“She welcomed her home,” he said.
At length, the students returned everything to the capsule and latched it again, and Traversed Bridge made arrangements to have it picked up in a truck for the journey to the Manhu village of Threadbare. Rue learned that Magister Garrioch was going to accompany them, and arranged to ride with him.
They set out the next day in a convoy of cars, escorting the flatbed truck carrying the capsule, strapped down under a tarp. It was a long drive into misty, forested hinterlands. The farther they drove, the higher the mountains became and the worse the roads, till they were following a bumpy dirt track that writhed along the sides of sheer gulches, precipices above and chasms below. It was late afternoon when they rounded the shoulder of a mountain and saw a wide valley open up before them: green, terraced fields, a sparkling river, a bridge, and a cluster of tile-roofed homes. The convoy stopped so they could call ahead to announce their arrival and the women could change into brightly embroidered jackets.
“It doesn’t look threadbare at all,” Rue said to Garrioch as they stood at the side of the road looking down on the village.
“Not now. They have made enormous progress in the last fifty years, especially since they put in the dam.” He pointed, and Rue saw it. She had expected something of earth and wood, but instead it was a sheer crescent of concrete, cutting off a narrow gap in the mountains upstream.
Traversed Bridge walked up to them. He saw where she was looking and smiled. “What do you think of it?” he said.
“It’samazing, Traversed. I can’t imagine how you built it out here.”
“We had to set up a plant to make the concrete,” he said. “We imported the steel sluice gates and machinery, but we did it all with local labor. It took a long time.”
“It’s a great achievement. A wonderful legacy.”
“Yes,” he said, gazing at it proudly.
The rest of the convoy was ready to proceed. “Would you like to ride with me?” he asked her.
She surveyed the situation, then shook her head. “Thank you, but I think I’d better stay in the back of the parade. This is for you and your people.”
He nodded, and headed to his car.
When they came down the steep hill into the village, they found the road lined on both sides with people dressed in their brightest clothes. The convoy passedbetween jubilant villagers shouting, singing, pounding on drums, and shaking rattles. After the last car passed, the people crowded into the roadway, joining the procession as it threaded through the narrow streets and downhill toward an open plaza near the river.
The vehicles stopped in front of a large community meeting house, and the crowd pressed around them. Two young men jumped onto the bed of the truck and threw the tarpaulin off the capsule. All noise ceased as they unlatched the cover and threw it back. One of them picked up the drum and held it overhead so everyone could see, then passed it down to someone in the crowd. The other objects followed. Then, after a moment of puzzlement, they uncovered the portrait and raised it high between them, showing it to the crowd. It flashed iridescent in the sun, and there was a collective gasp. For a moment, all was silent; then someone began to sing. Others joined in, till the whole crowd was singing solemnly, in unison.
“It’s a welcome song,” Garrioch said to Rue.
The two men descended from the truck and began to carry Aldry around the town square so everyone could see her. The people holding the artifacts fell in behind. The crowd drew back reverently to let them pass. Everywhere, people wept in joy.
Rue realized that Traversed Bridge had come up and was standing beside her, watching. She said, “I am glad to see them so happy.”
He nodded. “They have known nothing but pain for so long. Generations. You can see all that pain pouring off of them, washing away.”
He had been proud of the dam, but now his pride came from a deeper spot. This was his true legacy, Rue thought. Surely now he would reconsider throwing it all away. Aldryherself was the true persuader.
After circling the crowd twice, the procession of artifacts passed inside the community hall, and people started lining up for a chance to see them all again. The sun had dropped below the mountain to the west, and the air was growing chilly. A festival atmosphere had taken hold. Five musicians began to play on pipes and drums, and brightly dressed girls formed a ring for dancing.
“Would you both do me the honor of staying at my home tonight?” Traversed Bridge asked Rue and Garrioch.
“Thank you, that would be lovely,” Rue said.
Reminded of something, Traversed said, “Just don’t ask my wife if you can help with anything. It will offend her.”
“Of course.”
His home was close to the center of town, as befitted a leading citizen. It was a large structure with a concrete-block first floor and a second floor of stained wood, with intricately carved shutters and rafters. The windows glowed bright and welcoming, and electric lanterns hung from the eaves.
Inside, grandchildren were everywhere. When Traversed Bridge’s daughter saw the guests enter, she hustled the youngsters off to another room. Traversed offered the guests something he called “wine,” which turned out to be a potent distilled liquor. They could hear bustling from the kitchen. A young man who bore a striking resemblance to the young Traversed Bridge peered into the room curiously, and Traversed went to give him some sort of instructions.
Garrioch whispered to Rue, “No is a little hard on his son. The poor fellow can never live up to his father’s standards.”
“No doesn’t remember what he was like at that age,” Rue whispered back. Or maybe he does, she thought, and doesn’t want to be reminded.
They ate a bountiful dinner with the other adults, and then Softly Bent showed Rue to a shared sleeping room with five beds. Tired from the journey, she decided to turn in early, and fell asleep to the sound of music from the town square.
The next morning she got up just after sunrise and went out, intending to walk to the river. Early as she was, a crew of Manhu were already in the square, building a cone-shape wicker framework that towered ten meters into the air. She sat on a bench in front of the community center, watching them work with a sense of foreboding.
Garrioch came into the square, took in the scene, and saw Rue. He came over to her.
“It looks like they’re going through with it,” he said grimly.
“Yes,” she agreed. The workers were placing firewood and charcoal inside the conical framework.
“Maybe we should leave.”
“No,” she said. “Our presence may be a deterrent. There may be something we can do.”
He looked sick at heart, but sat down next to her.
All through the morning people came, carrying belongings to hang on the wicker pyramid, or to heap around it. They brought blankets and clothes, food and furniture and fishing tackle, baskets, birdcages, books, and baby cradles. Children contributed drawings they had made and toys they had treasured. Old women brought intricate embroideries, and craftsmen gave up their carvings and tools. Everything valuable, everything treasured, was added to the pile.
By noon it was a massive tower, and men on ladders were filling the upper tiers. Vigilant Aspire came into the plaza, leaning on Traversed Bridge’s arm. He brought her slowly over to the bench where Rue and Garrioch sat, and they rose to let her have their seats.
“Are you leaving?” Traversed Bridge asked the visitors.
“No,” Rue said, facing him with determination. “We are going to watch.”