Unexpected Stories (7 page)

There was no similarity of coloring among the chiefs, thus there could be no challenging, no fighting no matter what offenses were committed. Tahneh had to keep order in a way that was not necessary in the more homogeneous council of judges. Her one rule was that an insult to another chief was an insult to herself. Her fairness in punishing offenders, fighter and nonfighter alike, enforced unusual equality in a society where normally, no person was equal. Now Tahneh waited while her chiefs, under this protection, asked their questions.

“This is our home, Rohkohn Hao,” the artisan said. “While there’s still water, we should stay. The river might begin to fill again the day after we leave.”

“And it might not fill again at all,” said Tahneh. “We all know of dry places that were once riverbeds.”

“But our river isn’t dry. No one is dying of thirst.”

“No one is dying of thirst
yet
,” said Tahneh. “But how long will it be before we are? Or will we die of hunger?” She looked at the farmer. She had spoken with him privately several times on this matter and knew exactly how bad the crop situation was.

“We’re harvesting now,” the farmer said bitterly. “What there is to harvest. What the sun didn’t kill, and what we had water enough to irrigate.” He let his bright green fade to yellow. “There isn’t enough to get us through the next year.”

Tahneh let them all absorb that, then said, “Much of the game has migrated too.”

Everyone looked at the chief hunter, who was also beginning to yellow.

“Fish has always been a delicacy with us,” Tahneh went on. “There has never been enough of it.”

“There could be more,” said Ehreh, “if both hunters and judges concentrate on it. And perhaps our methods of fishing need improvement.”

“The methods work,” defended the chief hunter. “It is not our fault that the sea here is less productive than the land. Send your judges. They’ll learn.”

“There is no fault,” said Tahneh. “We have a drought and we have to move. That’s all.”

“But we’re desert people,” said the chief hunter in a different tone. “Since the empire broke apart, our ancestors have lived on the desert. We should find another home here, where we belong.”

All three of the others flashed white agreement at once.

“This is our
home
,” asserted the artisan again. “It may be that we must leave this dwelling for a while, but why should we leave the desert? What do we know about living in the mountains?”

“What we don’t know, we’ll learn,” said Tahneh. “We have an offer of sanctuary in the mountains. Which desert tribe would make us such an offer?” The drought was extensive and her chiefs knew it. No desert tribe would be likely to welcome refugees now.

“We’re not hungry yet,” said the hunter. “We’re not weak. We don’t have to go begging for what we need. We can take it.”

“So.” Tahneh looked at Ehreh. This was something that she had discussed with him and all but decided to do—until now. “If we had to take from others to survive, we would do it. But now it’s not necessary, and the fighters we would have lost need not die.”

The farmer spoke up. “But with two Hao, we wouldn’t lose many. Our luck would change.”

Again there was general agreement.

Tahneh had been waiting for this. It was an expression of the kind of belief, the kind of faith that made the people consider the Hao so essential. The Hao were supposed to possess some special ability to bring good to their people. It was not just that they tried to give good government, promote unity. Their mere presence was supposed to assure the people of good luck, fulfillment of their needs. Why else would a captive Hao, a bitter cripple, be better than no Hao at all?

“Our luck
has
changed,” said Tahneh smoothly. “Because of the Tehkohn Hao, we’ll have a new home with game, water, fertile land. You’ll have two Hao working together for you willingly. And the toll that a captive Hao would have taken on his captors needs never be paid. There will be no more fighting, no more deaths.”

“No more deaths until we reach Diut’s mountains,” said Ehreh. “Until his people can overwhelm us.”

Tahneh had to look at him to understand that although he faced her, he was actually speaking to Diut, testing the young Hao as well as expressing his doubts.

Diut spoke up at once. “I have already given my word that my people will accept you peacefully.” He came over to stand beside Tahneh and face the chief judge. “You’ll take your places among the Tehkohn and rise as high as your ability and your coloring will take you.
Or you will remain as low as your judgment can keep you.
” Diut had not missed Ehreh’s too-familiar use of his name rather than his title. And Ehreh could not have missed the warning in Diut’s response. Tahneh watched silently, curious, as Ehreh was curious to see how Diut handled people who were not blue—how far they could push him. She would prevent fighting, if necessary, though she did not think it would be necessary. Diut knew that he was on trial before her chiefs. He might even realize that Ehreh was testing him. At any rate, he would not be eager to kill the Rohkohn chief judge if such a thing could be avoided. Ehreh would advance as far as Diut permitted, then with equal ease, retreat back as far as Diut pressed him. It was no dishonor for a non-Hao to give ground before a Hao. And Ehreh would find out what he wanted to know.

Ehreh looked at Diut with respect but without fear. “Tehkohn Hao,” he said quietly. “I don’t question your word. I only wonder … if you can be certain that your people will be as willing as you are to keep the promise that you’ve made.”

Tahneh watched Ehreh now, remembering how little confidence Diut had inspired in her earlier. It was important that her chiefs not feel what she felt. Diut had to be able to display Hao superiority whether he believed in it or not. He spoke mildly.

“I’m an acknowledged Hao, chief judge. Why do you question my ability to govern?”

Just right, Tahneh thought. Retreat was the only escape from such a question.

“I … spoke too quickly, Tehkohn Hao.” Ehreh’s voice was lower. “I did question and I had no right. I meant no offense.”

“A chief judge should be less careless,” said Diut. “Speak carelessly again and I’ll accept your words as challenge.”

Ehreh flashed white assent. Then, as his coloring darkened back to normal, the door opened and several judges carried Jeh and Cheah into the room. The two were still securely tied. Their judge captors placed them on the floor before Tahneh and left silently. When they were gone, Tahneh spoke again to her chiefs.

“You’ve all heard my decision. We’re going. You will inform the people.”

The four accepted this, understood that the meeting was over. When Tahneh, by her silence and muted coloring, had encouraged questions and argument, the chiefs had questioned and argued. Now, however, her tone told them that she had made her decision and their protests ended. Three of them filed out at once. Even Ehreh stopped only long enough to ask if he could speak with her later. At her “Yes,” he turned and followed the others.

As they left, Tahneh went to one of the looms and from beside it took a weaver’s knife. Handling the knife, she remembered that nonfighters had occasionally been known to use such tools on each other in anger. Being nonfighters, they had no standards of combat, no moral obligation to restrict themselves to only the body’s natural weapons. Thus it would have been possible for a nonfighter to try to use such a tool on Diut. It would have been an act of suicidal desperation, but it would have been possible. Tahneh was glad it had not happened. She would have found it much harder to bargain with a Hao who had just killed one of the weakest of her tribe. She handed the knife to Diut.

He took it wordlessly and cut his huntress and judge free of their bonds.

The two got up stiffly, rubbing arms and legs. They said nothing, apparently waiting for Diut to tell them what had happened. He told them briefly and as he spoke, Tahneh watched their reactions with special interest. Jeh and Cheah were to play an important part in her plans. It would be dangerous if they were actively hostile to the idea of a tie between the two tribes. But there was no sign of hostility in their manner.

“And you have already given your word in this, Tehkohn Hao?” asked Jeh when Diut was finished.

“So,” Diut answered.

Jeh seemed to think about it. “There’s room,” he said. “There’s food and water.” He glanced at Tahneh. “And there are plenty of contentious fighters jealous of the places that they’ve already made for themselves.”

“One fighter may challenge another,” said Tahneh.

But apparently she had missed something in the young judge’s seemingly innocent words—something Diut caught. Diut spoke up quickly.

“That’s so. But the three of us, Jeh, will hold no grudge for what has happened to us here.” He looked from Jeh to Cheah, and Tahneh saw by the looks that they gave back that he had guessed right. The two had been roughly handled, unfairly subdued by several Rohkohn, then humiliatingly displayed. Apparently they felt that they had debts to pay. Diut spoke again firmly.

“It should be clear to both of you that I’m buying our lives with this promise of sanctuary for the Rohkohn. And the Rohkohn Hao is buying assured survival for her people.”

The two flashed white assent—less grudgingly than Tahneh would have expected. The huntress spoke for the first time.

“Is there a part for us in this, Tehkohn Hao—something you want us to do?”

“There is something,” said Tahneh before Diut could answer. She had decided that her plan would work. These two could play the role she had intended for them. “You and Jeh will prepare the way for my people. You will return to your mountains at once and let the Tehkohn know that we’re coming, that they should prepare to meet us in peace.”

“We are to return home without the Tehkohn Hao?” Cheah asked doubtfully.

“The Tehkohn Hao will stay and guide us to our new home,” answered Tahneh.

Tahneh glanced at Diut and saw that a small amount of yellow had crept into his coloring. Like his huntress and judge, Diut was just learning this part of her plan, just coming to understand that it was his own presence as a hostage among the Rohkohn that would ensure Rohkohn safe passage. Tahneh was worried about her people’s first contact with the Tehkohn. She believed Diut meant his promise, but like Ehreh she worried about the immediate reaction of his people. They had been without a ruling Hao for too long. They might not be as quick to obey as they should be.

Now, Tahneh thought, Diut could either pretend to have been aware of her plan all along and confirm her orders to Jeh and Cheah, or he could contradict her, argue with her in front of them, and inevitably lose the argument. For the moment, Tahneh was in the stronger position, and she meant to use that position to ensure the safety of her people. He spoke to her softly.

“It seems, cousin, that you and your chief judge share similar doubts.”

She turned her head to look at him, but said nothing. The yellow, she noticed, was gone from his coloring.

“In the end, you and your people take the greater risk,” he said.

“So.”

“In the face of that, I’ll accept the most immediate risk.” He spoke to Jeh and Cheah. “You’ll go as the Rohkohn Hao has said. I’ll follow later with the Rohkohn.”

The two flashed white.

Tahneh suppressed an impulse to let her own body whiten with pleasure. He had handled himself well with Ehreh, and well again now. In his youth, he carried his uncertainty closer to the surface than she carried hers. But already he was learning.

Tahneh went to the door again and when she opened it this time, she saw that her chiefs had already cleared away the crowd. In its place waited only the judges who had brought her Jeh and Cheah. She called in two of these and spoke to them.

“The Tehkohn huntress and judge will spend today and tomorrow with us as guests, free of any restraint. Tomorrow night, they will be given whatever provisions they ask for and allowed to return to the mountains.”

Tahneh waited until her judges flashed white, then she looked back at Jeh and Cheah. “Go with them now, back to your apartment. They’ll see that you’re not bothered.”

Jeh and Cheah left silently. When they were gone, Tahneh sat down wearily on one of the weavers’ mats. “Well, little cousin, it begins.”

To her surprise, Diut whitened with apparent amusement. “It sounded more like it was almost over.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “Do you know how little time it will take Ehreh to call a meeting of the council of judges, and how long it will take the council to argue our tie over and over pointlessly until they finally decide to do as I’ve ordered? And I must be present. The game must be played correctly. Then there will be the preparations, the actual moving … We’re not a nomadic people, Diut. It will be difficult.”

Diut sat down beside her. “I’ll do what I can to help,” he said, “if, from now on, you’ll give me some forewarning of your plans before you act on them.”

She looked at him, then sighed. “I’ve been a ruling Hao for a long time, cousin. Habit is strong.”

“I’ve just become a ruling Hao,” he countered. “But I am the Tehkohn Hao, and I do intend to rule.”

“You are
a
Tehkohn Hao. Now there are two of us.”

He flashed white. “Two Hao, Tahneh. I won’t be like your council of judges, merely deciding to do as you say.”

She stroked his shoulder, smoothing the fur down his arm. He amused her, but she felt a seriousness too. She spoke quietly. “I don’t owe you this warning, cousin, but I’ll give it to you anyway. Unless you’re careful, you’ll become exactly like my council of judges. You dislike responsibility. I’m accustomed to it. Think how easy it would be for you to become lax, satisfied, willing to enjoy the prestige of your coloring while doing nothing to earn it.”

“That won’t happen, Tahneh.”

“But,” she whitened slightly, “I’ve given you back your life. That’s enough. What you do with it is up to you.”

As much warningly as affectionately, she reached over and caressed his throat.

Childfinder

Standardization of psionic ability through large segments of the population must have given different peoples wonderful opportunities to understand each other. Such abilities could bridge age-old divisions of race, religion, nationality, etc. as could nothing else. Psi could have put the human race on the road to utopia.