"We were there," said Akma. "But where was the Keeper?"
"Someday," said Akmaro, "you will learn to see the Keeper's hand in many things."
When the children were asleep, Chebeya rested her head on her husband's chest and clung to him and wept. "Oh, Kmadaro, Kma-daro, I was so frightened that I would make things worse."
"Tell me your plan," he said. "If I know your plan I can help you."
"I don't know my plan. I have no plan."
"Then here is the plan that came into my mind as I watched you and listened to you. I thought at first that you were simply trying to get those boys to rebel against their father. But then I realized that you wete doing something far more subtle."
"I was?"
"You were winning Didul's heart."
"If he has one."
"You were teaching him how to be a man. It's a new idea to him. I think he'd like to be a good man, Bedaya."
She thought about it. "Yes, I think you're right."
"So we won't tear these boys away from each other. Instead we'll make friends and allies of them."
"Do you think we can?" asked Chebeya.
"You mean, Do I think we should? Yes, Bedaya. They can't help being what their father taught them to be. But if we can teach them to be something else, they might be good men yet. That is what the Keeper wants us to do-not destroy our enemies, but make friends of them if we can."
"They've hurt my children so many times," said Chebeya.
"Then how sweet the day will be when they kneel and ask your forgiveness, and your children's forgiveness, and the three of you say, We know that you are no longer the men you were then. Now you are our brothers."
"I can't ever say that to them."
"You can't say that to them now," said Akmaro. "But you, too, will have a change of heart, when you see them also change."
"You always believe the best of other people, Kmadaro."
"Not always," said Akmaro. "But in that boy today, I saw a spark of decency. Let's blow on that spark and give it fuel."
"I'll try," said Chebeya.
Lying on his mat, Akma heard his parents' conversation and thought, What kind of man is he, to talk to Mother about making friends with the very ones who lashed her skin and made her bleed today? I will never forgive these men, never, no matter how they seem to change. Men who are friends with diggers can never be trusted. They have become just like diggers, low filthy creatures who belong in holes under the earth like worms.
For Father to talk of teaching and forgiving a worm like Didul was just another sign of his weakness. Always running, hiding, teaching, forgiving, fleeing, submitting, bowing, enduring-where in Father's heart was the courage to stand and fight? It was Mother, not Father, who stood against Didul and the diggers today. If Father really loved Mother, he would have spent tonight vowing revenge for her bloody wounds.
FOUR - DELIVERANCE
Monush followed Ilihiak into his private chamber and watched as the king barred the door behind him. "What I'm going to show you," said Ilihiak, "is a great secret, Monush."
"Then perhaps you shouldn't show me," said Monush. "My loyalty is sworn to Ak-Moti, and I will keep no secret from him."
"But that's why I brought you here, Ush-Mon. You have the deepest trust of your great king. Do you think that I don't know that my kingdom would be hardly a small district of the empire of Darakemba? The stories reach us even here, that the Nafari who went down the Tsidorek have now become the greatest kingdom in the gornaya. What I have here is a matter for a great king, a king like Motiak, I think. I know it's beyond me."
Monush felt strongly that if there were two men, one would be greater than the other, and somewhere else there would always be one greater than either. True nobility consisted of recognizing one's betters as well as one's inferiors, and giving proper respect to all, never pretending to be above one's natural place. Ilihiak clearly understood that he had a greater rank and authority than Monush, but that Motiak was greater than either of them. It made Monush feel more confident in the man.
"Show me without fear, then," said Monush, "for I will reveal what I see to no man except my lord Motiak."
"To no man," said Ilihiak. "According to our ancient lore, the humans of Darakemba include male angels and male diggers in the word man."
"That's right," said Monush. "A male of the sky people, the earth people, or the middle people is a true man in the eyes of our law."
Ilihiak shuddered. "My people will have a hard time with this. We came to this land to get away from living with the wings of angels always in our faces. And here we've had ample cause to hate the diggers-our crops have been watered with the blood of many good men. Men. And diggers."
"I think King Motiak will not try to humiliate you, but will allow you to find a valley where you can buy the land of whatever angels dwell there and live without giving or receiving offense. But of course this would make you a subject nation instead of full citizens, for among citizens there can be no difference between people over, under, and on the earth."
"It won't be my choice, Monush. It will be the choice of my people." Ilihiak sighed. "Our hatred for the diggers has increased by being close to them. The only angels we see here are slaves or subject people, and they shun us. It will be hard for our young men to learn that it isn't decent sport to shoot arrows at them when they fly too near."
Monush shuddered. It was a good thing that Husu had not flown along with them, to hear this.
"I see how you judge us," said Ilihiak. "I fear you may be right. There was a man who came among us, an old man named Binadi. He told us that our way of life was an affront to the Keeper. That we mistreated the angels and that the Keeper loved angels, diggers, and humans as equals. That what mattered was whether a man was kind to all others, and whether he kept the laws of decency. He was... very specific in pointing out the many ways that the king my father failed to measure up. And his priests."
"You killed him."
"My father... was ambivalent. The man spoke very powerfully. Some believed him-including one of Father's priests. The best of them. He was my teacher, a man named Akmadi. No, that was Father's name for him. I called him Akmaro, because he was my honored teacher, not a traitor. I was there at the trial of Binadi, when Akmaro rose to his feet and said, ‘This man is Binaroak, the greatest teacher. I believe him, and I want to change my life to measure up to his teachings.' That was the crudest moment for my father-he loved Akmaro."
"Loved? He's dead?"
"I don't know. We sent an army after him, but he and his followers must have been warned. They fled into the wilderness. We have no idea where they are now."
"Those are the ones who believe that men of every kind are equal before the Keeper?"
"If only driving away Akmadi-Akmaro-were our worst crime." Ilihiak stopped to draw a breath; it was a tale he didn't want to tell. "Father was afraid of Binadi. He didn't want to kill him, just to exile him again. But Pabulog, the chief priest-he insisted. Goaded Father." Ilihiak stroked his hair back from his face. "Father was a man who was very susceptible to fear. Pabulog made him afraid to leave Binadi alive. ‘If he can trick and trap even Akmadi, then how will you ever be safe?' That sort of thing."
"Your father had bad counselors," said Monush.
"And I fear that you think he also had a disloyal son. But I wasn't disloyal during his lifetime, Monush. It was only when I was forced into ruling in his place, after he was murdered-"