Melikelè led the way back down the hillside to the shore, and along it to an enclosure beside the beach. Since it was not the usual time for eating, the open area under the translucent cover was empty. Tanks lined the wall and the attendant fargi were pulling large fish from them, slicing them with string-knives, gutting and cleaning them and putting the resultant slabs of meat into enzyme solutions.
“A waste,” Akotolp pronounced. “For hundred-year-old nenitesk steaks this treatment might be needed — not for fish. Let me see what they have in the tanks. Small Crustacea, delightful when fresh — behold!”
She seized a large one between her thumbs, snapped off its head and limbs and shelled it in one practiced movement, popped it into her mouth and chewed with pleasure. Vaintè cared little for the food she ate and took a slab of fish on a leaf instead. Melikelè did the same as soon as Vaintè had turned away.
Akotolp muttered to herself with happiness while a mound of discarded husks grew at her feet. Radiating pleasure-with-eating she took no notice of the fargi working around her, or of the Yilanè who emerged from an adjoining structure. Who looked at her, then looked again more closely, who then approached.
“Passing of time — ending of separation,” the newcomer said excitedly. “You are Akotolp, you must be Akotolp, there is but one Akotolp.”
Akotolp looked up in amazement, a fragment of white flesh caught on her mouth, the nictitating membranes of her eyes fluttering with surprise.
“A voice familiar, a face familiar — can that be you, thinner-then-ever Ukhereb?”
“Fatter-as-always, years-since-parting.”
Vaintè watched with interest as Akotolp and the newcomer laced thumbs in the affectionate embrace of efenselè, though the gesture contained a modifier that slightly altered that relationship.
“Vaintè, this is Ukhereb. Though we are not of the same efenburu we are as close as efenselè. We grew together, studied and learned with ancient Ambalasi, she who was old as the egg of time, who knew everything.”
“My greetings to you, Vaintè, and welcome to sea-girt Ikhalmenets. Friend-of-friend is doubly welcome. Now away from this public place to my private one of great comfort for pleasure-of-eating there.”
They passed through the adjoining laboratory, Akotolp making a great fuss over all of the equipment, and on to the comfortable chamber beyond. Soft places to lie or sit, decorative hangings around them to relax the eye. Vaintè did just that, leaning back and listening to the two scientists as they talked. She was patient and waited until the conversation left the area of old associates and new discoveries, until Ukhereb asked a more pointed question.
“I have heard that you were in Alpèasak, when all of Inegban‹ went there. I have read of some of the research carried out, the abundance of new species discovered — what a wealth of joy-in-discovery it must have been! But now you are here in Ikhalmenets. Why travel here to our islands when you had a continent of discovery at your feet?”
Akotolp did not answer, but instead turned to Vaintè for aid. Vaintè silenced her with a gesture of understanding and desire-to-aid before Akotolp could request her assistance.
“Unspeakable things have happened, Ukhereb, and Akotolp hesitates to tell you of them. It is my desire to answer your question if it is permitted, since I was a part of everything that happened. This is what occurred.”
Vaintè spoke in the simplest manner, without elaboration or asides; told the scientist, to her growing horror, of the destruction of distant Alpèasak. When she was done Ukhereb emitted a cry of pain and briefly shielded her eyes with her forearm in the childish gesture of unwillingness-to-behold.
“I cannot bear to think of the things that you have told me — and you have lived through them with strength incredible. What is to be done, to be done?” She swayed from side to side slowly, again a juvenile gesture of being moved without thought by strong currents of water.
“Your eistaa is now being informed of events tragic-beyond-understanding. When this has been done I shall confer with her. But you, Ukhereb, you should not be disturbed by events since-finished. We will talk of other things, objects of beauty, consideration of which will ease your pain. Such as the mountain on this island, black rock pinnacled with white snow. Most attractive. Is there always snow upon the summit?”
Ukhereb signed fear-of-novelty. “In the past it was unknown; now the snow on the mountain does not melt at all. Our winters are cold and windy, summer very short. That is why I expressed double-pain at destruction in distant Gendasi. There was hope of our salvation there as well. Cities have died — and Ikhalmenets grows cold. Now there is fear where before there was hope.”
“Hope cannot be destroyed — and the future will be bright!” Vaintè spoke with such enthusiasm and such assurance of happiness that both Akotolp and Ukhereb were warmed by the strength of her spirit.
Of course she was happy. Vague ideas were turning into positive plans. The details would become clear soon, and then she would be certain of just what must be done.
Not so Enge. For a Daughter of Life, death seemed too close to her, too often.
They had left the uruketo at dawn, had not been seen as they climbed the fin and slipped easily into the water from the creature’s back. But the seas had been heavy, waves broke over their heads and forced them under. It had been a long and exhausting swim to shore. The uruketo had vanished behind them in the dawn mists and they had been alone. At first they called out to each other, but only at first. After that they needed all of their strength to reach the beckoning sands. Enge, fearful for her companions, had pulled herself through the breakers first, had found the strength to go back into the waves and drag out one wet form after another. Until they were stretched on the sand in the warmth of the sun.
All except one. Now Enge splashed helplessly through the surf, first in one direction then the other, but the one she sought had never come ashore. Kind Akel, strong Akel, eaten by the ocean.
Then the others pulled her back, touched her with understanding and made her rest while they looked. To no avail. The sea was empty, Akel vanished forever.
Enge finally found the strength to sit up, then to stand, to brush the sand from her skin with tired movements. Before her the water stirred and foamed; small heads of an immature efenburu looked out at her, vanished with fright when she moved. Even this delightful sight did not penetrate the blackness of her despair. Yet it did distract her, bring her to herself, make her realize that the others depended upon her and that her duty was to the living, not the dead. She looked along the sand to the distant outline of Yebèisk at the ocean’s edge.
“You must go to the city,” she said. “You must mix with the fargi and lose yourselves among them. You must move with caution and remember always the terrible lessons that we learned in deadly Gendasi. Many of our sisters died there, but their deaths may still have some meaning if we have learned our lessons well. Learned how Ugunenapsa saw the truth clearly, spoke it clearly, gave it to us. Some were weak and did not understand. But now we know that Ugunenapsa spoke the complete truth. We have the knowledge — but what shall we do with it?”
“Share it with others!” Efen said with joy-of-tomorrow expressed with great feeling. “That is our mission — and it will not fail.”
“We must never forget that. But I must consider carefully how to go about doing that. I will find a place to rest — and to think. I will wait there for your return.”
With silent movements of agreement and perseverance they touched thumbs lightly. Then turned and with Enge leading went toward the city.