by Aaron Hubble
****
Two hours of slow slogging through wet grass and mud brought them to the edge of the fields making up part of Berit’s family farm. Calier noticed a quickening of Berit’s pace, her anticipation of what she might see propelling her forward. He moved to keep up with her, worrying she might be pushing herself a little too hard.
“If the moon was out, we’d be able to see the house by now,” said Berit.
“Remember, whatever we find, we’re here for you,” Calier said.
She nodded and continued walking up the dirt lane leading to the house. Fifteen minutes later they could see the dark outline of a structure still standing.
“The house,” Berit whispered. “It’s still standing. It’s okay.” Relief flooded her voice and then she took off running toward the house.
Calier reached toward the woman, but she was already gone. “Berit! Wait! It could be dangerous.” He started jogging after her, slowed by the weight of his pack. Berit had regained a lot of her strength, but he doubted she was back to full health. He didn’t want the physical strain and the emotional turmoil to set her back in her recovery. They still had a long way to go on this journey.
In front of him he heard the banging of a door and saw through one of the windows the soft glow of a light flashing through the house. He reached the front door a minute after Berit had entered. Breathing hard, he stepped into the house, hearing her desperate calls for her parents.
“Ma’ma, ab’ba, are you here?”
Only silence answered. The house looked untouched. It was too dark to see the outside of the house, but from what Calier could tell, it had been spared the damage the village had experienced. He found her standing in the middle of one of the rooms. She stared around her. The room was clean and tidy, as if its owners were simply visiting neighbors down the road and would be back soon. There were holo photos of what Calier assumed were Berit’s mother and father and several of a young, dark-haired girl with golden streaks who must have been Berit many years ago.
She looked at Calier. “They’re not here.” She embraced him, tears coursing down her face. Calier held her and let her cry.
He stroked her hair. “They may still be alive.”
Into his shoulder she said, “I still need to find them, wherever they are.”
“And we will. You have my promise to help you.”
The door opened again and Rohab entered, trailed by several others.
“Did you find them? Did you find your parents?” Rohab asked.
Berit shook her head no.
Relief and fear spread across Rohab’s face. “Then we still have more searching to do, don’t we, lass?” She hugged Berit. “Now, do you think your mother and father would mind if we borrowed some of their things for our journey?”
“No, of course not. I’m sure they would freely give what they have.”
Rohab took Berit by the arm. “Come with me and you can be the one to show us what we can take and what we should probably leave behind.” Looking at Calier, she said, “Professor, are you any good with umbaku?”
“I have some experience. Are there still some here?”
“Aye, and the others could use your help in wrangling them. Most of those out there are town folk who have never spent any time around animals. I’m sure whatever help you can offer would be appreciated. I’ve got Miss Berit here.”
Calier nodded and exited the house. Through the rain he saw the blue glow of several lights and was able to make out the steep pitch of several barn roofs. Shouts of frustration came from the barns as did the muffled pounding of hooves.
Behind the barns he found a corral made of weathered stone posts and gray steel rails. Several villagers were in the corral with ropes trying to capture the penned umbaku. He stopped and leaned against the fence for a moment. Unable to help himself, he chuckled at their attempts to gain control of the animals. Finally, he ducked under the fence and moved into the corral.
“If you wanted to play a game of tag, you guys are doing a fantastic job, but if you want to actually catch a couple of these beasts, you’re going about it the wrong way. Everyone out of the corral, and you” - Calier gestured at Oyeb’s husband Nasia - “give me the rope.”
Everyone crawled over or under the rails of the fence, including Calier.
“Okay, we’ll let them settle down for a couple of minutes and then I’m going to go in and show you how this is done.”
“You have experience with umbaku?” Oyeb asked.
“A little. We often used them on our archaeological trips. They make great pack animals in places where you can’t take a vehicle. For the most part they’re pretty docile, except when you corner them and try to put a rope around their neck,” Calier said.
He glanced around and saw a girl who looked to be about ten. Her long blonde braids reached the middle of her back. She stared at the umbaku, a look of wonder on her face. Calier recognized the look. He’d seen it before, long ago, on the face of someone he tried not to think about. The face of Halom flashed through his consciousness. The pain was still there after all those years, but so were the good memories. The look of wonder was evident. This was a young girl falling in love with a beautiful creature. He approached her and knelt beside her.
“I could use a little help. Would you like to come into the corral with me and give me a hand?”
The girl stared back in wide-eyed amazement. The look on her face was priceless, like she had just won the best prize in all of Aereas. She nodded.
“Come on, then.” Calier stepped through the space between the steel rails of the fence, beckoning the young girl to follow. “What’s your name?”
“Emura.”
“Nice to meet you, Emura. I’m Calier.”
She nodded again, eyes on the ground.
Calier took her hand, leading her into the corral. His knee sank into the wet dirt of the corral as he knelt beside Emura. Cold wetness began to creep through his thin dress pants. Speaking softly, Calier said, “They won’t hurt you, I promise. What we need to do is stay calm. A lot of people don’t know this, but umbaku really like to be sung to. Do you know any good songs?”
Emura nodded, her damp braids swaying with the motion of her head.
“Okay, this is what I want you to do. You start singing, not loud or fast. They like calm music.”
“Then what?” Emura said.
“Then we watch. I think you’ll be surprised at what happens.”
They stopped in the middle of the corral. The rain still fell from the sky, turning the ground into a soupy mess that sucked at their boots. Looking down at Emura, he placed his hand on her shoulder.
“Let’s hear that voice of yours.”
Emura swallowed and for a second searched for her voice, but quickly found it. A sweet melody emerged. Her voice was pure and innocent as she sang an old Aerean folk song about the beauty of the land. The song carried across the corral, breaking through the night and the rain.
Nothing happened at first; the umbaku continued to stamp and snort, but as the song reached them they quieted and their heads turned toward Emura. Halfway through the song, several umbaku began to approach. Then the bigger males broke ranks of the protective circle they had formed around the females and the young. Standing ten feet tall at the shoulder, the umbaku were an impressive sight. Four tall, thin legs rose from the ground and ended at powerfully muscled shoulders. Their bodies were not overly large, but they were strong and capable of carrying large loads over great distances. A slender neck extended from the body, ending in a long-snouted face. Their fur was thick and curly requiring frequent trimmings in order to keep it from becoming long and matted. The umbaku were fast, agile animals covering large distances quickly in a unique bounding gait when they weren’t carrying a heavy load.
Once the males felt they were no longer being threatened, they each whistled and stamped a foot, letting the females know it was okay to move. As a group they moved toward Emura and Calier. The girl’s voice falte
red as the large animals drew closer. She began to take steps backward until Calier gently laid his hand upon her shoulder.
“Don’t stop,” Calier whispered. “You’re doing great, and this is the best part. I promise they’re not going to hurt you.”
The umbaku formed a half circle around them and stood in silent attention, their large, dark eyes fixed on the young girl. From between the legs of a large male, a small fawn moved past its parents. Calier figured it to be about four months old and roughly as tall as he was. The fawn moved close to the girl, hesitated, and then gently nuzzled her cheek and licked her ear with a quick flip of its blue tongue.
Emura squealed as the tongue tickled her ear. Startled, the young umbaku backed up a few steps. Emboldened by the fawn’s attention, Emura picked up her song. The umbaku regained its courage, stepped forward and laid its head on the girl’s shoulder. Emura wrapped her arms around the long neck and continued singing into the animal’s ear. Calier couldn’t help but smile. He had seen this happen before. Whether by breeding or some quirk in their DNA, the umbaku were drawn to the soft melodies of an Am’Segid voice and especially to those sung by women. He motioned for the others to come into the corral.
“Walk slowly and stay calm. They know we won’t harm them now.” Calier walked into the barn as the others began petting and talking to the umbaku. He searched and found the lead ropes he was looking for. All the umbaku wore halters and the lead ropes would make the job of controlling the animals much easier. The animals were a blessing. Even though their supplies were meager, the fact the umbaku could take the burden off their shoulders would make the journey much easier.
He handed out the lead ropes and showed everyone the words used to command the umbaku to lower their heads and allow a lead to be snapped on a halter. They had been well trained by Berit’s father, and each umbaku complied easily.
There were nine umbaku altogether, more than enough to carry what they had with them. It was a bit of overkill, but he couldn’t leave the beasts here in the corral. It was either let them loose to fend for themselves or put them to the use for which they had been bred.
“Now lead them around the corral, let them get used to you.” Calier led a big male by his lead. It tossed its head and whistled several times. Its brethren answered in kind, soft whistles filling the humid night. The others were getting along nicely with the animals. Calier’s heart was warmed by the sight of Emura walking near the fence, the young fawn devotedly following her without a lead rope.
There’s no way we’re separating those two now, he thought.
For the first time since the attacks, Calier forgot about death and destruction for a while. It was easy when you saw the innocence of someone like Emura and the unconditional love of an animal toward the person it had claimed as its own.
****
The drizzle finally let up. A few stray drops of moisture fell from the sky, daring to disturb the tranquility of the many puddles. The rain clouds still obscured the stars and moon, but the black was beginning to give way to gray at the horizon.
Heedless of the puddles, Calier dragged his exhausted body from the barns toward the house. The night had been spent giving the villagers a crash course in how to control, saddle and take care of an umbaku. They had done well, surprisingly well, although likely aided by the obviously exceptional training given the umbaku by Berit’s father.
A small smile still creased his face every time he thought of young Emura and Chan’ti. That was the name she had affectionately given the young umbaku. It meant “one who hops” because of the way the little one hopped around the corral when not tied to a lead. Calier liked the name; it seemed appropriate. What he liked even more was Emura now had something to occupy her mind. She had another living being to care for instead of brooding on the death of her parents. She’d been so quiet, almost lifeless since they’d left the village. Now, there was a spark of life in her. She had a reason to live, and he had seen her true personality peek out from behind the curtain of grief. All because a smelly, curly-haired beast of burden laid its head on her shoulder. He shook his head in wonder and breathed a small prayer to the Unseen One for giving Emura life again.
The burgeoning dawn lightened the farm enough Calier could make out a lone figure sitting on the front porch steps. Several more labored steps brought him close enough to see it was Berit. She’d changed out of the dress she had been wearing. Now she wore clothes more appropriate to the journey they would be undertaking. It was a traditional riding outfit, which made sense since she’d grown up around umbaku. A durable leather jacket over a simple, well-worn work shirt. Slim, dark pants made to take the wear and tear of riding were tucked into riding boots.
Berit held something in her hands. Calier rested one muddy boot on the bottom step and leaned against the railing. The young woman replaced the lid on a wooden box and looked at him with her golden eyes.
“You smell like umbaku.”
“Does it offend your delicate sensibilities?”
“On the contrary, it reminds me of my father.”
Calier gestured toward the wooden box. “What do you have there?”
The wood caught Calier’s attention immediately. It was a light tan color with a beautiful flecked ray pattern reminding Calier of snake skin. He wasn’t a woodworker, far from it, but he recognized fine craftsmanship when he saw it.
Berit’s hand gently moved across the smooth lid of the box and traced its outline. “My dad made this for me last year. Are you familiar with a sa’na box, Professor?”
“If I’m not mistaken, it means ‘year’ box.” He paused and tried to remember what he knew of the boxes. “If I recall correctly, it’s an ancient tradition. I didn’t know there were still some people out there who hold to the custom.”
“My family still does. I don’t know if we do it right, but after Winnet asked me to be his wife, my father made this for me.” Berit lifted the lid of the box. “I think the boxes used to be bigger so women could collect items they needed for their new home. I’ve been collecting things for my wedding day, special items I could wear or keep with me. They say it goes back to the beginning of Aereas, as do these.”
She lifted a bracelet made of wooden beads from the box. Each bead had a different symbol carved onto its surface. A few cracks and worn corners had appeared in several of the beads, indicating the wood was old, but well cared for. Calier took the bracelet from her extended hand.
“That bracelet is the real treasure,” Berit said. “It’s been in my family for generations. Nobody knows how old it is, but it’s ancient. The women in my family wear it on their wedding day, and it’s passed from mother to daughter when the daughter becomes engaged. I thought you might like to see it, you being a history guy.”
He reverently examined the bracelet, turning it in his hands. “Remarkable. I’ve seen a fair share of these, mostly just a few beads, though. I’ve never seen one in such good condition.” He held it up in the glow of the candle Berit had next to her. “By the markings on it, this could easily go back to before the Great Peace five hundred years ago.” He handed the bracelet back to Berit. “It’s truly a treasure you’re blessed to have. Any museum would pay handsomely for a piece in such good condition. ”
She placed the bracelet back in the box, and closed the lid. “I was supposed to wear it next week, on my wedding day.”
He moved to her side and embraced her. “Winnet would have been a lucky man.”
She wiped tears from her eyes and nodded. After a moment of silence she said, “I almost forgot. I found these in my father’s closet and I think they’ll fit you.” She reached behind her and presented him with a pair of work pants and a shirt, both in good condition, and a somewhat worn pair of work boots.
“You can’t expect to lead us across the grasslands wearing a suit and dress boots.”
He laughed. “No I can’t. Thank you.”
Silence settled between them as they watched the still hidden sun begin to set the sky
on fire. The sky had lightened considerably while they talked. Calier watched the rain clouds flee, burned up and turned into vapor by the intensity of the sun. It promised to be a glorious day.
“It seems a shame to spend such a beautiful day in bed,” Calier said.
“Mmmhmm,” Berit agreed. “On mornings like this I would already have found a place to set up my easel and paints, trying to capture the sunrise or the effect it had on whatever subject I was trying to paint.”
Calier considered the sky for a moment. “If you have any drawing or painting supplies here, I think you should pack them.”
“Seems a little impractical,” Berit said.
He hesitated, taking a deep breath of the cool predawn air. It was a good smell. The smell of the land, soil, grass and animals.
“You’re an artist,” Calier finally said. “It’s who you are. One of the things we must guard is who we are, and not let our enemies change us into something we were never meant to be. There’s a healing power in the arts. There’s a rallying power as well. With your art you can remind the people of who we are and show them no matter what happens to us, we will not allow tragedy to steal what it means to be Am’Segid. Hope, love, peace - those are the things we treasure as a people. What is a simple drawing or painting to you, could be a boon of courage for someone else. Some of our greatest art has come from our darkest times. Our museums will need new pieces when this is all done. You might as well get started.”
She nodded, but remained silent, thoughtful.
“Do we really have a chance, Professor?” Berit asked.
He looked away from her and back toward the sky. The barest sliver of the sun was breaking over the grasslands. The rain clouds had all but disappeared, pushed aside by the light.
“I would like to give you an emphatic yes, but I just can’t do that right now. We don’t know anything about the enemy we’re facing. However, I do believe in us and the ideals that have made us a great people. Those things, hope, love, and peace, are hard morals to destroy. I hate the thought of fighting, but I’m willing to fight for our future, and I think the rest of us are as well. So, yes, I think we do have a chance. I must believe that or I might as well walk back into Gadol City and give myself up.”
