In the morning she caught some fish, then went on. Each day was different and distinct now and she numbered them, thought about them while she was walking the beaches, swimming past cliffs or headlands.
On the first day she had reached the bay. It was so large that she had spent all of the second and most of the third day trudging along its shore. On the fourth the cliffs began, a mountain range that dropped directly into the sea. That night had been spent uncomfortably on a rocky ledge, spattered with spray from the breaking waves. On the sixth day she had passed the last of the cliffs and returned to the beach again.
On the thirty-fifth day she saw that her journey was coming to an end. At first the beach was like any other she had walked on — but suddenly became very different. In the calm water just offshore she saw the brief splashing of a school of fish — that were not fish. They surfaced and looked at her with tiny round eyes, dived instantly when she signed greeting. An immature efenburu, afraid of everything. They would eat — or be eaten — until one day the survivors would emerge from the ocean as fargi. Those with any intelligence would become yilanè and join in the life of the city.
If they were here in the ocean, then the birth beaches could not be too distant — nor were they. A natural bay had been deepened and reinforced. Dredged by eisekol, rimmed by soft sand. The guardians were in their appointed places, the males lolling in the ocean’s edge. There was a hill above the beaches, obviously a favorite viewing place for well-trod paths marked it, leading away from the beaches and towards the tall trees of a city.
Vaintè paused. Until this moment she had not thought of what would happen after she had reached the city. Getting to this place, that is what had concerned her, the swimming, walking. She had known that a city must be north along the coast, knew that she must reach it. Now what?
What city was this? Who was the eistaa? She knew nothing, was as stupid as any fargi emerging from the sea. Looking back towards the ocean she saw an uruketo moving towards the harbor, small boats returning from fishing. A rich city, for all cities were rich. Fish and meat for the eating. Meat. She had not tasted it, not even thought about it during the timeless dark period that had passed. When she thought of it now she felt the taste of it in her mouth and wiped her tongue along her teeth. She would enter this city and eat. Then look at it, understand it, discover it. Just as any fargi would do. She would do the same. The paths all led to the city and she took the most direct one.
There were crowds of fargi ahead, then a file of them carrying bundles, two Yilanè walking behind, talking. Vaintè understood some of it as they passed and yearned to hear more. But first she must eat; she felt saliva on her lips as she thought of cool, jellied meat; she licked them dry. A group of fargi was coming towards her. She stopped in their path and they shuffled to a stop as well, gaped at her.
“Are you yilanè? Which of you speaks/understands?”
They moved aside, looking towards a larger fargi to the rear who signed small comprehension.
“Food. You understand food?”
“Eat food. Eat good.”
They were all plump, all eating well-and now it was her turn.
“We eat. You go. We eat.”
“Food, food,” the other fargi muttered excitedly. They may have just eaten, it made no difference. They were animated at the thought.
“Food,” the slightly yilanè fargi said, with a crude modifier of movement. They started off towards the city and Vaintè followed in their wake. Through the tree-arched streets, past the guarded hanalè, to the banks of a river. There was excitement and bustle here, silver fish and tubs of prepared meat. The fargi went to the fish, the only food they had known in their short lives, to be among their own. There were Yilanè near the meat, talking to each other, their conversation incomprehensible and confusing to the newcomers. Not so Vaintè. She walked to the vats, and every movement of her body signed strength and ability. The Yilanè of no rank moved aside for her and she reached in and ate. One of the Yilanè was looking at her, welcomed her and wished good eating. With her mouth full Vaintè could only sign appreciation and gratitude in return.
“What is this city?” she asked as she reached for more meat, her modifiers equal-to-equal.
“It is Yebèisk. The Eistaa of great authority is Saagakel.”
“Yebèisk and Saagakel are known in all of the cities of Entoban*.”
“You are a Yilanè of wisdom. And which is your city?”
“I travel now and know many cities.” This was an accurate statement. Vaintè took a bite of meat in order to avoid any amplification of detail. But she could not hide the overtones of strength and power that were associated with the cities she had visited and her listener was aware of this. When the other Yilanè spoke again it was as from someone slightly lower down to one a good deal higher up.
“The city welcomes the visitor.”
“Well spoken. I would see the ambesed and look upon the Eistaa who sits there.”
“Pleasure of guidance when eating finished. May honored visitor’s name be known?”
“Vaintè. And yours?”
“Opsotesi.”
The afternoon was warm so they took a shaded route through the streets and under the trees, wandered from the river to the foothills beyond, then back to the ambesed. By this time the midday heat was gone and the ambesed stirred with movement.
“Admirable,” Vaintè said, with qualifiers of great appreciation. Opsotesi arched with pleasure.
The ambesed was an open glade with tall trees forming a backdrop behind it. Through the center a stream of fresh water flowed, its course turning back and forth in gentle arcs. The stream was spanned by shining metal arched bridges that were decorated with loops of wire and set with glinting stones.
Vaintè and her new companion were standing on the public side of the ambesed along with many other Yilanè. Some of these bent over and drank from the stream, others splashed it on their limbs to cool them. But on the far side of the water there were no crowds. The grass there was green and untrampled. Small groups talked together, while the largest group of all was around the Eistaa who sat in the place of honor.
“An ambesed reflects its eistaa,” Vaintè said. “As I look at this my respect for your Eistaa grows.”
“Twice I have spoken to her,” Opsotesi said proudly. “I have skill at speaking and carry messages for many.”
“Appreciation of talents. Tell me of these messages for they must have been of importance if the Eistaa would hear of them.”
“Importance magnified. I stood on the dock when an uruketo arrived and there were those of high rank aboard. I took their names to great Saagakel.”
“Yilanè of importance, Eistaa of greatness,” Vaintè said, repeating the titles to hide her growing boredom. Opsotesi spoke well, but her only skill was in speaking; she would never rise very high. Yet she knew the city. “And what else did you speak of to the Eistaa?”
“Matter of darkness.” Her body moved in unhappy memory. “A stranger came to the city. I was told to bring notice of this stranger…”
Her speaking stopped, rigid, and she signed doubt, identification/clarity. Vaintè spoke strongly and curtly.
“Opsotesi, you address me with dark questions. What is the reason?”
“Apologies! Doubts of stupidity. You are a stranger — but you could not be as that stranger was. She was—”
Again she broke off, moving with fear. Vaintè signed friendship and curiosity of identification. She already had her suspicions. Opsotesi still could not speak so Vaintè encouraged her.