West of January

by Dave Duncan

  I stared at him in dismay. “I cannot speak to the great ones!”

  He was surprised—and skeptical. “But you ride them? How can you hunt with them if you can’t speak their language?”

  “Hunting is easy. Oh, I know some signals and a few words. I can understand a little of their song, but anything complicated, like what you want—that needs three people.”

  “Why three?”

  “To make the harmonies.”

  He frowned, as if he should have remembered that. “Well, you could ask two other to help you, surely?”

  As a callow youth I had cared nothing when I saw the herdfolk die, and there had been no way I could have helped them anyway; but these were my friends—and my children. I wanted to save the tribe, and I also wanted to please the angel. I watched the seafolk as they laughed and frolicked in the surf, then I turned away. I avoided the angel’s eyes and stared down instead at the bony shins protruding from his boots.

  “I don’t think so, sir,” I whispered.

  “Why not?”

  “I can tell my mount to dive, or turn, or find seals or sunfish—but I don’t know any of the words you want. Not that they really have words—they speak in chords and in rhythm.”

  “But can you not then ask three to speak for you?”

  “I could ask…”

  “So…?”

  “I wouldn’t know what they said,” I mumbled, still glumly studying his feet. I could guess what sort of message would be passed—squirt Golden, dunk him, swim him around in circles… If the seafolk did not want to admit the truth of the angel’s warning even to themselves, they would certainly not tell the great ones.

  “There must be some you can trust, Knobil? The women?”

  I did not reply.

  Brown turned again and studied the crowd on the beach. “Widows I can understand—I know their ways. But I see at least six pregnant wives over there. Obviously you’ve talked yourself into enough beds—”

  “Not so! They talk me into it! I won’t go to a wife unless her husband asks me outright.”

  Brown said nothing until I looked up. Not liking what I saw, I quickly dropped my eyes again.

  “You are not exactly brimming over with tact, are you, herdman? You make them beg?”

  “Ask! Just ask.”

  He grunted. “I expect it feels like begging. Name of Heaven! ‘Please breed my wife because I’m not man enough’!? Couldn’t you have just settled for a hint or two? You don’t leave them much pride, do you? You think they can’t tell straight hair from curls as well as you can? Do you gloat much?”

  He did not expect a reply, and I squirmed in silence. Then he sighed. “Well, I shall keep trying. There must be many other tribes, and perhaps I can convince one of them to tell the great ones in time. The records insist that it is the only way.”

  I did not know who “the records” were, but obviously he listened to them and thought them wise.

  “There is another possibility,” the angel said. “It is a faint chance. The Great River is not far from here—I think you could almost make it in one ride, without a sleep, because the great ones travel much faster than my chariot does. If you were to go upstream as far as the worst rapids, in the mountains, and then come down again… I think your mount might understand. They are very smart, you know. They could taste the better seawater coming in. You might have to do it twice—to show them that the flow was getting faster. It might work.”

  “My wife is going to have a child—”

  “Your wife is going to die. And all of your children. Or don’t you care about them? Is hot groin all you’re interested in?”

  I clenched my teeth till they hurt. Someone shouted my name from the fireside and others called for the angel. I forced myself to look at him again.

  “There might be another way.”

  He regarded me warily. “Go on.”

  “There is no one in the grove at the moment—no one at all.”

  “You can’t be certain of that.”

  “I am. I counted. I’m always counting. They stray worse than woollies—”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “If they lost their home right away, while you were still here to lecture them again—then they might listen? I could run down for a swim.” It was so hot that everyone was taking quick dips to cool off. “No one would notice if I slipped out to the grove. I have tinder and flint at my feasting place—”

  “Did you ever see grassfires in your youth?”

  “Of course!”

  He nodded. “And you fought them with backfires? Woollies themselves are fireproof, so I’m told—”

  “I could be back here before anyone noticed. Then we could organize a rescue, to save the tools and clothes and things—”

  “No!” His voice cracked with the finality of a club hitting a seal’s skull. Again I averted my eyes from the expression on his face.

  “Why not, sir?”

  “First, it would be violence, so I will not condone it. People must be able to trust angels. In fact, I shall stop you if you try—you know that I have that power?” I remembered Violet slaying the tyrant; I shivered and nodded. Again there were shouts for us from the feast.

  “Secondly you’re judging by grassfires, which are relatively harmless. That grove is a dry trelliswork, packed with dead leaves. It would explode in one big roar of flame. You would save nothing. You would leave the tribe not merely homeless but destitute, with no possessions at all. Forget that, Knobil!”

  Sparkle was heading toward the chariot, plodding heavily along the shiny shingle.

  “My wife is coming to tell us the meal is ready, sir.”

  “What will you say to her?”

  “That we are coming?”

  “And what will you say to her when she comes to tell you that the stream has stopped flowing? Well? Look at me, damn it!”

  This time his gray eyes held me as if he had nailed me to the side of the chariot. No water? The children could die of thirst while we searched for another stream. The tribe kept no emergency supply, and of course we ought to be doing that, but the seafolk never would do anything so strenuous, not even after this warning.

  His stare was a challenge—to my courage, to my manhood, to every stitch of the self-respect he had just rubbed threadbare.

  I licked my lips and surrendered. “I’ll try, sir.”

  He smiled in triumph and held out a hand. There was a small triangle of leather lying on his palm: brown, yellow, and white.

  “Your third!”

  I took it and was committed, and I wanted to weep.

  ─♦─

  I wiped my mouth and tossed the remains of my blackfish into the surf. The whole tribe was sitting in one long line in the fingertips of the sea, listlessly debating the problem of ferrying the children back to the grove for the singing. A dozen girls flocked around the angel.

  “I am going away,” I said.

  Sparkle was cracking a crawler leg for Merry. Her head twisted around to me. “No!”

  “Just to look at the Great River. A few sleeps, is all.”

  “No! Not leave me!”

  “It’s very important, dearest. The angel is right. We are all in danger.”

  She patted my knee. “Stay till after baby. Then go.”

  “That might be too late.”

  Alarm flickered in her eyes. “After angel leaves, then.”

  “No. Now.” I did not think the angel would go before I did.

  Suddenly she looked angry, as if I were being a foolish child.

  “Must wait at least for singing!”

  I had meant to wait for the singing, and had she reacted differently, I think my resolution would have collapsed altogether. Instead her sharp tone made my own terror flare up in petty rage.

  “Dark hell the singing! Now! You can eat at Sand’s place while I’m gone.” I trusted Sparkle to be faithful to me, and she was much too pregnant not to be.

  Sparkle glared. “Taking w
ho with you?”

  “No one. If I wait for anyone else, I’ll never get away.”

  “Stupid to go alone!” she shouted, and she pushed Merry aside as he tried to climb on her lap. Unaccustomed to such rebuffs, he burst into tears. We were attracting attention. “Is your rule—not go alone!”

  “I’ve asked them!” I had asked at least a dozen of the seafolk and had heard a dozen different excuses. Even a herdman can take a hint if he’s thumped hard enough.

  Suspicion settled over Sparkle’s face. “Did give token?”

  I nodded.

  “So going to Heaven?” She was starting to shout. “Pilgrim again? Again want to be angel? Visit camps and tribes and meet lots of nice girls? Tired of being father and husband?”

  She was hugely pregnant and miserably uncomfortable in the heat. I should have made more allowances, but I was on edge, too, and I was still under the spell of the angel’s flattery.

  “No, not that. I told you I’m coming back as soon as I can.”

  “Don’t! Stay away!”

  “What?!” I howled, as she heaved herself unsteadily to her feet. “Sparkle! You love me. You said so!”

  And I truly believed that I loved Sparkle.

  “And you? If loved me, would not go! First Pebble, now Golden? Soon have married all the men. Think Whistler is old enough for next?”

  I rose also, trying to explain the angel’s plan, but she would not listen. Soon we had a shouting competition going, while the rest of the tribe watched in horror. I could send another in my place, she said. I was a herdman who did not like his possessions talking back to him. If I really loved her, I would not make wave with all those other women. I must not forget to kiss Surge goodbye—how did she know about Surge?

  “And big kiss for Salty, also.” She turned her back on me.

  I was supposed to put my arms around her at that point.

  I didn’t. Of course she was frightened, and seafolk did not know how to handle fear. Now I see that. Then I did not.

  I also was afraid and now ashamed, too. I pushed past sobbing children. I strode away into the surf, without a word and without looking back. I should have been more understanding. I should have explained better, but I did nothing that I should have. Like a petulant child, I just walked away. It would have made no difference in the end, but it is another of the great regrets of my life.

  —2—

  FRITH WAS A FULL-GROWN MALE NOW, almost as large as Gorf. He had a mate, Pfapff, who came with us, and three or four other great ones kept us company for a while. I carried two water bottles, a knife, and a net. I wore a hat and pagne, and my amulet contained three angel tokens. In my throbbing angry head was a muddled account of the geography, given me by that rawboned, steely-eyed angel.

  I hated him.

  The great ones were still excited, and I am sure that their discussions were booming to and fro across the ocean. Having to stay near the surface, Frith would not have been able to hear properly, but the others listened to the long-range talk and repeated it to him in their local chatter—or so I believe. I may be wrong, for neither saint nor seaman fully understands the great ones.

  I was weary and sunbaked when members of another pod came leaping and spouting to meet me and lead me to one of the other tribes that Brown had mentioned. Their grove had long since vanished, and they camped in cheerfully ramshackle tents on steaming sand by a stream that I noted glumly to be even smaller than ours. There would be no refuge here for us if our water failed.

  I was given food and a place to rest. I was not told whose home it was, and I slept alone. I awoke screaming. For the first time since my marriage to Sparkle, I had dreamed of Anubyl beating my mother. I had felt my nails cut into my palms and tasted the blood from my bitten lip.

  I refused my hosts’ entreaties to tarry longer. Frith had waited, as I had asked him to, and we continued our journey south with Pfapff at our side. Our other escorts had departed. I did not feel the same lonely terror that I had known before. I was a seaman, Frith was with me, and he would take care of me.

  The Great River was easy to find. Even I could smell the difference in the water, and the tussocks of vegetation floating in it were not yet yellowed by excess salt. Most rivers are narrow, short-lived, and drinkable. This one was a moving sea, too wide for both banks to be visible at the same time. Frith and Pfapff seemed excited at the chance to explore a new environment, and they plunged eagerly ahead.

  Eventually I grew so tired and hungry that I had to call for a halt. The sun was near to being overhead and there were few shadows, but I asked to be put ashore on some high rocks, and I found a shaded ledge. Soon thereafter Frith put up his head, made his chuckling sound, and threw me a fish that would have fed half the tribe. I ate. I slept. This time I dreamed of Loneliness, and I nearly wept with relief when I awoke and saw that Frith was still there. Had he left me, I should have died very quickly on that barren little island.

  Two more sleeps brought me to the mountains and to faster currents. By then my skin was peeling in sheets from the continuous salt and sun, yet I had no alternative but to continue, and I was excited by the sight of the huge hills and the vaster hazy-blue giants raked along the horizon behind them.

  With no warning, Frith and Pfapff balked. They swam in circles, chattering furiously, and no signal or word from me would persuade them to go farther. Of course, the words I knew were little closer to their true speech than “Whoa!” is to horse talk. I could tell them what I wanted, but in no way could I explain why it was important.

  Important or not, my journey seemed to have ended. I even tried dismounting and swimming in the direction I wanted to go. They let me do so, clattering with amusement as the current swept me backward toward the March Ocean. Only when I was exhausted and sinking did Frith stop laughing and retrieve me.

  I asked again and was refused again. Then, just as I was ready to admit defeat, a strange thing happened. A tremor of excitement ran through the great muscular back I straddled. At the same instant Pfapff sounded. I knew from the angle of her tail that she was going deep. Frith sank as low in the water as he could without drowning me and then just drifted, listening.

  Of course, I remembered how I had learned of Pebble s death, and I was filled with dread that something bad had happened back at the grove. I felt deep booming sounds from Pfapff. Those I knew to be long-distance talk. Some important message was being passed.

  Both great ones surfaced simultaneously, spouting and gibbering. They held a long conversation, but if they were trying to tell me the news, they failed utterly. To my astonishment, however, they then set off against the current at high speed, with me hanging grimly to Frith’s fin and Pfapff leaping exuberantly alongside. Showing no further hesitation, they carried me up the Great River and through the mountains.

  Of course, I was perplexed beyond measure at their change of heart. It was much, much later that I received a plausible explanation, and it came from Kettle, a former seaman and by then a saint, great scholar, and senior aide to Gabriel himself. My companions’ initial reluctance to go farther, he suggested, had probably been due to the increasing noise of the river. It would have cut them off from the sounds of the ocean and from the chatter of the other great ones. Then, just as I had concluded that I must abandon my mission, they had learned of the impending disaster.

  Brown-yellow-white, the angel who had bewitched me into this folly, was one of two who had survived the journey down the Great River to the March Ocean. The two angels had then split up. Brown had gone north. The other, Two-pink-green, had followed the southern shore, and his efforts had met with success. He had been able to convince one tribe of the imminent danger. They informed their great ones, who immediately passed the news to all the others. Then Frith and Pfapff knew what I was trying to do, more or less. Perhaps they were excited at being pathfinders for the great migration. Perhaps they were even ordered by some central great-one leader to go ahead and explore. Who can say?

  ─♦─<
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  The canyon through the Andes Mountains is one of the wonders of the world, and traveling up it on Frith’s back was the most awe-inspiring journey I was to know on all my wanderings. In many places it churned and roared, with waves standing like hills and great whirlpool mouths howling at us impudent wayfarers, seeking to suck us down to our destruction. Repeatedly I was swept off, helpless as froth, and rescued by Pfapff, who was keeping close behind Frith to guard me. The two great ones reveled in the tumult, at times leaping like roos up the cataracts, although at other times even they needed to seek out calmer pools and rest. As for me, I could only hope that they would take my screams of terror to be shouts of joy, or that those went unheard in the violence of the waves.

  This was the route that Violet had intended to sail. We can never know how far he went after leaving me, but a few angels did return to Heaven at about that time and by that road. Their accomplishment shows how greatly the respective levels of the two oceans had changed while I wandered alone on the sands and then dallied among the seafolk.

  Yet there were also wide calm places, where the river wound in chasms through barren hills scoured to sterile rock by the higher floods of the past, or cauterized by the heat of summer. Sometimes the river narrowed, with rocky sides rising sheer until the sky was a ragged slit of light shining far above me, reflected on the black stillness as if it were also far below. At those times I seemed to float in air rather than on water. Plumes of cataracts graced the walls, some dropping from heights so great that only mist reached down to dimple the mirrored surface. For long stretches I traveled on dark glass, leaving a narrow, V-shaped wake behind me.

  Earlier—at about the time of my birth—the river had been much higher, but I have been assured by the saints that I saw only a part of the canyon. They estimate that it was still about half-full when I went through; at other times the gorge is that much deeper. I have never had any desire to go back and see.

  The only more terrible journey I can imagine would be to descend that hellish torrent in an angel chariot. It had never been done so late in the cycle, but it was the fastest route from Heaven to the March Ocean, and with time running out for the seafolk, the archangel had sent his six best sailors. Brown and Pink survived. The names of the other four are recorded on the Scroll of Honor.