by Laura Gill
The women had the worst of it, trying to make the best of everything, to calm their fear of the sea, and to accept how very cramped the ships would be. Knos did not lie to them, only stressed that the situation was temporary. “It’s not a long voyage at all, and the weather’s fair. Think of the grand houses we’ll be able to build once we get there.” He gestured to the chaos of the crowded beach. “You’ll forget all this the moment we arrive.”
Strains of homesickness were beginning to tell. Knos feared more people would balk at the last moment. So he put on a congenial face and went around offering encouragement. There was only one more day, he thought. This time tomorrow, Marynos and Dolphin would be away.
Nightfall brought resolution to a final piece of business. Knos stifled doubts that his presumption in this matter might offend the gods; it was a far graver sin to swear a solemn oath in their name, and then fail to honor it.
Aramo had drawn Abbek and Masar into the plot—Abbek to help move the corpse, and Masar because he had an excellent sling-arm, could be relied upon in a scrape, and was more than willing to assume blood-guilt for killing the man who had helped kill Pashki and his family.
Having watched the man for a week, Abbek reported his habits to the others. “Orzu loathes his wife and mother-in-law, and’ll look for any excuse to stay out past sunset with his flock. He’s got a dog, though. An ill-bred creature, but he’s got a very good nose. I had to keep shifting downwind to keep him from sniffing me out. We’ll have to silence him right away or he’ll raise the alarm.” He studied Masar critically. “You’re sure you can do it?”
Masar sourly rattled his throat. “I see well enough, Abbek, to knock out your teeth from a hectare away.”
Knos nodded his agreement. “He can do the job. Have you found a suitable place?”
Abbek had not only found the perfect dumping site, but led the others there to inspect it. As they climbed the worn goat-path into the hills, Knos had a nagging suspicion he knew exactly where his cousin was taking them. On the other side of the hill, the Earth-Shaker had rent a deep vertical cleft said to be bottomless. People sometimes flung votives into the void, especially when the god’s anger rattled their houses. Children were forbidden to play there. Knos recalled his father taking him, Aramo, and Rauda to see the yawning cleft, and warning his three sons that if they disobeyed him and offended Potidnu with their presence, the Earth-Shaker would shrug his mighty shoulders and swallow them whole.
Aramo did not like their kinsman’s choice. “Are you sure about this?” He stopped three feet from the edge, which was rimmed by ragged weeds and crumbling earth. “Potidnu may object.”
Knos would have preferred to dump Orzu from a high cliff. He knew a place where the stone was fractured by underwater crevices and caves, and where the tidal currents could suck a man under the rocks; hurled into those waters, he would never surface.
“Let’s ask the god for his permission,” Abbek suggested. “The Bull god can devour the murderer as well as Marynos can.”
They knelt down in the rugged grasses a stone’s throw from the cleft’s edge. Knos made the petition, murmuring his words to prevent them from carrying. “Great Bull, mighty Earth-Shaker, protector of our clan: tonight we exact vengeance for the murder of Pashki, the son of Shamash, his mother, and his three children.” A chilly breeze buffeted the hillside. Knos shivered, feeling the god’s potent presence. “Accept from us the sacrifice of his murderer.”
On the beach, three dozen distractions awaited their attention. Menuash was arguing with a middle-aged woman who, despite his increasingly exasperated refusals, insisted on bringing aboard her loom. “Only your loom weights!” he said sharply. She mimed deafness, though Knos knew full well that there was nothing wrong with her hearing, and she urged her abashed, apologetic sons to keep hauling the disassembled loom pieces aboard Marynos.
Meanwhile, the women were congregating, muttering that if Menuash allowed Suli’s loom aboard, well, they were going back to fetch their furniture, too. Knos approached, gathered them around like so many aggravated bees, and in his most seductively persuasive voice said, “Ladies, I beg you, have mercy on a poor ship’s captain and help dear Suli stow her loom where it rightly belongs.” With a crooked grin and wink, he deputized the women to handle the task the younger men balked at tackling.
The loom was broken up for firewood. A thwarted Suli harangued the women, dogging them like a vengeful demon even after Alit irreverently boxed her ear and chided, “Perhaps this will improve your hearing!” The woman’s sons slunk gratefully away during the clamor.
Throughout the afternoon, there were similar incidents—women were never satisfied with what they were allotted—but Knos’s female deputies resolved those disputes, earning thanks from beleaguered kinsmen. Even had there been room for furniture, Knos would not have chanced it; he could calculate even now that the passengers and livestock would cause both ships to ride lower in the water than they should. Pray that the women—curse their capricious natures!—did not change their minds at the last moment and try to switch vessels to be closer to friends, kin, and neighbors when the captains had already estimated the weight ratios and distributions necessary to prevent disaster.
Knos inspected the holds again, never mind that he had checked the cargo a hundred times since loading. Then, at the urging of his wives, he ate and waited for sunset. His wives noticed his distraction, but assumed he was still dwelling on the loading of the vessels and tomorrow’s voyage. He made no effort to disabuse them of that notion.
As the sun sank into the horizon, Knos rose and started to withdraw from the family bonfire. Hariana slung a needy arm around him. “Stay a while with us. The children want you.”
The children were accustomed to his absences, and thus oblivious; it was his wives who wanted comforting. “I will return shortly,” he promised.
Urope challenged him, “What’s so important that you haven’t attended to it already?”
“A thousand things,” he answered.
“All of which can wait till tomorrow,” she finished.
Curse her bull-headedness! “No, it can’t wait. We must leave early.” Knos kissed Hariana’s cheek, then ducked from her embrace and headed away, swiftly yet casually, toward the village. Had he lingered a second longer, Urope would have demanded to know his business, and these days he found it strangely difficult to lie convincingly to her.
“Captain Knos!” A pair of women hastened toward him. “Are you absolutely sure there are goats in this new place? What do they look like? Do they have nice coats?” The sisters alternated their inquiries in such a way that, were he not in such haste, Knos would have found it amusing.
“Ladies, please...” The sun was sinking ever lower behind the hills, and the shadows were gathering. He had no time for this silliness. “Yes, there are plenty of goats. They’re excellent stock. I’ll tell you about them later, but, really, I must be going.”
A young boy caught up to him half a dozen paces later. “Captain Knos!” He was obliged to stop and greet the child. “Can’t I come on your ship? Pleeeease! My little sister does nothing but cry.”
No! The assignments were already made. “Ask your father.” Knos instantly regretted the harsh edge of his reply. “It’s getting dark, young man. Go find your family.”
Then Rauda accosted him at the head of the first lane. “Where are you going, Knos?”
Gods, was he to never reach his destination? “I have to see a neighbor about something,” he mumbled.
“Alone?” his brother asked. “It’s getting dark. There might be troublemakers abroad tonight.” Rauda jerked his thumb back toward the village. “You should let me come with you.”
Knos needed to get rid of him. “You just want an excuse to pass by your old house. No, you’d better return to your wife before she throws a nervous fit about tomorrow. Aramo is meeting me. We’ll attend to some last-minute business, and return.”
Then he had to wait, counting the seconds o
f remaining daylight, while his brother retreated toward the beach; everything must appear ordinary and unrushed. Rauda vanished from sight. Knos then turned, dropped his head to avoid further recognition, and hastened his steps. Blue shadows crept along the narrow lanes; just enough light lingered that he did not need a torch. Few others were abroad, and those were hastening home to supper.
Aramo awaited him under the sheltering plane tree behind the last house. There were no words. Together, they climbed a well-worn trail into the hill country. The sun had set, leaving only a faint smudge of orange and scarlet across the horizon. A cool breeze from the ocean mingled the smells of salt and sand with tramped earth and animal dung. Aramo inhaled deeply. Knos heard him sigh.
A whistle greeted them over the first rise. Aramo whistled back. Then the undergrowth rustled, and a man’s shadowy form joined them on the path. “Took you long enough,” Abbek muttered.
Masar occupied a nearby ditch, where he had stayed throughout the afternoon. His mouth was set in a grim line in anticipation of the grim task to come, and he said nothing.
They followed the old oarsman’s lead to the place where Abbek claimed that Orzu grazed his goats. Knos tried not to dwell on the possibility that they were already too late, that in the dusk it was too dark for the herdsman to work, and that he had departed for home. Knos dared not breathe for the anticipation.
Cresting a hill, they started to descend. A full, yellow moon hung above the eastern hills. Knos heard a dog barking in the distance, and he froze. That was a herdsman’s dog.
Then he felt Masar touch his arm, a signal to wait while the oarsman crept alone into the grass; the rustle of his movements vanished amid the sound of the breeze soughing through the tall grasses, and the snuffling and chewing of the goats grazing nearby. A light shone below, illuminating the shadow of a man’s form. Orzu had brought a lantern. That would make Masar’s job that much easier. But where, Knos wondered, was the herdsman’s dog?
The long, low whistle he heard next was the sound of the sling twirling. Knos strained to hear what was coming next. A second passed. No one moved. Abbek grunted approvingly when they heard a thud and yelp. Aramo released a long, relieved breath, though the job was scarcely done.
Masar would circle around and take both shots unassisted, as they had agreed. Knos’s attention returned to the man inside the lantern’s circle of light. Orzu had not moved, or given any other indication that he realized anything was amiss. He would never know what hit him. Knos would rather he had time to die, but he would take whatever he could get this night, as long as the gods were satisfied and the ghosts of the unjustly murdered were appeased.
This time, Knos did not hear the whistle, only a sharp cry from below. He was instantly on alert. Now the shadow man was moving, kicking out, upsetting the lamp. Masar had bungled the kill, stunning the victim instead.
Knos and Abbek skidded down the hillside, stumbling over loose stones and dodging reposing goats. Aramo followed. Another missile whistled through the air, dropping Orzu onto all fours. He screamed, sobbing, but clearly was not going anywhere.
Knos was the first to reach and tackle him. Orzu was as rugged as a herdsman must be, but blood streamed from his temple from the glancing blow, leaving him stunned, and his reflexes too hampered to offer more than token resistance—not that Knos cared about offering him a fair fight. Straddling the man’s broad chest, Knos pummeled him with his fists—smashing Orzu’s nose, his jaw, and cutting his knuckles against the man’s teeth; his victim simultaneously tried to shove him off and shield his head with both arms. Blood ran from his nose and split lip, rendering his protests incomprehensible. Knos was not listening. He had gone too far to offer mercy. His heartbeat pounded in his head. Adrenaline surged through his veins, lending him strength.
“This is for my friend Pashki and his mother and his children, who you murdered.” Knos got his hands around Orzu’s throat, jammed his thumbs into his windpipe, and started to squeeze. He had never strangled a man before. Orzu’s eyes rolled back, he gave a tremendous growl, and bucked, trying to thrash free, but Abbek held his legs. Masar edged around and stomped his foot into the man’s groin. Only Aramo refrained from laying violent hands on the victim, merely stood by and watched.
Gods, but it was hard work throttling a man! Orzu slowly stopped struggling. His arms dropped, his eyes rolled back one final time, but then, when Knos started to believe it was finished, the man’s body jerked involuntarily as it strained for oxygen. Abbek held on harder to the man’s legs. Knos’s hands were getting tired; he was beginning to regret having opted for strangulation. It might have been easier to dump Orzu into the cleft alive, but then he could not risk having the man curse his assailants.
Then, with a final, violent heave and twitch, his victim went limp, and it was done. Knos slowly withdrew his hands. His fingers ached, but he himself was numb inside.
“Quick,” Masar said. “Get hold of him. I’ll fetch the dog. We can’t leave anything.”
They used Orzu’s lantern to find their way to the Earth-Shaker’s cleft, and the herdsman’s staff to probe the ground before they inadvertently tumbled into the hole. With solemn prayers and a little libation of water from Orzu’s skin, they tumbled the dead man, his dog, and all his effects into the black void. Knos did not hear anything strike the bottom, and could not even see it when Abbek flung the lantern in after them; the light kept falling and falling, shrinking to a pinprick, then vanishing altogether as Potidnu swallowed the offering.
Before leaving, each man made a swift prayer to the demons of vengeance to accept the deaths as necessary repayment and refrain from pursuing them. Then they went back to the welcome warmth of bonfires on the beach, taking especial care to stagger their returns so as not to rouse suspicion. Knos’s wives marked his prolonged absence, but asked only whether he was done wandering for the night. Already the children were asleep. Knos tried to settle in likewise, yet could not close his eyes and drift away as easily as the children. Too much remained on his mind, not the least of which was the murder he had just committed.
Not murder, he corrected, but justice. He closed his eyes yet again and tried to concentrate on the soothing, eternal rhythm of the ocean. A few children were crying in the night. Someone was snoring loudly nearby. He heard the crackle of the bonfire, and felt its heat lick his face. All would be well. He was not the offending party, only the avenger, only doing what the ancient code of vengeance demanded.
He was awake an hour before dawn, along with his crewmen and most of the camp. The women were already ladling out a breakfast of hot porridge. Menuash informed him that Aramo had herdsmen preparing the way for the animals; this meant disguising the ramp with vegetation and earth to trick the cattle into boarding, because otherwise they would not leave solid ground. Knos had to restrain young Knos’s enthusiastic desire to assist. “You leave this morning’s work to the men. There’s precious little time before we have to cast off, and your uncles already promised you could help feed and water the animals on the ship.”
Abbek was absent, having gotten even less sleep than Knos. At that particular moment he and several men from Dolphin were watching Gamon’s house, awaiting a signal from the beach. Knos, however, wanted the animals and most of the human passengers aboard before he dispatched his runner.
As the sun rose, well-wishers and other onlookers began thronging the high ground. Knos thanked the gods for Rauda’s foresight; his brother had drugged the cattle’s feed to render them more pliable. All the animals boarded without incident. Rather, it was the people who hesitated, who were uncertain about leaving their homeland and putting out to sea for the unknown. Knos disguised his tension with a reassuring grin as he moved among the people. “Not to worry! The voyage will be a short one. You’re traveling with the very best men and ships, and the weather is excellent for sailing.” He extended a helping hand to a woman holding her infant. “There you go, my dear. Go aboard and make yourselves comfortable. The men will show you where
. Marynos holds us all in his blessed hands.”
And there—thank the gods—was Yikadi, that pompous goat’s ass, making a ceremony of carrying the bull skull totems to the ships. He relished his new status as high priest, had taken instruction from Hariana’s father, and had even had an elaborate horned headdress made. His rich baritone carried across the beach. “Mighty Potidnu Earth-Shaker, we honor your strength with these totems! Gather us under your hooves and sheltering horns and protect us.” He raised the bull skull he held with both hands. “Ancestors, we carry your memory with us! Follow the Bull Clan to its new hearth!” People swarmed him and his attendants, garland-decked sailors who had paid handsomely for the honor of transporting the bundles containing the other five skulls. Men and women alike reached toward the priest to touch his regalia. They gave a tremendous shout and raised their hands to their foreheads, palms facing outward, to salute the sacred totems and the spirits housed within. Knos took heart from their reaction.
When Yikadi reached the ships, he stopped, gracefully lowered the skull so that he was clasping it close, and bowed deeply to the ocean. “Wave-gathering Marynos, grant your protection to these ancestral spirits, and to all who sail upon Dolphin and Marynos.”
Yikadi boarded Dolphin with an elegant flourish. Half his followers processed with their sacred bundles to Marynos, where Menuash had marshaled his crew to welcome them with cheers and shouted blessings. The boarding continued, now with renewed vigor. Insufferable as the man was—and Knos was not looking forward to sharing the voyage with him—Yikadi had worked his magic.
Knos scanned the high ground again. Yes, now was the time. The clan elders were arriving in their regalia. Dravan looked absurd in his bull horns, after the impressive display Yikadi had just made. Knos suppressed a bitter laugh and called young Knos to his side. “Do you want to help your father and do something very important?” Of course, the boy did. “Run as quickly as you can to the village well. When you see Cousin Abbek, tell him it’s time. Then you run straight back.”