The audience hailed Sur Sceaf with loud acclamations and applause as they chanted, “Hrus, Hrus, Hrus!”
After pausing for the cheers, Sur Sceaf continued. “When I first heard of the golden oil I was very hopeful of what it could do for us. As I’ve listened to Lord Pyrsyrus on the trek, he has told me this honey colored oil could be powerful medicine for the three tribes and the means of us gaining ascendancy over the West Lands and of bringing the merchants of the world to our door. Is there anyone here that doesn’t want that?”
An elder from the Stonyford Valley stood up. “It lights well enough, but beeswax does every bit as good. Why is it so special that the merchants will want it above beeswax? What else can it be used for?”
Sur Sceaf addressed the challenge, “It has uses beyond its use as an illuminant. It can be used as a food, and as an oil for combing our wool, and also as a means to buy time in hiring mercenary tribes and soldiers of fortune from the many Rogue Nations throughout Panygyrus to assist us against the Pitters while we, the three tribes, secure our fortifications and build up our numbers. It has very high market value as attested to by what I hear the Citriodorans and Mexus are willing to pay for it. Do you realize we can obtain as much as three tons of it from a single whale?”
There was a gasp from the audience.
He continued, “So I am told. Also it has the great advantage of not being known to the Pitter Empire. Like our worm wool, we keep it secret, but soon enough spies will reveal it. Once again I proclaim the Norn sisters want us to take the seas of the west before the Pitters do.”
Turtle Duck turned directly to Sur Sceaf, looking pleased, “So be it, my lord. I call upon you to come to Ur Ford to gain a mastery of seamanship and to travel the Whale Road before the mass of settlers have come in the spring. You will need to know what it’s all about if it is to become the blood and bread of your new city-states.”
Turtle Duck shifted his vision to the governor of the coasts. “Rabbi Amschel ben Levi, may we count on you to organize the early settlers we send while Sur Sceaf is in training out at sea?”
The Rabbi stood up, nodded his agreement, and signed he would shape it so. “All that is needed is the high king’s approval.”
Sur Spear signed, “Shape it so.”
“Then it shall be so, Turtle Duck,” Sur Sceaf declared, his bones burning in him from the impressions of the Ur Fyr. “I shall go to sea with you and Raven’s Tongue that our city-states may learn how to harvest the deep and raise up a mighty band of pirates under Lord Pyrsyrus’ tutelage. For I will not be held in ignorance of the blood and bread of our new city-states nor do I wish to ask anything of my men I am not willing to perform myself.”
Applause filled the hall.
Mendaka leaned forward and called out in a low tone, “I’m very glad to hear that, Brother.”
Turtle Duck declared, “To those of you who have reservations or fears about the great deep, I can tell you that it is as different this year as a saddle broken horse is to a wild horse.” With that, he saluted Sur Spear before returning to and taking his seat.
Once again Sur Spear took the floor and called for Rabbi Amschel to be the next speaker.
The Rabbi left his seat beside his son Bnimin patting the lad on the shoulder before he walked out to the altar to salute. He stood tall and lean, his long dark beard and payos framing his slim pale face. The Rabbi cleared his throat.
“Men and Brethren, I am Rabbi Amschel ben Levi, mayor governor of the coastal cities. I have been charged by Sur Spear to assist him in the establishment of the new city-states from Maiden’s Head to Ur Ford, with satellite settlements stretching to the north as far as Charly’s Harbor, and to the south as far as Tomales, and as far east as Powers and Coke Hill. We have been busy at Ur stockpiling provisions for the coming settlers of all three nations--”
Unplanned and intrusive, Melyngoch strutted out on the floor, shouldered his way in front of the Rabbi, approached the altar and knelt twice saluting Sur Spear. “Father, I fail to see why all the resources of the Herewardi should go to support Sur Sceaf and his half-kyn tribes when I have already built ships in Charly’s Harbor, which is far more secure than Ur Ford or Maiden’s Head. As I have told you, I have been visited by the All Father Woon and I believe that shows I have his favor. There is no reason this coastal business should not all be under my stewardship.”
Suddenly, two ravens flew out of the rafters, grokked and flew to the occulus causing a great stir.
When the comments subsided, Melyngoch continued, “I say let me take possession of Pyrsyrus’ navy and give me Muryh the master builder and I shall raise you a kingdom up that will top the glory of all the other Herewardi kingdoms. It shall be the jewel of the West. For I shall then rain down blood and horror on the Pitter Empire and we won’t have to wait the painfully slow years the Roufytrof recommends. Why would we need to wait twenty years to raise the next generation to do the work I can accomplish in ten?”
Taneshewa pulled gently on Sur Sceaf’s arm. “Who is this yellow fellow that promotes himself so rudely. He reminds me of a blond Standing Bull.”
Sur Sceaf frowned, “He’s a brother of mine, raised by a mother that has filled his head with the idea that he is a divine child and all the world should bow down before him.”
The king rose red-faced with anger, his nostrils flaring. Sur Spear struck his scepter to the floor and said in a sharp tone, “Melyngoch, wist thee not that I am a seer? You deceive when you say the All Father has chosen you. It would have been witnessed to me if he had. You are incurring the disfavor of the gods when you bear such false testimony. I love you and there is a lot that is praiseworthy in you. Remain in your appointed place as leader of the city-state of Charly’s Harbor. But I warn you, your conniving mother is mind-and-heart-sick and has poured poison in your ear and you are in grave danger of being censured by this people if you continue keeping her counsel. Mind you, it is the Roufytrof that has chosen Sur Sceaf, not I alone. Nor was it an office he sought. Many now believe he is the anointed one, for he is the next haeland apparent. Humble yourself that you be not cut off from your people. I warn you, you are on the road to treason and neither I, nor your people will allow that to happen. Now depart in peace and prove to me you are man enough to rise above the vain teachings of your overly ambitious mother.”
Red-faced and biting his lip, Melyngoch pulled his cloak around himself and stormed out of Shepherd Hall with his small cadre of men following.
The jester, Yellow Horse, left his seat on the railing and followed behind him, sweeping the floor and giving Melyngoch the raspberry, before breaking into a ditty. “Melyngoch left the council riding on his pity. Reached down, sopped up his tears and ran back to his mother’s titty.” The hall echoed with laughter.
“Forgive the interruption,” the high king commanded. “Rabbi, please, continue with what you were saying.”
The rabbi waited for the king to take his throne and then resumed his report.
“I regret to say, Ur Ford will likely not be ready for the main body of settlers until the Moonth of Light, but in order to get Sur Sceaf trained in seamanship and whaling, we will have to establish a vanguard of representative settlers from each tribe to assist in so great a labor. Appointed representatives from all three tribes will meet with us in Ur Ford and we can mutually determine the best allotments of land for each group. We look forward to the growth and strength the settling of the coasts will bring us all. Haem!”
Sur Spear spoke from the throne, “An excellent suggestion, Brother Rabbi. Chief Onamingo and Habraham the high priest of the Quailor shall join me in governing the immigrants for the next few moonths while they sojourn here in Witan Jewell. We shall spend the rest of the winter garnering additional supplies and making preparation for the migration to Ur Ford. Hopefully by midsummer after the Light Moonth all will be safely settled on their allotments.”
Sur Spear asked the Council of Women if they conferred with this plan. The ladies signed yes
and Redith stood, nodded her head and said, “We are in agreement, my lord.”
Sur Spear then struck his long swan to the floor and pronounced, “This meeting is closed in due and ancient form. There will be solemn assembly of a few leaders tomorrow in the Ram’s Den. I will notify those who are to be in attendance by silver harrier before sundown. So mote it be.”
* * *
It was a frigid day with wisps of snow falling when the Wose arrived at the camp of Chief Burnt Tobacco the Bear Killer, on the banks of a large body of freshwater called Nine Dogs Lake. The leaves were probably still falling in the Umpqua Valley, but here in the mountains the weather howled and blasted cold and wintery. When he arrived, he had found a strangely painted traveling merchant’s wagon near the chief’s tipi. Studying the insignia on the wagon, sure enough, he discovered the distinct secret mark of a star over a pyramid and realized it must belong to some member of the Sire Sheaf, the chief spies and beards of the Herewardi. They could deliver valuable information on the movements of the Pitters in the area.
As he made his way through the camp, Klamath women and children stared through the snow flurries at the wild man with long beard and lion’s mane hair. Although impolite to the point they whispered among themselves, Wose put on his warmest smile to ease their fears.
Burnt Tobacco’s tipi, splashed with freshly fallen snow, had been decorated with bear footprints and bear silhouettes in black with red horizon and orange sun. Through the veil of snow it could be seen that the base of the tipi had been painted with large broad tobacco plants and with serpentine smoke arising from them. A small woman in a heavy woolen blanket crouched before a fire stirring a steaming cauldron. He recognized her as the chief’s wife. He had once saved her family in the battle of Frink Glen and was always sure of a warm welcome.
He called out, “Os-Frith, Prancing Owl.”
As she turned toward him, her face lit up with a big smile. “Wose, by the Thunder Beings!”
He handed her a brace of rabbits he had killed on the trail. She smiled her thanks and hung them on a nearby rack. “What brings the Wild One to our humble tent in this, the Dark Cold Moon?”
“I had word that you have travelers within. I’ve come seeking news.”
“Then you shall meet them at once, my friend. Burnt Tobacco and I were just sitting to discuss business with them and I was cooking some camas soup for dinner. The Wose is always welcome among the Klamath.”
Prancing Owl stirred the soup again before leading him to the entrance of the tipi. She lifted the flap and stepped inside. Wose shook off his buffalo robe and stamped the snow from his feet before following Prancing Owl inside. As his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, he spied a lovely rosy-cheeked woman next to a middle-aged man with reddish hair, cut short like the men in the East Lands are wont to do.
“Look what the coyotes drug in!” Prancing Owl proclaimed.
Wose caught an alarmed look flash over the woman’s face before it was quickly masked with a polite half smile.
Bear Killer let out a vociferous roar. “By the thunder gods, my good friend, the Wose.” Opening his arms wide he walked over and hugged him like a grizzly. Even though he braced himself for the hug, Wose felt the air extracted from his lungs as his ribs nearly caved in.
He wheezed out the words, “Hail and well met Bear Killer. I can see you have lost no strength since last we met. It’s taken this long for my ribs to heal from the last squeezing.”
With a wide grin splitting his round face, Bear Killer punched him on the shoulder and turned to the young couple. “Wose, this is Hickathrift and Faeimp Bacon, Hickoryan merchants from the Taxus Lands, they tell me.”
“Oh very interesting.”
Bear Killer cocked his head as if there was something lost in the translation. “We were just discussing what wares we wanted of them when you arrived. As for this man,” pointing at Wose, “he is our good friend, the Wose. Well, let us just say he is a wild man of the woods come out of the Herewardi of Zamora. Don’t worry, he won’t bite you if we feed him.” Bear Killer winked.
Faeimp said, “The Wose has not always been your name, has it?”
“No, not always. I was once the man known as Starkwulf.” He reached forward and took her hand, noticing as he did, that she gave him the secret grip of the Swan Folk.
“I thought as much.” She relaxed and smiled. “Living in the wild as you do, is there ever any Cycnus among you?”
The Wose smiled and gave the required reply, “Only the feathered kind.”
For it was now confirmed to him by the code word, Cycnus, meaning the Swan, which the non-initiated would only hear as, sickness, these two were Herewardi spies of the Sire Sheaf, cleverly disguised as Hickoryan merchants.
Prancing Owl said, “I’m going to check on the soup again and the Wose brought us some fresh rabbit which I’m going to cook up directly. What say you to that Bear?” She grabbed a few herbs and an extra kettle.
“Sounds damned good for a blustery day.”
Bear Killer gestured for the Wose to be seated. He removed his buffalo robe and settled on a cowhide across from the Bacons.
Bear Killer said, “My family owes their life to this man.” Motioning to Wose, he continued, “We had been horribly deceived by the traitors, Walker and Yggep, to move into a box canyon in Goose Valley only to have found it was a carefully planned Pitter trap to fall on us and kill and enslave us all. The Wose was with us. He gave the Pitters hell long enough for a band of Hyrwardi warriors to drive the hellions entirely out of the country. We suffered great losses, but had it not been for the Wose and Lord Sur Sceaf with his fyrd, we should have surely perished.”
“Just one more reason we must extinguish the Pitter Empire forever.” The Wose etched figures in the dust surrounding the campfire with one of his kukri knives. “I am assuming, you, being merchants, must have been granted a pass to travel through Pitter Territories. On your way here from the Taxus Lands, did you see anything that would be useful to defeating them?”
Faeimp nodded. “We stopped in a Pitter zonga in Banderas to do some trading. While there we learned that the young Emperor Hryre Seath’s high priest, the Skull Worm, has had a vision through their dark seer, Cato or Katus, that the coming of the Seed of the Herewardi Woman is drawing nigh. The news has set a terror and an urgency in their legions. They fear the Seed shall utterly crush them if they don’t destroy it first. For this purpose, the emperor has sent the Skull Worm to the West to destroy the two seed beds they think The Seed most likely will grow in. Though they do not know who the Seed is, they have been sent to destroy any potentiality of its growth before it can sprout and take root.”
“How long ago did you learn of this?” The Wose inquired.
Faeimp turned to her companion and said, “What would you say, Hickathrift? We stayed in Banderas about one moonth and it took another two moonths to get to here.”
Hickathrift replied, “It could be more than that, my love, but not more than four.”
“Well,” Faeimp said, “at any rate, it seems that the Skull Worm has taken on a new lieutenant, known for both his ferocity and unexcelled cruelty. He is called Scynscatha the Jackal or as they say out here, the Cha’Kal. Not full-bred Pitter either, if you can believe that. We have seen him, he’s a strange half-breed. Rumor has it that his mother was human.”
“I didn’t think it was possible for the two races to mix,” Bear Killer posited. “I mean, I’ve never heard of such in all living memory.”
Faeimp declared, “We were told the breeding took place in the Poison Lands though the administration of dark magic. Some how the Dark Queen has used her skills to bring about the conception of The Cha’Kal. Worst of all, we have discovered, he is the son of Yggep of the Witch Lands, and that Queen Gloomulah placed the seed of a high ranking Pitter in her. As testimony to his inhumanness, he is known to have eradicated two entire cities down in the Mexus Lands, and to have bathed in the blood of the victims while roasting and eating their in
fant children.”
Bear Killer, “I thought Yggep was of the Balmoran Rogues?”
Hickathrift said, “No, no, Walker is of that tribe, though he did not father the Cha’kal. Yggep being a true daughter of the Witch Lands, got seed of the Skull Worm and birthed him a son in some freakish manner. Something, heretofore unknown, especially to a celibate monk the likes of Skull Worm.”
Wose pondered aloud. “This sounds twisted to me. Unfortunately, we have never had much luck at getting anyone into the Poison Lands to know what’s really happening there. The more I hear of that vile place the more I realize it must some how be key to the Pitter’s campaign. And that name, Scynscatha is a Herewardi name meaning Skin Walker. Methinks Yggep has given him that name to terrify the Herewardi.”
Prancing Owl entered with a large cauldron of steaming soup, sat it by the guests and said, “Let me get you all a bowl to warm your innards with.” She grabbed a ladle and the bowls from the rick against the tipi, filled each one and passed them around. As she passed them out, Wose cupped both hands around the bowl and drained the warm contents in three gulps, warming his innards. It was the first nourishment he had taken in two days. When she finished ladling another bowl for the Wose, she sat next to her husband and sipped from her own bowl.
This time the Wose sipped more slowly. “I would cross the Steens in the middle of winter for a bowl of this soup any day, Prancing Owl. It is so delicious.”
The Bear Killer slurped his soup before declaring, “It is clear to me, the Pitters have designs to enslave all the peoples west of the Mys-Isys River such as the people of the Eastern Lands have already suffered.”
“This is so true, my brother,” Wose confirmed, “but I have faith that Sur Sceaf and the fyrd armies under his command will render them crippled before this is all over with. He is struggling desperately to get the numbers of our alliance built up to one day match the seemingly endless multitudes of Pitter legions we shall have to contend with.”
Witan Jewell Page 9
