“I guess I don’t know you as well as I thought, Baela. I’m sorry if I offended you.”
“I just wanted you to know how I feel about this thing.” Spoken like an adult, matter-of-factly, a smile returning.
They sat in silence for a moment, Pete playing with a pebble he’d found, Baela looking off at the distant trees. A light breeze cooled them, and far back in the forest a squirrel was chattering off and on.
“You know, Baela, when I see you and talk to you, everything I’m doing to bring the Tenanken and Hinchai together seems natural and right, and I can believe we’re all one people. I wish a few of the others, like Maki, would see it that way, but I don’t think they ever will. Here I am, a Tenanken with big features and heavy bones over the eyes, but with clothes on I’m suddenly Hinchai. I’ve seen men in town with features like mine; they’re Tenanken without knowing it. But then there are the fine-featured ones, like Bernie, my mate. She has blonde hair like yours, Baela, and soon she’s going to give me a child. A Hinchai woman carrying the child of a Tenanken? We have to be the same people, but with two ancestors that looked different physically. We’re all Tenanken and Hinchai, and we should live together.”
“When?”
“I’m not sure, but soon. First I have to teach you all a few words of the language they speak in town. You won’t have to know much at first because everyone thinks you’re coming from another land far away where the new language I’ve taught you is spoken. It’s named Greece, and the Greek language was the one my Hinchai teacher knew best. Would you like to hear me say something in town language?”
Baela nodded, and looked at him expectantly.
“I think Baela is a very pretty girl, and the boys in town will soon be fighting for her attention,” said Pete in English.
Baela’s eyes widened. “It’s so fast. All the words run together. Now what did you say?”
“I will tell you—someday.”
“No, tell me now.” Her blue eyes sparkled hypnotically.
“Remember what I said, and as you learn more you will be able to translate it for yourself.” Pete repeated the sentence one more time, slowly, while Baela listened with rapt attention. The challenge seemed to satisfy her, and she was still repeating the sentence to herself when Pete stood up. “I have to go, now. Don’t be late. During speaking class I have something special for all of you.”
“I’ll be just a little while; it’s so nice out here.” Baela tilted her head back, letting the sunlight fall on her face, and closing her eyes. When she opened them again, Pegre was nearly out of sight, traversing the cliff face below. She walked to the edge of the cliff and watched him pick his way gingerly along a wide shelf to the cavern entrance, disappearing inside. She found the soaring mother-bird’s nest again and watched the little family for a while, her mind still mulling over Pegre’s sentence in English and wondering what special thing he had planned for the class. Finally she could stand it no longer, and scuttled down the shear face of the cliff back to the cavern she was ordinarily so happy to leave.
Pegre was at the gathering place when she returned, a few children and adults, including her mother and father already sitting around him. She hurried down the shelves to join them, wedging herself between her parents and watching as Pegre placed a polished wooden tube in his mouth and blew into it. A beautiful, pure sound came from the tube, then another, higher, and his foot began tapping on the floor. The sounds were pleasing, rhythmic, stirring something within her, and she knew others felt it. Her mother was suddenly smiling, and wedged between her parents Baela could feel their bodies swaying to the rhythm of the sounds. Pegre was watching them, tapping his foot softly each time they swayed. Others came to join them, but then Pegre took the tube from his lips, and the sounds stopped.
“This is called music. It is very important in the Hinchai world, and yet not even Anka can remember such a thing in Tenanken culture. Perhaps the images of the Mind Touch have been our substitute for the pleasing sensations music gives. This is music from Greece, the land where you come from. As you listen to it your body will want to move, and you should let it happen. After the speaking lesson I will show you ways to move together with the music. This is called dancing, and Greeks love to dance. Since you are supposed to be Greek, the people in town will expect you to know some dances. I brought along a book with pictures of Greece and its people, and one of them shows dancing. These people like to have a good time.” Pegre passed around the little book with pictures, and they crowded together for a look.
After the speaking lesson, during which Baela learned to say ‘Thank you’ and ‘My name is Baela’ and the names of several food items in English, Pegre played again and showed them a simple dance they did in a circle as a group, hands on neighboring shoulders, bending knees and tripping over their own feet, but in time to the music. This time the music was different, starting slowly, then building in intensity and rhythm until the cavern was a blur as they twirled in a big circle, Pegre in the center. Baela had never seen her mother looking so happy—so wild—her eyes flashing. It suddenly occurred to her that Pegre and her father looked very much alike. When the music finally ended they collapsed in a heap, laughing but tired, Deda suddenly kissing Moog full on the mouth before all of them, and the laughter became shrieks at the embarrassed male’s expense.
Anka watched all of this from a perch near the top of the cavern. Music—dancing—English—books and pictures, all part of the Hinchai world. And where was the Tenanken culture in all of this? A constant chatter of words without visions, emotional displays with body and face without the Mind Touch, this was not the Tenanken way. How much were they giving up to live in the outside world? He pondered these things and tried to ignore the ominous feeling in his stomach. A major change was near, and it could bring violence as such change often did. Their cloistered life had perhaps not been healthy, but it had been safe and peaceful for many years. Could he remain in the caves when most of the others were gone? Yes, he thought, the change would be too much for him, and so little of his life was left to waste on adaptation. Better to focus on The Memories for Pegre’s writings, and leave the new world to the young.
Anka brooded, not noticing the music had ended, participants in the dance again ascending the shelves to their hearths for the evening meal. Baela as usual had raced ahead, and now stood before him, looking sad. He felt something—a presence—understanding—a wisp of smoke in his sorrowful mind, and then Baela stepped up to him, put her slender arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. She darted away, leaving him stunned as a familiar presence entered his mind, and Pegre was standing before him, the wooden tube in his hand, the man now ready for the treacherous walk back to the valley.
“This has been a happy day for me. I was afraid they might not like the music, but you saw what happened. It is good, Anka, believe me. It is good that Tenanken can feel the music.”
Anka held out his hand for Pegre to grasp and hold, while he made the effort to stand. “Of course it is, and I support it as long as you don’t expect me to dance. You had better go, now, before it gets too dark.”
Something golden flashed by them, and into the exit tunnel.
“Where do you suppose she’s racing off to now?”
“Outside, is my guess. Baela would play in the dark if we let her. I’ll remind her to come in soon.” Pegre started towards the tunnel.
“I’ll walk you to the exit,” said Anka, shuffling along. “I want to scan the valley as best I can with these old eyes, and look for Maki. I have a feeling deep inside that he will soon return.”
Pete kept a thought to himself: Baela and I will watch with you.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE PRODIGAL SON
Maki and Hidaig began the morning with a grog of fermented juices and marrow while Han and Dorald packed for the trip, Dorald grinning often and wriggling bushy eyebrows in memory of the rough delights he’d shared with the old female by the green pool the night before. Han, too, had a new tre
asure which he constantly carried in one hand: a long spear, tipped with a metal blade made from a Hinchai implement, and presented to him by one of Hidaig’s warriors after a spear throwing contest in which his heavy weapon had gone further than any other’s. Maki had never seen his two companions so happy, for it was the first time they had been totally accepted by anyone, Dorald because of his great strength and friendly grin, Han because of his skill with the spear. Now they scurried to and fro, preparing to leave, but knowing that soon they would all be together again.
“It is a good day for travel,” said Hidaig. “I will leave later in the day, and travel at night, because the way following the sun is now thick with Hinchai settlements.”
“I still think it’s a waste of time,” said Maki, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “How many Tenanken can you recruit from bands so far removed from our difficulties here? They will have no motivation for a fight in which lives will be lost, and if they know our plan, word may be sent to my father.”
Hidaig shook his head. “I expect no cooperation from their leadership; indeed, Meandre is now Keeper, and an old friend of your father’s. I will not approach him on the subject, but there are several warriors who have been privately sympathetic with my views. Up to now they have not left because their mates are bound closely to the band, but all can be persuaded if the rewards are right. The warriors I’m talking about despise the Hinchai and spend as much time as they can outside the caves. It’s a return to the old life they’re looking for, and our plans will promise it to them. There could be a betrayal, of course, but I’m always ready for that.” Hidaig grinned evilly at Maki. “When we return, I will post warriors along the three routes to the valley. Any Tenanken sent from the caves will be killed on the spot. In the end, Maki, all bands must be unified in this. Anyone who opposes us must die.”
“I agree,” said Maki firmly. “So how many warriors will you have when the time comes?”
“Perhaps forty,” Hidaig indicated, opening and closing his hands to count the number. “It is enough if we can achieve complete surprise. I will rely on you for the timing.”
“You shall have it. We need now to set a time for rendezvous. How long before you’ll be ready?”
Hidaig emptied his cup, and filled it again from a skin bag. “A few days, in both directions, perhaps a little more. I remember a deep hollow on the bluff at the near end of your canyon. We can meet there.”
“I will station Dorald and Han at that place the second full moon from now.”
“Why so long?”
“I need to convince my father all is well, and his plans can proceed in safety. He will be the easy one; it is Pegre I will have to work with carefully. He is neither naive or foolish, and sees deeply. He also has the favor of my father, and is revered by those who would live with the Hinchai. Consequently, I will work my persuasions when he is not present in the caverns, and remain silent, thinking of darkness, when he is nearby. Remember that when the attack begins Pegre must die, but it will be by my hand. I will have it no other way.”
“So it will be,” said Hidaig seriously, “and we will drink to the time.” He filled Maki’s cup, and they gestured to each other before drinking noisily. “To a Tenanken life in open air and sunlight, and to the new Keeper of The Memories,” said Hidaig.
“And to the Tenanken commander over all the bands.”
They toasted each other, and the sun was suddenly covered by a dark cloud. Hidaig frowned. “It is an omen,” he whispered anxiously.
Maki smiled. “It signifies the passage of a short, dark time in Tenanken history, a time of the caves. But the cloud moves on, and the bright light will soon reappear.” He lifted his cup to touch Hidaig’s. “There, see—we are the sun.”
The exit was a few feet from the top of the cliff face, the river below a shining snake hissing up at them. Hand and footholds were small but plentiful, and Maki danced up the rock to a field of tall grass and flowers. Dorald froze at first, staring at the miniscule boulders below. Even with Maki’s gentle directions and Han’s prodding of his buttocks with a spear it was several minutes before he dared to trust his life to the grip of fingers and rough toes on the rock. By the time he reached the top, the big Tenanken was hyperventilating so badly he had to lie down on the grass while Han scrambled up to join them. Both waited for Maki to begin shouting at them about their slowness, but today their leader seemed patient, even kind to both of them so that at least their journey was beginning as a happy adventure of three comrades-in-arms returning home.
They marched until nightfall, keeping to the trees and traversing hillsides rather than climbing up and down, since Hidaig had sketched for them the direct route his little army would follow to reach the caverns of Anka’s band. The route was far from Hinchai machines, but as darkness came they saw occasional lights on distant hillsides, reminding them they were not alone and were still vulnerable to observation during the day. Han collected fir boughs, and made beds for the three of them under tall trees. They relaxed, ate dried meat, and got a little drunk while emptying the skin of grog Hidaig had sent along with them. Their sleep was deep and peaceful, whatever dreams they experienced forgotten by the time sunlight awoke them totally refreshed and anxious to march again.
Ahead of them lay a vast expanse of pure wilderness: clean air, fresh springs, and game. Antlered creatures watched them carefully from thick stands of trees and brush in hollows between rolling hills, and birds flew near their heads when they passed by a nest placed on a tree-limb within easy reach from the ground. Without the Hinchai, it could all be like this again, thought Maki, and his resolve increased with each step. His father would be spared to see it happen; he could not be punished for the frailties of old-age, and would perhaps be useful as spiritual advisor in his last years. Pegre was another matter, and all his accomplices in the caverns. To begin anew it would be necessary to purify the race, but in keeping with The Memories it would be done mercifully. In ancient Memories the Hanken-featured newborns had been dispatched with a single blow to the head. Was this merciful? Did pain have a chance to register in a child’s tiny brain? Surely they were not spiritual in any sense, for they lacked The Memories. But they were self-aware. How does one kill such a being mercifully? Maki pondered these things moodily to himself as Dorald and Han frolicked ahead of him.
When the sun was high they stopped to drink from a stream cascading down the hillside. Below them was another streambed cut deep into the ground, a wash of pebbles left over from the rush of some ancient current. Maki walked down to the wash, looked around and found a polished chunk of driftwood which he placed on top of a large rock before stepping back along the stream bed many paces and unslinging the pointing weapon from around his shoulders. Han and Dorald jumped gleefully to their feet from under a tree where they’d been resting, Dorald clamping his hands over both ears and grinning broadly. They rushed to stand at the edge of the wash, looking down at Maki as he tentatively fingered the weapon.
“It makes much noise,” said Han nervously. “We’ll be found.”
“Not here,” said Maki, “and it’s time I learned how to use this.” He searched The Memories, and found an observation to imitate while he explored the thing in his hands, pushing and prodding and finally pulling down a lever carefully to reveal the projectile inside. He pulled the lever up, watching the projectile disappear inside the weapon, then pressed the butt to his shoulder and looked along wood and metal towards his driftwood target. One finger curled around a lever on the underside of the weapon. He was looking at two blades, one at the end and a shorter one with a groove in it towards the rear. He wiggled the weapon up and down until the blades were nearly superimposed, and the target just visible above them.
He pulled back on the lever, and felt something give inside the weapon.
Sharp pain knifed through his head as the weapon exploded in his hands. Han and Dorald screamed simultaneously. It was like the time he’d run blindly into someone in a darkened tunnel, th
e weapon slamming horribly into his shoulder, breath leaving him with a grunt, and he felt a burning sensation throughout his entire body. When he looked, the target was still there, but somehow different. Han jumped down into the wash, and inspected it, pointing to a place near the top.
“See, you hit it! A piece has been removed at this point.”
“It is high,” said Maki calmly. Using The Memories, he levered a spent projectile case from the weapon, chambered a new one, then aimed again as a startled, frightened Han scrambled frantically out of the wash. This time he lowered the front blade until it filled the groove in the second, and the center of the target was sitting right on top of the combination. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, struggling to control his fear of the impending explosion, and forcing all attention on the sighting picture so that the weapon seemed to go off by itself.
The pain in his head was even sharper the second time, though Han and Dorald didn’t scream, having clamped hands tightly over their ears. The target seemed unchanged, and Maki felt a surge of disappointment, but when he walked over to inspect it he found a finger-sized hole in the very center, and a larger hole in the back where the projectile had exited. “See what this does to hard wood,” he said proudly, “and imagine what it will do to bone, long past the range of a spear. We must obtain more of these before the battle begins, and a good supply of projectiles. Their pointing is easy to learn.” Enthusiastic, he quickly levered a new projectile into the weapon, with a snap, and reslung it over his shoulders while Han and Dorald looked at him fearfully. It occurred to him that these two, with their simple minds, would never dare to fire such a weapon. Perhaps he could teach Hidaig, or one of his warriors, so they could fight the Hinchai with their own weapons, and insure a quick victory.
Maki left the empty projectile cases where they had fallen, and climbed out of the streambed. Dorald had stretched out again under a tree, but Han was squinting towards a distant hillside, a hand shading his eyes.
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