“I will not ask that,” Vaintè said. “But I will ask you to serve at my side, my first aide in everything.”
“It will be my honor.”
Then Vaintè turned to Ikemend who drew herself up, ready for orders. “Yours is the most responsible position of all. Our future is between your thumbs. You will take charge of the hanalè and the males.”
Ikemend signed ready acceptance, pleasure—and firmness of endeavor. Vaintè felt the warmth of their companionship and support, then her mood changed to one of grimness. “I thank you both,” she said. “Now leave me. I will have Enge here. Alone.”
Vaintè held tight to the leathery flesh as the uruketo rode up and over a large wave. Green water surged across its back and broke against the black tower of the fin. Salt spray flew, some splashing Vaintè’s face. Transparent nictitating membranes slipped across her eyes, then slowly withdrew. She was not aware of the sting of the salt water for her thoughts were far ahead of this great beast that carried them across the sea from Inegban*. Ahead lay Alpèasak, the golden beaches of her future—or the black rocks that she would crash upon. It would be one or the other, nothing in between. In her ambition she had climbed high after leaving the oceans of her youth, leaving behind many in her efenburu, surpassing and climbing beyond efenburu many years her senior. If one wished to reach the peak one had to climb the mountain. And make enemies along the way. But Vaintè knew, as few others did, that making allies was equally important. She made it a point to remember all of the others in her efenburu, even those of lowly station, saw them when she could. Of equal, or greater importance, she had the ability to inspire respect, even admiration,among those of the younger efenburu. They were her eyes and her ears in the city, her secret strength. Without their aid she would never have been able to embark upon this voyage, her greatest gamble. Her future—or her failure. The directorship of Alpèasak, the new city, was a great step, an appointment that moved her past many others. The danger was that she might fail, for this city, the furthest ever from Entoban*, already had troubles. If there were delays in establishing the new city she was the one who would be brought low, so low she would never rise again. Like Deeste whom she was coming out to remove as Eistaa of the new city. Deeste had made mistakes, the work was going too slowly under her leadership. Vaintè was replacing her—and taking on all of the unsolved problems. If she failed—she too would be replaced in turn. It was a danger, but also a risk worth taking. For if it were the success they all hoped it would be, why then her star would be in the ascendancy and none could stop her.
Someone clambered up from below and stood beside her. A familiar presence yet a bittersweet one. Vaintè felt now the comradeship of one of her own efenburu, the greatest bond that existed. Yet it was tempered by the dark future that lay ahead. Vaintè had to make her efenselè understand what would happen to her once they were ashore. Now. For this would be the last chance that they would have to talk in private before they landed. There were too many listening ears and watching eyes below to permit her to speak her mind before this. But she would speak now, end this foolishness once and for all.
“We have made our landfall. That is Gendasi ahead. The commander has promised me that we will be in Alpèasak this afternoon.” Vaintè was watching out of the corner of her eye but Enge did not speak, merely signaled agreement with a motion of one thumb. The gesture was not insulting—nor was it revealing of any emotion. This was not going well, but Vaintè would not permit it to anger her or stop her from doing what must be done. She turned about and stood face to face with her efenselè.
“To leave father’s love and enter the embrace of the sea is the first pain of life,” Vaintè said.