Dael and his friends were not good hunters. Accustomed to pushing ahead without taking thought, they had little mastery of the delicate art of stalking game. At first they loudly crashed their way through the trees, but as they approached their quarry they made an effort to move very carefully and quietly. They were soon within striking distance of the deer, with Pax and Zan closer behind than they realized. Dael had fashioned and learned to use the new spear-throwing device, and was an excellent marksman; but low-hanging branches stood in the way of the spear’s path, and he had to maneuver around to get a clear throw. Oin and Orah were following him, evidently content to let their leader have the first strike.
They still had no idea that Pax and Zan were nearby, and all three hunters readied their flint-tipped weapons. When a sharply snapping sound alerted the doe, however, Dael thought Orah had carelessly stepped on a dry twig. The deer raised its head suddenly, ears outspread and senses alert, charged into the thicket, and was gone. Dael kicked Orah in the buttocks with his bare foot, and the three turned to go back. Orah did not even ask why he had been kicked, taking it for an expression of Dael’s bad temper. Zan and Pax hid themselves, and the three spear bearers walked right past without seeing them.
“Why did you make that noise, Pax?” Zan inquired after the hunters had gone some distance. “You knew that snapping a stick would frighten the doe away.”
“We do not need meat right now,” she said almost angrily. Zan looked at her with surprise and she added: “I see that doe every morning when we wake up, and I like looking at her.” And she marched ahead without waiting for an answer. From behind Zan regarded her with amazement and admiration. “What a strange and wonderful woman I have married,” he thought to himself. He should have said as much to her, but it was his nature—and his failing—to be silent.
Meanwhile, Dael and his companions were diverted by a surprising sight. It was beginning to get dark, and the fires of the Ba-Coro were plainly visible across the lake. But on their own side, only a little distance inland, a single campfire blazed. Whose was it? Could it be the red men? Dael slowly ventured in its direction, Oin and Orah right behind him. Zan and Pax took this as an opportunity to slip past them and return to their camp. Only the next morning did the other three get back—and there was blood on Dael’s spear.
13
THE
FIRE-MOUNTAIN
Dael had not discovered a camp of the red men as he supposed at first. When he saw the beds of the men of Noi arranged around their campfire, he could not restrain himself. He knew them by their dress and ornaments, and the sight was maddening. He thought he recognized two as his former tormentors, and without waiting for his companions he rushed at them and slew them before they could get up, one with his spear and the other with a large rock that was at hand. There were two more who, alarmed by the sudden assault and unsure of the number of their attackers, fled into the forest and were seen no more.
On returning, Dael did not mention the bloody encounter to anyone, but his companions did, enthusiastically enlarging on Dael’s courage and ferocity. The entire camp was soon talking of a likely battle. Older warriors like Morda and Chul seemed worried and spoke of the need for defenses and sentinels. The women began looking about them for possible danger, and although the children still ran and played, their mothers kept them closer than usual.
For many days nothing happened, and people began to forget about the danger, but after a month or more had passed, a large group of fires was seen reflecting on the far side of the lake. Whole families of the Noi were visible across the water, indicating that war had not been their purpose in coming. It appeared, rather, that the Noi also had decided they would prefer to live in this fruitful region instead of the desert, and had made a migration similar to that of the Ba-Coro.
Each group was aware of the other and, because blood had unluckily been spilled, both feared a possible war. But war did not come. The new arrivals were busy building, and each group seemed content to let the other strike first—except for Dael, who was grimly pleased to have the Noi within his reach and would gladly have attacked the new settlers single-handed. His friends restrained him, however, and he decided to wait for the right moment.
It was not a good time for Dael. The sight of Noi warriors brought back a flood of painful memories, and the world almost turned black before his eyes. His darkest thoughts revived and every inward wound was made fresh. During the day he was listless and dreamy, but as night approached he seemed to come to life like a nocturnal animal, his face agitated by his intense ruminations. When he finally slept he seemed even more distressed, troubled as he was by vivid and ghastly dreams. His groaning disturbed his fellows, and Zan, who had been watching Dael’s deterioration with dismay, pondered what he could do to calm him. He suspected that Dael wanted to die, and a man with this desire is dangerous to everybody, not just himself.
One night Zan tried to talk to his brother, although they were not on good terms and rarely communicated. Dael surprised him by listening, but would say nothing himself. He only clenched his teeth and stared furiously into the empty air. Zan spoke of anything he could think of, hoping to get his brother to open up to him. He touched on subjects of hunting, of their happy childhood, even of Dael’s enemies and the threatening war—all in vain.
After these failed attempts, Zan took a perilous step. He gently broached the subject of Dael’s dead wife, Lissa-Na. Dael started at the sound of her name. His expression was of one who might well burst into flame, so intense and contradictory were his passions. How could Zan know that it was often of her that Dael dreamed; that even as he was savoring in sleep the sweetness of her love and those tender explorations that lips and fingers make, he would be attacked and torn by his enemies with their furious and horrifying faces—the Noi, who were her people and her blood? He dreamed of his lost baby covered with blood, and was visited by troops of fragmented, frightening memories that were half real and half ghost.
Dael could scarcely bear to hear Lissa’s name spoken. He cut Zan off sharply, crying to him to be silent and never, never to speak of her. But after a short period he began to talk softly about her himself; and as he did he roughly jostled his two pets who, seeming to understand, pressed closer to their master and listened to his voice.
“In my worst moments then, when I was their captive, she came to me in the dark of night, bringing me food and whispering a few words to comfort my misery. You know, Zan, she had a low and gentle voice. One could have loved her for her voice alone, but that was the least of her virtues. Her beauty was hardly of this world. Do you remember how much everybody admired her and tried to imitate her? She was like a goddess! And she was unaffected by all the eyes that followed her, as though she were completely unaware—or else thought all that admiration was her due and not to be noticed.” Zan quietly agreed although deeply moved by his memories. He had loved her before Dael, and wanted her when Dael had been too sick to want anybody.
“Her wisdom,” Dael continued, staring straight ahead, “was as great and noble as her beauty. She knew the secrets of the earth to heal the ill and wounded. And she could see into your heart, Zan, detecting thoughts and feelings you hardly knew you had—isn’t that so Zan?”
Zan was stirred, and a tear might have been seen forming in his eye if it had not been so dark. “Yes, Dael,” he said because he had to say something. He remembered her as if she were standing in front of them. “She nursed me to health after I had almost died in the desert. Suddenly I found myself a patient in her quiet cave. She was bending over me with her gorgeous hair falling on my face and shoulders. It would be difficult not to… admire her, to…love…her.”
It was Dael’s turn to listen, but in his illness he was subject to violent changes of mood, and now he altered abruptly for the worse: “Yes, you pig, you wanted her. I knew it then. Did you think I couldn’t see your lovesick eyes searching her out—oh yes, even after we were joined in marriage? Even after you were coupled with your ow
n man-bride? Do you think that I am blind, or was ever ignorant of your womanish infatuation?” The fire illuminated one side of Dael’s face, lending it a frightening aspect while the other side was black as night.
Zan could deny nothing of what Dael said, and stated in honest terms that he had loved Lissa-Na as much as honor allowed. He did not admit that he had burned with love for her, but Dael knew he had.
“And yet you let me take her from you—you the great lion killer Zan-Gaaah!”
“I don’t know why Lissa chose you over me,” Zan said. Her vision floated before him. “I used to think that you were almost worthy of her, but I begin to change my mind.”
“I told you before and I tell you again: Do not ever dare to speak her name to me, or who knows what I might do? Leave me. Leave me and don’t trouble me any more.”
There could be no profit in continuing the conversation once it had taken this unpleasant direction. Zan rose, turned sharply, and left. He did not realize that Pax, who happened to be busy nearby, had overheard most of what was said—had heard her husband praise Lissa-Na and confess that he loved her. That was bad luck, and there was more to come; but what Zan said was no more than what she already knew.
The next morning Zan approached Dael as if nothing had happened the night before. He had been looking for a chore that would distract his brother from his grief, and carry him away from the Noi before something dreadful happened. Rydl had suggested a project for which a good deal of help would be required.
“We need tar, Dael,” Zan announced. “It is a better sealer than mud, and will help keep the cold out of our shelters this winter. Rydl thinks he knows where it can be found—in the direction of the midday sun behind some of these hills.” Dael looked over his shoulder toward the sun and squinted. With one foot he stirred the wolves sleeping nestled against him, rose, called to Oin, Orah, and some other friends, grabbed his weapons, and strode off with Zan and Rydl.
That same day Pax was looking for the polished green stone Lissa-Na had given her during the time they were still friends. Why she was searching so eagerly for Lissa’s gift the morning after she overheard Zan’s confession she probably could not have said. She was unable to find it, but she did uncover something that confirmed all of her jealous fears. It was a thick strand of Lissa’s hair, which had been woven into a compact braid. Pax recognized it instantly by its color, and knew it was Zan’s private possession. Zan kept it still…because he loved her still! What other explanation was there?
Angry tears formed in her eyes in spite of her attempts to control them. Pax laid the memento on Zan’s bedding where he could not miss it, took up her spear and a few possessions, brushed the water from her cheeks, and walked into the woods in the direction opposite to her husband’s. She was resolved that she would not be there when he came back.
Zan’s party had headed south, where the land was much different from the leafy area in which they lived. After a few miles, the ground began to soften and the muddy earth started to bubble, giving off an offensive, sulfurous odor. It was a scary, mysterious place. The trees were hung with long strands of moss, nurtured by pools of steaming water of an unnatural blue-green iridescence. Orah foolishly put his toe in one and burned himself, and Dael, who never laughed but to mock, gave out a guffaw. Orah laughed too while he grimaced with pain.
Later they noticed that the plants and trees, which all sloped in the same direction, were sprinkled with gray dust and seemed less and less healthy. Even the ground had become coated with ashes when finally, toward the end of the day, they discovered the cause of these peculiar changes looming before them. They saw it and heard it too, for a low, angry rumble had been audible from some distance. The group looked around apprehensively.
Between the two mountains on either side of the travelers was a third at some distance, shrouded in a smoky mist and only half visible from where they stood. All three were capped with snow, except that the central one, open at the top, sent up a column of rolling smoke. Bursts of fire and showers of hot sparks exploded from its ragged peak, followed moments later by loud growling noises. At each eruption the ground shook. The mountain’s pure shape rose upward in even, symmetrical arcs that were both simple and sublime, while the fountain of fire at the apex challenged and polluted the sky.
The entire band was stunned by the vision before them, but Dael was overwhelmed, as if in the mountain of fire he had discovered his personal god. To him it was a living giant whose angry thunder seemed to speak a language he might hope to understand.
The immense peak seemed close, though it was whole days away; and the group was separated from it by a stark, lifeless landscape. There, jagged, deeply fissured rocks hissed gases and emitted foul-smelling steam—an unwholesome, impassable expanse. Dael slowly ventured as close as he dared, gazing at the cauldron of fire in rapt wonder, his hands outspread. His companions watched him as well as the volcano, aware that a mighty turmoil was churning within their friend, and followed him as he slowly went forward.
The day was coming to an end and the sun was about to set behind the mountain’s smoke. The vivid and unnatural red disc peered through the density of the cloud—tolerable to the human eye but intolerable to the spirit. All of the men were frightened and unnerved; only Dael seemed to welcome what he saw. He sat down with his legs crossed, facing the mountain in rapture. Oin, Orah, and his pets sat on either side of him. Zan, Rydl, and some others, not entirely aware of Dael’s fixation, decided to look around for tar as was their original purpose, but because night was approaching they soon returned and made a camp nearby.
Meanwhile Dael was regarding the bursts of fire with fascination, reverence, and awe. As the fire mountain roared and rumbled he gave himself over to the display and to the earth shuddering beneath him. These strangely duplicated the convulsion within him, mirroring his own volcanic inner turmoil—smoking, burning, exploding. With the coming of darkness the mountain itself was gradually less visible, while the fire and sparks belching from it presented a spectacular, mind-arresting show.
Dael remained there without moving, and perhaps his rapture was contagious, for his men stayed beside him, watching in awe both the volcano and their transformed leader. Soon only the fiery cataclysm was visible against the night sky. A burst of yellow sparks thrown from the molten heart of the mountain stood out against the blue-black sky, reflecting its brilliance in the fixed eyes of the watchers, while a glowing vein of lava trickled like blood down the smooth slope.
Zan knew too well the expression on Dael’s face. His brother’s teeth were clenched and his gleaming eyes rolled and darted with each jet of fire, as if a theater of battle flashed before him; or else as one who intensely regards something invisible to ordinary men. Zan urged Dael to come away, and tried without success to make him rise. At that very moment an explosion shattered one side of the rim, vomiting fire and lighting the sky, so that all of the viewers froze in shock and dread. Dael alone was exultant, shouting in a rapture of joy and triumph: “The god pours forth fire! Fall down and worship!” And he fell on his hands and knees, touching the trembling ground with his scarred forehead. Nothing Zan could do would make him get up, and Dael’s companions, who had also cast themselves down, were no help. Dael’s mysterious delirium was sacred to his fellows, who already held his iron temperament in awe.
In dismay Zan left their presence to confer with Rydl and another lad and to enlist their aid. From a distance he could hear Dael scream, “Now arise! The heart of the fire-mountain bursts!” Zan turned to look, while Dael, who was standing once again, began to address the grisly mountain and its beckoning sparks. Then he seemed to turn toward Zan. His eyes were rolling wildly in his head, and suddenly his legs twisted and collapsed. Dael’s mouth was still open and his eyes were searching for the back of his head as he fell in a swoon and came crashing to the earth. Rushing to him, Zan could do nothing but try to pillow his head. When the dawn approached hours later, Oin and Orah were weeping over their fallen comrade as i
f he were dead.
Even Zan feared that Dael had expired, overcome by the violence of his own emotions or fatally injured by his fall; but after a time Dael revived and stood up as though nothing unusual had occurred, or as if he were awakening from a deep, restful slumber. He was unhurt, and as was the case with the volcano itself, much calmer than he had been the night before.
Everyone looked at him with wonder and fear. Dael actually seemed taller than he had been, and had a new serene bearing and peaceful expression. He moved slowly now and spoke softly, even gently, when spoken to. But his companions were anything but serene. They looked on him as one arisen from the dead—as one who had gone to the lower world to converse with departed spirits and could deliver their messages. All wished to know what he had seen and heard. Oin and Orah asked if he had spoken with their mother who had died two years earlier. Dael made no reply except to nod absently. He seemed to have forgotten all about the volcano. Zan asked him if he were recovered and Dael smiled—smiled!—and said that he was.
But in the afternoon, when the volcano resumed its unruly and turbulent activity and spoke again with its voice of thunder, Dael’s fixation returned. For long hours he sat before the mountain in rapture, responding to its every outburst with an intense, joyful identification. Once again he seemed to be in communion with spirits or invisible things, while his companions looked on with a new increased reverence. Only Zan and Rydl continued to see Dael as disturbed and sick. The others regarded him as a prophet, and began to call him Dael-Destan—Dael the Seer.
Late that night Dael fainted again.
14
Zan-Gah and the Beautiful Country Page 8
