by Hugh Cook
Chapter 37
Amongst the Koruatu philosophers of Chi'ash-lan, there were perennial debates about the role of the individual in history. Are all people shaped and controlled by historical forces? Or can an exceptional person shape history? Some supported the view that human beings are like chips of wood floating in the flood of a great river, unable to control their destiny; others held that certain world historical individuals are like master engineers, able to dam, divert or indeed reverse the river of history.
By the time of the battle of Androlmarphos, the debate had been going on for half a millenium, and, far from being exhausted, was growing steadily more complicated; the matter of the role of the individual in history now involved questions of free will versus predestination, and, most recently, fractious deliberations about the very meaning of the word "history."
Some argued that history is "a sequence of events." Others insisted that it is "events determining culture." But then, in that case – what is culture? (To that supplementary question, at least twenty-seven different answers were proposed – and that was only in a single day's debate.)
One philosopher – Klen Klo, a noted drunkard and kleptomaniac – argued that "History is everything which happens apart from the weather." This satisfied many people for almost as long as half a day, until one of his rivals – Shomo Shamo Shah, a one-time gladiator – refuted Klen Klo's assertion by noting that "Whoever could change the weather would be a world historical figure, therefore the unchanging of the weather is a historical event."
Shomo Shamo Shah, intoxicated by what he liked to think of as his own cleverness, went on to claim that unevents – such as the nonchanging of the weather – are also part of history. In the terms of this definition, any uneventful life which failed to change anything at all could be seen as world historical. The world, said Shomo Shamo Shah, might be full of world historical figures – such as Klen Klo.
Whereupon Klen Klo, also intoxicated – though alcohol was the villain in his case – promptly punched Shomo Shamo Shah in the nose, thereby sparking off a battle between philosophers which was, at least in one of them more mundane and generally accepted meanings of the word, a historical event.
None of this directly affected Togura Poulaan, who was a long, long way from Chi'ash-lan, and who never got to hear of the punch-up between Klen Klo and Shomo Shamo Shah, let alone the debate about the role of the individual in history. Accordingly, questions of what Togura mgith or would or could have thought about the debate must remain strictly theoretical; he did not do much spontaenous philosophical thinking, apart from wondering, not infrequently, "Why am I here?", "What's going on?" and "Why do these things always happen to me?"
Nevertheless, it is possible that Togura might – if given the opportuntiy to participate in the debate in Chi'ash-lan – have made a certain contribution. One cannot imagine it being made with much style, as he was no orator; being young, he would undoubtedly have had to speak through an interpreter. In the manner of the inexperienced, he might have been long-winded as well; however, assuming this fault to have been cured, he might have come up with something like this:
"History is what we understand. The rest is a waking nightmare. History is the explanation of who holds the knife. Withut the explanation, all we understand is the pain."
His remarks, of course, would have left the major questions unanswered, but, unlike some of the frivolities ventured by the philosophers, they would have been heartfelt truths discovered by experience. If challenged to justify his own position, Togura could have easily supported it with material drawn from his own life.
It was at Runcorn that he finally managed to get a reliable account of events which had been, until then, unexplained nightmares. A mild-mannered pirate with designs on his virginity (which, in the end, came to nothing) spent a whole day talking with him in a bar. They were sober the whole time, as, thanks to strict rationing, they had to while away the whole day with a single mug of ale apiece.
Togura learnt that rocks could be wakened to life by a magic artefact known as a death-stone. That explained the walking rock which had chased him through Looming Forest so long ago. As Draven had told him, the troops Togura had met at Lorford, in Estar, had been Collosnon soldiers in the service of the Lord Emperor Khmar of Tameran.
It seemed that the warrior Elkor Alish had defeated Khmar's army of invasion, with, perhaps, a little help from certain wizards. Later, Alish had gone hunting for a death-stone. Finding one, he had made an alliance with a pirate chief, Menator, and had set out to conquer the world. Recruiters had scavenged even to the Lezconcarnau Plains, enlisting mercenaries, which was how Togura and the villagers had, belatedly, come to join Alish's conquering army in the city of Androlmarphos.
Alish had lost a great battle on the plains to the east of Androlmarphos; Togura, fortunately, had been ill with dysentery at the time. Subsequently, the enemy – who had come into possession of the death-stone, stealing it from Alish – had stormed Androlmarphos with the help of animated rocks.
All was much clearer.
With the help of a rough and ready map (drawn on a tabletop with someone else's spilt beer) Togura was even able to make an estimate of the route he had travelled after leaving Estar. He had crossed the Ironband Mountains – he remembered, distinctly, a mad moment when he had claimed those mountains as his empire – and, descending those mountains, had reached the northern part of the Lezconcarnau Plains, there to be captured by a roving band of villagers.
Thanks to that tutorial session in Runcorn (he was offered another kind of tutorial, too, but declined) his nightmare became history.
This, of course, does not answer the original question: does history dictate to the individual or vice versa? Some philosophers – Lunter Hojo, for instance, the notorious lunatic who was almost killed in a kite-crash – hold that "both possibilities are true"; in the case of Togura Poulaan, however, it could be asserted, on the basis of what he had endured until reaching Runcorn, that "both possibilities are untrue."
Togura had been severely buffeted by the turbulence on the fringes of great events, but those events had not created a destiny for him – they had simply kicked him until he was dizzy. And he had never yet been in a position where he could personally influence the world's affairs. Using Togura as an example, it is possible to argue that "some of our lives are random" – though anyone unwilling to become embroiled in the tiresome disputes of Korugatu philosophers would do best to ignore the subject altogether.
Certainly Togura's first chance to put the theory to the test, and to attempt to become a world historical figure – or to be forced, by the thrust of events, to accept that destiny – came at Runcorn. Though there were few people in the city, there were many plans, plots, cabals, schemes and conspiracies. Little hives of intrigue were abuzz with low-voiced diplomacies, threats, promises, oaths of allegiance and wild speculations.
Men were planning to murder their defeated leader, Elkor Alish. Others were hoping to steal the death-stone back from the opposition, and ensure that Elkor Alish did become world conqueror after all. Some were for over-running one of the smaller mountain kingdoms on the coast to the north of Runcorn – the choice was either Chorst or Dybra. A few were for setting up a kingdom in Estar. Many held that, with their depleted numbers, the only sensible thing to do was to retire to the Greater Teeth.
On one hot summer's day, the fair-haired young pirate by the name of Drake made Togura an offer. They had just collected the day's ration of rice and vivda (which was issued together with a single metal token good for a mug of beer in any tavern in town) and were sitting eating when Drake made his proposition.
"I'm going with an embassy to Selzirk," said Drake.
"Selzirk?"
"Don't tell me you don't know where Selzirk is," said Drake. "I'd have thought even you'd know that."
"I do," said Togura, with dignity. "Selzirk's the capital of the Harvest Plains. The capital of the people who defeated us at Androlmarphos. I wo
uldn't have thought it'd be a healthy place for a pirate to venture just now."
"We go as an embassy," said Drake, patiently. "We'll be safe enough. They're civilised, you see."
"I think maybe you're bloating the fish a bit," said Togura, using a bit of idiomatic pirate-talk. "Ambassadors don't usually come so short in the tooth."
"Oh, I'm just going along as a pair of ears," said Drake. "I was born in Selzirk, see, so I speak the local ingo. I've got authority to take a companion. Do you want to come?"
"No thanks."
"Have you got enemies in Selzirk, then?"
"No," said Togura. "But I've got a home in Sung."
"Man, home is a place for old men to die in. We're young! Come! We're leaving tomorrow!"
"I'll think about it," said Togura.
"It was his chance, perhaps, to venture to the heart of the action, to dare all and hope to become a world historical figure, a hero, a giant bestriding the world of events. In the event, however, he turned it down, and Drake left without him."
Finding that Bluewater Draven was sailing to the Greater Teeth on a courier cutter, Togura begged a ride; from the beer-table map, he knew the Greater Teeth were a step closer to home, so he quit Runcorn, leaving, without regret, the melancholy, mostly deserted city, and his best chance of proving or disproving certain theories of history.
Chapter 38
As the courier cutter coursed for the Greater Teeth, Draven did his best to dispel the prevailing gloom aboard, a gloom which was consequent on defeat behind and an uncertain future ahead. He organised sing-songs, joke-telling sessions and a fishing competition.
Togura, who won the fishing by catching a small thresher shark, was dismayed to find that the first prize was being thrown overboard. Second prize was the chance to command the courier cutter for a man overboard exercise; fortunately, the man with the second-best fish was a competent seaman, and Togura, very angry and very wet, was rescued from the waters of the deep.
Third prize was a choice between getting keelhauled or eating the thresher shark, raw, bones and all. Shark-eating proved to be an amusing spectator sport; the man playing gourmet vomited twenty-seven times before he finally mouthed down the very last of the fish.
"Fourth prize," said Draven jovially, "is getting skinned alive."
However, as only three people had caught fish, fourth prize was not awarded.
Drake also organised a tug-of-war, a rat-fighting competition and a knuckleskull league, knuckleskull being a pirate game which is played with cudgels, and tends to lead to bad headaches or worse. Then there was the game of "Quivliv Quoo," which means, literally, "Slippery Octopus." One person ties another up; the captive, if he can escape, gets the chance to throw a bucket of water over the person who did up the knots. There was, once, a drinking race; they did not have enough liquor on board for a second session.
They also played the traditional pirate game of "First Off," which, though it was obscene and improper in the extreme, did not lead to Togura losing his virginity.
Then there was story telling.
Draven told the best stories, for he had been to that weird and wonderful place, the continent of Tameran. Most of his stories were about the evil dralkosh, Yen Olass Ampadara, who had tortured him, killed him, then resurrected him.
"A one-woman brothel, she was," said Draven. "She took on the whole army once, out in the open sun. I was there. I saw it. Even when they were exhausted, she still hand't had enough."
And Draven told the story of how, thanks to his wisdom, his cunning, his sagacity, his strength and his courage, he had finally been able to outwit the Ampadara woman and escape, returning, in the end, to his beloved Greater Teeth.
"That Ampadara woman," said Draven, "she was the most monstrous bundle of female sin I've ever clapped eyes on. In her own person, she was argument enough for the rule of men over women. Her every act was designed to break me – she couldn't bear to see a man live free."
"She might tell it different," said Togura, still displeased about having been thrown overboard from the cutter.
"Ay," said Draven. "So she might. But then, she was the most wily liar in all of creation."
"What happened to her then?" asked Togura.
"That," said Draven, "is another story. I'll save it for tomorrow's night watch."
But Togura never got to hear that story, for when dawn broke the next day, they found themselves closing with the islands of the Greater Teeth, notorious lair of the Orfus pirates, of whom Draven was one.
In former days, many generations ago, the island of Drum had been the centre of piracy. Then the sea dragons had arrived. In theory, pirates and sea dragons could have coexisted. In practice, the pirates had failed to conceal their contempt for sea dragon artistry; outraged sea dragon poets, philosophers, orators, rock gardeners, punsters and pyrotechnists had responded by slaughtering their critics. The surviving pirates had retreated to the Greater Teeth.
Since then, the sea dragon population of Drum had sharply decined, thanks largely to their promiscuous sexual habits, which had helped spread disastrous venereal diseases through their ranks. Indeed, over the last couple of generations, an epidemic of a viral disease causing an acquired immune deficiency syndrome had almost driven the sea dragons to extinction.
However, the pirates, being creatures of habit like everyone else, had not returned to Drum; they had stayed on the Greater Teeth.
As a small boy, hearing idle adult talk of pirates living on the Greater Teeth, Togura had imagined rows and rows of huge molars – perhaps twice the height of a man – with one or two pirates squatting on top of each. He had imagined the pirates dressed in beggarman rags; in his fancy, the molars had been set in the middle of butterfly meadows.
Traces of this boyhood misapprehension remained in his mind, so he was surprised, at first, to see gaunt skerries thrusting up from the surf, and, beyond those skerries, towering rock ramparts crowned with trees.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"This is Knock," said Draven. "We'll berth at the Inner Sleeve, which is my home harbour. You'd best stay at my home for the time; you've nowhere else to go."
"Why, thank you," said Togura.
"You look surprised. Don't be so. I may be rough, but I've got my honour, like any other man. I pay my debts."
This was said with such sincerity that Togura, for a moment, actually believed it; in any case, whatever he thought of Draven's honour, he did need somewhere to stay, so Draven's invitation was welcome.
The coastline of Knock was forbidding. Rocks awash with water jutted from the waves; other rocks lurked beneath the surface.
"Is this dangerous?" said Togura.
"Naw," said Draven. "We all know these waters as well as we know our toenails."
A moment later, the courier cutter scraped on the bottom, suggesting that none of them knew their toenails terribly well. They got off without damage, but Togura became increasingly jittery, watching the sea swashbuckle agaisnt the pitiless cliffs.
A big skerry slipped past, giving him aview of a new stretch of ciff. At first, in a moment of dreamlike dismay, he thought he was looking at a vast expanse of black cloth seething with lice, and that the lice were screaming at him. Then he realised that the entire cloud-challenging cliff was one huge bird rookery, and that what he was hearing was the cries of a million sea birds.
Ahead was a clutter of skerries, with a narrow sealane between them and the cliff. The courier cutter sailed into the sealane and promptly lost the wind. Men began to furl the sails.
"Well then," said Draven. "How do you like it?"
"How do I like what?" said Togura.
"My home."
"Your home? Where?"
"There, of course," said Draven, pointing at one of the larger skerries. "Can't you tell a house rock when you see one? Look, don't you see the handholds cut in the side?"
"You mean we have to climb up there!"
"Yes, and pull the ship up after us," said Draven, de
adpan.
"Oh, bullshit," said Togura, realising he was being conned.
"Not so," said Draven. "There's no bulls in the Greater Teeth. Though fishshit makes a handy meal when the famines come."
"The famines?"
"Every tenth year they come," said Draven, solemnly. "All the little stones come to life. They crawl up from the sea. Feeding. You can hardly walk, for they're shifting under your feet. They'll eat the leather from your boots, the snot from your nose. If you're not careful, they'll crawl up your arse and eat – "
"Give it a rest," said Togura. "That's a story on stilts if ever I heard one. You won't get me believing a dreamscript like that – I'm not a child, you know."
"No?" said Draven. "You could've fooled me."
At that moment, they were hailed by a boat rowing out from a cleft in the cliff. Their courier cutter had been sighted by a lookout; soon more oar-boats came to meet them, and they were towed into the cleft, which was larger than it seemed at first blush. The cliff-cleft opened onto a small, rock-locked harbour, where they docked.
After a dockside conference at which news was exchanged – many of the women and children who had come to meet the cutter were soon weeping, for the cutter broughtnews of many deaths – some of the men set out in smaller boats to spread the news throughout the Greater Teeth. But Draven set off home. Tougura went with him.
They travelled through long, gloomy tunnels, reaching, at last, a cave home which had light shafts piercing through a seaward cliff face, and a waste shaft delved down sheer to the black night of a seafilled cave. In an inner chamber lit by smoky seal-oil lamps, Draven and Togura ate, feeding on crabs, fish paste, whelks, edible seaweeds, pickled onions and mushrooms.
Two of Draven's women served them. The women wore their hair in the leading fashion of the Greater Teeth: grown long, it was tied in a multitude of plaits evenly arranged around the head, so that some plaits, falling directly over the face, served as a veil of sorts. After the mela, the women – who did not speak to the men – served small cups of a hot, dark fluid which Togura took to be liquid mud.
