Enheduanna considered this. “How very odd.”
But Asach’s dodges were insufficient. Laurel had grasped the undertones of this medicalized conversation. This time, her response was more angry than frightened. “What are you?” she snapped, marching toward Asach. “Are you a man, or a woman? I thought you were—”
Now, Enheduanna interrupted, with a tone that had finally mastered the quizzical. “This one is like us. This one is complete. You do not find this acceptable?’
Laurel fumed, with an anger Asach knew all too well. The deceived one. The betrayed one. Although there had been betrayal of nothing, save the undiscussed presumptions of another. Asach answered with practiced, weary patience. “It’s probably best if you just stick with whatever you’ve presumed all along. That usually works out best. Stay in your own comfort zone. And when my actions—when I—don’t quite match up to your presumptions—which I won’t, always, because I can’t—just remember, it’s not intentional. It’s not a judgment. It’s just different.”
Enheduanna comprehended this with amazement. Moties could not shake their heads, but somehow the gesture was conveyed by voice. “We could not have survived in this way. We are too few. Too widely disbursed. Too hunted. Especially the Masters.”
Laurel plunked back down onto the couch. “Tell me.” she said woodenly. “Tell me how you do it.”
Across the gulf of species, language, age, and experience, Enheduanna could not and did not understand what ran through Laurel’s head. Surely the actual mechanics of reproduction could not possibly be so upsetting. In Enheduanna’s experience, only a threat to the ar could be this upsetting. Enheduanna understood what every Master did: Enheduanna understood the ar. Ar was at the center and heart and soul of anything. The ar of the land; the ar of the people; the ar of the lines. So Enheduanna sought to explain, at the highest possible level, the role of ar and reproductive mechanics in Sargon’s House.
“We Masters are fashioned from All. All are in us. That is how we can Speak with the Voice to All. We can mate, Master to Master, but when We do, we cannot know, for certain, what will result. We risk the false Master: a Keeper, who remains ever-sterile. He may nurture our storehouses, administer our cattle, but cannot Speak and so cannot defend the ar. A Keeper will live long, but over time his ar will dwindle, and his name will be blown back to the dust whence it came. Masters always risk losing the Voice. We may bear one who speaks, but with a Voice for only the few. And we risk anathema: the four-armed ones. The incomplete ones. The ones like you humans: half-ones, one thing, or another, male, or female, but never whole. The ones with no ar.
“To guarantee continuity, a Master must make the Royal Marriage. Carry all in them. Bring forth children. But when they do this, it is their last. The Royal Marriage is a marriage with eternity. It can only be made once. A Master must always know when to make get, or try to make children. Too early, or too often, and they must divide their ar; splinter their ar, or sell their own as cattle—as Vermin must do. Too late, and the Marriage will fail.
“But only very, very rarely does even the Royal Marriage make a Great Master. They know that they have succeeded if there is only one. Only one child. If it is to be a Great Master, all the children they carry will be merged into one, and they will bear that one. But the bearing will exhaust them. The bearing of all, requires all. They will be as a Runner, at the end of a run. No Doctor can save them then, nor would try. But that child will be reared by all, and thus will Speak to All.
Asach pondered this. “So, this Royal Marriage, is made—where?”
“With All, before all.”
“In public.”
“Yes, it must be.”
“And with—all what? All who?”
“All castes. The best from all castes. Farmers. Warriors. Miners. And every Master line.”
“But how do they control this?”
“They control who receives the darts. Both partners inject darts before they exchange sperm. Both partners carry eggs. The darts determine which will carry the get to term. If one only receives them, that one will bear the get or children.”
“How does a Master control who receives the darts?”
“They prepare the day before. They prepare by ejecting all of their own. Any get will be raised to staff the new household. Those sent to make the Marriage must prepare as well. Eat properly. Build and retain their darts.”
“But this means the Great Master would receive darts in the—hundreds?”
“At least. Perhaps thousands.”
“But that is impossible. Physically.”
“Some do not survive.”
“But those that do?”
“Carry every line. Perhaps. Some lines may fail. But even if the Great Master is alone, many lines will not. If the ar is poor.”
“If the ar is poor, the Great Master will bear many children.”
“No. The Master will bear many get. Many castes.”
Asach thought back to Swenson’s report. “So, when Great Masters are driven from their ar?”
“They make the Royal Marriage before they go, and leave the rest behind to defend their retreat. They flee, and bear their get where it is safe to begin a new colony. This is how my ancestors came to Mesolimeris. Sargon’s ancestors.”
“But if the ar is rich?”
“Then they may have a true child. A Great Master, born to a Great Master. A Great Master, who also carries All, was raised by All, and Speaks with the Voice of All.”
“Like you.”
“No, not like me. I am only Sargon’s child. A Master, yes, who Speaks to the Household. But not a Great Master. Sargon is the first in a very long time. This is why Sargon has no family. This is why Sargon was named Protector. Sargon Speaks to All. All Cities, all Houses, all Lines. Sargon commands the Master’s Grip. Sargon is Protector of the ar of Mesolimeris. The ar of All.”
“And beyond Mesolimeris?’
“Beyond Mesolimeris lies fallow. Beyond that is the sea.”
They broke off at a quiet sob from Laurel. She sat on the floor, hugging her knees, rocking slightly. She coughed once. “Sorry.” She choked on her own quavering voice. Cleared her throat. “Sorry.”
They waited.
“It’s just that—it must have been horrible. Horrible. They came, they plowed your fields, and all your—people—were left to be shot, gassed, poisoned. And then your—Great Masters—had to cross The Barrens, somehow, all alone, to come here, and start all over.”
Enheduanna made the sign for great shame and sorrow. “Yes. It is The Great Lament. Beyond The Barrens were our best and richest colonies. Many lines, all gone. ”
“But don’t you see,” she cried, “that’s our story too. The Great Weep. Driven from New Scotland. Driven from New Ireland. Driven from Maxroy’s Purchase. Driven from Saint George. Driven out from Bonneville, into The Barrens. Driven from our homes, then our lands, and all by them.” Her eyes flashed. “By the vermin. And now they’ve come again.” She climbed to her knees, hands clasped, and addressed a plea, not to Asach, but to Enheduanna. “I beg you. We have helped you! We defended this land so that you could return. Me. My family. Our lines. Now please, help us! Tell Archangel Sargon to help us drive them out forever!”