Zan-Gah and the Beautiful Country (3 page)

Pax was twelve years old when she was given in marriage to Zan-Gah. She was not consulted in the decision. Pax knew her duty and made no objection. She was not really unhappy about it, only a little scared. Zan-Gah was several years older than she, and was already considered a great man of the clan. Everybody seemed to admire him, and some loved him too. She trusted her parents' judgment, and was inclined to like the young hero who was to be her mate. She recalled that when the elders had met in council, Zan had insisted on the inclusion of women—something that never had happened before.

It was marriage itself that Pax objected to, not the man her family had chosen. It appeared a form of slavery to her; and a look at the women of her tribe laboring away at their chores did not dispel that impression. Despite her inherent outward grace, Pax was not inwardly peaceful. The fire of rebellion burnt in her—against her subjugation, her sex, and all its restrictions. She was being handed over to Zan like a haunch of venison or an object of purchase. Would he consider that she was his property? She could not accept that!

It was well after the ceremony that she discovered Zan had no intention of ruling over her; and from that time on Pax blossomed. Far from objecting to her masculine hunting activities, Zan encouraged them, obviously full of admiration for her skill. To Zan, light-stepping Pax was an artist or an elf. She was pretty too, although she seemed not to know it. Gradually Pax realized that Zan-Gah, respected by all, respected her as no less than his equal. He was the one male who ever had done so. Only with this realization did something special grow between them. Only then did Pax surprise her husband with strange and unexpected love-behaviors. Only then could they truly become friends.

Among those whom Pax admired, Lissa-Na stood high. In addition to her exotic beauty, Lissa possessed many skills. She could make rope, unknown to the Ba-Coro before her coming, by twisting fibers. She made food taste better by adding unusual herbs; and she was wise in the knowledge of medicines. Her nature, like Pax's, was gentle and restrained, her voice low and beguiling as music. Nor was Pax the only one who looked up to her. One admirer even tried to dye her hair with berry juice to match Lissa-Na's—with unfortunate results.

Although older than Pax, Lissa-Na was disposed to receive her friendship, especially because Lissa was married to Zan's brother, Dael. They immediately took to each other, and were soon trading confidences as good friends will. But Pax's sharp eyes discovered something
one day that ended the attachment. It was an odious secret that set her whole body trembling.
Her husband loved Lissa-Na!
Zan could not conceal it, however much he tried. Pax saw how his eyes followed Lissa's movements and remained on her longer than they should. She knew that Zan and Lissa had formerly spent time and faced dangers together, and her jealousy was roused. She began to watch them when they were in each other's presence, and the suspicion was confirmed: Zan loved Lissa more than her. It was their embarrassment in each other's presence that betrayed them, rather than overt attentions.

Friendship turned to frost, and Lissa, who was very perceptive, easily guessed the reason. Now Pax hated her rival, and she tried to hate Zan too; but her hatred did not last long. Suddenly something unexpected and deeply shocking occurred. Even at the height of Pax's anger, as she was wondering whether she should confront Zan with the thing that so much troubled her, Lissa-Na died. Lissa had seemed so triumphantly beautiful and invulnerable. Now Pax's friend, her enemy, the baby, Zan's secret—all disappeared in spasms of agony. Pax could not help being glad—and she detested herself for it.

She felt far more justified in her dislike of Dael. Unlike his twin, Dael did not treat her as his equal, and in fact rarely lost an opportunity to remind her that, in his view, she was not his equal or that of any man. With the iron rigidity that was his character, Dael, more than most, clung to the firm codes of separation that so much galled Zan's wife. He frequently would throw jibes at “women
who thought themselves men” or “spear-bearing females,” and there had quickly grown between the two something approaching hatred. Dael scoffed at her invasion of male occupations, and Pax at what she considered Dael's dull-minded rigidity. She tried to keep the peace, but it was not only the usual criticism, which many of their tribesmen shared; it was the continual goading, born of an irrational hostility, that would never allow the issue to die.

Nevertheless, when, in the middle of the night, Pax saw the wild agitation of Dael's eyes and the restless instability of his bearing, she felt that it was her duty to calm him if she could. His animosity made her success unlikely. Should she join the group that was so suddenly leaving when her involvement might trouble Dael even more? Pax's conflict lay in the fact that she loved Zan and wanted to help him, while at the same time she was deeply at odds with his twin brother. It was a difficult position, but she went along. Dael, utterly obsessed with his own objectives, seemed completely unaware of her presence.

 

 

 

 

In their childhood, before Zan and Dael had hair on their chins or enemy blood on their hands, in those boyish days when everything seemed new, they had promised themselves a trip up the river Nobla to find out where it came from. It had been mere curiosity then; now it was a fevered obsession in Dael's mind, and Zan was dragged along because he cared about his brother and feared for him.

Nobla's path led them to the Hru camp, where the brothers Oin and Orah lived. Dael had long since made their acquaintance, and dominated the relationship. There was something in Dael's magnetic personality that evoked both fear and favor; and when he called, the two put down their joints of meat, rose, and followed him without question, snatching up their weapons. A third youth arose unbidden and followed Zan.

Zan distrusted Oin and his younger brother Orah. They had attacked him with rocks once and Zan had run them off; but Zan bore no grudge for that encounter. Oin and Orah did! Zan could guess as much by the stony faces they wore in his presence. Moreover, they had always resented
Zan's charity: for when the Hru were starving, Zan had sustained them with a rabbit he had killed with his sling. The small gift had saved the tribe when its men had been too weak with hunger to hunt for their own food—when their faces were gaunt with starvation and their ribs stood out on their wasted bodies. But proud people often resent a helping hand. Oin and Orah, especially the elder, felt a secret shame that they had been so helpless and so much in Zan's debt. Some would have gratefully befriended Zan for his kindness, but humiliated people are rarely thankful. Zan could sense their unspoken hostility. They would be Dael's men, not his.

Having called up the two Hru brothers, Dael turned abruptly westward, leaving the river behind as if it had never existed nor occupied a fixed place in his imagination. Another obsessive urge took ascendancy in his mind: He would find, would
destroy
, the wasp men. All of his furious energies were now focused on that single thought. Forgetting Nobla entirely, he marched to the west with an animal's loping stride, on each side a Hru brother struggling to keep up.

Since they had decisively defeated the wasp men in battle almost three years earlier, the Ba-Coro had not heard from them, and knew nothing of their disasters. Dael, charged with an irrational passion, longed for revenge and the flow of enemy blood. Zan also wanted to pay the wasp people a visit, but with very different aims. First he wanted to do what he could to restrain his brother and to keep him from being killed or killing himself—a fear that had fretted him for some time.

But the question was well raised: What
had
become of the wasp warriors and all their aggressive ways? It was not in their warlike nature to quietly swallow defeat without reprisal. Perhaps they were planning an invasion at the very time that relative ease and a foolish security opened the Ba-Coro to a surprise attack. Nor was the sling weapon Zan had invented, which had played a large part in their great victory, difficult to imitate. Maybe the wasps had figured out how it was made and how it worked, so that they would be as strongly armed as Zan's people. It would not hurt to reconnoiter, if only it could be done quietly—and
sanely
.

There was something else. The wasp people dwelled in the most delightful and fruitful region Zan had ever seen. He called it the Beautiful Country. It was a paradise—or would have been had not those wasp-devils occupied it! Game and fish were abundant to the point of superfluity. Fruit fell from the trees. A long, slender, and graceful cascade supplied fresh water, and there was no sight fairer than the mirror lake into which it thundered. Zan had been a slave there for a full year, and yet his life in the Beautiful Country had been easy—easier than at home! Zan confessed to himself that he had remained with the wasp people as long as he had because he loved their land. He wanted to see it again, and was not averse to the adventure—if only Dael had been himself! Maybe the morning air would cool the mental fever that was driving him.

Chul, the twins' gigantic uncle, and a good companion for such a dangerous trip, had not been invited. Dael, so fierce and certain in his likes and dislikes, did not take
to this ungainly man and did not want him along. Chul had not been asleep, and had heard his name mentioned, followed by Dael's decisive “No.” Perhaps his feelings were hurt, so he turned over again and tried to go back to sleep. But after a time he got up, reached for his weapons, and followed the group from a distance, carefully keeping his great bulk hidden from their view, and stepping as lightly as Aniah ever had when on the trail of a grunting boar.

The road is always easier when you know where you are going. Dael had his destination fixedly in mind, but he depended on Zan to find the way. Thus he was under Zan's galling control to some extent, and Zan was able to restrain his brother's manic energies. Dael's slumbers were agitated. He tossed and groaned and wept in his sleep. But always he was up with the sun, restless and impatient to advance. He did not care if he had eaten or drunk. Oin and Orah followed him like servants, and indeed they provided Dael with the nourishment he needed; else he could have gone hungry.

On the fifth day Dael awoke in a calmer temper, like a raging river that has gone down in the night. (Zan was to learn in time how radically his brother's moods could change.) The wildness left Dael's eyes, and he even began to converse like a rational man. But when Zan questioned him about the trip, it was clear that he would not change his destination or his ferocious objective. He was more capable of making plans, however. Zan watched Dael carefully, determined to respond as the need arose to his turbulent and unpredictable impulses. All he could do
was wait and watch and be there for his brother. He could not dissuade him.

The grasslands were full of rabbits. Pax managed to sneak up on one and seize it in her bare hands (such was her skill), bringing it to the men and dropping it at Dael's feet. Had no one but she hunted game, the small band would have had an ample supply of fresh meat. Dael grunted, ate of the roasted animal greedily, and gave Pax no thanks. Zan, however, found a moment to whisper close in her ear how fortunate he considered himself “to have a hunter in the family.” He murmured something else besides that made Pax blush with pleasure. Dael, noticing her change, nearly spat in disgust. Dael did not talk to women except to give orders, and, somehow, did not recall ever having whispered to a woman in his life. “What was there to whisper?” he thought.