He cornered the last of his eggs between his spoon and a strip of fish, and when he ate them both he realized the others had mostly finished. He cleared his throat. Recognizing the gesture, Saan-Kakja laid aside her own single utensil, an instrument like a broad-bladed, concave knife that also served as a kind of spoon or scoop. It was gold, like so many other Maa-ni-lo devices. Matt hadn’t seen as much gold in his life, certainly not among other Lemurians, as he had in the last few days. The thing was, it didn’t seem to have any value other than that it didn’t tarnish and it was pretty. The High Chief . . . tess?—absurd, they didn’t think like that. Their word, U-Amaki, transcended gender. The High Chief dabbed daintily at her mouth with an embroidered napkin and sat even straighter, if possible.
“Cap-i-taan Reddy,” she began. “I must begin by begging you to forgive me for neglecting you so inexcusably.” Meksnaak blinked furiously and opened his mouth to speak, but she darted a look in his direction that Matt couldn’t read, and his jaws clamped shut. “I have wasted much of your time,” she continued, “and I fear in doing so, I have squandered valuable time we may all remember with wistful regret.” Matt waited patiently for a full translation, even though he got the gist of what she said. “You come here seeking alliance against the threat posed by our Ancient Enemy, an enemy as implacable and relentless as the very sea. It may be deceptively calm for a time”—she looked back at Meksnaak—“but eventually, inevitably, the Strakka strikes with unbound fury. I am . . . a young High Chief who has seen little of life, and learned even less of what is expected of me, so I was persuaded to delegate the task of treating with you on this subject.” Her voice became hard. “That was a mistake. It was rude and irresponsible, and I apologize.” She blinked sincere regret and lowered her head. When she looked up at Matt, her remarkable eyes were gleaming.
“I have heard much about your adventures and battles against the scourge from the west, and I am inspired. I allowed myself to be convinced, however, that my excitement was that of an emotional youngling, and here we are safe from attack. Better to stay uninvolved—beyond learning as much from you as we can, and helping you in small, safe, material ways. There are . . . factions in Maa-ni-la that thrive on contention and intrigue, and are obsessed with their own petty concerns. They counsel that we let you, Baalkpan, and the other allied Homes stand alone against the Grik, while we remain safely uninvolved. We are prosperous, happy, stable, and untouched by the distant threat. Even if Baalkpan falls, the Grik will be content to remain far away, and in the meantime our trade, industry, and prosperity will flourish even more.” Her ears flattened with contempt. “Of course, there are also the ones you call ‘runaways,’ who counsel that, even if the Grik do someday come here, we can flee once more as we did in the ancient tales of the Scrolls; that we have grown too comfortable, too fixed in place, too reliant upon the land.”
Matt nodded. Those were the same arguments he and Nakja-Mur had faced when they first suggested defiance. Most people on the seagoing Homes couldn’t comprehend their cousins’ attachment to
places
, or understand their unwillingness to leave them. Keje did, and so did the other members of the alliance. They knew there’d be no escape this time. The world was a smaller place, and now the Grik had oceangoing ships of their own, albeit tiny in comparison; they had so many, the terrible sea was no longer the protector it had been. It was like the old scorpion and tarantula in the jar. The tarantula wasn’t well equipped to cope with the scorpion, but sooner or later he had to deal with his deadly, aggressive adversary, because he couldn’t avoid him forever, and there just wasn’t anyplace else to go. It was always a toss-up who’d win.
“I understand you grow impatient,” Saan-Kakja resumed, “and I do not blame you. Your most powerful ship is here, and you languish in comfort and are free from want, but all the while the enemy may be massing against you. You are frustrated by our intransigence, and don’t understand our hesitation to join you.” She shook her head. “Honestly, I am as frustrated as you, and my patience is possibly even less. I do know what causes it, however. My people are comfortable and free from want. That is a condition any good ruler desires, but there are times, such as this, that that very condition makes it difficult for such a ruler to convince those comfortable people they must put that aside and face the unpleasant reality of the harsher world beyond their sight.” She sighed and turned again to Meksnaak.
“What of the proposal I put before the counsel? That we join the alliance to destroy the Grik threat forever, and send whatever we may in the way of troops and supplies to their aid?”
Meksnaak shifted uncomfortably. “My dear, it is . . . unwise to reveal our private discussions in the presence of strangers—particularly when those discussions involve them.” He hastily turned to Captain Reddy with a glare. “No such decision has been taken!”
“The decision has been taken by me,” Saan-Kakja retorted.
Meksnaak shook his head sadly. “You are powerful, High Chief, and your
opinions
have great weight, but even you cannot engage us in full-scale war on your own authority. The clan chiefs must speak.”
“Then let them speak! So far, none has done any speaking but you and other members of the counsel who represent those with the most to gain by inactivity!”
“There are legitimate objections,” Meksnaak insisted, “not only to going to war, but to any association with these Amer-i-caan . . . heretics!” He blinked outrage at the thought of the Americans’ Scrolls. He’d never seen them, but he’d been assured they were . . . extraordinary. His initial concern that their existence represented heresy was not dispelled when Adar told him with glowing eyes that the American Scrolls almost perfectly mirrored their own, except they were even more precise! Meksnaak accepted that. Adar was a Sky Priest of extensive renown, and Meksnaak was willing to take his word in that respect. But the knowledge did not make him admire the Americans, or soothe his concerns about their spiritually corrosive behavior. If anything, it made him resent and fear them even more. If their Scrolls were so much more precise than those of the People, they must be holy indeed. Could they even be the very originals from which all others were copied long ago? Scrolls formed under the hand of the Great Prophet Siska-Ta herself? And what of the rumors that the Americans possessed Scrolls no one else had ever seen? Scrolls depicting mysterious lands far beyond the world known by the People? And Adar assured him they displayed their precious Scrolls in the open, for any and all to see—even to
handle
! How could the Americans be so careless and . . . irresponsible? Incredible. He’d asked the question of Adar during one of their meetings, and was shocked that one so highly regarded could harbor such liberal views.
“I was as troubled as you, at first,” Adar had confessed, “but that is because I had grown set in my ways, ossified and concerned about a diminution of my precious prerogatives. After much consideration, I changed my mind. Are the Scrolls to be kept secret, and viewed only by those such as we? Surely the great Siska-Ta never intended that; otherwise why write them at all? It was her goal to teach, to enlighten, to share the knowledge of the past and the Heavens and the pathways of the sea and sky—not create an exclusive club reserved for only a select few!”
Now Adar stood and spoke with heat. “They are
not
heretics; I told you that already! They have different beliefs, surely, but they do not seek to trample or transgress upon our own! And regardless of their differences, the very Scrolls you would use as examples of their heresy prove we share more similarities of thought than differences, and
they
, at least, gladly aid us against our Ancient Enemy!”
“An enemy made stronger with the aid of others of their kind!” Meksnaak retorted.
Adar took a strained breath. “Perhaps their enemy does collude with ours, but they didn’t know that when they joined us, and it has not altered their commitment. That you, a Sky Priest, would counsel inaction during our current, collective crisis, when our race faces extinction at the very hands that drove us from our sacred, ancient home—as described in the same Scrolls you profess to revere—makes me question
your
commitment!”
Meksnaak sputtered for a moment, then spat: “
Ser-vaabo fidem summo studio!
”
“
Suspendens omnia naa-so! Usus est ty-raannus, usus te plura docebit!
” Adar replied scornfully.
“Cucullus non facit monachum. Cul-paam maiorum posteri luunt!”
“Gratis dictum. Honos haa-bet onus, maag-naavis est conscientiae.”
“Oh, Lord.” Bradford sighed. “I do hate it when they do that!”
“What’re they saying?” Matt demanded.
“Let me see, I’ve brushed up my Latin a bit of late, from necessity, but their pronunciation is quite bizarre. Hmm. Well, as you know, Latin is somewhat difficult to translate literally even when spoken well—which makes the Lemurian capacity for it doubly fascinating, since they are so literal-minded! Their own language . . .”
“Courtney?”
“Umm? Well, it seems their Meksnaak has said he only keeps the faith, while Adar says he’s shackled by it, and his people will pay the consequences. Meksnaak says that’s ridiculous, and he has an obligation to his people.”
The argument continued.
“Medium tenuere be-aati,”
Adar scoffed sarcastically,
“mihi cura futuri. Quousque tandem abutere paa-tientia nostra? Recovate aa-nimos! Aude saapere. Stant belli causa, belli lethaale . . . belli internecinum. Timor mortis morte peior!”
“Oh, dear,” Bradford said with real alarm.
“What?”
“Adar has admonished Meksnaak to remember the cause of the war . . . and I think he called him a coward!”
Matt coughed politely before Meksnaak could respond. “We consider it rude to carry on in a language others can’t understand.” He glanced at Saan-Kakja, and she nodded. Adar resumed his seat with a huff, and Meksnaak blinked insincere apology. Courtney Bradford couldn’t entirely stifle a sigh of relief, and Meksnaak’s eyes narrowed irritably.
“If the . . . plodding pace of our discussions is so unsatisfactory, you can always go aboard that . . . smoking iron abomination of yours, and leave us as we were.”
Bradford leaned back in his chair and arched an eyebrow. Now Matt began to rise, his face red with indignation.
“Meksnaak . . .” began Saan-Kakja.
“No. With respect, child, I grow weary of the constant complaining of these . . . foreigners. Maa-ni-la has prospered in peace for over eighty years, and will be doing so long after our spirits have gone above. If you ask my opinion, I tell you we neglect our own people’s interest by even contemplating the risky adventure these . . . others . . . propose. And honestly, this extraordinary meeting and the pointless haste in which it was convened is . . . unseemly.” Meksnaak glared at Bradford, but continued to speak to his High Chief. “I remind you, child, my friend, your father, did not rush to war when first he heard of this unlikely threat!”
There was an uncomfortable silence, and all eyes turned to the young, smallish . . . well, girl. That was the only word that really seemed to fit, as far as the humans were concerned. But Matt could only wonder if he was the only one that saw the wide, striated eyes suddenly become pools of molten iron. When she spoke, however, her voice was under firm control.
“My lord Meksnaak, I know you were my father’s friend, as well as his most trusted advisor. That is, after all, one of the primary duties of all Sky Priests to their chief. I honor you for that service and friendship.” She slowly turned her head to look at the older Lemurian, and Meksnaak must have seen the same thing Matt had, because he visibly blanched. “I am High Chief of Maa-ni-la now, by acclamation as well as birth. I am my father’s daughter. Although I do not doubt your devotion to my father, I begin to doubt your wisdom. I say this not to hurt you, but because you will not
see
. You and I cannot know what it was like for our guests to face the Ancient Enemy, the terror of all our nightmares. Neither of us can fully understand what that is like. But because I love my people and yearn for them to be forever safe and free, I fairly chafe to go myself to the aid of our western friends. I
yearn
to send them aid, because only then can we harry the Grik vermin from the sea, and ultimately from our dreams and our ancient home as well!”
For just a moment Meksnaak held her gaze, but then came the long, slow blink of abject apology. “You shame me, child.”
“No. You shame
me
with your impolite behavior.” Her hand swept outward in a gesture encompassing all those seated at the table. “You have been impolite to my guests and to me. I am no mere youngling to be dismissed at the table of adults, any more than . . .” She paused, and her mesmerizing eyes fell upon Chack. “Any more than the noble Chack-Sab-At, of whose exploits I have heard so much! He is little older than I, yet he has faced our enemies many times. Tell me, Master Sab-At, are you a youngling?”
Chack, uncomfortable with being forced to speak under the circumstances, glanced at Captain Reddy and saw his confident nod of approval. He stood with as much dignity as he could muster.
“I have seen my former Home,
Salissa
, ravaged by the Grik, and I fought them with all my might, though I was not yet a warrior. I joined the Amer-i-caan clan and learned not only to fight more efficiently, but also to lead. I have participated in five boarding actions now. . . .” He paused and regarded Meksnaak. “I truly cannot convey how horrific that can be. If you saw the aftermath of such a thing only once, you would not doubt our cause. The Grik carry our people as cargo . . . live provisions aboard their ships. . . .” His tail swished impatiently, and he shook his head. “I was in the great Battle of Aryaal, where we slaughtered twenty thousands of our foes and lost many of our own. It was after that we came to know that, no matter how many we killed, it was but a tithe against their total strength. I saw
Amagi
pound
Nerracca
into a sinking inferno. We rescued as many as we could—hundreds—but thousands were left to burn or drown or be taken by the fish.” For a moment he closed his haunted eyes while he spoke, and no one doubted he was seeing again the events of that terrible night. “I saw Tassana, daughter of
Nerracca
’s High Chief, younger even than you, Saan-Kakja, help cut the tow cable that connected her helpless, sinking Home to the wounded Amer-i-caan destroyer trying to drag her to safety. She did it because her father knew Captain Reddy, and feared he might wait too long, hoping to rescue more. As it was, damaged and leaking,
Walker
nearly sank under the sheer weight of the survivors she managed to save.”