Weaving Man: Book One of The Prophecy Series

by Tove Foss Ford

  “I didn’t know Thrun mined,” Franz said. “I thought they were all herders and such.”

  “The specialist clans are scattered now since the incursion of Southern Mordanians into the old Thrun lands. The Thrun mine where ore is near the surface, like an open pit or along river banks. They won’t work in caves or down in shaft mines.”

  “Why not?”

  Menders put his hands in his greatcoat pockets, and thought about it. “I’m not sure. There is an ancient Thrun belief that they must always be out under the sky, where it can see them.”

  “Eh? Where the sky can see them?”

  “That’s what they say,” Menders said with a shrug. “You see, Doctor, the Thrun are a very conceptual people. They believe in a series of interconnected concepts which are linked together to bring order to all things.”

  “Like their prophecy about Katrin?”

  “Something like that,” Menders replied coolly, not wanting to be drawn back into that discussion. “They call themselves the first people of Eirdon, or the ‘one people’. All other people are called ‘downworlders’, as if the world was dome and the Thrun lived at the top.”

  “What a damned queer notion,” Franz said with surprise.

  “The Thrun legends say that a god… well, not even really a god, but a power that is called Thrun, brought forth the first people from the heavens. They fell to Eirdon in a falling star. The first people were also called Thrun and they were let to live and prosper on the lands that were, in turn, also called – “

  “Let me guess,” Franz put in. “Thrun?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “That’s a lot of uses for one word.”

  “Yes, it is,” Menders laughed. “You see, Thrun is more than just a word. It’s a concept. You have to have a flexible mindset to keep up with it. It requires a sort of mental gymnastics to think as they do, at least for Mordanians, although Old Mordanian families are closely related to the Thrun.”

  “My family is Old Mordanian,” Franz said proudly.

  “Well there you are!” Menders grinned. “Perhaps it’s time for you to reclaim your Thrun heritage.” He could tell that Franz was quite taken with the idea. No doubt within a few hours, he would be wearing big boots, an oversized embroidered coat, a fur hat and a belt with an enormous buckle.

  “You’ll have plenty of time to get acquainted with them. We can expect several days of farlin races, horsemanship contests, saga telling, wrestling matches, dancing, drinking and trading. They have furs, carpets and rugs, jewelry, farlins, weapons, saddles, all kinds of things they’ll trade for money or goods. If you’re sharp, they’ll trade you one of their wives.”

  Franz laughed out loud.

  “How many wives do they have?” he asked.

  “Most men take three, if they can support them. The Chieftain can have seven, though Tharak mentioned to me that he only has six at the moment.”

  “Only six,” Franz said, sounding awed.

  “It isn’t nearly as salacious and tempting as you think,” Menders grinned. “The Thrun have more girls than boys for some reason, so there are always more women than there are men to support them. It’s also a way to keep from wearing wives out with childbearing. Once a woman has had the children she’s willing to bear, she encourages the husband to take another wife. The women help each other with their work and childrearing. And no, despite that lustful gleam in your eye, they do not sleep with the man at the same time. Each marriage is separate and private.”

  “So much for running away with them,” Franz sighed. “Since Katrin is well cared for at the moment, show me around. I want to see these trade goods. I need a new hat.”

  Menders guided him on a tour of scores of bundles of trade goods. Franz was agog at the piles of furs, gems, jewelry, weapons and more and had to be restrained from trading away everything in his pockets.

  “We’ll wait until they’re ready – and don’t trade with them without me, or you’ll get skinned!” Menders laughed, dragging Franz away from the piles. “Anyway, we need to contribute to the feasting, so come and help me drag out some meat to give them to roast.”

  “How much debauchery can we expect?” Franz asked.

  “Considerable. They make a drink called Kirz out of the milk their borags give – those animals there.” Menders indicated the huge shaggy beasts that drew the carts. They looked like huge hairy oxen with long, flexible tails and enormous curling horns. “It’s deadly. Fermented, frozen and only the alcoholic part kept. Guaranteed to knock you cold.”

  “Interesting,” Franz said, then caught Menders’ look and added, “I’m interested in its medicinal properties, you understand.”

  “If being unconscious has medicinal benefits, then kirz is your drink. You’ve been warned. If you wake up with your head on fire and your eyeballs feeling like they’re going to explode, without your pocket watch or your wallet, wearing one of those hats and with a Thrun wife, don’t blame me.”

  Menders started through the crowd of Thrun to fetch some meat from the larder to add to the festivities. Franz trailed away toward the nearest Thrun arranging his display of trade goods.

  Cook was carving up an enormous joint of pork in the kitchen and looked up at Menders with a happy grin.

  “I haven’t seen a Thrun carnival since I was a girl,” she said. “I know what they’ll be wanting, pork and venison, and we’ve plenty of both. I’ve put on all the big pots full of potatoes to boil and good thing, because some of them were almost not fit to eat. We’ll put them out in a big tub of butter once they’re done.”

  Menders began checking the stores of salt. The Thrun loved salt and used it as a unit of trade. He pulled out several bags of salt and added bags of flour, another prized item. “They’ll have dried fish, Cook. Can you use some?”

  “That would make a wonderful change, yes, please do get some,” she said, flinging another slab of meat onto the pile she’d already cut.

  Menders took the bags of salt and flour to Tharak Karak. The High Chieftain was walking around magisterially, Katrin on his shoulder, overseeing all unpacking and tent raising. From time to time he handed something up to her and Menders could see that she was already laden with gifts, including a beautiful set of child-size white furs, strands of gems and pieces of jewelry.

  Tharak was pleased with Menders’ gifts and handed Katrin over while he distributed them among his wives. Franz had been drawn into trading for furs with a man who wanted his pocketknife. Menders and Katrin hurried over to watch the show.

  “Take no less than five for that knife and don’t back down,” Menders warned Franz, settling Katrin on his hip. “Want to go and look around some more?” he asked her. She nodded, putting one of her strings of gems around his neck.

  “Tharak said I’m going to be prophecy. What does that mean, Menders?” she asked.

  Menders shot a scathing look at the tall Thrun’s back. “It means a big man can’t keep his mouth shut.” Katrin looked startled. “Sorry, little one,” he amended, damping his temper. “It just means he thinks you will grow up to be someone he already knows all about.”

  Katrin considered this for some time, her brow furrowed. “I don’t see how.”

  To distract her from the topic, Menders carried her around the encampment, explaining various things, showing her the piles of trade goods and trading a small amount of salt for a blue dress covered with gold embroidery.

  Everywhere he went with her, Thrun deferred to them and then followed behind. He could hear them repeating the Thrun words for Light Of The Winter Sun as they passed.

  “They’ll have great fires tonight and tell stories,” Menders told Katrin.

  “Can I stay up and see?” she asked eagerly.

  “Oh, I think so.”

  She wiggled with excitement.

  ***

  Katrin felt as if her feet hadn’t touched the ground in two days. Everywhere she went, she was carried on the shoulder of Tharak Karak or on Menders’ hip.


  Official bedtime was abandoned. So were regular meals. There was always food cooking in the Thrun camp. Huge joints of meat turned over big fires, pots of stew simmered, strips of meat were thrown on a sizzling hot metal plate. The moment Katrin came near anyone cooking, they ran out with something for her to eat. The smell of freshly cooked, heavily spiced meat was wonderful.

  Katrin had a special seat for the farlin races and screamed with delight when Menders and Demon won most of them. She was surprised when she saw him let Tharak Karak win the last race, pulling Demon down from a full gallop with obvious effort while the Thrun chieftain thundered past.

  “Why did you let him win?” she cried as he came to get her after the prizes had been given out.

  “I let him win because he’s the Thrun chieftain and my friend,” Menders said, lifting her high and then giving her a hug. “It’s being polite.”

  “Everybody could see what you did. It didn’t fool anybody.”

  “Of course not. They know that I let him win. It’s a point of honor and respect. At your age the idea may seem a bit complicated, little one.”

  It didn’t make sense to her. But she liked Tharak Karak. If it made him happy to win when he really didn’t win, that was fine.

  All the farmers came to the carnival too and traded axes and cloth for the Thrun’s furs, jewelry and knives. She was glad. It seemed like forever since she had seen some of the other estate families, because of the snow. The men drank a lot of the Thrun’s special drink and got very silly.

  The nights were the best of all. The Thrun built huge fires, played music and danced. They told stories. When they did, Menders would sit with Katrin on his lap and explain the stories to her, because she couldn’t understand the Thrun language yet.

  The stories were wonderful, about old times and heroes and gods that blazed across the sky on a ribbon of fire, then came down to where men lived. Some of the stories were about three children and the Weaving Man. Menders didn’t say much during those stories and when she asked him he said he didn’t know all the Thrun words. That was silly, because he spoke Thrun as well as Tharak Karak did.

  The storytelling and music went long into the night, and she would fall asleep, only to wake up in her bed the next morning. She would get up, run to Menders’ room and wake him by tugging on his toes. Then they would race to see who could get dressed first before they went back outside to see the Thrun.

  She didn’t ever want the Thrun to leave.

  ***

  Menders sat in Tharak Karak’s personal tent with Katrin asleep on his lap. It was the fourth night of the Thrun’s stay. The day of contests was over, and Menders was considerably enriched after winning all races but one, several of the horsemanship competitions and one knife throwing contest. He had furs enough to last him and Katrin for years and she had a stock of jewelry that any woman would envy. He’d traded for and won enough rings to have one for every finger, twice over. He had several wickedly sharp knives with elaborately carved bone handles, just because he wanted some new toys, and he’d traded cleverly for a little farlin with a red Mordanian saddle for Katrin, to say nothing of several highly decorated saddles for Demon.

  Tharak Karak swallowed a long draught from an ornately decorated silver goblet and passed it to Menders. It contained a watered down version of kirz

  “So, Aylam, you never came back to your lands,” Tharak smiled. “Your tenants are good. They care for the land well.”

  Menders nodded. Several of the Thrun had told him this. He drank and passed the goblet back.

  “We have not had time to speak together before now. How is it that you are the father of the Princess?”

  “I’m not truly her father.”

  “In the important way, you are her father,” Tharak refuted him. “To father a child – it can take seconds. To be a father to a child takes a lifetime. You are her father and a good one. How did it come to be?”

  Menders told him about his assignment as Katrin’s guardian. Tharak nodded.

  “So instead of bringing death, as you once did, you nurture life. For you the circle has turned, and will again. Now tell me – is she in danger?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I see it in your eyes.”

  Menders sighed, and reached for the goblet, which Tharak handed over. He drank and then settled down to speak, shifting Katrin slightly so she rested more comfortably against his shoulder.

  “There is always danger. My greatest fear is that her mother will recall us to Court. That means I would no longer have control over Katrin’s life and her safety. The way the Queen wants her to be raised is a terrible one.”

  “Do you think I have forgotten the way you were treated when we were boys?” Tharak asked quietly, his eyes turned toward the fire, where they gleamed in the amber light. Most Thrun had dark eyes, though blue eyes were not unknown. Tharak’s were almost black. It gave the chieftain an enigmatic facial expression. Unable to read the elegant brown faces and impassive eyes of the Thrun, Mordanians found them mysterious and difficult to understand. Unfortunately for the Thrun, what Mordanians didn’t understand, they considered untrustworthy at best, a threat to be eliminated at worst.

  “I’m deliberately disobeying the express orders of the Queen,” Menders said, not answering Tharak’s rhetorical question. “What’s more, there have been several attempts on the Queen’s life since Katrin was born. There are factions seeking to have the Queen removed so her daughter, Princess Aidelia, can ascend the Throne. Aidelia is mad.”

  “Yes, we have heard stories,” Tharak said, smiling as Katrin stirred a little and then settled more snugly against Menders’ chest. “To us she is Tareg Tal’ula.”

  “The mind of broken shards,” Menders translated out loud. “An appropriate name for Aidelia.”

  “We fear reprisals against us were she to become Queen.”

  “Should that happen, they would also come after this child,” Menders said softly, snuggling Katrin close.

  “If that danger arises, come to us,” Tharak said immediately. “Live with us. We will honor her as a chieftain and she will never be in danger. Every Thrun would die to protect her.”

  Menders pondered the offer. Several plans that could be put into effect should there ever be immediate danger to Katrin’s life were already in place, but Tharak’s suggestion was welcome. If he took Katrin to live with the Thrun, one hundred thousand Thrun warriors would ride out against anyone who sought to harm her.

  “I thank you, my friend and brother,” he said quietly.

  “You, likewise, are my friend and my brother. You always have a home with us.” Tharak took back the goblet, drank and sighed. “Tomorrow must be our last day here,” he continued. “We have much trading to do in other parts before going back over the ice.”

  Menders nodded, feeling regret. It had been a wonderful interlude and seeing his first friend again had been comforting after the lonely and frustrating months just past.

  “So tomorrow night will be our best one,” Tharak went on. “Do you remember the Chieftains’ Dance we learned as boys?”

  “You’re talking to me,” Menders grinned. “Of course I remember.”

  “Then we will dance it together tomorrow night, the Highest Chieftain of the Thrun and the Head of Household of Light Of The Winter Sun. To say… not to say goodbye. To say ‘until the circle turns again’.”

  Menders nodded. It was an elegant tradition.

  “Speaking of goodbyes, or at least goodnights, I need to get this little one off to bed,” he said, readying to lift Katrin.

  “She is asleep already,” Tharak said swiftly. “Stay here in my tent tonight, Aylam. We’ll talk longer and the child is safe and comfortable.”

  Menders agreed. The household would already be asleep, save for Franz who was probably carousing somewhere, being more fond of kirz than he should be. Menders snuggled Katrin into the furs next to one of Tharak’s seven children, and settled down to drink and talk the rest o
f night away.

  ***

  Katrin woke to a gentle push on her shoulder and was surprised to see Thira grinning down at her.

  Menders was sound asleep beside her, his cheek pillowed on his hand. Across the tent, Tharak Karak was snoring resoundingly and there were other children and some of the wives there as well. They must have stayed so late that she fell asleep and Menders decided to camp here. She’d slept in a Thrun tent! Wait until she told Bumpy!

  Thira beckoned and they slipped out of the tent together. A Thrun woman was cooking nearby. She gave them bowls of savory stew and stroked Katrin’s golden hair wonderingly, as if there was magic there that could be felt to the touch.

  After they’d eaten, Thira ran to her farlin and jumped up. Katrin couldn’t do that, but climbed on a rock while Thira kept the farlin still so she could slide onto its back. Katrin held on tight to Thira’s waist as they jogged through the camp.

  It was nice the way all the Thrun liked to see her and came out to wave or bow. They always had time for children, not like at The Shadows where people were often too busy and told her to go and play and let them get on with things. Except for Menders. He never sent her away and if he was busy, he let her be busy with him.

  She heard Hemmett calling and looked around to see him riding up on his pony, Smoke.

  “There you are!” he said, reining Smoke in. “I couldn’t find you nor Menders in the house.”

  “We stayed in Tharak Karak’s tent last night,” Katrin said proudly.

  “Faw! You didn’t!”

  “I did!” Katrin retorted.

  “Faw!” Hemmett repeated vehemently.

  Thira decided there was too much talk for her liking and chirruped to her farlin, which set out at a run. Hemmett whooped and came riding after them. They made a wild circuit of the camp before they heard Menders whistling for their attention. He was in front of Tharak Karak’s tent, watching them.