Wars of the Aoten Read online

  Chapter XV

  Three men trudged through the forests, heavily armed even for Rufoux. All wore extra armor, except Geoffrey, who had none. Artur was sullen and didn’t care who knew. They walked about not cautiously, but keenly aware of their unfamiliar surroundings, expecting something unexpected.

  It came when five vines fell straight out of a tree some twelve kronyn in front of them; in a flash three men and two women had slid down to stand before them.

  “You see,” said one, “our feet do fit the ground.”

  Theodoric and Pepin, Carolingia and two others took their places side-by-side, unafraid but prepared to quickly retreat. They all wore the light armor of the Melics, and the back of each bore an axe with a long, curved blade. Each belt held an oddly shaped item that Artur did not recognize. Each Melic had the scraggly gray hair and ashen appearance of the clan, except the woman at the end — her flesh shone with health, to the point of being ruddy. Though she looked perhaps a twentieth the age of Theodoric, she really numbered about half his years. Pocks and scars horribly marked the unknown man’s face, and several welts could be seen on his skin even from a distance.

  “I must apologize,” continued Theodoric, “for we come bearing no gifts.”

  “Do you mean bribes?” Artur sheathed his sword, a bad mood already on the rise.

  “Our craftsman could not prepare his handiwork so quickly: Time is the keenest ingredient. But I congratulate you on your swift decision to meet with us in the wood. Our home serves as fuel for you — as you see, we have much in common.”

  “We have nothing in common but the air,” said Artur contentiously.

  “Perhaps I misjudged,” said Theodoric, peering carefully at the Rufoux. “Perhaps this meeting comes too quickly. What say, Pepin?”

  “I dreamed nothing.” To his side, Carolingia shifted her weight and laughed just enough to attract attention.

  “We came here by our own choice, and not because of any sweet words from you,” Artur said. “Take it for what it’s worth, or take it not at all.”

  “Not at all, then, I think,” and Theodoric reached for his vine.

  Geoffrey took Artur by the arm. “Let me speak for the clan,” he whispered urgently.

  “I speak for the clan!”

  “As your subject and father, Artur, let me speak, for you draw closer to starting a war than making a peace. You may be the greatest of my sons, but I know the Melics.”

  Artur growled and looked askance. He felt his anger rising, and didn’t know why. He couldn’t understand Andreia, he couldn’t understand the Melics, and now his own father joined the word games. Geoffrey dug his fingers into his arm, and Artur silently acquiesced. He turned and walked a step or two away.

  “Theodoric of the Melics,” Geoffrey began. “I am Geoffrey of the Rufoux. We thank you for entering into the wood with us. Medialia rejoices for this happy meeting of its two greatest clans.”

  Theodoric let loose the vine and considered Geoffrey. Artur rolled his eyes. “We do recognize good tidings for Medialia, though perhaps the Bedoua and Raspars would disagree with your analysis,” said Theodoric.

  “Truly, but they have no part of what we speak about today. We must talk about the Rufoux and the Melics.”

  “Indeed. This is Pepin, whom your companions have met before,” Theodoric said. “And his sister Carolingia. Also with me came Aachen, our chief honey-hunter, son of the legendary Lombard, and Picta. Though not blood of mine, I have raised her like a daughter, living in my own home. She came to see one who does not look like a Melic.”

  “So we put on a freak show for you, then?” broke in Artur, staring at the young woman.

  “To see is to learn, to learn is to think. Nothing wrong can come of that,” said Theodoric.

  Geoffrey stepped in front of his son and continued. “Theodoric, the fame of your reason and wisdom spans Medialia. What do you know of the Rufoux?”

  “I know what I have observed, and I observe much. Nothing else to do.”

  “And?”

  “You are strong, but not strong enough. You are courageous and confident, and that may be your undoing. You are skilled with fire and metal, and upon the hippus.”

  Artur glared at him, but only Geoffrey spoke. “Then you know well. Let me tell you what I know of the Melics: They always say what they believe; they do not lie. They hide their fear behind leaves and words. Death bears down upon everything they do.”

  “Indeed,” Theodoric repeated.

  “Then I call upon you to tell us truly, Theodoric.”

  “Yes?”

  “Why do you call for this alliance with the Rufoux? What threat do the Aoten pose to you? What of your clan do the Aoten desire? Why do you seek out the Rufoux, Theodoric of the Melics?”

  Theodoric thought silently for a moment.

  “That can be heard by Artur’s ears alone, my friend.”

  Artur looked up at him, caught off-guard, having lost track of the conversation.

  “Will Artur agree to meet with me privately?”

  Artur considered Theodoric and looked to Geoffrey, then back again.

  Theodoric made a solicitous gesture with both hands. “Sword on your belt, axe on my back. What more could we do than kill each other?”

  For some reason this approach appealed to Artur, and he nodded his head. Theodoric waved a hand to his right, as if to recommend a neutral corner, and Artur followed his direction. As they turned, out of the corner of his eye Artur saw Carolingia throw her arms around Pepin’s neck and kiss him deeply. She opened her eyes wide and fixed them upon Artur as he broke his gaze away.

  “I thought you said she is his sister,” he said to Theodoric, motioning toward the couple.

  “Sister — wife — our custom has become our affliction,” returned Theodoric with a heavy sigh, and he extended a hand toward Artur. “Marriage ties together families that are already one. Those vows then make righteous infidelity to burn in our hearts, and some turn to it though it promises death, even in the worship of our god. The souls of my people have died, and our bodies follow closely.”

  Artur caught sight of his four fingers, and wondered.

  “And this is the very reason, Artur of the Rufoux, that I seek out your clan,” Theodoric said as they withdrew into the forest. “The sin of my clan runs deep, deep. We may say truthfully what we believe, but our actions belie a corruption well within our souls. Our sickness mortifies body and mind. Our lives flit past like moments in Medialia, worn short by this burden of damnation. Our culture lays a heavy curse upon us. And yet I must speak of this to you alone, Artur, for when the Rufoux are shocked they also can turn bloody.”

  “What do you expect from us?” asked Artur, suddenly sickened yet feeling the despair in Theodoric’s face that he’d never bothered to see before. Patience nudged aside the frustration that had always marked his meetings with this Melic.

  “This one thing: I’m hoping to save my people,” said Theodoric flatly. “I am sure the Aoten have come for us. They may live off your fields, but they come as the mighty, vengeful arm of Drueed. The wise god gave us thought and philosophy, but we have misused it, working out in our minds the justification of degraded lives. We turn ourselves over wholly to hedonism, the power of our brains giving license to our flesh, and now Drueed has sent judgment. Of this I have no doubt.”

  “How can you expect to defeat the judgment of your god?”

  “The question burns, does it not? I have no answer, but I hope we can deflect that judgment long enough to make amends. Drueed is a god who observes and considers. If we gain his grace, gain this last chance, perhaps we can change our ways. If not, perhaps it becomes a mercy in the long run. You see the weakness of our bodies; we will surely die out in time if we do not change our ways. Only Picta among us does not suffer sickness, and in turn my people consider her ugly and pitiable. Oh, how I weep for my clansmen.

  “So you see, the Aoten want nothing from us but our lives. They arrive here as a jud
gment upon us, and we seek Rufoux help to save ourselves. At the same time, the Aoten must live somehow, and they have chosen to do so at the expense of your people. So perhaps we can help each other.”

  “The Rufoux can defend themselves. We have already taken measures to protect the crops of our fields. Certainly you’ve seen that.”

  “Yes, but your fighting has proven of no benefit to you. You have seen the result of one Aoten death; what will happen when others die of starvation? A deviltooth can teach a rumidont to climb trees. The giants will come at you yet harder, lusting for the taste of your grain.”

  “We have plans to build a stockade,” said Artur testily.

  Theodoric fully felt Artur’s resistance, and so made his last, desperate attempt: “Has not one among you spoken of the secret?”

  Artur’s sudden memory of Andreia caught him speechless for a second. “How do you know of that?”

  “The world is a mysterious place,” said Theodoric, and no more.

  “And you have no interest in the Rufoux fields?” asked Artur after a moment of awkward thought.

  “The fruits of our trees keep us quite satisfied, as they always have.”

  “And you aren’t lying?”

  “May I quote your father? ‘Melics do not lie.’ ”

  “But weakness plagues the Melics, as you say,” Artur said with some arrogance creeping back into his attitude. “What do you have to offer the Rufoux?”

  “Perhaps we have thought of some things you haven’t,” replied Theodoric, meaning to sound secretive.

  “Such as what?”

  “That would be the catch. I cannot tell you without a pact. A bee will have neither honey nor life if it stings a bear that’s already raided the hive.”

  In spite of this last sentence, what Theodoric said made sense to Artur. “Andreia said listen. She knows about the secret you speak of. Very well, then, we will join you, for now. If we see any treachery, it will go very badly for you.”

  “That has always been clear to us.”

  “You must join us in our village.”

  “And what guarantee do we have that we will be safe there?” asked Theodoric.

  “I give you Kylie. For now. One false move and I’ll pull your head off.” And Artur slid his sword from its sheath and handed her to Theodoric, partly as promise and partly to show he feared him not at all.

  “This is extraordinary indeed,” Theodoric said. “The sword and the gesture.”

  “Come,” said Artur with an expansive feeling he hadn’t expected. “We must tell the others.”

  As they emerged from the trees, Artur stared in surprise at Geoffrey and Picta, standing at a comfortable distance but each one contemplating the other, lost in thought. And at that moment he noticed the girl had five fingers.