The Women and the Warlords

by Hugh Cook

  'We've done our best,' said Resbit.

  'Yes,' said Hearst, 'but on the Lesser Teeth you could have a proper house. Not a hovel like this. Besides, the boy needs companions. How old is he? He must be ... at least three years old by now.’

  'At least that,' said Resbit, beaming.

  Yen Olass stepped forward, and wiped her hand over Hearst's mouth.

  'Look,' she said, holding up her hand. 'See? Blood. This is a warrior: a monster who eats people.’

  There was no blood on her hand.

  'Yen Olass,' said Resbit. 'Don't be silly.’

  'What kind of hospitality is this?' said Hearst, rubbing his mouth.

  'You're not our guest,' said Yen Olass. 'You're an invader.’

  'Yes,' said Hearst, with his temper starting to rise. 'An invader. And why? Because there's an army at. my heels. Do you think you can go on living here in dreamland? Sit down, and listen!’

  He shoved Yen Olass, hard, intending that she should go down to the floor. But Yen Olass was heavier than he had thought. She went back half a step, recovered her balance and slugged him, smashing her fist into his solar plexus with all the force she could muster. The next moment she was clutching her hand in silent agony, struggling to keep from crying out.

  'Chain mail,' said Hearst, patting his green-brown linen jacket. 'I'm a creature with three skins -- wool, steel and linen.’

  'Why,' said Yen Olass, mastering her pain, 'are you wearing armour here?' 'In case of attack.’

  'The Melski would tell you if there was any danger.' 'The Melski might be the danger,' said Hearst. 'Besides that, there's irrational women to cope with.' 'Irrational!' said Yen Olass. And she swore at him.

  'She is rather, isn't she?' said Hearst to Resbit.

  And Yen Olass saw with dismay that Resbit did not contradict him, but just bowed her head slightly.

  'Bring the child out into the light,' said Hearst. T want to get a good look at him.’

  'Come on, 'Dansk,' said Resbit, enticing her child toward the door. 'Come outside with your mam.’

  'What's his name?' said Hearst. 'Wasn't it Elkordansk?’

  'Yes, but we call him 'Dansk for short,' said Resbit.

  'You musn't do that,' said Hearst, leading the way out into the sunlight. 'It doesn't mean anything.’

  'But Elkor said -- he told me it meant son. Elkordansk. Son of Elkor. Your friend.’

  'My friend,' said Hearst. 'Yes. But 'Dansk is for putting on the end of words. It doesn't mean anything by itself.' 'So what's the word for son?’

  'The word for son is gada,' said Hearst. 'Elkordansk, na gada Elkor. Elkordansk, son of Elkor.’

  'Shouldn't it be Elkordansk gada na Elkor?’

  'No,' said Hearst. 'Na is a word meaning . . . meaning . . . this item which I have just brought to your attention is. That's the best way I can translate it. I don't suppose our Elkordansk has a single word of his father's language to his credit.’

  T didn't know any to teach him,' said Resbit.

  'So what does he speak? The Galish Trading Tongue?’

  'That most of all. A little Estral -- I speak to him sometimes in ... in my own language. Then he speaks with the Melski. He plays with their children. But at the moment . . . sometimes when he's speaking it's all three languages jumbled up together,’

  And she laughed.

  Hearst smiled, then gestured at their surroundings.

  'In a few days, this is going to be swarming with Collosnon soldiers. What were you going to do? You can't stay.’

  'We were going to run north. With the Melski. They'd give us shelter.’

  'I'm sure they would,' said Hearst, looking at Elkordansk. 'But the boy . . . he's meant for better things than living off fish with the green things. You say he speaks? He's very quiet,’

  'He's shy, that's all,' said Resbit.

  She picked him up, and held him. She was proud of him: her strong young son who, she was sure, was destined for great things.

  'Come,' said Hearst. 'Let's go to the camp. There are other men who knew Alish. They will be pleased to see his son. We ... we none of us wanted his death. It was ..."

  'A thing between men,' said Resbit.

  'Yes,' said Hearst. 'A thing between men.’

  'This man wants to take you west,' said Yen Olass. 'By way of Larbster Bay.’

  'I'm not afraid to travel,' said Resbit. 'I'm not a child, you know.’

  She had entirely forgotten her earlier fears of moving away from her homeland -- or perhaps, over the years, she had just grown out of them.

  'Let's go,' said Hearst.

  And they set off for the camp together.

  Monogail wanted to go with them, but Yen Olass held her back.

  'Come into the house, Monogail. No, you can't go with them. No. Because I say sol’

  In the house, it was dark and quiet, but for Monogail, who complained bitterly at being shut up inside. Yen Olass shut her up by giving her some smoked fish to chew. She sat on the bed, looking around at the interior of House Two. Was it really such a terrible place? It was a house of their own. It had sheltered them for years: them and their love.

  What love? Resbit had left without protest. So how could there have been love? Didn't love mean loyalty? After all these years together, Resbit had yielded to a man without any protest at all. Of course, she had her son to think of. But is a son more than a lover? Resbit was too young: too innocent. She had never been a slave. She had never had bits cut out of her. She had never been kept like an animal, humiliated by . . . she had no idea of all the terrible things that could happen. Would happen.

  They were safe here. Had been safe for years. To the north were the highest mountains of Penvash. Places no army could ever conquer. They could be safe there. With each other. Surely. It wasn't too late. Was it?

  But Yen Olass knew it was too late. Far too late. A hero had come for Resbit -- a brutal skullknuckle slaughterer with one swordgrip hand and a razor-sharp slicing hook glinting at his other wrist. He had promised Resbit a future, and she had already accepted -- that was clear enough, no denying it now -- and her time with Yen Olass was . . .

  A silly thing, which was over now. A charade. A game.

  Something that had happened, oh, long ago, in another world, altogether different from this one . . .

  Yen Olass remembered Resbit lying face down on her coat on the beach, her naked body warmed by the sun. She remembered bending over and kissing Resbit on the buttocks, lightly, gently, with such .. . tenderness. They had been so good to each other. So tender. So happy. And now . . .

  Now, fists clenched, eyes clenched, Yen Olass wept, her chest heaving as the hot wet tears squeezed out of her eyes.

  'Mam?' said Monogail, patting her on the back. 'Mam?’

  'Oh Monogail,' said Yen Olass, taking the child into her arms. 'Monogail, Monogail, Monogail.’

  Her voice was fat and blubbery, distorted by her misery. She held Monogail in her arms, acknowledging the question she had tried to pretend she would never have to face:

  -- Monogail, Monogail, what will become of you?

  * * *

  Yen Olass Ampadara sat on the end of the wharf at the Melski trading post, watching her girlchild Monogail swimming in the waters of Lake Armansis in the company of a dozen Melski children. Monogail had been able to swim before she could walk; in the water, she was as confident as an otter.

  Yen Olass watched two Melski children on a floating log. They were playing 'walking stones', where you fold your arms and walk straight into the other person, shouting 'walking stones'. The winner is the one left standing on the log, though usually both go overboard. Yen Olass knew she could survive amongst the Melski, but she had to think of Monogail. What kind of life would it be for the child, when Yen Olass died and Monogail, grown to maturity, was the only human in a tribe of Melski? Yet what kind of life would it be where they were going?

  Sitting beside Yen Olass on the wharf was a battered leather pack holding all that she would
be able to carry away from this lakeside life. There was food, blankets, spare clothing for herself and Monogail, a trifling amount of Galish gold, a sharp knife, two leather water bottles, a tinderbox, a small cooking pot, a string of amber beads, a stone globe filled with stars -- and that was about it. Not much to carry away from a life.

  She had thrown her best cast-iron skillet into the lake. Now she regretted getting rid of it, and thought about asking one of the Melski to dive for it. She resisted the temptation. As it was, she was going to have a struggle to pack everything she was taking over the Razorwind Pass. If she took the skillet, she would have to throw out some food -- and Monogail hated to be hungry.

  Morgan Hearst had offered help, but Yen Olass resolutely refused to accept it. Every man she had ever relied on had betrayed her. Khmar, who should have made her empress, had died in her arms instead. Lord Alagrace had committed suicide by indulging in futile last-stand heroics. Draven had tied her up and had left her for Chonjara. From now on, Yen Olass was not going to make any futile alliances with men.

  She felt very much alone.

  She looked along the lakeside, wondering if they had done it yet. Yes. Half a league away, smoke was rising. House Two was burning, so that nothing would be left for the Collosnon marauders. Yen Olass closed her eyes, feeling the sharp prick of tears. Poor House Two. They had been so happy there, at least for a while.

  Yen Olass wept, quietly.

  She remembered . .. the first step Monogail ever took, and the triumph on the child's face. The first word Monogail ever spoke: 'Mam'. A lot had been forgiven on the strength of that one word: Yen Olass, failing to adore her baby, nevertheless liked her child more and more as she grew. Now House Two was burning, and with it were burning so many bright hopes . . .

  Yen Olass thought of her own people, slaughtered or enslaved by the Yarglat, their homeland laid waste. At least she was still alive. And where there was life, there was hope: or so it was said.

  * * *

  Monogail made no protest when told they were going away. She was too young to understand what it meant.

  Yen Olass had said her goodbyes to the lake, to the ruins of House Two and to her tears. Now she said her parting words to Hor-hor-hurulg-murg:

  'Till we meet again,' said the Melski gravely. 'Though that will not be in this lifetime.’

  Hearing his voice, she realized he was afraid. This time, the Collosnon were coming north in force. Perhaps even the depths of Penvash would not prove a sufficient refuge in the face of such strength -- and the Melski had nowhere else to run to.

  Yen Olass bowed.

  'Be strong,' she said.

  'And you, Bear-Fond-Of-Climbing,' said Hor-hor-hurulg-murg.

  And he in his turn bowed, and they turned away from each other, and went their own ways.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  'Bears!' said Yen Olass.

  Monogail threw herself flat in the sand dunes. She hugged the ground for a little while, then lifted her head to look around.

  'Down!' said Yen Olass. 'The bears are very close. I can see them. Big ones. The kind that eat Monogaiis.’

  'But you're not down, mam,' said Monogail.

  'Today I'm a bear too,' said Yen Olass, 'so I'm safe.’

  A little while later, Monogail lifted her head again.

  'Maybe the bears are gone now,' said Monogail hopefully.

  'No!' said Yen Olass. 'They still want to eat you.’

  'Maybe they've eaten a seagull instead.’

  'All right,' said Yen Olass, relenting. 'They've eaten a seagull.’

  'Ya!' screamed Monogail. 'Seagulls!’

  And she went bounding over the sand dunes and down to the beach, giving war whoops and bird screeches. Yen Olass followed sedately, with Quelaquix padding along behind her.

  The tide was in, so Yen Olass could not work. Nevertheless, as she walked along the beach she kept her eyes open. She did not feel like lugging great loads of driftwood and seaweed down the beach, but, where she found these valuables -- the wood bleached by long days in the ocean currents, the seaweed hulking in great blackening masses -- she piled them up above the high tide mark so she could retrieve them later.

  Monogail, at the age of five, was spared from work. Not because she was too young to work -- elsewhere, children of her age laboured daily to help their families -- but because Yen Olass did not choose to impose such obligations upon her daughter. As Yen Olass walked along the beach, with her lyre-cat Quelaquix at her heels, Monogail ran ahead of them, chasing seagulls.

  The walk was almost at an end. They were drawing near Skyhaven, their home, a small stone cottage crouching in amongst sand dunes which were stabilized by marram grass and wind-gnarled saltwater pines.

  'Come along, Monogail,' said Yen Olass.

  But Monogail went larking down the beach after the sunwhite windscrawn gulls, which went wheeling into the air, tilling the sky with their lonely scree-scraw of disaffection.

  'Monogail!’

  Yen Olass watched as her daughter kicked round in a big circle then started to return, skidding now and then and wheeling into mock falls from which she always recovered, grinning broadly.

  'Clean yourself up,' said Yen Olass, 'and go inside.’

  Monogail did another circle.

  'Come on!' said Yen Olass, clapping her hands. 'Let's horse horse!’

  'Let's bear bear,' said Monogail, sprinting for the door. 'Brush the sand off before you go inside!' shouted Yen Olass.

  'Let's cat cat!' screamed Monogail, still running. 'Let's gull gull.’

  Quelaquix followed, but Yen Olass paused for a moment, and stood looking out to sea. Low, grey cloud concealed the further distances of the ocean. Somewhere out there, almost lost in the cloud, she thought she saw a sail. Was it friendly or hostile? It hardly mattered, either way. There was no need to fear pirates here: for three leagues out from the coast, the sea was a maze of shoals and sandbanks, lethal to any ship foolish enough to venture inshore.

  Yen Olass fetched the wooden bucket from the woodshed, where driftwood was heaped up high, then she went to the well. This was protected by three weatherbeaten boards. Yen Olass removed one of them and laid it aside. A little sand fell into the water and lay floating on the surface. She reached down -- the well was Qnly elbow-deep -- and stirred the water so the sand sank to the bottom.

  When Yen Olass stirred the water, she did so very gently, not wanting to disturb the inhabitants. One was Monogail's pet fish Straff, a fingerlength freshwater kel-ling. The other, sitting on top of a rock which poked out of the water, was a yellow harbucker dune frog. Her name -- or his, with a frog that small it was hard to tell -- was Alamanda. Early in life she had lost a leg to a seagull or a cripple beetle. Finding her under a lenis bush at the edge of the sward pond, Monogail had insisted on keeping her, and Yen Olass had been unable to resist.

  Despite these indulgences, Yen Olass had at various times refused house room to a big hairy mottle spider, a rabbit snake, a baby rat and a stink lizard. Fortunately, baby sharks, flatfish, stingrays and jellyfish could not live away from the sea, otherwise Yen Olass would have had other battles on her hands. The last time they had visited Uncle Hearst, he had come into Brennan Harbour on a boat with a dead lynch shark on board; when it was cut open, there had been a dozen live and viable baby sharks inside, almost ready to be born.

  Observed intensely by Alamanda, Yen Olass dipped a cup into the well and filled the bucket bit by bit. Straff settled on the bottom, waiting till this procedure was over.

  Yen Olass filled the cup one last time, and drank from it. The cold water hurt her mouth, reminding her of the trip she had made to Vinyard the day before, where old Martha had pulled two of her teeth. The pain reminded Yen Olass that in a few more years she would be forty.

  She was no longer tempted to pretend she was young. She was definitely middle-aged, and very definitely settled; it seemed that she was destined to grow old here on Carawell, the largest island of the Lesser Teeth, that
minor archipelago lying west of Lorp, south of the Ravlish Lands and a little more than a hundred leagues north of the Greater Teeth.

  Well, as a place to grow old in, Carawell, otherwise known as Mainland, did have its advantages. Grey, windy and wet, it was nevertheless spared the hardships of snow and ice, thanks to the moderating influence of the surrounding sea. The island communities were small, stable and friendly, and the islands were at peace; the Orfus pirates, who had once seemed to have positively imperial ambitions, had reverted to their old habits of casual raiding, for their present leader, Bluewater Draven (not to be confused with Draven the leper or Battleaxe Draven or the late and unlamented Draven the Womanrider) was a pirate of the old school.