Drowning World by Alan Dean Foster Read Free Book Online Page B

around it as he paced deliberately around the central column of falling rain. Conversation quieted immediately. Seats grew still. The katola ceremony was among the most revered of Sakuntala customs. Also among the most anticipated, as good katola was treated by the Sakuntala much as fine wine was by the humans. That in sufficient doses it was also a powerful hallucinogen only served to enhance its appeal.
    There would be none of that during the debate, she knew. The ceremony would be carried out in moderation. Everyone would need their wits about them. Indulgences such as agreeable hallucinations could come afterward, during the informal gatherings that were sure to follow.
    Halting not far from her, Manarapi-vea inclined both ears and head slightly forward and offered the bowl. Naneci-tok was only mildly surprised. Though there were others present who were senior to her, this was her territory. Manarapi-vea was not only being polite; he was also being politically correct.
    Making sure her tongue was tucked well off to one side in an empty cheek, she accepted the bowl in both hands, grasping it firmly with all twelve fingers. As the Hata-tanasua chanted the appropriate phrases, she took a single long swallow. Ceremonial, katola drinking might be—but it was also a fine treat. The tepid liquid slid readily down her throat. Even as she handed the bowl back, she felt her stomach start to grow numb. A distinctive tingling began in her toes and fingers. The woven strappings that covered her midsection and upper torso seemed suddenly looser than usual.
    Around the circle Manarapi-vea went, circling the column of rain that continued to pour through the corresponding openings in ceiling and floor, offering katola to Hata, Yuiqueru, and Hata-niu alike. There were no Hata-naus present. The matters to be discussed were too important to allow the lowest-ranking chiefs a say in the outcome. Only when everyone had sipped of the venerable liquid made from the sap of the Oli'wiu did Manarapi-vea raise his voice. Everyone seated around the falling rain that drowned the land and gave life and protection to the Sakuntala from marauding predators joined the Hata-tanasua in reciting the ancient verses of understanding. It was said:
    “We come here today to make a Talking. Today and here, we are all of one clan. Today and here, every Hata may say what they will, as they will, without fear of being slain by a neighbor.”
    There was more. Naneci-tok knew it by heart and recited it from memory, but her thoughts were already on the debate to come. One that without question was going to have a profound impact not only on the future of the Sakuntala but also on their present.
    It was expected that Cecolou-tiu, as the eldest in attendance, would speak first. She did not disappoint. With the aid of the pair of Hata-nius flanking her, she eased out of her chair. Once erect, she stood without assistance. Her fur was almost entirely gray, with only the barest hints of the dark black and green pattern that had once identified its owner.
    Gazing around the expectant circle, she had to squint hard through the column of rain to make out those chiefs sitting in chairs directly opposite her. But even aged, weak Sakuntala eyes were remarkably acute. When she finally spoke, her words rang out through the meeting room clear and strong.
    “You all here know me. You know I not speak without first thinking. Not easy, thinking at my age. But this significant what we talk here today. Very important not make wrong decision. I think hard and harder about what to do about loutish, tawdry, thieving Deyzara. Must for sure do something.” A chorus of supportive murmurs arose from many of the assembled. “So believe when I say I think hardest that this talk of trying drive all Deyzara off Fluva is talk-making of idiot people.”
    More supportive muttering echoed her statement as she slowly resumed her seat, but Naneci-tok noted an equal number of confused mumblings as well