Brennan raised his hand to object but then let it fall again. “How long will you be gone?”
“Weeks, perhaps months?”
He hesitated, for once at a loss for words. “I will tell them you’ll return with the winter ice.”
“I should be back much sooner, my friend,” I told him.
But I did not return with the winter ice, nor did I return in the spring.
Instead, I journeyed south, following the pull of the essence I’d placed into the mask. It was like trying to follow my own arm. I always knew exactly where it was, but I never seemed to get much closer to it. Even without that power, it was easy to follow Penarddun’s trail. He had truly assumed the mantle of the Trickster god.
In the villages of the Picts, I heard stories of a man who’d somehow convinced their chieftain to stand on his head for three days while his cows were left free to wander the countryside. In another village, men and women dressed up like deer and their children like wolves. In a third, a massive effort was underway to empty a nearby lake in order to save the moon from drowning. Everywhere I went, the villagers told the story of a mysterious stranger who’d come to town and shown them the error of their ways.
I pursued Penarddun down the length of Albion and at the edge of the sea I found him. The night was quiet except for a slight breeze that tickled the trees and whispered soothing sounds to anyone awake to hear them. The sands were white, matching the nearby cliffs, and the ocean was as flat as a mirror.
A shadow stood on the water as if it were dry land, and the illusion was so compelling that I waded into the ocean up to my knees to see if the effect extended beyond it. “Penarddun!” I called. “How did you overcome the protections I put on the mask? It should have killed you.”
He ignored the question. “Come get me, Lugh. Follow me like my people once followed you.”
I could see that my high priest wore a cloak of raven feathers to match the mask he’d stolen, but he didn’t move as I waded towards him. Drunk with his newfound godhood, he’d forgotten that I’d kept a small portion of my powers – enough to raise a storm against the Younger Men – in reserve. Divinity is not so easily cast aside. “Return the mask to me now and all will be forgiven.”
I was up to my chest now in the frigid waters, but still Penarddun remained where he was, almost as if I was beneath him.
“Forgiveness is a river that runs in two directions,” he said.
I leapt for him and caught hold of his cloak, dragging him underwater. His body was hard and rigid and feathers came away in my hand. When I resurfaced I saw that he’d draped an empty cloak and crudely carved wooden mask over the upturned branch of a floating log.
“Not used to being tricked, are you?” he asked, and I turned to see him on the shore. A gaunt scarecrow, he radiated power. It was hard to believe I’d been deceived by a log and a few feathers. “Get used to it. One day you might be able to take your mask back from me. But not today.”
With that, he spread his arms and his form blurred as he changed into a raven. I snatched at him as he flew past, but my hands closed on empty air. I realized then that my pursuit of Penarddun would not be short or easy, but I did not suspect just how long it would be until our next encounter.
Night Star
by James Alan Gardner
She was the most beautiful girl in her village. That wasn't saying much, since her village only held fifty people; but the fisher-folk acclaimed her as the most beautiful girl in all the villages they visited, and they regularly paddled the whole length of the river. A holy woman once passed through the village and she said Night Star was the most beautiful girl in the entire world... but then, the woman also said that mudpuppies were the eyes of the gods, so perhaps her holy insights were a bit hit-or-miss.
That was when Night Star was still a girl. As she approached womanhood, she grew even more lovely; yet she did not become spoiled as many young beauties do. She learned all the things a woman should, from weeding and brewing to the cycle of songs, and if Night Star's singing wasn't quite as beautiful as her face, it was still quite pleasant to hear when the day was done.
In time, the village's elders began discussing her marriage prospects. Custom dictated that Night Star marry a man from outside. The man would compensate the village for the loss of its daughter, and with Night Star the loss would be great indeed; compensation would have to match. So the elders asked the fisher-folk to spread word up and down the river: that on the high day of summer, suitors would be welcomed to apply for Night Star's hand.
Over the next few moons, many young men found excuse to visit the village, so they could see Night Star, hear her sing, taste her beer, and do all else that is wise when considering a wife. During that time, Night Star's elders had to be watchful – young men are impulsive and upon meeting Night Star, many men didn't wish to wait until summer. Offers were made, and honeyed words, and attempts at trysts; but the village was vigilant (especially Night Star's brothers), and apart from a few black eyes delivered to over-eager outsiders, nothing regrettable happened before the day.
The morning dawned a cloudless blue, but not oppressively hot. More than one villager whispered that the gods must have arranged this perfect weather – even Heaven took an interest in whom Night Star would marry. Surprisingly, the holy woman who cared so much about mudpuppies appeared alongside the young men and their elders. The woman agreed that the gods watched keenly: just look at all the mudpuppies!
As was proper, the village hosted breakfast for the visitors, during which (to no one's surprise but everyone's delight) Night Star was the one chosen to dance thanksgiving to the gods. Then the elders withdrew to the talking circle, where offers were made and terms discussed. Meanwhile, the younger people amused themselves with guessing games and athletic contests. Local girls, who may have disliked so much attention being paid to Night Star, were nonetheless best friends with her today... for only one of the visiting men would become Night Star's husband, and the rest were eligible bachelors. The seeds of many a marriage were sown that day, some sprouting quickly indeed.
But the day belonged to Night Star, who showed no apparent unease as the elders discussed her future. She laughed and took part in the fun... yet late in the day she disappeared without anyone noticing her leave. On a part of the river bank hidden by trees, she met with the mudpuppy woman.
The woman said, "Today means more than you acquiring a husband. Three of your suitors are touched by the gods; you'll be asked to choose between them. The balance of the world depends on your choice."
"But how can I choose?" Night Star asked. "I know nothing of these men; and how they behave on this special occasion may not be who they are day-to-day."
"You're hardly the first bride to face that problem," the holy woman said. "But luckily, your choice is not between men as men – your god-sent suitors are all as handsome, sensible, and congenial as their patron deities could make them. Any one of them will treat you well and do his best to make you happy. The question is, what kind of life do you wish? Three doors open into the future and..."
She stopped, distracted by a mudpuppy that had crawled out of the river. No matter how Night Star attempted to regain her attention, the woman remained oblivious.
At last, Night Star returned to the village, just as the elders emerged from their negotiations. It was late afternoon, and the air smelled of smoke, meat, and beer. Night Star's wedding feast would start at sundown. The crowd gathered on the river bank, and Night Star was called before her father's father, her oldest blood-kin.
"Granddaughter," he said, "the elders have talked much today. Offers were made for your hand from many good families. We praise their generosity... and I personally want to mention that I have two other granddaughters who will soon be of marrying age." He winked to the gathering. "But first, it's Night Star's turn. The elders have judged three proposals to have such merit that they outshine the rest. We ask that Night Star herself choose between the three favoured suitors."
>
A buzz of approval ran through the crowd. Elders were the keepers of propriety: they ensured that proposals were fitting. But people knew it was best when women and men chose each other, rather than letting others decide.
The old man said, "Let the suitors stand forth! Speak to my granddaughter, in front of all her people, and give reasons why she should pick you."
Three men came forward. All were good looking, and their clothes expensively decorated. The suitors exchanged silent glances, and in the mysterious way of men, somehow came to unspoken agreement on who would speak first.
"My name is Fire Son," the first man said, "and I work for the future. My family smelts metal, above all, bronze. We use it to improve all aspects of life: better ploughs to work more fields, better armour and weapons to defend ourselves, better tools to make homes and furniture, and sundials, measuring-sticks, styluses.... I cannot list all the things we make, nor the wonders we shall develop in years to come.
"For I am a man who invents new devices. If you come to my home, you will see marvels. As my wife, you too will learn my family's secrets, and work with metals yourself. In my dreams, I have seen that the god of progress will grant you inspiration; he will guide you to devise marvels of your own. You and I will create children of our minds as well as our bodies, and we will make the world a finer place."
Fire Son's speech ended and the river bank was silent with a hush as if something momentous hung in the air – as if a god's hand made the bronze insets of the man's clothing shine like the sun. Then the second man stepped forward, suddenly laughing and dropping to one knee at Night Star's feet.
"Oh exquisite one," he said, "my name is Gull Brother and I cannot offer lofty opportunities like Fire Son; but I offer more earthly delights. No, no, not those," he said, with a wicked quirk of his eyebrows, "although I offer those too, with great enthusiasm. But what I bring is a panorama of sights, sounds, and fragrances: the bounties of all the world!
"My people are sailors – not on this tiny river, but on the great world-spanning ocean. If you come with me, you will visit great cities, taste rare spices, wear exotic perfumes. I cannot offer the chance to make bronze... but you and I will trade bronze for precious jewels, health-giving herbs, and robust breeds of cattle! These are the treasures we deal in, enriching the lives of all whom we meet.
"But the greatest treasure we carry is knowledge. We transport ideas from one land to the next, so that thoughts intermingle and multiply. Think, Night Star: you could spread enlightenment to men and women everywhere, becoming midwife to whole new realms of knowledge."
Gull Brother rose and bowed to Night Star, then flashed her a grin. "Or we could just have fun in amazing places."
He stepped back as the third suitor came forward. "I am called Greening Seed," the man said, "and first, let me acknowledge the gifts of Fire Son and Gull Brother. Who can deny the superiority of a bronze knife over a stone one? Who can deny that our cattle are stronger thanks to breeding stock brought from faraway? We are better off today because of metals and trade; I give these men their due.
"Yet I am a farmer. I work the land as my ancestors did. I plant the same crops, fight the same weeds, look for rain from the same clouds. Yes, I use a plough edged with bronze, pulled by an ox bred from overseas ancestors... but if bronze and ships vanished tomorrow, we farmers could still feed hungry bellies. However, if barley and beans and wheat ceased to be grown, most of the world would starve and the rest would live like animals.
"Night Star, I cannot bring you glorious new experiences – just the age-old gifts a man can offer a woman. Love, honour, kindness, children if the gods bless us, sunny days and rainy ones, happy days and sad, life and eventually death, but not alone. I wish I could give you more, but I give you all that I have."
He fell silent. The crowd made no noise, and even the world seemed to hold its breath, for no breeze blew and the sound of the river was a barely-heard whisper.
At last, Night Star spoke. "This is a time of change – I have sensed that since I was little. Voices speak to me on the wind, trying to nudge me in this direction or that. I don't know why; who can understand the reasons of the gods? But they have chosen me as judge, and I will do so as wisely as I can.
"As I say, it's a time of change, and my life will change as all women change when they take a husband. But the world and my life will not change very much, for I choose Greening Seed. He didn't try to dazzle me – he spoke of real life, not lofty plans and great ambitions."
The crowd cheered their approval, and suddenly the bank was a confusion of families, elders, well-wishers, and more, all talking, hugging, and slapping each other on the back. The wedding was held as soon as order could be restored. After that, the feasting began.
Night Star and Greening Seed looked shyly happy. Fire Son bore his loss graciously, and Gull Brother soon disappeared into the bushes with one of Night Star's cousins.
Late in the evening, Night Star left her new husband's side to go to the village's trench. In the darkness, she met the holy woman, who said, "Well done, child. Our Mother is pleased."
"Because I chose Greening Seed?"
"In part. But what mattered most was the choosing itself. A time will come when Fire Son's descendants buy and sell wives as if they were pots, and when Gull Brother's grandsons sail into harbours to take brides by force. But the tale today was about a woman making her own choice, for reasons of the heart. That bolsters our Mother's strength. Thus, for another span of years, she will keep her seat on the throne."
The holy woman chuckled. "Men can fight all they want among themselves and pretend their competition is about who's better than whom... but as long as they wait for the woman to decide, they're playing by Mother's rules." She kissed Night Star on the cheek. "Good night, my child. Long life and joy to you and your husband."
The woman vanished into the dark.
The Rise of Man
by Sam Chandola
It was the most fascinating beast the Trickster had ever seen. To begin with, it had four limbs, yet only used the rear two to walk. The Trickster hadn’t seen that in thousands of years, and never by an animal so small. The Dinosaurs – Wetiko’s old favourite – had done it, but they had had mighty bodies capable of knocking down entire forests and claws sharp enough to slice through a Mammoth’s thick skin. Until they lost favour with Wetiko and slowly died out, they had been Kings of the Jungle, the most feared of them all. This creature, on the other hand, looked more like some of the punier Primates – and even then it had far less hair on its body and no tail. Its skin was so thin branches and twigs could cut into it, its teeth were blunt, and its claws – if you could call them that – were a joke. Its two forelimbs were oddly bent, which made them good for gripping stuff but completely useless in a fight.
It was this helplessness which made the Trickster even more curious, for the beast had spent the night without a herd in Feline territory. Even the Mammoths travelled in groups when they had to cross here, and occasional flickers of black in the glowing green told the Trickster that the Felines were lurking in the bushes. Like him, they were following this sole creature. Was it lost? Or just plain stupid? It did not matter. The Trickster was bored, and this interesting creature was a fine source of curiosity. Today, he favoured it. Today, it would live. Never mind that Wetico had told him a million times not to interfere with the natural food chain of his kind; he was the Trickster and had a reputation to live up to. If the Felines attacked the beast, he would trick them into migrating to the savannah grasslands. That ought to keep them occupied for the next thousand years or so.
It was now the early hours of dawn, and the ignorant creature hunched over the ground, searching for something. And then it let out an excited yelp and jumped, holding an odd rock in its forelimbs. Finding it seemed to make the beast happy, and it dashed off in a direction that led out of Feline territory. Strangely enough, the Felines held back. Perhaps they thought it was too scrawny to be breakfast, or perhaps it would
just be too little. In any case, the Trickster thought as he followed the beast, I’ll still make you migrate to the savannah another day.
It ran through the forest until it reached a small clearing, where others of its kind waited. So it did have a herd. Everyone gathered around the one the Trickster had followed. Some were excited, some surprised. But most of them were making ridiculous signs with their hands, and all of them were – grunting?
That was the best word the Trickster had to describe the sound they were making. It wasn’t a Feline’s magnificent roar, nor a Wolf’s long-drawn howl, nor a Mammoth’s royal trumpet. It was a short, uninspiring grunt. A snort, if you will. And yet there was more to it than met the eye. The beast that the Trickster had followed started grunting and gesturing, and everyone else fell quiet. He was – speaking. And they were listening.
They’re communicating! The Trickster realized, amazed at the collaborative nature of what he had initially taken to be stupid furless beasts. More gestures and grunts followed, and it seemed that the young creature the Trickster had followed had just undergone a rite of passage by spending the night in Feline territory alone. One of them presented it with a second rock, similar to the one it had found in the forest. It took the rock, walked to a pile of crushed branches and leaves, and motioned for everyone to step back. As it bent down, the Trickster looked on with as much curiosity as everyone else.
Holding one rock in each hand, the beast brought them close to the crushed foliage and smashed them hard against each other. Slowly gaining momentum, he repeatedly hit one rock against the other until it was a flurry of quick blows, the clanking sound reverberating in the air.
The Trickster watched on, fascinated, as sparks began to fly –
There was one final, loud ‘clunk’ – and then slowly, faintly at first, smoke began to come out of the pile of crushed branches and leaves. Within seconds, an orange flame engulfed the foliage as the beast’s herd grunted more in approval. It was Fire – the elemental power of pure energy and destruction.
The Book of the Emissaries: An Animism Short Fiction Anthology Page 3
