Across The Lake

by Doug Kelly

  The fresh green shoots of vegetation pushed their way through the dead foliage of the previous year. Out from these bushes, a lone rabbit occasionally ran, bounding across to the other side of the trail. In certain spots, where there were fewer trees, and the forest chiefly consisted of bush, they could see a short distance away on both sides, with a wide extent of blue sky above. Later, tall trees succeeded the thorn bushes. There, the trees had grown close together, leaving the forest floor under a perpetual shadow.

  Every time the wind blew, they could hear branches creaking or rubbing against each other. Had anyone attempted to walk into the forest there, the traveler would have been immediately ankle deep in soft decaying wood and hidden from sight by thick vegetation. Frequently, with a loud clatter of wings, birds flew away from their perches in the trees as they passed by on their horses. Their calls resounded continually as they flew on. It was evident that a large flock had nested there.

  Again, the forest changed, and the road, passing onto higher ground, entered into a different variety of trees. These, too, had grown thickly together. Blackberry bushes covered the ground in open places, displaying the first sign of budding flowers. Rabbits, which they saw again there, leaped into their burrows. The passing of a skunk not far in front of them was the only thing at that point that actually halted their travel. As the road began to narrow, they could not conveniently ride next to each other. Aton took the lead, and Briand followed. While Aton rode, he thought obsessively about Esina, his boat, the lake, and the belt of forest that wrapped around it all.

  As they trotted along the dirt trail, a pheasant rose from the brush, noisily thrashing its wings. It hastily flew in front of them and then down the road. Aton, who had been looking very carefully into the trees on his right side, suddenly stopped, and Briand, seeing this, pulled up as quickly as he could. He thought that Aton simply needed to tighten his saddle girth. Briand wanted to help him, but as he got closer, he saw the expression on his cousin’s face and realized he had thought wrong. There was danger present.

  “Is there trouble?” Briand asked, turning around in his saddle as he gripped the handle of his sword, still sheathed.

  Aton was silent. He held a finger to his lips, and looked at Briand in such a way that made him understand not to make a noise. Aton quietly dismounted his horse. It was trained to hunt, so it stood perfectly still and would remain there until commanded to do otherwise. Briand reined back, still mounted on his steed, and watched Aton bend and string his bow.

  “Swamp men,” whispered Aton, as he drew an arrow. In his belt, he carried two more that were quicker to retrieve than from the quiver on his shoulder. “I think someone is watching us.”

  He stepped off the dirt road and into a thin stand of trees near a willow bush. Lying on the open ground was a throwing club. The hand of its owner had rubbed the wooden handle smooth.

  —— —— ——

  The cannibals of the swamp made their throwing weapon from the trunk of a young tree. They had designed it with a narrow, short handle, and a large, heavy end. With it, they could bring down small game, like rabbits or squirrels, and even break the legs of deer or occasionally stun large birds like turkey or pheasant. Sneaking up through the thickets, the men of the glade rarely missed when they threw their clubs. If not killed instantly, the game was stunned. That could be better than hunting with a bow because, if wounded, a large bird with an arrow in its wing would flutter along the ground and perhaps crawl into the dense thickets or thorn bushes.

  Stunning it by the blow from a thrown club, the swamp men could pick up the wildfowl without trouble and without the aid of a dog, and if it were not dead, they would kill it by twisting the neck or cutting off its head with a flint knife. Occasionally, when the cannibals found scraps of metal, they rubbed the edges on rock until they were sharp, and they coated the sharpened metal with poison for hunting wild beasts, and people, too. The metal tools made woodworking easy. When metal scraps were scarce, they used large spalls of flint as cutting tools to shape wood into throwing clubs. Flint was versatile and useful for survival in the wilderness. Its two most common uses by clansman and cannibal alike was to strike it against fire steel to bring dry tinder to flame, and cutting flesh with its chipped edges. Any hunter could draw the sharp edge of chipped flint across meat to slice it into thin strips for drying, but the swamp men also used it as a weapon for murder.

  —— —— ——

  Whatever the cannibal had hurled his club at had disappeared, and the club had fallen to the ground near the bushes. A moment's reflection convinced Aton that the swamp man had been hunting a pheasant. Only a few moments previously, a pheasant had flown before them and then away, down the dirt road. Where there was one pheasant there was usually a flock. Men of the glade were peculiarly fond of pheasant, pursuing them all year long. Aton thought that the cannibal must have passed them very recently, probably at dawn, and was very likely concealed at that moment, nearby in the forest, perhaps even watching them. He looked carefully around, but could see nothing. There were trees, but not one of them was large enough to hide a man behind, and there was not sufficient vegetation to conceal a man. His hunter’s eyes could detect nothing more. There were no footmarks on the ground; the dry dead leaves from last fall would hardly have left an impression anyway. Up in the trees, the branches were thin, and they could see the sky through them. Whether a cannibal was lying in some slight depression of the ground, or whether he had covered himself with dead leaves, or whether he had gone on and was far away, there was nothing to show where he had been or where he had gone. Aton was sure that at least one of them had been there.

  As Aton was ambling back toward Briand, he was thinking of these inhuman savages and the havoc they could create. This caused him great anxiety because he did not like the idea of the barbaric creatures being so close to Esina. As infrequent as those incidents could be in the woods, this seemed ominous to Aton. The discovery of the presence of cannibals erased the beauty of the morning. After hearing Aton’s explanation that the throwing club belonged to the swamp people, Briand agreed with that conclusion, and said that they must remember to warn others that the swamp men, whom they had not seen for some time, were nearby.

  Soon afterwards, they emerged from the dark trees and crossed a wide and sloping ground where a forest fire last year had cleared away the underbrush. A lush growth of grass was now springing up. There, they could ride side by side. The sunshine poured down and birds were singing blissfully, but they soon passed it and slowed their pace after entering another thicket of trees.

  Tall trees, with round smooth trunks, had grown dense on the dry and rising ground. Their branches met above the dirt road, forming a continuous green arch that shaded the two riders. Thick green vegetation filled the space between the trees, and the road had vines growing across it intermittently. As they came into that beautiful place, a white-tailed deer, startled by the men as it quietly grazed in the grass, ran down the road, its swift leaps carrying it away like silent gusts of wind, and just as swiftly, it left the road, bounding into the vegetation and disappearing behind it. Squirrels ran up tree trunks as the men approached. They could see many squirrels on the ground and in the woods, and passed under others on the branches high above them as they heard the percussion of woodpeckers, looking for a meal of bugs hiding under loose bark of the trees in the distance.

  Briand saw a wild boar scurry away through the undergrowth, its thick skin impervious to the thorny shrubs. They also passed several open fields. From one they startled a few deer, whose tails were all that the cousins could see as they bounded into the shade of the tall forest trees. After the open fields came the tall oak trees, a sign they were close to their destination. When they emerged from those trees, they saw the warlord’s estate.

  The ground suddenly sloped down into a river valley and a hill rose beyond it. The stockade was on the hill, about halfway across the valley. To the left, a river meandered past. To the right, the dark fore
st extended as far as the eye could see. Servants and slaves had cleared the surrounding grassland of all but a few bushes. This pasture was not enclosed. One of Olar’s herdsmen was there with his cattle, sitting at the foot of a tree while the cows slowly grazed on the green grass of the gentle slope below. On that pasture, carpenters were putting the finishing touches on the elevated benches and various stages for use during the spring festival. Soon, a throng of revelers, joyous villagers, and members of visiting clans will populate the meadow, after evicting the cattle from their home.

  Down in the valley the barrier began; it was long, but not wide. The enclosure extended on the left to the bank of the river, and two fields on the other side of it. Within the enclosures, corn shoots were green and flourishing; horses and cattle were roaming about. The slave cottages were on the bank of the river immediately beyond the estate. The surrounding forest enclosed the valley and its occupants. As peaceful as the scene appeared, it had been the site of furious fighting not many years ago. Occasionally, nomads traveled close by, and the warlord’s ranks kept a cautious watch on both the enclosing wall and the hills beyond.

  They rode slowly down the gentle slope, and in a few moments reached the outer barrier. A guard had seen their approach and recognized them as they advanced to the gate, which was opening for their arrival.

  Each side of the gate’s double doors had a watchtower manned with two guards. The guards in each lookout were armed, one with a spear, the other with a stout bow and a stash of arrows. Between the guards in each post, they displayed an old nonfunctioning firearm that Americans had manufactured. Both ancient weapons were machineguns, each with an integrated bipod. The care and use of firearms was lost long ago. In their current state of slow continual corrosion, those old weapons could not have fired one cartridge, even if they had ammunition, which they did not, because all of it had fallen victim to generations of heat and humidly. Old weapons of war were mostly just symbols of power, a testament to a clan or warlord’s readiness and unconditional willingness to engage in battle, a distinct warning to those who approached a fortification, a monument of caution for rival clans to stay away.

  Inside the gate, they dismounted and waited while a guard announced their entrance. A few moments later, Aton noticed Esina waving at him. He waved back, but quickly realized that she was walking with a man who was close to her side. It was Lanzo Brill, Trahan’s son. Aton and Briand vehemently despised both the father and the son, and it infuriated him to see his love, Esina, with such a vile creature. Lanzo had seen her wave at them as they entered through the gate and took her by the arm to lead her away. When he had steered her away, Aton’s temper flared. Briand could feel the heat rising in his cousin and knew nothing good could come from it. He put a firm grip on Aton’s shoulder and cautioned him to act prudently because they were guests at the warlord’s estate.

  Soon afterwards, the reverberating sound of the guard's horn, from the watch over the gate of the wall, announced that it was midday, and they all assembled for the noon meal. Olar’s family home was a magnificent structure. Made of stone, cypress logs, and mortar, the multistory structure gave the impression of power, most likely the intention of its design. They met other guests on the ground floor and an internal wall separated the room where the more distinguished guests met from a much larger room of the grand home.

  In the front, there were originally only two rooms. They had enlarged one of them under the direction of Olar’s wife, Nessa, but even then, it was not large enough for the ruling family and their servants during celebrations, so they had begun to build a wooden shed directly next to it for the addition of temporary space. Workers were still busy putting up that shed when they arrived.

  The ruling family used the second room as the dining area on ordinary days. Sunlight illuminated the room through a large window, now opened wide for fresh spring air to enter. That window was Nessa Regalyon’s pride because it contained a greater abundance of glass than any window in any other home that she knew. The panes were not smooth; their wavy surfaces distorted the light that shone through them. A glassmith had made it from melted beach sand imported from the ocean’s shore. It was not transparent, merely translucent. It admitted the light, but it was thick and difficult see completely through.

  Light from the open window illuminated a chandelier of ancient glass bottles that dangled from string made with twisted fibers of hemp. It was an assortment of colored glass containers of varying shapes and sizes, which hung from the home’s main crossbeam so that any gentle breeze would sway it and cause it to turn. Colored light would reflect from it and dance on the ceiling and walls. On a bright and breezy day, the reflected specks of tinted brilliance would decorate the walls and ceiling with a twirling burst of colors, like a swarm of manic fireflies.

  The servants had adjusted and arranged the tables so that they were in an open square. Olar and Nessa’s oak chairs faced the window, the guests sat at the other tables sideways to them, and the servants moved on the outside and placed the food before them without creating an inconvenience. Nessa had placed the fourth table in the corner, between the fireplace and the window. The head housekeeper, now gray and aged, sat at it.

  Other guests had already arrived. Some had ridden a great distance to be present. They were all members of ruling families from the league of clans, and were richly dressed. One or two of the eldest were wealthy and powerful men, and the youngest was the son and heir to a recently annexed clan. Each had come with their own entourage.

  Young Lanzo Brill had at least two dozen slaves attending to his needs, and several friends from distant clans accompanied him that night, all of them lodged in the local village. His friends took their meals at Olar’s home at the same time as the others, but due to the lack of room, they ate apart from the group, by themselves, unencumbered with the strict protocol usually practiced in Olar’s presence during such a formal event. Of all the men present, Lanzo thought of himself as the most gallant and noble. Privilege can cause unbridled arrogance. His dark eyes and hair, prominent chin, and unblemished skin formed the very image of what many women look for in a man, but it was his bright, lively conversation, the way in which his slightly tanned complexion glowed with animation, the bold confidence and generous warmth of his disposition that drew women toward him.

  With such a reputation, backed by the great wealth and power of his father Trahan, other clansmen, even members of the warlord’s extended family, competed with each other for his friendship, and therefore the influence that would come with it. He was overwhelmed with attention and was often plagued with almost as large a crowd as had surrounded Olar, the very host of the spring festival. He took the chair next to where Esina would sit. He had been paying her unrelenting attention all morning long, just as his father had instructed him to do. Esina laughed unenthusiastically as she sat next to Lanzo. She was not entertained by his humor, or smitten by his charm.

  Etiquette usually placed the elder men nearest the host, but to the astonishment of all, Olar invited Briand to sit by him. Briand could not understand that special mark of favor. The others, too proud for a moment to resent what they might have deemed a slight directed at them, at once began to search their minds for a reason. They knew Olar as an experienced plotter. So they started rumors, whether intended or not, about that gesture, a slip in well-understood protocol.

  Aton was crowded out and disregarded by the seating arrangement that forced him to sit at the end of the table. It was only a short distance between him and the warlord’s entourage, and he could overhear their talk among themselves, even if whispered. Because of this social obstruction, he had merely shaken hands with Esina, each holding the other’s hand with a loving pause as they did. With Olar’s encouragement, the crowd in attendance and Lanzo’s persistent interference had prevented the exchange of a single word between him and the woman he loved. As usual, the feelings of rejection that he had brooded over for so long, real or imagined, rose up from that dark place that was alr
eady so full of anger and resentment. The heat from this antagonism burned his soul.

  His seat, the lowest and the nearest to the servants, was a mark of the low regard that Olar held for him. The warlord had actually placed Lanzo next to Esina, as a direct encouragement to him, and a hint to Aton of her father’s wishes. Lanzo had been to the warlord’s family estate many times, and he was already judged an acceptable suitor by Esina’s father, in spite of his eldest daughter’s feelings for Aton. Unbeknownst to Esina and her father, Lanzo’s presence, although he was delighted with her beauty and conversation, was entirely due to the will of his father, who wished to maintain friendly relations with the warlord, influence him, and increase his power and control in hope that one day his son might become the warlord. Trahan wanted Lanzo to attain the authority of a ruler by any means necessary and at any cost.

  Lanzo understood his father’s wishes, so he regarded Esina as a tool to acquire power. Esina, knowing that her father was watching her actions, dared not look toward Aton, because by an accidental movement or untoward glance, she could be the cause of her father asking him to leave. She knew that her father only needed an excuse to interfere and was anxious to avoid offering him the chance.

  Aton, after seeing her glance bent downwards, away from him and more toward Lanzo, concluded that she might be attracted to that obnoxious man. To add insult to injury, Esina had placed a courtship orchid in her hair, a custom that indicated she was actively seeking suitors, desiring marriage, but only a matrimonial union with the approval of her father. He felt discarded, worthless, and ignored once more. He was only an archer, a hunter, maybe just the son of a gardener. Angry and jealous, Aton was barely able to remain at the table. He was beside himself, in an almost catatonic state because of these horrible feelings that the constant affronts had summoned from the depths of his angry soul. He did not answer or make note of the remarks of the entourage sitting by him, who already considered him worthless.