Its consummation would come as the ancestral images predicted, when Freyr concealed itself behind Batalix for the third time. Then the kzahhn's army would strike the Sons of Freyr who lived in that accursed town where Hrr-Brahl Yprt's noble grandstallun had been killed. That great old kzahhn had been forced to jump from the top of a tower to his death below. Vengeance was on its way: the town would be obliterated.
Perhaps it was no wonder that the infant Laintal Ay cried at his mother's knee.
•••
Year by year, the crusade progressed. The inhabitants of Oldorando remained in ignorance of that distant nemesis. They laboured in the toils of their own history.
Dresyl was no longer as energetic a leader as he had been. He stayed more and more in town, fussing with details of organisations which had gone smoothly before he interfered. His sons hunted in his stead.
The scent of change made everyone restless. Young men in the makers corps wanted to leave and take up hunting and trapping. The young hunters themselves would not behave. Dresyl already had a hunter under his command who had a natural daughter by an older man's wife. Such behaviour was becoming common, and fights with it.
"We behaved better than that when I was a lad," Dresyl complained to Aoz Roon, forgetting the pranks of his own youth. "We'll be murdering each other next, like the savages of the Quzint."
Dresyl could not decide whether to try and crush Aoz Roon or make the man conform by praising him. He inclined to the latter, for Aoz Roon was becoming famed as a cunning hunter, but such moves angered Dresyl's son Nahkri, who felt enmity for Aoz Roon, for the sort of reasons known only to the young.
Dly Hoin, Dresyl's unsatisfactory wife, fell ill and died, even as the Year 17 After Union died away. Father Bondorlonganon came and buried her on her side in her land-octave. When she had gone, a gap opened in Dresyl's life, and he felt he loved her for the first time. Sorrow ruled his heart thereafter.
Despite his years, he learned the arts of father-communing and achieved pauk in order to speak again with his departed Dly Hoin. He met her gossie drifting in the world below. She upbraided him for lack of love, for wasting their life, for being cold of temperament, and many other things that made his heart grieve. He fled from her vituperation, her snapping jaws, and ever after was a more silent man.
Sometimes he spoke to Laintal Ay. The boy was brighter of mind than Nahkri or Klils. But Dresyl stayed away from his old cousin-brother, Little Yuli; whereas before he had felt contempt for Yuli, now he felt envy. Yuli had a living woman to love and make happy.
Yuli and Loil Bry continued in their tower, and tried not to take note of their grey hairs. Loilanun kept an eye on Laintal Ay, and watched as he entered more fully into the rude pleasures of a new generation.
•••
Remote under the Quzints lived a religious sect called the Takers. The first Yuli had once had a glimpse of them. Secure in a gigantic cavern heated by interior warmth, the sect was virtually impervious to temperature gradients in the upper atmosphere. But they maintained a clandestine liaison with Pannoval; from that warren came a perception that, in its way, induced as important a change as any temperature gradient.
Although the perception was wrongheaded, it held beauty for the rigid minds of the Takers, and seemed to possess the truth that goes with beauty.
Takers, male and female, wore an elaborate garment which enveloped them from the chin to the ground. In profile they presented the look of a half-open flower turned upside down. Only this external garment, the charfral, was worn.
The charfral could be seen as emblematic of Taker thinking. Their understandings had become codified through many generations, the ramifications of their theology manifold. They were at once lascivious and puritanical. Even the repressive stratification of their religion contained its paradoxes, and had led to a neurotic form of hedonism.
Belief in the Great Akha was not incompatible with organised lechery, for one basic reason: Great Akha paid no attention to mankind. He fought against the destructive light of Wutra, and this served mankind's interest; but it was not for mankind but himself that Akha fought. It did not matter what mankind did. The ethics of eudemonism sprang from man's powerlessness.
Long after his death, the prophet Naba changed all that. Naba's words eventually filtered down from Pannoval to the cavern. The prophet promised that if men and women forswore concupiscence, and lying so indiscriminately one with another that no one knew his own father, then the Great Father, Akha himself, would have regard for them. He would allow them to participate as warriors in the war against Wutra. The war would be brought to an early close. Mankind – this was the essence of Naba's message – was not powerless unless it chose to be so.
Mankind was not powerless. For the buried Takers, the message was persuasive. It could never be so persuasive in the Holies of Pannoval; there, people had always taken it for granted that mankind could act. But down in the cavern, the charfrals began to burn. Chastity set in.
Within a year, the Takers changed their temperament. The old rigid codification was directed to a restrictive virtue, in the name of the stone god. Those who could not conform to the new morality were executed by the sword, or fled before the sword fell.
In the heat and dialectic of the revolution, it was not enough for the Takers to convert themselves. It never is. Revolutionaries must go forth and convert others. The Faith-Trip of Akha's Naba was undertaken. Through a hundred miles of underground passages, the Faith-Trip went to spread the message. And the first stop on the way was Pannoval.
Pannoval was indifferent to the returning word of its own prophet, who had been executed and forgotten long ago. It was actively against an invasion of fanatics.
The militia turned out in strength, and battle was joined. The fanatics were prepared to fight. They wanted nothing better than to die for the cause. If others died too, so much the better. Their gossies, howling down the land-octaves, urged them to conquer. They flung themselves forward. The militia did its best throughout a long, bloody day. Then it turned and ran.
So Pannoval bowed to the message of potency and to the new regime. Charfrals were hastily made up especially to be burnt. Those who did not conform fled or were killed.
Those who fled made their way to the open world of Wutra, to the everlasting plains of the north. They went at a time when the snow was in retreat. Grasses grew. The two sentinels kept better watch over the skies, and Wutra himself seemed less savage. They survived.
Year by year, they spread northwards in search of food and a sheltered corner of land. They spread along the Lasvalt River to the east of the great plains. They raided the migratory herds of yelk and gunnadu. And they moved towards the isthmus of Chalce.
At the same time, those ameliorating temperatures were causing a stir among the peoples of the frigid continent of Sibornal. Wave after wave of rugged colonisers moved southwards, down the isthmus of Chalce into Campannlat.
One day, when Freyr ruled alone in the sky, the northernmost tribe from Pannoval met the southernmost part of the exodus from Sibornal. What happened then had happened many times before – and was fated to happen again.
Wutra and Akha would see to that.
•••
Such was the state of the world when Little Yuli left it. Salt traders from the Quzints arrived in Oldorando with news of avalanches and freak happenings. Yuli – now quite ancient – hastened down to see them when they arrived, slipped on some steps, broke his leg. Within a week, the holy man from Borlien was calling, and Laintal Ay was delighting in his carved dog with the moveable jaw.
An epoch was over. The reign of Nahkri and Klils was about to begin.
V - Double Sunset
* * *
Nahkri and Klils were in one of the rooms of the herb tower supposedly sorting deer skins. Instead they were looking out of the window and shaking their heads at what they saw.
"I don't believe it," Nahkri said.
"I don't believe it, either," Klils said.
"I just don't believe it at all." He laughed until his brother slapped him on the back.
They watched a tall aged figure running crazily along the banks of the Voral. Nearby towers obscured the figure, then they saw it again, skinny arms and legs flying. It stopped once, scooping up mud to plaster over its head and face, then ran on with its tottering gait.
"She's gone mad," Nahkri said, smoothing his whiskers pleasureably.
"Worse than that, if you ask me. Crazy, high in the harneys."
Behind the running figure went a more sober one, a boy on the verge of manhood. Laintal Ay was following his grandmother to see that no harm came to her. She ran ahead of him, crying aloud. He followed, glum, silent, dutiful.
After shaking their heads, Nahkri and Klils put them together. "I can't see why Loil Bry's behaving like that," Klils said. "You remember what Father told us?"
"No."
"He told us that Loil Bry only pretended to love Uncle Yuli. He said she didn't love him at all."
"Ah, I remember. So why's she keeping up the pretence now that he's dead? It doesn't make sense."
"She's got some clever scheme, with all that learning, you see. It's a trick."
Nahkri went over to the open trap. Women were working below. He kicked the door shut and turned to face his younger brother.
"Whatever Loil Bry does, that's not important. Nobody understands what women do. The important thing is that Uncle Yuli's dead and now you and I are going to rule Embruddock."
Klils looked frightened. "Loilanun? Laintal Ay – what about him?"
"He's still a kid."
"Not for long. He'll be seven, and a full hunter, in two more quarters."
"For long enough. It's our chance. We're powerful – at least, I am. People will accept us. They don't want a kid ruling them, and they had a secret contempt for his grandfather, lying about all the while with that madwoman. We must think of something to tell everyone, to promise them. Times are changing."
"That's it, Nahkri. Tell them times are changing."
"We need the support of the masters. I'll go and speak to them now – you'd better keep away, because I happen to know that the council think you're a trouble-making fool. Then we win round a few leading hunters like Aoz Roon and the others, and everything will work out."
"What about Laintal Ay?"
Nahkri hit his brother. "Don't keep saying that. We'll get rid of him, if he's any trouble."
•••
Nahkri summoned a meeting that evening, when the first sentinel had left the sky and Freyr was moving towards a monochromatic dusk. The hunting party was home, most of the trappers were back. He ordered the gates closed.
As the crowd assembled in the square, Nahkri appeared on the base of the big tower. Over his deerskins he had thrown a stammel, a coarse woollen garment of red and yellow, without sleeves, to lend himself dignity. He was of medium height, with thick legs. His face was plain, his ears large. Characteristically, he jutted his lower jaw forward, giving his features an ominous, top-heavy quality.
He addressed the crowd in a serious way, reminding them of the great qualities of the old triumvirate, of Wall Ein, of his father, Dresyl, and of his uncle, Yuli. They had combined bravery and wisdom. Now the tribe was united; bravery and wisdom were common qualities. He would carry on the tradition, but with new emphasis for a new age. He and his brother would rule with the council, and would always give ear to what any man had to say.
He reminded them all that phagor raids were a continual threat, and that the salt traders from the Quzint had spoken of religious wars in Pannoval. Oldorando must stay united and continue to grow in strength. Fresh efforts were needed. Everyone must work harder. The women must work harder.
A woman's voice interrupted him.
"Get down off that platform and do some work yourself!"
Nahkri lost his presence of mind. He gaped at the crowd below him, unable to think of a reply.
Lailanun spoke from the crowd. Laintal Ay stood beside her, looking down at the ground. Fear and anger shook her frame.
"You've no right to be up there, you and your drunken brother!" she called. "I am Yuli's issue, I am his daughter. Here stands my son, Laintal Ay, whom you all know, who will be a man in two quarters. I have as much wisdom and knowledge as a man – gleaned from my parents. Maintain the triumvirate, as you were intended to do by your father, Dresyl, whom all respected. I demand to rule with you – women should have a voice – I love our family. Speak up for me, everyone, see that I get my rights. Then when Laintal Ay is of age, he will rule in my stead. I'll train him properly."
Feeling his cheeks burn, Laintal Ay looked about under his lowered brow. Oyre was gazing at him sympathetically and made a sign.
Several women and a few men started to shout, but Nahkri had recovered his poise. He out shouted them.
"No one is going to be ruled by a woman while I have anything to do with it. Who ever heard of such a thing? Lailanun, you must be as soft in your head as your mother to think of it. We all know you had bad luck with your man being killed, and everyone's sorry, but what you say is all nonsense."
The people all turned and looked at Loilanun's flushed worn face. She returned the gaze unflinchingly and said, "Times are changing, Nahkri. Brains are needed as well as brawn. To be honest, a lot of us don't trust you and your blockhead brother."
Many murmured in Loilanun's favour, but one of the hunters, Faralin Ferd, said roughly, "She's not going to rule me – she's only a woman. I'd rather put up with those two rogues."
At this there was much good-hearted laughter, and Nahkri carried the day. As the crowd cheered, Loilanun pushed her way through it and went somewhere to weep. Laintal Ay followed her reluctantly. He felt sorry for his mother, he admired her; he also thought in his harneys that it was absurd for a woman to expect to rule over Oldorando. Nobody had ever heard of such a thing, as Uncle Nahkri said.
As he paused on the edge of the crowd, a woman called Shay Tal came to him and touched his sleeve. She was a young friend of his mother's, with a fine complexion and a keen, hawklike look. He knew her as strange and sympathetic, for she occasionally visited his grandmother, bringing bread.
"I'll come with you to comfort your mother, if you don't mind," Shay Tal said. "She embarrassed you, I know – but when people speak from the heart it often embarrasses us. I admire your mother as I admired your wise grandparents."
"Yes, she's brave. But still people laughed."
Shay Tal looked scrutinisingly at him. "Still people laughed, yes. But many of those who laughed admire her nevertheless. They are scared. Most people are always scared. Remember that. We must try to change their minds."
Laintal Ay went along with her, suddenly elated, smiling into her severe face.
Fortune favoured Nahkri and Klils. That night, a furious wind blew from the south, shrieking continuously among the town like the Hour-Whistler itself. Next day, the fish trappers reported a glut of fish in the river. The women went down with baskets and scooped up the gleaming bodies. This unexpected plenty was taken as a sign. Much of the fish was salted, but enough was left over to provide a feast that night, a feast at which barley wine was drunk to celebrate the new rule of Nahkri and Klils.
But Klils had no sense and Nahkri no wisdom. Worse, neither had much feeling for their fellow men. In the hunt, they performed no better than average. They often quarrelled with each other over what was to be done. And because they were aware in a shadowy fashion of these defects, they drank too much, and so quarrelled the more.
Yet luck remained with them. The weather continued to improve, deer were sometimes more plentiful, and no diseases struck. Phagor raids ceased, though the monsters were sighted occasionally a few miles away.
Fruitful monotony attended the lives in Oldorando.
•••
The rule of the brothers did not please everyone. It did not please some of the hunters; it did not please some of the women; and it did not please Laintal Ay.
&nb
sp; Among the hunters was a party of young bloods who formed a company together, and resisted Nahkri's attempts to break them up. Of these, the leader was Aoz Roon Den, now in the full flower of manhood. He was large of frame, with a frank expression on his face, and could run on his two legs as fast as a hog on four. His figure was distinctive; he wore the skin of a black bear, and the fur enabled him to be picked out at a distance.
That bear was one he had wrestled with and killed. In pride at the feat, he carried the animal back from the hills unaided, and threw it down before his admiring friends in the tower where they lived. After a rathel party, he had summoned in Master Datnil Skar to skin the animal.
And there had been a touch of distinction in the way Aoz Roon had arrived in this tower. He was descended from an uncle of Wall Ein's who had been Lord of the Brassimips. The brassimips were an area and a vegetable vital to the local economy; from the brassimips came the feed for the sows that yielded milk for rathel. But Aoz Roon found his family tyrannical, revolted against it early in life, and established his niche in a distant tower, along with bright sparks of his own age, the mirthful Eline Tal, the lecherous Faralin Ferd, the steady Tanth Ein. They drank to the stupidity of Nahkri and his brother. Their drinking parties were widely regarded as distinguished.
In other ways also, Aoz Roon was distinguished. He was a man noted for courage in a society where courage was common coin. During the tribal dances, he could turn a cartwheel in the air without touching the ground. And he believed strongly in the unity of the tribe.
Nor did the presence of his natural daughter, Oyre, stop women admiring him. He had caught the eye of Loilanun's friend, Shay Tal, and responded warmly to her unique beauty; but he gave his heart to no one. He saw that one day Nahkri and Klils would meet with trouble and fall before it. Since he understood – or thought he did – what was good for the tribe, he wished himself to rule, and could not allow any woman to rule his heart.
Helliconia Spring Page 18
