Mother of Demons

  How then could she show them the way forward? In a new Bronze Age, a new Time of Troubles, on a new planet? All she could see in the future was an endless vista of pain. Every way forward led nowhere but down, twisting and winding back into the nightmare coils of ancient history.

  Jens had listened patiently to her explanation. When she was done, he had simply shrugged.

  "I don't doubt you," he said, "but I don't think you really understand. Joseph is absolutely right, and you are absolutely wrong."

  "Why?" she cried.

  Jens stood and looked down at her. His face, then, had been as cold as Joseph's.

  "Because history is not something that used to happen. It is happening now, and we are in it. And things have to be understood, as best we can, and then things will have to be done, as best we can, and we will have to do them. Alone."

  He began to walk away, and then turned back.

  "I was too young when my father died to remember him. I know only that he tried to do the impossible—he tried to land a spaceship that was never designed for planetfall. He failed, but at least he tried."

  * * *

  For months after that episode, Indira was plunged into a deep depression. She dealt with it by monomaniacally immersing herself in the language and culture of the gukuy pilgrims.

  During that period, she learned much of their language and culture. Enough to develop a profound admiration for the gukuy of the big valley—coupled with an equally profound fear.

  For Indira also, it was one thing to know a truth in the abstract. Another to grasp it in all its concrete permutations.

  It was, indeed, a Time of Troubles.

  She had intended, as her first act, to convene a meeting of the council, where she would explain the truth to the leaders of the human colony. But when Adrian Harabi approached her, and hesitantly asked for advice concerning the fortified wall she was building, Indira changed her plans.

  First things first. She was ruefully amused to see how easily even she could make that decision. It was indeed true, as Samuel Johnson had once said, that the prospect of being hanged concentrates the mind wonderfully.

  So she accompanied Adrian to the proposed site of the wall. Soon they were joined by Joseph and his lieutenants.

  Joseph was stiff and distant, at first. But as Indira began explaining the historical experience of the human race—the hard-learned techniques of fortifications and siege tactics—she could see the old warmth returning to his face.

  She was both happy and sad to see it. Happy, for she loved the boy, and was gladdened to see his love for her returning. And sad, for the means of its return was his eager apprenticeship in the science of slaughter.

  When the meeting convened the next day, Indira began by saying that the language of the pilgrims should no longer be referred to as "gukuy." It would be like calling the languages of Earth "human." There were five languages represented among the gukuy on the mountain, she explained to the council.

  "The main language is Anshaku. That's the dominant language of the Ansha Prevalate, the great empire to the south."

  "How far south?" demanded Joseph immediately.

  Indira understood his concern.

  "I don't think we need to worry about the Anshac, Joseph. At least, not in the immediate future. Most of the gukuy in the big valley—there are about sixty of them, by the way, and they call themselves the Pilgrims of the Way—are from Ansha. From the helot class, mostly, although there are several former members of the lesser warrior clans—"

  She paused, observing their confusion.

  "Perhaps I'd better fill you in on the general picture."

  A sharp look at Julius.

  "If the crotchety member of the council will refrain from sarcastic remarks on the subject of professorialism."

  "We are all ears, Indira," responded Anna Cheng immediately.

  "I will silence the old crank, if necessary," added Ludmilla.

  Indira repressed a smile, seeing the look of outrage on Julius' face.

  "The social structure of the gukuy empires—let's call them that, for the moment—has basic parallels to the civilized societies of Earth's Bronze Age. Unstable empires. Independent principalities and city-states. Constant warfare and conquest. Dynastic revolts—except that the gukuy don't really have dynasties.

  "That's the biggest difference between the gukuy empires and any human parallel. The reproductive methods of the gukuy don't allow for the development of dynasties—at least, not in the sense that humans use the term. The King begat a King, who begat a King, and so forth."

  "They'd be queens," interjected Anna.

  Indira shook her head. "No, not even that. I made the same mistake, at first. I assumed that gukuy society would be matriarchal, in the sense that human societies became patriarchal after the Neolothic revolution. But the differences between gukuy and humans run deeper than that. True, the females are dominant. In that sense, you could describe gukuy society as 'matriarchal.' But the gukuy females are not mothers. The gukuy don't have a simple two-sex system. Each sex is further divided. The big majority of gukuy are sterile females. They do most of the work, and the fighting. And they dominate gukuy society on every level.

  "You have to understand what this complex sexual relationship means. The sterile females dominate gukuy society, but they are not the ones who produce offspring. So the simple hereditary transmission of power and wealth which characterized the patriarchal societies of Earth's early civilizations can't apply here. There's still a transmission of power and wealth. There has to be, for any ruling class to maintain its cohesiveness. But it works indirectly, through a sort of clan system. All gukuy in a given clan are born to a certain generation of mothers. No one knows which particular mother, because the gukuy—like the owoc—are largely indifferent to new-born spawn. Most of the spawn die off quickly, from disease and—"

  She couldn't stop herself from grimacing.

  "—from predating on each other. The ones who survive are adopted into the clan. The clans trace their lineage through a succession of generations of mothers, even though the offspring are not the direct descendants of the sterile females who actually rule.

  "The end result is a social structure which has no close parallel on Earth. Within each clan, among the members of a particular generation, the relations between the sterile females seem to be relatively egalitarian. Even rather democratic, apparently, in the barbarian tribes. Power and prestige seem largely to accrue through personal achievement.

  "But between the clans, and, to a lesser extent, between the generations, relations are based on strict hierarchic domination. That's why the proper term for these 'empires' is prevalates. Ansha, for instance, is that realm in which the Ansha clan prevails over all others."

  "Where do the mothers fit into all this?" asked Maria De Los Reyes.

  Indira shrugged. "They are highly venerated—especially the oldest mothers, who are called the Paramount Mothers. But they do not seem to have much in the way of real power. I'm reminded of the old Japanese imperial system. The Emperor was a revered figure—a god-like figure, actually. But his duties were essentially religious. Real power lay in the hands of the shoguns, the warlords.

  "At least, that's the way it seems to be in the southern societies. But I want to emphasize a point here. Do not assume that all gukuy societies are the same. Among the barbarian tribes, the mothers seem to possess a great deal of actual authority—despite the fact that they are not venerated. In fact, the main tribe even has a class of young mothers whom they call 'battlemothers.' These battlemothers participate in warfare alongside the warriors until they become old enough to start producing offspring. The civilized societies seem to view this custom with disgust."

  She took a deep breath.

  "And there is a new and powerful tribe rising in the far west, called the Utuku, in which the pattern of sterile female warrior dominance is carried to the extreme. All eumales are slaughtered; as well as all truemales beyond the mininu
m necessary. The mothers are not venerated, they are simply slaves. Breeders. The Utuku even cripple them at birth."

  Indira shuddered slightly. "And they eat the owoc."

  A gasp swept the hut.

  "It's true. Nor are the Utuku simply cannibalistic toward their owoc cousins. They also practice cannibalism on other gukuy."

  "Are all of the barbarian tribes so cruel?" asked Ludmilla.

  Indira shook her head. "No. Quite the opposite, in fact. There are a number of tribes living to the west. Pastoralists. There is apparently a type of animal on Ishtar which we've never seen. The gukuy call them 'gana,' and they seem to be the equivalent of cattle. Or sheep."

  Julius leaned forward, his ears practically standing out.

  "The dominant tribe is called the Kiktu. Barbarians, of course. But the Kiktu religion venerates the owoc. Some sort of animistic totemism, I imagine. The end result is that the Kiktu not only do not mistreat the owoc themselves, but they will not allow others to do so. There has been at least one tribe massacred by the Kiktu for mistreating owoc, according to the Pilgrims. And they tell me that the reason the owoc on the Chiton are so rarely molested is because the region south of the Chiton is Kiktu territory. The Pilgrims themselves fled to the Chiton partly because they thought they would be safe here from persecution. But they had to obtain permission from the Kiktu to pass through their territory. Slavers never come here, according to the Pilgrims, for fear of the Kiktu."

  "Then why did that slaving party come here not so long ago?" asked Julius.

  Indira's face grew grim. "It seems the Kiktu have been preoccupied, of late. They have been marshalling an alliance of other tribes for war against the invaders."

  "What invaders?"

  She looked to the southwest, as if she could see through the walls of the hut and the mountainside beyond.

  "The Utuku. The cannibals are on the march."

  Interlude: Nukurren

  During the two days after regaining consciousness, Nukurren spent much of her time, while awake, observing the demons, and discussing her observations with Dhowifa. She was not awake for long, however, and less and less as time passed. Disease had seized her in its grip, and she felt herself growing weaker.

  The white demon Dzhenushkunutushen was frequently to be found walking alongside Nukurren's litter. On occasion, he was joined by the female demon Ludumilaroshokavashiki—or Ludumila, as the male demon called her. Nukurren attempted to ask them about themselves, but the demons fended off all such inquiries. On the third day, to Nukurren's surprise, they began asking her about her own life.

  At first, Nukurren tried to satisfy them with a few short sentences. But the demons insisted on a full account.

  So, in the end, Nukurren obliged.

  She had been born a helot in the Ansha Prevalate, clanless and outcast. Her earliest memories consisted of nothing but drudgery in the fields of the high clans, endless days waking at dawn and toiling till dusk. Even the simple pleasures of friendship with other young helots had been denied her, for she was ugly, and overlarge, and generally silent.

  One day, driven beyond endurance by a particularly brutal overseer, she had turned upon her. The overseer had beaten Nukurren savagely with her flail, but Nukurren was already—though not yet fully grown—of unusual size and strength. She had wrested the flail from the overseer and had begun repaying her tormentor in kind, before she was overcome by many overseers drawn to the fracas.

  Nukurren herself had almost been beaten to death, then. She still bore on her mantle the scars of that flailing. She pointed them out to the demons.

  Ludumila ran her hand down the side of Nukurren's mantle. It was the first time a demon had touched her since the demonlord withdrew the demon weapons. Nukurren found the touch gentle and tender.

  "There are so many scars here," said Ludumila softly.

  "And I thought I was bad," said Dzhenushkunutushen. The demon grinned and took off his armor. His upper torso now exposed, Nukurren could see that the milky white flesh bore several ugly, puckered marks.

  "That was my first wound," said Dzhenushkunutushen, pointing to an especially large scar on the upper portion of his left arm. "I got it in my first battle."

  "How?" asked Nukurren. Dzhenushkunutushen began to explain, but was interrupted by Ludumila.

  "Being stupid! Using his muscles instead of his brain."

  Dzhenushkunutushen grinned again, and made the motion with his upper torso which Nukurren had learn to interpret as the gesture of bemused uncertainty. "I'm prone to that," admitted the demon.

  "Yes, you are!" said the female demon forcefully. To Nukurren, her posture seemed stiff and rigid. After a moment, however, her posture relaxed. She extended a hand and took the hand of Dzhenushkunutushen.

  "You have to stop doing that, Jens," she said softly. Nukurren observed as the two demons stick-pedded alongside her litter, hand holding hand. Had they been gukuy, she realized, their mantles would be glowing green, and it seemed to her the strangest thing she had ever encountered in a loveless world, that demons could love.

  Some time later, Dzhenushkunutushen looked back at Nukurren.

  "What happened then?" he asked.

  "I was condemned to slavery, and sold to a slavemaster. I spent the next many eightyweeks chained and yoked, pulling a sledge filled with trade goods to the market in Shakutulubac. I finished my growth during that time, and by the end I was very strong."

  Dhowifa interrupted. "Nukurren is the strongest gukuy who ever lived," said the truemale proudly. "Except for a mother, of course." Nukurren noticed that her lover's Kiktu had improved considerably over the past few days, even though Dhowifa spoke rarely in the presence of the demons.

  "Is that true?" asked Dzhenushkunutushen.

  Nukurren made the gesture of bemused uncertainty.

  "Who can know? I am the strongest gukuy that I have ever met."

  "She is also the fastest gukuy who ever lived," added Dhowifa. The little truemale's mantle was rippling with that shade of green which signified pride and admiration.

  "Is that true?" asked Dzhenushkunutushen.

  Again, Nukurren made the gesture of bemused uncertainty. "Who can know? I am the fastest gukuy that I have ever met. Stop bragging, Dhowifa."

  "Why?" demanded her lover. "It's all true! And that's all that saved you from the yoke."

  "What happened?" asked Ludumilla.

  "One day, in the market, I was seen by a captain of the Anshac legions. She was seeking recruits for a new legion, and she bought me from my owner. I was sent to the training camps to become a warrior."

  "Were you freed?" asked Dzhenushkunutushen.

  "Not then."

  "Did you try to escape?"

  "No. To what purpose? Where would I go?" Nukurren made the gesture of resignation. "I was not unhappy at the change. The work was much easier. It is true that I met with no friendship in the ranks of the legion. I was a slave, and despised even by the lowclan recruits. But I did not care."

  Nukurren fell silent, mastering the lie. She had cared, and cared deeply, and had spent many nights in the camps filled with aching loneliness. But her shoroku, as always, allowed no trace of her emotions to show.

  "You are lying," said the demon Dzhenushkunutushen.

  Nukurren stared at him, wondering how a monster could see into her soul. Then she made the gesture of agreement.

  "Yes, I am lying. I did care. But I became accustomed to it. Soon enough the other recruits ceased taunting me. After I was attacked by several of them, and I killed two."

  "Were you punished?"

  "For that?" Nukurren made the gesture of dismissal; yellow contempt rippled briefly in her mantle. "To the contrary. I was praised by my captain and promoted. And then I devoted myself to becoming a mistress of warfare. I was good at it."

  Nukurren fell silent. She refused to speak again that day, for reasons which were not clear, even to her. But on the next day, when Dzhenushkunutushen pressed her, she resumed her story.
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  "There is not much to tell about the eightyweeks which followed. There were many campaigns, and many battles. I acquired many more scars, but I no longer remember which they were. I was given my freedom after one battle where I fought well, and promoted again. Had I been highclan, or midclan, or even lowclan, I would have been promoted very often. Even though I am ugly, and look stupid, I am not. I always observed things carefully, and learned from them."

  "How did you meet Dhowifa?"

  "After a time, I was promoted again, and assigned to the Motherguard."

  "What is the Motherguard?"

  "That is the elite legion which guards the Divine Shell."

  "Nukurren was the only clanless helot ever assigned to the Motherguard," interjected Dhowifa. "Ever. She was famous."

  "Stop bragging, Dhowifa."

  "It's true! I remember the day you arrived. My bondbrothers and I snuck out of the Divine Shell to watch."

  "And what did you think?" asked Ludumila.

  Dhowifa hesitated. Nukurren made the gesture of amusement. "Don't lie, Dhowifa!"

  The little truemale's mantle shimmered with a complex web of colors, which suddenly dissolved into green. "I thought Nukurren was the ugliest gukuy I had ever seen. I was terrified of her. Everyone was, I think."

  "Not Ushulubang," said Nukurren.

  "No," agreed Dhowifa. "Not her."

  The demons stopped abruptly, and stared at the two gukuy riding on the litter. Ludumila hooted a sudden command, and the owoc carrying the litter stopped also.

  "You know Ushulubang?" demanded Dzhenushkunutushen.

  Ochre uncertainty and confusion rippled across Dhowifa's mantle. As always, Nukurren's remained gray.

  "Yes," replied Dhowifa.

  Instantly, Ludumila began shouting in the harsh demon language. The entire caravan came to a halt, and within moments the black demon came racing back to the litter. Watching him approach, Nukurren was struck again by the astonishing speed of which the demons were capable.