The Fecund's Melancholy Daughter - Brent Hayward [11]
Hornblower smiled. Moonlight was strong, the assembly silvered. All eyes were upon him.
Not one of these people—neither hornblower, nor the menstruating girls, nor anyone in the small settlement who had gathered here—suspected that they lived at the pinnacle of an oversized plant. Nor did they imagine that a place such as Nowy Solum could exist, far below, several hundred kilometres away. The citizens of this settlement, in fact, believed that the only thing under the clouds—which yawned, forever, and always, all around them—were piles of bones and ash, all stirred by poisonous winds. Great Anu, blind power of the sky, had told them this. Only the dead, he said (to their ancestors, anyhow), emptied of their souls, can pass through the eternal mantle. Should any man with his soul intact penetrate the clouds, they would face torment for all eternity.
Anu liked to talk in these terms.
A few fools still tried to climb down the trunk, never to be seen again.
If padre hornblower were to look up, he would see the firmament, which he tells his people should be both worshipped and feared, for in heaven Anu still lived. Hornblower had actually seen the power once, as a child: in his memory, Anu looked like a small, bright sun, but elongated, eyes dim as he moved slowly across the dusk. On all sides, the great power had been ringed by dozens of tiny ambassadors.
Back in the days of hornblower’s grandpadre, Anu and his ever-present minions used to descend regularly, to assign quests and to kill heretics by making red sap burst from their ears and their noses. No one had seen the sky power in years. Nonetheless, hornblower often warned the population at his sermons about the very real possibility of angry visits. Frightened citizens maintained hornblower’s own best interests, and were easiest to control.
Again, he looked at the girls.
Of course, many times the little ambassadors came down, to this day, relaying information, or merely hovering, watching the settlement. These visits hornblower had experienced on countless occasions. No ambassadors, unfortunately, had arrived on this night, the night of the funeral, but hornblower had not given up hope that a few might show toward the end, to add to the dramatic effect.
Never mind, he thought. The horn blast had been a good one.
And, when the service was over, visiting the girls would be a solemn pleasure.
Had everybody arrived? These dullards were so slow. Punishments would be meted for tardiness.
The growing wind caused branches of the world to whip the sky. When hornblower finally did cast his eyes up to view the vista that occupied his thoughts, and to add another accent to the faded echoes of his horn’s blast, he saw—instead of the endless firmament, or mighty Anu descending, or even a cloud of his loyal ambassadors—the scruffy bower of the exile, Pan Renik. A small black void floated in the upper branches. Hornblower’s eyes were drawn to the nest, this transgression, this gall among his people. Though the construction of the bower appeared tiny against the backdrop of heaven, hornblower scowled, and his momentum, for a moment, was thrown.
He cleared his throat and shifted his feet. He wanted to shout at all the people now, tell them to move forward, to hurry up, but padres should remain silent at such formal occasions—
Damn the exile!
He glanced up again.
Beyond the assembled populace were clouds, naturally, a thousand formations of clouds, sunlit by day, illuminated by the moon, or by a smattering of stars, like now, by night.
He stared at the girls a third time, but with anger. They cowered closer to their mother.
The last of the residents finally arrived, responding belatedly to hornblower’s perfect call, wiping sleep from their lazy faces.
Another padre, bellringer, gave his signal, rung on high, and the funeral began.
Chosen exemplar of the most benevolent sisters Kingu and Aspu,