Chapter 10

Yakhir was nursing a goose egg on the back of his head from sitting up too quickly in one of the bins when a runner from his clan shouted his name from the tunnel. The pain became immediately inconsequential to the quickening thump of his heart. The runner could only mean one thing: a Council meeting had been called outside of the normal schedule.

Jahmiel Kevit-Nakar had heard the runner as well and met the two when they emerged into the Shaft. He offered Yakhir words of encouragement and one significant word of advice: debate only Atto and do not be drawn into debate with Council members. Having rehearsed his answers for days since his uncle had deputized him, Yakhir drank his master's words as if they were an elixir of courage.

Yakhir wanted to feel brave. His mother had critiqued his arguments and his betrothed had pointed out his tics and points of bad delivery. Yet, he was stepping into a hostile arena where every person, usually a man, had to stand alone and on his own.

He had dreamed for several nights of a dog fight he had witnessed as a young child. Two mongrels went at each other over a scrap of pig skin in the market. They tore at each other, taking small gouges of flesh from their hindquarters and their sides. Blood flowed down their legs and pooled on the ground. As they lunged at each other again and again, trying to rip each other's throat out, people began handing over coins as the ersatz bookies began taking bets. No one thought to stop the fight, Yakhir noticed. Eventually one dog gave a terrible yelp and sat down on his hindquarters, paralyzed. Yakhir turned away but the sounds of violent death pounded his eardrums. Onlookers cheered or jeered as a champion made the killing strike. He was afraid that he was the one bleeding in that ring.

He straightened his back and squared his shoulders. With a shake of his head to clear his thoughts, Yakhir made his way down the mountain road and into the center of town. His young companion had to keep jogging every little bit or so to keep up with the striding man. The archivist's shirt was not buttoned high and the sun reflected off of the key that hung around his neck. People glanced up as he strode past, but if he didn't recognize a face, he didn't acknowledge it.

He knew that it wasn't arrogance that was filling his stomach or even insolence. What he tasted was revenge and it was cold and spicy. Yakhir wanted to remember this feeling, to bottle it, and serve it up later, again and again. He realized as he approached the Council building that he didn't want Ardo Shaheen dead; such a fate was too merciful. Yakhir wanted him alive and humiliated, dying a little bit each day in a sad, fetid corner of his compound.

Pushing such thoughts aside, he took one last deep breath and plunged into the front room, which had the only floor in the entirety of the tribe that was laid with marble. The building had been the offices of the World Health bureaucracy that had managed the welfare of the tribe in its infancy. The princely overseers had marble under their feet; his ancestors had dirt.

The tall room was long and narrow, faced with big windows of real glass. Glass was one of the few virtues of sand, and even the poorest house had a few windows faced with it. The walls were barren, but palm trees grew in giant clay pots around the room and in its corners. The freshness of the palm fronds lent a perfume to the entire space. In the middle of the long wall opposite the front entrance, two solid wood doors, not plaswood, marked the entrance to the rest of the building. Beyond the doors was a long marble hallway with offices on either side that led to large meeting chamber in the back of the building: the Council of Elders.

Yakhir located his uncle off to one side, surrounded by several other Council members. Their staffs stood at a respectful distance behind them. Unsure of the proper protocol, Yakhir grabbed his young runner and ordered him to whisper in Uncle Porat's ear that they had arrived. The kid shrugged and wiggled through and around the bodies until the little imp sidled up, tugged the man's shirt, and whispered in his ear.

As Yakhir watched the gymnastics of the runner, he became aware of the glances and downright stares of people in the room. He pretended not to notice any of them, but their gazes felt like the rasp of burlap across his skin. He forced his face to freeze into a look of apparent calm. His bladder felt a bit full.

His young escort returned and dragged him to a small group of older cousins who were partially obscured from view by a palm tree. Leaning against the wall while his family prattled on deliberately with inconsequential nonsense, Yakhir took the time to survey the scene. He decided quickly that the room was full of furtive glances and that nearly everyone present was under inspection. He watched a little longer and modified his conclusions: the Council members were under inspection and so was Yakhir. In the meantime, the cousin next to him gave him an inconspicuous nudge and asked him a simple question. He joined in the game.

A few drawn out minutes later, the wooden doors opened inward and the tribal chieftain stepped out with his second. The second gave the call of "Ingathering the Council" and a hush fell upon the assembled crowd.

A challenge rang out from the other side of the room, demanding a closed meeting. The challenge was echoed by another, deeper voice. The second turned back to the chieftain, who gave one nod but never said a word. The second gave the call again "Ingathering of the Council" and added, "Behind closed doors." A cacophony of calls and orders filled the room as Council members made arrangements and started towards the doors.

Yakhir's eldest cousin took him by the shoulder and led him to his uncle. As they walked, the cousin slipped a smoothed stone in his hand.

"A worry stone?" Yakhir inquired, not sure if he was insulted.

His cousin shook his head slightly, "No, a 'patience' stone. You will need it: remember that the serpent doesn't strike until he is sure of the target."

Yakhir tucked the stone in his pocket and took his place one step behind his uncle's right shoulder. He marched silently through the doors and down the hallway. Only the soft padding of other feet filled his ears. The Council Hall was a square room with large windows set high on all four walls. The walls were decorated with rugs from all of the clans within the tribe. The floor was strewn with pillows, stools and the odd chair or two for the truly ancient, who couldn't recline. The alien white marble floor gleamed in the noonday sun. Council members streamed to their various places and took their seats facing one another in a haphazard circle.

Ardo Shaheen sat on a stool opposite Yakhir and his Uncle Porat, while the two of them sat cross legged on large loosely stuffed pillows that conformed easily to their sitting positions. Between Shaheen and the chieftain sat Atto, who elicited more than one snigger around the room as he tried to maneuver his oversized bulk onto a pillow. Shaheen looked a bit pale and fragile, as if he really needed a chair, but his eyes burned fiercely with an inner fire. Yakhir allowed his head a small shake at the vanity of it all, and he wondered, not for the first time, just how his tribe had survived after the Great Burn with such traits in its midst.

The chieftain cleared his throat, "This Council has been called by Ardo Shaheen. Let him begin and the rest remain silent until he is done."

Yakhir felt himself stiffen but his uncle remained positively calm. A few shifted in their positions, preparing for a bit of controversy.

"Members of the Council of Elders, I received word only this morning of another strike of fire near the shore of the Western Sea, just south of one of the old cities. A wall of fire burns fiercely, destroying many dunams of land. Fortunately, that land is not inhabited, though it is slated for cultivation as the rainy season approaches."

Shaheen made a grand gesture with his hands, "This is another residual strike of the weapons of the Great Burn. On that very terrain, the agricultural survey sent out an unmanned vehicle that was controlled by a remote device. Can there be any doubt that the use of this remote communication device tripped the sensors of the ancient technology and brought down another strike upon our land?"

Murmurs began to flitter around the room. Yakhir was visibly unimpressed, however; too many assumptions were being tossed into the report.

Shaheen drew a deep breath, "This remote control contraption was requested and drawn from the archives, from the third Shaft, to be specific. All of us know that material taken from that section of the archives is dangerous, that it attracts the undiscriminating lasers of the orbital platforms. Which devices the orbital platforms ignore and which devices they do not, or under what conditions, is a complete unknown. We have put the lives of the tribe in danger."

More murmurs spread.

Shaheen scanned the room with his eyes ablaze, "I insist, no, I demand that we return all Shaft 3 technology back to the hole from which it came and seal that entrance permanently before it is too late. The entire Tribe will burn if we fail to act! I make the motion."

Calls of "Yes! Yes!" came from the other side of the room from Yakhir and the motion was seconded. As the chieftain called for discussion, his uncle rubbed his chin and look slyly to his right.

Two sets of pillows to the right, a voice demanded, "Where is this report? I would see it before making any assumption as to the origins of the fire."