“And then?”
“And then we begin to sing the praises of war,” said Thu-Kimnibol. “The virtues of carrying the attack to our foe, making the world safe for the People. War against the hjjks! Our only salvation! A war which you and I, cousin, must plan very carefully before I leave here. And then I’ll go back to Dawinno and tell them that Salaman’s our loyal ally, that he’s waiting for us to join him in this holy endeavor, that our two cities must stand together against the bugs. After that, we simply need to arrange to start the war. Almost any sort of small incident ought to do it. What do you think, cousin? Isn’t this new religion of hjjk-worship precisely the thing we’ve been waiting for?”
Salaman nodded. Then he began to laugh.
The boy Tikharein Tourb touched the shining Nest-guardian talisman that hung around his neck and said, “If only it would show us the Queen, Chhia Kreun! Maybe we could see Her with it, eh? If we used the talisman and our second sight at the same time, let’s say.”
“She’s too far away,” the girl said. “Second sight won’t reach that far.”
“Well, we could try twining, then.”
Chhia Kreun stifled a giggle. “What do you know about twining, Tikharein Tourb?”
“Enough. I’m nine, you know.”
“Thirteen’s the twining-age.”
“You’re only eleven. But you act as though you know it all.”
She groomed herself elaborately, plucking and smoothing. “I know more than you, at any rate.”
“About twining, maybe. But not Nest-truth. Anyway, this isn’t getting us anywhere. Look, what if I were to hold the Nest-guardian in my sensing-organ, and you and I were to twine, right here in front of the altar—”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am! I am!”
“It’s forbidden to twine until we’re old enough. Besides, we don’t know how. We may think we do, but until the offering-woman shows us, we—”
“Do you want to see the Queen or don’t you?” Tikharein Tourb asked scornfully.
“Of course I do.”
“Then what do you care about what’s forbidden, or what the offering-woman is supposed to show us? The offering-woman doesn’t mean anything to us. That’s the old way. Nest-truth is everything. And this thing on my chest is the repository of Nest-truth.” He ran his hand over the bit of hjjk-shell as if caressing it. “Kundalimon said so himself. If I hold it, and we twine — and maybe everyone else stands by us, chanting the chants at the same time — maybe then the Queen will appear to us, or we’ll appear to the Queen—”
“Do you think so, really?”
“It’s worth trying, isn’t it?”
“But — twining—”
“All right,” he said. “I’ll find someone who’s old enough to teach me how to twine. And then she and I will see the Queen together, and you can do as you please.”
He turned as if to go. Chhia Kreun made a little gasping sound, and reached out toward him.
“No — wait — wait, Tikharein Tourb—”
6
Difficult Weather
Thu-Kimnibol will leave for Dawinno in another day or two, or at most perhaps three, as soon as his caravan is ready to take to the road. This is the night of the farewell dinner Salaman is giving in his honor. The black wind is howling tonight. Hail rattles against the windowpanes. There was hail last night too, hard little pellets that cut and stung and burned like bits of solidified flame. Tonight it’s even wilder. And there’s a darkness to the east that hints at the possibility of snow to follow.
The season is changing. Darkness comes early now. The first storms of the oncoming winter are beginning to blow through the City of Yissou.
For Salaman the coming of the hard weather meant the beginning of a difficult time. It was like that every year, but every year it was a little worse. He was losing resilience as he aged. His spirit, melancholy by nature, darkened even more when the black winds returned, and more and more year by year. This was likely to be the worst ever. Overnight, with the change, the last shred of his patience had fled: he was all irascibility now. The brunt fell on those who were closest to him, and they walked warily. Everything and everyone annoyed him: even Thu-Kimnibol, his honored guest, his dear and cherished friend, who tonight had the seat of grace that he had coveted long ago, beside the king, above Chham, above Athimin.
“By the Destroyer, it cuts right through the wall, that wind!” Thu-Kimnibol said, as they were serving the roasted thandibar haunch. “I’d forgotten about the winter weather here!”
Salaman, red-eyed from too much wine, poured himself another glass. Thu-Kimnibol’s comment had come like a slap in the face. The king swung around and glared at him.
“You miss your easy Dawinno climate, do you? There’s no winter there at all, is there? Well, you’ll be home soon enough.”
Winter, true winter, was something the tribe had not had to cope with in the Vengiboneeza days. That city nestled between mountains and sea in a zone of privileged climate, where the cool season was short and mild, bringing nothing worse than steady rains for a time. And the City of Dawinno, far to the south, lay becalmed in soft year-round warmth. But King Salaman’s city, though sheltered by its location within the ancient death-star crater, was exposed on its eastern side to the harsh winds that blew at year’s end from the heart of the continent, where the Long Winter had not yet entirely relinquished its grip.
Yissou’s winter was brief, but it could be savage. When the black winds blew, trees were stripped of their leaves and the soil became dry and barren. Crops perished and livestock turned gaunt. Sometimes, not often, there was snow. The souls of the city’s men and women grew crabbed and sour in that time of wind. They lost all generosity, and anger was generaclass="underline" there were bitter disputes between friends and mates, even violence. Though it lasted only a matter of weeks, everyone prayed constantly for the season to end, as in generations now forgotten their ancestors had prayed for an end to the Long Winter.
“It’ll grow worse,” said Salaman’s mate Thaloin in bleak gloomy tones. “You’re lucky you’re leaving, prince. It’ll seem like the Long Winter come again here, in another few weeks.”
“Be quiet,” Salaman said brusquely to her.
“My lord, you know it’s true! This is only the first of it, this wind!”
“Will you be quiet, woman?” Salaman cried. He slapped the flat of his hand against the bare wood of the table so fiercely that glasses and tableware jumped, and some wine was spilled.
To Thu-Kimnibol he said, “She exaggerates. Now that she’s growing old the cold weather bothers her bones and makes her cranky. But I tell you, we have only a few weeks of trying winds here, and sometimes a little snow, and then it’s spring.” He laughed harshly, a heavy, forced laugh that cost him some aching of the ribs. “I enjoy the shifting of the seasons. I find it refreshing. I wouldn’t want to live where the weather is unvaryingly fine. But of course I regret it if you’ve been caused any small discomfort since it turned colder, cousin.”
“Not at all, cousin. I can abide some chilling.”
“Our little winter isn’t really all that harsh. Eh? Eh?” The king glanced around the table. Chham nodded, and Athimin, and then all the others, even Thaloin. They knew his moods all too well. The wind gusted wildly again. Salaman felt his temper rising another notch. He struggled to contain it.