Then the words of Namvaac in the Koda Sitarmeda drifted into my mind. It was a time of civil war and endless horrors. Between the weapons and the determination of the warring sides, all that had taken centuries to build had been swept away, leaving starving hoards picking among the rubble for enough food to last another day. In the darkness of a ruin, Namvaac had come upon one of its students, and the student was working a talma of self-death. The jetah took the student’s knife and demanded to know what was going on.
…the student said to Namvaac, "Jetah, the darkness covers all the Universe. It is such an all-powerful evil, I feel so small and helpless within it. Next to this darkness the black of death seems so bright."
Namvaac studied the hooked blade, then handed it back to the student. "Where you are now, child, Tochalla has been before you. It, too, was in darkness. It, too, had a knife. But Tochalla also had talma."
There are an infinite number of paths from the present to the desired future. Talma is both the most efficient path and the discipline for finding the path. Until the infinite number of paths have been exhausted, the Dracs look upon quitting—any kind of quitting—as a character defect.
The short version was what I used to tell Zammis: "Don’t throw dirt on it until it’s dead."
Something Grandpop used to say to wrestle down my projections about what might happen. I thought about the old guy and wished I had known him better. I only spent the one summer when I was eight with him; it took that long for my father to forgive his father for whatever it was and let me visit. The next winter, Grandpop had a stroke and died. When they read his will, Grandpop had left me an envelope. My father brought it home with him. I took the envelope to my room and opened it with trembling fingers. In it was a sheet of paper that contained only seven words: "Now you can throw dirt on it."
I laughed then and I kept the reason why I laughed a secret between me and Grandpop. I smiled at the memory and let it chase away the dark. Zammis was still alive. I was still alive. Talma was still possible.
As we met the sun, the ocean below still dark, Estone Nev sat next to me and asked in English. "Have you slept?"
"A little. How about you?"
"No sleep at all. I was thinking of Jeriba, how thrilled my sibling was when it became pregnant the first time. I used to tell it that, to hear Jeriba, one would think no one had ever been pregnant before." The Drac raised its brow and smiled. "I was an insufferable little… " Nev looked at me and held out a hand. "Gafu."
"Brat," I answered.
"Yes. I was an insufferable little brat. I was jealous, as well. Jeriba was getting so much attention. But nothing I could say or do diminished the joy my sibling was experiencing. When Jeriba miscarried, I thought my sibling would kill itself. I think that’s why it entered the flight denve and went to war. The last communication I had from Jeriba was the news that it had conceived. That was only a few days before the Battle of Fyrine IV." Estone Nev turned its head and faced me. "Did my sibling get to see Zammis before it died!"
"No," I answered in a whisper. "I had to tear Zammis from the womb."
Nev was silent for a long time. When it spoke, it said, "It must have been very hard for you, rearing a Drac child by yourself."
I thought on it for a bit, then shook my head. "No, Nev. It wasn’t hard. It was the most important part, the most fun of my whole life."
The airport was on an island that had two fishing villages and a dock. At the dock we took a sleek high-speed ferry to an even smaller island, Vakudin. The heavily forested island ringed with white sand sat like a jewel in the greenish-blue sea. We had to come much closer before we could see the powered fences, the watch towers, the guards, and the ruvaak, tireless trained guard animals that looked like a cross between a hairy alligator and a nightmare. When we reached land, a guard took us to the visitors' waiting room in the main administrative building, where we were, for all intents and purposes, forgotten. After an hour of this, Gothig’s patience evaporated. It said to Nev and me, "Come, children, it is time to cross the Akkujah."
We wandered hallways for a few minutes until, after turning a corner, we faced the records office. Gothig, with Nev and I backing it up, cornered the clerk of records. The clerk, Toccvo Leint, immediately began running off at the mouth about patient confidentiality, going through proper channels, and such, when Gothig placed its hand on the fellow’s shoulder and asked again. From the expression on the clerk’s face, I assumed it was making a choice between letting us know what we wanted or forgoing the continued use of its shoulder and arm. The clerk decided that it could help us after all.
First, Gothig wanted to know by what lights Zammis was considered insane. Second, it wanted to know by what lights Zammis was considered criminal.
Jetah Toccvo Leint called up the records, studied them, and then told us, "I remember this case. Jeriba Zammis, ever since it was rescued from Fyrine IV, professed to love humans." Toccvo Leint looked at us as though that explained all.
Receiving little but dumbfounded stares in return, the clerk continued. "For that reason, Jeriba Zammis is dangerously insane. Long before the ship that brought it to Draco had landed, Jeriba Zammis had committed several major assaults, according to witnesses, and eventually reached a point where it couldn’t even speak a coherent sentence."
Estone Nev leaned over the clerk. "Let me look at the records, insect." The clerk passed the dot file and a reader to Nev, and, after studying them, Estone Nev looked up at Toccvo Leint and said, "It is obvious that Jeriba Zammis has been, on several occasions, beaten almost to death."
The clerk began waving its arms in embarrassment. "According to the case investigators, Jeriba Zammis’s condition was due to harm it inflicted upon itself, and some injuries incidental to those it attacked defending themselves." As the records clerk said it, it didn’t look as though it believed a word.
I moved forward until I, too, towered over the clerk. "I have a question." The clerk surveyed the three of us and nodded at me.
"I will be pleased to answer it, if I can."
"When Zammis fell into your hands, why wasn’t the Jeriba line notified? Why was it kept a secret?"
The clerk looked away from me as though its answer was beyond my ability to comprehend. Instead, Toccvo Leint appealed to Gothig with its response. "It was kept from you, Jeriba Gothig, to protect you and your line from the terrible scandal. Certainly you understand."
Jerry’s parent looked at the clerk for a bone-chilling moment, and then said in an icy voice, "I do not know where the talma of justice will wind, Toccvo Leint, but depend on the wealth of my line keeping all paths open. For now, have us taken to see Jeriba Zammis."
We entered the outdoor patient pens, feeling sick. All around us, Dracs stared with vacant eyes, or screamed, or foamed at the mouth, or were curled up in a corner somewhere trembling at unseeable terrors. The rather beefy guard took the three of us to a pen on the edge of the compound where the warden-director of the Sa Ashzhab Kovah met us. The warden frowned at me and shook its head at Gothig. "Turn back now, while it is still possible, Jeriba Gothig. Beyond this gate lies nothing but pain and sorrow."
Gothig grabbed the director by the front of its wraps. "Hear me, kizlode: If Jeriba Zammis is within these fences, bring my grandchild; else, I shall bring the might of the Jeriba line down upon your pointed head!"
The director lifted its head, twitched its lips, then nodded. "Very well. Very well, you pompous Kazzmidth! We tried—to protect the Jeriba reputation. We tried! But now you shall see." The director nodded and pursed its lips. "Yes, now you shall see." The director nodded at a guard, and the over-muscled creature opened the gate to the pen and stood aside to allow us to enter.