's womb, just as the Book says."

There were appreciative murmurs along the benches. It was good to know that the words in the Book were true, for it was the central pillar of most people's beliefs.

From bowls of purest glass...

"First they brought forth the brilby and the brilba. And they are called the longest lived of the folk."

With teeth of shining steel.

Some heads turned to look at the brilba Questioner.

"Then they brought forth the kobs and kobi. And it is said by some that there is too much spirit of the antelope in the kob and kobi, but they remain among us, the fewest of our folk, but much loved by all the others."

Once again heads turned to a single kob in the audience, and the big, brown-furred fellow blinked bashfully at the attention.

"Finally they made the mots and mors, and they went forth to populate the Land."

The mots nodded vigorously, for they were the humble farmers of the polder and the center piece of the society of the Land.

"But you have said nothing about the chooks," said the brilba.

"Correct, for little is known now about when chooks were first made. Some Assenzi claim that chooks existed before the Assenzi themselves were given life. One Assenzi, Histegrud, says that the magic that made the chooks was very very old and that chooks had been in existence for a long time before the great Hargeevi began his work. His magic took what had been done with chooks and extended it."

"Then it is true. The Book is wrong."

"It may be so. The Book was written by unknown authors. Their understanding of the ancient times may have been limited. Cutshamakim writes that he does not know whether chooks were truly the first, or the last. Chooks may have existed when the Assenzi first awoke, but the Assenzi are vague about that time. They worked in isolation upon the chores given them by the High Men; they knew little about the outside world."

Another Questioner had a hand raised, a mot in the third row.

"Whether chooks came first or not, if we can believe the Book and your evidence, then we were made by the Hand of Man. My question is why do we not worship Man instead of the Spirit?"

That produced another stir. Here was a truly heretical thought. Thru felt the fur stand up on his shoulders as he considered it.

Sulp was still ready to answer, though Maskop had risen to his feet, too.

"For that we can look to the Book. For the true face of ancient Man was not that of the High Men of Highnoth. It was Man the Cruel. And when we see the face of the men of Shasht, what do we see?"

"Man the Cruel" rose up in a whisper from the crowd.

"Yes, Man the Cruel with the whip and the knife and the tongs to castrate us. So although we were raised up by Man, we do not worship Man. We acknowledge the role of the High Men, but we know the truth of Man."

Now Maskop spoke. "In addition, we must remember that the Spirit was here before Man, before anything. The Spirit transcends all of the material world. In a sense, we might say that the Spirit is the world, for it informs it all with its ultimate purpose, which is hidden from us who labor within it."

Thru nodded at that. This was the wisdom of the Assenzi. Beneath the surface of the world and its creatures, there beat a hidden pulse of spiritual energy. It could only be sensed during the meditative state, and even then it was difficult to understand. Indeed it was only by giving up on understanding and accepting the chaos of the void that true understanding could come.

"So, although our Origin came from the Hand of the High Men, we must see that as an aberration in the general rule of Man. The High Men were not governed by the laws of Man the Cruel; they came at the end of Man's time. Much of what Man had wrought had already come to pass, for as it says in the Book:

"For poison in the waters had become poison in their seed..."

"The High Men were keepers of a dying flame and sought only to preserve that flame, the light of civilization here upon Arna. And so they made us."

Like everyone else Thru felt a sense of relief at hearing these words. Differentiating between Man the Cruel and the High Men was vital for them all in an age when Man the Cruel threatened once again.

Later, after the meeting, Thru and Nuza walked arm in arm along the avenue in the outer city. Thru had to admit that his imagination had been fired by the strange talk in the Questioners. Nuza had been aroused, too. An old concern of hers had reawoken.

"I think of this sometimes, and I can't quite believe it all happened. That there was a time when we did not exist. When only Man the Cruel lived and everything else suffered. I thought once that we could not think of it, because it was a shadow time, before our own memory. But now I know that it is just that I find it very uncomfortable to think like that."

"I know that feeling. It frightens me. But the Assenzi taught me that the world is older than Man. The reign of Man the Cruel was but a single night compared to the many years the world has existed."

"Did the Spirit exist then, before Man?"

"Yes, the Spirit has existed since the beginning of the universe. The Spirit is the universe, in a sense." Thru felt this with such conviction he had no doubts this was the truth.

"I do not understand that, either, exactly. How can the Spirit be both something of itself and at the same time part of everything else?"

"It is not easy to understand, it is something that you come to know when you follow the path of the Assenzi and learn their teachings."

"Then, I have more to learn." Nuza hugged his arm.

Rain began to spatter down while they were standing on the bridge over the Sulo with the spires of the palace looming to the west. The surface of the river reflected a million rain drops in a few moments.

"Uh-oh, this is going to be hard rain," said Nuza.

They ran for shelter.

On the south side of the bridge, they found a cookshop open selling pies and hammelbem cakes to a hungry throng.

They took seats at a table by the window. The rain was hammering down now, drumming on the tiled roofs. The gutters on the front of the cookshop were spilling into the street. There were no glass windows on this simple establishment, and the shutters were open so the wet smell of the rain in the street came in.

They ordered toasted hammelbem cakes and bushpod pies. With the cakes came a bowl of hot melted butter and a pot of tea. The pies were sweet and scented with cinnamon.

They ate quietly, listening to the violent rainfall, enjoying each other's company.

"We disposed of the past," said Nuza holding his hand. "What of the future?" Thru's eyebrows flashed as he shrugged. Dark clouds hung across the future.

"Well, I must go to Glais day after tomorrow. After that I don't know. Will the enemy attack again this year? We can't be sure, but we must be ready in case he does. We have no way to bring him to battle, we must wait for his attacks."

"Oh, I wish this war was over and we could have our real lives back."

Thru nodded as he finished his tea.

"I feel that way, too. Sometimes it seems like that life will never come back. That this will be the way we will live forever now. Always at war."

"Let us talk of other things," she said. Their time together was short, and she wanted to make it as pleasant as possible.

The rain had ended, and they walked back through the darkening streets of the city while lamplighters plied their rounds, lighting the large lamps on street corners that lit up most of the inner city after dark until the midnight hour. On Whiteflower Lane they caught the scent of summer flowers and heard the croaking of frogs in the pond. The small white houses glowed softly. For the moment they were left with their love and the light of the moon.

Another long day in the camp of Sixth Brigade was coming to its end. Thru signed off on the last few bits of paperwork and noticed that the afternoon was verging into the warm evening of late summer. Thru got to his feet, stretched, pulled on the lightweight deep blue jacket that was the new summer-weight uniform, and made sure his red pin was clearly visible. He pulled on his blue cap, preferring it to the big hats worn by many other rank officers. The single glossy red button on the front was all the evidence of rank he needed.

He took a turn around the camp, observing the few formations of soldiers who were still drilling on the parade square. Sergeant Burrum bellowed orders in the near distance. Thru went the other way, walking down a lane between tents, acknowledging salutes from officers as he went. The mots, brilbies, and kobs of the brigade sat out around the tents; a few campfires burned to brew up tea. The camp had a good feeling to it. These last few weeks had seen a steady improvement in training levels. They'd recovered quickly from the mauling they'd taken at the Sow's Head and gone on from there.

He reached the orchard. Tents were set up among the trees. Thru strolled through the area looking for the plum trees that the Alvil claimed had been "mutilated." Down by the water's edge he found a stand of plums. Two tents were set up beneath them. No damage was visible, but there was a downed tree limb beside one of the tents. He strolled closer and discovered that it was oak, its few remaining leaves withered and brown.

He made a mental note to ask Major Ilb to investigate. Someone had probably found the wood out in the forest and dragged it back here for the fire. But he wanted to be sure it hadn't been cut from any tree of the Alvil's. He turned at the edge of the orchards. Tents in more or less orderly lines were all he could see. Trees seemed undamaged. Typical. The Alvil had probably seen that oak branch pulled up by the tents and gone on to her own wild conclusions.

Back in the main part of the camp, he quickened his pace. After getting something to eat, he planned to write a letter to Nuza. Writing to her always improved his mood, and he gave thanks to the Spirit that she was part of his life.

Then a sudden shout interrupted his thoughts. Mots nearby pointed up, and he caught a flash in the golden light of a white pigeon, homing on the tower in the center of the village.

"Messenger bird!" was the word flashed around the camp. Thru watched it go on, over the trees, heading for the constable's tower.

Back at his command post Thru found Sergeant Burrum drinking a mug of cool tea.

"You heard?"

"Yes, sir. We're about to get some news. I expect everyone in camp knows that a pigeon went over."

Thru nodded. A pigeon meant news from Sulmo, or the coast. A pigeon meant war. Nor did they have long to wait before a young mot came running up, out of breath, having sprinted all the way from the constable's office. Thru broke the seal, read the contents, and turned to Ilb.

"The enemy has landed in force on the shore of Chenisee, near Farnem. We're to rendezvous with the Eighth Brigade at Telsher. The Meld is leaving Sulmo with four brigades. He marches toward the village of Chillum."

"Maps," said Thru. "What have we got of Chenisee? Where is Farnem, exactly?"

"There are good maps of the entire county, sir." Ilb motioned to the map rack. "Good, we'll take a look at them right away. Get orders out to every unit commander. I want everything ready to move at first light. Everyone should eat a hearty supper and get some sleep. Tomorrow we march."

"Right, sir."

"And what are the chances of sending a bird down to the coast tonight? I want Grys Glaine to move the twelfth regiment up to the Chenisee Gap at first light as well. He can't get there before us, but he can be close behind. I'd like for the entire brigade to be in one place by the time we reach Telsher. Understood?"

"Sir," snapped Major Ilb.

The regiments were filled with seasoned soldiers now. The next day they kept up a swift pace, and the columns left dust trails through the Chenisee Gap. The supply train was left far behind, plodding along at the pace of the oxen.