Part III

Long before the battle ended, Kopporu knew the Kiktu were defeated. More than defeated. Crushed.

The outcome would have been certain even if the leader of the left flank, Ototpo, had not led an insane charge at the very beginning of the fray. The charge had shattered against the disciplined ranks of the Utuku. Ototpo herself had been slain, along with most of the main battle leaders of the left flank. A few of the survivors of the charge had attempted to make a stand, but they had not lasted long under the weight of the Utuku counterattack.

From that moment, the Utuku pressed their advantage remorselessly. They did not move quickly, true. Utuku tactics were designed to maximize their strengths—great numbers and rigid discipline. The Utuku warriors shuffled forward, mantle to mantle, grinding down everything before them. There was no room in that press for the clever fork-and-flail work in which the Kiktu excelled. Forks were useless, and in that style of combat the Kiktu were at a disadvantage against the heavily armored and shielded Utuku.

The Utuku ground forward, rolling up the Kiktu from right to left. Under their peds, the fern-like uyi which covered the entire central plain from the ocean to the Pokta Mountains was mashed to pulp. By routing the left wing of the Kiktu at the beginning of the battle, the Utuku insured that their enemy could not escape the trap created by the stupidity of its leaders. The route to possible escape led to the south, away from the Lolopopo swamp. There, in the flat vastness of the Papti Plain, the Kiktu might have eluded their slower-moving enemy. (The plan which Kopporu had tried, and failed, to get adopted by her tribe relied precisely on that vastness and Kiktu mobility for its eventual success.)

But that route was now closed off by the defeat of the left flank. Even had the war leader of the Kiktu been a quick-thinking realist, Giakta could not have marshalled her loosely organized army quickly enough to slip out of the trap that was closing in. The fleeing survivors of the left flank were spreading confusion and dismay among the warriors of the center. Even from a distance, Kopporu could see that the center of the Kiktu host was a swirling mass of chaos.

The Utuku did not fail to close the trap. Their greater numbers allowed their commanders to continually outflank the Kitku without easing up the relentless pressure of their front ranks. Slowly, but surely, the advance elements of the Utuku right curved northeast, until they reached the edge of the Lolopopo. The Kiktu were surrounded. The enemy on three sides; the swamp on the fourth.

The disaster was complete. Moved by a sudden impulse, Kopporu looked to the northeast and gazed at the Chiton. The long, flattish curve of the huge mountain was visible over the tall cycads of the swamp, even at that great distance. The mountain dominated the entire landscape of the northermost reaches of the plain. Mountain of myths and legends. And demons, it was now said.

She looked away. There would be time later, perhaps, to think of the Chiton. For the moment, she must bend every thought to the execution of her secret plan.

In that respect, Kopporu's position was better than she had feared. Better, even, than she had hoped. Through the course of the battle, she had badly bruised the Utuku opposing her. Ironically, in this last battle of the Kiktu, she had been able to impose her tactics to a far greater degree than hitherto. Partly that was because the forces under her command were disproportionately made up of battle groups with young leaders who had been gravitating toward her views for some time. But mostly, it was because the extreme desperation of the moment reined in the exuberant individualism of the Kiktu warriors. They were in a fight to the death, and they knew it. They placed their trust in Kopporu.

She had not failed them. Indeed, had the battlefield consisted solely of her forces and those immediately facing her, the Kiktu would already be celebrating a great victory. Time and again, Kopporu's swift maneuvers—feint, retreat, counterattack—had utterly befuddled the Utuku. She had never made the mistake of crashing head-on into the massed ranks of the enemy. Instead, she had sliced off pieces of the enemy army and destroyed them.

Eventually, the Utuku had withdrawn into a purely defensive formation. Orders had come to the leader of the Utuku left, carried by a courier from the Beak of the Utuku herself: Cease all attacks. Hold the Kiktu on the north against the swamp, until our entire army can be brought to bear.

The flank leader had immediately obeyed, even though she knew that the orders were her death sentence. The Beak of the Utuku was cold and calculating, never hotheaded. But she was also utterly merciless toward failure. She would see to the destruction of the Kiktu, in the surest manner available. Later, in her great command yurt, she would dine on the disgraced leader of her left flank along with the captives.

So it was that Kopporu was given a desperately needed respite in the midst of the battle. She had time, now. Time to summon her remaining battle leaders and explain the necessary course of action. Time, hopefully, to sway them to her side. If not, time to impose her will.

And there was this added, totally unexpected, benefit: in the chaos at the center of the Kiktu forces, many of the young herders assigned to guard the gana had taken it upon themselves to drive the gana toward the right flank, away from the advancing juggernaut. Hundreds of gana were now clustered to the rear of Kopporu's warriors, almost into the swamp itself. From beyond the ganahide walls of her command circle, Kopporu could hear the terrified whistles of the beasts.

She had not expected to salvage any of the tribe's gana. Not many would survive the swamp, true. But perhaps enough.

Within the walls of her command circle, all of the remaining battle leaders were gathered. Aktako was there as well, along with six handpicked warriors. The battle leaders did not wonder at the presence of Aktako and the warriors. A battle leader of Kopporu's status was expected to maintain a personal guard. But they did wonder at the presence of the eight swamp-dwellers. What were disreputable clanless outcasts doing in the midst of Kiktu battle-leaders?

When Kopporu explained, the mantles of the seven battle leaders turned bright orange. Utter astonishment.

The orange she expected. Ochre was inevitable. Pink, even red, would be acceptable. Who would not hesitate or feel fear at her desperate plan?

But it was the blue of rage—say better, outrage—for which she watched vigilantly.

The color first appeared in the mantle of Yaua, as Kopporu had known it would. The old battle leader was fearless, but stupid; set in her ways like a clam.

Kopporu allowed Yaua to vent her indignation. As yet, the color of the remaining battle leaders showed not a trace of blue. But Kopporu was certain that the sentiments being expressed by Yaua were shared, to one extent or another, by all of them. The sentiments would have to be addressed, before further action could be taken.

"We cannot throw ourselves into the center," explained Kopporu patiently. "We would simply compound the chaos. No, worsen it—for the Utuku who are now licking the wounds we gave them would quickly follow. The trap would be complete."

"Your plan will produce the same result," pointed out Gortoku, one of the young battle leaders. "Even more quickly and completely."

"True," responded Kopporu immediately. "But we will not be in the trap."

She rose to her peds. "Understand. Understand. The Utuku victory is inevitable. We can do nothing to prevent it. One question remains, and one only—will all the Kiktu perish in the trap?"

"Treason!" bellowed Yaua. "Treason!"

Kopporu allowed blue rage to flood her own mantle.

"Yes, treason—by those fools who led our people to this disaster. Fools like you."

She paused, quickly scanning the other battle leaders. Five, she thought. Five out of seven. Better than she had expected.

"The penalty for treason is death!" roared Yaua.

"So it is," replied Kopporu. Her mantle flashed black.

Instantly, two of Aktako's warriors slammed the prongs of their forks into the mantle of Yaua. A moment later, the old battle leader was flopped onto her side. Aktako herself delivered the death stroke.

"That one also," commanded Kopporu, pointing at the battle leader Doroto. The murderous scene was repeated.

The five surviving battle leaders were shocked into immobility. Hardened warriors that they were, the utter ruthlessness of Kopporu's actions had stunned them scarlet with terror.

Kopporu noted with satisfaction that Gortoku was the first to bring her emotions under control. She had long thought the young gukuy was the best of the new battle leaders.

Her satisfaction deepened to pleasure at Gortoku's next words.

"Why not me?" asked Gortoku. Truly, a valiant youth.

"Have I ever punished a warrior for questioning me?" demanded Kopporu. "Even once?"

The red was rapidly fading from the mantles of all five battle leaders. Gortoku's was now pure gray.

The five young leaders looked at each other. Almost as one, their arms curled into the gesture of negation.

"No. Nor will I ever in the future. I am neither all-wise nor all-seeing. A battle leader who does not listen to the opinions of her subordinates is a fool."

The black in her mantle was still as hard as obsidian.

"But we do not have time for a long and leisurely discussion. There is only this much that remains to be said. I do not know what the future will bring us. It is a desperate course we take. But until we find our way to some place of safety, I will rule what remains of our tribe with a palp of bronze. You may always question my decisions. But once I have given a command, it must be instantly obeyed. To do otherwise is treason."

She did not feel it necessary to point to the gutted corpses of Yaua and Doroto.

"The penalty for which is known."

Again, she noted, it was Gortoku who took the initiative.

"What are your commands?"

"Ropou will lead her group in a charge at the Utuku. But before reaching their ranks, she will call a retreat."

She looked at the battle leader.

"Do you understand?"

Ropou made the gesture of affirmation.

"The Utuku will think we are trying to trick them into another ambush." The young battle leaders whistled agreement. Three times that day, Kopporu had mangled overeager detachments of the Utuku by using that very tactic. Eventually, the Utuku had refused to be drawn into a charge.

"Under cover of Ropou's maneuver, the remaining battle groups will retreat into the swamp. Ufta's group will go first, taking the gana with them."

"The gana will panic," complained Ufta. "They will not enter the swamp."

Kopporu stared at her. She had almost ordered the execution of Ufta as well. Perhaps she should have.

Something of her thoughts must have shown, for Ufta suddenly announced that she would see to the task. At once.

Kopporu ordered one of the swamp-dwellers to accompany Ufta, to provide her with a guide once her group entered the swamp. The other battle leaders were likewise provided with guides. She then ordered the five battle leaders to their posts, after issuing one final command.

"In the event of my death, Gortoku will assume leadership of the tribe."

"What's left of the tribe," said Ufta softly.

"No." The battle leaders stared at Aktako, surprised. Despite her personal relationship with Kopporu, the old veteran was always a stickler for protocol. She never spoke at the meetings of the battle leaders.

Aktako's own mantle was as black as Kopporu's.

"Ufta still does not understand," said Aktako harshly. "This is the tribe. From this moment forward, there are no other Kiktu."

The old warrior waved a palp toward the south. In the distance, the clash of flails and forks could be heard. But above it, swelling, they could hear the shrieks of the doomed. The Utuku cutters had already started their work, in anticipation of the great victory feast.

Aktako made the gesture of negation.

"Those are no longer Kitku. They are meat for the conquerors."

As soon as the battle leaders left the command circle, Kopporu summoned the remaining swamp-dweller to her side. The swamp-dweller was called O-doddo-ua, and she was what passed for a leader among the swamp dwellers. Her name seemed strange to Kopporu's ear, but she knew it was a common one among the helots in the Oukasho Prevalate. O-doddo-ua, like most of the swamp-dwellers, was an escapee from the southern prevalates. They had chosen the wretched and dangerous life of the swamp in preference to a life of ceaseless toil and slavery. There were many Kiktu warriors—the great majority, in truth—who despised the swamp-dwellers for that choice. Kopporu admired them for it.

But whether they despised them or not, all the Kiktu would now be dependent on the swamp-dwellers. The swamp was a feared place, unclean; essentially unknown to the Kiktu. Their survival would depend on the knowledge of the outcasts.

"Do you have any questions, O-doddo-ua?"

The swamp-dweller hesitated. There were traces of pink in the ochre of her mantle, Kopporu noted. Not with surprise, except, perhaps, at the absence of red. O-doddo-ua had known, abstractly, that Kopporu was ruthless in her approach to reality. But abstract knowledge is one thing; gutted bodies are another.

"You are afraid of what I will do to you, once you have served us," stated Kopporu.

A sudden ripple of ochre washed over the swamp-dweller's mantle, followed by the gesture of affirmation.

"I am not cruel, O-doddo-ua. Treacherous only when I need to be. I promised that we would reward you if you guided us through the swamp. The promise will be kept."

O-doddo-ua hesitated; then spoke softly, in the slurring accent of the southerners.

"We have not agreed on the reward."

"True. I offered you five wires of bronze. I can now promise you a few gana, as well. But that is all." Kopporu allowed a brief ripple of brown into her mantle. "The Kiktu will have nothing more to give. We are now a poor tribe ourselves."

"Not true, battle leader. You are rich in what the swamp-dwellers treasure most. Richer now, I think, than ever."

"Indeed? What is that?"

"Knowledge of survival, and its needs." To Kopporu's surprise, the swamp-dweller's mantle turned black.

"Our reward will be adoption into your tribe. No, more. Into your own clan, battle leader Kopporu."

Despite her iron self-control, Kopporu was unable to prevent her mantle from glowing bright orange. Not often, since she was a child, had Kopporu been so thoroughly astonished.

"What?"

"You heard. Those are our terms, battle leader. We have discussed it amongst ourselves, and decided."

"But—why?"

"We know the swamp, battle leader, but we do not love it. Not at all. We are tired of being outcasts. And we have long since abandoned the foolish notions of civilization. It would be good to have a place in the world. In the greatest clan of its greatest tribe."

Kopporu whistled bitter amusement. "Greatest tribe? Its greatest clan? Are you blind, O-doddo-ua? The Kiktu are no longer the world's greatest tribe, if we ever were. By tomorrow we will be not much more than outcasts and swamp dwellers ourselves."

O-doddo-ua said nothing; but the black mantle never lightened its shade.

After a moment, Kopporu made the gesture of acceptance.

"So be it, if that is your wish. But, understand this, O-doddo-ua: the decision is not mine to make. I am a battle leader only. You and your people cannot be adopted into the Kiktu without the consent of the entire tribe, in full tribal assembly. My clan is a small one, and the clan leaders are not—"

She stopped abruptly. O-doddo-ua whistled.

"Are not alive," she finished the thought. O-doddo-ua waved her palp to the south. "Or not much longer. All the clan leaders are gathered in the center, with the mothers. You will be the new clan leader, Kopporu. And your clan will now be the greatest of the Kiktu."

"Still . . ." She made the gesture of resignation. "I will do what I can, O-doddo-ua. The decision must still be made by the tribe as a whole. I will speak for you, that I can promise. But that may not be of any use. I myself will have to stand trial, at the next assembly. For treason and murder. My words may harm your cause more than they help it."

"We will take our chances. By then, much will have changed. The warriors will be shocked by your actions, once they understand what has happened here. Appalled, even. But by then, they will have spent time in the swamp."

"So?"

"So—the swamp has a way of teaching one to distinguish what is important from what is frivolous. And they will no longer despise we swamp-dwellers."

O-doddo-ua turned away.

"You will see, battle leader. You will see."

No sooner had O-doddo-ua left the command circle than Lukpudo entered. The battle leader of the Opoktu was bearing a new wound. But it was a slight wound, and would soon be lost in the welter of other scars which crisscrossed her mantle.

Kopporu watched Lukpudo approach with a mixture of fondness and deep regret. Fondness, for her trust in the Opoktu had not been mislaid—the small tribe had fought well and valiantly. Deep regret, for their loyalty was now to be repaid by treachery. Kopporu would attempt, at the last moment, to keep a way open for the Opoktu to follow her into the swamp, should they so choose. But she had not confided in them, and she knew that they would be too confused to act quickly enough.

She noticed that Lukpudo gave only the briefest glance at the bodies of the two murdered battle leaders as she approached. Lukpudo's indifference puzzled her. It was obvious the two battle leaders had been slain here, not on the battlefield.

The mystery was resolved at once, and Kopporu found herself astonished for the second time that day.

"When do we make our retreat into the swamp?" asked Lukpudo.

The Opoktu battle leader whistled amusement at Kopporu's orange.

"The Kiktu leaders may be stupid, Kopporu, but our clan leaders are most assuredly not. It's one of the advantages, you know, to being a small tribe. You have to be smarter."

"You knew?"

Another whistle.

"Not exactly. We have been planning the same maneuver ourselves. I almost raised the subject with you, once. But you're such an upright sort that I decided it best not to. I could not afford, you understand, to be denounced. But I began suspecting what you were up to when I saw the swamp-dwellers you were collecting around. There could only be one logical explanation for their presence."

Lukpudo made the gesture of derision, coupled with a swift yellow ripple across her mantle. The combination expressed exactly the same sentiments that a human would express with a snort.

"Leaving aside that ridiculous spawn's tale you were spreading about the danger of an Utuku sweep through the swamp. So I started watching you closely. You—and Aktako. I knew that if you were planning something, she would be in the thick of it. When I saw the hand-picked flails she assembled, I knew. You have never been one of those battle leaders who wants to be surrounded by a mob of personal guards. So why now? And why those guards?—all of whom I recognized as one of Aktako's old cronies? Who may no longer be the swiftest warriors on the field, but who are certainly the most deadly.

"From then on, I kept an eye on your command circle. Since the battle started I've had one of my warriors watching, to tell me the moment you summoned your battle leaders."

Lukpudo turned and gazed back at the corpses.

"Two only?" she asked. "I expected to see Ufta's body lying there as well."

"She almost was. But—I was not sure. And I have no taste for murder."

"You may regret the decision. Ufta is much smarter than Doroto was. Certainly than Yaua. But I do not think she has their courage." A quick flash of brown/green regret swept across Lukpudo's mantle. "They were valiant gukuy. But valor is no longer enough, in this new and terrible world."

She turned back to Kopporu. "Time presses, battle leader. For the duration of this struggle, the Opoktu will remain under your command."

"And after?"

Lukpudo whistled. "After? Why worry about that now, Kopporu? There may be no 'after.' The swamp, by all reports, is not much less terrible than the Utuku. If at all. But I would rather be eaten by snails than cannibals."

Another whistle.

"And besides, the future is not entirely grim for the Opoktu. There is this much to look forward to—we will no longer be the smallest tribe in the world."

"You have never been small in my eyes, Lukpudo."

For a brief moment, the battle leader of the Opoktu allowed deep green to suffuse her mantle.

"I know, Kopporu. We have always loved you for it."

The green vanished, replaced by black.

"What are your commands?"

When Guo was informed by her battle leader Gortoku to prepare for a retreat into the swamp, she was too dazed to wonder at the order. Dazed, and exhausted.

There was no longer any doubt as to her conduct on the field of battle, although Guo herself had never once considered the question since the battle began. She did not consider it now. Did not even think of it, in fact. There was only room in her brain for the necessities of the retreat. Her place in that retreat would be critical, for it would be she (and her flankers) who would bear the brunt of the pursuit. Kopporu's tactics of drawing the enemy into a trap after feigning a retreat were based upon funneling the charging foe toward the battlemothers. There, unable to avoid the blows because they were penned in by the trap, the enemy would be crushed under the maces of the battlemothers.

The tactics had worked, brilliantly, until the Utuku had finally learned not to charge after fleeing Kiktu. They had learned, after three disasters, that the battle leader of the Kiktu right flank was a shrewd and deadly foe. And the Utuku warriors confronting Kopporu's forces no longer referred to the battlemother in their enemy's ranks as a breeder. They called her, simply, the ghaxtak.

"Ghaxtak" was an Utuku word. The Kiktu equivalent was "kuopto." Every barbarian language had an equivalent term, and all of them were based on a derivative of that language's word for fury.

But the word "fury" does not really capture the essence of the concept. The emotions experienced by gukuy are, fundamentally, the same as those experienced by humans. This is, of course, neither surprising nor coincidental. Human scientists, beginning with Darwin, had long understood that the emotions of animals and people are the inevitable by-product of evolution. An animal must know when to flee; when to fight; when to engage in sexual reproduction; when to hesitate; when to ignore. A biochemist can explain the exact chemical processes by which those patterns of behavior are transmitted through the nervous system. But an animal knows nothing of these formulas. It "knows" simply: fear; rage; passion; indecision; indifference. Those animals which evolve intelligence give these feelings names, and call them "emotions." And, as they evolve in a complex interaction with the evolution of their own intelligence, the emotions themselves become more variegated and subtle. But it is inevitable that animals evolving on two planets separated by light years in space would still arrive at the same basic emotions. There is no mystic truth here; simply the requirements of natural selection.

And yet, nothing is ever identical. In their broad range, the emotions of gukuy and humans are the same—certainly if the entire gamut of emotions, which vary considerably between the different cultures of both species, are taken into account. Still, they are different species; and, with regard to emotions, the biggest difference is that one is chromatophoric and the other is not.

There is an expression, among humans, that an individual "wears his heart on his sleeve." The cultural subtleties behind that expression, the product of a species for whom emotional dissemblance is physically easy, would puzzle a gukuy. All gukuy "wear their hearts on their sleeves"—on their entire bodies, in fact. Humans, of course, also express their emotions involuntarily. They burst into tears; they laugh; those with little melanin in their skins even turn pale; or red. But these involuntary reactions are a pale reflection of the rich pallette of a gukuy.

Hence, two significant differences. Gukuy are far more straightforward than humans in their recognition (including self-recognition) of their emotions. And they are far more sophisticated in their understanding of the subtle complexities of those emotions.

Combinations of emotions which, to a human, are a murky blur, are like crystal to a gukuy. A human warrior, in the midst of battle, experiences a confused combination of emotions (fear, rage, indecision) which he does not perceive clearly himself. Not at all at the time, and poorly in the aftermath.

But to the gukuy, these emotions are not a murky blur. A human observing a gukuy battle would see a vast and kaleidoscopic rippling of colors across the serried mantles of the warriors. Blue and red predominate, of course; for a battle is the epitome of rage and fear. But the ochre hues of uncertainty and indecision are often seen, as well. Gukuy battle leaders learn early to gauge the colors of their opponents. A sudden great surge of ochre across the mantles of the foe signals that the moment is perhaps right to press home the attack. And always, of course, the battle leader looks for the wave of scarlet which indicates that the foe has been beaten into pure terror. The time has come for rout and destruction.

Red; blue; ochre—those, the principal colors of a battlefield. But there are others as well, seen more rarely.

Gray is one. Gray is the "natural" color of a gukuy's mantle. A gukuy whose mantle remains gray in battle is one of those unusual gukuy who have learned to master their emotions even under extreme stress. It is an ability which is given a name in every gukuy language. It is always respected; never more than on the battlefield. Such a warrior is invariably a veteran, and a mistress of the art of war. On occasion, tinges of yellow will ripple across such a warrior's mantle. Contempt for the foe.

Black is another. Black is the color of implacability. Not the absence of color, as is the gray of self-discipline; but the sudden suffusion of all color in a ruthless determination to accomplish a task, regardless of cost.

The color is never seen in pure form on a battlefield. Pure black is the color of executioners, not warriors amidst the clash of arms. But it is not uncommonly seen in combination with blue. Never red, or ochre, or even pink. Such warriors are feared, for they have cast aside all fear and caution. They may not be skilled in battle, but they will sell their lives dearly.

And there is another color which is seen on a battlefield, on only the rarest occasion. It is the most feared of all colors.

Green. Color of love, and tranquillity.

It is never seen alone, nor as the predominant color; but rather as a gleam beneath the black and blue of implacable fury. The three colors combine into a hue which has no name in any human language. "Dark cobalt green" is the closest approximation in English.

It is the color of those rarest of all warriors, whom the Utuku call ghaxtak and the Kiktu kuopto. Centuries earlier, on Earth, a culture had flourished briefly which had a name which was strikingly similar. The victims of that culture had gathered in places of worship, crying out: "From the fury of the Norseman, dear God deliver us!"

They were called berserks, and they were the most famed and feared Vikings of all.

Since the first moments of the battle, that color, which the Kiktu called kuoptu, had suffused Guo's mantle. It had never wavered since. Even now, as she rested and waited for the signal to begin the retreat, the color on Guo's mantle did not even fade slightly.

To an opponent, kuoptu was a frightening enough color to see on the mantle of an enemy warrior. The sight of the enormous mantle of a battlemother suffused by the color was utterly terrifying.

Hours after the battle had begun, the Utuku were indeed terrified of her; and their terror was by no means unreasoning. They had seen countless warriors smashed into so much jelly beneath the blows of Guo's mace. The beautiful bronze blades of her mace were now dented and dulled, but it hardly mattered. The titanic strength of the young battlemother was such that she could have been using her palps alone—and had, on several occasions, with much the same effect as a human smashing a mouse.

Guo's flankers, and all the Kiktu warriors within sight, were in awe of her. Never, in the history of the tribe, was there a record of a kuopto battlemother. Mothers were, by their nature, not well suited to battle. Only infanta—young, still infertile mothers—could be trained as battlemothers; and few enough of those. And the training was so arduous and difficult, so opposed to the nature of mothers, that, among the western tribes, only the Kiktu used battlemothers as a regular practice. The custom was not the least of the reasons they were derided as uncouth barbarians by the civilized realms to the south. And hated by the Utuku, to whose culture of total female supremacy the very concept of battlemothers was a despised abomination.

It was still an abomination, in the eyes of the Utuku warriors. But it was no longer despised.

The legend of Guo had begun.

The signal came, in the form of sudden hoots. (The Kiktu, like most of the tribes, utilized a battle language; unlike the Utuku, who gave their signals through drums.) Guo and her flankers were the first to move to the rear, while the other warriors maintained a screen. It would take the slow battlemother longer to reach her position.

Following the scruffy-looking swamp dweller who had appeared as her guide, Guo entered the swamp. With disgust, for the swamp was a dank and noisome place. But she made no complaint. She did not understand the reason for the order, but she had complete confidence in Kopporu. Whatever the reason, she was sure it was a good one.

Within meters (a term which Guo, of course, did not use herself—she thought of it as several goa, a rather loose measure based on the length of a gukuy tentacle), Guo found that she had completely lost sight of the battlefield. The plains were behind her. All around, on every side except the pathway ahead, loomed the tall cycads.

Guo felt uncomfortable within the cycads. In part, that was repugnance at the strange growths which seemed to drip from every branch—not to mention the ubiquitous slugs and snails. But, for the most part, it was claustrophobia. She was accustomed to the open stretches of the plain, where the tallest plants (the relatively uncommon fuyu groves) were barely taller than a gukuy female—and much shorter than she.

Soon, to her relief, she entered a large clearing. The ground here seemed firmer than the soggy path she had just traversed. The clearing was roughly circular, approximately eighty goa in diameter. Her guide led her across the clearing and into the thick growth beyond.

"You are to wait here," commanded the guide, "with your flankers. Stay behind this screen of cycads, hidden from the clearing, until the signal is sounded."

Guo felt a slight resentment at taking orders from a clanless one, but she forebore comment. The orders, she knew, must have come down from Gortoku—perhaps even Kopporu. And, as she took the opportunity to examine the surroundings, she realized that Kopporu was laying another clever ambush.

The Utuku will think we are completely routed; stricken with terror. Why else would we flee into the swamp? They will follow us, into this horrid place—where their close ranks and armor will drag them down. By the time they reach this clearing, they will be confused and disoriented.

She watched as warriors continued to file into the clearing and were guided to take their places, hidden in the cycads beyond. Suddenly, the loud noises coming from somewhere behind her, further into the swamp, registered on her consciousness.

Gana! Kopporu has driven the tribe's gana into the swamp!

Guo was amazed—and awed—by the ruthlessness of her battle leader's actions. Very few of the stupid and ungainly gana would survive long in the swamp—especially since the warriors would be too preoccupied to guard over them. The young herders would not, without assistance, be able to prevent the terrified beasts from scattering in fatal confusion.

Guo knew, then, how desperate Kopporu must have been. The gana were the tribe's most precious possession—except the tribe itself. The battle leader had decided to sacrifice them, in the hopes of drawing the Utuku into a catastrophic trap. By driving the gana into the swamp, Kopporu had ensured that the Utuku would follow. Guo herself, on the front lines, had not seen the gana being driven away. But the Utuku scouts would not have missed it. The Beak of the Utuku would arrive at no other conclusion than that the right flank of the Kiktu—which had inflicted more casualties and humiliation upon her army than the rest of the Kiktu and their allies combined—had finally broken. Routed completely. The Beak would command a major and massive pursuit. She would want to slake her legendary vengefulness; and, besides, she would want the gana herself. And the meat of the Kiktu warriors.

A great wave of sadness threatened, momentarily, to wash over Guo. But she thrust it aside.

Kopporu's stratagem would not, she knew, win the battle. Even as inexperienced as she was, Guo had seen enough of the disaster on the Kiktu left and center to know that the tribe was doomed. The most that would be accomplished would be a complete mangling of the Utuku left, followed by a last futile charge out of the swamp in the attempt to rescue the center. Kopporu and her warriors would die in that charge, Guo knew.

But we will cost them very, very, very dearly. The Utuku will never forget the terrible Kopporu. And her warriors. And her battlemothers.

The utter ferocity which filled Guo in that moment caused her mantle to positively glow. For just a second, the green undercolor almost dominated. Her flankers saw, and were astonished; and made their own silent grim vows.

Suddenly, the forces of the Opoktu entered the clearing. Not warriors alone, either—Guo was puzzled, at first, to see the two Opoktu mothers and their consorts in the midst of the allied warriors. Then she realized their presence was inevitable. The Opoktu would not have agreed to Kopporu's plan if it meant sacrificing their mothers. Guo watched as the mothers filed slowly through the clearing and into the depths of the swamp beyond. They would not last much longer than the Opoktu warriors, of course. But Guo had come to admire the Opoktu, in the course of that day. The small tribe was usually spoken of slightingly by the Kiktu—although never, Guo had noticed, by Kopporu or Aktako or Gortoku. But Guo had seen their valor (and cunning) on the battlefield. None of the Opoktu mothers, she knew, would fall alive into the hands of the Utuku, to be made breeding slaves. At the end, the mothers would roll onto their sides, exposing their great underbellies to the mercy strokes of the warriors.

After the Opoktu warriors took their place, the clearing was suddenly filled by the other two battlemothers of the Kiktu right flank, and their flankers. Loapo, she saw with relief, still seemed relatively unhurt (her mantle, of course, carried many fresh flail marks—but those were a trifle, to the vast bulk of a battlemother). But then Oroku entered, and Guo could not prevent herself from hooting with dismay.

The third of the flank's battlemothers was moving slowly, and obviously in great pain. Her left ped was a maimed ruin—some squad of Utuku must have sacrificed themselves, in the singleminded effort to cripple the battlemother. They had come close to succeeding. And Oroku's visor was a tattered wreck. Even by the standards of a battlemother, Oroku was slow and clumsy. Where Guo had managed to catch most of the darts piped at her on her shield, Oroku's visor had borne almost the entire brunt of the missiles. The tough wicker-like visor could only withstand so much punishment, even from light and flimsy blow-darts.

There are two darts sticking in her eye, realized Guo. She must be totally blind, now, on her left side.

Suddenly, she heard a great drumming from the plain. The Utuku, watching their enemy retreat into the swamp, had finally made their decision. Guo recognized the meaning of the drumroll. She had heard it three times earlier that day—attack.

The last of the Kiktu warriors were now filing through the clearing, moving past the creeping Oroku, toward their positions of ambush beyond. Not all of the warriors were being positioned on the edge of the clearing—where there would have been no room for them, in any event. Many warriors, in small squads, were being led to other places of ambush by swamp-dweller guides.

Guo suddenly realized that she had seen several eights of swamp-dwellers.

Kopporu has been preparing this trap for days, she realized. She was filled with admiration for her leader's cunning.

The last Kiktu to enter the clearing was Kopporu herself, along with Aktako and her personal guard. As soon as she saw the figure of Oroku—the battlemother was still only halfway through the clearing—Kopporu came to an abrupt halt.

There was no sign in Kopporu's mantle, but Guo knew the emotions that coursed through her leader's heart. Dismay; uncertainty; what to do?

Guo came to a sudden decision. She laid down her mace and shield and re-entered the clearing. Kopporu turned and stared, as she lumbered her way forward.

When Guo reached the center of the clearing, she said simply:

"She can no longer fight, Kopporu. I will take her to safety."

Guo did not even wait for Kopporu's agreement. She simply reached out her tentacles and picked up the huge form of Oroku.

"Leave your mace here," she commanded. Weakly, Oroku obeyed. Guo turned and carried the wounded battlemother out of the clearing.

Even had Kopporu opposed her action—which she did not—she would have been unable to speak, so great was her astonishment. Not so much at the action itself, but at the very fact of it. She would never have believed any being could be strong enough even to pick up a battlemother, much less carry one.

Yet, when Guo returned to the clearing, after placing Oroku in the cycads beyond, she was not even breathing heavily. Upon reaching the center of the clearing, Guo picked up Oroku's mace. It was a common flint-bladed mace, she saw. But it would do.

"Leave it there," commanded Kopporu. "When the Utuku see it, they will be convinced we are routed."

For the first time in her life, Guo defied her battle leader.

"No, Kopporu. They will be convinced, anyway. And I will need the mace."

"Have you lost—" Kopporu stopped, realizing the truth. Guo would cast aside her shield, and wield a mace in both palps.

Guo turned, then stopped. A gukuy had suddenly entered the clearing. A Kiktu, not an enemy. The carvings on her cowl identified her as one of the Great Mother's attendants. The gukuy came to a halt before Guo, breathing heavily. Guo was astonished to see the tiny figures of several males. Two of the males were riding within the attendant's mantle cavity. The other four (one of them a eumale, as was Kiktu custom) were perched atop the attendant's cowl. Somehow, on that strangest day of her life, Guo was not surprised to see that they were bearing pipes and darts.

She recognized them, of course, although she did not know their names. They were the Great Mother's own childcluster—the young and still-infertile males, bonded together, who were destined to be the Great Mother's most precious bequest to her successor.

After catching her breath, the attendant extended her arms. Held in their grasp was a small bundle, wrapped in precious layers of oucloth. She proferred the bundle to Guo.

"The Great Mother bade me give this to you."

Guo had no need to open the bundle to see what was contained within. It was the Mothershell—the beautiful, jewel-encrusted, ceremonial shell of an orkusnail. Symbol of the Great Mother's guardianship of the tribe.

Stunned, she extended her arms and took the bundle. Dimly, she heard Kopporu whisper: "She knew." But the remark did not register on Guo's consciousness, at the time.

"And these also," said the attendant. Before Guo realized what was happening, the attendant reached up and grasped Guo's great cowl with her palps. Across the bridges of flesh thus made, the six males scampered. By the time Guo was able to gather her thoughts—and register a protest—the childcluster was perched atop her own mantle.

"Be silent!" said the attendant sharply. "The Great Mother bade me tell you this: I bequeath to you the future of the tribe, daughter. Guard it better than I have done. Be ruthless toward all folly."

The attendant turned suddenly, back toward the plain beyond the cycads, and made to leave.

"Stop!" hooted Kopporu. "The Utuku are already entering the swamp—you can hear them! You cannot do anything now but join us."

The attendant looked back. Suddenly, to Guo's astonishment, blue rage and yellow contempt flooded the attendant's mantle.

She spoke, her voice filled with hate.

"The Great Mother saw, and made her decision. But I do not forgive you."

A moment later she was gone, brandishing her flail as she re-entered the cycads.

"Why did she—" began Guo, but Kopporu interrupted her.

"Later, Guo! We have no time now!"

As if to punctuate the battle leader's point, Guo heard the sudden—very brief—sounds of combat in the cycads beyond the clearing. The attendant had encountered the advancing Utuku, and sold her life.

Kopporu was right. Hastily, Guo retreated to her place of ambush. By the time she got there, there was not a trace of Kiktu left in the clearing.

As soon as she had retrieved her own mace, she ordered the males atop her mantle to climb down and hide in the swamp.

Their reply, transmitted by the eumale, was short and to the point: no.

"I have no time for foolishness!" whispered Guo.

"It is our duty," replied the eumale. "Besides, with two maces you will be shieldless. We will protect you from the Utuku pipers."

Again, astonishment. It was Kiktu custom for a mother's consorts to serve as her personal squad of pipers. But it was an entirely ceremonial custom. Mothers did not fight in battles, and, in any event, the weak siphons of males could not expel darts with any force and distance.

She was about to enforce her command physically (or try—the agile males could have easily evaded her clumsy grabs) when the Utuku vanguard began entering the clearing. All thought fled in a rush of rage. Her every attention was focused on her tympani, waiting for the signal to spring the ambush.

The fabled Utuku discipline, she saw, had already become eroded by their short contact with the swamp. The Utuku warriors lurched into the clearing in ragged files, swearing, covered with mud and slime up to their underbellies. Their heavy armor had, indeed, been a liability in the swamp. And Guo saw that many had lost their shields. (Kiktu warriors, like those of most tribes, did not use shields; preferring, instead, the greater finesse of the fork.)

The clearing was soon packed with Utuku. Battle leaders were attempting to bring order and discipline back to what was now not much more than a mob—with only limited success.

And then, before the Utuku leaders could overcome the chaos and confusion, Kopporu issued the first of her battle hoots. The Utuku were suddenly attacked—from the other side of the clearing, the side nearest the plain.

It was a suicide mission, Guo realized. Only a handful of Kiktu were conducting the attack—more could not have waited in ambush while the Utuku passed by them.

They would not survive long, and Guo paid silent homage to their honor. But they had succeeded in carrying out Kopporu's stratagem. The Utuku warriors, hearing the sound of unexpected combat to their rear, had all spun around and were now facing south, away from the mass of the Kiktu forces who were still lurking in ambush.

The Utuku battle leaders realized almost at once that they had been duped. But it was too late—too late by far. Guo almost whistled with glee, watching one of the Utuku drummers pound on a mud-splattered drum. The soggy signal could not even be heard above the hoots of the confused Utuku warriors.

Kopporu's next signal came. Guo almost lunged out into the clearing, before she realized that she had not heard the signal for the battlemothers to advance.

A mass of Kiktu and Opoktu warriors (and swamp-dwellers, Guo noted with surprise) flooded out of the cycads surrounding the clearing. From everywhere except the very northern edge of the clearing, where Guo and the other battlemother still lay in waiting.

Kopporu's plan was flawless, Guo saw. The Utuku had now lost every trace of rank, order and discipline. They were rapidly being crushed into the center of the clearing, into a struggling mass of flesh. And toward the north, toward an innocent looking patch of cycads where there seemed to be no Kiktu warriors.

They were being forced toward Guo and Loapo, after being compressed into a formation which was ideal for the simple tactics of battlemothers.

Crush. Crush. Crush. Crush. Crush.

The signal finally came, and Guo surged forward like a titan, two maces held high.

Later, she herself remembered almost nothing of the battle that followed. Except, oddly, the role of her male companions. Perhaps it was because of the oddity of this new thing which had come into her life. Whatever the reason, there was some detached part of her mind which noted (with great surprise) that the childcluster was quite effective in protecting her from Utuku pipers.

True, the Utuku pipers were at a great disadvantage—squeezed, as they were, into a struggling mass of warriors. Still, there were many who managed to free themselves enough to raise blowpipe to siphon. But few of them were able to fire an effective shot, for they were almost instantly the target of a volley of small darts blown from the malebond riding high above the battle, atop Guo's cowl. It was the eumale, Guo noted, who always called the command for a target.

True, none of the darts carried the same force as a dart blown from a female piper. But her male preconsorts were amazingly accurate in their aim—and there were always six darts in that counter-volley. Guo saw more than one Utuku piper hoot with agony, its eyes a sudden ruin.

Nevertheless, she was struck by several darts. Two of them caused painful wounds within her mantle. But her eyes were never hit—and Guo, fighting without a shield, had fully expected to be blind within a few minutes. She had not cared, for she thought it was to be her death battle.

For one of the males atop her cowl, it was. She glimpsed an Utuku dart sailing above her cowl and heard a sudden hoot of pain. Thereafter, there were only five darts in the counter-volleys.

One of her unknown future husbands, she realized, was dead or badly injured.

Of the rest of that battle, Guo remembered nothing to the day of her death. She heard about it, of course, many times. Within not so many years, the Battle of the Clearing would become a stock in trade of chantresses across half a continent. They would tell, in traditional cadence and meter, of the day the horrible Utuku were hammered into a mass of slugflesh, until their bodies could not be distinguished from the muck of the swamp. The chantresses would even claim that, to this day, the blood of the Utuku still seeps from the soil of that clearing. Guo's Clearing, as they called it. Or, simply: the Crushing Place.

(It was not true, of course. The scavengers of the swamp are extraordinarily efficient. Within a few eightdays, there was little trace of the Utuku disaster in the clearing, beyond a few scraps of utterly inedible weapons and armor. But who would ever go into the swamp to see for themselves? The chantresses continued the tale, and were never challenged.)

When the signal came to disengage, Guo did not hear it. Only the insistent rapping on her cowl by her malecluster finally brought her back to consciousness from the mists of her battle fury.

"We have been ordered to withdraw," said the eumale.

Guo stared at the few Utuku survivors who were still in the clearing. All of them were maimed and crippled. She yearned to end their suffering, and then charge forth into the plain itself to continue the slaughter. But Kopporu's stern discipline restrained her. She turned and entered the cycads to the north.

Now that the battle was over, exhaustion threatened to overcome her. Exhaustion, and misery. After hours, the kuoptu which had flooded her mantle faded, replaced by brown grief. The same color, she noted dully, dappled the mantles of all the warriors within eyesight. The Kiktu had inflicted a terrible defeat upon the Utuku in the clearing. But they knew that, even at that moment, their tribe was being butchered and enslaved on the plain to the south.

Guo was so tired that she did not even wonder where she was going. At first, her vague supposition was that Kopporu was leading them to the east, to a part of the swamp from which they could issue forth in a hopeless attempt to rescue the tribe's mothers.

She held that thought for some time. It was difficult to determine direction in the gloom beneath the overhanging cycads. And there were more than enough dangers in the swamp to keep her mind concentrated on the few goa ahead of her. Patches of bottomless mud; clumps of dangerous-looking plants, their purple spines glistening with what might well be poison; predators—small predators, for the large ones had fled the sound of battle—but even the small predators of the swamp could be deadly: she saw the bodies of several gana, and one warrior, covered with venomous slugs and snails.

Eventually, it dawned on her that they were heading north, not east. North-ward, she thought—for the actual route they were following seemed to twist and turn in a bewildering manner. Had she and her flankers not been guided by a swamp-dweller, they would have soon become hopelessly lost. But, over time, even to her weary mind, it was clear that they were moving farther and farther away from the battlefield to the south.

Around her, unseen because of the constant screen of cycads, giant ferns, and other vegetation whose name she did not know, she could hear the movement of other files of warriors. Kopporu, she realized, had broken the flank into small groups which, guided by swamp dwellers, could make reasonably rapid progress through the narrow passageways in the swamp. Much more rapid, certainly, than the rigidly organized Utuku—who would not, in any event, soon enter the swamp. Not after the terrible slaughter which Kopporu had inflicted on their left flank.

Occasionally, on the path behind her, Guo saw swamp-dwellers dragging vegetation across the trail. Confusing their trail, so that by the time the Utuku did enter the swamp in pursuit, it would be difficult to determine the exact direction in which the Kiktu survivors—

—had fled.

She knew, then. Understanding came to her in a flash. Everything fell into place. Kopporu's strange maneuvers; the words and actions of the Great Mother's attendant; and of the Great Mother herself.

Kopporu has betrayed the tribe.

That thought had no sooner came to her, however, that the simultaneous memory of the Great Mother's actions drove it out of her mind.

One of my—husbands—is hurt. I forgot all about them.

She stopped abruptly. A sharp pang of guilt.

"One of you is hurt. I'm sorry—I was so tired. I—forgot."

A soft voice came down from the cowl above. By its timbre, Guo recognized it as the voice of the eumale.

"No. None of us is hurt. Move on. We don't have time to stop now."

After a moment's hesitation, she stopped and laid down her maces. Then she reached up and grasped her cowl with her palps.

"There are dangerous things in this swamp. Many of them are poisonous, and even the smaller snails are almost as big as you. Come down, and—inside me."

A moment later, she felt the small bodies of the males rapidly moving down her tentacles. The last were the eumale and one of the truemales. Between them, they were bearing the body of another member of the bond.

"You said none of you were hurt!"

"He is not hurt," came the reply from the truemale. An exquisitely subtle weave of green love and brown misery rippled across his mantle. "Abka is dead. For long now—he was killed in the battle in the clearing."

"Move on," repeated the eumale. "There is nothing we can do for him now. And we cannot hold up the tribe."

Mention of the tribe brought the thought of Kopporu's treason back, in a rush. Guo set her huge body underway again, consumed with a kaleidoscopic welter of thoughts and emotions. Vaguely, she was aware of the fleeting ripples of color in her mantle. Every color: blue, red, ochre, yellow—yes, and green. She had no doubt as to Kopporu's motives. But treason was still treason. She was now—or would become, at the future ceremony—the Great Mother of what was left of the Kiktu. The tribe would want to hear her voice at Kopporu's—trial.

What would she say? What course of action propose?

Or even—the thought came to her unbidden—command?

She heard faint whispers among the males huddled within her mantle cavity, but paid no attention. Until, moments later, she felt the stroking of a multitude of small arms along the great muscles of her rearhead.

The strokes brought sudden relaxation. And then, almost simultaneously, embarrassment and anxiety.

No male had ever entered her cavity before, much less stroked her. True, their arms were far away from the—organs—at the very rear of her cavity, but still—

"Stop that!"

The strokes ceased. Instantly, the eumale spoke sharply and the stroking resumed. A moment later, the small figure of the eumale and the truemale who had assisted him in carrying Abka's body appeared alongside her huge right eye. (Julius had noted, and been amazed by, the capacity of owoc and gukuy to focus their eyes at incredibly short ranges. Guo was staring at her preconsorts at a distance which a human would have measured in centimeters.)

"You are now the Great Mother of the tribe," said the eumale firmly. "And you are obviously confused and distraught. Over the state of the tribe, of course, but also over what to do about Kopporu. The tribe cannot afford your thoughts to be a mess. It will be part of our duty as your consorts to relieve your tension, so that you can think clearly. Don't be a silly spawn."

Guo couldn't prevent a hoot of surprise. At the impudence of the eumale, to some degree. But more at his uncanny perception of her thoughts.

"How did—"

The eumale whistled. "What else would you be confused about?"

Guo fell silent. The stroking continued, and, after a while, she admitted that it was quite relaxing. Very pleasureable, in fact. But from that train of thought her mind fled quickly.

The eumale and the other male did not leave their perch on her mantlerim. Guo kept her eyes on the path ahead, for the most part. But, now and then, her great right eye would swivel and examine her two new companions. They ignored these peeks, in the excessively dignified manner of youth. They were, Guo realized, no older than she. Still some time away from reaching sexual maturity.

(The thought was, simultaneously, the source of relief, anxiety, regret and vast curiosity.)

"What are your names?" she asked suddenly. "I am Guo, of the clan of—"

The eumale whistled. "We know who you are! Everyone does. I am Woddulakotat. This is Yurra. He is probably going to be our alpha." A quick, incredibly subtle network of green and brown. "Almost certainly. We hadn't decided yet, because Abka was also being considered. But now that Abka is dead—"

He fell silent. The green and brown shimmer on his mantle and Yurra's deepened and glowed. They were lost in grief for their bondmale.

Guo knew little of the complex workings of male society, beyond the simple basics which every gukuy in the tribe knew. Less, probably, than any infanta her age, for she had bent all her thoughts to the ways of the warriors. Males, she knew, bonded together in small groups when they were new-born spawn—the only way they could fend off the predatory attentions of the much larger female spawn.

Once made, those bonds were lifelong and deep. The males of a bond would marry a mother as a cluster. Males had few rights, in Kiktu society; but those which they had, they guarded jealously. The most precious of those rights was the cluster's control over which male would copulate at any given time with the mother. Mothers, it was said, usually had their preferences in sexual partners—but the mothers, normally dominant in their relationship with their husbands, had to accept whichever male had been selected for the moment by the bond. The alpha male would, as a rule, obtain more than his share of couplings—but not too much more, lest he be deposed by his co-husbands.

The malebond's rights in this matter were never challenged. The rights held true even when—as was the custom among the Kiktu and most of the tribes of the plains—visiting mothers exchanged a sexual partner with each other for a night. The choice of the partner to be sent into the mantle of the visiting mother was entirely the prerogative of the mothers' respective husband-clusters. From what Guo had heard (in whispers among infanta), it was a common punishment which males of a bond visited on those of its members who had fallen afoul of the bond's good will—to be dispatched into the mantle of an especially disliked visiting mother; there to labor through the night to satisfy an old, nasty, demanding mother.

Woddulakotat's strange name was normal for a eumale. The oddly truncated ending of the name signified his lack of sexual organs, his incompletion. (Normally, all Kiktu names—almost all words in their language, in fact—ended in vowels.) The length of the name, on the other hand, signified that the being's soul made up for his lack in other ways. The utter misery of a eumale's life, which was the norm in most gukuy societies, was not allowed among the Kiktu. True, the life of a eumale was sharply circumscribed by social custom—even more sharply than those of truemales. But within those limits, eumales were accorded a place of dignity and respect. More often than not, they assumed a position of leadership within the malebonds, along with the alpha husband.

Other peoples, Guo was dimly aware, derided the Kiktu for their coddling of eumales. The Kiktu ignored the derision, since it was (very) rarely expressed aloud; and because they considered the habits of other peoples little better than savagery.

Guo's thoughts began to turn again to the question of Kopporu's conduct, but she pushed it aside. She was much too tired to deal with that now. From what little she could see of the Mother-of-Pearl through the canopy of cycad branches, it was almost nightfall. Soon, she was certain, the leaders would order a rest for the night. On the morrow, when her brain was clear, she would ponder the problem of Kopporu. For now—she had new realities to deal with.

"You were very good in the battle," she said suddenly. The brown in the mantles of her two consorts faded slightly. "I didn't realize males could pipe so well."

The truemale—Yurra—whistled derisively. Delicate yellow traceries formed on Woddulakotat's mantle.

"They can't," announced the eumale. "The silly old farts wouldn't know what to do with their pipes if their lives depended on it."

Sudden brown flooded his little mantle.

"Which it did," he said sadly. "I shouldn't make fun of them. At the end, all the maleclusters took positions to defend their mates, pipes in arms. Not that it would do any good, of course, even if they knew how to use them. But not a one failed in his duty."

"We practiced," added Yurra. "For many, many eightdays. It was Abka's idea. He said that if we became accurate enough, and all fired at once at the same target, that we could make up for our weak siphons."

"He was right," said Guo firmly. "I think you kept me from being blinded."

"You fought without a shield, with two maces," said Woddulakotat admiringly. "You were truly awesome." Yurra hooted vigorous agreement.

For a moment, the gigantic mother and her two consorts-to-be gazed at each other. Then, simultaneously, tinges of green began to flicker in their mantles.

Perhaps it will not be so bad, after all, being a mother.

The thought was still too new and unsettling. For the males as well, it seemed, judging from the speed with which those first, tentative flickers of green disappeared.

"If you intend to continue fighting in this crazy manner," said Yurra suddenly, "we should give some thought to making a kind of shield for your cowl. So that we can concentrate on piping, instead of dodging darts."

Guo was relieved, herself, at the change of subject.

"Good idea. I'll talk to my flankers about it."

The three of them began discussing the design and construction of the shield. Anchoring it, of course, was no problem—the thick, hard tissue of Guo's cowl made a perfect location for attaching a shield. The problem was in the design. More like a visor than a shield, it would have to be—so that the males atop her cowl, while protected, would still have gaps through which to pipe.

Shortly thereafter, the signal was passed down from somewhere ahead: Make camp where you can for the night. We depart at first light tomorrow.

Guo looked around. They were in a place where the path broadened slightly. To one side was a large mound of moss. One of Guo's flankers inspected the mound and announced that it was (relatively) free of pests. Guo and her flankers moved onto the mound. She noticed the apprehensive glances which her flankers cast about in the gloom. It was almost dark. The swamp was horrid enough in daylight. What monsters crept within it during the dark?

She commanded them to gather closely around her bulk—atop her mantle, even, as many as could fit. The flankers quickly agreed on a system of rotating guards. (So, Guo noticed with admiration, did the males of her cluster.) Then, feeling reassured by the proximity of Guo's great muscles, the flankers not on watch fell quickly asleep. No large predator would likely approach such a formidable creature as Guo, even in the dark. If they did, the watch would sound the alarm, and whatever predator might lurk in the swamp would soon learn the bitter lesson which Guo had taught, that very day, to the Utuku. Even in sleep, the great battlemother did not relinguish her grip on the maces.

Guo's last memory, before she fell asleep, was a faint whisper from Woddulakotat.

"Tomorrow, Guo, we will talk about Kopporu, and what you must do. But think on this, as you drift into sleep. I was there, at the end, with the Great Mother. My bondmates and I had taken position on her cowl, alongside her own cluster, for we knew that her husbands would be useless. We saw Kopporu's retreat, at the same time as the Great Mother.

"She did not hesitate, Guo. Not for a moment. She commanded an attendant, and gave her the shell; and ordered us onto the attendant. Then she gave the attendant the message for you, and bade her leave.

"I looked back, Guo, at the Great Mother. It was my last sight of her. Her mantle was glowing like the Mother-of-Pearl itself in midday. One color, Guo—one color alone. The deepest green I have ever seen."

When Guo awoke the next day, the answer to her dilemma was clear. As she slept, her mind seemed to have reached a conclusion on its own. A problem, however, remained: How should she carry out her decision?

Here, she was treading on uncertain ground. By choice, she had spent as much of her short life as possible in the company of warriors. She knew little of the customs and traditions which prevailed within the yurts of the mothers and clan leaders, even though she herself was a high-ranked member of the tribe's prevalent clan.

She did not think in these terms, but the essence of her problem was that: she needed a lawyer.

Lawyers, of course, did not exist among the Kiktu. (They had only just begun emerging, as a distinct subset of the priestly caste, in the civilized realms of the south.) The Kiktu were barbarians. They had no written language beyond a crude system of notations which were even more limited than the runes of Earth's ancient barbarians. Like the tribes of northern Europe a millenia past, custom and law was maintained by oral tradition transmitted from one generation of clan leaders to the next.

Had Guo ever read the old Icelandic sagas, she would have found the scene toward the end of The Saga of Burnt Njal quite familiar. The tribe, gathered in full assembly, deliberating on a matter of law. Each old and wise being of the tribe advancing their arguments; only to be refuted when an older and wiser being remembered a different law which everyone else had forgotten.

Law and custom was the province of the old clan leaders. What was she to do? All the clan leaders were dead. There were not even very many old warriors left alive, Guo suspected. Other than Kopporu's personal guard, and the members of her own small clan, the vast majority of the warriors who had filled the ranks of the left flank had been the young and adventuresome warriors of the tribe who had flocked to Kopporu's standard.

The word of Kopporu's own clan members would inevitably be suspect in the tribal assembly which would judge Kopporu's conduct. The word of the old members of Kopporu's personal guard—Aktako and her close friends—would be even more suspect.

The young warriors who made up almost all that was left of the Kiktu would be torn and confused. On the one hand, their esteem for Kopporu's prowess in battle—once again dramatically confirmed—would draw them toward her. On the other hand, they would be horrified at Kopporu's actions.

Confusion and uncertainty would be the inevitable result. Chaos would develop, and grow. Different bands of warriors would advance alternate and conflicting proposals—with all the vigor and hot-headed impetuosity of youth. Who was to guide the deliberations, and maintain order? Kopporu? Impossible—she was the issue at hand. Gortoku? Or one of the other battle leaders? Possibly. But it was unlikely that members of other battle groups would accept the authority of any of the battle leaders. The battle leaders were all young themselves. Tried in battle, to be sure, but not in custom and law.

These were the thoughts that filled Guo's brain, as she made her way that morning along the path. The guide, she noted absently, was still leading them northward.

After a time, she became aware of Woddulakotat's presence. His little mantle, she saw with surprise, was suffused with azure irritation.

"Are you really so ignorant?" demanded the eumale.

"What do you mean?" She was too surprised by the question to be angered by its impudence. (She would learn, very quickly, that the subservient timidity of males was less fact than fiction; and, over time, would grow thankful for it.)

The azure was suddenly—for just a fleeting moment—replaced by green affection.

"Truly, you are a battlemother. Have you spent any time in the yurts of the mothers?"

"Very little. As little as possible, in fact. I was bored."

"You can no longer afford to be bored, Guo. The responsibility for the tribe is now in your arms."

Guo's own mantle flooded azure. "I know that! What do you think I've been thinking about, ever since we started off this morning?"

Woddulakotat made the gesture of reproof.

"Then why aren't you talking to us?" At that moment, Yurra appeared alongside him.

Guo was dumbfounded. "Why would I talk to you?"

Both males were now positively glowing azure—no, more! Bright blue.

"Idiot," said Yurra. "We are your closest advisers. You will have others, of course. But, always, a mother's closest advisers are her husbands."

Guo was too interested in the information to take offense at the truemale's outrageous conduct.

"Really?"

The two males stared at her in silence. Slowly, the blue faded from their mantles.

"As I said, truly a battlemother." Woddulakotat whistled humorously. "Guo, the one group of advisers you can always trust are your husbands. You do not need to take our advice, of course. Males are not always wise."

"Neither are females," interjected Yurra forcefully.

"But whether our advice is wise or not, you need never fear that it contains hidden motives. We are your husbands. Not yet, of course—but we will be."

"Did the Great Mother—"

"Always," replied Woddulakotat.

"Every night," added Yurra. Another whistle. "Well, not every night. Even in her old age, the Great Mother was a lusty—"

"Yurra!" Guo was shocked.

But, despite her prudish innocence, Guo was not really a timid youngster. She had been assured and assertive even before the battle. Now, with the battle behind her, she was rapidly growing in self-confidence. It was strange, to her, this idea that one would discuss important matters with—males. But...

And so, as the day wore on, she began slowly opening her thoughts to her preconsorts. Tentatively, at first; then with increasing frankness.

Not long after she began her discussion with them, Yurra and Woddulakotat brought another of their malebond forward. Iyopa, his name was. Guo discovered that every malebond had at least one member who specialized in learning the tribe's traditions and laws.

"The mother needs her own memory," explained Iyopa. The gesture of suspicion. "You can't always trust a clan leader's memory, no matter how old they are. Especially when the matter involves relations between the clans. It's amazing how every old clan leader suddenly remembers the law differently—always, of course, to the benefit of her own clan."

Iyopa was quite small, even for a male. But handsome, thought Guo. Very handsome, in fact.

Very handsome.

She forced her attention back to the problem at hand. Some part of her mind, throughout the ensuing day, never lost its awareness of Iyopa's good looks (and odd, new sensations began tingling in her body); but, for the most part, she was impressed with the young truemale's knowledge of Kiktu history. A bit vain, perhaps, and Guo thought that he was not really as smart as either Yurra or Woddulakotat. But Iyopa had a truly prodigious memory; and there was no question the truemale had applied himself to his task.

By midafternoon, Guo and her preconsorts had reached the stage of conclusions.

"You have to make sure of your flankers," said Yurra softly. "If they are not steady, all will be lost."

Guo considered, and agreed. Soon thereafter, upon entering a small clearing, she halted and gave the hoot which summoned her flankers. Moments later, the eight warriors stood before her. Their swamp-dweller guide arrived, as well, wondering at the delay. Firmly, but not disrespectfully, Guo asked her to leave for a moment, that she might discuss private matters with her flankers. The guide hesitated briefly; then moved out of hearing range.

Guo examined the flankers. All of them had survived the battle, relatively unharmed. A surprising fact in itself. The position of battlemother's flanker was prestigious among the Kiktu—not least, because it was so dangerous. Unlike the mobile warriors, the flankers were fixed to their slow battlemother, and without the battlemother's bulk to protect them.

Flankers carried flails, but they did not normally use them in combat. A flanker's weapon was the greatfork. The greatfork was a two-tentacle weapon, a combination of a huge two-fork and axe. (A human specialist examining the weapon would have immediately recognized it, generically, as a halberd. In detail, of course, the weapon was different: two fork-prongs on one side, where a halberd has a single beak; and the axe-blade on the opposite was longer and shallower than the blade of a halberd. But the principle was the same.)

The greatfork was an ungainly weapon in combat, quite unlike the graceful flail-and-fork combination of the normal warrior. But grace was not its function. In battle, the task of the flankers was crude and simple: either by grasping with the fork, or by driving with the blade, to hold the enemy in position while the slow but irresistible power of a battlemother's mace was brought to bear.

Battlemothers always fought in the thick of the battle. The casualties around them were usually high—for flanker and foe alike.

Guo hesitated, ochre uncertainty rippling across her mantle. Once she spoke to her flankers, she was committed. But after a moment, the ochre faded. Her mantle was now gray, with a faint hint of black.

"Tomorrow—or soon, anyway—there will be a tribal assembly. Kopporu will have to answer for her actions."

The flankers said nothing. It was obvious from their stance and color, however, that they were not surprised by her statement. They, too, had drawn their own conclusions from observing the retreat into the swamp.

"At the assembly, I will enforce the traditions of the Kiktu. It is both my right and my duty—as the Great Mother of the tribe."

Yurra handed her the bundle, which the males had kept in safekeeping. Guo carefully unwrapped the bundle, and exposed the ceremonial shell within. The flankers gazed upon it. Their arms made the gesture of reverence. But Guo noted that there was no trace of orange surprise in their mantles.

They saw—and know. Good.

"Things will be—confused—at the assembly. We have lost all our clan leaders. I must—it will be necessary that I—"

Suddenly, one of her flankers raised her greatfork above her cowl, held crossways like a horizontal bar. It was the traditional salute of the flanker to her battlemother. Traditional, but hardly ever seen. The Kiktu were not, in truth, given to frequent displays of ceremony.

A moment later, the other seven flankers followed suit.

"We are yours to command, Great Mother," spoke the flanker who had first raised her fork. Her name was Kolkata, and she was the leader of the squad of flankers. A moment later, the others echoed her words.

The black tinge in Guo's mantle darkened.

"I may be forced to harshness."

This time, the words came as one, loudly:

"We are yours to command, Great Mother."

Guo stared at them. She was—surprised. She had thought it would be more difficult. (For all her unusual capacity for combat, Guo was not really a warrior, and did not fully understand the minds of warriors. On the day after the Battle of Lolopopo, Guo's flankers would have stood with her against the Kraken itself.)

The black in her mantle faded. For a moment, a green wave rippled across. Then Guo turned, and resumed the march.

Hours later, they entered a huge clearing in the swamp. Many other warriors were already in the clearing. Still more were trickling in from several directions—all in small groups, led by a swamp-dweller guide.

The word was passed along by couriers:

We rest here tonight. Tomorrow the tribe assembles.

Before they slept, Guo and her preconsorts dug a little grave, into which they lowered the body of Abka. It was strange, then, the anguish which she felt, for the loss of a husband she had never known.

Yet she grieved, and deeply; and found, in the pain, a well of courage and resolve.

The assembly began early in the day, and raggedly. There were no clan leaders to begin the deliberations with the customary religious rituals. Those rituals were brief and, in truth, not much more than perfunctory. But they had always served, in the past, to allow the assembly to come to order in a set and certain manner.

Guo saw that Kopporu was going to make no attempt to substitute herself as the leader of the rituals. The infanta thought Kopporu's decision was wise. Better to begin the assembly by bluntly demonstrating the truth to all.

Kopporu herself was standing toward the center of the clearing, on its northern side. She was weaponless, and her personal guard were not nearby. Guo was relieved. She had been concerned that Kopporu might attempt to intimidate the tribe. Such an attempt would not have worked; it would simply have inflamed the hotheads. Instead, by taking her stance, Kopporu was making clear to one and all that she accepted the authority of the tribe.

Still, Guo noted that Kopporu had subtly weighted the situation. Her personal guard was not standing nearby, true. But they were not all that far away, either.

Guo examined them. As hard-bitten a collection of old warriors as you could find anywhere on the Meat of the Clam. The scars crisscrossing their collective mantles were literally beyond counting. There could be no doubt in any gukuy's mind that Aktako and her group would deal ruthlessly with anyone who tried to take matters into their own palps. Not even the rashest young warrior would casually match flails with them.

But there was more. Guo saw that the Opoktu warriors were gathered not far from the center of the clearing, on the same side as Kopporu. The Opoktu were still outnumbered by the surviving Kiktu, by a factor of four to one. But the Opoktu had saved their entire tribe, except for those warriors who had fallen in combat. Their own two mothers, and four clan leaders, were standing prominently to the fore. In every nuance of the Opoktu stance, a subtle but clear set of messages was being conveyed to all who observed:

We are still a tribe with leaders, united.

We are so, because we chose the course of flight.

We stand with Kopporu.

Then, there were the swamp-dwellers. There were many eights of them, gathered together some little distance from Kopporu. Again, not near the battle leader. But near enough to come to Kopporu's aid, if necessary. And while the swamp-dwellers were not warriors, the still-healing scars on their own mantles demonstrated that they lacked neither courage nor willingness to fight. They were clanless outcasts, but their status had inevitably risen in the eyes of the Kiktu over the past days. Whatever their prejudices, the Kiktu were warriors—for whom courage counted much.

And, there was this: Any Kiktu had but to look about them, to see that they were in the middle of the Lolopopo Swamp. Lost, without their guides. And the guides were making clear, without effrontery, that they too would stand with Kopporu.

There was a last group, whom Guo had not expected. They would not be a direct factor in the assembly, but their presence was not insignificant. Scattered around the clearing, in small huddled groups, were refugees from every tribe which had fought the Utuku on the plain. The refugees had been found scattered through the swamp, and brought along with the retreat. Many were Kiktu; but the majority, thought Guo, were members of the five other tribes (besides the Opoktu) which had joined in alliance with the Kiktu. Whose clan leaders had also led them to disaster.

All of them were warriors, except for a single young Datga mother and her consorts. Most of them bore recent battle wounds. Each of them was silent, their pinkish-brown mantles giving testimony to their own fears and feelings of guilt. Each of them had chosen, as individuals, to take the same course that Kopporu had chosen for the left flank as a whole—salvation in the swamp. They, too, bore the burden of treason. Hence they would not speak at the assembly—even those of them who were Kiktu and had the right to speak. Their own conduct would be examined, and judgement passed.

Yet—their very presence was perhaps the strongest, if most indirect, reinforcement for Kopporu's position. For Kopporu alone was not on trial here. So were the ghosts of the clan leaders who had been responsible for the greatest single calamity in the history of the Kiktu and their allied tribes. The miserable, huddled shapes of the refugees was silent testimony to the ghastly scope of that disaster.

The assembly was slow in coming to order. Kopporu stood alone, making no attempt to impose her authority. She had apparently decided that it was best to allow the tribespeople to mill about for a time, pondering the situation.

Guo thought Kopporu's tactic was wise. And it gave her time to settle an important question. She looked for, and quickly found, the other two surviving Kiktu battlemothers. Loapo and Oroku were standing together nearby, with those few of Loapa's flankers who had survived. (Oroku's flankers, Guo would later learn, had all died in their frenzied efforts to save their badly wounded battlemother.)

Guo lumbered toward them. She was glad to see that Oroku was present. She had feared that the lamed infanta would not have been able to keep up with the tribe in its flight.

She was also relieved to see that Oroku's wounds were healing well enough, under the circumstances. There seemed to be no sign of the parasitic infections which so often accompanied bad wounds, especially eye-wounds.

The reason for the lack of infection was obvious, once Guo came near. The wounds—the entire left eye, in fact—had been savagely cauterized by fire. Guo was deeply impressed with Oroku's courage. The pain of that cauterization must have been incredible. But the treatment had killed any parasites—even though the infanta would be horribly disfigured for the rest of her life.

"You are well?" asked Guo.

Loapo made the gesture of affirmation. Oroku whistled amusement.

"As well as could be expected, under the circumstances."

"I had feared you would not manage the march through the swamp."

"I would not have," replied Oroku, "except for Loapo. And the warriors whom Kopporu sent to help me."

Mention of Kopporu brought back the necessities of the moment. Yurra, as prearranged, handed Guo the bundle containing the Mothershell. Guo showed it to the other two infanta, and recounted the attendant's words.

When she finished, she was relieved to see no trace of blue in their mantles. She had been especially concerned about Oroku's reaction. Loapa belonged to a relatively unimportant clan. There would have been no possibility of her becoming Great Mother, in any event. But Oroku, like Guo, was a member of the prevalent clan. Furthermore, she was older than Guo. Insofar as these things could be determined in the rather complex manner by which the Kiktu mothers chose the Great Mother of the tribe, Oroku had been a more likely candidate than Guo. She had feared that Oroku might take offense at Guo's peremptory claim to the title.

Her fears proved groundless. Oroku simply examined the bundle and, within moments, made the gesture of consent. Loapo immediately followed suit.

"The Great Mother chose wisely," whispered Oroku. "I can think of no better person to become our Great Mother in this darkest of all nights." A faint, humorous whistle. "A kuopto Great Mother! I almost wish the clan leaders were still alive, so I could watch them tremble in fear. May they rot in the Meat for eternity."

A brown ripple washed across Oroku's mantle. "And besides, Guo, I will be spawnless. There are no males left to the tribe, except yours. Even if there were, what malebond would mate with a mother who looked like me?" She gestured at her horribly scarred face.

Long after, looking back, Guo would decide that her love for her husbands was born at that moment.

Yurra did not hesitate.

"I would be honored to serve you, Oroku." There was not a trace of ochre in his mantle—nothing but an exquisite tracery of every shade of green (with just a hint of white beneath). The little truemale made the gesture of obedience. "With my future mate's permission, of course."

"All of our bond will serve you, Oroku," added Woddulakotat. "I would myself, if I could, and willingly. Scars are a thing of the flesh. The tribe will need your soul." He also made the gesture of obedience. "With our future mate's permission, of course."

Guo was—amused, she thought at first. For all her preconsorts' formal submissiveness, she had come to know them well enough to be certain that, if she withheld her permission, the cluster would make her life utterly miserable.

She had no intention of withholding permission, of course, and immediately made that clear—to Loapo as well as Oroku. Jealousy was by no means an unknown emotion among the Kiktu (and all gukuy), but it was not closely tied to sexual congress. Not, at least, among mothers.

She realized, suddenly, that her own mantle was flooded with green. Love for her sisters, of course. But there was more; much more. It had never occurred to her before that moment that greatness of spirit might dwell in the little bodies of males. She had a glimpse, then, of the future she would share with her husbands. Of a romance that would itself become a legend, recited by chantresses.

But it was a fleeting glimpse, for at that moment she felt a stirring in the air around her.

As she turned, she heard Oroku say: "We are as one, Guo. And remember the Great Mother's words: Be ruthless toward all folly."

Silence was falling over the multitude in the clearing. And it was a multitude, Guo saw. There were far more survivors than she had at first realized. The huge clearing itself held over double-eight eighties of tribespeople—and she estimated that there were at least as many packed into the cycads surrounding the clearing.

Once the silence was complete, Kopporu began to speak. She spoke slowly, for she had to shout loudly enough to be heard by all. Nevertheless, it did not take her long to tell her tale.

The battle leader recounted, in a voice devoid of all emotion, her actions over the past few eightdays. She recounted all of the steps which she had taken, including the murders of Yaua and Doroto. She also explained, very briefly, the reasons for her actions. But she made no effort to justify them, or to advance any argument in her favor. She simply presented the facts, and a description of her motives.

When Kopporu finished, she allowed a moment's silence to pass before saying:

"Let the trial begin."

"Now," whispered Woddalukotat.

Guo moved forward into the clearing, her flankers on either side. The murmur which had begun to sweep the crowd after Kopporu's last words died away. Every eye was upon Guo.

When she reached the center of the clearing, Guo slowly turned and surveyed the entire crowd in the clearing. Once she was certain that all attention was riveted upon her, she said—in that incredibly loud voice of which only mothers are capable:

"There will be no trial."

She waited for the surprised hoots to fade away.

"There can be no trial," she continued, "for there are no clan leaders here."

A voice spoke from the crowd: "The tribe may act as judge!"

"Who spoke?" demanded Guo.

Immediately a warrior advanced forward, her mantle suffused with blue—that particular shade of blue which, among gukuy, connoted not simply anger but the outrage of a superior offended by a subordinate. Guo recognized her at once. She was named Ruako, and she was a high-ranked member of Guo's own clan.

Good, she thought. The other clans will not think I am playing favorites.

"Do you know her?" asked Woddulakotat softly.

"Not well."

"I do, for she spent much time in the yurts of the mothers and clan leaders. Ruako is very full of herself. Ambitious and vain. Exactly what you need."

Guo spoke again, very loudly. "How can there be a trial, Ruako, when the accused are not here to answer the charges?"

The warrior's blue mantle rippled with orange. Confusion; astonishment.

"What do you mean, Guo? The accused is standing right there!" Ruako pointed with her palp at Kopporu.

"Kopporu?" demanded Guo. "Who has accused Kopporu of anything? I have heard no accusation."

Ruako emitted that peculiar spitting hoot which, had she been a human instead of a gukuy, would have been called "sputtering."

"What are you saying? Kopporu accused herself!"

"Ridiculous. Kopporu simply presented the tribe with a recitation of events. All of which lead to an accusation against the clan leaders. Misconduct." (The Kiktu term which she used carried much heavier connotations than the English word "misconduct"—gross dereliction of duty; criminal incompetence; reckless endangerment of the tribe.)

"Oh, that's good," whispered Yurra excitedly. "That's very good!"

Ruako's mantle was now positively glowing blue and orange. For a moment, the warrior was speechless. Guo took the opportunity to quickly scan the crowd. She was pleased to see the signs of relaxation everywhere her eyes looked. Like most cultures whose tradition is oral rather than written, the Kiktu took a great delight in debate and discussion. By immediately stepping forward, Guo had taken temporary command of the assembly. Then, by drawing out an opponent and focusing the tribe's attention, she had brought order and logic to what might have rapidly become a chaotic whirlwind of anger and action. Instead, the members of the tribe were settling back comfortably on their peds. More than one warrior, she noted, was showing faint tints of green in their mantles. Kopporu partisans, perhaps; or simply connoisseurs, enjoying Guo's display of skill.

"The clan leaders are not murderers!" squalled Ruako.

"How can you say that? That is precisely Kopporu's charge. Unfortunately, the clan leaders are not here to answer the charge. Hence, as I said, there can be no trial."

Again, the spitting hoot. "Ridiculous! Ridiculous! Who are the clan leaders accused of murdering?"

Guo paused, hoping another would answer. It was important that she maintain as much appearance of neutrality as possible.

To her relief, Gortoku stepped forward.

"They are accused of murdering—those who are not here."

Gortoku spread her tentacles, in a gesture encompassing the entire crowd.

"Where is the rest of our tribe?"

Ruako started to speak, but Gortoku's loud voice overrode her words.

"I ask again: where is the rest of our tribe?"

The answer came at once, from many siphons:

"Dead on the plain!"

"In the bellies of the Utuku!"

"In the Utuku shackles!"

"Just so!" bellowed Gortoku. "And who is responsible for that—Kopporu? Or the clan leaders?"

Silence. Guo waited a moment, then spoke.

"I have permitted this discussion, in order that the tribe might see the truth for itself." She paused briefly, allowing everyone to take note of the word "permitted." Then, when she gauged the time right, she took the bundle handed her by Woddulakotat and opened it. She took the Mothershell in her palp and raised it high in the air, where all could see it.

"As we retreated into the swamp, the Great Mother sent this to me, along with her childcluster." Guo then repeated the Great Mother's last words.

"The mothers of the tribe"—she gestured to Loapo and Oroku— "have discussed this amongst ourselves, and have agreed to respect the Great Mother's wishes. I am now the Great Mother of the Kiktu."

Loapo and Oroku hooted their assent. Very loudly.

Ruako immediately began whistling derision, and uttering various words of scorn. The gist of which was: these are not mothers, they are mere infanta; they cannot make such a momentous decision; children should be seen and not heard; and so forth.

"What an idiot!" whispered Yurra.

"She's perfect," agreed Woddalukotat.

And, indeed, it was so. Many others in the crowd might have, privately, held similar views. But the manner in which Ruako had expressed them settled the issue. The authority of mothers in Kiktu society was more often honored in the breach, rather than in the observance. But it was always honored. The more so, in this instance, in that the infanta so ridiculed had played a glorious role in the battle just passed. Much more glorious—as more than one warrior noted, and loudly—than had Ruako. (And more than one warrior, as well, loudly contrasted the terrible wounds borne by Oroku to the scratches on Ruako's hide.)

Ruako was not so stupid as not to realize, quickly, that she had blundered badly. She attempted now to shift the question on to the general impropriety of the entire manner in which the assembly was being held. This was done through a hurried appeal to Kiktu prejudices.

"Outrage! Bad enough that Opoktu should be allowed at our tribal assembly! Even worse—clanless outcasts have been brought into our midst!"

For the first time since she finished her opening presentation, Kopporu spoke.

"It is not against custom for honored members of an allied tribe to be present at Kiktu assemblies." Then, very loudly: "Or does Ruako now wish to slander the valiant Opoktu as well as our own battlemothers?"

By this time, more and more members of the tribe were enjoying the spectacle of Ruako's embarrassment. Like most arrogant people of high status, Ruako had made many enemies among the Kiktu. And even those who had nothing against her personally were becoming irritated at her conduct.

Again, loud voices were heard. Contrasting the glorious feats of many Opoktu in the recent battle to the modest role played by Ruako. Comparing, in puzzled tones, the great wounds which were clearly visible on many Opoktu to the—(Did she fall into a topobush, do you think? Is that where she got those two little scratches?)—almost unblemished mantle of Ruako.

Kopporu spoke again.

"As for the swamp dwellers, they are here on a matter which concerns my clan. And the tribe. I will explain when we have finished with the question before us."

She stepped back.

"Now," said Woddulakotat. "Yes," added Yurra.

For just a moment, Guo feared that ochre or pink might enter her mantle. Disaster. She brought the image of her slaughtered people to her mind.

Her mantle flooded black. She rose up slightly, and bellowed:

"I invoke the Motherlaw!"

Utter silence. Utter stillness.

In part, of course, the reaction of the tribe was due to simple, physical shock. The voice of a mother, unleashed in all its power, bears a close resemblance to thunder.

But, to a greater degree, the shock was mental. Motherlaw had not been invoked among the Kiktu in living memory. No, more—not for many, many generations. Guo could practically see the thoughts racing through the minds of every warrior in the clearing, as they searched back through the history of the tribe.

They found the answer almost at once, as Iyopa had predicted. It was, after all, one of the most famous episodes in Kiktu history. That time, long ago, when the Kiktu were still a small tribe. Reeling from defeat at the palps of the (now vanished) Laukta. Most of their clan leaders and mothers dead; half of the warriors wounded, dead, or dying; the ones who survived having done so only because of the incredible ferocity of the rear guard which had covered their retreat. At the center of that rear guard had stood a young infanta; who, after the battle, had declared herself the new Great Mother and had seized command of the tribe through invoking the ancient ritual of Motherlaw. She had maintained the Motherlaw for many, many, many eightweeks. Until the Kiktu recovered, and took their terrible revenge on the Laukta.

Her name had been Dodotpi. She was revered in the history of the Kiktu. Partly, of course, because she had saved the tribe. But partly, as well, because the Kiktu were warriors, and Dodotpi had been the greatest battlemother who ever walked the Meat of the Clam.

The entire multitude stared at Guo, and remembered the Battle of the Clearing; and wondered: Or was she?

Motherlaw. A custom whose origins vanished somewhere back in the mists of time. Almost never invoked. Great Mothers were deeply respected among the Kiktu, and even enjoyed a definite authority. (Quite unlike, in this respect, the semi-divine Paramount Mothers of the south, whose actual power was nil.) But it was still the clan leaders who ruled, except in battle, where the battle leaders came to the fore.

Motherlaw was not precisely "mother-rule." On the few occasions when Motherlaw had been invoked in the past, the Great Mothers had always appointed leaders from the ranks of the warriors to actually exercise the power. But their authority derived solely from the Great Mother, and could be withdrawn by her. And the Great Mother served as the final arbiter of law and custom. Judge; jury—and executioner.

Ruako broke the silence. She began squawling semi-coherent phrases, all of which indicated her vast displeasure and disagreement with Guo's person and behavior.

"Fork her," commanded Guo.

Immediately, her eight flankers charged across the clearing. As they approached, Ruako suddenly fell silent. Turned scarlet; and tried to flee. But the flankers were upon her. No less than four greatforks slammed into Ruako's mantle. It was the work of but moments to drag the whistling warrior back across the clearing. The work of but seconds to flip Ruako onto her back. (An unnecessary flourish, of course. The mace which now crushed the life out of Ruako's body would have done so regardless of which way the warrior was positioned. In truth, it would have splintered a boulder.)

Guo allowed the multitude to gaze upon Ruako's corpse for a brief moment, before speaking.

"Does the tribe remember our Great Mother's last words to me?"

Silence.

"Answer me!"

Several voices: " 'Be ruthless toward all folly.' "

"Louder."

"BE RUTHLESS TOWARD ALL FOLLY."

"Just so."

Guo made the gesture of condemnation. Her mantle glowed blue.

"If the clan leaders had survived, their stinking corpses would now be lying next to Ruako's. They are condemned in the memory of the tribe."

She turned and faced Kopporu. "Kopporu!"

"Yes, Great Mother."

"You are now the battle leader of the Kiktu."

"Yes, Great Mother. Who do you appoint as the new clan leaders?"

"No one. We do not need clan leaders. We are still in battle—and will be, until the Utuku are destroyed."

She paused, letting that thought penetrate the minds of her warriors. The formula was that proposed by Iyopa—the same, he said, as that adopted by Dodotpi so long ago.

"There will be no new clan leaders chosen until the Utuku are crushed and our tribe is avenged. Until that time, the Kiktu are an army. Each warrior will answer to her battle leader—and to her alone. Regardless of clan. The battle leaders will answer to Kopporu—and to her alone. Regardless of clan."

She paused, allowing the tribe to digest the concept.

"Do you understand?"

There was no hesitation this time in the response, which came from many, many siphons.

Like myself, thought Guo, the warriors have grown weary of clan leaders.

Kopporu spoke.

"Great Mother, I have a difficulty."

"What is that?"

Kopporu gestured to the swamp dwellers. "The survival of the tribe depends upon these—brave people. They have already aided us beyond measure, as all here know. Many of them have died in so doing. In return, they have asked for no reward except—adoption into my clan. I have promised to speak for them. But—"

Guo finished the thought. "But you cannot adopt them without the permission of the clan leader. Who does not exist. And will not, for—some time."

For ever, came the sudden, shocking thought. A tribe without clan leaders? Forever?

I must think upon that. Perhaps—back to the moment, fool! What am I to do?

"Put them in the battle groups," whispered Woddulakotat.

"Make one of them an adviser," said Yurra quietly. "And don't forget the Opoktu either."

"And the refugees," added Woddulakotat.

Guo pondered their advice for a moment, sorting it out. It made sense, she thought.

"Do the swamp dw—do these brave people have a leader?"

"Yes," replied Kopporu. She pointed to O-doddo-ua, and told Guo her name.

"Bring her forward."

When O-doddo-ua came up to her, Guo spoke quietly.

"I am sorry, O-doddo-ua, but I cannot allow you to be adopted into Kopporu's clan. Not now. Perhaps not—for a long time. By our customs, I would have to appoint new clan leaders. And—I cannot do that now. It is because—"

"I understand, Great Mother." The swamp dweller made a gesture which hinted at derision. Guo found herself warming to the gukuy.

"However, when the time comes you will be adopted. If not into Kopporu's clan, then into my own. I make that promise. In the meantime—"

She raised her head, and spoke to the multitude.

"All of the brave people who lived in the swamp will join our battle groups. They may either choose their own group, or, if they prefer, Kopporu will assign them to a group."

The black in her mantle returned in full force.

"All of the battle groups will welcome their new members. Do you understand?"

Her flankers, more or less casually, hefted their greatforks.

"Do you understand?"

"YES, GREAT MOTHER."

"Good." She made the gesture of contentment. "I am so glad. I detest folly."

The clearing was suddenly filled with humorous whistles. And a great green wave washed over the mantles, sweeping all ochre aside.

I have won. I have won. I have won.

"All of the refugees will do likewise. If they wish, they may form their own battle groups and choose leaders. But I would prefer that they join the battle groups which exist—either those of the Kiktu, or of the Opoktu. We do not need more confusion. Do you understand?"

There was no need, this time, to repeat the question.

She turned now and faced the Opoktu.

"You have, again, shown the honor of the Opoktu to the world. You have fulfilled your oath of alliance. You may now go your separate way, if that is your desire. I will provide you with guides to lead you through the swamp, wherever you wish to go."

The Opoktu mothers, clan leaders, and battle leaders exchanged opinions quietly, while Guo and her tribe waited. In much less time than she would have thought possible, they reached their conclusions. Lukpudo advanced to the center of the clearing, joining Guo and Kopporu. She spoke in a voice loud enough to be heard by all.

"We will remain with the Kiktu. Wherever the Kiktu go, we shall go also. In alliance!"

The clearing was filled with hoots of applause.

Lukpudo's next words were spoken softly.

"But just exactly where are we going?"

Guo looked at Kopporu. Kopporu whistled softly.

"To tell the truth, I never expected I would survive this day. So I didn't really give much thought to it. But—"

The Kiktu battle leader turned and looked to the northeast. Barely visible over the tops of the cycads surrounding the clearing was the Chiton. The great mountain was so far away it could hardly be discerned.

"Let us go to the mountain."

"To the Chiton?" A trace of orange rippled through Lukpudo's mantle. "It's—so far. All the way across the swamp."

"I know," replied Kopporu. "But O-doddo-ua says it can be done."

The swamp dweller spoke up. "Not easily, you understand. It will be a heroic trek, and we will suffer casualties. But, yes—it can be done."

Ochre tints appeared in Lukpudo's mantle. "But still—why?"

"Where else can we go?" asked Kopporu. "The plain will be covered with Utuku, hooting for our blood. They may even try to follow us through the swamp."

O-doddo-ua whistled derision.

"Perhaps the north?" asked Lukpudo uncertainly.

Kopporu made the gesture which was the gukuy equivalent of a shrug.

"To what purpose? How can our people survive in that wasteland? And I am certain that the Beak of the Utuku will have scouts watching the north as well as the plain. Once we emerged from the swamp, the Utuku would be upon us."

Lukpudo was not yet convinced. She now advanced her final argument.

"But—the Chiton is said to be a land of demons now."

Guo spoke.

"The whole world is a land of demons now, Lukpudo. What can demons on the mountain do to our people—that the demons on the plain have not already done?"

Lukpudo was silent.

Guo stared at the Chiton. So far away. A place of legends, and myths. And demons.

And pilgrims, she remembered. She turned to Kopporu.

"Have you spoken to the Pilgrims of the Way, Kopporu? The ones who go to the mountain?"

"Yes. Several times."

"What do they say?"

"They say there are demons on the mountain. Demons from beyond the Clam. Monsters, who move like the wind and slay like the lightning."

"Why then do they go there?"

Kopporu hesitated, searching for words. "They say—it is hard to understand. They say the demons are wise, as well as fierce. That they bring truth along with death. Justice itself, along with the flail of justice. They say that the battle leader of the demons is the most implacable punisher of evil which has ever lived in the world. A terrible creature, black as the night. But there is another demon, they say, who rules and commands."

"They go there to learn from this demon?"

Kopporu made the gesture of negation.

"No, Guo. They go there to plead with her. She is the wisest being in the world, they say, the one who knows the secrets of life, and truth, and justice. But she is silent, and will not speak. Not even to her children."

"Her children? She is—?"

"Yes, Guo. The Great Mother of demons."

Guo stared at the mountain. Moments later, when she spoke, her voice was like bronze.

"We will go to the mountain. I would see this Great Mother of demons for myself. If it is true that she knows these things, I will make her speak to me."

The battlemother gripped her mace.

"My people cry out for justice. If there is a secret of justice, I will have it from her. To hold such a thing secret would be evil beyond all evil."