Paul O Williams - [Pelbar Cycle 02]

by The Ends of the Circle (v0. 9) (epub)

  “Ahhh, ahhh. I will try. I thought I pushed the last fifty times.”

  “You did. You did well. This is your first, and it is sometimes not so easy.”

  A voice came in the door. “Is everything all right in there? What is it?”

  “Go away, Hagen. You are as bad as a father. We will call you. Keep the water boiling.”

  “Ahhhhhhhh. Oh, Aven, let this stop.”

  “What are you doing to her?”

  “Shut up out there. Haven’t we enough to contend with? How many babies have you had? Now, Ahroe, push again. All right. Now we are doing fine.”

  Not long after, Hagen, stirring the fire, with six hands, as the Shumai put it, heard the cries. For the first time in a long while, he prayed, not for the child, but for Ahroe. It had been a long birth, after a long walk west. For the child he cared little as yet, but Ahroe he had come to love.

  They had spent the winter at Black Bull Island. Getting there was not as easy as he had hoped, chiefly because of a new storm, with bitter cold. They had had to sleep nestled together In snow caves, and Hagen had teased her a good deal about it. One night, with his arms around her from behind, both cold and shivering, he had told, her about Venn, his wife, and how they would sleep (hat way. “But of course,” he added, “I didn’t leave my hands there,” shifting them slightly.

  Ahroe had stiffened beneath her coat, and he with his heavy mittens on had laughed. A great white owl hooted outside the snow cave when Hagen’s laugh rang out, and, glancing out, Hagen saw it, ghostly in the dark, gliding off toward a farther tree. Ahroe had stiffened even more at that, and Hagen had laughed again.

  Then she had said, “Don’t laugh so loud in my ear,” and he had taken that to mean that she trusted him, accepted him as family, knew he meant nothing but a joke, and in a rush he had seen her humanity fully, her youth, toughness, and vulnerability. They had gone to sleep then, quickly, and after that he had trouble seeing her as anything but his daughter.

  With spring they had walked westward, Ahroe growing heavier. They went slowly so Hagen could be sure she was steadily well fed, and as summer progressed they walked more slowly yet, finally arriving at Ayase, in the southwest part of Shumai territory. Hagen had one cousin there, Ral, a man who had been northwest to Emeri territory, had been enslaved, and had been freed by lestak’s expedition.

  His face lighted up at the sight of another Pelbar. “That Jestak,” he told her, “knew what he was doing. And he did it well. Now, you stay with us and we will take care of you. Bara will help you have the child. And I have learned to milk cattle from the Emeri, so you will have plenty of milk.”

  He had embraced her odorously and warmly, and they had moved into his hexagonal log structure. Ahroe had worked as hard as her condition had allowed, doing what the Shumai thought of as “woman’s work,” though she had also done some blacksmithing for them, light work, since the Shumai were at best poor metalworkers still.

  “Well, are you going to squat out there all afternoon dreaming?” Bara was smiling, jerking Hagen out of his reverie. “Come in now. Now where is that water? You can stay only a pigeon’s flight. She still has to be washed some. And so does he.”

  “He?”

  “He.”

  “Ah, well, with someone like Ahroe, one always hopes for a copy.”

  Hagen dusted himself off and entered the dim house, blinking away the dazzle. Ahroe lay nested in cattle-skin robes like a child with a doll next to her. She smiled weakly.

  Hagen’s old hunter’s hands smoothed back her hair, which didn’t need it. “Well,” he said.

  “See him? I have called him Garet.”

  “Garet?”

  “Stel’s grandfather. Look there. It is StePs chin.”

  Hagen looked, but it looked just like any other baby to him, slightly purplish pink and grotesque, with wispy hair, engaged in its own contemplations, eyes shut like tight mouths, lips working. “Well, Garet,” he said, “you . . . you are a real baby, all right.”

  Garet sniffed and wriggled, then settled back to his deep concentrations.

  “Being born is a lot of work, eh, Garet?”

  “Work! What did he do? I have done it all—with Bara’s help. What do you know about it?”

  “Well now,” said Hagen, with mock severity, “I’ve had my own babies before you were even born.”

  “Venn did.”

  “Well, yes, but. . .”

  “Anyway, give me a kiss, Hagen, and then I think I will have to rest some.”

  Hagen did, then stepped outside, where Bara was stirring cloths in the hot water. They looked at each other. Hagen shrugged and said, “I think I will go up the hill.” “Bring back some wood when you come.”

  Hagen turned. “Bring some wood? Bring some wood!” “Yes, bring some wood.”

  “All right,” he said, starting off without looking back. “I will bring some wood.” Bara watched the old man walk stiffly away and laughed to herself, shaking her head.

  Back inside, Ahroe, looking at Garet, did indeed see Stel’s chin, as well as his forehead and cheekbones. For a few moments she resented this. What had he done to deserve that recognition? Right now he seemed so far away their life together drifted like a dream, an alien passage, and yet so was this hexagonal house so far away from all she had been accustomed to. Why had she come this far? If Stel was still alive, where in this vastness was he? Maybe his bones had been bleaching somewhere back on the prairie since he had died in the winter cold. She would return to Pelbarigan with the child. No, she would not. It was possible to live out here. She would continue westward, but not now, not with Garet so small. They would live here for the winter and then go on, again slowly.

  Hagen wouldn’t mind the slow pace. He seemed the most free person she had ever met, completely footloose, but she knew he would stick with her as long as she wanted it. He seemed to accept this. It was as if it were a boy’s adventure in a world of boys. She had never really seen the verve of boys among the Pelbar, where they were disciplined early, and gentled. Among the Shumai they were rogues. They needed discipline. Well, she would see that Garet got it, even though she knew little of such things. As much as possible, Pelbar children were cared for by men. The thought of having to tend Garet, wash him, cleanse his clothes, irked Ahroe a little. But the Shumai women did it as a matter of course.

  Where did she fit into all this? Of course a guardsman’s life was often endlessly routine, with endless watches, though the rigor of the training and intensity of the skill gave it a piquancy she enjoyed. But now she would have to put guard training behind her. She was a mother with a very tiny child and only Shumai women to turn to. She would have to be a mother, impatient as this made her.

  Winter on the plains went slowly and monotonously. Ahroe helped Bara do all the work Shumai women were accustomed to, and found it intolerable drudgery. There seemed always something to scour, soak, cook, mend, arrange, warm, serve, or fetch. Her hands were always dirty or greasy. If she only knew how the Pelbar made soap. Stel would know. Occasionally Pelbar soap made its way this far west in trade, but they had guarded the secret of its manufacture during hostile times because they had to have things to trade that the outside tribes would need.

  The Emeri made a soap from some weed. But Bara, who was not used to it, scoured with sand and rushes. She had lived with grime all her life, and with cold and deprivation, and she seldom noticed them.

  Garet also took time. Ahroe had to learn child care, too, largely from Bara, adding refinements of her own for his comfort and cleanliness. She nursed him in the house, and the Shumai came and went without noticing, as was their way, though she always reddened a little with embarrassment, especially when Quen, who was her age, a cousin of Bara’s, arrived. He was tall and lank, freckled, a hunter, unmarried. He was also soft-spoken and gentle, but Ahroe sensed soon that he had developed an active interest in her.

  But he traveled a great deal on winter hunts, and so his appearances, though too frequent fo
r her comfort, because of his attentive eyes, blue and searching, would be followed by days or even longer periods of family quiet.

  Hagen went with Quen on shorter hunts, but the old man’s stiffness seemed to grow on him. He seemed repeatedly startled by his own age, as if it had ambushed him, been defeated, but lay in wait again outside the firelight after a long run or a cold hunt.

  As Garet grew and fattened, Hagen became more interested in him, delighting in making the baby laugh toothlessly and fling his body into repeated stretchings. Hagen did this generally by imitating all the birds and animals he could call. Occasionally, as when he did a wild black bull, Garet’s face jerked into surprise, then wrinkled into a wail. Bara would say, “If you’re going to do that one, do it from the top of the hill.”

  Hagen would rock the child back into contentment, taking his time, and clearly enjoying it. As the nights warmed, he made Ahroe a back frame for Garet. They would set out again, he assumed, before the grass stems headed.

  In the first flush of spring, when the great crane flocks swept slowly overhead, and the geese, and smaller birds, returned to the plains, Quen seemed to settle into Ral’s camp, helping him with his small herd of milk cattle, and being close to Ahroe as much as he could. Everyone noticed it. Bara called him aside one afternoon, as she stirred a large pot of fragrant stew, in which large meat chunks seethed and rolled.

  “She’s married, you know.”

  “Who?”

  “Ahroe the Pelbar.”

  “So?”

  “So you ought to be at Maden’s or with your Uncle Ekhel. There you will find Shumai women good for you. Ahroe is a person of honor. She—”

  “Where is her husband, this Stel? Is he alive?”

  “No one knows.”

  “What good is he? How will he help her? She has a child. How is he a father?”

  “She has Hagen for help right now.”

  “An old man?”

  “Nonetheless, your anxieties will do you no good. Why not let them fade and dry, like rain in the sand? You will only make a mess.”

  Quen stood silent for a while. “I can only try. It wouldn’t be a settled thing for me if I didn’t.”

  Bara lifted her large wooden ladle and let stew slop back into the pot. “Can you see her doing this the rest of her life? I cannot. She combs herself like a mantis. She scrubs, wipes, and fusses endlessly.”

  Quen grinned, as if lighting his freckles like candles. “Yes, she is clean, isn’t she.”

  Bara laughed. “One more thing. Remember, she was trained as a Pelbar guardsman. She is no wilting flower. She will take your proposals amiss.”

  “I mean nothing but to ask, cousin. But I must do that.” Yet he didn’t—for quite a while. And when he did, it was meekly and quietly. Still, Ahroe whirled and glared. “I am married,” she said flatly, turning back to the wild sheepskin she was softening for the baby.

  Quen said nothing for a time. Then he said, “I have thought about that. What kind of marriage is it? Didn’t he leave you? Don’t you have a child? I will honor the child as my son. I will care—”

  Ahroe stood and faced him. “Get out. Leave me alone.” Quen’s eyes narrowed. “I believe I have just as much right here as you. I am of the family. You are not. I have made an honorable proposal, and I think a good one. I am thought—”

  “Stop.” Ahroe put her hand to her short-sword, and on an impulse flicked it out.

  Quen looked at her in amazement. “I’m sorry you did that,” he said. “You can refuse me if you want, but I have offered you no hostility, and I’m afraid I will not tolerate anyone’s drawing a weapon on me like that.”

  “Then what will you do? It is here. I have had to defend myself before with it, and will do my best again.” “Defend yourself?” Quen made a move toward her, with almost dreamlike slowness. She backed, feinted, and as he came on, with his hand out, slashed to nick his forearm. But it wasn’t there. He had her wrist, and moving in a blur, threw her down. She spun her leg to trip him, but his leg was rooted like a tree.

  “Now,” he said slowly, “drop that before I break your arm.” She didn’t let go. Quen moved as if to twist her arm back, but suddenly jammed her face into the floor. She seemed to see a flash, raised her head with blood streaming from her nose, and saw him, through tears, standing in front of her with her short-sword. Without hesitation, she rushed at him, feinting, reaching for an armlock. But he spun the weapon away, caught her, swung her, jabbed his elbow in her eye, and dropped her on the floor. She rolled away, stood again, panting, dazed with pain, facing him.

  Quen stood still. “Now, sit down,” he said. Ahroe stood her ground. “Sit down or I will knock you down.” Ahroe continued to stand, her eye already puffing closed. “All right,” said Quen, lunging toward her. She stepped back, turned, and tripped him. Quen spun, saying quietly, “Very nice,” as he kicked her feet from under her. Ahroe fell hard, and almost as she hit, Quen was sitting on her back.

  “Now,” he said. “I can see that my proposal has been rejected. That hurts, of course. It hurts me more to hurt you. But I will not have anyone, even a woman, hold a weapon on me and simply walk away. If you play a man’s game, you’ll have to play it by men’s rules.”

  Ahroe’s eye hurt fiercely. With her one free hand she felt her nose to see if it had been broken. She said nothing.

  "I’m sorry, Ahroe, that you reacted as you did. I’m sorry to have been that repulsive to you. You may keep your precious coward, this Stel, and welcome to him. Hagen told me about that wretch, Assek. I am not an Assek and decline to be regarded as one. I did not start a fight, but I have never yet shrunk from one. Now don’t you agree that it was a fair fight? After all, you did start it with that long knife.”

  “Get off me, you fish-gutted rat snake.”

  Quen took her wrist and twisted it. “What did you say?”

  “Get off me.”

  “Now, in polite company, what was the rest?”

  “Please, Quen, you are going to break it.”

  Quen stood up. In the dim light, he watched her roll slowly over on her back. “Well, Ahroe, when you start a fight with somebody who hasn’t offered one, have a good reason. And let there be a reasonable chance you can win it. I myself don’t stand in front of black bulls.”

  Ahroe felt her eye. “Look what you have done to me,” she said, but when she could clear her good eye, she saw she was alone. She dragged herself to her feet, and, groping, found her short-sword on the other side of the house, then sheathed it. Ahroe ached. Her eye felt as if it were dragging the whole side of her face down.

  Bara appeared in the doorway, saying, “What is wrong with Quen? He is leaving without even staying for . . .” She came over to Ahroe and held up her face, scrutinizing it. “Did he force you? Did he—•”

  Ahroe shook her head.

  “I didn’t think he would.”

  “He wanted to marry me. He wouldn’t stop asking.” “And you. Did you attack him?”

  “I took out my short-sword and told him to stop.”

  Bara whistled softly. “Oh. Well, sit down, and I will get some water and clean you up.”

  When Bara returned, Ahroe had scarcely moved. Bara did her best to clean and ease her, but the whole side of her face had swollen.

  “Pell was right. Men uncontrolled are not fit to live with.”

  “Just be calm. Lie down. I will bring Garet to you when he awakens.”

  “You don’t agree. Look what he did.”

  “But you said that you took out your sword.”

  “He didn’t have to prove his big male superiority. He just had to leave.”

  “You really asked him to prove himself, didn’t you?”

  “L only wanted to be let alone. I am married. It is indecent to propose that I marry again. Besides, I—I love my husband.”

  “Do you? Is he alive? I don’t mean to trouble you, Ahroe, but I think you should listen. You see we live a wild life. Fighting helps us survive. You have
seen Quen come in from hunting. That is a kind of fighting—for the sake of others. He can’t just stop being that way, like pouring water on a fire. He has trained for it since he was a small boy. He—”

  “But I didn’t—”

  “You took out your sword, Ahroe. That is a threat. Quen’s whole life involves handling threats with his physical skill. Do you hold up a house with twigs? No. You use logs, and the strongest your horses can pull.”

  “Look what he did to me, and you—”

  “Accept your responsibility. Ahroe, don’t be angry with me, but I am glad this happened. No, no, don’t get up. I wish he had been easier. Hagen told us what happened with Assek. You handled him well. But I am glad now that you see that doesn’t always work. Because the sapling has resisted the badger, will it stand up when a bull leans on it? Look. Men tend generally to be stronger than us. You may not like it, but that is the way it is. If you know the rock is hot from the fire, don’t pick it up. Get a tongs. And in this case the tongs is being a little diplomatic.”

  “He was just proving he was a male, and so, superior.” “If you’d have been a man, he’d have been harder on you. Look. What did your family do to your husband? Did he run away of his own accord? Wasn’t it because he didn’t accept his place as a man? Isn’t this the same in a way? Besides, you are wrong about most men. Look. I know you met Assek, but for every Assek there are a thousand others. Even here, when Ral says to me, ‘Do this,’ or ‘Do that,’ and expects me to, he wants me to be happy. If I am not happy, he is not, and he knows it right ;iway. Most men are that way. Quen is angry because you have a baby and no father here for him. He—”

  “It is none of his business. How would I—”

  “He has fallen for you, Ahroe. Or did. Does the sun tell the opening leaves to shut because light is none of their business?”

  “It is not the same.”