Inudiratoledo made the demon gesture of negation, a peculiar sideways shaking of the head.
“That is what I thought. You are wrong, Nukurren. We have no use for a mercenary.”
“Those are my only skills.”
Again, that odd gesture.
“That is not my point. The skills of a warrior are not the same as the nature of a mercenary. Your skills we need, and badly. But not if they come with the soul of a mercenary.”
“I do not understand.”
“I will try to explain. Has Dhowifa told you what we are hoping to do here? The—nashiyonu—we wish to weave?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe it can be done?”
Nukurren hesitated.
“Speak honestly.”
There could be no defying that voice.
“No. I do not believe it can be done.”
“Why?”
Nukurren made the gesture of resignation.
“The world is a place of evil. It has always been so. Evil cannot be destroyed.”
“On the world from which I came, Nukurren, there was also much evil. Much evil, and much as you have seen it on this world. There is still some to this day. But not so much as in the past.”
“The demons have conquered evil?”
“You cannot conquer evil, Nukurren. Evil is not a thing from beyond, a foe to be vanquished. It is a thing which emerges from within the life of a people. It can only be changed, by changing that life. That is what we seek to do.”
Nukurren considered her words. She had never thought of it in that manner.
Perhaps I should start paying more attention to what Dhowifa is saying.
“How long will it take, this change?”
“A very long time, Nukurren. It will not happen in your lifetime, or in mine. Not for many generations to come. We can only begin the change. And even in that beginning, we will create new evils alongside the ones we lessen. But we will be on the right road.”
“You are certain—that it is the right road?”
“Yes, Nukurren. I have spent my life studying that road. The one we travel will be different, in many ways. No two roads are ever the same. But—there are always certain forks, where certain choices are made. We are at such a fork today.
“Long ago, in my world, such a fork was reached, and a people made a decision. They made the right decision. In so doing, they did not eliminate all evil. By no means. They brought much evil with them, and created still more. Great wars had to be fought, to change those evils. But those wars, and those changes, would not have been possible had they not made the right choice at an earlier fork.”
She hesitated.
“I do not have the time now to explain all this. Soon we will be creating a new kind of school, where I will explain this—and much more—at great length. I would be glad if you chose to become a student. But for the moment—
“When that people came to that fork, Nukurren, and made their choice of road, there were many other peoples who were angry at the choice. It was a new choice, and one not to their liking. The new people—the new nashiyonu—were a small people, surrounded by powerful enemies. They had to fight for their existence, knowing little of the art of war. They eventually won their battle, but it was very difficult.
“It would have been even more difficult had they not had the help of a warrior. A veteran from one of the old and powerful prevalates. A master of the skills of battle. That veteran came and showed them the ways of war. He was not a mercenary, Nukurren. He did not come because he had been paid, he came because he wanted to help create a new road. That is what we need.”
Nukurren was silent, for over a minute. Then, she said: “I must think.”
The Mother of Demons nodded. “Yes. You must. It is not easy to accept hope. Hope is the most terrible emotion of all, Nukurren, for it has no color. It is color itself, and thus we fear it more than any color.”
Nukurren pondered these words. She remembered the face of the Mother of Demons, days past, as she sat in the hospital where her children lay dying. Unyielding, like bronze, where that of all other demons had been twisted and contorted; waterless, where all others had been wet. And Nukurren understood, then, that the words the Mother of Demons had just spoken were words she had torn from her own soul’s despairing grasp.