Earthfall (Homecoming) (31 page)

“The Old Ones ask you to forgive us for our mistake. We did not know you then, but we know you now. Through these two brave and virtuous men we know you. Through the healing of pTo’s wing you know us. Let the four of us dwell among you. But first, let Iguo come forward to join her husband. Come and see, Iguo, that his body is whole, that it is truly pTo that we have brought back to you.”

They waited then, doing nothing, saying nothing except for pTo’s and Poto’s occasional murmurs of reassurance. Patience. Have patience. This is a difficult thing, for them to decide whether to let Iguo come to us.

She came, fluttering awkwardly under the branches of the nearer trees until she reached the clearing. Her awkwardness, they soon saw, was because two infants clung to the fur of her chest, unbalancing her as she flew.

pTo gasped in surprise, while Poto sang in delight. “Sons,” he sang. “The wife of the broken one gave him sons while he healed. Now his joy is doubled and doubled again, for he returns to the woman he left as a wife and finds her now as a mother.”

pTo leapt from Luet’s head and landed before his wife. The two of them spoke softly, rapidly, the music of their voices beautiful together even though none of the humans could make sense of the words they said. As Iguo inspected pTo’s body, especially the wing that had once been torn, pTo in his turn examined the two babies that she left in the grass at his feet. They could stand, even if they could not fly, and though their words were halting and babyish, they knew to call him Father, and pTo wept shamelessly to be able to touch them with his fingertips and his tongue, to have them climb up his body and frolic under the canopy of his wings.

At last Iguo turned back to the waiting angels. “What cannot be healed has been healed,” she said. “What was lost forever has been found. Therefore let that which cannot be forgiven be forgiven, and let friendship bind the guests who have come to us, weave them into our hearts and our families, our nests and our trees.”

It was the formal proposal that pTo and Poto had primed them to wait for. And now came the vote. Only a few dropped out of the trees to the ground to show their displeasure or their misgivings. And when the voting was finished, all those who had said yes by remaining in the trees now took flight, rising over the clearing, swarming and frolicking and singing, then darting down, a few at a time, to touch the humans, to see them with hands and feet as well as with their eyes, to hear their voices as they struggled with the difficult language.

“Dapai,” they called Nafai, because they could not pronounce the nasal and fricative of his name. “Quet,” they called Luet, now using the deep guttural plosive as their substitute for the unpronounceable
L
. “Ittib” was Issib, and “Kucheed” was Hushidh. pTo had complained that the Old Ones seemed to have chosen all their names to make them impossible for the people to say them.

But Dapai, Quet, Ittib, and Kucheed were close enough. The angels had spoken their names and welcomed them. With the chair tagging along behind, they followed the soaring, swarming angels down into the valley that was their home.

Vas meant no harm. He was simply an observant man, and a compassionate one. In the months that had passed since Elemak brutalized that flying nightmare they called an angel and Eiadh repudiated him in front of everybody, Vas noticed that the chill between Elemak and Eiadh seemed not to have thawed. Indeed, as far as he could tell the two of them were not speaking to each other, and Elemak managed to spend almost no time in the same house with his wife. Not that Vas normally kept track of people’s comings and goings. It was simply a matter of happening to observe that Elemak was staying in the ship with the digger hostage, learning to hum and hiss when he spoke, and poor Eiadh was without a male companion in her life.

Well, Vas was nearly as lonely. Sevet, his dear wife, who had regularly betrayed him back in Basilica, now had betrayed him again by growing thick-bellied from bearing so many children. Worse, she had none of the bright charm that he had loved back when he had contracted to marry her for a few years. In those days she had been a celebrity, a singer, popular and well-loved. It had been quite a coup for Vas to be the man on her arm.

But she hadn’t sung in years. Not since that night when Kokor came home to find her husband Obring bouncing away on Sevet’s nubile loins. Koya, acting more out of fitful temper than a sense of justice, lashed out at the person she hated most in all the world, her sister Sevet. The blow took her in the larynx, and Sevet hadn’t sung a note since. Not that the damage was physical. She could speak, and not in a monotone, either. And she hummed lullabies to the children as they were born. But singing, her voice full out and strong, that was over. And so, of course, was the fame in whose bright shadow Vas had so reveled. So there was nothing much attractive about Sevet anymore. Unfortunately, however, she was Rasa’s daughter and they all got caught up in the nonsense that trapped them into coming out in the desert and so the marriage had not ended even though any spark of love that had once been between them ended on the night she betrayed him with her sister’s pathetic miserable stupid loathsome worm of a husband, Obring.

So Vas was as lonely as Eiadh, and for similar reasons—both had discovered that their spouses were moral cretins, incapable of even a spark of human decency. Vas had endured his loveless marriage and even sired three children on the bitch and no one guessed how much he hated even to touch her. And it wasn’t just her thickening waist or the loss of their fame-gilt life in Basilica. It was the image of her legs wrapped around Obring’s white naked flaccid hairy thighs and knowing that she didn’t even do it to betray Vas but rather to spite her vicious untalented little sister Kokor. Vas no doubt didn’t even enter into Sevet’s thoughts at all as she….

Many years ago, it was many long years ago, and a hundred years of interstellar flight, not to mention years in the desert and another year, almost, in this new world, but to Vas it was yesterday, perpetually yesterday, and so Vas remembered very clearly the vow he had made when Elemak stopped him from killing Obring and Sevet to redeem his honor and manhood. He had vowed then that someday, perhaps when Elemak was old and feeble and helpless, Vas would put things back in balance. Vas would kill Obring and Sevet and then, the blood still fresh on his hands, he would come to Elemak and Elemak would laugh at him and say, You still remember? For
that
, so long ago, you killed them? And Vas would say to him, Elemak, it wasn’t long ago. It was in this lifetime. And so it is in this lifetime that I will restore the balance. Them, for their betrayal. You, for stopping me from taking this vengeance hot. When it’s cold, it takes more blood to make it work. Yours now, Elemak. Die at my hands, the way my pride died at yours.

Oh, hadn’t he imagined it ten thousand times since then? Over and over again, when Elemak tried to kill Nafai or Volemak and they stopped him, battered him down, humiliated him, Vas had watched them, saying silently, Don’t kill him. Save him for me. Ten thousand times he had imagined the way Obring would whimper and plead for mercy, and Sevet would scornfully disdain him, not believing he would kill her until that look of unspeakable surprise as the knife went in—oh, it would have to be a knife, a weapon of the hand, to feel the flesh break under the pressure of the stabbing blade, to feel the steel slide into the blood-lubricated flesh, probing inside until it found the heart and the blood gouted out under his hand, spasming up his arm in the last climax of Sevet’s miserable life….

The day will come, thought Vas. But first, why not prepare for it properly? Elemak thought that it was nothing for another man to sleep with my wife. Won’t it be right and just, then, as he lies dying, for me to tell him in his last moments of consciousness that, Oh yes, Elemak, my friend, you remember what my wife did to me? Well, your wife did it to you, too, and with me. And Elemak will look into my eyes and know that I am speaking the truth and then he’ll realize that I wasn’t a passive creature after all, was never the mindless tool he thought I was for so many years.

The only trouble with that dream was Eiadh herself. Even if she wasn’t sleeping with Elemak, that didn’t mean she’d spare a thought for Vas. He wasn’t a fool. He was an observant man, that’s all. He knew that this was a time of vulnerability for her. Loneliness. And Vas could be compassionate. He would not come to Eiadh in anger or seeking vengeance on Elemak, no, not at all. He would come to her as a friend, offer a strong arm of comfort, and one thing would lead to another. Vas had read books. He knew this sort of thing happened. Why not to him? Why not with Eiadh, whose waist had
not
thickened despite bearing twice as many children as Sevet? Eiadh, who still sang, not with the power of a famous entertainer like Sevet, but with a lustrous intimacy, a voice that could waken all the longing in a man’s soul, ah, yes, Eiadh, I have heard you singing and I have known that someday that voice would moan, that sweet throat would arch backward as your body shuddered in response to mine.

“Yes?” asked Eiadh.

He hadn’t even clapped his hands. She must have seen him coming. How awkward. “Eiadh,” he said.

“Yes?” she said again.

“May I come in?” asked Vas.

“Is something wrong?” asked Eiadh. He could see her taking mental inventory of her children.

“Not that I know of,” said Vas. “Except that I’m concerned about you.”

Eiadh looked confused. “Me?”

“Please, may I come in?” he asked.

She laughed but let him through the door. “Of course, Vas, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. Except that I’m tired all the time, but that’s the same complaint that everyone else has. If you’ve come to cut the vegetables for supper, then I’m delighted.”

“Do you really need help with the vegetables?” asked Vas.

“No, that was a figure of speech. I’m actually sewing. Volemak insists that we all learn to sew with these awful bone needles. They’re so thick that with every stitch they open gaping holes in the fabric but he insists that someday there’ll be no more steel ones and so—well, it makes no sense to
me
, not even in the desert did we have to—I’m boring you, aren’t I?”

“I’m sorry,” said Vas. “Not boring me. But I was listening more to your voice than your words, I hope you’ll forgive me. Elemak is a lucky man, to have a wife whose common speech is so like music.”

She looked puzzled at the compliment, but then laughed lightly. “I don’t think Elemak feels very lucky,” she said.

“Then Elemak is a fool,” said Vas. “For him to turn away from such goodness and beauty as—”

“Vas, are you trying to seduce me?” asked Eiadh.

Flustered, Vas could only deny it. “No, I can’t—did I lead you to think that I—oh, this is embarrassing. I came to
talk
. I’ve been lonely and I thought perhaps you—but if you think it’s not proper for us to be alone in the house here—”

“It’s all right,” said Eiadh. “I know my virtue is safe with you.”

Vas put on his best wry smile. “Everyone’s virtue is safe with me, apparently.”

“Poor Vas,” she said. “You and I have something in common.”

“Do we?” he asked. Was it possible she felt toward him as he felt toward her? Perhaps he shouldn’t have denied his seductive intent so quickly and emphatically.

“I mean besides the obvious,” she said. “It seems that both of us are fated to play secondary roles in our own autobiographies.”

Vas laughed because it seemed that she was waiting for him to laugh. “By which you mean…” he said.

“Oh, just that we both seem to be buffeted here and there by the choices that other people make. Why in the world were
we
ever brought aboard a starship, can you think of a reason? Just a matter of chance. Falling in love with the wrong person on the wrong day at the wrong point in history.”

“Yes,” said Vas. “Now I understand you. But can’t two bit players like ourselves nevertheless make our own little plays, on a small stage in the wings, while the famous actors make orotund speeches before the great audience of history? Can’t there be some kind of happiness snatched in the darkness, where the only audience is ourselves?”

“I’m not the snatch-in-the-darkness type,” said Eiadh. “I married stupidly and I knew it almost at once. So did you, I’m afraid. But that doesn’t mean that I’ll jeopardize the future of my children, not to mention my own future, for the sake of some kind of consolation or vengeance. I take what happiness I can in the light, out in the open. Loving my children. You have good children yourself, Vas. Take comfort in them.”

“The love of my children isn’t the love that I hunger for,” he said. He dared to be direct with her because he realized that she saw through all his attempts at clever indirection anyway.

“Vas,” she said kindly. “I have admired you for so long, because you bear everything with such patience. I no longer have any problem knowing which kind of strength, yours or Elemak’s, is the better kind. But part of what I admire is that you are able to bear it all without flinching. Let’s not become like they are. Let’s not stoop low enough that we finally deserve what they’re doing to us.”

Vas was not an unobservant man. He noticed right away that she seemed to be referring to something recent, not ancient history from back in Basilica. She seemed to assume that he already knew something that he did not know. “You will never deserve what Elemak is doing to you,” he said, hoping that it would prompt a certain response.

And it did. “You don’t deserve what Sevet is doing to you, either,” she answered. “You’d think she would have learned her lesson long ago, but some women learn nothing, while others learn everything.”

Vas’s head spun. He had dwelt so long on the memory of the years-ago betrayal with Obring that it hadn’t crossed his mind that Sevet might be taking someone else into her bed. Yet there were many opportunities. When he was out in the fields, taking his turn; when he was standing watch; when he was off those two times with Zdorab, using the ship’s launch to explore and map the surrounding country. Sevet might have—but surely even she would not—not a second time, not after she lost so much, lost her voice….

But then, I wasn’t the one who took her voice from her, was I? That was Kokor, and then we were out of Basilica by the time Sevet’s voice healed. Sevet might know to fear Kokor’s temper, but what has ever taught her to fear mine?

The time has come, Vas realized. This time there would be no patience. This time there would be no Elemak to stay his hand. Sevet and Obring would die, and then he would turn to Elemak and rid Eiadh of the burden of that monstrous husband forever. Then, with all impediments out of the way,
then
she would turn to the man who had freed her.

Or not. Who really cared whether anyone loved him or approved of him at all? He wasn’t trying to win anyone’s love or admiration except his own. He had been too long without it, and it was time to get it back.

“Hard to believe that she could still be taken in by Obring,” said Vas. “You’d think she would see through him now, when he’s outgrown his boyish charm—as if he ever had any.”

She laughed, but there was a puzzled look on her face. Now, what could that mean?

It meant that it wasn’t Obring. Sevet was being unfaithful, but not with Obring.

Then he remembered what she said before. About how they had something in common. “I mean besides the obvious,” she said. What was the obvious? So obvious that only Vas had missed it. Everyone must know. Everyone.

She must have seen the realization on his face, because it was her turn to look stricken. “Oh, Vas, I thought you knew, I thought that’s why you came here, to get even with them. But I wasn’t angry, you see, because I don’t want him in my bed anyway, so I don’t much care where he puts his sweaty body and I thought…I don’t know why but I just assumed that you had the same attitude but I see that you don’t, you didn’t know, and I’m so sorry, I….”

He didn’t hear her finish because he got up and left her house. Elemak’s house.

“Don’t do anything foolish, Vas,” she said softly. And then, because she knew perfectly well that there was a very good chance he
would
do something foolish, she went in search of help. Volemak had to know that there was a quarrel brewing. He would know how to put a stop to it. Eiadh should have done this long ago. Adultery was a terrible thing in their tiny community—Elemak himself had laid down that law in the desert years before. Eiadh had never complained because she honestly was glad not to have to have him close to her, with those angry hands that had broken a helpless innocent being, those hands that had brutalized and terrorized everyone aboard the ship. Better to sleep alone and dream of the only real man she had ever known. A man who once, when he was a boy, had loved her, or at least longed for her. A man who now didn’t so much as look at her with pleasure.

With all her childish longing for Nafai, it had never occurred to her that the reason Vas hadn’t complained about Elemak’s and Sevet’s adultery was because he didn’t know. How could he not know? Were men so much more blind than women? Or did he imagine that just because he might have stopped wanting Sevet, her own sexual desires would naturally just wither away?