West of January (47 page)

I clambered out of the chariot, awkward as a landed fish. I slung my bow over one shoulder, my quiver over the other, and I hefted out a bag of jerky.

By then Quetti had moved to the driver’s seat and was leaning on the gunwale. “All right! I promise I won’t send any herds this way. But I’ll come back in—”

“I’ll put an arrow in you. I mean it!”

He muttered something I missed. Then he shrugged. In silence we shook hands and smiled at each other uncomfortably. We had run out of words, and some things do not fit into words very well anyway.

Braced against the thrust of the wind, I stood barefoot in the grass and watched his sails dwindle away along a ridge until they were wiped out by the rippling heat. Then I spun around and roiled off down to the trees.

By the time I reached them, Loneliness was chuckling in my ear.

—4—

I
WAS DISAPPOINTED TO DISCOVER
that there were no miniroos around, but of course barriers of ocean and mountain would have thinned out the wildlife as much as the people who shared the same habitat. Probably there would be few roo packs, either, although that was a knife with two edges. I made a fishing rod and caught nothing; few grassland lakes contain fish. Birds passed overhead once in a while, but there was nothing I could do about that: only angels have guns.

So my existence was limited by the contents of my grub sack. That made life simple. I stowed the bag carefully in a tree, in case something with three eyes came by while I slept. If something with two eyes came at those times, then I would never awaken, so there was no complication there, either.

Herdmasters scout water holes. If one arrived before I did, then he would almost certainly approach close enough to let his horse drink. He would likely ride all the way around, checking for skulking loners, like me. I could hide in the undergrowth, and my arrows would reach any part of the shore. I was ten times as good with a bow as any herdman. If my shot was true, I would fell him. If his horse did not bolt, I could ride back to his herd and claim it. If I could find it. Life was very, very simple now.

I explored the terrain until my feet were sore. I made myself a comfortable place to sit. I sat. I wished I did not already feel hungry. And I wished that Loneliness would stop laughing.

─♦─

A shot awakened me. The all-red chariot stood on the skyline. I heaved myself to my feet and reached for my bow. Quetti was already starting down the slope, hatless so that the sun blazed on his golden hair. Obviously he had believed my threats, and the shot had been to avoid catching me unaware and provoking a reflex attack. Good angels are cautious types.

I had eaten once and slept twice. That was not long enough for him to be seriously worried about me. Nor had there been time for me to have changed my mind, so there was something new. I laid down the bow and waddled out of the trees to meet him.

He came to a halt before he was within knife range and warily raised a hand in the sign of peace.

“Approach, friend!” I said. God in Heaven! It was good to see a human face again.

He came closer and stopped again, his faint mocking smile playing over his lips. He needed a shave, and his eyes were a sleepless red. “Doing all right?”

“Fine.”

He chuckled, disbelieving. “Remember when we first met, Knobil? You told me what had happened to your knees—and there you were in a spinsters den.”

“So?”

“I said you didn’t have much luck.”

Again I said, “So?” What was amusing him? If he was playing a game, I could not see what it might be.

He paused to yawn—mostly for effect, I supposed. “Your luck’s just changed.” He gestured a thumb over his shoulder. “I stopped to check out the sweeties at the first camp I came to.”

“And?”

“The herdmaster’s name is Gandrak.” He grinned to let the suspense build…“He’s dying.”

“What? Why?”

“Fell off his horse. I think he’s twisted his gut, or something. Nothing I can help with, Knobil, and he’s very close to death. His women are in a panic.” The pale eyes were wide and guileless.

“This is on the level? You’re not setting this up?”

Quetti shook his head.

“A herdmaster should win his herd by killing a man—”

“No. They need you, herdman. There are no other herds around, not that I can find. Three women and their kids…they can’t ride horses and scout water holes—they’ll die if you won’t come. They need a man, Knobil!”

Holy Father, but it was tempting! I dropped my eyes and scratched my head, pretending to think the matter over.

Either Quetti was lying and had been biding his time behind some nearby ridge, or he had worked a miracle of tracking and navigation to find his way back to this one water hole.

Angels did not believe in miracles, but a herdman could…

“Six horses!” Quetti remarked innocently. “The usual garbage mostly, but there’s one half-decent mare.”

I know I reacted to that, for a slight grin teased at the corners of his eyes. I looked away quickly. I did not want to know how much he had guessed about my dream.

“And at least three of the herders were looking down at me. You’ll have to clean those out real soon.”

He knew!
Was he going to block me? I looked up and met perhaps the widest grin I had ever seen on his face.

“It’s on the level, Knobil. You want to say a prayer of thanks now, or something?”

“Maybe I should,” I said. “You first, and the Father next.”

He shook his head gently. “Looks like the Father wants you to succeed! But if you’re plotting what I think you are, you’re going to need a lot more divine help—a lot more! Better thank Him first.”

I thumped Quetti’s shoulder and turned hastily away. “I’ll get my bow,” I said.

—5—

A
GAIN
I
STOOD IN THE GRASS
and watched the scarlet chariot sail away over the ridges, creaking and bouncing; but this time I caught a faint snatch of song from Quetti, and we waved our faint goodbyes. He had refused my offer of hospitality. Neither of us wanted to endure another farewell.

Again I lurched down a hillside in my awkward gait, feeling absurdly naked in my pagne and hat. This time I had no sack of meat, and faint thoughts of roast dasher wandered already around my salivary glands.

I headed for the brilliant tents and the anxious crowd awaiting. Smoke streamed from the fire, and two last small herders were racing in from the distant woollies, passing a fresh grave.

I thought of Anubyl and his arrival at my father’s camp, and I remembered my awful terror then. Pushing my hat back on my head, I donned a cheerful expression. Then I remembered what a monstrosity I must seem to them, and I hastily changed my expression to one of studied competence.

I reached the first tent, and there stood a wide-eyed child.

Holding a baby.

Great Heaven! I had forgotten how young…

“Don’t kneel,” I said hastily. “I can’t, so why should you? I am Knobil.”

“I am Jasinala, sir.”

“And who is this sweet little lass?”

Jasinala shivered with terror. “It’s a boy, sir.”

“He’s a fine young fellow,” I said hastily. “Er…you’ll do better next time.”

“Oh, I shall try, sir!” She seemed hardly able to believe my benevolence. Real herdmasters disapproved of women who bore sons. Pretty little thing, I thought. I smiled again to reassure her and rolled over to the next.

Tolomith, she said. She seemed very little older than Jasinala, but she had three small children clutching at her. I eyed the youngest and made a guess. “You are bearing?”

She nodded unhappily. “I think so, sir. But I can—”

“No! Keep it! I wish you safe labor, Tolomith.” I was no impatient, sex-mad Anubyl. Alongside all these children I felt like a grandfather.

And unless something terrible had happened to all my seafolk offspring, I certainly must be a grandfather by now, many times over!

But Tolomith was beautiful.

Then the third…

“I am Allinoth, sir.”

“I am Knobil.”

She was about my age, grizzled and plump. There were ten children clustered around her, but no babes, no toddlers. Her two oldest boys flanked her like trees. She must be a survivor of the great disaster, while Jasinala and Tolomith would be the next generation. The herdfolk were only just reestablishing their culture.

I saw bewilderment chase the fear from Allinoth’s face and realized that I was grinning widely at her. I was thinking how this camp would have seemed to me when I was traveling with Violet, and how disgusted I would have been then had he chosen Allinoth’s tent for us to share. Likely I would adjust to having child wives in time, but at the moment this mature mother of ten seemed a much more interesting companion for me than those two unfortunate girls. Yet why should I think of them as unfortunate? They probably thought themselves very lucky not to have been sold to the traders.

Allinoth’s oldest daughter was holding her chin up defiantly. She had her hands behind her, and I decided she was pulling her robe tight so I would notice the bulges.

“And you?”

“Haniana, sir.”

“You’re very beautiful.”

She blushed and smirked sideways at her mother. Well, I would certainly make her wait longer than she expected.

Then I could look at Allinoth’s sons. As Quetti had said, three were near to adolescence. The two largest were obviously twins, alike as two arrows and skinny. They flinched at my attention, but their cold and sullen gaze was telling me that a crippled midget did not meet their standards of manhood. They were both holding their arms very close to their sides.

“Your names?”

“Karrox, sir.”

“Kithinor, sir.”

“Can either of you use a bow?”

They shook their heads in terrified denial.

“Then, after I have enjoyed some of your mother’s cooking and perhaps had a little rest… I shall start your lessons. Look over there!” I pointed across the lake, to where one far tree stood apart from all the others, in solitary defiance. They turned to stare uncomprehendingly. I took my time, for it was a very difficult shot, even for me. Then my arrow streaked over the water…
thunk!

“Like that!”

Their eyes flicked back to mine, brimming with instant respect. I wondered if the future of Vernier had been changed by that one deft bowshot.

“Karrox, organize the herders. Kithinor, dig out my arrow—carefully! Then you can both cut a good stout, straight branch apiece. About this long and this thick. I’ll show you how to shape it. Of course you won’t be as good as me for quite a long while. But we’ll work on it together. And riding lessons, too!”

One flew off like a startled bird, the other began berating the youngsters. I turned back to their mother, who was glowing at me as if she had just been promised Paradise.

“I have not tasted roast dasher since I was a little older than them,” I said. “Have you any dasher meat?”

She beamed, nodding. “It’s not quite fresh, sir, but certainly not tainted yet.”

I smiled an uneasy acceptance.

“And afterward, sir? We should make up a tent for Haniana?”

I was about to say that as senior, she was entitled to entertain me first. But Haniana smirked again and pulled her shift ever tighter, and I remembered Rilana, my sister, and her ambitions at that age. No real herdman would have hesitated for an instant—and I was already far from being the ideal herdman. I resigned myself to staying in character for the role I was playing.

“Of course,” I said.

Allinoth sighed with relief. “And…sir? You did mean what you told my boys? You will not send them out yet?”

“I meant it. I have big plans for them.”

Twins! Truly the Heavenly Father was smiling on my madcap venture. I inspected the horses, then went over to the hearth and played with a couple of toddlers until the food was ready. Afterward Haniana got what she wanted. She seemed to enjoy the process a lot. To be honest, so did I.

Oh, my beloved Haniana!

—13—
GOD THE FATHER

A
ND SO
I
HAVE TOLD YOU WHAT YOU WANTED TO KNOW
—of Heaven and the angels, of my early life, and of how I returned to the grasslands in middle age. Surely you will not also have me tell of my greater shame, of the killing time and the crimes I committed when I was old?

You will? Ah, you youngsters are callous…

—2—

A
LWAYS
I
HAD KNOWN
that what I planned must shed much blood. Always I had hated the thought. I would like to think that a little more than pure cowardice kept me procrastinating so long in Heaven, and if so, then it was the hatred of bloodshed.

And even after I had taken over Gandrak’s family—even as I worked to bend the twins to my purpose—I still clung to a faint delusive hope that perhaps the herdmasters would be willing to negotiate.

Ha!
The first one certainly wasn’t. His name was Trathrak, and he came out at full gallop, with arrows flying like hail. I was riding slowly toward his camp, through billowing grass high as a man’s belt, heading downwind so my voice would carry. I was unarmed, and I held my hands up to show I came in peace. Michael, had he been there, would have screamed that I was being a suicidal fool. He would have accused me of insane delusions of inadequacy that required me to prove myself now because I had gained my herd without killing for it. Sometimes too much insight can blind a man, and he would have been completely wrong in this case, of course—I went unarmed only because I wanted to talk.