“You have never heard a song? Perhaps because I have never sung one for you. I remember one that Esetta* used to sing.”
He sang hoarsely, disturbed by memories.
Nadaske broke off suddenly, sat staring sightlessly across the water, seeing only memories.
Kerrick had heard the song before, in the hanale where the males had been imprisoned. He had not understood it then. He did now, knew all there was to know about death on the beaches.
“Did someone swim on the beach and drown?” Arnwheet asked, aware of the unhappiness in the song, but not understanding it. Nadaske turned an eye in his direction, but did not speak.
“Do you eat well?” Kerrick asked. “If you are tired of fish I can bring meat…” He grew silent when he realized that Nadaske was not listening.
Arnwheet ran over and took Nadaske by one of his thumbs and shook it. “Aren’t you going to finish the song?”
Nadaske looked down at the boy, then signed inability. “It is a very sad song and one I should not have sung.” He carefully pulled his thumb free and looked towards Kerrick. “But this feeling has been growing since I have been here. What is to become of me? Why am I here?” The weariness with which he spoke muffled his motions, but his meaning was clear.
“You are here because we are efensele and I brought you here,” Kerrick said, worried. “I could not leave you alone back there.”
“Perhaps you should have. Perhaps I should have died when Imehei died. For two there was something. For one there is nothing.”
“We are here, Nadaske. We are your efenburu now. Arnwheet has many things to learn that only you can teach him.”
Nadaske stirred and thought about this, and when he answered some of the great sadness was gone.
“What you say is true. This is a very small efenburu of only three, but that is superior/magnified to being alone. I will think hard and I will remember a better song. There must be one.” His body moved as he thought of the songs he knew, searching for an appropriate one.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
efendasi’esekeistaa belekefeneleiaa, deenke deedasorog beleksorop eedeninsu*.
The spirit of life, Efeneleiaa, is the supreme Eistaa of the City of Life and we are citizens and beings in this city.
As she walked the sunny pathway between the tall trees, Enge felt very much at peace with her surroundings. The trials of her life were part of the past, remote memories of cruelty and death. The present was warm and bright, the future hopefully so as well. When she entered the ambesed these emotions were in her walk and the movements of her body. The others already there saw this and were pleased.
“Share your thoughts, Enge,” Satsat asked, “for we can see they are the finest.”
“Not fine — just simple. As the sun warmed me my memories warm you. As I looked at our city I realized how far we have come. Think about it and join my pleasure. First there was Ugunenapsa and she was alone. She was the creator and her Eight Principles changed the world. Then came the time when a few of us believed what she taught, and for our beliefs we were condemned. Many of our sisters died, and there were the days when death seemed to be the fate awaiting all of us. But we kept our belief in Ugunenapsa always before us and it has now come to pass that we live in the world created by our beliefs. This city of beauty surrounds us, we work in harmony, those who would see us destroyed are distant and unaware of our existence. As we gather this morning in affirmation of our beliefs we can see about us the proof that our faith was not misplaced. We are between the thumbs of Ugunenapsa and find peace there.”
She looked in the direction of the eistaa’s place, as they all did, and raised her clamped thumbs.
“We are between her thumbs,” she said and all the others present repeated the gesture.
This ceremony had come about in a most natural way and it greatly pleased them all. Those who had been chosen to lead in the city’s labors met each morning here in the ambesed to discuss the work of the day, the most natural thing to do, since this was the unchanging ritual of all Yilane cities. Even though the eistaa’s place remained empty they still gathered before it. Someone had remarked upon the bare and sunwarmed wood and, with sudden insight, Enge had observed that it was not empty for it was Ugunenapsa’s place. Efeneleiaa, the spirit of life, was the eistaa of this new city and ruled invisibly from within this ambesed. Now when they gathered they took strength from the empty wood knowing that it was not empty at all.
The quiet of this satisfying yet simple ceremony was fractured by Far!’s sound of attention to speaking. Before she could say any more Elem broke in.
“Matter of urgency, necessity to speak first. The uruketo hungers. I must take it into the ocean for some days so that it may feed.”
“Do it today, when you leave here,” Enge said.
“Matters of equal urgency,” Far! said, “to be discussed before departure of uruketo.”
“No,” Elem said with great firmness. “The safety and health of the creature comes first, priority ahead of any discussions.”
“Perfectly phrased, content of wisdom,” Ambalasei said as she walked slowly across the ambesed towards them. “I have noted often before that the predilection here for talking far outweighed the physical realities of life.”
She passed by and settled down comfortably in the eistaa’s place against the warm wood. If she was aware of the murmur of consternation that swept the Daughters she ignored it. She knew of the current superstition, therefore enjoyed sitting metaphorically in the invisible Ugunenapsa’s lap.
“It was of this unbeliever that I wished to speak,” Far! said with modifiers of distaste.
Shocked silence followed these bold words and Ambalasei’s crest stirred and flared with color. But before she could reply Enge broke in quickly, hoping to forestall another battle of wills.
“Ambalasei grew this city and it is named for her. You have no cause to speak of her in this insulting manner.”
“Cause enough,” Far! said, still speaking in the rudest possible way. “I have given this very much thought so you must all understand that I do not speak out impetuously. As we do not enjoy yesterday’s sun during this day’s rain, so do we not praise yesterday’s victories in the face of tomorrow’s failures.”
“If there is a point of any intelligence behind these ambiguities — make it,” Ambalasei said with modifiers of even greater insult. “Though I doubt it greatly.”
“You speak truth when you speak of your doubt,” Far! said, her large eyes glowing with the intensity of her feelings. “For you are the great doubter. You sit now in Ugunenapsa’s place and would have us think that you are superior to her. You are not. You block her will. You have removed the Sorogetso from this place and they were our future which is her future.”
“The Sorogetso, Daughter of Dissension, are no part of your sisterhood nor will they ever be.”
“Not now — but they were our hope. From their future efenburu of elininyil would have come the daughters
