The Day of Their Return

XI

After a boat, guided by Erannath, brought him aboard the Jade Gate, Ivar fell into a bunk and a twisting, nightmare-haunted sleep. He was almost glad when a gongcrash roused him a few hours later.

He was alone in a cabin meant for four, cramped but pleasant. Hardwood deck, white-painted overhead, bulkheads lacquered in red and black, were surgically clean. Light came dimly through a brass-framed window to pick out a dresser and washbowl. Foot-thuds and voices made a cheerful clamor beneath the toning of the bronze. He didn’t know that rapid, musical language.

I suppose I ought to go see whatever this is, he thought, somewhere in the sorrow of what he had lost. It took his entire will to put clothes on and step out the door.

Crewfolk were bouncing everywhere around. A young man noticed him, beamed, and said, “Ahoa to you, welcome passenger,” in the singsong River dialect of Anglic.

“What’s happenin’?” Ivar asked mechanically.

“We say good morning to the sun. Watch, but please to stand quiet where you are.”

He obeyed. The pre-dawn chill lashed some alertness into him and he observed his surroundings with a faint growth of interest.

Heaven was still full of stars, but eastward turning wan. The shores, a kilometer from either side of the vessel, were low blue shadows, while the water gleamed as if burnished, except where mist went eddying. High overhead, the wings of a vulch at hover caught the first daylight. As gong and crew fell silent, an utter hush returned, not really broken by the faint pulse of engines.

The craft was more than 50 meters in length and 20 in the beam, her timber sides high even at the waist, then at the blunt bow rising sharply in two tiers, three at the rounded stern. Two sizable deckhouses bracketed the amidships section, their roofs fancifully curved at the ends. Fore and aft of them, kingposts supported cargo booms, as well as windmills to help charge the capacitors which powered the vessel. Between reared a mast which could be set with three square sails. Ivar glimpsed Erannath on the topmost yard. He must have spent the night there, for lack of the frame which would suit him better than a bunk.

An outsize red-and-gold flag drooped from an after staff. At the prow the gigantic image of a Fortune Guardian scowled at dangers ahead. In his left hand he bore a sword against them, in his right a lotus flower.

There posed an old man in robe and tasseled cap, beside him a woman similarly clad though bareheaded, near them a band who wielded gong, flutes, pipas, and drum. The crew, on their knees save for what small children were held by their mothers, occupied the decks beneath.

As light strengthened, the stillness seemed to deepen yet further, and frost on brightwork glittered like the stars.

Then Virgil stood out of the east. Radiance shivered across waters. The ancient raised his arms and cried a brief chant, the people responded, music rollicked, everybody cheered, the ship’s business resumed.

Ivar stretched numbed hands toward the warmth that began to flow out of indigo air. Vapors steamed away and he saw the cultivated lands roll green, a flock of beasts, an early horseman or a roadborne vehicle, turned into toys by distance. Closer were the brood of Jade Gate. A stubby tug drew a freight-laden barge, two trawlers spread their nets, and in several kayaks, each accompanied by an osel, herders kept a pod of river pigs moving along.

For those not on watch, the first order of the day was evidently to get cleaned up. Some went below, some peeled off their clothes and dived overboard, to frisk about till they were ready to climb back on a Jacob’s ladder. Merriment loudened. It was not like tineran glee. Such japes as he heard in Anglic were gentle rather than stinging, laughter was more a deep clucking than a shrill peal. Whoever passed near Ivar stopped to make a slight bow and bid him welcome aboard.

They’re civilized without bein’ rigid, strong without bein’ cruel, happy without bein’ foolish, shrewd without bein’ crooked, respectful of learnin’ and law, useful in their work, he knew dully; but they are not wild red wanderers.

Handsome enough, of course. They averaged a bit taller than tinerans, shorter than nords, the build stocky, skin tawny, hair deep black where age had not bleached it. Heads were round, faces broad and high of cheekbones, eyes brown and slightly oblique, lips full, noses tending to flatness though beaks did occur. Only old men let beards grow, and both sexes banged their hair across the brows and bobbed it off just under the ears. Alike too was working garb, blue tunics and bell-bottomed trousers. Already now, before the frost was off, many went barefoot; and the nudity of the swimmers showed a fondness for elaborate tattoos.

He knew more about them than he had about the nomads. It was still not much. This was his first time aboard a craft of theirs, aside from once when one which plied as far north as Nova Roma held open house. Otherwise his experience was confined to casual reading and a documentary program recorded almost a century ago.

Nevertheless the Kuang Shih had bonds to the ruling culture of Aeneas, in a way that the tinerans did not. They furnished the principal transportation for goods, and for humans who weren’t in a hurry, along the entire lower Flone—as well as fish, flesh, and fiber taken from the river, and incidental handicrafts, exchanged for the products and energy recharges of industrial culture.

If they held themselves aloof when ashore, it was not due to hostility. They were amply courteous in business dealings, downright cordial to passengers. It was simply that their way of life satisfied them, and had little in common with that of rooted people. The most conservative Landfolk maintained less far-reaching and deep-going blood ties—every ship and its attendants an extended family, strictly exogamous and, without making a fuss about it, moral—not to speak of faith, tradition, law, custom, arts, skills, hopes, fears altogether different.

I dreamed Waybreak might take me in, and instead it cast me out. Jade Gate—is that her name?—will no doubt treat me kindly till we part, but I’d never imagine bein’ taken into her.

No matter. O Fraina!

“Sir—”

The girl who shyly addressed him brought back the dancer, hurtfully, by her very unlikeness. Besides her race, she was younger, he guessed eight or nine, demurely garbed so that he couldn’t be sure how much her slight figure had begun to fill out. (Not that he cared.) Her features were more delicate than usual, and she bowed lower to him.

“Your pardon, please, welcome passenger,” she said in a thin voice. “Do you care for breakfast?”

She offered him a bowl of cereals, greens, and bits of meat cooked together, a cup of tea, a napkin, and eating utensils such as he was used to. He grew aware that crewfolk were in line at the galley entrance. A signal must have called them without his noticing through the darkness that muffled him. Most found places on deck to hunker and eat in convivial groups.

“Why, why, thank you,” Ivar said. He wasn’t hungry, but supposed he could get the food down. It smelled spicy.

“We have one dining saloon below, with table and benches, if you wish,” the girl told him.

“No!” The idea of being needlessly enclosed, after desert heavens and then nights outdoors in valley summer with Fraina, sickened him.

“Pardon, pardon.” She drew back a step. He realized he had yelled.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m in bad way. Didn’t mean to sound angry. Right here will be fine.” She smiled and set her burden down on the planks, near a bulwark against which he could rest, “Uh, my name is Iv—Rolf Mariner.”

“This person is Jao, fourth daughter to Captain Riho Mea. She bade me to see to your comfort. Can I help you in any wise, Sir Mariner?” The child dipped her head above bridged fingertips.

“I … well, I don’t know.” Who can help me, ever again?

“Perhaps if I stay near you one while, show you over our ship later? You may think of something then.”

Her cleanliness reminded him of his grime and sour sweat-smell, unkempt hair and stubbly chin. “I, uh, I should have washed before breakfast.”

“Eat, and I will lead you to the bath, and bring what else you need to your cabin. You are our only guest this trip.” Her glance swept aloft and came aglow. “Ai, the beautiful flyer from the stars. How could I forget? Can you summon him while I fetch his food?”

“He eats only meat, you know. Or, no, I reckon you wouldn’t. Anyhow, I’ll bet he’s already caught piece of wild game. He sees us, and he’ll come down when he wants to.”

“If you say it, sir. May I bring my bowl, or would you rather be undisturbed?”

“Whatever you want,” Ivar grunted. “I’m afraid I’m poor company this mornin’.”

“Perhaps you should sleep further? My mother the captain will not press you. But she said that sometime this day she must see you and your friend, alone.”

Passengers had quarters to themselves if and when a vessel was operating below capacity in that regard. Crew did not. Children were raised communally from birth … physically speaking. The ties between them and their parents were strong, far stronger than among tinerans, although their ultimate family was the ship as a whole. Married couples were assigned cubicles, sufficient for sleeping and a few personal possessions. Certain soundproofed cabins were available for study, meditation, or similar purposes. Aside from this, privacy of the body did not exist, save for chaplain and captain.

The latter had two chambers near the bridge. The larger was living room, office, and whatever else she deemed necessary.

Her husband greeted her visitors at the door, then politely excused himself. He was her third, Jao had remarked to Ivar. Born on the Celestial Peace, when quite a young girl Mea had been wedded by the usual prearrangement to a man of the Red Bird Banner. He drowned when a skiff capsized; the Flone had many treacheries. She used her inheritance in shrewd trading, garnering wealth until the second officer of the Jade Gate met her at a fleet festival and persuaded her to move in with him. He was a widower, considerably older than she; it was a marriage of convenience. But most were, among the Kuang Shih. Theirs functioned well for a number of years, efficiently combining their talents and credit accounts, incidentally producing Jao’s youngest sister. At last an artery in his brain betrayed him, and rather than linger useless he requested the Gentle Cup. Soon afterward, the captain died also, and the officers elected Riho Mea his successor. Lately she had invited Haleku Uan of the Yellow Dragon to marry her. He was about Ivar’s age.

Jao must have read distaste on the Firstling’s countenance, for she had said quietly: “They are happy together. He is merely one carpenter, nor can she raise him higher, nor can he inherit from her except in lung-proportion to children of hers that are his too; and she is past childbearing and he knew it.”

He thought at the time that she was defending her mother, or even her stepfather. As days passed, he came to believe she had spoken unspectacular truth. The Riverfolk had their own concept of individuality.

To start with, what did riches mean? Those who were not content to draw their regular wage, but drove personal bargains with the Ti Shih, the Shorefolk, could obtain no more than minor luxuries for themselves; a ship had room for nothing else. Beyond that, they could simply make contributions to the floating community. That won rewards of prestige. But anybody could get the same by outstanding service or, to a lesser extent, unusual prowess or talent.

Prestige might bring promotion. However, authority gave small chance for self-aggrandizement either, in a society which followed the same peaceful round through century after century.

Why, then, did the people of the land think of Riverfolk as hustlers, honest but clever, courteous but ambitious? Ivar decided that these were the personality types who dealt with the people of the land. The rest kept pretty much to themselves. And yet, that latter majority had abundant ways to express itself.

These ideas came to him later. They did have their genesis the evening he first entered the cabin of Captain Riho.

Sunbeams struck level, amber-hued, through the starboard windows of the main room. They sheened off a crystal on a shelf, glowed off a scroll of trees and calligraphy above. The chamber was so austerely furnished as to feel spacious. In one corner, half-hidden by a carved screen, stood a desk and a minimum of data and communications equipment. In another stood a well-filled bookcase. Near the middle of the reed matting which covered the deck was a padded, ring-shaped bench, with a low table at the center and a couple of detachable back rests for the benefit of visiting Ti Shih.

The skipper came forward, and Ivar began changing his mind about her and her man. She was of medium height, plump yet extraordinarily light on her feet. Years had scarcely touched the snubnosed, dark-ivory face, apart from crinkles around the eyes and scattered white in the hair. Her mouth showed capacity for a huge grin. She wore the common blue tunic and trousers, zori on bare feet, fireburst tattoo on the arm which slid from its sleeve as she offered her hand. The palm was warm and callused.

“Ahoa, welcome passengers.” Her voice verged on hoarseness. “Will you not honor me by taking seats and refreshment?” She bowed them toward the bench, and from the inner room fetched a trayful of tea, cakes, and slices of raw ichthyoid flesh. The ship lurched in a crosscurrent off a newly formed sandbar, and she came near dropping her load. She rapped out a phrase. Catching Erannath’s alert look, she translated it for him. Ivar was a little shocked. He had thought soldiers knew how to curse.

She kicked off her sandals, placed herself crosslegged opposite her guests, and opened a box of cigars that stood on the table. “You want?” she offered. They both declined. “Mind if I do?” Ivar didn’t—What has creation got that’s worth mindin’?—and Erannath stayed mute though a ripple passed over his plumes. Captain Riho stuck a fat black cylinder between her teeth and got it ignited. Smoke smote the air.

“I hope you are comfortable?” she said. “Sir … Erannath … if you will give my husband the specs for your kind of bed—”

“Later, thank you,” the flyer snapped. “Shall we get to the point?”

“Fine. Always I was taught, Ythrians do not waste words. Here is my first pleasure to meet your breed. If you will please to pardon seeming rudeness—you are aboard curious-wise. I would not pry but must know certain things, like where you are bound.”

“We are not sure. How far do you go?”

“Clear to the Linn, this trip. Solstice comes near, our Season of Returnings.”

“Fortunate for us, if I happen to have cash enough on my person to buy that long a passage for two.” Erannath touched his pocketed apron.

I have none, Ivar thought. Fraina swittled me out of everything, surely knowin’ I’d have to leave Train. Only, did she have to provoke my leavin’ so soon? He paid no attention to the dickering.

“—well,” Erannath finished. “We can come along to the end of the river if we choose. We may debark earlier.”

Riho Mea frowned behind an acrid blue veil. “Why might that be?” she demanded. “You understand, sirs, I have one ship to worry about, and these are much too interesting times.”

“Did I not explain fully enough, last night when I arrived on board? I am a scientist studying your planet. I happened to join a nomad group shortly after Rolf Mariner did—for reasons about which he has the right not to get specific. As often before, violence lofted at the carnival. It would have led either to his death at nomad hands, or his arrest by the Bosevilleans. I helped him escape.”

“Yes, those were almost your exact words.”

“I intended no offense in repeating them, Captain. Do humans not prefer verbal redundancy?”

“You miss my course, Sir Erannath,” she said a touch coldly. “You have not explained enough. We could take you on in emergency, for maybe that did save lives. However, today is not one such hurry. Please to take refreshment, you both, as I will, to show good faith. I accuse you of nothing, but you are intelligent and realize I must be sure we are not harboring criminals. Matters are very skittly, what with the occupation.”

She laid her cigar in an ashtray, crunched a cookie, slurped a mouthful of tea. Ivar bestirred himself to follow suit. Erannath laid claws on a strip of meat and ripped it with his fangs. “Good,” said the woman. “Will you tell your tale, Sir Mariner?”

Ivar had spent most of the day alone, stretched on his bunk. He didn’t care what became of him, and his mind wasn’t working especially well. But from a sense of duty, or whatever, he had rehearsed his story like a dog mumbling a bone. It plodded forth:

“I’m not guilty of anything except disgust, Captain, and I don’t think that’s punishable, unless Impies have made it illegal since I left. You know, besides bannin’ free speech, they razed McCormac Memorial in Nova Roma. My parents … well, they don’t condone Imperium, but they kept talkin’ about compromise and how maybe we Aeneans were partly in wrong, till I couldn’t stand it. I went off into wilderness to be by myself—common practice ashore, you probably know—and met tineran Train there. Why not join them for while? It’d be change for me, and I had skills they could use. Last night, as my friend told, senseless brawl happened. I think, now, it was helped along by tinerans I’d thought were my … friends, so they could keep money and valuable rif—article I’d left with them.”

“As a matter of fact,” Erannath said, “he is technically guilty of assault upon a Boseville man. He did no harm, though. He merely suffered it. I doubt that any complaint has been filed. These incidents are frequent at those affairs, and everyone knows it.” He paused. “They do not know why this is. I do.”

Startled from his apathy, Ivar regarded the Ythrian almost as sharply as Riho Mea did. He met their gazes in turn—theirs were the eyes which dropped—and let time go by before he said with no particular inflection: “Perhaps I should keep my discovery for the Intelligence service of the Domain. However, it is of marginal use to us, whereas Aeneans will find it a claw struck into their backs.”

The captain chewed her cigar before she answered: “You mean you will tell me if I let you stay aboard.” Erannath didn’t bother to speak his response. “How do I know—” She caught herself. “Please to pardon this person. I wonder what evidence you have for whatever you will say.”

“None,” he admitted. “Once given the clue, you humans can confirm the statement.”

“Say on.”

“If I do, you will convey us, and ask no further questions?”

“I will judge you by your story.”

Erannath studied her. At length he said: “Very well, for I hear your deathpride.” He was still during a heartbeat. “The breath of tineran life is that creature they call the luck, keeping at least one in every wagon. We call it the slinker.”

“Hoy,” broke from Ivar, “how would you know—?”

“Ythrians have found the three-eyed beasts on a number of planets.” Erannath did not keep the wish to kill out of his voice; and his feathers began to stand erect. “Not on our home. God did not lay that particular snare for us. But on several worlds like it, which naturally we investigated more thoroughly than your race normally does—the lesser terrestroid globes. Always slinkers are associated with fragments of an earlier civilization, such as Aeneas has. We suspect they were spread by that civilization, whether deliberately, accidentally, or through their own design. Some of us theorize that they caused its downfall.”

“Wait a minute,” Ivar protested. “Why have we humans never heard of them?”

“You have, on this world,” Erannath replied. “Probably elsewhere too, but quite incidentally, notes buried in your data banks, because you are more interested in larger and moister planets. And for our part, we have had no special reason to tell you. We learned what slinkers are early in our starfaring, when first we had scant contact with Terrans, afterward hostile contact. We developed means to eradicate them. They long ago ceased to be a problem in the Domain, and no doubt few Ythrians, even, have heard of them nowadays.”

Too much information, too big a universe, passed through Ivar.

“Besides,” Erannath went on, “it seems humans are more susceptible than Ythrians. Our two brain-types are rather differently organized, and the slinkers’ resonate better with yours.”

“Resonate?” Captain Riho scowled.

“The slinker nervous system is an extraordinarily well-developed telepathic transceiver,” Erannath said. “Not of thoughts. We really don’t know what level of reasoning ability the little abominations possess. Nor do we care, in the way that human scientists might. When we had established what they do, our overwhelming desire was merely to slay them.”

“What do they do, then?” Ivar asked around a lump of nausea.

“They violate the innermost self. In effect, they receive emotions and feed these back; they act as amplifiers.” It was terrifying to see Erannath where he crouched. His dry phrases ripped forth. “Perhaps those intelligences you call the Builders developed them as pets, pleasure sources. The Builders may have had cooler spirits than you or we do. Or perhaps they degenerated from the effects, and died.

“I said that the resonance with us Ythrians is weak. Nonetheless we found explorers and colonists showing ugly behavior. It would start as bad dreams, go on to murderously short temper, to year-around ovulation, to—Enough. We tracked down the cause and destroyed it.

“You humans are more vulnerable, it appears. You are lucky that slinkers prefer the deserts. Otherwise all Aeneans might be addicted.

“Yes, addiction. They don’t realize it themselves, they think they keep these pets merely because of custom, but the tinerans are a nation of addicts. Every emotion they begin to feel is fed back into them, amplified, radiated, reamplified, to the limit of what the organism can generate. Do you marvel that they act like constitutional psychopaths? That they touch no drugs in their caravans, but require drugs when away, and cannot survive being away very long?

“At that, they must have adapted; there must have been natural selection. Many can think craftily, like the female who reaved your holdings, Rolf Mariner. I wonder if her kind are not born dependent on the poison.

“You should thank her, though, that she got you cast out as early as she did!”

Ivar covered his face. “O God, no.”

“I need clean sky and a beast to hunt,” Erannath grated. “I will be back tomorrow.”

He left. Ivar wept on Riho Mea’s breast. She held him close, stroked his hair and murmured.

“You’ll get well, poor dear, we’ll make you well. The river flows, flows, flows … Here is peace.”

Finally she left him on her husband’s bunk, exhausted of tears and ready to sleep. The light through the windows was gold-red. She changed into her robe and went onto the foredeck, to join chaplain and crew in wishing the sun goodnight.