When it became obvious that they were nearing their destination, Kopporu approached Guo.
"I believe we are almost there now, Guo. The place where the Mother of Demons waits for us."
"I hope so," replied the infanta. She was breathing heavily. For any gukuy, much less a mother, the long climb up the canyon to the top of the Chiton was tiring. Since they reached the plateau above, the way had become easier. But it was still an arduous march, even for an army hardened by many eightweeks in the Swamp.
At least we are done with that, thought Kopporu.
Yet, in some strange way, she felt a regret.
The swamp had been horrible, even beyond her worst dreams. They had lost many warriors there. Lost in mudholes; lost to predators, big and small; lost to hideous parasitic infections; and some, lost in ways they would never know. Warriors who simply—disappeared.
The worst time had come crossing the river. Gukuy generally avoided large bodies of fresh water—and almost never ventured upon the ocean. Terrible predators lurked in water. Small predators in any body of water beyond the size of a stream or little pool. In larger bodies—certainly in big rivers—the predators were huge and fierce.
They had lost almost double-eight warriors crossing the river. Most of them to poisonous water-slugs.
We would have lost many more, had it not been for Guo.
Of the many legends which would emerge from that incredible trek across the swamp, Kopporu knew, none would be chanted so often as the day the battlemother Guo slew the great kraken of the river. Kopporu herself had been paralyzed with fear, for a moment, when she first saw the monstrous form of the kraken plowing up the river toward the Kiktu army. Twice the size of the biggest mother who ever lived—the biggest owoc mother who ever lived—with palps as big as a gana and a beak like a cave.
But Guo had not hesitated. She had lunged down the river and battled with the monster, after ordering her flankers away. For once, Guo fought something bigger and slower than she, and the young battlemother had used the advantage shrewdly. Eluding the kraken's palps, luring it back downstream, she had given the army the time it needed to finish the crossing.
Kopporu looked up at the five little males who were proudly riding atop Guo's cowl, behind their shield of battle. Pipes in arms, as always.
Guo's preconsorts had secured their own place in legend, that day. The Kiktu had had to make another shield afterward. The kraken had made splinters of the one that had been there before. But Guo's malebond had remained at their posts. And had managed, finally, to blind the kraken in one eye.
From that moment, Guo had pressed the fight. In the end, while the entire army watched from the safety of the riverbank, the kraken had tried to flee. To no avail. Guo was in full kuoptu, and had pursued, hammering the monster with her maces, until the great beast was nothing but a mass of bloody flesh drifting with the current.
No, thought Kopporu, the Swamp was not simply a place of horror. It was also the place where the people recovered their soul.
She looked back at the long column behind them. Looking, partly, to reassure herself by its great length that she had saved many people for whatever lay in their future. But also, and more, looking for the signs of that new people's strength.
For it was a new people. Kiktu, still, somewhere at its heart. But Kopporu saw the files of the Opoktu, marching with a dignity they had never possessed, in the days when they had been merely the smallest tribe on the Papti Plains. The Opoktu were small in no one's eyes, now.
She saw also many swamp-dwellers—former swamp-dwellers—scattered here and there, a part of many different battle groups. A cherished part, not a despised one. The southern ex-helots might still—so much could not be denied—remain less adept at battle than Kiktu or Opoktu. But their courage was doubted by none. The tribespeople would have perished, many times over, had it not been for their guides.
Scattered through the battle groups, as well, Kopporu saw many former members of other tribes. Refugees, once; no longer. Honored and respected members of—
—of what? Kopporu asked herself. What are we now? The tribe called Kiktu? No, no longer. We are not even a tribe, in any proper sense. No clan leaders, outside the Opoktu. Even the clans themselves have gotten vague at their edges, with so many new adopted members.
How many eightdays has it been since I heard a warrior even use the name "Kiktu"? The Opoktu still, on occasion, call themselves by their own name. But, even among them, I have noticed that it is only their clan leaders and old warriors who do so. The rest of the Opoktu simply use the phrases which have become common to the army as a whole.
Kopporu's army. And, more and more often, the Guoktu.
Guo's people.
Ranging further down the column, Kopporu's eyes fell on still another group of gukuy. The sight of them removed all fond memories, and brought the harsh realities of the present back to her mind.
The Utuku captives. And Guo's temper.
If that young fool cannot restrain herself, we will all die.
Guo was not only young, and still given—on occasion—to childish tantrums. But what was worse, knew Kopporu, was that she had not witnessed the demons in battle. Guo herself had been preoccupied throughout the battle, too busy smashing the Utuku before her to pay much attention to anything else.
But Kopporu had seen. Kopporu had commanded the entire battle from the rear, instead of the front lines. It was an unheard of practice among the tribes, but it was one of the Anshac methods which Kopporu had finally been able to implement. And there had been no demurral; not even any whispered private remarks. Aktako would have heard, and told Kopporu, if there had been. The warriors knew that Kopporu's courage had been proven many times before, on many battlefields. And the disaster on the plain had—finally—taught even the proud Kiktu that courage alone was not enough.
So Kopporu had watched—from atop the mantle of the crippled battlemother Oroku. That had been Oroku's own proposal. In such a manner, she had explained to Kopporu, she would still gain honor from the battle, which her maimed and useless ped prevented her from joining directly.
It had proven to be an excellent idea. From that high perch, Kopporu had been able to follow the entire course of the battle. She had been able to send commands to the battle groups, taking advantage of every opening she saw in the Utuku formations.
And she had also been able to watch the other half of the battle. She had been able to see everything. From the moment the first demons began flickering down the slopes of the Chiton and hurled themselves onto the right flank of the Utuku.
It was—like nothing Kopporu had ever seen. Utuku warriors had begun falling dead, eights at a time. By magic, Kopporu thought at first. Until she finally realized what the demons were doing with those strange, huge—darts?
Within moments after the demons appeared, the Utuku right flank had been driven back—the Utuku battle line broken in half. From then on, Kopporu had only to face the Utuku left flank. Even the Utuku center had remained out of action, paralyzed by a small number of flickering demons.
At first, Kopporu had been vastly relieved. It had been such a horrible shock, to come out of the Swamp and run into an Utuku army at the foot of the Chiton, blocking their access to the mountain's hoped-for sanctuary. The despair which had swept over Kopporu in that moment had been the worst she had ever felt in her life. The Utuku army was almost twice the size of her own, and the terrain favored them. The battle would take place in the narrow stretch of land between the slope of the mountain and the river. No way, even, to retreat this time. A river crossing would take far too long, even if another kraken was not encountered.
Seeing no choice, she had ordered the battle groups into line. And prepared to sell their lives dearly.
Until the demons arrived.
Great relief, and gratitude—at first. And still, Kopporu admitted to herself, to this moment.
The demons saved us. Never doubt it.
But, as she watched the demons in battle, another emotion had come to take its place beside the relief and the gratitude.
A great, growing, terrible fear.
I must make Guo understand! She is still so full of pride, because we defeated half of an Utuku army. Routed them. Destroyed them.
But we could not have done it without the demons. And what is more, she must understand that the demons destroyed the other half. A small battle group of demons turned double-eight their number of Utuku into so much scavenger-meat.
And suffered only a few casualties in so doing! Most of them in the center, at the fiercest point of the struggle.
Whereas we—lost many warriors.
Kopporu's greatest moment of fear had come when she saw the killing of the Utuku commander. She had seen a new demon appear, racing down the mountain like the wind. Black as night. Implacable. Racing toward the Utuku center. Other demons had surrounded it and followed. Then had come the—dart.
The black demon had—hurled?—its dart high into the air. So very high. So very far.
At first, Kopporu thought the demon had simply missed its mark—and missed it badly. Until, watching the dart begin its downward course, she realized the truth.
It is not possible, she remembered thinking, as she watched. It is not possible.
But it had been so. The Utuku commander was slain. Struck by lightning from the sky. Dead, Kopporu knew, without ever realizing what caused her doom.
She had known, then, that these were truly demons.
Already, Guo's temper had almost caused disaster. After the Utuku were routed, Kopporu's army had begun slaughtering the survivors. There would be no mercy for any Utuku—especially not for any Utuku with fresh cowl scars. Recent recruits, those were—some of them even former Kiktu, who had eaten their own people to save their worthless lives.
Kopporu's warriors had been particularly vigilant in their search for any such. Vigilant, and vengeful.
Until a demon had arrived before Kopporu, where she stood with Guo, overseeing the massacre. Not the implacable demon, but one which seemed overcome by misery.
In tribal trade-argot, the demon had ordered Kopporu to halt the killing of the new Utuku recruits.
"Others must be kill," the monster had said. "Not new Utuku. New Utuku take alive. Our mother say so."
Guo's mantle had turned bright blue, then. The battlemother had bellowed with rage, and raised her maces.
"No one—no demon—no one—will stop my people from avenging themselves upon those who ate the flesh of their own tribe!"
In a movement too fast for Kopporu to follow, the demon had flickered back, out of range of Guo's maces. But it had not fled. Nor could Kopporu see the slightest tinge of pink in the brown misery of its hide.
Guo's words of rage could have been heard all over the battlefield. Kopporu's eyes scanned the field. And, within a heartbeat, saw the sight she feared most.
A file of demons was racing toward them. At their head sped the one who had slain the Utuku commander. The implacable one—black as ever.
Sooner than Kopporu would have thought possible, the demons stood before them. Ranging themselves in a half-circle, their darts held ready.
The implacable demon stepped forward. Its way of walking was still strange to Kopporu, although she was beginning to see how the demons moved. But, strange or not, Kopporu could not miss the poise and sureness of the monster's stance.
The demon spoke—in Kiktu, to Kopporu's relief. Trade-argot was a crude language.
Much too crude for negotiations. And if there was ever a time to negotiate, Guo—you young idiot!—it is now.
"Why have you threatened my battle leader?" demanded the black demon.
Before Guo could erupt again, Kopporu explained the situation quickly. From the corner of her eye, Kopporu saw that Woddulakotat was whispering rapidly and urgently into his future-mate's tympanus. She felt some relief, then. The eightweeks in the swamp had taught Kopporu much. Not least of those lessons had been to remove her prejudices concerning the wisdom of males. Especially the eumale Woddulakotat, who, young as he was, had proven to be a shrewd and quick-witted adviser.
The demon pondered Kopporu's words for a moment, and then spoke softly.
"I can understand your emotions. But—are you the battle leader Kopporu?"
Kopporu made the gesture of affirmation.
"We had thought it must be so. Let me take the moment to extend my admiration to you, battle leader Kopporu. And that of my mother, and all my people. The exploit which you and your people have accomplished in crossing the Lolopopo will live for ever. And you have proven your worth—again—on this field of battle."
Kopporu relaxed slightly. She recognized diplomatic flattery when she heard it, of course. But that was all to the good. A demon which was willing to extend some flattery was not, hopefully, given to the same temper tantrums as the fool Guo.
But flattery, as always, served only to sweeten the sour food which followed.
"But I must still insist that you stop the killing of the new Utuku."
Kopporu could not restrain Guo in time.
"Why?" roared the battlemother. "And who is this mother—who can give commands to my people?"
Kopporu emitted the soft whistle which serves gukuy as a sigh of exasperation.
Who do you think—idiot?
The answer came as no surprise.
"Her name is Inudiratoledo. She is my mother—and the mother of us all."
The Mother of Demons. Whose children are like bolts of lightning.
The demon's—head?—turned away. Kopporu saw its little eyes scanning the field of battle.
"As to your first question—why? I do not know the answer. Although," the demon added slowly, "I am beginning to understand. This—and many things about my mother which were not so clear to me before."
Strangely, its eyes began to shine. As if there were a sudden film of water upon them.
But the moment passed, almost before it began. With a quick gesture, the demon wiped its eyes. Then it stepped forward, and there was no mistaking the meaning of that motion.
The Law will now be spoken.
"What is your name, battlemother?"
It was not a question, really. It was a command. Spoken in such a tone that even the fool Guo answered without hesitation.
"Then, listen to me, Guo. Listen carefully, and never doubt what I say. This—"
A quick gesture encompassed the battlefield.
"—is how it is for one reason. And one reason only. It is not so because of the flails of your warriors, nor the power of your own mace. You fought well. Very well. But you would now be nothing but meat in the bellies of the Utuku—"
Guo began to protest, but the demon's voice overrode even hers.
"Except for one thing, battlemother! Except that our mother told us a secret. A terrible secret. A secret which destroyed an army."
The blue in Guo's mantle faded, replaced by dappled ochre, pink and orange.
"It is true, then?" the battlemother asked uncertainly. "She is the one we have heard of? The one who knows the secrets?"
The demon hesitated. Kopporu saw something change in the monster's shape. She was not sure what it was. Something in the way its—tentacles?—attached to its upper body. The attachments seemed to move downward somehow, and the demon suddenly looked smaller.
"Yes," it said softly. "She is the one. The one who knows the secrets—and what comes with them."
It pointed again to the battlefield.
"This resulted from one of her secrets. But there was another result as well. This—also caused my mother a great and terrible anguish. I know it is so. I have been told by those of my warriors who saw her leave."
All softness vanished. The demon's next words could have forged the bronze blades of a flail.
"I will not visit further grief upon my mother, nor allow others to do so. Do you understand, battlemother? I hope so. I have heard much said of the Kiktu, and all of it good. I would welcome you as friends—and perhaps more. And so—I know this to be true—would my mother. But that is for the possible future. For the present, the matter is simple. If you do not stop the killing—"
The last words struck like the flail itself.
"—then the only gukuy who will survive this field of battle will be the Pilgrims and the new Utuku. You, and all your people, will join the other corpses."
Kopporu had turned on Guo, then. She herself knew the tones of authority, and she explained to Guo in the simplest of terms that, Great Mother or no, Guo was still nothing more than a warrior under her command. Did she understand?
Even Guo, even the young fool Guo, who had forced the black demon to declare his authority over them, had finally understood. The battlemother had remained silent, while Aktako and the rest of Kopporu's guard carried the word to the warriors.
The warriors had obeyed. Reluctantly, true. But Aktako and her cohorts knew how to enforce commands, and the slaughter of the new Utuku stopped. Or, at least, the slaughter of those Utuku whose cowl-scars were very fresh. "New" Utuku, after all, is a term which can be interpreted in different ways; and the warriors were in no mood for any but the most literal interpretation.
Kopporu suspected that the young demonlord knew how often the Kiktu warriors were violating the spirit of the command, but the monster said nothing. After a time, Kopporu decided that the demon was not, in truth, seeking a confrontation. Simply a lessened pain in his mother's heart.
Do demons have hearts, I wonder?
The Mother of Demons would never know how many Utuku could have been spared. But she would see captives—several eighties of them, in the end—and would perhaps be satisfied.
I hope so. I hope so.
And now the moment had come. At the head of her army, Kopporu entered a clearing in the center of a small—village, she thought. On three sides of the clearing stood oddly-built, square yurts. On the fourth side was a grove of those plants which the Old Ones called "oruc."
And in the grove itself, to Kopporu's amazement, were several owoc. Feeding on the leaves. Their mantles rippling with green.
The tension in her body eased, slightly.
The Mother of Demons cannot be a cruel monster, then. No owoc would remain in the vicinity of such. Certainly not with that color on their mantles.
Then Kopporu saw the Mother of Demons herself, and was unable to prevent orange from glowing in her mantle.
She is so small! Smaller than any of them!
She had been expecting an enormous creature. As big as—as what? How big would a Mother of Demons be? Like a kraken, Kopporu had thought.
Kopporu did not doubt for a moment what she was seeing, however. There was no mistaking the stance of the demons in the clearing. The small one was clearly the center of authority and respect.
There were many demons in the clearing, she saw. Most of them with darts in their palps, but not all. She saw a number of very small demons, clutching the peds of the big ones, peeking around at the new arrivals.
Children. Like new-spoken spawn. Shy, but filled with curiosity.
The tension eased further.
Surely not even the Mother of Demons would order a massacre in front of such.
There were gukuy in the clearing as well. A good number of them. Several were standing near to the Mother of Demons, one of them—an old gukuy—at her very side. Clearly, these gukuy also occupied positions of respect and authority.
Kopporu was not certain, but she thought most of the gukuy were Pilgrims of the Way. Perhaps all of them. She had no doubt that the old gukuy standing next to the Mother was a Pilgrim. It was somehow obvious.
Her tension eased still further. The Kiktu had always approved of the new religion, since they first became aware of it. Even the old clan leaders. The ideas of the Pilgrims were strange, of course. Difficult to grasp. But one thing had always been clear about them. Unlike all other southerners, the Pilgrims venerated the Old Ones. Not, Kopporu thought, for the same reasons as the Kiktu. But the veneration itself was enough. The Kiktu had granted permission for the Pilgrims to pass through their territory, which many of them had. Seeking refuge, they said, in the Chiton.
I had not realized there were so many of them.
Over time, a number of the Kiktu themselves had adopted the Way. Young warriors seemed especially attracted to the new creed. Kopporu knew that, during the trek through the Swamp, many more had become converted by their sisters. There were no clan leaders to give them stern lectures about hallowed tribal ancestors.
Kopporu knew little, herself, of the beliefs of the Pilgrims. She had been curious, and had felt the desire to investigate. But the necessities of command had driven all other thought aside.
One thing she did know, however. The Pilgrims would defend themselves, flails in palps, against attack. But they were not given to violence. Indeed, they were known to speak against it. Kopporu looked again at the old gukuy.
A Pilgrim sage. I am certain of it.
Surely the Mother of Demons would not order a massacre in front of such.
Kopporu and Guo were now alone at the head of the column, except for Guo's preconsorts. Kopporu could see Woddalukotat and Yurra, peering out from under Guo's cowl.
Advise her, young males. Advise her.
When she was still a few goa from the Mother of Demons, Kopporu halted. Guo drew to a halt beside her.
The Mother of Demons advanced. Alone, Kopporu saw with surprise. Closer and closer, until she was standing at tentacle's length away, directly in front of Kopporu.
"You are Kopporu, the battle leader of your army."
Her voice was odd, and her accent harsh, but her command of Kiktu was excellent.
Kopporu made the gesture of affirmation.
"I am Inudiratoledo. The being who is sometimes called the Mother of Demons. You and I will speak at length, battle leader, and soon. But first, I must speak to another."
Suddenly, in the quick and flickering manner of demons, she was standing in front of Guo. Very closely, looking up at the huge head of the battlemother looming above her.
Kopporu felt a moment's fear. Guo's maces were in their halters, of course—not even the young fool was so stupid as to have marched into the lair of the Mother of Demons with her maces in her palps. But she would not need maces. Whatever terrible power the Mother of Demons wielded, it was obviously not a power of the body. The Mother of Demons would be like a tiny slug in Guo's great palps, her life crushed out of her body in a moment. With her arms alone, Kopporu thought, Guo could kill the Mother of Demons.
Then, to both Guo and Kopporu's astonishment, the Mother of Demons reached up her—palps?—and stroked Guo's arms. Guo began to flinch, then—at a sharp whisper from Woddulakotat—froze.
"And you are the Great Mother Guo. So young. I had not realized how young. My warriors did not tell me."
The demon continued stroking Guo's arms. After a moment, the arms began to relax.
"So very young, to have taken such a burden on yourself. So much courage that must have taken. And much wisdom."
Kopporu repressed a whistle of derision.
Courage—yes. Too much, even. But wisdom?
Kopporu began thinking many unkind thoughts concerning Guo's "wisdom." Until she remembered the day, eightweeks before, in the big clearing of the Swamp. When the young fool Guo had shown more wisdom than the rest of the people combined. Guo alone—and, Kopporu knew, her young preconsorts.
As long as she keeps her temper. And listens to Woddulakotat, and Yurra.
The Mother of Demons made a strange gesture with her head. Pointing, Kopporu realized, with that oddly flat, armless face.
"And who are these two? Introduce me, if you please."
Guo's mantle was rippling with many colors, now. Orange and ochre predominated. Blue—Kopporu saw with relief—was completely absent.
Guo's voice was hesitant.
"They are named Woddulakotat—he is the eumale—and Yurra. They are my preconsorts. And my close advisers."
Petulantly, then: "My closest advisers, and the dearest to my heart. Even if some of my people don't approve."
Kopporu repressed a whistle. One of the old warriors had made the mistake of lecturing Guo, a few days earlier, on the impropriety of allowing her preconsorts to remain in her mantle once they were out of the Swamp. The necessity of protecting the little males could override custom in the swamp, she had allowed, ponderously, but once they were out of it—well. It just wasn't done. They were not, after all, properly wedded.
Guo's answer had been short, to the point, and very rude.
It really isn't proper, thought Kopporu wrily. But I'm afraid it's too late, anyway, to save Guo's morals. I've heard the noises she's starting to make at night. With her preconsorts nowhere in sight. Not even mature—neither she nor they! She'd deny it, of course, but I know the truth. They're starting to—practice.
A strange noise was coming from the Mother of Demons. Her face was twisted into a bizarre shape.
Humor. That must be the way the demons whistle amusement.
"People are often foolish, Guo. My own husband"—the demon gestured toward a large, roundish-shaped demon nearby— "is my closest adviser also. And, always, the dearest to my heart."
Guo's mantle was suddenly tinged with green. Slowly, her own arms began to return the caress of the Mother of Demons.
Kopporu knew, then, that her people would live. And forgave Guo all of her many, many, many sins.