Four
The Frustration of Tonio
“Haul the sails and grease the rails
As down the coast we fly!»
“Haul the sails and grease the rails
As down the coast we fly!»
One day before the Festival.…
You will win that race, Tonio.
He’d woken at nights sweating, dreaming of those words and the tone of infinite menace in which they were spoken. During the daytime, as he piloted his car along the sailways, the shadow of the Canton Lord seemed to loom behind him, watching his methods, assessing his skill and finding it wanting, so that he began to make mistakes and actually caught himself glancing over his shoulder.
He’d kept it from Astrud. She thought it was simply the gathering tension as the time of the Festival approached.
«Why don’t you rest, today?» she said. «You don’t have to work. You don’t have a sailing until tomorrow.»
But Tonio was pulling on his tough hide jacket and saddling up his horse. «I have to get down to the tortuga pens. They’re loading today. I want to see nothing goes wrong.»
Astrud sighed, watching with concerned eyes as he rode away. Raoul was still asleep, and Tonio hadn’t even asked him if he wanted to go too.
A scene of confusion met Tonio at the pens. Long-necked mountain people moved slowly around the farm, gathering up ripe tortugas in disinterested fashion while a cai‑man harangued them with threatening barks.
«What’s going on?» Tonio glanced wildly from the tortugas, scattered far and wide, to the cart. Loading hadn’t even commenced. «We’ll miss the start of the race! God, it’ll take all day to get the cart loaded, at this rate. And where are the other carts?»
«Nobody thought to order the carts,” the cai‑man told him. «This one was all I could find. We’ll have to make several trips — the other sailcars have reserved all available carts.»
«But why weren’t the tortugas ready for loading?»
«A tapir broke through the fence and ran amok.»
«But Siervo …?»
«Siervo is dead.»
«Dead?»
«I killed him.» The cai‑man stared at Tonio and behind his eyes was something primitive and savage which caused the True Human to blink and change the subject.
«Where is Cocodrilo?»
«He is dead, too.»
«Cocodrilo dead? I can’t believe that.» Siervo, yes. But there had been something indestructible about Cocodrilo.
«Are you calling me a liar?»
«No, no. Of course not. I’m surprised, that’s all. And by the way, what happened to that felina we captured?» Tonio’s fear turned into bluster. «I thought you people were going to look after her, and now I’m told she escaped. The Canton Lord told me that,” said Tonio, making it clear he had friends in high places. «You’re going to have to answer to him.»
«It was I who told him,” said the cai‑man. «He seemed upset about it.»
«So?»
The Specialist gave a cold grin. «I told him he was welcome to come to the delta and reprimand those responsible. I think he decided it wasn’t worth the trouble.» He glanced at the huddle of stinking huts outside the gate, where the children fought tooth and nail, and the elders lay on the wet grass watching the proceedings with sleepy menace.
Tonio shivered. «Well, just keep those mountain people moving, will you? I’m going to check on the yards.» His words sounded high-pitched and scared to his ears. He turned quickly, annoyed with himself, and mounted his horse.
Things seemed to be going wrong rapidly, so he was mildly surprised when he reached the tortuga yards some time later to see Rayo sitting in her siding, apparently ready for loading.
Eight cars were participating in the race. Eight sidings ran parallel along the coastal plain before converging into two southbound tracks. The first two cars to reach these convergences would have a considerable advantage over the others. There was not much chance of overtaking, further down the coast. The usual procedure, if one car found itself seriously delayed by another, was to change lanes at the felino stages before the shrugleggers were attached for the climb.
But the first two cars would have a clear run, so speed off the mark was essential.
Behind the racers were the slower cars who would not be competing, some twenty of them flying the colors of a multitude of Cantons and Companies. These were the older craft, the big names of bygone years whose owners had to be content with tower prices in the tortuga market. Many of these cars would take three days or more for the journey to Rio Plata, selling their cargo for what it would fetch along the way. The racers generally completed the course in two days.
And Rayo, not requiring assistance at the hills, could conceivably complete it in one.…
The Tortuga races were steeped in history. Each year added to the lore of famous deeds, crippling accidents, bravery and skulduggery. The Festival even featured a special type of song known as the carrera, which celebrated events of past races — and, like the Pegman’s songs, were one of the roots of the great Song of Earth.
Groups of felinos ambled about the yards, singing these songs, chatting with the race crews and concluding agreements for shruglegger help at the vital hill at Rangua North Stage.
Not wanting to arouse suspicion, Tonio came to such a deal with El Tigre.
Later the first cartloads of tortugas began to arrive. Tonio climbed into the cargo hold of Rayo — the tubular space which would be fitted out as a passenger compartment after the race.
The hold was full of nimble-fingered monkey-Specialists, pulling things apart.
«What in hell is going on here?»
Maquinista followed Tonio in. «A slight setback, I’m afraid. One of the axle housings was weakened in the accident, unknown to us. It fractured during this morning’s trial run. We must replace it.»
«But how can we load the tortugas if your men are tearing up the floor?»
«Well, clearly you can’t load the tortugas, Tonio.»
«But the race starts tomorrow!»
«It’s not likely Rayo will be ready for the race,” said Maquinista absently, as though the point was of little consequence to him — as, indeed, it was. He hated the yards; the panicky captains, the inadequate facilities. He looked forward only to tomorrow afternoon, when he could pack his tools into his cart, gather his mechanics about him, and return to his workshops in the delta. Engineering was a pure science and the design and production of a beautiful craft like Rayo was an end in itself. The scrambling, frantic atmosphere of the tortuga yards was a debasement of all he held dear.
«Not ready for the race! But —”
«Listen, Tonio. Would you rather a wheel had come off at the kind of speed Rayo can do?»
«The Canton Lord will be furious!»
«Refer him to me,” said Maquinista sarcastically, echoing the earlier attitude of the cai‑man. «Meanwhile, perhaps you should have the carters dump the tortugas beside the car, so we can load once the axle housing is replaced. And get out of the way of my men.»
«When will you be finished? For God’s» sake, you must have some idea!»
«Maybe by noon tomorrow.»
«The race starts at dawn!»
«You’ll be able to sail with the slow cars, probably. You’ll still get a good price, Tonio. Tortugas are a valuable commodity.»
«It’s not just a question of price.…» You will win that race, Tonio. The difficulties of the past days suddenly overwhelmed him, and he found his eyes filling with tears. He swung around and almost ran from the hold. Outside, a felino caught his arm.
«You know me, Captain Tonio — my name is Diferir. Now, I think we can do business —”
«Let go of my goddamned arm, you animal!»
«What did you call me?»
«Get away from me!» Tonio tore himself free and set off up the yards, almost running.
The big felino paced alongside. «Just what did you call me?»
«I have nothing to say to you.» Tonio turned away and ducked under the rails of a siding. Captain Herrero stood there, tall and irascible, quibbling over prices with the crafty Dozo. «Stop following me!» cried Tonio.
«Maybe you should hear what the great Captain Tonio just called me, Dozo,” said Diferir.
«Causing trouble again, Tonio?» asked Herrero, seizing his chance to put a rival down.
«Just get away from me!» Tonio was almost out of control, close to weeping. «All of you — leave me alone!»
«Well, now, this isn’t what we expect from.…» Herrero’s voice trailed away as the general hubbub of the yards was interrupted by an extraordinary commotion from the south. Beyond the convergence of tracks a crowd could be seen waving their arms, yelling and running. Rumbling along the track beside this mob came an ancient sailcar with patched sails. Swinging from the cross-trees was a bizarre one-armed figure who shouted:
«Hoooooo! Hoooooo! Make way for the Rangua express!»
«It’s that crazy Pegman,” said Diferir.
«If he doesn’t climb down and use his brake he’s going to cause an accident,” said Herrero.
But the Pegman came rocketing in with sails tight until someone, with great presence of mind, flung himself at the pivot arm of a swinging guiderail and diverted the Estrella del Oeste to a vacant siding.
Still the decrepit craft careered along, outpacing the mob apart from a couple of excited children on mule back. Then, about fifty meters before he ran out of track, Enriques de Jai’a dropped to the deck and threw himself bodily at the brake. Wood squealed on wood, smoke trailed and, as the car shuddered to a stop, flames licked around the brake shoe. The Pegman stood at the deck rail with stiff dignity, waiting for a crowd to gather.
Tonio, glad of the diversion, joined the hurrying crowd. Within seconds, most of the people in the yard — True Humans, Specialists, and quite a few inquisitive mutes — had assembled beside the Estrella. The mood was of amused impatience, but the Pegman seemed in no hurry to explain the reason for his precipitous arrival. He stood with eyes raised to heaven as though awaiting a sign. Children began to throw decaying fruit.
«That buffoon is an embarrassment to the True Human race,” said Herrero.
The Pegman held up his hand for silence. An overripe mango smacked into his palm and he frowned in sudden puzzlement, examined it, sniffed it and, amid derisive cheers, punted it across the yard.
«People!» he shouted. «I regret that the race will be delayed!»
There was a chorus of disbelief.
«No — I tell the truth. There’s been an incident south of Rangua and extensive track work will be required. I shall need twenty men — and you, Maquinista!»
«Pegman!» shouted El Tigre. «When will the work be finished?»
By now Enri had jumped down from the deck to avoid the mangoes. He leaped astride a mule and began to gallop wildly around the crowd, shouting, «Follow me, monkey‑men! Follow me to the storehouse and fetch pegs and hammers! We have work to do, monkey‑men!» He was probably the only True Human who could so describe the small, dextrous Specialists without causing a riot. Still yelling, he reined the mule in, dragging it to a halt beside Maquinista. «Bring strong took,” he said. «You know what I mean?» And he contorted his face into an exaggerated wink. «And we’re going to have to work right through the night, so we’ll need.… What’s it called again? You know — something to see by.»
Maquinista laughed aloud. «The Wrath of Agni, most people call it, as you know very well, Pegman.»
«Hush!» Wide-eyed, Enri glanced around, finger pressed to lips in theatrical fashion. «Would you have my audience faint with fear? But yes — that is the Wrath we need.»
«I’ll see to it.»
El Tigre had been pushing his way through the crowd while this was going on, followed by Tonio, Herrero and Dozo. «I said, when will you be finished, Pegman?»
«When the sun is at its zenith, when the shadows shrivel like burning flesh.»
«Noon, you mean, for God’s sake. All right, Pegman, we’ll delay the start until noon. But then the cars will roll, and if the track isn’t ready it’ll be on your own head!»
The Pegman swung his mount and galloped for his ramshackle storehouse, followed by a rabble of small Specialists.
«You can’t go,” said Tonio to Maquinista, «You have to work on Rayo! ” He clutched the Engineer’s arm as the other turned to follow the Specialists.
«My men can finish the job.» Irritably, Maquinista shook his arm free. Then he looked at Tonio and his mood seemed to change. «I probably won’t be back in time for the start. Good luck, Captain Tonio.» He gripped Tonio’s shoulder for an instant, then walked away.
«Well …» said Herrero. «So the great Captain Tonio is saved. His car isn’t ready, but the race is delayed. Quite a coincidence. And El Tigre.… You’ve come to an arrangement with the captain.»
El Tigre frowned. «All the felinos have their arrangements, Herrero. I’m sure you and Dozo have a deal.»
«We certainly have. But here is a coincidence which I find even more remarkable. I’ve just heard that your daughter is involved in the … incident which damaged the track.»
«Karina?»
«Who else? Now, some people might call that a coincidence. Others would perhaps call it opportunism. And then,” Herrero smiled coldly, «there are others who are using the word sabotage.…»
El Tigre took a quick step forward. His fingers hooked into claws.
Dozo caught his arm. «Not worth it, El Tigre.»
Herrero stopped smiling. «Meanwhile, El Tigre, I’ll leave you with a thought. If you’ve taken unusual steps to help Captain Tonio in his present difficulties, that’s your business. He will still have to beat me, to win the race. But are you sure you can trust him, this partner of yours? Will he return the favor?»
«I tell you,” snarled El Tigre, «I do no favors for any True Human!»
But Dozo was watching Tonio, seeing the color drain out of the True Human’s face, seeing his hands twisting together, the fingers white.
Dozo looked from Tonio to El Tigre, thoughtfully.
The second decision of Karina
«When a felino’s shruglegger dies,” said Haleka, «he replaces it. If a captain’s sailcar should be irreparably damaged, he builds another. If a mountain‑man’s llama falls down a cliff, well, it will always leave the kids behind to take up the burden. But when a tump dies, what does the tumpier do? It cannot be replaced or repaired. And it certainly cannot have children. So the tumpier is useless without his tump.»
«Don’t talk like that,” said Karina. Evening approached, and she and her sisters sat beside the errant tump. The animal had ceased its downhill crawl only because it had reached the sailway. Now it pushed against the southbound running rail, having already demolished the lee guiderail. Its body heaved with effort and it snorted hugely from the nostrils near the top of its head. Messages had been sent and traffic halted.
«I inherited this tump from my father, and he from his father,” said Haleka.
«And so on, back until the first tump crawled from the Whirst Institute, mounted by the first tumpier,” suggested Teressa with a hint of laughter.
«Shut up, Tess.»
Haleka continued, «I have a son. He’s an apprentice over Torres way, and he would have mounted this tumo when I died. But now — I have nothing to leave him, and I have no reason for my own existence.»
«This stuff’s good, said Runa, munching on the narcotic herb falla.
«There’s a car coming,” said Saba.
In fact two cars came rolling eastwards on the light evening air. The first was Estrella del Oeste of the patched sails, the Pegman swinging from the shrouds and gibbering like an ape, then suddenly calling upon Fate in a voice which carried across the plain: «I demand that you change happentracks! I request an immediate transfer! Corriente, where are you?»
The second car was newer, a light passenger craft bearing Maquinista and a number of Specialists. The two cars drew up and the workers rushed for the damaged track, some gathering around the tump and trying to lead it away from the wreckage.
«You’re wasting your time,” said Haleka.
Meanwhile, Maquinista and Karina confronted each other.
Karina said, «You see, I’m still alive. Your crocodiles couldn’t kill me — not for want of trying.»
«Did they … hurt you?»
«Well, what do you think?»
He regarded her steadily. «But you didn’t tell El Tigre. Why not?»
«I fight my own battles. And Cocodrilo is dead, isn’t he? Perhaps you’ll be next, True Human bastard.»
Maquinista looked at her for a moment longer, just long enough for something behind her eyes to disturb him profoundly, then he turned back to the tump. «Pegman, dismantle both tracks. We’re going to have to let the brute through, then repair the tracks behind it.»
«We don’t have time! Darkness approaches on leathery wings!»
«I’ll provide the light.»
«I hope you have your prayers ready,” said the Pegman more seriously, «otherwise Agni may consume us all.»
«I find a jug of water much more useful than prayers, in these situations,” said Maquinista drily, and dispatched a Specialist to the beach. He then fetched a pot filled with a tarry substance from the sailcar, beat sparks from a pair of stones, and kindled a bright yellow flame and quantities of thick black smoke.
The Pegman and the girls sighed with superstitious awe, but the little Specialists were used to such marvels.
«No good will come of such heresy,” said Haleka.
«The Wrath of Agni is good for cooking, too,” said Maquinista. «Cut me a piece of that tump, Haleka.»
«Never!» The tumpier was trembling with outrage.
Work went on through the night, and shortly before dawn Haleka was able to ride the tump through the gap, while the Specialists lay in exhausted sleep. Teressa, Runa and Saba slept too, curled up together; but Karina stayed awake in case Haleka needed help, while Maquinista and the Pegman fashioned makeshift jacks for use in replacing the heavy rails in their gantries.
«I’m coming with you, Haleka,” said Karina.
«That’s entirely up to you.» His voice was flat, his shoulders slumped.
Saba awakened. «Aren’t you coming to Torres with us, Karina? It’ll be fun there — much more fun than Rangua. Not so many people know us. It’s going to be the best festival ever. The Pegman’s taking us.»
«I’ll see you later,” said Karina. She looked around the temporary camp. The black humps of the Specialists’ tents were appearing in the first light of dawn. The Pegman slept, murmuring as he loved his lost Corriente in his dreams. Maquinista slept too, one arm thrown over his face, the tarpot smouldering beside him, spitting yellow sparks.
Saba had gone back to sleep, her arm around Runa.
Haleka dozed on the back of the tump which, as though realizing there was no longer any urgency, had slowed to a crawl.
Carefully, quietly Karina picked up the tarpot by its wooden handle and crept through the camp in the direction of Maquinista’s sailcar. She would set fire to the car and it would burn there, blocking the track and delaying the race further. And Maquinista would be blamed for kindling the wrath of Agni, and the Canton Lord’s guards would come and get him. And it would serve him right, for giving her to the cai‑men.
She tilted the pot.
«No, Karina.»
The voice was cold and familiar. Karina’s heart gave a convulsive thump. She turned round.
The Dedo’s handmaiden stood there.
Karina put the pot down and began to edge away. This woman was bad enough in daylight. In the half‑light of dawn, standing tall in her black robes with the devastation of her face lurking unseen like a shadowed monster, she was the distillation of all the childhood nightmares Karina had ever screamed through.
«Stay.»
«Well, I must get to Haleka. I’m worried about him. I think he needs me.»
«I’m sorry, Karina. You can’t go with him. You must accompany your sisters to Torres. That’s the Dedo’s plan.»
«Why do I have to hurt someone I like?» Karina said. «You made me run out on that poor little man Siervo, and he died. Now you want me to run out on Haleka. What will happen to him?»
«He will die.»
«And if I stay with him?»
«He will live a few years longer. Just a few years, Karina. It’s nothing compared to the sweep of the Ifalong.»
«But it’s a hell of a lot to Haleka!»
«You gave your word, Karina,” said the handmaiden.
Karina gazed down towards the ocean, where the slumped silhouette of Haleka could be seen atop his doomed tump, and her eyes filled with tears.
The race begins
The tortugas had been stowed aboard the sailcars and the mountainmen relaxed, lazing about the yard in the morning sun, waiting for the race to start. The little monkey‑like Specialists were finished too; the rails greased, the wooden bearings likewise. Each car carried its own supply of grease for use at Stages. Resting quietly in that fringe of the yards where the low brush merged into the jungle were the cai‑men.
Tonio saw all this through a frenzy of impatience as the Specialists worked on Rayo.
Things had gone badly in Maquinista’s absence. When daylight faded the Specialists downed tools, refusing to work by the light of the Wrath of Agni because, they said, this would provoke hostility among the more devout people in the crowded yard. Astrud and Raoul had arrived and, finding themselves targets for Tonio’s frustration, had spent the night in an empty cabin nearby while Tonio paced the silent deck of Rayo and muttered curses at the stars.
In the morning cat-girls had hung garlands of flowers around the captains’ necks. Tonio had kept his on for appearances’ sake, but the scent of the flowers was like a mockery.
At last Maquinista’s sail showed above the low coastal scrub. Tonio seized the engineer the moment he stepped down.
«The car isn’t ready. You assured me your men would finish in time, but they haven’t. Now they tell me they’ll be lucky if they finish by noon. And then we have to load.»
There was no animation in his voice. He’d had all night to get used to the idea. His face was gray with exhaustion.
Maquinista was exhausted too. As he turned away without replying his arm was caught in a strong grip.
It was El Tigre. «Engineer,” he said harshly, «Tell me about Karina.»
«She’s all right. It was a case of a loco tump and old Haleka happened to be the unlucky one, that’s all. So Karina was there. She did nothing wrong. After we’d fixed the track, she went with her sisters and the Pegman to Torres.»
El Tigre relaxed. There was even a glint of humor in his tawny eyes. «My girls can’t enjoy themselves when their father is around. Ah, well. The Festival is a time when we shed our inhibitions. I wouldn’t have spoiled their fun here, but they couldn’t have known that.»
«I never had any children,” said Maquinista.
For a moment the two men, the Specialist and the True Human, stood in the silence of mutual understanding, then Tonio intruded.
«Yes, but what about Rayo ?» The color was in his cheeks and he looked fevered. He still had a chance. He might not be among the leaders leaving the yards, but he could still catch them. Every second counted. «Come and speak to your men, Maquinista! Get them started!»
El Tigre said, «I’ll see you at North Stage, Captain Tonio.» He turned away and strode south, along the rutted path beside the track.
Tonio flushed and glanced at Maquinista.
The engineer said, «The race only lasts a few days. What about the rest of your life, Tonio? El Tigre is a powerful man.»
«Not so powerful as the Canton Lord,” said Tonio. He tried to laugh, but it came out as an asinine bray of despair.
«Between Bantus and the Behemoth, eh, Tonio?»
«What’s that? Bantus …?» The unfamiliar name struck a strange and fearful chord in Tonio’s mind.
«Just a saying,” Maquinista said, glancing at him. The engineer was becoming seriously concerned. Tonio showed every sign of cracking up. He hoped he was in good enough shape to handle Rayo.…
Now the sails were hoisted and the flags snapped, multicolored, in the breeze. The guiderails groaned and the sailcars shuddered with potential energy, held in check by big wedges jammed under the running wheels. Crews waited tensely on the decks. Captains and their families leaned nonchalantly on the afterrails, chatting to their agents, fooling nobody.
On the most westerly track, one car had not yet raised its sails. A frenzied crowd loaded tortugas into the hold, True Human working side by side with Specialist. A chain was formed, passing tortugas down the line; and Tonio was there, and Astrud and Raoul, a dozen Specialists, and Maquinista. A couple of cai‑men watched, grinning widely but making no attempt to help.
Herrero shouted across, «See you later, Tonio. If ever!»
And a burst of laughter came from the other cars, relieving tension.
Then the Yardsman mounted his rostrum, and seven cai‑men took hold of seven ropes.
«Ready?»
Each captain raised his hand.
The cai‑men tensed. They were employed on this important task because they, of all men, were least likely to do any favors.
The Yardsman gave the traditional cry:
“ Volad!»
The cai‑men jerked the chocks away. The sailcars slid forward.
The annual Tortuga Race was on.
And now the most important people in the yards were two small Specialists known as Mountain Switcher and Ocean Switcher. Mountain Switcher is less important, and you rarely hear his name mentioned in the Song of Earth. He is there, certainly, but merely as a counterpart to Ocean Switcher.
Ocean Switcher was a small, brown-faced man of about forty years, who lived with his tiny wife and seven children of varying ages in a tree-house on the fringes of the delta. He was an independent mechanic, which is to say that after fifteen years of working under a True Human engineer he had branched out on his own.
Ocean Switcher, who was once called Da Para, prospered. It had become customary, whenever a crippled car arrived at Rangua, for the captain to cry, «Send for Da Para!» And Da Para would come, posthaste, a tiny figure bouncing on top of a galloping mule. He would fix the problem with nimble fingers and surprising strength, he was less expensive than the True Human engineers such as Maquinista, and he was never rumored to use the Wrath of Agni. In short, he was a good man.
Seven years before the time of our story he received the ultimate honor for a monkey-Specialist: he was put in charge of one of the complex switches at the tortuga yards. Although he exercised this duty only once a year, the position was considered so important that his name was officially changed, and Da Para became Ocean Switcher all year round.
So the sailcars rolled towards the place where eight tracks became two. Here stood Ocean Switcher and Mountain Switcher, each with a team of assistants, each team holding its heavy switching rail. The switchers watched the Mark — a gaunt windswept tree standing alone some fifty meters away.
The first sailcars past the Mark would receive precedence at the switches, and all other sailcars would have to reduce speed.
Ocean Switcher heard the cry, “ Volad!»
«Ready,” he said to his men, glancing down the row of intent faces. They nodded and he turned his gaze back to the distant sails. Beside him, the rails began to rumble.
The two switches were the most crucial points in the whole race, and rarely a year went by without some kind of incident. Perhaps the most spectacular event had occurred eight years previously, when two captains on adjacent tracks had reached the Mark simultaneously — or so they later insisted. Whatever the truth of the matter, the Ocean Switcher of that time made a decision and pegged the switching rail to favor the easterly car.
Neither car slackened speed and, neck and neck, they rumbled irresistibly towards the switch. The switching team scattered. The captains yelled at each other.
The sailcars reached the switch at the same instant and jammed there while rails splintered and flew. Ocean Switcher, who had stuck to his post until the last, was flung several meters away. The two captains, their craft locked in a reluctant embrace, continued to exchange their views while the crews, being of more forthright material, met on the fused deck to settle the issue with the bare fist.
Meanwhile Mountain Switcher’s men were so intent on watching these happenings that they omitted to peg their own guiderail. It collapsed as the first sailcar arrived. The car lurched off the running rail and fell between the tracks, bottling up the only other route south.
The carerra songs tell of the eventual winner of that race, one Mario, who had the presence of mind to send a runner to Rangua North Stage. A team of shrugleggers arrived at the trot by which time Mario had removed a guiderail from the track beside his car. The shrugleggers then dragged Mario’s craft down a jungle trail and re-railed it a kilometer past the yards at a short siding normally used for loading taro root. Mario went on to win by several hours and assure himself of a place in sailcar lore. Ocean Switcher, bruised and disgraced, resigned his post, and Da Para took his place and his name.
Three years later the race began in strong winds and it was the turn of Salvatore to become legend. Off to a flying start, he rolled towards the switches ahead of the field with all sails set and straining. Unfortunately the strain was too much for the lee guiderail which collapsed. Salvatore’s car leaped to the ground, miraculously still upright.
Normal procedure would have been to drop sails and brake hard, but the Tortuga Race was not a day for convention. The hull slid along the guiderails of the adjacent track, holding the car upright, and Salvatore, standing on the poop deck, had an inspiration.
If he couldn’t win the race, at least he could ensure that nobody else did. He shouted to his crew to haul the sails in tighter still.
The sailcar bounded through grass and scrub, scattering spectators and animals alike, and ploughed into the switches, demolishing the trackwork. Nobody could pass. Runners were sent to Rangua North Stage, shrugleggers came trotting and Salvatore, his car already on the ground, was the first to the taro siding. His craft had suffered considerable damage but, with a superb example of sailsmanship, Salvatore nursed it along and was finally credited with finishing third.
Such was the background to the start of the Tortuga Race in the year 122,640 Cyclic. A history of disaster, opportunism and greed.
«This year,” said Maquinista as he turned from his work to watch the sailcars gliding towards the switches, «I hope to God nothing goes wrong.»
«My only hope is if nothing goes right,” said Tonio, stacking tortugas in the hold of Rayo.
Joao was leading in Esperanza. This was unexpected, and Captain Herrero was watching in some astonishment as the car in the adjacent track began to pull away from him.
«Antrez!» he shouted to his chief crewman. «Sheet in the main and set the topsail. That bastard’s getting away from us!»
It was unthinkable! He’d looked on Tonio as his only threat so he’d bribed the little Specialists to refuse to do night work, which put Tonio out of the way. He’d secured the services of Dozo who, although perhaps not so competent as El Tigre, was one of the better Rangua felinos. And he’d made a couple of other arrangements down the line. But in order to take advantage of them, he had to get there first. Who in hell was this Joao, anyway? Nobody knew him, and it had been a surprise when he’d qualified to be among the eight racers. He’d come from some obscure Canton down south; Rocha, perhaps. Damn the man!
Soon the Esperanza was half a length ahead. Herrero studied the set of her sails and gave further instructions to his crew. Sheets were hauled in and other sheets paid out, but without appreciable effect, Herrero left the poop deck and strode forward. Joao, ignoring the Urubu as though it was of no consequence, gazed steadily ahead from his casual stance at the stern rail. Herrero roared his rage, pushed a crewman aside and seized the mainsheet, sawing the boom to and fro in search of the optimum position.
Joao’s crewmen relaxed, belaying the lines and sitting down.
The Mark approached.
Further down the track, Ocean Switcher, anticipating the result, gave the order to his men.
«Track three. All together, now!»
They lifted the guiderail into position and began to dog it down, setting the track to let the Esperanza through first.
«God damn you!» Herrero shouted. «He’s not there yet!» It was that last load of tortugas. He should never have allowed it aboard. Urubu was too heavy, too ponderous for quick acceleration. Furious with himself and his agent, he watched Esperanza creeping ahead.
Esperanzapassed the Mark.
Urubureached the Mark a second later. Her bow, where Herrero stood, was level with Esperanza’s stern, where Joao lounged with a crewman — and where the mainsheet was fastened tautly to a deck cleat.
So close that Herrero could almost have touched it.…
And now, at last, Joao looked at Herrero. There was a faint smile on the southerner’s face.
Herrero, lips tightly compressed, snatched up a billhook — a long pole capped by a knife used for cutting vegetation free from Urubu’s wheels and spars. As Karina had noticed previously, all Urubu’s knives were fashioned from metal, wrought in the Wrath of Agni. The billhook was razor sharp.
Herrero raised it above his head and brought it down across the deck of Esperanza.
The mainsheet parted with a crack like a whip.
The boom swung out, carrying a crewman with it. The sail spilled wind, flogging uselessly.
As Esperanza slowed and Urubu began to pass her, Herrero uttered a roaring yell of triumph. So much for the goddamned foreigner. Then Urubu ran into the guiderail, smashing it aside and flinging Ocean Switcher to the ground. Lurching and wobbling, Urubu stayed on the running rail by virtue of Herrero’s expert juggling of the sails, gained the undamaged track, and fled south. The race leader was on his way.
At Rangua North Stage
The sun-ovens had been going since dawn. They were huge, used only at this time of year, great bowls comprising countless hemitrexes and big enough to roast oxen. They were contained in heavy wooden cradles to which llamas were harnessed. Mostly the animals grazed, but every so often the sun in its movement across the sky would light up a single hemitrex above each oven, directing a hot beam of light onto the rump of the llama, which would take a step forward, thus correcting the sun-oven’s solar alignment.
The kikihuahuas would have approved of this mechanism.
The sun-ovens were arranged along the beach and the wind bore the aroma of roasting tumpmeat inland, adding spice and anticipation to the festivities. Twenty meters inland the parallel tracks of the sailway ran above short grass and coastal scrub, turning inland at the Stage for the diagonal climb to Rangua Town. Rangua North Stage was similar to the South Stage where Karina lived, comprising a couple of sidings to accommodate crippled sailcars, a clutter of sheds for the shrugleggers and, on the hillside, a large community hut surrounded by the vampiro tents of both Stages.
The main activity of the Festival was concentrated in the strip from the community hut down to the shruglegger sheds, then east to the sun-ovens. Along this thoroughfare the pitchers of ale were set up, and the temporary huts erected for mating. The bards squatted here, singing of heroism and glory to the complex Carerra rhythms so different from the classic simplicity of the Song of Earth. There were True Humans from Rangua dressed in bright cottons, walking in male-female pairs. There were Specialists of all kinds, from the hawk‑mothers and their chattering broods enjoying a day out while their menfolk manned the signal towers, to the grim-faced cai‑men. Long-necked mountain people laughed nervously, sharp-faced little pygmies from the upper jungle twitched their noses at the cooking smells, felinos strode everywhere, big loose‑limbed men and beautiful women dressed in tunic of the finest skins.
This was the time of waiting, when people walked about the Stage chatting and joking, drinking little as yet. The felinos saw to the shrugleggers, decorating them with ribbons and jockeying for advantageous positions at the trackside. Frequently teams would become tangled and the shrugleggers would begin to kick and plunge. Then the felinos would dive in, cursing and jerking at harnesses, occasionally coming to blows.
The time of waiting was an electric time, and this year it had lasted since dawn because of the accident to Haleka’s tump.
Dozo had established his position early and defended it against all comers. His shrugleggers waited patiently between the tracks — so that they could take a car whether it arrived on the east or west track — a little further up the hill than the others. He reasoned that any captain, and particularly Herrero, would want to roll as far uphill as possible before taking on assistance. It was a question of calculating just where the sailcar would stop.
El Tigre had assembled his shrugleggers beside the inland track, level with Dozo.
«Too proud to fight for position with the others?» Dozo taunted him.
“ Rayowas drawn on an inland track.»
«There are other cars beside Rayo .»
«I made an agreement with Tonio.»
«Ha!» Dozo uttered a bark of derision. «Since when have we trusted the word of a True Human? Mark my words, El Tigre. If Rayohappened to come to rest beside Manoso down there, do you honestly believe Tonio would wait for you to bring your team down? Of course not. He’d tell Manoso to hook up. I’m surprised at you. You’re the one who preaches revolution. You, above all, have reason to hate True Humans!»
«So far as we’re concerned, Dozo, the Race is the climax of our year’s work. I feel it would be sacrilege to disrupt it. I might cheat a True Human — or be cheated by him — at any other time. But not during the Race.»
The track trembled, and bright sails came gliding along the beach.
Uruburolled to a stop.
Dozo had overestimated, and his hindmost shruglegger stood twenty meters past Urubu’s nose. Herrero stood there, sizing up a team directly beneath him. It belonged to a felino from Rangua North Stage named Peleante.
«My honor,” said Peleante.
Dozo hurried up while an assistant undertook the difficult task of backing his team downhill to Urubu.
«Piss off,” said Dozo to Peleante. To Herrero he shouted, «My shrugleggers are raised on the southern slopes, Captain. They’re far stronger than these scraggy creatures.»
Herrero glanced over his shoulder. Another set of sails was approaching, passing swiftly through the coastal scrub. «Hook up, Peleante,” he snapped. «The fat man’s lost his chance.»
«I have three grupos to set on you,” said Dozo quietly to Peleante. «Look to your left.»
Peleante did so, and saw a row of powerful women lounging against the guiderail, watching him with narrowed eyes.
«Look to your left, fat man,” he said.
Another bunch of females stared through the tracks like caged animals. Dozo, recognizing a stalemate, changed his tactics. «Captain!» he called. «My price is reduced by the advance payment you made at the yards!» It was the ultimate sacrifice, allowing Herrero to apply the bribe against the towing charge.
Herrero’s habitual expression of irascibility did not change as he rapidly checked out the economics. Then, after another glance over his shoulder, he said, «Couple up then, Dozo. Make it fast!»
Dozo’s assistant was already fastening the harness to the towbar. Dozo named his price and Herrero tossed a handful of tokens at him. Meanwhile the car behind had arrived on the same track as Herrero and its captain, seeing a chance to overtake, was paying a gang of felinos to manhandle him through the crossover onto the other track. Peleante hurried across to haggle with this new arrival while his assistant reversed the shrugleggers. They became entangled with a team belonging to Diferir, and while they were sorted out Manoso’s team was engaged for the haul to the summit.
Peleante shrugged and turned to watch for further arrivals. It was all in the game; all part of the bright tapestry of the Tortuga Race. There was no point in getting excited over a few hardwood tokens.
A short distance away, El Tigre had company. A woman, beautiful with the voluptuousness of the mature felina had approached him. «All alone, El Tigre? What are your plans for today? I have a tent with many cushions of the best skin over there.»
«I’m sure you do, Iolande.» As she raised her arm to point, her tunic had slipped a little, displaying a brown, erect nipple. El Tigre smiled, it had been artistically done; no wonder Iolande was the most sought-after of the felinas. «I expect you have plenty to eat in there, too.»
«Everything a man could desire.» She still bore the marks of Karina’s nails on her face, but this imperfection had the perverse effect of heightening her desirability. «Anything you want, El Tigre.»
«Including stolen tumpmeat?» He reached out and tweaked the nipple playfully. «Maybe later. Right now, I have a job to do.»
«I may not be around later,” said Iolande.
«A woman is a woman,” he said casually. «There are plenty of opportunities on the day of the Festival.»
Now she smiled, too. «And a man is a man. Only True Humans make commitments, and look at them.» A True Human couple were walking past at that moment, arm in possessive arm, while their eyes wandered among the attractive cat people.
«Go away, Iolande,” said El Tigre gently.
«Later, then. And.… El Tigre, I’m sorry it had to be your grupo we tangled with the other day.» The theft of the meat was nothing; felinos’ principles were different from those of True Humans and Iolande’s punishment had been a mere reprimand. The framing of El Tigre’s daughters was a matter of circumstance; no felino could condemn opportunism. But it was a pity, and Iolande recognized this. «Where are your little girls today, El Tigre?» she asked maliciously.
Before he could reply, Torch walked up. The young man was frowning, scanning the hillside. «Yes, where is the grupo, El Tigre?»
«They’ve gone to Torres.»
«That’s a pity.… I’d hoped that we.…» Torch’s voice trailed away. He’d hoped that tonight, as the drink flowed free and dissolved petty objections, he might have consummated his relationship with the El Tigre grupo.…
While they’d been talking, four more sailcars had passed, drawn by shrugleggers amid much shouting and cracking of whips. Next came Dozo, riding downhill with his shrugleggers trotting behind.
«Herrero’s away. Salvatore close behind. Four on the hill — that leaves two.» As he talked, Dozo cocked an eye at El Tigre. «Ah, and that’s Belin coming in now. Arrajo has him. So that just leaves Rayo .…»
Iolande said, «You’ve agreed with Tonio, El Tigre?»
«Yes.»
«And you’re an honorable man. You could have taken any of the others, but you didn’t.» She made a parody of sighing. «Ah, well.… I must get back to the fun. Maybe …?»
«Perhaps.»
She left them, walking slowly to disguise her limp — another legacy of her fight with Karina.
Dozo said, «Just a couple of weeks ago we were all getting heated about this Rayo, and how it was going to give True Humans all kinds of advantages — and where’s Rayo now? Stuck on some siding, I’ll be bound, with a broken spar.»
“ Rayowill be here,” said Torch. «Or Captain Tonio will have El Tigre to answer to!»
«Loyally put,” Dozo’s tone was sarcastic, as the seventh car rumbled up the hill, the impetuous Arrojo flogging his shrugleggers and the captain yelling encouragement from the prow.
«Here she is!» The triumphant shout from Torch announced the flag which could be seen moving above the trees some distance away. Then Rayo burst out of the delta region and the white sails flitted along the flat lands behind the beach, taut and shining.
«She moves fast,” said Dozo thoughtfully. «Very fast.»
El Tigre took the harness of the lead shrugleggers and began to drag the team uphill, anticipating that Rayo’s present speed would carry her much further up the bank than he’d thought. «Move, you bastards!» he shouted, and the shrugleggers obeyed, eyes rolling in terror. Dozo and Torch ran beside him.
«She’s coming. She’s coming so fast ,” gasped Torch, trying to look over his shoulder and run at the same time.
The hubbub of the Festival quietened suddenly. The only sound was the pounding of feet from El Tigre’s team.
Then came a drawn-out, piercing shriek as Rayo hit the curve at the foot of the bank and the guiderails protested with the strain. Children scattered and felinos yelled in alarm, dragging their shrugleggers aside as Rayo swept by.
El Tigre ran on, hearing the running rail resonate beside him, knowing without looking that he still had a long way to go. The shrugleggers ran behind in an untidy file, beginning to balk, kept going at this unnatural pace by their fear of the big cat‑man who led them. And then El Tigre’s foot caught in a tussock and he fell. The shrugleggers halted, bunching and milling.
El Tigre stood. The shrugleggers would go no further. If Tonio passed this point, he would have to roll back to him.
The rumble from the rail was growing to a roar.
El Tigre looked back.
Rayohad barely slackened speed! Sails full and straining, she raced up the gradient towards him, passing shrugleggers and felines, passing the cairn marking Triunfo’s record height of two years ago, passing Dozo as he toiled uphill, passing Torch who stood gazing in open‑mouthed astonishment, passing El Tigre’s shrugleggers.…
Rayorocketed on and the wind of her passing pushed El Tigre aside. The shrugleggers were snorting and pawing in terror and El Tigre fell, still hanging onto a rein. As he lay there he caught a split-second image of Tonio’s face, pale and staring fixedly ahead; then Rayo was climbing rapidly away from him and the sound of her passage, already unnaturally quiet, was fading to a murmur.
Seconds later, Dozo arrived. «I told you, never trust —” Then he saw the expression on El Tigre’s face, fell silent, and began to think. A car had climbed the bank without assistance. The implications began to hit him, one by one. «Mordecai.…» he whispered.
El Tigre said, «Round up the men, Dozo. Saddle up the fastest mules.»
Then he began to run up the hill.
Reaching the signal tower at the south end of the town he began to climb the ladder. From the top he saw Rayo, going like the wind, heading out across the plain. In the far distance he could see the hill at Torres and, as he watched, a winking light caught his eye. News of the race was coming through.
He threw open the signalbox door.
«Have Rayo stopped at Torres!»
Two signalmen worked in the box; small men but with a proud, upright bearing and a reputation for belligerence. As El Tigre entered, one had been watching the signal from Torres and transcribing it into charcoal symbols on a tablet. The other was working vigorously at the signal arms which projected downwards into the middle of the cabin, acknowledging the message and adding comments of his own. On the roof, a big battery of hemitrexes caught the sun and flashed the reply back down the coast.
The signalmen stopped work, staring at El Tigre in anger. Theirs was an exclusive guild, their codes were secret and the boxes sacrosanct. Even the Palace Guards never climbed the ladder. And now, here was this brutish man issuing orders.
«Get out! This is private property! Out! Out!» They shuffled towards him with mincing steps and peremptory gestures.
El Tigre stood his ground. «Send a message, now! Get that goddamned car stopped and have the felinos hold Captain Tonio at Torres North Stage!»
«Out! Out! Messages must be presented in the proper manner through the agent! Out!» They stood before him, small men barely reaching his shoulder, heads jerking with the violence of their speech. They pushed him in the chest; short-arm shoves of some force.
With a roar of rage El Tigre seized them and slammed them together. They staggered, blinking rapidly, then came back with whirling arms. One of them caught him a chopping blow across the neck and El Tigre took hold of them again, pinioning them.
«Listen to me,” he growled. «Something’s happened which threatens the whole future of Specialists on the coast — and that includes you. We have to act quickly. If we let Tonio get away with this, it will show the True Humans that Specialists can’t cooperate even when our livelihood is threatened. We might as well take a long walk into the mountains! Do you understand me? Now send that message!»
«That can’t be done,” snapped one of the men. «The Guild rules are designed to cover all circumstances and no man, not even a felino, tells the Guild what to do. We’re not frightened of you. You can’t harm the Guild!»
The little man stared fiercely up at him and El Tigre knew he spoke the truth. Everybody knew signalmen were different from other people. Their society was like a hive. Individuals would willingly sacrifice themselves to preserve the integrity of the whole: the gestalt they called the Guild. And the Guild covered the whole coast, extending further than the sailways. The communication network was essential to the life of True Human and Specialist alike — and it was too big an organization for El Tigre to take on.
«We cannot bend the rules,” said the little man. «You must see the agent.»
And the two of them became suddenly still, watching him.
Mordecai! thought El Tigre. They’re waiting for me to kill them!
He turned and descended the ladder rapidly, jumping the last few meters to the ground, landing lightly on all fours. Then he began to run back to North Stage, moving with that bounding felino gait which covers the ground at deceptive speed.
There was no point in seeing the Guild agent. He was another fierce little man who went by the book and would undoubtedly refuse to send the message on the grounds that felinos had no authority over sailway captains and that such an instruction would make the Guild party to an illegal act.
So El Tigre followed the sailway back to North Stage, where a large crowd of felinos was being whipped into a frenzy by the sly words of Manoso, stage managed by Dozo. There were no True Humans in sight. The other Specialists, feeling it was not their problem, stood aloof. Fools, thought El Tigre.
«I’ll speak to them now,” he said to Dozo.
«Better not. Manoso’s doing fine. This is a time for exaggeration and deceit, El Tigre. A time for politics. One of your talks on brotherhood and rights would bore the hell out of them. They want blood.»
Arrojo added, «We’re going to catch that bastard Tonio and string him up!»
«How are we going to catch him?»
«We’ll get after him, right now!» Arrojo’s eyes were alight with anticipation. «We’ll follow him to the ends of the Earth, if needs be!»
«There are larger issues.» El Tigre visualized all the best felinos galloping to Patagonia, leaving the camp unguarded. His fury had abated now, and he was able to consider the situation more calmly. There was much planning to be done. Instead of chasing wildly after Tonio, they should call a Council meeting and decide on they tactics. The long-promised revolution was at hand.…
«And now we hear rumors that the evil Fire-god Agni himself had a hand in the building of this machine!» Manoso was telling the crowd. «Well, friends, I think that Tonio has suggested his own retribution. We will tie him to his own poopdeck and kindle the Wrath of Agni beneath his accursed sailcar, and he and his machine will perish together!»
«But what about the next machine, and the next Tonio?» El Tigre asked Dozo.
Arrojo broke in. «Is the great warrior preaching caution? What’s happened to your talk of war, El Tigre?»
«I am talking of war, you damned fool. I’m saying we shouldn’t waste time running after one man. I’m saying we should get home and hold a meeting.»
“ A meeting?» Arrojo regarded him incredulously.
«El Tigre!» It was one of the signalmen. People regarded him in astonishment. Members of the Guild were rarely seen in felino camps even though their families might make an exception on Festival day.
«Yes?» El Tigre stepped forward irritably. The reminder of the frustration in the signal cabin added to the fires of his annoyance. «If you have a message for me, you’d better pass it through your agent. Guild rules, you know.»
«Listen to me, El Tigre. There’s been an accident at Torres involving Rayo, and —”
“ Rayois stopped there?» Arrojo uttered a yell of triumph.
«Yes, but —” The little signalman was still regarding El Tigre.
«We’ve got him!» shouted Arrojo. «By Agni, we’ve got him! To the mules, men!»
«What is it, signalman?» asked El Tigre quietly. His heart was pounding. There was something in the little man’s eyes. They had lost their fierceness, and watched him with a new expression.
«One of your daughters, El Tigre. One of your daughters was … involved.»
Now Arrojo was quiet, and so was the rest of the crowd. They edged closer, sensing tragedy.
«Involved? How? Which daughter?» El Tigre towered over the man, fingers hooked as though to tear the details bodily from him.
«I don’t know which — the signal only spoke of the grupo. But.…» The little signalman looked away, regarding the mountains almost wistfully, as though he’d rather have been there. «They say she died, El Tigre.»
The sound El Tigre made was, wordless. He turned away, snatching reins from Arrojo, jumped into the saddle and flogged his mount into a gallop. After a moment’s shocked hesitation, others began to climb onto mules and ride after him.
Dozo watched them go. «So much for the reasoned tactics of our leader,” he said quietly to himself.
The death of Haleka
The Song of Earth makes little mention of the tump. It is not a flamboyant animal. It does not capture the imagination of the listener in the way that the kikihuahua space bats do, with their thousand-kilometer wingspan; or the beacon hydras whose roots have been known to permeate an entire planet and throw it into a new orbit. No, the tump is a dull lump of meat. On the happentrack of our story it is doomed — although, as you will hear, there are happentracks on which the tump thrived and multiplied.
One couplet only describes the tump:
«Across the hills of Old Brasil the landwhales eat their way.
Their herds are ever‑dwindling, their future in decay.»
Not exactly a song of hope. The tumpier Haleka was not even mentioned — on this happentrack.
Haleka’s life’s purpose was ended. The tump had halted at the beach for a short rest before its death plunge. Haleka sat astride, prepared to die with his mount. The sun was sinking behind him, and the tump cast a huge shadow across the sand left wet by the outflowing tide. Haleka looked to the south, and saw in the distance another vast form. It might have been a big rock, but it could have been another tump in a similar predicament.
And on another happentrack, it was.
Haleka didn’t investigate. He had no curiosity, no interest. In the last few minutes left to him, his mind slipped into the past. The image of a beautiful, tawny-eyed girl faded for a moment, and childhood memories began to soothe him. He remembered his early life in the Women’s Village; his mother, and a sister named Andra. The Women had taught him gentleness, patience and philosophy, preparing him for his youth as an apprentice. Those had been quiet years, for the Women’s Village was a fortified kraal in the jungle where adult males came only occasionally, where tall fencing kept out all animals except monkeys, where the jungle outside the fence was guarded fiercely by Bachelors — men who had not qualified as apprentices and so would never become tumpiers.
Even the felina grupos left the Women’s Village alone.
In later years, when Haleka succeded to his father’s tump, he visited the Women’s Village a number of times. It looked the same as he remembered it, but now he had changed himself. He came driven by emotions he hadn’t known as a child, and as a result the Women’s Village held a new and urgent significance. The Madre — the elderly head of the Village — recognized this when Haleka appeared narrow-eyed and panting outside the fence, having defeated the strongest bachelor in bloodless wrestling. She let him in.
They were times of fierce delight, those visits to the Women’s Village, and the bright memory stayed with Haleka always, sometimes coloring his dreams on tumpback. He visited a number of times over a period of two years until, one day, the Madre met him at the gate and said, «Enough.»
The bachelors carried him away, struggling.
Back on the tump, he knew this rejection meant one of two things: either he had sired enough children to sustain the Village balance, or the Madre suspected that an emotional relationship had developed between him and one of the Women. This had been known to happen, even though the Madre always ensured that the Men lay with a different Woman on each occasion.
And Haleka did have a guilty memory of one Woman who had held him afterwards, and stroked him in a quite unnecessary way while he murmured things to her instead of leaving.
Years later, they had brought him the boy they called his son, so he was at last able to forget the Woman. Seasons of peace followed while he taught the boy, and when Mauo, as he was named, was apprenticed to a tumpier over Torres way, it was the proudest day of Haleka’s life.
Just one thing disturbed him.
Mauo, before he departed, said hesitantly, «There’s a girl — she’d be a Woman, now. My half-sister. Your daughter, Haleka. I often think of her.»
Of course the Madre hadn’t told Haleka about the daughter; why should she? It was no business of his.…
And as Haleka sat on his tump waiting for the moments of dying, the phantom face of this unknown girl took on substance, forming in his mind as a clear vision of beauty — a girl with eyes that looked into his soul, with hair like the Wrath of Agni.
«Oh, Karina!» he shouted to the sea. «Why did you leave me?»
Behind him, the swiftest sailcar ever built fled southwards, her sails like transparent membranes against the late sun.
The tump began to move again.
The glory of Haleka
As we know, all of Time is composed of diverging happentracks. Starquin used this quality to direct events towards the fulfilment of his Purpose. He concentrated on favorable happentracks, but even he could not prevent unwanted happentracks from branching off into the Ifalong — because they were part of an even greater scenario than his Purpose.
Through an odd quirk of the Ifalong, some of these happentracks found their way into the memory vaults of the Rainbow on our happentrack, in the here and now, and on this hillside.
Listen:
«Why do I have to hurt someone I like?» Karina said. «You made me run out on that poor little man Siervo, and he died. Now you want me to run out on Haleka. What will happen to him?»
«He will die.»
«And if I stay with him?»
«He will live a few years longer. Just a few years, Karina. It’s nothing compared to the sweep of the Ifalong.»
«But it’s a hell of a lot to Haleka!»
«You gave your word, Karina,” said the handmaiden.
Karina gazed down towards the ocean, where the slumped silhouette of Haleka could be seen atop his doomed tump. «Well, I’m breaking it. I’m staying with Haleka. To hell with Starquin and his Purpose and the Dedo and the whole rotten lot of you. You’re only interested in yourselves and you don’t give a damn for anyone else!»
For once, the handmaiden lost her serenity. «Karina, my child. The Purpose of Starquin is the most important thing on Earth.»
«Not to me it isn’t. Right now, the most important thing to me, is that I go and look after Haleka, because if I don’t I think he’ll drown himself.» Her eyes were blazing as she uttered the traditional felino disclaimer. «So piss on Starquin!»
«As you will.»
«What? You mean you don’t care?» The handmaiden’s sudden indifference nonplussed Karina.
«It’s of no significance now, because on another happentrack you have obeyed my wishes. Happentracks are infinite, Karina.»
«Damn you! And damn that other me!»
«The other Karina will become famous. But you will not, and you will never see me again.»
«See if I care,” said Karina, turning her back on the tall woman and walking away.
«So Mauo told me he had a sister — my daughter. I never saw her, but I often think about her. I think she might have been something like you, Karina.…»
Haleka’s voice droned softly on, telling of his childhood while Karina sat facing him on the broad back of the tump. They were boring, these endless pointless yarns, but they were better than suicide, thought Karina. Haleka had to talk things out.
«Look!» she said suddenly. «There’s a car — that must be Rayo! What’s wrong with her?»
The swiftest sailcar ever built limped southwards, her sails like transparent membranes against the late sun. The mainmast had broken and the car had been crudely jury-rigged, the two pieces of the mast splinted together with a crimson liana, the sail hanging crooked like a broken wing.
«So she wasn’t so fast after all,” said Karina. «After all that trouble and secrecy, she’s slower than any of the others.»
«Speed is the enemy of man,” said Hakela. «This is one of the first lessons a boy learns in the Women’s Village. I recall one day the Madre —”
«What are your plans, Haleka?»
«My work is done. As the Madre once said —”
«I think we should build a boat, you and I. We should sail off east to the Magic Islands, where women live in grass castles and men ride whales, so the legends go. Wouldn’t that be fun? We could build a castle and send for my sisters, and we could all live there, forever.»
«What would we eat?» asked Haleka tolerantly.
«We’d catch fish, of course, like the Magic Island people do.»
«Eat flesh? Me? Never!» said Haleka, whose ancestors came from the floating islands of Polysitia themselves, if he did but know it.
The tump began to move again, heaving itself towards the water, and Karina’s heart missed a beat. «Look!» she cried desperately. «There’s another tump further down the beach. I think our tump looked at it. Maybe it’s a girl tump!»
«Tumps have no sex, Karina. That’s the whole problem. That’s why they’re dying out.»
«How do you know they have no sex? Have you ever looked?» Karina warmed to her theme. «Can you honestly tell me anyone’s ever rolled a tump over and looked?»
«Don’t be ridiculous, Karina.»
«Well, then!» The tump had reached the water’s edge. Karina and Haleka still faced each other. Haleka watched the sea, Karina the land.
Haleka said, «The very fact that a tump can’t roll over ought to tell you it can’t mate.» The conversation was becoming distasteful to him. Tumpier culture dictated that Men ceased thinking about sex once their reproductive duties were done, and much of the childhood teaching was conditioned to this end. «It wouldn’t be able.… It couldn’t.… Even if it had.…»
«It couldn’t bring its organs to bear,” said Karina with relish. Then, with the subject seemingly at an end, the sadness rolled back like a sea fog. «Are you really going to kill yourself, Haleka?»
«That is the way.»
«I’m not going to let you — you know that? I’m going to fight you and drag you back, and the whole thing will become ridiculous. You know I’m stronger than you.»
«Please let me die with dignity, Karina.»
«No way.» She took his hands in hers. The tump was in the water now, and a wave touched her feet. She kicked at the water, hating it.
«Karina! Please don’t take this away from me!»
The tump was buoyant, rocking beneath them in the light swell. Karina held Haleka firmly around the wrists. His eyes were shut. Tears of shame started from under the lids. Karina blinked, wondering if she was doing the right thing. Haleka wanted to die, but she wouldn’t let him because.… Because she was just as selfish as the Dedo and the handmaiden and lousy Starquin.
«All right, Haleka,” she said quietly. «Goodbye, now. I love you.» And she kissed him on the cheek.
She slipped from the tump’s back and began to swim alongside, unwilling to head for the shore just yet. Looking around, she saw the other tump was closer now, a low mound showing above the water with a tumpier sitting on top, shoulders drooping. Haleka’s tump rocked, nearly unseating him. The bulky animal was not nearly so stable in the water as on land, and Karina moved away a couple of meters, fearing a capsize.
A capsize .…
«Haleka!»
«What is it now?» He was trying to compose himself. He loved her, but couldn’t she leave him alone?
«Why do tumps take to the water?»
«To drown, of course, when their time comes. Just as I shall do. Our time has come.»
«Haleka — suppose this stuff about times coming is all garbage! I know it’s traditional, and so on. But I can’t really believe the tump wants to die. I can see his eye from here, and he looks pretty lively to me!»
On an impulse she swam up to the tump and laid her hand on its head. The tump sensed her presence but this time it didn’t shy away from her; rather, it moved her way, recognizing something in her. Something flowed down her arm, flowed back. Karina smiled.
«So that’s it,” she murmured.
Years later, Karina thought to visit the tump pens.
By now she was a mature felina with three grupos behind her, and a lot of good memories. El Tigre had died several years previously during a brawl on the outskirts of Rangua but he’d taken three True Humans with him, and further assured himself of a place in felino legend. Karina was still beautiful, with the fleshy, wild beauty of the older felina, and the gray streaks in her red-gold hair lent her a slight vulnerability which added to her appeal.
It was not surprising that the man in charge of the tump pens stared in admiration as she walked slowly along the beach. Twenty meters from him she stopped and looked out to sea. There was a breakwater out there; a rocky wall which had taken several years to build, enclosing half a dozen rectangular pens. The backs of the tumps could be seen breaking the surface, two to a pen.
In the pens nearest the beach were the young tumps. They were being conditioned by the rise and fall of the tide to the feel of dry land under them. Each year another two or three young tumps were ready for the fields. It was simply a matter of training. Left alone, they would have spent their lives in the ocean, like the whales they were descended from, grazing the continental shelf. Trained to live on land they thrived just as happily — until, after a thousand years or so, they matured. Then, like an amphibian, they returned to the water to mate.
But this essential part of tump lore had been lost until recent years.
Tentatively, the man approached the beautiful woman. «Can I help you?»
«No.… I was just looking. Tumps fascinate me.»
«They’re interesting animals. I’ve studied them all my life. There was a time when we thought they were dying out — that would have been a bad thing for you felinos, eh?»
«Oh, I don’t know.…» The Examples weren’t so rigid, these days. Two nights ago she’d led her youngest grupo into the jungle and they’d feasted on capybara, and felt not the slightest guilt.
He laughed suddenly. «We tumpiers like to feel indispensible, you know. Don’t mind me.»
Her eyes flashed, as though this show of humility had annoyed her, and she said sharply, «The tump is the most important animal on the coast. Many felinos would have starved if the secret of the tump’s life cycle hadn’t been discovered.»
Still smiling, he said, «You said it for me. But tumpiers would have starved too, with nothing to trade in. We both owe a debt to Haleka.» Now he glanced at her, glanced away. «He was my father, you know.»
«Oh.» She scrutinized his face.
«Yes, really.»
«You must be very proud to have a father who is a legend.» He was a couple of years younger than she — yes, he could be Mauo. «The old Pegman sings of him often — Haleka, the tumpier who solved the riddle of the ages, and saved the felinos. How does it go …?» And she sang, in a low, melodious voice, the song which begins,
«From the tumpfields to the ocean,
Sing Haleka, sing Haleka.
How he earned Mankind’s devotion,
Sing Haleka.…»
«Of course,” she added with a mischievous grin, «he may have had a little help.»
«Nonsense! He told me about it often — how his tump went loco, and he prepared to die with it according to custom, how the tump began to swim, and suddenly it all became clear to him. And later he designed the tump pens and supervised the building of them — he was a famous man by then, all down the coast.»
«He told you all that? Nothing more?»
«Isn’t that enough?»
She came very close and his head swam with her loveliness, her unbearable sexuality. She put her hands on his shoulders and the fullness of her breasts touched his chest. By the time her strange eyes had looked into his for a moment he was in no condition to deny anything.
«Nothing more?» she asked sweetly.
«Well, there was.…» And suddenly his eyes widened, and the spell was broken. «You’re Karina! You must be! He was always talking about you — even when he was dying.»
«It is I,” she said composedly.
And then her composure left her because, quite unexpectedly, he took over. He was already standing close, so all he had to do was slip his arms around her, crush her body against his, and kiss her with an intensity that no other lover had even approached.
«That’s from Haleka,” he said by way of an excuse, grinning.
«Haleka would never have.…»
«Well, maybe he wasn’t so bright after all.»
«I’m glad you admitted it.»
«I do, lovely Karina. But ask yourself this — who does the old Pegman sing about?»
And he was right, of course. On that happentrack, nobody sang of Karina. As so often happens, the truth of the matter had been forgotten in a very short time but the legend grew fast and strong in the fertile tumpfields and the Women’s Villages; and since it was a tumpier legend it had a tumpier hero. Nobody wanted to hear about a mere felina who happened to be around at the time. Haleka’s protestations were seen as the becoming modesty of a great man and when, millennia later, the vast body of human lore had been distilled into the Song of Earth, the little legend of Haleka had its place on this happentrack which Starquin rejected.
«Some men shoot the antelope while others use the knife.
«Haleka loved the animals and gave his creatures life.»
But there was no mention of Karina.
And the Incarceration of Starquin lasted forever.
The bend at Torres
«I can’t understand what’s got into you,” said Teressa. «He was only an old tumpier. Liven up, Karina. This is the Festival, and we’re at Torres. Nobody knows us!» And she struck an outrageously seductive pose as a young True Human walked past, arm in arm with his girl. He colored and looked away, and Teressa’s laughter followed him up the hill. «Wouldn’t he just like to have,” she said.
The Festival at Torres was similar to that at Rangua; a large gathering of vampiro tents and other temporary structures on the north slope of a hill, attended by a colorful throng of humans of all species. At the base of the hill was the bend in the sailway tracks, and the felinos with their teams of shrugleggers. Then came the stalls and the pitchers of ale and the mating tents, the minstrels and their songs. The Pegman was there, his ramshackle sailcar drawn onto a siding. He cavorted about the camp, swinging his mallet and singing peg‑driving songs.
The first sailcar arrived in mid-afternoon.
The sails were sighted and a great shout went up. Then followed a scene which would be repeated down a thousand kilometers of coast over the next few days — the felinos began to jockey for position.
This was different from the careful, polite and almost mathematical calculation of the felinos at Rangua. Few of the Torres felinos had made prior arrangements with the captains; it was every man for himself. Added to which the cars would be arriving over a period of time, so the felinos who secured the first tows could conceivably get back down the hill in time for another.
They jostled and pushed; and the shrugleggers, as though understanding the implications, shouldered one another roughly aside. Grupos began to gather on the outskirts, awaiting a sign from their men.
«What fun!» said Teressa. «I wish we did this kind of thing at Rangua!»
In fact, over the years the grupos had been only rarely involved because it was tacitly agreed that the resultant free-for-all would delay the sailcars unduly. So it was usually man against man. After a while, the big felinos began to aim powerful blows at one another.
Captain Herrero came sailing in.
Two teams were in advantageous positions and their felinos traded punches while the shrugleggers spread out to prevent interference. Herrero watched from the deck as Urubu rolled to a stop. «You!» he shouted, pointing to the tallest of the combatants. Unfortunately the shout coincided with a decisive kick and his selection fell writhing to the ground.
«Me!» shouted the other, and fastened his team to the towbar. The shrugleggers leaned into the harness and Urubu began to glide up the hill. Lower down, fighting broke out afresh as another sail was sighted.
The El Tigre grupo hung about the guiderails, watching with open‑mouthed excitement.
All except Karina. «Don’t you find all this a bit degrading?» she asked Runa. «Fighting for tokens thrown to us by True Humans?»
«She’s in a bad temper,” Teressa explained, «Just because she had to leave her precious lumpier friend.»
«Yes, she’s beginning to sound like father,” added Runa.
«Well, at least El Tigre wouldn’t stoop to fighting with his own people for the chance to serve a True Human,” said Karina hotly.
«No, because nobody would fight with him, not if they valued their life.»
«Shut up, you three,” said Saba. «There are more cars coming.»
For a while the felinos were too busy to fight as the cars arrived one after another, some switching tracks to slip ahead of opponents. Ripe tortugas began to make their appearance as Torres’ only merchant bought a small quantity. They were quickly cracked open and handed round. Then the sailcars were gone.
«Let’s go and see what’s happening up the hill,” said Karina, and ran towards the vampiros. As she peeped inside the first, hoping to catch someone in the act of mating, shock hit her like a physical blow.
The handmaiden sat in there.
«Go back to the trackside, Karina.»
«Why?»
«It is necessary for the Purpose.»
«Oh.…» This time, it was no big thing. «All right,” she said. She ran back and met her sisters on the way. «There’s still another car to come,” she called to them.
«Rayo,”observed Teressa, adding maliciously, «and Karina’s boyfriend.»
«How many times do I have to tell you I can’t stand the sight of Raoul?»
«Why do you ride with him on Captain Tonio’s old sailcar, then? And who was following him in the jungle not so long ago, and got caught?»
Karina flung herself at Teressa who met her with a short jab to the ribs. The usual battle was developing when Saba gave a shout.
«Rayo’scoming!»
Karina and Teressa paused to watch, still locked together, neither one wanting to surrender her imagined advantage.
«She’s moving fast,” Karina said.
«Of course, you would think Rayo is the best car.»
«No, I mean really fast. Just look at her.» Now the rails were roaring and Runa, sitting on the guiderail, could feel the vibration through her buttocks.
She looked up from her scrutiny of a young bachelor to see Rayo coming towards them faster than she’d ever seen anything travel before.
«Mordecai!» she shouted, jumping to the ground. «Let’s get out of here!»
There was something different about this car, and this trip.
Astrud sat at the forward end of the hold, just behind Tonio. The wind funnelled like a hurricane through Rayo’s nose and Astrud would have gone on deck except that it was bedlam up there, the crew fighting with the sheets while the ground sped past at an insane speed. It wasn’t right for anything to travel so fast. It was against nature. And it was surely against the Examples, although Astrud couldn’t quite work out why.
Anyway, she was quite certain they would be punished.
She’d even worked out how it would happen. The whole cargo of tortugas would suddenly explode, scattering Rayo and its inhabitants across the pampas.
«Tonio.… Do we have to go so fast?»
But her words were whisked away by the wind, drowned in the terrible noise. Not that Tonio would have paid any attention, even if he’d heard.… That was another thing. He’d been behaving so strangely. He seemed to lose control of himself at the slightest setback. And just before they’d finally got away from the yards, he’d vomited.
She caught hold of the ladder and, with difficulty, climbed to the deck. It was like climbing a tree in a gale. And just as she reached the top of the ladder, Rayo passed the hill they called Camelback, and a gust of wind almost lifted the mast out of its tabernacle. She actually heard fibers parting. As she staggered, Raoul caught her. His eyes were bright with excitement.
«Steady, mother!»
«And just what would we do if the mast broke?» she asked shrilly, fear making her snappish. «Where would we be then? What’s the point of all this speed?»
«If the mast broke we’d jury-rig it.» He pointed to a locker full of crimson lianas. «It’s a chance we have to take, if we want to catch the others.»
«And the way those felinos looked at us, at Rangua. Shouldn’t we have stopped? The things they shouted after us! I’ve never heard of a car not stopping before!»
«Rayois no ordinary car.»
Even on the swaying deck, with the noise beating at her mind, Astrud sensed something odd in Raoul’s tone. He might not be her real son, but she’d known him a long time. «What are you saying?»
«Nothing, mother.»
«Raoul!» She clung to him. The car was flying across the plain like a thing possessed. This was the work of Agni! It had to be! There was evil in this speed! «How is Rayo different?»
Her stepson was silent.…
In the fulness of intuition, she said, «There’s something in this car which is against the Examples.»
He didn’t reply. He moved away, face averted, and began to help the crew replace a fraying line.
Astrud leaned against the deck rail, weeping with terror, while the hellish car bore her headlong into perdition. Her head whirled with the terrible speed of the ground beneath, and when the voice of Tonio snapped commands from the pipe nearby, she felt it was not her husband but the Fire-god Agni himself who sat in the nose, the wind forcing his lips back into a fierce, hungry grin.
She was hardly aware of Raoul running past her some time later, grabbing the voicepipe and yelling into it.
The Fire-god yelled back, unintelligibly.
Raoul was dragging at some kind of lever, and after a moment she was dimly aware of the rest of the crew bunched there, adding their strength to his. It was of no consequence, because a few seconds later Agni struck, as she’d known he would.
Smoke rose from below, acrid and evil.
Something was screaming inhumanly, stabbing into her ears.
And finally the Wrath of Agni, crimson and yellow and painful to look at, blossomed around the nose of Rayo.
This was what burned into Astrud’s brain. The Wrath was crawling towards her, reaching for her with scarlet tentacles so fearful that she hardly noticed the screaming had stopped, hardly heard the great crash of parting timbers, hardly knew that Rayo had left the track and was leaping blindly towards destruction.
«Let’s get out of here!» shouted Runa.
Karina and Teressa disentangled themselves and began to run. All around, people were scattering as Rayo bore down on them, swift and terrible, her vast sails filling the sky like thunderclouds.
«Mordecai!» someone exclaimed. «The Wrath of Agni is upon her!»
«She’s going too fast! She’s —”
Down by the bend Karina ran on, bounding over the coarse scrub, reaching the pebbles of the beach. She was aware of Teressa at her shoulder, Runa panting behind her, others near, all running.
Saba!
She halted so suddenly that Runa ran into her and she staggered, scanning the fleeing people for a sign of Saba.
She heard an enormous, splintering crash.
Rayohit the curve and the outside guiderail snapped like a dry stick. The car leaped from the running rail, trailing smoke and flames, and flew thirty meters through the air before landing with an impact that toppled the mainmast.
Embedded in Karina’s mind was the vision of a small figure hurled through space and striking the ground under the very wheels of Rayo.
The great ship ploughed on, her decks a tangle of sailcloth and ropes, the flames sweeping aft and flaring over the waxed fabric. The mizzenmast still stood, catching the wind and tilting the ship. The nose, already a skeleton of smoking timbers, crashed through the first of the vampiro tents and the huge bats reared up, screeching, teeth bared as they were swept aside.
Karina ran forward. «Saba!»
The crowd further up the hill realized, too late, that they were not safe. They began to run. Rayo slid on, slowing now and toppling so that the mizzenmast cut a swathe through stalls and huts, flinging aside pots and fabrics, jugs of ale, fruit and other merchandise. In her wake, shrugleggers and humans struggled to their feet, but some lay still. Then the vampiros, crazed with fear and pain, staggered in among them and began to strike viciously with tooth and claw, great wings flapping loosely like tarpaulins in a gale.
Karina ran among them, ignoring their thrusts, searching for her sister. The injured lay around screaming, arms held up to ward off vampiros. The shrugleggers were easy meat, tangled in their harness.
Rayoshed parts of her structure as she ploughed on. The mainmast jammed in the doorway of the community hut and twisted the entire building around before snapping off. Flames from the sail spread into the thatch, and people tore their way out through a wall, jumping clear and running. The mizzenmast caught against a tree, sending a cloud of screeching macaws into the sky as tongues of flame licked into the branches. The deckrails lay scattered on the ground like broken ladders, smouldering. The blazing brake shoes snapped off against a rock outcropping, and lay in a growing pool of fire.
Karina saw Saba.
The whole camp was in motion now, as the spreading fire sent everybody into a frenzy of superstitious terror. Rayo, now a blazing cylinder unrecognizable as a sailcar, struck rocks and slewed around, beginning to roll down the hillside towards the sea, gathering speed and crushing vampires as she went. One animal, brushed by fire, rose clumsily into the sky on burning wings before tilting and sideslipping into the sea to flap for a while on the surface, raising wisps of steam before disappearing. Finally Rayo came to rest on the beach, the fabric of her hull totally consumed. She lay there smoking like the blackened skeleton of some huge marine mammal. The tortugas began to explode with a popping, growing to a roar.
Karina held Saba’s hand. There was no life there. The felina lay twisted, her tunic torn and bloody and a sliver of hardwood projecting from the ribcage just below one slight breast.
Karina stood.
A vampiro approached, eyes glittering, totally reverted to the wild state. It bent over the still form of Saba.
With an inhuman yell Karina leaped at the creature’s throat, hooking her fingers into the folds of skin. As it began a ponderous flapping, seeking to carry her off, her toes slashed into its abdomen and entrails cascaded to the grass. It fell back with a strangled whimper and Karina, her feet planted on the ground, pivoted with all her strength and threw the huge creature onto its back. She hardly felt the neck snap, didn’t realize as she stepped away from the body that she had decapitated it, and the head was still hanging from her hooked fingers.…
Standing over the body of Saba she gazed at the scene of devastation. The stalls were on fire and the community hut had collapsed. Several of the smaller huts were smoldering. Like gigantic scavenging birds the vampiros stalked among the casualties, pecking here, clawing there, seeking easy meat first and feasting off the dead, leaving the injured for later. Everyone else had fled.
All except for a small group near the siding on which the Pegman’s sailcar stood. Two huge men were there, restraining three people who seemed to be trying to get away.
Karina could not see them for tears.
«Is this what you wanted, Starquin?» she shouted at the darkening sky. «Are you satisfied, damn you? Siervo and Haleka, and now Saba! Is this your great Purpose? Well, I tell you this, you bastard. I’m through! To hell with my Word — I take it back! From now on I’m going to do everything in my power to wreck things for you. Can you hear me?
«I’m going to start by finding Captain Tonio and his wife and his goddamned son, and if they’re still alive I’m going to kill them. Then I’m going to hunt down that burned creep the Dedo keeps sending, and I’m going to kindle the Wrath under her goddamned skirts and finish the job Agni started.
«Then the Dedo.… I’ll really enjoy that. I’ll do it slowly. I’ll take her apart, piece by piece — your flesh, your bones, and I hope I’ll hear you screaming up there.…»
There was more but it was becoming disjointed, merged into the sobbing, and in the end she dropped to her knees and laid her cheek on Saba’s breast.
She didn’t hear the quiet hoisting of sails, and she didn’t see the Pegman’s car glide from its siding and roll away up the coast.
«Oh, my God.… Oh, Karina.» Raoul let his breath out in a shuddering sigh and rolled over, face to the deck, trying to rid his mind of the image of the demented cat-girl, drenched in blood with the head of a vampiro hanging from her fingers, standing over the body of her sister and screaming her murderous intentions at the evening sky.
While nearby, Tonio and Astrud lay watching with scared eyes as the huge, silent Us Ursa handled the ropes.
The importance of balance
The handmaiden said, «She’s resisting — I think I’ve lost her. Her sister died, you see. I think she blames us.»
«Quite rightly, of course.»
The Dedo stood against the Rock which was unlike any other rock. It was translucent blue-gray and it seemed to consist of a multitude of interconnecting facets, each one flat and about the size of a human hand, set somewhere just below the surface so that the handmaiden could never be sure they were there at all. And the facets glowed with a light of such eerie violet tint that it was almost beyond the spectrum. They glowed and flickered, passing flashes of dull color from one to the next in a bewildering pattern which seemed to exist in the handmaiden’s mind rather than in the Rock itself.
The handmaiden, her emotions dulled by years of contact with the Dedo, ate a small fish which had been baked before the fire. The Dedo had caught the fish. In the valley, you had to be careful about that kind of thing.
The valley was in balance.
When the handmaiden first came, the Dedo had explained.
«The cai‑man takes what he needs and no more. Certainly he kills more than he needs, but that is unavoidable when the prey is large. The surplus food goes to feed the scavengers, who also have their place in the valley. The ungulates graze. The rodents gnaw. The jungle lives in balance. You’re probably wondering where I fit in. Well — I grow my own vegetables and I sometimes play the role of a scavenger. Occasionally I am a predator and I kill a deer, or maybe do a little fishing if the stocks are high or if I can see a surplus in the Ifalong.» She indicated a row of smoked fish hanging from a beam.
«I choose my role,” the Dedo said, «because I’m by far the strongest creature in the valley, and that includes Bantus. I arrange the whole of this place to suit my own needs. I balance predator against prey, browsers against foliage, grazers against range. I do it in such a way that every creature retains its place, at the same time allowing the weak to die and the strong to breed. This way, the valley will support me until I die. It is in balance.
«I’ve adjusted the balance to include yourself.»
Now the handmaiden wondered how this was going to work out, because the Dedo had hinted that she was expecting several visitors in the nearby Ifalong. The handmaiden mentioned this.
«The balance of the valley will work towards the fulfilment of the Purpose,” said the Dedo. «Before very long, your work towards that fulfilment will be complete, and John will be conceived.»
A moment of human frailty caused the handmaiden to shudder.
HERE ENDS THAT PART OF THE
SONG OF EARTH KNOWN TO
MEN AS
«TORTUGA FESTIVAL»
IN TIME,
OUR TALE WILL CONTINUE
WITH THE GROUP OF STORIES
AND LEGENDS KNOWN AS
«IN THE VALLEY OF LAKES»
Where El Tigre loses and wins his battle,
Karina loves,
And John is born to the furtherance of
Starquin’s mighty Purpose.
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