“Leave me,” she said, then turned back to the empty sea. Enge turned away as well, breathing deeply and ashamed of herself for the unbidden anger. This was not what she believed in, what she preached to others. With great effort she stilled the movements of her limbs, the glaring colors of her palms and crest. Only when she was stonelike and as uncommunicative as Vaintè did she permit herself to speak. Below her was the crewmember guiding the uruketo through the sea; close behind her was the commander. Enge leaned down and made the sound of speaking-attention.
“From one-who-follows to one-who-leads, would Erafnais give pleasure by joining here?”
Erafnais climbed reluctantly up, aware of silent Vaintè, back turned and staring out at the sea. “I am here, Enge,” she said.
“My thanks and the gratitude of those with me, for saving us from destruction. Where are you bound?”
“Where?” Erafnais echoed the question, then felt shame. She was the commander yet had not thought of their destination at all. She blurted the truth with shallow movements of apology.
“We fled the fire, out to sea, our course as it always is east to Entoban*. This was done with the panic of flight and not the wisdom of command.”
“Dismiss the shame — for you have saved us all and there is only gratitude. Entoban* of the Yilanè must be our destination. But which city?”
The question brought the answer instantly.
“Home. Where my efenburu is, where this uruketo first entered the sea. Sea-girt Ikhalmenets.”
Though still staring out at the surging waves, Vaintè had turned one eye to follow the conversation. She asked for attention to communication but only Erafnais looked her way.
“Ikhalmenets-of-the-islands is not Entoban*. Respectfully request course to Mesekei.”
Erafnais acknowledged the request, yet politely but firmly reaffirmed their destination. Vaintè could see that her wrong-headedness could not be altered so was silent. There would be other ways to reach her destination — for reach it she must. Mesekei was a great city on a great river, rich and prosperous and far from the cold of the north. More important — they had aided her more than any other city in the war against the ustuzou. The future now was gray and impenetrable when she looked at it, her numbed mind empty of all thought. A time would come when the grayness must lift and she would be able to think once again of the future. At that time it would be good to be in a city among friends. There would be other uruketo in Ikhalmenets; some way would be found.
Companions there — but only enemies here. Through the grayness this ugly fact loomed large. Enge and her Daughters of Death still lived — while all those so deserving of life now lay dead. This should not be — nor would it be. There was nothing that could be done here at sea. She was alone against them all; could expect no aid from Erafnais and her crew-members. Once ashore this would all change. How could she change it? Her thoughts were stirring to life now and she concealed them by her rigidity of body.
Behind her Enge signed respectful withdrawal to the commander and climbed below. When she had reached the bottom of the fin she looked back at Vaintè’s motionless figure, then felt for an instant that she could almost see her mind at work. Evil, dark and deadly. Vaintè’s ambitions would never change, never. These thoughts filled Enge so strongly that her limbs stirred despite her attempts at control, even in the dim phosphorescent glow they could be easily understood.
She banished them and walked slowly through the semidarkness. Past the immobile Akotolp and her miserable male companion and on to the small group huddled against the wall. Akel stood and turned toward her — then drew back as she approached.
“Enge, follower-to-leader, what unhappiness moves your limbs so that I fear for my very life when you come close?”
Enge halted at this and conveyed apology. “Loyal Akel, what I was feeling was not for you — or for any of you others as well.” She looked around at the four remaining Daughters of Life and let her movements show how pleased she was with their companionship. “Once we were many. Now we are few so each of you is more precious than a multitude to me. Since we lived when all others died I feel that this has given us a mission — and a strength to carry out that mission. We will talk of that another time. There are other things that must be done first.” With her thumbs against her ribcage she signed listening-ears/watching-eyes. “The sorrow I brought with me is not my own. I will now give thought to the cause of that sorrow.”
She sought out a dark angle behind the bladders of preserved meat where she would be hard to see, then lay facing the living wall of the uruketo and forced her body into silent rigidity. Only when this exercise was complete did she let her thoughts return to Vaintè. Inner thoughts that were not echoed in her outer stillness.
Vaintè. She of immense hatreds. Now that Enge was free of any affection for her former efenselè she could see her for what she was. A dark power for evil. And once this fact was realized it became clear that her first act from this darkness would be directed against Enge and her companions. They had lived where all others had died. They would speak out in Ikhalmenets and what they would say would not be to Vaintè’s advantage. Therefore in her simple equation of cause and effect they would have to die; nothing could be plainer than that.
Dangers known could be avoided, threats seen counteracted. Plans must be made. The first one was the easiest. Survival. She stirred and rose and went to the others. Akel and Efen greeted her, but Omal and Satsat were asleep, already sinking into the comatose state that would see them through the long, dark voyage.
“Waken, please, we must talk,” Enge said, then waited until the others had stirred and were attentive again. “We cannot discuss, so I ask compliance/obedience. Will you do as I ask?”
“You speak for us all, Enge,” Omal said simply and the others signed agreement.
“Then this is what we will do. While four sleep one must always be awake — for there are great dangers. That is what must be done. If one is sleepy then another must be awoken. One will always sit awake beside the sleepers.” She looked about as they all communicated understanding and agreement. “Then all is well. Now sleep my sisters and I will remain awake at your side.”
Enge was sitting in the same position some time later when Vaintè climbed down from the fin, a shiver of hatred running the length of her body when she caught Enge’s watching eye. Enge did not respond — nor did she turn away. The placidity of her gaze irritated Vaintè even more so that she was forced to lie at a distance, her back turned, in order to calm herself.
It was a fast and uneventful crossing, for all aboard were so shocked by the death of Alpèasak that they escaped their remembered terrors in sleep, waking only to eat, then sleep again. But one of the appointed five was always awake, always watchful.
Enge was asleep when land was sighted, but she had left her orders.
“It is there, the greentree shore of Entoban *,” Satsat said, touching Enge lightly to awaken her.
Enge signed grateful thanks and waited in silent stolidity until the time came when the commander was alone on top of the fin: she joined her there and they both looked in silent appreciation at the line of white breakers that were drawn against the greens of the jungle beyond.
“Respectful request for knowledge,” Enge signed, and Erafnais let acceptance be known. “We are looking at the shore of warm and eternal Entoban*. But is it known at what position on the coast we see?”
“Somewhere here,” Erafnais said, holding out the chart tight-clamped between the thumbs of one hand, the thumbs of the other spanning a distance on the coast. Enge looked closely at it.