Young humans, barely beyond childhood, of every color; allied to a soulless monster whose mantle never showed any color; desperately seeking to forge an instrument which could stave off destruction.
And doing very well, thought Indira, given their handicaps. They are almost there. They need only the finishing touch. And, most of all, the confidence that they are right. The confidence which the Mother of Demons could give them. The Mother of Demons, who knows the secrets.
There are no secrets! she heard her own voice shrieking. But it was a lie.
This secret I do know. It was discovered long ago, in another time, on another planet.
A vivid image flashed through her mind, the superimposed vision of a dark forest in Poland, and the Utuku defeated. No, more than defeated. Shattered, slaughtered, butchered. Their blood soaking the needles of pine trees which never existed on Ishtar; their entrails strewn beneath the branches of an alien growth. Death and destruction in a demon forest.
At that moment, Indira almost spoke. Almost stepped forward and went onto the training field.
But other visions came, and paralyzed her. Vision after vision after vision.
Yes, I know the secret. And all the secrets which come with it.
She saw the horsetail standards of the Mongol tumens, shivering with triumph in the forest. And the pitiless faces of the horsemen and their generals. And the cities like hecatombs. And the peasant woman lying in the doorway of the wretched hovel in which she had toiled her life; her short life, now ending, as she lay there, naked, violated, bleeding to death; her last sight the disemboweled bodies of her children. Lives which had no meaning to the warriors who rode away, toward new triumphs, beyond the brief pleasure they had taken from ending them. But lives which had been as precious to their victims as the life of the Great Khan had been to him, in his grandeur at Qarakorum.
Indira turned and walked away. Her steps were quick, very quick, almost running; the pace of a mother abandoning her children. She was glad, then, that she had no way of showing her feelings as could a gukuy. For her skin would have fairly glowed with brown misery—that particular shade of brown which signified guilt.
* * *
As soon as she left, Joseph and his lieutenants broke off the exercises and trotted over to Ushulubang. Jens Knudsen followed, after a brief exchange of words with Nukurren. Soon thereafter, all the human warriors and gukuy Pilgrims came as well, until the old sage was surrounded by a silent crowd. Only Nukurren remained behind, standing alone on the training field.
Ushulubang said nothing, until Joseph spoke in a voice filled with youthful anguish.
“Why will she not tell us?” he demanded.
“How to defeat the Utuku?” asked the sage mildly. Joseph nodded.
“Maybe she doesn’t know,” said Jens.
Ushulubang made the gesture of negation. “She knows. It is quite obvious.”
Joseph’s face was filled with fury. His body almost shook with rage.
“Then why will she not speak?”
Ushulubang’s mantle flashed blue/black—the color of furious condemnation. The color of execution.
“Be silent, spawn!” bellowed the sage. The young humans stepped back, astonished. They had never seen Ushulubang in this state. The Pilgrims froze, their mantles flashing red fear. They, as well, had never see that terrible color on Ushulubang’s mantle.
Ushulubang fixed her gaze on Joseph. And now the huge eyes of the sage had none of their usual gentleness and wisdom. Hers was the pitiless scrutiny of a prophet.
“Do not judge your mother, spawn. You do not have the right. You demand from her the Answer, when she is demanding from herself the Question. You do not understand how terrible that Question is. You do not even understand that there is a Question.”
Ushulubang made the gesture of rejection. “Go, spawn. All of you. Return to your training.”
Again, the color of execution. “Go!”
The crowd fled. Except—after a few steps, Jens Knudsen stopped. Stopped, hesitated, then turned. He made his uncertain way back to Ushulubang.
The sage, mistress of shoroku, had to fight hard to maintain control. Else her mantle would have been flooded with green.
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