Child of Flame
Silence swept down like wings. Liath blinked. In the next instant Feather Cloak appeared to be nothing more than a very pregnant woman with lines of exhaustion around her mouth and the habit of command in her voice. “What do you say to these accusations?”
“In truth, honored one, the story of your people is lost to me. None among humankind knows it now. Our legends say that your kind lived on Earth once, but that you left because of your war with humankind. It is said that you left Earth in order to hoard your power, so that when you returned, you could defeat humankind and make them your slaves.” Hastily she gestured to show that she had not yet done, because Cat Mask, for one, seemed eager to throw speech back at her, like a spear. “These are the stories and legends told by my people. I do not know how much truth there is in them. It happened so long ago that all memory of the truth is lost to us.”
“But not to us!” cried Cat Mask. “We recall it bitterly enough!”
“Let her speak,” shouted Lizard Mask. Like a lizard, he threw his breath into his chest, all puffed out. Little white scars, like lines marking the phases of the moon, scored his dark skin. All at once, she realized why the men seemed so like Sanglant: not one of them had a beard.
“How can none remember it?” asked elderly Green Skirt. “My mother and aunts suffered through the cataclysm, and I can recite their stories of that time as easily as I breathe. How can it be forgotten? We were at war with the shana-ret’zeri and their human allies for generations. It cannot have passed so easily even from human memory.”
Others murmured in agreement.
“No,” said Liath. “If the measure of days and years moves differently here than there, then more time has passed for those living on Earth than for you, here in this country. According to the calculations I know, your tribe has not walked on Earth for almost two thousand and seven hundred years. That is over a hundred generations, as measured by human lives. All we have left from, those days are ancient memories shrouded in tales that make little sense to us now, as well as the remains of what the ancient people built. Yet fallen buildings cannot speak.”
“One hundred generations!” Even the hostile White Feather seemed struck by this fact. “My mother’s mother died in the Sundering. I had the story from my aunt and my mother’s brother. No more time than this has passed, here.”
“Then I pray you, tell me the story,” said Liath. “Tell me what happened in those days and how you came to this country.”
“Beware how much you tell her,” murmured Skull Earrings.
“Aren’t you the one who advises accommodation with the human tribes?” retorted Cat Mask gleefully.
“Accommodation, but not surrender! That is why some among us agreed when the Impatient One told us her plan. If we tell this one too much, and it can be used against us—”
“I will speak.” Feather Cloak’s words, as always, silenced the others. “How can the truth harm us? I can only recount the deeds of that time as they were given to me by my aunt, who wore the serpent skirt and danced below the altar of She-Who-Will-Not-Have-A-Husband. Alone among us all, Eldest Uncle remains. He witnessed. Perhaps he will again tell us the tale.”
He was hesitant. “It is nothing I desire to remember.” He looked at Liath as he said the words. “Yet worse will come if we do not remember.”
The council members, even those who had spoken in the most hostile way before, moved back respectfully as he descended to the council ground. Behind the standard, raised on a squat column of stone and concealed up to this moment from Liath’s sight by the arrangement of the standing councillors, lay a carving rather like that of the eagle on which Feather Cloak sat. This one resembled a huge cat, lionlike but scarred with lines that seemed to indicate dapplings or lesions upon its stone coat. Its head, tail, and paws thrust up from the stone as if it had been caught in the instant before it fully emerged out of the rock. Eldest Uncle clambered up on this high seat and settled himself cross-legged on the curving back.
When all were quiet and at rest, he began to speak.
“Hu-ah. Hu-ah. Let my words be pleasing to She-Who-Creates. In those days, we called ourselves The-Ones-Who-Have-Understanding. Our people became alive in the place known as Gold-Is-Everywhere. We were the children of the Fourth Sun, which was born after the waters flooded the world and destroyed the Third Sun. In that place known as Gold-Is-Everywhere, we built cities and gave offerings to the gods. But He-Who-Burns became angry with our people. He sent forth his sons and they burned the cities with their fire. After this, there was no peace among the tribes.
“Thirteen of the clans built ships and sailed boldly west over the great water. The moon three times hid her face before land was sighted. Here they found many goats and the pale ones who looked like people but acted like dogs.
“‘This is not a good country,’ said The-One-Who-Counts. The council listened to her words, and they left that place.
“After much wandering, the thirteen clans came to the middle sea. Here, also, the pale ones lived, but these pale ones acted like people, not beasts. The council met, and The-One-Who-Counts said to them: ‘This is a better country.’
“They made a harbor there and built cities in the place known after that as Abundance-Is-Ours-If-The-Gods-Do-Not-Change-Their-Minds. Into this land the clans settled and made new homes. “None of the offerings were forgotten, and in this way rain fell at the proper time and sun shone at the proper time. There were many children. In this land, the people called themselves The-Ones-Who-Have-Made-A-New-Home.
“Some of the pale ones, who called themselves humankind, came as friends to our people. Others came from the south, who had skin as black as charcoal, and some from the east, who were the color of clay. Some among humankind walked together with our people and painted the clan marks on their bodies. In this way, they became part of the clans, and their blood and our blood mixed.
“Many Long Years passed. The counting-women walked on the temples and counted the rising and setting of the stars. At the end of every four Long Years, which marks a Great Year, they ascended the Hill of the Star and watched to see if the Six-Women-Who-Live-Upriver would pass the zenith. In this way, the counting-women would know that the movements of the heavens had not ceased and that the world would not come to an end.
“Hu-ah. Hu-ah. Let She-Who-Creates be pleased as my story continues.
“The time of four omens began in the year of 1-Mountain. In the season of Dry Light, the people saw a strange wonder. A column of flame appeared in the sky. Like a great wound, it bled fire onto the earth, drop by drop. The people cried out all together in wonder and in dread, and as was the custom, they clapped their hands against their mouths. They asked the counting-women what it could mean, the counting-women answered that the stars spoke of a great cataclysm, the rising of the Fifth Sun, under which the whole world would suffer. That year, there were many offerings to the gods.
“In the year of 12-Sky, fire ran like a river through the sky at daybreak. It split into three parts and the three parts became wind. One part of wind rose up to the Hill of the Stars and smashed the House of Authority. The other two parts lashed the waters of the Lake of Gold until the waters boiled. Half of the houses of the city fell into the boiling waves. Then the waters sank back to their rightful place.
“In the year of 9-Sky, a whirlwind of dust rose from the earth until it touched the sky. Out of the whirlwind came the voice of the crying woman, and she cried, ‘We are lost! Let us flee the city.’ After that, the sky inhaled the whirlwind, but the crying woman was left behind, and she would often be heard in the middle of the night.
“The-One-Who-Sits-In-The-Eagle-Seat sent out the most gifted seers and sorcerers to see what was happening, but everywhere they went their human neighbors greeted them with stones and spears, violence and battle. The men who speak for peace went out among humankind, but they were killed.
“The shana-ret’zeri were on the move, and they had allied with the human tribes. Even those whom we had t
aught and taken into our own towns turned against us. The long enmity between our peoples could not be healed. At this time the year 2-Sky came to an end, and the counting-women tallied the beginning of the year 1-Sky with offerings. Thirteen times had the full count of Great Years run to completion, which meant that the Long Count had come full circle. This was the time of greatest danger, for at the end of each Long Count, the gods gained the power to destroy the sun.
“It came to pass that on the two hundredth day of 1-Sky, two of the fisherfolk captured a heron in the waters of the lake. The bird was so marvelous and strange that none of them could describe it, so they took it to The-One-Who-Sits-In-The-Eagle-Seat. She had gone already to the Hall of Night to celebrate the evening banquet.
“A crown of stars was set on the head of the bird. The-One-Who-Sits-In-The-Eagle-Seat said, ‘Within the crown I see a mirror, and the mirror shows me the heavens and the night sky. In the mirror, I see the stars we call the Six-Women-Who-Live-Upriver, but they are burning.’ Now she was very afraid, because it seemed to her that this was not only strange and wondrous, but a particularly bad omen.
“She looked a second time into the mirror. She saw the human sorcerers standing within their stone looms and weaving a spell greater than any spell known before on Earth. Then the seers and the counting-women of my people understood the intent of the shana-ret’zeri and their human allies.
“Too late had we discovered the danger. Our enemies had already woven the net to catch us.”
Abruptly, the old sorcerer could not go on. He faded as the sun fades beneath the hills, losing all power, and his body bent over his crossed knees as though he had fainted.
“I will not speak of the suffering,” he said in a whisper that nevertheless penetrated the entire chamber, “or of the ones we lost. Only this. By means of the spell woven by the human sorcerers and their allies, our land was torn away from Earth. Here in exile we have lingered. The land dies around us as all plants die in time, when they are uprooted. We have dwindled. We would die were we to remain in this exile forever.”
He straightened up. The fire of anger flashed in his gaze again, the stubbornness of a man who has seen a sight worse than death but means to survive longer than his enemies. He looked directly at Liath. “But what is born out of Earth returns to Earth. This truth our enemies did not comprehend. They thought to rid themselves of us forever, but they only exiled us for a time.”
“How can that be?” demanded Liath. “If they flung you and your homeland away from Earth, then surely it must be your own sorcerers who are bringing your land back to Earth.”
“Give me your belt.”
She undid her leather belt and walked forward with her tunic lapping her calves. The council members had fallen into a profound silence, whether out of respect for Eldest Uncle and his memories, or out of sorrow for what had been lost, she could not know.
He took the belt and held it by the buckle so that the other end dangled loose toward the floor. Grasping the other end, he brought it up to touch the buckle.
“Here is a circle.” He placed a finger on the buckle. “If I were to walk on the surface of this belt, where would I end up?” He let her draw her finger from the buckle around the outside flat of the belt, until she returned to where she had started.
“So,” he agreed, because she was nodding, “think of the buckle of this belt as Earth. When the human sorcerers wove their spell, they meant to throw my people and the land in which we dwelt off of Earth, to a different place, so—” He moved her finger from the buckle to the underside of the buckle. “Now the one is separate from the other. Even if I walk on this side of the belt, I will not come back to Earth. Do so.” She ran her finger along the inside flat of the belt and, truly, although she remained close to the other side of the belt, although she passed underneath the buckle that represented Earth, she never returned to it. The two sides were eternally separate, having no point of connection.
He let the end of the belt dangle loose again, holding only the buckle. “But it seems they overlooked a quality inherent in the nature of the universe.” Taking the end of the belt, he gave it a half twist and then brought it up to the buckle. “Now, you see, if I walk the belt, I pass one time around and circle underneath the buckle but I remain on the same surface and continue once more around the belt until I return to the buckle itself.”
“Ah,” said Liath, fascinated at once. She traced the surface of the belt all the way around twice without lifting her finger from the leather, and the second time she came back to the buckle, where she had started.
“I never thought of that!” she cried, amazed and intrigued. “The universe has a fold in it.”
“So you see,” said Eldest Uncle approvingly. “Although our land was flung away from Earth, the fold in the universe is bringing us back to where we started.”
He rose unsteadily, as if his knees hurt him. Extending an arm, he addressed the council. “On Earth, the measure of days and years moves differently than it does here. Soon, the full count of Great Years will have again run to completion thirteen times on Earth. The ending point will becoming the starting point, and we will come home.”
Cat Mask seemed about to blurt out a comment, but Eldest Uncle’s gaze stilled the words on his tongue. Ponderously, Feather Cloak pushed up to her feet. No one moved to help her, until Liath finally stepped toward her but was brought up short by Skull Earrings. The elderly man raised a hand, palm out, to show that she must not aid the pregnant woman who sat in the Eagle Seat.
Panting a little, Feather Cloak steadied herself and surveyed the council. Standing, she looked even more enormously pregnant, so huge that it seemed impossible she hadn’t burst. “We will come home,” she agreed. “Yet there remains a danger to us. We will come home unless the human sorcerers now on Earth use their magic to weave a second spell like the first. Then they could fling us back into the aether, and we would surely all perish, together with our land.”
Pain cut into Liath’s belly. She tucked, bending slightly, reflexively, but the pain vanished as swiftly as it had come—it was only the memory of her labor pains the day her mother had told her the story of the Great Sundering, and the threat of the Aoi return.
“The only one who can stop them is you,” Anne had said.
Had Da known all along? Was this the fate he had tried to hide her from—serving as Anne’s tool? Pain stabbed again, but this time it was anger. Da hadn’t helped her at all by hiding the truth from her. He’d only made it harder. Ignorance hadn’t spared her, it had only made her weak and fearful.
“To use magic in such a way seems like the act of a monster,” she said at last, measuring her words, aware of the anger burning in the pit of her stomach. “But I have heard of a story told by my people of a time known as the Great Sundering, when the Aoi—”
“Call us not by that name!” cried Cat Mask. “If you come in peace, as you claim, why do you keep insulting us?”
“I do not intend to insult you!” she retorted, stung. “That is the name my people call you.”
“Don’t you know what it means?” asked Green Skirt.
“No.”
Cat Mask spat the words. “‘Cursed Ones.’”
“What do you call yourselves, then?”
They all broke out talking at once.
Feather Cloak lifted a hand for silence. “In our most ancient home, we called ourselves The-Ones-Who-Have-Understanding. After our ancestors left that place and came over the sea, we called ourselves The Ones-Who-Have-Made-A-New-Home. Now we call ourselves The-Ones-In-Exile, Ashioi, which also means, The-Ones-Who-Have-Been-Cursed.”
“Ashioi,” murmured Liath, hearing the word she knew—“Aoi” —embedded within it. Was that how ancient knowledge survived, only in fragments like the florilegia Da had compiled over the years? Surely Da had understood the true purpose of the Seven Sleepers. What had he been looking for in these notes and scraps of magical knowledge? Had he wondered how a spell as powerful as the G
reat Sundering could come to be? She had to work it through in order to understand the whole. “Wouldn’t it also be true that if such a huge region of land fell to Earth again, it would make a terrible cataclysm?”
“Maybe so,” said Eldest Uncle, “yet if this land approaches close by Earth and is flung away again by a spell woven by human sorcerers, that act, too, will cause manifold destruction. The tides of the universe spare no object, for even when bodies do not touch, they influence each other. If you are trained in the craft of the stars, then you understand this principle. No part of the shore is safe from a high tide, or an ebb tide. Either way, Earth will suffer.”
Twilight came suddenly; the gap in the ceiling darkened so quickly that spinning dust motes caught in shafts of light simply vanished as shadow spread. For a moment, it was too dark for even Liath to see. Then the Eagle Seat and the Jaguar Seat began to glow, illuminating the two figures who stood on their backs: Feather Cloak and Eldest Uncle. In that gleam, the shells and beads decorating their cloaks and arm sheaths took on new colors, roots of scarlet and viridian that shuddered deep within.
His final words, like an arrow, were aimed at her heart. “The only choice is whether my people perish utterly, or whether we will be given a chance to live.”
In her mind’s eye she saw the ruined city that ended at a shoreline so sharp and straight that a knife might have shorn it off. A knife—or a vast spell whose power beggared the imagination and left her a little stunned—might have sheared off the land so, cutting it cleanly as one slices away a piece of meat from the haunch.
To contemplate the power of such a spell, such a sundering, left her sick to her stomach and profoundly dizzy. She went hot all over. Her blood pounded in her limbs, and the hot taste of fire burned on her lips as a wind roared in her ears.
Who would perish, and who would live? Who had earned the right to make that choice?