And now it was late autumn. Summer annuals had been harvested and winter crops sown. Most of the perennials had gone dormant.
Edak awoke from his sleep one night. He had heard a noise. What was that? Like a log rolling...yes, a log hit with something and then…rolling. Hit...or kicked?
The goats!
He leaped up and made for the door, pausing as he opened it. Forcing calmness, he sensed no danger and stepped out. It was nearly morn. The sky was just light enough to notice a small form nearby. No, not in my garden! “Klad, wake up. The goats are out.”
“Goats?” Klad mumbled groggily. “Why now?” He groaned and stretched. “Oh, I am coming.”
“Take a torch,” admonished Ogra from her mat. “Both of you.”
“Yes, Mother,” said Klad, groping for the bundle of sticks left near the door.
Edak quickly uncovered a few hot coals from yesterday’s fire, now bedded under a pile of hearthstones. He blew them to life and soon had the sticks lit. “Quick, before we have lost them all!”
Into the predawn air, through the swamp and down the lane they ran, playing a crazy game of chase with the goats—dashing, calling, veering and waving branches until, at last, the culprits were home again in their little stockade.
Klad closed the gate, fixing a loop of braided vines over the gate and fence posts to keep it closed. He wiped his forehead, laughing, his hair and body dripping with sweat. He so loved any kind of excitement in his life, even disruption of sleep was forgivable if there were a small thrill to it.
At thirteen, he was nearly as tall as Edak, although much sturdier in structure. His voice was sometimes high, sometimes low, but always hearty. “That should keep them until the sun comes up,” he said. “I wanted more sleep, but I am awake now.”
Edak sat on a log, scraping mud off his feet with a stick. “I do not think I can sleep again either. Let us check to see how much of the garden is damaged.”
Much of the crop was trampled and uprooted, yet only the golden marshgrass had been eaten. “Nothing to be concerned about,” he said. “It is harmless in its wild state.”
Strange they only ate the marshgrass and nothing more, he thought, this being an untested, hybridized variety. It must have a good flavor and smell.
They slung their arms over each other’s shoulders and returned home. “I guess it was their last gust of playfulness before winter rain and mud,” he said.
* *
By early spring, the two female goats were pregnant. Klad became aware of the first dam’s labor. “The goats are having their babies, Mother,” he called.
Ogra was working on a large urn in the front of the house, turning and shaping the enormous lump, red-brown clay dripping off her hands. “Keep an eye on them while you work, lest there be any problems,” she called without looking up.
Edak squatted in his garden. Light-green shoots of the perennials poked out of the earth. Time to prepare the soil for annuals, he thought. This year I will raise more of...
“Edak!” Klad sounded excited. “Something is wrong! Come and see.”
Edak got up and hurried to the goat pen where Klad was. Tiny, wet movements struggled in the corner by the brown dam lying on her side. Edak gasped. She had given birth to twins, perfectly formed, seemingly healthy—except the kids were about one-third the size they should be.
“Why are they so little?” asked Klad.
“I do not know,” said Edak. “I have never seen anything like that before.”
Ogra arrived and studied the kids. “I did not notice she was sick during her pregnancy, did you, Klad?”
“No, she was healthy. I checked her every day. All three goats were not sick at all.”
“Well, it is a marvel,” she said. “If they survive, they will be the smallest goats I have ever heard of. Though I do not know what purpose they will serve. How much milk can they give?”
Two days later, the other dam went into labor. The family gathered to watch, and stared in wonder when she too gave birth to a single miniature kid.
“Again,” said Ogra. “Why have both mothers produced such pathetic offspring?”
The tiny kid wobbled to its mother and clumsily attached its mouth to an oversized teat. “It does not seem frail,” said Edak. “Just tiny. Maybe the father is faulty.”
“I think not,” said Ogra. “Last year he sired perfect kids, by the same mothers.”
They could only stare and wonder, for they had no answer.
No more energy was spent pondering the mutant goats. Though they were an oddity to the neighbors, they weren’t different from other goats in any way but size. The novelty wore off and life went back to normal.
In midsummer, Edak went to work near the marsh. A few varieties needed harvesting, others weeding. He stooped to check the dryness of soil near the golden marshgrass and surprised a chipmunk that was feeding on seeds from the grass.
Edak’s eyes bulged watching the startled animal run off. It was the tiniest chipmunk he had ever seen, about the size of a shrew. When it felt it was a safe distance away, it turned and stood scolding Edak. He listened to the chip-chip-chip of the little barks that sounded more like squeaks, and watched the wisp of a tail jerk with each yip.
How very, very odd, he mused. This is the fourth animal I have seen that is abnormally small. What is the cause of this?
The sun was low in the sky when Edak joined Ogra and Klad for spiced fish and beans at the hearth. He told them of the chipmunk, then dipped flatbread in the pot.
“What is happening here,” asked Ogra, “that animals are born so small? Why not with our neighbors, or people on the other side of the village? This is not a normal thing to happen.”
“What about your plants, Edak?” asked Klad. “Remember last fall when the goats got out? They ate your plants, did they not?”
Edak looked up. “Yes, they did. Golden marshgrass.” He chewed and thought. “Golden marshgrass. The chipmunk seemed to like it, too.”
He bit off a small piece of bread and looked at Ogra and Klad. They were staring at Edak.
“The grass is no good,” said Ogra.
“I will uproot and burn it first thing in the morning. How many animals have suffered through my thoughtlessness? I must not hurt any more.”
He didn’t sleep well that night with the guilt and shame pounding at him. He had seen the struggle of the kids trying to reach their mother’s nipples. Often Klad or Edak came to the rescue, picking them up to the milk bags. How did the chipmunk survive? How many other animals ate the grass? Are there wild babies out there now, starving because of Edak’s carelessness? He should have known better than to leave untested herbs out where any animal could eat it.
A roar from the forest, then a howl, interrupted his thoughts. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Now fully awake, he sat up. The great beasts—yes! He would not destroy the grass. Perhaps he would cover it with a gauze and strong fencing to protect the little animals from eating it. Yes, he might use it after all.
Early the next day, he went out with a knife and cut the golden marshgrass in half, being very careful to catch the seeds. The chipmunks only wanted the seeds to eat, and the grass would not be killed. He separated enough grain to plant twice as much in the spring, then bundled the cuttings well. This he placed at the back wall in the house. Then he walked down to the library near the temple in the heart of the village.
The hall of archives was a larger stone building, about the size of four or five private houses. Along the walls were shelves from floor to ceiling stacked and crammed with hundreds of scrolls of numerous topics. Edak had recently contributed one himself, a treatise on healing herbs.
Stepping into the cool dark building, his eyes came to rest on the scribe, Myreem, sitting in the light from the only window in the room. She was unrolling a scroll to be copied for other libraries. The braids and shells in her hair enhanced the soft lines of
her face, her large dark eyes and deep dimples in each cheek. She wore a gold bracelet and necklace which caused her skin to nearly glow.
Edak wanted to stare, as he always wanted to on his visits here, for her beauty entranced him, but she looked up and said, “Good morning, Edak,” and he didn’t wish to appear rude.
He looked at her scroll. “Good morning, Myreem” he said nonchalantly. “I see you are busy. I will look around so as not to bother you.”
Myreem stood. “How foolish. It is my job to help you, and I enjoy it.” She was tall, statuesque, and her tunic moved fluidly as she walked toward him. Edak nearly forgot why he had come.
“What is it you wish?” she asked softly.
Edak cleared his throat. “Do you have any writings on the gestation period of the great beasts?”
Myreem seemed surprised. “No, I have never heard of such a thing.” She smiled good-naturedly. “I do not suppose anyone has stayed around too long to observe them, do you?”
“It does sound silly, I know. But I think it might be of importance. Well,” he said, sorry that he had no reason to stay, “thank you for your help. Good day.”
Myreem’s eyes lingered on his, as if she wanted to express something, but at last she simply said, “Good day.”
With nowhere else to go for advice, Edak went home, deciding he would take on the task alone. He made two torches, thick, hollow bamboo tubes which he filled with dried moss. It was important to have lots of smoke to frighten animals away.
He would take all the golden marshgrass that he had cut.
Early the next day, he filled two large sheets of linen with the grass, which he bundled and hoisted onto each shoulder, along with the unlit torches. He turned to leave and nearly bumped into Ogra standing in the doorway.
She eyed the torches. “Where I are you going? To the woods?” A glint of fear flashed in her expression. ¨
Edak read her face. “No, Mother,” he lied. “I am going near the forest to look for more herbs to grow. Do not worry. These torches will provide plenty of smoke.”
“What are in those bundles?” The burden was heavy on his shoulders but he worked to make it seem an easy load. “Golden marshgrass. I want to burn it. The fire and smoke will protect me while I work and we will be rid of the cursed stuff.”
Ogra looked leery. “Please, son. Stay safe.”
“Of course. Always. Do not worry about me.”
She watched him walk out the door, then forced herself back to her work.
Edak didn’t like lying to his mother. Yet he was determined to test his theory and he didn’t want to worry her.
“Edak.” Klad’s whisper emitted from the bean patch behind the house. “Where are you going?” He was getting bored from weeding and Edak looked like he might be heading for adventure.
“I am going to burn grass and gather herbs. Do you want to join me?” He had hoped Klad would be available.
“I surely would!” He ran to the house, leaned his hoe against the wall and yelled, “Mother! I am going to help Edak!”
He took a bundle and a torch from Edak and followed toward the forest. “Why are you going so far to burn the grass?”
Edak didn’t say anything until he was sure they were out of earshot of the house. “I am not going to burn it and I am not going to gather herbs. I do not want to worry Mother. I am going to go into the woods. That is why I need your help, to hold a torch and watch for animals.”
Klad’s eyes widened. “I will gladly help. Why are you doing this?”
“I need to find the lair of a giant plant-eater and leave this for it to eat.”
Klad stared at Edak a few moments, then burst out laughing. “I know what you are doing! It is ingenious!” He glanced back at the house. They were far enough away. Turning back to Edak, he said, “Do you think it will work?”
“Who knows? From what I can figure, the parent—or maybe both parents—need to eat this very early in the pregnancy. One feeding should be enough; well, only one was enough for our goats. We will just have to experiment and find out.”
At the edge of the woods, they took the torches and lit them with a flint Edak had. There was more smoke than fire, exactly what Edak wanted. They stepped into the forest.
Neither brother had been there before. It was dark and cool, moist and overgrown, dense with trees wider than a house. They paused and waited for a sense of danger, then cautiously proceeded.
Tracks of a large cat lay embedded in mud near them, but they knew it wouldn’t eat grass. Birds chirped and rasped, cawed and shrieked as they passed; monkeys chattered and howled.
The heat from the sun wasn’t harsh in the woods, but mosquitoes were everywhere. Edak and Klad slapped them until they were nearly mad. “Agh!” cried Klad. “How long will this mission take? We will have no blood left!”
It was a strange shady world of trees, fallen logs, giant ferns and dense shadows that could hide hungry beasts. They shoved the biting insects out of their thoughts and kept walking deeper into the forest. Torches held high, they nervously scanned everywhere at once for animals and for a lair.
Something felt very, very wrong. Was it imagination or was it the feeling?
A low growl vibrated their eardrums. They stopped short.
Edak fought the urge to turn and run home, wondering if he could devise another way to test the grass. But Klad stepped toward the sound, his torch held before him. Edak gaped, astonished, and thought of Ogra. “Klad, no!”
Two more steps forward and Klad thrust the flaming club into the shadows—once, twice, three times. “Hah! Hah! Hyah! Now go! Go!”
Sticks snapped and cracked. A large yellow form thundered away through the thick brush.
Edak stood frozen, terrified. Klad jumped with delight. “It was a cat, Edak! We scared off a giant cat!”
All color had drained from Edak’s face. He felt cold. He stared at his brother. So brave!
Klad saw Edak’s expression and his smile faded. “Are you okay, brother? It is gone now. We are safe.”
Edak exhaled loudly and adjusted the pack on his left shoulder. “Well, let us continue then.” He tried to be calm but his torch shook.
Klad’s stocky chest puffed. He didn’t have his brother’s high intelligence; he always had known that. But he was physically strong and brave. Here in the jungle, Klad clearly had the advantage. It wasn’t a feeling of superiority. This was just the way it was. Of their different strengths, Edak’s was of little use here. He slapped Edak on the back and grinned robustly.
Edak took a long breath before continuing. He felt deeply uneasy with danger lurking behind every tree and fern. He must relax and concentrate. He wouldn’t feel the warnings in his forehead if he were tense. But the fear lingered.
Crashing and rustling of brush sounded close by. Then grunts and squeals pierced the air. Edak and Klad stopped and listened hard.
“Boars!” whispered Klad. “I saw one once in a cage on the wharf. It sounded just like that.”
Edak grasped the torch tighter, his hand nearly numb. Sweat trickled down his forehead and from his armpits. He was nearly compelled to turn and run. His heart pounded in his ears. He had to remember why they were here. “Boars would eat this grass, I think,” he said, his voice weak and hoarse. “It smells good and is tasty.”
“I hope they fear fire,” said Klad, stepping ahead of Edak. “We do not have a chance if they do not fear it. They are very fierce, terribly mean.”
Such an encounter raced through Edak’s head. With all four feet on the ground, one would stand head to head with Edak. Woolly, thick skin, long tusks sharper than knives, and blind ferocity did not make these animals a pleasant opponent.
He followed Klad toward the porcine noises, his knees weak. Why was he here? He should be home where it’s safe. Still, if there were any way of ridding Mu of these animals...
Determined, he forced himself forward, heart pounding wildly, shaking
torch held high. They neared the animals, and the grunts and squeals changed to snorts and sniffs.
Klad stopped. “Let’s set out the grass here. They’re surrounding us now and I’d rather have both arms free to wield the torch.”
Surrounded! Edak’s knees nearly gave out.
They opened their packs and set the grass out, then turned to backtrack home.
“Keep your eyes and ears working,” said Klad. “We want no blood shed, theirs or ours.”
Cautiously inching back over familiar terrain, every movement of the wind on leaves seemed an attack. The boars circled them, their noises everywhere at once.
The two stopped short.
To their right, screaming and snorting, a huge brown hulk charged from the underbrush. Instinctively, Edak waved the torch back and forth. “Get away!” he yelled.
The boar veered and thundered into the bush, swallowed up by enveloping foliage.
Edak’s mouth was dry. That thing was huge! Certainly it could have crushed them both. He tried to calm himself. They were so far from home.
“Let’s keep going,” said Klad. “We will make it.” He pushed aside a large fern in front of him and jumped back. Evil eyes as big as a man’s fist stared back, then turned to charge.
“Hyah! Hah!” Klad jabbed the torch at it, singeing its snout slightly. It squealed shrilly, then crashed back into the woods.
Even Klad was shaken now. “Let us keep moving. Our torches will not stay lit forever.”
Klad held his flame straight in front of him and they struggled through the thick brush. Edak waved his around, first in one hand, then in the other. Smoke alone should keep the brutes at a distance.
At last the noises faded and sounded farther behind them. “They might have found the grass,” said Edak. “They are leaving us.”
“Maybe so, but be cautious,” admonished Klad.
It seemed a day and a night to leave the forest, yet it was only midday. They would be home in time to eat. With slaps on the backs, they chuckled nervously. “We did it,” Klad proclaimed.
Time Odyssey: The Soul's Memory; Part I, Dreamtime Page 11
