“Come back,” called Savas, “anytime you want to. I’m always here!”
The beginning was that simple, the beginning of an association that would last nine years and alter the course of a culture older than history. Savas had no way of knowing that, of course. To him the boy was a relief from the loneliness and boredom of his chosen life, and after that first day the visits became regular, usually in late afternoon and rarely on weekends, for his trips to Quincy continued as usual until the day he died.
At first they simply broke bread together, Savas talking in Greek, the boy listening, eyes alert. It was soon obvious the boy didn’t understand English or Greek, and would not respond to questions about himself. Savas became his teacher, pointing to things, naming them, using simple phrases for each of his actions. The boy made no attempt to repeat anything at first, but there was intelligence in those dark eyes, and occasionally a faint smile, like when Savas dropped an egg splat on the floor and cursed. Mostly, the boy was somber, as if life had been hard and he would not entrust a show of emotion to anyone outside himself. He learned with extraordinary speed, at first helping with the making of bread, then doing it without aid, measuring flour, milk and salt with precision. Then, one memorable day, he walked over to the newly arrived gramophone now playing a forlorn song, pointed to it, and said in perfect Greek pronunciation, “Where music come?”
Savas laughed. “New York, I think. Doubt if I’ll ever see it again.”
“Music come from far?” asked the boy.
“Yes, very far. This is a big world, with many, many people. I guess around here is the only place you know.”
The boy looked at him sadly. “We—few.”
“We?”
The boy didn’t answer, and turned away. Savas didn’t press, figuring eventually the boy would tell him who his people were, and where he came from.
He was still waiting for an answer the day he died.
At first they made bread, ate it and listened to the gramophone. Conversations lengthened, in both English and Greek, and when Savas finally coaxed the boy onto his horse for a ride, that also became a part of their routine. They bounced along rough trails, never going on the town road, the boy sitting rigidly erect, a faint smile the only sign of youthful excitement. So controlled, a near dignified bearing for someone far from being a man, thought Savas, a contrast to his own volatile nature now safely hidden in the hills where it couldn’t hurt anyone. When he was around the boy, the violent part of him seemed to shrivel, leaving him peaceful and content with a life that hadn’t turned out the way he’d planned. It didn’t seem important the gold was beneath a cabin floor, still waiting to be spent in some distant, exotic place free of rattlesnakes and biting flies, or on a woman who could relieve the ache he still felt when the moon was out and he was lying on his hard mattress alone, sweating. Nothing was important except the boy, and what he might become. As the days, and then the years, went by, the boy was like a son, replacing the one he had left far behind, perhaps dead now, the son he could not go back to ever, because others would be waiting for him and then he, Savas Parkos, would be a dead man.
The boy’s name remained impossible for him to pronounce. It was something like egg, only drawn out with a complex, guttural thing at the end, and the best way to get a smile from the boy was to try and pronounce it. After one abortive attempt that came close to producing an actual laugh from the boy, Savas had had enough. “I’m going to give you a name I can say,” he said. “It will just be between us, if you don’t mind.”
“Is good,” said the boy, in English.
“Something simple, and Greek, because you look Greek. We will pretend you are, and this is your christening. Stand still, now.” He put a hand softly on the boy’s black hair, and closed his eyes, thinking. The name of a cousin came to mind, a cousin who had been a drinking companion when they were young, and not yet scarred by money or politics, a man who had loved to sing and dance and drink and screw, before the world had destroyed him. Savas pressed firmly on the boy’s head.
“I will call you Peter,” he said.
CHAPTER SIX
MAKI’S CONFRONTATION
Maki slept restlessly that night, mind a jumble of things he would say to the council. His opinions on The Plan were well known, but now he could tell them of the invasion underway, as seen with his own eyes. There would soon be nothing left for the Tenanken, and thus a chance the group will could be turned. His father had been most solicitous, encouraging his request for a hearing, and now the hour was nearly at hand as he tossed and turned and fondled the weapon he kept hidden beneath his sleeping furs.
He arose early and squatted on the floor of the meeting place, chewing a piece of dried meat and calming himself to a state of dignity befitting his status. After the morning meal, the main cavern had emptied out, Tenanken retiring to more remote quarters during the hearing, since it was a private affair for the elders. The old ones had delayed the event by two days to check on the invasion report, and now they were in conference. When the six of them filed into the cavern, Anka and Tel in the lead, Maki’s patience was worn thin, but they all smiled pleasantly at him and arranged themselves close together on the first slate tier above the amphitheatre floor on which he stood to greet them.
Anka looked around at the others, and when he spoke his voice echoed hollowly from the walls. “My son, we thank you for the warning regarding a sudden influx of Hinchai from the south, but our investigation shows it to be a temporary situation which will end in the near future. A major travel-way is being built so heavy supplies may be delivered to the Hinchai village. Within the next several days all workmen will be gone. Because of the formidable building machines they use, it is easy to see why you thought an invasion in progress, but as you can see now there is nothing to fear.”
Maki felt his face flush with anger. His report had been casually dismissed, and he was in the presence of fools. “I disagree with your assessment,” he said hoarsely. “The way is now open for hoards of Hinchai to come in, tearing down the forests and eliminating our food supply.”
“This is unlikely,” said Anka. “The Hinchai have so far lived in harmony with the forests, and even if the animals begin to move in numbers it will take little to feed the few of us who remain here. All the rest will be integrated with the Hinchai, and under Pegre’s care.” Anka’s voice was firm, and Tel’s mouth was suddenly pressed into a thin line. The rest watched silently, for the hearing was becoming a public argument between parents and son.
“You insist on destroying the Tenanken life and identity by incorporation with the Hinchai. You are all afraid to fight.” Maki’s lips curled in a sneer of disgust with those who sat around him.
“We have had this conversation before,” said Anka. “All arguments have been heard, and the group will has prevailed, as it must. It is a matter of personal choice, and most have chosen to leave the caverns for a new existence. That is their right. Some of us will remain, also by choice. We will all survive in our own way, and you are free to choose yours.”
“What surprise we’ve been forced to live in darkness for a generation! The Tenanken are led by old women who do anything to save their own skins. One more generation, and The Memories will be gone, the mind-touch unused. There will be no more visions, Father, and you will be responsible for that. You will be the destroyer of the Tenanken!”
Maki was gratified to see Anka could not stand up to his fervor, was now looking down at his hands, but then his mother, eyes blazing, began to shout at him.
“My son is an ignorant fool! Hinchai! Tenanken! You constantly distinguish, and on what basis? Appearance? Size? Speech? A way of living? I’ll tell you again, carefully, as I did when you were a little child complaining when a heavy-browed Tenanken pushed you down and called you pretty. We are all one animal. Tenanken and Hinchai. Our ancient ancestors are in common, our only difference the time of crossing over the frozen waters. The Hinchai are there in the first Tenanken Memory, and now they are with us again. I
t is natural that we live together, yet you refuse to accept it. Look at yourself in a pool of still water, my son. What do you see there? Oh, Maki, in your heart you are Tenanken, but in appearance you are a young Hinchai adult!”
“Tel, that’s enough!” growled Anka.
“No, this is my time to talk. Maki, don’t you see that Tenanken and Hinchai are but two strains of one people so close in appearance they can intermingle without discovery? Rather you should talk of Tahehto or Hanken, for they are the first peoples of The Memories. I look at you and see Hanken. You look at your father and I and see Tahehto with The Memories which you also have inherited. And the mind-touch, which springs from Hanken, not Tahehto. It is the union that makes us Tenanken, the same union which through liberal breeding practices has brought forth the Hinchai. Your discrimination is selective, ignoring the physical differences between yourself and your parents. Do you hate us, Maki? Our opinions? You talk as one who would protect the purity of the Tenanken people, but I will say what I think you really want. I think you seek power, and war with the Hinchai is only an excuse. You fail to see that elders exercise no power, no influence. It is done through concern, and love. You must learn to love, Maki, Tenanken and Hinchai alike. Or you will never be a leader. There, I’ve had my say.”
Maki blinked back tears of embarrassment, his limbs shaking, anger at his mother coming with a fierceness he had rarely felt before. At the same time, he had never known such humiliation. His hands clenched and unclenched, and he saw fear pass over the faces of the elders sitting by his parents. In a dark flash of thought he wondered what would happen if he killed them all and called for Han and Dorald to help control the others. Too risky, he decided, but he could stand the humiliation no longer, and made a rash decision.
“I will leave this cavern, and never return. I am no longer one of you!” Maki turned on his heel, and climbed quickly up the stone terraces towards the top of the cavern.
“Maki!” shouted Anka after him, and there was murmuring among the elders.
“Let him go!” shouted Tel. “Let him do what he must do.”
Maki heard labored breathing, and glanced over his shoulder to see his father scrambling up the rock behind him. He lengthened his stride, reaching the top of the cavern and traversing it until he saw Han and Dorald waiting in an exit tunnel. “Get your things together, we’re leaving at once!” Han grabbed Dorald’s arm, pulling him down the tunnel as Maki plunged in behind them.
“Maki, wait!” shouted Anka, and then he was gasping for breath. He stopped at the tunnel entrance, chest heaving, and sat down on a rock. There was sharp pain in his chest and one arm, but as he breathed deeply it seemed to get better. A strange kind of paralysis had set in, the reaction of an old body to an unacceptable workload dictated by emotion. Tel and others arrived to help him to his feet. He looked into her eyes as she helped to lift him up. “Why did you do that to our son?” he asked sadly.
“He’s done it to himself, my heart. This is a critical time for the Tenanken, and we have our responsibilities. The new life is open for Maki also, but if he refuses it then he must find something better for himself. For now, we have more important things to attend to. Come, now, and rest. You’ve overextended yourself again.”
They held him up, and Anka directed them to the little alcove he used for private meditation and re-enforcement of The Memories. They covered him with furs, and slipped quietly away, but as he lay still, drowsy, he became aware that someone else was near. He raised his head.
“Who is it? Please come to where I can see you.”
In the light of a small torch in his quarters, he saw the tiny face of a girl. Baela, the one who ran everywhere. “Come in, child, before I fall asleep.”
She entered shyly and stood before him, something clutched tightly in one hand. “Teacher, I have a gift to make you feel better,” she said in the new tongue. “See how it shines?” She smiled, then leaned over and placed a glowing object on the fur that covered him. It was the size and shape of a finger, yellowish, pointed at one end. He touched it, hard and cold, reflecting the light brightly. He had never seen anything like it before, and inspected it closely. “It is a little treasure, Baela. Thank you for your gift.” He reached out to her with a feeling of affection that lit up her face with a smile. She took a step towards him, and for one horrible second he thought she might hug him, but then she stepped back a little nervously, and became a part of the shadows. Anka’s eyes were heavy, yet he struggled for a moment to remain awake, thinking the girl might return. At last he drifted into sleep without noticing she was still there, sitting cross-legged in darkness, watching him. She remained there most of the day, eyes closed and chin tilted upwards, living with her teacher in his dreams.
* * * * * * *
Maki gathered his few possessions into a fur bag fitted with carrying sling. He had made a sling for the Hinchai weapon, and draped it across his chest. Han and Dorald each assembled a bag containing foot coverings, dried meat and pemmican for the long quick-march. Patience at a minimum, Maki ordered the two others to leave ahead of him, Dorald taking the Hinchai axe, Han packing a spear and three slings, both prepared for war and the destruction of any Hinchai they might encounter during their search for Hidaig’s band.
The time for passive talk and meek surrender to Hinchai encroachment had come to an end with the coming of a Tenanken warrior king named Maki, he thought. Maki left the cavern near sunset and descended quickly to the valley, looking back only once to see his mother standing on a ledge, one arm outstretched in the gesture of being with him on his journey. Dorald and Han were waiting for him at the tree line bordering the Hinchai settlement nearest the canyon. A light was on in the big cabin, and two Hinchai, one a female, were there on a porch. As he watched, Maki felt something dark and dangerous probe his mind. Dorald growled, and Han tugged at Maki’s arm, urging him to move on. A massive figure moved out into the porch light, staring in their direction. It was Pegre. Pegre and his Hinchai mate. So this was their dwelling place.
Maki made a promise to himself. Soon, I will return and destroy you both.
They walked all night, stopping only once to smash and tear at the big Hinchai machines that tore down trees and gouged the earth. In the morning they nibbled some dry meat, then covered themselves with fallen boughs and slept within a tight circle of forest boulders during the day. Sleep was difficult, Dorald tossing and turning, and giving off an odor that made Maki’s eyes water. At dusk they began walking again, Maki stopping once to send out a vision of the caverns, and feeling nothing in return. Hidaig’s band had truly left the area, but in what direction?
There were no signs, yet Maki felt compelled to move southward and trust his instincts. They moved more slowly the second night, because now there were scattered lights in the hills, the number of Hinchai settlements steadily increasing, and barking dogs sensing them at some distance. As night progressed it became even more dangerous as the lights flickered off, because there was no moon, and once they came out of the trees to find themselves nearly on the front porch of a Hinchai cabin, facing a large, shaggy animal. But the animal took one look at them, whimpered, and crawled under the porch while they retreated back into the trees. This far from the caverns, Maki wanted no Hinchai encounters until he had found Hidaig’s band. Once again he stopped, and send out a vision. Where were they?
* * * * * * *
He found them on the morning of the fourth day.
“I hear something,” said Dorald, his head cocked to one side. They had moved out after a short pause before sunrise, a light wind rustling the branches of surrounding trees.
“It’s the wind,” said Maki. “Keep moving.”
“No it’s not. Listen!”
They stood still. There was a wind sound, all right, but it did not come from nearby, and seemed to fade in and out. “This way,” said Maki, and they followed the sound through the forest as it grew louder. Suddenly they were standing at a shear drop-off of a hundred paces, loo
king down at a river cascading over rocks. Across the river there was scree, and a wide boulder field leading to cliffs towering halfway up the sky, far above their heads. The cliff walls were rotted and full of holes, crisscrossed with networks of chimneys and shelves and crumbling at their base. On the near side of the river was a rutted road running parallel to it, and they had no sooner glanced down when a heavily-laden cart rolled around a corner, passed below them and disappeared around another corner further downstream. Another soon followed, then another. Maki drew back among the trees, his eyes closed, and said, “We must get across the river, and climb the cliffs by nightfall. We’ll rest here.” He plopped himself down, and fumbled with his food bag.
“Do you think they’re over there?” Han had felt a fleeting sensation of presence in his mind.
“Yes. It’s a perfect place, and I feel something here, but quite guarded. Relax, and think about the caverns.”
They sat down near the edge of the trees and ate the rest of their meat. Later, they slept a fitful sleep because of the cascading water below, masking other sounds they needed to hear. It was because of this that as dusk approached they did not hear the footfalls on dirt and pine needles until it was too late.
Somebody rammed a foot rudely into Maki’s ribs. He was instantly awake, reaching for his weapon, but stopped by the sharp tip of a stone spear that nearly entered his mouth.
“Easy, now. All stay where all are.” Spoken in the old tongue. They were Tenanken, dark shadows looming over them. Maki counted four.
“I am Maki, son of Anka from the north. We’re searching for Hidaig’s band. We played together as children, and it’s urgent that I talk to him. I know he’s nearby, because I feel him here.”
“How do we know he wants to see you?” The spear was thrust closer to Maki’s face, and Dorald growled until Han told him to be quiet.
“You don’t know that. It is for Hidaig to decide, and your life will be short if you don’t allow him to do it. Please take us to him.”
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