Zan-Gah and the Beautiful Country (12 page)

That same day Pax was looking for the polished green stone Lissa-Na had given her during the time they were still friends. Why she was searching so eagerly for Lissa's gift the morning after she overheard Zan's confession she probably could not have said. She was unable to find it, but she did uncover something that confirmed all of her jealous fears. It was a thick strand of Lissa's hair, which had been woven into a compact braid. Pax recognized it instantly by its color, and knew it was Zan's private possession. Zan kept it still…because he loved her still! What other explanation was there?

Angry tears formed in her eyes in spite of her attempts to control them. Pax laid the memento on Zan's bedding where he could not miss it, took up her spear and a few possessions, brushed the water from her cheeks, and walked into the woods in the direction opposite to her husband's. She was resolved that she would not be there when he came back.

Zan's party had headed south, where the land was much different from the leafy area in which they lived. After a few miles, the ground began to soften and the muddy earth started to bubble, giving off an offensive, sulfurous odor. It was a scary, mysterious place. The trees were hung with long strands of moss, nurtured by pools of steaming water of an unnatural blue-green iridescence. Orah foolishly put his toe in one and burned himself, and Dael, who never laughed but to mock, gave out a guffaw. Orah laughed too while he grimaced with pain.

Later they noticed that the plants and trees, which all sloped in the same direction, were sprinkled with gray dust and seemed less and less healthy. Even the ground had become coated with ashes when finally, toward the end of the day, they discovered the cause of these peculiar changes looming before them. They saw it and heard it too, for a low, angry rumble had been audible from some distance. The group looked around apprehensively.

Between the two mountains on either side of the travelers was a third at some distance, shrouded in a smoky mist and only half visible from where they stood.
All three were capped with snow, except that the central one, open at the top, sent up a column of rolling smoke. Bursts of fire and showers of hot sparks exploded from its ragged peak, followed moments later by loud growling noises. At each eruption the ground shook. The mountain's pure shape rose upward in even, symmetrical arcs that were both simple and sublime, while the fountain of fire at the apex challenged and polluted the sky.

The entire band was stunned by the vision before them, but Dael was overwhelmed, as if in the mountain of fire he had discovered his personal god. To him it was a living giant whose angry thunder seemed to speak a language he might hope to understand.

The immense peak seemed close, though it was whole days away; and the group was separated from it by a stark, lifeless landscape. There, jagged, deeply fissured rocks hissed gases and emitted foul-smelling steam—an unwholesome, impassable expanse. Dael slowly ventured as close as he dared, gazing at the cauldron of fire in rapt wonder, his hands outspread. His companions watched him as well as the volcano, aware that a mighty turmoil was churning within their friend, and followed him as he slowly went forward.

The day was coming to an end and the sun was about to set behind the mountain's smoke. The vivid and unnatural red disc peered through the density of the cloud—tolerable to the human eye but intolerable to the spirit. All of the men were frightened and unnerved; only Dael seemed to welcome what he saw. He sat down with his legs crossed, facing the mountain in rapture. Oin,
Orah, and his pets sat on either side of him. Zan, Rydl, and some others, not entirely aware of Dael's fixation, decided to look around for tar as was their original purpose, but because night was approaching they soon returned and made a camp nearby.

Meanwhile Dael was regarding the bursts of fire with fascination, reverence, and awe. As the fire mountain roared and rumbled he gave himself over to the display and to the earth shuddering beneath him. These strangely duplicated the convulsion within him, mirroring his own volcanic inner turmoil—smoking, burning, exploding. With the coming of darkness the mountain itself was gradually less visible, while the fire and sparks belching from it presented a spectacular, mind-arresting show.

Dael remained there without moving, and perhaps his rapture was contagious, for his men stayed beside him, watching in awe both the volcano and their transformed leader. Soon only the fiery cataclysm was visible against the night sky. A burst of yellow sparks thrown from the molten heart of the mountain stood out against the blue-black sky, reflecting its brilliance in the fixed eyes of the watchers, while a glowing vein of lava trickled like blood down the smooth slope.

Zan knew too well the expression on Dael's face. His brother's teeth were clenched and his gleaming eyes rolled and darted with each jet of fire, as if a theater of battle flashed before him; or else as one who intensely regards something invisible to ordinary men. Zan urged Dael to come away, and tried without success to make him rise. At that very moment an explosion shattered one side of
the rim, vomiting fire and lighting the sky, so that all of the viewers froze in shock and dread. Dael alone was exultant, shouting in a rapture of joy and triumph: “The god pours forth fire! Fall down and worship!” And he fell on his hands and knees, touching the trembling ground with his scarred forehead. Nothing Zan could do would make him get up, and Dael's companions, who had also cast themselves down, were no help. Dael's mysterious delirium was sacred to his fellows, who already held his iron temperament in awe.

In dismay Zan left their presence to confer with Rydl and another lad and to enlist their aid. From a distance he could hear Dael scream, “Now arise! The heart of the fire-mountain bursts!” Zan turned to look, while Dael, who was standing once again, began to address the grisly mountain and its beckoning sparks. Then he seemed to turn toward Zan. His eyes were rolling wildly in his head, and suddenly his legs twisted and collapsed. Dael's mouth was still open and his eyes were searching for the back of his head as he fell in a swoon and came crashing to the earth. Rushing to him, Zan could do nothing but try to pillow his head. When the dawn approached hours later, Oin and Orah were weeping over their fallen comrade as if he were dead.

Even Zan feared that Dael had expired, overcome by the violence of his own emotions or fatally injured by his fall; but after a time Dael revived and stood up as though nothing unusual had occurred, or as if he were awakening from a deep, restful slumber. He was unhurt, and as was
the case with the volcano itself, much calmer than he had been the night before.

Everyone looked at him with wonder and fear. Dael actually seemed taller than he had been, and had a new serene bearing and peaceful expression. He moved slowly now and spoke softly, even gently, when spoken to. But his companions were anything but serene. They looked on him as one arisen from the dead—as one who had gone to the lower world to converse with departed spirits and could deliver their messages. All wished to know what he had seen and heard. Oin and Orah asked if he had spoken with their mother who had died two years earlier. Dael made no reply except to nod absently. He seemed to have forgotten all about the volcano. Zan asked him if he were recovered and Dael smiled—
smiled!
—and said that he was.

But in the afternoon, when the volcano resumed its unruly and turbulent activity and spoke again with its voice of thunder, Dael's fixation returned. For long hours he sat before the mountain in rapture, responding to its every outburst with an intense, joyful identification. Once again he seemed to be in communion with spirits or invisible things, while his companions looked on with a new increased reverence. Only Zan and Rydl continued to see Dael as disturbed and sick. The others regarded him as a prophet, and began to call him Dael-Destan—Dael the Seer.

Late that night Dael fainted again.

 

 

 

 

Zan could not understand what was happening. The roiling volcano, which was only an interesting sight to him, became the center of Dael's world, his all in all, and his holy of holies. It was impossible to get Dael away from the mesmerizing sight. He clung to the point of observation he had chosen for himself as if it were a temple and the whole explanation of his existence lay in the immense blazing peak and its shattering explosions. He would sit transfixed before the altar of the fire-mountain as though all he looked for in the world were there on the burning summit. His lips would move in a murmuring prayer barely audible to his companions, but deeply felt: “Great and terrible fire, you are my parent and my god! You spit in the face of the sky, and so do I! You are defiant and so am I! Your power is my power! I give myself to you and worship you!”

Zan caught enough of his brother's passionate words to be filled with dread for him. It was soon afterwards that Dael fainted the second time, and in the morning he awoke in an unnaturally calm state as before. Once again the activity of the volcano had subsided, putting forth
only its calmer stream of white vapor, which was its usual condition.

Dael's fit had passed and he began to think of other things. Zan got his brother to eat something for the first time since well before they had discovered the mountain, and suggested that they go home. He wondered aloud if their presence might be needed now that the Noi had settled across the lake. Dael fairly leapt at his words as if Zan had touched him with something hot. It was becoming clear that Dael was torn between two separate obsessions. When the volcano was active Dael could think of nothing else, but as soon as Zan reminded him of the Noi, all of his emotions were transferred to his old enemies and his desire for their destruction. One passion drove out the other; there was no room for both. Zan decided that if he were to get his brother home he would have to encourage the second of these fixations for a time. “We must help guard our people,” he insinuated to Dael, who suddenly was all eagerness to go.

When the group got back to their camp the elders were talking together with anxious faces. Across the lake were an alien people, but were they to be feared or possibly welcomed? It was hard to tell, and a mistake could have disastrous consequences. The older among them recalled how they had sometimes held commerce with different tribes. On some occasions they had not even spoken the same language but they had managed to get along. Friendly people could make trades without talking at all. Perhaps the Noi settlers could be dealt with as well. They did not seem hostile. Unfortunately, two of the Noi men
already had been killed by “that wild fellow” (meaning Dael). They probably would want vengeance. Yes, blood had been spilt and war must surely be the result. That was the conclusion taking form in the discussion.

Here Zan interjected: “Maybe they can be pacified with apologies or gifts or both.” Everybody turned toward him. “The wasp people were like that. They cared more for booty than for vengeance.”

“Pacified?” Dael cried in fury. “Let us pacify them forever with our spears and those rock-throwing slings you like so much. Pacified? Do you want to wake up in the night to see our dwellings burning, and while you scramble to find rich gifts to ‘pacify' them they carry off your women and children or kill them outright. Our enemies lie in our sight across the lake. They must be destroyed!” Several of Dael's followers applauded this speech, clacking their weapons together and urging each other to battle. But most of the men were silent and refused to be roused.

Old Kragg spoke. His joints were stiff with age and he stood with some difficulty. “Wars once started are not easily ended,” he said. “And even if we gain the victory we will have paid for it with our blood. Some who sit here now will sit with us no more. And we might lose! They have their sentinels just as we have ours, and it will be difficult to surprise them.”

“They probably sit in council at this moment as we do, planning their attack while we talk of peace like women,” Dael growled.

Chul the giant rose: “Let us try to talk with these strangers before we start an unnecessary war. I will go to meet them and see what I can learn. It may be that they do not know who attacked them. It was night when Dael found their camp.”

“No, Uncle,” Zan said. “Your great form will frighten them and seem like an attack. No, I will go. I speak their language, you don't.”

“I speak their language better than you do, Zan,” Dael declared. “I lived with them and was at their mercy for two long years!” His face visibly twitched at the memory. “I will go with you.”

Dael's offer was not well-received. Everybody knew that Dael's purpose was hardly to seek peace. His presence would only make matters worse. It was decided that Zan-Gah would be the emissary of the Ba-Coro. Zan prepared to depart.

Returning to his hut for some necessities, he suddenly noticed two alarming things: one was the braid of Lissa-Na's red hair lying in plain sight on his bed. The other was that Pax was nowhere to be seen. He immediately understood what had happened. Asking several women if they knew where his wife went, two of them told him that she went north with her spear. North was Zan's direction. Pax was heading where he was now going—toward the Noi camp. She was in real danger, and he was busy with his diplomatic mission. He would have to deal with both concerns at once.