The Ancient Enemy

by Christopher Rowley

  He wandered back out the north gate, strolled along past the royal park, and crossed the big road to pass by the Laughing Fish. Dinner would be served at Kussha's soon. He didn't want to miss that, no matter what.

  And then his blood seemed to congeal in his veins. For a moment only he saw them, the Grys Norvory and Pern Treevi, walking across the front court of the Laughing Fish, and then they disappeared in through a door held open by Lem Frobin. Frobin followed them in, the door swung shut.

  He stood there, irresolute for a moment. The Grys Norvory had many friends, no doubt. He was a powerful mot. But why would Pern Treevi, of all folk, be with him?

  For a moment he wondered if he'd imagined it. Had he really seen them together? Or had it been a trick of the light? It had only been for a second or so, but it was definitely Lem Frobin. He knew the big bullheaded mot from way back. It had to have been them.

  A great fear settled on his heart.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  In the morning, Thru found his morning routine of kyo and meditation more difficult than usual. He couldn't concentrate, and he chided himself. Why should it concern him anyway, who the Grys Norvory went with to the Laughing Fish? The Grys Norvory probably knew a great many people. If he had business with Pern Treevi, so what? It had nothing to do with Thru Gillo and his own problems with Treevi.

  Most likely it was a pure coincidence.

  But it was hard to get really comfortable in his meditation. His kyo movements were stiff and wooden. He stopped and exercised for a while, and meditated again with better success. Then he repeated the kyo and it went much better. When it was finished he was refreshed and looking forward to seeing Nuza at the meeting.

  At the appointed hour he was in the back room of Veso's Tavern, a small establishment on the south side of the bridge, in a neighborhood of workshops and small warehouses. Exactly the sort of area that Thru had imagined he might search for a workspace of his own.

  The room held about forty mots and mors sitting on benches and a few chairs in four rows facing a table with a chair behind it. He hadn't counted, but the audience was half female, he was sure. He looked around at the faces. Mostly these were light grey furred, like himself, suggesting that they came from the region around Dronned. The females did not tie off the fur on the back of their heads with colored bows, which was still a popular style. There was a consistently solemn tone.

  There was no sign of Nuza. He wondered if he'd been had.

  As the clocks struck the hour, a young mot stood up at the front and introduced himself as Heremi, a "traveler" toward truth, as he described it.

  "The Questioners are not a group, not a movement," he said. "Most of you understand that. We merely seek to express the opinions and the doubts that we share. Some may disagree with these opinions, but they may not prevent the expression of them. They may instead express their own. I am in a sense the host of this meeting, but I am not an organizer."

  He paused, looked down at a scrap of paper on the table.

  "And now, we can move on to the first question."

  A hand went up. It was a mor in the front row.

  "My question is simple. Why is it that the limits on polder can never be challenged? Why can't we expand the area of polder? There is wetland that could be easily converted to polder, but it is held out of production."

  Thru nodded. Here was a perennial question, asked in every village, every year.

  Heremi turned to a stout mot at the other end of the front row. Thru was surprised when he recognized him.

  "Master Yadrone, you customarily take such questions. Would you care to do the honors today?"

  The figure of the merchant rose to his feet.

  "I will be happy to answer. The official response is always the same. The balance of the land requires there to be room for all living things. Our area of polder is limited, to keep our populations limited. It is a restraint on our cultural development that we have always accepted.

  "The Assenzi say that the life lived by the folk of the Land is a good life, with a natural balance to it and a quality of vividness that is the best kind of life. And it allows the other lives—those of the wild animals, the forests, and the bees—to keep their place in the world. It is good stewardship. If we allow more than fifteen percent of the Land to be converted to polder, then we will irrevocably alter the Land.

  "Of course, it has been questioned before, many times, and it will be again. Essentially we hold our populations down to the present level. This is regarded as the maximum burden that we can impose on the Land and allow other lives to continue, as they must, for this to be the Land of the Spirit, which has lived in balance for twenty-four thousand years."

  The Questioner got back on her feet, and Yadrone yielded the floor to her.

  "Why can't we alter the Land a little? We leave too much wilderness. There are wolves howling on Huwak Mountain. Many mots are afraid to venture past the Dristen these days."

  Heremi spoke up in response. "The wolves have not attacked the folk of the Land. Wolves are smart enough to know that we will not harm them if they do not harm us. Brown bears were not that smart, nor were the very big cats; they were too dangerous for our youngsters, and the chooks. So they were driven out of the parts of the Land we reserved for polder and field. But the wolves have never killed mot or mor, despite the fairy tales that are told."

  "Wolves have taken chooks."

  "Not often enough to be a real problem. Sometimes we have had to punish packs that took too many chooks. But it has not happened in Dronned in many years."

  "Why can we not reduce the territory we allow for the wolves? It would leave more animals for our own hunters."

  "If we kill the wolves, then the coyotes will increase in number. Maybe rabbits will increase, maybe antelope, maybe neither. As it stands now there is always plenty of game in the season for our hunters."

  "We could harvest more," someone else suggested.

  "In that question lies the root of our difference with the world of ancient Man."

  There, it was out. The word. The name. That which everyone tried to avoid outside the ceremonies of the Spirit.

  "In the ancient world everything was exploited to the maximum possible. That was the world of Man. We have hardly anything left of that world, now. In the equatorial regions there are a few hulks of stone, but that is all. The metals long since rusted away except for a few things of gold that were found long ago.

  "What we know of that world we know from the Assenzi and know in our bones."

  Thru heard the words of the nursery rhyme go round his head: "We know in our bones, we know in our bones, that Man wants to eat us we know in our bones."

  Just then, Nuza took a seat to sit beside him on the bench.

  "Sorry I'm late," she said.

  He was just glad to see her.

  They sat there quietly for an hour or so, as the meeting progressed. The questions asked were often ones that had obviously been asked before, at some other meeting. The folk filled the Land, and did so in peace, but they pressed against the limitations, as any intelligent people would.

  Inequalities in the distribution of wealth, inevitable and almost necessary for economic success, created the circumstances of misery for many. Mots who lost their polder for one reason or another, sometimes through gambling, could be left in penury, surviving as wood scratchers, or poaching on the forest. Such personal disasters were often the roots of crime.

  In time other questions were raised. One even questioned the existence of the Spirit! Thru was horrified, but kept his silence. Heremi handled the responses to questions, though he would confer with others for special advice at times. Heremi was gentle with all questioners, even the one who doubted the Spirit's very existence.

  Afterward, Thru and Nuza walked over the bridge together.

  "How do you feel about what you heard today?" She was looking at him with eyes full of curiosity.

  "Interesting. I realized that my thinking has been most
ly one-sided. I would like to know more."

  "Yes, Thru, we must keep growing, and that means change. If we can't accept the changes in our lives, we become like clams, so walled off. Not much more interesting than clams either."

  They arrived at the window of the House Norvory, which was filled with all the trade goods of the Land. Fine woolens, wine, cheese, waterproofs, shoes, hats, and mats.

  There was a fine "Brilbies at the Gate" and an excellent "Mots at Prayer," but there, still in pride of place was Thru's "Chooks and Beetles."

  It looked good, he had to admit. It looked strong and well executed. The "Mots at Prayer" that was being shown was of a high caliber, but it did not overwhelm his "Chooks."

  He sent up a little prayer of thanks to the chook deities. All of them.

  "I like it," she said. "I do." She gave his hand a squeeze. "The heavy styling of the chooks is interesting, and your beetles are weirdly cheerful. I would love to have it, myself."

  Thru's heart soared.

  "But look there." She pointed to a small tag that hung off one corner of the stand.

  "It says it has sold. Already sold, Thru!"

  "Sold?"

  He stared down at the little scrap of paper that had been tied to the bottom of the mat. "Sold" it read in bright red letters.

  "Sold!" he said in a whisper.

  Then he had the money to stay over for the winter, and invest in a loom. Of course, he'd have trouble finding somewhere to put it!

  "Well," he turned away from the window and looked across the market, the bright stalls and flags, with the Old Bridge behind it. "I can always make another one, if you'd really like one."

  They decided to celebrate with a visit to the beer garden by the Crown Gate Tavern. There they drank tall, chilled mugs of beer and talked for hours about their lives and their hopes. Nuza wanted to know how he came to be scarred, and he told her a little about the fight with the pyluk on Hex Hill. He wanted to know about her life as a traveling performer. As they talked, they felt their strong attraction grow even more.

  "We saw you perform in Lushtan, just a few days before that fight with the pyluk."

  "Then it must be fate," she said with a laugh. "I'm so glad you survived."

  "The Spirit was watching over us that day, I'm convinced."

  They sat so close their thighs were touching. Nuza gave him a very direct look.

  "I learned that when I see something that touches me I should reach out and touch it myself. I feel like that about you, Thru Gillo."

  Their hands met, not for the first time.

  "I was in love once before," Thru said. "Her name was Iallia. She is wed now to my worst enemy."

  Her eyes widened at his words.

  "I'm sorry for the pain that must have caused you, but I'm glad you're still unwed." She grinned.

  His eyes widened at the implications of that.

  "I will set up a loom somewhere. I will weave another 'Chooks and Beetles' for you."

  "I would like that very much." She leaned over and kissed him. He kissed her back, and they looked at each other like children on a dare.

  "In the winter we knit," she said to change the subject.

  "My father carves wood. He makes some great bows. He has the skill, they all say it."

  "Well, so have you, Thru Gillo. That 'Chooks and Beetles' is so good, you deserve to be famous. But"—her face fell—"you still won't get into the Guild."

  "Not this year."

  "But if you can sell art pieces, then you may not need to be in their Guild."

  "As long as the merchant keeps his side of the bargain."

  They left the beer garden and wandered through the streets hand in hand. After a while they found themselves walking through the south gate. Beyond the city here was a narrow plain, and then a tall line of sand dunes that flanked a shingle beach. The water of the bay was sparkling.

  They climbed the dune together, feeling very close, and found a hollow on the top where they lay down together.

  Nuza talked about love, how it came into her life and how she had lost it.

  "I was Toshak's lover for almost a year."

  "Yes, Gem told me."

  "Ah, Gem, don't tell him anything you want kept secret." She stroked Thru's face while he studied her eyes.

  "I think there is something very special about you, Thru Gillo."

  He took her in his arms and kissed her hard. She responded by pulling at the buttons on his shirt.

  His body was lean and hard-muscled, as was hers. She admired it as she stroked the soft fur on his shoulders and back.

  "More scars," she said as she looked at his chest.

  "Same pyluk. We were lucky to survive."

  They made love there, hidden in the dunes.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  He got back to Garth Road at dawn, in time for Kussha's breakfast. He ate quietly, absorbed in his own thoughts, while Noop and Bluit spoke excitedly about the game the night before. The Laughing Fish team had excelled, winning by twenty runs. Thru didn't pay much attention.

  It was as if the world had suddenly changed directions. Nuza was like a giant breath of wind in his sails. She had reawakened his heart and amazed him with the intensity of her lovemaking. He surprised himself with his own almost savage response.

  Still thinking, he set out for the city at the tenth hour. The market was bustling by then, and he made his way through dense crowds on the pavement. At the half hour he presented himself at the door of the House Norvory and requested an audience with the Grys.

  He was expecting to be let in quickly, given the sale of "Chooks and Beetles," but instead he was made to wait on the doorstep for an hour. He began to wonder if the Grys intended to snub him, but eventually a door opened and an unsmiling servant emerged.

  "Come in."

  He followed the servant to a small waiting room behind a window curtained with lace and waited there for several minutes until the Grys entered, radiating a stern displeasure. Gone was the charm he had exhibited at their previous meeting.

  "I consented to see you solely because I believe you should be informed by myself that our business connection has been severed."

  "But why? What has happened?"

  "I am afraid that you completely took me in."

  "I did what?"

  "You deceived me so smoothly, that I believed you were the weaver of that fine 'Chooks and Beetles.'"

  "But, I am the weaver of that 'Chooks and Beetles.'"

  The Grys's face grew thunderous.

  "Enough!" he barked. "You are not. It was woven by Pern Treevi's wife Iallia. I have sold it, I got a good price, and the money is going to Pern Treevi."

  It fell on Thru like a hammerblow.

  "What?" he said, feeling faint for a moment.

  "You heard me."

  "But, you can't do that. I wove that mat! That is my work, not Iallia's."

  "Nonsense. Your work I have seen. It is acceptable, but only for floor mats, not for 'Chooks and Beetles.' My friend Pern Treevi showed me the evidence. He bought it on a stall not a hundred feet from here!"

  "Yes, that is my work, but that is not all my work. I also did the 'Chooks and Beetles.'"

  "Nonsense. You are a jumped-up peasant! I've heard all about you, Thru Gillo!"

  "From Pern Treevi?"

  "My friend Pern told me about your family. A lot of claim grabbers. Jumped-up woods poachers!"

  "You do not know my family, Grys Norvory. You do not know me! Yet you take the word of Pern Treevi, my sworn enemy, and refuse to listen to my own words."

  "You are from an interloping clan that has stolen a seapond in your own village."

  "This is completely unjust."

  "I have heard it all from Pern. Now I must ask you to leave."

  "I have witnesses that the 'Chooks and Beetles' is my own work." Thru felt his heart hammering in his chest.

  "What witnesses? Your family? Your notorious kin with their chiseling ways and conniving, thieving habits? T
here is nothing worse than a theft of a seapond, not for the House Norvory!"

  "Others can be produced who have seen my work."

  "But they cannot testify. You are not in the Dronned Guild, so you can just take your interloping ways and go back to your village and your thievish kith and kin."

  "Grys, those are insulting words. To some they would constitute enough of an insult to draw a challenge. To me they are words of foolishness, of intemperate manners, the product of Pern Treevi's lies about me and my family. I will send you a copy of the legal writ produced for the trial held to adjudicate title to the seapond in question. Then I will demand your apology. If you refuse at that point, then it will be the sword."

  "Get out!" snapped the Grys.

  Thru stalked the streets for hours, angry beyond anything he had ever known. His work, his best work, his "Chooks and Beetles," had been stolen. Tricked out of him by the smooth-talking Grys Norvory, then sold on behalf of Pern Treevi. It was a sickening development.

  After hours of wandering aimlessly, he found himself on top of the dunes just south of the city. Out beyond the bay the sun was setting and the golden light of evening had lit the dunes with a golden glow.

  Life, which had seemed so wonderful at dawn, was suddenly filled with ashes and dust. The "Chooks and Beetles" was gone, and Thru was cut out of the deal, with no legal right to complain.

  Somewhere inside of him there was a much younger Thru Gillo, who was close to tears. The theft was bad enough, but for Pern Treevi to profit in such a way was very hard to take.

  And it was also pretty certain that Thru would be spending the winter back in Warkeen Village. He'd have to pitch in with the family work, and that would cut down on his time for weaving. Even if Merchant Ortenod honored his word and paid him in full for his "Leaf" pattern mats, it wouldn't be enough to set up a loom, rent a work space, and survive through the winter.

  Suddenly he had a solution. He'd put the idea roughly aside before, but now he considered it more carefully. What about letting someone pay him to hit the ball! There were still a few games left in the season. What if he tried to make the Laughing Fish team? He might still make a few gold pieces and thereby be able to hang on in Dronned.