The Memory of Earth (35 page)

“Nafai,” said a girl’s voice.

He turned. It was Luet.

“Hi,” he greeted her. But he didn’t have time to chat. He had to
think
.

“Quick,” she said.

“Quick what?”

“Come with me.”

“I can’t,” he said. “I have to do something.”

“Yes,” she said. “You have to come with me.”

“I have to get out of the city.”

She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and stood on tip-toe, which she no doubt intended to bring her eye-to-eye with him, but which succeeded only in making her hang from his shirt like a puppet. He laughed, but she didn’t join him. “Listen, O thou busiest of men,” she said, “have you forgotten that I’m a seer of the Oversoul?”

He
had
forgotten. Had forgotten even that it was her coming in the middle of the night that had saved Father from Gaballufix’s plot. There were things she still didn’t know about that, he realized. For some reason he thought he ought to explain. “Elemak and Mebbekew
were
involved in the plot,” he said. “But I think Gaballufix lied to them about what he meant to do.”

She had no patience for his confused babbling. “Do you think I care now? They’re looking for you, Nafai. I saw it in a dream—a soldier with bloody hands stalking the streets. I knew that I had to find you. To save you.”

“How can
you
save
me
?”

“Come with me,” she said. “I know the way.”

He had no better idea. In fact, when he tried to think of any alternative to following her, his mind went blank. He couldn’t hold the thought. Finally it dawned on him that this was a message from the Oversoul. It wanted him to go with her. It had sent her to him, and so he must go with her, wherever she led him.

She took his hand and pulled him from the Old Dance
down the street with the same name, until they reached the place where it narrowed, and then they took a fork to the left. “Our fortune is gone,” said Nafai. “It was my fault, too. Except Rashgallivak betrayed us.”

“Shut up,” she said. “This isn’t a good neighborhood.”

She was right. It was dark here, and the road ran between old houses, dilapidated and dirty. There were few people there, and none of them seemed willing to look them in the eye.

They wound through a couple of sharp bends in the road, and then suddenly found themselves in Spring Street, near where it ran out into the holy wood. At that moment, Nafai saw ahead of him a group of soldiers, standing watch as if they had known he would emerge there. At once he turned to run, and then saw coming up the road they had just taken a couple of men with their charged-wire blades glowing slightly in the darkness.

“Good job, Nyef,” Luet said contemptuously. “They probably wouldn’t have noticed us.
Now
we look suspicious.”

“
They
already know who we are,” he said, pointing to the men approaching out of the dark street.

“Oh well,” she said. “I had hoped to take the easy way in, but this one will have to do.”

She grabbed his hand and half-dragged him the wrong way on Spring Street, away from the city and
toward
the holy forest. Nafai knew it was the stupidest thing she could possibly do. In the edges of the forest there’d be no witnesses at all. The assassins would have their way. If she imagined that Nafai had some particular skill at fighting and could somehow save them by disarming or killing the assassins, she would quickly discover the sad truth that he had never been interested in fighting and had no training along those lines at all. He couldn’t even remember having hit someone in anger in his life, not even his
older brothers, since fighting back against Meb or Elemak only made things worse in the end. Nafai might be large for his age, the tallest of Wetchik’s sons, but it meant nothing when it came to battle.

As they moved into the darkness at the end of Spring Street, the assassins became bolder.

“That’s right,” one of them called out—softly, but audible enough to Nafai and Luet. “Into the shadows. That’s where we’ll have our conversation.”

“We have nothing for you to steal.” Luet’s voice sounded panicked, trembling—but Nafai knew from her hand’s steady grip that she was not trembling at all.

Nafai was trembling, however.

“Into the shadows,” said the man again.

So they obeyed him. Plunged into the darkness under the trees. But to Nafai’s surprise, they didn’t stop, nor did they turn south, to skirt the forest and perhaps reenter the city at the next road. She led him almost straight east. Deeper into the forbidden country.

“I can’t go here,” he said.

“Shut up,” she said. “Neither can they, unless they hear us talking and follow the sound.”

He held his tongue, and followed her. After a while the ground began to fall away, not a slope anymore as much as a cliff, and it became very difficult to pick his way. The sky was fully dark now, and even though many leaves had fallen here, the shade of the trees was still quite deep. “I can’t see,” he whispered.

“Neither can I,” she answered.

“Stop,” he said. “Listen. Maybe they’ve stopped following us.”

“They have,” she said. “But we can’t stop.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve got to take you out of the city.”

“If I’m caught here, the punishment is terrible.”

“I know,” she said. “As bad for me, though, for bringing you.”

“Then take me back.”

“No,” she said. “This is where the Oversoul wants us to go.”

It was too hard, however, to hold hands anymore—they both needed both hands to make their way down the ragged face of the cliff. It wouldn’t have been that dangerous a climb in daylight, but in the darkness they might not see a drop-off that would kill them, so every step had to be tested. At least on this slope the trees were rarer, so the starlight could do a better job of helping them to see. At least, that’s how it was until they reached the fog.

“Now we
have
to stop,” he said.

“Keep climbing.”

“In the fog? We’ll get lost on the cliff face and fall and die.”

“It’s a good sign,” said Luet. “It means that we’re at least halfway down to the lake.”

“You’re not taking me to the lake!”

“Hush.”

“Why don’t I just throw myself down the quick way, then, and save them the effort of killing me?”

“Hush, you stupid man. The Oversoul will protect us.”

“The Oversoul is a computer link with satellites orbiting Harmony. It doesn’t have any magical machines to reach down and catch us if we fall.”

“She is making us alert,” said Luet. “Or she’s helping
me
, at least, to find the way. If you’d only stop talking and let me listen to her.”

They were hours climbing down through the fog, or so it seemed to Nafai, but at last they reached the bottom. Grass on a level plain, giving way to mud.

Warm mud. No,
hot
mud.

“Here we are,” she said. “We can’t go into the water here—it comes up from a rift deep in the crust of the world, where it’s so hot that it boils and gives off steam.
The water would cook the meat from our bones if we stayed in it for any length of time, even near the shore.”

“Then how do women ever—”

“We do our worship nearer to the other end, where the lake is fed by ice-cold mountain streams. Some go into the coldest water. But the visions come to most of us when we float in the water at the place where the cold and hot waters meet. A turbulent place, the water endlessly rocking and swirling, freezing and searing us by turns. The place where the heart of the world and its coldest surface come together. A place where the two hearts of every woman are made one.”

“I don’t belong here,” said Nafai.

“I know,” said Luet. “But here is where the Oversoul led us, so here we’ll stay.”

And then what Nafai feared most. A woman, speaking not far off. “I
told
you I heard a man’s voice. It came from
there
.”

Lanterns came near, and many women. Their feet made splatting noises with each step in the hot mud, then sucking noises as they pulled them out again. How far have
I
sunk into the mud? wondered Nafai. Will they have trouble pulling me out? Or will they simply bury me alive right here, letting the mud decide whether to cook me or suffocate me?

“I brought him,” said Luet.

“It’s Luet,” said an old woman. The name was picked up in a whisper and carried back through the gathering crowd.

“The Oversoul led me here. This man isn’t like other men. The Oversoul has chosen him.”

“The law is the law,” said the old woman. “You have taken the responsibility on yourself, but that only moves the punishment from him to you.”

Nafai saw how tense Luet looked. He realized: She doesn’t understand the Oversoul any better than I do.
For all she knows, the Oversoul doesn’t care whether she lives or dies, and may be perfectly content to let her pay with her life for my safe passage here tonight.

“Very well,” said Luet. “But you must take him to the Private Gate, and help him through the wood.”

“You can’t tell us what we
must
do, lawbreaker!” cried one woman. But others shushed her. Luet was held in great reverence, Nafai could see, even when she had committed an outrage.

Then the crowd parted, just a little, to let a woman pass, appearing like a ghost from the fog. She was naked, and because she was clean Nafai didn’t realize for a moment that she must be a wilder. It was only when she came very close, plucking at Luet’s sleeve, that Nafai could see how weathered and dry her skin was, how wrinkled and how gaunt her face.

“You,” whispered Luet.

“You,” echoed the wilder.

Then the holy woman from the desert turned to the old woman who seemed to be the leader of this band of justicers. “I have already punished her,” she said.

“What do you mean?” asked the old woman.

“I am the Oversoul, and I say she has already borne my punishment.”

The old woman looked at Luet, full of uncertainty. “Is this true speech, Luet?”

Nafai was amazed. Was their trust in Luet so complete that they would ask her to confirm or deny testimony that might cost her life or save it, depending on her own answer?

Their trust was justified, for Luet’s answer contained no special pleading for herself. “This holy woman only slapped my face. How could it be punishment enough for this?”

“I brought her here,” said the wilder. “I made her bring this boy. I have shown him great visions, and I will show
him more. I will put honor in his seed, and a great nation shall arise. Let no one hinder him in his path through the water and the wood, and as for her, she has borne the mark of my hand upon her face. Who can touch her after I have done with her?”

“Truly this is the voice of the Mother,” said the old woman.

“The Mother,” whispered some.

“The Oversoul,” whispered others.

The holy woman turned to face Luet again, and reached up and touched one finger to the girl’s lips. Luet kissed that finger, gently, and for a moment Nafai ached for the sweetness of it. Then the wilder’s expression changed. It was as if some brighter soul had been inside her face, and now it was gone; she looked distracted, vaguely confused. She looked around, recognizing nothing, and then wandered off into the fog.

“Was that your mother?” whispered Nafai.

“No,” said Luet. “The mother of my body isn’t holy anymore. But in my heart, all such women are my mother.”

“Well spoken,” said the old woman. “What a fairspoken child she is.”

Luet bowed her head. When she lifted her face again, Nafai could see tears on her cheeks. He had no idea what was happening here, or what it meant to Luet; he only knew that for a while his life had been in danger, and then hers, and now the danger had passed. That was enough for him.

The wilder had said that no one should hinder him in his path through the water and the wood. After brief discussion, the women decided that this meant he had to traverse the lake from this point to the other end, from the hot to the cold; he had no idea how they discerned that from the holy woman’s few words, but then he had often marveled at how many meanings the priests could
wrest from the holy writings of’ the men’s religion, too. They waited a few minutes until several women called out from the water. Only then did Luet lead him near enough for him to see the lake. Now it was clear where the fog came from—it rose as sheets of steam from the water, or so it appeared to him. Two women in a long low boat were bringing it to shore, the one rowing, the other at the tiller. The bow of the boat was square and low, but since there were no waves upon the lake, and the rowing was smooth, there seemed no danger of the boat taking water at the bow. They drew close, closer to shore, until at last they had run aground. Still there were several meters of water to cross between the boat and the mud flats where Nafai and Luet stood. The mud was painfully hot now, so that Nafai had to move his feet rather often to keep from burning them. What would it be like to walk through the water?

“Walk steadily,” Luet whispered. “The less you splash, the better, so you mustn’t run. You’ll see that if you just keep going, you’re in the boat soon, and the pain passes quickly.”

So she had done this before. Very well, if Luet could bear it, so could he. He took a step toward the water. The women gasped.

“No,” she said quickly. “In this place, where you’re a child and a stranger, you must be led.”

Me, a child? Compared to
you
? But then he realized that of course she was right. Whatever their ages might be, this was her place, not his; she was the adult and he the infant here.

She set the pace, brisk but not hurried. The water burned his feet, but it was shallow, and he didn’t splash very much, though he was not as graceful and smooth in his movements as Luet. In moments they were at the boat, but it seemed like forever, like a thousand agonizing steps, especially the hesitation as she stepped into the boat. At last she was in, and her hand drew him in after her, and he
walked on feet that stung so deep within the skin that he was afraid to look down at them for fear the flesh had been cooked off them. But then he
did
look, and the skin looked normal. Luet used the hem of her skirt to wipe his feet. The oarsman jammed the blade of an oar into the mud under the water and pushed them back, her muscles of her massive arms rippling with the exertion. Nafai faced Luet and clung to her hands as they glided through the water.