“Don’t!” Efen’s voice was a wail of pain; Satsat echoed her movements as her own limbs twitched in expressions of despair. “We are too few and they are too many. You will be taken to the orchards and all will end there.”
Enge made calming motions of trust. “This is imminent-pain-of-departure speaking, not strong Efen. Each of us is unimportant; speaking of Ugunenapsa’s words is all. I do what must be done. Follow me to the ambesed but do not reveal yourselves. Wait and watch and learn. If I fail here you may succeed here or in the next city. Now — let us go.”
They went along the shore because this was the easiest way to enter the city. And here they could look with pleasure at the young playing in the sea, even a juvenile efenburu standing waist deep in the water, staring at them with wide, worried eyes. Mature, yet afraid to face the unknown land. Enge made colored motions of warmth and welcome with her palms but they took fright and vanished back into the sea. Farther along were the guarded beaches and they paused on the hill that overlooked them, stopping at a much-visited viewing place. Below them the torpid males basked in the sun on the sand, or were rocked by the shallow water. It was beautiful and relaxing and gave them strength to go on.
The ambesed was as Efen had described it. The fresh stream of water ran through it and many bent over to drink from it. Light bridges of golden metal spanned the water at various places and the most decorative bridge of all rose high, then dropped down before the eistaa where she sat in her place of honor. Graceful designs were painted on her body, and about each wrist were decorations of golden wire worked in patterns that echoed the design of the metal bridges.
Enge waved the others away from her, then bent over when she reached the stream and let the cool water wash over her hand. With the wetness she cleaned the dust from her face and forearms, let them dry for a moment in the sun. Then, head high, she walked steadily forward across the golden bridge to stand before Saagakel, Eistaa of Yebèisk, stood in the posture of expectancy, lower to higher.
“You are new to my city, welcome,” Saagakel said, appreciating the strength of line of the new arrival, noting at the same time the positive recognition of her authority from one with authority of her own. She liked that. It was seldom seen any more and even the best of her assistants used the formal lowest-of-low to highest-on-high.
“I am Enge and I have come from far Gendasi and bring you word of what has happened there.” The circle of advisers around Saagakel gasped at the signs of death and destruction behind her words. “Do I have permission to speak now?”
“Speak, for these my closest are all of my efenburu and will know what I know. The water behind you is not there by chance. All are free to cross, none are free to stay unless I will it. Speak freely, though I bend like a tree before a storm at the sense of despair your thoughts tell us.”
“All will be told. How Inegban‹ came to Alpèasak, how Yilanè came to battle with ustuzou — and how that great city was destroyed.”
Though Enge could not lie she could tell the record of events in any manner she cared to. Therefore she waited until the very end to reveal the part that she had taken.
“Thus the city died. The fire consumed it and all there died within the burning city.”
“Yet you are here, Enge, are you not? And there was no indication of ending to your last words which signifies that there is more to come. But before you speak let me drink from a water-fruit for I feel that fire in my throat. Once when I was very young I saw fire and touched it. See.”
Saagakel held up her right hand, and there was a murmur from the watchers when they saw the white scars that replaced one of her thumbs. Then, while she drank, those about her spoke pained questions.
“All dead?”
“The city gone?”
“Ustuzou that use fire and talk and kill?”
Instant silence fell when Saagakel willed it. She put the fruit aside and signed Enge to continue. They all watched in horrified silence as she spoke.
“I have told you that Vaintè was my efenselè and I know of these events because I was the one who taught the ustuzou to speak. I did not teach it to hate, yet it hates Vaintè just as she hates it. The ustuzou lives, Vaintè lives, one of the very few who came away on the uruketo. For when the city died all who had not been eaten by the flames died as well — for how can a Yilanè live without her city?” There was a murmur of horrified agreement from the advisers but not from Saagakel who sat unmoving and still. “The commander lived, for the uruketo is her city. Vaintè lived, perhaps because she had been eistaa and the eistaa is the city. I lived as well.”
Saagakel understood, even if her advisers did not. “Tell me why you lived, Enge — or should I tell you.”
“Whichever pleases you, Eistaa. You are the city.”
“I am indeed. You did not die because you are a Daughter of Death.”
“Daughter of Life, Eistaa, for I am alive.”
Both spoke with the minimum of revealing motion. The advisers looked on in shocked silence.
“Have you heard of our fruit groves?” Enge signed response in the positive. “Good. Is there any reason why I should not send you there at once?”
“Every reason, Eistaa. I know things about Gendasi known to no others alive. I know of the ustuzou there and can speak with them through the one I taught — who spared my life when the other ustuzou would have killed me.”
“Yes, these are matters of interest. But not sufficiently interesting enough to keep you from the groves, would you not agree?”
“I agree. There is only one reason to keep me from the groves. I know of life and death and have lived where all others have died. That is knowledge you should have, Eistaa — and I can teach it to you. You now have the power of death of every Yilanè in this ambesed, even your efenselè. You have only to command — and they die. But that is only half of what you should have. Life is the balance of death, as sea is the balance of sky. I can teach you of the power of life.”
With that Enge fell into static silence, looking and waiting. Ignoring the uproar from Saagakel’s advisers, just as the Eistaa did. She looked back at Enge in the same silence, the process of her thoughts invisible.
“All here will be silent,” Saagakel ordered. “I have decided. As interesting as your arguments are — they are equally dangerous. You said it yourself — the existence of the Daughters of Death threatens an eistaa’s rule. Therefore an eistaa has but a single choice.” She made a gesture calling the nearest two of her advisers forward. “Seize this bold creature, bind her and lead her to the groves. There will be no sedition spread in my city.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Strong thumbs bit deep into Enge’s flesh as she was seized and pushed down to her knees, held there as one of the retinue hurried away for bindings. Saagakel sat back with dignity as an excited babble of conversation sounded behind her. Above all this one voice rang out clearly, ordering them aside; there was one yipe of pain as a foot was trod upon. Through the assemblage a Yilanè pushed, made her way forward to stand before Enge, to look down at her closely.
“I am Ambalasi,” she said hoarsely. Now that she was close Enge could see the lines of age on her face, the ragged edge to her pale crest. Then she turned about to face the eistaa and raked the claws of one foot along the ground in a sign of great disapproval. “I don’t think that this is wise, Saagakel. There is much of importance in what Enge says, much to be learned from her.”