by Joe Zeigler
***
Back on the plain, Gedeon’s Traders watched as a new group set up camp on the site recently vacated by Danijel’s contingent. This group brought tales of the Raiders. They had lost a hunting party of three males and two straggling females to them.
The Raiders are promising to be a larger problem this season than normal, Gedeon thought. If they keep it up, I will have to have Nergui gather his men and put them in their place, and that is a far distance from where the Traders are going about their business.
Nergui was in charge of the Traders’ militia and second in influence only to Gedeon. He was a tall, well-built young man of twenty-two years and had red hair like Gedeon’s. Many suspected some relation—brothers perhaps. In any case, they worked and fought well together. Nergui would lead small expeditions on his own. He and Gedeon would usually split command during major campaigns. They had never been defeated.
***
Liùsaidh felt satisfied as she went about the business of organizing Danijel’s—their—camp. She had regained her rightful position among the People and had been by Danijel’s side, or slightly behind, all day. For the moment, he had been elevated to a deity by the People, who believe he had returned from the dead. She had noticed the People eying her, wondering if Danijel was really going to accept her. It appeared that he was, and that was that. Liùsaidh was glad.
Besides the obvious social and lifestyle benefits, she liked Danijel. Not simply because he was a tall, well-put-together male who was more than adequate sexually. Certainly, that was part of it, but there was more. He didn’t whine like most men. He didn’t talk much at all, and she found herself wishing he would, unlike with the other men she’d known. He was decisive. He always seemed to know the right path and stubbornly stuck with it. Sometimes—not often—he was even funny. He didn’t care what others thought of him as much as what he thought of himself, and he never blamed others when plans went amiss, which happened. Liùsaidh realized he wasn’t perfect, nor did he pretend to be. But he knew what was right, and when she was with him, she did, too. She gave Glooscap no further thought.
Snakebite
Gradually Danijel’s other women were returning to him. Liùsaidh didn’t mind. They were more like volunteer servants seeking security than wives or even concubines. As unusual as it was, Danijel was mostly monogamous, much to the consternation of the other women. They stayed regardless—Danijel provided safety, sustenance, and stature in the community, and that made their sacrifice worth it.
They did not need the shelter, as it would not rain and the weather was temperate. However, she thought it unseemly for Danijel to sleep out in the open where everyone could see him. She leaned over to move a large rock from the center of the area where she planned to erect the shelter. Hearing a laugh in the distance, she glanced up to see Danijel still grouped with some other men by the river. Just as she was wondering what was going on down there, she heard a high-pitched buzzing sound nearby. Very close indeed. Her arms were spread to grasp the rock, and as she crouched down, preparing to pick it up, she saw, not two feet from her face, a huge rattlesnake coiled behind the rock.
Liùsaidh screamed. Dropping the stone, she started to jerk away—too late. The snake struck her neck with deadly accuracy and held on as she went over backward onto the ground. Seconds later, Micaela, who had set up camp just down the slope, arrived at a full run and dived on the snake, grasping it just behind its triangle-shaped head. The snake spasmed and wrapped its body around Micaela, refusing to release its grip on Liùsaidh. As Micaela held on to the writhing snake, her face inches from Liùsaidh’s, she saw Liùsaidh’s eyes glaze over and roll back into her head. Micaela knew that this was bad and getting worse. She was making no progress dislodging the snake.
Danijel arrived at a run to find Liùsaidh on her back, a large rattlesnake on top of her, and Micaela on top of the snake, each with a firm grip on the one beneath. Taking in the scene in a split second, Danijel drew his flint knife—recently sharpened on Ohad’s stone—and pulled it forcefully across the snake, just behind where Micaela’s hands gripped it. Suddenly Micaela found herself holding only the head of the snake, and her hands slid off as it became slippery with blood. Danijel reached down and disengaged the snake’s fangs from Liùsaidh’s neck, untangled the snake, and pulled Micaela up. Then he pulled the snake off Liùsaidh and pushed it to the side, muttering, “Breakfast.”
The men who had been conferring with Danijel now gathered around. “This is bad,” one commented. “That’s a goodly amount of poison, and it looks like it went directly into her blood.” Micaela was sitting on the ground, cradling Liùsaidh’s head in her lap. Liùsaidh was pale as death, and her breathing was becoming increasingly labored. Micaela lowered her head, putting her lips to the wound in a hopeless attempt to suck out the venom.
“Stop, Micaela,” Danijel commanded gently. “Just stop the bleeding and keep her warm.” He rose and walked back down to the riverbank, where he knelt and started speaking to himself. He held one hand to his throat, and Micaela could see his lips moving and his eyes glancing toward the Sun.
There was as little contact with the ship above as possible. The last time the voice had spoken was during the disaster on the canyon wall. There was to be no overt interference with the People, though, of course, the goal was to help them develop—subtlety—without direct interference.
The ship was there to provide transportation, of course, to support the mission, and if possible, to get the Jah out of any trouble they got themselves into. However, compassion was hard for any developed race to suppress. The voice answered him now.
He’s praying to the Sun, she thought. I’ve never seen that do any good. But she watched because she had seen him appear to talk to himself before. Sometimes he gave the impression that his words were being answered. He would pause, put his hand to his ear, and seem to listen to a voice no one else could hear. Others had noticed, too. They thought it was the voice of God speaking to their Messiah. Danijel discouraged such thoughts, so Micaela didn’t know what to believe.
She was too far away to hear, but from his body language, he appeared to be arguing with someone; with God? Finally, the prayer, if that was what it was, was over. He rose and walked back to the campsite.
Liùsaidh was completely still now and very cold. Her breath was coming slowly. Micaela had successfully stopped the bleeding at the wound, and Danijel’s men moved her into a shelter and covered her with furs. But her throat was swelling shut. Micaela sat with Liùsaidh’s head in her lap, speaking soft, encouraging words that she knew Liùsaidh could not hear. Her breathing was becoming more labored, and Micaela feared Liùsaidh would not last much longer. Micaela could feel her pulse fading, and she was turning an awful color.
Liùsaidh’s body convulsed, the swelling of her neck blocking the air, just as Danijel entered the shelter.
“It is almost over,” Micaela murmured to Danijel and no one. Tears formed in her eyes.
“It is not,” Danijel replied tartly. “Position your leg under her shoulders and let her head fall to the ground.”
Not understanding, but compliant nonetheless, Micaela extended Liùsaidh’s neck. Danijel drew his knife and inserted it into Liùsaidh’s neck just above the jugular notch at the top of her sternum. Micaela gasped and jerked back, shocked by the sight of Danijel stabbing Liùsaidh in the neck.
“Be still,” Danijel said sharply as air bubbles formed in the blood.
“A reed! Bring me a hollow reed!” he commanded. He withdrew the knife and inserted two fingers into the hole. More bubbles formed in the escaping blood and Micaela heard a rasping sound as Liùsaidh sucked a breath through the new airway. In good time, someone handed Danijel a hollow reed, which he inserted in the newly cut hole in Liùsaidh’s neck. Then he secured it in place with a long strip of cloth that Liùsaidh had procured from the Traders just a day before. Finally, she seemed to be breathing easily and looked relatively stable, though Micaela continued to hold her. Th
e others, who had been sitting just outside the shelter, watching and waiting, left to consume their evening meal.
“What did you do, Danijel?” Şule asked. Are you sending her up to the ship?”
“No, they balked. There has been too much interference with these people. And, they are right. We are tasked with studying these people, how they behave, adapt to different environments, communicate and socialize with one another. We must not interfere. Heisenberg's uncertainty principle was mentioned.”
“That’s nonsense,” Şule exclaimed angrily. “You are the head of the mission. You can’t let her die!”
“Keep your voice down,” he ordered. “No, I can’t let her die—a compromise was reached. She will be all right.”
Just before the Sun’s final light, a stranger walked into the village and found his way to Danijel’s campsite.
“What trouble have you here?” the stranger asked, seeming to know already something was amiss.
“She is in here,” Danijel replied, leading the man into the shelter. Taking Liùsaidh’s head in his large hands, Danijel said, “Leave us, Micaela. We will take care of her now.”
Divine Intervention
Starting to protest, Micaela was cut off by a look. Although worried, she returned to her campsite. Who is this stranger who comes to Liùsaidh? Is he the answer to Danijel’s prayer by the river? Micaela had never seen a prayer answered before. That was not to say they were not answered, just never in a direct way where cause and effect were clear. In her experience, the problem she prayed about was eventually resolved in one way or another according to Sun’s will, and Sun worked in indecipherable and strange ways.
Usually at cross purposes.
The young boy, whose name Micaela did not even know, was asleep just outside her modest shelter. He was making himself part of the family.
In the morning, Micaela awoke and looked up the slope to see Liùsaidh bent over the morning fire, stoking the coals from the previous evening. She had scraped the covering of ash and added twigs, and she was blowing them into life. Micaela shook her head to clear the cobwebs of sleep from her mind.
This is impossible, she thought. Last evening Liùsaidh was near death. This morning she is going about her morning chores as if nothing happened. Another miracle or magic?
She rose and hurried toward the fire. “Liùsaidh,” she exclaimed with a confused look. “How are you? Should you be up? Does Danijel know you are out of bed?”
Liùsaidh looked up her expression calm. Only a small red area with a vertical white line bisecting it marked where Danijel had cut her throat. This was outside Micaela’s experience. “I’m all right, child; it’s not as bad as it looked last night. After a good night’s sleep, I’m OK. You’d better get to your chores, as we are moving into the desert today.”
Micaela didn’t know what to say. She decided, mostly by indecision, to say nothing. She stared for another moment before retreating downhill to revive her fire and start breakfast for what was now a group of three. I’d best find out the boy’s name if he is going to be around for a while, she thought.
Just as she got the fire going properly for cooking, Danijel came by and handed her a large piece of rattlesnake, gutted and ready for cooking. “Thank you for your help last night,” he said. “You were of great help, and Liùsaidh and I thank you.”
“I am happy to be of service,” she replied. “Liùsaidh seems completely recovered. I don’t understand how she could have healed so quickly. Even the cut on her neck looks like it happened at least two weeks ago.”
“Well, it probably looked worse than it was. The snake delivered a dry strike and injected no venom, and the injury to her neck was just a scratch.”
This version of events was so alien to Micaela’s memory that she was again speechless. She just nodded her head, and Danijel moved away, carrying snake to share with others. Preparing a frame of small green branches, Micaela quickly cooked the snake and delivered it with Ohad’s breakfast to him in his shelter.
Noticing that the young boy was still lying on the ground, wrapped in furs against the chill of the night, she prodded him gently with her toe, saying, “Boy, get up! Breakfast is ready, and I’m not going to serve you in bed,” her tone harder than her bite.
“What have you prepared?” he asked as if considering whether or not it was worth rising.
Micaela scoffed and walked away toward the fire, saying, “If you are hungry, come and get it. If not, stay as you are for a little while. But you’ll have to rise soon, as we are moving today, and Ohad will expect you to carry your share.”
With the Sun one length above the horizon, the group was loaded and starting to move, but not before Micaela had learned the boy’s name, Uggla—during a heated argument about how much he would carry. He considered himself overloaded and was thus unable to perform his duties as a man—to protect the old, the women, and the children from possible danger. “I should not have to carry anything,” he declared, “other than my spear.”
Micaela considered pointing out he had no spear but thought better of it.
***
“The Raiders have attacked another group,” Nergui reported to Gedeon. “This time, they have been bolder. They attacked the main group rather than a hunting party or stragglers. They were driven off but not before some casualties, and four women were carried off.”
“Well,” Gedeon replied with reluctance in his voice, “gather half the warriors. It is time to move these people out of the way of our customers’ path. This nonsense is bad for business. We’ll leave at sunset, wound a couple of them, and drive the remainder downslope below us, toward the desert. We cannot have them attacking our customers as they come down from the north. Those in the south will have to deal with them or wait until we arrive.”
“We’ll be ready,” Nergui agreed.
The Proposal
Liùsaidh joined Ixchel, one of the young girls impregnated at the Breeding, and a child of the Breeding herself. They walked along together as they moved out of the last tree line and down into the desert. Even the scrawny juniper trees were left behind. It was still hot during the day and below freezing at night. The desert, where the land dropped down and then climbed to the beginning of the Smoking Mountains, was an inhospitable place. None of the People looked forward to it. It was good that they should make it through in only six days of travel and only five nights spent in the desert.
“Ixchel,” Liùsaidh started, “you may know that I am with child, as most likely, are you. However, I am three months further along and have already begun to show,” she said as she moved her free hand over her belly.
“Is this your first child?” Ixchel asked, hoping to gain some knowledge of what to expect.
“Yes, it is,” Liùsaidh replied, “and I’m nervous, too. You may stay close to me as I experience this—and childbirth—so you will know how it will happen with you.” Liùsaidh continued, anticipating Ixchel’s anxiety and using it to her advantage. “In fact, I’d like you to be very close—part of the family for a time.”
“Yes?” Ixchel questioned, confused about what Liùsaidh was proposing.
“You realize that, after the fourth month or so, we pregnant women become temporarily unattractive to our mates—well, to all males actually. I have found Danijel to be an excellent mate, and I would not like him to wander off during this period. Unlike us, men require sex regularly, and if I am unable to service him because I’m undesirable, he may join with another. So, I would like to control the situation. To that end, I would like to arrange for you to be my surrogate.”
Ixchel glanced quickly at Liùsaidh, still not understanding.
“If you agree, you would live with us and travel as part of the family, helping with the chores and satisfying Danijel’s needs.”
“His needs?” Ixchel questioned, starting to understand. If this was as it appeared, it would solve many of Ixchel’s problems. As a pregnant woman, without a man or family, she would soon become dependent
on the charity of others for her needs and those of her child. In theory, this would not be a problem, as she would be, by the rules of the Breeding, the responsibility of all men in the group, and her child a child of the group. That was the theory, but Ixchel knew it sometimes did not work out exactly as promised. She had been raised by the village—everyone and no one. And some had taken advantage of her. This arrangement with Liùsaidh sounded like an answer to her prayers. But she needed the agreement to be clear.
She looked at Liùsaidh with a questioning expression.
“His sexual needs,” Liùsaidh explained. “I fear he will not desire me during this time of ugliness. But I don’t want him seeking satisfaction elsewhere. You and I will have an arrangement where you give him back when I’m ready. In any event, you will be unable to break your word to me, as you will become unattractive yourself shortly before I’m prepared to return to his embrace.”
“And what happens to me then?” Ixchel said softly, and with that, Liùsaidh knew she would agree. From now on, they were merely haggling over the details.
And, Liùsaidh knew, this was the clincher. Her next few words would land Ixchel.
“You will continue to stay with us as part of the family. When your child comes, both Danijel and I will make sure that both of you are well cared for. And we will do our best to help you find a man…perhaps from another group that we meet during our time in the Lowland.”