Karsh inhaled deeply. “You’re going to give him the coin?”
“No, boy, of course not. But he can read. The man can read. You discovered it yourself, although why we did not realize it before, I cannot tell you.”
Karsh frowned. “But the coin . . .”
Alomar put his hand on Karsh’s shoulder and pushed himself to his feet. “There are words on the coin, boy. Don’t you see? This man can tell us what they say. We have several old Elgin coins, but this one is different. I have never been able to tell where it is from or what it is worth.”
Karsh led the way back outside, carrying the torch. His excitement grew as Alomar returned to the table and faced Sam.
“Now, sir,” said the old man. “If you can read, would you be so kind as to tell me what these runes say?” He pushed the coin across the table.
Sam looked at the small disk, then at Alomar. Alomar nodded his consent, and Sam picked up the coin. He bent over it, squinting in the dim light, and Karsh stepped around the table, bringing the torch closer.
Sam rubbed the coin against his sleeve, then peered at it again.
“It is a Gloknian coin,” he said with confidence.
“Gloknian,” Alomar breathed.
“What is that?” Rand asked.
“Gloknia was a state in the Old Times, on the edge of the sea, below Pretlea,” Sam said. “There is a date on the coin.”
“A date?” Alomar was watching Sam with near devotion now.
“Yes. I’m not well versed in the ancient calendar, but I’d say this coin was made within the last few years before the great sickness overtook the land.”
“And the runes?” Rand asked, and Alomar nodded, almost breathless.
“ ‘We endure,’ ” Sam said without hesitation. He handed the coin back to Alomar. “On the back it says, ‘ten quellos.’ That was their basic unit of money.”
Alomar ran his fingers absently through his beard, studying the coin. “We endure.”
“But they didn’t,” Karsh said and caught his breath as they all looked at him. Once more he had blurted his thoughts when he should have been quiet.
Rand chuckled. “That’s right, lad, they didn’t. Gloknia is no more. But we endure. We may be few in number, but we survive.”
“But what happened to them?” Karsh asked, looking straight into the stranger’s eyes this time.
Sam shrugged.
“When the sickness came to Elgin, there were so few people left, there were not enough to run things,” Alomar said. “Perhaps it was as bad in Gloknia.”
Rand spoke up with his usual dark mood. “It all went to chaos, and now you see the result. We live in small, isolated bands, fearful of the men over the next hill.”
“My land was not hit so hard by the sickness as were Elgin and Gloknia,” Sam said, “but the invaders came anyway. A couple of years ago they started raiding our border villages, and this spring . . . this spring a large force came from over the sea and attacked.” His eyes were dark with painful memories.
“There is hope,” Alomar said.
“Yes, sir. There is always hope.”
“Now tell me,” Alomar said. “If you can read, then someone taught you.”
“Yes, my mother.”
Alomar nodded. “And what did you read?”
“We had a small library in our town. The school had textbooks.”
“I knew it!” Alomar’s eyes lit once more. “I knew that somewhere books survived the fires and the destruction. Your people did not destroy their books after the plague!”
“Well, no,” Sam said, eyeing him in surprise.
“Are there many people out there who can read, I ask you, sir?”
Sam shook his head slowly. “There were quite a few in my town, but . . . most of them have perished now, I fear.”
“Such waste,” Alomar muttered, shaking his head. “Such senseless waste. The barbarians come in and destroy those with knowledge.”
Rand said to Sam, “You are more learned than we are. I have heard that all men’s knowledge was once laid out in books, but they have been lost. How many books are there now?”
“I don’t know. The ones my family had were destroyed when our town was attacked and burned.” A bleak, sad look came into Sam’s face.
“Blens?” Rand asked.
“No, no, not them. They raided off and on for a few years, but those who conquered my land were a large, fierce tribe who came from across the sea. They wanted our land. They overran the fortress and slaughtered many. I survived, but only by fleeing the land I loved.”
“Forgive us for pressing you on this matter,” Alomar said. “You have much grief in your heart, and we should have respected that. It is just that I’ve waited so long to learn more.”
Sam waved one hand, a sign that the elder’s questions did not bother him. “Sir, you have been most kind to me. You do not trouble me.”
With a deep sigh, Alomar settled back. “Tansy,” he called, and the herb woman stepped to his side.
“What can I bring you?” she asked, her fondness for the old man showing in her gentle tones.
“Do you have my tea?”
“Yes, it is ready now.”
“Will you join me?” Alomar asked Sam. “This dear lady prepares a warm drink for me and my friend Rand on chilly nights, to soothe our aging bones.”
“I would be honored, sir,” said Sam.
The men moved to the fire pit. Rose leaned toward Karsh and took the torch from his hand. “You ought to go to bed.”
“I want to hear the stranger’s tales.”
“They won’t talk much longer. Rand must change places with my husband soon and stand guard for us. And you must sleep so that you can be sentry again in the morning.”
Karsh looked up into her soft, brown eyes. Rose mothered him and all the other children of the tribe, not just Gia and Cricket, her own offspring. She had fed him and looked after him for as long as he could remember. He asked the question that was burning in his heart. “Do you trust Sam?”
She shrugged, staring toward the men. Tansy was pouring the herb tea for all of them, and they were talking earnestly in the firelight.
“I don’t know. My head tells me we don’t dare show him any of our secrets. Not yet. Rand hopes to have him think we have many men watching the valley tonight. But my heart tells me he might be a friend to us.” She smiled at Karsh. “Perhaps we will have a neighbor this winter in the cave up the river.”
Karsh nodded and turned toward the shelter where he would sleep beneath warm fur robes. Snap was at his heels, and Karsh was glad. It would be lonely with none of the other boys here tonight. The dog had healed from his wounds but still limped, and Karsh walked slowly so that Snap could keep up.
He hoped the other children were warm in the tree platforms. The tribe had cached blankets and robes out there for just such a night as this. Weave must be with them. Maybe she was telling them stories to lull them to sleep.
When he reached the shelter, he looked back toward the fire. He hadn’t asked Sam if he knew how to melt metal and mold it. Perhaps there would be a chance in the morning if the elders would allow him to speak to the stranger again. And he could ask about Feather, but he had little hope of learning anything about her from Sam. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to ask.
He looked up at the sky. The moon had not yet risen, and stars shone in the cold blackness overhead. Karsh wondered if Feather had a warm place to sleep tonight. He hoped she wasn’t cold.
He closed his eyes and whispered, “I’ll find you, Feather. I promise.”
He opened his eyes. Nothing had changed. Karsh felt a lump forming in his throat, and tears threatened behind his eyes. How he wished Feather were here to meet the stranger! Instantly he knew that didn’t matter. Feather had met many strangers by now. He just wanted her beside him. He wanted to hear her musical laugh again, to run down the valley with her, to sit by the fire at night next to her.
Snap whined and licked his hand
. Karsh made himself go into the shelter and prepare for bed. He let Snap curl up close to him, in the spot where the widower, Jem, and his son Bente usually slept. The dog was near enough so that Karsh could reach over and stroke his glossy fur.
Maybe Sam would stay here with them and become a part of the tribe, Karsh thought. He hoped so. The Wobans would be stronger with another young man like Sam, and he could read any papers they found for Alomar. If the stranger left them in the morning, Karsh decided, he would know Sam did not trust them either.
Chapter Seven
Feather sat at the edge of the camp huddled in her blanket, staring at the city. It was still cold, as the sun was only an hour above the horizon and staying more to the south than it did in summer.
The ceremony of the Cats had begun in pre-dawn darkness, and just as the sun rose, Tag and fifteen other young men had entered the city. Feather had sat watching ever since. Most of the others went about their business of preparing food, gathering fuel and herbs, or hauling water from the river. Women sat in small groups, chattering as they mended clothing or shelled nuts, but the camp was quieter than usual. A nervous tension hung in the air. The men paced about, restless at their own idleness but not willing to go off hunting until the results of the day’s contest were known.
Besides Tag, two of the other young men were of Mik’s band. Cade was about Tag’s age, perhaps a year older, but Vel was nearing twenty years, Feather guessed. He had been with the Blens only two years and had won Mik’s permission to attempt the test after showing his loyalty to the band.
They were high in the hills now. The city had once dominated the landscape with its splendid solidness, she guessed, but now it was frightening. The ruins were all but covered with thick, lush growth. The foliage was withering in the cold of autumn, but even though most of the leaves had fallen, the walls were partially hidden by the abundant vines. The humps had been buildings, and here and there Feather could see a wall peek through with the figures of fierce warriors carved in the stone blocks.
The savage sneers of the stone figures made her shudder, but she could not stop staring at the fallen city. She had not seen any cats yet, but they were there. The others assured her the giant, orange-and-black speckled panthers were lurking in the ruins. If she watched, she might see one slinking down the moss-grown stone steps, or peering with glowing eyes from a crevice in the once-mighty walls.
Only two days ago, Feather had learned what one must do to attain the status of manhood among the Blens. Before the sun set, each young man must return bearing a tuft of the distinctive, bright orange fur that grew in a clump at the ends of the panthers’ tails.
The thought of Tag performing the task sent terror through Feather’s spirit. She did not fear the cats as much as she feared the possibility that Tag might not return.
The young men could work together, but they must not kill the cats. They were allowed to carry no weapons but knives, to be used only in self defense. The cats were sacred and held back the great sickness, or so the leaders of the Blens claimed. How they knew this was unclear, but it was due to the flourishing of the spotted panthers in the jungle-covered city that the people survived. Feather wondered about that. If it were true, why had they never heard this teaching in her homeland to the north? And why did only the men wear the distinctive necklace?
The punishments for not following the rules of the contest precisely were laid out plainly. Any man who killed one of the sacred cats would become a slave of the Blens forever. And a young man who could not perform the required ritual by sunset would be driven from the tribe, never to share food at the campfires of the Blens again.
“It is better to die trying than not to succeed,” Tag had told her last night, the last time she saw him before the ceremony began.
“I will go with you if you are driven away,” she pleaded. “No, that will not happen to me,” he said, staring into the embers of the cook fire. It was too cold now and too dangerous to go off by themselves to talk in the evening, and this one time Tag seemed not to care if the other boys saw him with her. They had sat together for most of the evening. “Either I come back with the fur, or I do not come back,” he said.
Now, in the morning, she sat shivering. She wrapped her blanket tight around her thin shoulders and watched for movement in the remains of the city. If Tag did not return, how would she make it through the harsh winter with the Blens?
They are boys! she thought. How can their leaders send them off so coolly to their deaths?
Tag, Cade, and Vel had worked together for several days, braiding strong cords of the tough inner bark of trees growing along the river. Their plan was to snare a cat and subdue it together while they gleaned the tufts of fur they needed.
An inhuman roaring tore the air, and all heads swiveled to stare. The sound was followed by a man’s shout, and Feather stood up. A ragged, bleeding man was scrambling over the tumbled stones toward the broken stairway that led down from the city.
It wasn’t Tag; she knew that at once. The man was a stranger to her from another band. He all but fell down the stairs, and as he neared the bottom, Feather caught her breath. Above him, a great, lithe panther leaped to the top of the highest block of stone overlooking their camp and stood watching the retreating man. Its tail switched, and its eyes seemed to sneer at the people.
As the man gained the edge of the camp, where the leaders were swarming to receive him, the cat raised its head and let out another piercing scream that made Feather shake all over.
The young man staggered toward his band gasping for breath. High above his head he held a small bunch of the orange fur.
The Blens rushed toward him, yelling in exultation, but Feather still stood, her eyes riveted on the giant cat. It snarled once more, then turned and hopped down from its perch, disappearing gracefully back into the city.
Throughout the day the young men emerged one and two at a time, some bleeding, their arms and torsos slashed by the claws of the cats. An hour before sunset, ten of them had returned to camp. Two of them had come emptyhanded, and their leaders had screamed at them, shaming them before all the other people.
“Go back!” cried Tomen, the leader of the largest band. “These other men have conquered the cats! Go back and finish your task, or you are not fit to be a man.”
The two unsuccessful boys cringed, and one of them started slowly walking back toward the crumbling stone steps, but the other only shrank from Tomen, curling his arms around his head. Tomen picked up a stick and began to beat the boy with it until he turned and ran, not toward the city, but out toward the plain they had left the day before.
“He will not survive alone,” Kama said, shaking her head as she watched the boy run.
Feather gritted her teeth. “It is so cruel.” Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but she did not try to stop them.
Kama looked at her and raised her eyebrows. “It is the way of the men. Now if women made the rules, it would be different.”
Feather turned away. She ought to help Hana and the others prepare the feast for tonight’s celebration, but she couldn’t. Her throat was dry, and she felt ill. The time was almost up, and none of the boys from Mik’s band had returned.
The sun dipped without mercy toward the hilltops. One more boy came down the steps, exhausted but triumphant. Feather swallowed back her fear as she watched his band receive him. This could not, it must not, be happening.
As the colors of the sunset diffused into rose and purple and gold, Kama came once more to stand beside her.
“Your friend would not give up,” the older woman said.
Feather sobbed and turned toward the sunset.
“He was a brave boy,” Kama whispered.
Just the top slice of sun still showed, and the clouds shimmered with brilliant color. Feather saw Mik standing with Temon. The two leaders whose young men had not all returned were grim faced, watching together as the sun slid away.
A sudden shout went up, and everyone turned t
oward the city once more. Three figures came slowly down the steps, picking their way on the rough path. Two of the young men supported the third between them, half carrying him.
The violent surge of joy that rocked Feather sent her to her knees. Tag and Vel were bringing Cade back, and all of them were alive. She hardly dared look further, but the onset of cheering and dancing told her what the rest of her band now knew. The three boys had completed the test.
As darkness fell, the three of Mik’s band were led to seats of honor near the cook fire. Feather stayed in the shadows, as Mik accepted the clump of fur from each of the three and inserted it in the slit on a new beaded necklace. Three of the older men stepped forward and hung the leather thongs about the boys’ necks, and in that instant they became warriors of the Blens.
Drumming began. Feasting and dancing would last well into the night. Denna, Riah, and the other young women rushed to fetch food and drink for the three being honored.
Feather slipped away and took her blanket to a spot as far from the fires as she dared to go. The drumming and shouting went on for hours. It was not really singing, but a strident yelling of victory. At last Mik’s band found their bedrolls and things quieted down, though some of the other bands still reveled.
“Feather?”
She sat bolt upright. It was Tag’s urgent whisper.
“Here.”
He came toward her and stumbled over a root, landing in a heap beside her.
“I couldn’t find you,” he said. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, are you?”
“Yes. I tripped, is all.”
Feather chuckled. “I didn’t mean that. I meant . . . everything. Today. The cats.”
“It was hard.” Tag settled beside her, and in the moonlight she saw that he carried his pack in his arms. “You really should be closer to the others.”
“It was so noisy.”
He nodded.
“Are you really all right?” she asked.
“I have some scratches. Cade took the worst of it. He got bitten and clawed badly, but they say he’ll recover.”
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