pride won out over hunger. He would not eat it unless it was offered to him.
I would not do so. I had fed him three times in the past three hands of days and I had no intention of taking Pilg any closer into my family than that.
“But in no time at all, we will have won a whole new village,” Pilg exulted. “Surely, Shoogar’s reputation as a magician must have preceded us here. Surely, they will honor him and us alike.”
“And surely they will just as soon wish us elsewhere, Pilg. Look behind us. Look at where we have come from. Boggy marsh! And beyond that, water! The oceans are rising almost as fast as we can travel. The darkless season is upon us, Pilg. Hard times for any village. Surely they will have harvested their crops by now, and stored up only enough food to last them through the wading season. They will have none to spare for us. No — they won’t be very happy to have us join them.”
My mention of food had caused Pilg to salivate; the spittle ran down his chin — but social protocol held him back. He glanced again at the discarded bit of root near his foot. “But, Lant — look at the lay of the land here. This village that we are approaching is on a slope overlooking a great plain. They will have at least another twenty or thirty days before the water menaces them.”
“Granted,” I swallowed the mass I had been chewing.
“Perhaps we will be able to exchange some of our skills for some of their food.”
“And what skill will you trade them for?” I grunted. “Rumormongering?”
Pilg looked hurt. Immediately I felt sorry, it had been a cruel and unkind thing to say. Pilg had indeed suffered more than I, and it was unfair for me to add my mockery to his already heavy burden. “That was cruel, Lant,” he said, “if you want me to go, I will.”
“No,” I said, and immediately wondered why, for I did want him to go. “Don’t go until you have at least had something to eat.”
He’d done it to me again! I had sworn I was not going to invite him to partake — but he had annoyed me until I had insulted him, and then to assuage the insult, I had to prove to him that he had not annoyed me. I wondered if I was going to have to start eating my meals in secret just to avoid Pilg.
But he was right about that one point. Perhaps we would be able to trade some of our skills for some of their food. Probably my own trade of bonemongering was not as skill-fully practiced this far south as it was in the land we had journeyed from.
But so much of it depended upon the magician of this village. Would Shoogar be willing to swear an oath of truce for the duration of the wading season? Would the new magician even want Shoogar around, considering the strength of his reputation? Would you feel safe if a magician of such power wanted to move into
Shoogar might, just might, consider dueling this village’s magician for the right to rule the magic of this area. If he lost (an unlikely chance), we would have to keep moving — only this time without our magician. More likely, if he won, we would incur much ill will in this area, for is it not said that a new magician must take nine generations to be accepted by a tribe?
I feared for the inevitable meeting with these villagers and their Guild of Advisors. Hopefully, we would have time to rest before that meeting, but probably not. As soon as they became aware of our presence here on the slopes of their mountain, they would send an emissary.
There wasn’t much left of our Guild — we would be a sorry group of representatives: myself, of course; Hinc the Weaver, Pilg the Crier, Damd the Tree Binder, the one or two others. Ran’ll the Quaff-Maker had drowned in one of his vats, Tavit the Shepherd had been lost with much of his flock, and none of the remaining shepherds was yet old enough to replace him in the Guild. Some of the others had not survived our long trek south.
But the two Guilds would meet and hopefully we would work out some kind of agreement whereby we could camp on this land until the waters should withdraw. Then we would either seek a new area to plant our village, or petition for the right to remain.
But again, so much depended on the magicians.
Later, as red sunset/blue dawn approached, our tired group of Advisors trudged across the slope to the lower village and the obligatory meeting with them. We had spent most of the red day bathing in the cold stream that ran through the pasture, and allowing the women to massage us and rub precious oils and fats into our skins. The oils and fats had been saved specifically for such an occasion as this. Had we not had this eventual confrontation continually in mind, we would have eaten them long ago.
We had exchanged our traveling skins for other garments. We would not be presenting ourselves as poorly as we really were, for we had stripped nearly every member of the tribe naked in order to assemble enough fine clothing for our Advisors to wear to this all-important council.
Shoogar stayed behind, to meditate; the time was not yet right for the other village to cast its eyes on his magnificence.
As we walked, Damd the Tree Binder remarked on the fine quality of woods in this area. There were thin strong shoots of bambooze, the fibrous tubular plant that could be used for building, or that could be eaten as food or fermented for Quaff. There were tall slender birts, stippled in gray and brown; there were sparkling aspen, white spirit pine and sturdy red vampire oaks. There was rich, dark shrubbery, and wild houseplants, stunted and twisted for lack of a magician’s blessing and a proper Binding. There were streams aplenty, and as we walked we trudged through a thick carpet of crackling discarded leaves.
Yes, this was a rich wood. One which had been finely cared for, but had not yet realized its full potential. Before we were half-way through this thick arm of forest, it was obvious that this was as fine an area in which to live as anyone could hope for. Froo, the eldest shepherd, exclaimed over the grazing grounds; Jark, who had some moderate skill at quaffmaking, expressed delight over the quality of the bambooze. Hinc the Weaver munched throughtfully on a fiber plant as he walked. If they allowed us to stay, we would be lucky indeed.
I speculated that there must be more work here than any one village could hope to do. If they had had a good harvest this year, they might be in an expansive mood. It was our hope that we could trade our labors for some of their food, or for the right to use some of this land.
Their village was on the crest of a hill, lowest of the range below the wooded slopes. It was larger than our own had been, but not impressively so. Most important, many of their housetrees appeared unused, and those that were had considerable distance between them. Where our village had had a solidpacked floor of dirt from the extensive comings and goings of commerce, this village had a gentle carpet of black-grass, cut through only here and there by dirt paths.
Clearly they did not trade on the scale we were used to.
As we approached, we could see their Advisors gathering in a clearing near the edge of the village. We raised our hands and gave them the finger gesture of fertility. They returned it.
A tall man covered with sparse curly fur, brownish red, stepped forward. “I am Gortik, Speaker of this village. These are my Advisors.” And he introduced them. There were more than thirty — traders, weavers, fishmongers, Quaffmakers and craftsmen were amply represented. To my ill-concealed delight, they did not introduce a bonemonger. Could it be that this village lacked one of my skill? If so, I was sure to find much work. Or — a dampening thought — could it be that they did not consider a bonemonger important enough to belong to the Guild of Advisors?
I thrust that thought away. A bonemonger was as good as anybody.
Gortik finished pointing out the last of his Advisors, then turned to us. “Who Speaks for you?”
That was a poser. We had not yet designated any of our number as Speaker. We had buried Thran, our old Speaker, only two hands of days previously. His memory was still too warm for us. There was much shuffling and whispering amongst ourselves. Finally Pilg pushed
“I can’t,” I whispered back. “I have never been a Speaker. I do not even have a Speaking Token. We buried it with Thran.”
