The Color of Distance (50 page)

Anito mused over the story while she tried various flutes. One of the reasons that she liked it was that it could mean so many things. Told one way, it was a tragedy about the death of Hassa; told another, it was a teaching story about rivers. It could be the story of two old and devoted friends, or a parable about trying too hard to be perfect.

She found a flute with a tone that she liked and selected a set of wrist and ankle rattles made of shells. How should she tell this story to the enkar? What did they want to hear?

She looked up at the audience, the judges, the enkar, the candidates. Ukatonen was sitting right in front, with Moki and Eerin beside him. She wondered what Eerin would think of the story.

Then she knew how she wanted to tell this quarbirri. It was risky, but then, after failing her allu-a test, it really didn’t matter. She would tell it in a way that felt right to her, even if it defied every tradition of storytelling.

She looped the thong of a hand drum over her wrist, picked up a rainstick, and stood, flute in one hand, rainstick in the other. She spread her ears wide to let the judges know she was ready, and drew herself up proudly.

Anito inverted the rainstick, and the tiny pebbles inside pattered like falling rain as they dropped to the other end of the stick. With gentle, almost invisible motions of her heels, she began to shimmer the rattles on her ankles. She lifted the flute, and played a simple thread of melody: Hassa sitting beside his river.

She began the story, describing Hassa and his history, creating a word portrait to match her sound portrait, lulling her audience with the ancient, traditional story.

Then she introduced Mubitonen. She used human skin speech, delivering Mubitonen’s lines in a mixture of human and Tendu. The enkar sat up, magenta with surprise, ears spread, but too fascinated by her storytelling to look away to talk to each other. Anito continued, using the story of Hermit Hassa as a parable of humans and Tendu, of the friendship they could have, of the things they could teach each other, and the danger of being swept away by too much change.

When she finished, the audience was still for a long moment. Anito swallowed, afraid that she had offended them. Then they erupted in ripples of excited approval. Anito bowed her head, closing her eyes in relief she dared not show on her skin. As she stepped off the speaker’s mound, Naratonen came up to her.

“That was very well done,” he said. “People will be talking about tonight for a very long time.”

“Thank you, en. You were my teacher.”

“ ‘The student honors the teacher by surpassing him,’ ” Naratonen said, quoting an ancient saying. “Ever since that argument I had with Ukatonen and Eerin about learning from the humans, I have been trying to think of a suitable way to talk about it in a quarbirri. Now you’ve done it for me.”

Ukatonen held out a packet of omkina paste and a gourd of fruit juice.

“There isn’t much time. Eat, drink. You’ll need the energy.”

She bolted the food, washing it down with the fruit juice and a full gourd of water as the judges finished conferring. She rinsed herself off with another gourd of water as Figotonen stepped to the speaker’s mound to announce the next quarbirri.

Ukatonen squeezed her shoulder. “You did well,” he said, and slipped back to his place at the front of the crowd.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of concentration. First there was the group quarbirri; then she had to reenact scenes from a number[[ : ]]other quarbirri.

“Thank you, candidate. That is all for tonight,” Figotonen announced.

It took Anito a moment to realize that the test was over. Her knees were weak and watery; her skin felt tight and tired. Eerin and Ukatoner? were heading toward her. She longed to collapse into their arms and 1; them carry her back to her room, but she was going to be an enkar. Sh wouldn’t let them see how tired she was. She drew herself up and walke^ out of the circle of enkar unaided, and then somehow forced her tirec muscles to make the long, hard climb home.

As soon as she readied her room, her legs folded beneath her, weak as waterweed. Eerin gathered her up in her short, strong arms and set her on the bed. As Eerin piled the bedding around her, Anito remembered how patiently the new creature had cared for her when she was recovering from werrun. So much had passed between them in the four years since. She reached out and touched Eerin affectionately on the arm, flickering thanks.

“The Hermit Hassa piece was wonderful,” Eerin said, taking her hand. “I’m glad I recorded it. It has a lot to say to my people, as well as yours.”

Eerin slid her hand up Anito’s forearm, until their spurs were lined up for allu-a, her skin darkening to the purple of inquiry.

Anito flickered Yes, and they linked briefly, feeling the human’s alien strength flowing into her body, along with her gentle, warm spirit, so different from the Tendu, yet so good to link with. Eerin had given her so much. She felt her gratitude rise and enfold Eerin, felt the human’s familiar, deep affection well up and receive her thanks.

Gently, Eerin slid Anito out of the link, patted Anito’s arm affectionately, and piled the rest of the bedding over her. Anito settled herself into the warmth of her bed and fell asleep.

Anito stood with Ninto, waiting for the judges to come out and announce which candidates had passed the test. The ten-day fishing trip had done a lot to restore them all. Ukatonen had lost most of the worn look he had acquired during the testing. Moki was as happy as a fat ooloo in a patch of sunlight, and for that matter, so was Eerin. Ninto was beginning to put on some weight and no longer looked like a walking skeleton.

Ten days of lazy living beside the river had improved her own spirits. Her energy level was higher, and she no longer lost her temper at the slightest provocation. She would be glad when the test results were announced and they could go back to the river for some more fishing. Anito wanted to do as little as possible for the next month or two.

The crowd of enkar parted to let Figotonen and the other judges walk to the speaker’s mound. The candidates and their sponsors fell in behind them. Moki and Eerin squeezed through the crowd until they were standing just behind Ukatonen and the others.

When everyone had settled into place, Figotonen held his hand up to indicate he was about to speak. The assembled enkar settled into stillness to watch his words.

“The following candidates have passed the test: Hisatonen, Anitonen, Bikotonen, Gesatonen, and Suzatonen. Jisato, Ninto, and Konito may return to be tested next year.”

It took Anito a moment to recognize her new fourfold name sign, changing her name to Anitonen. Her initial surge of joy died quickly as she realized that Ninto hadn’t passed the test. She looked over at her tareena. What would they do now?

Ninto laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Anito—I mean Anitonen. I’m sorry I didn’t pass.”

“You’ll pass next time,” Anitonen told her. “I’m sure of it.”

“What should we do now?” Ninto asked Ukatonen.

“I don’t know. First, I need to talk to Figotonen and the others, and find out what you need to work on to pass next year’s test. Then we can worry about what to do next.”

They huddled disconsolately in their room, repairing fishing gear, and picking disinterestedly at their dinners until Ukatonen returned. He looked tired and defeated.

“What happened?” Anitonen asked.

“Well, they want Ninto to choose a different sponsor. Naratonen volunteered. I think he would be a good choice; the judges said that Ninto needed to work on her quarbirri some more. It was, apparently, a very close decision. She should pass next year with no problem at all. There’s one more thing, though,” he said, addressing Ninto directly. “They want to separate you and Anitonen.”

“What!” “Why?” Ninto and Anitonen said almost simultaneously.

“They think that the two of you are too close.”

“Why?” Eerin wanted to know.

“Because Anitonen is an enkar now. She is expected to be solitary, to avoid ties that might sway her judgment.”

“But you aren’t solitary. We’ve been living in gatherings full of other enkar.”

“This is a gathering, not a village, Eerin, and we are enkar. We are expected to avoid deep emotional ties to any person or place. Ninto and Anito are from the same village, and they are tareena. That is a deep tie, and if they are both to become enkar, this tie must be cut. This is why so few villagers are willing to become enkar. We have no people and no place of our own. We are expected to be complete in ourselves, even when we are among others.”

“How soon will we be leaving?” Anitonen asked.

“We’ll be staying here. It’s the closest gathering of enkar to Lyanan. Ninto, you’ll have to talk to Naratonen about when and where you two will be going.”

“Isn’t there anything you can do?” Eerin asked.

Irritated by Eerin’s persistence, Anitonen looked away. No, there was nothing Ukatonen could do. She was an enkar now, and was not allowed to have any ties. It was probably inevitable that they would be separated like this.

Ninto touched her shoulder, and Anitonen looked up. “They can send us far away from each other, but they can never separate us where it counts,” Ninto said, brushing Anitonen’s head and spurs. “We will always be together inside ourselves. You are my tareena. We are linked by our sitik and our memories, no matter where we are.”

“When you pass your test, and we are both enkar, then we can spend more time together,” Anito responded.

Ninto flickered tentative agreement. “I hope so.”

Naratonen came in then and addressed Ninto. “Ukatonen told you about the judges’ decision.”

Ninto flickered yes.

“Are you willing to take me as your sponsor?”

“Yes, I am,” Ninto replied in formal patterns.

“Then we will be leaving early tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, en. I will be ready.”

“Good,” he said briskly. He glanced over at Anitonen, who was the color of a heavy-bellied rain cloud. “I’ll leave you to pack and make your farewells,” he continued, in softer, gentler patterns.

“Thank you, en,” Ninto told him.

Anitonen looked away, anger and grief boiling just beneath the surface of her skin. She was losing her last connection to her former life. Soon there would be nothing left but her memories.

Ninto touched her cheek. Anitonen looked up at her tareena. Ninto held out her arms for a link. Anitonen nodded and the two of them sat across from each other, clasped arms, and linked.

It was one of the most intense links Anitonen had ever experienced. They merged as deeply and completely as possible. It took a long time to separate and return to themselves, and perhaps the separation wasn’t entirely complete. Ninto’s presence clung to Anito like a lingering scent. It was very late when they emerged from the link. Ukatonen was sitting in the shadows of the darkened room.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Fine,” they replied, in unison. “We’re fine.”

“Let me see.” He reached out and linked briefly with each of them. “Yes, you’re all right. Just barely, but you’re all right. I’ve packed your things, Ninto. Get some sleep. It’s late.”

Naratonen had taken Ninto away when Anitonen awoke the next morning.

“Ninto wanted your linking last night to be her goodbye,” Ukatonen told her.

“It doesn’t feel like she’s gone. She’s right in here,” Anito responded, gesturing at her chest with her palm.

“That will fade in time.”

“Perhaps, but it’s enough for now.”

I
hat will be all for today, class,”
Juna told her students in Standard.

“Thank you, teacher,”
they responded before scattering back to their other work, or off to relax somewhere. Teaching Standard to the Tendu was hard, and would continue to be hard. She could give them facts, but none of them had any experience or context to put them into. Past a certain level of complexity, it was all nonsense to them. Still, she taught them as much as she could, hoping some of it would make sense as they learned more about humans. It was hard, frustrating work, and she was glad that they were leaving for Lyanan in a couple of days. Over the past four years, the villagers of Lyanan had become friends. It would be good to see them again.

Lyanan was also where she felt most connected with Earth. Juna closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the smell of clean sheets. She felt an almost sexual longing for simple human comforts, a bath, a hot meal, a bed with clean, dry linen. The thought of a conversation with another human being, or the touch of a warm human hand, made tears prick at the insides of her eyelids. Going to Lyanan reminded her of all the human things she tried so hard to forget the rest of the time. Forgetting was how she survived without going crazy.

Juna felt a touch on her arm. It was Moki. What was going to happen to him when her people came back? The question loomed larger as the time drew near. In the two months since the enkar examinations, she had encouraged Moki and Ukatonen to spend a lot of time together. Perhaps if the bond between the two of them was strong enough, her leaving would not tear Moki apart.

Juna reached up and took Moki’s hand. He knew she was thinking of her people again. She could read it on his skin. She looked away, fighting back a surge of guilt. She couldn’t help longing for her own species. It was as natural as Moki’s own intense need for his sitik.

She held her arms out, spurs up. They slid into a link. She tasted Moki’s fear, sharp and urgent, and he tasted her longing for her own people. Nothing he could do would ease that longing more than a little. She answered his fear with all the love she felt for him, but none of that could ease his worries about the future. The link settled into an uneasy equilibrium that was not the harmony they both longed for.

It was raining when they arrived at the village tree of Lyanan. Juna’s shoulders were chafed and sore, despite the padding of wet moss that lay between her skin and the pack straps. She looked forward to shedding her burden in a warm, dry room. Lalito emerged from the trunk as they descended toward the na tree’s massive, bowl-shaped crotch.