"The Keeper has chosen you. He recognized you in childhood and prepared you for your role in life. No one has been born before you among the Nafari with such intelligence, such wisdom, such power."
Akma laughed, trying to deflect such obvious flattery. "Is that why you treat my ideas with such respect?"
"Nor has there been anyone with such sensitivity. When you were little, it was turned to compassion. The blows that fell on Luet hurt you more than those than fell on you. You felt the pain of everyone around you, all the people. But along with the sensitivity came pride. You had to be the one to save the others, didn't you? That's the crime that you can't forgive us for. That it was your mother and not you who faced down Didul that day in the fields. That it was I, not you, who taught them, who won them over. Everything you longed for happened-our people were saved, the torment stopped. The one thing you couldn't bear, though, was that you felt you had nothing to do with saving them. And that's what your dream of war is all about. Even though the people have already been saved, you can't rest until you lead an army to redeem them."
Mother spoke up now, her voice thick with emotion. "Don't you know that it was your courage that sustained us all?"
Akma shook his head. It was almost unbearable, the embarrassment of listening to their pathetic attempts at trying to get him to see things their twisted way. Why were they doing this to themselves? To call him intelligent, and then not realize he's clever enough to see through their stories.
Father went on. "The Keeper is watching you, to see what you'll do. The moment of choice will come to you. You'll have all the information you need to make your choice."
"I've made my choices," said Akma.
"You haven't even been given the choice yet, Akma. You'll know when it comes. On the one hand will be the plan of the Keeper-to create a people of peace, who celebrate the differences between people of earth and sky and all that is between. On the other hand will be your pride, and the pride of all humans, the ugliest side of us, the thing that makes grown men tear holes in the wings of young angels. That pride in you makes you reject the Keeper because the Keeper rejected you, so that you pretend not to believe in him. Your pride requires war and death, demands that because a few diggers beat you and your people when you were a child, all diggers must be driven from their homes. If you choose that pride, if you choose destruction, if you reject the Keeper, then the Keeper will regard this experiment as a failure. The way the Rasulum failed before us. And we will end up like the Rasulum. Do you understand me, Akma?"
"I understand you. I believe none of it, but I understand you."
"Good," said Father. "Because I also understand you."
Akma laughed derisively. "Good! Then you can tell me which way I'll choose and save me the trouble!"
"When you are at the point of despair, my son, when you see destruction as the only desirable choice, then remember this: The Keeper loves us. Loves us all. Values each life, each mind, each heart. All are precious to him. Even yours."
"How kind of him."
"His love for you is the one constant, Akma. He knows that you have believed in him all along. He knows that you have rebelled against him because you thought you knew how to shape this world more wisely than he. He knows that you have lied to everyone, over and over again, including yourself, especially yourself-and I tell you again that even knowing all of this, if you will only turn to him, he will bring you back."
"And if I don't, then the Keeper will wipe out everybody, is that it?" asked Akma.
"He will withdraw his protection, and we will then be free to destroy ourselves."
Akma laughed again. "And this is the being that you tell me is filled with love?"
Father nodded. "Yes, Akma. So much love that he will let us choose for ourselves. Even if we choose our own destruction and break his heart."
"And you saw all this in a dream?" asked Akma.
"I saw you at the bottom of a hole, so deep that no light reached there. I saw you weeping, crying out in agony, begging the Keeper of Earth to blot you out, to destroy you, because it would be better to die than to live with your shame. I thought, Yes, that is how much pride Akma has, that he would rather die than be ashamed. But beside you in that dark hole, Akma, I saw the Keeper of Earth. Or rather heard him, saying, Give me your hand, Akma. I'm holding out my hand to lift you out of this place. Take my hand. But you were wailing so loud that you couldn't hear him."
"I have bad dreams, too, Father," said Akma. "Try eating your supper earlier, so your food can fully digest before you go to bed."
The silence around the table sounded like triumph to Akma.
Motiak looked at Father, who nodded once. Mother burst into tears. "I love you, Akma," she said.
"I love you too, Mother," he answered. And to Motiak he said, "And you, sir, I honor and obey as my king. Command me to be silent and I will say nothing; I only ask that you also command my father to be silent. But if you let him speak, let me speak."
"That's what the decree says," Motiak answered mildly. "No state religion. Complete freedom in matters of belief. Freedom to form assemblies of believers. The leaders of the assemblies chosen however they see fit. No high priest appointed by the king. And a strict ban on persecuting anyone because of their beliefs. So ... your father tells me that we've accomplished all that he hoped for here. You can go now."
Akma felt victory glowing in him like a summer sunrise, warm and sweet. "Thank you, sir." He turned and started to leave.
As he reached the door, Motiak said, "By the way, you and my sons are banned from my house. As long as you are not among the Kept, none of you will see my face again until you look at my dead body." His voice was mild and even, but the words sturfg.
"I'm sorry that that's your decision," said Akma. Then, as an afterthought, he asked, "What will happen to Bego?"
He saw Bego look to him with mournful eyes.
"That," said Motiak, "is really none of your business."
Akma left then, closing the door behind him. He walked briskly back toward the library, where Aronha and Mon, Ominer and Khimin were waiting. Their banishment from the house would sting, of course. But Akma knew he could easily turn their dismay into a fresh resolve. Tonight would be triumphant. The beginning of the end for all this foolishness of using dreams to make decisions for a kingdom. And, more important, the beginning of justice throughout the gor-naya.
There will be peace and freedom, when all is done, thought Akma. And they will remember that I was the one who made them safe. And not just safe while I live to lead them in war, but safe forever because their enemies will be utterly destroyed. What has the mythical Keeper ever done to compare with that?
Shedemei arrived back in Darakemba that day, specifically so she could attend Akma's first assembly that night. She already knew from what others had told her-with the Oversoul filling in gaps in her knowledge-pretty much what Akma and the sons of Motiak would be saying and what it would mean. But she had come to Earth to live for a while in society, hadn't she? So she had to experience the great events, even if the thought of what they implied about the nature of people made her faintly ill. Therefore she attended, bringing along a few of her students and a couple of faculty members. Voozhum wanted to come, but Shedemei had to counsel her against it. "There'll be many there who persecuted the Kept," she said. "They hate earth people, and we can't be sure we could protect you. I won't let any diggers come with us tonight."
"Oh, I misunderstood," said Voozhum. "I heard it was going to be Edhadeya's brothers speaking. They were always very good boys, very kind to me." Shedemei didn't have the heart to explain to Voozhum how much those boys had changed. Voozhum didn't have to keep up on current events. Her subject matter was the ancient traditions of the earth people, and she could afford to miss tonight's speeches.