This I straightway refused. "If she is so close to death, she will have no strength to carry the burden of blame."
They passed over the old woman but next chose a poor, half-witted boy. "What difference can it make to him?" they said. "His brain is addled, he will neither know nor care what becomes of him."
"Again," I refused. "Your victim must accept his fate of his own will and full understanding. Otherwise, as well sacrifice a dumb beast or a lump of clay."
"You have only one choice," I told them. "I am your pharmakos."
"They shouted against this, protesting that I had saved their village, guided them wisely, and they honored and valued me above all others.
"All the more reason," I answered. "A sacrifice that costs nothing is no sacrifice. Accept me or no one."
"I confess I hoped this would bring them to their senses, but their desperation was too great. So, I became their scapegoat.
"And that," Ops concluded, "is how it came about. They drove me from the village, pursued me into the woods, where I outdistanced them. You know the rest."
"What a story!" exclaimed Lucian. "But it's not a tale, it happened to you. It's your own life."
"Very touching," admitted Fronto. "But, Ops, if you tell it again, go at it more briskly. Forget that business about tootling on your pipe and sheep bleating. Who cares? Now, as for my own story-"
"I want to know about the amulet," Joy-in-the-Dance broke in. "Ops, what became of it?"
"I still have it." Ops dipped into the wreckage of his shirt and fished out a silver disk at the end of a chain. The girl nodded in recognition. Lucian, peering over her shoulder, saw the figures of three women clasping hands.
"This means your mother put you under the protection of the Lady of Wild Things," said Joy-in-the-Dance. "Which also means, at the moment, you're under my protection. Fronto, you explain it to him. I want a word with Aiee-Ouch."
"My account won't take as long as his," said Fronto. "Then, Ops, my good fellow, perhaps you'd like a chance to provide your scapegoat services? I have a number of personal complaints and grievances from long before I was given my present shape. I'll be happy to lay them on you."
"I'd appreciate that," said Ops.
Leaving the wolves sitting in a circle around Fronto and Ops, Joy-in-the-Dance drew Lucian apart. She glanced back toward the pharmakos. "He'll have to come with us. He's entitled to the Lady's protection and I'll see that he gets it.
"Another thing-" She paused, looking away for some moments. Then, turning her eyes squarely on him, she added, with much effort, "Thank you for defending me against the wolves."
"Oh, yes, those ferocious wolves," retorted Lucian. "Those slavering jaws and sharp teeth, ready to tear you to pieces. All I did was make a fool of myself. You knew perfectly well they were friendly."
"But you didn't know it," said Joy-in-the-Dance. "So, thank you." The unemployed scapegoat was delighted to accompany them. The wolves, reaching the limit of their territory, vanished as quickly and silently as they had appeared. The forest had begun to thin out, Lucian glimpsed high crags in the distance, and Joy-in-the-Dance headed straight toward them. With Ops in tow, however, progress was not as rapid. He continually halted for one reason or another. If he found a beetle struggling on its back, he would stop to set it on its legs. Crossing a stream, he noticed a beaver lodge in disrepair and insisted on delaying long enough for him to gather twigs to mend it.
To Lucian's surprise, and without his asking, Joy-in-the-Dance began pointing out patterns of stars as they rose glittering in the evening sky. He watched and listened, fascinated, as she explained how to find directions and calculate time.
"I didn't think you were supposed to tell men about such things," Lucian said.
"I've been wondering if you were right about sharing our secrets. Well, it won't do any harm to share these. They aren't the truly big mysteries. Those, you men couldn't even begin to understand."
"You've never taken the chance to find out."
"And, dear Aiee-Ouch, we don't intend to."
"My name's Lucian. I told you that when we first met. For somebody who remembers everything, you seem to keep forgetting it."
"Don't be surly. You aren't good at it," said Joy-in-the-Dance. "As for when we first met," she gave him a sidelong smile "I haven't forgotten."
In addition to star patterns, the girl willingly pointed out plants he never would have noticed-fever-begone, wound-balm, quicken-the-heart-as she named them and explained their use. In the course of the days, she was obliged, with some reluctance, to admit that he had grown clever enough to find these herbs without her guidance.
In his eagerness to collect the best medicinal plants, Lucian took to roaming farther afield on his own. One afternoon, outdistancing Joy-in-the-Dance, he clambered up through the scrub-covered foothills. He halted, his eyes wide in amazement as he looked down into a green cup of pastureland. The rarest and most valuable of herbs wound-balm, covered the lower slope in unbelievable abundance.
Excitedly calling joy-in-the-Dance to see what he had discovered, he scrambled down. Almost at the bottom, he heard something buzz past his ear. A stone rattled into the undergrowth, then another.
Warning the girl to stay away, Lucian hastily turned back toward the crest. That same instant, a hard object connected with his skull and he lost interest in the outside world.
11 - Catch-a-Tick
"There must be something about your head," Joy-in-the-Dance remarked, "that makes people want to hit it."
The girl, sitting on the floor beside him, held an earthen bowl of some sharp-smelling concoction. Fronto was there; and Ops, smiling in relief. As best Lucian could judge, he was on a straw pallet in a chamber domed like a beehive. Shaggy figures with dark, leathery faces peered down curiously. Stubby horns jutted from their brows, curly beards covered their chins.
"Goats?" Lucian blinked and looked again. They were, he realized, men in goatskin jackets. Their horns were twisted locks of hair stiffened with clay. He started up. "Who-or what are they?"
"Gently, gently," Joy-in-the-Dance whispered. "Don't worry. They're friends."
Exploring the landscape of his head, Lucian discovered a lump the size of a goose egg behind his ear. "What do you call this?" he muttered. "A token of goodwill?"
"Awake, are you?" boomed a voice. "By the beard of the Great Goat, it's about time."
The speaker was bandy-legged, stocky, with grizzled hair falling in ringlets around his pointed ears. His disposition struck Lucian as being as rough as his garments.
"Buckthom Goat King," Joy-in-the-Dance said under her breath. "I've told him all about us. He can be helpful-if he wants to."
"Here's the little wretch who cracked your noggin," declared Buckthom. He kept a tight grip on the ear of a snub-nosed boy dressed like his elders but with a stumpier set of clay horns. "Catch-a-Tick. I could call him a few other names, too. He's had a good hiding. Yes, and by the Great Goat's left hind foot, it's one he won't forget."
So saying, Buckthom shoved Catch-a-Tick in front of Lucian. The boy dropped to his knees. Despite the humble posture, his bright, black eyes stared boldly and a grin played around his lips.
"I was punished for missing you," said Catch-a-Tick, "not for hitting you. We Goat Folk are supposed to hit our target with the first shot."
Being ambushed and brought down by a small boy did not raise Lucian's self-esteem; especially as he had, once again, looked like a fool in the eyes of Joy-in-the-Dance. He frowned sternly. Catch-a-Tick, in trying to keep himself from laughing, seemed so close to bursting, choking, and making such faces that Lucian finally chuckled despite himself. "All right, kidling. No hard feelings except for the lump you gave me. If you've had the tanning you deserve, that's the end of it."
"Oh, no, it isn't," said Buckthorn. "He's here for the rest of his punishment. He broke a sacred law of the Goat Folk. You came unarmed, a stranger. We owe you hospitality, not a crack on the noggin."
"I only wanted t
o test my new sling," protested Catcha-Tick. He held up a leather pouch dangling from rawhide thongs.
"Hold your tongue," cried Buckthorn. "You know our law." He turned to Lucian. "He's in your hands. Do whatever you want with him." Buckthorn hesitated a moment, then went on firmly. "By rule, if you choose, you can claim his life."
The chamber was silent, the onlookers held their breath. Catch-a-Tick's grin faded.
"His life? For a knock on the head?" replied Lucian. "Surely not. Let him go. That's that, over and done with."
The watching Goat Folk breathed again. Buckthom, though clearly relieved, held up a gnarled hand. "Not done with. Demand something of him, no matter what. That's our law. We obey it. So will you."
"There's nothing I want from him."
"You think of something." Buckthom glowered. "Speak out now, or it won't sit well with me or any Goat Folk." Lucian pondered for a few moments then folded his arms and addressed Catch-a-Tick.
"I won't claim your life. I already have one of my own and trouble enough with it. However, you don't look very repentant. In fact, I've never seen anybody who looked less repentant. I intend, therefore, to pronounce a harsh sentence on you. I condemn you-to teach me how to use that sling."
"Acceptable!" Buckthom clapped his hands. "Honorably judged, by the horns of the Great Goat! His mother will be glad you let him off so easily. She dotes on him." The king's face softened. "So do I, for that matter. The little goat-scut is my son."
Catch-a-Tick winked. "Next time, I'll aim better."
"Please," said Lucian, "don't."
For a king, Buckthom's house was modest. Though somewhat roomier than the other dozen or so dwellings, it had the same beehive shape, a hole in its dome that vented smoke from the fire pit, and, like the rest, it was built close against the hillside. Goats and chickens wandered in as they pleased. May-Apple, plump wife of Buckthom, bustled about, stuffing goat cheese into Lucian's mouth, pouring goat's milk down his throat, adding fresh straw to his pallet, and every way showing gratitude for his dealing so kindly with the irrepressible Catch-a-Tick.
Buckthom, also pleased by Lucian's judgment, had agreed to help them all he could. He and a few of his kinsmen had gone with Joy-in-the-Dance to see the state of the mountain passes; for she intended crossing the barrier of snowy crags and reaching the grasslands beyond.
To Lucian's surprise and discomfort, the girl's absence made him feel as if he had a toothache in his chest. Since Fronto was absorbed in long talks with Ops, and Lucian was too restless to sit waiting for her to come back, he decided this was the best moment to execute his sentence on Catch-a-Tick.
"You Goat Folk live very nicely here," said Lucian as the boy led him through the pasture. "Snug and peaceful," he added, half wistfully. "The goats should be pleasant company."
"They don't do much of anything. It gets boring after a while," said Catch-a-Tick, with a shrug. He stopped beside a stream and knelt to collect a handful of smooth stones. "Here, watch this."
He set a pebble into the leather pouch. Then he whirled the sling over his head, let loose a thong, and the missile shot across the pasture. "Your tum, now."
Lucian, taking the sling, followed the boy's example. Instead of flying straight, the pebble nearly hit his own ear. Catch-a-Tick burst out laughing, rolling about on the grass and kicking his heels in the air.
"Do you want me to brain myself?" cried Lucian. "I think I'll claim your life, after all. I'll have you boiled in your own sauce."
Chuckling, Catch-a-Tick repeated his demonstration and Lucian began again. It took half the morning, but at last he caught the knack and could send a stone almost as far as his teacher and hit his target more often than not.
Delighted with himself, Lucian squatted by the edge of the stream and splashed water on his face. Next moment, sputtering and flapping his arms, he was boosted head over heels into the current. If he had envied a herd boy's peaceful life among the goats, that prospect vanished as he glimpsed a burly, long-bearded billy goat observing him with wicked amusement. Catch-a-Tick, capering on the bank, looked enormously entertained.
"Stand up on those long legs of yours," called the boy. "It isn't deep. Climb out."
Despite this advice, Lucian could not keep his feet from slipping. Catch-a-Tick shrugged out of his jacket and dove into the water. He set Lucian upright, then paddled around him, cavorting like an otter.
"Can't you swim?" The boy bobbed up and down. "Look-take a breath. You won't sink. Move your arms, kick your heels."
Lucian awkwardly imitated Catch-a-Tick and, to his astonishment, found himself actually moving across the surface. At the boy's urging, he soon dared to swim underwater. Suddenly, he was in a world where fish darted through the water like birds through the air; and Lucian himself soared up and down as if weightless, skimming over the greenery rising from the stream bed. Reveling in his new skill, he bobbed up only long enough to fill his lungs, then plunged down again. For the rest of the afternoon, he divided his time between slinging stones and jumping in and out of the stream.
"Catch-a-Tick," said Lucian as they rested on the bank, "you're a good fellow. I won't have you boiled."
"You're not a bad sort, either," said the boy, chewing a blade of grass. "For an outlander. My father says you came all the way from Metara. It must be a great city."
"It is. They say the port alone is a city in itself. Docks, taverns, ships with masts as tall as trees and sails big enough to cover this pasture. The palace, where I lived. The public square, the shops, eating houses-" Catch-a-Tick whistled. "You've seen all that?"
"Just some of it, passing through. Fronto and I had to get out as fast as we could. Otherwise, a couple of thieving soothsayers would have chopped me to bits."
"Marvelous!" burst out Catch-a-Tick.
"With huge meat cleavers-" A glint came to Lucian's eyes; then he glanced over his shoulder, as if Joy-in-the-Dance were listening from somewhere. "Ah-not exactly. But it was a narrow escape."
"Then what?" demanded Catch-a-Tick.
"Not much. We came up against a troop of warriors, but-"
"You call that not much? Did you fight them hand to hand? Did you have a sword?"
"A sword was definitely involved," said Lucian. "Then Fronto got stolen, I had to risk my neck getting him back. After that, we fell in with a pack of wolves-"
"And they made you leader of the pack?"
"Well-I did run with them awhile," said Lucian. "That was before I rescued Ops from the highest tree I'd ever seen." Catch-a-Tick's eyes lit up with awe and admiration. "Then?"
"Nothing, really. Until you cracked my skull with a rock." However, as Catch-a-Tick insisted, Lucian went over his account again, warming to his tale as Catch-a-Tick excitedly urged him on. By the time he finished telling and retelling, Lucian was uncertain what was fact and what was preposterous invention; and he was glad that Joy-in-the-Dance, at the moment, was elsewhere. Dusk had gathered when they returned to the beehive palace, Catch-a-Tick still demanding more.
Lucian's face was red and smarting from sunburn and his arms ached. When May-Apple scolded the boy for tiring their guest, Catch-a-Tick waved away her reproach. "He's not tired, he's a hero. You should have heard. They tried to chop him up with meat cleavers. He fought an army of warriors single-handedly. He led a pack of wolves-"
"Great Goat!" cried May-Apple, throwing up her hands. "And him only a lad!"
"Nothing out of the ordinary," said Lucian, with the modesty he thought befitting a hero. "Anyone would have done the same."
12 - The Great Goat and Never-Filled
Joy-in-the-Dance. Buckthom, and the others came back that evening. They had found the nearest passes blocked by deep snow and rockfalls. "Buckthorn knows another way, a couple of days east of here," the girl told Lucian, shucking off her borrowed goatskin cape and leggings. "He'll guide us. It should be open enough to get through. We'll stan at first light tomorrow-your nose is blistered. Aiee-Ouch-so, best get a good night's sleep."
&
nbsp; "Why does she call you Aiee-Ouch?" Catch-a-Tick asked Lucian. "It's a silly name for a hero."
"Because-well, because she does," said Lucian. Catch-a-Tick nodded sagely. "She's a girl, and who knows why they do anything. I still think it's silly."
"So do I," said Lucian. To his own surprise, he added, "But I'm getting to like it."
May-Apple had found capes and leggings for Lucian and Ops, as well as for Joy-in-the-Dance. In the dawn chill, they gratefully put on these garments. Fronto, eager to start, hardly complained at all about being laden with provisions. Catch-a-Tick, however, complained loudly and lengthily, pleading, cajoling, and demanding to be taken along. Buckthom seemed tempted to let the boy have his way, but May-Apple would hear none of it. So, as the journeyers made ready to leave, the downcast Catch-a-Tick went to Lucian.
"Here." The boy held out his sling. "For you."
"But that's your best one," said Lucian. "It's too valuable to give away."
"You might need it," said Catch-a-Tick, pressing it into Lucian's hands. "This, too," he added, offering a pouch full of smooth stones. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, then regained his usual grin. "Good-bye Aiee Ouch."
"Good-bye, kidling," said Lucian, before hurrying to join the impatient Fronto. "Next time, we'll see who hits who?"
That day, and most of the following, Buckthom led them along the lower, gentler slopes. As they drew closer to the high pass, the Goat King, with a couple of his kinsmen bringing up the rear, nimbly picked his way over steeper and rougher trails. Lucian was glad for his warm cape; the air had turned crisp, sharply scented with pine and fir. These mountains, Joy-in-the-Dance told him, were part of the range that sprang up when Think-Too-Late had been swept from the crest of Mount Panthea. "Or so," she added, "that's how the story goes."
"Well, now," put in Buckthorn, overhearing the girl's comment, "if that's what you've heard-no, those crags were here long before any such tale. They're from the time of the Great Goat himself. Just as we've been here long before Woman-Three-Women and anyone else."
The Arkadians Page 7