She tried to imagine what would happen if the Ivieth of the Mnankrei, half of whom must have wandered in from another realm, were ordered to kill the Ivieth of the Kaiel. What would they do? Laugh? Grow red with rage? Gape at such foolishness? Politely ignore the order? Kill Mnankrei? No Ivieth would destroy the bridges and roads of another Ivieth, nor harm the travellers that their Geta-wide clan-vow protected. Noe smiled at a preposterous thought she could not have entertained a few weeks previous — how difficult was conflict when priest had to march against priest, and ethics forbade the killing of more enemies than one could eat!
Oh, those Riethe leaders were spoiled with their bowls of sunfire, their poison gases, and their specialized killer clans; the willingness of farmer to kill farmer, brother to kill brother, sister to kill sister, husband to kill wife, and right hand to stab left! Here we priests have to do it all ourselves! And God’s Wings, on foot!
Karval called rest at a spring near grassy and bramble-filled foothills. Noe collapsed onto the ground beside the rifle wagon. She remembered that Gaet would touch these tools but not use them in his hands, pointed at something. Her coward husband!
She unpacked the topmost of the lethal tools while they rested, loaded it curiously, carefully, and lying prone on the ground, held it against her shoulder. After breathing deeply — twice — she squeezed the metal thumb, immediately forgetting where she had aimed in her surprise. She never saw the pebble strike. Five lead pebbles later, meticulously flung into the hide of an old tree, she felt ready to attack any man who might attack her husband. She was sad she was not going to Soebo with him. She would be stuck on the coast, working with her seagoing relatives, keeping open the sea-leg of the Gathering’s supply line.
They found Joesai camped outside of the village of Tai. He was on a flat hill above the farmlands, teaching one of his fresh creche girls how to catch knives and throw them. Her hair was tied in a bun, her breasts shimmering with sweat and blood from a minor gash on her shoulder. The girl yelled and ran to Noe’s wagons where she emerged waving a rifle in triumph, the hontokae carved into her face distorted by a smile.
Noe hurried her husband to his tent and fed him water, caressing him as she did so, eager for his body. “A bloodthirsty pride of children I have here,” he glowed.
“We must forbid them to be Riethe,” she said. “It is important.”
40
Who shall judge the priests? They are not monitored by our God of the Sky for He passes overhead in silence. The priests rule by the grace of the underclans.
So THE CRONE MOTHER had detected the rebellion Humility felt. The hag’s speech had been a lash of fury. Humility’s thoughts raged. Why must I care why those who die are condemned? I’m young! I don’t have to stay in a hive and think!
Being young had its disadvantages. Youth was subject to the absolute will of the crones. And the crone mother saw fit to drill her on the Four Justices and the Lattice of Evidence and all the rest of it barring even time out for love. She was being readied for something. They always gave you the vessel before they filled it. The vessel was bisqued and then baked to stoneware hardness by the fire of their breathing. Methane-snorting witches!
Humility knew she would be nothing without the Endless Training. There would be no palaces, no mastery of grace, no adoring men, no power, and no pleasure of the hunt and kill. The Training was the price. One even learned to love its rigor. But why the sudden hurry? It was keeping her away from Hoemei!
The hive was gray; the floor of her cell was cold; her woven mat pricked her flesh with broken fibers: all minor tortures compared with the pain she was really suffering. She lay awake imagining the se-Tufi With Saucy Nipples giggling while riding Hoemei’s rod during her stand-in at being the Honey persona. Why do I care? Humility only knew that she desperately wanted to be in the Palace with Hoemei after being away from him only a week.
Would Saucy know to bring a nightslip petal for him to smell? Why am I jealous of my own sister? In all her intricately memorized knowledge of the se-Tufi, there was no taint of jealousy. Did a se-Tufi, who felt jealous, fear her shame so much that she kept the emotion a secret from all her sisters?
Once Humility had, on orders, smothered a Lineless Liethe for jealousy. The girl had slapped her lover’s wife. It had been somber to feast upon such loveliness. Weeks later there was nothing left of the beautiful body but the warm buskins worn by the crone mother. Jealousy was a foul emotion, lethal to the cause of the Liethe. The penalty was always death.
Dawn of the high day brought an early rising and a summons by the se-Tufi hag. They shared a bun and honey.
“Don’t you ever relax?” asked Humility, trying to be offhand.
“When I travel.” A faraway look came into ancient eyes. “But I’m too old for the road. I shall die here in Kaiel-hontokae for my Feast. Keep a fingerbone for yourself. I have a special place for me in your belly. I envy you; you still have much journeying in front of you.”
Humility was quick to perceive that the reference to the road was not idle gossip. Her heart caught. “Are you telling me that I’ll be travelling for you?”
The hag grinned. “I have been training you to be my ambassador to Soebo at the Crone’s Court. In Soebo you will see how marvelously the Lattice of Evidence sifts for crime. You will know that I have taught you well.”
“But I don’t want to go to Soebo!” Humility cried.
“Ah! You’ve changed.” The old woman first chuckled, then sighed. “You must go. Serious scandal is afoot. The Liethe watch all Gatherings. We participate in our own way. You will know what to do when you get there. Your youth is over. You are ready to decide for yourself who must die. Do not be impulsive. Remember always that you are acting for me and that I shall judge you. You leave tonight.”
“Shall I not see Hoemei again?”
“No.”
Only the White Mind seared away her tears. She bowed to duty. She bowed her head to the floor. She swore allegiance to mother and hive and clan.
And cheated. Saucy Nipples was her friend and sister. They arranged a brief switching tryst so that she might say goodbye to Hoemei who would never even know that she had left. She was crazy with excitement. She bathed twice and broke flower petals upon her skin. She read the love poems of the Sexing Chant to prepare her mind.
Hoemei was tired but she did not mind. She hugged him and enjoyed the caress, not clinging too long, for to him Honey had only been away for sun-heights. He was tired so she fed him; he was tired so she undressed him and laid him upon his back while she massaged the plowings of his body; let him lie comfortably while she mounted him to feed him the pleasure of her hips. “You’re the love of my life,” she said, squeezing him with her lower self.
He only laughed because Liethe always spoke thusly to priests.
“Hoemei!” came a whisper at his door, a woman’s voice, hurried, frightened, excited.
He held his Honey to keep her from moving. “Yes? Who is it?”