by Luke Norris
But even as Oliver was struggling with his returning depression and self-pity, the sudden appearance of suffering and taste of war started triggering other things in his mind. Possibilities, tactics, and strategies started rolling through his head. His driver programming and implants were causing him to think like a driver. A burning desire for victory started to overshadow everything else. He could feel the monster in himself trying to claw its way to the surface, it had no morals, no compassion, just the lust to win at all costs.
He was able to recognize the driver instinct for what it was, now that he was not under the mind control drugs that forced obedience to the second-stagers. In his mind, he could separate Cougar, the ruthless driver that would send a child to their death in battle, from Oliver, the farmer from Otago.
“Take this woman to the hall with the others, and make sure she eats something!” Oliver told one of the village women watching. “I need to speak with Ab-Jibil alone.” Oliver saw the fear and confusion in the chieftains eyes.
“This is bad!” Ab-Jibil said. “They have armies in the south! Weapons! What can we do against such a foe?”
“We must move quickly!” Oliver replied. “Set up a refugee camp here. I expect more will arrive from your southern border if what they say is true.” Oliver spoke with authority, and the chieftain nodded seeing sense in his words. “Send messengers to all the Jibil villages within eighty kilometers of your southern border and tell them to come here. If your people are that far inland when the lowlanders come again, they will have to ride two days before they find anyone. They don't know the highland passes, so probably longer. Hopefully, they will give up before coming that far. You can be sure they will be back again to get more men though.”
“What about their farms? Livestock?”
“Tell them to bring what they can carry and muster, but you will need to start rationing food.”
“Wait! Hold on!” Ab-Jibil pleaded, looking completely overwhelmed. “You think this will happen again?”
“Almost certainly!” Ponsy's deep voice entered the conversation.
“Ponsy you go back west! Ayla and the little one are waiting for you. Warn Hajir! Tell them to get their people on the southern borders inland as close to Ab-Hajir's village as possible!”
“Where are you going Cougar?” Ponsy asked.
“I'll go east and warn the clans! I have credibility with the chieftains, so hopefully, they'll heed my warnings.”
“How far east do you think they have reached?” Ab-Jibil asked. “You may be too late!” The chief looked as though he was suddenly trying to keep up with the two men standing before him, as they rattled off plans to each other. These two foreigners were able to accept the situation immediately and start formulating solutions smoothly with each other, while Ab-Jibil was processing the hopelessness of his predicament.
“At some stage, they will need to drop off their new recruits,” Ponsy explained, “so the ratio of lowlanders stays in their favor, and the Highland boys can't rebel. When they do that, they will have to ride south before coming back to where they left off. That could take them weeks, and Cougar will get ahead of them! They don't know the Highland passes, so I imagine those fools will be crossing the tussock lands too. That ground is much slower than it looks.”
“And, if the raiding party is as big as they say then they will need to cross at the bridge,” Oliver said. “That will take them a long way south back into the Lowlands. Once they cross, they will have to cut back up to Bain territory. If I leave now, cut straight up to Ab-Siyara and use the ferries I may beat them. I will need two horses, and need to leave immediately.”
The chieftain blew a shrill whistle, beckoning a fierce looking highlander. “Darab! Prepare two horses, with good endurance, for long highland riding!”
Darab jogged to the stables. The chieftain stood there as the whirlwind of planning and action happened around him, and goodbyes were said. He had dealt with clan rivalries and battles in the past, but this was something completely out of his domain. He had just taken in refugees from Siyara, a clan that under normal circumstances were somewhat of a resented, even hostile neighbor. He couldn't well turn them away! They were women and children!
Deep in his heart, Ab-Jibil could feel a shift in the order of things. These wars in the Lowlands would not leave them untouched this time, as Lowlander affairs had in the past. He reached up and made a sign with his two hands that the stone gods might give him courage. But he still felt more uncertain than ever as he watched Oliver gallop west out of the village and disappear over the brow of the hill.
*
It was two months before Oliver came back from the western clan territories. He rode back into Ab-Jibils's village mid-afternoon in the searing sun. It had been hot for weeks, and his dark hair was so coated in the dry red dust from the Highland trails, that it looked auburn. The stable boy handed Oliver a canteen, and he drank deeply, then poured the water over his face to try and wash away the red raccoon marks his face scarf had left.
“May you be blessed under the shadow!” Came a voice behind him.
Oliver turned to see the chieftain. “Unpleasant I tell you,” The chieftain said, he looked up at the cloudless sky shielding his eyes, “but good for the crops. We couldn't afford a bad season, and with the extra mouths to feed, it’s a godsend!” He held up a single grain for Oliver to examine between his fingers. “That contraption you designed is also a godsend. I mean power from wind! Using it to crush grain and draw water. It's marvelous!”
“So they finished the mill while I was away! Excellent.” Oliver replied.
“Harnessing the power of the wind. It's so simple, but genius. You're a genius! Where do you come from again?” Ab-Jibil grinned, he didn't intend to get any real answer to his last question. He never did. It seemed to be the one topic Ponsy, and Oliver avoided or gave such brief, vague answers as to not really be any answer at all. They would just say ‘over the mountain’. Well, how did they get over? ‘Through one of the lower passes’. There were no lower passes on the black mountains, a person would be dead from lack of air before he was halfway up the side.
The two men were so open to sharing their knowledge of technology and bettering the society of the highlanders. It was contrary to how open they were about their origins, which made the mystery even more curious.
“I've been riding for two months,” Oliver said, “but I'm not sure who is looking worse off right now.”
“Yeah, well, I would like to be frolicking around the Highlands, instead of tending to a wife who is almost due and…” Ab-Jibils's voice became businesslike, “we've had two more lots of refugees arrive after you left. We escorted the Siyara refugees to Ab-Siyara.”
“I saw that two days ago when I came back through,” Oliver said. “You did well to do that. Diplomatic relationships are more important than ever now. The Lowland raiding party turned back south soon after I left here, so I managed to get well ahead of them. I had trouble convincing the eastern clans because they hadn't seen the effect of the raids. But that's only because the Lowland armies haven't pushed the front line that far east yet. It appears only the western kingdoms are pressing clansmen into soldiers.”
“I hear rumors the Naharain kingdom has united with the kingdoms on its borders, Garab and Wasat to move against Sharaq,” the chieftain said.
“I'd say united with them is a nice way to put it.”
“Ha! Yes, considering the execution of the Wasat royal family last year, perhaps conquer is a better term.”
“The clans north of Sharaq realm far to the east aren't being affected yet, but they will," Oliver said. He had to duck under the doorway of the chieftains living room as the short, stocky man led him to the huge solid redwood table near the window. The room served as a meeting place for the clan elders, and Ab-Jibil automatically took his place at the head.
“They can't stay isolated from this.” Oliver continued. “But the problem is we are only getting rumors from the lowlanders
and their movements.” God knows I've avoided going there. “We need more substantial intelligence!”
“For what? What kind of talk is that?” The chieftain demanded. “Look I've got real problems here. I've got hundreds of extra mouths to feed. The affairs of the lowlanders are their own and always have been.”
“Until now!” Oliver cut him off. “Look, there's something important I need you to do. Times are changing Ab-Jibil, and I'm about to ask you to think in ways you haven't done before.”
“Aye! They are changing.” The chieftain sighed, walked to the window and looked out toward the windmill. “You have already opened my mind in the last year more than you can know. We have full-time iron forges, so we can make our own tools, something I never thought possible. The fruits of your visits stand before me that I cannot deny.” He watched the huge sails of the windmill make their slow rotation. Then he turned back to Oliver, “but why do I get the feeling you're about to ask the impossible?”
“I've called a meeting of the chieftains from all the clans!” Oliver let his words hang. “I want you to host it in Jibil!”
The chieftain stared blankly at Oliver for several seconds before snapping out of his temporary daze. “Ha! You're insane! I knew you were really crazy.” The chieftain stood abruptly knocking his chair backward and started pacing. “That'll never happen in a thousand years. I only have a peace treaty with Hajir because of that she-devil, Ab-Hajir's daughter.”
Oliver smiled to himself watching the man pacing and ranting.
“We've been at war with each other for hundreds of years! Everybody has a relative or knows somebody killed in a clan battle. You know I thought you were smart, but then you suggest something so absurd. Ahahaha.” He broke into a fit of maniacal laughter. Then something occurred to him. “The chieftains would never agree to it! Not one of them will be led by another chieftain.”
“What you say is true,” Oliver said, “they would not be led by another. But, they have agreed to have a mutual person to mediate. Well not all of them, the eastern clans have not agreed yet.”
“They have already agreed to this?" Ab-Jibil asked astounded. He paused composing himself. “So you will chair the meeting between the clans? What's to stop us slaughtering each other over the table?”
“What's coming is bigger than your clan feuds my friend. The world is being reshaped in the south. It has and will have an affect on the Highlands. And you care about your people, that's why you will agree to meet the chieftains.”
“Aye! That I do care about the future of my people.” The chieftain sat. “But I don't see how meeting with the others will help.”
“I have sent a messenger to Hajir for Ponsy to come. He should be here in a week. We will explain our ideas when all the chieftains are here.”
“A week!” He stood up abruptly, again knocking over the chair. “Well, that's no time!” He walked to the window. “Darab!” he yelled, “where's my ceremonial armor?”
If the man looked frantic before, now he's running around like a headless chicken. Oliver smiled, for some reason, the other chieftains had had the same reaction when they heard they would be meeting together.
*
“I see you, Oliver!” The speaker stood at the rear of the enormous meeting table that had been placed in the village hall. Around the table sat eight of the ten chieftains. Each chieftain had two warriors to accompany them. The tension in the room was almost palpable. The speaker wore the carved giant eagle’s head of the Nasir clan. The beak curved to a lethal point in front of his face, leaving his yellow eyes in shadow. His black beard had been braided in four strands, each through one of the four head feathers of the giant eagle that had its aerie in the Nasir cliff lands. Plumes of the dark red feathers adorned the wooden helm and ran down the neck to form a cape over his shoulders, exaggerating the breadth of the big man even more.
Some faces in the room looked at the imposing figure defiantly, while others showed no sign of acknowledging him. “You have done much for the Nasir clan. You have shown us many new technologies from your homeland, and have been generous with your knowledge to the Nasir. You have bettered our lives with new methods of water drawing, water wheels, aqueducts, and even given us the secret of iron. Out of respect for you, I represent our people here to hear your words,” he raised his voice, “but let it be known that I did not come here to be patronized by these men that sit at this table!” He waved a dismissive hand around the table before promptly sitting. Murmuring grew louder around the meeting table.
Oliver stood and waited. The room quickly became silent. “Ab-Nasir! You see from afar. You have traveled far to come here, and for that I respect you.” He looked around the room. The chieftains wore the garb of their clan. Ab-Tahamil wore a bear pelt with the top jaw of the animal as a headpiece. That bear must have been enormous alive, thought Oliver. He even noticed one of the chieftains had used the armored plating from an arthropod, like the one that had attacked Shira the second-stager two years earlier. He remembered how effective the shell as against the attacks from Yarn and the other drivers.
“You all know me because for the last two years I have been itinerant, traveling from clan to clan. It is true that I have shared great knowledge with Ab-Nasir. But it is also true that I have shared that same knowledge with you all. Have I not given all of you here the secret to iron? Shown you how to harness the power of the wind? Ab-Bain, was I not with you last month explaining irrigation to your farmers? Ab-Siyara, I was with you helping your smiths only two weeks ago.” He heard murmurs of agreement. “I understand coming here to meet is unusual, Ab-Jibil tells me that since the time when his grandfather was Ab-Jibil such a meeting has never taken place between the clans. But we are in strange times! The wars in the Lowlands are different from the ones in the past, and this time they have come to our doorstep.” He turned to the other driver. “Bring them Ponsy!”
The big driver had been sitting silently, watching the proceedings. The chieftains had seen Ponsy on several of Oliver's excursions, so his tall, powerful frame, ebony colored skin and hairless head, didn't cause any gasps in the room. He wore the simple leather clothes of the Hajir farmers. His flat stomach and chest could be glimpsed through the sleeveless leather vest that was open at the front.
He strode to the door and beckoned somebody to enter. A timid looking woman holding a baby peered around the door and then nervously scuffled to the head of the table where Oliver was, consoling the infant for her own security as the baby appeared to be asleep. A hunched over figure followed, leaning on his stick for support. His old eyes were so sunken in their sockets that they were black beads with flecks of yellow only occasionally catching the light like a flint spark. His expression was stone set and defied the afflictions of his age. He acknowledged Ab-Jibil with a respectful nod.
“This is a scene most of you have seen in the past months,” said Oliver, “with exception of only the far western clans.” He placed his hand on the shoulder of the old man. “Kadir, tell the chieftains your story!”
The man looked around the room at the assembly. He displayed none of the inhibitions that most men would when facing such powerful men. The chieftains stared back solemnly under heavy brows and elaborate armor. The old man let silence hang in the room, then leaned over the table peering deep into the eyes of each man. They shuffled irritably under his scrutiny.
“I am trying to decide why the gods decided to bestow upon me the worst fate that can be bestowed upon a man,” his gaze didn't waver. “When I look around this room I see leadership and wisdom. I think perhaps the gods have brought me here for you to answer my question.” He defiantly threw aside his walking stick and shrugged Oliver off with wobbly legs as he tried to support him. “Do you know what the worst fate is that a man can endure?” He seemed genuinely surprised when he received an answer.
“Aye! I know it,” replied Ab-Bain, “but I will hear your story Kadir.”
Kadir's small black eyes locked onto the chieftain and his exp
ression seemed to soften.
“Then you know my wise chieftain that no man should outlive his son!” he said. Ab-Bain nodded his ascent.
“My son was slaughtered by Lowland scum when he tried to prevent Naharain soldiers from taking our other boys for their army. But I am still luckier than some. I still have my grandson here.” The young woman holding the baby looked up and flushed red at the renewed attention.
“I find myself in the seventh season of my life now, and it seems that I should be getting used to loss. I'm losing my hair. I’m losing my teeth. I have lost my son. But, although I am losing my sight, I see some things clearer than ever.” He accepted the walking stick as Oliver handed it back to him. “The lowlanders have downtrodden us all of our lives. They may not have gone this far before, but they have always seen us as second rate people. When I was younger, I thought it was because of our yellow eyes, our dark hair that made them see us as second-rate, although I don't have much of either anymore. You know they see us as inferior. And I say before the gods of stone, mountains, and wind they are right!”
The chieftains were enraptured by the man’s story but gasped at the remark.
“But I realize now it has nothing to do with our physical differences that they see us as inferior. They see us as weak, fragmented tribes in the hills. And I thought they were right, until I walked into this room, and saw something I never expected to see in my lifetime. And if any of those lowlanders could stand here and see what I am looking at before me right now, they would tremble at the power in the room.” Kadir leaned into Oliver for support. “Did the divine gods in their wisdom bestowed upon me and others the most terrible fate for a purpose? To bring me here to tell my story to all the mighty chieftains under one roof? That is my question! Only you can answer that, my wise chieftains. Gods protect you all.” He ambled away without another word, ushering his daughter-in-law away with him. Ponsy opened the door to let them out and closed it again to a silent room.