"Dett!" A deep, resonant voice called him. He turned to see his brother Mebaw ascending the
slope to join him at the cliff's edge. Mebaw was wiry where Dett was stocky, but they both had the
same oval faces and high cheekbones, the same warm brown eyes.
"Jolpibb thought you'd be up here," Mebaw said. A broad smile appeared in a thicket of dark brown whiskers. "What do you hope to find here, brother? Saving birdshit, of course."
"Answers," said Dett. "Instead, I found another question. Perhaps it is a blessing that you are here, for you are the Mastersinger's Second, and learned in signs and portents. Look down there, by that slanting rock with the four seals and the cluster of terns. Do you see anything? No? Let me tell you what I saw." He described the sighting, and Mebaw's jolly face creased into unfamiliar frowns.
"The elders must hear of this, brother, but I fear it sounds like Klevey. This could be very serious, for there are few monsters on land or sea that can wreak destruction as Klevey." Dett shuddered. "That is what I thought, too. I came up here, as I have for many weeks now,
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seeking the reasons why the sun has hidden its face. This is the height of summer, yet we have had as many weeks of freezing clouds as when Lord Father Winter reigns. And behold the sunset! The sky seems touched with flame as the sun goes to its rest. Do you think the reddened sky is a sign that Klevey is near? The red flesh I saw thrashing in the surf was much the same color."
Mebaw's bony shoulders moved in a shrug under his sealskin cape. "Nothing in the songlore connects Klevey with oddly colored skies. He is a creature of the ocean, not the heavens."
"I fear that red sky means something is wrong in the heavens."
"Do you remember that trader who came some years ago, the one with the so-sharp metal knives? He thought the air of our Islands shimmered, and seemed different from the air of his native land in the distant south."
"And Grandmother Glin told him it was because the Seafolk ground pearls to sprinkle on the fishladies' tails, and must have tossed some into the sky," laughed Dett. "But the trader, for all his fine wares, was a fool to believe that. A shimmering! Bah! It is nothing but the sea salt in the air. You can taste it; you can see the crystals catch in your beard.
But if you go far from the sea, where the trader has his home, or into a sheltered place, you cannot see any floating sparkles."
"Perhaps it is because the Seafolk cannot throw the pearl dust into such places," Mebaw said with a wink. "Besides, who can go far from the sea in the Islands? No one but mad adventurers like Father and Uncle Talloc on their boats!"
"Ah, Uncle Talloc," said Dett with bitterness. "I am sorry he was named to the elders' council. Not that I doubt the wisdom of his years, but I am his least-favorite nephew because I am no sailor. Father made allowances for my terrible seasickness—why couldn't Uncle?"
"I am fortunate the Mastersinger chose me for his Second, saving me from a life at sea. No one, not even Uncle Windbag, can argue with the Master."
The pair stood silent for a while, staring down at the waves. Mebaw finally spoke again, "The cliffs and rocks below are of red sandstone. Is it possible, brother, that you mistook a rock for the monster?"
"No," Dett said firmly. "I am not versed in lore, but my eyes are keen." "Then we shall present your sighting to the elders. They meet in three days' time, when the moon is full. For now, brother, let us go home. Your wife is waiting."
The two brothers turned away from the sheer red cliffs and trudged down the sloping hills. Soon they passed some of their fields of barley and wheat. "Look," Dett pointed. "The fields do poorly because the weather has been bad ever since that day when the skies became as black as night. Our harvest will be a small one this autumn."
"How cheery you are today," Mebaw said. "Can you not find something pleasant to say, such as, 'My brother, your singing has improved of late. How many verses did you manage last night—sixteen? No, twenty!'"
"Of course your singing has improved. It could hardly worsen. The auks are in better voice, or the sheep. Harken at them; they're doing the chorus, you can chant the verse."
A rise, sprinkled with hundreds of small pink flowers, shielded the sheep pen from their sight, but the bleating of the lambs and the reassuring calls of the ewes penetrated the ever-present growling of the surf. They also heard a piping voice swearing amidst the other sounds.
They crested the rise and looked down. The enclosure was protected on one side by the steep rise, and bordered on the others by stone walls with a single wooden gate. The foul words came from the direction of the gate, where a small figure in a dark cap was shoving a gray ram back inside. The boy was soaking wet and shivering. The ram's gray fleece, recently shorn for the summer, was also damp, though the beast showed no sign of feeling a chill.
"Trouble, son?" Dett called out. He and Mebaw walked down to the flagstone wall his
great-grandfathers had built, or so said Grandmother Glin. It was a strong and sturdy wall, not unlike
Glin herself, the oldest woman on Western Isle. They leaned on it, watching the lad struggle with the
animal.
"Father, this one should be named Trouble!" cried the boy. He slammed the gate shut. "He's
done it again, cursed beast! I grow tired of his games."
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"What games, Fummirrul?" asked Mebaw. "I love to play games."
"Not these games." Fummirrul heaved a shell at the ram's backside. The animal twitched at the impact. He turned his horned head and appeared to scrutinize the young shepherd for a moment, then walked toward the small stone barn.
"One of the other sheep was grazing next to the wall. Trouble saw her there, leaped on her back, then sprang over the wall. The other two new rams have done this trick, too, whenever another sheep goes close by the wall. Not the ewes, for which I am thankful, for there are many more of them. Two mornings ago, when I came to take the flock to pasture, all three rams were outside the pen."
"Ho ho!" Mebaw chuckled. "Father's prized sheep are trying to go back to their southern homeland."
"Yes, Uncle Mebaw. For they do go down to the shore."
Mebaw looked astonished that Fummirrul had taken his joke literally. Dett, who had heard his son complaining of the new sheep, was not surprised. He asked, "And did they do the same as before:1"
"They did. They grazed upon seaweed. Whenever I lead the flock to the farther fields, these stupid new animals keep trying to run to the shore. I spend my days chasing them and bringing them back to their more obedient cousins. But there is even worse. Today, after Trouble escaped, he saw me running after him, and the wretched creature swam out to the rocks. I do not jest or tell untruths. Father, Uncle, I swear that ram was laughing at me from his perch. I had to wade into the arms of the Mother of the Sea to drag him back to shore." His youthful face filled with indignation. "Our old sheep do not behave like this. What am I to do with them?"
"What any man does when faced with a dilemma: do what you think is best to cope with it. So our father told us. So I tell you."
Fummirrul grimaced. This bit of paternal advice was not the solution he sought. He muttered something about drowning them all the next time they went swimming.
"Did you hear me, son?"
"Yes, Father. You said to do what I think best."
"Let us go home, that you may have a hot meal and dry clothes."
"May I run, Father?" At Dett's nod, he pelted down the trail, the dark cap and the pale crook bobbing with every step. "The new sheep are funny sheep," Dett murmured. "And clever. To use another animal a s a stepping stone!" "Father and Uncle Talloc said they ate seaweed on the trip home from the south, after their supply of grain ran out on the long voyage. Nor did they seem harmed by it."
"They must have acquired a taste for it. Don't suppose a little can hurt them; after all, we eat the stuff, too. But for my poor boy's sake, I am glad the old sheep and the new ewes do not play runaway."
"Heh, for all
we know, the new ewes might be frisky, too, but for their new lambs," Mebaw said with a malicious grin. "If you want to remain my son's favorite uncle," said Dett, "I advise you keep that observation to yourself."
Dett's village, which nestled in Western Isle's best harbor, numbered around one hundred and forty people. Most, like Dett and Mebaw, farmed and fished and hunted, but there were a few—including their father, uncle, cousins, and two brothers-in-law—who sometimes ventured farther in their boats, trading goods with nearby islands and catching fish that lived in deeper waters. On several occasions, under the guidance of the Mother of the Seas, they traveled an even greater distance, past the Small South Isles to the Great Island. On their last trip there, they discovered a village put to the sword by sea raiders, save a girl and a boy, both young shepherds. After many arguments, they decided to bring them all—sheep and children—back to the Western Isle, though it perilously crowded their vessels. Seven sheep and the boy died on the way, but the girl now lived in Talloc's house and would wed his youngest son after her monthly courses began. Now called Gefalal, or "stranger," she had yet to learn more than
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a dozen words of their language.
As the brothers entered the village, they spied Gefalal sitting before the doorway of Talloc's house, carding wool from the recently shorn flock. She leaped to her feet at their approach and bowed her head in respect. Whether her people were naturally more deferential or she still felt ill-at-ease after several months in her new home, Dett did not know. He only knew the children of Western Isle tended to be more outgoing. Fummirrul, for one, never seemed still unless sound asleep. Dett nodded politely to Gefalal as he passed; she bowed more deeply.
The sight of the stranger girl brought a question to Dett's mind. "Has Father mentioned when
he and the others will go back to sea?"
Mebaw frowned. "He and Uncle Talloc are uneasy about sailing farther than the nearest isles
because of the weather. They don't like the cold and clouds any more than you do, Brother
Sky-watcher. Our brothers-in-law want to go anyway, this being summer—well, a sort of
summer—but the elders urge caution. I suspect they will be even more reluctant to put to sea if they
think Klevey lurks beneath the whitecaps."
"I hope they will say I was mistaken in my sighting. Still, it is wise to be cautious. Father says the
currents between the islands are treacherous enough in good weather, and many lack safe harbors
such as ours. Better to proceed with care than lose ships in an unexpected storm." He turned back
to face the western horizon, where the setting sun glowed like an ember. "Sleep well, brother. I
intend to wake you early to help me hunt. It is time we had a feast at the Pit."
"You are cruel. The nights are too short as it is, and my wife is after me to make her another storage box."
"If you spent less time singing and more time working . . ."
Mebaw brushed off this scolding and headed for his house at the eastern end of the enclave. Dett entered his home nearby, where the usual din prevailed. His oldest daughter, Joloc, was spooning barley porridge into the next-to-youngest, who was humming as she gummed each mouthful. His wife, Jolpibb, was changing the wrappings of the cranky baby, and Grandmother Glin was singing charms over the bed of the feverish four-year-old, Orrul. Fummirrul, now naked but for a wool blanket, was squabbling with Rarpibb, his six-year-old sister. He teasingly held her doll, a blobbly lump of sealskin stuffed with a handful of wool, above her outstretched hands.
"I am glad Mebaw dragged you from your high perch," Jolpibb said over the baby's howls. "You spend so much time gazing at the heavens, I sometimes fear you will forget what happens here on the ground."
"I know what happens here on the ground," Dett said. He plucked the doll from Fummirrul and tossed it to Rarpibb, who cuddled it. "Nothing grows well in the ground but weeds. From above, the sun stares down on us, clothed in vermilion and yellow robes. And today, in the froth at the cliff's base, I saw something else, something I must report to the council of elders."
"For you to propose such action sounds serious," Grandmother Glin said from the little one's bedside. "You are not given to speaking rashly."
"Would that I were!" Dett cried. "Then everyone could dismiss my worries as they did those of old Telley, who saw disaster everywhere and omens in every least little thing!" He spoke with such vehemence that everyone shut up, even the baby. For a moment, the only sound in the close, smoky room was Orrul's harsh, labored breathing.
"Is something wrong with the sun, Father?" Rarpibb asked, a slight tremor in her voice. "Can you
put it right?"
"No man has power over the sun, little one," Dett said. "Our place is here on the earth."
"The sun went away before, when I was little, like Orrul," Rarpibb said, "but it came back, and
now it hardly ever is gone, though sometimes it is hard to see in the clouds. I am glad, because I do
not like the darkness."
Dett, Grandmother, and Jolpibb exchanged wry looks. To a child, the long nights of winter must have given the impression the sun had indeed left for good. Rarpibb was too young to understand the cyclical nature of the seasons.
"I do not like the darkness, either," Dett said. "But I would like some porridge."
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Dett and Mebaw and several other men went hunting the next day and managed to kill two red deer stags. They also spied a doe with a fawn, but let it go to fatten for the fall. They dragged the carcasses to the Pit outside their village, where many of the women were waiting. They exclaimed over the men's success, for deer were not plentiful on Western Isle.
The Pit lay beside a small lake, their principal source of fresh water. A great heap of blackened soil, rocks, and ash stood next to it, the remains of decades' worth of meals, according to Grandmother Glin. The Pit itself was huge, and lined with clay and stones, capable of cooking several deer at once, or even enormous chunks of whale. A steady parade of youngsters with buckets began filling the Pit with lake water as the men set to skinning the stags on the flagstone workplace. The women tending the Great Hearth made certain to keep clear of their keen-edged stone knives.
"It's always at this time I think of that trader," said Mebaw. "The one with those metal knives." He sighed, as if longing for a beautiful woman.
"We do well enough with what we have," said Dett. "His price was too high."
"But I'd never seen the like, not before or since!" cried Mebaw.
Uncle Talloc nodded soberly. "Sharp as Klevey's teeth, they were."
"And what do you know of Klevey?" snorted Grandmother Glin.
"Your skill is with boats, not song lore. You are as empty-headed as the Pit, Talloc." Mebaw came to his uncle's defense. "And is the Pit so empty? It is near full of water, and then you women will drop in the heated stones." "I confess to being wrong in that respect, grandson. However, your head is like the Pit: full of rocks." The work continued for a time, then Talloc called out, "This is drudgery. Give us a tale, Grandmother, to entertain us while we labor."
"Willingly," she said. "The younger women can heat the stones for the Pit. I will sit and rest my aching bones." She eased herself on a pile of flagstones near one end of the workplace. From the orderliness of them, Dett suspected they once had been part of a wall, the remains of which were long gone, perhaps used when his ancestors constructed the Great Hearth.
"I shall speak of Klevey," she announced. Dett sorely wished she had chosen differently, but as he had not presented his sighting before the council, he saw no way of stopping her.
"Klevey dwells in the sea, and there is no more monstrous creature to be found under or above the waves," said Grandmother. "He is oath-brother to Lord Father Winter, and sometimes they work together, bringing ruin and devastation to men."
Rarpibb, who had been toting a bucket, asked, "If Klevey lives in the sea, why doesn't the
Mother of the Sea control him, as she does the Seafolk?"
"Foolish girl! Does not the Mother have enough to do, battling Lord Father Winter every year?" Grandmother retorted. "How she struggles with him every spring, so fierce you can hear them roaring! How she binds him to the seafloor, and brings back the warm waters for us! How he cunningly breaks free in the autumn, to banish the Mother in turn, and afflict us with storms and plague us with his shrieking wind demons! Until at last, the Mother returns, to confront the chill Master once more and chain him yet again."
Mebaw bent his head over his skinning and suppressed a grin, but Dett saw it and knew the reason for it: Grandmother had just given a short account of one of the clan's most famous songs, "The War Against Winter." Barely three months ago, during the height of the spring gales, Mebaw sang all fifty verses without error. The Mastersinger showered him with praise, and he was puffed with pride for days.
Rarpibb, however, grumbled something about why the Mother couldn't manage things better, and so keep Winter chained . Fortunately, Grandmother's poor hearing caused her to miss this cheeky observation. The old woman continued: "But we do beg the Mother for protection from that dread menace, Klevey, for she alone can keep him satisfied and prevent him from prowling the lands of men. Aye, the Mother, and good, fresh water—those are the only things that Klevey fears."
"What does he look like?" Rarpibb asked.
"His head is gigantic, with a mouth like a whale's, from which the most foul and venomous reek
Turtledove, Harry - Anthology 07 - New Tales Of The Bronze Age - The First Heroes (with Doyle, Noreen) Page 34