by Luke Norris
Verity discovered that these people were not as primitive as she had first deemed them to be. What had appeared to be stone cave-like dwellings from the outside were in fact well-crafted living quarters. The slate stone brick walls had been built on level excavated ground tucked against the hills. Once the stonework had been completed, earth was piled back on top of the arched roof, and grass allowed to grow back. The house looked once again like a part of the hillside and inconspicuously blended into the landscape. Only the tendrils of smoke rising from the short stone cowling where the chimney protruded was evidence of the cozy dwelling underneath. The living room had a shallow open trough which had a fall below the level of the floor to an opening outside, through which the cold air would be expelled.
Riff and Yarn had also latched onto Verity as a go-between since they were too damn lazy to learn the language and take an interest in these people. They couldn’t simply rely on technology as they normally would have to overcome the language barrier. Verity watched the two of them discussing excitedly amongst each other. Did she even want to know what they were talking about?
“Verity!” Riff said. He was inspecting one of the metal blades used to harvest the grain. His blond beard was boasting a months growth, the mustache had fully covered his thin top lip, altogether making his thin face look fuller. “They have some technologies which appeared to be outside the means of this small mountain village. They are more advanced than they appear, but I've seen no evidence of a smithery here. Where does all this stuff come from?” He pointed to some kitchen apparatus with steel components. His beady eyes turned to Verity. “Ask Tahat how they forge the steel!”
She reluctantly took the harvesting blade from Riff, was he giving her orders now? She turned to their host and tapped the metal asking in simple terms how they got it. “Kayf tijaal hatha?”
The man across from her sat crossed legged beside his wife, yellow eyes glinting in the firelight, his braided black beard fell in a stiff vee across his chest. They sat on the simple woven tapestries made from dried fibrous leaves similar to the ones which hung on the wall behind them, they we soft and comfortable.
Tahat's wife, Zawej Tahat, had become friends with Verity, she smiled at her taking the utensil and handing it to her husband. Tahat rotated the blade and nodded in thought. He had been the first to discover the desperate troop two weeks earlier when his children had stumbled across them while playing near the plantation border.
Verity admired his wife, Zawej, the woman had taken the driver Cougar into their home, without objection. He was in a delirious state caused by the infection from the cut on his leg. Verity and Zawej had nursed him through the terrible fever which had nearly taken his life. They’d sometimes required Tahat or one of the men to help restrain him during his screaming fits of delirium in the strange language that not even the other drivers knew. Verity suspected it was an Earth language.
Verity had helped Zawej while she’d Patiently cleaned up the putrid-smelling bile he vomited up, and she had mopped up the diarrhea that ravaged his bowls for a week. Zawej had perseveringly nursed him as he teetered on the threshold of death’s door. Even now, Verity could hear the thin, weak form of the driver breathing slowly in the next room. The others couldn’t understand why Verity was wasting her energy helping a driver.
Verity admired the grace and poise of Zawej Tahat and her husband. Through the ordeal, they had not spoken a word against having the sick driver in their home.
For all the virtues that the villagers displayed, however nobody would approach Shira's quarantined hut, not even Zawej. She lay alone in a wooden hut on the outskirts of the village and was only attended by Verity and the drivers. Her skin was a sickly yellow and no matter how much she ate she only grew thinner.
Tahat sat across from Verity and looked at the harvesting blade, and then spoke slowly to her. Zawej interjected on occasion to add detail her husband had omitted.
“The metal is not made here…” Verity translated, she paused to catch the next sentence from Tahat, “it's made in a bigger village...a different clan...they have pledged their fealty to the other clan...who live in that direction.” Tahat was motioning westward with his arm. “The clan they are loyal to is called Hajir clan,” she continued, “the Hajir clan get the steel from the Lowlands. They trade both steel and...protection with Tahat's people for the grain they grow on the terraces here. The Hajir clan are the main clan between the two rivers and Ab Hajir is their chief.”
“Protection from whom?” Yarn asked. His dark beard now a finger width long and twinkling with wisps of silver.
Verity relayed the question to Tahat, and he explained for several minutes, continuously correcting Verity and adding information when she repeated it back. At one point Tahat stood and made wild chopping motions with his arm and loud noises, his eyes fierce and long black hair flinging around his face, so even Yarn and Riff could see he was indicating fighting.
“From what I can gather,” Verity said, “there are dozens of clans living all along these foothills, and they are often feuding. Now is a time of peace between the two rivers because Ab Hajir- gave his daughter to Ab Jibil to marry, chief of the next clan over the west river. As long as she gives him a baby before next summer the marriage will be consummated, and she can be his wife, then there will be no fighting.” Verity's dark brown eyes were set in concentration as she ardently translated Tahat's story.
Yarn and Riff were both smiling, and at the last sentence burst out laughing. Tahat looked up questioningly at the two drivers, confused and offended.
“So what happens if the daughter of Abajir can't give Abibil a baby?” Riff asked laughing.
“It's Ab Hajir!” Verity corrected him, “Ab means father, so he is father of the Hajir clan. Just like Zawej means wife, Zawej Tahat means wife of Tahat.” She ignored the jibes of Riff and
Yarn as she repeated the question to her proud looking host. Her brown eyes widened at Tahat's answer, and her fine features pulled back in dismay. “he said Ab Jibil will probably kill her and fighting will continue.”
*
In the next room, Oliver was stirring, loud voices had woken him. He lay still, unable to even raise his head. Although his joints and muscles screamed in agony with every movement, and his parched throat was too raw to call for water, he knew that he would live. The fever had taken him to the depths of hell, and he had felt the flesh burning from his bones and thought he would surely perish there. In the dark place in his mind, the blackness had nearly consumed him and snuffed out the last of his hope.
An angel had reached into the darkness to bring him back to the world of the living. He caught glimpses of her through his blurred vision, she had brown eyes and dark hair. As his senses returned to him, he learned that Zawej and her husband had nursed him. He must have been deluded because Zawej’s eyes had the distinct yellow hue of the locals. She had given him water and cleaned the foul excretions from his body, but there was no shame left, only thankfulness.
He lay on his back, considering his new lease on life. He could hear their voices now in the next room, then the voice of Verity translating. Can she already speak their language? How long have I been out? he thought. The voice of Yarn cut in “protection from whom?” Oliver listened to the conversation, it was strange, they were speaking the command language of the drivers, but it was more complex and he couldn't understand everything. Now Verity was speaking, giving an account of the relationship between the clans.
Suddenly a high voice beside him caused him to open his eyes and painfully tilt his head. Beside him stood a young girl with shoulder-length black hair with blue flowers arranged in a braid across the front. She held a water jug in her hands and was looking down sternly at him lying on the bed.
“Tashrib!” The girl ordered. She held the pitcher up to his mouth. Oliver felt the sweet liquid flow down his throat.
“Again!” He whispered hoarsely and raised his head painfully forward. The girl raised the pitcher again, and he
gulped until the water spilled over his lips and down his neck. He let his head fall back against the pillow.
“Aish hatha?” she asked. The girl was talking to him with an air of familiarity as though he had become a member of the family. She had been helping her mom and dad nurse this stranger for weeks, so in her mind, he had become a member of the family, and she spoke to him thus. However, Oliver’s attention was not on the little girl beside him, but on the conversation in the next room.
Something Riff had said caught his attention. He strained his ears but the little girl beside him kept prodding him and talking. He ignored her, What are they saying? He tried to prop himself up on his elbows to get a better angle to listen but pain shot through his neck and his head. He noticed for the first time that his jumpsuit had been removed and he lay under a large fur blanket. He could see the glimmering orange light of the fire in the next room dancing through the doorway onto the walls around him. It must be night time.
He heard the voice of Yarn and listened hard.
“Ok, the history of these hill people is fascinating,” Yarn said, “ but what about the people that live in the lowlands closer to the sea? Ask him about them! We picked up signs of thick concentration of human inhabitants there from the ship's scans of the planet.”
Oliver reeled wondering if he had heard correctly. Did he say ship's scans? He strained his ears, but the girl beside him was talking and poking his bare shoulder on his right arm.
“Aish hatha?” she asked again in her high musical tone.
Frustrated that the girl would not let him focus on the conversation in the next room he looked down to see what had her attention. She was touching his arm and tracing her finger around the image there.
“It's a tattoo! Okay? It says cougar!” he said the word slowly, “Coouugaar.”
“Coougaar,” she repeated.
His mind flashed back to the conversation with Lego on the ship, being woken in that hell with nobody to talk to. Lego had also pointed to his tattoo just like the small girl.
Oliver lay in the dim light realizing that his captors, his mortal enemies, were in the room next to him. He was too weak to do anything, but he had just learned crucial information, now he knew the identities of his enemies. Yarn was their captain, Riff was a crew member and had called him by that title. He already knew Verity and Shira were one of them, there was no such thing as a woman driver, he was certain of that.
He had been waiting for the women to give away the identities of the others, but they had been careful, and until now they left Oliver with no clues.
He could hear Tahat explaining something, in his stout voice, with the guttural tone of the Hajir clans dialect. Oliver could picture the man with his long black hair and braided beard motioning with his hands to Verity, trying to convey the meanings of his words.
He could hear her repeating and asking questions. Amazing! She really can understand some of what he is saying, and she sounds interested in his culture. She must be a clever one, he thought. A bitter feeling in his gut quickly replaced Oliver's admiration. A useful talent when it comes to sacking planets and destroying people's lives, I bet. Oliver thought.
Where was Shira? He couldn’t hear her voice, only the three pirates. He knew Shira was certainly one of them and he had strong suspicions about Costa too.
Jerome the big Samoan driver, also from Earth, was astute. He seemed to be the only other driver who had worked out their plight, which their captors had been hiding amongst them. Oliver still had to tell Jerome details about the mothership, that he had been woken, and seen and learned things that no driver was ever meant to. It was good to know he had Jerome as an ally, he was the only connection left to Oliver’s home planet, and he would tell him everything now he’d uncovered the enemy and learned their designs.
Listening to the conversation, he realized that Costa was absent. It seemed strange to Oliver that they should be making plans without the other members of their crew. Maybe I was wrong about Costa, he thought. Maybe he was not a pirate after all. He didn't share Jerome's suspicions about Ponsy or Drake, they were both just drivers. They fit the profile, big physically powerful men, strong-willed. Jerome had heard Ponsy speaking a language not from Earth, and he considered that evidence that Ponsy was one of their captors. Oliver knew that Ponsy spoke an alien language because he was simply a poor soul that had been plucked from his home planet. Just like himself and Jerome. The man had been drugged, programmed, and forced into a life of servitude, committing terrible atrocities wherever they were sent. This was information that Jerome could not know, Oliver would explain to him once he regained his strength.
The small girl that had been giving Oliver water left the room, satisfied that she had completed her duty. With no more distractions, he closed his eyes to the flickering firelight and was now able to focus clearly on the conversation. The three pirates obviously thought he was still unconscious or simply no threat and it didn't matter if he heard. Either way, they weren’t making any attempt to conceal their voices.
“Yes, there are many people in the Lowlands,” Verity continued, “Tahat said there are four great chiefs, but I think he means kings. The four great rivers govern the borders of each realm, and they have armies. The clans don't like the lowlanders…” Tahat interrupted her, he explained something using items on the table changing them from one hand to the other. “The clans don't go there,” Verity continued, “they only have contact on the borders, to pay tax to the king. If they don't pay, the lowlanders will come here with their armies.” Verity was clearly extrapolating the information she gleaned from her conversation with Tahat.
Oliver couldn't understand everything Verity was saying but he got the heart of it. The command language we use must be a simple form of their native tongue, he thought.
“Armies?” Yarn exclaimed. “That's what I was hoping. That's where we need to insert ourselves to carry out the plan. If they have armies, we can use these lowlanders.” He gave a self-satisfied chuckle. “Trust your captain, we are getting back to the ship.” He paused in thought, “we will need drivers to help us with a military strategy for the first phase. They will be crucial to the plan working. They have been programmed to be experts in tactics and warfare. Mmmm,” Yarn paused, “what drivers do we have left?”
“Just the two really,” Riff said, “Ponsy, and that big black shadow, Drake. We can't count the one in there. He's as good as dead.”
Oliver realized Riff must be pointing in his direction. What about Jerome? Why haven't they mentioned him? As if in answer to his question Riff muttered, “would have been three if Costa had not killed that big brute, Jerome.”
Oliver felt himself go cold. Jerome was gone? It could not be.
“Hey! That driver was compromised,” Yarn snapped. “He had figured out who we are, he had to be dealt with! I still can't believe he managed to kill two of us though! Two second-stagers taken out by a driver. It's a reminder that although they don’t have the advantage of metabolism augmentation, they are still trained super fighters, and speed will only help us so much. Costa underestimated Jerome, we mustn't underestimate them!” He paused, “that mercenary, Cass, had it coming. He was loud-mouthed fool. But Costa was a good sergeant…” There was a long silence. “He was a good man. Costa, we salute you!”
“Costa, we salute you!” Riff repeated.
Oliver heard the slurps as they drank from their cups. It dawned on him that Jerome’s death meant his last link to Earth had been severed. The sergeant had killed the big Samoan driver. They had become friends over the grueling weeks before stumbling upon these people. Jerome had told him about his life on Earth, how he moved to Auckland from Samoa when he was seven, how they cooked the traditional Umus with their enormous extended family on the weekends. He was witty and likable underneath the callous exterior.
Jerome shared the hate for their captors with Oliver, and now he was a martyr for their cause. His death was not in vain, he had killed the sergeant.
> Oliver could not imagine how Costa could have stood a chance against a huge lethal driver like Jerome. But the pirates seemed surprised by it! Yarn had talked about their ability to speed up. Speed up? A conversation with Lego came into his head. “We will make you like them! You will be in control of your metabolism, able to speed up and slow down on your own…like they do.” He could hear the robotic voice of his small friend in his mind.
But what the hell did that even mean? There had been no time to explain these things on the ship. How was he supposed to control this thing in his body? Had the surgery been successful? Was it completed before they had stowed Oliver on the landing craft? Another thought occurred to him, they think Jerome was responsible for the mercenary's death too, they don't suspect me or any of the other drivers, and they think I am as good as dead. Oliver realized he now had the advantage of surprise, and if he indeed did live through this he would finish the job.
22. Funeral fire
As the days passed, Oliver felt a gradual improvement. He would sleep for long spells and felt it difficult to keep track of the time. He couldn't help but admire the seemingly endless patience and hospitality of Tahat and Zawej. Their daughter seemed to take great pleasure in the role of a nurse, helping her mum, and having somebody who would not interrupt while she explained about her dried flower collection for hours on end.
Strangely he had seen Verity check on him occasionally, but she’d left immediately upon seeing him awake. What was her motive? Surely she didn’t know Oliver was on to her and the other crew members.
Thanks to Zawej’s downright stubbornness he had already learned several words from their language, and to encourage his progress, she would sometimes withhold food or water from him until he could ask for it correctly.
