Indira stared at the unconscious gukuy on the litter.
"All those injuries were caused by her? Alone?" She was genuinely shocked. Since the very first fight with slavers, none of Joseph's expeditions had suffered more than minor wounds to one or two warriors.
"All. The other slavers died like papakoy. This one—was terrible."
Jens winced and held up his right arm, which was heavily bandaged. "That's where I got this. She damn near tore my arm off. Her name's Nukurren, by the way, and—"
"Why did you let her live, then?" demanded Indira. "You've never done that before with any slavers you caught."
For a moment, the faces of the young human warriors assumed an expression which Indira had not seen on them for a long time. Uncertainty, hesitation; almost childlike confusion.
"I'm—not sure," replied Joseph. "Partly it was because one of the owoc slaves insisted."
"What?"
Ludmilla nodded vigorously. "It's true, Indira. We were astonished. Of course, the owoc are never—" She hesitated.
Bloodthirsty. Like we are.
"But still, I've never seen an owoc show any real concern for a slaver. As long as we bury the bodies. But the owoc was quite firm about it. She said this one was different."
Jens was frowning. "But that's not the only reason we let her live. It was also . . . I don't know. She was so incredibly brave."
Indira sighed. She understood, even if Jens didn't. The culture of the human colony was rapidly being shaped by its necessities.
A warrior culture. One of whose inevitable features is deep respect for courage, even the courage of the enemy.
It was an aspect of warrior cultures which many people admired, even in the 22nd century—including professional historians. Romantically seductive, unless you understood the corollary.
When the Mongols took Kiev they spared the life of the commander of the garrison, out of admiration for his courage. They did the same, later, at Aleppo.
Then they slaughtered everyone else.
Her musings were interrupted by the male in the wounded gukuy's mantle.
"Please. Do any of you—demons—speak my language?" The male was speaking Anshaku.
"Yes," replied Indira immediately. "I do."
Ochre and red rippled across the male's mantle, in the delicate, complex traceries of which only males were capable.
"Are you—are you the Mother of Demons?"
Indira sighed. It seemed she was doomed to that title.
"You may call me so, if you wish."
The male—a truemale, she now recognized—made the gesture of obedience. Then spoke again.
"Will Nukurren live?"
"She will live, according to our healer. Her recovery will be difficult, however. And—" A quick question to Maria. "—her eye cannot be saved."
"So long as she lives," said the truemale softly. To Indira's astonishment, the little male began stroking his companion's head. His mantle was flushed with that shade of green which, for gukuy, was the sign of romantic attachment.
Now this is something I've never seen. A romantic attachment between a female and a truemale?
She pondered the situation. Julius had long been puzzled by the active sex life enjoyed by the gukuy, the vast majority of whom were sterile females. Sex, he had explained to her, takes up a lot of biological energy, and he couldn't figure out why a species would evolve such an orientation when there was no possibility of reproduction between sterile females. Among the owoc, a cousin species, there was little sexual activity except between mothers and males. He had eventually developed an explanation which satisfied him. Though it was based on an elaborate (to Indira's mind, arcane) web of neurological reasoning and kin selection game theory, his hypothesis amounted to: "They're smart, sex is fun, and how are you gonna keep 'em down on the farm when they've been to gay Paree?"
Still, the sex life of gukuy followed definite rules. Sterile females coupled with other sterile females. Truemales with mothers. (Eumales with no one.) Indira had never observed a romantic relationship between a truemale and a sterile female. Even among the relatively tolerant barbarian tribes, such an attachment would be considered unnatural and perverted. And among the far less tolerant civilized cultures—such as the Ansha from which the truemale obviously came—such a coupling would be anathema, for which the priests would demand the death penalty.
There's a fascinating story here. I must learn it from him.
"What is your name?" she asked. To her surprise, the answer came from behind her. In the voice of Ushulubang.
"He is called Dhowifa."
She had not heard the sage coming. Ushulubang, she had already learned, was not given to ceremonious parades. At the moment, she was only accompanied by one of her pashoc—a young gukuy named Shurren, who, like Ushulubang, came from the Anshac capital of Shakutulubac.
Indira looked back at the truemale. Dhowifa had withdrawn further into the mantle cavity. Stripes of ochre and orange rippled along his mantle.
"Hello, great-nephew," said Ushulubang softly.
A moment later, the truemale replied: "Hello, great-aunt Ushulubang."
How many more surprises are there going to be today? wondered Indira. The two gukuy were not actually "nephew" and "aunt," of course—not, at least, in the precise sense of the English words. But those were the nearest equivalents for the Anshac terms. Closely related members of the same clan, separated by sex and two generations.
Indira saw that the mantle of Ushulubang's companion was dappled blue and yellow.
"What is the pervert Dhowifa doing here?" demanded Shurren. The tone of her voice was extremely hostile.
Ushulubang eyed her companion, then said mildly: "I should imagine he and his lover have come to live among the demons. Where their—arrangement—would seem natural."
Shurren's mantle turned ochre.
"Or have you forgotten, Shurren, that among the demons the males couple with the females?"
Shurren's mantle turned bright pink.
Indira felt a sudden surge of affection for the old sage. And the tiny hope which she had found the day before grew brighter.
Perhaps. Perhaps . . .
"That is not the same," protested Shurren. "The demons are—different from gukuy."
Ushulubang made the gesture of respectful submission—the traditional salutation of a student to the master.
"Ah. I am enlightened. Before this moment, I had always thought gukuy were different from each other as well. But I see now that it is not so. Truly, the pervert Dhowifa possesses a monstrous soul. Why else would he have chosen the organs of Ansha's greatest warrior to those of the Paramount Mother Ilishito?"
"Ilishito?" exclaimed Indira. "The same—"
"Just so. The same Ilishito who tortured the Pilgrims and slew all my apashoc."
Indira was confused. "But—this truemale does not seem old enough—"
Ushulubang made the gesture of negation. "Dhowifa was born long after the persecution. Ilishito lived to a great age, Indira. A cruel but vigorous mother. And much given to replacing old husbands with young malebonds."
Dhowifa spoke.
"Have you—what has happened with my bondbrothers?"
"After you fled with Nukurren, they were disgraced. Almost executed, in fact, but their lives were spared in the end. I do not know what happened to them after. I am not myself in the good graces of the clan, as you know."
The truemale's mantle turned deep brown.
Ushulubang made the gesture of acceptance. "What did you expect, nephew?"
"I don't know. I—could only leave."
Indira understood, then. Dhowifa had not simply violated accepted standards of sexual morality and abandoned his lawful mate. He had also abandoned his malebond.
The anguish must have been incredible. She stared at the huge, scarred body of Nukurren. There must be something else inside that fearsome figure, to have won such love and devotion.
"Take good care of her," she said
to Maria suddenly. The doctor gave her an unfriendly sidelong glance. As if I wouldn't?
At Maria's order, four of the warriors picked up the litter and began carrying it toward her "hospital," a large hut which the colonists had recently built next to the long houses. As the litter began to move away, Ushulubang called out:
"Have you continued to practice your dukuna?"
The truemale's voice came back:
"Yes, great-aunt. It has been a comfort these past eightyweeks. I thank you for instructing me."
Shurren's mantle flashed orange.
"You instructed him?"
"Just so, Shurren. He was perhaps my best student. Of the clan, at least. He might well have become my best student of all, except that I was unable to visit him often. I was not welcome in the Divine Shell, you know. My visits were infrequent and surreptitious."
"But—why? Even though he is of your clan, I do not understand why—"
"Why I would waste my time instructing a foolish male?"
Ushulubang made the gesture of abject apology.
"I have forgotten. Only females—and not even most of them; no, only those who follow the Way—feel sorrow at the evil of the world. The rest are dumb beasts."
Shurren's mantle rippled pinkish-brown. (A color frequently found upon Ushulubang's disciples, Indira noted—with great satisfaction.)
"I have offended you."
"Nonsense! To the contrary, Shurren, you have brought me sudden joy. Your words recall to my memory a long forgotten episode from the days I wandered the streets of Shakutulubac in the company of Goloku. Come, I will tell you about it."
Ushulubang and Shurren began moving away. Indira heard the sage's voice drifting back.
"It was a miserable night. The more so because Goloku had gotten drunk. Again." Indira smiled at the sound of Shurren's shocked hoot. "Oh, yes—it's quite true. Goloku was excessively fond of ashuweed. Often made a fool of herself. This night was no different. We encountered a small pack of eumales in one of the back alleys. Six or seven of the disgusting creatures. Beggars and thieves. Would you believe that drunken fool invited them to spend the night in her mantle?"
Shocked hoot.
"Oh, yes—it's quite true. I was appalled, of course—especially when it was discovered they couldn't all fit inside Goloku and she insisted that I accept half of them."
Shocked hoot.
"Oh, yes—it's quite true. Then, no sooner . . ."
The voices became indistinct. Indira was left alone with Joseph. Joseph was watching her, with the look he usually held in her presence. Reserve—no, deep anger, held in check.
Suddenly, as she had not done in a long time, Indira smiled at Joseph. Slowly, a hesitant smile came in return.
Maybe, thought Indira. Maybe.
It was still a faint hope, murky and uncertain. But for a woman who had felt no hope in years, it was as if a ray of sunshine had broken through the everlasting clouds of Ishtar.
Chapter 20
Nukurren regained consciousness the next day, and never lapsed back thereafter. Under the ministrations of the healer demon Mariyaduloshruyush and her assistants, the wounds began to heal quickly. Most of the assistants were demons, but two were gukuy Pilgrims from Anshac. One of them, a former helot named Ertatu, told Nukurren than she was healing much more quickly than the demon herself had expected.
"Mariya says you are the toughest gukuy she's ever seen," commented Ertatu, as she changed Nukurren's poultices.
"You can say that again."
Nukurren swiveled her good eye and saw the figure of Dzhenushkunutushen standing in the entrance to the hospital. The white demon advanced to Nukurren's side.
"How are you feeling?" he asked her. To Nukurren's surprise, he spoke in Anshaku. Very good Anshaku. During the long trek up the Chiton, Dzhenushkunutushen and the female demon Ludumila had spoken only Kiktu, and seemed not to comprehend Nukurren and Dhowifa when they spoke to each other in Anshaku.
Shrewd. The demons are cunning as well as ferocious.
Nukurren made the gesture of acceptance.
"I am alive and it seems I will remain so. That is unexpected."
"I am sorry about your eye," said the demon.
"It does not matter. It is a just punishment for my sins. It is only right that I should lose an eye, in payment for the Old Ones I helped enslave."
The demon opened his—mouth, Nukurren had learned, was the name for demon beaks (except the demons claimed their real name was ummun)—and began to speak; then fell silent.
After a pause, he said: "I would like to talk to you, but I cannot. I must return to the training field."
"You are a trainer of warriors?"
"I am the—" Nukurren made him repeat the term until she could pronounce it. Sharredzhenutumadzhoru.
She understood the meaning of the title at once. So I suspected. He is a centurion of the human legion. As was I, before I was sent to the Motherguard.
(The actual term which Nukurren used, of course, was not "centurion." It was gurren otoshoc, which translates roughly as "chief troop leader." But the essence was the same as the ancient Roman term, which, over the centuries, was duplicated in different words in different human languages. Whatever the word, it referred to the sinew of all great armies—top sergeant.)
"You are preparing for war?" asked Nukurren. Interpreting the strange movement of the demon's face as hesitation, suspicion, she made the gesture of indifference. Then repeated it in words, realizing that the demon might not understand the curl of her arms.
"It does not matter to me, Dzhenushkunutushen. I am no longer a warrior, nor do I care what happens to any realm on the Meat of the Clam. It is true that you are demons, but—" The gesture of resignation. "You can be no crueler than any gukuy."
Dzhenushkunutushen stood. "There is no reason not to tell you. We will be fighting the Utuku soon. Very soon, I think, and we are not well prepared."
"The Kiktu have been defeated, then?"
"Destroyed completely, by all accounts."
Nukurren made the gesture of regret.
"I am grieved to hear it. Of all the peoples I encountered, the Kiktu were the best. Barbarous and crude, but rarely evil."
"So it is said. But they are gone now. Slain in battle, or food for the Utuku."
"Go then, Sharredzhenutumadzhoru." The gesture of amusement. "I would not wish to see you in the bellies of the Utuku."
Dzhenushkunutushen turned away, saying: "Any Utuku who bites me will die horribly."
Nukurren appreciated the humor of the remark. Then, after further thought, wondered if it was a joke.
Two days later, the white demon reappeared in the hospital. He was accompanied by the female demon who was skilled in the healing arts, Mariyaduloshruyush.
"Mariya tells me that you are now able to move about," said Dzhenushkunutushen.
"That is true. Not easily, and not very well. But I am able to walk."
"I would like to ask you—" The female demon began rapidly speaking in the human language. Enagulishuc, it was called. Nukurren thought she was displeased.
"She is angry with me," explained Dzhenushkunutushen.
"Why?"
"Because what I wish to ask of you will not be good for your health."
"Ask."
The female demon left abruptly, after making that odd motion of spreading her arms which Nukurren suspected was the demon equivalent of the gesture of disgruntled acceptance.
"I would like to ask you to come to the training field and observe."
"Why?"
"You are the best gukuy warrior we have ever encountered. I think you could teach us much. Yoshef—he is the" (Nukurren made him repeat the term until she grasped it) "kapitanu of our army—did not like the idea. He is suspicious of you. But I insisted."
"Why?"
The demon paused. Two small, bright blue demon eyes stared into one large, iron gray gukuy eye. Then:
"You know why—Sharredzhenutumadzhoru."
&nbs
p; Three days later, feeling her health returning quickly, Nukurren went to the training field. She was accompanied by Ertatu, but Nukurren had no need of her guidance to find the way. The harsh sounds of demon voices were the only guide she needed. Much harsher sounding than usual. It was the demon battle language, she knew.
At the edge of the open field, Nukurren squatted and observed the demons racing back and forth in complex maneuvers. It took her some time to separate the logic of the actions from the sheer dazzling display of speed. By now, of course, she had come to understand the demon way of moving, and so they no longer seemed to flicker. Still, they were so fast; so agile; so—different.
And then, as she watched, not so different. They were practicing tactical maneuvers, and once Nukurren became accustomed to the blinding speed of the demons, she was eventually able to discern the basic patterns of the exercises.
Nukurren's only previous experience with the demons in combat had been the attack on the slave caravan. That episode had been too chaotic for her to have made any assessment of the demons' tactical methods. Now, seeing those methods displayed in training exercises, Nukurren was puzzled by what she saw.
Eventually, the demons paused in their exercises and made that bizarre folding motion with their bodies which enabled them to rest on the ground. The word for that in Enagulishuc, Nukurren had learned, was sitting. She was fascinated to see water (at least, she thought it was water) dripping down the faces of the demons, and quickly deduced that such was the demon method of eliminating excess heat. It seemed bizarre to her, as well as messy and slightly disgusting. Gukuy expelled excess heat through increased evaporation in their breath.
Soon, Dzhenushkunutushen approached and sat down facing her.
"What do you think?" he asked.
Nukurren considered her reply. It would be unwise to offend the demon. He, and to some extent his lover Ludumila, had been the only demons to show some signs of friendship toward Nukurren and Dhowifa. On the other hand . . .
Nukurren decided. Whatever else, Dzhenushkunutushen was gurren otoshoc, and thus entitled to respect.
"A question. How many of you will mobilize for war with the Utuku?"