"But that sickness might also be explained by the sudden mixing of Runa populations during the rebellion," Joseba suggested. "The sharing of disease reservoirs, the exposure to unfamiliar environments? Swamp harvesters working with city specialists—people exposed to local illnesses they had no immunity to, and spreading them?"
"Yes," Puska said after a time. "Some of our scientists said so. It was not a consensus view at the time…" She sat as straight as possible, her ears high. "The djanada appeared to leave us no alternative but to strike back with overwhelming force. The people were dying. Thousands and thousands died of plague. We were fighting for our lives." She looked to the north, and forced herself to be just. "So were they, I suppose."
"Sipaj, Puska, someone wonders if the Jana’ata themselves changed or if the Runa idea of the Jana’ata changed."
Puska considered this for a while, and then began to use English pronouns, as many Runa did now, to signify a strictly personal comment. "My idea of the djanada changed when I left Trucha Sai." She paused for a time, eyes on the middle distance. "When we first went to Mo’arl—. Sipaj, Hozei: the things we saw! I keened every night for a season. There were roads paved with our bones, crushed and mixed with limestone, levees along the rivers—three times the height of a woman—all bone. Boots from the skins of our dead—even Runa wore them in the cities! There were shops—" She looked now directly at Joseba. "Platters of tongues, platters of hearts. Legs, shoulders, feet, fillets and chops! Rump and tail and elbows and knees—all beautifully displayed. Runa domestics would come and pick out the cut of meat to serve to their masters. How could they stand it?" she demanded. "How could the djanada have asked it of them?"
"Someone is unsure," Joseba said honestly. "Sometimes, there’s no choice. Sometimes the choices aren’t thought of. People can get used to anything." Puska lifted her chin, and then let her tail drop, unable to imagine how that vanished world had functioned. "Yet," Joseba pointed out, "there were some Runa who remained with the Jana’ata—"
"Sipaj, Hozei: those people were traitors," Puska told him with flat conviction. "You must understand that. They became very wealthy, selling the corpses of dead soldiers to the djanada, who would pay anything for even small scraps of meat. But those Runa paid in kind for their treachery: eventually the djanada ate them, too."
"Sipaj, Puska, someone is sorry to keep asking—"
"There is no need for apology. Someone is content to answer."
"There were Runa who stayed with the djanada, even after the war. Even now." He watched her carefully as he asked this, but Puska did not sway. "They have said to us that they loved the Jana’ata."
"That is sometimes so. The Runa are a noble people," she said. "We repay kindness with kindness."
"Do you believe those Runa wrong to live with the Jana’ata? Are they traitors, like the black marketeers?"
"Not traitors. Dupes. In the end, they’ll be eaten. The djanada can’t help it. It’s the way they are. The djanada are guilty in their genes, in their whole way of life," she told him calmly.
It was then that he recalled the chorale. "Sipaj, Puska, someone wishes to understand this clearly. You are patient and someone is grateful. It is said in the north that Hlavin Kitheri had begun to emancipate the Runa—"
For the first time, Puska became upset, rising and beginning to pace. "Emancipation! Emancipation meant, We’ll eat you when you’re older! The djanada told us we were stupid! Here is stupidity: Hlavin Kitheri walking out alone to do battle with an army of two hundred thousand. Refusing to negotiate with us was stupid! We offered them terms, Hozei! Just free the captives and we’ll leave the north to you. Hlavin Kitheri chose combat. He was crazy—and so were all the others who believed in him."
She was looking directly into his eyes now. "Sipaj, Hozei, the Runa did everything for the djanada. They kept us enslaved and fed us only enough to make us good slaves. Until your people came and showed us that we could feed ourselves as much as we needed, our minds were kept small and slow so that we’d accept our slavery. Hear me, Hozei! Never again. Those times are gone forever. We will never be slaves again. Never."
He stood his ground, but it was not easy: a Runao risen up in righteous anger was a formidable menace. "Sipaj, Puska," he said when she had brought herself to quietness, "you grew up with Ha’anala. Did you ever wonder about her? Was she crazy, too?"
There was a silence before Puska said, "Someone thought of Ha’anala. She was not crazy. But she left the people to go with the crazy ones! So someone’s heart was confused. Supaari was one of the people, but Ha’anala never came home."
"Did you know where she went, after she left Trucha Sai?"
"She went north." There was an uncomfortable silence before Puska admitted, "Someone thought she might be in Inbrokar."
"During the siege?" he asked. Puska raised her chin in affirmation. "Puska, what did you hope for Ha’anala?"
"That she would come home," Puska said firmly.
"And when she didn’t?"
The swaying began at last, and when Puska spoke, it was not to answer his question but her own conscience. "The djanada changed first. They gave us no choice! The djanada made us fierce." Not looking at him, she added, "To be hungry is a terrible thing. Someone hoped that Ha’anala would die quickly."
"And when Inbrokar fell, how many died quickly?"
She looked away, but Puska VaTrucha-Sai was a woman of courage and, once again, she left the safety of the herd. "They were as grass to me," she said. "I did not count them."
32
City of Inbrokar
2072, Earth-Relative
"THEY’RE OUTSIDE THE NEW WALLS NOW," TAKSAYU REPORTED, HER words echoing hollowly down the stone throat of the wind tower in the embassy courtyard.
"And my lord husband?" Suukmel Chirot u Vaadai called from below, looking up at Taksayu’s gown and slippered feet. "And the Paramount? Can you see them?"
"There!" Taksayu said, after a time, arm extended southward, toward a flash of armor. "The Paramount wears a gold ventral plate and caudal guard. And—yes, silver arm and thigh plates. The ambassador is to his left, all in silver. They are at the head of the war party, with the nobles behind them."
"And the others?" Suukmel asked, looking up at her Runa—what? she wondered. Not maid, any longer. Companion, often. Ally, perhaps? There was no word in K’San for Taksayu now. "How many are there?"
So many, Taksayu was thinking, with an illicit thrill. We are so many! How could she describe this to a woman who’d never seen beyond the curtains of her conveyance or the walls of her compound? All her life, the lady Suukmel had held in her mind the subtle structure of power and relationship, the delicate web of Jana’ata politics, but this was not abstraction. It was physical might. "The rebels are as the hairs of a body," Taksayu ventured. "As the leaves of a marhlar, Mistress: too many to count."
"I’m coming up," Suukmel declared. The city was ruled by rumor now that the power grid for the radio system had failed, and Suukmel was starved for information. Ignoring Taksayu’s protests, she forced herself to climb the internal spiral of the wind tower to see the gathered multitude herself, but when she arrived at Taksayu’s side and lifted her veil, she was staggered.
"Are you ill?" Taksayu cried, gripping Suukmel’s arms, afraid the reeling woman would fall.
"No! Yes! I’m not—" Suukmel dropped her veil, and closed her eyes behind it. Beyond the distance of a hallway or the length of a banquet room, all the colors seemed to blur. "Explain this," Suukmel said, steadying. She lifted her veil again. "Tell me what I am seeing. Everything is confused."