Mother of Demons by Eric Flint

I thought it would be this one. (A mental whistle of amusement.) Whose soul bears, in truth, the passion of his color.

Jens Knudsen began to speak, could not find the words. Ushulubang made the gesture of acceptance.

“Tonight,” she said. “I will await you in my hut.”

After Jens Knudsen left, and Ushulubang was certain he was beyond hearing, she made the whistle of amusement she had so long repressed.

“I thought that went quite well,” she said to Dhowifa.

The little truemale’s mantle rippled with ochre.

“You are so sure, Ushulubang? Things are—much as you predicted. But, still—it is so dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” demanded the sage. “Of course it is dangerous! The Way is dangerous, Dhowifa. There is nothing so dangerous as the Question. The way of safety is the way of the Answer. Safety—and oblivion.”

“I know, I know. At least, I think I know.”

Dhowifa fell silent. Ushulubang completed the thought.

“But you think it is too perilous. To goad the Mother of Demons until her soul shatters?”

“Yes.”

“There is no other way, Dhowifa. In this, I am right. She must be forced to tell the secrets.”

“Are her secrets really so terrible?”

Ushulubang whistled derision. “Stupid spawn! Have you learned nothing? She has no secrets.”

Dhowifa’s mantle rippled orange surprise.

“But—”

“There are no secrets, Dhowifa. That is what she knows, and her children do not. How can the Question be secret? Only the Answer can be secret. And that is why she is so terrified, and cannot tell them what answers she does know. For fear of what questions those answers will bring.”

“Then why did you say she must be forced to tell the secrets, if there are none?”

“It is the telling that is important, Dhowifa, not the thing told. The answer given is momentary, a vapor dispelled by the wind. But the telling—that is what lies at the center of the Coil.”

“I do not understand why that is true.”

“Because it is only in telling the answer that the Mother of Demons will finally accept the Question.”

Dhowifa hesitated. “Is it so wise? To bring demons to the Way?” He gestured at Jens Knudsen. “That one, perhaps. He is young, and—very kind. He has meant much to Nukurren, these past days. But—the Mother of Demons? And the black demonlord? Can such fearsome beings really be—”

Ushulubang whistled derision.

“Be what, Dhowifa? `Tamed’? Of course not. I do not wish to tame them. Quite the contrary. I wish to convert the demons in order to show the truth to the gukuy. Which is that we too are demons, and must be, and shall be. Because only demons have the courage to seek the Question.”

Again, silence fell. After a moment, Ushulubang gestured at Nukurren.

“Soon, we must heal her.”

Dhowifa’s mantle rippled orange. “She is already healed, Ushulubang. Almost, at least. There will be scars, of course, and she will always be blind in one eye, but—”

“I was not speaking of those recent wounds to her body, Dhowifa. It is the great open wound in her soul which must be healed. The ancient wound which has bled all her life.”

Dhowifa made the gesture of uncertainty. “She has seemed happy to me, these past few days. It has meant much to her, even though she will not speak of it, to find a friend in the demon Dzhenushkunutushen.”

“You are wrong, Dhowifa. The friendship is a blessing, and a boon to her. As you have always been a boon to her. But there must be more. She must find the center of her Coil. She must find her life.”

That night the demon Dzhenushkunutushen came to the hut of the sage Ushulubang, and spent many hours there, learning the Way of the Coil. The next night, he was accompanied by his lover, the demon Ludumilaroshokavashiki. Two nights thereafter, they were joined by Yoshefadekunula. The demonlord said nothing, but simply listened to the sage.

Night after night, Indira watched her children enter the hut. Night after night, she watched them leave. They did not speak to her, nor she to them.

And every night, after they were gone, Ushulubang emerged. The sage and the Mother of Demons would stare at each other for long minutes, saying nothing. The one, filled with anguish, wishing she too could enter the hut; the other, filled with love, barring the way.