by Alex Paul
Wearing a bull tattoo was a great honor and a sign of courage and skill.
Ord had already decided he would perfect his skills in woodcraft before attempting to kill a toth. He didn’t want to take the risk of walking lame the rest of his life like his father.
Lon set him gently down before Bruton. Then Lon rose to his full height and snarled, which lifted his lip on the damaged right side of his face. The injury exposed his teeth, making him look ferocious. Ord slid to the side, because the menacing power between these two Nanders scared him.
“What Lon want?” Bruton narrowed his eyes and his lips raised in a partial snarl. The males surrounding Bruton sensed his anger and went from being relaxed to sitting up or standing.
“Jen hit Ord head with rock!” Lon pointed at Ord’s head, where blood matted down his fine golden hair despite the cleaning in the pool.
Bruton leaned forward and sniffed the wound on Ord’s head. Ord felt scared, for Bruton had more tattoos on his face and neck than any other male, since he had killed the most large animals.
Bruton’s neck was so thick it was almost as wide as his head. The tattoos swirled up from his neck and into his face and made him look angry even when he was happy. But now he didn’t seem happy at all, and Ord felt himself beginning to shake. He felt as if he were sitting next to a hungry swordtooth as Bruton shifted his bulk, and layers of muscles rippled beneath his tight, hair-covered skin.
“Jen, Arn, and Poz war on Ord with rocks four suns ago. Make war for Mar teach No-fur language to Ord. Lon say Bruton must punish boys. What Bruton say?”
Bruton had been lying on his pile of skins. Now he rose to his full height and inhaled deeply to make his thick chest even broader. Yet Ord thought he seemed unnerved having to look up to meet Lon’s eyes, so Bruton made a face, making some of the bulls laugh.
“Poz hurt four suns back,” Bruton snarled. “Leg hurt. He say accident. Bad day for boys!” Bruton cackled in a high pitch and those supporting him did the same. “Boys play rough sometimes. I not punish Ord for rough play. Why punish boys?”
“This not play. This war. War not allowed. Jen, Poz, Arn attack Ord in meadow. Throw rocks. Ord defend himself with spear. He cry for help. Then he attack Poz to keep back, Poz falls, and spear goes in leg. Ord not mean to war on Poz. Bruton must punish Jen, Poz, and Arn for war on Ord.”
“Ord liar. My son Jen not make war!” Bruton yelled.
Lon stepped close as he spoke, until his face almost touched Bruton’s. “Jen liar, Arn liar, Poz liar. Liar not Nander way.”
“No-fur lover Mar liar, Ord liar. Lon stupid, believe Ord make Lon liar.” Then Bruton whipped out a flint knife from under the neck of his tunic. It hung from a gastag cord around his thick neck. With startling speed, he held it at the front of Lon’s throat while grabbing the hair at the back of Lon’s head.
“Lon die now for Ord lie?”
Ord jumped to his feet as did the other bulls. They encircled both combatants. The friends of Bruton gathered behind him while Lon’s friends edged behind Lon. Ord looked around and noticed the males seemed evenly split. He gasped. He hadn’t expected so many to side with him and his family.
Bulls began talking all at once, some trying to get Bruton to drop his knife while others yelled at Lon to say Ord lied.
Lon pushed with his long legs and straightened his back, but he wasn’t able to lift himself away from the knifepoint. Bruton had him by the head with the sharp blade pressed hard against Lon’s neck, making blood dribble down his golden chest hairs. Lon snarled in his anger and spit ran down the right side of his chin where his lips didn’t meet. Bulls shouted while other Nanders at the back ran to the rack where the long spears hung.
“I claim chelat right to speak,” Mar shouted. The bulls parted from their tight circle around Lon and Bruton and allowed him to draw close. Mar stood by Bruton’s side.
“This Ord my son. This Lon, my daughter mate. And this Bruton, my great chief.” Mar pointed at each one. Grunts of acknowledgment came from all the bulls, no matter which side they supported.
“We say prayer. Ask Tonlot who right.” Mar raised his arms, and on this signal, all the bulls, even Bruton and Lon, shut their eyes and dropped their heads to help Mar beseech their god for guidance.
All except Ord stopped looking. He was at Bruton’s side forgotten by everyone, so he watched his father.
“Tonlot guide our hunt.” Mar spoke in a slow voice, looking around at all the bulls to make sure their eyes were closed.
“Tonlot keep Water Cave safe.” As he spoke, he reached for his own flint blade. It was long, narrow, and sharp. Ord knew, for he had seen his father use it many times.
“Tonlot guide our spears.” After saying this, Mar shifted his weight and reached around to place his blade a few inches in front of Bruton’s throat. Then he quickly raised his left hand until it was above Bruton’s head.
“Tonlot guide my blade.” He grabbed Bruton’s hair and held on tight while placing his blade on Bruton’s throat. Bruton’s eyes snapped open, but he held still when he felt the blade at his neck. “All open eyes. Tonlot has answer,” Mar said.
There was a stirring, and shouts rose from the bulls as they realized Mar had tricked them all, especially Bruton.
Every Nander went quiet, knowing if anyone moved, both Bruton and Lon would die. Ord saw one bull on Bruton’s side begin to finger his knife. He was father of the twins, Arn and Poz, who had attacked Ord with Jen. But two of Lon’s friends pinned the father’s arms to his side.
“No war between Nanders. That is law. Bruton make war put knife on Lon throat. Break law,” Mar shouted. “Now Mar do same to Bruton. Now Bruton bring peace. Punish Jen, Arn, and Poz.”
“Bruton make war on Mar and Lon if Mar not take knife away,” Bruton snarled. He tried to twist away from the knife, but Mar hung on with all his strength, pushing the knife far enough to let Bruton know death was close. Bruton winced and howled in pain.
“Bruton drop knife,” Mar said in a forceful tone. “If Lon die, Bruton die.”
A look of terror crossed Bruton’s face. Ord had never seen Bruton look scared. His eyes darted from friend to friend hoping someone would save him.
“Bruton want die today for Jen lie?” Mar asked.
“Bah.” Bruton dropped his knife after pulling his hands from Lon’s neck. Mar nodded his head toward Lon, who backed away from Bruton after picking up the knife.
“Ord, go to Lon,” Mar snapped. Ord scrambled to Lon’s side in a heartbeat.
The males all moved until they stood behind Bruton or Lon. The females had come when the shouting began, and now they stood behind their men, evenly dividing the tribe.
“Bruton, tell Jen no more war on Ord,” Lon shouted. “Or whole tribe have war now.”
Instead of giving orders to his followers in the tribe, Bruton tilted his neck back so his mouth pointed at the roof of the Water Cave. He roared his defiance. Ord jumped, startled by the pulsating, high-pitched scream. His ears hurt and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. His body felt ready to shake him to death as his calves quivered uncontrollably with terror. Then Bruton snapped his mouth shut, went silent, and took a deep breath.
“Jen, Poz, Arn come before me!” Bruton growled as Mar’s knife pressed close to his neck. The three boys squeezed past the adults and stood before Bruton.
“Make no more war on Ord. Bruton not care Mar teach No-fur language. That law.” Then he looked at Ord. “Ord, no more war on Jen! Bruton say that is law.” He glanced at Jen, who stood to the right with his two friends. “You come. Ord come.”
Ord and Jen stepped forward, but the twins hung back.
“You come,” Bruton hissed, gesturing. Their father pushed both boys, who stumbled forward.
“No war between boys. That not the way,” Bruton said. “Peace for all Nanders in Water Cave. Nanders must fight swordtooth, lin, bur. No good to fight other Nanders.” Bruton looked at all four boys. “No war?”
“No
war,” the four boys chanted. Ord felt angry for receiving a scolding for being the victim of their attack, but if this got them to stop trying to hurt him, he felt glad to do it.
“All go in peace.” Bruton raised his hand in blessing, and then Mar stepped back quickly.
Bruton grunted and dropped back to his skins. He appeared relaxed, but Ord saw that Bruton was shaking.
Lon pulled Ord’s shoulder and drew him back, and then tossed Bruton’s knife onto the sand before his skins. Bruton ignored him, so Lon led his small clan back to their chelat.
“This not end of war,” Mar whispered as they sat around the cooking fire. “Bruton hate Lon and Mar now. Bruton make war on us. We make sure Ween, Eela, Maren all stay close by. Stay in chelat by me all day. Never be alone.”
Lon nodded in agreement.
“Thank you, Father. You save my life,” Lon added, his face twisting into a smile.
“Mar have two sons. Die for two sons.” Mar grabbed Lon’s shoulder, and then turned to Ord. “Ord no fight Jen unless he attack you. War coming soon from Bruton. We make ready.” He sighed at Ord, making Ord feel he had done something wrong, but he didn’t know what it was.
CHAPTER 9
GRANDFATHER’S WARNING
I write as Isle Canar disappears off our stern. I am glad to leave that savage land. I hope the walls of Lanth are high or their fierce animals less abundant than on Isle Canar or we will not live long. The captain allowed me to wander inland with a retinue of twenty strong warriors. I shake as I write, for two lin attacked our column. Half my men died repelling these enormous creatures. Then a pack of darwulf pursued us, huge dogs larger than any kept for pets or hunting in Tolaria. Only three brave men survived to bring me back to the ship. We honor the dead tonight while they serve as food for the predators of that wretched island.
—Diary of Princess Sharmane of Tolaria
The ship’s railing gouged Arken in the back as Gart bent him backward. The sea churned behind his head and a white smoker swam below, jaws wide open and waiting. Arken lost his footing and screamed until warm saltwater filled his mouth. Light sparkled through the blue sea as he drifted down. The smoker’s mouth opened to take him.
Arken coughed and gasped for breath as he woke from his nightmare. He stood quickly, as if rising could erase the dream’s ill omens.
His night tunic hung heavy with cold sweat. He stripped it off and threw it in the corner for Arlet to wash, and then he poured water into the copper dresser bowl and washed with a wet cloth.
He shivered as the sweat and water chilled him. First light glowed through his window shade, signaling the start of another misty morning.
The chill of the water made him remember the dream he’d been having before the one about Gart trying to kill him.
The earlier dream always began with him feeling very cold. He had experienced this dream at least three or four times a year since the age of eight. The dream was always the same: he was a fully-grown man clothed in heavy furs and commanding his own ship. He watched the sun as his crew sailed in a gentle wind.
In his dream, the pale yellow sun stayed low on the horizon and, to his amazement, it neither rose nor set for an entire day. White flakes of snow occasionally drifted from the sky. The dream ended with Arken and his crew wondering how this could be.
Arken stirred into activity with the memory of the dream still fresh in his mind. He found new tots to cover his privates, pulled on his parade tunic, and finished dressing by tying his shoulder-length blond hair back with a gastag strap.
He had never seen snow, only heard of it as an eight-year-old when an explorer visited his father and told them that it snowed in the land far to the north near the top of the world.
Nortak had allowed Arken to stay up late the night the explorer had visited. The man was an old friend and shipmate who had come to relate his story of exploration and his need for money. The explorer related his tale of snow only after hours of drinking and only after Nortak had given assurance he wouldn’t think the man mad. Arken had sat by his grandfather near the fire as they listened to the strange tale.
The next day, after receiving an ample purse from Nortak, the man had left. As soon as he had, Nortak had cautioned Arken and Balloom to never mention the explorer’s tale because, while he trusted the man, the idea of snow seemed like madness, and others would think them crazy if they were to mention it.
After that, the dream of snow began coming to him, along with the vision of the sun staying on the horizon, another oddity the explorer had described. Arken never shared the dream with anyone; after all, as Nortak had cautioned him, he didn’t want anyone to think him mad.
Yet he had thought of a name for the dream. He had been sailing in his dream on the Sea of the Never Setting Sun, and the vision haunted him at odd moments in his life, like this one as he dressed to leave for SeaJourney.
Arken checked his backpack yet again. The Academy allowed each boy a water boda, a backpack, and a duffel bag. The pack contained his essentials like charcoal and barks for writing; soap and cloth; a comb; and, of course, Arlet’s baked sweets wrapped in green leaves.
He removed the knife from his pack. For protection, Father had counseled, after hearing the soothsayer had told Arken to carry a good weapon. Nortak had recovered the black obsidian blade from a Tolarian ship he’d captured when Arken was younger. Balloom examined the blade when his father had given it to him and commented that the stone was not the same as the type he had used for Arken’s arrows. Balloom wondered if it had come from a Nander who had acquired it from Nander tribes far to the west. The Nanders said there were other tribes on the far side of the Great Open by the shores of the Western Sea, but no one from Lanth had ever traveled there.
The blade had a gastag antler handle and a short blade slightly longer than the handle. The blade was very sharp and a single thrust or slice could result in a kill, since the blade could penetrate deeply. Nortak had cautioned that the fragile blade could not endure sustained combat, as repeated blows from a metal weapon could break the blade.
Arken held his father’s gift close to his face and stared into the stone blade, trying to divine why light became lost in the odd blackness. He extended his arm, holding the knife as though defending himself. The carved, brown-and-white handle fit his hand well, its curve matching his palm, the rough bone offering a solid grip. Bone at the handle top protected his hand, while the base was wide as well, making it difficult for an enemy to dislodge from his grip.
A gastag strip of hide ran through a hole in the handle’s end to form a loop for his wrist. If he lost his grip, the knife would not fly away. Arken ran the blade lightly across the top of his left forearm, shaving away his light, blond hairs. With the lightest pressure and movement, the hairs drifted to the floor through a beam of sunshine, leaving his arm smooth where it passed. His bronze service knife could not hold an edge like this!
Arken sheathed the blade and placed it in his pack. Then he changed his mind. Today, I go into the world. Time to start wearing it. Especially after what Grandfather told me last night.
It seemed like a dream he could barely remember, though it had only happened a few hours ago. Arken had come awake with a rough hand over his mouth stopping him from crying out and a powerful arm pinning him to the bed.
“You need to be quiet. Nod your head if you understand.”
Arken nodded as he realized it was Balloom, though why his grandfather was doing this, he had no idea.
“Come with me to the kitchen and make no noise.”
Arken’s heart raced as he followed his grandfather noiselessly through the upstairs hall and then down the stairs. He was surprised to find Arlet sitting at the dining table in the kitchen with three cups of hot bean water before her.
“Sit,” Grandfather Balloom ordered. He twisted his strong, lean hands in silence, as if he could not bring himself to speak.
“What is it, sir?” Arken asked, his heart still not beating normally.
&nbs
p; “We need to tell you something before you leave on SeaJourney. It is a secret, and you must never reveal it to anyone, or tell it to your mother. Only your father knows.”
“Certainly.” Arken blinked his eyes to clear away the fog of sleep. He was still trying to gather his thoughts.
“This is not a casual secret, Arken, so don’t promise lightly. If you ever tell it to anyone and they tell the authorities, you will be put to death.”
A shock of fear ran through Arken. “Why, Grandfather?”
“All these years, we’ve told you that my wife, your grandmother, died in childbirth, and that I bought Arlet as a slave to be your father’s wet nurse before returning to Lanth. I also told you that after Nortak grew to be a man, she stayed on with us here as a kitchen slave.”
“Yes, I’m so glad Arlet stayed. She’s one of my best friends,” Arken said.
Grandfather smiled at Arlet, and Arken noticed she had an odd look on her face.
“She’s more than just a friend to you, Arken. Arlet is your grandmother.”
“She is?” Arken looked at Arlet with new eyes. “How can that be? That means—”
“Arlet’s tribe took me in when I was separated from our forces after a battle. Without the Nanders’ help, I’d have died from my wounds. Arlet nursed me back to health. I spent a year with them, learning their ways and growing to respect and finally love them enough to take Arlet as a mate.” He smiled at her and squeezed her hand.
“I would have spent the rest of my life with them, but when she gave birth to Nortak, and he looked human and not like a Nander, I decided to return home to Lanth while he was still a baby so he could have a normal life.”
“But I thought that children of Nanders and humans were not able to have children. So how could I be born?”