Science Fiction Originals Vol 3 Part 7

Jamil snorted in disgust. "What were they supposed to do? Wrestle their master's wife to the paving stones in front of the entire government? Are they jinn that they should do battle with Alilah's priests? Was it their fault that b.l.o.o.d.y Ranon had his sights set on Duman Amin?"

"What of me?" demanded the cook. "I'm left with one sorry scrub woman, and no helpers."

"You make it sound like some great burden to cook for a man who eats less than a devilmoth." Jamil shook his head. "I can't see how he stays alive on what he eats."

"I tell you, Jamil, the master isn't thinking things through. Who is to clean this b.l.o.o.d.y great mansion? Old Nabil? It broke Duman Amin, that business at the temple. It broke him."

"We must do what we can."

"You're a military man, Jamil. I must look at things differently. A few months ago this was a great household. To cook here was an honor. Now, with but a handful of servants, I don't see-"

"Have you no loyalty, man?" interrupted the sergeant. The conversation dulled to a buzz in Lilith's head as she closed her eyes and stayed curled into a ball, the tears still thick in her throat.

This was the special day; Rahman's day. Yet the sickness of tragedy seemed to stalk every hall, room, field, and corner of the Amin estate. It had not left her heart and she wondered if it ever would.

Autumn was past and the fury of Angerona's winter had the land in its grip. She had not seen her father since that day at the temple ruins. She had not seen him in the courtyard nor in the house. Perhaps Onan was right. Perhaps the sickness had consumed Duman Amin.

No longer was she restricted to the female wing. She could go anywhere she wanted except for the top floor of the east wing. She had tried to see Rahman, but she could not find him. When she had signed to Sergeant Jamil, asking for Rahman's whereabouts, Jamil's face had grown dark with anger. "He's been sent away," was all he had said.

There was the crash of metal against metal and Lilith peeked out from between the ranges to see Onan taking his hand from a skillet on the small range. "The master is having that fuzzywriggle over again."

"Huroot Ib? What of it?" Jamil leaned back in his chair and snickered. "You only have to cook ivits.h.i.+, you don't have to eat it."

"It's not the soup. In fact, I've developed a taste for it. It just goes to show how far I've fallen."

"If it's not the alien broth, my friend, what is it?"

"Why does he invite the Imahnti to dine with him?"

"They got to know each other very well before the master resigned as trade minister." He held out his hands. "What is there to figure?"

"It's not healthy, that's all. Except for the few servants who are left, he hasn't seen any humans. Besides, couldn't the most important trader on Angerona use the master's grief to his advantage somehow?" "Your head is full of conspiracies."

"You laugh at me and my conspiracies, Jamil, but look at what has happened to all of us. Am I still a slave to my imagination?"

"Who is to say?" Jamil stood up and b.u.t.toned his uniform coat. "Thank you for the aba.n.u.sh. I must go and inspect the remains of my command: myself."

Deep in the shadows behind the ranges, Lilith sighed and searched with her fingers for the loose stone in the wall. Using both hands she lifted it out and placed it quietly on the floor. As Onan cursed and clattered around the kitchen, the girl reached into the hole and pulled out the roll of papers her mother had written.

There was a crack of light between the two ranges, and as she flattened the papers, she read.

To my daughter, Lilith. These strokes are all I can leave you. G.o.d will lead you to find them. That is all I have for a plan.

I have not been allowed to hold you in my arms since the day you were born. Everyone thinks me mad, even you. It is true I hurt you, but that is only because I know you can speak. When you were born, I was awake. The priests' drugs were too feeble and my eyes and ears were open. I heard both you and your brother cry out. May my soul burn for eternity if everything I write is not true.

Between when I heard you cry and when I saw you again, something had been done to you to keep you from giving voice. I do not know what it is. You must find out. I will write on these papers all that I know, but I know very little. There are ways to know things, and the Imahnti know more of these ways than anyone. I cannot read the man-writing. You must get Rihana to teach you.

Next to ending the oppression of the Female Law, you and I and our feelings are nothing. If you speak, Lilith, the law dies and women will again become humans.

You must speak.

Lilith thought about the little blue booklet and the man-writing. Was the man-writing beyond her, or did she only need to try harder? No one was keeping her from the library now. Because of her mother's letter she had tried reading many of the books. Each one was a mystery with no clues. Rihana could read the man-writing, but she had been old and very smart.

A feeling sc.r.a.ped Lilith's heart, and she knew it was still there: the monster of her memory, the priest with the choke loop twisting the wooden handle, the sight of Rihana's face, the taste of blood in her mouth as she bit the priest's arm.

She looked into the darkest corner of her invisible place and remembered her mother turning in the noose to face her executioner so that she could spit in his face. Lilith no longer asked G.o.d how much longer she must carry the pain. The ache had become a new organ. She rolled the papers and returned them to her safe place. This was the special day of the year. Special in more ways than to celebrate her brother's birthday.

This was the day Lilith had determined to change the world.

She withdrew the blue book from its hiding place. Once she had replaced the rock, she wiped off her tears with her palms, tucked the blue book within the folds of her dress, and crept from behind the two ranges to the s.p.a.ce between them. She waited until Onan went to the pantry. Once the cook was out of the kitchen, she slipped from her hiding place and began making her way to the top floor of the east wing.

Duman Amin was in his darkened sitting room, slouched in his chair, staring at the flames in the room's fireplace. Lilith stood in the doorway watching him. She pushed the door open all of the way and stood in the center. Her father seemed not to notice. She took several steps into the room.

Her father's face looked old and haggard, his eyes stared without blinking, and his shoulders slumped as though he were a whipped animal. His trousers and pullover s.h.i.+rt were wrinkled and he had slippers on his feet. Papers were scattered on the floor, and Lilith could see where at least three books had been tossed across the room. The remains of several more books were in the fireplace. One of them had a starcross embossed upon its half-consumed cover.

She returned her gaze to her father and saw him staring back at her, his eyes wide, his mouth open.

"Who are you? What do you want here?"

Lilith took a step closer. Two more steps; three more, until she was before her father's chair. Duman Amin leaned forward, grabbed her veil, and pulled it from her head. He stared at her as though at a ghost. After a moment he frowned and looked at the floor. "My daughter," he whispered as he slumped back into his chair.

"My daughter has come to ask me where her mother is."

He noticed the veil in his hand, frowned as he studied it, and held it out to the girl. "Your mother is dead."

She took the veil from his hand and watched as he turned to look at the fire. "I do not hear you cry, child.

That is good. I have had enough of tears." Yet a glisten came to his eyes. He closed them, shook his head, and sat up. When he opened his eyes and faced her, the tears were gone. "Was there something else?"

She signed, "Where is Rahman?"

"Rahman. I sent him away. He is at a boarding school." His face filled with sadness at the same time ashe gave an ironic laugh and slowly shook his head. "I found out something about my son, your brother," he said, his voice cracking. "A very special thing. I suppose it makes him a hero of the church. In any event, he is a hero of the Orthodox Party." He looked into Lilith's eyes as his own filled with tears.

"Rahman wrote a letter, you see. He wrote it to Tahir Ranon. The priests in the school taught him to do that. In his letter he denounced my Amber. He accused her of reading, and writing, and..." His head slowly shaking, he said through his tears, "My son, whom I gave everything. My son, whom I loved more than G.o.d.

My son, a viper in my bed."

He turned his face back to the fire. "Do not look at me, child. It has been forever, yet I cannot stop this wretched crying. I would not have you see me like this."

Lilith looked at the curtained window as she ached to put her arms around her father. Duman Amin was a man, however, and she was afraid.

After a long time she heard Duman Amin move in his chair. "You are very beautiful, child. You have Amina's eyes. Your hair is much lighter, but you have her eyes. Face me."

Lilith faced her father. He studied her for a moment, then smiled. "You should have seen your mother when she was a young bride. How fair she was. How full of life and fun." He fell silent as an unshared memory filled his eyes. When he closed his eyes, he again leaned back in his chair.

"This is my son's eighth birthday, and I cannot bear the sight of his face nor the thought of being beneath the same roof. If he were in this house I am afraid I would kill him with my own hands. Rahman could not have taken more from me had he hired an a.s.sa.s.sin."

Silent Her swallowed air until she could burp her special name for Rahman. "Toilet," she said.

Duman Amin's mouth fell open as his eyebrows climbed. "By the Bab!" A bitter laugh, born within the heart of his pain, exploded out of his mouth. "Toilet!" he shouted. "By the mercy of G.o.d, toilet, indeed." Her father laughed and laughed until he was exhausted. After he had been silent for a moment, he turned his head and looked at his daughter. Her head was still uncovered, her veil in her hands. "This is your birthday, too, isn't it? Of course it is. How foolish I must seem. But you are a girl, you see, so there was never any cause to remember your birth." He clasped his hands as he pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. "You've never had a proper birthday party." He slowly shook his head. "And now I cannot give you one."

He reached out and placed his palm against her cheek. "Do you understand that in my heart I am a dead man? I am skin, blood, bone, a soul black with guilt, hate, and revenge. I have no one to-"

He removed his hand from her cheek and held her shoulders with both of his hands. "You have no one."

He gathered his daughter in his arms and hugged her for the very first time. She felt his breath on her neck, his tears and rough whiskers on her cheek. "This is your birthday, Silent Her." A sour tone came into his voice. "I don't like your pet name very much. Do you?"

She shook her head as she buried her face in her father's neck and wrapped her arms around him. She could not stop her own tears.

After a moment, he held her away so that he could look into her face. Moving his hands, he wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. "When you were born your mother thought you could speak. Did you know that?"

She nodded.

"The thought of it drove her mad. I named you Silent Her for that reason. Perhaps I thought it would help.

Perhaps I thought it was funny; cute." He sat silently for a long time. At last he said, "I don't know what to call you now." He took her hand and drew it to his lips. "I don't want to lose you, child." He lowered her hand and held it in both of his. He sniffed and laughed. "Yes, child, let's form a conspiracy and kill G.o.d. It would be a grand adventure, wouldn't it? Are you game, child? Caution to the winds, for nothing is written for the bold of heart." He nodded and continued.

"Daughter, you shall have a birthday celebration." A crafty, slightly insane, look came into his eyes. "No.

A party might endanger Nabil or Onan, but I will think of something if I have to do the cooking myself."

She smiled and opened her mouth to a silent laugh.

Her father laughed, as well. "Yes, my cooking would be more punishment than party." His eyebrows went up. "A present then?" He gestured around the room with his arm. "Anything in the house, anything on my estate, anything from the entire universe within my power to obtain for you. Would you like Rahman's room full of toys? Choose it and it is yours-"

Again the tears leaped to his eyes. He pulled her toward him and wrapped his arms around her. "Forgive me," he said. "No more tears for us."

He kissed her cheek and held her at arm's length. "What is your present? Make it something that can be hidden. Make it something that cannot be taken away from you."

Her hand was on her cheek where her father had left a kiss. His first. She held out her hand. In it was the tiny blue book given her by the trader. She signed, "Teach me to read."

All expression left his face as his eyes studied the book in her hand. The scenarios of a thousand horrors, a million defeats, and an infinity in h.e.l.l played behind her father's eyes. At last, he c.o.c.ked his head towardthe door and said, "Close and lock it."

Lilith rushed to the door, pushed it shut, and turned the bolt. When she returned to her father's side he was picking up some blank papers from the floor.

"Find me something to write with, child."

She searched the floor and found a pen. Rus.h.i.+ng to her father's side, she handed it to him. He took the writing instrument and looked down at her as he said, "Do you understand that what we are about to do is against the laws of both G.o.d and Joram?"

She nodded.

"Do you understand that this is why your mother and her sister-wife died?"

Lilith shook her head and signed, "They died because men killed them."

He closed his eyes and nodded. "That is the truth. Men and a boy." He opened his eyes and studied his daughter. "I, too." When she neither responded nor contradicted him, Duman glanced at the tiny blue book in her hand. "Aren't you frightened?" he asked.

"I am always frightened. If I do not learn to read I will still be frightened."

He looked at the papers in his hands as he resumed sitting in the chair. He sat staring at the blank sheets, his fingers trembling, his eyes reading lines that were not yet written. "Do you know what that book is?"

She looked down at the blue cover and realized she had been offered an opportunity to test her father. "

Your friend the trader gave it to me on my seventh birthday. For my present, teach me to read it."

He looked into his daughter's eyes. "Every educated Imahnti believes that the G.o.d force of the universe is life itself. They believe this force is a great multidimensional river, and that there are eddies and currents within it that can be detected, measured, and even predicted." He reached out his hand, took the booklet, and opened its cover.

"The manifestations-" he looked up and raised his eyebrows. "The forms these eddies and currents take, the Imahnti believe, are many. They are such things as fas.h.i.+ons, fads, plagues, political movements, social changes, religious upheavals." He closed the book and allowed it to rest upon his lap as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes studying Silent Her's face.

"There are phenomena called life intersections. Some disrespectful students in our schools call them Jesus drafts." He moistened his lips and continued. "Certain kinds of eddies within particular currents, believe the Imahnti, produce beings of unique qualities: skill, wisdom, insight, spirituality, and strength. Huroot Ib once told me that all of the Messengers are such beings, and that there are, on other worlds, other messengers-alien messengers."

"The trader said this to me," signed Silent Her. "He asked me if I thought I might be such a messenger."

Duman Amin fell mute at the suggestion. Behind his eyes he appeared to make a thousand instantaneous voyages. When he returned, the mad look was in his eyes. He lifted the blue book and held it out. "The trader once told me that Magda was such a person." He nodded toward the book.

After she took back the blue book, Duman picked her up and seated her next to him in the chair. On the top sheet of the papers on his lap, her father wrote down all of the signs of Mogam. Next to each sign he wrote the man-writing equivalent.

"There. Can you pick out the letters of your quiet name?"

Her mouth opened as her eyes went wide. Duman Amin knew a secret that he shouldn't know. The quiet names were strictly for women's knowledge only.

He smiled at her. "Of course I know about quiet names. Your mother's quiet name was Hedia. Amber's quiet name was Rihana. I don't know yours. Do you have a quiet name?"

She frowned as she pointed at the Mogam strokes for HT-L-L.

"Lal... Lil... Lilith? Your quiet name is Lilith?"

It was the first time she had ever heard it spoken. It sounded beautiful from her father's mouth. She nodded and Duman Amin wrote down some additional letters.

"These are letters that Mogam doesn't have. You need them if you want to read man-writing. They are called vowels." He explained the use of the letter I and showed her how it fit into her name. Handing her the pen, he said, "You try it."

She held the pen like a dagger and wrote: HTILIL.

Duman laughed. "No. Mogam goes from right to left. Man-writing goes from left to right. Just reverse them."

She wrote them down again from left to right: LILITH.

Her father nodded. When his nodding stopped it had been replaced by a frown. "Lilith. Adam's first wife.

She was the one who left Adam because she refused to consider herself Adam's inferior." He turned his head toward his daughter. "According to some very blasphemous persons, she was the one who founded the race of women. Did Hedia give you this name?"

Lilith signed her answer, knowing as she did so that she was testing her father once more. "She gave methis name on the day she was murdered. Before she was strangled she wrote on the stone pillar, 'Lilith will not be silent.' I am Lilith."

"I saw it." Tears again misted her father's eyes, then a sly smile spread across Duman's face. "Legend has it that Lilith married the Shaytan and became the mother of evil spirits." The smile left his face as he studied his daughter's eyes. "In the quiet, when we are alone, may I call you Lilith?"

She picked up his hand and held it to her lips. She nodded and held the hand to her cheek. As she watched, her father's face grew stronger. "I'll teach you to read. What's more, I'll teach you everything I know about business, finance, politics, law, science, and war." He thought for a moment, then his lips spread in a sly smile. "If I make Trader Ib my heir, and Ib becomes your patron, you will have all you need to learn. To teach. To begin. Understand?"

Lilith nodded even as she felt herself getting light-headed.