Ananoi had not come far when he met a giant mammoth, taller than the mountains around it. The mammoth did not have redwoods growing upon its back, but in all other respects it looked like Vozha, and at the moment it was tossing several other mammoths over its back with its enormous trunk while trumpeting its challenge to all comers.
Ananoi saw the mammoth, and shouted, “Vozha, word of your terrible deeds has flown everywhere. Surely all the tribes of animals fear you. People say that even Adjonai, the God of Terror, cowers at your name. No one disputes your greatness, so why do you continue to be cruel? It serves no point.”
Now in saying this, Ananoi was not wise. Had he paid attention, he would have seen that this giant mammoth was not Vozha, but was in fact the Shape Changer Xetxetcha, for even though Xetxetcha was in giant form, he had not been in that form long enough for redwoods to have grown upon his back. Still, it may be that Ananoi saw the giant hairs on Xetxetcha’s back and only thought they were redwoods.
But Xetxetcha, realizing that he had fooled Ananoi, the great Okanjara warrior, thought, Here is a man whose strength and wit are legend. Certainly we will have a great fight.
So he said, “Who do you think you are, scrawny person, to talk to me in this way! Will you fight?”
But Ananoi shouted, “I must warn you, I have a spear!” And he shook his spear of cattails and lily petals at the giant.
Xetxetcha only laughed. He picked up a mountain with his trunk and prepared to drop it on Ananoi, but Ananoi hurled his spear with such speed that the reed caught fire and became a comet, and he threw with such precision that the comet burned cleanly into Xetxetcha’s heart, and the evil Shape-Changer fell dead to the ground and went back to his natural form.
When Ananoi saw that he had killed a Shape-Changer by accident, he was sad, for he did not want to make enemies. He took the dead boy and carried him here to the Idols, where Shape-Changing Woman had her throne. At that time, the Idols did not frown.
Ananoi laid Xetxetcha at Shape-Changing Woman’s feet, and when he looked up into her eyes, he saw that she was beautiful beyond all that he had ever heard. When she saw her dead son, Shape-Changing Woman’s face was full of sorrow, and it broke Ananoi's heart. Very softly, he told her how he had killed her son, and he begged forgiveness.
But Shape Changing Woman fell into a rage. “You have already taken my son, and now you want to take my forgiveness, too? I will have blood from you, not apologies!” Shape-Changing Woman raged, then she turned into a scimitar cat and leapt at Ananoi.
But Ananoi was not ready to die, so he cuffed her softly, not wishing to hurt her, and knocked her aside. Shape-Changing Woman immediately turned herself into a dragon, and leapt into the air and raked him with her horrible talons.
Ananoi was forced to run, and so magnificent was his speed that the dragon could not catch him. Beat her wings as she might, she could not catch him, so he ran until he reached the sea and could run no more. Shape-Changing Woman was close behind and he had nowhere to go, but he thought, Ah, I have seen how the Shape-Changers perform their tricks. I can do that, too, so he jumped into the ocean, and quick as a heartbeat he became a sea turtle.
The ocean has mountains and valleys beneath it and cities where water spirits dwell, but Ananoi, sick with grief, swam down, down, until he reached the bottom of the ocean. Meanwhile, Shape-Changing Woman searched everywhere. She had seen Ananoi jump into the water, but she had not seen him change into a turtle. She did not know that he knew her tricks, so she searched until she decided that some beautiful daughter of the water spirits had pulled Ananoi down, drowning him to make him her husband.
For a long time, Ananoi stayed on the bottom of the ocean and wept in grief. He was sick for having killed Xetxetcha, and he was even more sick that he could not have the beautiful Shape-Changing Woman for his wife. Often he thought of going to see the beautiful woman, but he knew the sadness upon her face would break his heart. So, he stayed on the ocean floor and wondered what to do for a long time, always drifting with the currents, sinking deeper and deeper into the lowest chasms.
After a year, the sound of drums disturbed Ananoi from his thoughts. He realized that he had heard these drums for a long time but only believed it to be the beating of his own heart. But now he knew the truth, for as he listened intently, he heard drums.
Also, he could hear singing, very faintly, horrible voices wailing like flutes and panpipes. He put his ear to the mud on the ocean floor, and sure enough, the singing and drums became louder. And with this, he realized what he heard—the singing of the soul worms of wicked people as they danced around the Heart of Evil at the center of the world.
Ananoi was finally stunned from his brooding thoughts, for mingled with the singing of the damned souls, he recognized the voice of Xetxetcha.
Ananoi immediately turned himself into a mole and dug into the ground, and he did not have to go far to reach the cavern where the Heart of Evil dwelt, and soon he tunneled into the roof of that great cavern.
The Heart of Evil lay on the cavern floor below him, black and throbbing. Foul emanations, black like smoke, drifted up from it to fill the world. Each beat of the heart rang through the cavern like the beating of a drum.
Evil men whose souls had shriveled into the shape of worms crawled endlessly in a great maddening circle, wailing the tales of their evil lives in song. Slave masters cracked endless whips, driving the worms over sharp rocks and broken glass. When Ananoi saw this, a plan came to mind.
For many hours Ananoi watched the soul worms in their dance of pain. They roiled beneath him, one by one, and at last he heard Xetxetcha and saw which worm it belonged to.
Ananoi jumped down, still in the form of a mole, and caught the soul worm between his teeth, then raced up through his tunnel before the slave masters could follow. Up, up he climbed, digging back to daylight. Ananoi burrowed up into the garden of Shape-Changing Woman. It was a summer’s night, and all three full moons lingered on the horizon.
Ananoi turned himself back into his own form as a beautiful man, set the soul worm on the ground, and let it sing. Xetxetcha sang of his torments in the cavern of evil, and these are the words he sang:
I am but fruit
to be eaten by Crows of Misfortune
that hover on jeering wing.
Their dark forms swarm above me
with reaping-hook frowns
as their purple tongues caw
caustic calls of derision.
I can leave no footprints as I flee
through the dust of this hard world.
But beneath the shadows of netherwhere,
where the heart only sees.
I bruise myself,
and find no comfort.
Shape-Changing Woman heard the mournful song and went to her garden. Ever since the death of her son, she, too, could find no comfort, and she wondered who sang of her own pain.
When she got to the garden, she saw a beautiful man in the moonlight and did not recognize Ananoi. But the spirit worm sang of all the evil deeds that had led it to such a terrible fate, and by the deeds sung in the song, Shape-Changing Woman recognized her own son.
Xetxetcha sang of the joy he had taken in tormenting animals and stealing their lives. He sang of his boastfulness and lust for blood. And finally he sang of his own death as he tried to murder Ananoi, and his mother wept at the deeds of her terrible son.
Then, when the song was done, the soul worm crawled back into the ground, seeking the Heart of Evil that would be its eternal tormentor, for it had no other choice. As the Idols heard Xetxetcha sing of his deeds and the grief that these evil deeds caused him, they both frowned, just as they do now.
Ananoi and Shape-Changing Woman were filled with sadness, and they stood for a long time in the moonlight, watching one another. “I killed your son,” Ananoi said, “but I brought what I could back to you. First his body, then his spirit. Can you forgive me?”
Shape-Changing Woman wept fiercely, and the wind rushe
d for a moment as the goddess Zhofwa knelt and blew her kisses upon the couple. “I forgive you,” Shape-Changing Woman said, and they fell in love and became man and wife.
Tull listened to the story with a certain reverie, wondering at it, for it was different in some ways from any that he had ever heard.
In Pwi stories, Ananoi was always named as a Pwi hero, not a Thrall or Okanjara, and the Thrall thought the red drones were sent to trap only the Slave Lords, whereas Tull knew that they were spaceships filled with alien machines that kept everyone caged on this world, and he smiled to think that they believed Ananoi had almost destroyed Bashevgo, instead of Phylomon.
Most of all, Tull was surprised to see that the Okanjara told stories about guilt and redemption. In form, this was a Pwi tale, even though these men bore little resemblance to the Pwi.
Tull felt a thrill of fear, and realized that if Tchupa was right, that within a year he might be fighting the armies of Craal beside these strange warriors in their skull masks. Suddenly Tull felt at peace with these men. He listened to them laugh and joke. No longer were they Okanjara, no longer were they so different.
A storm blew in, bringing first a boisterous wind and distant thunder, then a strong scent of water. The campfires guttered beneath the blast, and it began to rain.
Tull retreated into the tent where the young woman struggled to give birth, and two hours later the girl reached hard labor.
The baby was coming out breech and had its cord wrapped around it many times. Phylomon made Tull push the child back into the womb, turn it around so that it would come head first.
Tull hated the job. His hands felt so large and clumsy going into that small woman, and she screamed in pain.
“You take over,” Tull said. “She is too small for me to get. It’s these damned hands, these damned clumsy hands!”
“You are right,” Phylomon said, coaching him. “The girl is too small to deliver easily. But your hands are not too large. This would hurt her in any case. I could do no better.”
“You take over,” Tull said in disgust.
“You are doing fine. We don’t want my hands in there too—it would only heighten the risk of infection. Get on with it.”
Tull went back to the work. The cord was wrapped around the child’s shoulders and arms. With the cord cutting off the babe’s breathing, Tull knew he had to get the babe out quickly if it was to live.
It was nearly sunrise when the child finally came. The eye of the storm had passed and it thundered and rained outside the tent. The babe’s head came out blue, covered with the white cheese of a newborn. It tried to scream, but the girl quit pushing when it was only halfway. Tull grabbed the babe, shouted for the girl to push, but she was between contractions. He pulled gently.
Because the girl had never given birth before, her birth canal was not wide enough to let the child through—not with the cord wrapped around the child’s shoulders. In desperation, Phylomon finally shouted “Pull,” and Tull knew that if the child were to live, it would have to come now. He pulled the child, gently but firmly, and dragged the mother three feet. He heard some snapping sounds, and the child came through.
The child was purple and breathed only in shallow gasps, and Tull held it upside down and cleared its throat. The child took a lungful of air and screamed in pain. Its right arm hung at an odd angle, broken.
When Tull saw that the child would live, he checked its arm. It had a break in the clavicle, and dangled as if it had an extra joint. When he saw how badly he had mangled the baby’s arm, Tull cursed himself and his eyes filled with tears.
“It will be alright,” Phylomon said, “We can mend it. When they are this young, babe’s heal fast.”
Phylomon made a bandage and immobilized the broken limb. Tull’s eyes filled with tears, and one of the women helped him from the tent.
It was morning already, with rose-colored skies. Tchupa and his men sat by the fire. Tchupa was moved to see Tull cry for an Okanjara, and he thanked Tull, patting him on the back, and other warriors gathered around and did the same.
Phylomon came out of the tent a moment later and spoke softly in Tull’s ear. “You did well, as well as anyone could. I’d have done no better. If not for you, the child would have died. But the child will live. And the mother will live.”
“Perhaps he should have died,” Tull said. “To have the hands of a Neanderthal is bad enough. But with that break, the shoulder may grow arthritic. He might have only one hand.”
“You are too hard on yourself,” Phylomon said. “The arm will heal. But even if it doesn’t, a man with one hand and willpower can seize the world by the throat.”
“Perhaps if he had a human hand,” Tull snorted in derision.
Phylomon grabbed Tull by the beard, jerked his head around, met his eyes, and said very slowly, “Tull Genet, I have spoken to Chaa, and he says that you—with one hand and willpower—can seize the world by the throat! Seize it, damn you!”
Chapter 21: The Quicksilver Man
Tull spent that day in a daze. He had never met anyone who believed in him, and Phylomon’s faith seemed the product of a deranged mind.
Tull couldn’t decide whether to tell Phylomon and the others what Tchupa had said about the armies of Craal. The words frightened him, and he did not want to give this evil kwea to others.
Besides, they would be traveling to the White Mountains soon enough, and they would learn firsthand whether the armies of Craal could overrun the Rough. For a while, Tull went to look for Wisteria. He found her shopping with Tirilee, and the two seemed preoccupied, so Tull and Ayuvah worked on their wagon all day.
The wagon was made to be pulled by a mastodon, not by oxen, and the men had to take the doubletree from the glass seller’s wagon and switch it to their own, since the glass seller’s wagon could not carry the kind of weight they would be hauling once they filled their great barrel with water. It was easy work, requiring only strength and patience.
Once, Tull stopped and stared at his hands.
Ayuvah asked, “Did you cut yourself? Are you all right?”
“These do not look like the hands of a doctor, do they?” Tull asked. “I could never cut someone open in surgery.” They were large and clumsy, more like the paws of a bear really.
“They are just hands,” Ayuvah said. “I speak truthfully, I would rather have a human with his clever little hands cut me open. Still, you are as smart as a human. You can do some things. You can fix broken arms. You could make medicines.”
“Dr. Debon said that Neanderthals were born to throw spears—our arms rotate at the shoulder more perfectly than a human’s can, and because our arms are stronger, our toss is more powerful than a human's, too. Our hands are big and strong because they were made to grip heavy things, like spear shafts.”
Ayuvah smiled. “Humans cannot throw spears, that is certain. And Fava could beat up the strongest human in town. One day we shall rule them.”
“They will always rule us,” Tull said. “They will make clever little things that we cannot, and we will sell our souls for baubles. Their doctors and engineers will own us. Still, it feels good to work with my hands, to fit this doubletree to the axle.”
Ayuvah wrinkled his brow. “Tull, I know you believe that we will sell ourselves to the humans, and this bothers you. But my father is a Spirit Walker. Someday, he says, we shall be their teachers. We shall overthrow the Slave Lords. Bashevgo will crumble to the sea, and the God of Terror will die in Craal. Then the humans will look up to us, not down upon us.”
Tull snorted in derision. “The Pwi will never attack Craal,” he said, bending over to inspect the size of the bolt holes on the doubletree.
Ayuvah slapped Tull’s face. “Do not laugh at the words of my father,” Ayuvah shouted, then he stepped back in dismay. “Forgive me, my brother! Forgive my anger!”
Tull looked up at him, startled more than angry. “Forgive my unruly mouth,” Tull begged.
By evening the ground had dried
from the passing thunderstorm and a chill wind took its place, bringing the smell of winter. The camp swelled by another fifty people, and, as often happened when there was nothing to do, people began to party.
Many Pwi got drunk on sweet-potato wine, but the Okanjara cooked a great bowl of thin stew filled with hallucinogenic mushrooms, a crude opium made from the heart of wild cabbage, and poisonous seeds from wild cucumbers, and in early afternoon, they began to feed.
Phylomon looked the pot over, and declared, “Anyone who eats this stew will not be sane for a month.” But many among the Pwi went to the Okanjara camp to eat.
Tull slept for the afternoon and did not wake until midnight. Wisteria lay beside him, but when he hugged her, she pushed him away. He heard singing in the Okanjara camp and went to investigate.
The Okanjara played panpipes and drums. The women and the children were so heavily drugged that they just sat and stared at the fire. Most of the men were still eating, going back for thirds and fourths. They dressed in hats made of dyed porcupine quills, and danced around a fire and sang, watching the backs of their hands, shaking them, mesmerized by their white wrists flashing in the moonlight. Tchupa watched over them like a king.
“Tull, my friend,” Tchupa shouted. “Come celebrate with us!” He offered Tull a gourd filled with liquid from the pot. Tull took a small sip to please the Okanjara, then spit it out when no one was looking.
“Today and tomorrow we trade,” Tchupa said, “But the day after we must hunt. Our warriors go to hunt now in their dreams. They will dream of the mammoth spirits and find where the mammoth will give themselves to our spears. You should come with us.”
Tull smiled at the offer. He like Tchupa, and would have enjoyed his company. “You Okanjara are not so bad as I’d heard. Almost I could imagine being one of you. But I, too, must hunt soon,” Tull said, “for other game.”
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