by Alex Paul
That was the truth. The call of the world was far stronger than his desire to please his mother, no matter the consequences. He wanted to go. No, it was more than that. He had to go.
“Then you may go, Arken.” Zela’s eyes filled with water and her chin quivered. “I cannot hold you back from your life, though I will miss you each day until you return, my son.”
“A good decision, Zela.” Stroebel squeezed her clenched hands. “You won’t regret it.”
“Thank you, then, Soothsayer Stroebel.” Zela stepped back and darted through the beaded curtain, startling Arken because he still had so many questions.
“Good-bye,” Arken said, turning to follow his mother. Then, he paused, nodding at the mural. “What is this place?”
“It is a hillside overlooking the sea. Stand here. I didn’t show you.” Stroebel pointed to a line drawn on the tile floor. “Put your feet on either side of the line as you look that way, out to sea, and look at that small bird in the sky.” Stroebel pointed his head in that direction.
“Do you see it?” Stroebel asked.
“Yes, I’m looking at it,” Arken said.
“So, now, you are seeing the same view with everything surrounding you as if you were standing on that hillside,” Stroebel explained. “I painted it so that I wouldn’t forget it.”
“Where is it?”
“That is a secret.” Stroebel spoke in a deep, stern voice that discouraged more questions. “But it is the most important place I’ve been in my life because what happened there changed me forever.”
“I probably can’t ask what happened?” Arken asked.
“No.” Stroebel smiled and shook his head. “It is something you have to do for yourself, and I can’t tell you anything about it other than to follow my advice.”
“Well, then, thank you for your advice,” Arken said as he turned to go. His mind was buzzing with questions, but he knew he couldn’t ask.
“And tell me again, what is the main advice that you must remember?” Stroebel asked.
“Be good with my bow,” Arken said with confidence.
“Kal will watch over you,” Stroebel assured him.
“Yes, sir.” Arken ran out the door and down the street made too bright by the whitewashed plaster walls surrounding him. His heart pounded. He caught up with Zela and found tears streaming down her cheeks. She stumbled as he reached her.
“Mother!” Arken grasped her elbow. “Are you ill?”
She pressed her elbow on his hand for support. He held it to prevent her from falling to the cobblestones, the first time in his life he’d had to support his mother. It had always been the other way around.
“No,” she sobbed. She started to speak, but a harse-drawn cart clattered past, its wooden wheels running in the two-wheel tracks in the street’s center and forcing them to the side of the road.
“What did you say?” Arken hurried along, almost twisting his ankle on a cobblestone due to the slippery sandals his mother had insisted he wear to look nice for the reading.
“With danger and violence in your future, how can I not be ill?”
“But I’ll be safe. The soothsayer said so!” Arken reminded her.
“Safe? I’m not so sure.” Her lips trembled as she walked hunched over, as if she had been punched in the stomach. Her long white dress, which she usually held up to avoid soiling, dragged along the ground.
“I’ll practice with my bow,” Arken promised. “Remember? He said to be good with my bow?”
“That’s something at least...” Zela’s voice drifted off.
He turned to look back at the small house where he’d had his first—but hopefully not last—vision. It had felt like he was glimpsing his future for the very first time.
CHAPTER 8
ORD RECOVERS
At last we sight land. We will stop at Isle Canar to provision with whatever meat the crew can obtain. The captain has promised I can venture ashore under sufficient escort. No land exists beyond this place until Lanth, home of my future husband. Will he be a brave warrior and lead his people to free mine from the Amarrats? I weep in despair, for I cannot yet read the necklace.
—Diary of Princess Sharmane of Tolaria
The patterns of flickering firelight confused Ord as his eyes opened. Yet his nose told him he was in the chelat, where his father treated sick Nanders. Part of the chelat doubled as his family’s home in the cave, allowing Mar to wake at night if a Nander needed attention. But Mar wasn’t in his bed.
A ten-foot-high wall of stone protruded from the cave wall and formed a circle ten legs across, which made a large room for the chelat. A round hole in that natural stone wall, with an opening as wide as three Nanders side by side, served as a doorway. A flap of gastag skins hung over the opening to give privacy.
Ord looked at the cave walls soaring up to disappear into blackness of the cave roof far above. The roof was only visible when many bright cooking fires burned. He never liked lying on his back looking up; it made him feel as if he could fall upward. He adjusted his gaze to the top of the stone wall surrounding the chelat. While sounds of other Nanders filtered in from around the cave, he was grateful the stone wall offered more privacy than the head-high stacked stone circles defining the living space of other Nander families in the cave. The tribe called this cave the Water Cave, because two streams ran through it.
Ord’s father, Mar; his mother, Maren; his little sister, Eela; his older sister, Ween, who was soon to deliver; and Lon, her husband, all shared this space with the patients under Mar’s treatment.
Thirst drove Ord to rise, but only his head lifted from his soft, ban-hide bed before the pain in his skull halted movement. His father stood at a natural bench of rock jutting from the chelat wall, which he used for mixing herbs. A small fire burned to his left in a stone hollow.
“Father,” Ord gasped. “Water.”
“Finally.” Mar rushed over and held his son’s head. “Drink and then rest,” he ordered as he tipped a stone bowl of water to Ord’s parched lips. The water felt wonderful. “Now take this.” Ord swallowed a bitter liquid. The pain stopped and Ord drifted off to sleep.
***
“Ord, awake!” The high-pitched scream of his little sister’s excited voice hurt his head as he lifted it.
“Eela screech like monkey!” Ord protested. “Be quiet like prowling cat.” His splitting headache hurt with each word. But his little sister was only seven yars old and too happy to be quiet. She screamed and hugged him, and then screamed some more as she ran out the chelat door. Her short, lean frame was already so heavily muscled that she barely touched the ground while sprinting.
Eela’s long blonde hair tied back behind her head bobbed side to side as she ran. Ord felt a surge of love for his sister and resolved that he would spend more time playing with her in the future. He looked around the chelat. There were no Nanders occupying the ban-skin beds, and no family member greeted him. He realized it must be daytime, and he felt as if he had been sleeping for a long time.
His mother soon rushed into the chelat with Eela behind. His older sister, Ween, came through the ban-skin door cover next, and his father hobbled in behind her.
Maren and Ween looked almost identical walking toward him, both golden-haired, their bodies covered with a light layer of golden fur, though Maren’s hair had patches of gray. The main difference between them was that Ween glided with the powerful movement of a young female, while Ord’s mother rocked from side to side as she walked, a victim of stiff joints.
They crowded around him and waited while Mar poked Ord’s head.
“Ord sleep four sunsets,” Mar said. “How Ord feel?”
“Sleepy,” he yawned. His family laughed in a high-pitched cackle.
“Ord hungry?” Maren asked.
He nodded, and she stood up as she said, “I bring food.”
Ord ate the toth meat greedily as he visited with his mother and older sister. Both wore their hair down to their waists, as was the custom for female Na
nders. Both were roughly Ord’s height, about a foot shorter than his father. His mother and sister had sturdy legs, strong arms, and barrel chests. They moved with ease and grace as they tended to him, and smiles often graced their protruding cheekbones. Ween hummed softly as she poked their crackling cooking fire with a stick.
“Why my head sore? Why I sleep long?” he asked his father as he ate.
“Ord not remember?” Mar asked.
“No, Father,” Ord answered.
Mar told him that some Nander males returning from a hunt had found him unconscious in the clearing near sunset after hearing his cries for help. They had found blood on the tip of Ord’s spear, and said Tol had watched over Ord by keeping predators away when he lay helpless.
“Ord remember wounding cat?” Mar asked.
“No,” Ord shook his head. “Not remember anything.”
“They think cat attack and you drive off, then fall and hit head.”
“I remember you and I practicing spear throw, and then noisy jiy bird fly by tree. Then you leave me to practice.” Ord held his head and looked down. “Nothing after.”
“My fault you hurt,” Mar said. “My fault. Mar bad father. Should not leave son.”
“No Father, you good. Sometimes cats come by, others not,” Ord assured his father. After he had eaten, Mar suggested he go and wash in the communal pool outside the cave entrance. Ord rose but wobbled on his feet, so Mar supported his arm as they padded on bare feet across the soft sand of the cave floor.
Murmurs rose from behind the head-high, circular rock walls around Nander family living spaces as they walked past. Ord worried their neighbors were talking about him, and it bothered him that he couldn’t remember anything about being injured.
The cooking fires at each family circle gave off smoke and a low, flickering light. Ord glanced up at the chimney hole in the ceiling far above. Light shined straight down through the hole and into the cave, telling him it was midday.
They passed an old Nander couple tending a cooking fire. The bright light gave half their faces a yellow sheen, while the other half lay in shadow. The couple smiled and nodded as Ord’s family passed, and then returned to the cooking duties set aside for the oldest members of the tribe.
Ord warmed at the thought that all members of the tribe earned their meat; the bulls hunting, the strongest females gutting and skinning, and then everyone who could carry meat bringing it to the cave where the oldest Nanders took over the cooking.
He could tell with his nose that this couple was doing a good job preparing half a toth thigh at least two feet in diameter hung on a wooden spit above the fire. There was no smell of burning meat. The spit stick ran across a six-foot-wide hollow in the rock while protrusions of stone served as a resting space for the spit at each end. Drops of fat fell on hot coals and erupted into flame like small, sputtering balls of fire as the two older Nanders rotated the meat on the spit. The cave smelled of Nander, smoke, and barbecued toth.
Eela walked ahead of Ord and chattered with her mother and older sister. Ord was so proud of Eela because she was bright for her age. She had already learned the names of all the herbs and mushrooms that Maren gathered for Mar’s healing work. His little sister’s hair had yet to grow to the middle of her back like that of her mother and sister.
They approached the guard fire in single file, and then squeezed through a narrow opening in the rock. Fires always burned at the narrow cave entrance. Guards kept the fire burning more heavily during the night in front of this narrow opening so that no predators could enter the cave.
The only other way in and out of the cave at night was a long winding staircase carved into the sides of a round shaft deep in the cave. The shaft reached up to the cave roof, high above the floor. Predators avoided those steep stairs, for they could sense the long drop to the cave floor. Regardless, Nanders guarded the stairs each night against an attack by a more intelligent predator not deterred by a steep stairway: No-fur slavers.
None had ever found the cave and tried to get inside, but the Nanders knew this was the one predator that could wipe them out, so they always posted guards at the base of the stairs.
Ord and his family reached the cave entrance and walked past the two guards into the sunshine. Stepping from the cave’s darkness into bright sunlight made Ord’s head throb with pain so badly it forced him to hold his hands over his eyes and walk with them barely open.
Two streams ran through the cave. The deepest and fastest was used as the community’s restroom, because the stream dove underground near the cave entrance and disappeared. Another smaller stream in the cave supplied their drinking water. It flowed out near the cave mouth and into a natural depression of rock outside the cave entrance. The stream water pooled into this depression. Sunshine warmed the pool each day, so the tribe used it as a natural bath. If the pool overflowed, the water simply ran into a stream that wound its way along the cliff front and made its way north to the River Zash.
Mar helped Ord ease into the warm water, and then joined him in the pool. They kept their gastag tunics on because that was the easiest way to clean their simple clothing. And it was important to the tribe that all members remain properly covered. The males’ tunics ran from mid-thigh to the shoulder while the females’ tunics were longer, extending down to their knees.
His mother and two sisters sat by the side of the pool but did not touch the water, because females and males were forbidden to share the pool, even those in the same family.
“Put head in water. Wash wound,” Mar said.
Ord held his breath and ducked his head. The water soothed his pain. He rose and Mar gently cleaned around the wound.
“Good to clean here,” Mar said as he wiped the crusted blood out of Ord’s hair. The pressure on his wound made a clicking sound in his skull, which filled his head with a stabbing pain like a white light. Suddenly, Ord’s memories came flooding back to him.
“Father, on day you throw spear with me, did Poz come to chelat with cut leg?”
“Mmm...” Mar held his chin, a habit he had when he concentrated. “Yes, same day. Leg cut. He say accident with friends.”
“Not accident,” Ord said. Anxiety helped him ignore the pain in his head. “I stab Poz with spear.”
“You stabbed Poz? Why?” Mar looked upset and confused. Fighting between Nanders was never allowed unless it was a formal fight between two Nanders to resolve differences.
“Jen, Arn, Poz watch us in clearing. They hear us speak No-fur language. They come out when you leave. Say I must leave tribe for speaking No-fur, or they kill Ord.”
“They did?” Mar asked.
Ord nodded. “Then one throws rock, hits me in head. I not see out of one eye, so I pick up spear to keep them away from me and yell for help. Then I try to scare Poz with spear, but I stumble and spear cuts Poz’s leg.”
“You attacked by boys, and it is my fault!” Mar moaned and looked away. “I should not make you speak No-fur. Mar make boys hate Ord.”
“Father not say! Speak No-fur saved father’s life! Maybe someday save my life?”
Mar reached out and cupped his hand behind Ord’s head to show his appreciation of Ord’s words.
“We tell Lon after hunt,” Mar said. “Jen evil boy. He hate world. Bruton must punish.”
Lon returned at lastlight. He had a lopsided grin on his face because a toth tusk had cut his right cheek a year earlier. He was smiling because the hunt had gone well. They hadn’t killed a toth, but they had been able to bring down ten gastags. Though they were small, the tender meat of the little deer was a welcome addition to the constant diet of toth and ton meat. Lon’s grin turned to anger as he ate his meal and listened to Ord describe Jen’s attack.
It upset Ord to see his sister’s mate get angry, mainly because it was such a scary sight. Lon was the second-strongest bull of the tribe, now mature at age twenty. Lon was the tallest in the tribe as well as fast and powerful. Bruton, the chief and Jen’s father, though shorter,
was stronger. He was older, nearly thirty, so he had the older bulls’ support. Many of the younger bulls were better friends with Lon.
“We go see Bruton,” Lon finally stated.
“Why?” Ord asked.
“Lon tell Bruton Ord story.”
“Bruton Jen’s father. Jen hurt me. Bruton no help,” Ord argued.
“Ord right,” Mar said. “No use.”
“Nander law say not war in tribe. Jen war on Ord. Bruton must punish Jen,” Lon insisted.
“Ord too weak to walk,” Maren explained. “Head too sore.”
“I carry.” Lon picked Ord up as if he were a baby and walked out the narrow opening of the chelat. Ween jumped up and followed her mate. Ord looked back and saw his parents fall in behind, with Maren helping Mar hobble as best he could. Maren looked back.
“Eela, stay in chelat. Not come!”
“I must serve family meat at bull fire if you go,” Eela reminded her mother.
“Come, then,” Maren said, and Eela skipped ahead to join them.
As Lon walked, Ord could feel that every muscle of Lon’s body was rigid.
A fight is coming, Ord thought.
He tried to think of a way to prevent it but nothing came to him. Rough laughter came from ahead. Nearly all the males of the tribe, at least fifty of them, were lounging around in a semi-circle at Bruton’s feet. They were eating meat served to them by the young boys and girls of the tribe.
Eela joined the line of children waiting to take meat to the males lying around Bruton on bur skins and eating in a mood of lazy satisfaction. Thirty of them were bulls, full members of the council, identified by a spiral tattoo on the neck or side of the head.
Ord admired the bulls who wore tattoos, for only a Nander who had struck a firstblow or deathblow to a toth or ton could wear the spiral and become a bulll. Ord had watched the hunts and knew that only those Nanders skilled in woodcraft, the ability to sneak up on an animal, were allowed to attempt firstblow, because if they gave away their position to the herd, a stampede would erupt and ruin the hunt.
Deathblow came later, after an animal had been wounded but remained on its feet. Any Nander male, or group of males, could attempt the deathblow. This was far more dangerous, because a wounded animal expected an attack and was ready to defend itself with its trunk and tusks. Ord had seen several males try to bring down a toth and end up being killed only seconds after they had speared the massive animal.
