“She is apprenticed to rayvoice work with me. Aesoe does not know and would not be pleased.”
Joesai turned to the woman with the smooth skin who had stripped herself to the waist so that she would not wet her robe. “So it was you who set my heart at rest? I thank you.” He reached over and squeezed her wrist with a vice grip that was the custom when acknowledging a debt that would be paid whenever it was called, now or a generation from now.
“All I will ever need is to serve you well.” She dropped her eyes and concentrated on washing his knees.
Immediately he began to like this strange being regardless of his unwillingness to trust her. He thought for several more heartbeats about trusting her. Nevertheless he changed the subject to a non-sensitive topic. “What does the title page say?”
“God is revealing to us the History of Man. Oelita’s crystal is a fragment of Volume 1: The Cradle Earth.”
“Earth — the Riethe of the Heroic Solo Chant!” yelped Joesai in an eruption of water that drowned Gaet and spattered the Liethe.
“Very possibly. There are eight major parts to the Cradle Volume. We have only Sequence 1: The Forge of War.”
“Those damn words that mean nothing!” stormed Joesai. “I have fourteen pages from Kathein by now, and most of it doesn’t make sense.”
Gaet had riffled through his neat memory for names and places and was smiling. “Forge would mean furnace or kiln or crematorium. There is a reference to a fierj in the Children’s Chant. ‘Gowan gaien to fierj the shoes for Horse.’ Among the og-Sieth on the shores of the Aramap the word foerj means to work softened metal. It is sometimes used as a synonym for cremation as in the curse, ‘May your poisoned innards be foerged while your family starves.’”
“I’ve crossed the word ‘war’ in my readings,” Joesai recalled. “It means nothing to me. It occurs in conjunction with the words ‘kill’ and ‘peace’. I speculate that it is a killing game and peace the opening move.”
“I have read none of it so I cannot guess,” said Hoemei. “Kathein favors the translation ‘Furnace of Violence’, others prefer ‘The Kiln of Fire’ or simply ‘The Crematorium’.”
“There are references to crematoriums,” continued Joesai. “The People of the Sky are not nourished by the people they kill so it is logical to infer that poisoning is a widespread means of inducing Contribution. Or did they poison themselves to deny their enemy nourishment? I found one reference to factory crematoriums on a scale vaster than I would believe had I not seen God’s word of its truth. The whole population of Kaiel-hontokae would be consumed in weeks by such a Black Temple. Then there was a reference to a city that flamed so fiercely in a firestorm that its whole population was burned or asphyxiated. Many sentences contain messages by powerful priests implying a readiness to vaporize cities. Burning defenseless villages was a popular aspect of the game. The children danced as torches for the victors. But crematorium is not specific enough. What of the rifle? I like Gaet’s og’Sieth word ‘foerj’. Into what shape would such violence work a man’s metal? We can thank God for our deliverance.”
“Praise God if such was the world of our conception,” said Gaet.
“Praise God,” said Hoemei with ritual fervor.
The Liethe girl said nothing. She dried their dripping bodies and brought them lounging robes dyed with red alizarin and went back to her tiny string instrument that permeated the conversation, listening.
“Do read about their clan interlockings, Hoemei. You’ll be fascinated. They had priest clans as dedicated to random killing as we are to kalothi.”
Hoemei was devouring bread with gobs of bean and nut spread in profane taimu sauce. “Did they have a central government?”
“I don’t think so, I’m confused. What can fourteen pages say of something as complex as an oz’Numae tapestry? I think the Marx priests formed a great government once but they had communication problems and broke up into Russians, Imperialists, Communists, Chinese, Socialists, Runindogs, Libyans, Fascists, Lackies, Trotskies, Gaulists, Revisionists, Kgbers, and Albanians. After that my memory runs out. The other side was simpler. There were the Amerikan priests and the Israeli priests, and their allies the Opeckers, the Capitalists, the Multinationals and the Degeneratburjwa.”
“Who won?” asked Hoemei with his mouth full.
“God has not revealed. I’m casting my bet toward the Imperialists. They always have an alliance at the right time and the right place. First the Russians are screaming insults at an Imperialist-Amerikan alliance, and then you turn the page and the Amerikans are off on a sacred Gathering against the Imperialist-Russian alliance.” Joesai was amused.
“Your story sounds like Getan history with the clan names altered,” grumbled Gaet.
“It sounds so because I’ve been skipping the details. Those Sky People have more ways of cutting your throat than you could dream. Conceive how popular a priest clan must be if its priests dare not visit another country except in mobile temples made of steel four thumbs thick.”
“Will you not need such an impregnable cart when you enter Soebo?” With that speech, Hoemei came to the purpose of the meeting. He spoke as he had at those intense discussions in the high tower of the creche or in the field or in a hastily found stairwell when one of them was in danger from the Trials. First there had been four maran brothers. Now there were three.
“She must leave.” Joesai was uncomfortable with the silken silent woman.
“She stays,” said Hoemei.
The Liethe put aside her instrument and caught Joesai with her liquid eyes. “It is the code of my clan to take the secrets of our men to the grave. An Ivieth is vowed with his life to take you to your destination. An og’Sieth stands by the craftsmanship of his creations. An o’Tghalie will not take two and then two and give you back three. A Liethe is a priest’s servant.”
“What say you, Gaet?” asked Joesai.
“She must make an oath.”
The Queen of Life-before-Death sank to her knees. “Let God’s Ears hear me. Nothing I sense in this chamber shall pass my mouth or fingers without permission from all of you. I serve your wishes.”
“The Death Oath,” said Joesai, unmoved.
Without objection she brought a needle. She pierced her finger and, when one red drop rose upon the fingertip, touched Joesai’s tongue so that he might taste her blood.
“I cannot tell you apart,” he said. “The oath is upon your sisters also.”
She bowed and found her place again.
Hoemei spoke. “I invited her here. She is more bound than you might think.” He brought out maps, unfolding them after pushing the food aside. “Bendaein does not trust himself to my new powers. They are not part of the tradition. But with the rayvoice I can reach farther than Bendaein. And I have done so. I have the outposts. The Liethe” — he nodded to Honey — “have been most helpful in transmissions of the call to Gathering. They know the priests who can act. I have decided not to demand action, or bargain, or offer alliance concessions. Instead, I have sent out the fastest Ivieth runner relays carrying the eggs of the tainted under-jaw so that they might confirm this abomination for themselves. I’m appealing to their self-interest. Who will be willing to accept a biological attack upon our food supply? It is too dangerous, and added to drought and natural disaster, such threat is intolerable. I anticipate massive support.”
Joesai objected. “Bendaein is himself certain of support. He is not certain that the Gathering will survive the route to bring Judgment upon the Mnankrei. He wishes to travel light with few but able men.”
“Such are the contradictions within Aesoe’s inner circle,” replied Hoemei. “He has visualized a planetary economy but he cannot handle the logistics of a large Gathering. I can, and I have done the preparation. The whole Gathering shall not converge upon Soebo. Nine of ten will work to maintain the supply depots.”