Paul O Williams - [Pelbar Cycle 02]

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

  Then, despite his weariness, he walked long into the night before stopping near a smail stream he could bathe in. He wanted no more of the goatherders. But that night he missed Blomi. It would have been nice to have a child, a small one to educate him.

  15

  Ahroe had a problem. Hagen’s back did not ease. It grew worse until he couldn’t get off his bed. His pain was extreme, even in rolling over. Omar and Wald were restless to return home, but they didn’t dare go without Quen. They would make it through Roti country in a single run. They didn’t want to leave Ahroe and Garet, either, lest the Roti take the child. Quen wanted her to return to Shumai country with him, but his motives were mixed. Hagen, Fitzhugh assured them, was too old to be of interest to the Roti, despite his blue eyes.

  Fitzhugh suggested a solution as they all ate supper in Hagen’s room. It was cramped, but it made company for him. “Quen,” she began, “you must allow Ahroe to continue alone. She knows that Stel is ahead now. Hagen can stay with me until he is well.”

  She smiled over at him. Plainly they were already fond of each other, the two older ones. “I have taken care of people all my life now, and all I have left are Finkelstein and Taglio. I have scarcely anything to do. His hurt will rest out. I have seen it before. But he cannot be moved at all. It may take all summer.” Hagen winced. “But he will be well. Then he can return by himself. I am sure that Ahroe will find him once she has located Stel.”

  “If she ever does,” said Quen.

  “You must not try to stop her, Quen. You see that, don’t you?”

  Quen did not reply. But Hagen said, “How can I let Ahroe go on alone? We have come well over a thousand ayas together. I was there when Garet was born. I have carried the child for days together. He—”

  “What is the purpose of her journey, Hagen?” Fitzhugh asked.

  “To find Stel. I know.”

  “And Stel deserves to be found. Remember that I know Stel. But for my sister, he would be here now with you. Stel is the father.”

  “Hagen is the grandfather,” said Ahroe. “But Fitzhugh is right. I have to go. Garet is not safe here without all of you, and it is right that you three go home.”

  “I see nothing right about it,” Quen growled.

  “I am Stel’s wife, Quen, and I am going to find him.” Quen left the room. “Wald,” said Hagen. “You and Omar will have to see that he doesn’t follow her.”

  They nodded.

  “Then it is settled. Garet and I will leave in the morning. You two and Quen might come a few ayas with me, to see there are no Roti, then return, if you will do that.” “Good. We will.”

  “Hagen, we will return for you. We will—”

  “Don’t worry about me. I will be all right. If it is easier, don’t even come this way. You may be a long time. I really feel that you will find him. I pray that someday I may see you again. I am sorry that I will not be with you. But I have seen enough of you to know that you are tough and strong. And I want you far away from these Roti crazy people. Just come in and see me tonight, please, so I can say good-bye.”

  Ahroe did come in, alone. Hagen was silent a long time. He finally said, “Ahroe, put your arms around me. Be careful, please. Don’t move the bed much.”

  She did, easing herself down next to him, and saying, “A Dahmen doesn’t get to have a father like you, Hagen. I see it is not a matter of blood. It is something else— what the society allows and what the two people feel.”

  “We did have a good time out there on the plains, didn’t we.”

  “Yes. Especially you. It got a little heavy there for a while.” She got up, tugged his beard a couple of times, and stood still holding his hand. Then she went to the door, and the old man covered his face with his hands.

  In the morning they said good-bye again, but quickly and in company. Hagen saw her in his mind’s eye, setting out, with Garet nodding on her back, and the three Shumai, ascending the westward hill.

  Fitzhugh came in. “They are gone,” she said. “Now, would you like to help me twist fibers, or would you like to rest?”

  “I think I maybe will rest, Fitz.” He smiled up sheepishly, unused to helplessness.

  “You can help me later.” She brushed his hair out of his face and left the room.

  Above, the four travelers were standing by the scattered bones of the Roti. Quen whistled softly. “So the innocent Stel has a sting after all,” he said.

  “Come. I want to go on.” Ahroe moved ahead, as the three looked at each other.

  After ten ayas, Ahroe said, “All right. This is far enough. Thank you for coming. I will go on alone now. Come, let me thank you.” She embraced them all warmly, Quen last.

  “It is not right. I will not let you go.”

  Omar and Wald took his arms.

  “May Aven bless you,” Ahroe said. “This is a hard good-bye for me, too.” Turning, she walked rapidly down a hill and disappeared around an outcrop of red rock. The three watched awhile.

  “We will go now, Quen,” Wald said. Quen shook them off. Then he turned with them and trotted back to Ozar.

  Ahroe felt strangely free now she was alone, walking rapidly over the rough terrain, trying to put as much distance between herself and the Roti—as well as Quen—as she could. Hunting as she moved, feeding Garet, bathing and caring for him, enjoying the freedom of her aloneness, she felt a strange exhilaration. The country was so big, and so empty.

  At last, she came down into the same basin Stel had traversed the previous fall. It took most of a day to walk across the floor of the valley. Ahead stood a wall of mountains, north and south, still snowcapped. As she looked at them, she doubted that Stel had simply gone straight up them. The west end of the basin also stretched north and south, with remains of an ancient road going in either direction. The north seemed to climb into the steep mountains. Stel was a river person, she reasoned, and so probably went south, seeking water he could follow through the mountains. In fall, with winter in the heights, he would not have gone north.

  So Ahroe turned southward, away from the steep road to the empty house of Scule and across the divide. But after twenty ayas or so, she was not sure. The mountains continued to her west, and all water still flowed east, toward the faraway Heart River. She was sure Stel meant to go west. Fragments of another ancient road split west and led her up into high country. Eventually she too reached the snowfield of the high mountains, soggy now with spring, but still deep and cold. She too shot the small, whistling rodents with her short bow, making mittens and a hat for Garet from the pelts. She too came to what seemed the rim of the world, v/ith the pure joy of the climb and the height, and, looking far to west through the cool, clear air, saw a ribbon of water. It was obviously flowing west. A long look showed a big, rough country ahead, and Garet was crying. Ahroe sighed, picked him up, and began her long descent.

  She was a week in the mountains, eventually reaching the river, which had cut a deep, narrow gorge through a scrubby plateau. Ahroe followed it, descending for water now and again, to bathe, and to wash the baby.

  Then one day as she reached the rim of the canyon, she was aware suddenly of three young women standing in an arc, with spears, watching her.

  “Greetings, sister,” the tallest called. “You have entered the country of Jahv. Have you come to join us?”

  “Join you? No. I am Ahroe Dahmen of Pelbarigan. My child and I are passing through. I am sorry if I intruded. Most of this is merely empty country. Would you prefer that I withdraw?”

  “No. Come with us. Your child—what is her name?” “Garet. He is a boy.”

  The Jahv started. “A male child, then. We will relieve you of him and put him with the males. You will be free of him.”

  Ahroe stood still. “He is my child. I shall keep him.”

  The tall woman looked at her narrowly. “As you like. Now, come with us. We will take you to Dolla, our Director. No one has passed this way in a long time, and you are the first woman I can remember.”


  Ahroe looked at the spears. The three seemed relaxed, though. “All right. I shall follow.” The three set off at a trot, and Ahroe, with Garet and her backsack, walked after them as fast as she could. The three had to wait occasionally, but they showed no impatience. Eventually the turn of a hill showed a low, rambling building, badly put together of logs and stone. Behind it were other farm buildings, and cultivated fields stretched out beyond. At the far end of them stood a stockade wall. A group of women of all ages lounged around the building, but Ahroe’s appearance brought them forward.

  “We have found a sister,” said the tall one.

  “Well done, Rabe. You are welcome, sister. Have you come to join us? I am Ambi, the Director.”

  “Ahroe Dahmen of Pelbarigan, a Pelbar of the Heart River. My son, Garet. We are passing through the country. No, thank you for the proposal, but I am not going to join you, nor, as your Rabe suggested, give up my son. I am merely passing through and am grateful for your welcome.”

  Ambi drew her breath. “You will keep a male yourself?”

  “Yes. It is widely done—among the Pelbar, who are ruled by women, and with the Shumai, Sentani, the Eastern Cities, the Tantal, Rits, the Far Isles, even the Peshtak, so I am told.”

  A murmur of astonished disapproval followed.

  “What do you do with your males?” Ahroe asked.

  “They go there for raising by the males.” Ambi indicated the far stockade. “This world was unfortunately constituted so that we must endure their presence. And they are useful for heavy work. But we quite naturally preserve what is of value to humanity.”

  “So said Pell in her writings, more or less. But we live in our families, like the other peoples.”

  “Perhaps you will stay with us awhile. You seem an intelligent woman. We may alter your views.”

  “Thank you. I must pass through quickly westward. If it is agreeable, though, I would like a meal in company. Garet and I have been alone since we left the Ozar, and he is not much of a conversationalist yet.”

  It was agreed. The main meal was due shortly. It was eaten in a central hall, with a high table, at which Ambi sat, with Ahroe by her. There were small babies present, all female, and girls of all sizes, totaling, Ahroe quickly estimated, about seventy-five people. The meal was well cooked, a mixture of vegetables and fowl, and there was plenty. Ahroe enjoyed it, but sensed a distaste in the group at the presence of Garet, whom she fed from her plate, planning to nurse him later. She decided not to refer to her pursuit of Stel, and when questioned, she said she was going west to visit the Commuters, whom Fitzhugh had mentioned. There were possibilities of trade. The Jahv didn’t know of any people to their west.

  “Perhaps you will spend the night. Your child may stay in the nursery this once,” said Ambi.

  “Thank you very much, Director. I have never been separate from Garet, though, and I would be uncomfortable without him.” She sketched in her encounter with the Roti and saw a deep sense of shock pass across the listeners.

  “I have a present for you, Director,” said Ahroe. “A small box my husband made for me.” With an inner reluctance, but to prove a point, Ahroe gave the Director the tiny inlaid box Stel had made to hold her hair clasps, which she had carried all the way from Pelbarigan. It was of dark wood, with the fish-and-arrow symbol he was fond of inlaid in three colors of lighter wood. Carved around the sides were the words, “A hold for holders of your hair, when they are working, I hold air.”

  “Your husband?” asked Ambi. “What is that?”

  It was Ahroe’s turn to be shocked. “The man to whom I am married. The father of Garet. Stel Dahmen of Pelbarigan.

  Ambi stared. “A man made this? This fine work? It is finer than anything I have ever seen. And you are— you are what? Married? You have one man? What does that mean?”

  Ahroe felt strong distaste at what she surmised was the system of the Jahv. “You are obviously very isolated here,” she began, and patiently explained the marital systems of the Heart River peoples. When she finished, she sensed astonishment and tension.

  “I don’t know how you stand it,” said Rabe.

  “It must be demeaning company. We prefer ourselves,” said Ambi.

  “I must confess I am wholly puzzled,” said Ahroe. “I have seen good women and bad ones, good men and bad ones. Some people are sensitive and intelligent, others crass and slobbering. Most lie between. I have never seen that gender made much difference, except as a social system bends the attitudes of its adherents. Stel is much quicker with words than I. I am steadier than he. He is good with tools. He plays the flute. I am a guardsman. I handle weapons better than he. I face facts better, too. But Stel and I mesh like the fingers of two hands.”

  As she said this, Ahroe knew she was lying in part, talking of the Stel she had married. She also remembered the bones of the Roti. And she suddenly saw what changes had come in her because of Garet.

  Ambi fingered the small box thoughtfully. “No male here could have done this. Now supper is finished, come with us. Come to the compound. Show us which male is like this Stel.” Those listening grinned. Plainly this was a challenge.

  Ahroe was uneasy, but she went with the group across the fields to the stockade and mounted a wide ladder made of pine logs notched and tied lengthwise to two larger logs leaning against the' wall. About twenty men were inside, bare to the waist, mostly fat, bent over crude tables. Three chess games were in progress, each one clustered with watchers. Three naked boys sat in the dirt near the one sagging hut in the compound. They were building a structure out of twigs.

  The men looked up, and seeing Ahroe, stared.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” said one. “What is this? Look. A new tomato. Hey, that’s nice. Put down the alky, boys.”

  All eyes turned to Ahroe. Howls and whistles shredded the air. A small crowd sauntered over to the fence.

  “Cornin’ in tonight?” one man asked, holding a mug of some drink.

  “Not for him. For me.”

  “What’s the matter, woman? Loosen that collar up.”

  “Loosen everything.”

  “Yeah. Corn is no good until it is shucked.”

  “Hey, Ambi. She’s for me, isn’t she? Right? Come on, now. Oh, oh. I’m sorry, Rabe. Hey, we were just kidding around.”

  Turning, Ahroe saw a long whip in Rabe’s hand. Then she turned to the fat man who had just spoken. “You shouldn’t have moved that bishop,” she said.

  “What?” He glanced back at the game. “Sure, I should’ve. Hey, woman, what do you know?” All the men agreed loudly, elbowing to explain.

  The man’s opponent said, “He’d a better of moved it. It would’ve been a slit throat if he didn’t.” He drew his finger across his neck.

  “I don’t see it. What about the queen?”

  “No, no. Yeah, the queen. But what about four moves down? Look, hey, I’d show you, but he will see.” He jerked a thumb at his opponent.

  A general jeer arose. “Go ahead, we all know anyhow —at least that far,” said one.

  In a rush, they brought the table to the wall, and with contradiction and argument explained to Ahroe, leaning over, the possibilities of the next four moves. They plainly knew their chess, and they had almost wholly forgotten her except as an audience.

  “Where are the rest of you?” she asked.

  “Who? Us? This is all of us. Hey, come on in here, and we’ll show you enough of us.”

  “Why don’t you take care of your teeth?”

  “Teeth?” With slight embarrassment, they all closed their mouths. Then a few grinned widely to show the gaps. “We have a few fights,” said one.

  “Yeah. And they go, you know. The alky helps.”

  “And the stick matches. We lose a few there. Hey, what do you care? Who are you, anyhow?”

  “I am Ahroe Dahmen of Pelbarigan, and this is my son, Garet.” She held up the baby. He sagged sleepily in her hands, frowning and blinking.

  The men stilled and looked nonp
lussed.

  “Your son?” said an older one. “You bringin’ him here for us? Another baby?”

  “No. I am passing through. I am taking him with me.” “Hey, take me with you,” said the fattest one, scratching his belly, then patting it. The others turned on him in silence, though, and he subsided. The men looked at each other awkwardly.

  “I am afraid I have disrupted things,” said Ahroe. “I must go. I am sorry.”

  “No need to go, woman,” a young man grinned.

  “See those boys by the hut?” said Ahroe.

  “Hut? That’s our house. Yeah, what of them?”

  “You ought to wash them. Not only now. Every day.” “Sounds like a woman, all right.”

  “All right, woman. We’ll wash them. Just for you. Then you come and we’ll wash you.”

  Rabe’s whip snaked out and caught the man who said that across the shoulder. He howled and ran. The others retreated. Ahroe turned to her, frowning. “I’m sorry. I think we’d better go,” she said. lrWhich was like your man?”

  “None. These are kept in benightedness.”

  “They have all the opportunities to better themselves they could want. But they do nothing but what you have seen.”

  Ahroe helped Ambi down from the wide ladder. The old woman was still fingering the box. She looked at Ahroe, and as their eyes met, both felt a tension ease, a communication. Ambi walked in silence. As they neared the building, she said to Ahroe, “Come to my room now, please. I would talk with you.”

  When they were together, she said, “What are you thinking?”

  “They are not the men I know well, but they are a little like some men I have seen. These are grossly underdeveloped. Jestana, our Protector, once said that men are boys all their lives, but women are women from the time they are small.”

  The Director nodded.

  “But then the Protector added, ‘I think if we were girls longer, we would see some things that are useful—the play of mind, the free gaming spirit.’ But I don’t know. The more societies I meet, the less I can tell which things are generic, which matters of custom. The Shumai women are drudges once they marry, but they know every star in the sky and play their star games with the men sometimes nearly all night. I am convinced, though, that the interplay of the genders working together provides a richness otherwise absent. I am sorry if I have offended you.”