Part Four
Chapter 35
DREAMS COME TRUE
The word rolled through Bisuree like ripples in a bowl of water: first spreading out to the perimeter and then returning to the source, magnified and distorted, only to travel out again, and so on. Soon everyone had heard, twice, three times. It was a time of excitement and anticipation; it was cause for celebration; it called for preparations. The markets, official and otherwise, closed. Eatopygiastees rushed through the paths to their huts, eager for once to do their chores, to make their huts presentable, and to bathe and rescent themselves. This was a time when they actually wanted to be acceptable - attractive, even - to each other. This was a rare chance to socialize; the only way it was possible for most members of the race to relate amicably. Usunee had declared it: there could be no mistake. Tonight, there was going to be a Conclave.
The ancient advent of The Curse had damaged Eatopygiasteen relations to a greater extent than merely by ending all casual communication. It had made mating between any but the most forgiving and thick-skinned couples a grating test of perseverance and will. Understanding each other's every thought was not found to be conducive to intimacy. While reactions to the most insulting ideas could be momentarily suppressed during a trade or an accidental meeting in the path during normal day-to-day activities, the physical demands of reaching iscisfiopee required a total absorption which was all but impossible because of The Curse. They had to concentrate. They had to perform. They had to ignore each other's (as well as their own) thoughts of inadequacy, disappointment, discomfort, and exhaustion; while suppressing all thoughts of exhilaration, fantasy, and (duplicitous inevitability!) other Eatopygiastees.
It was hard.
But happily, before the race declined into extinction, a strange event took place. Long ago, an old, feeble eminafee, seemingly in the last incoherent moments of her life, sat down in the middle of the market and inexplicably began to babble. No one paid any attention to her: she often was present in the market even though she had no business to transact, and they were all practiced at ignoring all sorts of things besides their immediate concerns. But she did not seem to mind their indifference. She sat there, making her mindless noises, oblivious to everything. One day, someone came to her to move her away, or to help her to her hut, or for some other reason - and she would not move. But her visitor was enthralled by the simple rhythyms and repetitions of her muttering. There was something soothing about the pattern of it. It was mesmerizing. Soon, the two of them sat there in the busy market at mid-day, repeating the old eminafee's nonsensical incantations.
Passers-by chuckled aloud and excoriated them in thought, but every so often, one would stop to listen. Before long, he or she too would sit and join in the chant. It was restful, pleasant; not exactly exhilarating, but refreshing just the same. Others, attracted by the curiosity of a gathering, came to investigate. The old eminafee was oblivious to all, as she continued her slow incantation.
Incredibly, the market-clearing filled with seated figures, and the sound of the chant filled the air, repeated by everyone in one voice. It was impossible to leave, but no one desired to. It was impossible to think of anything but the incantation, but no one wanted to. The ears of the participants rang with the sound of soft voices, and their minds hummed with a glorious unanimity of concourse. It lasted the whole afternoon: a wonderful half-day of community. The incantation was irrevocably inscribed in the minds of all those present. It became automatic, instinctive, like breathing, to keep repeating it.
The sky gradually became dark, night came, but the gathering did not diminish. One by one, the bright stars broke through. When the sun had finally completely abdicated, and the deep black mass of the sky had locked in the positions of the stars, the verbal chant suddenly ended. There was no signal, there had been no agreement. The participants, with the incantation still floating through their heads, looked up, bewildered.
The old eminafee was dead.
But a more amazing thing was happening. They looked at each other, trying to comprehend what they were hearing. At last, it dawned on them what it was.
It was silence.
No one was talking. But, what amazed and confused them most, no one seemed to be thinking! They capered and rollicked together as they became aware of the implications of it: The Curse was lifted! That night was a riotous night of celebration for those Eatopygiastees in the market-clearing. No one wanted to leave. The relief of not hearing each other's thoughts was unbelieveable. It was like a dream. It was a new life. It was... indescribable.
But the next morning, when the late revelers arose after finally collapsing, utterly spent, their heads were full of an equally indescribable sensation. The Curse was back, and they were now hearing all the thoughts of all the folk in the market that they had not heard the night before. It was awful. Every voice, booming loud in its proximity, shouted simultaneously in their heads. The thoughts themselves were on generally pleasant themes, of course, but the intensity and the sheer number of them were almost too much to bear. At the same time, the disappointment of the re-instatement of The Curse was crushing. Many Eatopygiastees took their own lives that morning, unable to cope with it. The market was shunned for a long time.
When that next terrible day was over, though, and they had "caught up" with all the delayed thoughts, the memory of that mystical evening was delectible, indelible. They wondered if it was possible to recreate it, now that the old eminafee was gone. There were many isolated experiments all over Bisuree in the following hand-days. They found that it was necessary to be led by a single leader: otherwise, they could not agree to cooperate. But it was indeed possible to achieve that silent state. In fact, it was relatively easy once they got over the hurdle of who would lead. Almost any kind of chant would do, but the original was generally kept as being, for one thing, genuine, and for another, sufficiently nonsensical to be totally undistracting. The more participants, the better (although the next day always proved to be proportionally more intense). The Usunee came to be accepted as the natural leader of these gatherings, which came to be called Conclaves, and he willingly called for one Conclave after another at first, until an un-looked-for side effect was noticed.
The Eatopygiastees were being inundated with newborn uerpees.
It became obvious to that Usunee that the number of Conclaves would have to be drastically reduced. The new members of the previously dwindling race were welcome, of course, but there was such an influx of them, requiring the care of so many parents who would have been otherwise employed, that dire privations and shortages could be foreseen. The every-hand-day Conclave was suddenly a thing of the past.
The various Usunees through the generations found their inherited status as callers of the Conclaves to be extremely useful in terms of entrenching their power or boosting their popularity. A Conclave provided the ideal forum for speeches, with much of the population attending and able to concentrate. Naturally, any news sure to be popular with the masses was announced at a Conclave, and it was with this in mind that Usunee called the one for that very evening.
And what news he would have! First of all, he would be able to present Igilvee, whose very existence he had long defended but which nevertheless had been challenged for generations. Secondly, he would amaze them with his predictions (verified by Igilvee, of course) of the impending flood, and instruct all on what to do to escape it. Then, he could triumphantly announce his decision to call back the omofinishees, whose deployment had never been especially well-received, to concentrate on the construction of a mound around Bisuree. All in all, a stupendous coup, thought Usunee crowningly. The perfect end to the day of his dreams.
A sphex had found its way in through Monwyrt's little window and, after hovering rather menacingly about the back of his head for what seemed like a day, flew over and aimlessly stalked up and down the wall opposite the window.
"I hate this! I'll be demoted to uerpee messenger! I never should have followed that oedusfee adospee! Ercusstee! Odee cipiacee!"
Monwyrt was rapidly tiring of Binatree's tirade just outside the door. He had been "listening" to it non-stop since Unustree left to look for a batohram. It was getting to him. He picked up his half-full water bladder and emptied it through the window.
"Binatree!" he called. The diatribe stopped momentarily.
"Aexfee! Icsee, Igilvee?"
"Binatree, will you refill my water-skin for me, please? It is dryge."
"Again? Icsee, Igilvee." Binatree opened the door, waddled in to take the skin, and departed. Monwyrt sighed. A few moments, at least, of peace!
But not long. Before long, Binatree returned from the river, panting with the exertion of the rollick up the bank.
"Espavees! Here's your water," he said, handing the bulging bladder to Monwyrt. "Where do you suppose Unustree is?" The sphex, tired of its vertical pacing, flew over to investigate the newcomer.
"Perhaps he can't find a batohram - say, Binatree, there's a - "
"No doubt of that! What is a 'batohram' anyway?" Binatree interrupted.
"It's a small boat," Monwyrt explained again, "but look out! there's a - "
"Ebeshee! What is a boat? No matter. Where is Unustree?" The sphex minutely inspected Binatree's ear. The outrider, by now completely inured to the constant sound of espavees, ignored it. Binatree waddled to the door, passed through, and bolted it. The sphex gave measured chase.
"Binatree!" Monwyrt called. "Be careful of the sphex - er, espavee!"
"Bah! I hear it all the time," he called back. "There never is any - Eeeeee! Curse it! Curse it! Curse it! Eeeee!"
Monwyrt grimaced at the sounds of shrieking and slapping coming through the door.
The sun was showing signs of weariness, and evening was soon approaching. Unustree had not returned. A cadre of three omofinishees strode up to hut aternilnilquinaquee leading an extra iscelervee. They presented a flurry of idascees to a confused and frightened Binatree, who could do nothing but acknowledge their authority and turn Igilvee over to them. Monwyrt, somewhat irritated at having to bow to such a summons, but relieved to be leaving the cramped hut, conducted himself haughtily, but did not resist.
"Where are you taking me?" he asked, looking at each of them in turn, as they bound his hands behind him and helped him mount. They averted their eyes from his. None of them volunteered to answer. But they could not hide their thoughts from him.
"It is tall!"
"Tall, icsee, but not so broad!"
"Broad enough! I'm glad it does not struggle."
"Binding its hands was a good idea."
"Inaquee has many good ideas."
"Inaquee gives me many good ideas!"
"Ebeshee! Give up on those ideas, ufobee."
"I can't wait until the Conclave!"
"I just want to get this, this - "
"Orsnumquammee."
"This Orsnumquammee on its stake there."
"Where are those espavees?"
A constant stream of this silent patter surrounded him as they strode through Bisuree on the four iscelervees. Monwyrt soon learned all he wanted to know about where he was being led.
Before long, they arrived at the lip of a large round bowl carved into the slope near the high edge of Bisuree. A large, permanent dais was at the low front of this bowl, built or chiseled out of stone, with the back of it flush to the ground before them, and the front edge of it about one hand hands higher than the floor of the bowl. A tall post, perhaps twice his height, had been inserted into a newly chiseled hole at one side of this dais, and on the other side were five empty saddle-chairs. In the center sat an obviously excited and eager Usunee, leafing through a handful of idascees with animation.
"Good. Thank you, 'finishees," he smiled at them, looking up. He waved his arm toward the other end of the dais, where the post was standing. "Proceed." He returned to his notes.
Without dismounting, they led Monwyrt's ofaexedee up to the stake, unceremoniously yanked his pack from his back and tossed it carelessly behind the dais, turned his steed around, and raised his tied hands somewhat painfully up behind him and slipped them over the top of the post. Then, giving no warning to the increasingly indignant Traeppedelfere, they slapped the tail of his steed, spurring it to bolt off in a flutter. Monwyrt was ungraciously jerked off the back of the steed by the unyielding post and fell with a bone-jarring crash onto the pile of stone chips and dust left from boring the hole. He shook his limbs gingerly, testing for damage, and awkwardly struggled to his feet leaning against the post for support.
"I say, Usunee!" he complained loudly. "Is all this really necessary? There has to be a better way to dismount!"
"Necessary. Icsee, Igilvee," said Usunee blithely. "I explained your protection captivity to you this morning. I must apologize, though, in all fairness," he cast a disapproving eye on the suddenly nervous omofinishees, "on the unseemly manner in which you were, er, removed from your steed. Quite humorous."
"Let me go!"
"Not yet. There's a good fellow," Usunee cooed with a maddening tone of condescension, "let's not go through all that again, shall we? Right." He faced the outriders. "'Finishees, have my uerpee notify the First Hand: all is in readiness. You may go."
They nodded obligatorily from their mounts, then rapidly strode off, hearts pounding, their unusual and dangerous(!) assignment successfully completed. Monwyrt tried to rub his chafed hands. The cords cut into his wrists mercilessly.
"Usunee," he called. He could see Eatopygiastees gathering in the paths behind the dais, rollicking energetically and riding rapidly, approaching the bowl. "What is this all about?"
"About. The Conclave," he answered simply.
"Um - icsee, but - "
"Shhh. You will soon see."
A crowd soon had assembled behind the dais, and Monwyrt's head was already ringing loudly with the cacophonous variety of fair, but competing, voices. As more arrived, adding to the din, he felt he should become gemaed with the noise. Little did he know that only a small fraction of the Eatopygiastees who would attend that evening were already there.
The inevitable scufflings broke out in the gathering. It seemed that no one wanted to be first to descend into the bowl, thus possibly drawing the attention of Usunee. That monster tied at the stake was something of a disincentive, too. So the crowd collected behind the dais, bumping into one another, thinking the usual vile things about one another, until tempers flared. Usunee, still serene approaching his evening of accolation, stood and turned around to face the waiting mob, arms outstretched. A hush came over them (although their thoughts still screamed), and one or two hands of antagonists tried valiantly to pick themselves up from the ground.
"Please! Control!" he exhorted them. "That is the wonder, the glory, the mystery of the Conclave! We will achieve it, control, in a little while. But, please! until we do," he swept his arm across the empty amphitheatre, "enter! and disperse, so that we may keep what little control we may now have over ourselves. Besides," he reminded them, "you need not arrive this early! It is better to come after I begin! You bewray your eagerness. Understandably."
A few, though not many, took his remonstration to heart, and turned to return to their huts for a while. The rest began filing in around both ends of the dais, the braver (or more curious) entering nearer to Monwyrt. They had heard the rumors, of course, of the Orsnumquammee captured in the mists, and they stared unblinkingly at him with mingled faith and skepticism. Tied to a stake, he did not appear infallible. Nevertheless, he was an impressive figure. They quickly waddled by, muttering, swatting at a sudden mysterious swarm of espavees.
Usnilunee took his seat at the far end of the dais, soon followed by Inaquee, who took her seat beside him. They sat immobile, but Monwyrt could sense a deep antipathy between them, cutting its way through the roar of the crowd's thoughts to reach him. Aterquee and Inatree took the next two seats, laughing almost gaily together, in marked contrast to the frozen expressions of the two others. Usunee nodded perfunctorily to them. He seemed to be waiting for the other saddle-chair to be filled. Monwyrt looked around impatiently.
A huge crowd of Eatopygiastees was choking the paths leading toward the bowl. Monwyrt flinched at the thought of what torture this night was going to be. The entire population of Bisuree seemed to be rollicking in, and it was greater than Monwyrt would have guessed. But the crowd suddenly parted, making way for an old asmee on an apparently equally old iscelervee which was being hand-led by an uerpee toward the dais. The iscelervee was led straight to the empty saddle-chair, and Inabee slowly, magestically, dismounted; clutching a wrapped bundle. He and Usunee exchanged stony nods, and he seated himself. The mass of Eatopygiastees already seated in the bowl grew suddenly louder in a rustle of expectation. Usunee rose.
Monwyrt's head (and if he only knew it, the head of every Eatopygiastee in attendance) was bursting with the combined thoughts of the mob. It was a terrible thing. It seemed to explode against the inside of his skull with an almost blinding force, continuously. Even as the huge gathering shushed audibly in anticipation of Usunee's announcement, and the bowl was surprisingly quiet from far down the slope behind the dais to far up the slope ahead, the blast of thoughts was dizzying, disorienting. Monwyrt strained to hear Usunee's words.
They were brief.
"Alvesee Urmurarerosmee," he shouted. "Alvesee Urmurarerosmee." He sat down again, and began to chant.
Monwyrt could hardly hear him. The Eatopygiastees screamed with a delight he could only explain to himself as having been induced by a delerium brought about by the pain of being part of such a mob. Eager folk were still filing in, casting suspicious glances his way, pushing each other impatiently, slapping each other on the back of the head, arguing silently and aloud. But gradually, Monwyrt noticed that those directly before the dais, and, one by one, those on the dais, were moving their mouths with Usunee's. Inabee and Aterquee had joined in the incantation. Monwyrt strained his normally sensitive ears to listen in.
"... edee isee iesdee osnee egeredee umcee osvee, ubulasee alvesee orahee etusvee urmurarerosmee!" There was a short pause, then they began again. Monwyrt noticed that more were participating.
"Alvesee alvesee uodee etusvee urmurarerosmee, osvee alvesee uodee isee etusvee umauree etee eratee! Alvesee alvesee uodee etusvee urmurarerosmee, orahee icusnavisamee aiusmee lailee unquamnee arerecee! Quamumee idelisfee quamumee erusvee..." Monwyrt's attention wavered. He had thought he understood Eatopygiasteen but none of this made sense to him. One thing was clear, though: it seemed to make sense to the Eatopygiastees. They were reciting it word for unintelligible word right along with Usunee. And he realized with surprise that, even though more Eatopygiastees were pouring in by the moment, the din was not increasing any more. For the first time, he tried to concentrate on the thoughts of the chanters.
It was not easy. There was still a lot of extraneous thinking going on, and the thoughts of the chanters seemed to be muted, somehow, despite their proximity to him. As he watched, more and more of them fell into the chant. It became obvious to him (finally!) that the incantation was, if not the only reason for the Conclave, one of the reasons. They seemed to enjoy it.
"...ubulasee alvesee orahee etusvee urmurarerosmee!"
A strange, eerie calm was descending on the huge throng. Monwyrt was getting uneasy. As painful and maddening as the chaotic thoughts had been, he began to imagine he almost preferred that to this unnatural ease. He had become used to considering the Eatopygiastees a race of vicious-minded but harmless twits, bumbling along on their petty assignments like so many, well, vashlymoss. But here at the Conclave, they began to be revealed to him as a genuinely cooperative but struggling folk. He wondered which impression was the misconception.
Night fell. The Eatopygiastees still entering brought small lighted lamps, and some of those already inside brought out their own and lit them. Before long, the slopes of the bowl were dotted with tiny yellow dots of light, and the clear sky reciprocated with its own dots of clear light. The chant continued unabated.
"...unquamnee arerecee! Quamumee idelisfee quamumee erusvee, osnee anerecee orahee auderelee enuodee edee isee iesdees osnee egeredee umcee osvee, ubulasee alvesee orahee etusvee urmurarerosmee! Alvesee alvesee uodee etusvee urmurarerosmee..."
Monwyrt shivered. The whole audience was chanting now, mumbling the incantation in low voices. He realized with a shock that they had given themselves utterly to this meaningless gibberish. Their eyes were half-closed; they sat on their padded rears, the palms of their feet pressed together before them; many held their pudgy hands out toward Usunee, palms open in token of surrender.
It was scary.
Then, he concentrated again on their thoughts, and was overcome.
"...uodee isee etusvee umauree etee eratee! Alvesee alvesee uodee etusvee urmurarerosmee, orahee icusnavisamee aiusmee lailee unquamnee arerecee! Quamumee..."
Monwyrt almost fell down. His knees quivered weakly, and his head spun. It couldn't be! It just couldn't be!
"...idelisfee quamumee erusvee, osnee anerecee orahee auderelee enuodee edee isee iesdee osnee egeredee umcee osvee, ubulasee alvesee orahee etusvee urmurarerosmee! Alvesee alvesee..."
He closed his eyes and was swept away through the center of a star, into a pure, blinding universe of perfect beings, to the realm of the Libbannawiht! The Eatopygiastee's chant - that ridiculous meaningless babbling of a stupid, clumsy race on a hillside only short moments ago the scene of countless petty squabbles and viperous sniping - had become, incredibly, through the feeble minds of an ugly race: the music.
Monwyrt listened. It was as beautiful as he remembered it - no! more beautiful, because it was real! It was here! It was now! He leaned against the post and let it wash over him. The feeling was wonderful; it was like being elevated to the Libbannawiht again; it was like - like becumanfisc: but not a passing pleasure, an eternal one. He felt a tear of joy run down his face, and another. He opened his watery eyes and looked out on the Eatopygiastees. Could they feel the same way? Did they know how close they were coming to being whole? To The Rule? Was it possible that they - but no. He looked at them again. It was impossible. They were not Libbannawiht. They were not Waeccelang. They were awkward creatures sitting in a trance on an open hillside. He reclosed his eyes, and gave himself up to the music again. Usunee continued the chant long after it got dark, then stopped. The First Hand soon stopped, also, and then the participants, a few at a time at first, then many. At last, the bowl was silent. Completely silent, to their ears. Monwyrt could hear that low, far-off rumbling hiss that he heard crossing the river the night before. Even though they had ceased to mutter the incantation with their mouths, they continued to think it, and to Monwyrt, the music continued uninterrupted. But the Eatopygiastees only knew that The Curse was suppressed for the rest of the night, and they could get on with the business of the Conclave, and then on to their separate pleasures. Usunee rose to greet them.
"Ah! Eminafees, asmees, and uerpees! I have much to say to you, but I will endeavor to be as brief as possible. You see before you the legendary Igilvee," he swept his arm grandly toward Monwyrt, and gave a short snort. Monwyrt was looking decidedly un-legendary: sitting splay-legged before the post, head down, tears streaming down his face as he concentrated on the music. It did not create the impression Usunee had hoped for. Some of the spectators snickered. Without waiting for Usunee to go on, Inabee cleared his throat.
"Ha! Usunee, I respectfully request permission to make a few remarks I believe to be pertinent," he croaked aloud.
"Remarks?! How dare you interrupt? Inabee, honorable colleague," Usunee recognised him. "You understand that this is highly unusual? Shut up!"
"Every purge is! Of course," he answered. "But I have discovered certain facts about Igilvee here which I am of the opinion that every Eatopygiastee, yourself included, Usunee, will find enlightening."
"Facts? Discovered facts?" Usunee asked.
"Facts. In the archives of Usunee," Inabee said, twisting his mouth to the side ever so slightly.
Before the entire population, or most of it, Usunee felt he had no choice but to acquiesce. Besides, his, and (he was sure) the audience's, curiosity was piqued. He magnanimously granted Inabee the floor.
Inabee took his time in standing. A deliberate asmee by inclination anyway, he milked the feat of rising from his saddle-chair for all it was worth, and then some. Not a soul in the vast gathering doubted his withering age, or, by extension, his accumulated wisdom, by the time he finally achieved an upright attitude. He grimaced crookedly out over the multitude of flickering lights, and shook the packet in his hand at them.
"At last! I have here some ancient idascees from the archives of Usunee," he got right to the point. "They are about The Curse."
"Blasphemy! How dare you mention that subject in the middle of a Conclave?!" Usunee practically jumped out of his seat.
Inabee shrugged. "It is necessary," he answered curtly. "Amongst these idascees was another, apparently unrelated idascee. It told of Igilvee," he went on. "At first interpretation, it appeared to tell of Igilvee's last appearance before the advent of The Curse. I almost removed it from the bundle, thinking it had been erroneously placed. But I read it again. I realized that some of the obscure words contained in the scratchings could be interpreted more than usunee way. I tried to place the tale in the context of the whole bundle, and made a remarkable discovery in re-interpreting the words."
He turned, slowly, and pointed at Monwyrt with a shaking finger. "The Curse was put on us by Igilvee! Igilvee is the cause of all our sorrow, all our strife! Igilvee brought The Curse!"
His words could not have had more effect had they been lightning bolts. The Eatopygiastees, almost to a body, immediately arose and demanded retribution. Loudly. Under the serene effect of the Conclave, they could appreciate fully what The Curse had done to their lives. Without The Curse, they felt, their lives would be a continuous Conclave, without the dreaded day after. They roared for Igilvee's head.
"Curse you, Inabee! I cannot believe it!" shouted a crushed Usunee.
"Ha! It's all here!" chortled Inabee, clutching the precious documents ever tighter.
"All here. Show me!" demanded Usunee. Warily, Inabee drew out the damaging proof. The crowd went silent while they waited for Usunee's reaction.
Monwyrt was watching all this upheaval with an attitude something like complete detachment. He was not afraid of these silly folk. He had always taken Usunee's protestations of his protection as so much diplomatic moc. He watched Usunee and Inabee consult over the idascee, debating on the arcane language, verifying certain passages, questioning others. And all the while, the music, the glorious music, soared through his head.
Usunee sank into his seat. Inabee said something to him, inaudible over the gathering buzz of the curious mob, and he dejectedly nodded agreement. Inabee straightened up, stretched his mouth taut, motioned for silence and received it, pointed again at Monwyrt, and croaked out two words to the crowd:
"Kill Igilvee!"
Suddenly the mob rushed the dais. One of the Eatopygiastees in the front row pulled out a great knife, perhaps four hands long, sharpened on both edges, and held it menacingly in both hands. Monwyrt's eyes flew wide open. He had seen no such weapon in their hands before - where did it come from? But he hastily realized that that did not matter now. He was in real danger.
"Excellent! Good thinking!" praised Inabee. "You brought your sword! Take its head off!"
Sword! That was what Usunee had said back in the hut! Sword! But what to do now? Monwyrt tried to think, but all he could attend to was the music. It was so beautiful! He forced himself to look at the sword. He caught the eye of its handler.
"Stay back, I warn you!" he said sternly. The short figure quailed and took a step back, then rallied. "Don't come near," Monwyrt threatened him, wondering how long this ruse could possibly work. The asmee hesitated once more, then, eyes blazing, with the crowd cheering wildly behind him, he rollicked as fast as he could across the front of the dais, raising his sword for the fatal blow.
Almost instinctively Monwyrt thought dominantly for the first time in days, and cried out: "It's you or me, then, is it? Die! Die!"
Everyone's cheers were choked off by gasps of horror and disbelief. The charging asmee never reached Igilvee. He collapsed suddenly, inexplicably, in the middle of the dais. Inabee himself creakingly bent down to attend to him. He was dead.
The crowd's rage against Igilvee redoubled. Rows of Eatopygiastees madly lunged against the front of the dais. Many were being injured there; some were instantly crushed. But all were overwhelmed by a desire to see Igilvee torn to shreds. Monwyrt stared at the dead attacker with remorse. What was going on? Eatopygiastees were climbing the dais, rushing for him.
"Die! Die! Die! Die!" he shouted reflexively: verdict, sentence, and execution in a single word. He watched with eyes horrified at the spectacle. He couldn't believe he was doing this; it wasn't real - the music was so wonderful - why was this terrible slaughter happening?
They fell like stalks of shoam before a charging oxagrete. The angry shouts of the great mob were deafening, now, and the beautiful music still soothed and soared in his head. "Die! Die!" The bodies piled around him, rolling down off the dais into the pressing crowd still trying to get at him. There were more swords: one sword-weilding asmee was cut down attempting to rollick across the mound of bodies to get to him. He fell, striking his mouth on the edge of the dais, his teeth flying out with a sickening crack!, scattering like kernals on the hard stone floor. Monwyrt saw Aterquee dazedly stoop down and pick up a tooth that had skittered against his foot. Why was this happening? What had he done? Suddenly he felt hands pulling on his arm behind him, and from the corner of his eye he caught the glint of a sword in the lamplight. He wanted to panic, but the cool music would not let him.
"Ercusstee! I couldn't find a boat, but I can get you out of here!" Unustree said, looking around the post into Monwyrt's eyes. But Monwyrt recognized him too late.
"Die!" was his immediate and irrevocable reaction to looking down into an Eatopygiastee's face. Unustree fell instantly.
Usunee was beside himself. "Why, Igilvee, why?" he kept crying, wringing his hands. Monwyrt kept protecting himself, row after row after row, and the bodies fell. What was familiar about all this? he asked himself, and then he had the answer: the sword.
"I am not Igilvee! I am not Igilvee!" he shouted above the thunder of the remaining crowds.
"Not Igilvee. Then who are you?" Usunee cried.
I am Monwyrt! he wanted to call back, but what came instead, and what was heard by everyone in the place, was a thundering, chilling hiss.
"I AM DEATH!"
The Eatopygiastees gasped, and fell back at last, cowering.
"No!" cried Monwyrt, trying to master himself over the music. "Don't listen! It's a dream! I remember now! It's a dream!"
"Dream. Icsee. It is a dream. It is my nightmare come true!" muttered a despondent Usunee.
"No!" shouted Monwyrt, "I remember! I can end this madness! I can end this cursed madness! I remember how!"
Inabee shuffled to Usunee. "What did it say? What did it say about ending The Curse?" Usunee did not look up. "What did you say about ending The Curse, Igilvee?" he asked Monwyrt, eyes ablaze.
"No, not your curse, my - " Monwyrt stopped in mid-thought. The music seemed to swell and ebb, swell and ebb, but for once his thinking was clear. Of course! Of course! He could end their curse! The Curse!
"I said, I will end The Curse, if you will set me free!"
"And you can do this?" cried Inabee excitedly. "You can really do this?"
"I, too, suffer The Curse," Monwyrt said, in token of assurance. "But can you hear my thoughts?" Inabee was not sure.
"No," said Usunee suddenly. "I could not hear your thoughts at our interview. Could you hear mine this morning?"
"Of course."
"Read them now!" he challenged him. "Inabee licks my tail every night!" Inabee turned toward Monwyrt expectantly. He obviously could not hear what Usunee was thinking: the chant filled his mind. Monwyrt smiled.
"Is that true, Inabee?" he asked.
"Is what true?" Inabee asked uneasily. Monwyrt told him in a whisper. He looked maliciously toward Usunee, making his crooked smile.
"Icsee," thought Inabee. "But I use Inaquee's tongue to do it with."
"Ah! Ah! Ah! Inaquee's tongue!" Monwyrt laughed out loud. The Eatopygiastees looked at one another.
"Icsee. All right," said Inabee, convinced. "End The Curse, and we will let you go free."
"Free to go," Monwyrt demanded, "and, if I choose, free to return!"
Inabee protested. "Return? I say! Why should we agree to that? Haven't you brought enough destruction to us?"
Usunee looked at the dimly lit piles of dead Eatopygiastees. "We have no choice, Inabee."
"You were perfectly safe while you respected my safety!" Monwyrt reminded him. "I did not anticipate this. To be honest with you, I did not realize I had the terrible power to do this to you. But now I know I do, and what is more, you know it, also. Usunee is right: you have no choice." Monwyrt looked at the Eatopygiastee leader idly fingering the stray tooth. "You," he called. "Come untie my hands. I will teach you how to turn aside The Curse. You can teach it to the rest. Get me off this post."
"Wretch! My name is Aterquee! You shall refer to me by that name only," he pouted, insulted that he, a member of the First Hand, could be so commonly addressed.
"Aterquee!" Usunee pleaded in a loud whisper. "For your own sake, look about you, asmee! You should concern yourself with its name, and do its bidding!"
"Remove these cords from my hands," said Monwyrt, "and I will apologize."
"Remove The Curse," thought Aterquee, reluctantly waddling over to the stake, "and I won't ask you to."
"Eatopygiastees!" Inabee cried to the confused throng, which had been milling about, stunned, waiting for instructions, or permission to leave, or some word from someone. "We have won! Igilvee is going to remove The Curse forever! A great victory is ours tonight, one which will enrich our lives for all time!"
But there was no cheering. It did not feel like a time for celebration. The mob shuffled around, afraid to look at Monwyrt, and dispersed slowly. Lamps were left unattended all about the bowl, flickering lonely sentinels.
Aterquee released Monwyrt from the stake, and led him away to his own hut, condescending so far as to volunteer to carry Monwyrt's battered pack.
The First Hand retired.
By dawn, no one living was in the bowl.
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