The Call of Earth: 2 (Homecoming) (36 page)

“But they will wish to meet with me. Don’t you think? Since Hushidh is sixteen, and free to receive visitors under the law, and Luet is also married, and thus also free to receive visitors, then I hope you will respect both law and courtesy and inform them that I wish to meet with them.”

Rasa could not help but admire him even as she feared him—for, at a moment when Gabya or Rash would have blustered or threatened, Moozh simply insisted on courtesy. He did not bother reminding her of his thousand soldiers, of his power in the world. He simply relied on her good manners, and she was helpless before him, for right was not yet clearly on her side.

“I dismissed the servants. I will wait with you here, while Nafai goes for them.”

When Moozh nodded, Nafai left, walking briskly toward the wing of the house where the bridal couples
had spent the night. Rasa vaguely wondered at what hour Elemak and Eiadh, Mebbekew and Dol would rise, and what they would think of the fact that Nafai had gone to General Moozh. They ought perhaps to admire the boy’s courage, but Elemak would no doubt resent him for his very intrusiveness, meddling always in affairs that shouldn’t concern him. Whereas Rasa didn’t resent Nafai’s failure to remember that he was only a boy. Rather she feared for him because of it.

“The foyer is not a comfortable place,” said Moozh. “Perhaps there might be some private room, where early risers will not interrupt us.”

“But why would we have need of a private room, when we don’t yet know whether my nieces will receive you?”

“Your niece and your daughter-in-law,” said Moozh.

“A new relationship; it could hardly bring us closer than we already were.”

“You love the girls dearly,” said Moozh.

“I would lay down my life for them.”

“And yet cannot spare a private room for their meeting with a foreign visitor?”

Rasa glowered at him and led him out to her private portico—the screened-off area, where there was no view of the Rift Valley. But Moozh made no pretense of sitting in the place on the bench that she patted. Instead he made for the balustrade beyond the screens. It was forbidden for men to stand there, to see that view; and yet Rasa knew that it would weaken her to attempt to forbid him. It would be . . . pathetic.

So instead she arose and stood beside him, looking out over the valley.

“You see what few men have seen,” said Rasa.

“But your son has seen it,” said Moozh. “He has floated naked on the waters of the lake of women.”

“It wasn’t my idea,” said Rasa.

“The Oversoul, I know,” said Moozh. “He takes us down so many twisted paths. Mine perhaps the most twisted one of all.”

“And which bend will you take now?”

“The bend towards greatness and glory. Justice and freedom.”

“For whom?”

“For Basilica, if the city will accept it.”

“We
have
greatness and glory. We
have
justice and freedom. How can you imagine that any exertion of yours will add one whit to what we have?”

“Perhaps you’re right,” said Moozh. “Perhaps I’m only using Basilica to add luster to my
own
name, at the beginning, when I need it. Is Basilican glory so rare and dear that we can’t find a bit of it to share with me?”

“Moozh, I like you so much that I almost regret the terror that fills my heart whenever I think of you.”

“Why? I mean no harm to you, or to anyone you love.”

“The terror is not for that. It’s for what you mean to my city. To the world at large. You are the thing that the Oversoul was set in place to prevent. You are the machineries of war, the love of power, the lust for enlargement.”

“You could
not
have made me prouder than to praise me thus.”

There were footsteps behind them. Rasa turned to find Luet and Hushidh approaching. Nafai hung back.

“Come with your wife and sister-in-law, Nafai,” said Rasa. “General Moozh has decreed our ancient custom to be abrogated, at least for this morning, with the sun preparing to rise behind the mountains.”

Nafai walked more briskly then, and they took their places. Moozh easily and artfully arranged them, simply
by taking his place leaning against the balustrade, so that as they sat on the arc of benches, their focus, their center was Moozh.

“I have come here this morning to congratulate the waterseer directly on her wedding last night.”

Luet nodded gravely, though Rasa was reasonably sure that Luet knew Moozh had no such purpose. In fact, Rasa rather hoped that Nafai had some idea of what he had in mind, and had briefed the girls before they got here.

“It was an astonishing thing, for one so young,” said Moozh. “And yet, having met young Nafai here, I can see that you have married well. A fitting consort for the waterseer, for Nafai is a brave and noble young man. So noble, in fact, that I begged him to let me place his name in nomination for the consulship of Basilica.”

“There is no such office,” said Rasa.

“There will be,” said Moozh, “as there was before. An office little called for in times of peace, but needful enough in times of war.”

“Of which we would have done, if you would only go away.”

“It hardly matters, for your son declined the honor. In a way, it’s almost fortunate. Not that he wouldn’t have made a splendid consul. The people would have accepted him, for not only is he the bridegroom of the waterseer, but also he hears the voice of the Oversoul himself. A prophet and a prophetess, together in the highest chamber of the city. And for those who feared he might be a weakling, a puppet of the Gorayni overmaster, we need only point out the fact that long before old General Moozh arrived, Nafai himself, under the orders of the Oversoul, boldly ended a great menace to the freedom of Basilica and carried out a just execution of the penalty of death already owed by one Gaballufix,
for ordering, the murder of Roptat. Oh, the people would have accepted Nafai readily, and he would have been a wise and capable ruler. Especially with Lady Rasa to advise him.”

“But he declined,” said Rasa.

“He did.”

“So what point is there in flattering us further?”

“Because there is more than one way for me to achieve the same end,” said Moozh. “For instance, I could denounce Nafai for the cowardly murder of Gaballufix, and bring forth Rashgallivak as the man who heroically tried to hold the city through a time of turmoil. Had it not been for the vicious interference of a raveler named Hushidh, he might have succeeded—for everyone knew that Rashgallivak’s hands were not stained with any man’s blood. Instead he was the capable steward, struggling to hold together the households of both Wetchik and Gaballufix. While Nafai and Hushidh go on trial for their crimes, Rashgallivak is made consul of the city. And, of course, he quite properly takes Gaballufix’s daughters under his protection, as he will also do with Nafai’s widow after his execution, and the raveler after she is pardoned for her crime. The city council would not want these poor women under the influence of the dangerous, self-serving Lady Rasa for another day.”

“So you
do
make threats, after all,” said Rasa.

“Lady Rasa, I am describing serious possibilities— choices that I can make, which will lead me to the end that, one way or another, I
will
achieve. I will have Basilica freely allied with me. It will be
my
city before I go on to challenge the tyrannical rule of the Gorayni Imperator.”

“There is another way?” asked Hushidh quietly.

“There is, and it is perhaps the best of all,” said
Moozh. “It is the reason why Nafai brought me home with him—so I could stand before the raveler and ask for her to marry me.”

Rasa was aghast. “Marry
you!”

“Despite my nickname, I have no wife,” said Moozh. “It isn’t good for a man to be alone too long. I’m thirty years old—I hope not too old for you to accept me as your husband, Hushidh.”

“She is intended for my son,” said Rasa.

Moozh turned on her, and for the first time his sweet manners were replaced by a biting, dangerous anger. “A cripple who is hiding in the desert, a manlet whom this lovely girl has never desired as a husband and does not desire now!”

“You’re mistaken,” said Hushidh. “I
do
desire him.”

“But you have not married him,” said Moozh.

“I have not.”

“There is no legal barrier to your marrying me,” said Moozh.

“There is none.”

“Enter this house and slay us all,” said Rasa, “but I will not let you take this girl by force.”

“Don’t make a drama of this,” said Moozh. “I have no intention of forcing anything. As I said, I have several paths open to me. At any point Nafai can say, ‘I’ll be the consul,’ whereupon Hushidh will find the onerous burden of my marriage proposal less pressing— though not withdrawn, if she would like to share my future with me. For I assure you, Hushidh, that come what may, my life will be glorious, and the name of my wife will be sung with mine in all the tales of it forever.”

“The answer is no,” said Rasa.

“The question is not asked of you,” said Moozh.

Hushidh looked from one to another of them, but not asking them anything. Indeed, Rasa was quite sure
that Hushidh was seeing, not their features, but rather the threads of love and loyalty that bound them together.

“Aunt Rasa,” said Hushidh at last, “I hope you will forgive me for disappointing your son.”

“Don’t let him bully you,” said Rasa fiercely. “The Oversoul would never let him have Nafai executed—it’s all bluster.”

“The Oversoul is a computer,” said Hushidh. “She is not omnipotent.”

“Hushidh, there are visions tying you to Issib. The Oversoul has chosen you for each other!”

“Aunt Rasa,” said Hushidh, “I can only beg you to keep your silence and respect my decision. For I have seen threads that I never guessed were there, connecting me to this man. I did not think, when I heard his name was Moozh, that I would be the one woman with the
right
to use that name for him.”

“Hushidh,” said Moozh, “I decided to propose to you for political reasons, having never seen you. But I heard that you were wise, and I saw at once that you are lovely. Now I have seen the way you think and heard the way you speak, and I know that I can bring you, not just power and glory, but also the tender gifts of a true husband.”

“And I will bring you the devotion of a true wife,” said Hushidh, rising to her feet and walking to him. He reached for her, and she accepted his gentle embrace and his kiss upon her cheek.

Rasa, devastated, could say nothing.

“Can my Aunt Rasa perform the ceremony?” asked Hushidh. “I assume that for . . . political reasons . . . you’ll want the wedding to be soon.”

“Soon, but it can’t be Lady Rasa,” said Moozh. “Her
reputation is none too good right now, though I’m sure that situation can be clarified soon after the wedding.”

“Can I have a last day with my sister?”

“It’s your wedding, not your funeral that you’re going to,” said Moozh. “You’ll have many days with your sister. But the wedding will be today. At noon. In the Orchestra, with all the city as witnesses. And your sister Luet will perform the ceremony.”

It was too terrible. Moozh understood too well how to turn this all to his advantage. If Luet performed the marriage, then her prestige would be on it. Moozh would be fully accepted as a noble citizen of Basilica, and he would have no need of any stand-in to be his puppet consul. Rather he would easily be named consul himself, and Hushidh would be his consort, the first lady of Basilica. She would be glorious in her role, worthy of it in every way—except that the role should not be played by anyone, and Moozh would destroy Basilica with his ambition.

Destroy Basilica . . .

“Oversoul!” cried Rasa from her heart. “Is that what you planned from the beginning?”

“Of course it is,” said Moozh. “As Nafai himself told me, I was maneuvered here by God himself. For what other purpose, than to find a wife?” He turned again to Hushidh, who still looked up to him, still touched him, her hand on his arm. “My dear lady,” said Moozh, “will you come with me now? While your sister prepares to perform the ceremony, we have many things to talk about, and you should be with me when we announce our wedding to the city council this morning.”

Luet stood and strode forward. “I haven’t agreed to play any part in this abominable farce!”

“Lutya,” said Nafai.

“You can’t force her!” cried Rasa triumphantly.

But it was Hushidh, not Moozh, who answered. “Sister, if you love me, if you have ever loved me, then I beg you, come to the Orchestra prepared to perform this wedding.” Hushidh looked at them all. “Aunt Rasa, you must come. And bring your daughters and their husbands, and Nafai, bring your brothers and their wives. Bring all the teachers and the students of this house, even those who live away. Will you bring them to see me take a husband? Will you give me that one courtesy, in memory of all my happy years in this good house?”

The formality of her speech, the distance of her manner broke Rasa’s heart, and she wept even as she agreed. Luet, too, promised to perform the ceremony.

“You will release them from this house for the wedding, won’t you?” Hushidh asked Moozh.

He smiled tenderly at her. “They will be escorted to the Orchestra,” he said, “and then escorted home.”

“That’s all I ask,” said Hushidh. And then she left the portico on Moozh’s arm.

When they were gone, Rasa sank to the bench and wept bitterly. “Why have we served her all these years?” Rasa demanded. “We are nothing to her. Nothing!”

“Hushidh loves us,” said Luet.

“She’s not talking about Hushidh,” said Nafai.

“The Oversoul!” cried Rasa. Then she shouted the word, as if she were crowing it to the rising sun. “Oversoul!”

“If you’ve lost faith in the Oversoul,” said Nafai, “at least have faith in Hushidh. She still has hope of turning this the way we want it to go, don’t you realize? She took Moozh’s offer because she saw some plan in it. Perhaps the Oversoul even
told
her to say yes, did you think of that?”

“I thought of it,” said Luet, “but I can hardly believe it. The Oversoul has hinted nothing of this to us.”