The Memory of Earth (20 page)

“I don’t know,” she said. “To tell my dream, I think. It woke me.”

Nafai thought of his own dream, which he couldn’t remember.

“I was so—glad,” she said. “That the Oversoul had spoken again. But the dream was terrible.”

“What was it?”

“Is it you I’m supposed to tell?” she asked.

“I should know?” he answered. “But I’m here.”

“Did the Oversoul bring you out here?”

With the question put so directly, he couldn’t evade it. “Yes,” he said. “I think so.”

She nodded. “Then I’ll tell you. It makes sense,
actually, that it be your family. Because there are so many people who hate your father because of his vision and his courage in proclaiming it.”

“Yes,” he said. And then, to prompt her: “The dream.”

“I saw a man alone on foot, walking in the straight. He was walking through snow. Only I knew that it was tonight, even though there’s not a speck of snow on the ground. Do you understand how I can know something, even though it’s different from what the dream actually shows me?”

Remembering the conversation on the portico a week ago, Nafai nodded.

“So there was snow, and yet it was tonight. The moon was up. I knew it was almost dawn. And as the man walked along, two men wearing hoods sprang out into the road in front of him, holding blades. He seemed to know them, in spite of the hoods. And he said, ‘Here’s my throat. I carry no weapon. You could have killed me at any time, even when I knew you were my enemy. Why did you need to deceive me into trusting you first? Were you afraid that death wouldn’t bother me enough, unless I felt betrayed?’”

Nafai had already made the connection between her dream and Father’s meeting, only a few hours away. “Gaballufix,” said Nafai.

Luet nodded. “
Now
I understand that—but I didn’t until I realized this was your father’s house.”

“No—Gaballufix arranged a meeting for Father and Roptat and him this morning, at the coolhouse.”

“The snow,” she said.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s always got frost in the corners.”

“And Roptat,” she whispered. “That explains—the next part of the dream.”

“Tell me.”

“One hooded man reached out and uncovered the face
of his companion. For a moment I thought I saw a grin on his face, but then my vision clarified and I realized it wasn’t his face that had the smile. It was his throat, slit clear back to the spine. As I watched him, his head lolled back and the wound in his throat opened completely, as if it were a mouth, trying to scream. And the man—the one that was me in the dream—”

“I understand,” said Nafai. “Father.”

“Yes. Only I didn’t know that.”

“Right,” said Nafai. Impatiently, urging her to get on with it.

“Your father, if it
was
your father, said, ‘I suppose it will be said that I killed him.’ And the hooded man says, ‘And you did, in very truth, my dear kinsman.’”

“He
would
say that,” said Nafai. “So Roptat is supposed to die, too.”

“I’m not done,” said Luet. “Or rather, the dream wasn’t finished. Because the man—your father—said, ‘And who will they say killed
me
?’ And the hooded one said, “Not
me.
I’d never lift a hand against you, for I love you dearly. I will merely find your body here, and your bloody-handed murderers standing over it.’ Then he laughed and disappeared back into the shadows.”

“So he
doesn’t
kill Father.”

“No. Your father turned around then and saw two other hooded men standing behind him. And even though they didn’t speak or lift their hoods, he knew them. I felt this terrible sadness. ‘You couldn’t wait,’ he said to the one. ‘You couldn’t forgive me,’ he said to the other. And then they reached out with their blades and killed him.”

“No, by the Oversoul,” said Nafai. “They wouldn’t do it.”

“Who? Do you know?”

Tell no one of this last part of the dream,” said Nafai. “Swear it to me with your most awful oath.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” she said.

“My brothers are all home tonight,” said Nafai. “Not lying in wait for Father.”

“Is that who the hooded men are, then? Your brothers?”

“No!” he said. “Never.”

She nodded. “I’ll give you no oath. Only my promise. If your father is saved from death by my having come here, then I’ll tell no one else of this part of the dream.”

“Not even Hushidh,” he said.

“But I make you another promise,” she said. “If your father dies, I’ll know that you didn’t warn him. And that the hooded ones in the dream included
you
—because to know of the plot and fail to warn him is exactly the same as holding the charged-wire blade in your own hands.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” said Nafai. He was angry for a moment, that she would think
he
needed to be taught the ethics of this situation. But then his thoughts moved on, as Luet’s warning clarified other things that had happened that day. “That’s why Meb went to pray,” said Nafai, “and why Elya locked the inner gate. They knew—or maybe they just suspected something—and yet they were afraid to tell. That’s what the dream meant—not that they would ever lift a hand against Father, but rather that they knew and were afraid to warn him.”

She nodded. “It often works that way in dreams,” she said. “That would be a true meaning, and it doesn’t empty my head when I think that thought.”

“Maybe the Oversoul itself doesn’t know.”

She reached out and patted his hand. It made him feel like a child, even though she was younger and much smaller than he. He resented her for it.

“The Oversoul knows,” she said.

“Not everything,” he said.

“Everything that
can
be known,” she said. She walked to the door of the traveler’s room. “Tell no one that I came,” she said.

“Except Father,” he said.

“Can’t you say that it was
your
dream?”

“Why?” asked Nafai. “
Your
dream he would believe. Mine would be—nothing to him.”

“You underestimate your father. And the Oversoul, too, I think. And yourself.” She stepped out into the moonlit yard in front of the house. She started to turn right, heading for Ridge Road.

“No,” he whispered, catching her arm—small and frail indeed, she was a girl so young and little-boned. “Don’t pass in front of the gate.”

She gave him a questioning look, eyes wide, reflecting the moon, which was half-risen now over his shoulder.

“Perhaps I woke someone when I opened it,” he explained.

She nodded. “I’ll go around the house on the other side.”

“Luet,” he said.

“Yes?”

“Will you be safe, going home now?”

“The moon is up,” she said. “And the guard at the Funnel Gate will give me no trouble. The Oversoul made him sleep when I passed before.”

“Luet,” he said, calling her back again.

Again she stopped, waited for his words.

“Thank you,” he said. The words were nothing compared to what he felt in his heart. She had saved his father’s life—and it was a brave thing for a girl who had never left the city to come all this way in the starlight, guided only by a dream.

She shrugged. “The Oversoul sent me. Thank
her
.” Then she was gone.

Nafai returned to the gate, and this time deliberately made some noise coming in and latching it. If one of his brothers was listening or watching, he didn’t want his return to surprise him. Let him hear and go back to his room before I come through the inner gate.

As he had hoped, the courtyard was empty when he returned. He went straight to Father’s room, through the public room and the library to the private place where he slept alone. There he lay on the bare floor, without a mat of any kind, his white beard spilling onto the stone. Nafai stood there a moment, imagining the throat cut open and the beard stained brownish red with the gush of blood.

Then he noticed that Father’s eyes were shining. He was awake.

“Are you the one?” whispered Father.

“What do you mean?” asked Nafai.

Father sat up, slowly, wearily. “I had a dream. It was nothing—just my fear.”

“Someone else had a dream tonight,” said Nafai. “I talked to her just now in the traveler’s room. But it’s better if you tell no one that she was here.”

“Who?”

“Luet,” he said. “And her dream was to warn you of the meeting tonight. There’s murder waiting for you if you go.”

Father sprang to his feet and turned on the light. Nafai blinked in the brightness of it. “Then it wasn’t just a dream I had.”

“I’m beginning to think there
are
no meaningless dreams,” said Nafai. “I also dreamed, and it woke me, and the Oversoul brought me outside to talk to her.”

“Murder waiting for me. I can guess the rest. He’ll murder Roptat also, and make it look like one of us killed
the other, and then someone else killed the murderer, and only then will Gaballufix arrive, probably with several believable witnesses who can swear that the murders took place before Gabya arrived. They’ll tell of how shocked he was by the bloody scene. Why didn’t I see it myself? How else could he get me and Roptat to the same place at the same time, with no followers or witnesses about?”

“So you won’t go,” said Nafai.

“Yes,” said Father. “I’ll go, yes.”

“No!”

“But not to the coolhouse,” said Father. “Because
my
dream showed me something else.”

“What?”

“Tents,” he said. “My tents, spread wide in the desert sun. If we stay, Gaballufix will only try again, in some other way. And—there are other reasons for leaving. For getting my sons out of this city before it destroys them.”

Nafai knew that Father’s dream must have been terrible indeed. Did it show him that one of his sons would kill him? That would explain Father’s first words—Are you the one?

“So we’re going into the desert?”

“Yes,” said Father.

“When?”

“Now, of course.”

“Now? Today?”

“Now,
tonight
. Before dawn. So we’re over the ridge before his men can see us.”

“But won’t we pass right by Gaballufix’s household, where Twisting Trail crosses Desert Road?”

“There’s a back way,” said Father. “Not the best for camels, but we’ll have to do it. It puts us on Desert Road well past Gabya’s place. Now come, help me waken your brothers.”

“No,” said Nafai.

Father turned to him, puzzlement making him hesitate to express his anger at being disobeyed.

“Luet asked—that no one be told it was her. And she was right. They shouldn’t know about me, either. It should be
your
dream.”

“Why?” asked Father. “To have three be touched tonight by the Oversoul—”

“Because if it’s your dream, then they’ll wonder what you know, what you saw. But if there are others, then to them it will seem that we’re fooling and manipulating you. They’ll argue. They’ll resist you. And you have to bring them with you, Father.”

Father nodded. “You’re very wise,” he said. “For a boy of fourteen.”

But Nafai knew he was not wise. He simply had the benefit of knowing the rest of Luet’s dream. If Meb and Elya stayed behind, they would be wholly swallowed up in Gaballufix’s machinations. They would lose what decency remained in them. And there
must
be goodness in them. Perhaps they even planned to warn Father. Maybe that’s why Elya closed the inner gate, so that he’d be wakened by the noise Father made as he left—then he could come out and warn Father not to go!

Or perhaps he meant only to follow Father, so he could be right behind him when he came upon Roptat’s murdered body in the ice house.

No! cried Nafai inside himself. Not Elemak. It’s monstrous of me even to think that he could do that. My brothers are not murderers, not one of them.

“Go to your room,” said Father. “Or better still, to the toilet. And then come out and set an example of silent obedience. Not to me—to Elya. He knows how to pack for this kind of trip.”

“Yes, Father,” said Nafai.

At once he moved briskly from Father’s room, through
the library and public room, and out into the courtyard. Elemak’s and Mebbekew’s doors were still closed. Nafai headed for the latrine, with its two walls leaving it open to the courtyard. He was only just there when he heard Father knocking on Mebbekew’s door. “Wake up, but quietly,” said Father. Then again, on Elemak’s. “Come out into the courtyard.”

He heard them all come out—Issib, too, though no one called him directly.

“Where’s Nyef?” asked Issib.

“Using the latrine,” said Father.

“Now
that’s
an idea,” said Meb.

“You can wait a moment,” said Father.

Nafai came out of the stall, letting the toilet wash itself automatically behind him. At least Father hadn’t made them live in a
completely
primitive way.

“Sorry,” said Nafai. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” Meb glowered at him, but too sleepily for Nafai to take it as a threat of a fight to come.

“We’re leaving,” Father said. “Out into the desert.”

“All of us?” asked Issib.

“I’m sorry, yes,” said Father. “You’ll be in your chair. It’s not the same as your floats, I know, but it’s something.”

“Why?” asked Elemak.

“I was warned by the Oversoul in a dream,” said Father.

Meb made a contemptuous noise and started back for his room.

“You will stand and listen,” said Father, “because if you stay, it will not be as my son.”

Meb stood and listened, though his back was still toward Father.

“There’s a plot to kill me,” said Father. “This morning.
I was to go to a meeting with Gaballufix and Roptat, and there I was going to die.”

“Gabya gave me his word,” said Elemak. “No harm to anyone.”

So Elemak called Gaballufix by his boy-name now, did he?

“The Oversoul knows his heart better than his own mouth does,” said Father. “If I go, I’ll die. And even if I don’t, it will be only a matter of time. Now that Gaballufix has determined to kill me, my life is worthless here. I would stay in the city if I thought some purpose would be served by my dying here—I’m not afraid of it. But the Oversoul has told me to leave.”