Awakeners by Sheri S Tepper

She turned full face toward him and said, “I have a case to put to you, Uplifted One. …”

She spoke of her desire for the post of Protector of Man. She spoke of her intentions, once that post was hers.

“There is no reason the Thraish cannot increase in numbers. Human numbers can be increased to feed them. The Noor are no good to you because the color of their skins will not allow the Tears of Viranel to grow properly within them. Let us

eradicate the Noor. Let us replace them with settlers from Northshore.”

Behind the tent flap, Jhilt quivered in shock. This she had not heard before.

“How will you convince the Chancery to do this?” Sliffisunda asked, interested despite himself. Even though none of this would be needed when the herdbeasts multiplied, it was still an interesting concept.

“If your numbers are increased, the amount of elixir can be increased. More humans can receive it. Those whose votes are needed in the Chancery assembly will be promised elixir. A simple thing, Sliffisunda.”

“How will you wipe out Noor?”

“War.” She shrugged. “General Jondrigar needs opportunity for war.”

“Not enough Jondarites.” This was said as mere comment, not as objection.

“True.” Again she shrugged. “We will need to conscript men from Northshore as well. Any man, I should think, who has not fathered a child in a few years.”

Who will then not be available to support children he has fathered, Sliffisunda thought, while keeping silent. The Thraish understood nestlings. Even Talkers understood nestlings. When the parent was lost, the nestlings were lost. Many would die if this woman came to power. The pits would be full. And if that went on for a long time, the Thraish could expand in advance of the day he had planned. The woman was ambitious, but not wise. He could use her, despite her disputatious nature. “Let us talk,” he said, smiling inside himself. On the day following, Sliffisunda arrived to question Pamra. This was a simple feint or, as the fliers put it, hadmaba, a threatening posture designed to bluff rather than injure. Sliffisunda wanted to support Gendra Mitiar; he did not want her to think he did it willingly or for his own purposes. So, let her think he was really interested in this pale, thin woman with the blazing eyes with the child on her lap.

“Tell me of your crusade,” he said, expecting nothing more than ranting or evasions.

“You do an evil thing,” she said in a level tone, fixing him with her eyes. “All you fliers.” The child fixed him with her eyes, strangely.

He hunched his shoulders, staring at her, ignoring her young. “What evil is that?”

“It is for you the workers are raised up,” she said. “I did not know that until I came to the Chancery, until my great-greatgrandfather Tharius Don told me. I thought it was for the work they did, as we were taught. I thought it was Potipur’s will. I had been taught that. It was false.”

“It is Potipur’s will,” Sliffisunda replied, amused. “Potipur has promised the Thraish plenty. The bodies of your dead are the plenty he promised.”

“A true god would make no such promise. A true god would not do evil. Therefore, Potipur is not a true god, he is merely your god, a Thraish god. Not a god of man.”

“Does man have a god?” Considering the trouble the priests and Towers had been to suppress all humanish religions, it was amazing that she had come up with this. Despite himself, he was intrigued.

“If the Thraish have a god, then men, also, have a god. My voices tell me that if there is not One, over us all, then there are several, for each race of creatures.”

“Or none?” he asked. “Have you thought of that?”

She shook her head at him. “My voices say there is. A god. Of humans and Treeci, for we are like.”

Sliffisunda shat, offended, turning his back on her. She did not seem to notice but merely stared at him as though he were some barnyard fowl. He screamed at her, wings wide, and she merely blinked. “Foul Treeci. Offal. Fish eaters.”