They were repeatedly frustrated by the problem that Pulickel had ineffectually attempted to solve, namely, that it’s more than a little difficult to study something you haven’t got. Interestingly, his unfortunate escapade seemed not to have swayed Torrelauan opinion concerning the proposed treaty one way or the other. The proportion of those favoring an agreement and those opposed remained the same as before.
Various attempts to study the stones were stymied, albeit politely, at every turn, and neither of them could come up with a more efficacious way to proceed.
Even so, they were in better shape than the frantic handful of AAnn who were all that remained of the staff of his imperial highness’s research station on Mallatyah. Their colleagues, including base commander Essasu RRGVB, had vanished without word or trace. Attempts to reestablish contact with the sortie party had proven worse than futile, as first sealed and then open-beam lines of communication yielded nothing in the way of a response, not even static. It was as if the entire expedition had suddenly and without warning vanished into thin air.
In point of fact that was exactly what had happened—but not into thin air. Among the skeleton staff remaining at the installation, there was very little talk of stones and much of drafting a request for evacuation. Yet this could not be done unless they could provide hard evidence that something untoward had happened to the group. Since no one was in a hurry to visit the area where the expedition had disappeared, this placed the survivors in something of a quandary.
Perhaps the commander and the others had a reason for keeping silent. If so, stumbling out to “rescue” them would constitute a grave insult, not to mention complicating the expedition’s situation. So those who had remained behind kept to themselves, maintained the base in an orderly fashion, waited anxiously for a response from those who were not responding, and hoped that someone in a position of authority would show up to tell them what to do next.
After all, it had only been a few days.
While the few surviving AAnn huddled inside their suddenly uncrowded installation and the two humans strove to maintain a semblance of a daily routine, the Parramati were not as indifferent as they seemed to the events that had taken place.
It was true, as the AAnn Essasu had once commented, that the Parramati could not communicate any faster than their boats could travel. But beneath favorable winds the highly specialized outriggers were exceptionally fast. So while the inhabitants of Mallatyah were being informed of Pulickel Tomochelor’s actions on Torrelau, the citizens of that island were learning from their brethren on Mallatyah of the AAnn expedition’s ill-fated attempt to abscond with a much larger number of stones. Meanwhile, humans and AAnn alike remained ignorant of this quiet exchange of information.
Subsequendy, big persons from both major islands along with representatives from Tiniara, Omeuleek, Culicuanna, and more than thirty smaller islands stretching the length and breadth of the archipelago assembled in the village of Ataap. Located on a small hook-shape island situated midway between Torrelau and Mallatyah, the gathering imposed a significant burden on those serving as hosts. The Ataapans did not complain. They were honored by the presence of so many important big persons.
Ascela and Jorana were present, representing the Torrelauapa Parramati. From Mallatyah came Oresivi and the famous scholar Leuwaramau. Smaller islands sent one representative apiece, while even tinier islets that might be home to only a single village or even a few families combined to choose one delegate to speak for them. All told, some seventy big persons and their attendants crowded into the meeting house on Ataap. Some but by no means all were stone masters. It was a convocation the likes of which Parramat had not seen in some thirty years.
On that occasion the purpose of the get-together had been festive. This time an air of solemnity hung over the proceedings, as the matter they had gathered to discuss was of a far more serious nature.
This is not to say that the atmosphere within and outside the meeting house was funereal. Old acquaintances greeted one another warmly, and new friendships were forged. Between discussions there was much ceremonial drinking and feasting, and the younger big persons participated in bounding and leaping contests. Amorous assignations were encouraged, a few were formalized, and in this way relationships between the affiliated islands of Parramat were strengthened.
When other island groupings held similar conclaves, disagreement and fighting was common, and not thought of as unusual. The Parramati had long since dispensed with such familial altercations. It made no sense to fight with a neighbor who might control a stone you would need next month, or next year, to improve your crops or heal a sick relative. Mutual interest preserved the peace.
Besides, you could share another person’s space but never steal it.
When the last of the representatives had arrived and all introductions and greetings had been exchanged, everyone assembled in Ataap’s meeting house. It was crowded, but there was just enough room for all. None could be left out or overlooked, not even the delegate from the smallest island. One might come from a large village or a single family, but everyone was equal in the amount of space they shared.
Most squatted in positions of formal rest, their flexible tails barely reaching the floor. Those along the walls were compelled to stand in order to be able to see. Standing for long periods of time was no hardship for a seni; not with their huge feet and powerful leg muscles.
Those designated as speakers waited their turn, and none spoke longer than was fitting. Everyone listened politely even to those elders whose thoughts were less focused and who had a tendency to ramble. Such individuals were viewed with fond amusement rather than dismay.
The delegates from Torrelau and Mallatyah spoke last, not because they represented the two largest and most densely populated islands of the archipelago but because they were the ones most intimately and immediately affected by the events of the previous days. Yet what had happened concerned every Parramati, to the last shell gatherer on the farthest outlying islet.
Of most immediate concern was the apparent loss of seven stones from Mallatyah.
“Seven stones!” Old Leuwaramau turned slowly as she spoke. Her body was bent and her vision impaired, but her voice rang out youthful and strong. Her words reverberated the length of the longhouse. In the singsong language of the Parramati it sounded more like an aria than a speech.
“Can they not be traced?” called out a stone master from Yevaluu.
The renowned scholar turned toward the questioner’s voice. “Seven stones have been used. Not two, as was the case on Torrelau.” Squatting nearby, Ascela and Jorana gestured solemn accord. “The users of the seven have gone farther. Finding them and bringing them back may be impossible. It is certainly dangerous.”
“They can take only the stones,” someone commented from near the south wall. “Not the space they occupied.” A murmur of assent rose from the assembly.
“But still.” The representative big person from Ataap did not try to conceal his distress. “Seven stones!”
Leuwaramau blew through the end of her long snout. “Two stones open two roads and their permutations. Difficult but not impractical to follow. Seven stones weave a trail far more than seven times tangled. Impossible. Too many roads crossing too many intersections. We must face the fact that these stones are gone. So are those who foolishly made use of them.”
Huril’ila of the island of Rerenik rose. “Stones will be shared. If any need be replaced, Rerenik will share.” In response, the longhouse shook to shouted offers of assistance.
Leuwaramau gestured for silence. “Thanks be to our Rerenik brethren, but this is not necessary. The loss is of course irreplaceable, but we of Mallatyah are rich in stones. We will not suffer.” She drew herself up.
“But this must not be allowed to happen again. If enough stones are taken from us, the links between some roads could be lost forever. We could lose control over our own space.”
Angry voices echoed throughout the meeti
ng place. For all their inner peace and melodious speech, it had not been so very long since the Parramati had fought with their neighbors. Because they chose not to war did not mean they were ignorant of its ways.
“What are we to do?” a big person from Tassai wondered aloud. She had a big belly and, for a seni, a booming voice.
“Kill them all,” another delegate suggested. “Soft- and shiny-skinned ones alike. Feed them to the apapanu.”
From the center of the room, Ascela rose to turn and disagree. “That will not work. We know both peoples well enough to know that if these die, more will come to take their place. They are like kikau weeds in the gardens. Better to deal with those who are here now, with those that we know.”
“We are not afraid of the aliens,” another insisted. “Let them come as many as will. We will use the war stones against them!” This proposal was greeted with cries of support—but not many. A larger number of delegates expressed reservations.
It had been generations since the war stones had been employed to repel a large and especially vicious invasion from another archipelago. If the histories were to be believed, the entire attacking force had been destroyed by means too terrible to relate—together with nearly all the defenders. The war stones were not like growing stones or fishing stones. Those charged with their care had a greater responsibility than nearly all other stone masters. Such stones were few in number, and as a precaution no more than one was kept on any single island. The old stories warned that bringing them together could pose as great a threat to the users as to the enemy.
“I do not think that is a good idea. There must be a better way.”
“Then propose one!” shouted a representative from the far side of the longhouse. This suggestion met with considerably more support than its predecessor.
Ascela was not intimidated. “The humans are intensely curious. Not only about the stones, but about all aspects of Parramati life and of kusum. Kill them, and others will come, curious to learn what happened.” A three-fingered hand gestured toward the longhouse ceiling. “They drop from the sky, and the sky is full of them.”
“Ah-weh,” old Leuwaramau whispered. “Then our purpose should be to keep their numbers among us as few as possible.”
“Can we convince them to go elsewhere?” Huril’ila wondered. “Persuade them somehow to leave us and study the Eolurro? Let them set their strange longhouses among our neighbors instead of here.”
There was an outburst of barking laughter. “More interesting to study the dirt than the Eolurro,” someone declared, provoking welcome amusement.
Ascela continued to hold the floor. “That is exactly why it will not work. Like that of many other seni, the kusum of the Eolurro has been debased by contact with both humans and AAnn. These humans are so interested in ours because it remains pure.”
“Can we keep it so?” someone asked from near the west wall. “If these aliens are allowed to remain among us, will their influence not begin to dilute traditional kusum? The young in particular are always susceptible to new and interesting ideas.”
Jorana rose to stand alongside Ascela. “There are no stones for seeing into the future. We cannot predict what may happen. But we can try to convince the humans that kusum should not be threatened and that the Parramati should be left alone. There are only two of them, and they insist that they want only what is best for us.”
“The shiny-skinned ones say the same.” Oresivi let his gaze rove through the crowd of attentive big persons. “Perhaps that is part of the problem. These humans and AAnn both want only what is best for us—provided they are the ones to determine what that is.” A surge of universal approval rose from the assembled. “Let us decide what is best for Parramati kusum and tell them.”
“How can we convince those who are so interested in us to leave us alone?” another wondered aloud.
“Kill them,” exclaimed a small but persistent minority. It was a collective voice that was disturbingly persistent. Jorana chose not to acknowledge it.
“Perhaps we should consult the stones and let them show us the way. The most important stones.” He surveyed the crowd. “We could have a Goggelai.”
This astonishing and completely unexpected proposal provoked immediate and vehement discussion in every corner of the meeting place. It did not die out completely even when Leuwaramau staggered again to her feet.
“A Goggelai has not been held in living memory. It opens the road to the unknown. There are great dangers in the unknown.”
“But also answers,” Jorana argued. “Do not these visitors also bring unknowns full of dangers? These aliens are a big thing that has come among the Parramati. It requires a big thing to counter them.” He spread his arms wide.
“We want no treaties with them, yet without an answer, they will not go away. We do not want war with them, because they will keep coming back. So I say, let us see what the stones show us. Let us see what roads the Goggelai opens and how the humans react to them. Perhaps among all the roads we will find one that leads to understanding.”
General discussion ensued. Those who argued for the use of the war stones to kill the visitors made some headway and swayed a few opinions. But it wasn’t nearly enough to convince the majority, who opted, albeit with reluctance, to convene the Goggelai.
Debate continued until the small hours of the morning, but in the end Jorana’s proposal prevailed. There was undeniable excitement among the delegates as they filed out of the meeting house. After all, though they knew it well from legend and story, none of them had actually participated in a Goggelai.
It was decided to hold the ceremony as soon as possible, on the slopes of sacred Mt. Erirota on Torrelau. Without divulging the full significance of the ritual, Ascela and Jorana would invite the humans to attend at the last moment.
Discussion continued as the big persons drifted off to their assigned sleeping quarters, walking or hopping to huts and longhouses that had been prepared for them by their honored hosts. The ramifications of a Goggelai were many, and not all necessarily benign. But these were portentous times for Parramat. Radical problems required radical solutions.
Stones had been lost. The protection of those that remained, and of the roads they guarded, had to be ensured. The roads could not be damaged, of course, but access to them could be lost.
So they would see what paths the Goggelai opened. Perhaps even, as Leuwaramau pointed out, the road to enlightenment.
“A multistones ceremony?” Fawn turned to Pulickel, wondering if she’d heard correctly.
They were standing by the river just above where it poured over the cliff into the shallow inlet lagoon below the village. The noise of the waterfall just downstream was constant but not overwhelming. Nearby, middle and lesser female persons were washing household items and preparing food in the crystal-clear water.
Jorana had come up behind them and politely requested a moment of their time. That in itself was unusual. Normally it was the visiting humans who had to interject themselves into Parramati conversation.
Pulickel confirmed her translation. “This sounds like something we should see.”
Jorana’s slim fingers traced lithe patterns in the air. “Your presence will add to the significance of the Goggelai.”
Fawn fluffed out her blond tresses. “I’ve made notes on quite a few Parramati ceremonies, but I don’t remember writing down anything about a Goggelai.”
Jorana looked up at her. “One has not been held for a long time. For quite a long time.”
“So why now?” There was something odd in the big person’s manner, Pulickel thought. He ran through his mental catalog of seni postures and expressions. Not discomfort, not anger or upset, not nervousness. He couldn’t quite put a finger on it or a name to it.
At least he knew that Jorana was not displeased with them. Otherwise he would not be inviting them to attend this special ceremony.
“The decision to hold the Goggelai is bound up with your coming among us.” Pu
lickel continued to wonder at the big person’s manner, which was at once deferential and demanding. “Important decisions will be made afterward.”
“The treaty,” Fawn hinted.
Jorana indicated agreement. “About the treaty, yes. And about other things. The Goggelai may tell us if your road and that of the Parramati coincide or diverge. It may tell us all manner of things. No one knows for certain because it has been such a long time since one was held.”
“So if it develops that our roads converge,” Pulickel pressed him, “then the Parramati will sign the treaty?”
“Perhaps.” Jorana looked away. “I cannot speak to such matters now.”
Fawn asked the inevitable follow-up. “And if they diverge?”
The big person studied her out of long, dark eyes. “Space is vast, F’an, and there are many spaces within it. Each holds different responses to different situations.”
“But even if there are an infinite number of spaces, the number of roads is finite,” Pulickel countered.
Jorana favored him with the seni equivalent of a smile. “You have not been long among us, friend Pu’il, but you have learned much. Everyone hopes that the road followed is the right one. You are so interested to learn about kusum. Now you will have the opportunity to contemplate one of its most sacred foundations.
“As to which road will be shown, I know no better than you. It is not like the bringing together of growing stones or weather stones. The Goggelai is the biggest thing there is.” He turned to depart.
Both Pulickel and Fawn were reluctant to let him leave. “When you say that this is a multistone ceremony,” she queried their visitor, “do you mean that stones from all over the island are brought together in one place?”