Karbadan Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

At dawn they stopped a nomad's tent near the great Salt Sea, where an incredulous old Kabard gave them a breakfast of oat porridge and fried rabbit, and even a spare set of clothes.  Then they set off toward Valmarkum.  They came to the great wall of mountain five days later, and crossed it with crude ropes and toeholds, ignoring the winding trade road that extended from Berenza all the way south to Tregonëv.
They had no more money, but that made little difference: there were no shops in these mountains, just isolated heepherders' huts and the deserted cabins of city folk who thought to retire to the mountains, couldn't raise a sprig of corn, and then thought better of it.  They drank from cold mountain streams, and ate the roots of gnarly plants stewed in makeshift pots, and an occasional bird or mountain rat that Etlzonat managed to snare.  Once, as they looked down at the road, they saw the gold and scarlet banners of Gorban's army.
"That idiot!  He's invading Valmarkum!"
"Mnatkrim ktal mnephranäla mnakpran val mkor aluú!" Etlzonat exclaimed.  "Bar u tav! Häz!"
"I beg your pardon?" Domojon said.
He smiled.  "This is being my private language which I record into my datarod."  He explained that while the Val spoke simple languages of short, simple words -- Lnavo, Nralao, Tsaav
-- they each spoke an individual language as well, secret, sacred, used only in solitude.  Formerly they used it for muttering prayers to the gods in the darkness of their beehive-houses; now they wrote long entries in journals, or recorded them on disks.  When they died, their friends would copy their words and play them back on their own dark nights.  The Lnavo word for fish, for instance was rtán; for the mud-dwelling catfish of the rivers, rtanshvárhha, fish with feathers.  But in the secret language, the same fish might be called mharrtán, fish of my fifth year, or rtansemklav-héraktzav, fish of my glorious memory with red wine, or ezertirbzanërtan, fish that I caught in Bzan.  Words, he said, should be frozen memories, true only to the person who had experienced them.
"You, my friends-of-the-arm, friends so close I will touch, must one day be reading the words of my private language."  He glanced warily toward the south.
"Certainly," said Akrava.  "One day."
"And that day is being soon."
"What are you talking about?" asked Domojon.
The Val touched Akrava lightly on the mane, and then placed his hand on Domojon's waist.  "Friends-of-the-arm," he said softly, "I think that I will not be living to see the end of this journey."
They crossed Valmarkum quickly, for there were no settlements, no people -- none visible, at least, save for a few scattered travelers on the huge flat-stone highways.  Etlzonat said that they were in a well-populated region, but no Valak had any interest in showing off his beehive-house, or even of making it visible to strangers.  Gorban's army marched a few miles ahead of them; Domojon wondered what they had found to conquer.
At the height of midsummer they came to Knumin on the shore of the Sea of Salt.  North lay Lstulai, the capital -- and a mad godking.  West across two hundred miles of deep waveless ocean lay Hizoran: safe even for Kabards, if they declared themselves worshippers of dull Human gods.
"We could beg a ride on a ship, and cross to Hadorat in two days," Etlzonat said.
"A ship?" Akrava stared at his as if he were crazy.  "Kabards do not cross the water in anything but an airship, with several hundred feet of air protecting them from sea demons."
"Val sail all the time," said Domojon, "And so do the Humans.  There's really nothing to worry about."
So they rode on a white dove-eyed Human ship, their passage paid by sweeping the decks and polishing the broad brass steering-rods; and though Akrava spent most of his time on his bunk, moaning and clutching his stomach, they reached Hizoran fifteen days sooner than they would have on foot.
Hizoran was the second Human nation Domojon had seen, and he was subconsciously expecting a second Pelun: statues of Eluse on every corner, ricecakes, a strange musical language.  But the Humans of Hizoran were not Pelun; they did not even revere Eluse, and in fact tolerated no images of human or animal.  Their art was geometric lines and abstract shapes, and passage from their sacred texts in fantastic, unintelligible swirls.  Disdaining the vivid reds and greens of other Humans, they wore only black, black cloaks and sandals and thick black felt pants. On their heads, instead of the usual headbands, they wore black skullcaps.  They had no clans, such as the Elusivhir had; instead, their bare stone houses were occupied by couples, pyöhaim or nauhaim alone raising children that, according to the more puritanical Elusivhir, would be soulless monsters.  The Hizors seemed rather discouraged by that possibility: Domojon saw not a single smile during their sojourn.
As they walked through the capital city of Hádorat, Etlzonat seemed to overcome his disdain of crowds, for he puhed through the devout Humans and Kabards to bow down at every holy place and shrine.
"They don't seem much like Elusivhir to me," Akrava said, "And I'm no expert."
"The natives of Hizoran are not Elusivhir," Etlzonat said, looking around his with eyes half-closed in ecstasy.  "They're Vorhëdhir, People of the Way.  But from their roots came Elusivhir and Ortavhir and even the Human faith.  Pelun has the books, certainly, the thirty volumes of commentary on the Law, The Dreams and The Demons and the mystical poetry of Eluse Ssu. . . ."
"Not to mention The Mountain of Wisdom," Akrava offered.
"Yes, that."  Etlzonat glared at him.  "Strange that of all the monuments of Human culture you might have chosen to learn about, you picked a collection of fairy stories."
He shrugged.  "We had to read it in the nurture-towers.  In translation, of course."
"As I was saying, Pelun has the books, and Utëd Markum is. . . well, Utëd Markum, but Hizoran has the marble and plaster, the nuts and bolts of our religion."
They passed many Human soldiers with sinister-looking guns; they were not allowed to visit some shrines at all, and others excluded Akrava.  The native Hizors scurried about with dark anxious faces; only inquisitive children stared.  Helves in the shops were empty.  A placard announced that announced that, for the first time in ten thousand years, the gates of Hádorat would be closed during the Reading of the Law.  
The Tharhuren, or Reading of the Law, was a celebration of three holy dates: the day on which Vakhutha first heard the Way from Mothern Kamaval; and the day on which Folúi the Lawgiver moved with his family from Utëd Markum to Hizoran in the mountains; and the day on which the Seudar, a book holy to Vorhëdhir and Elusivhir and Ortavhir and Humanhir, was completed and set down on tablets of white steel.  The most important Human holiday after the Feast of the Enclosing, the Reading was an opportunity for bondings, memorial services, sermons, prophecies, dance festivals, concerts, and athletic competitions.  Three out of every five Vorhëdhir was there, plus hundreds of other Humans and Kabards who had braved the wars and rumors of war.  Many were not so devout as curious: Buiran, the Viceroy of the Elusivhir faith, and Arultúv, a Wanderling, had come from Ghandhëv and Ibari, respectively, to read the Law for the People of the Way.
Ten thousand wagging tongues were silent when Buiran and Arultúv stepped onto the smooth cinnamon-colored platform in the midst of the Lawn of Reckoning.  No one not of the Vorhëdhir had read the Law for five hundred years; but in these days of war, the last days of the world according to some, Vorhëdhir elders agreed that it was time for dialogue between the members of the three great Human religions.
"This is the Law," Buiran shouted, his voice high and clear. "This is the Law which was formed on the first day of creation, which was spoken by the first Human who awoke on a bed of yellow moss.  This is the Law, which has been handed down from soulparent to child, from clan to clanther to grandchild, during all the uncountable ages, and which will endure until the stars themselves are no more.  This is the Law: hear, Human people, and live!"
There was a slight rumbling in the distance, as if there a summer storm was approaching from across the Sea of Salt.
"Clan must not fight clan," Arultúv shouted. "This is the beginning of the law.
"Nation must not fight nation," Buiran shouted.
Overhead they could see tiny figures with stiff wings, like frozen birds in flight.
Arultúv was looking nervously into the air. "Tribe must not fight tribe," he said.
Suddenly a flock of Kabard airships was roaring overhead, and something like dark raindrops fell.  Strange fluttering bulbs . . . and attached by ropes, Kabard warriors!
"I think," he said, "That we'd better be going."
Buiran shuffled off the stage, and loudspeakers began to shout directions in a dozen Human languages.  Etlzonat ruhed them into the damp grass by a distant stone wall.
Kabards were dropping like hailstones now, expertly slipping out of their ropes and rushing at the crowd with red swords held high.  The sky above was bright with sunlight, and Domojon watched in horror as the ghostly droppers flahed their swords while still they were in the air.  Already the ground was littered with bodies, men and women and children.  Many were still alive, though bloodied and horribly distorted.  The Human guard, a few dozen at the most, was barracaded in front of the podium, slipping in shots with long gun-rods.  A few Kabards fell to the ground, but the air delivered still more.
"We're not going to hide again, are we?" Domojon whispered savagely.
"No one we care for is in danger," Etlzonat said.  "Why should we not be hiding?"
"Because I've had enough."  He crept cautiously through the grass, brushing it away with one hand, until he came to a dead Kabard, his face contorted in agony, his hands still grasping a sword.  His parachute had failed to open.   His body had been cruhed by his fall; dark blood flowed freely on the ground.  Domojon loosened the Kabard's antlered helmet, and put it on over his colindon.  It felt greasy, and smelled not musty, like old death, nor rotten, like new death, but alive still, as if the Kabard were still sweating and swearing and living.  He picked up his sword and tentatively bruhed it through the air.  Then he ran, leaping over bodies and round stones, into the heat of the battle.
Suddenly he saw Etlzonat fighting not ten feet beyond, two Kabards on each side.  So he wasn't heartless after all!  Domojon stole behind his and felled two men; but then another came upon them, his sword already dripping with dark Human blood.
"Domojon!  This way!  Jump up!" cried Akrava's voice, and suddenly he found herself in the seat of a steamcar.  Etlzonat jumped in beside them.
"Where did you get this?"
"Behind the stage.  I think it belongs to one of Buiran's entourage."
They drove behind the stage, to a delivery entrance, and then down the back alleys of Hadorat.  Buiran and Arultúv had already vanihed, no doubt into a Human airship that could fly them to safety.  Navigating the narrow streets with the skill of a city-dweller, Akrava brought them at last to the shore of the great Sea of Salt.  Fires burned on the water: a strange memorial, Domojon thought, to the sacrificed Human city.  Boats, pleasure boats and barges and steamliners, were crossing the sea to Firuun, to safety as the city fell.  Akrava led them along the docks until they came to a motorboat bobbing silently in the water; he leapt into the seat and started the engine.
The eastern wall of Hadorat was falling.  They pressed through the waters as fire burned on the water like a funeral pyre.
"We're not going to abandon Hadorat, are we?" asked Domojon.  "This city is holy to the Humans!"
"Who cares about the Humans?" Akrava exclaimed.
"It is holy as well to me!" Etlzonat said, staring dumbly.
A few rounded black hills rose to the north like islands in the chalky earth, and in the east, all they could see was the great green sea.  Now in the west they could see Hadorat from north to south, with thousands of towers of granite and black steel, and a sea of Kabards rumbling about like thunder about. Some carried torches; others flung iron spears and flaming arrows; and a few were mounting the black walls of Hadorat on wooden ladders.
Then they heard crashing like a hundred trees falling in the forest, and fire sprang up from inside Hadorat, rising in greasy tongues on the north side of the city.  Kabards leapt onto newly-opened causeways, prodded Humans into the rising flames. Then, on the highest tower of Hadorat, the royal banner of Rueboram was lowered, and the crimson banner of Kensor was raised.
"Hadorat is taken!" Akrava shouted.
The wind was stronger now, shrieking through the flames below, the fire of unconquerable Hizoran, blowing their boat faarther out onto the lake.
"My city is destroyed!" Etlzonat said. "Gone!"
Another of the broad walls crumbled in a cloud of dirt and flames.
Domojon glanced frantically at Akrava.  "Do you know where we're going?"
"Across the water," Akrava shouted.  "We can hide in Firuun wood until the destruction is over."
"Among the Ceraines?"
"Better them than Gorban's Kabards."
"No!"  Etlzonat shouted.  "We must be returning, and fighting for lost Hizoran!"
"We can do nothing here," cried Akrava.  "And if we were captured, we could do nothing anywhere."
They puhed through clear water for the rest of the afternoon, toward the distant green shore of Firuun.  They reached the shore at nearly dusk, fell exhausted onto the white sand beach near a copse of oak trees without bothering to look to the left or the right.  They slept under the open sky.
Domojon was awakened by a scraping in the brush and a chittering of voices.  He opened his eyes: five Ceraines were sitting on a low bare branch of a teryavhu tree, watching with a slow, patient interest.
They were very small, none taller than an adult Human or a Kabard of twelve summers, and very lean and angry-looking.  Thick brown fur covered their arms and legs, and their chests were as hairy as the Humans'.  Their eyes were oval, a dark clay-red, and their ears were long and curved.  They wore only loinclothes of a rough brown cloth, on which they hung various tools for digging and carving.  None carried a datarod.
"Humph!  Kabards!" one said in Elusan. "Kabards bad for business!"
His companions brandihed spears.
"And you make the land not god land!  You unclean!"
One of the band, who wore a green stone on a chain around his neck, jumped to the ground and walked slowly around Akrava, his nose wrinking and twisting as if he smelled something bad.  "U nariu an? Hu tel an?" he said in his own language, and then, in Elusan, "Who you are?  And what happens to Hizoran of the Humans?"
"Could you speak Tilach?" asked Domojon. "We're from the south, and we do not speak Elusan well."
"No!  We speak no Kabard language!"  But he did flash a quick, crooked smile.  "Tell me, Human, what is native language for you tribe?"
"None," said Domojon.  "Whatever language is spoken in the country we're in."
"But in your own country?"
"We have no country."
He grinned.  "Well, your country now is Firuun."  He looked at his with wide-eyed interest.  With blood lust?  Domojon had no idea what range of emotions Ceraine might feel.  He had heard that they were vampires, ghouls, with no morals, no language -- but no, he chided herself, those are fairy tales.
"I am Durüshálnefthalyö," said the Ceraine, "Or you can say Shalen.  I not king of this people, but I speak the languages of Humans, so I talk to you.  Human nation is fallen?"
"Yes.  And the Kabards will be coming here any day now."
"Hah, not here!  Kabards like not trees, except for tall Kabard there does."  He frowned, and then, suddenly, like a child, he brightened.  "My job here is Speaker to the Living.  I beguile night hours with tales of Ceraine, Human, Keftuin, even Terrans.  You like Terrans?  Would like to hear David Kópperfilëd maybe, or The Wor of the Worlëds?"
"Perhaps some other time."  Domojon was astonihed at his nonchalance.  "We have just fled from great peril, and. . . ."
"I ask because I want to hear Human stories.  I know none, because no Human have ever come this far, you see."
"Certainly.  I'll help you if you'll help us.  We need food, and a place to stay for the night.  My companions may be hurt."
He made a curious gesture with his hand.  "Runoens set up camps in the north, food, place to stay for those who flee Hizoran, yes?  But we don't go there.  Back to Aru village now, get well, tell stories, okay?  Or perhaps we make you tell stories, not get well?"  He grinned evilly, and touched his spear.
Domojon took a deep breath to calm herself.  "I'd be happy to tell you stories, Shalen, as soon as you provide what we need."
"Okay, okay -- we go now."  He spoke in his own tongue to his companions.  They roused Etlzonat and Domojon and escorted them off into the woods.  And, while the city of Hadorat burned and died across the lake, Domojon told the ragged Ceraine named Shalen about Aramkai Roham, the City called Morningstar at the top of the world.