Mother of Demons

  Ruako broke the silence. She began squawling semi-coherent phrases, all of which indicated her vast displeasure and disagreement with Guo's person and behavior.

  "Fork her," commanded Guo.

  Immediately, her eight flankers charged across the clearing. As they approached, Ruako suddenly fell silent. Turned scarlet; and tried to flee. But the flankers were upon her. No less than four greatforks slammed into Ruako's mantle. It was the work of but moments to drag the whistling warrior back across the clearing. The work of but seconds to flip Ruako onto her back. (An unnecessary flourish, of course. The mace which now crushed the life out of Ruako's body would have done so regardless of which way the warrior was positioned. In truth, it would have splintered a boulder.)

  Guo allowed the multitude to gaze upon Ruako's corpse for a brief moment, before speaking.

  "Does the tribe remember our Great Mother's last words to me?"

  Silence.

  "Answer me!"

  Several voices: " 'Be ruthless toward all folly.' "

  "Louder."

  "BE RUTHLESS TOWARD ALL FOLLY."

  "Just so."

  Guo made the gesture of condemnation. Her mantle glowed blue.

  "If the clan leaders had survived, their stinking corpses would now be lying next to Ruako's. They are condemned in the memory of the tribe."

  She turned and faced Kopporu. "Kopporu!"

  "Yes, Great Mother."

  "You are now the battle leader of the Kiktu."

  "Yes, Great Mother. Who do you appoint as the new clan leaders?"

  "No one. We do not need clan leaders. We are still in battle—and will be, until the Utuku are destroyed."

  She paused, letting that thought penetrate the minds of her warriors. The formula was that proposed by Iyopa—the same, he said, as that adopted by Dodotpi so long ago.

  "There will be no new clan leaders chosen until the Utuku are crushed and our tribe is avenged. Until that time, the Kiktu are an army. Each warrior will answer to her battle leader—and to her alone. Regardless of clan. The battle leaders will answer to Kopporu—and to her alone. Regardless of clan."

  She paused, allowing the tribe to digest the concept.

  "Do you understand?"

  There was no hesitation this time in the response, which came from many, many siphons.

  Like myself, thought Guo, the warriors have grown weary of clan leaders.

  Kopporu spoke.

  "Great Mother, I have a difficulty."

  "What is that?"

  Kopporu gestured to the swamp dwellers. "The survival of the tribe depends upon these—brave people. They have already aided us beyond measure, as all here know. Many of them have died in so doing. In return, they have asked for no reward except—adoption into my clan. I have promised to speak for them. But—"

  Guo finished the thought. "But you cannot adopt them without the permission of the clan leader. Who does not exist. And will not, for—some time."

  For ever, came the sudden, shocking thought. A tribe without clan leaders? Forever?

  I must think upon that. Perhaps—back to the moment, fool! What am I to do?

  "Put them in the battle groups," whispered Woddulakotat.

  "Make one of them an adviser," said Yurra quietly. "And don't forget the Opoktu either."

  "And the refugees," added Woddulakotat.

  Guo pondered their advice for a moment, sorting it out. It made sense, she thought.

  "Do the swamp dw—do these brave people have a leader?"

  "Yes," replied Kopporu. She pointed to O-doddo-ua, and told Guo her name.

  "Bring her forward."

  When O-doddo-ua came up to her, Guo spoke quietly.

  "I am sorry, O-doddo-ua, but I cannot allow you to be adopted into Kopporu's clan. Not now. Perhaps not—for a long time. By our customs, I would have to appoint new clan leaders. And—I cannot do that now. It is because—"

  "I understand, Great Mother." The swamp dweller made a gesture which hinted at derision. Guo found herself warming to the gukuy.

  "However, when the time comes you will be adopted. If not into Kopporu's clan, then into my own. I make that promise. In the meantime—"

  She raised her head, and spoke to the multitude.

  "All of the brave people who lived in the swamp will join our battle groups. They may either choose their own group, or, if they prefer, Kopporu will assign them to a group."

  The black in her mantle returned in full force.

  "All of the battle groups will welcome their new members. Do you understand?"

  Her flankers, more or less casually, hefted their greatforks.

  "Do you understand?"

  "YES, GREAT MOTHER."

  "Good." She made the gesture of contentment. "I am so glad. I detest folly."

  The clearing was suddenly filled with humorous whistles. And a great green wave washed over the mantles, sweeping all ochre aside.

  I have won. I have won. I have won.

  "All of the refugees will do likewise. If they wish, they may form their own battle groups and choose leaders. But I would prefer that they join the battle groups which exist—either those of the Kiktu, or of the Opoktu. We do not need more confusion. Do you understand?"

  There was no need, this time, to repeat the question.

  She turned now and faced the Opoktu.

  "You have, again, shown the honor of the Opoktu to the world. You have fulfilled your oath of alliance. You may now go your separate way, if that is your desire. I will provide you with guides to lead you through the swamp, wherever you wish to go."

  The Opoktu mothers, clan leaders, and battle leaders exchanged opinions quietly, while Guo and her tribe waited. In much less time than she would have thought possible, they reached their conclusions. Lukpudo advanced to the center of the clearing, joining Guo and Kopporu. She spoke in a voice loud enough to be heard by all.

  "We will remain with the Kiktu. Wherever the Kiktu go, we shall go also. In alliance!"

  The clearing was filled with hoots of applause.

  Lukpudo's next words were spoken softly.

  "But just exactly where are we going?"

  Guo looked at Kopporu. Kopporu whistled softly.

  "To tell the truth, I never expected I would survive this day. So I didn't really give much thought to it. But—"

  The Kiktu battle leader turned and looked to the northeast. Barely visible over the tops of the cycads surrounding the clearing was the Chiton. The great mountain was so far away it could hardly be discerned.

  "Let us go to the mountain."

  "To the Chiton?" A trace of orange rippled through Lukpudo's mantle. "It's—so far. All the way across the swamp."

  "I know," replied Kopporu. "But O-doddo-ua says it can be done."

  The swamp dweller spoke up. "Not easily, you understand. It will be a heroic trek, and we will suffer casualties. But, yes—it can be done."

  Ochre tints appeared in Lukpudo's mantle. "But still—why?"

  "Where else can we go?" asked Kopporu. "The plain will be covered with Utuku, hooting for our blood. They may even try to follow us through the swamp."

  O-doddo-ua whistled derision.

  "Perhaps the north?" asked Lukpudo uncertainly.

  Kopporu made the gesture which was the gukuy equivalent of a shrug.

  "To what purpose? How can our people survive in that wasteland? And I am certain that the Beak of the Utuku will have scouts watching the north as well as the plain. Once we emerged from the swamp, the Utuku would be upon us."

  Lukpudo was not yet convinced. She now advanced her final argument.

  "But—the Chiton is said to be a land of demons now."

  Guo spoke.

  "The whole world is a land of demons now, Lukpudo. What can demons on the mountain do to our people—that the demons on the plain have not already done?"

  Lukpudo was silent.

  Guo stared at the Chiton. So far away. A place of legends, and myths. And demons.

&nbs
p; And pilgrims, she remembered. She turned to Kopporu.

  "Have you spoken to the Pilgrims of the Way, Kopporu? The ones who go to the mountain?"

  "Yes. Several times."

  "What do they say?"

  "They say there are demons on the mountain. Demons from beyond the Clam. Monsters, who move like the wind and slay like the lightning."

  "Why then do they go there?"

  Kopporu hesitated, searching for words. "They say—it is hard to understand. They say the demons are wise, as well as fierce. That they bring truth along with death. Justice itself, along with the flail of justice. They say that the battle leader of the demons is the most implacable punisher of evil which has ever lived in the world. A terrible creature, black as the night. But there is another demon, they say, who rules and commands."

  "They go there to learn from this demon?"

  Kopporu made the gesture of negation.

  "No, Guo. They go there to plead with her. She is the wisest being in the world, they say, the one who knows the secrets of life, and truth, and justice. But she is silent, and will not speak. Not even to her children."

  "Her children? She is—?"

  "Yes, Guo. The Great Mother of demons."

  Guo stared at the mountain. Moments later, when she spoke, her voice was like bronze.

  "We will go to the mountain. I would see this Great Mother of demons for myself. If it is true that she knows these things, I will make her speak to me."

  The battlemother gripped her mace.

  "My people cry out for justice. If there is a secret of justice, I will have it from her. To hold such a thing secret would be evil beyond all evil."

  PART IV: The Loom

  Chapter 18

  "I've got a bad feeling about this," said Julius, watching the procession approach.

  "Why?" asked Indira.

  "Because I think we've become famous. And I think we'd have been better off if we'd just remained a small little bunch of happy-go-lucky, obscure, inconspicuous, fly-on-the-wall, nobody-type demons."

  He chewed his lip. "Mark my words. I speak from experience. Somehow or other, we Jews got famous early on in the game. We should have listened to the Speckites."

  "The who?"

  "The Speckites. The Hebrews' next-door neighbors. You never heard of them?"

  Indira frowned suspiciously. "No, I haven't."

  "Imagine that! And you—an historian. Just goes to illustrate my point. The Hebrews went for the bright lights of Broadway and the Speckites stayed anonymous. Guess which one of us caught hell for the next few thousand years?"

  Indira snorted. Privately, she thought Julius was probably right. But—

  What's done is done.

  She couldn't begin to estimate how many gukuy were in the column approaching them. Hundreds, she thought—possibly thousands. The head of the column was just entering the village; the tail of it was still not in sight. All down the valley, three or four abreast, marched the Pilgrims.

  On either side of the column, scattered along its length, members of Takashi's platoon acted as an honor guard. The platoon had been stationed in Fagoshau (as the gukuy called their settlement in the big valley) when the huge column of new Pilgrims arrived. After observing the progress of the column up the eastern slope of the Chiton, Takashi had sent a runner to the council requesting orders. The council, after a quick deliberation, had passed on a formal invitation for the newcomers to come and visit.

  And they had—all of them.

  At that moment, Takashi trotted up. When the young lieutenant drew up before her, Indira saw that he wasn't even breathing hard—despite the fact that he had just finished running up and down the entire column at her request. As was so often the case now, she felt a contradictory mix of emotions. Admiration for the young man's excellent physical condition; uneasiness because she knew it was the result of Joseph's relentless military training.

  Still, she wished Joseph were there. The Captain had been gone for days now, leading yet another punitive expedition against a party of slavers which had been spotted the week before on the southern plain near the Chiton.

  "Punitive expedition," thought Indira. There's a euphemism for you. "Extermination squad" would be more accurate. Not one of Joseph's expeditions—and there had been many, these past two years—has failed to massacre every slaver they caught.

  Indira sighed. And so what? Would you feel better if the owoc were dragged into slavery?

  Takashi interrupted her musings.

  "I count almost fifteen hundred of them, Indira. But that's just the number in the column. There are more Pilgrims, further back. Scattered groups of stragglers. All told, I'd guess there's around two thousand new Pilgrims on the mountain."

  "Holy shit," muttered Julius.

  "Have they told you what they want?" asked Indira.

  The gaze which Takashi leveled at her was hard as stone.

  "Yes. They want to talk to the Mother of Demons. About the secrets."

  Indira uttered a silent curse. She had feared as much. Next to her, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Julius' face twist into a grimace.

  Where did it get started? she wondered. This myth of the secrets—and the mother who holds them back from her children?

  When she first heard of it, from one of the gukuy Pilgrims, she had blamed Joseph. Had gone to him, in fact, and accused him hotly. Joseph had denied it, with equal heat. After a few minutes of argument, Indira had become convinced he was telling the truth.

  She had never known Joseph to lie to her (or to anyone else, for that matter). Still, she had been confused and exasperated.

  "How did this silly rumor get started, then?" she had demanded. "If you didn't start it?"

  She would never forget the look on Joseph's face when he gave his answer. Like an ancient gold mask of Benin.

  "It is not a rumor. It is the truth. Everyone knows it—gukuy and ummun alike."

  It had not taken long to discover that Joseph was right. At the next council meeting, Indira had proposed that Anna Cheng replace her as the Admiral of the Ocean Sea. Anna had immediately refused, and was supported in her refusal by the entire council except Julius.

  "Until you teach us the secrets, Indira," commented Ludmilla, "there is none who can take your place."

  "There are no secrets!" she had protested angrily. The young members of the council had simply stared at her in silence. Even Julius had looked away.

  The column was now close enough to examine the individual Pilgrims who were leading it. At the very front, in the center, marched a small and elderly gukuy. She was wearing none of the decorative strips of cloth with which southern gukuy generally adorned themselves. For that reason, Indira at first assumed she was from one of the barbarian tribes, who eschewed any clothing except armor. She was puzzled, however. There were a number of barbarian converts to the Way, many of whom had been trickling onto the Chiton for the past several months. But the religion had originated in Ansha and all of its leaders, so far as she knew, were from the civilized southern prevalates.

  Then, when the column drew closer, she saw the elaborate carvings on the gukuy's cowl. The pigments which would normally have colored the carvings had been scoured clean. But she recognized the carvings themselves, from descriptions which she had been given by Anshac Pilgrims. They were the insignia of the prevalent clan of the Ansha.

  Shocked understanding came to her.

  "Is that—?"

  Takashi nodded. "Yes, it is. Ushulubang herself."

  "Holy shit," muttered Julius.

  "Can't you say anything else?" snapped Indira.

  Julius eyed her, then looked back at the column. A rueful grin twisted his face.

  "I say it again: holy shit."

  The audience which followed, in Julius and Indira's hut, was one of the most disconcerting episodes in Indira's life. In Julius' life, as well, he told her later.

  Extremely intelligent and well-educated people like Julius and Indira do not, really, be
lieve there is such a thing as a "sage." Until they meet her.

  That Ushulubang was extraordinarily intelligent became obvious immediately. The chief opoloshuku—a term which translates loosely as "disciple/teacher"—of the Pilgrims of the Way remained silent until she entered the hut. Then, she thanked Indira and Julius for their hospitality. In perfect English.

  Indira was too surprised to respond with the customary phrases. Instead, she blurted out:

  "You speak English!"

  Ushulubang made the gesture of affirmation, with a subtly humorous twist.

  "Certainly. How could I be certain the scribes have captured the true spirit of Goloku's teachings if I could not read the holy tongue myself?"

  She reads English, too. And her accent's extraordinarily good—especially given that she must have learned from another Pilgrim.

  Suddenly, Indira was filled with—not anger, exactly, but extreme exasperation. She had had more than enough of these bizarre new myths and legends which seemed to be springing up like weeds.

  "English is not a holy tongue," she said harshly. "It is simply a language like any other. A ummun language, true. But the ummun have many languages."

  The two other gukuy who had entered the hut with Ushulubang registered ochre/pink confusion/abashment. But Indira was surprised to see an emerald tint appear on Ushulubang's mantle. Green, Indira had learned, was a very complex color for the gukuy. The various shades carried subtle differences in meaning, which, though they all had love and tranquillity at their base, could express those fundamental emotions in a multitude of permutations.

  Emerald is the color of contentment.

  "As I surmised," said Ushulubang. The old gukuy made the gesture of profound respect. "I had hoped, but I could not be certain until I came here and spoke with you myself."

  "Be certain of what?" demanded Indira.

  The opoloshuku gestured to her two companions. "My apashoc"—the word meant "kin of the road"— "had told me that you were the guardian of the secrets. A jealous guardian, they said, who would not impart the secrets to the people."