Part Three
Chapter 27
PRIVATE CONVERSATIONS
Monwyrt couldn't believe his eyes. There, in the crowded hut full of Mocwalwians, stood the "assumed form" of a Waeccelang. He looked around, astonished - but no one else seemed to think that anything was happening that was more than just a little out of the ordinary. Their measured reactions were almost as shocking to him as the presence of the Waeccelang was, and he looked back at Paisohnprahn in bewilderment.
Paisohnprahn was equally surprised at first. It was obvious the Zhonoy saw something other than the old um the Laizuvries knew. And in an instant, when he understood the stream of Monwyrt's unguarded thoughts, everything fit: the prodigality, the natural speech, the reserved intelligence.
They had begun to come. Somehow, this Monwyrt was one of those for whom they had so long awaited. Paisohnprahn's eyes met Monwyrt's.
"I must tell you something quickly - do not speak aloud!" he communicated to the Traeppedelfere. "The Laizuvry can not see me as you do; they see me as an old, old um, and think of me as such, and no more. They would be most offended and upset should you try to tell them differently, and I would not be able to control them if they became violent without giving myself away. Besides that, it would serve no purpose for them to know. Do you understand?"
Monwyrt nodded. "Yes, I understand. Are you the one they call Paisohnprahn, then? Do you really live amongst them, right here in Todymody? Why?"
"It occurs to me that perhaps I should be the one asking questions of you, you wayward Traeppedelfere; but as to why I am here, let me ask you this: What is the difference between the Laizuvries and your Traeppedelferes? Look at them: they are benign, they are faithful, they are cooperative. They share qualities cultivated by time-honored customs which, by ill-considered events such as your participation in this game here tonight, you are threatening to destroy. Didn't Nuzhunpa tell you not to thrust yourself into such attention? What are you doing here?"
"Faugh!" Monwyrt responded in thought. "This game hardly merits the effort it requires to play it. Zholybet was all excited about it, though, and she told me I had been invited, so I thought, why not? It wasn't until after we got here that I found out Nuzhunpa was supposed to come with Zholybet, and not me. But she became very stubborn, and would not leave when I turned to go, and spoke severely to Feeshare and the others, arguing that there was nothing different about me, and other untruths. Since those Laizuvries who remained seemed indifferent, and Zholybet was so adamant, we stayed. I see no harm done."
"No harm done! You are destroying a game which has been a large part of their culture for generations out of memory! What joy will there ever be in it for them again once they learn that a skill they have honed from infancy to a subtle art is intrinsically simple, even boring! to the inferior Zhonoys? Which brings up a larger point: you have been consistantly outstripping your Laizuvrian hosts in everything you try. You are a stronger pelkrotter, a more enduring and forceful seayohnuhr puller; I have heard that you are a remarkable vashlymoss handler (I now understand why), and you are even an accomplished swimmer! Now, I find you about to beat all the best beazhatters in Todymody. You don't realize it, Monwyrt, but the ums and numpas in this hut are hailed and envied all through the city for their great skill at this game. You may succeed in single-handedly and utterly destroying the pride of an entire race tonight."
"If that is so," thought Monwyrt sulkily, "that pride was unfounded to begin with."
"Don't provoke me with your insolence!" warned Paisohnprahn. "You are, I think, aware of what I can do?"
"Yes, I suppose so," admitted Monwyrt. "But do you want to risk exposing yourself before all these folk?"
"I admire your self-possession, but don't flatter yourself to think that I will let you threaten me! What could they say if you were to suddenly fall to the floor, dead? A Zhonoy, overcome with the excitement - they would be delighted, I think: it would re-assert their superiority. Do you doubt that I have that power?"
"No."
"Good. I think you know what you have to do, then."
Monwyrt stared sourly into Paisohnprahn's eyes for a moment longer, then suddenly broke into a wide grin. "At last!" he returned. "A challenge in this silly game! Why didn't I think of it myself? Try to lose - yes, it won't be easy, but it might be fun."
"By all means, have some fun!" answered Paisohnprahn. "And now that we understand each other, we can proceed with the pleasantries."
This unspoken conversation flashed through the minds of Monwyrt and the Waeccelang in the blink of an eye, and all that the Laizuvries saw was the Zhonoy's nod and smile when he saw Paisohnprahn.
"Well," said Paisohnprahn to the hut in general, and Monwyrt in particular, "so this is the famous Zhonoy!"
There was an awkward moment of silence. Finally, Nuzhunpa cleared his throat and stepped forward.
"I guess it's my place to tender the introductions," he said to Paisohnprahn, "although I believe you know everyone here but Monwyrt. Dacoar, Paisohnprahn this is our Zhonoy." He turned to Monwyrt and spoke in Traeppedelferean. "Monwyrt, this important! I want you behave. Um? You - " he suddenly remembered that Paisohnprahn was also a "twatunge," that is, he seemed to vaguely recall having heard from someone that Paisohnprahn had long ago been the blatyay at the trockzelay. With a slight shock he realized that the lecture on diplomacy that he was about to give Monwyrt would be as embarassing to him as almost any faux pas the Zhonoy might commit if Paisohnprahn understood the language. He closed his mouth with a click, then said simply, "Monwyrt, this Paisohnprahn. He very wise. You respect."
"Where's my Burfey?!" a voice outside the hut bellowed. All eyes swung to the doorway, where a panting and pop-eyed Matann burst into their midst. She wildly looked at the hut full of Laizuvries. "What's going on here?" she demanded. "Where's Feeshare?" she spat out, not waiting for an answer to her other questions. "My little Burfey hasn't come home from beazhatting yet! Where's my little Burfey?" She looked from face to face plaintively, anxiously, until she had turned all the way around and spied for the first time the frail build of Paisohnprahn. "Thank goodness you're here!" she blurted. "Send them out!" she waved her arm, "all of them! They'll listen to you! Make them find my little Burfey!"
This repeated plea for "little Burfey" finally had its effect. Two effects, actually: the first manifesting itself in a tremendous explosion of laughter from nearly everyone in the hut at little Burfey's expense; and the second in the appearance of the missing um himself, fairly ablaze with mortification as he shyly elbowed through the crowd toward his palpitating prahnumpa.
Feeshare breathed a huge sigh of relief. The throbbing tension in the hut was miraculously transformed into a tittering mirth. With Nuzhunpa and Paisohnprahn in attendance she had no more apprehensions, and she, along with the rest of the ums and numpas, looked forward to the completion of the game.
"Do you mean you haven't beat that slow yet?" Matann scolded her son when she learned the current state of the game. "What's wrong with you? You're the best beazhatter in Todymody - finish this thing up and let's go home! I haven't been able to get a moment's sleep all night because of you. I've been worried out of my mind! and you - you've just been sitting here playing around! Hurry up!"
The Laizuvries were delighted. This was a highly entertaining and welcome diversion from the raw, quivering concentration they had been laboring under, and even if they felt sorry for "little Burfey" they could not help but be amused at Matann's spiel; and besides, many of them felt the same basic sentiment: get on with the game!
The beazhatters resumed their places at the table, and the spectators shuffled and nudged back into position. Monwyrt glanced up at Paisohnprahn again with a twinkle in his eye, still hardly believing the situation. Burfohn broke out in a nervous sweat for the first time all night with his prahnumpa literally breathing down his neck, benefitting him with her advice and strategies in a constant stream of half-whispered prattle.
The perfect game began again. But where it previously had been played perfectly well, now it became perfectly awful. The dream had transmogrified into a nightmare.
Monwyrt coolly began his turn by setting the bea to spinning in the rocking zhat, and studying it intently for several moments. The gallery buzzed with anticipation: the Zhonoy had not appeared so intent before. When Monwyrt held the bea above the zhat in preparation for the drop, the entire hut fell into an almost numbing silence. The sound of the rolling bea cut through the heavy air like so many frailohns were buzzing in each of the watchers' ears, and when Monwyrt dropped the other bea, it suddenly stopped with that unmistakable "click!" as the two collided and settled to the bottom of the zhat.
Those whom had loudly protested Monwyrt's successes before, now loudly cheered his failure, and Monwyrt's backers groaned. What had happened? All eyes now turned eagerly to Burfohn, as he picked up the bea, and again everyone hushed in anticipation.
Everyone but Matann.
"Fo! you're rocking it too fast, too fast. Not so hard! There. Spin the bea a little with your fingers when you set the spin, you know how. Fo, not that way! Why do you spin it that way? Lean over the zhat - you can't see what you're doing. Spin it; come on, Burfey! you know what I mean. I showed you how to do that when you were one season old! Get your head back, you're throwing a shadow. Now. What are you waiting for? Go!"
Click!
Everyone who had cheered a moment ago now moaned audibly, and Monwyrt's contingent took heart. Burfohn's ears burned with his prahnumpa's blistering excoriations, and the turn passed back to Monwyrt. He carefully timed his drop.
Click!
Cheers; groans; hush; Matann's heated whispers - click!
Violent scolding; groans; cheers; complete silence; study - click!
Cheers again - click!
Moans - click!
Click!
Click!
Click!
Click!
Monwyrt looked up and rolled his eyes at Paisohnprahn, who just shrugged. The gallery were getting restless; what was going on? They rubbed their bleary eyes as if to wipe away the blight that this match had become. Burfohn had got the wind up him badly; every new word from his prahnumpa was putting one more little twist in the already knotted and fraying cable of his spine, and he just hoped he could keep his temper long enough to get out of the hut without turning on her.
On and on it went. Once, Monwyrt slipped, and the bea shot across the zhat unhindered and out the other side, but he fumbled the catch. Later, Burfohn got the bea through, but when it popped up again Matann shrieked so loudly in his ear that he missed it, too. He half-turned to face her, but checked himself in time, and rubbed his ringing ear.
This was enough for some of the crowd. They began to file out, muttering to themselves. The Zhonoy had obviously just had an incredible run of luck at the beginning of the night, and they were beginning to be disgusted with Burfohn's play. They could watch games of this caliber any time: it was certainly no longer worth losing sleep to see.
Paisohnprahn decided it was time to do something. Taking advantage of the lull in the action, he moved up to Matann's side. "Matann," he whispered confidentially, "come with me. There is something of great importance I must discuss with you!"
She was immensely flattered, but a little irritated at the same time. "Now?!" she spluttered. "Can't it wait? My Burfey needs all the help he can get tonight."
"I couldn't agree more," said Paisohnprahn wryly, "this is most urgent, I assure you. Come!"
She grumblingly allowed herself to be led out of the hut. Once outside, Paisohnprahn deliberately slowed his already tortured stride. "We must be well out of hearing of those inside," he explained with a straight face as they trudged along.
The game didn't last long after that. Burfohn miraculously regained his touch, while Monwyrt still struggled, and at long last the necessary amount of koshes were rung up on Burfohn's tally to give him the game. The few remaining spectators rang the zhat with their boisterous cheers, and even Monwyrt's supporters felt a sort of odd relief at the outcome, and they all poured out of a deeply thankful Feeshare's hut into the chill pitch-black mid-night air.
"What?! Is it over?" cried a distraught Matann when she saw Nuzhunpa carrying his little lamp up to them.
"Dacoar," he said, winking at Paisohnprahn in the dark. "You should be very proud of your Burfohn!"
"He is the best beazhatter in Todymody!" she huffed, as if repeating an axiom. Forgetting all about Paisohnprahn's "urgent" consultation, she rushed back toward Feeshare's hut. "Where is he?" they heard her cry out as she disappeared into the hut. "Where is my little Burfey?"
"I thought that would help," Paisohnprahn modestly explained to Nuzhunpa, who only grinned.
"Prahnum!" Zholybet's voice rang out. "Where are you?" He held aloft his lamp in answer, and she soon spotted it and walked over.
"Salu, Zholybet," said Paisohnprahn courteously.
"Oh, salu Paisohnprahn." She was utterly dejected. She couldn't understand how Monwyrt had so completely lost his skill. Paisohnprahn could see in a moment even in the dark of night that Nuzhunpa's assessment of her feelings toward the Zhonoy were accurate. She broadcast her emotions indiscriminately in her every move, word, and expression.
"Don't feel bad, Zholybet," he comforted her. "It may turn out to be for the best, after all. Monwyrt might make friends by losing where he would have made enemies by winning. You will feel better after getting some sleep, too."
"Enemies?" she repeated dully, as if the idea was a new one to her.
"Never mind," Nuzhunpa said hastily. "Let's just find Monwyrt and take Paisohnprahn home, so we can get home, too. It's been a long night."
"Find Monwyrt?" Zholybet said in surprise. "Isn't he out here with you? When I left Feeshare her hut was already empty! I assumed that he left with you!"
"Nuzhunpa!" Paisohnprahn barked, "don't worry about escorting me to my hut. I can find my way alone - you and Zholybet go and find the Zhonoy! It may be that he simply went home to your hut, thinking he missed you in the night. I hope so. But if not, I don't want him to be roaming Todymody after dark; there are enough strange rumors going around about him already. And I don't want to raise the city looking for him, either - do you understand?"
Nuzhunpa groaned inwardly, but knew what Paisohnprahn meant. "We'll find him. Are you sure you'll be all right?"
"Quite sure. Find Monwyrt! I'm going home; you can stop by sometime in the morning, perhaps, with word of him. Dacoar?"
"We'll find him."
They watched as the old um nodded, turned, and began his arduous journey home. Zholybet was suddenly gripped with an idea.
"Prahnum, you go home and see if Paisohnprahn was right. Monwyrt probably did just go back to the hut. But if he didn't, I think I might be able to guess where he went. Wait for me at home, dacoar?" She turned without awaiting an answer and ran off into the dark, leaving her wondering prahnum in the little circle of light cast by his lamp, alone in the alley.
"Mmngh!" he grunted to himself in exasperation. "If only she had been born a son!"
When the game had ended, Monwyrt had simply stood and walked out of the hut, unnoticed. The Laizuvries had exploded with congratulations and expostulations of grief or relief, mostly the latter; and had immediately set into recanting the events of the already legendary game amongst themselves. Even Zholybet, as upset at the outcome as she was, could not resist getting into a discussion of the fascinating mid-game reversal of fortunes, and Monwyrt had walked out right past her as she argued technique with Feeshare.
The revelation of the Waeccelang stunned him. The Mocwalwians did not know how graced they were by Paisohnprahn's presence, and Paisohnprahn himself seemed perfectly contented with the arrangement. He tried to sort this out to no avail: it just wasn't fair! Then an idea struck him: perhaps the Mocwalwians were too backward to be able to govern themselves as the Traeppedelferes did! That must be why a Waeccelang felt it was necessary to live amongst them.
Even given this explanation, though, the whole thing was awfully hard to swallow. Monwyrt chuckled to himself to think of what Snecchen's reaction would be to this information. Um, the ancient and mythical benefactor of the Traeppedelferes was at that very moment in residence in the middle of the wretched Mocwalwians! He could almost see her face drop.
The words of the Waeccelang disturbed him as much as its presence. Monwyrt had not considered what affect his actions might have on the race as a whole; in fact, even now it scarcely concerned him. His whole motivation for coming to Todymody in the first place had been merely to progress further downstream, and he had spent several hand-days going nowhere since.
He was not so insensitive that he could not understand Paisohnprahn's concern, though. Pride and heritage were concepts he also felt strongly about; he had just never applied those same feelings to the Mocwalwians. He tried to imagine how they must have felt when he had proved to be so adept at their game. It would have been like a Mocwalwian being named hunter without first being a morwetraeppe! He knew how hard that would have been for a Traeppedelfere to understand. He felt a little ashamed of himself for not realizing it before.
Rounding a hut, he suddenly felt a fresh breeze in his face, and he was aware that he had wandered without thinking all the way down to the quays. There was the quiet Luhvluhv, washing gently against the piers and revetments in the dim starlight. Monwyrt looked around wonderingly. How different everything looked in the starlight - so cold and crisp! It was then he noticed that he had his inner lids open for the first time in - how long? He actually couldn't remember. He went out onto a dock and sat down to think. He was tired.
It was there that Zholybet found him. She had intuitively followed him to the water, knowing he would be drawn to it even though he himself did not consciously seek it. He heard and saw her coming, and recognised her scent in the air before that, long before she could see him, and he let her find him there on the dock without making a sound. She knelt behind him, wrapping her arms around him and hugging his broad chest in a silent embrace, tenderly laying her head down against his back.
It was not an act of design; she was not trying to communicate or coerce, embolden or restrain. It was not a statement of passion, calculated or irresistible. It was pure innocent emotion.
She knelt there, pressing herself against him with the relentless strength of altruism, as if she could physically accomplish the coalescence of entities she so yearned for in her heart; as if, somehow, if they could be left alone, if time itself would only stop and leave them alone there, just like that, she and he could slowly unify into the whole being of rapturous joy whose existence was promised her by the sweet cool thrill she was feeling.
At the same time, her heart was being rent by the hot spit of reality. It plunged and tore, even as she desperately tried to deny it, screaming that this bliss she was wrapped in was only mortal, only momentary, and would pass; mocking her with the impossibility of her promised joy, and proving it with the damning evidence of her own uncertainty. She strove to ignore it, and clutched at him more resolutely, her entire life insignificant compared to the wrenching struggle she felt inside. But it was a losing battle - it always is - and it was with a teardrop from the cruel relief brought by mourning that she was forced to resign herself to inevitability, but which freed her to relish the moment while it lasted. Her silent tears streamed down Monwyrt's back.
He felt the comforting warmth of her pressure, the pleasant restriction of her arms squeezing his chest, the trust implicit in the touch of her face on the back of his neck. The automatic reflexes of the Traeppedelferean race were bursting in him: his hair was curling, scalp tingling, the small of his back tightening, toes flexing - and he suddenly felt the cool night breeze in a place that had been protected from it moments ago. The spasm raced through him: becumanfisc! sfairlipuasohn! It was not a conscious desire, it just rushed over him; not by habit or inclination, but by nature. It was a powerful spell, becumanfisc, and it could erase the will completely and utterly, and Monwyrt could feel himself succombing, his entire body a mass of twitching anticipation.
But, to his surprise, confusion, and vague sense of exoneration; the urges passed, leaving sensations more subtle and mysterious behind. He realized with a shock that while, um, he did desire the act for himself as all Traeppedelferes do, it might have an entirely different meaning, a different significance altogether, to Zholybet. And what shocked him was not the mere recognition of this possibility, but the fact that he cared more for her priorities than he did for his own, even while in the hot grip of becumanfisc.
Never, in the weird dreams induced by the Waeccelang, in his incredible communications with wild beasts, in his gift of tongues or in his recent discovery of Paisohnprahn's true identity, or at any other time, had Monwyrt ever really believed that he was different, truly different, from the other Traeppedelferes. Never, until now. He now understood how the Mocwalwians felt about their mates, how they could commit themselves so completely and irreversibly. He tried to guage whether the knots in his stomachs meant that he felt that strongly about Zholybet, but he couldn't. He had nothing on which to base his feelings: they were too new to him, untried and unfamiliar. He only knew that he felt something strange, wonderful, but slightly nauseating. And it confused him to realize that he did not want that sensation of nausea to leave.
Suddenly, he felt very, very alone.
If he was no longer a Traeppedelfere, he was still not a Mocwalwian, either. He had willingly left his race, the mountains, and the forests where he had felt such a sense of belonging. Now, the strange feelings in his chest and stomachs seemed to be asking him if he had rediscovered that sense of belonging here, with Zholybet. Part of him wanted to say, "Um, I will stay, I will keep this wonderful feeling alive!" But the same voice grieved for the freedom he had had in the forest.
That was what he wanted. If, somehow, he could share this wonderful belonging feeling with Zholybet which he felt right then, and at the same time know that free sense of irresponsible control that he enjoyed in the forest, he knew he would be happy. But he thought with a pang of certainty that the two feelings were incompatible. Why did that have to be?
He stared, still filled with the warm chill of Zholybet's embrace, out across the Luhvluhv. Starlight glimmered on the silent ripples near the dock where they sat, but further out the smooth water became a cold, dark, indistinguishable expanse. Monwyrt stared, and his mind seemed to become as blank as the suface of the water.
Finally, he spoke.
"I'm not Laizuvrian, Zholy," he said, quietly, as her tears trickled down his back.
"You're going to leave Todymody, aren't you?" she quietly asked. Her voice was not anxious, or sad. She spoke with the conviction of one who could see the future clearly.
Monwyrt was not surprised at her question, even though he had not made up his mind until the moment he heard her ask it.
"Dacoar," he answered, then felt he had to try to explain. "Look at the Luhvluhv, Zholy - do you know what I see? Dewdrops, all of them separate and individual, all traveling to an irresistible destination. Where is it, Zholy, do you know? It is calling me every bit as strongly as it calls the Luhvluhv."
"Do I not call you, too?" Zholybet asked quietly.
"Why do I feel this way?" Monwyrt asked. "Is it you calling that makes me feel this way, Zholy?"
"I love you, Monwyrt Zhonoy," she said. "That is what you feel. That is how I know you will leave me. And that is how I know we will be together again, someday."
"Love." Monwyrt was thoughtful. "That is what makes your numpas stay with their ums, dacoar? Traeppedelferes do not love, Zholybet; they do not know love."
"I think, Monwyrt, that one Traeppedelfere does love," she said, not noticing that he did not include himself in his mention of the Traeppedelferes. "I think love is what makes you feel the way you feel."
"I'm not Laizuvrian either, though," he went on, as if thinking out loud to himself. "And you are right. I must leave Todymody. I don't know what I will find, but I know I'm looking for something, and it isn't here."
"I know you will find it, Monwyrt," she said, and they held each other tightly in the chill pre-dawn breeze.
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