“Listen, I know you’ve had a shock and I’m sorry for your loss. I truly am.” His glance went to Alake, sobbing in her mother’s arms. “But you don’t seem to understand that important things are happening, things that involve you and your people. You’ve got to take action now!
“For instance,” he said, hoping to catch their attention, “did you know that the seamoon you’re planning to inhabit is already inhabited?” Dumaka and Delu frowned, grew attentive. The dwarves halted, turned around. Even Eliason lifted his head, a vague flicker of disquiet in the elf’s sunken eyes.
“The dolphins said nothing of this,” returned Dumaka sternly. “How do you know? Who told you?”
“The dragon-snakes. Look, I know you don’t trust them. I don’t blame you. But I have reason to believe that this time they’re telling the truth.”
“Who is living there? Those horrible creatures?” Yngvar guessed, scowling.
“No, not the dragon-snakes, if that’s who you mean. They have their own seamoon. They don’t need or want another. The people living on the moon in which you’re interested are not dwarven, elven, or human. I don’t think you’ve ever heard of them. They call themselves Sartan.”
Haplo glanced around quickly, saw no signs of recognition, and breathed an inward sigh of relief. That made things easier. It might have been difficult, had these people any distant memories of the Sartan, to get them to move against those they must consider gods. He hurried on, while he had their attention.
“The dragon-snakes have promised to rebuild your ships, using their own magic. They’re sorry for what they did. It was all a misunderstanding. I’ll explain it to you when there’s more time.
“For now, I’ll tell you this much, so you can start making plans. The seamoon is everything the dolphins told you. Actually, it isn’t really a seamoon. It’s a permanent structure. And it’s huge, big enough for all your people to live on together. And you’ll be able to live in this realm for generations, without having to worry about building more sun-chasers.”
Dumaka looked dubious. “You are certain you are discussing . . . what was the name?”
“Surunan,” supplied his wife.
“Yes, Surunan.”
“Yeah, that’s the place,” said Haplo, not wanting to have to speak the Sartan name. “It’s the only place anywhere near the seasun. It’s there ... or nowhere for your people, I’m afraid.”
“Yes,” said Eliason softly, “we had ourselves come to that determination.”
“Which brings us to our problem. What the dolphins didn’t tell you was that . . . this place ... is now the home of these Sartan. To give the dolphins credit, I don’t think they knew. The Sartan haven’t lived there very long.” Well, they had, but now wasn’t the time to go into all that. The mensch exchanged glances. They seemed dazed, unable to cope with this new situation.
“But who are these Sartan? You speak of them as if they were horrible creatures, who will turn us away,” said Delu. “How do you know they won’t be glad to have us live on their realm?”
“And how many of these Sartan are there?” asked her husband.
“There aren’t many, a thousand or so. They inhabit one city in the realm. The rest of the land is going to waste.”
Yngvar brightened. “Then what do we have to worry about? There’s room for all.”
“I agree with the dwarf. We will make Surunan productive and prosperous.” Haplo shook his head. “Logically, what you say makes sense. And the Sartan should be agreeable to you moving in, but I’m afraid they may not. I know something of these Sartan. According to the dragon-snakes, a long, long time ago, when the seasun was new, your ancestors used to live in this same realm with the Sartan. And then, one day, the Sartan told your ancestors to leave. They put your people in ships and sent them out into the Goodsea, not knowing, not caring, whether your people lived or died. It’s not likely the Sartan will be happy to see you come back again.”
“But, if that’s the only place for us to go, how could they turn us away?” Eliason looked amazed.
“I’m not saying they will,” Haplo said, shrugging. “I’m just saying they might. And you need to think about what you’ll do if they refuse to let you. That’s why you need to meet together, make plans, decisions.” He looked at the mensch expectantly.
They looked at each other.
“I will not go to war,” said the elven king.
“Come now, man!” Yngvar snorted. “No one wants to fight, but if these Sartan prove unreasonable—”
“I will not go to war,” Eliason repeated with maddening calm. Yngvar began to argue. Dumaka attempted to reason.
“The sun will not leave us for many cycles,” said Eliason brokenly. He waved his hand. “I cannot think of such things now—”
“Can’t think about the welfare of your own people!” Grundle, tearstreaks drying on her face, stalked across the pier and came to stand before the elven king, her head about level with his waist.
“Grundle, you should not speak so to your elders,” reprimanded her mother, but she didn’t say it very loudly and her daughter didn’t hear her.
“Sabia was my friend. Every cycle that passes from now to the end of my life, I’ll think of her and miss her. But she was willing to give her life to save her people. It would be a disgrace to her memory if you, her father, couldn’t do as much!”
Eliason stood staring at the dwarf as if he were in a dream and she some strange apparition sprung out of nowhere.
Yngvar, the dwarf king, sighed and tugged at his beard. “My daughter speaks true words, Eliason, even if she does hurl them with all the grace and charm of an ax-thrower. We share your grief, but we also share your responsibility. The lives of our people come first. This man, who has saved our children, is right. We must meet and plan what is to be done, and soon!”
“I agree with Yngvar,” Dumaka spoke up. “Let us hold the meeting on Phondra, fourteen cycles hence. Will that give you time enough to conclude the mourning period?”
“Fourteen cycles!”
Haplo was about to protest. He caught the dwarf’s keen-eyed glance warning him to keep silent, and shut his mouth. Later, he would discover that the elven mourning period—during which no elf related to the deceased by either blood or marriage may conduct any type of business—generally lasted for months, sometimes longer.
“Very well,” said Eliason with a deep sigh. “Fourteen cycles. I will meet you on Phondra.”
The Elmas departed. The Phondrans and Gargans returned to their submersibles, prepared to go back to their respective sea-spheres. Dumaka, prodded by Alake, came up to Haplo.
“You must forgive him, sir, forgive us all if we seem ungrateful to you for what you’ve done. The tears of great joy and terrible grief have drowned all gratitude. You would do honor to my lodge, if you would agree to be our guest.”
“I am the one who would be honored to share your dwelling, Chief,” Haplo answered solemnly, feeling strangely as if he were back in the Labyrinth, talking to the headman of one of the Squatter tribes.
Dumaka said the appropriate words of pleasure and motioned toward his submersible.
“Will Eliason come, do you think?” Haplo asked as they boarded the vessel, the Patryn taking considerable care to avoid stepping in any water.
“Yes, he will come,” Dumaka replied. “He’s very reliable, for an elf.”
“How long has it been since the elves went to war?”
“War?” Dumaka was amused, his teeth flashed white against his dusky skin. “The elves?” He shrugged. “Forever.”
Haplo expected to spend his time on Phondra chafing with impatience, fuming at the forced inaction. He was surprised, after his first day or two, to discover that he was actually, grudgingly, enjoying himself.
Compared to the other worlds in which he’d traveled, Phondra most closely resembled his own. And while Haplo had never supposed he would be homesick for the Labyrinth, life with Dumaka’s tribe brought back memories of some of the few pleasant and restful times in the Patryn’s harsh life—those spent in the camps of the Squatters.[33]
33
The people of the Labyrinth can be divided generally into two groups: the Runners and the Squatters. The Runners are those who, like Haplo, seek to escape the Labyrinth. They travel alone; their lives are restless, short. The Squatters have banded together to form tribes for protection and to provide for the continuance of the race. They are nomadic, but do not move as fast or far as the Runners. Survival, not escape, is their primary goal.