Helgvor of the Blue River

by J. -H. Rosny aîné

  Nevertheless, he started an attack, and Glava hit him with another stone, on the flank. He retreated also. Though he knew the sound of human voices, he had not known that men could hit at a distance, for the Gwahs had never hunted him. Taking refuge behind a boulder, disconcerted by this bizarre prey, he showed less ardor. Had it not been for the scent quickening his hunger, he would have run off, but a foggy lust held him.

  The Moon vanished. The girl still saw the eyes of the wolves, like four green stars. But they did not attack, and doubtless would attack only if they believed her asleep. To keep them in hesitation, she cried out, spoke. Sometimes, also, to spare her sharp stones, she picked up large pebbles which she threw at random.

  The night was fearfully long. Often the wolves started forward, and toward dawn they came within three arms’ lengths. Two more sharp stones, perhaps the smell of another prey, decided them to retreat at last. They were lost to sight in the morning’s haze.

  A new morning dawned on the river, the forests and the plains, heavy with fog. The girl shivered. Having ascertained that the way was clear she went to the canoe. She was hastening to leave this evil spot, to find herself on the waters again, rid of sinister animals.

  Then fear flooded her arteries; the canoe had vanished.

  There remained only fragments of the leather ropes, gnawed away by wild beasts. On the surface of the river there was nothing save scum, leaves and twigs carried by the current. A measureless sadness filled the girl. She wept bitterly, squatting on the shore. As on the night when she had fled from the Ougmars’ camp, she conceived the horror of solitude, felt weaker than the little jackal moaning its hunger at her side.

  The breeze swept the sky clear of fog. The Sun revealed limitless space, and Glava, frightened by the distance separating her from Amhao, despaired of the day to come. She still had some cooked meat left over from her evening meal. She gave a part to the jackal, eating the rest herself. But while the world became happy again for the satiated animal, it remained somber as agony to the daughter of the Rocks.

  Nevertheless, she started forth. Between the shore and the forest spread a plain on which walking was easy, but while she had been fearless on the river, here peril might lurk anywhere. Although he hated daylight, the jackal trusted in her, and trotted contentedly.

  Rounding a boulder, the fugitive stopped short and trembled throughout her body; the lordly beasts had come!

  There were five of them, black as slate, with their horsy faces, their hairy, pointed ears, their slender limbs and hollow stomachs. She recognized them as Gwahs, allies of the Ougmars, ferocious as hyenas, men who ate the flesh of human beings. Armed with stakes and stones, they were completely naked. She remained as if petrified, her eyes on those fearsome, repulsive creatures.

  They soon espied the maid. Despite the throbbing of her heart, she kept the half-calm of the grass-eaters before the carnivorous beasts, which ends only after they have been caught. The line of rocks, steep and without cleft, offered no shelter; the plain was open to the forest. She must retreat to the bushes.

  But the Gwahs were only 500 arms’ lengths away, arriving rapidly. Brief though it was, Glava’s hesitation allowed them to gain 50 strides.

  At last she sprang forward. In the land of Rocks her speed equaled that of the fastest runners, and doubtless she would have reached the thickets had not her path been barred by a passing herd of large deer, trotting to the forest. At sight of them the Gwahs hurried to cut her off, and the speediest one succeeded, calling his companions in a strident voice. The Gwahs hesitated an instant between the girl and the four-footed game. The deer were already far off, the human prey was near.

  They started after Glava with a great outcry.

  She no longer hoped to hide in the bushes where the Gwahs could have surrounded her easily, and counted solely on her speed. In fact, she ran quicker than those short-legged men, and after they had covered 2000 arms’ lengths, she had gained 500.

  Gradually she drew nearer the forest, although she had resolved not to enter it until she had attained a reassuring lead, for if the undergrowth offered many hiding places, it made running difficult. Moreover, the Gwahs were jungle people, skilled at sliding through spiny bushes and tangled growth. She turned at intervals, and perceived their odious silhouettes loping steadily, tirelessly.

  The little jackal followed her without effort. Doubtless it vaguely understood this peril, which is never remote and which hovers eternally over jackals as well as antelopes and deer.

  Glava’s chest heaved. A sharp ache came below her ribs; her legs faltered. Two of the Gwahs were running now as fast as the girl. She knew it; her discouragement increased, despair leading to defeat and death. Nevertheless all her will power concentrated on escape, and she fought the weakness of her limbs.

  The forest was near, its fringe gnawing irregularly into the plain. A last time she turned, and this time she saw that the leading Gwahs were progressing faster than she. Then they were out of sight, a jutting clump of trees screening them.

  The terrible choice had come: should she keep running or hide? She hesitated until her labored breathing, the hammering of her heart, persuaded her. She leaped across a pond of water, trod on stones which would not reveal her passage, penetrated into the land of trees and numberless dens.

  For a long time Glava roamed in the thickets, across clearings, without discovering a good hiding place. Branches struck her face as she sped by, spines brought blood on her hands, her knees, her feet. She paid no heed, and thought only of escaping the Men of the Night.

  A brook barred her way. Instead of leaping across it, she waded on its bed, carrying the jackal, thus ensuring that her tracks would be washed out.

  She hesitated before a thick clump of bushes, fearing that a wild boar might be hidden there. Urged by her fatigue, she decided to take the risk, and slid into a small clearing in the center. Worn out, she slumped to the ground and was half-conscious, in a sort of torpor which abolished worry without lessening her caution. And as the shadows of the branches crept over the soil, she grew to hope that the Gwahs had lost her trail.

  In fact, they had lost it. For a long time they kept running through the fringe of the forest. Then they came to open country, saw nothing of their prey, and stopped. But their fierce instincts, their race hatred, had been aroused. They belonged to a clan which never had allied itself with the Ougmars. As they had seen Glava from behind, they did not know she was a woman.

  Tired and out of breath, they halted to confer. If their souls were rudimentary, scarcely less so than those of wolves or jackals, words wielded a fearful power among them. Knowing few words, they completed thoughts with gesture, agreeing that they had run too far, and that they were to retrace their steps.

  While they were arguing, other Gwahs appeared from the river bank, where they had captured fish among the stones.

  One of them was a chief, a chief such as the Gwahs had, one whose sway waned or grew according to circumstances. His ruses were many, he was more intelligent than the rest. He was more successful when hunting and brought back more flesh and fish than he needed, so that his surplus won him followers. He was told of the adventure.

  “The stranger cannot live near the Gwahs!” he decided. “Ouak and the warriors must eat the stranger!”

  In an instant, he became chief again.

  “The warriors must eat the stranger!” the others repeated.

  Ouak made them understand that they must travel scattered, but remain in touch with one another. If this tactic worked well when seeking wolves or boars, why would it not succeed when seeking a man? Those who had fish ate it raw, to avoid delay and be ready at once to follow Ouak. The tracks must be found. The Gwahs entered the forest.

  If the Gwahs did not possess the wisdom of the Ougmars, they were patient as ants. They searched the forest for a fourth of one day. When they halted to rest, at a signal given by Ouak, they kept their intervals. The forest, in which traveled mammoths, stags, and boars, remained
secretive, yielded no human trail. And Ouak’s prestige dwindled with passing time, each Gwah resuming his liberty of action.

  But, when the day was two-thirds spent, one of the hunters heard a short yelp from a thicket. He remembered that the running creature had been accompanied by a jackal, and signaled to his companions.

  For some time Glava had sensed that humans were prowling nearby. The jackal stretched out its sharp nose and moved its little ears. The scent of man was heavy on the air. The jackal yelped. She stood with an effort, still stiff from running, and her feet were black with dried blood. She listened and sniffed. Men were near!

  She allowed a low moan to escape her lips, and despair raked her like a poison. Prone, her ear against the ground, she heard the crackling of twigs under feet, the soft crunching of steps. These noises came from all about her. She thought feverishly of flight, but she knew that she would meet men everywhere.

  The steps came nearer, then a perceptible rustling announced a crawling man. Glava grasped club and stake. And she saw a head rise above the nearer bushes, black, with small rat’s eyes and thick ferocious lips.

  As she lifted the stake, that head vanished. A call vibrated, steps resounded everywhere. Death! Glava remembered the women sacrificed by the Tzohs to the Hidden Lives. She had seen them die, their eyes dilated by terror; she had heard their screams of agony.

  This was what the somber men were bringing.

  XV. Return of the Scouts

  The heavy rain had tormented the Ougmars until dawn. Without fire, in darkness so dense that they were as if buried in a black pit, with that soft and multiplied pattering of drops, bodies drenched by the cold liquid, they shuddered. At times they awoke from sodden slumber to intolerable sensations which stripped them of all strength, of all will power.

  Those who surrounded Glava did not think of her, and the idea of an escape on such a night had not even entered their skulls. At last the rain stopped. Before dawn a cold wind blew upon their suffering flesh and a soft light seeped down. The nomads arose. One of them uttered a sharp exclamation and the others stared at him, puzzled.

  “Where is the Tzoh woman?” the warrior asked.

  Akroun gained his feet heavily. Slow aches twisted his muscles for he had reached the age when humidity is evil in effects. At the warrior’s cry he looked about, saw the captive had gone. Fury beat against his temples and his voice rose loudly.

  “What ailed the men set to watch the daughter of the Rocks? Where are their eyes, their ears, their hands, or are they like the worms crawling in the sod?”

  The four warriors set on guard lowered their heads.

  “Men who are blind and deaf cannot be called warriors. They deserve neither women nor sons. They are less useful than dogs!”

  “The dogs did not bark!” one of the guards said humbly.

  “The Tzoh girl was no longer a stranger to them. But she should have been for men.”

  He was silent, torn between the desire to punish the culprits and the fear of losing followers. Glava was to have served his plans, by keeping Heigoun and Helgvor in suspense, and finally throwing them against each other in mortal combat.

  “Let the warriors scan the ground!” he ordered.

  He looked for tracks himself, and was soon convinced that only chance would cause them to find the fugitive. Perhaps she had dropped somewhere, from fatigue and cold. Like their chief, the warriors knew there would be no trail as the rain had drowned out everything. Nevertheless they pretended to search, some of them with suspicious ardor. One, reaching the shore, shouted,

  “One of the canoes is gone!”

  Then Akroun recalled that the Tzoh women had come into the Ougmars’ realm in a boat, and while his anger against the young girl increased, it became mixed with admiration.

  “That Tzoh woman fought at Helgvor’s side!” he murmured. “She has the heart of a man!”

  He therefore desired to recapture her the more, for he recalled the glance glittering with hatred she had turned upon Heigoun. This made him think of his own grandmother, Awa, who had killed a warrior whom she had been forced to wed.

  “Let two canoes go after her,” he said. “But the warriors must return before the Sun is midway between the river and the top of the sky.”

  The prolonged absence of Heigoun and Shtra worried him.

  The pursuing canoes returned before the scouts. Akroun mused, filled with regret, “The daughter of the Rocks is as clever as the lynx!”

  Submitting to fate, and having but a poor notion of passing time, he squatted again, waiting. The Sun crossed the zenith and was starting westward when the watchers on the hills came back to camp from the north-east.

  “Heigoun is in sight beyond the hills—returning.”

  The jaw of the chieftain protruded as he foresaw a victory for his rival.

  “Heigoun is bringing prisoners!” another watcher announced.

  The soul of the leader was bitter. His ears buzzed with the quickened flow of his blood. Heigoun would claim leadership now! Turning his face toward the hills he saw, standing on a crest, Heigoun waving his arms triumphantly, indicating two captive Tzohs and four women.

  The Ougmars howled with frantic enthusiasm and one of them was bold enough to express the general belief, “Heigoun will make a great chief!”

  All trotted to meet the newcomers. Three warriors, recognizing their women, leaped like wild sheep. Heigoun came straight to the chief and said with significant pride, “Here are two captives and four women; three Tzohs were slain.”

  “Heigoun is a skilled warrior!” Akroun tore the words from his heart. “How many Tzohs did he fight?”

  “Five!” Heigoun answered. “Did I not state that there were two captives, that three had been slain?”

  “Why were there but five Tzohs?” Akroun wondered.

  “There were 20 Tzohs or more before, and ten women,” one of the Ougmar women replied. “The flood drowned six women and 15 warriors. Then Heigoun came with his companions.”

  “Did the five Tzohs fight hard?” Akroun asked, cleverly.

  “They were worn out, spent,” the woman answered, without distrust.

  Silent laughter creased the corners of Akroun’s eyes, while Heigoun glared at the woman with indignation. But few of the Ougmars understood; all admired the skill of Heigoun. The warriors crowded around the captives who appeared pitiful, covered with bloody mud, their lean bellies heaving, pupils dilated by fever, quivering with dread. Not a few insulted them and threatened them with death.

  “The son of the Wolf wanted the Ougmars to see the faces of their foes,” Heigoun stated. “Now they may be put to death.”

  “Why not?” the woman who had already spoken offered. “Did they not massacre the old men, the children of the Ougmars? Did they not beat their women?”

  A warrior lifted his hatchet, wildly approved by vehement clamors, and already spears pierced the bellies of the unlucky fellows who lifted pleading hands. Clubs fell, stakes were pushed forward. The Tzohs, prone on the ground, struggled hopelessly, giving shrill yells.

  Sickened, Akroun and a few of his men drew aside.

  Heigoun, who had been peering about avidly for Glava, asked,

  “Where is the foreign woman?”

  “She fled,” Akroun said nervously.

  “The foreign woman has fled?” Heigoun said with rage. His huge shoulders swayed, his eyes menaced the chieftain. “Who let her go?”

  “The chief shall say that later,” Akroun said, shaking his head. He had straightened, hatred had given him back energy. Heigoun saw that he must not go too far.

  “Let her be sought for!” he suggested.

  “She has been sought for.”

  “Shtra did not come back as yet?” Heigoun asked. Already calm was returning to him, his voice was no longer gruff.

  “Shtra did not come back.”

  Heavy laughter shook Heigoun’s frame. He hoped that Helgvor had perished, and that hope made him joyous. Then fierce doubt assaile
d him; had the Tzoh left to seek the son of Shtra?

  The Sun had slid down the sky and Shtra had not appeared. Keen anguish bit at Akroun’s heart. Without Shtra, lacking Helgvor, the struggle became harder, victory uncertain. Meanwhile, the women had told their story, and it was known that an important troop of Tzohs was fleeing south-east, while another had remained close to the river.

  A choice must be made, for it would have been dangerous to split the forces of the Ougmars. Heigoun and his followers insisted that the party go south-east. Akroun protested.

  “We must await the return of Shtra!”

  “Shtra will not return,” laughed the giant.

  A remote shout rose on the southern hills and a watcher waved his arms.

  “There!” Akroun said. “We must wait.”

  He did not know whether the sentries announced good or bad news, and watched a man coming with long strides. The watcher shouted as he came nearer, “Shtra is coming back!”

  “Does he bring back prisoners?” Heigoun asked, sarcastically.

  “He brings back women—many women.”

  “Many women?” Heigoun repeated, his face paling.

  “Twice as many as the fingers of one hand, at least.”

  The warriors, crowded to listen to the man, bellowed like a herd of aurochs. Some were saying, “Shtra is a great warrior!”

  But Heigoun felt that Shtra was not the real victor, and murderous blood now pounded against his temples, while a quick joy animated Akroun.

  Soon Shtra, Helgvor, Iouk, four other Ougmars, a score of women and the Gwahs appeared.

  As when Heigoun had returned, all the warriors rushed to meet the scouts. Many, recognizing their wives, laughed with savage mirth as they ran. Shtra stepped before the chief.

  “Here are those whom Helgvor, Shtra and the warriors bring back to the Ougmars.”

  “And what of the Tzohs?” the chieftain asked.

  “Almost all are dead. Very few were saved. They were three times as many as the fingers of one hand.”