Chapter XIII

“I was a poor learner of the redes,” Copper confessed. “And I’ll have to skip the Mysteries. I never even tried to learn them. Somehow I was sure I’d never be a preceptress.” She settled herself more comfortably on the tawny grass and watched him as he lay on his back beside her.

“Eh?” Kennon said, “Preceptress?”

“The guardians of our traditions. They know the redes and mysteries by heart.”

“And you have kept your religion alive that way all these years?”

“It isn’t exactly religion,” Copper said. “It’s more like history, we learn it to remember that we were once a great race--and that we may be again. Someday there will come a male, a leader to bring us out of bondage, and our race will be free of dependence on men. There will be pairings again, and freedom to live as we please.” She looked thoughtfully at Kennon. “You might even be the one--even though you are human. You’re different from the others.”

“You’re prejudiced.” Kennon smiled. “I’m no different. Well--not very different at any rate.”

“That is not my thought,” Copper said. “You are very different indeed. No man has ever resisted a Lani as long as you have.”

Kennon shook his head. “Let’s not go into that now. What are these redes?”

“I do not remember them all,” Copper apologized. “I was--”

“You’ve said that before. Tell me what you do know.”

“I remember the beginning fairly well,” she said. “It goes back to the time before Flora when everything was nothing and the Master Himself was lonely.”

Without warning her voice changed to a rhythmic, cadenced chant that was almost a song. Her face became rapt and introspective as she rocked slowly from side to side. The rhythm was familiar and then he recognized it--the unintelligible music he had often heard coming from the barracks late at night when no men were around--the voiceless humming that the Lani sang at work.

First there was Darkness--starless and sunless

Void without form--darker than night

Then did the Master--Lord of Creation

Wave His right hand, saying, “Let there be light!”

Verse, Kennon thought. That was logical. People remember poetry better than prose. But the form was not what he’d normally expect. It was advanced, a style that was past primitive blank verse or heroic pentameter. He listened intently as Copper went on.

Light filled the heavens, bright golden glowing,

Brought to the Void by His wondrous hand;

Then did the Master--Lord of Creation--

Nod His great head, saying, “Let there be land!”

Air, land, and water formed into being,

Born in the sight of His all-seeing eyes;

Then did the master--Lord of Creation--

Smile as He murmured, “Let life arise!”

All of the life conceived by the Master,

Varied in shape as the grasses and birds;

Hunters and hunted, moveless and moving,

Came into form at the sound of His words.

“That’s a great deal like Genesis,” Kennon said with mild astonishment. “Where could you have picked that up?”

“From the beginning of our race,” Copper said. “It came to us with Ulf and Lyssa--but what is Genesis?”

“A part of an ancient religion--one that is still followed on some of the Central Worlds. Its followers call themselves Christians. They say it came from Earth, the mother-world of men.”

“Our faith has no name. We are children of Lyssa, who was a daughter of the Master.”

“It is an odd similarity,” Kennon said. “But other races have had stories of the Creation. And possibly there may be another explanation. Your ancestors could have picked this up from Alexander’s men. They came from Earth originally and some of them could have been Christians.”

“No,” Cooper said. “This rede is long before Man Alexander. It is the origin of our world, even before Ulf and Lyssa. It is the first Book--the Book of the God-spell. Man Alexander came in the sixth Book--the Book of Roga.”

“There’s no point in arguing about it,” Kennon said. “Go on--tell me the rest.”

“It’s going to be a long story,” Copper said. “Even though I have forgotten some of it, I can chant the redes for hours.”

Kennon braced his back against one of the fat tires of the jeep. “I’m a good listener,” he said.

She chuckled. “You asked for this,” she said--and took up the verses where she had left off. And Kennon learned the Lani version of creation, of the first man and woman, cast out of Heaven for loving each other despite the Master’s objection, of how they came to Flora and founded the race of the Lani. He learned how the Lani grew in numbers and power, how they split into two warring groups over the theological point of whether Ulf or Lyssa was the principal deity, how Roga the Foolish opened Lyssa’s tower to find out whether the Ulfians or Lyssans were right, and brought the Black Years to Flora.

He heard the trial of Roga and the details of his torture by the priests of Ulf and the priests of Lyssa--united by this greatest sacrilege. And he heard the Lani version of the landing of Alexander’s ship and man’s conquest of Flora.

It was a story of savagery and superstition, of blood and intolerance, of bravery and cowardice, of love and beauty. Yet through it all, even through the redes that described the Conquest, there was a curious remoteness, a lack of emotion that made the verses more terrible as they flowed in passionless rhythm from Copper’s lips.

“That’s enough!” Kennon said.

“I told you you wouldn’t like it.”

“It’s horrible. How can you remember such things?”

“We begin to learn them as soon as we can talk. We know the redes almost our entire lives.” Copper was silent for a moment. “There’s lots more,” she said, “but it’s all about our lives since the Man Alexander--the old one--took possession of us. And most of the newer redes are pretty dull. Our life hasn’t changed much since the men came. The Book of Man is boring.” Copper sighed. “I have dared a great deal by telling you these things. If the others knew, they would kill both of us.”

“Then why tell me?” he asked.

“I love you,” she said simply. “You wanted to know--and I can deny you nothing.”

A wave of tenderness swept over him. She would give her life for him--and what would he give? Nothing. Not even his prejudices. His face twisted. If she was only human, If she wasn’t just an animal. If he wasn’t a Betan. If, if, if. Resentment gorged his throat. It was unfair--so damned unfair. He had no business coming here. He should have stayed on Beta or at least on a human world where he would never have met Copper. He loved her, but he couldn’t have her. It was Tantalus and Sisyphus rolled into one unsightly package and fastened to his soul. With a muttered curse he rose to his feet, and as he did he stopped--frozen--staring at Copper as though he had never seen her before.

“How did you say that Roga was judged responsible for Alexander coming here?” he demanded.

“He went into Lyssa’s tower--where Ulf and Lyssa tried to call Heaven--and with his foolish meddling set the tower alight with a glow that all could see. Less than a week later the Man Alexander came.”

“Where was this tower?”

“Where Alexandria now stands. Man Alexander destroyed it and built his house upon its ruins.”

“And what was that place of the Pit?”

“The Shrine of Ulf--where the God-Egg struck Flora. It is buried in the pit, but the Silent Death has protected it from blasphemy--and besides Man Alexander never learned about it. We feared that he would destroy it as he did Lyssa’s tower.”

A wild hope stirred in Kennon. “We’re going home,” he announced.