A Far Sunset

TWENTY-NINE

There was not a breath of wind. The forest was immensely quiet. Indeed, but for the dark green smells of night, it would have beetv possible to imagine that the forest had ceased to exist. Only the river seemed alive, murmuring sleepily as if it, too, wished to sink into a state of unbeing.

It had been a hard and dismal day—hard because the Watering of Oruri had narrowed, making the current more swift, and dismal because the death of Mien She was still very much on everyone’s minds.

Nemo had been the worse affected. He had been the worst affected not only because he was a child but because he had experienced telepathically the brief but terrifying agony of Mien She. All day the crippled child had lain curled up at the stern of the barge. He would not eat or even drink; and it was only by patient coaxing that Paul managed to get him to take a few mouthfuls of water at the evening meal.

There had been no cheerful exchange of tall stories when the hunters took their ease after a hard day’s poling. When they spoke—if they spoke—it was almost monosyllabically and only because the communication was necessary.

Paul and Shon Hu had taken the first watch. Now they were also taking the last watch. Presendy grey wisps of light would filter through the tall trees. Today they would leave the barge behind. Already they were in Lokhali country, and therefore the dangers were doubled. But, thought Paul, after the horror of the previous night, any brush with the Lokhali would seem by contrast to be a form of light relief.

As he sat back to back with Shon Hu, Paul realized that there was something concerning the Lokhali that was trying to surface in his conscious mind. Something important. Something that he had seen but not noticed…

His only encounter so far with the forest tribe had been at the mass crucifixion on the Fourth Avenue of the Gods. His mind flew back to that day and he could see again and hear again the dying Lokhali who, in his extreme agony, had murmured meaningless—and, in the circumstances, bizarre— fragments of German, French and English.

Suddenly, Paul realized what he had seen but not noticed. Four fingers and a thumb! The Lokhali were not only taller than the Bayani, but more perfectly formed. Four fingers and a thumb! Then his mind leaped back to the woman who bore her child near the kappa fields, and then to Mylai Tui, who had been angry at his questions and had then demanded to be chastised for displaying her anger.

And now here he was in the middle of a primeval forest, journeying in search of a legend and with a headful of unanswered questions. He wanted to laugh aloud. He wanted to laugh at the sheer absurdity, the incongruity of it all.

He did laugh aloud.

Shon Hu started. ‘You are amused, lord?’ he asked reproachfully.

‘Not really, Shon Hu. I am sorry to startle you. I was just thinking of some things that Poul Mer Lo, the teacher, finds hard to understand.’

‘What manner of things, lord?’

Remembering the reactions of Mylai Tui, Paul thought carefully. ‘Shon Hu,’ he began, ‘we have not known each other long, but this venture joins us. You are my friend and brother.’

‘I am proud to be the friend of Poul Mer Lo. To become as his brother would do me too much honour.’

‘Nevertheless, my friend and brother, it is so. Therefore I do not wish to offend you.’

Shon Hu was puzzled. ‘How can you offend me, lord, who have raised me in my own eyes?’

‘By asking questions, Shon Hu. Only by asking questions.’

‘Lord, I see you wish to speak. Where no offence is offered, none shall be taken.’

‘The questions concern the number of fingers a man should have, Shon Hu.’

Immediately, Paul felt the hunter stiffen.

‘Lord,’ said Shon Hu at length, ‘are there not certain things in your own country of which it is very shameful to speak?’

Paul considered for a moment. ‘Yes, my friend, I think there are.’

‘So it is also with the Bayani. I tell you this, lord, so that you will understand if I do not find it easy to talk about the number of fingers a man should have. We have a saying: it is a thing that should be heard once and told once … Remember this, lord. Now ask the questions.’

‘Shon Hu, were you born with four fingers and a thumb, or with three?’

The hunter held up his hand. ‘See, lord.’ There were three fingers and a thumb.

Paul held up his own hand. ‘You have not answered the question. Look … But I was born with four fingers and a thumb—were you?’

‘Lord, I—I do not know,’ said Shon Hu desperately.

‘Are you sure? Are you sure you do not know?’

Shon Hu gulped. ‘Lord, I was told once by my father when he was dying that the left hand had been—defiled … But, it was such a little finger, lord, and the shame was easily remedied … this none living know, save you.’

Paul smiled. ‘Be easy, my friend. None living, save me, shall ever know … I wonder how many more Bayani have been born imperfect?’

‘I do not know. Not many, I think. The priests take those who are discovered. They are not seen again.’

‘Why is it so terrible to have four fingers?’

‘Because, lord, those who have four fingers are the forsaken of Oruri. He smiles upon them not.’

‘Do you believe this?’

‘Lord,’ said the hunter in an agitated voice, ‘I must believe. It is the truth.’

‘But why is it the truth?’ asked Paul relentlessly.

‘Lord, I can tell you only what I know … It is said that many many years ago, before there was a god-king in Baya Nor, the Bayani were not one people. There were those who were tall and lighter of skin, possessing four fingers and a thumb upon each hand. They were not, however, so numerous as the true Bayani, smaller, quicker of mind and body, possessing three fingers and a thumb upon each hand … There was much bloodshed, lord. Always there was much bloodshed. The tall ones with two fives believed themselves to be superior to the small ones with two fours. They ill-used the women of the fours. The fours retaliated and ill-used the women of the fives. Presently, there was a third warring faction—a number of outcasts with three fingers and a thumb on one hand and four fingers and a thumb on the other. Even among these people there was strife, since those with four fingers and a thumb on the right hand believed themselves to be superior to those with four fingers and a thumb on the left. And so the bloodshed became greater and more fierce, as each group reasoned that it alone was of the true blood and therefore most fitted to lead the rest.’

‘My friend,’ said Paul, ‘there is nothing new under the sun. In the story of my own people there has been much needless and futile strife.’

‘The war of the fingers reaches to the other side of the sky, then?’ asked Shon Hu in surprise.

‘No,’ said Paul, ‘the people of my own race are fortunate enough to possess the same number of fingers. So they found different reasons to inflict death and cruelty. They fought among themselves because some asserted that one particular god was greater than all other gods, or that one particular way of life was greater than all other ways of life, or that a white skin was better than a dark skin.’

Shon Hu laughed. ‘Truly, your people, though great in strange skills must have been very simple of heart.’

‘Perhaps no less simple than the Bayani,’ retorted Paul gravely. ‘Proceed with your story, Shon Hu.’

The hunter seemed, now, to be more relaxed. ‘Lord, it came to pass that there was seen more anger among the Bayani than there was love. Also, there was much fear. The crops were not tended because it was dangerous to go alone into the fields. The hunters found more profitable employment as hunters of men. Women prayed that their wombs might bear no fruit, for they were afraid to count the number of fingers on the hands of the babies they might bring forth. Few people died of great age, many died violently. And in time the number of the Bayani shrank, for the number of those who died became greater than the number of those who were bom. It was clear that Oruri was displeased and that unless he could be brought to smile again, the people of the Bayani would be no more.’

Paul sighed. ‘And all this because of the number of fingers on a man’s hand.’

‘All this,’ repeated Shon Hu, ‘because of the number of fingers on a man’s hand … But an answer was found, lord. It was found by the first oracle, who fasted unto the point of death, then spoke with the voice of Oruri. And the voice said: “There shall come a man among you, who yet has no power and whose power will be absolute. And because no man may wield such power, the man shall be as a king. And because none may live for ever, the king shall be as a god. Each year the king must die that the god may be reborn.” This the priests of Oruri heard, and the words were good. So they approached the oracle and said: “This surely is our salvation. How, then, may we recognize him who will take the form of a god?” To which the oracle replied: “You shall not see his face, but you shall see his beak. You shall not see his hands, but you shall see his plumage. And you shall hear only the cry of a bird that has never flown.” ’

To Paul Marlowe the story was fascinating, not only because it explained so much but because of its curious similarity in places to some of the ancient myths of Earth. ‘How was the first god-king revealed, Shon Hu?’ he asked quietly.

‘Lord, the priests could not understand the oracle, and the oracle would speak no more. But after many days, the thing came to pass. A priest of the Order of the Blind Ones—who then did not wear a hood, for they had yet to look upon the face of the god-king—was going out to the kappa fields when he saw a great bird covered in brilliant plumage. The bird was uttering the gathering call of the Milanyl birds which, though birds of prey, were nevertheless good to eat… But, lord, this

Milanyl bird had the legs of a man. It was a poor hunter named Enka Ne, who, too weak with hunger to hunt as a man, sought to entice game in this manner.’

‘And this, then, was the god-king.’

‘Yes, lord, Enka Ne was truly the god-king. For he was granted the wisdom of Oruri. On the day that he was shown to the people, he gathered many hunters about him. Then he took off his plumage before the Bayani for the first and last time. He held out his hands. And the people saw that on one there was three fingers and a thumb and on the other four fingers and a thumb. Then, in a loud voice, Enka Ne said: “It is fitting that there should be an end to destruction among us. It is fitting, also, that the hands of a man should be as the hands of his brother. But a man cannot add to the number of his fingers. Therefore let him rejoice that he can yet take away.” Then he held out his right hand and commanded a hunter to strike off the small finger. And he said to the people: “Let all who remain in this land number their fingers as is the number of my fingers. Happy are they whose fingers are already thus. Happier still are they who can make a gift of their flesh to Oruri. Wretched are they who do not give when the gift is required. Let them go from the land for ever, for there can be no peace between us.” When Enka Ne had spoken, many people held out their hands to the hunters. But there was also much fighting. In the end, those who refused to give were either slaughtered or driven away.’

Patches of light were beginning to show through the treetops. The last watch of the night was over. Paul stood up and stretched himself. Suddenly he was pleased with himself. He felt that he had found a missing piece of the puzzle.

‘That was a very wonderful story, Shon Hu,’ he said at length.

‘It is also a terrible story, lord,’ said Shon Hu. ‘I have spoken it once. I must not speak it again. As you have discovered, the shadow of the fingers still lies over Baya Nor; and blood continues to be spilled even after many years. The godkings have never loved those with too much knowledge of this thing. Nor do they love those who, contrary to the desire of

Oruri, are bom with too many fingers.’ Shon Hu also stood up and stretched.

‘I see … I am grateful that you have told me these things, Shon Hu. Let us speak now of the Lokhali.’

‘There is a Lokhali village,’ said the hunter, ‘perhaps the largest, near the bank of the river no more than a few hours of poling from here. Fortunately, we may leave the Watering of Oruri and strike through the forest before we reach it.’

‘Do the Lokhali have barges, Shon Hu?’

‘Yes, lord, but their barges are very poor and very small. They only use the river when they are in great need. For they are much afraid of water.’

‘Then surely it is safer to voyage past their village in the water than to pass through the forest?’

‘Lord, it may be so. But a man does not care to come near to the Lokhali.’

‘Nevertheless, I would pass the village … I think I know why the Bayani and the Lokhali have hated and feared each other for many years. The word Lokhali means accursed, wretched, cast out—does it not?’

‘That is so, lord.’

‘And the Lokhali,’ went on Paul relendessly, ‘do not appear to find four fingers and a thumb offensive … It seems to me, Shon Hu, that the Lokhali and the Bayani were once brothers.’