Anacho the Dirdirman, standing nearby, chose to reply. "'Trivial' is a word more apt."
Reith expected an icy retort, at the least a glare, but Dordolio gave only an indifferent shrug. "Well, then, is your life more significant? Or that of the merchant, or the swordsman? Never forget the Yao are a pessimistic race! Awaile is always a threat; we are perhaps more somber than we seem. Recognizing the essential pointlessness of existence, we exalt the small flicker of vitality at our command; we extract the fullest and most distinctive flavor from every incident, by insisting upon an appropriate formality. Trivality? Decadence? Who can do better?"
"All very well," said Reith. "But why be satisfied with pessimism? Why not expand your horizons? Further, it seems that you accept the destruction of your cities with a surprising nonchalance. Vengeance is not the most noble activity, but submissiveness is worse."
"Bah," muttered Dordolio. "How could a barbarian understand the disaster and its aftermath? The Refluxives in vast numbers took refuge in awaile; the acts and the expiations kept our land in a ferment. There was no energy for anything else. Were you of good caste, I would cut your heart out for daring so gross an imputation."
Reith laughed. "Since my low caste protects me from retribution, let me ask another question: what is awaile?"
Dordolio threw his hands in the air. "An amnesiac as well as a barbarian! I have no conversation for such as you! Ask the Dirdirman; he is glib enough." And Dordolio strode off in a rage.
"An unreasonable display of emotion," mused Reith. "I wonder what my imputation was?"
"Shame," said Anacho. "The Yao are as sensitive to shame as an eyeball to grit.
Mysterious enemies destroy their cities; they suspect the Dirdir but dare no recourse, and must cope with helpless rage and shame. It is their typical attribute and predisposes them to awaile."
"And this is?"
"Murder. The afflicted person-one who feels shame-kills as many persons as he is able, of any sex, age or degree of relationship. Then, when he is able to kill no more, he submits and becomes apathetic. His punishment is dreadful and highly dramatic, and enlightens the entire population, who crowd the place of punishment. Each execution has its particular flavor and style and is essentially a dramatic pageant of pain, possibly enjoyed even by the victim. The institution permeates the life of Cath. The Dirdir on this basis consider all sub-men mad."
Reith grunted. "So then, if we visit Cath, we risk insensate murder."
"Small risk. After all, the acts are not ordinary events." Anacho looked around the deck. "But it seems that the hour is late." He bade Reith goodnight and stalked off to his bunk.
Reith remained by the rail, looking out over the water. After the bloodletting at Pera, Cath had seemed a haven, a civilized environment where just possibly he might contrive to patch together a spaceboat. The prospect seemed ever more remote.
Someone came to stand beside him: Heizari, the older of Palo Barbar's orange-haired daughters. "You seem so melancholy. What troubles you?"
Reith looked down into the pale oval of the girl's face: an arch impudent face, at this moment alive with innocent-or not so innocent? coquetry. Reith restrained the first words that rose to his lips. The girl was unquestionably appealing. "How is it you are not in bed with your sister Edwe?"
"Oh, simple! She is not in bed either. She sits with your friend Traz on the quarterdeck, beguiling and provoking, teasing and tormenting. She is much more of a flirt than I"
Poor Traz, thought Reith. He asked, "What of your father and mother? Are they not concerned?"
"What's it to them? When they were young, they dallied as ardently as any; is that not their right?"
"I suppose so. Customs vary, as you know."
"What of you? What are the customs of your people?"
"Ambiguous and rather complicated," said Reith. "There's a great deal of variation."
"This is the case with Cloud Islanders," said Heizari, leaning somewhat closer.
"We are by no means automatically amorous. But on occasions a certain mood comes over a person, which I believe to be the consequence of natural law."
"No argument there," Reith obeyed his impulse and kissed the piquant face.
"Still, I don't care to antagonize your father, natural law or not. He is an expert swordsman."
"Have no fears on that score. If you require assurance, doubtless he is still awake."
"I don't know quite what I'd ask him," said Reith. "Well then, all things considered..." The two strolled forward and climbed the carved steps to the forepeak, and stood looking south across the sea. Az hung low in the west laying a line of amethyst prisms along the water. An orange haired girl, a purple moon, a fairytale cog on a remote ocean: would he trade it all to be back on Earth?
The answer had to be yes. And yet, why deny the attractions of the moment? Reith kissed the girl somewhat more fervently than before and now from the shadow of the anchor windlass, a person hitherto invisible jumped erect and departed in desperate haste. In the slanting moonlight Reith recognized Ylin-Ylan, the Flower of Cath ... His ardor was quenched; he looked miserably aft. And yet, why feel guilt? She had long since made it clear that the one-time relationship was at an end. Reith turned back to the orange-haired Heizari.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE MORNING DAWNED without wind. The sun rose into a bird's egg sky: beige and dove-gray around the horizon, pale gray-blue at the zenith.
The morning meal, as usual, was coarse bread, salt fish, preserved fruit, and acrid tea. The company sat in silence, each occupied with morning thoughts.
The Flower of Cath was late. She slipped quietly into the saloon and took her place with a polite smile to left and right, and ate in a kind of reverie.
Dordolio watched her with perplexity.
The captain looked in from the deck. "A day of calm. Tonight clouds and thunder.
Tomorrow? No way of knowing. Unusual weather!"
Reith irritably forced himself to his usual conduct. No cause for misgivings: he had not changed; Ylin-Ylan had changed. Even at the most intense stage of their relationship she had at all times kept part of herself secret: a persona represented by another of her many names? Reith forced her from his mind.
Ylin-Ylan wasted no time in the saloon, but went out on deck, where she was joined by Dordolio. They leaned on the rail, Ylin-Ylan speaking with great urgency, Dordolio pulling his mustache and occasionally interposing a word or two.
A seaman on the quarterdeck gave a sudden call and pointed across the water.
Jumping up on the hatch Reith saw a dark floating shape, with a head and narrow shoulders, disturbingly manlike; the creature surged, disappeared below the surface. Reith turned to Anacho. "What was that?"
"A Pnume."
"So far from land?"
"Why not? They are the same sort as the Phung. Who holds a Phung to account for his deeds?"
"But what does it do out here, in mid-ocean?"
"Perhaps it floats by night on the surface, watching the moons swing by."
The morning passed. Traz and the two girls played quoits. The merchant mused through a leather-bound book. Palo Barba and Dordolio fenced for a period.
Dordolio was as usual flamboyant, whistling his steel through the air, stamping his feet, flourishing his arms.
Palo Barba presently tired of the sport. Dordolio stood twitching his blade.
Ylin-Ylan came to sit on the hatch. Dordolio turned to Reith. "Come, nomad, take up the foil; show me the skills of your native steppe."
Reith instantly became wary. "They are very few; additionally I am out of practice. Perhaps another day."