Maorgan rode closer to the ditch, stopped his caцpa. “Barriall. Where you coming from?”
“Ord’m’l D’bak’mel. Watch y’ back, Ard. Chorek round like lice.”
I “Hear you, Barriall. Chel D6 keep.”
When the wagon had rumbled round the orchard, Maorgan clucked his caцpa into clip-clopping along beside Shadith and answered the question she thought he’d forgotten. “Matha matha, the Meruus. Meruu of the Air. A clutch of the eldest of the unsiolled Eolt. They hang together to chitter and chatter, sing a tune or two and report on the doings of their descendants, a litany of deploring and complaint. Meruu of the Earth. Much the same thing, Elders gumming out their last days pretending to run the place. Hold on a minute.” He urged the caцpa into a trot that looked as uncomfortable as Shadith had expected, caught up with Danor, spoke with him, and pointed ahead.
When he was back beside Shadith, he said, “There’s a lay-by with a well about an hour on. We’ll stop and rest the caцpas a while, let them drink and nibble on some grain. Well, what I said was a bit of an exaggeration. We Ards are none of us all that fond of authority. The Meruus abide in Chuta Meredel in the Vale of Medon. Which is where we’re going, by the way. The Circles of the Ordumels send representatives there to make laws for Banikoth. There’s a repository of memory and records, a place where teachers go to learn the history of the world. And a court where budlines go to lay quarrels and Fior to work out matters of property, where Ordumels go to settle boundary disputes, that sort of thing. But only if the problem’s really serious. Bother them with something they think is frivolous and the fines they lay on you will take your last drop of sweat.” He nodded at the smaller, paler Eolt drifting overhead. “Lebesair is what we call a Mer-Eolt,” he said. “One of those that carries word from the Meruus to the Ordumels.”
“Seems peaceful, all things considered. What was that wagon driver talking about. Chorek? What are chorek and why should we worry about them?”
“Chorek.” Maorgan wrinkled his nose, shook his head. “Trouble, Shadowsong. Thieves, some of them killers. The milder sort attack travelers, strip them to the skin, carry off everything they own. Others…” He shuddered. “They want to refight the Shape Wars. They steal to support themselves and kill to support their goals. Bad bunch. Ordinary chorek don’t usually attack when there are Eolt on watch, but the ones at war with the world hate Ards and the sioll bond. Even if they couldn’t steal, they’d kill us.”
“Shee! Between them and the Chave, I’m going to be sleeping light for sure.”
“They don’t come this far from the mountains much. Sometimes we get bands raiding out of the Marishes. Like the Sea Marish down by the mesuch’s enclosure. A lot of vermin in that place. Did us a favor when they sat down there, the mesuchs did. By the time we reach the edge of Dumel Alsekum’s Land Right, we’ll be close to the Kutelinga Marish. Then we will have to start sharing watch; it would be useful if you have offworld weapons.” He fell silent a moment, brooding.
Shadith didn’t answer the implied question; she wasn’t ready quite yet to trust him all that much, didn’t know how the Meruus would react to her coming to them armed. She sighed.
5
The two teachers moved about the room, putting away copybooks, picking up the scraps of paper that every classroom in every paper-using culture seemed to spawn by the end of each day. They were uneasy about talking to her, Aslan could feel that. At the same time, they wanted to talk. They were fascinated by the idea of University; they glanced at her repeatedly and every glance was a question.
The Keteng was the more aggressive of the two. Xe finished laying out the chalk in the tray that ran along the base of the slateboard, dusted off xe’s hands, and turned to face Aslan. “So, what is it you want us to say?”
“If you could start with your names and what it is you do.”
“Budechil said that thing,” xe pointed at the Ridaar, “makes pictures and traps the voice.”
“Would you care to see what it does?”
“Yes.”
The Keteng contemplated xe’s image, frowning at the sound of xe’s voice. “That’s me?”
“What you hear inside your head is, never what other people hear. You’ll get used to the difference after a while and won’t find it strange.”
Xe turned to whisper to the Fior woman, then fetched chairs, and the two of them settled in the pool of sunlight coming through the roof.
“My name is Oskual, Budline Ual-beriod. I teach Meloach and young Fior song and history and all the things they should know about the ways of the world.”
“My name is Teagasa Teor, I teach Meloach and young Fior writing, ciphering and drawing, dance and all the things that grace the world.”
“We are bonded, Teagasa and I. It’s not the sioll bond of the Ard and Eolt, but a sharing that crosses family and budlines. We dream the same dreams and when we share the fruit of the berrou in the High Summer month Orredyl, we can walk each other’s thoughts. Teagasa was born and I budded and dropped free in the same month, the same day and from that time forth our bond was there, growing as we grew. From our experience when we went to the Vale of Medon to study history and other things, this bond is there in most who teach the young.”
Teagasa smiled and touched Oskual’s wrist near the hand. “On the Fior side, it doesn’t matter whether the child is male or female, the bond is the same.”
Oskual turned xe’s wrist and took xe’s companion’s hand in xe’s. “You’re interested in the Shape Wars, you said. To get the old songs about that time, you have to go to Chuta Meredel. Perhaps your Harper can arrange that for you. It won’t be easy. The Elders hold their knowledge close.”
“They’re jealous of it,” Teagasa said. “We tried for months to see just the old-Fior version of Bracoпn’s Song, without the music or any commentary, but we never got a smell of it. We had to make do with translations, and you can’t ever be sure about them, can you.”
Aslan glanced at the Ridaar, sighed. “It’s a problem I’ve met before,” she said. “I’d like you to think of people in the Dumel who have stories you think worth telling and wouldn’t mind you giving their names. I’ll send my Aide around later to collect the list.” She smiled. “His name is Marrin Ola and he looks like bones held together with light brown skin. Right now I’d like children’s songs and any explanations you have of how they came to be.”
Teagasa’s brown eyes went narrow with shyness and she looked away. “Wouldn’t it be better,” she murmured, the words barely audible, “if you had the children themselves singing?”
“The time for that will come. Clarity of words and tune is what’s important now. And, of course, the explanations. This is more important than perhaps you know. It’s often fairly late in the history of a people before the children’s songs are written down. They’re not considered serious material, though they will have information of considerable importance to a study of that culture imbedded within them.”
“I see.” The teachers whispered together for several moments, then Oskual clicked xe’s tongue and smiled, xe’s dark eyes shining with mischief. “We’ll give you a sampling,” xe said. “That’s what you want anyway, catalysts to trigger more songs.”
Oskual and Teagasa shifted their chairs, slanting them so they could face each other and still see Aslan.
“Charun, derun, comn and corr,” Oskual sang, holding the long r at the end of the last word.
“In the cloudlands swoop and soar.” Teagasa’s higher voice wove about the drone of the r.
“Kere cherom busca madh.” Droned dh extending. “Creep and crawl, trot and plod.” Over and under the drone.
“Elare, ehere, idus lase.” Zed drone extending. “Dance and dart in deep green seaways.”