The Call of Earth: 2 (Homecoming) (6 page)

“Never!” cried Smelost. “Roptat was no traitor!”

“No, of course he wasn’t,” said Rasa soothingly. “The point is that Gab was their enemy, and that makes
you their friend. It’s the least they can do, to take you in.”

“How long will I have to stay away?” asked Smelost. “There’s a woman that I love here. I have a son.”

“Not long,” said Rasa. “With Gab gone, the tumult will soon die down. He was the cause of it, and now we’ll have peace again. May the Oversoul forgive me for saying so, but if Nafai killed him then maybe he did a good thing, for Basilica at least.”

There was a loud knocking at the door.

“Already!” said Rasa.

“They can’t know I’m here,” said Smelost.

“Shuya, take him to the kitchen and provision him. I’ll stall them at the door as long as I can. Luet, help your sister.”

But it wasn’t Palwashantu soldiers at the door, or city guards, or any kind of authority at all. Instead it was Vas, Sevet’s husband.

“I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour.”

“Me and my whole house,” said Rasa. “I already know that Sevet’s father is dead, but I know you meant well in coming to—”

“He’s dead?” said Vas. “Gaballufix? Then maybe that explains . . . No, it explains nothing.” He looked frightened and angry. Rasa had never seen him like this.

“What’s wrong, then?” Rasa asked. “If you didn’t know Gab was dead, why are you here?”

“One of Kokor’s neighbors came to fetch me. It’s Sevet. She’s been struck in the throat—she almost died. A very bad injury. I thought you’d want to come with me.”

“You
left
her? To come to me?”

“I wasn’t with her,” said Vas. “She’s at Kokor’s house.”

“Why would Sevya be there?” One of the servants
was already helping Rasa put on a cloak, so she could go outside. “Kokor had a play tonight, didn’t she? A new play.”

“Sevya was with Obring,” said Vas. He led her out onto the portico; the servant closed the door behind them. “That’s why Kyoka hit her.”

“Kyoka hit her in the—
Kyoka
did it?”

“She found them together. That’s how the neighbor told the story, anyway. Obring went and fetched the doctor stark naked, and Sevya was naked when they got back. Kyoka was breathing into her mouth, to save her. They have a tube in her throat and she’s breathing, she won’t die. That’s all the neighbor knew to tell me.”

“That Sevet is alive,” said Rasa bitterly, “and who was naked.”

“Her throat,” said Vas. “It might have been kinder for Kokor simply to kill her, if this costs Sevet her voice.”

“Poor Sevya,” said Rasa. There were soldiers marching in the streets, but Rasa paid them no attention, and—perhaps because Vas and Rasa seemed so intent and urgent—the soldiers made no effort to stop them. “To lose her father and her voice in the same night.”

“We’ve all lost something tonight, eh?” said Vas bitterly.

“This isn’t about
you,
said Rasa. “I think Sevet really loves you, in her way.”

“I know—they hate each other so much they’ll do anything to hurt each other. But I thought it was getting better.”

“Maybe now it will,” said Rasa. “It can’t get worse.”

“Kyoka tried it, too,” said Vas. “I sent her away both times. Why couldn’t Obring have had the brains to say no to Sevet, too?”

“He has the brains,” said Rasa. “He lacks the strength.”

At Kokor’s house, the scene was very touching. Someone had cleaned up: The bed was no longer rumpled with love; now it was smooth except where Sevet lay, demure in one of Kokor’s most modest nightgowns. Obring, too, had managed to become clothed, and now he knelt in the corner, comforting a weeping Kokor. The doctor greeted Rasa at the door of the room.

“I’ve drained the blood out of the lungs,” the physician said. “She’s in no danger of dying, but the breathing tube must remain for now. A throat specialist will be here soon. Perhaps the damage will heal without scarring. Her career may not be over.”

Rasa sat on the bed beside her daughter, and took Sevya’s hand. The smell of vomit still lingered, even though the floor was wet from scrubbing. “Well, Sevya,” whispered Rasa, “did you win or lose this round?”

A tear squeezed out between Sevet’s eyelids.

On the other side of the room, Vas stood over Obring and Kokor. He was flushed with—what, anger? Or was his face merely red from the exertion of their walk?

“Obring,” said Vas, “you miserable little bastard. Only a fool pees in his brother’s soup.”

Obring looked up at him, his face drawn, and then he looked back down at his wife, who wept all the harder. Rasa knew Kokor well enough to know that while her weeping was sincere, it was being played for the most possible sympathy. Rasa had almost none to give her. She was well aware how little her daughters had cared for the exclusivity clause in their marriage contracts, and she had no sympathy for faithless people who felt injured
upon discovering that their mates were faithless, too.

It was Sevet who was suffering, not Kokor. Rasa could not be distracted from Sevet’s need, just because Kokor was so noisy and Sevet was silent.

“I’m with you, my dear daughter,” said Rasa. “It’s not the end of the world. You’re alive, and your husband loves you. Let that be your music for a while.”

Sevet clung to her hand, her breath shallow, panting.

Rasa turned to the doctor. “Has she been told about her father?”

“She knows,” Obring said. “Kyoka told us.”

“Thank the Oversoul we have but one funeral to attend,” said Rasa.

“Kyoka saved her sister’s life,” said Obring. “She gave her breath.”

No,
I
gave her breath, thought Rasa. Gave her breath, but alas, I could not give her decency, or sense. I couldn’t keep her out of her sister’s sheets, or away from her sister’s husband. But I did give her breath, and perhaps now this pain will teach her something. Compassion, perhaps. Or at least some self-restraint. Something to make good come out of this. Something to make her become
my
daughter, and not Gaballufix’s, as they both have been till now.

Let this all turn to good, Rasa silently prayed. But then she wondered to whom she was praying. To the Oversoul, whose meddling had started so many other problems? I’ll get no help from
her,
thought Rasa. I’m on my own now, to try to steer my family and my city through the terrible days to come. I have no power or authority over either of them, except whatever power comes from love and wisdom. I have the love. If only I could be sure I also had the wisdom.

Luet had never tried to have an emergency dream before, and so it had never occurred to her that she couldn’t just go to sleep and dream because she wished it. Quite the contrary—the sense of urgency was no doubt what had kept her awake and made it impossible for her to dream. She was furious and ashamed that she hadn’t been able to learn anything from the Oversoul before Aunt Rasa had to make a decision about what to do with that soldier, Smelost. What made it worse was that, even though the Oversoul had told her nothing, she was certain that sending Smelost to the Gorayni was a mistake. It seemed too simple, to think that because Gaballufix had been an enemy of the Gorayni, the Gorayni would automatically welcome Gaballufix’s enemy and give him sanctuary.

Luet had wanted to speak up and tell her, “Aunt Rasa, the Gorayni aren’t necessarily our friends.” She
might even have said so, but Rasa had rushed out of the house with Vas and there was nothing to do but watch as Smelost gathered up the food and supplies the servants brought for him and then slipped out the back way.

Why couldn’t Rasa have thought just a moment more? Wouldn’t it have been better to send Smelost out into the desert to join Wetchik? But he wasn’t the Wetchik anymore, was he? He was nothing but Volemak, the man who
had
been Wetchik until Gaballufix stripped him of the title—when?—only yesterday. Nothing but Volemak—yet Luet knew that Volemak, of all the great men of Basilica, was the only one who was part of the Oversoul’s plans.

The Oversoul had begun all these problems by giving Volemak his vision of Basilica on fire. She had warned him that an alliance with Potokgavan would lead to the destruction of Basilica. She hadn’t promised that Basilica could trust the Gorayni to be
friends.
And from what Luet knew of the Gorayni—the Wetheads, as they were called, from the way they oiled their hair—it was a bad idea to send Smelost to ask for refuge. It would give the wrong impression to the Gorayni. It would lead them to think that their allies were not safe in Basilica. Might that not entice them to do exactly what everyone wanted to keep them from doing—invade and conquer the city.

No, it was a mistake to send Smelost. But since Luet didn’t reach this conclusion as a waterseer, but rather reached it through her own reasoning, no one would listen to her. She was a child, except when the Oversoul was in her, and so she only had respect when she was not herself. It made her angry, but what could she do about it, except hope that she was wrong about Smelost
and the Gorayni, and then wait impatiently until she turned fully into a woman?

What worried her perhaps even more was that it was unlike Rasa to reach such a faulty conclusion. Rasa seemed to be acting out of fear, acting without thinking. And if Rasa’s judgment was clouded, then what could Luet count on?

I want to talk to someone, she thought. Not her sister Hushidh—dear Shuya was very wise and kind and would listen to her, but she simply didn’t care about anything outside Basilica. That was the problem with her being a raveler. Hushidh lived in the constant awareness of all the connections and relationships among the people around her. That web-sense was naturally the most important thing in her life, as she watched people connect and detach from each other, forming communities and dissolving them. And underlying all was Shuya’s powerful awareness of the fabric of Basilica itself. She loved the city—but she knew it so well, focused so closely on it that she simply had no idea of how Basilica related to the world outside. Such relationships were too large and impersonal.

Luet had even tried to discuss this with her, but Hushidh fell asleep almost at once. Luet couldn’t blame her. After all, it was nearly dawn, and they had missed hours of sleep in the middle of the night. Luet herself should be asleep.

If only I could talk with Nafai or Issib. Nafai especially—
he
can talk with the Oversoul when he’s awake. He may not get the visions that I get, he may not see with the depth and clarity of a waterseer, but he can get
answers.
Practical, simple answers. And he doesn’t have to be able to fall asleep to get them. If only he were here. Yet the Oversoul sent him and his father and all his brothers away into the desert. That’s
where Smelost should have gone, definitely. To Nafai. If only anyone knew where he was.

At last, at long last Luet’s frenzied thoughts jumbled into the chaotic mentation of sleep, and from her fitful sleep a dream came, a dream that she would remember, for it came from outside herself and had meaning beyond the random firings of her brain during sleep.

“Wake up,” said Hushidh.

“I
am
awake,” said Luet.

“You’ve answered me that twice already, Lutya, and each time you stay asleep. It’s morning, and things are even worse than we thought.”

“If you said that every time I woke up,” said Luet, “then no wonder I went back to sleep.”

“You’ve slept long enough,” said Hushidh, and then proceeded to tell her all about what happened at Kokor’s house the night before.

Luet could hardly grasp that such things could actually happen—not to anyone connected with Rasa’s house. Yet it wasn’t just rumor. “That’s why Vas took Aunt Rasa with him,” said Luet.

“You have such a bright mind in the morning.”

Her thoughts were coming so sluggishly that it took Luet a moment to realize that Hushidh was being ironic. “I was dreaming,” she said, to explain her stupidness.

But Hushidh wasn’t interested in her dream. “For poor Aunt Rasa the nightmare starts when she wakes up.”

Luet tried to think of a bright spot. “At least she has the comfort of knowing Kokor and Sevet were auntied out to Dhelembuvex—it won’t reflect on her house—”

“Won’t reflect . . . ! They’re her
daughters,
Lutya. And Auntie Dhel was over here with them all the time as they were growing up. This has nothing to do with
how they were raised. This is what it means to be the daughters of Gaballufix. How deliciously ironic, that the very night he dies, one of his daughters strikes the other dumb with a blow to the throat.”

“Sweet kindness flows with every word from your lips, Shuya.”

Hushidh glared at her. “You’ve never loved Aunt Rasa’s daughters, either, so don’t get pure with me.”

The truth was that Luet had no great interest in Rasa’s daughters. She had been too young to care, when they last were in Rasa’s house. But Hushidh, being older, had clear memories of what it was like to have them in the house all the time, with Kokor actually attending classes, and both of them surrounded by suitors. Hushidh liked to joke that the pheromone count couldn’t have been higher in a brothel, but Hushidh’s loathing for Kokor and Sevet had nothing to do with their attractiveness to men. It had to do with their vicious jealousy of any girl who had actually earned Rasa’s love and respect. Hushidh was no rival to them, and yet they had both persecuted her mercilessly, taunting her whenever the teachers couldn’t hear, until she became virtually a ghost in Rasa’s house, hiding until the moment of class and rushing away afterward, avoiding meals, shunning all the parties and frolics, until Kokor and Sevet finally married at a mercifully young age— fourteen and fifteen, respectively—and moved out. Sevet was already a noted singer even then, and her practicing—and Kokor’s—had filled the house like bird-song. But neither she nor Kokor had brought any true music to Rasa’s house. Rather the music returned when they finally left. And Hushidh remained quiet and shy around everyone except Luet. So of course Hushidh cared more when Rasa’s daughters played out some bitter
tragedy. Luet only cared because it would make Aunt Rasa sad.