“We’re not allowed either, but we’re going,” Trompe snorted. “What would they have done to him if they’d caught him?”
It was not a proper question. It was not a question any Dinadhi should have to answer. “I don’t know,” I said. “Sometimes the songfathers have people stoned.”
Leelson sat back on his heels. “Let’s assume he came here himself. Let’s even assume he was put to death by the songfathers for that impropriety. Would his property have been forfeit?”
I didn’t know what he meant, but Lutha did. She turned to me, asking:
“If a person is executed on Dinadh, what happens to his property. What happens to his clothing, or anything he may be carrying?”
“Everything we have belongs to our families. When someone dies, if the body isn’t too close to a hive, it’s just left where it is. It’s only … flesh. The spirit is already gone. But anything like clothing or tools would be returned to the family.”
“Even if the person has been executed?”
“The family is not tarnished for what one person of it does. That would not be just.”
Songfather was not tarnished because of me. Chahdzi father was not tarnished because his daughter had failed. It would not be just. I felt my throat tighten, all my sinews strain. Was it just that I had been tarnished? What had I done to deserve tarnishing?
Lutha put her hand on my shoulder, but Leelson did not notice my pain. He was focused elsewhere.
“So if Bernesohn was killed out here somewhere, the map would have been returned to his leasehold.”
I brought my mind back to where we were.
“The map?” Leelson demanded impatiently. “It would have been brought back?”
He made me angry with his insistence. “Yes, but the same would be true if he had been found dead. He didn’t have to have been executed. In fact, we know he wasn’t, because if he had been, no one would have—” I caught my breath and put my hand over my mouth.
I’d been going to say, “No one would have prayed his return if he’d been guilty of blasphemy.” Since he came back to Cochim-Mahn as a Kachis, he must have been invited. This is one reason our people are careful to be pleasant to one another, not to be hostile, not to be mean, for if one of us is not well liked, that one may not be invited to return, may not be invited to be part of his former family.
I turned away in confusion.
“What?” demanded Leelson.
Lutha squeezed my hand, saying, “It’s one of the things she’s not supposed to talk about, Leelson. Simply take it as given that she has reason to believe Bernesohn Famber was not killed by the songfathers.”
Leelson glared at her and at me, shaking his head. “It really doesn’t matter whether he vanished during his journey or subsequently. In either case the map ended up back at his leasehold with his handwritten notes on it. It’s unfortunate he’s no longer among us to enlighten us as to the details.”
I opened my mouth, then shut it without saying that Bernesohn Famber was still among us. Lutha hadn’t believed it. Leelson wouldn’t believe it either.
Leelson went on, “Let’s assume the songfathers know the way to the omphalos because they’ve inherited instructions from former generations, not because they’ve made the trip before.”
Lutha asked, “Where are you going with all this, Leelson?”
“I’m getting there. The map shows a dozen canyon mouths opening into the area of the omphalos, and assuming the Nodders did not grow here but were put here, we could extrapolate that there may be similar installations at the mouths of all the canyons. In which case, what purpose do they serve?”
“I haven’t the least idea,” she replied in a grumpy voice. “Do you? Or are you just being rhetorical.”
“He’s not being rhetorical,” Trompe offered. “He’s saying there may be Nodders guarding all access to the omphalos. Controlling traffic, so to speak.”
“Traffic!” She stared pointedly at the emptiness around us. Stone and more stone. No traffic.
Trompe persisted. “If he’s right, timely travelers get through, others don’t.”