by Brian Aldiss
So Pannoval bowed to the message of potency and to the new regime. Charfrals were hastily made up especially to be burnt. Those who did not conform fled or were killed.
Those who fled made their way to the open world of Wutra, to the everlasting plains of the north. They went at a time when the snow was in retreat. Grasses grew. The two sentinels kept better watch over the skies, and Wutra himself seemed less savage. They survived.
Year by year, they spread northwards in search of food and a sheltered corner of land. They spread along the Lasvalt River to the east of the great plains. They raided the migratory herds of yelk and gunnadu. And they moved towards the isthmus of Chalce.
At the same time, those ameliorating temperatures were causing a stir among the peoples of the frigid continent of Sibornal. Wave after wave of rugged colonisers moved southwards, down the isthmus of Chalce into Campannlat.
One day, when Freyr ruled alone in the sky, the northernmost tribe from Pannoval met the southernmost part of the exodus from Sibornal. What happened then had happened many times before – and was fated to happen again.
Wutra and Akha would see to that.
Such was the state of the world when Little Yuli left it. Salt traders from the Quzints arrived in Oldorando with news of avalanches and freak happenings. Yuli – now quite ancient – hastened down to see them when they arrived, slipped on some steps, broke his leg. Within a week, the holy man from Borlien was calling, and Laintal Ay was delighting in his carved dog with the moveable jaw.
An epoch was over. The reign of Nahkri and Klils was about to begin.
V
Double Sunset
Nahkri and Klils were in one of the rooms of the herb tower supposedly sorting deer skins. Instead they were looking out of the window and shaking their heads at what they saw.
‘I don’t believe it,’ Nahkri said.
‘I don’t believe it, either,’ Klils said. ‘I just don’t believe it at all.’ He laughed until his brother slapped him on the back.
They watched a tall aged figure running crazily along the banks of the Voral. Nearby towers obscured the figure, then they saw it again, skinny arms and legs flying. It stopped once, scooping up mud to plaster over its head and face, then ran on with its tottering gait.
‘She’s gone mad,’ Nahkri said, smoothing his whiskers pleasurably.
‘Worse than that, if you ask me. Crazy, high in the harneys.’
Behind the running figure went a more sober one, a boy on the verge of manhood. Laintal Ay was following his grandmother to see that no harm came to her. She ran ahead of him, crying aloud. He followed, glum, silent, dutiful.
After shaking their heads, Nahkri and Klils put them together. ‘I can’t see why Loil Bry’s behaving like that,’ Klils said. ‘You remember what Father told us?’
‘No.’
‘He told us that Loil Bry only pretended to love Uncle Yuli. He said she didn’t love him at all.’
‘Ah, I remember. So why’s she keeping up the pretence now that he’s dead? It doesn’t make sense.’
‘She’s got some clever scheme, with all that learning, you see. It’s a trick.’
Nahkri went over to the open trap. Women were working below. He kicked the door shut and turned to face his younger brother.
‘Whatever Loil Bry does, that’s not important. Nobody understands what women do. The important thing is that Uncle Yuli’s dead and now you and I are going to rule Embruddock.’
Klils looked frightened. ‘Loilanun? Laintal Ay – what about him?’
‘He’s still a kid.’
‘Not for long. He’ll be seven, and a full hunter, in two more quarters.’
‘For long enough. It’s our chance. We’re powerful – at least, I am. People will accept us. They don’t want a kid ruling them, and they had a secret contempt for his grandfather, lying about all the while with that madwoman. We must think of something to tell everyone, to promise them. Times are changing.’
‘That’s it, Nahkri. Tell them times are changing.’
‘We need the support of the masters. I’ll go and speak to them now – you’d better keep away, because I happen to know that the council think you’re a trouble-making fool. Then we win round a few leading hunters like Aoz Roon and the others, and everything will work out.’
‘What about Laintal Ay?’
Nahkri hit his brother. ‘Don’t keep saying that. We’ll get rid of him, if he’s any trouble.’
Nahkri summoned a meeting that evening, when the first sentinel had left the sky and Freyr was moving towards a monochromatic dusk. The hunting party was home, most of the trappers were back. He ordered the gates closed.
As the crowd assembled in the square, Nahkri appeared on the base of the big tower. Over his deerskins he had thrown a stammel, a coarse woollen garment of red and yellow, without sleeves, to lend himself dignity. He was of medium height, with thick legs. His face was plain, his ears large. Characteristically, he jutted his lower jaw forward, giving his features an ominous, top-heavy quality.
He addressed the crowd in a serious way, reminding them of the great qualities of the old triumvirate, of Wall Ein, of his father, Dresyl, and of his uncle, Yuli. They had combined bravery and wisdom. Now the tribe was united; bravery and wisdom were common qualities. He would carry on the tradition, but with new emphasis for a new age. He and his brother would rule with the council, and would always give ear to what any man had to say.
He reminded them all that phagor raids were a continual threat, and that the salt traders from the Quzint had spoken of religious wars in Pannoval. Oldorando must stay united and continue to grow in strength. Fresh efforts were needed. Everyone must work harder. The women must work harder.
A woman’s voice interrupted him.
‘Get down off that platform and do some work yourself!’
Nahkri lost his presence of mind. He gaped at the crowd below him, unable to think of a reply.
Loilanun spoke from the crowd. Laintal Ay stood beside her, looking down at the ground. Fear and anger shook her frame.
‘You’ve no right to be up there, you and your drunken brother!’ she called. ‘I am Yuli’s issue, I am his daughter. Here stands my son, Laintal Ay, whom you all know, who will be a man in two quarters. I have as much wisdom and knowledge as a man – gleaned from my parents. Maintain the triumvirate, as you were intended to do by your father, Dresyl, whom all respected. I demand to rule with you – women should have a voice – I love our family. Speak up for me, everyone, see that I get my rights. Then when Laintal Ay is of age, he will rule in my stead. I’ll train him properly.’
Feeling his cheeks burn, Laintal Ay looked about under his lowered brow. Oyre was gazing at him sympathetically and made a sign.
Several women and a few men started to shout, but Nahkri had recovered his poise. He outshouted them.
‘No one is going to be ruled by a woman while I have anything to do with it. Who ever heard of such a thing? Loilanun, you must be as soft in your head as your mother to think of it. We all know you had bad luck with your man being killed, and everyone’s sorry, but what you say is all nonsense.’
The people all turned and looked at Loilanun’s flushed worn face. She returned the gaze unflinchingly and said, ‘Times are changing, Nahkri. Brains are needed as well as brawn. To be honest, a lot of us don’t trust you and your blockhead brother.’
Many murmured in Loilanun’s favour, but one of the hunters, Faralin Ferd, said roughly, ‘She’s not going to rule me – she’s only a woman. I’d rather put up with those two rogues.’
At this there was much good-hearted laughter, and Nahkri carried the day. As the crowd cheered, Loilanun pushed her way through it and went somewhere to weep. Laintal Ay followed her reluctantly. He felt sorry for his mother, he admired her; he also thought in his harneys that it was absurd for a woman to expect to rule over Oldorando. Nobody had ever heard of such a thing, as Uncle Nahkri said.
As he paused on the edge of the crowd,
a woman called Shay Tal came to him and touched his sleeve. She was a young friend of his mother’s, with a fine complexion and a keen, hawklike look. He knew her as strange and sympathetic, for she occasionally visited his grandmother, bringing bread.
‘I’ll come with you to comfort your mother, if you don’t mind,’ Shay Tal said. ‘She embarrassed you, I know – but when people speak from the heart it often embarrasses us. I admire your mother as I admired your wise grandparents.’
‘Yes, she’s brave. But still people laughed.’
Shay Tal looked scrutinisingly at him. ‘Still people laughed, yes. But many of those who laughed admire her nevertheless. They are scared. Most people are always scared. Remember that. We must try to change their minds.’
Laintal Ay went along with her, suddenly elated, smiling into her severe face.
Fortune favoured Nahkri and Klils. That night, a furious wind blew from the south, shrieking continuously among the towers like the Hour-Whistler itself. Next day, the fish trappers reported a glut of fish in the river. The women went down with baskets and scooped up the gleaming bodies. This unexpected plenty was taken as a sign. Much of the fish was salted, but enough was left over to provide a feast that night, a feast at which barley wine was drunk to celebrate the new rule of Nahkri and Klils.
But Klils had no sense and Nahkri no wisdom. Worse, neither had much feeling for their fellow men. In the hunt, they performed no better than average. They often quarrelled with each other over what was to be done. And because they were aware in a shadowy fashion of these defects, they drank too much, and so quarrelled the more.
Yet luck remained with them. The weather continued to improve, deer were sometimes more plentiful, and no diseases struck. Phagor raids ceased, though the monsters were sighted occasionally a few miles away.
Fruitful monotony attended the lives in Oldorando.
The rule of the brothers did not please everyone. It did not please some of the hunters; it did not please some of the women; and it did not please Laintal Ay.
Among the hunters was a party of young bloods who formed a company together, and resisted Nahkri’s attempts to break them up. Of these, the leader was Aoz Roon Den, now in the full flower of manhood. He was large of frame, with a frank expression on his face, and could run on his two legs as fast as a hog on four. His figure was distinctive; he wore the skin of a black bear, and the fur enabled him to be picked out at a distance.
That bear was one he had wrestled with and killed. In pride at the feat, he carried the animal back from the hills unaided, and threw it down before his admiring friends in the tower where they lived. After a rathel party, he had summoned in Master Datnil Skar to skin the animal.
And there had been a touch of distinction in the way Aoz Roon had arrived in this tower. He was descended from an uncle of Wall Ein’s who had been Lord of the Brassimips. The brassimips were an area and a vegetable vital to the local economy; from the brassimips came the feed for the sows that yielded milk for rathel. But Aoz Roon found his family tyrannical, revolted against it early in life, and established his niche in a distant tower, along with bright sparks of his own age, the mirthful Eline Tal, the lecherous Faralin Ferd, the steady Tanth Ein. They drank to the stupidity of Nahkri and his brother. Their drinking parties were widely regarded as distinguished.
In other ways also, Aoz Roon was distinguished. He was a man noted for courage in a society where courage was common coin. During the tribal dances, he could turn a cartwheel in the air without touching the ground. And he believed strongly in the unity of the tribe.
Nor did the presence of his natural daughter, Oyre, stop women admiring him. He had caught the eye of Loilanun’s friend, Shay Tal, and responded warmly to her unique beauty; but he gave his heart to no one. He saw that one day Nahkri and Klils would meet with trouble and fall before it. Since he understood – or thought he did – what was good for the tribe, he wished himself to rule, and could not allow any woman to rule his heart.
To this end, Aoz Roon cultivated his comrades with good fellowship and also paid attention to Laintal Ay, encouraging the boy to come by his side on the chase when he officially reached the years of a hunter.
Out on a deer hunt to the southwest of Oldorando, he and Laintal Ay became separated by flooded ground from the rest of the company. They had to detour through difficult country studded with the great cylinders of rajabarals. There they came on a party of ten traders lying round a grass campfire, torpid after drink. Aoz Roon despatched two of the number as they slept, without any of the others rousing. He and Laintal Ay then rushed from cover holding animal skulls before their faces and screaming. The remaining eight traders surrendered in superstitious fear. This story was told in Oldorando as a great joke for many years.
The eight had traded in weapons, grain, furs, and anything else that came to hand. They came from Borlien, where the people were traditionally regarded as cowards, and travelled from the seas of the south to the Quzints in the north. Most of them were known in Oldorando – and known as cheats and swindlers. Aoz Roon and Laintal Ay brought them back to serve as slaves, and shared their goods among the people. For his personal slave, Aoz Roon kept a young man called Calary, scarcely older than Laintal Ay.
This episode brought Aoz Roon more prestige. He was soon in a position to challenge Nahkri and Klils. Yet he held back, as was his way, and consorted with his fellow bloods.
Unrest was growing among the makers corps. In particular, a young man by the name of Dathka was attempting to break away from the metal-makers corps, refusing to serve his long term as apprentice. He was taken before the brothers. They could get no submission from him. Dathka disappeared from everyone’s ken for two days. One of the women reported that he was lying bound in an infrequently used cell, with bruises on his face.
At this, Aoz Roon went before Nahkri and asked that Dathka might be allowed to join the hunters. He said, ‘Hunting is no easy life. There is still plenty of game, but the grazing grounds have altered with this freak weather the last few years have sent us. We’re hard pressed, as you know. So let Dathka join us if he wishes. Why not? If he’s no good, then we’ll kick him out and think again. He’s about Laintal Ay’s age, and can team up with him.’
The light was dim where Nahkri stood, supervising slaves who were milking the rathel sows. Dust filled the air. The ceiling was low, so that Nahkri stooped slightly. He appeared to cringe before the challenge of Aoz Roon.
‘Dathka should obey the laws,’ said Nahkri, offended by Aoz Roon’s unnecessary reference to Laintal Ay.
‘Permit him to hunt and he’ll obey the laws. We’ll have him earning his keep before those welts you set on his face can heal.’
Nahkri spat. ‘He’s not trained as a hunter. He’s a maker. You have to be trained to these things.’ Nahkri feared that various secrets belonging to the metal makers might be given away; the crafts of the corps were closely guarded and reinforced the rulers’ power to rule.
‘If he won’t work, then let’s subject him to our hard life and see how he survives,’ Aoz Roon argued.
‘He’s a silent, surly fellow.’
‘Silence is an aid on the open plains.’
Finally Nahkri released Dathka. Dathka teamed up with Laintal Ay as Aoz Roon said. He developed into a good hunter, delighting in the chase.
Silent though he was, Dathka was accepted by Laintal Ay as a brother. There was not an inch to choose between them in height, and less than a year in age. Whereas Laintal Ay’s face was broad and humorous, Dathka’s was long, and his glance perpetually cast downward. Their expertise as a team became legendary during the chase.
Because they were so much together, old women said of them that they would one day meet the same fate, as had been predicted in an earlier age of Dresyl and Little Yuli. As then, so now: their fates were to differ greatly. In these young days, they merely seemed alike, and Dathka excelled to such an extent that the vain Nahkri grew proud of him, patronising him, and sometimes making ref
erence to his own farsightedness in releasing the youth from his bondage with the corps. Dathka kept silent and stared at the ground when Nahkri went by, never forgetting who had beaten him. Some men never forgive.
Loil Bry was not the same after the death of her man. Whereas she had formerly clung to her scented chamber, now, old and vulnerable, she chose to wander in the wilderness of green springing up about Oldorando, talking or singing to herself. Many feared for her, but none dared approach, except Laintal Ay and Shay Tal.
One day, she was attacked by a bear driven down from the hills by fresh avalanches. Dragging herself along, wounded, she was set on by wild dogs, who killed and half ate her. When her mangled body was found, women gathered it up and carried it home weeping.
Then was the extravagant Loil Bry buried in traditional fashion. Many women wailed their grief: they had respected the remoteness of this person, born in the time of snows, who had managed to remain in the midst of them and yet live a life completely apart. There was a kind of inspiration in such remoteness: it was as if they could not sustain it for themselves, and so lived it through her.
Everyone recognised the learning of Loil Bry. Nahkri and Klils came to pay their respects to their ancient auntie, though they did not bother to order Father Bondorlonganon over to supervise her burial. They stood about on the edge of the mourning crowd, whispering together. Shay Tal went with Laintal Ay to support Loilanun, who neither wept nor spoke as her mother was lowered into the sodden ground.
As they left the place afterwards, Shay Tal heard Klils snigger and say to his brother, ‘Still, brother, she was only another woman …’
Shay Tal flushed, stumbled, and would have fallen if Laintal Ay had not grasped her round the waist. She went straight to the draughty room where she lived with her aged mother, and stood with her forehead to the wall.
She was of good build, though she had not what was termed a child-bearing figure. Her outward merits lay in her rich black hair, her fine features, and the way she carried herself. That proud carriage attracted some men, but repelled many more. Shay Tal had rejected an advance by her genial kinsman, Eline Tal. That had been long enough ago for her to notice that no other suitors approached – except Aoz Roon. Even with him, she could not subdue her spirit.