Earthfall (Homecoming) (30 page)

Elemak knew better. It would have been a shameful thing, if it had been sincere. But he knew the truth about the four kidnappers. Disloyal, that’s what they were. Cowards. Fusum had bullied them into doing what they did, and now they were eager to let Elemak bully them into doing something else. If Fusum had any sense at all, he would kill them as soon as he came into power.

For Fusum
would
come into power. Of that Elemak was certain, for the more he heard from the kidnappers, the more he felt he knew Fusum, knew how he thought, what he felt, what he wanted, and what he would do to get what he wanted.

What he wanted was simple: power.

And what would he do to get it? Whatever it took.

Elemak knew Fusum, yes, because he
was
Fusum. Or at least he might be Fusum, if this son of the blood king had sense enough to understand the situation and bide his time as Elemak was doing.

So the day came when Shedemei brought Fusum’s suspended animation chamber into readiness.

“I’d like to be alone with him when he comes to,” said Elemak.

She looked at him steadily. “And why is that?”

“Because I know him,” said Elemak. “From what the others have said. This one is dangerous, and if he’s to be tamed I have to show him who is master. If you’re here, he’ll see that there is some other human involved. He won’t know that I’m in sole control of every aspect of his life. Do you see?”

“I see,” said Shedemei. “But I don’t agree.”

“But you
will
leave me alone with him,” said Elemak.

“I will because Volemak said to let you handle things your way.” She turned her back on him and left.

After a while, the lid slid back and Fusum lay before him, blinking his eyes, trying to understand his surroundings. Elemak reached down with one hand, took him by the throat, and raised him up almost to a sitting position, screaming at him in the most fluent and colorful digger language, “You stole my daughter! You were going to eat her! Is that the warrior you are, the kind who can fight babies but you cower in front of men?”

Fusum’s first response was not fear but rage. Elemak was glad to see that, how Fusum reached out with arms still weak from the suspended animation drugs and tried to rake Elemak’s heart out of his chest. Very good. Not a whiner, are you? “So now you attack me, you fool!” Still gripping him by his throat, Elemak yanked him up and out of the chamber and flung him against the opposite wall.

Ah, yes, this one wasn’t a weak and fragile toy like the angel had been. This one rebounded, his body unbroken, his teeth bared and his hands ready for fighting. But he had been weakened and he was groggy. It wasn’t a fair fight, which was exactly as Elemak wanted it. This was about authority and dominance, not justice. If it were about justice, Elemak would have strangled him in his sleep.

Fusum leapt at him—a high, springing movement that might have caught Elemak off guard if he hadn’t already had the kidnappers demonstrate their fighting technique in mock gladiatorial combats. Just to learn the words for each of the things you do, he had told them. Well, he learned the words. He also figured out the physical reply. And so it was that Fusum found his own weight used against him as he was thrown again, this time down the corridor, so that he landed skidding and sliding until he fetched up against the back wall.

With a growl he leapt back into combat, but his feet made poor purchase on the smooth floor and he could never build up enough momentum to knock Elemak off his feet or even unbalance him for a moment. By the time the drugs wore off he was physically exhausted and humiliated by his endless defeats at Elemak’s hands.

Finally, when Fusum could move no more, Elemak seized him by a hind leg and dragged him along the corridor to the central ladder, then carried him up to the room where he would be kept in lockdown when Elemak wasn’t with him. During the trip he made no effort to protect the digger’s head and body from pain, nor did he permit Fusum to get enough leverage or balance to protect himself. And when he got to the room, he threw Fusum into it, followed him in, shut the door, and stood there laughing.

The diggers didn’t laugh the way that humans did, but the message was clearly getting across. Fusum rose onto his hind legs, exposing his pink hairless belly. “Are you going to sacrifice me like a man?” Fusum asked. “Here’s my belly, take my heart and entrails and eat them before my eyes—I don’t care, I’ll eat as much of it myself as I can get away from you!”

Elemak knew brave posturing when he saw it. “I’d sooner eat my own feces than have any of your cowardly blood on my lips.”

“So you mean to give me a coward’s death, then. Here’s my throat. Cut it, I don’t care. Life is nothing to me because now that you gods are here, men are nothing. There are no men. Only women and cowards with two tails.”

Elemak couldn’t help but laugh again. Such defiance! He was such a
boy
, this one. But then, it would have been disappointing if he had reacted any other way. An Obring would have been groveling and pleading for his life. A Vas would have been sullen and silent. A Mebbekew would have been trying to bargain, to strike a deal. But this one, Fusum, he really was a man, doing his best to take any sense of joy and triumph out of Elemak’s victory.

“Fool,” said Elemak in digger language. “I don’t want you dead. I want you to be king.”

That silenced the digger as nothing else could have.

“Your father is worthless,” said Elemak. “Emeezem rules over him. Mufruzhuuzh isn’t a war leader, he might as well be wingless skymeat for all the good he does. I thought maybe your conspirators, those four who did the kidnapping, I thought perhaps they were men, but they are nothing, they gladly offered to trade you for their own lives, and blamed you for everything.” Elemak mimicked their voices, making them breathy and feminine. “Oh, Fusum
deceived
us. He
made
us. It wasn’t our
fault
. If we’d known you were really
gods
.”

Fusum hissed in reply, spraying saliva across Elemak’s entire side of the room. It was the ultimate gesture of contempt. It would have provoked a deadly battle, if Elemak were a digger.

Elemak only laughed. “If your spittle were poison, it might be worth spending it on me. But there’s no point in it. If you intend to save your people, to keep them out of slavery to
us
, then I’m the only hope you’ve got.”

“If you’re my hope I have no hope.”

“You really are a fool, aren’t you. But what can I expect from you? After all, I’m a god, and
you’re
an earth-crawling worm.”

“I am no worm, and you….”

“Go on, Fusum, my dear little boy, my helpless lovey baby, say the rest of it.”

Fusum shook his head.

“You were going to say, ‘And you are no god.’ Weren’t you? Let’s be honest with each other.”

“I felt your hands on my body,” said Fusum. “They were no god-hands.”

“Oh really,” said Elemak. “No doubt you’ve had many gods handle you before, so you know how
their
hands feel.”

Fusum didn’t answer.

“I’ll tell you what
my
hands felt like. They felt like they belonged to a man who is stronger, smarter, faster, and more filled with hate than you.”

Fusum studied him. “A man, you say.”

“I say a man,” said Elemak. “Not a god.”

“Stronger, yes,” said Fusum. “Today, anyway. Faster today. Smarter—perhaps. Today.”

“Forever, Fusum,” said Elemak. “In ten thousand years your whole people couldn’t learn what I know right now.”

“Smarter,” said Fusum, conceding the point. “But never filled with more hate than me.”

“Do you think not?” said Elemak. “Let’s compare stories, shall we?”

They did. And when that first long day together was done, when Elemak at last brought food to Fusum, they were no longer prisoner and guard, or hostage and master, or man and god. They were allies, two men out of power among their own people, but determined to use each other’s friendship to gain ascendancy over their rivals among their own people. It would take patience and planning. It would take time. But they
had
time, hadn’t they? And patience could be learned one day after another. Elemak was doing it, wasn’t he? Fusum could do the same.

“Just remember,” Elemak told him, as Fusum splunged noisily into his meal. “If there comes a time whey you think you can do just as well without me, I will see that thought in your mind before you notice it yourself, and when you turn around to put a knife in me, you’ll find that my knife is already in you.”

Fusum laughed, the wheezy, hissy laugh of a diggerman. “Now I know I can trust you with my life.”

“You can,” said Elemak. “All I’m telling you is that I will never trust you with
mine
.”

When Nafai and Luet, Issib and Hushidh set out for the village of the angels, they carried their tools on their backs—or, in Issib’s case, on the chair he had following behind him. Yasai and Oykib had climbed to the chosen spot the week before and placed the relay array, so that Issib could float easily up the pathway into the canyon. But his chair was there in case of bad weather, or in case someone stole some of his floats while he slept.

Their little children they left behind in the care of others. If all went well in their first contact with the village of the angels, they would build houses and then come back down to retrieve the children—along with seeds, extra clothing, and materials for teaching. They hoped to have a working farm in time for the full growing season at that elevation. If all went well.

pTo and Poto led the way up the canyon, quickly rising up into the air from time to time, then circling back down so that the humans could talk to them when they caught up. They were all quite aware that many among the angels had rejected the idea of befriending the humans—the Old Ones. But they had prepared the script that they thought would win them over, or at least win permission for the four humans to dwell among them. And when at last they reached the top of the canyon, the very meadow where pTo’s bones had been broken, wing torn, blood spilt, they stopped and played it out.

pTo perched on Nafai’s head, and Poto on Luet’s. Their feet pressed, lightly but firmly, against the humans’ jaws. And their wings unfolded, wrapped around Nafai’s and Luet’s shoulders, like cloaks, like tents.

“Like nests,” said Luet.

Nafai nodded. For although they had never seen an angel nest with their own eyes, they had heard the descriptions pTo and Poto gave them, they had looked at the drawings they made, and finally they dreamed them and awoke from the dreams sure that the Keeper of Earth had shown them the truth. Woven and thatched out of supple twigs and grasses, the nests were really roofs sheltering the branches where the wives and young ones slept, hanging head down, wrapped in the blanket of their own wings.

Somewhere in the branches, in the surrounding trees, they knew the angels were watching them. Judging them.

Issib glided forward, his feet not touching the ground; Hushidh followed him, quietly telling him where the angels were, and which ones did not seem well connected to pTo and Poto. Those were the ones who needed to be won over, of course, and Issib, standing in the air—a trick that no one else, not even Nafai with his cloak, could do—he overawed them, the god visible, the only one who could fly.

“Where is Iguo, when her husband comes home to her?” Issib called out loudly in the language of the angels. He knew his voice would be hard to understand, pitched as low as it was, but he spoke quickly, hoping that the consonants would be enough of a guide to help them grasp his words.

No one emerged from the forest, but that was no surprise, not yet.

“His wing was torn, but now there is no tear in it. Do you think we will harm you, we who can heal the torn wing of a brave explorer?”

Still no one came forward.

“When the angry Old One harmed pTo, it was because he thought it was you, the people, who carried off his baby. We did not yet know the dark underground way of the devils.”

Luet had argued against using the angels’ word for the diggers, but Issib had insisted that they had to speak to them in language they would understand. “After all, Elya and Okya call the angels
skymeat
when they talk to the diggers, don’t they?” Issib had pointed out. Everyone agreed then that
devils
was certainly no worse a word to use than that.

Issib went on addressing the invisible angels. “Now we know that the people do not come down the canyon to steal our children. Instead we see that when one brave man has been stricken down unjustly, his otherself, a man as brave as the first, will come down to care for him and save him if he can.”

At last a few of the angels began letting themselves be seen, hopping forward to the leading branches of the trees that surrounded the clearing. Some of them stood upright atop the branches; others hung from them, head downward. It was dizzying to watch them, but Issib went on. “Now we know that the people who might have stopped brave Poto chose to let him come. These are the people who hoped for friendship with us, with the Old Ones who have been brought home by the Keeper of Earth.”

There had been some argument about that, too. The angels had no concept of the Keeper of Earth, but Nafai had insisted that the name must be introduced from the beginning. “They’ll find out soon enough that we aren’t gods,” Nafai had said. “Let it never be said we lied to them.”

“As we lied to the diggers?” asked Luet mildly.

“We aren’t trying to rescue a kidnapped baby from the angels,” Nafai pointed out. “We’re trying to make friends with people who have only seen us be mindlessly cruel. We’re not going to let them see us as gods, even if we
do
get their attention by having Issib do his hovering trick.”

So now Issib spoke the name of the Keeper of Earth, using the translation that pTo and Poto had given them, when they finally understood what and who the Keeper was. Or rather, when they understood as much as the humans did, as much as they could explain with their rudimentary mastery of the angels’ difficult language.