“Our two bands should be combined into one instead of remaining separate,” Meru declared. “I should lead that band. Hannu, I demand that you acknowledge me as your patriarch!”
Hannu lowered his eyes, stared at the ground, trembled. Sweat trickled down his brow. From the dejected cast of his shoulders Aya knew for certain her father was about to give in to the barbarian.
The dead silence that had followed Meru’s words was suddenly an uproar – Hannu’s people incensed that Meru was trying to push their patriarch aside, Meru’s staunchly defending the attempt. Hannu’s cousins moved in front of the women, close to him, as if to shield him from Meru’s people. Aya wondered if they’d continue to stand firm once Meru made his threats to their crops and animals. It was certain that no one in either band had ever witnessed anything like this before – two patriarchs vying for supremacy. Everyone was treading uncertain ground. No one seemed to know what to do.
Except Aya. Time to act. “No!” she cried, stepping from the midst of the women.
Everyone was startled into silence.
Hannu looked up at her, shocked.
Meru glared at her, angry. “You have no right to interfere in a discussion between patriarchs!” he exclaimed.
Aya moved to the space between Meru and Hannu and the people, removed the talisman from her neck, held it high over her head with one hand, turned slowly in a full circle so all could see. “This is all the right I need to speak! I’m the falcon god’s chosen one, the god of my people!”
Aya saw heads nodding.
“Let her speak!” rang out from more than one person.
Meru addressed Aya, though reluctantly. “Your father is inexperienced and weak and unfit to lead a band,” he argued. “Everyone can see that. His own cousins dispute his pronouncements. And you’ve just proved it true, speaking in his stead. A patriarch must be strong, like me.”
“Rule your own band, Meru. Father will rule ours. There’s no need to combine our bands.”
“That’s unacceptable,” Meru said dismissively. He addressed Hannu’s people. “If Hannu does not acknowledge me as patriarch, I will not let any of my children join with you.”
Another loud outcry. As the message sank in, Aya glanced to her right. She saw tears streaming down Hemetre’s face. Ahaneith’s cheeks were wet too. If you knew of Menna’s treachery and his plans for you, you’d be crying for a different reason, Aya thought, gazing at her daughter dispassionately. She directed her attention back to Meru. “Cousins will join with cousins in my band, then,” Aya told him evenly.
Meru colored. Things weren’t going as he’d planned. He’d obviously expected Hannu to capitulate after his threat. He hadn’t anticipated Aya’s unexpected intrusion on Hannu’s behalf. Meru was clearly off–balance. His voice rose, angry. He addressed Hannu’s people again. “Is that what any of you want? To join with your cousins? Or do you want the partners from my band you’ve come to care for these past months?”
The looks passing between a majority told Meru and Aya their answer.
“Do not be so quick to reject my demand,” Meru said triumphantly.
“Why not?” Aya asked calmly. “Will you slay our animals? Burn our emmer and barley? Set a scorpion on Father, like you did Kakhent and your own father?”
Even in the flickering torchlight Aya could see that Meru had gone pale.
Everyone stood in stunned silence.
Time to attack. Aya stepped forward so that she was only inches away from Meru. “I overheard every word you uttered in the marsh last night!” she cried. “You and Khay and Menna and Qen – plotting against my people to force yourself on us as patriarch!”
Aya turned her back on Meru. She saw with satisfaction that her daughter and sister were regarding Menna and Khay with horror. The boys seemed not the least bit bothered. Aya assumed they believed Meru would still carry the day, that they were still prepared to destroy her people’s grain if he did not. They had clearly underestimated her.
“Our animals are now scattered across the savannah,” Iuput interjected, coming to stand at Aya’s side, addressing Meru. “It’ll take you weeks to find them all, much less kill them. And Aya and I have secreted enough grain up in the hills that we’ll be able to plant our fields after the coming inundation as usual. Your threats are useless. You cannot harm us, Meru.”
“So you say, stripling,” Meru snarled at Iuput. “Let’s see if your people agree.” He pushed past Iuput and Aya, addressed the boys in Hannu’s band who’d been pursuing Qen’s sisters. “I will allow you to join with the girls from my band. Simply acknowledge me as your patriarch and they are yours.”
“You too, Takhat,” Khay urged. “Come with me.”
“I will not!” she cried, then retreated among her people.
“But you will, won’t you Ahaneith?” Menna pleaded.
From the look in her eyes, Aya could tell her daughter would.
Meru turned and addressed Aya. “You as well. You have young children and an unborn child to think of, after all.” He faced the crowd again, eyed all the couples. “Declare yourselves! Now!” he barked.
“My sister and nieces are no longer yours to give, Brother.”
Everyone in the crowd turned. Qen stood a few paces behind them, alone, supporting himself with his staff. Aya saw no blood on his loincloth. With relief, she took that as a sign he hadn’t slain her band’s animals. But would he still play his part in the plan? There was a nagging doubt deep inside making her mistrust him. She’d know for sure in a moment. She could see that Meru was baffled by Qen’s sudden appearance when he was supposed to be with the herds.
Qen hobbled forward, working his staff. The crowd split to let him pass and came together again behind him. He halted before the patriarchs, nodded at Iuput and Aya who had moved to their right. “My sister and nieces are mine to dispose of as I see fit, not yours.”
“I’m your patriarch!” Meru practically screamed.
“I’m still the head of my family, despite what you’ve taken from me,” Qen reminded him.
Aya knew he was referring to the patriarchy, and she could see that Meru knew it too. She also saw that Meru had just realized Qen’s motivation for apparently going along with his plan last night and now backing out – Qen had been answering Meru’s treachery with treachery of his own. Thankfully, it was benefiting her.
“My sister and my nieces and nephews will tonight become part of Hannu’s band,” Qen intoned. “The joinings of my nieces Hemetre and Khensa and Khenut that you were counting on to add three more hunters to your band, Meru – they are your loss. And you lose my three nephews as well.”
Meru stepped forward, loomed over Qen, stood nearly chest to chest, his brow knit angrily, face red. “You’d betray your family?” he shouted.
Qen did not back away. “I’m taking care of my family,” he replied coolly.
Meru was practically apoplectic. “You’re betraying me! You made promises last night!”
“You’ve brought this on yourself, Patriarch. But it doesn’t have to be this way,” Qen said calmly.
“You have no right to chastise my father!” Khay said menacingly, moving from the midst of the crowd directly towards Qen, a hand on the hilt of his knife.
Qen spun around, faced him. “You forget that I head a family,” he snapped, suddenly leveling his staff at Khay, stopping his nephew in his tracks. “Our tradition allows me to express my opinion.” He glanced over his shoulder at Meru. “Or have you done away with that too?”
“Express it, then,” Meru said sharply. “And be quick about it.”
Qen addressed what should have been his people. “Our lives have always depended on following herds of wild animals from river to savannah and back, gathering wild grasses and fruits and tubers as we go, in rhythm with the inundation in the valley. From the tales told around our campfires, this is how our people have lived since the beginning of time.”
Meru was impatient. “Get to the point.”
&
nbsp; “Hannu’s people hunt wild game, as we do,” Qen continued. “But in addition, they have domesticated their animals. They rarely slaughter them for meat. Instead, they get milk and blood from them, a never–ending source of sustenance. They need never fear that the wild game will disappear, or that their hunters will be unsuccessful.”
“You’re a fine one to talk about hunting,” Menna said scathingly.
Qen ignored him. “We’re at the mercy of the plants we find. What we eat, and what quantity, depends on where we wander, on what the inundation leaves behind. But Hannu’s people plant emmer and barley in a specific spot, better grains than we find growing naturally anywhere in the river valley. They have more than twenty storage bins in their camp – you’ve all seen them – and each bin holds eight hundred pounds of grain! If the inundation fails for a year, or two, or three, they will still eat.”
Aya saw the looks passing between Meru’s people. This was new information to them.
Qen’s words spilled out in a rush. “What’s more, we men must hunt, and you women must gather, from sunup to sundown. Hannu’s people do not. They harvest more from a small area than we do harvesting widely. They don’t have to move their camp constantly. And because they have a surplus, not everyone must hunt and gather. Some can specialize, at least part of each year.” He turned and addressed Meru. “Surely you’ve noticed the baskets Aya makes, her pottery, her linen? All exquisitely beautiful.”
“Not really,” Meru said. “Who cares, anyway?”
Aya was surprised that Qen had singled her out in particular, and complimented her so extravagantly. She was appalled that Meru had no appreciation for what she created with such care. What Qen had told her in the past was true – in Meru’s mind, a woman was suited only for gleaning and gathering and raising babies.
Qen reached into a leather pouch dangling from his waist and removed an object. He held it up in the moonlight. By its shape Aya saw it was an arrowhead, the style her band made – v–shaped, with elegantly curved tangs.
Qen handed it to Meru. “Iuput taught me to make this arrowhead in the way his band does.”
Aya remembered the day he had. She remembered Khay and Menna mocking Qen. She recalled standing by while they did so, and saying nothing. She remembered Qen defending her from his nephews’ comments afterwards. She felt a bit guilty now, for her silence.
Meru turned the arrowhead over and over in his hand, tested the sharp chipped edges with his thumb. “Unnecessarily beautiful,” he said, tossing it aside onto the dirt.
“Yes, Patriarch. Exactly. Unnecessarily beautiful. In fact, I usually make three arrowheads in the time it took me to make this one.”
“You wasted your time.”
Qen unconsciously leaned forward, his voice earnest. “That’s my very point, Meru – because of how Hannu’s band lives – by herding and planting – they have time to spend on beauty. It doesn’t cost them anything. It’s not a waste. They don’t need to devote every minute of their day to simply staying alive. And if we adopt their lifestyle, neither will we. Surely you’ve seen how much easier life is here, in the months we’ve spent at the lake.” Qen’s voice took on a note of pleading. “I implore you, Meru. Give up this quest to forcibly take over Hannu’s band. Be content with the one you have. Let us live side by side with his people instead. Hannu will honor Kakhent’s promise to give us grain, and animals to start our own herds.”
Hannu nodded.
“Agree to this, Meru,” Qen urged. “Then we can exchange our women and girls in peace, as you and Kakhent planned. We can live here. Both our bands can prosper.”
“Are you finished?” Meru asked, glowering.
“I am.”
“Give up this foolishness, Qen,” Meru snapped. “Support me. I’ll make it worth your while.” His eyes narrowed. “Once I’m patriarch of both bands you can have any of Hannu’s girls you want.” His gaze lingered on Aya, cold, hard. “Except for Aya. She’s mine.”
“Tempting, Brother,” Qen said. “But since you won’t be reasonable, you leave me no choice. I’m going to resolve the mess you’ve created.”
Aya felt a shiver go through her body. Qen was going to do what he’d promised. He was going to submit to Hannu as his patriarch. He was going to defeat Meru and save her people.
Qen turned to Aya, leaned on his staff, awkwardly sank to his good knee, his mangled leg splayed to the side. “Aya, from this day forward I acknowledge you as the head of my family.”
The only sound was palm fronds clacking in the light breeze. Everyone in the crowd had been shocked into silence.
Aya was stunned. Had she heard right? Qen wasn’t executing the plan she and Iuput and he had agreed on. What did he mean – he acknowledged her? How would that stop Meru? What Qen had done wouldn’t make her father’s hold on power any stronger.
“I’m patriarch here!” Hannu spluttered. “Bend your knee to me, Qen!”
Qen struggled to his feet. “You’re in charge of your band only because you sold Aya to Kakhent when she was a child,” he said dismissively. “But a patriarch? You’re no patriarch.”
“Why, you…” Hannu raised his crook to strike Qen.
In one motion, Qen let go of his staff and seized Hannu’s crook and yanked it from his hand. Then he snapped it in half over his knee, tossed the pieces aside.
Hannu stared impotently at Qen, speechless, humiliated, minimized.
Qen turned towards Hannu’s band. “My people are hunters and gatherers. My father was my band’s patriarch. We relied on him for everything. He decided where we went on the eastern savannah, where we set up camp, how long we stayed, when we moved on, what wild game we pursued, when we went to the river valley to harvest wild grasses, when we returned to the sea.” His voice took on urgency. “But you who live at Ta–she are farmers and herders. None of the things my father did as patriarch are relevant to the way you live, for you don’t move around. You’ve lived in the same camp on the same ridge for a decade and a half. Just like my people, you too rely on your leader for everything. But his responsibilities are quite different. He decides where you plant your seed, when you plant it, when you harvest it, how much you set aside to plant the following year, how much you feed to your animals in the dry months, how much you dole from your storage bins to each family every day, where to graze your herds, when to blood your animals, when to slay them, when and how to breed them.”
Aya saw many heads nodding.
“Kakhent never did any of those things,” Qen charged. “Neither has Hannu. And you, Paser, don’t know how to. Nor do you, Siese, or Wetka or Bebi or Pimay or Hunefer.” His gaze lingered on each in turn. “Since the day your band arrived at Ta–she, Aya has wielded the responsibilities of a patriarch. On top of that, she’s your healer, and guides your women, and is the chosen of the falcon god. Aya’s been your leader all along, even when she was just a young girl. You’ve all been too blind to see it. And so you’ve never acknowledged it. It’s time you finally did – just as I have.”
Sound suddenly exploded like a wave from half the crowd. All of Aya’s people seemed to be shouting over each other at the same time, trying to make themselves heard. Heads were bent close together. Numerous women and men were gesturing wildly. Meru’s people watched, murmuring to each other, confused, unsure what this meant for them. Aya was rooted to where she was standing, her heart pounding, astounded by what Qen had just proposed. It went beyond anything she’d ever dreamed. A woman, leading a band? Unheard of. Except, he’d been right. She had been leading her people all these years. It was right and just for them to formally accept her now. She remembered telling Qen last night that she wished he could find someone better in her band to pledge fealty to than Hannu. He had.
Hannu, furious, desperately trying to hold on to power, held up both hands, quieted the crowd somewhat. “Do you really expect that the heads of my band’s families will switch their fealty from me to Aya?” he snarled at Qen, incensed.
“Do you real
ly expect that any of Kakhent’s sons will support you anymore, when they have the chance to pay you back for cheating them of their birthright?” Qen rejoined. “This is their chance to be rid of you.” He turned, sought Paser in the crowd, addressed him. “It’s up to you, Paser. Acknowledge Aya as I have and Meru is defeated. Stand by Hannu, and Meru will win. Try to take the patriarchy yourself, and Meru will win. Your band will be destroyed.”
Paser looked at each of his brothers, uncertainly. They stared back, equally uncertain. The decision was his. With a sigh, he moved forward, fell to his knees in front of Aya. “I will support you. And my brothers will as well.”
Aya extended her hand, raised Paser up, smiled.
Qen moved beside Aya, gave her his staff to replace Hannu’s crook, the one he’d snapped in two, hobbled a few paces away.
She grasped it with her right hand.
Iuput snatched the ostrich feathers from Hannu’s brow, pressed it on his sister’s.
“You can’t be serious, Qen!” Meru cried. “You cannot switch loyalty – and especially not to a woman! You are bound to me by blood!”
“But I just did,” Qen answered calmly, meeting Meru’s stare. “I recall you suggesting the very same thing to Aya’s people just moments ago.” He tensed, spat in the dirt at Meru’s feet, suddenly angry. “You speak of being bound by blood? You stole what was mine and murdered your own father to get it! You broke the blood tie that once existed between us.”
Meru stared at him for a moment, then merely shrugged.
“It seems now that your band is too small to survive on its own,” Aya told Meru. She was in charge of her band now, bedecked with the symbols of leadership. She intended to make her new–found authority count. Her voice rose. “So I make your people the same offer you made mine – you’re all welcome to stay here at the lake. Join with my band or live separately – it makes no difference to me. Recognize whichever patriarch you wish.”
Meru drew himself up to his full height, glared at Aya, bitter, angry. “My people will never bow down before you!”
“Have it your way,” Aya said. She gazed at the huts atop the ridge, illuminated by the moonlight. The ridge had been her home for so many years. Now, because she’d defeated Meru, it always would be. Thank you, she whispered to every god and goddess who watched over her people. Especially you, she whispered to the falcon god, touching with her fingertips the talisman dangling around her neck. Aya caught Qen’s eyes, and nodded. He’d delivered on his promises, and more. He’d saved her band. He’d elevated her. She owed him a huge debt of gratitude.
Daughter of the Falcon God Page 30