She attempted to explain the actual origin of the term in the colony’s history, but Ushulubang interrupted her with a whistle.
“Males—and their stupid jokes. But Goloku taught us that humor is the palp of wisdom. A rough and heavy palp, at times. But such is often necessary, to open the valves of truth.”
Once again, that piercing huge-eyed stare.
“The title is, I believe, most appropriate. Tell me, gre—Inudiratoledo: what is the principal means by which a being protects itself?”
Indira shrugged. “It depends on the being. Tentacles, for gukuy. Arms, for an ummun. And for both, the swiftness of their peds.”
Ushulubang made the gesture of negation.
“No. The principal means by which a being protects itself is its eyes. For you must first see the danger, before you can deal with it.”
Indira hesitated. “That is true. But—”
“What is the danger which always faces a people?”
“I—it depends.”
“No. It does not `depend.’ It is always true—at all places; at all times.”
She understood, suddenly. “The future.”
“Just so—Admiral of the Ocean Sea Inudiratoledo.”
Indira shook her head fiercely.
There is no time for this now.
“We must return to the original subject of our discussion.”
“As you wish.”
“How will your Pilgrims live on the Chiton? And where?”
“You have not yet given us permission to stay.”
Indira frowned. “You do not need my permission. I do not own this mountain, nor do my people. If it belongs to anyone, it belongs to the owoc.”
“You misunderstand. The Chiton is vast, with many valleys. There is more than enough room here for all of us—owoc, gukuy, and ummun alike.” A humorous whistle. “The Pilgrims number among them both civilized and barbarian people. There is not a skill in the world which they do not know. Skills which, from what I have seen, you ummun often seem to lack.”
Indira nodded. It could not be denied. In truth, over the past two years the humans had learned far more from the gukuy, in the way of practical skills, than the other way around.
“You, on the other hand, possess arts and skills which we lack. Most of those arts—sciences, you call them—are not yet of any use to my people. In truth, we do not even understand them. But I believe those arts will be necessary for us, in that dangerous place called the future.”
The gesture of regretful affirmation. “And in the meantime, you possess a great knowledge of that skill which is most necessary of all. In this perilous place called the present.”
“And what is that?” But she already knew the answer.
“The art of war.”
* * *
“Is that why they came here?” asked Julius later. “To learn how to fight their persecutors?”
“Partly. But it’s more than that. Ishtarian society has reached the stage where the old ways are rupturing at the seams. In all societies—civilized and barbarian alike. The emergence of the Way is itself a symptom of that upheaval. So is the rise of this monstrous tribe from the far west.”
“The Utuku?” He shook his head. “Well, let’s root for the Kiktu.”
Indira shook her head. Grimly: “It’s too late for that, Julius. The Kiktu were utterly destroyed by the Utuku. Months ago, in a great battle on the other side of that huge jungle southwest of the Chiton. The Pilgrims learned about it from refugees fleeing the disaster. That’s why they circled the mountain and came in from the east, in fact—to avoid the oncoming army of the Utuku. A number of the refugees are here with the Pilgrims. I was able to talk to one of them today myself.”
Julius was pale. “The Kiktu were destroyed? Completely?”
Indira nodded. “Apparently so. Well, the refugee I spoke to said that some of the Kiktu fled into the swamp. But she seemed to view that as no more than a protracted death sentence. That aside, yes. And not just the Kiktu, but all of their tribal allies. They were surrounded and pinned against the swamp. Crushed. The tribes’ mothers would have been crippled and enslaved. All others butchered for meat, except for young females conscripted into the Utuku army.”