Analog SFF, September 2009

by Dell Magazine Authors

"If you are wrong, Father?” asked Jatka.

  "We may have to move."

  The Clan Father was outside his door watching the new snowfall on the river, the ice white beneath the frozen crystals. The flakes were fine and dry, drifting before a slight breeze. Mahu nodded at Gordon, then faced the west as he touched his thumb to his tongue. “See that coming, God'n. Little flake storm. Snows come hard now, deep and cold. Sweep tomorrow if we want to walk, then winds fill in paths and we sweep again.” He held the edge of his hand level with his waist. “This much each time maybe. Sometime more. Bears come down from north to steal children and fatten up before they sleep."

  Seeing Gordon's alarmed expression, Mahu grinned and slapped Gordon's shoulder. “Happen once many winters ago in legend. Keeps little ones minding their mothers.” Mahu remained with a hand on Gordon's shoulder. He raised his other hand and wiggled his finger, a question on his face.

  Gordon held ten rigid fingers straight up in the air.

  Mahu's eyes widened as he raised his left hand, thumb extended, to give it a lick, but Gordon reached out and caught Mahu's hand.

  "In your hand, Mahu. What?"

  * * * *

  The Clan Father frowned. “Stingroot,” he answered as though only a fool would not know what he was holding. “Gift of Many Summers. Good for aching bones. Chase away tired, make strong.” Mahu opened his palm, revealing what looked like an icicle radish. The skin on the wide end had been scraped off and was gray from repeated rubbings by Mahu's thumb. He thrust his arm forward. “God'n try?"

  Gordon took the root from Mahu's hand and immediately his fingers began tingling, warmth moving up his arm, easing then eliminating the remaining pain in his head and shoulder. He sniffed it but the root was odorless. He tossed the root toward the river.

  "No root,” said Gordon. “It is the root that is stealing your gift of youth. Put the root down. Become strong again.” He held up a stiff index finger.

  Mahu looked at Gordon as though he had just lost his mind. “Root good!” he protested. “Father of Mahu taste root. Father's father!” Mahu pointed at himself as if to say his father's use of stingroot and his own existence refuted the connection between impotence and using the substance.

  "Your father taste the Gift of Many Summers when young or old?” Gordon inquired.

  Mahu wrestled with the truth. “Thirty-two summers. Then taste root. Young forbidden to taste root.” He held his hands out. “Root feel good!"

  "Clan Father, this is the answer I have for making you strong."

  "Stingroot Ekav's Gift!” Mahu protested. He looked down at the gathering snow, leaned back against the wall of his house, cocked his head to one side, grimaced, and shook his head. “You have sore muscles, ache in joint?"

  "Yes."

  "What you do?"

  "For some aches there is medicine. For others I say ‘ouch.’”

  "Root always make better,” insisted the Clan Father.

  Gordon smiled. “Your wives, Mahu,” he said. “Think of them."

  "Certain are you, God'n?"

  "No. But I ask you to do what you asked me to do, Mahu: try. Do without the root. See what happens."

  A haunted look in his eyes, Mahu took a small leather pouch from his waist, opened it, stared into the leather bag. “I cannot ask you to do what I would not do myself,” he said. “I will try.” He then emptied the pouch on the ground. Turning away, Mahu walked up to his dwelling, entered, and shut the bark and leather door behind him. Five of the pale white stingroots lay in the new snow.

  "One day at a time, Clan Father,” Gordon said quietly to the closed door. He turned to go home.

  * * * *

  X*III

  Whoever's rooster it was made the first announcement the next morning. Next came a swooshing sound. “Much snow last night,” whispered Pela into Gordon's ear. She put her hands above the covers and acted it out in pantomime. Sweeping. Her neighbors were using brooms to sweep clear their paths. Shortly thereafter came a third sound: a trio of female voices doing that curious screaming-singing yodel. Mahu's wives, Keila, Suna, and Min, were spreading the news about what a few hours away from stingroot had done for their husband.

  "That didn't take long,” remarked Gordon. He dressed, grabbed his pack, and followed Pela to Mahu's house. The three wives were in the snow dancing with their brooms and yodeling out the news. Mahu had gotten sick, complained about aches and pains, then very early in the morning came a great uprising. Driven by desire, the Clan Father had managed to overcome his aching joints three times.

  As Gordon was about to return to Pela's house, he saw a delegation from Cleft Mountain with Kag Ati in the lead stop in front of Mahu. He watched as Mahu stood in the falling snow and talked to Kag Ati, gesturing and explaining the miracle. Soon the remainder of the miracle seekers and clan delegations—some hundred or more—were gathered to hear Mahu talk about strength, weakness, and the Gift of Many Summers. Some of the men emptied their pouches of the root while others waved their hands and growled in protest.

  "Root make strong, not weak!” Kag Ati insisted.

  A few others joined the Cleft Mountain Clan Father in voicing similar sentiments until Mahu held up his hands for silence. “Mahu now strong at thirty and nine,” he said. “I throw away Gift of Many Summers and am strong. I hear of Jatka's juice to rub away aches. Maybe I try that. No more stingroot.” He copied Gordon's gesture of ten rigid fingers thrust up into the air. “Think,” he encouraged them. “Try. Then decide."

  The men who had dumped their root pouches went to their huts and tents to await the miracle, while some of those who did not dump their pouches noted the location of the discarded roots for later retrieval out of Mahu's sight. The young men, not enough summers to have tasted the root, absorbed what they had heard and seen. They returned to their huts to think and to enjoy the miracle they had not yet lost. Those who were too young and who used the root nevertheless listened in horror and went their separate ways to decide upon priorities. Kag Ati turned his massive head and glared at Gordon for a long moment. Abruptly he pivoted and walked west to where his horses were tethered. Soon he and his men rode across the frozen river into the hills.

  * * * *

  By noon the next day the snowfall had stopped and Ekav filled the sky with glorious light. Pela and Bonsha went down to the river's edge to watch the fishers stone-drop holes in the ice. Others in the village were sweeping their paths, still others brought in wood, while others went to Mahu's wives to learn of the benefits of abstinence from stingroot.

  While Gordon observed the village activity, he felt hungry and reached for his pack as he walked through the cedars along the riverbank to join Pela watching the fishers. As he passed a large tree, his attention on the inside of his pack, something smacked the right side of his head, the universe shattered, and he fell into mind shadows.

  * * * *

  Three things moved into Gordon's awareness. First, he was securely bound, hands behind his back, his fingers numb and cold from diminished circulation. Second, his upper torso was propped up against something rough, the knob of a broken branch poked uncomfortably in his back. Third, he had a headache that could flatten Black Mountain all by itself. Blood was crusted beneath his right ear, as he opened his eyes to a smear of light and dark, fuzzy silhouettes around a fire, some moving, some not. It was night. Men and women in a circle around a fire in a clearing, horses tethered just beyond, their backs warmed by furs, the frozen vapor of their breaths filling the line with mist. Also beyond the circle of people were their skin shelters looking like teepees.

  Gordon lifted his head and looked. Perhaps eighty men and women with a few children around the fire. The men nearby wore heavy furs with untrimmed seams and carried toothed clubs and spears tipped with long, symmetrical flint points. Only one familiar face: Kag Ati, Cleft Mountain Clan Father. He was on a raised dais seated upon a bench covered with furs. Next to Gordon was another man who was tied and guarded. Gordon could see his face but didn't
recognize him. Aside from Kag Ati, there was no one he knew. Gordon felt a moment of relief. Pela and Jatka were safe.

  Kag Ati was going through the things in Gordon's pack. A huge black dog sat at his side next to three young females, presumably Kag Ati's new wives. They were before a leather shelter that looked like a teepee with a rounded top. The youngest wife, not even in her teens, was wearing Gordon's spare briefs on her head. The middle wife, no older than eighteen, was wearing his socks on her hands like mittens.

  One of Kag Ati's hunters squatted in front of Gordon and smacked the back of his hand against Gordon's chest. “Chayma Azi,” said the hunter. He was a young man, barely twenty.

  "Pleased to meet you,” said Gordon. “I am the captive."

  "He is awake, Clan Father,” called Chayma to the fire. The clan leader looked up from the pack.

  Kag Ati stood. Holding Gordon's pack by its straps, he walked through the path created as his people made room for him to pass. He stood over Gordon. “God'n of the Red Cliff,” said Kag Ati. “Strong at thirty and eight."

  Gordon moistened his lips and said, “Kag Ati of Cleft Mountain: Clan Father and thief."

  Kag Ati's mouth fell open in surprise. “Tied like an animal, you insult me?"

  "If you are going to kill me, I have no reason to be polite."

  "What about less pain? Is that a good reason?” shouted Chayma Azi.

  "A good reason,” said Gordon, “but not reason enough."

  Kag Ati shook his head at Chayma and motioned for the guard to return to the fire, which he did. The Clan Father held out the pack with one hand and tapped the side of his head with the other. “I know.” He let the pack hang from its straps at his side.

  The clan leader squatted before Gordon, the pack between them. Gordon could see the shockcomb was on top. “I know God'n's secret.” He pulled a stone knife from his belt and held it in front of Gordon's eyes. “You make Kag Ati strong.” The Cleft Mountain Clan Father leaned close to Gordon. "With root, ah? Kag Ati stay with Gift of Many Summers and you make strong."

  "How do I make you strong, Kag Ati? If you keep using the root you stay weak. Ask Mahu."

  Kag Ati held up the pack. “This!"

  "What of it?"

  "Think Kag Ati fool, God'n? Before you went to Pela's bed, ah?” Kag Ati's heavy eyebrows went up. “At feast? I see you. I see Mahu.” He held the pack in his lap. “You hold pack here. Pela sings. Mahu hold pack here. Mahu's wives sing."

  Gordon looked at the pack, vaguely remembering that at the Temptations he had held the pack between his knees while he reset the shockcomb. Mahu had held the pack in his lap while he examined the bag's stitching. Kag Ati had been there and had witnessed both events.

  Kag Ati smashed the back of his hand angrily into Gordon's face. “Make strong!” he demanded. “With root! With pack! Now!" The clan leader held his knife and drew the needle point down Gordon's left cheek, leaving the blood to bead up from the razor cut. He then held the point at Gordon's throat. “I kill you, God'n,” he warned.

  "I must see in pack,” he said to Kag Ati. If he could get his hands on the shockcomb, he could vanish or bury Kag Ati beneath a ton of rock. “I need to see in pack. Untie me."

  Kag Ati frowned suspiciously. “You clever, God'n. I hear about Coyote. Trickster, ah? Maybe God'n trickster.” He held out the bag in front of Gordon's face. “See what you see, then you make Kag Ati strong."

  Gordon looked into the bag. Eleven minutes left on the shockcomb reset. The face of the locater was flashing which could mean anything from the locator's charge running low to Harith managing to find a replacement vehicle and being in the area looking for him.

  "Now you make Kag Ati strong?” The clan leader held up his blade, let the needle sharp point dance dangerously close to Gordon's eyes. “I keep root.” He brought his lips close to Gordon's left ear. “I not get strong, God'n, I bring my people to Red Cliff and kill them all. You think on Pela, now. You think on your new son."

  Gordon closed his eyes and nodded. “You see the way Mahu held the bag? The way I held the bag?"

  "Yes."

  "Hold the bag that way, Kag Ati. Hold it and wait."

  The Clan Father stood, holding the bag in both hand. “Everything in here I need?"

  "Everything you need."

  "Kag Ati not get strong, God'n, I fill Red Cliff with blood, ghosts, fire, and shattered bones,” he warned. “Believe me."

  "I believe you.” Gordon looked away from Kag Ati into the shadows beneath the cedars. He saw the reflection of yellow eyes watching him. No joke too old for the Trickster, thought Gordon. Go down this path, Kag Ati. Learn why you should not have gone.

  "The path is your own," came a distinct voice into his head. He looked again and saw the light distorted between himself and the fire. The voice had spoken in Arabic.

  "Taleghani?" he thought, calling with his mind. "Can you understand me, doctor?"

  "Can you understand me?” he whispered out loud.

  "Now you can understand me," the voice in his mind answered. Then the voice said, "Of what use is a terminal lesson, Gordon? Look to Bel."

  Back at the fire, Kag Ati was on his platform. By one hand held Gordon's leather pack high above him. “This the true magic of God'n. All in here. His tale how old men become strong by putting down Gift of Many Summers—” He swung his free hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Ha!” he bellowed.

  Gordon listened as some of the crowd joined Kag Ati's sentiment with laughs and jeers. Some remained silent, though. Gordon lifted his head and studied those he could see. Some frowns, some whispers. Some knew stingroot was the problem because they had put it down and had become strong again. They were intimidated, however, by the vocal displays of those who didn't want to part with their drug, particularly that of the Clan Father himself.

  Look to Bel, the ghost had said. If he existed, Bel, god of agreements, truth, and honor, was watching. Even if he didn't exist, Gordon's honor did and was at peril. He had lied to Kag Ati. The lie seemed a bigger mistake than dying at the hands of an ignorant addict. Coyote watched; Coyote always watched, and now he had help from another dimension.

  Gordon struggled to his feet and shouted over the heads of the people. “Kag Ati,” he called. “What is in that bag will not make you strong. Putting down the Gift of Many Summers will make you strong. Using stingroot is what makes you weak."

  As dead silence filled the clearing, one of the guards came to knock Gordon back to the ground. The Clan Father called, “Bring God'n here."

  Two guards led Gordon through the closest side of the people's ring, to the right of the fire, and before Kag Ati. “Manga Hadjat!” called the Clan Father to other guards. “Bring the naticha!"

  In a few moments the other prisoner, shaman of the Cleft Mountain People, was dragged before the Clan Father. Manga Hadjat's hands were bound behind him, his face bruised, old blood crusted in his moustache and furs. Gordon could see from the looks on the faces around the fire that many were shamed by Manga's treatment. Kag Ati brought down the hand holding the bag. Holding it in front of the naticha he said, “This is the strength of God'n. We keep root! Say it. Say it!"

  "I tell you only what I know,” said the naticha quietly but with a tone that seemed to Gordon as though Manga had already accepted his own death. “My oath before Bel, Clan Father, was to bring you truth—bring the people truth—that all may live, prosper, and walk in peace and joy."

  "What of this bag?” demanded the Clan Father.

  "I know nothing of it, Kag Ati. I do know that putting down the Gift of Many Summers returned my gift of youth, that doing so has brought back the strength to several in this party.” He stood upright and looked around at the faces. “I know some of those who put down the root and became strong.” He turned slowly and settled his gaze on the Clan Father who looked at Gordon and held out the bag.

  "And you say, God'n?” demanded Kag Ati.

  "What's in that bag will kill you, Kag Ati. It won't make you
strong"

  "You say everything I need is in here, God'n."

  "I lied.” He glanced at the naticha. “Truth,” he said. “I was afraid and I lied.” He looked at Manga. “I live easier with myself by saying truth, Clan Father.” He looked back at Kag Ati. “What is in that bag will kill you."

  "Magic makers,” Kag Ati said disgustedly. “Seers of things to come. Ha!” He nodded to the guards and both Gordon and the naticha were forced down to the hard packed snow. When Gordon looked up again he saw Kag Ati standing upon the raised place before his fur covered bench. He held the bag aloft and said, “I show you all truth! The truth of strength! The truth of Kag Ati!” He sat upon the bench, placed the bag in his lap, and waited. Half a minute, a minute, and Kag Ati's frowning face frowned more deeply. He licked his left thumb then stared down at the bag.

  "It will kill you, Clan Father,” Gordon repeated quietly. “I know this."

  Ignoring the warning, Kag Ati opened his knees and pulled the pack deep into his crotch. “God'n wrong,” the Clan Father said confidently. All waited for one minute, two, then for a split second it looked as though Kag Ati were holding an illuminated silver beach ball in his lap. Then ball, pack, the Clan Father's genitals, inner thighs, a good bit of his abdomen, as well as his hands up to the wrists were gone. Mercifully his horrible screaming didn't last long.

  Once Kag Ati lapsed into unconsciousness, the only sounds came from the huge fire as the burning wood hissed and popped. Still looking at the Clan Father's bloody dead form, Gordon said to the guards, “Cut me free and release the naticha.” He looked at the closest guard. “Now."

  As though released from a spell, the guards bent to the tasks of releasing Gordon and Manga Hadjat, their eyes stealing momentary glances at their leader collapsed upon the bench, his horror of a wound facing the people. Gordon walked over and climbed up the step to Kag Ati's bench. Bending over he checked for a pulse in the Clan Father's neck. Nothing. Kag Ati was dead.

  * * * *

  X*III

  As they watched the men of the Cleft Mountain heap the wood on Kag Ati's funeral pyre, Gordon looked to his left. Manga was watching the fire. “Manga,” said Gordon, “who will lead the Cleft Mountain people?"