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‘He sounds a lot like a chief of one of our tribes, doesn’t he, Longbow?’ Red-Beard said quietly to his friend.
‘Some things are always the same, friend Red-Beard,’ Longbow replied. ‘A chief is a chief, no matter where he lives.’
‘When we get to the north of sister Zelana’s Domain, we’ll go ashore in the Tonthakan nation,’ Dahlaine began.
‘Nation?’ Zelana asked curiously.
‘It’s an idea I came up with quite some time ago, dear sister,’ Dahlaine replied. ‘It was the best way I could think of to put an end to those silly wars between the various tribes. There are three significantly different cultures in my domain, so I set up three “nations” – Tonthakan, Matakan, and Atazakan – and the various tribes in those nations settle their differences with conferences instead of wars.’
‘What an unnatural sort of thing,’ Red-Beard said in mock disapproval.
‘Be nice,’ Zelana chided him.
‘Sorry,’ he replied, although he didn’t really mean it.
‘The nation of Tonthakan lies along the western coast of my Domain,’ Dahlaine continued, ‘and it’s very similar in terrain – and culture – to sister Zelana’s Domain. The mountains are steep and rugged, the forests are dense and mostly evergreens, and there are several varieties of deer roaming through those forests. The Tonthakans are primarily hunters, and they’re quite good with their bows. I’m sure that Longbow and Red-Beard will feel pretty much at home in that region – except that the winters are longer and colder than they are farther to the south. It won’t be quite as noticeable in the autumn, but the days are longer in the summer up there and shorter in the winter.’ He glanced at Keselo. ‘I’m sure our learned young friend from the Trogite Empire can explain that for us.’
‘It has to do with the tilt of our world, Lord Dahlaine,’ Keselo replied. ‘Our world isn’t exactly plumb and square in relation to the sun, and that’s what accounts for the seasons. She spins, and that’s what gives us days and nights, and she travels around the sun in what scholars call “an orbit”. If she didn’t spin, half the world would live in perpetual daylight, and the other half would live in the dark, but it’s that slight lopsidedness that gives us the seasons.’
‘I’ve always known that there was something wrong with this world,’ Rabbit said with no hint of a smile.
‘I wouldn’t really call it “wrong”, Rabbit,’ Keselo told him. ‘If it weren’t for the changing of the seasons, I don’t think anything alive could be here. Perpetual summer might sound nice, but I don’t think it really would be.’
‘Pushing on, then,’ Dahlaine said. ‘The central region of my Domain is a large area of meadowland that’s primarily grassland with very few trees.’
‘That turned out to be very useful last spring,’ Longbow said.
‘I don’t think I quite follow you there, Longbow,’ Dahlaine said with a slightly puzzled look.
‘It has to do with certain customs in Zelana’s Domain,’ Longbow replied. ‘There are certain tasks that we call “men’s work” and others called “women’s work”. Men are supposed to hunt and fight wars, and women are supposed to plant vegetables and cook supper. It might sound sort of fair, but it seems to give the men of any tribe a lot of spare time to sit around talking about hunting and fighting. When the fire-mountains won the first war for us, Red-Beard’s village, Lattash, was buried under melted rock, so the people had to move to a place on down the bay from the old one. There was open land that should have given the women plenty of room for planting – except that it was covered with thick sod. Cutting away the sod would normally be “women’s work”, but Old-Bear, the chief of my tribe, told us that he had once visited that grassland you just described, and that while he was there, he saw the lodges made of sod rather than tree-limbs. Building lodges is “men’s work”, so after Red-Beard’s tribe had settled in their new village, the men built the traditional tree-limb lodges, but the wind blew quite a bit harder where the new village was located, and one night, all of the lodges were blown down.’
‘That must have been a very strong wind,’ the farmer Omago said.
‘Not quite that strong,’ Longbow replied with a grin. ‘Red-Beard and I gave it a bit of help. Then the next morning we put on long faces and told the men of the tribe that tree-limb lodges weren’t strong enough to stand up in “windy-village”, and we suggested sod instead. The men grumbled a bit, but they went on out into the meadow and started digging up sod for all they were worth, while the women came along behind them planting beans and other things that are good to eat. Nobody was offended, and nobody will starve to death this coming winter.’
‘You two are a couple of very devious people,’ Omago’s wife Ara observed.
‘One should always do one’s best when the well-being of the tribe’s involved,’ Red-Beard replied sententiously.
The pretty lady actually laughed.
‘Pushing on, then,’ Dahlaine continued. ‘There are a few herds of those various deer near the western mountains in Matakan, but the most numerous creatures in Matakan are the bison. They’re quite a bit larger than deer, and they have horns instead of antlers. Since the winters are very cold in my Domain, the bison have dense fur, and their hides are quite a bit thicker. Arrows might penetrate that fur and hide, but spears seem to work better.’ Dahlaine went on to describe the Matans’ ‘spear thrower’ again.
‘Something like that would be very difficult to aim, it seems to me,’ Rabbit said.
‘The Matans practice a lot, and they’re good enough to bring home a lot of bison meat.’
‘That’s what counts,’ Longbow said. ‘Their spearheads are stone, aren’t they?’
‘Of course,’ Dahlaine replied. ‘The only metal we have anything to do with here in the Land of Dhrall is gold – and I don’t think gold would make very good spearheads.’
‘I’d say it’s almost time for me to go to work again,’ Rabbit added with a glum sort of look.
‘About all that’s left now is “crazy land”, right?’ Red-Beard suggested, being careful not to smile.
‘Does he always have to do that, Zelana?’ Dahlaine asked his sister.
‘Do what, dear brother?’
‘Turn everything into a joke.’
‘It keeps him happy, Dahlaine, and happy people are nicer than gloomy ones. Haven’t you noticed that before?’
He gave her a hard look, but she just smiled.
‘All right,’ Dahlaine continued. ‘The nation on the east of my Domain is Atazakan, and as our friend who hasn’t yet learned how to shave just suggested, the ruler of that region is fairly insane – which isn’t really his fault, since the last five generations of his family have also been crazy. The current ruler of Atazakan has taken crazy out to the far end, though. He’s absolutely convinced that he’s god. He goes out to the public square in the city of Palandor every morning and gives the sun his permission to rise. Then, late in the afternoon, he goes back to the same place and permits her to set.’
‘She’ll do it without his permission, won’t she?’ Rabbit asked skeptically.
‘Of course she will,’ Dahlaine replied with a faint smile, ‘but that absurd business makes “Holy Azakan” feel more goddish.’
‘I don’t think there’s such a word as “goddish”, Dahlaine,’ Zelana suggested.
‘You understood what I meant, didn’t you, dear sister?’ Dahlaine asked her.
‘Well, sort of, I suppose.’
‘That means that it’s a word, doesn’t it?’
‘Not one that I’d ever use.’
‘You’re a poet, Zelana, so your language is nicer than mine. Anyway, crazy old Azakan desperately wants divinity. Whether he truly believes that he has it might be open to some question, but his subjects – or maybe worshipers – have learned to accept his announcement that he’s a god, because their very lives depend upon it.’
‘Is there anything at all resembling an army in that part of your Domain?’ Sorgan asked.
‘Not really,’ Dahlaine replied. ‘Azakan has a goodly number of guards that call themselves “the Guardians of Divinity”. Their primary duty involves intimidating the populace of Palandor so that they’ll applaud and cheer each time the sun rises or sets at Azakan’s command. They carry poorly made-spears and clubs, but they don’t really know how to use them. I’d say that their primary contribution to a war with the creatures of the Wasteland will involve staying out of the way.’
3
The Seagull and the rest of the Maag fleet sailed on past the narrow channel that opened out into the bay of Lattash without bothering to stop, and Red-Beard heaved a vast sigh of relief – touched with just a faint hint of shame. He was fully aware of the fact that he was evading certain responsibilities, but he knew that the tribe would survive without Red-Beard of Lattash serving as chief.
As they moved on farther north it became more and more obvious that summer was coming to a close. There were aspen trees and birch scattered among the pine, fir, and spruce, and the leaves of those particular trees had begun to turn, spattering the evergreen forest with patches of red and gold. Autumn was the most beautiful season in the forest, but it also gave a warning. Winter was not far away, and only fools ignored that silent warning.
It was about three days after they’d passed the bay of Lattash when Longbow advised Sorgan Hook-Beak that he was going to paddle his canoe ashore so that he could speak with Old-Bear, the chief of his tribe. ‘If anything unusual is happening up in the land of the Tonthakans, Old-Bear will have heard about it.’
Sorgan seemed to be just a bit surprised. ‘Are your people really that familiar with the natives of Lord Dahlaine’s territory?’ he asked.
‘I’ve gone up there a few times myself,’ Longbow replied. ‘It’s always a good idea to get to know the neighbors. There are a few restrictions, of course, but we can usually step around them. As nearly as I can determine, we won’t need the archers of Zelana’s Domain up in her brother’s country – unless the creatures of the Wasteland attack in millions, but it’s probably a good idea for us to stay in touch with Chief Old-Bear. If an emergency comes along, he’ll be able to pass the word to the other tribes. Help will be there if we happen to need it.’
‘I’ll lend you a skiff, if you’d like.’
‘Thanks all the same, Sorgan, but I’m more comfortable in my canoe.’
‘Could you use some company?’ Red-Beard asked his friend. ‘Boats are nice, I suppose, but I’d like to put my feet on solid ground for a little while.’
‘Ships,’ Sorgan absently corrected.
‘You missed me there, Sorgan.’
‘We call them “ships”, not “boats”.’
‘Well excuse me.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ Sorgan replied.
Red-Beard followed his friend out onto the deck of the Seagull, and then the two of them carried Longbow’s canoe up out of the forward hold and lowered it over the side.
It felt good to be in a canoe again, and Longbow’s canoe was one of the smoothest Red-Beard had ever sat in. He rather ruefully conceded that no matter what Longbow did, he was always the best. Some people might have found that irritating, but it didn’t particularly bother Red-Beard. Longbow was his friend, and he almost never tried to compete with him.
It was a balmy autumn day, the waves were gentle, and Longbow’s canoe seemed almost to skim across the surface toward the pebbly beach.
Red-Beard noticed that the men of the tribe seemed to avoid Longbow, which wasn’t really all that unusual. He’d noticed in the past that most people tried to avoid Longbow. ‘It’s probably that grim expression of his,’ Red-Beard said to himself. ‘I’m sure he’d be more popular if he’d just learn how to smile now and then.’
Chief Old-Bear’s lodge stood alone on a small hillock that looked down over the beach. Red-Beard thought that was very unusual. Most tribe-chiefs set up shop right in the center of the village, but Old-Bear seemed to want to be separate – and alone.
He greeted Longbow rather formally, it seemed to Red-Beard, but different tribes have different customs.
‘How did things go in the Domain of Zelana’s brother, my son?’ Old-Bear asked.
Longbow shrugged. ‘It was a bit more complicated there than it was here, my Chief,’ he said, ‘but things turned out quite well. It seems that we have a friend who can do things that Zelana’s family can’t, and she does them without the help of the Dreamers.’
‘The old myths are true, then,’ the chief observed.
‘So it would seem, and she was using me as her spokesman. That got to be just a bit tiresome after a while, and it took me a while to catch up on my sleep.’
Old-Bear looked a bit startled. ‘I must have misunderstood the myth. I’d always assumed that she’d use one of the Dreamer-children to pass her commands on to the outlanders. What did she want you to tell our friends?’
‘Her speech in my dreams was just a bit formal, my Chief, but it more or less boiled down to “get out of the way”. She knew what she was doing, and she didn’t want us to interfere. We had two separate enemies, and they were very busy killing each other – right up until she destroyed them both.’
‘Fire or water?’
‘She used water this time – a lot of water. The creatures of the Wasteland won’t be going south any more, because there’s a large inland sea between them and Veltan’s Domain.’
Chief Old-Bear laughed. ‘I imagine that might have upset the Vlagh just a bit.’
‘More than a bit, my chief,’ Longbow replied. ‘We could hear her screaming from miles away.’
‘Is there something happening that I should know about?’ Red-Beard asked curiously.
‘It’s a very old story that’s been handed down in our tribe for years and years,’ Longbow explained. ‘It has to do with a crisis that lies off in the future and what we’ll have to do to meet that crisis. There are some references to strangers in the myth – probably Sorgan and Narasan – and to some elemental forces – fire, water, wind – that sort of thing. The story’s possibly been garbled just a bit over the years, but down at the bottom, it seems to be very close to what we’ve encountered so far.’
‘Are there any hints about what we ought to be looking for up in the north or off to the east?’
‘Nothing very specific,’ Longbow replied. ‘Visions of one kind or another tend to get just a bit garbled as time goes by.’
‘Do you think the outlanders will need our help if the creatures of the Wasteland attack the Domain of Zelana’s older brother, my son?’ Old-Bear asked.
‘Probably not, my chief,’ Longbow replied. ‘The Tonthakans are fairly good archers, and if the Maag smiths cast bronze arrowheads for them, they should be able to do what needs to be done. If things start getting out of hand, though, I’ll send word to you.’ He paused. ‘How is One-Who-Heals getting along?’ he asked.
‘Not too good, my son,’ Old-Bear replied. ‘It would seem that age is one of the diseases that he can’t heal.’
‘That’s too bad,’ Longbow said. ‘He is – or was – a very good teacher.’ Then he looked at Red-Beard. ‘I’ll be back in just a little while and then we can paddle on back to the Seagull and join our friends.’ Then he left Chief Old-Bear’s lodge.
‘Where’s he going?’ Red-Beard asked Longbow’s chief.
‘To visit Misty-Water, probably,’ Old Bear replied.
‘Oh,’ Red-Beard said. ‘I don’t think he’s ever mentioned her to me – or anybody else – but some of the men in your tribe spoke of her on occasion. People who don’t know about her don’t understand Longbow, and he frightens them. Of course, sometimes he even frightens me.’
‘He was not always like he is now, Red-Beard,’ Old-Bear said. ‘The time will come, I think, when he’ll draw his bow with the Vlagh for his target.’
‘I hope he doesn’t miss when that day comes.’
‘I wouldn’t worry, Red-Beard,’ Old-Bear replied. ‘Longbow never misses when he draws his bow.’
‘I’ve noticed that.’
‘I’m sure you have. Everybody who’s ever met him notices that.’
CASTANO
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