The Color of Distance

Chapter 19

I he next three months passed quietly. Juna got caught up on her research, documenting dozens of new species and filling in many linguistic details. Every day brought new discoveries. It was a busy and productive time.

Moki learned to read and type with surprising speed, and soon began entering data on her spare computer. Although Moki’s written Standard was still rough and ungrammatical, he had an excellent eye for detail, often describing features of a plant or animal that Juna missed. She began having him check over her descriptions before entering them in the catalogue.

Anito settled into village life, filling the role of junior elder, which involved doing the work scorned by more senior elders. Since she had been the bami of a chief, much of it was familiar. Juna helped out by gathering fruit, harvesting honey from Anito’s na trees, and netting fish out of the shrinking pools left behind by the floods.

Ukatonen returned about three days before the end of the month of Menano. The villagers clustered around him in eager welcome. He greeted them with his usual dignified reserve, graciously accepting Miato’s offer of hospitality and a feast in his quarters. He greeted Anito, Moki, and Eerin with the same formal reserve as the other villagers. Anito was sent off to organize the banquet. She took Eerin, Moki, and several tinka with her to gather food and supplies.

They came back with full gathering bags. Anito set the tinka to laying out the leaf-plates and cleaning the serving dishes. Eerin and Moki helped prepare and arrange the food. Set out before the waiting elders, it was a magnificent feast.

Miato eyed it critically. “I’m sorry that we have nothing better to offer you than this, en,” he said in formal patterns. “Please do us the honor of accepting this meager meal.”

IIto had used the same polite formula with honored guests, Anito recalled. She still missed her sitik terribly.

Ukatonen looked up at Anito, his expression carefully neutral. “Thank you, kene,” he said to Miato. “It will do.”

The ritual formulas of politeness completed, the elders commenced eating. Anito stood by, motioning to the tinka when a dish needed to be replenished or carried away.

At last the elders safc back and belched politely.

“I’m sorry that we don’t have more food to offer you, en,” Miato said, as though the leaf plates around them weren’t still half full.

“It’s all right,” Ukatonen replied, as though his stomach didn’t form a visible bulge in his long, lean body. “I shouldn’t burden you with my hunger, kene; not when I’ve come to ask a favor of you and your village.”

“Narmolom is in your debt, en, after all you’ve done for us. If there is anything at all we can do for you, we will.”

Anito repressed a flicker of amusement. It was clear that Miato had not been chief elder for very long. Her sitik would never have made such a blanket promise, especially not to an enkar.

“I would like to take Anito, Eerin, and Moki away with me for a month to a month and a half.”

“She will miss our mating,” Miato pointed out.

“She mated with the lyali-Tendu. I will bring her back in time to lay her eggs, so that Narmolom will not be deprived of her narey. It’s important, or I wouldn’t ask. The other enkar want to see the new creature and talk to Anito about Eerin.”

Miato was still for a moment, his chin ducked, as though he were pondering a decision that everyone in the room knew had already been made.

“When will you be going?”

“Tomorrow, if you will permit it, kene.”

Miato flickered agreement.

“Thank you, kene,” Ukatonen said. “The enkar are in debt to you for your sacrifice.”

The talk turned to trivialities. Ukatonen asked about the villagers, displaying a deep knowledge of things that had happened in his absence. The other villagers were very impressed, but Anito knew that Ukatonen would have spent the last few days spying on the village.

Anito motioned to the tinka to clear away the food. When the feast dishes were cleaned and put away, she climbed down the trunk, slid into her warm, moist bed, and fell asleep instantly.

Ukatonen woke Juna and Moki early the next morning. Juna sat up groggily.

“What is it?” she said, yawning.

“Start packing, we’re going on a trip. The enkar want to see you.”

Juna looked over at Anito, still sleeping in her bed of leaves.

“Let her sleep,” Ukatonen said. “She was up very late last night.”

They filled traveling packs with the gifts the villagers had given Ukatonen. When they were done, Moki laid out a quick breakfast of fruit and honeycomb and woke Anito.

The villagers escorted them out of the tree and followed them with farewells until they reached the border of Narmolom’s territory. Ninto was the last to see them off. She touched Anito on the shoulder.

“Have a safe journey,” Ninto said. “Come back soon.”

Juna saw Anito return Ninto’s affectionate touch. “I will,” she said, and turned to go.

They went north and inland, toward the distant green-shouldered mountains. After a week of hard traveling, they crossed the low range of ancient, rounded mountains and the jungle around them changed. The trees were taller and wider than what Juna was used to. The canopy was denser, the branches thick with epiphytes, and heavy with fruit.

“This is the forest of the enkar,” Ukatonen said when Juna remarked on the change. “Typhoons don’t come in this far. They’re deflected by those mountains we crossed.”

“It’s like village land, only more so,” Anito said.

“We gather seed from the strongest and most fruitful trees from villages up and down the coast,” Ukatonen told them. “We’ve spent thousands of generations selecting and improving them. Guano from the lyali-Tendu, and greenstone from the mountain people make the land fertile. The enkar carry it in from all over. We have to support more people on less land than the villagers do, and we can’t shift our boundaries when the forest wears out the way you na-Tendu can.”

“But I thought the enkar traveled alone,” Anito said in surprise.

“We do, but sometimes we need a place to rest and take counsel with other enkar. We come here, or to one of our other valleys up and down the coast, to rest, to learn, and to train new enkar.” Ukatonen paused, then said, “You wait here. I’ll let the others know that we’ve arrived.”

He climbed to the top of the tree, and let out a deep, booming call. After listening for a moment, he repeated it. In the distance, they heard a reply. Ukatonen responded.

Half an hour later, four enkar came swinging through the trees. They greeted Ukatonen with affectionate shoulder brushings and embraces.

“Anito, Eerin, Moki,” Ukatonen said, “these are Opantonen, Besato-nen, Garitonen, and Hutatonen.”

Each enkar lifted his chin in acknowledgment. They were taller than the village Tendu, with long, solemn muzzles. They moved with the same easy grace as Ukatonen. Even if Juna had known nothing at all about the Tendu, it would have been obvious that these four and Ukatonen were somehow related.

Their tall, elegant guides led them through the leafy, sun-dappled cathedral of the forest until they came to a circle of six immense na trees. They followed the guides to a low mound in the center of the circle of trees. Hutatonen let out a loud, booming call, and dozens of Tendu appeared, climbing down the trees or walking from out of the understory that moments before seemed completely empty.

The enkar gathered around the mound, waiting expectantly.

Anito touched Ukatonen’s arm. “Are they all enkar?” she asked in tiny, awestruck patterns.

Ukatonen rippled quiet amusement. “Yes, they are.”

“I’ve never seen so many Tendu in one place before,” Anito said.

“This is only one group. There are others scattered throughout the Tendu lands.”

“How many enkar are there?” Juna inquired.

“Less than there once were,” Ukatonen replied. “Most of these trees are half-empty.”

Hutatonen touched Ukatonen on the arm and motioned for him to speak.

He stepped to the top of the speaker’s mound. “Many of you know me. I am Ukatonen, of the Three Rivers Council. I was headed to Lyanan on the coast, when I met Anito of Narmolom, with this new creature, who is called Eerin, also heading for Lyanan.”

Ukatonen called Anito forward to tell the enkar about her discovery of the new creature, and how her sitik had transformed it. Ukatonen stepped in and talked about his judgment for the elders of Lyanan, and his judgment to allow Juna to adopt Moki. Then he called Juna forward.

Juna stood on the mound, with the intent, impassive eyes of the enkar watching her, their ears spread wide with curiosity. Her stomach was heavy with nervousness. She didn’t entirely understand the role the enkar played in Tendu society, but she knew they were important. She swallowed, her throat dry despite the humidity.

“I greet you for my people,” she said in the most formal patterns she could manage. “We come seeking friendship and knowledge. Our destruction of the forest near Lyanan was a mistake. My people will do what they can to heal the damage. The Tendu have shown me great kindness and patience, and I am extremely grateful. Thank you.”

She stepped back behind Ukatonen, who gestured to Hutatonen, and they stepped from the speaker’s mound. Juna expected the enkar to mill around her like the other villagers, but instead they treated her with polite but remote curiosity. Moki clung to her hand, subdued by the presence of so many enkar. Anito also seemed out of her depth. They followed Ukatonen through the crowd, pausing as he stopped to greet old friends and to exchange news from distant gatherings and councils of enkar.

At last someone took charge of the visitors and led them to an empty room near the top of one of the trees. Anito and Moki shrugged off their packs and slumped against the wall, worn out by all the excitement.

“You two rest here. Eerin and I will go and get food, water, and bedding,” Ukatonen told them.

Juna followed him down to a storeroom, where they found some empty water gourds and rolled-up floor mats. They left the mats by the door for Anito and Moki to arrange, and went out to gather bedding. It was startlingly menial labor for an elder of a highly respected social caste.

“Don’t the tinka and bami usually do this sort of thing?” Juna asked.

“We don’t have tinka,” Ukatonen said. “When one comes to us, we send it over the hills to one of the na-Tendu villages.”

“Why?”

“It is very rare for us to adopt a bami. It wouldn’t be right to have tinka here, where they wouldn’t be adopted. We don’t mate here.”

“You don’t?” Juna said, surprised. “But I saw you mate with the sea people.”

“We breed elsewhere; with the sea people, or out among the villages. Not here. This isn’t a village, merely a gathering place for the enkar. Most of us stay a while and then move on.”

“It sounds lonely,” Juna observed, beginning to understand some of the villagers’ dread of becoming enkar.

“We avoid forming bonds with others. It impairs our ability to render judgment. It can be a difficult discipline,” Ukatonen admitted.

“What about Anito? She doesn’t seem to be very happy about the idea of becoming an enkar.”

A sad grey mist clouded Ukatonen’s skin. “It is her fate to become an enkar. I wish she could stay with her village and become the wise elder that she shows such great promise of being, but the enkar need her now.”

“Why?”

“Because of you,” he told her. “No one among us knows you as well as she does.”

“But what about you? You know me almost as well.”

“I am not enough,” Ukatonen said. “Anito isn’t enough. Even Moki, who will surely understand you better than any of us, won’t be enough. That is why we are here, among the enkar, where no villager usually comes. The enkar need to know you, Eerin. We need to know you, and through you, your people. I have seen only a few of the things that your people can do, and it is enough to make me realize your power. I watch you with your talking stone, and my blood turns to water in fear.”

“I’m sorry,” Juna said. “I don’t want you to be afraid. How can I reassure you?”

“You can’t. You shouldn’t. I need to see you as you are.”

“I want you to be my friend,” Juna told him.

“I am an enkar, Eerin. I am no one’s friend.” Ukatonen handed her a pair of water gourds. “Let’s go, we have work to do.”

Anito helped Moki unroll the mats. This amazing, fertile, ancient forest, peopled only by enkar, terrified her. It was so different from village life, cold somehow, and sterile. There were no bami, no tinka, none of the ordinary bustle and routine of village life. The forest was too well-managed, too tame. It went beyond harmony into perfection, and it grated on her. She longed for the familiar chaos of Narmolom, where they strove to keep their forests as close to the balance of the wild lands as possible while still supporting their village.

Here, with so many living so densely, useless plants and destructive animals had to be weeded out. Anito understood that, but she hated it nonetheless. If this was her future, she wasn’t sure that she wanted it. She understood now why Ilto had chosen death rather than exile.

There was a rustling and a hesitant, interrogative chirp at the door. Anito looked up. An enkar was standing outside with an armload of bedding. It was one of the four who had escorted them through the forest.

“I thought you might need some of this,” he said. “And I also brought some water, in case you were thirsty.”

“Thank you, en,” she said.

“You’re welcome. My name is Garitonen.”

“I’m Anito.”

“I know. I saw Ukatonen say that you were going to become his apprentice. I only finished my training last year.”

“Was it hard?” Anito asked, wondering how he could stand to be so far away from home.

“It was at first. I missed my village all the time, and it was frightening being here with all these enkar; but the work is interesting. Once I started learning how the enkar do things, I stopped being scared and lonely. There’s too much to learn, too much to do.”

A ripple of amusement ran over Anito’s skin as she remembered the way Ukatonen appeared to know everything about the village because he had watched it fot several days. “I think I know what you mean,” she said. “Are you lonely?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. He looked down at the floor for a moment, his skin faintly clouded with grey. “So tell me what the new creature is like.”

“Eerin? She didn’t know much at first. She couldn’t talk and she could hardly even climb a tree. She learned quickly, though. She still can’t hunt or weave baskets, but she’s getting better.”

“I heard about the digging race at Lyanan. Is it true that she wore out two of the village’s strongest bami?”

“Yes, but she made herself sick doing it.” Anito glanced away, ashamed. “It was my fault. I got angry when the villagers made fun of her, and I said she could dig faster than they could. It wasn’t something I’m proud of.”

“But it turned out well, and you learned something, didn’t you?”

Anito flickered agreement.

“Then don’t be ashamed of it. Ukatonen thinks very highly of you, you know. He taught me more about allu-a than I thought there was to learn. He’s one of the best in the whole Three Rivers Council.”

“I thought all enkar were like that,” Anito said, recalling the smooth, subtle power of his presence.

“We are better at linking than most villagers, but Ukatonen has made it his specialty.” Garitonen held out his arms. “Link with me?”

Anito could feel Ukatonen’s influence as soon as she entered the link. Garitonen had Ukatonen’s power and his deftness of touch, though he lacked Ukatonen’s utter surety. There was a sense of contentment, of happiness, even mischievousness, that Ukatonen lacked. Feeling it, Anito realized how long Ukatonen had lived, and how lonely he felt.

“He needs you, you know,” Garitonen said when they emerged from the link. “When he came through a month and a half ago, he was less restless than I’ve ever seen him. You and the new creature you call Eerin have given him something to keep him occupied. Eerin is new and different, and you’re young and eager to learn. It’s a potent combination.”

Anito looked away, embarrassed and moved by the compliment. “Thank you,” she said at last, looking back at Garitonen. “I’ve learned a lot from Ukatonen.”

“I know,” Garitonen said. “I could feel that when we linked.”

There was a clicking sound from the corner. Moki had taken out a talking stone and was playing with it.

“What’s he doing?” Garitonen asked.

“That’s one of Eerin’s talking stones. She’s shown Moki how to play with it.”

“But what’s it/or?”

“Eerin says that she keeps her memories on it, so that she can tell her people what happened without forgetting anything.”

Garitonen squatted next to Moki.

“What are you doing?” he asked when the bami looked up.

“I’m telling the talking stone about the enkar.”

“How does it work?”

Moki tilted the talking surface so that the enkar could see what he was working on.

“What is that?” Garitonen asked, pointing at the screen.

“It’s the new creature’s skin speech.”

“I thought they couldn’t speak skin speech.”

“They don’t. They paint it on things instead, or they store it in talking stones like this one. Eerin told me that they use something like sheets of yarram, only white, to speak on.”

“What’s the point to that?” Garitonen said. “They’d only get in the way and rot.”

“Eerin says that they don’t rot, and that they tie the sheets together so they don’t get in the way. Most of their really important skin speech is put on these talking stones anyway. Also the talking stones can talk to each other over very long distances, so lots of people can see the same words.”

Garitonen ducked his chin and ran a hand over his scalp. “It seems very strange to me.”

Moki nodded, and flickered agreement. “It is, but it makes more sense when you can understand their skin speech. They have a lot of different kinds of stones: some that talk, some that move things, some that cut time up into little pieces, and some that make noises. They have different names for all of the different kinds of stones, but I don’t understand what most of the stones do. This one is called a computer” Moki said, using the new creature’s skin-speech term for her talking stone.

“Can you teach me the new creatures’ skin-speech?” Garitonen asked.

“Of course, en. It’s very easy. Everything’s made up of a group of the same basic shapes. Anito knows a little of it and so does Ukatonen, but I work with it every day, so I know it very well. If you ask Eerin, she will probably teach it to you herself.”

“I will, thanks,” Garitonen said.

Ukatonen and Eerin returned bearing net bags crammed with fresh leaf-bedding. “Hello, Gari,” Ukatonen said as they came in. “Garitonen was my student for a while,” he explained to Anito. “I helped him learn more about allu-a.”

“I know. He has your touch in the link, en. Even if he hadn’t told me about being your student, I would have known.”

Both Garitonen and Ukatonen glanced away, glowing with embarrassed pride. Ukatonen picked up a bundle of bedding and carried it over to the mats spread on the floor. Moki started showing Eerin how to shred the leaves. In Narmolom, the tinka usually performed this task; here, it was left to them.

The others settled down and helped shred leaves for the bedding, carefully pulling out any twigs and undesirable foreign matter. Drawn by the smell of torn leaves, a line of small insects emerged from the walls. They explored the steadily growing pile, emerging with choice bits of leaf matter and small insects, and laying down chemicals and bacteria which encouraged decomposition. They were called yerowe. They lived in every village tree, and kept the bedding fresh and free of unpleasant insects.

A couple of other enkar came in with some more food and water. The enkar took over the bedmaking while the visitors ate. Uncomfortable, Anito looked questioningly at Ukatonen.

“It’s all right, Anito. You’re our guests. We’re not as formal and worried about rank as they are in the villages. There’s no one else to do the work here except the enkar.”

The patter and hiss of the afternoon rain falling into the center of the tree could be heard as they finished making up the beds. The pressure of the falling water sent a moist, refreshing breeze through the room. The enkar began romping in the column of falling water. Ukatonen and Garitonen went outside to frolic with them. Anito stood in the doorway and watched, amazed at the sight of these dignified, ancient elders playing like bami in the rain. After a moment’s hesitation, Eerin and Moki joined them. Anito hesitated, unsure whether they were being rude, but Garitonen swung past and splashed her.

“Don’t just stand there!” he said. “Come play!”

Anito swung into the column of water, letting it wash her clean. Ukatonen leapt onto the vine that Anito was clinging to, rippling brilliant laughter. She splashed him, and he laughed again and splashed her back. Soon she forgot her dignity, her fears, and her position as an elder of Narmolom, and played the way she had as a bami.

There was a feast that evening, out on the leafy forest floor within the circle of trees. It was extremely informal; everyone brought baskets of food which were placed in a circle around the speaker’s mound. There was no rank or precedence order; the enkar and their guests served themselves and sat wherever they wanted.

Eerin and Moki were the focus of a large interested group, as were Anito and Ukatonen. Everyone was eager to learn as much as they could about Eerin and the new creatures, but to most of their questions, Anito had no answers. She didn’t know how the talking stone worked, or how the new creatures lived on their world, or even what they ate. Eerin’s altered metabolism let her digest Tendu food. She ate almost everything they did, although she disliked eating grubs and insects. Listening to their questions, Anito realized how much she still had to learn about her atwa.

The enkar finished eating and cleared away the remains of the feast. Hutatonen stood on top of the speaker’s mound and chittered to get everyone’s attention. Then he held out his arms, requesting a link.

The others joined hands. Anito turned to Eerin, ears raised inquisitively. After a moment’s hesitation, Eerin nodded, and clasped hands. Ukatonen colored in approval and encouragement, and took Anito’s other hand. Together, they plunged into the link.

It was like no allu-a Anito had ever been in. Once, as a bami, she had a pet snake. She remembered the strength of its body, coiling around her arm. The enkar reminded her of that, a sensation of immense power, held in check. The enkar’s presences nosed at her like curious fish. She opened herself to them, and their presences flowed through her like a strong wind. She wove herself into their powerful harmony, feeling her own strength grow as the others buoyed her up and carried her along.

Eerin was too frightened by the power of the link to let herself relax. Anito enfolded her, giving her a chance to adjust.

The enkar, sensing trouble, drew back. The link calmed, changing from a maelstrom of excitement to a quiet pool of immense depth and clarity. The enkar waited while Eerin relaxed and, slowly as a flower, opened herself to the link.

It was late when they emerged from the link. Eerin seemed pale and tired. Moki and Ukatonen fed her a little leftover fruit and helped her up the tree. She seemed to recover a bit as they climbed. Garitonen hovered anxiously until they reached their room.

“Is she going to be all right?” he asked Anito. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Anito shook her head. “She needs some privacy and a good night’s sleep. Linking is hard for her.”

“Good night, then,” Garitonen said.

They stayed with this group of enkar for another three or four days, then moved on to another gathering of enkar. Garitonen and Hutatonen went with them. Moki and Eerin began teaching them the new creatures’ skin speech.

They visited four enkar gatherings. Other enkar joined them as they traveled. By the tirne they headed back to Narmolom, there were over two dozen enkar traveling with them. It was like being part of a small floating village. They parted company with their escort a day outside the boundaries of Narmolom. As the last of the enkar vanished into the thick foliage of the canopy, Anito felt a pang of sadness. She would miss the enkar’s gentle humor and deep wisdom.

“Now that you’ve spent some time among us, how do you feel about becoming an enkar?” Ukatonen asked as they wove branches into a nest for the night.

“I know now that the villagers see only a small part of what it is to be an enkar. It’s very interesting, but—” Anito rippled a shrug. “If I had a choice, I would stay in Narmolom,” she said after a long, thoughtful stillness. “But it won’t be such a bad life. I like the enkar.”

“I missed my village at first, but the work is interesting,” Ukatonen told her. “It keeps me involved in the world. There are so many older village elders who can’t see beyond the boundaries of their own village. It makes me glad of the choice I made. As an enkar, I see everything. Every village is different. I’ve lived up in the mists with the mountain people, and in the sea with the lyali-Tendu. I’m never bored. Lonely sometimes, but never bored.”

Anito squeezed Ukatonen’s shoulder, and held out her wrists for allu-a. “Please, en, let me help with the loneliness.”

A ripple of gentle fondness flowed over Ukatonen’s body. “You already have, kene.”