Barry Longyear - Enemy Papers

Considering the power, wealth, and influence of the Jeriba line, the estate is quite modest. Perched on a high cliff overlooking the ocean, it reminds me of a miniature castle. It has only eight or ten attendants and retainers and cannot maintain much more than twenty or thirty guests in luxurious splendor at one time. The room I am given and the repast both are magnificent. The welcome, however, is restrained.

In addition to Zammis, in residence are Jeriba Ty, Zammis’s adult child and estate manager, and Jeriba Haesni, Ty’s child. Estone Nev, the fighter pilot Shigan’s aged sibling, is in residence, as well. Nev, almost sixty years old, is far from frail and is the retired Ovjetah of Friendship’s Talman Kovah.

They all look upon me and my mission with mistrust. After stiff introductions are passed, Zammis excuses itself to do some work, Estone Nev retires to do its meditation, and Haesni puts on its outerwear to run down to the cave to tell Uncle that he has a visitor. Ty remains.

"Yazi Ro, I apologize if we seem protective of Willis Davidge, but the value we place upon his life is incalculable. If it weren’t for him, the Jeriba line would be ended and this world would be a much different place. As I came to adulthood under Uncle’s care, the line of my parents back six generations lived in a cave, grew and learned line, life, and Talman from Willis E. Davidge. My child, Haesni does the same now."

I hold out my hands. "I am here at the wishes of Jeriba Shigan to deliver a manuscript. That is all."

"You are a piece of a puzzle, Yazi Ro. I think you know that."

"Yes."

Ty walks to a large window overlooking a distant point of land, its cliffs extending into the boiling waters of the sea. I walk until I am next to Ty. I see Haesni, growing smaller with each step, running across the snow and ice toward the point. "Davidge is another puzzle piece, as is the manuscript you carry, Yazi Ro. A talma is being gathered, put in motion." Ty looks over at me. "May I be told the object?"

"Peace," I answer. "Peace on Amadeen."

"You look as though you stand between beliefs."

"Jeriba Ty, your parent’s parent is the Ovjetah of the Talman Kovah. It has all of the science of the Diea at its disposal. Jeriba Shigan believes there is a possibility for peace."

"But you have doubts," Ty insists.

"Even Shigan has doubts." I feel my shoulders shrug. "Jeriba Ty, I have waded through the blood of Amadeen ever since my birth. The knives there make cuts that cannot heal. If there is a path along which peace can be achieved on Amadeen, either I cannot see it or the Ovjetah’s meaning for the word ‘peace’ is considerably different from my own. I have no scientific skills. I have yet to stand the rites of adulthood, I do not know why I am here."

Ty studies me for a long time then glances toward the point. "There are the truths of Zineru, Yazi Ro. That is why you are here." It places a hand on my shoulder and says, "I will take you to see Davidge."

As I follow Ty to the robing chamber, I feel the shame fill my face. I unclearly recall a Zineru in The Talman , but I cannot remember who it was, what it did, or what its truths have to do with me. I am too ashamed to ask Ty what it means.

As we walk the path to the point, the wind blows ice crystals around us in whorls and clouds. Somewhere from the past I remember my parent telling me the story of the teacher, Maltak Di, who asked its students about paths. It would draw two shapes and connect them with two lines. It would ask the first student how many paths there are between the two shapes. In a peculiar warp of mind, the years fade and I am in Avo’s arms as it reads from the tiny cube that hangs from a golden chain around its neck.

"…how many paths are there from the circle to the square?"

"There are two paths, Jetah."

"Nyath, you may not stay; you cannot learn."

There were only two lines and poor Nyath could only see two paths. The next student could see several paths if the two drawn paths were repeated turn-in-turn. Maltak Di allowed the second student to stay because it might be able to learn. The third student was told it must stay because it might be able to teach. The third student had said that between the two shapes there was a number of paths without finite limit.

From the estate to the cave there is an infinite number of paths. Down into the ocean, under the ground, through the air, into space, by way of Draco, by way of Amadeen. We walk the paths we see, however, because they are the ones we see. When a better path is discovered, perhaps the Jeriba line will walk it. First it needs to be found.

Zenak Abi thinks it might have found a path from war to peace on Amadeen. Jeriba Shigan thinks it sees it, too. What does it have to do with an old human, a Mavedah killer, and the story of a woman called Joanne Nicole?

Almost to the point, Ty leads us down a natural set of stairs opening onto a narrow ledge high above the rocks and breakers below, the wind pressing us against the cliff. The heights make me strain back from the edges as I hold my breath. Around one turn and another, and the ledge widens a bit. I lean out a bit and look down from the edge of the sheer wall to the rocks far below. A false step here and Yazi Ro would be no mo'. I become dizzy again and press my body against the wall.

"This is the entrance," says Ty. I turn from the deadly drop and face the wind- and ice-carved opening in the rock wall. Ty leads us into it. When we reach the back of the opening, Ty opens a door made of sticks and strips of leather and enters. Beyond the door is a passage. I feel the warmth from the cave beyond and suddenly am afraid.

I think for a moment and find that my fear is that my life will be forever changed by entering this cave. Before taking any kind of path, I want to see its destination. The Ovjetah said, though, that knowledge of the path might close it. Is that because if I knew where the path leads I would refuse to go?

"Hey!" calls an unfamiliar voice. I see a human walk around a turn in the passage. He is clad in rigged skins and has a cap made of the same skins on his head. His hair is long as is his beard. I recognize him from his likeness on the book. It is Willis E. Davidge. He looks at me and points toward the entrance. "Were you born in a goddamned barn?"

"What?"

"Close the door!" He shakes his head, turns and disappears down the passage. I close the door and follow, my path set.

We are in crudely made chairs sitting around the large hearth fire, which provides the chamber’s heat and only illumination. The smoke from the fire is drawn through a crack in the chamber’s ceiling, but the smell of smoke is strong in the air. Wood for the fire is stacked along the wall behind me and there are chests and large wooden boxes next to the beds behind the human’s chair. The beds are made of skins thrown over piles of branches. Webbed nets, leather sacks, and other objects hang from wooden pegs hammered into cracks in the walls. Nearly everything appears to be handmade of wood, leather, bone, or plant fiber.

Davidge sits in his leather and stick throne like some sort of primitive tribal chief. He looks over the tops of his reading glasses at me, then shifts his gaze to Ty and Haesni, returning it to the manuscript, the reading surface cocked toward the flames.

"So, Yazi Ro, you taking this book to me is supposed to stop a war." The tone sounds mocking and I remain silent. Davidge glances up at me. "I don’t suppose Shiggy told you how we’re supposed to do it."

"Shiggy?"

"Shigan. The Ovjetah? The guy who sent you here? Work with me, Ro; life is too short, especially for Dracs."

I feel the anger rising. "No. It did not tell me how."