Wars of the Aoten Page 14

  Chapter XIV

  As the funeral pyres dwindled, the fires of argument swelled into a hateful blaze.

  Artur sat fuming, alone at the hearth of the community building, except for Wyllem, Osewold and Geoffrey. A small flame flickered in their faces dimly, and offered no greater illumination to their minds, as Artur recounted the events of earlier that day in the forest.

  “But what does it mean, Artur?” asked Osewold. “What could the thylaks’ success against the therium mean?”

  “I cannot tell, nor why Mog directed us to see it. Perhaps a bunch of dumb animals found good fortune, and that’s all. But perhaps it is meant to be a sign to us; normally I would dismiss the word of a bark-eating Melic, or of anyone not Rufoux. But Andreia …”

  “Can we put the sign to a test somehow?” asked Wyllem.

  “How would you go about a test? Herd thylak toward a therium, or bridle the therium and lead it about?” Artur asked, spitting venom like a cobra.

  “Well,” said Wyllem, undaunted. “How about a sacrifice? Perhaps Mog would reveal the future in a vision.”

  “Mog!” muttered Artur. He had about had it with his god. “What did that other Melic pipsqueak say? What was his name?”

  “Poppin? No, Pepin,” said Wyllem.

  “Yes, the dreamer. Did he say anything about the future? Did he dream anything?”

  “No, he said nothing.”

  “See?” Artur exclaimed. “In the end we can make no use of them at all! Dream dreams, but say nothing of the future. They can talk all day long about the past, but nothing of the future. And still, Andreia says to listen. How that girl vexes me!”

  “What of this girl, Artur?” asked Geoffrey. “Why do you continue to bring her name into this?”

  “Days ago, Father, days ago she told me the way to defeat the Aoten lies in a secret. She didn’t know what it would look like, but she said I’d know it when it came. Then today she said, ‘Listen to the secret.’ She couldn’t have known what happened within the forests; she must have been unconscious most of the day. But she told me to listen to the secret.”

  “And what else do you know of her?”

  “She is Andreia, betrothed to Aric.”

  “Ah, yes.” Geoffrey turned deeply thoughtful. “She has been marked; she may be what they call an intuit. Sometimes these things happen, but rarely. When children, or work, or some other such thing does not clutter one’s mind, it can pick up on influences not quite so obvious.”

  “Have you seen this ability before?” asked Wyllem.

  “Once, long ago.’ Geoffrey screwed up his face trying to remember. “Either long ago, or I just have forgotten. I don’t recall much of it now. A barren widow showed extraordinary power to know other people’s business. Some believed Mog had blessed one left alone. Eventually we burned her as a witch.”

  “Certainly you’re not suggesting we burn this girl?” Wyllem was aghast.

  “You’re the one who brought up sacrifice.”

  “Rufoux sacrifice grain! That is our way!” said Artur loudly.

  “Yes, and doves as well, mind you; but not many would confuse either with a girl. Grain and doves shall remain our way. Our traditions bind our lives together,” said Geoffrey.

  “Besides, Andreia …” Artur hesitated and let his voice trail off.

  “Our traditions bind us, Artur,” Geoffrey said, eying his son firmly. “Even as you have said, we fight for our lives and our culture, and they are one.”

  “Yes,” said Artur.

  “What do we do about the secret? What should we do about the Melics?” Osewold felt the need to get back on track.

  “They practically begged us to let them join in the fight,” said Wyllem. “What could we lose if we accept?”

  “I’ll tell you what we can lose,” began Artur. “The Melics have virtually nothing to add to the fight. They live in trees and have nothing to fight for. They have no weapons outside of axes for hewing trees. They don’t even have anything the Aoten want! What do we have to lose? Everything, for they have everything to gain. Attaching themselves to us now, when the Aoten are driven out, the Melics will make claim to what we have afterwards.”

  “You have thought this through,” said Geoffrey.

  “Yes, I have thought this through.”

  “So why do we meet? Is not your decision made already?” asked Wyllem.

  “Because Andreia!”

  “And she’s all?”

  “She’s all. And she is enough.”

  The Rufoux sat silent. Artur smoldered in his defensive insistence on believing a young woman. Geoffrey contemplated his son, wondering in fear at the thin line between wisdom and utter nonsense; while he had no more use for his own life, he had no interest in seeing his clan disappear. Wyllem quietly weighed each argument, and Artur’s anger tipped the scale slightly heavier than his reason. Osewold knew something had to be spoken.

  “What harm could come of talking to them?” he said.

  “I have never heard such an insult!” said Artur. He would have challenged himself to a duel if he could, he was so angry. But he could not shake the words of Andreia from his mind. He thought about picking a fight with Jakke.

  “But we have gotten nowhere alone against the Aoten, have we?” Wyllem pointed out. “Only by tremendous numbers did the thylak take down the therium.”

  “The Melics have appeared out of nowhere! Do none of you find that strange? When have they ever cared what became of Rufoux? When have they ever come to our aid when crops failed, or hippus stampeded? Why do they suddenly care now?”

  “One could ask as well, when did Rufoux ever come to the aid of Melics?” asked Wyllem for no particular reason.

  “Now, it appears, now they claim to come to our aid, but in truth we would be helping them. Never did a deviltooth ask the help of a rumidont; the deviltooth helps himself. But the feeble, they are the ones who always want a handout, like leeches, weaklings sucking the blood from the stronger. The Melics merely seek our protection for themselves; they make no offer to help us.”

  “There must be a reason,” pressed Osewold. “You say yourself they have nothing the Aoten want, and surely they rest safely so high in the treetops.”

  “Yes, puzzling, isn’t it? And yet we can gain nothing against the Aoten ourselves, and Theodoric claims to know how to defeat them, and Andreia says listen to the secret, and even a pack of idiot thylak can learn. The Melics will remain safe in their branches as they have ever been, safe to sit about and talk in circles all day long, but they want to climb down and be killed by giants! Does a wise clan expose itself? Why does the philosopher clan choose certain death? I’ll be damned if I can figure out why!”

  “Yes, you make an important point. Perhaps a simple solution will present itself. Perhaps if we talked to them, we could find out why,” said Osewold.

  “Will you not at least allow us to meet with them?” asked Wyllem.

  “No! Yes! It grates like a burr in my armor to meet with them! I think I might rather turn my pocket out to a Koinoni!” raged Artur. “We might as well say we can’t save ourselves. We might as well ask help from an ant. But I have to allow it, I have to! It tears at my entrails, but I have to!”

  “Then I will go, and now!” said Osewold, and he made as if to stand, not wanting the opportunity to somehow slip away before he could.

  “No! Sit down, Osewold — Wyllem and I alone are enough,” said Artur. “No use contaminating anyone else from breathing Melic exhaust.”

  “We may find that they do have something to offer, Artur,” said Wyllem. “You may see. Their thoughts do not act like our thoughts.”

  “What does Arielle think?” asked Artur.

  “Do you want me to find out?” said Wyllem, puzzled that Artur would mention his wife. “I must go fetch her.”

  “You needn’t go far. She’s directly outside the door,” said Osewold.

  The four men turned their faces to the door and Artur called, “Arielle, come
in here.” After a moment’s delay, Arielle appeared sheepishly in the doorway.

  “What do you say?” demanded Artur.

  “The Rufoux rule all we see,” she declared, and hung her hand from the bow looped over her shoulder. “We have no need of Melic help.”

  “Sorry, Arielle, I must agree with Wyllem this time,” said Artur more quietly. “What I mean to say is, what do you think of Andreia?”

  Arielle’s countenance fell and she shifted her feet uncomfortably. “I know of Andreia. She is no quilt-maker. She tells me what my head says sometimes, when I don’t know how to say it. And she will never retreat from what she believes.”

  “Thank you. You may go,” said Artur.

  Arielle stood awkwardly, deciding to leave and then to stay two or three times without settling on which. Wyllem gently signaled her away, and she made a face at him before turning to go.

  “That settles it. This will be your test, Wyllem, we will meet with the Melics and test Andreia’s insight. Perhaps they have a different secret. We will go, but only Wyllem and me.”

  “I will go,” said Geoffrey.

  “Look, if you think you’re going to get up into a tree and throw yourself out headfirst and kill yourself, you can forget it. We will be staying on the ground.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I will survive this meeting.”

  “Why do you wish to go, then?”

  “I know the Melics,” said Geoffrey simply, and he studied his hand, with four fingers and no thumb. “I have lived.”

  Artur considered his father for a moment, then agreed. “Very well, then, we will be three. Be prepared go out into the wooded lands at the break of morning. I’m sure we’ll have no trouble finding them; they seem always to be overhead and underfoot. And with any luck one of us will be able to decipher what they’re talking about.”