CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Vaintè leaned back comfortably on her resting wood, deep in thought, her body fixed and motionless. Her aides surrounded her and talked quietly among themselves, they in turn being encircled by the ever-attendant fargi. Vaintè was in the midst of an island of silence, for none would dare to disturb the Eistaa’s immobile state. Her thoughts were the force that drove the city.

But her only thought at the moment was one of extreme hatred; her immobility served only to hide that fact and represented no matters of great cogitation. She rested in complete stasis — except for her right eye which moved slowly, following the three retreating backs. Vanalpè, her irreplaceable aide in growing this city, the scientist Zhekak who could prove just as important. And with them Alakensi, the deadly weight that hung about her neck. How well Malsas‹ had planned this, what subtlety of malice. Now that the first vital work had been done Alakensi was there to make sure that Malsas‹ profited by it. To observe and remember — then to hand the leadership over to Malsas‹ when she arrived. There she went now, currying favor with Zhekak, hearing everything that passed between the two Yilanè of science.

The three vanished from sight and Vaintè’s eye rolled back and came to focus on Enge who had come up silently and now stood before her, bent in a gesture of supplication.

“Leave me,” Vaintè said, as curtly as she could. “I speak with no one.”

“A matter of greatest importance. I implore you to listen.”

“Go.”

“You must listen. Stallan beats the ustuzou. I am afraid she will kill it.”

Vaintè gave Enge her full attention now, demanding an instant explanation.

“The creature tried to escape but was recaptured. Stallan beats it terribly.”

“This is not my wish. Command her to cease. Wait — I will do it myself. I want to hear more about this escape. How did it happen?”

“Only Stallan knows. She has told no one.”

“She will tell me,” Vaintè said, grim authority in her gesture.

When they reached the prison chamber they saw that the door was open and could hear the thudding sound of blows, the moans of pain, as they came down the corridor. “Stop,” Vaintè ordered, halting in the doorway, speaking the word with such strength that Stallan halted, her arm still raised, the blood-drenched leash in her hand.

At her feet Kerrick lay twisted in agony, his back raw bloody flesh, beaten half unconscious.

“Tend the creature,” Vaintè ordered and Enge rushed forward. “And you, put that thing down and give me an instant explanation.”

There was such certain death hovering behind her words that even the strong and fearless Stallan quavered before it. The leash fell from her powerless fingers: it took all of her will to force her body to answer. Knowing that Vaintè had but to speak the few words more and she was doomed.

“The creature escaped from me, ran. Very fast. No one could catch it. We followed it to the fields, keeping close behind it. But never close enough. It would have escaped had it not been caught by one of the traps placed around the fields to stop the ustuzou night raiders.”

“That close,” Vaintè said looking down at the small form. “These wild animals have abilities we are not aware of.” Her anger was dying away and Stallan quivered with relief. “But how did it escape?”

“I do not know, Eistaa. Or rather I know what happened but cannot explain it.”

“Try.”

“I shall. It walked beside me, obeying my commands. When we had gone some distance it stopped and raised its hands to the collar of this leash, choking and saying it was being strangled. This was possible. I reached to the collar but before I could touch it the ustuzou ran away. And it was not choking.”

“But it told you it was choking?”

“It did.”

Vaintè’s anger was gone now as she thought hard about what the hunter had said. “Were you not holding the leash?”

“I had released it when I reached for the collar. The beast was choking, it could not escape.”

“Of course. You did the only thing possible. But it was not choking. You are sure of that?”

“Positive. It ran a long way and breathed well. When it was captured the first thing I did was look at the collar. It was just as it had been when I put it on.”

“These things are unexplainable,” Vaintè said, looking down at the unconscious ustuzou. Enge was bent over it, cleaning the blood from its back and chest. Its eyes were discolored and bruised, there was blood upon its face as well. Surprising that it was alive after Stallan’s attention. The inescapable fact was that the collar had not been choking it. But it had said it was being choked. That was impossible. But it had happened.

Then Vaintè stiffened into immobility. It was a thought, an impossible thought, one that would never have occurred to a crude hunter like Stallan. Vaintè controlled the thought, held it at bay for the moment as she spoke rudely and stiffly.

“Leave at once.”

Stallan hurried out immediately, expressing relief and gratitude, knowing that her life was out of danger for the moment, happy to put everything that had happened out of her mind.

But not Vaintè. Enge’s back was still turned so she was able to seize the thought, examine it, and not be concerned about anyone observing her own thinking processes.

It was simply an impossible idea. But it had happened. One of the first things that she had learned in the science of thought was that when all other explanations have been rejected, the remaining explanation, no matter how illogical or apparently false, must be the only explanation.

The ustuzou had said the collar was choking it. The collar was not choking it.

The statement of a fact was not a fact.

The ustuzou had said a fact that was not a fact.

There was no word or expression for this in Yilanè so she must make one up. It was a lie. The ustuzou had lied.

No Yilanè could lie. There was only immobility, or lack of expression to conceal one’s thoughts. A statement was a thought and a thought was a statement. The act of speaking was one with the act of thinking.

But not with the ustuzou.

It could think one thing and speak another. It could appear quiet and docile, then say it was choking — when all of the time it was only thinking of escape. It could lie.

This creature must be kept alive, cherished, guarded — and prevented from escaping. The future was gray and formless and Vaintè was not sure of the details. But she knew with positive assurance that the ustuzou was her future. She would use it and its ability to lie. Use it to climb, use it to reach the summit of her ambitions.

But now she must put all thoughts of this impossible talent from her own mind. She must order things done so that none of the others should know. She would order all discussion of the escape forbidden. Should Stallan die? For a moment she considered it — then rejected it. The hunter was too valuable. Stallan would obey the order for silence, would enjoy obeying it since she would certainly remember how close she had been to death before Vaintè’s anger. When she had composed herself Vaintè drew Enge’s attention.

“Is the creature badly hurt?”

“I cannot tell. It is bruised and cut, but that could be all. See, it stirs, its eyes are open.”

Kerrick looked up blurredly at the two murgu standing above him. He had failed to escape, he hurt, and he had failed. There would be another time.

“Tell me what you feel,” Vaintè ordered, and he was surprised at the worry in her words.

“I hurt. All over.” He moved his arms and legs. “That is all. I hurt all over.”

“That is because you tried to escape,” Vaintè said. “You took your chance when Stallan let go of your leash. I will arrange matters in the future so that this will never happen again.”