by Joe Zeigler
“Disable only!” Danijel shouted. His men understood they had won and were to stop inflicting fatal blows. The People did not kill unnecessarily. In the end, the surviving Raiders were pushed into the center of a small clearing near the trail and forced to sit.
“You are free to tend your wounds, leave your weapons, and go,” Danijel said. “I suggest that you stay here or go north until you are sure we are gone. If we see you on the trail again this year, it will not go as well for you. I know you will want to rejoin your people. I suggest that you not be in too much of a hurry to do so, and when you do, tell them what happened.”
“I’ll kill you the next time we meet,” said a large man seated on the ground ten feet away. “You will not ambush me next time. I will kill you, your family, your friends, and everyone who ever knew you. You will be forgotten.” He seemed prepared to go on and on when Danijel stepped toward him, raised his club, and brought it down, smashing in the top of the man’s head. It seemed prudent.
Danijel raised his arm and made a circular motion, and his people re-formed on the trail in line, once again moving down the path at a rapid pace.
Surrounded
Another contingent of Raiders had surrounded the village to keep the People from fleeing. They had not yet entered it, following the Prophet’s orders to refrain until the others returned. As twilight approached, they proceeded to set up their shelters and camp in place. They expected no activity until late the next day, at the earliest, not realizing that Danijel and his men had accomplished a three-day journey in one decimating the Raider’s contingent in the process.
At the top of the trail that headed down the cliff, Danijel gave his men their instructions. “Move quietly down and then send a line of men completely around the camp outside the line of Raiders. Leave an opening in our line, to the river. I want to panic them and drive them through this opening to the river. If we scare them badly enough, they will board their rafts and head downriver. The rapids will ensure that it will be a long time before they bother us again.”
Danijel’s men loped down the trail, none of them bothering with the handholds in the narrow sections. They all knew how important it was to push the Raiders to the river before full dark.
Danijel stood at the bottom of the cliff, directing his men into position. The tables were turned. This time, it was the Raiders who were outnumbered and if all went well, about to be routed again.
“Micaela,” he called as she stepped out on the level, “creep into our camp and quietly tell the People to lie flat, to make themselves small in depressions or on the river side of logs or stones. We’re going to drive the Raiders’ pickets right through the camp and into the river. If we do this right, the enemy will be so busy running they will not notice people lying on the ground.”
“Yes, Danijel,” Micaela replied before moving immediately toward the camp.
After covering less than fifty yards, she saw one of the Raiders busy setting up his shelter. Hiding her face in her hood, she clawed at her covering as if arranging them after a nature call and walked past him.
“Hey, you,” he called without much enthusiasm, “you are not to be outside the camp area.”
“Um, ah, ah, na…” Micaela grunted without pausing. He didn’t seem very concerned about someone trying to break in, rather more attuned to anyone attempting to leave.
As Danijel’s men moved quietly to encircle those surrounding the camp, Micaela rushed through the campsite, explaining what was going to happen and what they were to do. She soon heard the shrill, warbling whistle of a male grebe, and she answered in kind. A roar seemed to shake the trees, and others soon joined it, until Micaela—and, more importantly, the Raiders—felt engulfed by the threatening sounds.
The uproar stopped suddenly, only to be replaced by the crashing sounds of Danijel’s men charging and the Raiders fleeing. Those who went the wrong way were quickly knocked senseless, though most responded as planned, rushing away from the scary noises. As Micaela had instructed, the People fell to the ground, taking as much cover as possible as the Raiders rushed through and over them toward the river. One of the Raiders tripped over Micaela, who, still warning people when the attack began, lay in the open. The man turned and looked directly into her eyes before jumping up and continuing. The plan was perfect—the only injuries were some bruises collected by being stepped on.
The Raiders who had been knocked unconscious were taken prisoner, slapped awake, and herded after their fellows.
Danijel’s worry that they might regroup at the river and counterattack was needless. The Raiders were pushing their rafts off the riverbank and clambering onboard as quickly as possible, driven by a panic that had built to a climax over the last month of increasingly severe defeats. The People rose and moved quietly forward to witness the rout.
The River Rout
As desperate as they were to escape, the Raiders boarded in surprisingly good order, taking their places and poling off as practiced rowers confidently moved to their positions on the corners.
The river widened just south of the camp, where the stream and the river came together, and the higher velocity of the water exiting the falls created a whirlpool. Danijel watched from the high ground of the camp as the first rafts entered, and he realized he had underestimated these people. In the dust of remaining daylight, he could see that the occupants of the rafts had regained their calm, and the rowers had taken control of the course. They were steering the rafts directly downstream, not letting the circular motion of the river deter them. Immediately downstream, the river compressed to a quarter of its width, squeezed by the vertical canyon walls on each side, and its velocity increased beyond what anyone could survive, or so Danijel thought. The first raft entered the maelstrom and disappeared into the misty spray thrown up by the river’s collisions with the walls, the rocks, and itself. Danijel watched as, one by one, the rafts accelerated and disappeared.
***
Wild waves attacked the first vessel and broke over it, soaking all who were onboard. The raft climbed a static wave, paused for a moment, and then fell from the top, into the face of the next wave, which submerged the entire craft. Regardless, the Raiders held on, and the rowers laid power on the water as the raft surfaced. The right side of the raft slid up on a barely submerged rock, lifting it into the air and threatening to throw everyone into the turbulent water. But they held on, and the rowers on the left put rearward pressure on the water to prevent the craft from spinning as the rowers on the right pushed.
A large rock leaped out of the mist right in front of them, in the very center of the channel, with the river too narrow on both sides for the raft to go around, even if they had had that much control.
The captain of the raft shouted, “Hip,” and the people in the front instantly crowded to the stern.
In the turmoil, some lost their balance and fell but were kept aboard by those on the periphery of the raft. The weight shift lightened the bow enough for the raft to ride up on the rock. With the front of the raft pinned, the swift current from behind started to turn it sideways to the current, which would have been the end.
The rowers fought hard as the captain yelled, “Hop,” and the passengers rushed forward. With the added weight, the bow dropped, the stern lifted, and the raft slid over the rock—a smoothly executed maneuver that demonstrated these people were familiar with river transport.
The canyon widened one hundred yards farther down, and the river calmed itself. Just in time, Caddarak thought, as it was now full dark. “If darkness had fallen before we were clear of the rapids, the river would have had us,” he commented to no one in particular. In the calm waters, the rowers aimed the rafts toward the beach.
The Raiders were really not calm. Their third humiliating defeat in a row had enraged them.
After they landed and beached the rafts, they started to set up camp with the little equipment and belongings they had been able to grab during yet another rout.
Missing Flint
Ohad searched throughout the Raiders’ camp, looking for his stolen goods. He recognized the bundle, ran to it, and started to unwrap it. Much of the inventory included the fur wrappings themselves, but it also consisted of beads, medicinal herbs, the valuable combs, and spices. Everything was there except the flint weapons. Ohad moaned as he mentally counted his loss.
As he rocked back and forth, moaning, Danijel came over. “What is wrong, Ohad? Did we not recover your goods?”
“Yes, yeah, yeah,” Ohad answered, “I was just sighing in deep relief. Thank you, Danijel, for once again leading us to victory and recovering my goods.” He didn’t mention that the flint was missing. If Danijel knew of the flint, it would have enormous consequences. Likely, Ohad would no longer be allowed to maintain possession of such weapons. Perhaps he might still trade for them in some fashion, but if Danijel knew the extent of the loss, which more than made up for the weapons the Raiders had lost, things would change. So he lied by omission.
Glooscap approached, providing Ohad a welcome distraction. “Danijel,” he said, “a word.” Danijel walked with him toward the river.
“Danijel, they found Eijá. The news is not good.” Danijel just stared at Glooscap and waited for him to continue.
“She was, as we assumed, captured by a group of Raiders. From their tracks, Gwuune thinks there were four. She had been badly used and left tied to a tree all night, without covering. When they found her, she was alive but barely conscious, her core temperature dangerously low, and an animal had already started to devour her left leg. Gwuune sent the young warrior who was with him ahead to tell us, and he stayed with Eijá and sent her to the ship.”
Danijel nodded. “That was merciful,” he whispered, frowning as he turned and walked up toward the camp. This is getting out of hand, he thought. We cannot continue to interfere like this without consequences.
He was surprised they had taken Eijá up to the support ship in geostationary orbit 35,786 meters above the planet. As far as he knew no native had ever been aboard. And, that’s what they had told him when he asked they help Liùsaidh. Eijá’s situation must be dire. It’s unfortunate that they let it happen at all. That is truly god-like.
The ship was tasked with support, not interference and provided those below with as little information as possible while they played their roles. The Jah on the surface emersed themselves in their guise, as well as they could and like good actors sometimes believed themselves to be the characters they were portraying.
The Raiders Revolt
The elders gathered around the Prophet and looked to him for guidance. The situation was bad; they had lost most of their worldly goods, all their food, and worse, their confidence.
“I’m told that Micaela was in the camp,” the Prophet said. “Yes, the same girl whom I ordered killed for her betrayal! The same girl that Wenerdu assured me was dead! You”—he gestured angrily to a young man standing nearby—“bring Wenerdu here immediately!”
Face-to-face with the Prophet and subjected to his rant, Wenerdu was not cowed. “Have you lost your mind?” Wenerdu asked rhetorically. “We are washed up on a barren shore, all of our possessions gone after you led us to defeat, again and again. Spirits are low. People are confused and looking to you for leadership. So what do you do? You obsess over a young girl you lusted after, who you feel betrayed you, Sun, and God by being pregnant!”
The elders crept closer, and the young warrior stalked threateningly toward Wenerdu. Her words shocked them all—a woman challenging the Prophet, the representative of God on Earth. A woman! Stunned, they fell silent.
Seeing the effect of her words, Wenerdu escalated. “You fool! She was pregnant because that was God’s will, not hers. You are no longer the Prophet! This is blasphemy, and you are mad. God has forsaken you, and the Devil has taken control. You are the reason for our calamities!” She turned her back on the Prophet and faced the elders. A good number of people, having heard the shouting, had gathered around them and were listening intently.
“We must cast him out,” Wenerdu proclaimed, “or God will continue to forsake us.” Murmurs of agreement and encouragement met her words.
The Prophet, confused and no longer angry about Micaela’s continued existence, was shaken. He stood with arms spread, palms forward in an attempt to strike a holy pose. But it was not working. The crowd was stirring, and it wasn’t pleasant. The concept was spreading rapidly. “God has not forsaken us; God has forsaken him.” It was a reassuring idea, consoling, and easily accepted.
Wenerdu was happy she had successfully moved the subject from Micaela, but now she was worried that she had overdone it. As people started to press in, her concern grew.
“Wait,” Caddarak commanded, just loud enough to be heard by all. “This is a serious issue and a serious charge against a man who was our Prophet. We must take time and pray on it. So disperse, pray for guidance, and get some sleep.” The use of the past tense was not lost on the Prophet. Caddarak smiled and added, “We’ve had enough excitement for one day.” Caddarak’s use of the past tense was not lost on the Prophet.
Calmed by habitual deference to authority, Caddarak’s air of authority, and the wisdom of his words, the crowd melted away. The Prophet glared at Wenerdu as he realized the extent of this turn of events she had orchestrated. He advanced menacingly toward her, and Wenerdu braced herself, refusing to back away.
Before they came together, Caddarak intercepted them. He grabbed the Prophet’s elbow so hard that pain shot the length of his arm. “Forget Wenerdu. You have done this to yourself, and I have just saved your life.”
The Prophet turned to him, dismayed, and said uncertainly, “This will pass, Caddarak…This will pass. Wenerdu is behind it all. She has conspired against me. I doubt that girl, Micaela, was even pregnant. I could have had her. I had a vision that she was mine, given to me and bound to me for all time by God. Tomorrow we will regroup, climb to the trail above, and lay an ambush for Danijel’s people. We will utterly defeat them; God’s hand of retaliation will grip the neck of my enemies. Danijel’s people will face divine vengeance. We will regain our property, seize their goods, increase our wealth, and restore my good name. And I will have the girl. God commands it!”
He truly is delusional, Caddarak thought. But that’s the game we play. He surprised himself with his blasphemy. “Right…sleep now. Your wives have prepared your bed. You will need your rest for what you will face tomorrow.”
Seeing his path clearly, the Prophet calmed himself by taking the youngest of his wives while imagining she was Micaela. And tomorrow, I will capture the real Micaela.
In the morning, just before dawn, the Prophet was awakened when one of his wives told him that the elders were outside and wanted to see him. Struggling awake, he donned his garment, then wrapped himself in the cloak of the Prophet and threw back the skin covering the opening of his shelter. This will be a good day, he told himself. Danijel would never think that he would counterattack so quickly. It would be a complete surprise.
The elders were assembled, with Caddarak in front and some young warriors at their side.
“The elders have met,” Caddarak said in a formal tone, “and have determined that you have been possessed by the Devil, who has driven God out of your body. Your loss of Grace has been responsible for our recent misfortune, and it will most certainly continue if we do not depose you. Consequently, you are banished. You will leave at once. All of your goods and all of your wives are forfeit.”
The blood drained from the Prophet’s face. “You cannot do this,” he cried. “I am God’s man…his representative here. He has not called me to step down. I had a vision last night. God came to me and assured me that our attack today would be successful and that I would have Micaela.”
Caddarak motioned to the young men, and they moved forward to restrain the Prophet and to remove his robe and garments.
“You are making a mistake,” he explained. “God is with me. He brought the girl Micae
la to me last night for my enjoyment. She was not pregnant and was very enthusiastic.”
“No, Prophet,” his battered youngest wife said, emerging from the shelter in disarray, “that was not Micaela—that was me.”
With Caddarak leading the way, they led him naked through the camp to the river as the people stood silently and watched the procession. There they put him in a small boat hewn from a log and pushed it out into the current as he protested loudly.
“At least give me a paddle.” His remonstrations could be heard clearly until the boat disappeared around the next bend in the river and into the rapids below.
Wenerdu came out of the crowd and knelt at Caddarak’s feet. The first of the former Prophet’s wives to acknowledge and bind herself to the new Prophet. Within moments, the other four “official” wives were kneeling at the Prophet’s feet. One of the wives had a noose around her neck, the end held by one of his new wives. A new one, not yet broken, he thought.
With the addition of these five, Caddarak suddenly had eight wives.
Some will have to go, he thought, but not until I have sampled the new ones. This Wenerdu looks especially pleasuring.
He looked forward to instructing her in his desires. Perhaps he would bring his current favorite to the bed with them so she might help to educate Wenerdu more quickly. He felt the hot blood flowing to his genitals as he stared at her on her knees before him. He envisioned how she would look tonight, leaning forward on her elbows, her naked ass raised in the air, while his favorite wife held her head down on the ground until it was time to switch. Standing in the middle of all these people, he glanced around to see if anyone had noticed his erection. He met Wenerdu’s eyes, which locked on his, her lips forming a small, knowing smile.
