“Question is,” Jeff pondered aloud, “do I really want to leave? These people are so wonderful.”
At that moment he was standing near a field being cultivated by a horse-drawn, steel-shod plow. Next to it, another field lay fallow. Watching the team turn twin furrows, he concluded that Valholm definitely had been exposed to outside intervention as earlier suspected. The concept of crop rotation was not simple, and steel plows a late development in most cultures. The intervention might have originated with the Alarai, but it also might have come from the south.
As the plow approached, Jeff’s attention was drawn to one of the draft animals plodding along in front. In general, it looked like a horse. However, whereas Balthazar was earthside wolf in every physical respect except size, every aspect of this animal seemed a little off. The differences were accentuated when Jeff examined the horses he was pulling with. No more than ponies in comparison, they would have passed without notice on Earth.
Jeff cocked his head and frowned as the team approached. “What a strange critter. It isn’t only that he’s so big. I can’t remember any horse that had such a long snout, and his ears are certainly a match. They must be a foot long, and look at the way they arch over his head. How can they be so narrow and stand up at the same time?”
The team was nearly abreast his position, and Jeff could only shake his head. “I can’t see over his back! Six feet tall? He’s built something like an Arabian, but they’re small and he’s colored like an Appaloosa. Long legs, and look at those hindquarters! Bet he can really move.”
As the team passed, the horse stopped and turned his head to look at Jeff. That was not unusual behavior, but he held Jeff’s gaze for moment after moment. That was unusual.
“How could I have missed it? I have to call him something, but this is not really a horse. Not with eyes like that. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that shade of blue-green in any animal or human.”
Man and horse continued to stare at one another. “Son of a gun,” Jeff murmured, “he’s trying to figure me out. And I always assumed horses had the brains of a chicken.” Jeff moved to get a better view. “Wow. That is a big brain cage. This might be one smart critter.”
The youngster handling the team raised a switch, prompting Jeff to hold up his hand. Although the right words were hard to find on demand, he conveyed the impression that he wanted to look the horse over. Pleased at the interest, the boy gestured for Jeff to go ahead. He walked up to the animal but was careful to stop out of biting range.
“Hey, big boy, what’s new?” he asked, looking the horse square in the eye and receiving a look in return that was equally square. “Is he trying to speak with me?”
Try as he might Jeff could not reach the horse’s mind. Yet he got the impression that he should be able to. Growing up on a farm, Jeff had learned to interpret animal body language. It was an indispensable skill when working with bulls. In this case he decided there was something going on that was definitely irritating.
Growling under his breath, Jeff pointed an accusing finger in the general direction of the animal’s nose. “All right, fleabag, don’t you give me that smart-ass garbage, too!”
Jeff approached the young man and waved an arm toward Cynic, for so he had named him. “How about that one? Is he difficult to work with?”
“Ever he wishes to follow his own course, and of a morning may employ devious stratagems to avoid the harness. Yet he, when willing, needs little direction.”
Throwing what he hoped was an insult in Cynic’s direction, Jeff wandered toward the community hall. That evening he listened attentively to a saga being recited by a grizzled villager named Hagwane. The tale lagged, forcing Hagwane to duck thrown food and a tankard trailing a stream of beer. Dodging back and forth, he picked up the pace.
“…And thus, hearing desperate calls, Tehric quickly slew his adversary. Heart beating with fear, he burst into a lodge all aflame and deadly. There lay a maiden languishing in shackles.”
The crowd shouted encouragement and advice; some leaped to their feet in excitement. Not letting his guard down, Hagwane darted glances around the room to make sure no more food was on its way.
“Sundering the sweet maiden’s fetters, Tehric did lift her to his arms and win through to the forest’s protection. Then did fair Marsa recover her senses and look full upon the strength of her savior.” The audience let out a roar of approval and stamped appreciation.
Back in control, Hagwane paused to leer around the room. “Fiercely embracing Tehric, fair Marsa did fall upon him with grateful abandon, ripping his clothing in her haste to give thanks with her body. Finding her desire, Marsa did grip it most firmly and led Tehric to a soft bed of leaves.”
More men and women jumped to their feet, many with ear-piercing whistles.
“Smoldering desire burst into flame and Tehric thrust her to the ground, yet was thwarted by her garments.”
A female voice bellowed, “Cut them off. He must use his knife to free her body.”
Responding to the crowd, Hagwane improvised the sex scene. From moment to moment, Jeff couldn’t be sure who was assaulting whom.
“Holy shit! Are they having sex or trying to kill each other?”
A bawdy song that left nothing to the imagination drowned out the final portion of Hagwane’s tale. Although he considered himself inured to a wide range of sexual preferences, the graphic nature of the lyrics made Jeff uncomfortable.
“They certainly aren’t sexually repressed!” he laughed under his breath.
Sweating profusely, Hagwane took his seat to a round of table-banging approval and the general uproar resumed. A short while later, Gurthwin turned to Jeff with a sly smile and spoke in a voice loud enough to carry well beyond their vicinity.
“Perhaps you would regale us with an exploit?”
As Gurthwin had anticipated, a chorus of voices immediately called for a tale. Villagers emphasized their desire by pounding flagons on the table. Bending a sour look on Gurthwin, who only smiled innocently in return, Jeff was soon put in a spot where he could not refuse as the thumping and shouting became general.
Okay, buckos, Jeff thought as he got to his feet, bowing to Halric in the process, let’s see what I can do. Hope my vocabulary is up to it. Making his way to center stage, Jeff dredged his memory in an effort to recall the epic poem, Beowulf. He located a few stanzas and recited them under his breath to get the meter and style. Jeff abruptly grinned.
“Let’s do this right!” He leaped on top of a table and held his arms up for silence.
Opening with his desperate journey out of the snowfields, Jeff gradually became caught up in the flow of events and new words came in a rush. The barbaric setting in the hall and emotions that had barely settled spurred him to eloquence. The tale unfolded as he struggled south, death and destruction at every hand. Pausing dramatically, Jeff embellished his meeting with the wolves.
In a quiet setting, the battle he encountered a day later would have been difficult to relate. The setting was anything but quiet, and Jeff was so caught up in the tale that he chanted out every detail. The only thing he left out was any mention of the Colt.
“…Then did the sun surrender to the night, stricken warriors and their companions falling asleep where they lay. Long through the night did I pace my solitary way defending their slumber. No solace for my spirit could I find but the moon, no reprieve from sadness but that afforded by sweet music.”
The story was complete, his euphoric state dissolved, and Jeff gazed around. The hall was silent. Every eye was fastened on him with rapt attention.
“Oh, no,” he groaned under his breath, “what have I done? If those warriors up north happen to be related to this bunch, I might have screwed everything up.”
Pandemonium broke. Bellowing Valholm’s battle song, villagers lifted Jeff from the table and passed him toward the head table hand to hand. Jeff was flustered beyond words by the time he was set back on his feet, and felt something like a beach ball.<
br />
Taking his seat, Jeff was met by a probing look from Gurthwin. There was little doubt he had learned more from the tale than Jeff would have wished. Halric was staring at the tabletop with what appeared to be concern. When the crowd reluctantly cleared out some hours later still singing old ballads, Halric signaled Jeff that he would like him to remain.
“Your tale does you credit, and calls to mind those concerning the Alarai and their manner of viewing the world,” Halric observed. “Long has it been since my people have tested their prowess, and you must know that they admire yours. Would you retell the story of your meeting with the warriors? I fear it contains the seeds of concern.”
Jeff recounted the tale in a more factual manner, describing as much detail as he could remember or tolerate. Prompted by questions from one or the other, the evening was well along before the last point was settled.
Thoughtfully stroking his beard, Halric said, “The warriors of your tale live in two villages far to the north. Their warring has endured for so many years that its roots have been lost, yet is renewed each season by fresh injury and grievance. That their meeting should occur so near Valholm is what must be pondered. While we have experienced mild winters for several seasons, the last was most harsh. Should hunger be severe and the hunting poor, we must be alert for the coming of their tribes.”
“I believe it is past time to inform everyone in this village that peace cannot be accepted as our due.”
Halric nodded toward Gurthwin. “I have not discounted your counsel. We will send warriors north to determine the nature of this threat, if any.”
Listening carefully to the discussion that followed, Jeff began to wonder if the area was coming out of a glaciation period. He gathered that the two tribes involved were solely dependent on a hunting-gathering economy, and held themselves aloof from tribes to the south. A bad winterkill of game or a pandemic would tip the scales. Living one step away from hunger even in good times, they would have to move south in search of new hunting grounds or starve.
The village was in an uproar when Jeff made his way to the meeting hall next morning. Every able-bodied warrior in camp appeared to be gathered around Halric vying to be included in the group that was to be sent north. The smithy was working nonstop completing last minute repairs, equipment was being sorted, and food supplies loaded onto several plow horses that had been pressed into service as pack animals.
Jeff felt obscurely relieved that Cynic was not one of them, and smiled at his reaction. The horse was a beautiful animal, but there was something else about him that was appealing. It was puzzling.
The scouting party set out some hours later amid general well-wishing, scampering children, and barking dogs. The following days continued to be hectic as a general mobilization ordered by Halric commenced.
When Jeff wondered out loud if Halric wasn’t overdoing it a bit, Gurthwin smiled thinly. “Halric has decreed that the sloth of many seasons be cast aside, that fat bellies and soft muscles be put to work in the common good. As I have already said, it is past time.”
Jeff spent many an hour at the forge talking to Sigwane when the busy smithy had time, and lending a hand when he didn’t. While unskilled in working iron, Jeff had spent several summers on his grandfather’s farm helping with chores and assisting him at an old forge he had inherited from his father. What he recalled got Jeff off to a quick start. It wasn’t long before he fell in love with the art of forging steel.
Several weeks passed before the scouting party returned. During that period Jeff poked into many aspects of life in Valholm. In the process, and without being aware of it, he became fast friends with many villagers. Foremost among them was Gurthwin.
In the course of one of their late night talks, Jeff shared his origins with the elderly man he had come to look on as a grandfather. Although Gurthwin did not appear to be shocked or even surprised, he was silent for some time after Jeff concluded. When he addressed Jeff, Gurthwin’s expression was animated with intense interest and what might have been concern.
“Tell me of your family.”
Jeff described growing up on the farm, his schooling, and life in Seattle. Gurthwin interrupted frequently in an effort to understand American society. His questions became increasingly pointed.
“How is it possible that men and women of your land form union? Is there no tranquility in life? Is there no peace with one another? No common ground to forge deep affection and respect?”
The expression on Gurthwin’s face was such that Jeff squirmed with embarrassment. “Man and woman must nearly forgo existence to find repose, for little value is placed on quiet association and that in large part lip service. To answer your question more directly, men and women together, in American society at least, must demonstrate great maturity and resolve to overcome divisive forces that are extreme.”
“Do not the strengths of association promise refuge and offer renewal?”
“I cannot reply to that question, for I feel too much anger and would not do justice to it.”
Jeff’s expression was more sad than angry and Gurthwin felt a wave of compassion. “Perhaps we will speak more of this another time. Tell me of your gods.”
“You are speaking with the wrong person,” Jeff tersely replied, “and since coming to this world I have had ample reason to question whether I know anything of value.”
“That remains to be seen, Jeffrey, and is not ours to casually decide.”
“Casually? You believe that I have come to this conclusion casually?” Jeff threw a stick in the fire with enough force to send a column of sparks spiraling toward the rafters.
“Do not confuse casual with frivolous, for a vast gulf lies between them. I am content to hear of your gods as you understand them.”
“Damn it, that amounts to nothing! He is a stranger to me! Yes when a youth I was schooled to believe in the existence of a god, but I have experienced nothing as an adult that lends credence to what I was taught. All I found were empty words, ritual, and spiritual leaders that offered no more than banal affirmation of dogma that was so obscure as to be incomprehensible. You live or you die, and no god gives a damn either way. The only thing that matters is wealth. What more do you need to know?”
Gurthwin left the lodge long enough to dip two tankards of ale from a keg he kept outside. He handed one to Jeff and resettled himself without saying a word. Although the silence was not uncomfortable, it was, Jeff concluded over a period of time, quite pointed. There was no doubt that unfinished business lay between them.
“Oh, very well. Since my childish outburst did not dissuade you, let me relate what I recall of the God of my youth.”
With no more than a crinkling around the eyes, Gurthwin replied, “I am pleased that you would share this with me.”
“He is called Jehovah, or simply God, and sent his only son to Earth to live as mortal men do in the hope that he could persuade the people of that time to repent of their evil ways and open their hearts to him.” Jeff paused to look down in thought and remembrance. “To open their hearts to eternal life through belief in who he was. The son’s name was Jesus…”
At the end of the story, Gurthwin had little to say for many minutes. He sipped on his ale and stared into the fire with an expression of deep sadness.
“And so Jesus died on this cross for speaking the leaders’ sins.”
“From the leaders' point of view, yes, and because the leaders feared the following Jesus was developing. But I was taught that the main reason Jesus came to Earth was in fact to die on the cross as the last blood sacrifice for all of humanity's sins, and to rise from the dead on the third day in testimony to his promise of eternal life.”
“For all those given to believe in who he was.”
Jeff nodded toward Gurthwin. "Yes. And his disciples reported that Jesus did rise from the dead three days after his crucifixion. From what I recall of reading the record of his life, Jesus’ followers truly believed that he did rise from the dead.”
“But you do not.”
“In my life I have found only contradiction, confusion, and a great silence. While speaking, I recall the terrible sense of spiritual abandonment I experienced after leaving home. Money rules all. It was a bitter fight before I lost my belief.”
“Perhaps more of Jesus remains in your spirit than you acknowledge.” Gurthwin noted quick rebellion in Jeff’s expression and continued before he could erupt. “Tell me of the other gods. I assume there are more?”
“Many more, but my knowledge of them and their teachings is limited.” Jeff quickly ran out of inventory and was content to work on his ale while Gurthwin cogitated.
“You say these gods do not intervene in the madness you have described. Are you certain? Intervention does not necessarily come like a clap of thunder.”
“I can only speak for myself. I have never experienced or been taken with descriptions of direct intervention or divine presence.”
“Yet, as I understand it, what you have been taught suggests otherwise. Suggests an interest by the gods.”
“There exists a large body of written word for every belief system, but each has been so openly manipulated to set groups apart one from the other, often to murderous ends, that the whole is now suspect.
“And conveniently so.”
“Given my own perceptions I cannot deny that. However, as you have asked, why does God, or other gods, if they exist, permit such perversion in their names? I suspect many, many people on Earth would welcome frank intervention, for I must believe their existence is as heart sore as was my own. I know I would.”
After a brief silence, Gurthwin smiled gently. “But you are here, Jeffrey.”
They were sitting on opposite sides of the fire and Jeff could do no more than stare at Gurthwin. His words had shattered every thought train. Jeff let his eyes drift deep into the wavering bed of coals in a futile attempt to find the heart of his emotion.
Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) Page 12