The Nearest Fire (V1.0), page 13
“I greet them,” said Ningan. ‘Tell them I am Ammur, High Steward of the Pentroy Clan and the personal envoy of the Great Elder Tiath Avran Pentroy.”
I did this clumsily enough, for we still had not worked out many Moruian titles, and expressions like High Steward and Great Elder came out as Best-Helper-in-the-House and Tall Oldest.
“Tell the envoy we are all eager to hear news of our fourth member, Scott Gale, who is on the continent of Torin,” said Sam.
This went easily enough, and I saw the eyes of Karen-
Ru, pale blue and brimming with anxiety. The Ningan gave a long sigh.
“1 come to it,” she said in a silken voice. “The main purpose of this visit to the island of the Nearest Fire. Escott Garl is indeed known to the Council. He lives. He has gone freely among the people of Torin.”
I brought out every phrase as best I could, hardly daring to look at my friends, feeling myself more and more a shadow, a gray box, a voice-wire.
“Now the Council have sent this ship, the Esnar,I to bring the humans once again to their friend Escott Garl.”
“Ask the envoy why he did not come himself?” Sam’s voice was controlled.
I translated the question, and saw the pattern of wrinkles alter on Ammur’s furrowed brow. But before she could reply, the winds sprang out of their sack or, as Sam might say, all hell broke loose. The Pentroy vassals had edged along the screen of trees dividing the two halves of the camp and they had seen the great silver ship.
One officer, old as Tsorl, with gray hair wisping his chin, fell down screaming in a fit; others shouted and tumbled over each other. They blundered off the paths crushing the fragile domes underfoot and sending the seed nets flying. Still others, braver than the rest, chanted to avert fire-metal-magic and rushed into the ship’s clearing, keeping their distance and raising their parade spears in attitudes of defense as if to ward off the ship if it sprang at them. The few who really kept their heads tried to bring order to the troop and shouted to the Ningan for help.
The Ningan jumped up; she did not speak but signed to the officer marked with an arrow, who blew a loud series of blasts on a roarer, a kind of wooden trumpet. Sam rushed to the end of the platform and shouted, holding up his hands in what he believed were soothing gestures.
The Ningan suddenly clamped a hand on my own wrist and cried sharply in my ear, “Is it safe? Have you been close to that great heap of metal?”
“Yes, Excellence, it is perfectly safe.”
The roarer was blown a second time, and some sort of order was restored; the vassals stood panting and trembling.
“Stand true! The ship will not harm anyone!” called the Ningan in her singsong voice. “Stand true, you cowards, or you will be on a charge!”
“Tell the Ningan she may inspect the ship at closer range,” called Sam.
“Tell the leader I will walk a little closer,” she replied.
“Yolo,” called Karen-Ru faintly, “tell them to keep to the paths.”
I told this to the Ningan, with reasons, and she passed it on to the troop. The cry went up: “Keep to the paths. Protect the seed domes and pouches,” and the vassals, hulking creatures that they were, began to tiptoe about The Ningan, who made up their lack in courage and wit, strode proudly beside Sam Fletcher down the ranks of the vassals and came to the clearing. Behind I paced with the tall officer; behind again came Lisa and Karen. I looked back and saw that they were not without fear of the troop of vassals, but they concealed it well and walked proudly along the paths.
I glanced at the person beside me; it was, I saw, an omor, perhaps the largest and toughest of the breed that I had ever seen in my life. Beside her I looked like a stripling. The expression on her broad face was watchful, even amused. As we passed the last vassals, drawn up, she called an order and a couple of them broke ranks and set off toward the Esnar.I She had ordered a watch set.
“Good officer,” I said, “what is your name?”
“Meetal Gullan, First Escort to the Envoy. What is that cloth you’re wearing?”
“Some kind of flax.”
“Well, you have had a good post here if their food is fit to eat, sailor.”
“Believe me,” I said, “they are all kind and good—not devils.”
“I know that already. They are creatures of flesh and blood.”
Meetal grinned, showing a gap where a tooth was missing. I was not soothed by that name. Gullan means “Sevener” or “One-of-Seven”; at some time Meetal had been bound in Gulgavor, a seven-fold bond, to carry out some dangerous task for the Great Elder, her Liege.
Meanwhile, the Ningan had come up within arm’s reach of the ship; Sam gave the word, and I walked the length and breadth of it with the pair of them, translating clumsily, for there were no words for even the outside of such a vessel. I borrowed from flying machines—which II knew imperfectly—and from ships of the sea. Ammur took it all in and knotted nervously on a long skein that hung at her wrist.
“Ask the Captain how many of his people are needed to fly this ship?”
“Tell the Ningan that it will fly with three of the crew.”
“What air can one breath inside such a vessel?” inquired the Ningan.
‘Tell the Ningan our air is stored and purified and its supply kept up from the green plants in the sun rooms.”
So I went on translating; it sounded like magical nonsense; no one on Torin commonly associated green plants with fresh air. At last the Ningan turned aside and squinted at the great sun overhead and passed a word down the line of vassals. The young house servant in gray and green came running into the clearing, knelt before the Ningan and opened the lid of a wooden coffer so that she could inspect the contents.
“What is that?” whispered Karen. “What is the old guy doing?”
I could not help smiling.
“It is her traveling clock,” I said. “She is telling the time of day.”
“I will sit privately with these humans,” announced Ammur. “The vassals can make camp in their companies.”
The order was given, and the vassals settled in their duty fives along the edge of the harbor, well away from anything the humans had made. They were shown where to pick fresh fruit on the western reaches of the clearing. Three sailors from the EsnarI set off to the south along the old Tsatroy road carrying nets and axes. Woodcutting detail. The Mattroyan steam vessels burned wood or burning turf from the blackswamp lands in the far west. II could not see them go without a twinge of fear, thinking of Tsorl, hidden in the forest, but I knew that he was far away.
Ammur entered the blue tent, and when she was satisfied that it held no dangers, allowed two vassals and the house-servant to settle in her writing chair and the wish-basket of presents.
“Now please …” said Karen-Ru when the visitor was settled, “Yolo, ask the last question again. Why has Scotty stayed away? Is he sick?”
I asked, and the Ningan fidgeted sadly before making her reply.
“Scott Gale went about on Torin freely. He was permitted to do so by the Council of Five and the Hundred. It was planned that he should come on this journey and the Great Elder put this vessel, the Esnar,I at his disposal. But before we set out a sickness came upon him. .. .”
“What sickness?” demanded Lisa. “Is he injured? Is he so sick he cannot even write a letter?”
I translated all these things uneasily because I thought the answer was suggested always by the question. It was too easy for the Ningan to agree, as she did, with a proper show of sadness and regret. I felt more and more certain that she lied; I looked beyond the wrinkled face and caught the eyes of the young servant, pale brown eyes alight with intelligence and mischief. He was drinking in the tale with a very strange smile.
“Scott Gale has a strange sickness come upon him,” said Ammur Ningan. “It is thought that he is mad. He eats very sparingly and does not recognize his friends among the Moruians. Above all he does not speak; he sits still and does not utter a word. He whistles for the servants to bring him food.”
I was halfway through this story when I recalled where I had heard it before: this was a Moruian madness, the kind that had overtaken the old grandee Elbin Tsatroy. Yet the humans were ready to believe what they heard; all three of them burst out into talk.
“Some kind of schizoid state,” said Lisa. “He tested well for stability, heaven knows, but he’s been away from us for so long.”
“Sam—we must go—let me go with them,” begged Karen. “I can bring him around and have him brought back here.”
“I don’t know… .” said Sam. “Lisa, could he have gotten any new virus or drug from these people?”
“Sure,” said Lisa. “Remember Tsorl mentioned a religious sect, the Twirlers, who used drugs for their rites?”
Their pronunciation of the name was imperfect, but it filled me with alarm.
“Do not say that name, Lisa,” I put in quietly. “Please do not say the name of that other.”
“Yolo, it’s very hard to play this double game of yours!”
said Sam impatiently. “We’re in great trouble with Scott Gale, you hear that? What is this with . .. your friend?*’
“It is not a game, believe me,” I said. “If it were once known that my friend were on the island alive, he would be hunted down and killed.”
“Yolo,” said Karen gently, “how do we know that is true?”
But her very gentleness and the strain of all the words I had been speaking made me angry.
“You don’t know,” I said. “You only know what I say. And I say another thing, the Ningan is lying.”
“Speak again!” said the Ningan. “What have the humans to say to my sad news?”
So I translated her speech, and Sam answered.
“We are worried. Perhaps some of us should go to attend him.”
“Such was our hope,” said the Ningan softly. “The Great Elder has a keen interest in this wonder: visitors from beyond the stars. He has spoken with Scott Gale many times and learned all lie could.”
As I spoke this back to the others, there came a soft whirring sound. It was the Ningan’s traveling clock striking a warning note in its coffer. She turned aside and consulted in a low voice with the young servant.
“Tell the humans that they will behold a mystery of our land. It is time. Obal is in the service of the Great Elder and he is a registered Witness out of the city of Rintoul.”
I translated with quickening interest; I had never in my life seen a Witness used as a messenger. Sam broke in with brisk questions.
“A Witness? Those telepaths you … and your friend tried to describe? What will he do?”
“Another will speak through him,” I said. “It can be done, Sam, believe it.”
“It’s very difficult for us to understand or to believe. Tell the Ningan that,” he said.
“Tell the leader he must watch and hear, and his ears will be opened,” said the Ningan in reply.
Obal had lost his look of mischief; his face had a still, dreaming look. He stepped from behind the Ningan’s chair, and she began a series of ritual questions.
“Is there one who wishes to speak?”
“Yes,” replied Obal in a clear voice, “Tiath Avran Pentroy, Great Elder of Torin, will speak to the Man family, believed to be three persons, and to Ammur the High Steward, in the presence of all these persons.”
‘‘How shall they be known?”
“By the word of Ammur….”
“All the hearers are present,” said Ammur. “Where will you stand?”
Obal peered all around the tent and stood beside the wish-basket. His shoulders began to shake a little, his head came lower on his chest.
“Highness,” he called in a long drowsy call, “Highness, you may speak…
Obal now entered a full trance; it was not a gradual thing: his muscles stiffened oddly and he slept, still standing, like a marsh bird. The Ningan spoke again.
“Highness. My liege.”
There was no change in the Witness’s set, sleeping face and she spoke again: “My liege … we are all here on Tsabeggan….”
We waited, and the humans fidgeted a little and a shuddering ran through the body of the Witness. A voice sprang out of his mouth, strong, deep, resonant; I felt a prickling in the skin of my scalp.
“I speak. I greet the Man family in the name of the Five Clans, the Hundred of Rintoul and all the people of the Moruia in the Land of Torin.”
The speaker said no name, there was only the voice issuing from another’s lips, and from the first words I had no more doubts. Here spoke the Great Elder, here was indeed a wonder of Torin. There was a pause, and I whispered the translation to the humans, then the voice continued.
“I have spoken to Scott Gale and I will speak with all members of the Man family. You came unasked to this world; you bring engines and powers that must be used wisely; come before my face and explain yourselves.”I Another pause. I had time to translate again; the humans looked strange; Sam was glum and embarrassed.
“Come in safety,” said the voice of the Great Elder. “Come in peace in the ship Esnar.Ammur Ningan will obey my charge and bring you all to my presence. This must be done.”
There was another breathing silence, and a sound from the Witness as if the Great Elder cleared his throat The words burst out again and this time they were in the stranger’s language, badly spoken but understandable.
“Hello. Well-come. Peace.”
There was no more; Ammur waited, then pronounced a final response.
“Highness, we have heard and understood.”
Obal the Witness slowly relaxed his limbs, the rhythm of his breathing changed and the lines in his face were gone. He slowly opened his eyes and rubbed them with his fingers, like a child coming from sleep. The Ningan nodded at him, pleased, and he wandered back behind her chair and sat on the floor of the tent.
The Ningan said nothing but looked expectantly at the humans.
“Go on Sam,” murmured Lisa. “Say something. Say something polite.”
“No reason to doubt that this Leader prepared the text,” said Karen. “Why didn’t he mention Scotty being sick?”
“Hell, how do we know who prepared the text,” grumbled Sam. “Yolo, was the message very strong … you know, threatening?”
“No,” I said, “not for the Great Elder, the ruler of Torin.”
I could hardly control my disappointment. The humans had not been convinced even for a moment; they went on speaking among themselves about “trance” and “medium”I and a “pretty crude performance from the kid.”
‘The humans have heard and understood,” I said to the Ningan, “but they are not convinced of this wonder.”
“No matter,” said the Ningan gently and scornfully, “they are thought-blind. I must act as the voice of the Great Elder. I have the honor to set forth my charge. II must bring you safely to the presence of the Great Elder aboard the Esnar.”
“Well,” said Sam Fletcher, “what does she want?”
I smiled a little, I could not help it; we had made the joke so often in the camp. I was pierced with sadness because our dream was ending; we had all come back from the place-beyond-the-four-winds and now the voices of the world were beginning to strike at us through the mist.
“It is as the Great Elder said, through the Witness,” I said. “Ammur Ningan is supposed to take you to her Leader.”
My friends looked at me with their queer small eyes, their bird’s eyes, and turned their heads away, talking among themselves. At last Sam made another speech.
“Tell the Ningan we had thought of taking the ship to the mainland.”
I had heard of the difficulties that were involved. It was hard to believe that the silver ship must make an orbit of the planet in order to fly to the continent of Torin; then there was the problem of a landing site and of the consumption of fuel.
The Ningan replied, “You will use fuel and must make a great circle in order to land again; Also, I pray, remember the panic the vessel would raise among our poor citizens—I you saw how these strong ones behaved.”
The source of her knowledge was not lost on the humans; it could only have come from Scott Gale.
“Come with us now,” she went on, “and the Great Elder himself will help choose a landing site and return you all to the ship so that you may bring it to the mainland.”
So I translated everything as well as I could. I felt the net that the Ningan was weaving around us, but I could do nothing. I was a mouthpiece, a Witness, who stands entranced and repeats the words of another speaker.
“We would have to break up this camp,” said Sam, “and store our records in the ship. Ask the Ningan what assurance we have that we willI be returned to the ship with our poor comrade Scott Gale.”
“Truly,” said Ammur, her face wrinkled with care, “I can only give my word and swear by the honor of Clan Pentroy and the Great Elder, whom I serve. I swear the Man family will be brought back to Tsabeggan and will be reunited with Scott Gale.”
This was a solemn oath, and the Ningan struck an attitude when she gave it. The humans were impressed. The Ningan had by no means finished.
“Certain things can be shown,” she said. “Obal has another skill—he is a musician….”
Obal came forward and drew a pouch-pipe from the side of the wish-basket; he set it to his lips and began to play. It was a melody I had never heard before, but after a few notes the humans cried out in recognition.
“There,” said the Ningan. “The song is from Scott Gale. Its name in our speech is “Een Turugan’—the Young Harper.”
The pipe music changed, and the Ningan gave the name of another song “The Cheerful Walker” and another “Sailing Home.” Karen-Ru dabbed at her eyes.
“There is still more to be shown,” murmured the Ningan.
She clapped her hands and Obal, from another side pocket of the wish-basket, drew out certain objects: a pair of white socks, a face shaver, a camera, a weapon called a stun gun. This was something I had heard of but never seen. Sam examined all the objects and commented on the weapon.
