The worst thing of all was that the Mighty People considered this way of life to be the highest possible form of civilization. The old ways, when the family had herded cattle and prized the craftsmanship of their pottery and metalwork and art, were despised. The cattle were all dead, killed either by poison in acts of jealousy or slaughtered because it was too difficult to guard them in the pastures, which had grown rough and wild. The Mighty People had a taboo against entering the forest and relied entirely upon the forest folk they had enslaved for meat, and for most of their supply of fruit and tubers too, for their field strips were poorly maintained, the crops stunted and diseased. More work went into guarding the field strips than into cultivation.
The only thing that united the Captain’s family was a hatred of the neighboring villages. Everyone contributed the labor of their slaves toward defense of the village against other families. The Captain had plans to expand his family’s territory, and he expected Yama to help him. He walked Yama around the boundary of his family’s land, never losing sight of the village, and showed off the network of ditches and ponds which had been built long ago by all the people of the valley to irrigate the land with water from lakes high in the foothills of the Rim Mountains.
“If we can control these, then we can control all the land around us,” the Captain said.
“What would you do with it?”
“Eh, why we would own it, of course.” The Captain gave Yama a crafty look. “That’s the first thing. All things flow from ownership.”
It seemed to Yama that the Mighty People were as much slaves as the bandar yoi inoie—perhaps more so, for the forest folk had been coerced into slavery, but the Mighty People had made themselves slaves of their own free will. By prizing ownership above all else, they were themselves owned by the things they coveted. He remembered how the forest folk had hidden their torcs at the edge of the forest, and thought that he could guess what had happened to the paintings, pottery and metalwork made in the time before the heretics had kindled a Change War here.
The Captain launched into a long diatribe against the neighboring villages. The feud was only ten years old, but it was packed with treachery, ambushes and murder. All this, the Captain swore, would be avenged.
He worked himself into a fit of rage and at one point unslung his rifle and aimed it at various parts of the sky before he clacked his lips together and slung it over his shoulder.
“A fighter like you,” he said, “could profit greatly here.”
“I am only one man.”
It seemed that everywhere Yama went, people wanted him to kill other people. He was sickened by it. “There are plenty of slaves,” the Captain said. “It doesn’t matter if they are killed because we will have the slaves of our enemies. We will make our enemies our slaves.” He clacked his pursed mouth at the thought. He said, “You will be rewarded, of course. Their stores of the old stuff will become mine, and I will let you have some pieces.”
“It is my understanding that the old stuff is worthless.”
“To People like us, of course. But to those less refined, like yourself, it would be a great prize. Even the piles of shit our enemies hoard would be worth something to someone like you.” The Captain did not mean the insult, Yama saw. He believed himself to be the center of the world, and so all other men were naturally his inferiors. He told Yama, “Rare metals, precious stones. As much as your slave can carry. A great prize for perhaps only a little work.”
Spit on his treasure, the Shadow said. Take the rifle and shove it into his mouth and make him beg for his life. Kill him. Kill them all.
It raved on, but its words were feeble sparks. Yama ignored it.
They were walking back toward the thorn-fenced village. Yama was trying to think of some way of refusing the Captain without angering him, but then he saw something that made him change his mind.
The pack of children was quarreling in the shade of the stand of cotton trees. At first Yama thought that they had caught an animal and were tearing it apart, but then he saw that they had killed one of the forest folk and were stripping raw meat from its bones with their teeth. A girl sat apart from the others, gnawing on a double handful of bloody entrails. Three of the smaller children kicked the remains of the severed head about in the dusty grass. The eyes were gone and the skull had been smashed to get at the brains. Nearby, two of the forest folk sat with their arms wrapped around each other, rocking back and forth and keening in sorrow.
The Captain glanced at this and said, “None of the children’s slaves last very long. We make sure they get the runts of the litters. And the old, of course. No sense keeping a slave that’s too old to work, eh?”
Yama had not thought to wonder until now why there were no old men or women amongst the troop of bandar yoi inoie. He controlled his disgust and said, “I must talk with my servant.”
“Don’t take long,” the Captain said. “I want to get back to my compound. It doesn’t pay to leave it in the hands of slaves. A man must look after his wealth himself, or he is not a man and does not deserve it.”
So he and Pandaras were prisoners, Yama thought. He had only suspected it before. He had been a fool.
“I’m glad I’m not stuck with that old goat,” Pandaras said, when Yama found him. “What does he want of us?”
“You saw what happened to the children’s slave.”
“I heard the screaming. Yoi Sendar wouldn’t let me go near.” Pandaras glanced at the chief of the forest folk, who sat listlessly with several of his family in the shade of a big cotton tree. “It is easy to see how it is with these Mighty People. They are each a kingdom to themselves, master. They do not trust anyone, not even their own children. This is a crazy place. I told you we should not have come.”
“We must find the temple, Pandaras.”
“I asked about that, but the forest folk have suddenly lost their tongues. What is wrong with them, master? Why don’t they defend themselves?”
“They are indigens. They know only what they have always known, and cannot imagine anything else. Once upon a time they lived in harmony with the Mighty People, exchanging food hunted in the forest for food grown in this valley, each race enriching the other. But the Mighty People changed.”
“They are evil, master. No people preys on another!”
Yama thought of the Amnan, who had hunted the fisherfolk until his stepfather had put a stop to it. He said, “Certain bloodlines see the indigens as no more than animals. And so here. But I have never seen so wretched a people as the Mighty People. They are not evil, but gripped by a kind of madness.”
“I would call it evil,” Pandaras said. “I suppose we are prisoners here. Yoi Sendar thinks you are an honored guest. He is pleased that he has brought us to this place.”
“The forest folk are used to bringing people here. The Mighty People were once extraordinary artists and artisans, and I expect that in the old days many traders came here. The Mighty People have no interest in trading now, but the forest folk cannot understand that.” Yama explained the Captain’s plans for war against the neighboring villages, and said, “He thinks that I am a cateran.”
“So you are, master. Everyone in the world can see it but you.”
“You are supposed to be my slave, Pandaras. I think it would be a good idea if you acted like it. The Captain has treasure hidden somewhere close by. I think all the Mighty People do.”
Pandaras nodded. “The old stuff is all in one place, according to Yoi Sendar. He was boasting about the riches of this village as if they were his own. I didn’t believe him until now because he wouldn’t tell me where it was.”