“Perhaps she can, perhaps. But I know that I can and I will.” Vaintè drew her thumb down between her eyes in a swift gesture. “I am as two. Now that health has returned the hatred that filled me so fully has grown smaller — but still remains firm. A hard ball of hatred that I can feel within me. Stallan might be able to crush the ustuzou. But it is I who must do it in order to destroy this rock of hatred inside my body. When they are all dead, when the creature I raised up and nurtured is dead, only then will this rock dissolve and vanish. Then I shall be whole and ready to sit at your side and do as I am bid. But this other must I do first.”
Malsas‹ signed reluctant agreement. “I need you with me, but not when you are driven like this. Crush the ustuzou and crush the rock within. There is still the fullness of time ahead for Alpèasak.”
Vaintè signed her thanks and appreciation. “We gather our strength now and will be ready to attack them as soon as the weather warms in the north. The cold that drove us from Inegban* drives them south as well. But here the winter chill is our ally. The ustuzou must hunt now where we can reach them easily; they are watched. When the proper time comes they will die. We will sweep over them, then move north to strike the others. We will do this over and over, strike them again and again, until they are all dead.”
“You will not use the boats? You spoke of attacking across the land instead?”
“They will expect us on the water. They do not know that we now have the uruktop and some trakast as well. It was Vanalpè who knew of these creatures, who traveled to Entoban*, to the far city of Mesekei , distant from the ocean, where creatures like these are used. She told them of our need, of the ustuzou who threaten, and was given the strongest breeding stock. The uruktop grow to maturity in less than a year. The young are now of a size, strong and ready. The tarakast are larger, take longer to mature, so only a few immature specimens were brought back, but even these will be of great aid. When we attack now we will do so by land. The ustuzou who escaped me now leads them, and it is with the group in the south. I have seen the creature in the pictures. He dies first. The rest will give us no problems when he has gone.”
Vaintè looked into the future, planning her revenge, seeing only cruel death for this one she hated. As her thoughts darkened so did the sky above as a thick cloud drifted before the sun and shadow closed in over them. When the shadow touched their skins, so did an even darker shadow touch their thoughts, something even more troublesome than the ustuzou. It was always this way, for bright as any day begins it always ends in the darkness of the night. There was a darkness in this city of light that always entered their thoughts when they saw what they were seeing now.
A line of Yifene, bound together at the waist, were moving slowly by below. The first in line looked around, then glanced upward, her quiet gaze drawn for some reason to the two figures looking down from above. The distance was not great so she was able to recognize them, recognized Vaintè.
Her hand moved in quick and warm recognition, one efenselè to another, then she was past.
“From my own efenburu,” Vaintè said bitterly. “That is a weight that I can never put down.”
“The fault is not yours,” Malsas‹ said. “There are Daughters of Death in my efenburu as well. This is a disease that eats us all.”
“This is a disease that may have a cure. I dare not speak more of it now; we could be overheard. But I will say that I see a possibility of hope.”
“You are first to me in all things,” Malsas‹ said, sincerity strong in every motion. “Do this, cure this disease, and none will be higher.”
Enge had not meant to acknowledge her efenselè, the gesture had been done unconsciously, yet even as she had done it she had realized her mistake. Vaintè would not have been pleased by it at any time. But now, with the Eistaa present, it might be considered an insult. Enge had not intended it so. It had been a mistake but not a deliberate one.
The line had halted before the barred gate, waiting for it to open, waiting for release. Release into prison, but for all of them it was a freedom. Here they were one, here they were free to believe the truth — and more important — speak the truth.
When she was with the other Daughters of Life, Enge no longer felt bound by her pledge not to speak to other Yilanè of her beliefs — for they all shared the same beliefs here. When Inegban* had come to Alpèasak the city’s unwelcome burden of believers had come as well. There were so many of them that this compound had been grown, walled and guarded so that their intellectual poison did not spread. What they spoke of between themselves, behind these walls, was of no importance to the rulers outside. Just as long as these treasonous thoughts stayed behind the sharp thorns of the wall.
Efenate hurried up to Enge, her slight form quivering with news. “It is Peleinè,” she said. “She is talking to us, answering our questions.”
“I will join you,” Enge said, the stiffness of her body scarcely concealing her troubled thoughts. Ugunenapsa’s teaching had always been clear to her, a beam of sunshine in the dark jungle of worry. But her teachings were not always seen that way by others, were open to interpretations and discussion. That was only right, for Ugunenapsa had taught about the freedom of the power of the mind to understand everything, not just the power of life and death. Although Enge agreed with this freedom, she was still disturbed by some of the interpretations of Ugunenapsa’s words, and of all the interpretations Peleinè’s disturbed her most of all.
Peleinè stood on the raised root of the large tree so that all those gathered around could understand what she was saying. Enge stopped at the edge of the crowd, settling back like the others onto her tail to listen. Peleinè was speaking in the new manner of discussion that had become so popular, using questions and answers to tell them what she wanted them to know.
“Ugunenapsa, the fargi still wet from the sea asked, Ugunenapsa, what makes me different from the squid in the sea? Then Ugunenapsa answered, the difference is, my daughter, that you can know of death, while the squid in the sea know only life.
“But knowing of death, how can I then know of life? The answer that Ugunenapsa then spoke was so simple and so clear that had it been spoken at the egg of time it would still ring clear tomorrow and tomorrow’s tomorrow. The answer was that which sustains us, for knowing of death we know the limits of life, therefore we live when others would die. That is the strength of our belief, that is the belief that is our strength.
“Then the fargi, wet from the sea in her simplicity, asked what of the squid I eat, do I not bring it death? And she was answered, no, the squid brings you life with its flesh and since it knows not of death it cannot die.”
There was a murmur of appreciation at this from the listeners, and Enge herself was moved by the clarity and beauty of the thought and for the moment forgot all reservations she may have had about the speaker. Eager in her desire for knowledge, one of the Yilanè cried out from the listening crowd.
“Wise Peleinè, what if the squid were so large that it threatened your life, and its taste was so horrible that it could not be eaten? What would you do then? Would you stand and be eaten, or would you kill even though you knew that you could not eat?”
Peleinè acknowledged the difficulty of the problem. “Here is where we must study Ugunenapsa’s thoughts closely. She spoke of the thing within us that cannot be seen, that enables us to speak and separates us from the unthinking beasts. To preserve this unseen thing is worthwhile, therefore killing the squid to preserve the unseen thing is worth doing. We are the Daughters of Life and must preserve life.”