Her own name was recorded as se-Tufi’87 but she was addressed as the se-Tufi Who Walks in Humility. Like every Liethe woman Humility wore her line signature in scar. The se-Tufi were signed by seven nodules running from the base of each eye to the jawline like a string of jewels, and a bracelet of nodules on the upper left arm. She was not adorned with the sign for 87 because every Liethe of a line expected to be used interchangeably with her sisters. Unlike the bodies of normal women, Liethe were uncut except for the line signature. Humility also carried a secret name which she had taken, as was the custom, on the night when she had seduced her first priest — a white-haired priest of Saie, now dead. The name locked in her breast was Queen of Life-before-Death and that was how she thought of herself.
After pressing her precious flower, Humility used her brass mirror to retouch the facial makeup she wore to disguise her almost scarless features under appropriate artistry. It was taboo for a Liethe to reveal her clan while travelling. She ate rations of biscuit and honey and mash standing up against the wheel of her wagon, and then wandered ahead to spend the last of the evening by the fire of the Ivieth, her cowl over her head against the sudden cold.
She loved the Ivieth songs. It was the musician in her. How they sung about Scowlmoon! She could not imagine what it was like to have a moon in the sky since she had lived all of her life on the far side of the planet. As if it were a slowly rising cookie in the sky’s oven, the moon nudged above the horizon, day by day a little higher. It was exciting.
The giants laughed so. They enjoyed their songs so. How could she resist snitching a small harp and singing to them one of their own ballads? Liethe Code would not permit her to sing a Liethe song. Liethe music was for the priests. She threw her melodiously high voice farther than the reach of the fire.
They arrived in Kaiel-hontokae by night. She hardly noticed the approach, so intent was her interest in the moon. For a week the moon had dominated the horizon, growing. Now it was fully risen. All through each day it waned until by sunset there remained but a thin sickle arcing above the distant mountain line. The sickle reversed to become a bowl during the blazing yellow-reds of Getasun’s retreat and then began to fatten as the wagons squeaked westward into a purpling night. Scowlmoon! It was huge! The moonless world of her youth had vanished!
She left the wagon and walked toward this moon, hypnotized. Even the stars dimmed in its glory! It lit the land! She had a shadow at night, a pale extension of herself that disappeared down the road! Great Scowlmoon brought music to her feet and song to her heart. What a night for loving in a landscape erotic with the soft red pallor of sinister death.
Finally she begged one of the Ivieth to let her ride on his shoulders. She was scarcely a burden for him. She was such a small thing, clinging to his hair, her legs crossed upon his chest. That was her perch when she first saw Kaiel-hontokae by moonlight, the ghost form of the aqueducts, the shadowed symmetry of the buildings.
Ho! she thought as they mounted the crest of a hill and glimpsed distantly the cadaverous ovoids of the Palace celebrated in song but never seen, mine enemy who will be my lover! Skillfully she lifted her feet to the Ivieth’s shoulders and rose in perfect balance with her arms outstretched. The Ivieth reached a hand to steady her. She kicked it aside. Slowly she doubled over, and made a half twist, and then a head stand, her hair buried in his, her feet toed to the zenith, so that she might view a Palace turned upside down.
The cell she was assigned in the Liethe hive at Kaiel-hontokae had been built within the buhrstone walls of an old whisky cellar. There was floor for a sleeping mat and upright space for simple wooden furniture — but no tapestries, no luxuries at all. She woke early, prayed, and, to clear away the mood-residue of dreams, assumed the mental attitude of White Mind while placing her body successively in the Three Positions.
Then, unhurriedly, to work. She allocated a sun-height of time to her memory drills, today a review of two songs and the mnemonic key to her genetic file.
A face sneaked into her room, giggled and retreated. Humility leapt up, barefooted, still bare-breasted, and peered down the hallway. “Hey!”
The face reappeared, cloaked in hair robe and also with bare feet. A face with bare feet. Her face with bare feet. She giggled. Humility’s clone sister smiled in reply. “The se-Tufi Who Cocks Her Ear,” said the woman, cocking her ear in formal introduction.
“The se-Tufi Who Walks in Humility,” came the formal response coupled with the flat hand and the drop of the eyelid gesture that was universally associated with humility. The Liethe of the same genetic line used these quick signals to recognize each other.
“Would you like to break fast? Come.”
The kitchen was austere, but there were bins of flour and potatoes and ample jars of ground bees and spices. “I’d like pancakes and honey.”
They began to mix the batter and gossip as if they had always known each other. “Have you heard the fame of Aesoe? You’re my replacement. I’m pregnant by him. This time it is a girl.” She meant: this time it did not have to be aborted. “The old crone is sending me to hivehome to have the baby. I’ve never travelled so far. I was born in Oiena. You’ve travelled.” Cocked Ear would already have exchanged data with other se-Tufi sisters about Humility and have it accessible in her genetic performance files even though they had never met. “What’s it like to walk so far? I get to cross the Njarae by ship!”
“I saw the moon last night!” Humility was rapturous.
“Is that all that happens when you travel! I’m afraid of rape. Were you ever raped?”
Humility slid out of her chair and, before she had turned around, began a forward thrust that took her into the air as a rotating ball which uncoiled, feet first, to hit the far wall with a devastating thump. She fell back into a cartwheel and landed gracefully where she had begun, on her feet. “You should see the look of surprise on a man’s face when you smack him in the chest that way!” She went back to the pancakes.
“Where did you learn such ferocity?”
Humility only smiled. The training had been part of her assassin’s course. “Ugh. Travelling is mostly getting out and pushing your own wagon when the Ivieth die on you. That was the most interesting day of my last trip. I’ve never been to an Ivieth funeral before. You’re lucky you get to sail across the Njarae. I’ve read so many poems about the Njarae that I get hoiela wings fluttering in my brain just thinking about it. Imagine the ocean at night with Scowlmoon in the sky and the sails out and one of those munchy Mnankrei with his smelly arm around you on deck, tucking you under his armpit. I swoon.”
Cocked Ear curled her nose.
Humility was instantly aware of the hostility. She was surprised. The Liethe had been Mnankrei allies for centuries. It was widely believed among the Liethe that the Mnankrei would rule all of Geta come the Union. Liethe who had served Mnankrei lovers were proud of it. Humility had once strangled a wandering priest who carried messages against the Mnankrei. “The Mnankrei have kalothi,” she said.
“The Mnankrei are evil!”
“Beetle piss.” Humility took a mouthful of pancake. “You’ve been living in Kaiel-hontokae too long. It’s time you were moving on.”