Mother of Demons

  We are still a tribe with leaders, united.

  We are so, because we chose the course of flight.

  We stand with Kopporu.

  Then, there were the swamp-dwellers. There were many eights of them, gathered together some little distance from Kopporu. Again, not near the battle leader. But near enough to come to Kopporu's aid, if necessary. And while the swamp-dwellers were not warriors, the still-healing scars on their own mantles demonstrated that they lacked neither courage nor willingness to fight. They were clanless outcasts, but their status had inevitably risen in the eyes of the Kiktu over the past days. Whatever their prejudices, the Kiktu were warriors—for whom courage counted much.

  And, there was this: Any Kiktu had but to look about them, to see that they were in the middle of the Lolopopo Swamp. Lost, without their guides. And the guides were making clear, without effrontery, that they too would stand with Kopporu.

  There was a last group, whom Guo had not expected. They would not be a direct factor in the assembly, but their presence was not insignificant. Scattered around the clearing, in small huddled groups, were refugees from every tribe which had fought the Utuku on the plain. The refugees had been found scattered through the swamp, and brought along with the retreat. Many were Kiktu; but the majority, thought Guo, were members of the five other tribes (besides the Opoktu) which had joined in alliance with the Kiktu. Whose clan leaders had also led them to disaster.

  All of them were warriors, except for a single young Datga mother and her consorts. Most of them bore recent battle wounds. Each of them was silent, their pinkish-brown mantles giving testimony to their own fears and feelings of guilt. Each of them had chosen, as individuals, to take the same course that Kopporu had chosen for the left flank as a whole—salvation in the swamp. They, too, bore the burden of treason. Hence they would not speak at the assembly—even those of them who were Kiktu and had the right to speak. Their own conduct would be examined, and judgement passed.

  Yet—their very presence was perhaps the strongest, if most indirect, reinforcement for Kopporu's position. For Kopporu alone was not on trial here. So were the ghosts of the clan leaders who had been responsible for the greatest single calamity in the history of the Kiktu and their allied tribes. The miserable, huddled shapes of the refugees was silent testimony to the ghastly scope of that disaster.

  The assembly was slow in coming to order. Kopporu stood alone, making no attempt to impose her authority. She had apparently decided that it was best to allow the tribespeople to mill about for a time, pondering the situation.

  Guo thought Kopporu's tactic was wise. And it gave her time to settle an important question. She looked for, and quickly found, the other two surviving Kiktu battlemothers. Loapo and Oroku were standing together nearby, with those few of Loapa's flankers who had survived. (Oroku's flankers, Guo would later learn, had all died in their frenzied efforts to save their badly wounded battlemother.)

  Guo lumbered toward them. She was glad to see that Oroku was present. She had feared that the lamed infanta would not have been able to keep up with the tribe in its flight.

  She was also relieved to see that Oroku's wounds were healing well enough, under the circumstances. There seemed to be no sign of the parasitic infections which so often accompanied bad wounds, especially eye-wounds.

  The reason for the lack of infection was obvious, once Guo came near. The wounds—the entire left eye, in fact—had been savagely cauterized by fire. Guo was deeply impressed with Oroku's courage. The pain of that cauterization must have been incredible. But the treatment had killed any parasites—even though the infanta would be horribly disfigured for the rest of her life.

  "You are well?" asked Guo.

  Loapo made the gesture of affirmation. Oroku whistled amusement.

  "As well as could be expected, under the circumstances."

  "I had feared you would not manage the march through the swamp."

  "I would not have," replied Oroku, "except for Loapo. And the warriors whom Kopporu sent to help me."

  Mention of Kopporu brought back the necessities of the moment. Yurra, as prearranged, handed Guo the bundle containing the Mothershell. Guo showed it to the other two infanta, and recounted the attendant's words.

  When she finished, she was relieved to see no trace of blue in their mantles. She had been especially concerned about Oroku's reaction. Loapa belonged to a relatively unimportant clan. There would have been no possibility of her becoming Great Mother, in any event. But Oroku, like Guo, was a member of the prevalent clan. Furthermore, she was older than Guo. Insofar as these things could be determined in the rather complex manner by which the Kiktu mothers chose the Great Mother of the tribe, Oroku had been a more likely candidate than Guo. She had feared that Oroku might take offense at Guo's peremptory claim to the title.

  Her fears proved groundless. Oroku simply examined the bundle and, within moments, made the gesture of consent. Loapo immediately followed suit.

  "The Great Mother chose wisely," whispered Oroku. "I can think of no better person to become our Great Mother in this darkest of all nights." A faint, humorous whistle. "A kuopto Great Mother! I almost wish the clan leaders were still alive, so I could watch them tremble in fear. May they rot in the Meat for eternity."

  A brown ripple washed across Oroku's mantle. "And besides, Guo, I will be spawnless. There are no males left to the tribe, except yours. Even if there were, what malebond would mate with a mother who looked like me?" She gestured at her horribly scarred face.

  Long after, looking back, Guo would decide that her love for her husbands was born at that moment.

  Yurra did not hesitate.

  "I would be honored to serve you, Oroku." There was not a trace of ochre in his mantle—nothing but an exquisite tracery of every shade of green (with just a hint of white beneath). The little truemale made the gesture of obedience. "With my future mate's permission, of course."

  "All of our bond will serve you, Oroku," added Woddulakotat. "I would myself, if I could, and willingly. Scars are a thing of the flesh. The tribe will need your soul." He also made the gesture of obedience. "With our future mate's permission, of course."

  Guo was—amused, she thought at first. For all her preconsorts' formal submissiveness, she had come to know them well enough to be certain that, if she withheld her permission, the cluster would make her life utterly miserable.

  She had no intention of withholding permission, of course, and immediately made that clear—to Loapo as well as Oroku. Jealousy was by no means an unknown emotion among the Kiktu (and all gukuy), but it was not closely tied to sexual congress. Not, at least, among mothers.

  She realized, suddenly, that her own mantle was flooded with green. Love for her sisters, of course. But there was more; much more. It had never occurred to her before that moment that greatness of spirit might dwell in the little bodies of males. She had a glimpse, then, of the future she would share with her husbands. Of a romance that would itself become a legend, recited by chantresses.

  But it was a fleeting glimpse, for at that moment she felt a stirring in the air around her.

  As she turned, she heard Oroku say: "We are as one, Guo. And remember the Great Mother's words: Be ruthless toward all folly."

  Silence was falling over the multitude in the clearing. And it was a multitude, Guo saw. There were far more survivors than she had at first realized. The huge clearing itself held over double-eight eighties of tribespeople—and she estimated that there were at least as many packed into the cycads surrounding the clearing.

  Once the silence was complete, Kopporu began to speak. She spoke slowly, for she had to shout loudly enough to be heard by all. Nevertheless, it did not take her long to tell her tale.

  The battle leader recounted, in a voice devoid of all emotion, her actions over the past few eightdays. She recounted all of the steps which she had taken, including the murders of Yaua and Doroto. She also explained, very briefly, the reasons for her actions. But she made
no effort to justify them, or to advance any argument in her favor. She simply presented the facts, and a description of her motives.

  When Kopporu finished, she allowed a moment's silence to pass before saying:

  "Let the trial begin."

  "Now," whispered Woddalukotat.

  Guo moved forward into the clearing, her flankers on either side. The murmur which had begun to sweep the crowd after Kopporu's last words died away. Every eye was upon Guo.

  When she reached the center of the clearing, Guo slowly turned and surveyed the entire crowd in the clearing. Once she was certain that all attention was riveted upon her, she said—in that incredibly loud voice of which only mothers are capable:

  "There will be no trial."

  She waited for the surprised hoots to fade away.

  "There can be no trial," she continued, "for there are no clan leaders here."

  A voice spoke from the crowd: "The tribe may act as judge!"

  "Who spoke?" demanded Guo.

  Immediately a warrior advanced forward, her mantle suffused with blue—that particular shade of blue which, among gukuy, connoted not simply anger but the outrage of a superior offended by a subordinate. Guo recognized her at once. She was named Ruako, and she was a high-ranked member of Guo's own clan.

  Good, she thought. The other clans will not think I am playing favorites.

  "Do you know her?" asked Woddulakotat softly.

  "Not well."

  "I do, for she spent much time in the yurts of the mothers and clan leaders. Ruako is very full of herself. Ambitious and vain. Exactly what you need."

  Guo spoke again, very loudly. "How can there be a trial, Ruako, when the accused are not here to answer the charges?"

  The warrior's blue mantle rippled with orange. Confusion; astonishment.

  "What do you mean, Guo? The accused is standing right there!" Ruako pointed with her palp at Kopporu.

  "Kopporu?" demanded Guo. "Who has accused Kopporu of anything? I have heard no accusation."

  Ruako emitted that peculiar spitting hoot which, had she been a human instead of a gukuy, would have been called "sputtering."

  "What are you saying? Kopporu accused herself!"

  "Ridiculous. Kopporu simply presented the tribe with a recitation of events. All of which lead to an accusation against the clan leaders. Misconduct." (The Kiktu term which she used carried much heavier connotations than the English word "misconduct"—gross dereliction of duty; criminal incompetence; reckless endangerment of the tribe.)

  "Oh, that's good," whispered Yurra excitedly. "That's very good!"

  Ruako's mantle was now positively glowing blue and orange. For a moment, the warrior was speechless. Guo took the opportunity to quickly scan the crowd. She was pleased to see the signs of relaxation everywhere her eyes looked. Like most cultures whose tradition is oral rather than written, the Kiktu took a great delight in debate and discussion. By immediately stepping forward, Guo had taken temporary command of the assembly. Then, by drawing out an opponent and focusing the tribe's attention, she had brought order and logic to what might have rapidly become a chaotic whirlwind of anger and action. Instead, the members of the tribe were settling back comfortably on their peds. More than one warrior, she noted, was showing faint tints of green in their mantles. Kopporu partisans, perhaps; or simply connoisseurs, enjoying Guo's display of skill.

  "The clan leaders are not murderers!" squalled Ruako.

  "How can you say that? That is precisely Kopporu's charge. Unfortunately, the clan leaders are not here to answer the charge. Hence, as I said, there can be no trial."

  Again, the spitting hoot. "Ridiculous! Ridiculous! Who are the clan leaders accused of murdering?"

  Guo paused, hoping another would answer. It was important that she maintain as much appearance of neutrality as possible.

  To her relief, Gortoku stepped forward.

  "They are accused of murdering—those who are not here."

  Gortoku spread her tentacles, in a gesture encompassing the entire crowd.

  "Where is the rest of our tribe?"

  Ruako started to speak, but Gortoku's loud voice overrode her words.

  "I ask again: where is the rest of our tribe?"

  The answer came at once, from many siphons:

  "Dead on the plain!"

  "In the bellies of the Utuku!"

  "In the Utuku shackles!"

  "Just so!" bellowed Gortoku. "And who is responsible for that—Kopporu? Or the clan leaders?"

  Silence. Guo waited a moment, then spoke.

  "I have permitted this discussion, in order that the tribe might see the truth for itself." She paused briefly, allowing everyone to take note of the word "permitted." Then, when she gauged the time right, she took the bundle handed her by Woddulakotat and opened it. She took the Mothershell in her palp and raised it high in the air, where all could see it.

  "As we retreated into the swamp, the Great Mother sent this to me, along with her childcluster." Guo then repeated the Great Mother's last words.

  "The mothers of the tribe"—she gestured to Loapo and Oroku— "have discussed this amongst ourselves, and have agreed to respect the Great Mother's wishes. I am now the Great Mother of the Kiktu."

  Loapo and Oroku hooted their assent. Very loudly.

  Ruako immediately began whistling derision, and uttering various words of scorn. The gist of which was: these are not mothers, they are mere infanta; they cannot make such a momentous decision; children should be seen and not heard; and so forth.

  "What an idiot!" whispered Yurra.

  "She's perfect," agreed Woddalukotat.

  And, indeed, it was so. Many others in the crowd might have, privately, held similar views. But the manner in which Ruako had expressed them settled the issue. The authority of mothers in Kiktu society was more often honored in the breach, rather than in the observance. But it was always honored. The more so, in this instance, in that the infanta so ridiculed had played a glorious role in the battle just passed. Much more glorious—as more than one warrior noted, and loudly—than had Ruako. (And more than one warrior, as well, loudly contrasted the terrible wounds borne by Oroku to the scratches on Ruako's hide.)

  Ruako was not so stupid as not to realize, quickly, that she had blundered badly. She attempted now to shift the question on to the general impropriety of the entire manner in which the assembly was being held. This was done through a hurried appeal to Kiktu prejudices.

  "Outrage! Bad enough that Opoktu should be allowed at our tribal assembly! Even worse—clanless outcasts have been brought into our midst!"

  For the first time since she finished her opening presentation, Kopporu spoke.

  "It is not against custom for honored members of an allied tribe to be present at Kiktu assemblies." Then, very loudly: "Or does Ruako now wish to slander the valiant Opoktu as well as our own battlemothers?"

  By this time, more and more members of the tribe were enjoying the spectacle of Ruako's embarrassment. Like most arrogant people of high status, Ruako had made many enemies among the Kiktu. And even those who had nothing against her personally were becoming irritated at her conduct.

  Again, loud voices were heard. Contrasting the glorious feats of many Opoktu in the recent battle to the modest role played by Ruako. Comparing, in puzzled tones, the great wounds which were clearly visible on many Opoktu to the—(Did she fall into a topobush, do you think? Is that where she got those two little scratches?)—almost unblemished mantle of Ruako.

  Kopporu spoke again.

  "As for the swamp dwellers, they are here on a matter which concerns my clan. And the tribe. I will explain when we have finished with the question before us."

  She stepped back.

  "Now," said Woddulakotat. "Yes," added Yurra.

  For just a moment, Guo feared that ochre or pink might enter her mantle. Disaster. She brought the image of her slaughtered people to her mind.

  Her mantle flooded black. She rose up slightly, and bellowed: r />
  "I invoke the Motherlaw!"

  Utter silence. Utter stillness.

  In part, of course, the reaction of the tribe was due to simple, physical shock. The voice of a mother, unleashed in all its power, bears a close resemblance to thunder.

  But, to a greater degree, the shock was mental. Motherlaw had not been invoked among the Kiktu in living memory. No, more—not for many, many generations. Guo could practically see the thoughts racing through the minds of every warrior in the clearing, as they searched back through the history of the tribe.

  They found the answer almost at once, as Iyopa had predicted. It was, after all, one of the most famous episodes in Kiktu history. That time, long ago, when the Kiktu were still a small tribe. Reeling from defeat at the palps of the (now vanished) Laukta. Most of their clan leaders and mothers dead; half of the warriors wounded, dead, or dying; the ones who survived having done so only because of the incredible ferocity of the rear guard which had covered their retreat. At the center of that rear guard had stood a young infanta; who, after the battle, had declared herself the new Great Mother and had seized command of the tribe through invoking the ancient ritual of Motherlaw. She had maintained the Motherlaw for many, many, many eightweeks. Until the Kiktu recovered, and took their terrible revenge on the Laukta.

  Her name had been Dodotpi. She was revered in the history of the Kiktu. Partly, of course, because she had saved the tribe. But partly, as well, because the Kiktu were warriors, and Dodotpi had been the greatest battlemother who ever walked the Meat of the Clam.

  The entire multitude stared at Guo, and remembered the Battle of the Clearing; and wondered: Or was she?

  Motherlaw. A custom whose origins vanished somewhere back in the mists of time. Almost never invoked. Great Mothers were deeply respected among the Kiktu, and even enjoyed a definite authority. (Quite unlike, in this respect, the semi-divine Paramount Mothers of the south, whose actual power was nil.) But it was still the clan leaders who ruled, except in battle, where the battle leaders came to the fore.

  Motherlaw was not precisely "mother-rule." On the few occasions when Motherlaw had been invoked in the past, the Great Mothers had always appointed leaders from the ranks of the warriors to actually exercise the power. But their authority derived solely from the Great Mother, and could be withdrawn by her. And the Great Mother served as the final arbiter of law and custom. Judge; jury—and executioner.