"You were very good in the battle," she said suddenly. The brown in the mantles of her two consorts faded slightly. "I didn't realize males could pipe so well."
The truemale—Yurra—whistled derisively. Delicate yellow traceries formed on Woddulakotat's mantle.
"They can't," announced the eumale. "The silly old farts wouldn't know what to do with their pipes if their lives depended on it."
Sudden brown flooded his little mantle.
"Which it did," he said sadly. "I shouldn't make fun of them. At the end, all the maleclusters took positions to defend their mates, pipes in arms. Not that it would do any good, of course, even if they knew how to use them. But not a one failed in his duty."
"We practiced," added Yurra. "For many, many eightdays. It was Abka's idea. He said that if we became accurate enough, and all fired at once at the same target, that we could make up for our weak siphons."
"He was right," said Guo firmly. "I think you kept me from being blinded."
"You fought without a shield, with two maces," said Woddulakotat admiringly. "You were truly awesome." Yurra hooted vigorous agreement.
For a moment, the gigantic mother and her two consorts-to-be gazed at each other. Then, simultaneously, tinges of green began to flicker in their mantles.
Perhaps it will not be so bad, after all, being a mother.
The thought was still too new and unsettling. For the males as well, it seemed, judging from the speed with which those first, tentative flickers of green disappeared.
"If you intend to continue fighting in this crazy manner," said Yurra suddenly, "we should give some thought to making a kind of shield for your cowl. So that we can concentrate on piping, instead of dodging darts."
Guo was relieved, herself, at the change of subject.
"Good idea. I'll talk to my flankers about it."
The three of them began discussing the design and construction of the shield. Anchoring it, of course, was no problem—the thick, hard tissue of Guo's cowl made a perfect location for attaching a shield. The problem was in the design. More like a visor than a shield, it would have to be—so that the males atop her cowl, while protected, would still have gaps through which to pipe.
Shortly thereafter, the signal was passed down from somewhere ahead: Make camp where you can for the night. We depart at first light tomorrow.
Guo looked around. They were in a place where the path broadened slightly. To one side was a large mound of moss. One of Guo's flankers inspected the mound and announced that it was (relatively) free of pests. Guo and her flankers moved onto the mound. She noticed the apprehensive glances which her flankers cast about in the gloom. It was almost dark. The swamp was horrid enough in daylight. What monsters crept within it during the dark?
She commanded them to gather closely around her bulk—atop her mantle, even, as many as could fit. The flankers quickly agreed on a system of rotating guards. (So, Guo noticed with admiration, did the males of her cluster.) Then, feeling reassured by the proximity of Guo's great muscles, the flankers not on watch fell quickly asleep. No large predator would likely approach such a formidable creature as Guo, even in the dark. If they did, the watch would sound the alarm, and whatever predator might lurk in the swamp would soon learn the bitter lesson which Guo had taught, that very day, to the Utuku. Even in sleep, the great battlemother did not relinguish her grip on the maces.
Guo's last memory, before she fell asleep, was a faint whisper from Woddulakotat.
"Tomorrow, Guo, we will talk about Kopporu, and what you must do. But think on this, as you drift into sleep. I was there, at the end, with the Great Mother. My bondmates and I had taken position on her cowl, alongside her own cluster, for we knew that her husbands would be useless. We saw Kopporu's retreat, at the same time as the Great Mother.
"She did not hesitate, Guo. Not for a moment. She commanded an attendant, and gave her the shell; and ordered us onto the attendant. Then she gave the attendant the message for you, and bade her leave.
"I looked back, Guo, at the Great Mother. It was my last sight of her. Her mantle was glowing like the Mother-of-Pearl itself in midday. One color, Guo—one color alone. The deepest green I have ever seen."
Chapter 17
When Guo awoke the next day, the answer to her dilemma was clear. As she slept, her mind seemed to have reached a conclusion on its own. A problem, however, remained: How should she carry out her decision?
Here, she was treading on uncertain ground. By choice, she had spent as much of her short life as possible in the company of warriors. She knew little of the customs and traditions which prevailed within the yurts of the mothers and clan leaders, even though she herself was a high-ranked member of the tribe's prevalent clan.
She did not think in these terms, but the essence of her problem was that: she needed a lawyer.
Lawyers, of course, did not exist among the Kiktu. (They had only just begun emerging, as a distinct subset of the priestly caste, in the civilized realms of the south.) The Kiktu were barbarians. They had no written language beyond a crude system of notations which were even more limited than the runes of Earth's ancient barbarians. Like the tribes of northern Europe a millenia past, custom and law was maintained by oral tradition transmitted from one generation of clan leaders to the next.
Had Guo ever read the old Icelandic sagas, she would have found the scene toward the end of The Saga of Burnt Njal quite familiar. The tribe, gathered in full assembly, deliberating on a matter of law. Each old and wise being of the tribe advancing their arguments; only to be refuted when an older and wiser being remembered a different law which everyone else had forgotten.
Law and custom was the province of the old clan leaders. What was she to do? All the clan leaders were dead. There were not even very many old warriors left alive, Guo suspected. Other than Kopporu's personal guard, and the members of her own small clan, the vast majority of the warriors who had filled the ranks of the left flank had been the young and adventuresome warriors of the tribe who had flocked to Kopporu's standard.
The word of Kopporu's own clan members would inevitably be suspect in the tribal assembly which would judge Kopporu's conduct. The word of the old members of Kopporu's personal guard—Aktako and her close friends—would be even more suspect.
The young warriors who made up almost all that was left of the Kiktu would be torn and confused. On the one hand, their esteem for Kopporu's prowess in battle—once again dramatically confirmed—would draw them toward her. On the other hand, they would be horrified at Kopporu's actions.
Confusion and uncertainty would be the inevitable result. Chaos would develop, and grow. Different bands of warriors would advance alternate and conflicting proposals—with all the vigor and hot-headed impetuosity of youth. Who was to guide the deliberations, and maintain order? Kopporu? Impossible—she was the issue at hand. Gortoku? Or one of the other battle leaders? Possibly. But it was unlikely that members of other battle groups would accept the authority of any of the battle leaders. The battle leaders were all young themselves. Tried in battle, to be sure, but not in custom and law.
These were the thoughts that filled Guo's brain, as she made her way that morning along the path. The guide, she noted absently, was still leading them northward.
After a time, she became aware of Woddulakotat's presence. His little mantle, she saw with surprise, was suffused with azure irritation.
"Are you really so ignorant?" demanded the eumale.
"What do you mean?" She was too surprised by the question to be angered by its impudence. (She would learn, very quickly, that the subservient timidity of males was less fact than fiction; and, over time, would grow thankful for it.)
The azure was suddenly—for just a fleeting moment—replaced by green affection.
"Truly, you are a battlemother. Have you spent any time in the yurts of the mothers?"
"Very little. As little as possible, in fact. I was bored."
"You can no longer afford to be bored,
Guo. The responsibility for the tribe is now in your arms."
Guo's own mantle flooded azure. "I know that! What do you think I've been thinking about, ever since we started off this morning?"
Woddulakotat made the gesture of reproof.
"Then why aren't you talking to us?" At that moment, Yurra appeared alongside him.
Guo was dumbfounded. "Why would I talk to you?"
Both males were now positively glowing azure—no, more! Bright blue.
"Idiot," said Yurra. "We are your closest advisers. You will have others, of course. But, always, a mother's closest advisers are her husbands."
Guo was too interested in the information to take offense at the truemale's outrageous conduct.
"Really?"
The two males stared at her in silence. Slowly, the blue faded from their mantles.
"As I said, truly a battlemother." Woddulakotat whistled humorously. "Guo, the one group of advisers you can always trust are your husbands. You do not need to take our advice, of course. Males are not always wise."
"Neither are females," interjected Yurra forcefully.
"But whether our advice is wise or not, you need never fear that it contains hidden motives. We are your husbands. Not yet, of course—but we will be."
"Did the Great Mother—"
"Always," replied Woddulakotat.
"Every night," added Yurra. Another whistle. "Well, not every night. Even in her old age, the Great Mother was a lusty—"
"Yurra!" Guo was shocked.
But, despite her prudish innocence, Guo was not really a timid youngster. She had been assured and assertive even before the battle. Now, with the battle behind her, she was rapidly growing in self-confidence. It was strange, to her, this idea that one would discuss important matters with—males. But...
And so, as the day wore on, she began slowly opening her thoughts to her preconsorts. Tentatively, at first; then with increasing frankness.
Not long after she began her discussion with them, Yurra and Woddulakotat brought another of their malebond forward. Iyopa, his name was. Guo discovered that every malebond had at least one member who specialized in learning the tribe's traditions and laws.
"The mother needs her own memory," explained Iyopa. The gesture of suspicion. "You can't always trust a clan leader's memory, no matter how old they are. Especially when the matter involves relations between the clans. It's amazing how every old clan leader suddenly remembers the law differently—always, of course, to the benefit of her own clan."
Iyopa was quite small, even for a male. But handsome, thought Guo. Very handsome, in fact.
Very handsome.
She forced her attention back to the problem at hand. Some part of her mind, throughout the ensuing day, never lost its awareness of Iyopa's good looks (and odd, new sensations began tingling in her body); but, for the most part, she was impressed with the young truemale's knowledge of Kiktu history. A bit vain, perhaps, and Guo thought that he was not really as smart as either Yurra or Woddulakotat. But Iyopa had a truly prodigious memory; and there was no question the truemale had applied himself to his task.
By midafternoon, Guo and her preconsorts had reached the stage of conclusions.
"You have to make sure of your flankers," said Yurra softly. "If they are not steady, all will be lost."
Guo considered, and agreed. Soon thereafter, upon entering a small clearing, she halted and gave the hoot which summoned her flankers. Moments later, the eight warriors stood before her. Their swamp-dweller guide arrived, as well, wondering at the delay. Firmly, but not disrespectfully, Guo asked her to leave for a moment, that she might discuss private matters with her flankers. The guide hesitated briefly; then moved out of hearing range.
Guo examined the flankers. All of them had survived the battle, relatively unharmed. A surprising fact in itself. The position of battlemother's flanker was prestigious among the Kiktu—not least, because it was so dangerous. Unlike the mobile warriors, the flankers were fixed to their slow battlemother, and without the battlemother's bulk to protect them.
Flankers carried flails, but they did not normally use them in combat. A flanker's weapon was the greatfork. The greatfork was a two-tentacle weapon, a combination of a huge two-fork and axe. (A human specialist examining the weapon would have immediately recognized it, generically, as a halberd. In detail, of course, the weapon was different: two fork-prongs on one side, where a halberd has a single beak; and the axe-blade on the opposite was longer and shallower than the blade of a halberd. But the principle was the same.)
The greatfork was an ungainly weapon in combat, quite unlike the graceful flail-and-fork combination of the normal warrior. But grace was not its function. In battle, the task of the flankers was crude and simple: either by grasping with the fork, or by driving with the blade, to hold the enemy in position while the slow but irresistible power of a battlemother's mace was brought to bear.
Battlemothers always fought in the thick of the battle. The casualties around them were usually high—for flanker and foe alike.
Guo hesitated, ochre uncertainty rippling across her mantle. Once she spoke to her flankers, she was committed. But after a moment, the ochre faded. Her mantle was now gray, with a faint hint of black.
"Tomorrow—or soon, anyway—there will be a tribal assembly. Kopporu will have to answer for her actions."
The flankers said nothing. It was obvious from their stance and color, however, that they were not surprised by her statement. They, too, had drawn their own conclusions from observing the retreat into the swamp.
"At the assembly, I will enforce the traditions of the Kiktu. It is both my right and my duty—as the Great Mother of the tribe."
Yurra handed her the bundle, which the males had kept in safekeeping. Guo carefully unwrapped the bundle, and exposed the ceremonial shell within. The flankers gazed upon it. Their arms made the gesture of reverence. But Guo noted that there was no trace of orange surprise in their mantles.
They saw—and know. Good.
"Things will be—confused—at the assembly. We have lost all our clan leaders. I must—it will be necessary that I—"
Suddenly, one of her flankers raised her greatfork above her cowl, held crossways like a horizontal bar. It was the traditional salute of the flanker to her battlemother. Traditional, but hardly ever seen. The Kiktu were not, in truth, given to frequent displays of ceremony.
A moment later, the other seven flankers followed suit.
"We are yours to command, Great Mother," spoke the flanker who had first raised her fork. Her name was Kolkata, and she was the leader of the squad of flankers. A moment later, the others echoed her words.
The black tinge in Guo's mantle darkened.
"I may be forced to harshness."
This time, the words came as one, loudly:
"We are yours to command, Great Mother."
Guo stared at them. She was—surprised. She had thought it would be more difficult. (For all her unusual capacity for combat, Guo was not really a warrior, and did not fully understand the minds of warriors. On the day after the Battle of Lolopopo, Guo's flankers would have stood with her against the Kraken itself.)
The black in her mantle faded. For a moment, a green wave rippled across. Then Guo turned, and resumed the march.
Hours later, they entered a huge clearing in the swamp. Many other warriors were already in the clearing. Still more were trickling in from several directions—all in small groups, led by a swamp-dweller guide.
The word was passed along by couriers:
We rest here tonight. Tomorrow the tribe assembles.
Before they slept, Guo and her preconsorts dug a little grave, into which they lowered the body of Abka. It was strange, then, the anguish which she felt, for the loss of a husband she had never known.
Yet she grieved, and deeply; and found, in the pain, a well of courage and resolve.
The assembly began early in the day, and raggedly. There were no clan leaders to
begin the deliberations with the customary religious rituals. Those rituals were brief and, in truth, not much more than perfunctory. But they had always served, in the past, to allow the assembly to come to order in a set and certain manner.
Guo saw that Kopporu was going to make no attempt to substitute herself as the leader of the rituals. The infanta thought Kopporu's decision was wise. Better to begin the assembly by bluntly demonstrating the truth to all.
Kopporu herself was standing toward the center of the clearing, on its northern side. She was weaponless, and her personal guard were not nearby. Guo was relieved. She had been concerned that Kopporu might attempt to intimidate the tribe. Such an attempt would not have worked; it would simply have inflamed the hotheads. Instead, by taking her stance, Kopporu was making clear to one and all that she accepted the authority of the tribe.
Still, Guo noted that Kopporu had subtly weighted the situation. Her personal guard was not standing nearby, true. But they were not all that far away, either.
Guo examined them. As hard-bitten a collection of old warriors as you could find anywhere on the Meat of the Clam. The scars crisscrossing their collective mantles were literally beyond counting. There could be no doubt in any gukuy's mind that Aktako and her group would deal ruthlessly with anyone who tried to take matters into their own palps. Not even the rashest young warrior would casually match flails with them.
But there was more. Guo saw that the Opoktu warriors were gathered not far from the center of the clearing, on the same side as Kopporu. The Opoktu were still outnumbered by the surviving Kiktu, by a factor of four to one. But the Opoktu had saved their entire tribe, except for those warriors who had fallen in combat. Their own two mothers, and four clan leaders, were standing prominently to the fore. In every nuance of the Opoktu stance, a subtle but clear set of messages was being conveyed to all who observed: