Zan-Gah and the Beautiful Country (9 page)

It was true. Dael had acquired a following. Indeed his young men were fanatically devoted to him, almost slaves to his intractable will. And before long Zan-Gah had a troop of followers too, as large but less aggressive and warlike than his brother's. Since the return of Zan-Gah with his lost twin and the defeat of the wasp men in battle two years earlier, Zan had been an important young leader of the clan. But Dael had always resented his brother's ascendancy, and refused to follow in his shadow. Instead he went his own way, and soon a group, which included Oin and Orah, were trailing his loping, determined strides and responding to his peremptory commands.

Many of Zan's number were frightened by Dael's violence and recklessness; but other men were drawn to exactly these qualities. Those who loved one brother began to hate or jeer at the other, and in time as they walked to their western destination, the Ba-Coro tended to divide into two groups—one circling around Zan-Gah and the other around Dael. It happened so gradually and so naturally that for a while the division went unnoticed.

Dael was a born leader, yet Zan was also a leader in his way. It was Zan who had brought unity to the five clans and helped guide them to victory over the wasp people. Zan lacked Dael's dynamic personality, but he was respected for his wisdom, prudence, and ingenuity. Yet there was something terribly attractive about Dael's animal aggressiveness. In time it would appear how quickly Dael could lead his companions into danger, while Zan would prove as careful
with his followers' lives as with his own. Every single one of the women favored Zan-Gah—a fact that Dael and his men quickly noticed and scoffed at. Zan's followers were called “women's men,” and it was no compliment!

Where distress and sadness once could have been seen in Dael's eyes, there now dwelt a disturbing new arrogance and cruelty. Something new also crept into his speech. His tone was derisive, and filled with scorn for those with whom he disagreed. He could never pronounce “Zan-Gah” without giving “Gah” an undue, sarcastic emphasis. Even if others honored his brother, he had no intention of doing so. Rather, let Zan honor Dael—and beware of him! Zan observed his attractive brother with much more fear than admiration. Dael was like a force of nature now—a wild storm, a raging river, or a trapped animal that gnaws off its own leg. He was too dangerous to befriend, and too unyielding to advise or guide. Zan watched for any opportunity of reconciliation, but it was plain that Dael could not abide his twin or be swayed by him.

More than once Dael had declared that he did not wish to have a twin, and started to do things to change his own appearance. He began by shaving his scalp and youthful beard. Zan would have the same wild curls as before, but Dael would not. Even more bizarre, Dael started to cut himself, as if he enjoyed the pain, enjoyed watching the blood trickle down his arms or legs. Sometimes he allowed his wolf-pups to lick the wounds, and when they scabbed over, he would pick at them and make them bleed anew—all the time absorbed and fascinated by his self-punishing
injuries. No one but his closest friends noticed this private activity for a while, but once others did, Dael gave his self-laceration a special turn.

As if in parody of Zan-Gah's scars, which Zan had received from the lioness' claws, Dael began carving quite different swirling designs on himself. He decorated his thighs and stomach, and, with the help of friends, his shoulders, arms, and face. A dark dye was applied to make the marks striking and permanent. The result was a fierce new identity so different from his brother's that people who knew them both could hardly recognize them as twins. Soon Dael's friends, in imitation of their leader, shaved their heads and began to carve similar designs on their own bodies and on each other's. These physical alterations became their emblems, and the separation was complete: Dael's party was shaven and scarified, Zan's was not.

Some of the older men, and almost all of the women, recognized the inherent dangers of this schism. Aniah, feeble as he was, warned the tribes of the trouble they were making for themselves. Dael's father, Thal, spoke to Dael for a long time without result. Chul refused to join with either group, and deliberately walked between them. Yet he was well aware that it was Dael's party that fostered this dangerous separation, and his displeasure was apparent. Several of Dael's men began to direct their mockery at Chul, and Oin once attempted to trip him for the others' amusement; but Chul, without a word, kicked Oin in the backside and sent him sprawling.

When the tribes began their journey they had been a unified people; by the time they arrived in the new land they no longer were.

 

 

 

 

The first open division came just after the tribes had crossed the chasm. That had been quickly done and was a success. There were no casualties. Dael declared that the bridge should be destroyed, and was ready to bring fire to it. “We will go in no direction but forward, so let us remove the means by which cowards might retreat!” Dael's partisans were ready to do his bidding as soon as a blaze could be started. But Zan, ever careful and prudent, protested loudly, and Chul scattered the smoldering twigs with his foot. Morda and several others agreed with Dael, and gave their reasons, but Zan's more numerous supporters prevailed and the Ba-Coro moved on, the elders leading the way. The two contending groups followed them, and the women brought up the rear with their baggage. The wasting Aniah still had to be carried, and Chul, his friend, patiently bore the burden.

The earth was gradually becoming red as they approached the magnificent land of the red rocks. Zan and Rydl loved that country. The two had been happy when they lived there, and familiar sights brought back pleasant memories of the independent life they had enjoyed. Zan
especially felt the renewed pleasure of adventure, and looked once again at the skull-like forms in the rocky walls flanking them. They revisited the cave dugout that had been their home—the “mouth” of the skull. Rydl reminded Zan of the time they had snatched partridges from a wildcat, and laughed. Zan still remembered the good dinner, and Rydl recalled to himself how, as a lost little boy, he had first begun to love and trust Zan-Gah. Entering the cool interior, they saw the mystical carved sign etched in the wall, and noticed that the store of grain beneath it was gone. Someone else had been there.

This was not a heavily populated area. Zan had passed through it four times without seeing a single soul, although he had occasionally noticed footprints in the reddish dust and knew that it must be occupied, or at least visited. The land, strewn with boulders great and small, provided many hiding places in the jagged shadows, dugouts, and collapsed cliffs. Zan loved and marveled at the sight of them, but now he perceived how dangerous they might be. At that moment, the Ba-Coro were threading their way through the maze of rocks. When the meandering reddish creek offered refreshment, everybody paused to rest.

Meanwhile a few men, Zan among them, kept a vigilant watch. Aniah, sick as he was, had alerted Chul to the danger of ambush, and Chul had passed the message of caution to others. Sharp-eyed Pax also addressed the danger, and was the first to notice that some of the red rocks seemed to be moving. It was not her imagination! Pax's hunting sensibilities were so highly trained that the tiniest motion was visible to her.
“Oh ah ah! Oh ah ah!”
she cried shrilly at the top of her voice, causing the men nearby to start.

There was no mistaking her alarm! Everybody looked up. Everybody looked around. But nobody saw anything unusual, and although they listened intently, heard nothing but the scream of a bird. “They are there! They are there!” she cried, pointing to the field of boulders that lay before them. And suddenly they
were
there, rising from the ground and flinging their strange weapons at Dael's party, which had advanced somewhat farther than the others. The attackers employed unusual sharpened discs, which sailed through the air and sliced whatever they struck.

No one ever had seen anything like these weapons, or the men who wielded them. The warriors were clean-shaven and virtually naked, and their bodies were entirely reddened from the top of their skulls to the base of their feet with crimson paint, so that crouched down they looked exactly like the red boulders that filled the valley, or the vivid earth from which the paint was made. They had seen the approaching strangers and rolled themselves into human balls to disguise themselves as stones.

It was a very successful camouflage. Had they remained absolutely still, the entire population of the Ba-Coro could have passed a few feet from enemies without even noticing their presence—leaving themselves absolutely vulnerable to a surprise assault. As it was, the red men seemed to have sprung from the earth. It was as if the stones themselves had come to life to attack them.

Oin was wounded. A disc had sliced his shoulder in the fleshy part, and he was crying and sobbing. It was his first wound. His brother Orah was crying too, as much as if he also had been gashed. Meanwhile, Dael's party responded to the attack with a volley of sling-flung stones, and then rushed the new foe with their spears. Dael was absolutely fearless in battle, and his men, taking strength and courage from their leader, imitated his ferocity. Dael was also pitiless, and with the help of his followers, left several bloodied red corpses to dry in the sun. The red men fled and hid, and the Ba-Coro marched on, ready for any further incursions.

There were no other incidents, however. Probably the crimson men, having lost the element of surprise, and knowing that they were well outnumbered, realized that further attacks would be unsuccessful. But Zan's people did not know this, and had to be ready to repel further assaults. These never came; but now every red boulder was a little more frightening and suspect than it had been before.

Zan learned much later that both men and women of this tribe shaved their heads and bodies smooth with their sharpest blades, and painted themselves with the ubiquitous crimson pigment. Their scanty clothing, weapons, and ornaments, and even their teeth, were reddened. This was their constant wear, and they thought it beautiful. To be without it was shameful in their eyes, like being naked.

The color rendered them almost invisible to potential enemies; neither Zan nor anyone else had known of their existence because they were so hard to see. Their red hue distinguished and unified them as a people, and it
proved an effective tactic of war. But it was also a religious expression. Becoming like earth and rocks was viewed as an act of worship and a token of respect for the Mother. They were the red earth's children, had reddish priests, and indeed their entire lives were shaped by the unusual character and color of the land they lived in.

That night there was a council among the Ba-Coro. Many concerns had to be addressed, chief among them security. A plan of guard was settled, and Pax was thanked for her watchfulness—but not appointed. There were minor concerns needing attention as well as major ones. Even on the trail, marriages had to be arranged and babies were being born. Intertribal mating had gone far in uniting the five separate clans that had once been at each other's throats, but the Hru still tended to hold apart, and now the new division between Dael's people and the others threatened to destroy the progress they had made in coming together. Conflict was just beneath the surface, and this became a topic of urgent discussion.

Aniah, now close to eighty winters old, meant to speak. His age and sickness showed. He could not go hunting any more, and was often seen dozing where he sat. So feeble that he was hardly able to stand, Aniah yet maintained his dignity and authority, which had been based on the love of his people more than fear or force. His wisdom and experience were still valued, and he addressed the meeting despite his illness, warning of the dangers of the growing disunity. He, as many of the older tribesmen, knew enough of feuds to remember how
one act of hostility could lead to many others. Much of Aniah's life had been spent dealing with a recurrent cycle of hatred, vengeance, and unceasing tribal conflict.