The Call of Earth: 2 (Homecoming) (18 page)

“Which of you will learn to use the equipment?” asked Shedemei.

“Hushidh and I,” said Luet quickly.

“Then come this afternoon so I can teach you.”

“You’ll give us the equipment?” asked Hushidh.

Was she delighted, or merely surprised?”

“I’ll consider it,” said Shedemei. “And teaching you how to operate it will cost nothing but time.”

With that, Shedemei got up from the carpet and stepped out from under the awning. She looked for the grating through which she had come, but Luet must have replaced it, and she couldn’t remember where she needed to go.

She didn’t need to say anything, however, for Luet must have noticed her confusion instantly, and now the girl was leading her to the place. The grating hadn’t been replaced, it had simply been out of sight behind the roofline. “I know the way from here,” said Shedemei. “You needn’t come with me.”

“Shedemei,” said Luet. “I dreamed of
you
once. Not many days ago.”

“Oh?”

“I know you’ll doubt me, and think I’m saying this only to try to persuade you to come, but it’s not a coincidence. I was in the woods, and it was night, and I was afraid. I saw several women. Aunt Rasa, and Hushidh; Eiadh and Dol. And you. I saw you.”

“I wasn’t there,” said Shedemei. “I never go into the woods.”

“I know—I told you, it was a dream, though I was awake.”

“I mean what I said, Luet. I
never
go into the woods. I never go down to the lake. I’m sure what you do is very important and fine, but it’s not part of my life. It’s no part of my life.”

“Then perhaps,” said Luet, “you should change your. life.”

To that Shedemei had nothing civil to say, so she stepped through the opening in the wall. Behind her she could hear the murmuring sound of their conversation resuming, but she couldn’t make out any of the words. Not that she wanted to. This was outrageous, to ask her to do what they were asking her to do.

And yet it had felt so wonderful, in her dream, to reach up and bring down life from the clouds. Why hadn’t she just left it that way—as a beautiful dream? Why had she told these children? Why couldn’t she just forget what they had said, instead of having these thoughts that now whirled in her mind.

To return to Earth. Home to Earth.

What did that mean? In forty million years, human beings had been content on Harmony. Why now should Earth be calling to her? It was madness, contagious madness in these troubled times.

Still, instead of going home she went to the biolibrary, and spent several hours poring over the catalogue, making up a plausible order for two camels’ load of crystalized seeds and embryos that might restore the more useful plants and animals to an Earth that lost them long, long ago.

Rasa had spent her life filled with confidence. There was nothing that could happen, she knew, that she could not handle with a combination of wit, kindness, and determination. People could always be persuaded, or if they could not, then they could be ignored and in time they would fade away. This philosophy had brought her to a point where her household was one of the most respected schools in Basilica, despite the fact
that it was so new; it had also made her personally influential in every part of the city’s life, though she had never held any office. She was consulted on most major decisions of the city council; she served on the governing boards of many of the arts councils; and, above all, she was privately consulted by the women—and, yes, even the men—who made most of the important decisions concerning Basilica’s government and business. She was wooed by many men, but stayed happily married to the one man she had ever known who was neither threatened by nor covetous of her power. She had created a perfect role for herself within the city, and loved to live the part.

What had never occurred to her was how fragile it all was. The fabric of her life had been woven on the loom of Basilica, and now that Basilica was breaking apart, her life was fraying, snagging, tearing apart. Her former husband, Gaballufix, had begun the process, back while they were still married, when he attempted to get her to try to change the laws forbidding men to own property in the city. When she realized what his purpose in marrying her had been, she let the contract lapse and remarried Wetchik—permanendy, as far as she was concerned. But Gaballufix hadn’t given up, building support among the lowest sort of men in the villages outside the walls of the city. Then he brought them in as tolchoks, terrifying the women of the city, and then as mercenary soldiers in those hideous masks, supposedly to protect the city from the tolchoks—but as far as Rasa could tell, the mercenaries
were
the tolchoks in fancy holographic uniforms.

But Gaballufix might have been containable, if the Oversoul hadn’t begun to act so strangely. She actually spoke to a man—and not just any man, but Wetchik himself. The problems this caused Rasa were incalculable.
Not only was her former husband attacking the ancient laws of the city of women, but now her present husband was telling everyone who would listen that Basilica was going to be destroyed. Her dear friend Dhel remarked to her at the time—only a few weeks ago— that people were surprised that Rasa hadn’t also been married to Roptat, the leader of the pro-Gorayni party. “Perhaps you ought to check your bed for some kind of madness-inducing parasite, my dear,” said Dhel. She was joking, of course, but it was a painful joke.

Painful, but nothing compared to these past few days. Everything was falling apart. Gaballufix stole Wetchik’s fortune and tried to kill his sons—including both of Rasa’s own sons. Then the Oversoul commanded Luet to lead Nafai—of all people,
Nafai,
a mere child—down to the forbidden lake, where he floated on the water like a woman—like a waterseer. That same night, no doubt still wet from the lake of peace, Nafai had killed Gab. In one sense it was fair enough, for Gaballufix had tried to kill
him.
But to Rasa it was the most terrible thing she could imagine, her own son murdering her former husband.

Yet even that was only the beginning. For on that same night, she had found out exactly how monstrous her two daughters were. Sevya, sleeping with Kokor’s husband—and Kokor then lashing out and nearly killing her. Civilization didn’t even reach into my own home. My son a murderer, one daughter an adulterer and the other a murderer in her heart. Only Issib was still civilized. Issib the cripple, she thought bitterly. Perhaps that’s what civilization is composed of—cripples who have banded together to try to control the strong. Wasn’t that what Gaballufix said once? “In a time of peace, Rasa, you women can afford to surround yourselves with eunuchs. But when the enemy comes from
outside, the eunuchs won’t save you. You’ll wish for real men, then, dangerous men, powerful men—and where will they be, since you’ve driven them all away?”

Rashgallivak—he was one of the foolish weaklings, wasn’t he? One of the “eunuchs,” in the sense that Gaballufix meant. He hadn’t the strength to control the animals that Gaballufix had brought under harness. And then Hushidh cut loose that harness and the city began to burn. In my own house it happened! Why, again, am I the focal point?

The last insult was the coming of General Moozh, for Rasa knew now that it was he—it could be no one else. So audacious—to march to the city with only a thousand men, coming at a time when no enemy could be resisted, and when anyone willing to pretend to be a friend would be invited in. Rasa was not fooled by his promises. She was not deceived by the fact that his soldiers had withdrawn from the streets. They still held the walls and the gates, didn’t they?

And even Moozh was tied to her, just as Wetchik and Gaballufix and Nafai and Rashgallivak had been tied. For he had come with her letter, and it was by using her name that he had first gained entry into the city.

Things could not possibly get any worse. And then, this morning, Nafai and Elemak had come into her house—from the forest side, which meant that they had both been creeping through lands that were forbidden to men. And why had they come? To inform her that the Oversoul required her to leave the city and join her husband in the desert, bringing with her whatever women she thought might be appropriate.

“Appropriate for what?” asked Rasa.

“Appropriate for marrying,” said Elemak, “and bearing children in a new land far from here.”

“I should leave the city of Basilica, taking some poor
innocent women with me, and go out to live like a tribe of baboons in the desert?”

“Not like baboons,” Nafai had said helpfully. “We still wear clothing, and none of us barks.”

“I will not consider it,” said Rasa.

“Yes you will, Mother,” said Nafai.

“Are you threatening me?” asked Rasa—for she had heard too many men say such words recently.

“Not at all,” said Nafai. “I’m predicting. I’ll bet that before a half hour goes by, you’ll be considering it, because you know the Oversoul wants you to do it.”

And he was right. Not ten minutes. She couldn’t get the idea out of her mind.

How did he know? Because he understood how the Oversoul worked. What he didn’t know was that the Oversoul was already working on her. When Wetchik first left for the desert, he asked her to come with him. There was no talk of other women then, but when she prayed to the Oversoul, she was answered as clearly as if a voice had spoken in her heart. Bring your daughters, said the Oversoul. Bring your nieces, any who will come. To the desert, to be the mothers of my people.

To the desert! To be animals! In all her life, Rasa had tried to follow the teachings of the Oversoul. But now she asked too much. Who was Rasa, outside of Basilica, outside of her own house? She was no one there. Just Wetchik’s wife. It would be men who ruled there—feral men, like Wetchik’s son Elemak. He was one frightening boy, that Elemak; she couldn’t believe that Wetchik couldn’t see how dangerous he was. It would be Elemak the hunter that she’d depend on for food. And what influence would she have there? What council would listen to her? The men would hold the councils, and the women would cook and wash and care for the babies. It would be like primitive times, like animal
times. She could not leave the city of women, for if she did, she would cease to be the Lady Rasa and would become a beast.

I only exist in this place. I am only human in this place.

And yet as she walked into the council chamber she knew that “this place” had ceased to be the city of women. As she looked at the frightened, solemn, angry faces in the council, she knew that Basilica as it once had been would never exist again. A new Basilica might rise in its place, but never again would a woman like Rasa be able to raise her daughters and nieces in perfect peace and security. Always there would be men trying to own, to control, to
meddle.
The best she could hope for would be a man like Wetchik, whose kindness would temper his instinct for power. But was there another Wetchik to be found in this world? And even his benign interference would be too much. All would be ruined. All would be poisoned and defiled.

Oversoul! You have betrayed your daughters!

But she did not cry out her blasphemy. Instead she took her place at one of the tables in the middle of the chamber, where non-voting counselors and clerks sat during the meetings. She could feel their eyes upon her. Many, she knew, blamed her for everything—and she could hardly disagree with them. Her husbands, her son, her daughters; her house where Rashgallivak lost control of his soldiers; and, above all, her letter in the hands of the Gorayni general when he came into the city.

The meeting began, and for the first time in Rasa’s memory, the rituals of the opening were rushed, and some were eliminated entirely. No one complained. For they all knew that the deadline the council had imposed on the Gorayni to leave the city now loomed as a deadline
on themselves—for it was clear now to all of them that the Gorayni did not intend to leave.

The argument soon raged. No one disputed the fact that the Goryani now were masters of the city. The city debate was whether to defy the general—some called him Moozh, but only in ridicule, for he refused to answer to the name Vozmuzhalnoy Vozmozhno, and yet told them no other name to use for him—or give his occupation a legal gloss. They hated the idea of giving in to him, but if they did, there was a hope that he’d let them continue to govern the city in exchange for letting him use Basilica as a military base for his operations against the Cities of the Plain and, no doubt, Potokgavan. Yet by making his occupation legal, as he had requested, they gave him power in the long run to destroy them.

Still, what was the alternative? He had made no threats. In fact, all he had sent them was a very respectful letter: “Because my troops have not yet succeeded in abating the danger in Basilica, we are reluctant to abandon our dear friends to the return of such chaos as we found on our arrival. Therefore if you invite us to stay until such time as order is fully restored, we are willing to become your obedient servants for the indefinite future.” On its face, the letter portrayed the Gorayni as being docile as lambs.

But they knew by now that nothing with the Gorayni was what it seemed. Oh, they bowed to every order or request of the city council, promising to obey. But only the orders that suited their purpose were actually carried out. And the city guard, too, was unreliable, for their officers had begun practically to worship the Gorayni general, and now were following his example of swearing obedience and then doing as they liked. Oh, the general was a clever man! He provoked no one, he argued with no one, he agreed with everything that was
said . . . and yet he was immovable, doing all that he pleased, while never giving them anything they could attack him for. Everyone in the council chamber must have felt it as keenly as Rasa did, the slipping away of their own power, the centering of the city on the will of this one man, and all without any overt word or deed of his.

How does he do it? Rasa wondered. How does he master people without bluster or bullying? How does he make people fear him or love him, not in spite of his ruthlessness but because of it?