s [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

understand everything soon.
The forest had come to her, as Jobanu had promised it would.
44
Five
here was a Promotion going on in the factory, in the main hall Tbetween the weaving machines. Aaviar Omonu looked out through the leaded
windows of his office at the two heavy, big-muscled men, who were already circling each other slowly, bare-chested, fists clenched. Around them a
crowd of hands and hustlers shouted, cursed, jeered, the noise clearly audible through the thick glass.
Most of the machinery was shut down, though the steam engine that powered it was still turning, wheels creaking and pistons thudding, clouds of
steam venting from the seals in the chimney.
Light from the windows made solid bars of silver through the vapour. The priest was there in his wooden box, taking bets through the grille. Two
naieen were perched on the iron arch at the entrance to the hall, silhouetted against the daylight, watching.
Waiting.
Omonu too watched, with all the fascination of utter terror. He had always been weak, easily tired, his bones light. In a Promotion he would have no
chance of winning  unless he fought a cripple.
And he couldn t quite bring himself to the dishonour of doing that.
He watched the two men snarling at each other, the crowd cheering. Yes, he thought, I will die this way. I will stand there, all too soon. Some
stranger  or some friend  will rip my heart out and eat it.
He raised his hand, superimposing it on the scene through the window, feeling, the bulging muscles of his arm. But there was not enough muscle.
He knew it wasn t enough.
Again he felt the raw rush of panic. He had an absurd impulse to hurry out to the main hall and try to put a stop to the fight But he knew that it was
impossible. These men wanted to fight: their Holy Biology dictated that they should fight. Even Epreto would have admitted the truth of this, and
would not have tried to stop them had he been here. His plans were of a longer kind than that.
Too long, thought Omonu, looking again at his arm, at the muscles almost visibly swelling under the shirt.
45
Suddenly, there was a snarl from the hall. One of the two circling fighters dived at the other, hands extended like claws. He made contact, but the
other slipped away. Omonu stared with a sick fascination for another moment, his heart hammering, then turned away from the window and hurried
across the shadowy space of his office. He had to go away from here. He had to get out of sight and sound of this fight. Every stimulation, every
sight or sound or smell of violence, shortened the time remaining to him now. He took his green factory manager s coat with its gold buttons and
pushed it on. His right arm became stuck in the sleeve, and though he heaved and turned he couldn t get it through. He began to panic, his heart
speeding, his muscles tightening.
As if for the fight.
Near to screaming aloud, Omonu threw the coat on to the floor, and walked out on to the gallery in his under-jacket. He could hear the animal
breathing of the two men now, carrying to his ears somehow over the noise of the crowd and the big steam engine. He twisted his head away and
hurried up the steps, almost running.
There were shouts from below, but he ignored them.
There was only one place where he would be safe from the fight: Duboli s office. The factory treasurer had no need to oversee the operations
directly, and Epreto had given him an office high in the factory tower, braced against the chimneys, so that he could see the sun.
The climb was a long one, partly outside, and the effort of it took some of the panic out of Omonu s body. There was a storm building, a great
hammerhead of cloud drifting in over the water beyond Neef Island, hiding the Sky around the Temple of Iujeemii.
Lightning flickered below the cloud inside dark curtains of rain.
Omonu stared at it for a moment. He could remember times when such storms had been rare: now they seemed to happen almost every day. He
wondered if it was true what Epreto said: that the other, frozen, Lands were jealous of their own and were sending the storms and earthquakes to
destroy it and everything that lived there. That there would one day be a War of the Continents, and that their own Land might not be the winner.
Omonu realized that it really didn t matter to him. He had more immediate concerns.
The fire in his belly. The desire to fight  not now, maybe, but someday soon. Omonu could try to deny it, but he knew it was there.
The door to Duboli s office was open, but the man wasn t behind his desk. Omonu hesitated, staring at the streaks of sunlight across 46
the mottled wood and wondering if he should just wait outside. But the wind was already beginning to lift with the approach of the storm. It would be
easy to be swept off the narrow stair and die in the uncontrolled fall that would result. He went in. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]