To Karl's surprise the noisy shepherds were quiet as he got out of his wing, and their leader's stern expression seemed to have softened.
"Kiteman, you have spoken truthfully to us, and now we must deal fairly with you. For a wanderer in need to kill a lamb is not a great offense. Yet, for reasons you will learn of, we are a poor people, and the loss of the lamb must be made up to its owner." Athgar turned to the grandfather. "Gardo, how long would you want the Karangan to work for you to repay the loss of the lamb?"
"Three months," said the grandfather. "From now until the end of summer."
"Grandfather! That's much too long," Rika protested.
"No it isn't," her grandfather answered. "That was a prize lamb."
Karl watched Rika suck in her breath, her eyes widening with exasperation. He guessed that she didn't want to call her grandfather a liar publicly.
"Three months does seem severe, Gardo," said Athgar. "However, Eftian law gives you the right to decide. Is that your final decision?"
The old man nodded. "Till the end of summer," he said stubbornly.
Athgar waited silently for a few minutes, as if giving Gardo time to reconsider. Finally he turned to Karl. "Karangan, in accordance with our laws, Gardo insists that you work for him for three months, and so it will be. During that time you will live with him and his family. When the summer is over, you will be free to continue on your journey, but in the meantime I want your promise not to leave early."
Karl agreed. Athgar announced that the matter was settled and went into his house. The crowd of shepherds dispersed as Karl dismantled his wing, but Rolf, having been told by his grandfather to stay with Karl, remained, observing Karl's every move.
"I watched you flying," Rolf said. "I never saw anything so wonderful. Does everyone in Karanga fly?"
"Just the hunters," Karl said.
"Then you must be a hunter," Rolf concluded.
Karl nodded, hoping that the flush of shame that he felt was not visible to the younger boy. He shouldered his kitewing, and with Rolf beside him, they followed Gardo and Rika up the winding path to their house.
After Rolf had helped Karl hang up his kitewing in the barn, they went inside for the noon meal. Rika set the table with bread, cheese, sheepmilk yogurt, and eggs chopped with a spicy green. Karl's mouth watered as he tasted these delicious new foods. A lunch in Karanga might have consisted of an antelope stew or steak, raw vegetables, bread, and fruit. But even though cheese, yogurt, and eggs were unknown to Karl, he ate them ravenously.
When they had finished, Gardo turned to his grandson. "Rolf, take Karl with you and drive the flock back onto the ridge for the afternoon. Teach him how to watch sheep. In a few days, when he knows enough to be useful, we'll start north for the high meadows."
"So soon?" Rika exclaimed. "Grandfather, we'll lose sheep to the Northmen for sure going alone. We ought to wait until someone else is going too."
"Rika, when you've been managing flocks as long as I have, you'll recognize an opportunity and know how to grasp it. The snow has gone early this year, and by the time the others move up we'll have a fat flock. Now lets get on with our work."
Rika returned Karl's spear and knife to him, and Karl and Rolf left to herd the sheep back up toward the ridge. Karl was surprised how easily all hundred sheep could be guided up the trail. Now and then Rolf had to run and yell and prod the stragglers with his staff, but most of the animals seemed to know where they were going.
When they reached the broad ridge top, the sheep fanned out and began grazing. Below them were the fifty or so houses of the village, and far away where the valley broadened, Karl could see a small cloud of yellow dust moving along the river bottom.
"Look! Hrithdon riders," Rolf said, pointing at the dust cloud. "You'll see a lot more of them if you stay with us."
"I don't want to see them," Karl said. "I was almost eaten by a lizard on the desert."
"You should have had some oja," Rolf replied.
"Oja? What's that?" Karl asked.
"An oil made from the oja bean. That's how the Hrithdon control their lizards. When riders rub oja oil on themselves, they're safe. The lizards won't eat anything with the smell of oja on it."
"Then why don't you wear some oja oil?" Karl asked.
Rolf rolled his eyes. "Karanga sure must be different from Eftah. Only Hrithdon guardsmen are allowed to have oja. If they caught you with even one oja bean in your pocket, you'd be killed on the spot. Grandfather says that's how the Hrithdon are able to conquer everybody. They control all the oja. That way they are the only ones who have war lizards. And men on foot can't stand up to them."
All afternoon, while the sheep grazed contentedly, Karl answered Rolf's unending questions about Karanga and kitewings. Finally, when the sun was setting behind the mountains in the west, they gathered the sheep into a herd and started back to the village.
"I wish I lived in Karanga so I could learn to fly a kitewing," Rolf said as they walked downhill.
"You could learn to fly a kitewing here in Eftah," Karl said. The younger boy's interest in flying pleased him. Already he missed not being able to teach his brother, Lars, how to fly.
"You mean it, Karl, really?"
"Yes," Karl answered. "All the steep pastures around here would make an excellent learning ground. Maybe someday I'll let you try my wing. In the meantime, watch the birds. You can learn a lot from them. And start studying the sky and wind. If you're aloft in a kitewing, you must always know which way the wind is blowing."
Rolf agreed to do these things enthusiastically. Together they drove the sheep into a walled pasture for the night and then they went inside for supper.
During the next few days, Rolf and Rika taught Karl to herd sheep. They showed him how to keep the flock moving, how to spot stragglers and chase them back with the others, and how to watch for predators—on either two feet or four. Then one night Gardo told them that they were going to leave for the high pastures the next day.
In the morning, after a breakfast of tea and bread, Rika and Rolf tidied up the cottage while Gardo finished loading four packs with provisions and bedding for their trek into the high mountains. Karl went to the barn and a moment later emerged with his kitewing.
"Are you going to bring that thing?" the old man asked.
For a few seconds Karl stood silently. "I'm a Karangan," he said finally. "I don't go anywhere without my kitewing."
"And who will carry your pack while you carry your plaything?" the old man asked.
Without answering, Karl put on his pack and shouldered his kitewing. Gardo stared hard at Karl, then turned away to his own pack. He beckoned to Rolf to join him, and together they went to the head of the flock, leaving Karl and Rika to take up the rear.
"That's the only way to handle him, Karl," Rika said after they had started walking. "Stand up to Grandfather, or else he'll make life difficult for you."
"I learned that from watching you," Karl said with a wink. He liked Rika. She was understanding and at the same time outspoken, and he admired her for it.
"Are you going back to Karanga when you're finished working for Grandfather?" Rika asked.
"I can't go back. The desert's too large. It was a miracle that I got here alive. I'll have to look for a place where I can hunt and live without having to worry about Hrithdon lizards."
"You won't find such a place on this side of the desert," Rika said matter-of-factly. "Except for the lands to the north, the Hrithdon are the masters of the continent. And they've been our masters since they expanded their empire and conquered us ten years ago."
"What's to the north?" Karl asked.
"Hungry hunters. They come from the plains north of the mountains, but something has affected the supply of game there, and so they've moved south into the mountains. And for the past few years they've been coming even farther south to raid our flocks."
"Have you lost many sheep?"
Rika shook her head. "Not too many. But last year a shephe
rd from Eftah went up to the high country after everyone else had come down, and the Northmen stole his entire flock and killed one of his sons. And now my greedy grandfather is risking his flock so that he can get into the high pastures a couple of weeks ahead of the others. We'll be up there alone," Rika said, gesturing with her staff toward the high mountains to the north, "just the four of us. It would be a lot safer to wait until all the flocks go together."
Karl looked ahead toward the northern mountains. They were rugged, wild-looking slopes, yet they were also invitingly green with new spring growth. As they continued, Karl remembered what Rika had said about hungry hunters and began looking for signs of them—smoke from cooking fires, branches left bent, or rocks overturned to mark a trail. He could tell Rika was watching him as he scanned the sky for signs of lift around the mountains.
"Is it hard to learn to fly a kitewing?" Rika asked.
"Yes, it is," Karl answered. "It took me several years to learn.
"Several years?"
Karl reddened. "Well, several years to become the best flyer in Karanga."
"How do you know you're the best?" Rika asked.
As they walked, Karl unfolded the story of how Bron had become his teacher, how he had taught Karl to fly and then continued to teach him until he had won the cross-country contest. But Karl did not mention the disastrous terry hunt and his banishment. He wished he could tell the truth, for he felt uneasy not being honest with Rika. He sensed that somehow she knew he wasn't telling everything.
7. Three Against Thirty
In the evening they stopped by a pond that rested in a low, flat dip in the ridge line. A few spruces grew along one side of the pond, and a jumble of boulders near the campsite provided a windbreak. Gardo took the first watch to guard the sheep. He insisted that Karl stand his watches with one of them in order to learn how the sheep were guarded. Karl objected, but the old shepherd was adamant.
"Guarding sheep at night is not the same as watching them in the daytime," the old man said. "You've got to learn to listen to the sheep; they can tell you as much as your own senses. When you've had more experience, we'll trust you to watch alone."
Persuaded by Gardo's reasoning on this point, Karl agreed to watch with Rolf. When their turn came, they spoke little. They listened to the wind and gazed up into the cold clear sky at the stars. At midnight Rika took her watch. The final watch would be Gardo's; he planned to take two watches himself that night. Karl had to admire the old shepherd. Whatever his other failings, he was doing more than his fair share of the work.
Karl was asleep near the fire when Rika's yell echoed across the pond. Karl grabbed his spear and ran full tilt toward the flock.
"Rika, where are you?"
"Here," she cried from the boulders at the far side of the flock. "It's a wolf. I need help."
Karl found Rika holding a shadow at bay in a cleft in the rocks. Its savage growls warned him to stand clear. Crouching and holding his spear well ahead of him, he could make out a long, lean wolf holding a lamb by the throat.
"Rika," Karl called, "find a rock. Count out loud to three and then throw it behind the wolf."
Rika searched among the boulders and then started counting. Karl crouched, spear ready. When Rika said "Three," he charged in. The wolf dropped the lamb and bared it fangs to attack him. But as the rock struck behind it, the beast turned toward it with a snapping snarl. In that instant Karl drove his spear into the wolf's flank. A scream split the night as the wounded wolf catapulted from its hiding place. Karl ran back, pulling Rika with him.
"On top of the boulder, quick," he said. He lifted Rika's foot and propelled her to the top. Then as he leapt up she was there to take his hand and help him.
They watched as the wolf below sprang at the side of the boulder three times and then fell back, banging the spear shaft like a driven club against the rocks with each violent convulsion. Its death scream subsided to growls and then to gurgles, until the wolf lay quiet with only its hind legs twitching occasionally.
Karl sat down on the rock, shaking. Visions of the terry hunt swam through his mind as uncontrollable sobs overpowered him. Rika laid an arm around his shoulders.
"I did it this time," Karl said between short breaths. "I didn't panic."
"You panicked before?"
Karl nodded, but said nothing. Rika sat silently, waiting. At last he spoke. "On my first terry hunt a month ago. I knew I wasn't ready, but I didn't want to disappoint Bron, so I went. And when I panicked, Bron died. I was banished from Karanga for cowardice, Rika, I didn't get lost in any windstorm. Getting across the desert alive was just a miracle."
"A miracle of courage and determination," Rika added softly.
"I would be ready for the terry hunt now," Karl said flatly, "and it's only been a few weeks."
"You've been through a lot since then."
"I know. I only wish that—"
"Don't wish for the past to be different. That's impossible," Rika interjected almost sharply. "Wish for the future, Karl. It has done me no good to wish that my parents hadn't been killed by the Hrithdon when they were conquering Eftah. I only wish that someday we will find a way to drive them away."
Forgetting his own distress, Karl was in awe of the fierce energy that Rika displayed. And he felt easier now that Rika knew the truth behind his trek across the desert, yet still had tried to comfort him.
"Rika, are you all right?" Gardo's call came from the shadows nearby.
The wolf's cries had frightened the flock and they were crowding into the protection of the campsite.
Rika nudged Karl. "You answer him," she whispered.
"We're over here," Karl called back. "The wolf is dead." Getting up, Karl gave Rika a hand and lowered her over the edge of the boulder. Then he jumped down beside her. The wolf lay still, but Karl took no chances. Coming around carefully from behind, he wrenched his spear from the carcass and readied it for another thrust, but it was not necessary.
Rika bent down and felt the wolf's ribs. "Karl," she cried, "this wolf was starving. That's why it was so bold."
Karl squatted and felt the wolf's side, noting how little flesh was on the poor creature's frame. Its fur was dry and coarse, not the coat of a healthy animal.
"This is a bad sign," Rika said, addressing her grandfather and Rolf, who had come up. "This wolf is nothing but fur and bones. It means game is scarce and that the Northmen are starving too."
"Don't jump to conclusions," Gardo reproved. "It might also mean that the wolf was sick."
"A sick wolf wouldn't be hungry," retorted Rika. "Northmen will be all over this country. We'll lose the flock for sure."
"Granddaughter," said the old man, "I've been herding sheep in these mountains for sixty years. I would hope that I know what I'm doing. I'll watch for the rest of the night. Everybody go back to bed. We've a big day tomorrow."
At dawn Karl awoke to find Gardo rubbing ointment onto the neck of the lamb. To everyone's surprise, the lamb had suffered only a few scratches on its woolly throat. Karl and Rika walked over to look again at the wolf, and in the daylight the animal's pitiful condition was even more apparent.
Rika shook her head. "Grandfather's too stubborn for his own good. We had some losses last year, and he wants to make up for them. But there's so little to be gained by going ahead of the other flocks like this. I have a bad feeling about what could happen to us."
Karl saw the concern in Rika's eyes. "I could fly in my kitewing and scout ahead," he said. "I'll go as soon as the air is warm enough for thermals."
"Karl, that would be wonderful," Rika said with relief. "I'd feel much better."
After breakfast, they broke camp and started north again along the rolling mountain ridge line. Karl had seen no signs of hunters the day before and felt sure they were safe from any attack, yet Rika kept eyeing him nervously. At last the morning sun had heated the valley air, and in a few minutes Karl was flying ahead along the route the flock was to take.
The t
errain changed as a jagged outcropping of basalt ran across the ridge at right angles. To the left a splintered spire of the hard rock jutted several hundred feet into the air. Karl continued searching for signs of the Northmen. Suddenly he saw motion in the distance and sped up his flight by diving towards it. The moving figures were a band of hunters, all well armed with spears and bows. He leveled off and circled to look at them more closely—more than thirty men, thin and worn and dressed in ragged furs. Their determined walk was almost as fast as the wolf's lope. From the lack of spring in their movements, Karl guessed that they must have been moving all night. He knew that thirty was far too large a number for any normal hunting party. They were the starving, desperate hunters Rika had feared they would meet.
The hunters spotted Karl and shouted and pointed at him with their spears. But after a few minutes, their leader, who was wearing a wolf's-head cap, shouted orders, and they resumed their fast march. Karl wheeled and dove for the mountain valley, heading away from the flock. He had to fly a good distance before he was out of sight and could double back safely.
When Karl had returned, Gardo looked at him with a disgruntled expression. "Out playing with the eagles?"
"No," Karl answered, "looking for Northmen, and I found them."
A grave look of concern crossed Gardo's face, and he stopped still. "How many?"
"I counted over thirty."
"Don't make jokes. They're never in groups of more than three or four."
"Over thirty," Karl repeated.
Gardo lowered himself to the ground and sat dumbly. At that instant Rika arrived, breathless, with Rolf at her heels. She had anticipated the news.
"How far?" she gasped.
"About five miles," Karl said, "and they're coming this way."
"Over thirty of them," Gardo repeated as if dazed. "We're lost."
Kiteman of Karanga Page 5