Cold, frigid blackness had shrouded the Ice-Cap Mountains in a veritable cloak of obscurity.
The shivering Jeanette, who had never experienced such freezing numbness in all her life, had little more than a thin, full-bodied cotton jumpsuit to keep her warm. The soughing wind whipped her long, tangled mat of hair sloppily about her shoulders. Jeanette had long since lost all feeling in her hands, fingers, and toes (none of which, aside from a pair of open-toed sandals, had any coverings), and she was no longer certain if she had a nose. Jeanette, who had at first been so grateful to be alive after the harrowing plummet of their battered escape pod into the dense, misty atmosphere of this esoteric world, now would have welcomed Death with open arms. Her teeth chattered, her muscles had gone rigid, and the mushroom-like puffs of breath that escaped her lips froze into tiny ice-sparkles, which shattered with a fine tinkle once they struck the ground.
Only the young soldier, Julian, who had snatched Jeanette into the pod with him in the final moments before the U.S.S. Celestial had met its demise, pressed on grimly as though life still had purpose. Jeanette could barely see him now; he was but a small speck perhaps three hundred yards away, partially hidden by whorls of snow-flake laden wind that transformed the foreign, alien-looking plant life into looming stumps that twisted forebodingy. She could only make out the dull, digital print of his U.S. Army AC uniform and the ratty headful of thick, auburn hair, pulled this way and that by capricious gales. Julian had wrestled a thick, gnarled bough out of a partially frozen stream at the beginning of their ascent up the mountain to help him climb from ledge to rocky ledge; he had entreated the miserable Jeanette to do the same, but she hadn't had the strength.
I wasn't made for this, Jeanette thought darkly as she struggled to heave herself up on a particularly slick boulder. The painful nip of frigid ice burned her palms, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. She could not seem like a helpless girl in front of this Julian-- not now. Not when he was potentially all she had left.
This wasn't supposed to happen. The U.S.S. Celestial was indestructible. General Ames had said so himself! Oh, how could I have been so naive?
"Julian! Julian, are you still up there?" She shaded her eyes and strained to peer up into the rocky trail that wound through the gray rock of the mountain range, but the wind carried her thin voice away, and she could no longer see him. It was as though the blinding snow had simply erased him; she was alone. Panic fought to set in.
"Julian, wait!" Desperate now, Jeanette hopped down from the boulder, painfully twisting one ankle, and struggled on to the next obstacle: a series of slippery stones that dotted the way across a frozen creek on the way to higher ground. The frozen banks were speckled with stiff shrubbery and wilted blossoms whose petals had long since fallen away and died; Jeanette approached the creek timidly and peered inside, shocked when she could see the large outline of what looked like an enormous, dark fish meandering slowly through the waters beneath the frozen layer of ice. So there was life on this world: alien life. She had seen the first evidence of it; what other enemies lurked? Where there humanoids, like the E.T.s that Dr. Zales had sometimes employed in his gynecology office? Or were the native life more threatening-- more deadly?
Would the two of them have to fight for their lives? Would the handsome Julian protect her, or would self-preservation set in, leaving her to die alone?
"Julian!" Jeanette cupped her blue-tinged fingers around her mouth and called until she was hoarse, but there was still no answer. Well, no matter; she didn't think he could have gone too far. The mountains where they had landed appeared steep. The only way to go seemed to be up (the way down would have been too slick and treacherous.) Eventually, they would have to come across some sort of shelter and a source of food-- or at least water-- lest they die here, where their mummified corpses or bleached bones might never be discovered.
Jeanette did not think she could contemplate that; as easy as succumbing might have been at that moment, she wanted to live. Starving to death terrified her; being torn apart by the jaws of some terrible creature twisted her heart all the more. Would it hurt? Might it be over quickly? Would she be forced to hide in caves and under rocks for the rest of her wretched existence?
Curse General Ames. Couldn't even keep his ship in working condition and save the lives of the terrified civilians who would have been incinerated or blasted into space when the Celestial disintegrated. It's all his fault. Everything is all his fault!
Why, oh why hadn't she bothered to set aside time for those survivalist courses that every ship offered to its citizens free of charge? Jeanette might have learned a plethora of valuable skills: fire-making, game-trapping, the slicing and drying or smoking of meat, and ways to chance upon fresh water when there seemed to be none. She might have been able to distinguish a dangerous cave from a harmless one, and even learned to fashion a crude weapon or small net for trapping fish.
Instead, what had she done? Took a cushy job as Dr. Zales' assistant nurse and eyed the beautiful women who came into his office, sizing them up, comparing her classic beauty to theirs. She had disliked most of them, wanting Dr. Zales (and all his thousands of dollars) mostly for herself, and he had been all too happy to oblige. Gifts were showered lavishly upon her; at one time, she had owned beautiful rings, sparkling bracelets, necklaces of rare pearls that had been harvested from the distant planet Earth, and even the keys to her own prodigal suite...unlike most disadvantaged civilians, who slept in ordinary two-bedroom chambers like anyone else.
But all of that was gone now. All that remained was the battered wreckage of the couple's tiny escape pod, which lay in ruins at the bottom of the mountain, and the fury of this foreign wind that threatened to tear the hair right out of her scalp.
"Jeanette!"
Jeanette's heart leaped. "Julian? Julian, is that you?"
More cries came, but they were muffled by the punishing gale. But he had sounded excited-- had he found food, shelter, or better yet, a race of People similar to themselves that might offer them a warm blanket and a bowl of broth?
"...cave...ahead up in the....huge diameter!"
Jeanette could barely make out the words, but she wasted no time. Mustering a deep breath and all of her courage-- which amounted to little, since Jeanette was the sort of woman who was nervous, sacred, and self-centered-- she forged ahead and hopped from one stone to the next, slipping all the way, until she finally bridged the entire length of the creek and stepped safely to the bank on the other side. Her cheeks had flushed pink with renewed hope. "Julian, I'm coming!" she cried. "Where are you?"
"Up...mouth of this cave!" There were more words which she could not decipher. Undaunted, Jeanette scrambled to the next rocky outcrop, which appeared to have numerous jagged edges that could be used for lifts, and began the arduous climb to the cave, and to Julian.
A cave! He's found a cave!
Straining with the effort, Jeanette lifted herself slowly off the ground and soon found herself clutching at the wall of the mountain like a frightened monkey. Beneath her sandals, bits of rock and gravel crumbled and fell away, leaving her scrambling for more toe-holds. Beside her, a bit of the foreboding mist cleared and revealed what looked like two grey mountain goats, one smaller than the other, each of which sported two pairs of curled horns and curly wool. They blinked at her curiously, as though wondering what to make of this strange, yellow-haired creature. They kept a careful distance, but neither did they move away.
Jeanette's stomach growled. Mountain goats meant food...and food meant survival. Julian was a soldier. He would know how to secure this food and feed it to her. She was saved!
"Julian?"
"Up here!" His voice suddenly clearer, Julian's tousled head popped out from beneath a bush-covered outcrop, where he had apparently managed to find firm footing and solid ground. "I'm going to reach a hand down to you, all right? I'll need you to grasp on tightly and climb at the same time I pull. ...Think you can manage that?"
"I-- yes." Jeanette shook herself inwardly and timidly reached out to grip his hand: it felt cold and frozen, but secure. "N- now what?"
"Climb!"
And climb she did, floundering and scrabbling the entire way until the skin had been scraped off her knees by the rough edges of jagged rock. The tiny beads of blood that welled were frozen instantly. A sharp, jutting lip of rock bumped her in the stomach, momentarily knocking the air out of her chest.
"I-- can't-- do this!" she wheezed helplessly, holding on to Julian's hands for dear life and swinging helplessly.
"Quit your whining," he said unsympathetically, through gritted teeth. "You're going to have to. There are only a few steps left!"
"But these rocks-- it's so cold!"
"Climb, dammnit!"
As if to mock her, the woolly-haired mountain goats deftly picked their way up the nearly-vertical slope, as though they had suction cups for hooves, and passed her with wide curiosity in their glassy eyes. Grunting her frustration, Jeanette gripped Julian's hands even tighter and awkwardly worked her way up the rest of the slope, swinging one ungainly leg over the ledge when she reached the top, then the other. Relishing the security of solid ground at last, Jeanette collapsed into an untidy heap and wept.
Julian, standing stiffly as a board and gazing into the giant maw of the half-moon shaped, cavernous tunnel before them, stared into its pitch darkness with a firm set to his handsome mouth. Ignoring the tangle-haired woman's muffled sobs (Jesus, but she was irritating!), he studied the potential shelter that spread before them, and his mind delved into overdrive. Ever the trained and thorough soldier, Julian's wide green eyes missed nothing. They took in the pine-like trees that stood, crooked and menacing, on either side of the cave entrance; the smattering of clay-colored gravel and dirt that lined the opening; and the height of the cave (at least the height of ten human beings). The inside was pitch dark and likely damp, but it would offer a welcome respite from the cold, even if the few bits of brush or kindling he'd be able to gather were too frost-nipped for him to make a fire. Once inside, they'd be able to collect their bearing and think of a plan-- but he could not forget the most important detail.
"Well? What are we waiting for?" asked Jeanette meekly, who had recovered somewhat and had wiped the freezing mucous from her nose. "Let's go in! I can't stand this god-forsaken cold any longer!"
"Are you crazy, woman? We can't just walk willy nilly into any old cave we find on a planet we know absolutely nothing about. There could be a dangerous animal inside, or a number of them. Do you want to get us killed before we've even wiped the snow from our clothes?"
"No, but--"
"Then use some common sense!" Julian snapped.
Jeanette looked at him miserably. His eyes, cold and biting though they were, were attractive and welcoming, and the chin-length auburn hair made him look much younger than he actually was. Having been away from the Celestial and traipsing through the frozen wasteland of this seemingly-desolate planet, hair-cuts or shaving had been out of the question. The barest beginnings of a beard were beginning to show, and Julian's muscles were broad, inviting. Jeanette briefly compared him to the flaccid-bodied Dr. Zales and wondered what she had seen in the man, besides his ample bank accounts.
"So what do we do?"
"We wait," said Julian flatly. "We don't have weapons or fire to defend ourselves, so we can't go in first. Anything inside would eat us alive. No, we wait to see what shows itself, and if it proves too dangerous to handle, well--"
"Well what?"
"Then we run," Julian said simply.
Jeanette looked doubtful. "So we'll just stand here and shiver?" she asked dubiously.
"Yes. Stand here and shiver." The barest hint of sarcasm laced Julian's tight voice. "What else would you have us do? Have you any ideas besides whining? Did you learn anything in those survivalist classes?"
"You don't have to be so mean," Jeanette muttered, unwilling to admit that she had not taken any survivalist classes, thinking them to be unimportant at the time. "I didn't ask to be here! You're a soldier; you're the one who'se supposed to know what to do in any situation! So stop sniping at me."
"Then stop being so narcissitic," Julian retorted, turning away and gazing into the raw darkness of the cave. For once, Jeanette had no witty come-back (in a distant segment of Julian's subconscious, he was grateful), and as the two of them stood there, shivering inside the cold, something deep inside the cave seemed to shift and resettle itself.
Something enormous.
"What was that?" hissed Jeanette, instantly wide-eyed and terrified.
Julian pursed his lips. He had no answer, but his worst fears had been confirmed, and he had a feeling that whatever lay in wait was no woolly-haired mountain goat.
................................................................................................................................................
Ziuta stood on the bolberry platform smack in the center of Looks Thrice, grateful for Mother's long, beautiful jade gown that hid her shaking, stick-thin legs and the knees that knocked together in her silent indignation. She had been rudely awakened early by Gormaq, who had jabbed her in the back with his staff and grunted at her cries of protest. Frightened, she had turned to Mother for an explanation, but the plump-waisted woman's face was uncharacteristically drawn. Sashek looked as stern as ever-- but even the cheerful Amek hurriedly scarfed her breakfast with her head down and eyes averted.
Ziuta had climbed shyly out of her bench and meekly approached the eating mats, but she was offered nothing. A hard glower from Gormaq stopped her in her tracks when she dared to reach for a wooden mug to scoop some tea out of Mother's boiling bag; what had happened to everyone? Were the People who had taken her in now regretting their decision to give her refuge? What had she done? Was there some unspoken wrong she had committed? Some faux pas she had overlooked?
Worried and haggard, Ziuta had thrown herself at Mother's knees and gripped the woman's fresh-smelling apron, holding it up to her nose and dabbing furiously at her eyes to stave off tears.
"Mother, what have I done?" Ziuta begged, and there was enough pain in her eyes to linger for a lifetime.
Mother stroked Ziuta's hair softly, but for a long time she said nothing. Michek and Bichek had silently gone about their morning activities, keeping their usual chatter to a minimum and carefully avoiding Ziuta with their eyes, but Ziuta hardly noticed. She felt like an Outcast and reject all over again. She needed Siuntla more than ever; she craved the sweet scent of her quiet, doe-eyed mother, who had endured the stares and rumors of her own People with such regal dignity and composure.
What is wrong with me? Why do I always wind up doing something wrong? And what have I done now?
"Please, Mother!" Ziuta's face crumpled in despair. "Tell me what it is that I must do! Yesterday, Gormaq saved me from that horrible Malaraq and welcomed me as his daughter! Now, he will hardly speak to me. It is as though I have caused him to--"
"Lose face?" Mother's expression was grim, but her eyes were warm and kind. "Yes, Ziuta. To sneak out of village with no matters make children's father lose great face. People may think that Gormaq cannot control family. Gormaq call you daughter now, but you cannot thank him through shame! You must act like true daughter. Like daughter of the Evening Folk; like Amek, Sashek, Michek and Bichek. Do you understand?"
Ziuta felt as though her heart might cleave in two. This time when the tears flowed, she did not stop them. "But-- but I did not mean to cause Gormaq any pain!" she sniffled. "He saved me! He took us in when no one else would have. What can I do to make him care for me again?"
Mother sighed and knelt, grasping the shuddering Ziuta's chin in one soft hand. "You must obey always," she said firmly. "When Gormaq say stay, you stay. When Gormaq say go, you must go. On Weema, young girl must cook. Clean. Make beds, make tea, prepare food for Father and family. If you are to survive with us, you must haul water, have manners, be good. Attend lessons with other girls. You must be normal, Zai-oo-tah. Otherwise, Evening folk not accept you. This hard for Gormaq and Mother, because we love you. ...Do you see what I am saying?"
Ziuta sniffled and nodded miserably. "Then-- then he is mad at me for sneaking away from the village?"
"Not only sneak away, but do something forbidden. Malaraq say you play with the water-dragon, the creature from the waters. Ziuta, this absolutely forbidden. You must never do such a thing again. Not if you wish to stay in Weema and live."
"But Water Fly--"
"Hush, child!" Mother drew her close in a comforting hug and gently patted the shivering girl on the back. "No dragons, no sneak away. Listen to rules. Be good daughter. Explain to the Council; maybe they will forgive you, yes?"
"C- council?"
"You must take your own place on the platform this morning," said Gormaq stiffly from his place in front of the breakfast fire. "Malaraq, Toraq, and Amiechek will be there. You will have questions to answer about your activities yesterday, and you must be as respectful as you can, do you understand?"
Ziuta's heart sank, but she lowered her head and nodded forlornly. "What must I do?" she whispered in defeat.
Gormaq's bushy brows lowered themselves over his ever-brooding eyes. "You must answer every question firmly and truthfully! You will apologize for your actions. You will say that you did not understand the ways of the Evening Folk when you cavorted with that water beast. And above all, you must promise never to do such things again! For the earth- and water-draga are fierce enemies of our People, and if you are caught trying to make contact with them, there could be grave consequences. You may could be killed-- and even Pomoq may not be able to save you!"
Ziuta paled.
But Water Fly is all I have!
"When must I take my place on the platform?"
"This morning. Dress quickly; half the village has already assembled, and you must be able to convince Amiechek-- the Matron of Looks Thrice-- that you are willing to be a law-abiding member of our village," Gormaq said. "While Pomoq may allow you to stay, Amiechek can deny you citizenship. She may even chose to take away your only refuge-- our home-- and Mother and I would have to refuse you admittance." He leaned forward and glared at her over the flames, as though he were a misshapen animal waiting to strike. How fearful he looked! "You do not wish to displease Amiechek...do you?"
"No, Gormaq. I-- I am sorry. I did not mean to cause you to lose face. I will do whatever I must. But please, please forgive me!"
Rather than answer, Gormaq settled back onto his eating mat, dipped himself a mug of tea, and sipped with a black expression. Ziuta was confused, angry, and doleful. Any warm feelings she had had for Gormaq had fled; even Mother did not seem to approve of her.
How could she live like this? Was there, indeed, any point of living at all? She was far from Kiwa, forever separated from her family, and unsure whether her best friend Joo-Lee, who had seen her through those frightening times as a foreigner on the Celestial and taught her her first few halting words of the English language, would ever wake up again. Even Dijaq might abandon her...and then what would she do?
I must do what Mother would have done. She is always with me, watching from the skies...and I am always with her. Even if Gormaq hates me, I must do what I can to make Mother proud. She said she would be with me. She promised!
And so Ziuta had dried her tears, washed her face with fragrant soap-weed, and taken her beautiful green gown to a private spot in the corner of the lodge. If she was to be forced to endure such a spectacle as what awaited, she would do so with dignity and pride. She would show these Evening Folk how a young girl of the Night People composed herself-- and she would make even Gormaq proud. Somehow, she would find a way.
Standing on the platform now before three of the Council Members, Ziuta faced them and the murmuring crowd with her chin held high and a determined set to her cheeks and lips. With her hands clasped demurely in front of her, Ziuta would never know exactly how radiant she looked at the moment, with the star-light bathing her shining hair (done in the customary whorls above each ear, as Nasa'a women preferred) in a remarkable shade of baize. Her one green eye blazed with firm resolution; in Mother's long, plaited gown with the beautiful white bow and shining Draca scale sewn so expertly into the bodice, she was the loveliest young girl that many of them had ever seen. Maidens, their mothers, and wrinkle-faced grandmothers muttered reluctantly behind their hands about the unique beauty of the star-child waif: Amiechek, who sat rigidly on the Council bench between the stone-faced Malaraq and Toraq, looked none too pleased at Ziuta's attention.
Already, the whispered predictions were passed from one ear to the other as eager-faced young toddlers, clutching flowers or sticks of sugar candy, hopped back and forth before the platform and pointed at its lonely occupant.
"Never before has one of our girls worn such a garment! Gormaq's wife must surely have the magic touch!"
"She is not Evening Folk. It is only fitting that she would think herself a princess of the stars; she probably thinks she deserves even better. Ha!"
"It is said that Gormaq favors her--"
"But yet she stands before us as the condemned. They say she plays with dragons!"
Although everyone had heard this tid-bit before, there were nonetheless delighted gasps.
"Forbidden! How could she?" someone hissed.
"It is magic. She found a water-dragon and used her spells to tame the beast..."
"...and they say that Dijaq was with her!"
"Aiiiie!"
And eager heads pressed together, eyes probing the proud young girl for any signs of quivering or weakness as the Council Members prepared to speak.
Praying that the masses could not hear the pounding of her anxious heart, Ziuta scanned the crowd for Gormaq, but he was nowhere to be seen. And where was Amek? Did she suddenly not have a friend in the world?
"You have been accused of a grave crime, Girl," Amiechek began, regally arranging her skirts and finery in flowing folds around her fat legs. "I shall get right to the point. Is it true that you left our village palisade without permission?"
Ziuta forced herself to meet the woman's beady-eyed stare. "I did," she replied quietly.
"And pray tell us what you decided to do once you thought yourself 'free'," Amiechek went on with a smirk.
As though anticipating an exciting story, the murmuring hushed, and all eyes turned to Ziuta. "I went through Hallow's wood and stopped at Haven's Creek," she stated easily, amazed at how effortlessly the words flowed. "I was depressed. I wanted to be alone."
"But you were not alone, were you?" chimed Toraq, leaning forward with a gleaming smile. He might well have been a vicious dog waiting to rip her to pieces.
"I was not alone," Ziuta admitted, staring back with utter disdain.
Toraq looked round at those gathered with a simper of satisfaction. "Then tell the good people of Looks Thrice exactly what you were doing while you were 'alone'," he commanded.
Ziuta gulped, swallowed. At that moment she happened to notice the heart-faced girl, Waru, kneeling delicately in the grass in a space near the platform. She wore a lovely blue pinafore and had linked hands with Dijaq, who sat dutifully beside her and looked bored. The very sight of him made Ziuta's heart ache. She remembered exactly how Dijaq had looked at her that day by the creek. He had come to her...and in spite of himself, he had trusted her enough to lay hands on Water Fly's hide. There had been such a wonderful sparkle in his amazed, smoky eyes; and yet beside him sat what was obviously a mortal enemy, disguised with beauteous features and long, handsome curls. Waru gave Ziuta a nasty smile, pleased with her rival's apparent distress.
"I found a friend," she managed at last. "A small water-dragon who was alone and motherless. I--"
There were more gasps from the crowd and disapproving glares, but Ziuta pressed on. "I could not ignore the poor creature. She was only a juvenile. She came out of the water, desiring company, and the two of us sat quietly at the water's edge. I did nothing wrong!"
"Nothing wrong?" Amiechek asked, in mock surprise. "Do you not consider cavorting with the enemies of our People a grave offense?"
"I do not," Ziuta said firmly, to a chorus of more mutterings, which were louder this time. The crowd pressed closer, as though aching to swarm the platform, but Toraq and Malaraq held them back with raised hands.
"Then explain yourself!" Malaraq demanded brusquely.
"I am not Evening Folk," Ziuta explained, "but I am a young girl of the Night. I come from a world where animals are our friends. We did not have enemies among the animals. If a calf was motherless, we kept and nurtured that calf. I did the same with Water Fly-- that is what I named the water-dragon. Water Fly did not harm me. She did not bite, crush, or harm me in any way, and I used no charms to 'tame' her. She came to me of her own accord!"
"Impossible," Amiechek snapped, with a raised upper lip. She reminded Ziuta of an ugly cur. "You must have used magic! Water dragons do not cavort with Evening Folk!"
"I am Nasa'a," said Ziuta proudly, "and I am also human. Water Fly was not hexed-- and neither was Dijaq. He came to me, also, of his own accord. He touched the beast with his own hands. And as you can all see, both of us have lived to tell about it!"
Whispers forgotten, the crowd erupted into a melee of noise and babble. A thousand pairs of eyes shifted from Ziuta to Dijaq; he met the stares of his people openly, but his cheeks had reddened, and Waru had dropped his hand as though it were a many-legged insect. So Waru had not known!
Let her ponder that as she sleeps at night. Ha!
"Is this true?" Waru demanded of him, wringing her hands before her in despair. "Where you with her, playing with dragons like a silly little boy? How could you betray me?"
"The girl is a danger to us all!" Amiechek interrupted. "Look at how self-righteously she stands there, with the scale of the Draca sewn onto her garment! Her actions shame us and fly in the face of all that the Evening Folk hold dear!"
"Aye! She will lure these dangerous animals to our palisade walls!" Toraq boomed, and Malaraq nodded his assent.
"The dragons will begin eating our cattle and sheep-- and when our livestock are gone, they will start on us!" cried a grizzled old farmer from the edge of the crowd. "We have enough trouble with the Draca sweeping in to abduct our People as it is. I say we get rid of the girl!"
"Aye! Kill her! Burn her on her own pyre, as Zeechek's bastard child was given up as sacrifice to the Twin Moons!" Waru screeched, leaping to her feet and pointing with a beautifully-manicured finger.
"Do not kill her," piped a short, squat woman who had probably seen more than ninety years. "But turn the girl out into the wilderness alone. If the Twin Moons have blessed her, she will survive. If not, the Draca will have her!"
By this time, Ziuta had blanched and felt faint. She swayed unsteadily on her feet and quickly covered her face with shaking hands, unwilling to let the vitriolic crowd view her dismay. Kill her? Could they do it? But she was just a girl! Was there time to run? Could she make it out of the palisade before the likes of Toraq and Malaraq ripped the hair out of her scalp? Desperately, Ziuta peeked through her fingers and sought Dijaq, but he was still staring at the ground, tracing aimless patterns in the grass, saying nothing in her defense.
Coward! How could I have looked at him with anything other than disdain in my heart?
Ziuta had just decided to bolt when, once again, the crowd hushed, and the people separated into two loose groups so that a very old, very wizened man could totter painstakingly through with his walking stick tapping the ground. He was bald and slightly hunched, like a buzzard, and only a few wisps of hair fluttered from the edges of his scalp around his ears. Age spots dotted his skull, and his gnarled hands looked as though merely existing caused him pain, so advanced was the arthritis...but Ziuta saw that his eyes were kind, like Mother's. She had heard of this man-- he was Pomoq, the village Medicinal Healer. Here, at last, was a friend! Surely Pomoq would not let them--
"Is there a room on this bench for me?" Pomoq slowly doddered to the Council bench and pivoted until he faced the Elders, who quickly masked their expressions and graciously stood, allowing the old man to have the bench to himself.
This Pomoq must be extremely wise, Ziuta thought, for the self-righteous Amiechek and her two cohorts to defer to him so quickly. What words would he have for them...or, for that matter, for her?
Pomoq used his staff to pivot again until he faced the platform, painfully lowered his bony old rump onto the bench, and stretched out bone-thin legs with a satisfied sigh. In one hand he clutched a small wooden mug filled with a steaming liquid. To Ziuta, it smelled like red blossom tea; Mother liked to make it in the morning, to calm her nerves.
"Tell me about the beautiful adornment on your bodice, dear child," Pomoq gestured kindly (as though she were his equal!) and raised the mug to his lips to take a noisy sip.
Ziuta twisted her hands and tried to look him in the eye. "It-- it is a dragon scale," she began haltingly. "I-- I took it from the Draca that I killed after Sashek rescued my friend, Joo-Lee, and I. Dusha wanted me to have it."
"And who is this Dusha?" Pomoq asked calmly.
"Why, Dusha was the Draca's name. She was female...and she had the most beautiful voice! She told me--"
"But
why did you kill this dragon, and how did you go about doing it?" Pomoq asked. "Remember child, you are under strict instructions to tell the truth. You know what it means to be truthful, do you not?"
"I do."
Pomoq gestured. "Proceed."
"The Draca came low over our party as we were travelling home," Ziuta said tonelessly. "The force of her wings beating knocked me down. Sashek injured one wing with an arrow and her cross-bow. When the Draca found she could no longer fly, she spoke to me--"
"Spoke to you?" Pomoq raised his eyebrows, and there was a dull murmur from those gathered.
"Y- Yes. Dusha spoke to me and told me that she would rather die than return to the fortress, where her Mother lived. She said that-- that her mother's love was poison, and that she would rather I take her life than allow her to suffer painfully until she died...and to prevent her from having to return to her mother's wrath. So-- I did it. I, um, ended her life."
"The girl is a liar!" Waru called from the crowd, but Pomoq shot her a withering look and made a dismissive gesture.
"How did you kill it?" he asked sharply.
"With the earth-dragon spines that Sashek gave me," Ziuta explained. "She gave the spines to me for running away from the earth-dragon and surviving. Sashek said that most girls are not lucky enough to hide from the earth-dragon, but I did. I-- I used the spines to let the blood from her throat. It did not take long for her to die."
"Well! There you have it," Amiechek said crisply, making a haughty washing-of-hands gesture. "The girl is full of wild stories and a vivid imagination. She should further be punished for lying!"
"I speak for the girl," Pomoq said quietly.
The Council Members gaped at him.
"I-- I beg your pardon, respected one?" stammered Toraq.
"I said I speak for the girl," Pomoq replied easily. "Whether or not the story happened exactly as she said, she is responsible for ending the life of the Draca, who are an established enemy of the Evening Folk. There are witnesses to prove it, and she wears the scale of the beast on her own bodice as testimony to her courage and bravery."
Malaraq looked stricken. "But--"
"If she had not acted as she did," Pomoq went on, waving his mug expansively into the air until hot liquid sloshed from the sides, "the Draca might have set its sights here and hurt someone in Looks Thrice. This Ziuta, who comes from the stars, has performed a brave feat managed by not even the strongest man in Looks Thrice. I say she is to be honored, and I speak for her. She shall neither be killed nor cast out."
For a moment, there was stony silence.
"Who else will speak for the girl?" Amiechek inquired wearily, ignoring her daughter Waru's looks of protest.
"I shall speak for her!"
Ziuta turned eagerly at the sound of that gruff, familiar voice, and was overjoyed to see Gormaq, leaning against his walking stick to support the ruined leg, hobble forward to stand before the platform.
All eyes turned to him. "I have adopted Ziuta as my own daughter, and I shall speak for her," he repeated. "She shall live out her days in my home and eat in my hearth. I am honored to have the star-child as a guest-- and I will not tolerate threats from the ignorant! I side with Pomoq. Ziuta stays."
Amiechek's shoulders slumped. "Anyone else?" she snapped.
"I speak!" called Mother, who had joined Gormaq at his elbow.
"I, as well!" called Amek happily. "Ziuta is my friend. She is my best friend. She teaches me everything about the world she came from! I won't let anyone say bad thing about my friend," she added, casting a pointed look at the sneering Waru.
Ziuta, weak-kneed and relieved beyond measure, was certain that she would faint. Before she could comprehend what was happening, Sashek had spoken out for her, follow by the twins, Michek and Bichek...but Dijaq still stared at the ground. He refused to speak and looked downright miserable.
"It is settled, then," Pomoq said brusquely, draining the last dregs from his mug and setting it carefully on the bench before him. "The girl has more than enough family members and supporters to speak for her. She stays in Looks Thrice. That is my decision. You are all dismissed."
"But-- but what about her punishment?" Malaraq sputtered. "She should still be chastised for her involvement with the--"
"--the water-dragon?" Pomoq smiled widely. "I do not think the girl will make such a mistake again...and besides, the girl seems to have a special affinity for the creatures. She can frolic with the dragon without being harmed, and drain the blood from the most powerful creature in all of Weema. If anything, the girl offers safety to our small village. She should be thanked, not scorned." Pomoq stood and grasped his staff. "Dismissed! An old man's bladder calls to him. That is all."
With dull mutterings, the crowd began to disperse; women collected their babies and toddlers, and men who had been leaning against the community well rolled up their powdered grass shavings, lit their smoke sticks, and ambled away.
Ziuta could hardly believe her good luck. Yes, Pomoq had spoken for her, and so had everyone else-- but Gormaq had been the first. He had once again referred to her as his 'daughter'-- this time in front of the entire community-- and he had vowed to protect her as long as she lived. Her relieved heart swelled, and she longed to reach out to him, to throw her arms around his waist and bury her head in the softness of his chest, but when she turned to him, Gormaq whirled on his heels and shambled back hastily toward Mother's lodge. He did not look back, hobbling inside and slamming the door shut behind him.
Ziuta stood alone on the platform now, tears brimming at the bottoms of her eyelids; she had won. She would not be cast out or killed-- but she had never been lonelier. And somehow, that seemed the worst punishment of all.