Korram cleared his throat. “Good morning.”
“We thought you were going to come for the meal,” one of the men – the one sitting between two young children – admonished. He gestured around the circle to show that they were half finished. “Do you still want to buy breakfast?”
“Yes, I do,” Korram assured him, squeezing into their circle and taking a seat on the ground. Immediately, those on either side picked up their mats and scooted away from him as though he had some contagious disease. The circle grew larger as the others all moved back to make more room.
“I’m afraid I fell asleep again,” Korram admitted sheepishly. “But yes, I’d still love to join you for breakfast.” He pulled out the silver coin the young man had told him it would cost. The oldest man reached for the money, and a woman handed Korram a large leaf on which lay two flat gray objects like pancakes, studded with red berries.
Was this what they had made with the lumjum? Feeling all of their eyes on him, Korram took a tentative bite and found it mealy but tasty. It would have been better with butter or honey, he thought, but altogether it wasn’t bad. He smiled, and didn’t have to lie when he said, “Thank you; this is much better than the bread and dried fruit I’ve been eating for most of my journey.”
The compliment seemed to ease a little of the tension that he felt around him. Someone passed around a basket of raspberries, and a young mother handed over a pouch of goat milk like the ones the rest of the family were drinking from.
Nobody spoke while Korram ate. Only the baby gurgled and cooed from where he sat beside his mother, gumming a lumjum cake and scattering crumbs all over himself. The other two children stared at the visitor unabashedly, the adults casting sidelong glances his way between every bite. But Korram was used to being stared at, and he chose not to let it bother him.
As soon as he had finished, he pulled ten more coppers out of his pocket. “May I buy one more thing from you?”
Twelve sets of eyes fastened on the coins. For people who lived so far from civilization, money certainly seemed to be important to them. “Depends what it is,” said the oldest man.
“Information,” Korram told them. “I’d like to ask some questions about your way of life. I know you prefer not to talk to Lowlanders, but I’d be glad to pay you for some answers.”
They looked at each other, considering it. In some faces Korram saw suspicion, in others scorn, probably at his stupidity for wasting his money that way.
“You Lowlanders are always cheating and mistreating us,” the oldest man accused. “What good reason could you have for wanting to know more about us?”
“I’m not going to cheat or mistreat you,” Korram assured him. “I’ve wanted to learn more about the Mountain Folk for a long time now. You see, I’m the Prince of Malorn, and I’m going to rule the kingdom someday.” If I can stop Regent Rampus, of course. “I’d like to learn about all the kinds of people who live in Malorn.” It was true, though it wasn’t the reason he was here.
He could see by their blank expressions that they didn’t understand what he meant, not even the part about being prince. Korram wasn’t used to having people not react at all when they learned who he was.
But he saw looks pass between them; some people shook their heads; others nodded. Finally they seemed to reach an unspoken agreement, and the oldest woman addressed him. “We’ll answer your questions.” She reached for the money.
The rest of them seemed to accept this. “So, what do you want to know about us?” the baby’s mother demanded, picking up a piece of lumjum cake that her son had dropped and letting him snatch it back with one chubby little hand.
Korram decided it would be best to start off with introductions so he would know how to address them. “What are your names?” he inquired. “And are you all related to each other?”
There was another awkward pause. Finally the baby’s mother spoke up. “I’m Relth,” she replied, “and this is my husband Thorst.” She indicated the man beside her. “Our little son here is Chenth.”
Korram whipped out the piece of parchment and pencil he had brought in his pocket. “Just a moment, let me write that down. Your names aren’t exactly the easiest to remember.”
But Relth didn’t seem to understand and barely paused. “This is Thorst’s grandmother Carch,” she went on, pointing to the woman who had agreed that he could ask them questions, “and grandfather Thest. Thorst’s parents, Korth and Silanth, have taken the goats out for the day.”
“Wait, wait,” Korram urged, scribbling frantically. “Don’t go so fast.”
The other young mother took over from the opposite side of the circle. “I’m Charr,” she announced, “and this is my husband Thont. Our children here are Thisti and Sench.”
Sench, who looked about four years old, was gazing soberly at Korram from beside his mother, his thumb in his mouth. Thisti, who might have been six, was staring at his parchment. “What are you doing?” she demanded.
“I’m drawing a family tree so I can keep you all straight,” he told her, hastily adding in connecting lines.
“A tree? I’ve never heard of a family tree.” She scrambled to her feet. “Can I see?”
“No, Thisti.” Her father, Thont, wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her down into his lap. “You stay over here, away from the Lowlander.”
Thisti folded her little arms and pouted as her mother continued the introductions. “And that’s my younger brother Ernth, who you were picking lumjum with.” Korram nodded and smiled at Ernth, who scowled in response. “And our parents, Therk and Chun.”
Korram jotted down the last couple of names and poked his pencil back into his pocket. “All right, I think I’ve got it, though I’m not sure if I spelled all your names correctly.” He held up the sheet to show them. “Did I get all the relationships right?”
No one answered. They were looking from him to the parchment without any sort of understanding.
“Where’s the tree?” demanded Thisti.
Abruptly, Korram realized that they couldn’t read. Of course. There were no schools this far up in the Impassables, not that Mountain Folk would be likely to attend them if there were. What had he been thinking?
“Well, never mind,” he told them, setting the parchment down on his lap. “I think I’ll remember your names now.”
“Is that all you wanted to ask?” Chun, Ernth’s father, inquired, his tone suggesting that he hoped so.
“Well, no.” Korram chewed his lip, debating what to say next. There was so much he didn’t know about these people. “What are you working on?” he asked finally, to gain time while he thought up more important questions. A couple of the Mountain Folk had finished eating and taken up little tasks.
“I’m shaping arrows,” Chun told him, holding up a knife and several long, straight pieces of wood. The knife, with its steel blade, was obviously not something he could have made himself up here in the wilderness. Where did he get it?
Relth held up a smaller knife and a long wooden spoon. “I’m making one of our cooking utensils more interesting.” Korram could see that she had been carving intricate decorations into the spoon’s handle.
“And I’m cutting rabbit skin to make a jacket for little Chenth here,” said Thest, the grandfather. His lap was covered with brown strips of fur. “When we buy a needle and some more thread later, I’ll sew it together.”
Is that what they plan to do with my money? “I see you keep yourselves busy,” Korram observed. He was encouraged that they seemed to be opening up to him – if not exactly in a friendly way, at least not as unfriendly as they had seemed earlier. “May I ask what other tasks you people do during the day?”
“We hunt,” said Thont, picking up one of his father-in-law’s arrow shafts and sighting down it to see if it was straight. “And we gather food and firewood.”
“And we cure hides,” put in Thorst – Ernth’s cousin, Korram saw, glancing down at his family tree. “We use them to make clo
thes, bags, tents, and bedding. In the spring we care for the newborn kids in our flock, and in the autumn we kill a few goats and dry the meat for winter. And of course twice a day there’s the milking, and a few of us lead the goats out to good pasture every day. We take turns standing watch through the night to guard against wolves and snowcats and Lowlander robbers.”
All of them turned to Korram to see his reaction to this last statement. “Well, I’m not one of them,” was all he could think to reply. “You don’t have anything I’d want, anyway.”
Immediately he knew that was the wrong thing to say. Scowls appeared all around the circle, and he could tell that the Mountain Folk were silently shutting him out again. “I-I mean – that’s not what I mean. I like your food and drink,” he protested, bracing himself for a gulp from the milk pouch he still held to prove his point. “I just mean that I don’t want your goats or anything. I’m the Prince of Malorn, remember? I have everything I need back home.”
“Then why are you here, Prince of Malorn?” Chun’s voice was cold. “I think it’s time you answered some of our questions. What is it you really want with us?”
Korram hesitated. This didn’t seem like the best time to explain his whole mission. But if he didn’t answer them now, they might not let him stay; might not help him find the rest of their people. And considering that he had searched for a fortnight before coming across this family, he didn’t like his chances of succeeding any time soon without help.
He took a deep breath. “I suppose I might as well tell you. I came to find the leader of the Mountain Folk. I want to talk to him, you know, as one ruler to another. I have a proposal to make regarding your people.”
Chun glanced over at the elderly couple. “My parents, Thest and Carch, lead our family group. Talk to them.” The old man and woman both turned to Korram expectantly.
“No, I mean the leader of all the Mountain Folk. There are thousands of you up here in the Impassables, aren’t there? How can I find the person in charge?”
They exchanged puzzled looks. “What do you mean?” demanded Thest. “The oldest people in each group are usually in charge.”
Understanding finally dawned. “Oh! You mean you don’t have any central leadership,” Korram exclaimed. “Each family group is autonomous?”
They nodded, understanding the idea if not the exact words. Now it was Korram’s turn to frown. Another interesting discovery about Mountain Folk culture. But he had not anticipated this. “So … there’s no leader who can make decisions about things that affect all the Mountain Folk?”
“We vote to make our own decisions as a family,” Thest told him, cutting a straight edge into another rabbit skin with a pair of metal shears. Another tool that was obviously not homemade. “Each family group travels separately as we look for the best grazing for our animals and food and supplies for ourselves. How could one person decide things for all of us?”
Korram nodded. “Well, that makes sense. Unfortunately, it will make my task more difficult.”
“So what is your task?” Chun demanded, setting a finished arrow shaft on the ground and taking up another length of wood. “We’re still waiting to hear why you’re in the mountains and what you actually want with us.”
Korram hesitated, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Trayven wasn’t within earshot. This was where explaining his mission got a little tricky. If he told them the truth right now and Trayven overheard – or if the servant should ever hear them discussing it later – he would know that Korram had lied to Rampus. But if Korram told the Mountain Folk the story he had told the regent, he would still have to give the real explanation later, and then they might think he wasn’t to be trusted.
“Well, it’s a long story,” he began finally. “But the short version is that the kingdom of Malorn is in danger. I’m here to try to recruit an army of Mountain Folk to come back with me and help protect the kingdom from – well, from those who don’t have its best interests in mind.”
“What’s an army?” Thest demanded. They all looked confused.
“It’s a large group of warriors who work together to fight a group of enemies,” Korram explained.
“You want to make an army of our people?” The old man was incredulous.
“Well, I’m starting to realize it will be even harder than I’d thought,” admitted Korram.
“Why would any of us want to join your army?” Ernth wondered, half laughing with disbelief. “Why should we care about any of your Lowlander problems? They don’t affect us.”
Korram hadn’t expected a chorus of eager volunteers, but he was irritated at their reactions just the same. “There would be advantages for you. I would pay well, of course. And you would get to see a little more of the kingdom. You’d learn to deal with city life, and with Lowlanders, as you call us.”
“And why would we want to do that?” Ernth demanded scornfully.
“Because you’re Malornians, even if you do spend all your time up here in the Impassables,” Korram snapped, feeling his patience slipping away. “You ought to care about the kingdom you live in and the other people who live in it.”
“Why should we?” Ernth shot back, his eyes flashing. “We’ve lived in these mountains for countless generations. We’ve always managed perfectly well without caring about cities and Lowlanders.”
Baby Chenth, perhaps sensing the tension in the raised voices around him, began to wail, and Relth reached out and lifted her son onto her lap.
“Now you’ve frightened the baby,” her husband Thorst scolded, glaring at Korram. “I don’t care what you want, you have no right to come causing trouble among our people.”
Korram closed his eyes and took a deep breath, biting back several choice remarks – things he surely would have said had he been speaking to any other of his subjects.
Don’t lose your temper. You need their help, he reminded himself. He just had to find a way to convince them that they wanted to give it. If only Arden were here. If anyone could talk – well, sing – people into accepting his ideas, he could.
“Listen,” Korram began again over the baby’s cries. “These mountains aren’t the same as they were in past generations. There are more Lowlanders living and traveling in them now. Besides the trappers and hunters and coffee farmers, there are the miners. Ever since gold was discovered in the Impassables, more and more miners have been setting up their camps here, as you may have noticed. Small villages have grown into larger towns all through the foothills, and as more roads are built, towns will start springing up higher and higher on the slopes.”
He could see in their faces that although they didn’t like it, the family knew he was right. Pressing his advantage, Korram hurried on. “The more mining towns appear, the more people will move up here to live in them. The miners’ wives and children, first; and then merchants, blacksmiths, other businessmen, teachers. Soon the Impassable Mountains won’t be your private domain anymore. You’ll have to share the land with plenty of Lowlanders, and most of them don’t like Mountain Folk any more than your people like them. But if some of you have been to Sazellia – that’s the capital city – you’ll know how to deal with them without being cheated or mistreated, and they’ll respect you more. It would be a big advantage.”
This was true, and he could tell by their expressions they knew it.
“The world of your ancestors is changing,” he went on, “and not all for the worse. I’m guessing that a few generations ago, your people made all their own tools and supplies, like bone needles, knives with stone blades, and clay cooking pots instead of metal ones.” A couple of the Mountain Folk nodded, confirming his guess. “But would you really want to go back to living that way now that you’re used to being able to buy those items? As I said, I would pay well, and then you could easily purchase needles and thread, tools, and whatever else you need.”
“Your words do make sense,” Thest admitted. “But in any case, none in our family would ever choose to leave the mountains.”
“I would,” Thisti announced from her father’s lap. “I wanna go and see new things! Don’t worry, I’ll come home in time for supper,” she added reassuringly to her parents.
Thest smiled fondly and reached over to tousle his great-granddaughter’s hair. “Even if any of us besides Thisti actually wanted to be a part of this plan of yours, we are too few for your army.”
“You’re right,” Korram admitted, “and I’m not sure what to do about that. At first I thought that I could just talk to the person in charge, and if he liked my plan, he would summon all the young fighting men to join me.”
“Why only men?” Relth put in, puzzled. “What about the fighting women?”
“Fighting women?” It sounded like an oxymoron. Then Korram remembered how both the men and the women had brandished spears at him and Trayven last night.
“Well, both would be welcome to join my army,” he assured them. “But the point is, I still have the problem of how to speak to the rest of your people.”
He paused in thought for a moment and remembered to take another sip of the strong-tasting goat milk. Relth set her baby, who had quieted once more, back down on his goatskin rug, and he gave a toothless grin. Leaning over, Thest held a piece of fur up to his back to measure the size, then made another careful cut in the rabbit skin.
“You must see other Mountain Folk from time to time,” Korram ventured presently. “How many do you encounter in, say, a month?”
“A month?” Relth frowned. “What do you mean?”
They don’t use calendars. Korram tried again. “In about the time from one full moon to the next.”
“Oh, in a moon. Well, that depends on the time of year,” Thest told him, but Korram thought there was something evasive about the way the old man replied.
“So what about this time of year?” Korram pressed. “How many other families do you think you might meet in the next moon?”
Prince of Malorn (Annals of Alasia Book 3) Page 6