"Your people were first in Arkadia?" said Lucian, his curiosity, as always, aroused. "Born and bred in these very hills," said Buckthorn. "Until then, there was nobody here at all."
"My dear Buckthorn," said Fronto, who had been listening to this exchange, "I wouldn't dream of denying that your ancestors are as ancient as any in the country, but they had to come from somewhere to get here in the first place."
"No, they didn't," declared Buckthorn. "As for lowlanders, bog trotters, you citified folk, and such, all you lot are newcomers compared with us." The Goat King, during this, had taken a couple of stones from his jacket.
Lucian watched, fascinated, as Buckthom struck one against the other. Sparks flew to the dry moss and twigs that one of Buckthom's fellows had gathered in a pile; up sprang a flame, which the Goat King fed with larger branches until a good-size fire blazed and crackled.
"I'd like to hear more about that," said Lucian.
"I can only tell you what's been told to me," said Buckthom, squatting on his heels while the other Goat Folk drifted over to join him. "So, one day, as it happened, the Great Goat was out and about, walking in his pasture-"
"One moment," broke in Pronto. "As a poet, I don't like to niggle and nitpick over small details. But for the sake of accuracy, when you say walking, was he strolling around on his hind legs? Or all fours? In which case, you might have said trotting."
"By a billy goat's beard, it makes no difference," retorted Buckthom. "He could do anything he pleased. He was walking. Or trotting. Or both."
"Were there other animals in those days?" Lucian ventured to ask.
"Of course," Buckthom answered. "They were here before anybody, but that's naught to do with this tale. Now, as I'm trying to tell you, one day the Great Goat was out and about, walking in his pasture, when he came to the edge of a pond. And there sat a little creature with a bald head big and round as a pumpkin, a mouth like a frog's, a pair of skinny arms and legs, and eyes googling and goggling in two directions at the same time.
"Good morning," said the Great Goat. "I haven't had the pleasure of meeting you."
"I live at the bottom of this pond," said the creature, "and eat whatever bits and pieces come my way. But these are lean days and I'm perishing with hunger."
"I'll see what I can do about that," said the Great Goat, taking pity on the creature, who was sighing and groaning and holding his empty little belly. So the Great Goat led him to his house and sat him down at the table.
"Then the Great Goat brought out a wheel of cheese and cut a wedge from it. Instead of the wedge, the creature took hold of the wheel and swallowed it down in one gulp.
"You've an appetite bigger than yourself," said the Great Goat, "and the inside of your paunch must be larger than the outside."
"The Great Goat then cut a slice from a loaf of bread; but the creature gobbled up the loaf instead of the slice; and, instead of the cup of milk that the Great Goat set out for him, he poured the whole pitcherful down his gullet. Then he licked clean all the jars of honey, ate all the sacks of wheat and barley, chomped up all the stores of fruit and vegetables, and looked around for more. Yet his belly was shrunken as ever, despite what he had crammed into it.
"My name is Never-Filled!" the creature cried in a terrible voice. "I've eaten everything in your house, now I'll eat you, horns, hooves, and all. After that, I'll eat up the whole world."
"An ambitious undertaking," said the Great Goat, who understood that he had to deal with something more than a feeble, googly-eyed pond creature, "but I think not."
"And so, when Never-Filled opened a mouth gaping like a cavern and sprang at him, the Great Goat changed himself into a grain of wheat and hid in a crack in the floor."
"Amazing!" Lucian said aside to Fronto. "Who'd have ever expected anything like that?"
"A slight weakness in storytelling," said Fronto. "Buckthorn should have hinted right at the start that the Great Goat had such a power. This way, it comes at you all of a sudden. But, I suppose you might accept it as an element of surprise. Yet, if I were doing it-"
"Hush, you two," whispered Joy-in-the-Dance. "Let Buckthorn tell it his own way."
"I already said the Great Goat could do anything he pleased." Buckthom cocked a severe eye at Fronto. "And you might notice that of all the things he could have chosen, he didn't tum himself into a jackass.
"Now, where was I? Yes, he turned himself into a grain of wheat, but Never-Filled turned into a hen, scratched him out of the crack, and swallowed him down.
"But the Great Goat turned into an egg, and when the hen laid that egg, out hatched the Great Goat as a fuzzy little chick and scurried away.
"But Never-Filled turned into a weasel and darted to snap him up. Then the Great Goat jumped into the pond and became a fish; and Never-Filled changed into an otter and swam to seize him. Then the Great Goat changed into a bird and flew off; but Never-Filled changed into a hawk, with wings so wide they made the sky dark as night.
"A good trick," the Great Goat said to himself, "but I have a few of my own."
The Great Goat turned himself into a mountain valley, but Never-Filled turned into a rainstorm and flooded it. Then the Great Goat turned into a rainbow; but Never-Filled turned into a north wind and blew it away.
"This is beginning to get serious," said the Great Goat and turned into a summer day; but Never-Filled turned into a winter night and snowed all over him.
"I need a little more elbow room," said the Great Goat, and he turned into the full moon; but Never-Filled turned into a giant rat and began gnawing it.
"Enough toying with him," said the Great Goat. "Now I'll have the game go my way."
And so, just when Never-Filled had gnawed the moon down to a sliver, the Great Goat turned into a comet and circled around so fast that he flew behind the giant rat and set his tail on fire. Squeaking and squealing, Never-Filled shot across the sky; and now things were the other way round, for it was the Great Goat who went chasing after him.
They streaked through the sky, through all four houses of the seasons, until Never-Filled spied a black hole and darted into it. "Let him dare come out," said the Great Goat, "and I'll be waiting to give him a good butt in his ratty rear end."
"The Great Goat's been standing guard, protecting us ever since," Buckthorn said, pointing at the night sky. "There, you can see him. Those stars-they're his horns; those others, his legs; and those three little ones, his beard."
"That's very interesting," said Joy-in-the-Dance. "We call those stars Amaltheia, Tender Nurse, but she's a nanny goat, not a billy goat."
"Ah, well, I'm afraid you women have it wrong way round," said Buckthom. "It's a billy goat, no question." Joy-in-the-Dance smiled knowingly. "You men like to think so."
"But, Buckthom," Lucian put in, "you were going to tell about the Goat Folk."
"So I was," Buckthom said. "Yes, what happened, you see, was this: While the Great Goat was running after Never-Filled, he kicked loose a herd of stars. They fell on these very mountains so hard they buried themselves into the ground; but then they sprouted up as men and women-us, the Goat Folk."
"Come now, Buckthom," said Fronto, "do you mean to tell us your ancestors grew out of the ground-like so many cabbages?"
"We're here, aren't we?" said Buckthom. "That's proof enough. And I don't take kindly to having my ancestors likened to cabbages." He went back to poking the fire.
"A wild tale," Lucian said later to Fronto. "I don't know what to make of it."
"A bit rough in spots, but it does have its moments," said Fronto. "A professional storyteller should be able to polish it up."
Lucian's last glimpse, before he shut his eyes to sleep, was of Buckthom sitting by the fire. In the flickering light, he looked half-man, half-goat, and ancient as the hills themselves. As Lucian's dreams went spinning in his head, he saw Buckthom as the Great Goat, with Joy-in-the-Dance riding on his back across an ocean of stars, her shining hair streaming like a comet's tail as she vanished beh
ind the moon; and Never-Filled had turned into a dragon, snapping its jaws so ferociously that its teeth came loose and fell to earth; and there was Catch-a-Tick, May-Apple, and the Goat Folk popping up where the dragon's teeth had fallen; while Lucian swam through the stars as fast as he could after Joy-in-the-Dance.
She was nudging him. Still dream-fuddled, Lucian blinked at her. "I found you, after all."
"Aiee-Ouch, what in the world are you mumbling about?" said Joy-in-the-Dance. "I've been here all the time."
13 - Lord See-Far-Ahead
Buckthom's judgment proved to be right. As he expected, the pass was clear, with only a few stretches of snow, and there the journeyers took leave of their guides. "Here, lad," said Buckthom, handing Lucian a pair of fire stones. "You may have use for them. And you, little pythoness, your way should be easy now." After clasping hands with Ops, he gave Fronto a good-natured whack on the rump. "Poet, I forgive you for talking about my ancestors as if they were cabbages. I hope you'll soon be walking on two legs instead of four." They soon gained the rolling plains beyond the pass. Lucian had never imagined such a sea of green, where grass often reached higher than his waist. It shimmered and rippled in the sunlight, and he plunged through it as if he were swimming. Joy-in-the-Dance, pressing ahead of him, constantly scanned the crests and ridges.
"There-yes, there they are." She pointed to the high ground rising just ahead. "I knew they'd find us."
Across the brow of the hill, a loose string of a dozen mounted figures had suddenly sprung up. It could have been the dazzling sunlight, or his eyes playing tricks on him; but, for a moment, Lucian thought they were half horse, half-human. They sat their steeds so closely they seemed to grow from the forequarters of their animals. They bore long, slender lances topped with horsetail streamers; short, oddly curved bows and quivers of arrows were slung about their backs. Sighting Joy-in-the-Dance, they sped down the slope.
As they galloped closer, Lucian saw them to be men and women dressed alike in fringed tunics and trousers of soft leather, yellow hair tumbling below their shoulders, their faces sun burnt to dark gold, cheeks and brows painted with bands of crimson and white streaks of gypsum.
Before Lucian knew what was happening to him, one of the riders bore down at full tilt. Hardly slowing his gait, he leaned over to seize Lucian by the jacket, hauled him up in one powerful motion, and set him in front of himself. The bewildered Lucian groped for reins or harness, but there were none. So he could only wrap his arms around the horse's neck and cling for dear life as the rider wheeled and galloped after his companions.
What had become of Ops, Lucian had no idea; but he glimpsed Fronto being swept along amid the horsemen. Joy-in-the-Dance was out of sight. After that, Lucian gave all his attention to hanging on as best he could while horse and rider flew over the ground without seeming to touch it.
At last, they halted at a circle of bell-shaped tents of horsehide, lashed with leather thongs. Here, the rider sprang down easily, and though he spoke in a language Lucian could not understand, Lucian was clearly being ordered to dismount-which he did by more or less falling off the steed's back.
Joy-in-the-Dance had already jumped down. By the time Lucian picked himself up, she had run to a tall man who had come out of the largest tent and flung herself into his outstretched arms.
Ops slid off his own mount and went to fetch Fronto from the midst of the horses. Wheezing, puffing, rolling his eyes, the poet muttered to Lucian, "They galloped me so fast I thought I'd sprout wings at any moment. Yes, and a couple of the mares took quite a fancy to me. I tried to explain my condition, but they didn't understand a word I said."
Joy-in-the-Dance was beckoning urgently. Lucian, still collecting his wits, elbowed through the crowd gathering at the tent.
"Hurry along, Aiee-Ouch," Joy-in-the-Dance called. "And you, Ops. Fronto, you needn't worry; I've told about your difficulty. Here, Aiee-Ouch, this is the basileus-oh, I'm sorry, I forgot you don't speak Mother Tongue-chieftain of the Horse Clan, Lord See-Far-Ahead."
The man so named stood head and shoulders taller than Lucian. A thin circlet of gold held a long mane of tawny, gray-streaked hair; a sun disk of beaten gold hung at his throat. His craggy face had been sun burnt to the same color as his leather garments, bands of yellow ochre and white gypsum barred his high cheekbones and arching bridge of his nose. For a moment, he looked Lucian up and down through lightning-blue eyes, then nodded with an air of easy authority and amused tolerance. Lucian shifted uncomfortably, suspecting that Lord See-Far-Ahead was perfectly capable of taking him apart limb from limb if he had any interest in doing so.
"Khaire. Hail and greetings." The chieftain, in a flowing gesture, raised one hand palm outward and laid the other on his heart. "Aiee-Ouch? What tribe is that?"
"Not a tribe, it's just what I call him," put in Joy-in-the-Dance. "He's Lucian."
"Why, then, do you call him by a name not his own?" See-Far-Ahead raised an eyebrow. "What is its meaning? Surely, it has one. All things have meaning."
The girl did not answer. For some reason, to Lucian's surprise, she actually blushed. The chieftain continued, "Be welcome, Lucian Aiee-Ouch. And you, little parthenope, it gladdens my heart to see you. I am told you are a pythoness in Arkadia Beyond-the-Mountains. A high honor, Terpsichore, but one that keeps you too long apart from us."
"Terpsichore?" Lucian whispered to her as the chieftain turned his gaze on Fronto and Ops.
"My clan name, that's all."
"Are these people your kindred?"
"Yes, but I'm only partly of the Horse Clan," said Joy-in-the-Dance. "See-Far-Ahead's my father. My mother well, my mother's the Lady of Wild Things."
14 - Yellow-Mane and cloud-Rising
Lucian stared at the girl as if he had never seen her before. "And you said nothing?" he burst out. "Nothing? All this time?"
"It was better you didn't know. I was wrong even telling you I was the pythoness. I certainly wasn't going to tell you who my mother is."
"Why? Another secret you kept to yourself? Because you couldn't trust a Bear man? Is that it? Because you were afraid-"
"Yes, I was afraid." The girl's chin shot up. "Suppose we'd been caught. They'd have made you tell everything you knew about me, they'd have beaten it out of you. Bromios would have won more than he hoped: the pythoness-and the Lady's daughter, as well."
"I don't believe that. You were never afraid we'd be caught."
"Yes, I was," Joy-in-the-Dance said in a low voice. "More than I let on. And something else." She paused a long moment, then added, all in one breath, "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to think of me as anyone's daughter, no matter whose, only as me. As I am."
"How could I, when I never knew who you were in the first place? I don't understand what you're talking about."
"Of course you don't." She turned and strode from the tent, joining the maidens beckoning to her.
"Let be." See-Far-Ahead put a hand on Lucian's shoulder as he was about to follow. "She has given you something of value: the truth in her heart."
"Oh?" Lucian said angrily. "How do I know that?"
"You have yet to learn the ways of women." See-Far-Ahead smiled at him. "It is an endless study."
That evening, See-Far-Ahead ordered a feast, with music and dancing. The sides of the tent had been unlaced to make a sort of pavilion. Still angry and confused, Lucian sat silently with Ops and Fronto, who the chieftain chose to rank as a poet and only a temporary jackass.
Lucian had seen nothing of Joy-in-the-Dance until See-Far-Ahead signaled the Dance of Colts to begin. Then he caught sight of her among the young men and women forming a ring around a blazing fire. Like the other maidens, she was now ceremonially dressed in a long, fringed skirt, with beads, bracelets, and flat slippers bound with colored ribbons, her hair in one thick braid.
"I'd be tempted to try a few steps," said Fronto, "if I had two feet instead of four. No matter, I'll investigate this basin of-what is it? Fermented mare's milk?
A delightfully heady brew."
As the musicians plucked stringed instruments, tapped drums, and shook rods fitted with jingling metal disks, the dancers joined, broke away, and joined again. Laughing and smiling, her head flung back, her arms shaping graceful movements, the girl sprang lightly in and out of the swirling patterns. Lucian preferred to ignore the glances cast on her by the tall, loose-limned youths of the camp.
"She dances well," said See-Far-Ahead. "Her feet tread the measure, but I think her heart turns toward you. And what of yours, young man with a name not his own?"
Lucian did not answer. See-Far-Ahead gave him a look half-warning, half-pitying, and did not pursue the question.
Joy-in-the-Dance, cheeks flushed and eyes shining, came back to the tent with a handsome young warrior, Swift-Arrow, the chieftain's second in command. He was the rider who, earlier, had so easily snatched up Lucian, who now felt singularly ungrateful.
See-Far-Ahead clapped his hands and summoned the lyrikos, a bent-backed elder with white hair falling below his shoulders. The chieftain addressed him most respectfully, inviting him to entertain the guests with song or story.
Franta raised his nose from the basin. "What did See-Far-Ahead call him?" he asked Lucian. "Gold-Horse? Something equine, whatever. I've heard of these minstrels. They're a good many cuts above the sort of local bard you find slouching in some backwater tavern. A shade too barbaric for most of my colleagues; but, I've always thought that a touch of splendid barbarity livens up a tale."
Lucian's dour spirits lifted as the lyrikos hobbled forward. Cradling an instrument whose sidepieces curved like warriors' bows, he brushed his fingers across the strings, and silvery notes rippled through the tent. Gold-Horse raised his head. His back straightened, his eyes brightened, and his voice rang as if he were still in the strength of his young manhood.
"This is a story of Lord Yellow-Mane, mightiest warrior of all the Horse Clans," he began. "The tale of his last and greatest battle."
The Arkadians Page 8