Child of a Mad God

by R. A. Salvatore

She started to apologize, but she bit it back, for no Usgar could ever say that to an uamhas! But now she knew that every time she called him by his name, he would remember this moment, and it would bring him pain.

  “Is that your only name?” she asked.

  No response.

  “Does your mother call you something other? Other than Thump.”

  “Thump,” he grunted.

  Aoleyn shook her head and heaved a sigh.

  “Bahdlahn,” she decided suddenly

  The boy looked at her curiously, but said nothing.

  “Thump,” she explained. “It means ‘thump.’ They call you Thump because it seems to be the only sound you are smart enough to make, and so by calling you Thump, they are calling you stupid!”

  He tried to look down again, but she stopped him.

  “Are you Thump?” she asked.

  He grunted and tried to pull away, even offering a slight nod. Aoleyn thought that progress—at least she had elicited some response other than a simple emotional reaction.

  “Do you like that name?” she asked, letting him go. “Thump?”

  He was looking down again, but she heard a little growl and noted a slight shake of his head. Yes, he understood her, somewhat at least.

  “You don’t like it, then,” she said, and she giggled, and that brought his gaze back up, a slight flash of anger in his eyes. “Then I won’t call you Thump,” she said. “I will call you Bahdlahn.”

  He seemed to her to be confused.

  “Bahdlahn means many things,” she explained. “It is the noise of a drum, or a dancing foot. Or the sound of the hooves of a running elk.”

  The boy grunted and nodded his head very slightly. It seemed to her as if he wanted to say something, but he only licked his lips and lowered his gaze. Bahdlahn was tall for his age; despite the three-year difference between them, they stood about the same height. Although it was hard to tell since he kept hunched over, his gaze focused on Aoleyn’s sandals. She ducked her head slightly, trying to look him in the face, but the boy turned his head.

  “Look at me!” she commanded. The boy shook his head and continued to avert his gaze. Aoleyn held up her hand, finger cocked to flick him again.

  Bahdlahn let out a groan and began whimpering.

  Aoleyn heaved another great sigh. Perhaps the boy really was feeble. It did seem as if he could barely speak in anything other than grunts. Aoleyn started to address him again, but paused, remembering that long-ago day when she had happened to eavesdrop on Bahdlahn’s mother. Between that ugly woman and the stern warriors of the tribe, Bahdlahn had been taught not to look at the faces of the Usgar for the sake of his very life. Yet here she was, commanding the poor boy to break that taboo, to look at her directly. And she was backing up that command with a threat.

  She stood up straight, and held her hand in front of the boy’s face so he could watch as she disengaged her finger and thumb.

  “I’m not going to flick you again,” she said. “I’m not here to hurt you … Bahdlahn. Do you understand?”

  Bahdlahn didn’t say anything, not even one of his customary grunts, but his shoulders, indeed his entire frame, seemed to relax a bit.

  Aoleyn dropped the stack of baskets at his feet.

  Bahdlahn looked at them, his face a mask of curiosity. He even glanced up to look into Aoleyn’s black eyes for a split second. She caught the look of confusion on his face before he quickly averted his gaze.

  “I have a task for you,” she said. “Well, it’s a task for both of us. Come, pick up the baskets.”

  Bahdlahn hesitated. He was much younger than his years in many ways, and had seen far too much for one of his age, but Aoleyn could judge that he was still just a child. His body would soon become that of a man, but his mind?

  He was rarely used by other slavers for any task beyond the mundane, like distributing the meager dinner portions, or cleaning the feet of a warrior after the Usgar man had spent some time with a slave woman.

  So of course, he was confused at this unexpected confrontation.

  You really are stupid, Aoleyn thought. She felt the heat of shame rising again up her neck. Her impulse here to resist the spirit of Seonagh’s orders—she had been told to take a slave woman, after all—felt like cruelty toward this undeserving boy. He might even get in trouble for accompanying Aoleyn.

  With a harrumph, Aoleyn pushed that shame aside. So this boy, this slave, would have to suffer a bit. So what? She had to suffer, as well. She may as well pass some of that pain along.

  In addition to that, Aoleyn truly couldn’t stand the thought of being in the company of one of the uglier slaves throughout this beautiful day. Just thinking of those misshapen heads sent a shudder through her.

  “Pick. Up. The. Baskets,” she commanded coldly, all hint of sympathy gone from her voice. “Pick them up and follow me. I command you. Do it or I’ll be hurting you again, don’t doubt.” She scowled at Bahdlahn and raised her hand once more, this time in a fist.

  Bahdlahn offered a confused and sheepish grunt, one that made Aoleyn feel rather silly at that moment, standing as she was with her fist in the air. The boy glanced back at the dark entrance to the hollow beneath the pine boughs that served as his home, seeming unsure, but a chirp from Aoleyn had him moving faster.

  Triumphantly, the conquering Aoleyn headed for the nearby woods, her captive dutifully stumbling along behind her, fumbling with the baskets.

  * * *

  The coveted pinecones were not very large and were quite difficult to see, as they were the same brown color as the thick bedding of soft needles covering the forest floor. They were not difficult to find for someone who knew how, though, and Aoleyn had been taught a simple method.

  She took off her doeskin sandals and looked to Bahdlahn, who, of course, was barefoot, like all of the uamhas. She hoped his feet weren’t so calloused and hard that he would prove all but useless in this task.

  “We must fill these baskets with the cones. Keep your eyes to the ground and walk slowly,” she instructed him. She started off, the boy right behind, but she stopped short and pointed to the side. “Go that way!” she scolded, and let out a sigh to let him know that she was displeased.

  She thought he seemed wounded by her obvious disgust as he walked off, his gaze low—as instructed, and surely it wasn’t a difficult command for this one to follow, since he always seemed to be staring at the ground.

  But Aoleyn again felt bad about her actions and attitude. She could not determine why.

  A few heartbeats later, Bahdlahn let out a pained yip, and Aoleyn spun about to regard him, and smiled as he bent low to pick up the little pinecone that had stabbed his bare foot.

  He looked back at her, held up the cone, and nodded, then dropped it into a basket and started off again, but now more slowly.

  Aoleyn started to laugh at him, but that giggle turned to a yelp of her own, as her bare foot, too, came down on one of the nasty and pointy little pinecones.

  She sucked in her breath and hopped backward, trying to keep her weight off that foot. She glanced over at Bahdlahn as she did, scowling and ready to thrash him for laughing back at her.

  And indeed, she caught a flicker of his smile, but it was short-lived, and replaced by a look of seemingly genuine concern. He was crouching, and fished about the needles to produce the cone that had stung him.

  Aoleyn moved to do likewise, but discovered that she didn’t have to, for the cone was still there, stuck into her foot! She plopped down onto the bedding and folded her leg in close to rub the wounded foot and extract the prize.

  “Maybe that’s what they want them for,” Aoleyn said with a growl as she gingerly reached for the cone, but pulled back in pain as soon as she touched it. “They should toss them about the edges of the camp like caltrops and then no one will be able to raid us!”

  She was startled, then, to hear Bahdlahn’s giggle at her quip, and from right beside her. She snapped her head around to regard him.

&nbs
p; The boy swallowed hard and shrugged, his gaze diving to the ground.

  Aoleyn went for the daggerlike pinecone, sucking in her breath as her fingers brushed it. She wasn’t going to cry here, she told herself. If she let this foolish slave see that, she’d have to beat him and make sure he never, ever told anyone!

  Maybe she’d even have to kill him.

  The preposterous thought helped ease the young woman’s tensions, and she moved her hand back for the pinecone, grunting defiantly as she slowly closed her fingers about it.

  Stunningly, Bahdlahn intercepted and blocked her hand. Aoleyn looked at him with pure incredulity.

  He held up his dirty hands submissively, then slowly moved them toward the cone, eyeing her directly all the way as if asking her permission.

  He brought his hand to her foot at the base of the pinecone, and rubbed and manipulated her skin quite soothingly. Then, fast as a white-furred snake, his other hand snapped in and yanked the pinecone free.

  Aoleyn yelped again, but more in surprise than in pain.

  Bahdlahn, meanwhile, kept his tight grip on her foot as he tossed the extracted cone into a basket and produced a small strip of cloth from his pocket. He gently but firmly placed that over the wound, stemming the trickle of blood, then carefully, and caringly, wrapped her foot and tied it off.

  Aoleyn just watched, her jaw hanging open. The boy was quite good at this, she thought, particularly when he manipulated the fingers of his hand to give her foot a soothing rub.

  Aoleyn rested back, closing her eyes and looking up at the sun to take in the warmth of the sunshine and the feel of the gentle wind. She wasn’t really paying attention to Bahdlahn’s movements, and so she was surprised again a moment later when she realized that he was placing her sandal back over her foot.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, too harshly, she realized, and pulled her foot away. “It will take longer to find any cones if I am not—”

  Bahdlahn repeatedly poked himself in the chest. “Uamhas,” he said.

  Aoleyn started in surprise, not sure what to make of that, for it was the first time she had ever heard this one, this Thump creature, speak a word with more than one syllable.

  “What did you say?” she pressed slyly. The boy seemed panicked and he looked down and roughly shook his head. “You can speak?”

  “Uamhas,” he said and looked up, nodding stupidly, and insincerely, it seemed to Aoleyn.

  “Uamhas get. Uamhas do,” Bahdlahn went on. “Uamhas. Thump. Uamhas.”

  Aoleyn stared at him for a long while, trying to sort out his awkward movements and stilted language. Something seemed not quite right here, but she couldn’t quite sort it out.

  “We must fill the three baskets,” she protested, but Bahdlahn nodded happily and wagged his head.

  “Three!” she said more insistently, convinced that the simpleton had no idea of what she meant. She held up three fingers, then pointed to each of the baskets in turn.

  Bahdlahn grabbed up all three and tossed one far to his left, one to the right, then began rushing up the middle, scraping his feet. Occasionally he hopped, as he stumbled across a pinecone, but the speed of his movements showed Aoleyn that he wasn’t much concerned about hurting.

  He swept back toward her just to the side of his trail, then reversed and rushed along again, and by the time he had turned back, Aoleyn could see that his basket was more than half full.

  The young woman rested back, lifted her sore foot to rub it a bit, and let the boy finish scouring the area.

  She removed her sandals when they moved off to another grove, determined to do her part, and walked gingerly while Bahdlahn plowed through the needles with abandon. Soon enough, his basket was full, while hers wasn’t yet near the halfway mark.

  They moved on again, Bahdlahn slinging the full basket on his back and carrying Aoleyn’s basket in his arms, leaving only the still-empty basket for Aoleyn to bear.

  Aoleyn watched his movements and could see that he was straining. Individually, the pinecones weren’t heavy, but a basketfull could be quite a load, and Aoleyn felt bad for defying Seonagh and not bringing along a stronger adult woman. But Bahdlahn didn’t complain.

  The next grove of trees was deceptively far away, she realized when they came around a bluff to find a sheer drop before them. They’d have to go around that hidden ravine, back up the mountainside for quite a distance.

  Aoleyn grabbed the half-filled basket, but Bahdlahn wouldn’t let it go.

  “I’ll carry it to the next grove,” she said, but the boy didn’t budge.

  “Uamhas,” he said, not daring to look up at her.

  “Don’t be such a fool,” she replied. “You’ll be no use to me when you fall down from weariness.” She tugged the basket harder, yanking it from his grasp, and thrust the empty basket into his arms when he reached for his previous bundle.

  She started up the rocky slope determinedly, but was soon enough limping from the soreness in her foot. And Bahdlahn was right there, ready to take back the loaded basket.

  “Uamhas,” he said emphatically, poking himself in the chest. “Usgar,” he added, pointing at her.

  “So you must do all the work?”

  Bahdlahn nodded, but Aoleyn quickly snatched the basket back from him.

  “Woman,” she said, poking herself in the chest when he looked up at her in surprise. “Usgar women work.”

  He grunted, seemingly in disagreement, and shook his head while staring at the ground.

  Aoleyn dropped the basket at his feet, its contents spilling. When the shocked boy went to it, she grabbed him roughly by the chin and forced him to look up at her.

  “It is all right,” she said as comfortingly as she could. “You have been a great help.”

  He seemed confused. He seemed terrified.

  But there was also a measure of gratitude in his sparkling eyes, she thought, so she reinforced her words with a genuine smile.

  “Help me pick these up and then I’ll carry the basket,” she calmly instructed.

  He dropped immediately for the task, but Aoleyn stood straight and looked all around. Her foot was starting to throb.

  “I know a better way,” she said, and she dropped to help Bahdlahn refill the basket, then grabbed it away from him and gave a warning glance that halted his forthcoming protest.

  They locked gazes for a long heartbeat then, and Aoleyn nodded and said, “Come along.”

  With the load redistributed, they made better time, right back past the initial stops, and farther around the mountainside, over a lower peak to a point that looked out on the western sky. Though spring had come to Fireach Speuer, the days were still short, and even shorter on those stretches of the mountain shadowed from the afternoon sun.

  On this bare stone outcrop, though, the sun beamed on the faces of the two, and the mountain stretched wide before them, the long waters of Loch Beag sparkling, down to their right, far in the distance.

  They probably shouldn’t have been out this far from camp, Aoleyn knew, for Seonagh’s warning hadn’t come without merit. The moon would be up soon in all her glory, and the fossa hunted when Iseabal showed her red face.

  They still had time, Aoleyn decided, and despite her sore foot, she picked up her pace and led Bahdlahn down the mountainside, to where the trees were thicker, taller, and more varied.

  Aoleyn yelped as a pinecone bit into her foot more than once, but she just laughed it away and worked as fast as she could to try to keep up with the plowing Bahdlahn. It became a competition, if only a lighthearted one, full of yips and yelps and triumphant raised hands whenever a pinecone was found.

  Soon enough, the baskets were full and sitting in a line on the ground.

  “Pick them up and follow,” Aoleyn instructed Bahdlahn.

  The boy swallowed hard, his fingers rolling nervously. He slung the first over his back as before, setting the rope straps about the front of his shoulders. He tried to pick up the second basket with one hand, to leave
the third for his free hand, but he overbalanced and would have tumbled, but Aoleyn was there, grabbing his arm, propping him, and, with a nod and a smile, taking the basket from him to strap about her own shoulders.

  As she did that, Bahdlahn hoisted the third, but Aoleyn shook her head.

  He looked back at her, confused.

  She took one edge of the basket he held and pulled it to her side, her holding one handle, him with the other, the weight balanced between them.

  The sun was low then, almost touching the far-distant mountains beyond the lake, but Aoleyn had picked her course carefully and knew that the Usgar camp was not far. Still, she realized that they could not delay, so despite the throbbing of her foot, she set a swift pace.

  It occurred to her as they walked side by side that she couldn’t quite place the exact moment when this had ceased being her task alone, or the moment when Thump had actually become Bahdlahn.

  Here they were, sharing the load, as though they were equals.

  It wasn’t until they neared the camp, the central bonfire in sight, that reality descended once more. Bahdlahn stopped suddenly and yanked the basket from Aoleyn’s hand, placing it on the ground before him. He motioned for the one on her back.

  “I can carry—” she started to protest, but the boy stomped his foot and motioned more forcefully, then seemed as if he was about to cry.

  Aoleyn heard a stir in the trees not far away, a footstep.

  She rolled the basket off her back and gave it to Bahdlahn, who plopped it atop the other and lifted them both even as the Usgar sentry bounded into view, crystal-tipped spear ready to throw.

  He looked from Aoleyn to the slave boy.

  “The fossa will eat you,” he growled at Aoleyn, noting the late hour. Then he turned a sidelong glance at the slave boy and seemed about to strike him.

  “It is my fault,” Aoleyn said. “I hurt my foot and it slowed us greatly.”

  The sentry’s glare at the boy turned wary, threatening.

  “I tumbled from some stones,” Aoleyn quickly added. “The boy ran down to help me. We could not go straight back up, because it was too steep, and the trail back wound far afield.”

  The sentry stared at her hard for a bit, then nodded his chin for the camp. “Be quick,” he ordered, and nodded from the camp to the higher black silhouette of the mountain framing it, and on the topmost rim, where the pale sliver of moonlight glistened.