West Of The Sun

by Edgar Pangborn

  3

  Abara trotted between Sears and Paul in the forest aisle, a silentugly man with popeyes, bulging underlip, jutting ears; thirty inchestall. He was twenty-six. His potbellied softness had the beginning sagof middle age. There was politics, Paul guessed, in his presence atthe camp--it was not because the queen had tired of him that he wastemporarily detached from the harem. His body was agile for all itspokiness, his mind even more nimble; his English, when he stooped touse it, was good. After the noon meal Abara had appeared, crossing thedrawbridge like a wisp of red smoke, ignoring the giants, remindingSears obliquely that it was three days since he had visited theclearing near the camp, where the white olifants had learned to come.

  Sears' love for the great leaf eaters had deepened with familiarity.He had easily persuaded the others to guarantee their permanentprotection in the laws. He had taught the pygmies to call themolifants, a shrewd stroke, conveying to the Neolithic mind that theanimals were of Sears' totem. Even during the long ordeal of the rainshe had gone alone for whole days and nights, following olifant trails,sitting in patience where a broad-leaf tree they enjoyed was abundant.Deep forest was no place for a man who moved slowly and shrank fromdiscomfort and danger, yet Sears held to this undertaking asstubbornly as Wright to his dreams of a community of good will under agovernment of laws. And before all except Paul and Wright, Sears wasable to preserve a manner like the face of Lake Argo on a stillmorning. That calm gave him, in the eyes of the pygmies, more puzzlingdivinity than they found in the others. Abara worshiped from behind amask of cynical blankness. Pakriaa seemed almost to love him openly.She was not arrogant with him; when he spoke she listened. Sheassigned soldiers to collect the insects, fish, small animals hewanted for study; she brought him gifts--an earthenware vessel withritual painting, odd flowers, ornaments of wood and bone and clay. Sheliked to sit by him when he was at the microscope and peek, mystified,into the country of the lens.

  Sears had let the olifants grow used to him. He talked to them. Helearned they like to be rubbed above the tip of the trunk and on thevast flat tops of their heads--for this luxury they would kneel,rumbling and sighing. Eventually he dared climb into the naturalsaddle between hump and skull: they allowed it. They were neverexcited nor in a hurry. The kaksmas they probably avoided by keenscent and flight in times of danger; they kept clear of the omasha bygoing into open ground only at night.

  The clearing was silent except for muted trilling of illuama. Theground was trodden; purple-leaf vines hung dead and brown, ripped outby trunks and tusks. Sears said that once, with no notion of conveyingthe idea, he had tugged peevishly at a vine under the nose of hisfavorite cow. "So, she came and fetched it loose--tired of watching meact like a damn fool."

  Abara said, "I will whistle, me...." Two came, spectrally calm."Susie!" Sears called. "Been a good girl, hey?" The old cow let downher many tons to have her head scratched. Another arrived onfog-silent feet; then two bulls together, munching leaves. The fivewere placid, enjoying the hot stillness and Sears' purring talk. Thelargest bull stood ten feet at the shoulder, Paul estimated, asAbara's two-feet-six approached him, seized a lowered ear, and climbedup. Abara piped: "We walk now, Mister Johnson."

  Mister Johnson's pale eyes noted Paul's bulging jacket; the bonelessfinger of his trunk groped suggestively till Paul produced amelon-like fruit. "Hoo-hee!" Abara crowed. "We thank you." Theyvanished in the shadows.

  "Susie, want to dig some vines?" But Sears halted in the act ofclimbing her neck. Spearman had joined them, with a good hunter'squiet.

  "You really have something there." Spearman was cordial and flushed."Pygmies still make the best wine. Ours is no damn good, yet."

  "Meant to ask how the last turned out."

  "Needs ripening, like everything else."

  "In fact," said Paul, "you're slightly plastered."

  "But slightly." Ed grinned. "How if I climb on one of those?"

  Sears was doubtful. "Have to get acquainted first. Mister Smith overthere--he shook me off the first time. Not rough--just wasn't ready."

  "They pull vines at command? You can steer 'em?"

  "Sure. If they like you. Knee pressure."

  "Abara's good?"

  "They prefer him to me. Arek is better still. I miss her."

  "Mijok rides, doesn't he?"

  "Mijok and Elis. Surok's a bit skittish. I guess Pak thinks it'sundignified--or else the damned witches disapprove."

  "Hm.... We have, maybe, three days before Lantis hits us--"

  "Lantis--I'd succeeded in forgetting her for three minutes." Searsdrooped his head against the column of Mister Smith's foreleg; eyesclosed, he cursed without humor. He dredged up almost forgotten wordsfrom the old years of Earth, from bars, docks, dissecting rooms, atleast four major religions. He cursed Lantis root and branch, ancestryand posterity, heart, body, and brain. Regaining a trace of mirth, heoutlined a program of correction that would have kept hell underforced draft for a thousand years. Still with closed eyes, he asked,"What's the point, Ed? What's the damned point?"

  "How many of these critters have you tamed?"

  "Five. There's another smelling around, not ready yet."

  "And five riders--you ride 'em, don't you, Paul?" Paul nodded.

  Abara and Mister Johnson returned in silence, under the trees behindSpearman, who was unaware of them. Sears said, "Paul's good. Goodbalance."

  "So you have a rider for each mount.... Well, I talked it over withDoc--he says it's your department. What if a bunch of those animals,with armed riders--"

  "No," said Sears. "Quite impractical."

  "Why?"

  "Well.... They won't go in the open--omasha."

  "They will at night, you told me."

  "They are not fighters."

  "If they go where you order 'em--"

  Sears said, "No. If Paul and I and the two strongest giants weretrying that, what's left? You, Doc, Surok, and the giant women."

  Spearman snapped: "Then use only three--Abara, Mijok, Elis."

  "Mijok will fight beside Chris. You know that. So will I."

  Spearman turned away, noticing Abara and Mister Johnson for the firsttime and ignoring them. Popeyes watched him from a mountain of whiteflesh. "All right. Oh, I almost forgot: Doc wants you back at the campfor another conference. It has just occurred to him that since we'reabout to be wiped off the planet we ought to have a militarycommander. For the look of the thing, you reckon? You know, I dreamedof space travel from the time I was five. Never imagined I'd do itwith a Sunday school. Don't hurry of course. Just come when it damnwell suits you."

  Paul caught up with him on the trail. "Look, Ed--"

  "I'll recite it for you: mustn't lose my temper. We mustn't divide;mustn't quarrel; Doc's word is holy at all times--"

  "No one says that."

  Spearman wasn't listening. "Goddamn it, why do you think I've goneaway alone so often? To explore, sure, to find things we need. By GodI've found 'em too, haven't I? Also to get away from the Sundayschool. Beating my brains out to win a little advance--you peoplecan't see--"

  "What do _you_ think we should do? I mean right now--Lantis."

  Spearman fretted in silence, striding as if speed and heavy stepscould ease his distress. "Why, we ought to have gone to live atPakriaa's village a year ago, after the reconciliation, while theywere still dizzy from the fall of the idol. You remember--Pak wasalmost humble. Ready for big changes. We could have done anything withher--then. Eliminated the witches. Taught and trained the best of herfollowers. We'd have ironworking now. We'd have a competent army. Why,we could take the initiative, drive south, break up anything Lantismay have while she's on the march. Yeah--a year ago. Sure--Mijokwouldn't approach the village, so _we_ mustn't move there. Every dayis an opportunity thrown away, wasted."

  "You think we should have abandoned the giants?"

  "What've they _got_?" Spearman cried. "Don't even understandwork--throw things around at a great rate, and then somebody sees anew bug or has a funny idea or
starts singing. Or asks Doc to explaina point in philosophy. Or they decide to just sit and look at nothingfor two hours. Fight? Mijok talks a good fight. You couldn't make 'emfight with a kick in the rear."

  "Never tried it."

  Spearman smiled miserably. "One doesn't, with a critter eight feettall.... All right, they're people. They're intelligent. If we had allthe time in the world and nothing threatening I'd like to study 'emmyself. But look at the numbers. Three on the island. Six grown womenhere. Twelve flutterbrained children. Elis, Surok, Mijok, and the twotenderfeet they brought in today. Is that an army? As for rightnow--Hell, I've given up making suggestions." He tensed and stoppedshort. Paul glanced behind; Sears and Abara were catching up. "ThoughtI heard something."

  "What?"

  "Drums.... Guess I imagined it.... Lantis must have a terrificorganization. Bound to, Paul, in a community of sixty thousand. Hadn'tyou thought of that at all? Communications, laws, disciplined army, aforest agriculture at least as good as Pakriaa's. Why, from somethingPak said, I think they even have a monetary system--anyway somethingmore elaborate than the barter that's good enough for Pak's littlecluster of villages. Stone Age--but that's partly an accident ofecology, isn't it? I mean, they have to avoid the hills and openground--wouldn't be easy to get a start in metalworking when you haveto stay in the woods. I believe they're a people under strong internalpressure toward the next stage of civilization. With labor,organization, a few modern ideas, there would be ways to clean thekaksmas out of the hills. Then metals. We know the omasha breed onrock ledges wherever the kaksmas can't climb. They could beexterminated too. There's a whole world for the taking. Doc is rightthat the new culture has to be a blend of ours and theirs. Oh, thegiants too, maybe, sometime. But it won't be done by piddling aroundwith the kind of pretty idealism that never worked even on Earth."

  Paul groped for the unspoken thing. "You'd have us join forces withLantis?"

  Spearman halted to stare at him. There was a flush of blood around hiseyes, the visible pain of frustration that never gave him rest. Hewaited till Sears and Abara had come up. "I'm a minority. I haven'tsuggested a damned thing." He was silent until they reached the camp.

  Abro Pakriaa was there, with seven of her soldiers. All seven worepurple skirts, insignia of leadership--"captains" was the nearestword. With makeshift pigments and brittle whitebark, Paul had recentlypainted such a group. The effort was for Pakriaa; she had been gravelydelighted with it, seeing how prominent in it were her own vivid blueskirt and taller stature. To Paul's eyes the colors had swornhorribly, and he had been glad when the princess carried the daubaway, balanced joyfully on her bald head.

  Pak's seven captains made it a visit of state. Wright was soberlyintent, and Ann stood by him, regally silent; play-acting forPakriaa's benefit, but Ann sardonically enjoyed the pose. Pakriaa hadgradually accepted the fact of Tocwright's leadership, but her view ofthe status of Charin women remained addled by contradictions; the ideaof social and mental equality between the sexes eluded her completely.Dorothy sat watchful at the opening of the "home" room--Helen would besleeping inside; Dorothy's fists were pushed into her cheeks, darkeyes upturned to Pakriaa's explanatory monologue. Abara effacedhimself. Mijok loomed with folded arms on Wright's other side. Therest of the giants kept to the background.

  "Abro Samiraa, Abro Kamisiaa, Abro Brodaa--" Pakriaa was naming theheads of the five northern villages. A loose alliance, but thosevillages had fought powerfully against Lantis a year ago and eachcould provide a hundred and fifty first-line soldiers and fifty of theskittish male bowmen. "They are with me, my sisters," Pakriaa said,with sad gravity and not much of her natural swagger. "The wormseedLantis has broken custom--her own people must spit on her. For thedeath of my messenger I spit on her heart and loins, I spit on herfootprints."

  The arithmetic was simple, Paul thought. A scant twelve hundredfighters against a three-sided attack from over ten thousand. FourCharin men with rifles, automatics, scanty ammunition, heavy bows. Ahandful of giants who knew nothing of war but theory and whose basicnature would revolt at the reality. Spitting wouldn't help. He forcedhimself to attend to what Wright was saying: "There must be onecommander."

  "I give no orders to Abro Samiraa and her sisters, my equals."

  "Would you and she and the others accept direction from one of us?"

  Pakriaa murmured, "I have never seen you fight."

  Spearman laughed. Wright said, "You will, Abro Pakriaa. If you willaccept one of us as commander, the army can strike as one soldier.There would be less confusion. And Lantis will not expect it."

  That brought shrewdness to the little red face. "But you can donothing hiding behind this pile of stones."

  "A temporary shelter while we shoot. You know our fire sticks. Thisbuilding commands the upper part of the lake and this end of themeadow. We will not be trapped here. There will be no siege. If it isnecessary to retreat, we'll know the right moment to do it."

  The oldest captain, Nisana, a wiry, quiet woman, said, "Abro Kamisiaaherself spoke of a thing like this."

  Pakriaa murmured absently, "Did I give you leave to speak?" But shewas not angry; she was considering it. "This is better, Tocwright,what you say now. I will send, learn if my sisters agree. But who willbe the leader?"

  "That should be decided now," Wright said, and Paul thought: _Here itcomes, Ed--you get what you want at last._ And he remembered thatobscure thing which might not have been in Spearman's mind at all:_desertion_--the thing was a dirty word, and the mind would not speakit. But Wright was staring at him--at him, not at Spearman. "There'sonly one of us," Wright said, "who ought to lead, in this trouble.That is _my_ feeling, Abro Pakriaa, but I alone cannot decide it. Allof us here should vote on it."

  Pakriaa understood the nature of a vote. Under her iron monarchy,minor village matters were often decided by that method if her ownattitude happened to be neutral. Once made, and approved by herself, apygmy vote was binding as magic. Her gaze touched the giants with asour smile. She was visibly counting; then she was studying Paul withnew curiosity.

  Of the giants, only the two new recruits were not in evidence. Paulglimpsed the red-furred boy peering from the doorway of Mijok'sprivate room; Surok went in to soothe him. Pakriaa said, "I willconsent. After the vote I will inform my sisters as quickly as I can."

  Wright's fingers were frozen in his gray beard. "Then I ask that PaulMason take command, his orders to be followed without question."

  Paul could not speak. _How did this happen? How can I...._ He heardAnn, imitating the formality of Wright's words, but with an undertoneof passionate protest: "I ask for the leadership of Edmund Spearman."

  Spearman frowned at her, flushed, proud, perhaps amazed. He saiddoubtfully, "Other nominations...? Voice vote?"

  "Voice vote, as you wish," Wright said.

  "M-make it voice vote," Dorothy whispered, and her face was begging:_Is it too much? Can you stand it? Is it what I ought to do..._?

  "Satisfactory," Spearman said. Paul nodded helplessly.

  Dorothy said, "Paul Mason."

  Wright glanced at Pakriaa. When Spearman was nominated she hadabandoned her patronizing air; she said with enthusiasm, "Spearman."

  Mijok's voice rumbled in the depths: "Paul Mason."

  The voting went quickly after that. Abara slipped into shadow andshook his head before Wright could call his name. Sears voted for Paulwith a wry attempt at a grin. Surok hesitated; his tawny face smiledat Paul with apology and he said, "Spearman." Golden Lisson voted thesame way. The other giant women and Elis voted for Paul. The childrenwere quiet, not needing to be told that this was grown-up business.When one of the smallest boys started to hum, little Dunin squattedbehind him and covered his mouth.

  All the pygmy captains but one had followed Pakriaa's lead, after apantomime of meditation, probably for the record. Now, with a vote of10-10, this one captain was full of trouble. She understood that shewould be the last to vote and must break the tie. This was Nisana,taciturn, with the white
scar of a wound that had destroyed her lowerleft breast and run jaggedly down her side; Paul had seen her oftenbut knew little of her. She was studying the candidates with amanifestly honest, tormenting effort to decide, and she avoidedPakriaa's astounded glare. The green eyes fixed themselves at last onone candidate with a blinding innocence.

  "Paul Mason."

  Pakriaa started as if slapped, but recovered quickly. She said,"Tocwright, is Abara not to vote?"

  Abara shuffled a step backward, two steps forward. It brought himnearer the bulk of Sears Oliphant. His bulging eyes tried to escapeWright's look, and Pakriaa's; his ugly lips wobbled. He squeaked:"Paul Mason."

  "Twelve-ten," Wright said. "Abro Pakriaa, I am grateful--"

  Pakriaa ignored him. She was saying with acid sweetness, "AbroshinNisana, perhaps you wish to remain here?"

  It seemed to Paul that a mechanical force within him was taking over,unsought, at a moment of greatest need. "That would be excellent, AbroPakriaa. If I am commander, I need one of you here: I am glad toselect Abroshin Nisana."

  The princess faced him. Her eyelids flickered--usually a sign of pygmyamusement more revealing than laughter, but one never knew, exactly.The machine labored, weighing dangers and advantages. A direct ordernow might win over Pakriaa or lose her completely and all the twelvehundred. She understood and admired aggressiveness; she was also abundle of touchy personal pride. And--the slim spear in her hand couldstrike like a cobra. Paul said, "Abro Pakriaa, you will tell the otherleaders our decision, and if they agree, have them come here atonce." There was a gray-white shadow at his left. The balance,swinging delicately, was visible in Pakriaa's almost sleepy eyes. Hethought: _One thing quicker than a pygmy's arm--a giant's_. At leasthe would not be pierced with white-stone, while Mijok stood there.

  Pakriaa's arm swung--the harmless right arm, a harmless beckoninggesture to six of her captains, who followed her out of the fortress,leaving Abroshin Nisana staring at the ground and very much alone.

  Spearman came alive. He spoke plainly, cheerfully: "Paul, count on mefor anything. Do whatever I can." His voice had full sincerity. If hiseyes were a little too steady, too candid--never mind it. It was apleasure to take his hand, thank him, turn to immediate needs.

  "Two lifeboat trips right away, Ed, in what's left of daylight. Ann,Samis, and the four smallest giant children on the first. All thecarpentry and garden tools. Third trip in the morning." Wright'ssudden relaxation was praise....

  Ann left, with no more protest than a backward look. But at the lastmoment she ran back to kiss Wright on the mouth....

  And when Ed was returning from the second flight, which had carriedDunin and four other giant children to the island--when it was nightand the red eye of the lifeboat was slipping down from above thehills, then the drums began.