The Actors: A Hwarhath Historical Romance h-8

by Eleanor Arnason

  "Maybe we should have given our kinswomen to the Chaitin," Perig said. "They would have been safer; and there is always something offensive about the idea of women without a family. Such things happen to men. We know it! But women should live inside a double wall of matriarchs and soldiers.

  "These ethical problems are never easy to untangle. In the end we decided to rely on the old rule, which says that men should not make decisions for women.

  That power lies in the hands of their mothers and their female relatives; and they were not available, nor were they kin, since they had become Chaitin, while these two remained Tesati. They asked us to escort them south; and we agreed out of loyalty, which is not the foremost male virtue. That, of course, is

  directness or honesty. But loyalty is one of the five."

  "I told you he talked a lot," said Jehan.

  "Are you really actors?" asked the guard.

  "Why would I lie?" asked Perig.

  "I've never seen a play," the guard said. Ahl heard longing in his voice.

  "Well, then," Perig said. "Let the Taig cook fix our birds. You can feast tonight and see The Death of Eh Manhata."

  "He's dead?" cried the guard. The other pirates made noises indicating surprise.

  "What happened?" asked Jehan.

  "He was betrayed by men he trusted, captured and --" Perig stopped. "The play will show you. Wait till tonight."

  "It's all very well for you to talk about waiting," Leweli said. "But I have a child on board the Taig ship. I need to get back to her."

  "We can't let you go," said Jehan.

  "Why not?" asked the silver-backed guard.

  "For one thing, the Taig might be willing to surrender their ship in order to get these two women back, especially if they have a baby on their hands."

  "You are willing to hold women hostage?" asked Perig in a shocked tone.

  Jehan frowned and raised his sword.

  "Don't kill him," said the guard. "I want to see the play."

  "For another," continued Jehan, "we can't let the women tell the Taig whatever they may have found out about us. What if they've realized how few of us there are? And how difficult it will be for us to take the ship?"

  A look of pain crossed the guard's face. "Very well," he said. "Keep the women here."

  The pirates untied the cook's feet, so he could work, helped by pirates. Soon a new fire was burning, and the cook was eviscerating birds. As for Ahl and her comrades, they settled in the sand close to the Taig prisoners. The guard settled with them, obviously anxious to talk. His name was Jehan, he said, the same as his cousin. Though he was Jehan Silverback, and his cousin was Long Jehan.

  "Long?" said Perig. "He's no taller than you are."

  "That isn't the way he's long," said Jehan Silverback, then looked embarrassed.

  "It's hard for me to remember these two are women."

  "This isn't a situation where it's easy to remember anything having to do with manners," said Perig. "Though I'm glad to know you're a self-respecting man. How did you end in this line of work?"

  He came from an island, said Jehan Silverback. "Where exactly I won't tell you, in case we decide to let you live." It was one of two islands that lay remote from all other land. The guard's family lived on one island. Another lineage -- "our breeding partners" -- lived on the other. Both islands were steep and

  stony, surrounded by rocks and shoals. Not much to look at, according to the guard, though his voice sounded affectionate to Ahl. "But the cliffs are full of nesting birds; and the waters next to shore are so full of shellfish that they are like stones on a beach; and there are plenty of fish."

  The problem was the islands were treeless. The islanders lived in houses made of stone and sod. Their fuel was driftwood and the oil of marine animals.

  Lacking timber, they could not build boats. Without boats, they would not be able to fish or reach their neighbors. "We might not starve, since we could still net birds and gather shellfish. But how could we breed without boats to carry men from one family to the other? We'd die out, unless we were reduced to

  inbreeding." There was horror in the guard's voice as he said this. "We are pirates because we can't buy the ships we need. Nothing we have to sell is of sufficient value."

  "Couldn't you cut timber on an island like this one?" asked Ahl.

  "We gather wood for ordinary uses on this island," the guard said. "And we could make some kind of wretched little dinghy from the timber here. But a good ship requires large trees, metal tools and fittings, fabric for the sails, rope and w

  most of all -- skill."

  "You want the Taig ship," said Perig.

  "Yes. We thought we were in luck when we saw your smoke. Since the island is uninhabited, we knew that meant a ship, most likely one that had put in for water and repairs. The sailors would be tired from fighting the storm which blew them here; they would be preoccupied by work, and they would not expect any

  trouble. Why should they, in a place this remote? Things didn't turn out exactly as we expected. But we have prisoners, eleven of you now. If we can't take the ship by force, maybe we can strike a bargain."

  "It really doesn't seem wrong to you, holding women and a baby hostage?" asked Perig.

  Jehan Silverback scratched his forehead. "It's a difficult situation and not one we expected. No one lives in this part of the ocean except us and our neighbors.

  When ships come here, it's usually to fish or hunt. The crews are male. What family would risk its women on work that is hard and dangerous and unpleasant, and which does not require any of the usual female skills? One does not negotiate with a storm or a fish."

  There were, of course, many families whose women fished. But Ahl was not going to argue with this pirate, who seemed to have strong opinions about women's work. Nor did she wish to bring up the worst danger of this region, the one that

  would almost certainly keep women away: murderous pirates.

  "You have never encountered a women's ship?" asked Perig.

  "To the west of here we have," the guard said. "Not often, since we rarely go far into the narrow ocean. When we realize that a ship is crewed by women, we let it go with an exchange of greetings. We are not monsters! My cousin is right. You talk too much."

  Perig said, "Let me go and help the cook. Then you'll be free of my foolish questions."

  Jehan Silverback gave permission. The rest of them stayed where they were. By this time the sun was down and the sky darkening. Lamps began to glimmer on the two ships. This was a frightening situation, though not as frightening to Ahl as it would be to a modern woman. Having met the humans, we know that it is possible for a species to flourish in spite of behavior that our ncestors would find unthinkable; and we wonder if our own behavior is fixed. Could our men turn into monsters like human men? Could they turn on women and children? Is it possible that violence has no natural limits?

  None of these questions occurred to Ahl, sitting on the darkening beach in another age. Instead she worried about the baby on the Taig ship. Surely it would wake soon, be hungry and cry. She worried about the possibility that her shipmates and the two actors would die, if not tonight, then tomorrow; and she

  worried about the rest of this unlucky trip. Would they ever get to Helwar?

  Would she ever see Ki again? But she did not fear harm to herself or Leweli. Was she fight to be fearless? At this distance in time we cannot say.

  As dark closed around them, the cooking fire burned more brightly. Working in a red glare, the Taig cook roasted birds, while Perig prepared his tsin ears.

  Dismembered, the birds went into an iron pot with water, the ears and herbs.

  "This is something" said Jehan Silverback. "A proper feast and then a play. We never have events like this on our island."

  Soon there was food, halin, and fresh clean water, drawn from one of the island's springs. None drank water, except the prisoners.

  "Eat moderately," Perig whispered as he settled next to Ahl.


  "Why?" she hissed.

  "The ears have to be prepared in just the right way. If not, they are toxic. Not fatal, but I hope --"

  A pirate glanced at them. Perig stopped talking.

  He had poisoned the stew. She whispered a warning to Leweli.

  "This is likely to be a long night," her cousin whispered in answer.

  While the pirates ate, Perig and Cholkwa consulted. Their costumes and props were on the Taig ship, so they borrowed from the pirates and prisoners: a long red ragged cloak, a stained yellow tunic, a staff with impromptu ribbons. They set torches on long poles in the sand and drew lines to mark a stage.

  Then -- the pirates full of food, but still drinking -- they began.

  This was The Death of Eh Manhata, Cholkwa announced. A true story, acted by men whose native home was on the Great Central Plain. "We have not lied. This story is the way things actually happened."

  The first scene was between Perig in the red cape and Cholkwa. Perig was Manhata: arrogant and confident, the greatest man in the world. Cholkwa was a younger relative, worried about his kinsman. He was too trusting, Cholkwa said.

  The men who sought a meeting with him were liars. They would betray him.

  Strutting back and forth, the red cape swirling, Perig said, "Nonsense."

  It really was remarkable. Perig, who had always been mild and reasonable, in no way formidable, now held everyone's attention. It seemed to Ahl that he had grown in size. His stride was forceful. His voice commanded. Even the cloak had changed, becoming -- how could Ahl describe it? -- richer and heavier, fit for a great leader, a warrior without equal.

  In vain Cholkwa argued. Perig would not listen. Off he went to the foredoomed meeting.

  Cholkwa left the circle of torchlight, returning shortly in the stained yellow tunic. Now he was one of the false allies, a wheedling plausible man, who had been -- one sensed -- handsome in his youth and was still in the habit of behaving seductively.

  How did Cholkwa manage this? His own good looks were mostly gone, and he seemed older. The stained tunic helped, making him look seedy, but it was something more. The way he held himself? His voice? He didn't command attention like Perig; and Ahl could still see him inside the character he played, the way one saw people inside festival dolls, when firelight shone through the stick and cloth bodies. Nonetheless, he impressed her.

  Ahl leaned forward, intent. Around her the pirates and prisoners were silent.

  At first Manhata was oblivious. The other man, the ally, praised, made promises, even flirted, though carefully. Manhata ignored the flirtation and accepted the praise, expecting nothing less. Gradually Cholkwa's manner changed. Sharpness

  crept in. He began to mock the old warrior at the same time that he became more openly seductive.

  A disturbing scene. Around her the pirates shifted and muttered. One stood up, stumbled into the bushes and threw up.

  Understandable, though maybe it was the stew.

  It took a long time for Manhata to understand what he was hearing. Finally he turned on the ally, shouting, "How dare you?"

  The ally explained. The trap had closed. Manhata's men, the guard he'd brought with him, were dead by now. Manhata would join them soon. "You have lived too long and become a fool, deserving of a shameful death. I promise you, old man, that is the kind of death you'll get."

  What happened next was impossible to understand. Perig barely moved, yet she could see every idea and feeling in his mind. Disbelief came first, then anger -- a brief hot flash, then fear. How was this possible? Manhata was fearless. As she watched, Perig grew smaller, collapsing in on himself like a festival doll at festival end, when the sticks that hold it up are folded. Now she saw Manhata's age. He was more than eighty at the time of his death. His life had been one of constant violence. Who knew how many injuries he had endured? Surely

  his body must have reached its limit. And he was alone. His sisters, who had guided him through his long career, were dead. What was left for him, except his terrifying reputation?

  Courage was left. She could see that now, as the old man straightened, meeting the gaze of his former ally.

  "Do what you will," Manhata said. The pirates sighed. As they did, Perig stepped out of the torchlight. Cholkwa joined him. A moment later the young man returned wearing his own tunic. Now he was a messenger, bringing news of Eh Manhata's death. He stood quietly, looking out at the audience, and described what

  happened next. It had been a bad death, long and deliberately painful; and Manhata handled it less than well. The Man Who Broke Lineages was himself finally broken. Ahl had heard most of this before. It was no more pleasant a second time. Of all the brutal things done during the Unraveling, this was the worst. Around her the pirates gasped and groaned. "Why?" cried more than one.

  "His former allies wanted us to remember him this way," said Cholkwa. "If he had died in battle or by some ordinary form of execution, his reputation would not have been diminished. But this --"

  "You should have lied," said Jehan Silverback. "You should have given him the death he had earned. How can you cooperate in something so contemptible?"

  Perig stepped back into the torchlight. The red cloak was gone. He was Manhata no longer.

  "Anyone can be broken," he said in his ordinary, quiet, even tone,"No one escapes shame except through luck. This is something that Manhata may have forgotten, for a while at least. But he learned it at the end.

  "That's one thing to remember. The other is, his enemies are fools."

  "Why do you say that?" asked Jehan Silverback.

  "In old age, when he no longer had his sisters to advise him, Manhata acted in ways that must be called foolish. This can't be denied. It's true as well thathis courage failed him at the end.

  "But think of the rest of his life! I'm from the plain, as my cousin told you.

  For more than fifty years, Manhata rose above the rest of us like a thundercloud that would not dissipate. Every time we looked up, there he was -- his head in sunlight and lightning around his shoulders. Can a year or two of folly, a day or two of pain unmake a life like his?"

  "Yes," said Long Jehan.

  "No," said Jehan Silverback.

  "Time will determine," Perig said in his usual reasonable tone.

  That ended the play. The pirates continued drinking. By now they were obviously intoxicated. Several more threw up, lurching past the prisoners into the forest shadows. Long Jehan grabbed Cholkwa's arm, pulling him down on the sand beside him. Perig settled by the other pirate cousin. Ahl couldn't tell if Jehen

  Silverback had ordered him to do so or asked him. Maybe Perig was acting on his own, trying -- like Manhata -to beg a better ending.

  "I think it's time for us to leave," said Leweli quietly.

  "Mother told me men were disgusting after they'd been drinking for a while," Ahl said in agreement.

  Maybe they could say they needed to urinate, Ahl thought. That would get them to the forest. But no ruse was necessary. The pirate closest to them slumped over suddenly, his cup spilling from his hand. The next fellow over had already risen and was stumbling toward the Taig prisoners. Why, Ahl didn't know or want to know. She and Leweli rose together, stepping backward into the black forest shadow. No one called out.

  Instead of entering the forest, they went along its edge, keeping in the shadow.

  Hah! It was dark! But there were stars above them and lamps on the two anchored ships. When the beach ended, they clambered over rocks, going out on the promontory which formed one side of the harbor. Someone by the pirate's fire was screaming. Ahl didn't think it was from pain or fear.

  Finally, when they were a good distance from the beach, Leweli said, "This will do."

  The two women dove into the water and swam toward the Taig ship.

  Remember that Sorg is marsh. No one grows up there without learning to swim. Ahl was excellent and Leweli even better. Side by side, they stroked through the cold still water, making no sound. On shore the pira
tes were shouting at one another. Had they discovered the missing women? Or were they quarreling, as

  drunks will do?

  When they reached the ship, Ahl grabbed the anchor chain. It made a noise. A moment later she saw a shape above her, leaning over the ship's side. Metal gleamed in starlight.

  "It's Ahlin," she said quietly. "With Lewekh. We escaped."

  Ropes came down. They climbed up.

  "I hope you'll be able to do something about that baby," said the Taig captain.

  "You found it," said Ahl.

  "Hard to miss it, once it began to cry."

  "I'll take care of Dapple," said Leweli and went toward their cabin.

  Ahl stayed with the captain, telling him about the situation on shore.

  "The actor tried to poison them," he said, leaning on the railing and looking at the figures that moved around the pirate's fire. "They don't look dead to me."

  "He said it wasn't fatal. They are certainly intoxicated, though that might be due to halin."

  "They don't seem to be looking for you, which suggests an unusual degree of intoxication. Either they haven't noticed that you're gone, or they no longer care." The Taig captain paused, evidently thinking. "I could wait and hope they lose consciousness. But I think it'd be better to move before the other pirates -- the ones on board the pirate ship --notice something is wrong. Do you want to join the attack, or are you a woman like your friend?"

  "I'm a woman," said Ahl.

  "How about the other two?"

  "Perig and Cholkwa? They're men. When I left, it seemed to me they were trying to seduce the two chief pirates."

  "With luck, that will prove distracting. I'll leave some men here, in case the pirates on the ship decide to move." The captain made a noise that indicated irritation. "This would be much easier, if I didn't have to worry about enemies on two sides. Not to mention a ship with damaged rigging. As the proverb says, when luck turns bad, it turns bad."