Chapter XXVI
The stockade stood finished, some seventeen kronyn tall, sharp points crowning each log. Only two gates broke the wall, at the least vulnerable points: The eastern side, facing the River Alluvia, and the southern, the highest point of the bluff. Jakke forged mighty bronze braces, along with hinges and latches, to reinforce the heavy wooden doors. All that the Rufoux claimed for their own, short of the water-logged fields, lay enclosed in its sturdy walls.
Andreia had recovered sufficiently to sit up and eat again, and Aachen and Humus spent much time at her side. Ingle and Mistral communed with many of the Rufoux clansmen, each on different terms, but Krait stayed to himself. The Koinoni took refuge in their ships, and the Rufoux and Bedoua kept a comfortable distance from them; the Melics seemed not to care about their constant bargaining. Most of the Melics had retreated into their trees, but Theodoric and Pepin remained within the stockade. They, too, made their visits to Andreia.
“You know the secret, don’t you?” she asked one time.
“Yes,” said Theodoric.
“Will you tell me?” she continued.
“You know the secret and yet you don’t know. Great wisdom knows to believe without seeing. Each clan must come to the rescue of the others — therein lies the secret. Rufoux, Melic, Bedoua, Koinoni — even Raspar. For centuries we have maintained tense peace through distance from each other. Now all the clans of Medialia must aid the others to rid the land of the Aoten.”
“Most have already come here. Can not they agree now?” she said.
“Yes,” Theodoric looked to Pepin. “Most do dwell here now, in a fashion. What do you think?”
“I had a dream,” Pepin began. “Four rumidonts and a thylak. The rumidonts begged to lie down with the thylak, but he would not agree. Then his skin fell away, and I could see it to be a rumidont as well; and then it died, and the other rumidonts fed upon it. Very confusing. I didn’t understand the dream, but perhaps it will play itself out. It will be worth seeing, for the thylak really was quite little.”
Theodoric seemed to understand this, and set about to find Artur. Through Wyllem he discovered that the Rufoux chief had again drawn away into the trees and standancrags.
There sat Artur in the solitude, knowing that if an Aoten stumbled upon him he would have no chance of getting back inside the village walls. His heart had pulled him away, into dark separation: Lately he had spent much too much time surrounded by strangers and yammering voices, and not enough time listening to the stillness. Finally he found the blessed quiet and could sort out his thoughts as he sat against a bittereye tree.
With Andreia’s improvement, he found his old despondency had lifted. Usually in the wood he could count on the hauntings of his past to catch up with him; not so this time. He thought about her wisdom and quiet encouragement in all that had transpired since the giants’ first attack, and he considered warmly her courage and forethought. He thought about the brightness of her eyes, just now returning, and her lithe but strong figure …
A pair of feet hit the ground in front of him with a loud thump.
“I waited, hoping to find you here,” said Picta with a smile.
“Your people have a talent for appearing out of nowhere,” he said, barely hiding his irritation.
“My people, perhaps, a talent for something,” she said gaily, sitting close beside him. “What have you come out here for?”
“I came to be alone, to think. I haven’t had a minute’s thought for a fortnight.”
“Think about what?”
“The stockade, the Aoten. What makes you so inquisitive? The grain, Andreia …”
“Andreia? Who’s that?”
“Our injured girl treated by Humus and Aachen. What a blessing from Mog, if such a thing is possible. Usually, all we get from Mog comes through brute force.”
“Andreia is her name?”
“Yes, Andreia. She is beautiful —“ Artur caught himself. “She was the one to make me join with your people.”
“My people!” Picta’s bright cheer had vanished. “Does she have four fingers?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Yes, I suppose she does. What else does she have?”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, forget it. I suppose you want to be alone then, to think about Andreia.”
“Well, I was …”
But Artur had no opportunity to choose, for Wyllem came up to him through the bracken, silent but unable to surprise him like a Melic might.
“Artur, you must come back to the village. Theodoric has something urgent to say to you. Do you know what he might want? Theodoric and Pepin, and Andreia together?”
“Oo, Andreia,” said Picta, and they prepared to return with Wyllem, Picta walking sullenly behind the two Rufoux.
The sight of half a dozen Koinoni inside the camp surprised Artur. Theodoric was talking vigorously with them, and he waved Artur and Wyllem to approach. Picta headed off to hospital to take a look at this “Andreia.”
“Yarrow here has agreed to meet with us, Artur. Pepin and Andreia agree, it would be wise to meet, men from each clan, and discuss what to do next against the Aoten. The stockade will protect you for a time, but eventually we will have to fight them together, and we must agree on this now.”
“Koinoni? Are you sure?” said Artur, his face twisted into a dyspeptic sneer.
“Yes, we must have all. Pepin hopes to persuade the Bedoua; they negotiate in your community hall even now. If they will agree to meet, Yarrow eagerly wishes to talk.”
“Koinoni?” Artur repeated.
“We will trade for your attentions,” said Yarrow. “We offer Romana.”
“What?” said Artur.
“I will be yours, for a time, to do as you please,” said one of the Koinoni figures in a feminine voice. She approached Artur and wrapped the hems of her robes around his waste.
“Away from me. We will have no such thing,” his anger flared. “You would corrupt this Rufoux from the ways of his people!” Artur turned to Theodoric, who mused upon him. “You see? These Koinoni, they always have something up their sleeves.”
“Yarrow desires a meeting with you, Artur. Perhaps we can persuade him to take it as a gift.”
“All my good sense tells me no. If I meet with them, it will be to benefit all the Rufoux, not for the sake of my pleasures. You say Pepin and Andreia agree on this?”
“Yes. Pepin has had a dream, but he makes no sense of it.”
“Oh, that’s unusual,” Artur offered.
“He sees no meaning now, but he believes it foreshadows such a meeting. And Andreia has spoken for it.”
“Well. If that’s the case. But we will hear no talk of trade! None whatsoever, and if you try to sneak it in, I will call Jakke, do you understand?” and Artur waved a threatening finger at the Koinoni.
“We are so prepared, but one must never confine prospects of the future,” said Yarrow.
“Let’s be off, then,” said Theodoric with hopeful enthusiasm, and the group walked slowly toward the community hall, Artur eyeing Yarrow suspiciously.
In the hall they found Pepin arguing with Krait, and Krait arguing with Ingle; Mistral and Humus sat passively. “The majority wants to meet, but they cannot decide who will speak for the Bedoua,” Pepin explained over his shoulder.
“I came as-sss Dungo’s-sss emissary, and I will speak for him,” declared Krait.
“You have no authority for the Bedoua,” said Ingle, repeating himself for perhaps the sixth time. “Only Dungo will speak for the Bedoua!”
“Dungo is-sss not here! I will speak for him! We do not meet.”
“We must meet,” said Theodoric simply. “Pepin has had a dream.”
“Piss-sss! I have heard of such dreams-sss! I care not for your silly superstitions-sss! I will speak for Dungo and the Bedoua!”
“You do not!” insisted Ingle.
“We’re not deciding anything now anyway, so it doesn’t matter,” said Artur brusquely and sat. “Sit down! You have come to my territory, to my camp, and you will bow to my generous hospitality! Now sit down!” He could barely get the words out between his clinched teeth as he glared at the bickering Bedoua. He tried to keep one eye on the Koinoni.
They sat on each side of the fire pit. Artur and Wyllem took the head of the room, with the Melics to their right. Krait and Ingle sat across from Artur, and Yarrow knelt to his left, a Koinoni trait designed for quick escapes. The remaining Koinoni, kneeling as well, surrounded Yarrow, facing out like spokes of a wheel, to keep watch at his every side. Women brought Rufoux bread, with Bedoua butter, and steaming hot cups, and the talk began.
“Artur understands that the Aoten cannot be defeated by one clan alone,” Theodoric began. “The Rufoux — the bravest, most powerful warriors of Medialia — have fought the giants valiantly three times, and still they have not driven them from the land. Many Rufoux have died.”
“Many more will, as well,” said Yarrow.
“Already you irritate me?! Why do you say that?” Artur challenged him.
“Aoten came from the west. In the far west the Xinna built a fence against the Aoten. No Xinna have survived their fence. No Xinna left to trade.”
“Bedoua will not give their lives-sss to you,” said Krait.
“The giants came from the west?” asked Artur, and Yarrow’s hood nodded. “That means they crossed the mountains, and the territory of the scaled ones,” he said solemnly.
“Yes, they are very fierce. They move slowly, think slowly, but when they grow hungry enough, or angry enough, they are fierce and fearless.”
“Bedoua vote again-ssst the war,” said Krait.
Artur sat silently, so Theodoric continued.
“We must consider the stockade only a temporary measure. The Rufoux had to protect their supplies and families while we prepared a battle attack. The Melics will fight with the Rufoux; we bring our axes to the battle. But six Rufoux to one giant could not bring it down; six Melics more will not make the difference. We need all clans, all peoples to overcome the giants.”
“What do the Bedoua have to do with it? We have no love for Rufoux,” asked Krait defensively.
“The Aoten only take, they do not replenish. They will lay waste to the Rufoux, take the fruit of their fields and make themselves fat upon it. But they know nothing of farming; after one season the fields’ produce will be gone, and they will turn their appetites to other clans’ goods. The Melics’ trees will come down; Bedoua rumidonts will lie dead upon the desert, their blood soaking into the sand; the Koinoni ships will be torn to shreds for every piece of scrap upon them.”
“Koinoni ships will sail away, as they did in the west,” said Yarrow.
“Perhaps,” said Theodoric, “but the flying bird will one day lie exhausted upon the ground. Eventually your ships will reach the end of the world and have nowhere else to sail.”
“Bedoua have no desire to join with Koinoni anyway,” said Krait, his arms folded. “Damn Koinoni! Can not be trusted! They will sell your blood off their daggers-sss!”
“Shut up!” yelled Artur. “Nobody curses the Koinoni here but me!”
“Damn Koinoni!” Krait emphasized. “Bedoua spits-sss on Koinoni!”
“You have no authority to speak for Bedoua!” insisted Ingle.
“Rufoux and Melics agree together,” said Theodoric. “Dungo must decide for the Bedoua.” Krait threw up his hands and with loud cursings stormed out, but the others remained. “But what about Koinoni?”
“How badly do you want Koinoni?” asked Yarrow.
“We need everybody,” said Theodoric.
“Does he agree?” asked Yarrow, indicating Artur.
Artur looked to the Melics and nodded grudgingly. He could see the Koinoni had knowledge of the Aoten beyond even Theodoric’s observation. “Yes,” he said, “we need everybody.”
“So it appears we will be bargaining after all,” said Yarrow.
“What do you mean?” growled Artur.
“Koinoni owe no clan. We care for nobody. We love only money, so we will have a price.”
“Oh, I might have expected this,” yelled Artur. “Extort a price, and then skip out on us, I suppose? But what else should I expect from rotten Koinoni traders!”
“What is survival worth to you? You need us, you have already said. What would you give?”
“What do you want?” asked Theodoric.
“Rufoux always deny us weapons. Fine Rufoux weapons of metal cut like no other in the world. This most excellent blade at your side, for instance. Is your blade worth more than life itself? Or would you give a weapon for each Koinoni to save your lives?”
“Mog’s goblins! I might as well put a pack of rats in charge of guarding the grain! There’s no telling what double-dealing treachery you might inflict in the night with Rufoux weapons!” Artur blasted away at Yarrow.
“Rufoux arms, or no Koinoni! We make our offer, and a good bargain for you. Life for weapons. If you need us, you will pay for us.”
“You dirty — You know you have us over a barrel, don’t you!” raged Artur. “Well, have your weapons then, and choke on them! And if ever you plan to turn them on us, I’ll personally see you dead, and all your hooded friends! To hell with you!”
“You talk so brash, Rufoux! So greatly you strut, swollen with yourself, but now you depend on the Koinoni! Your lives depend upon us, and your homeland as well! Your homeland, so dear to you, that you would not have to wander about the world! You have a homeland to defend, a homeland to love, and you dare to judge the Koinoni? Beaten down, wiped out, driven out of our nation by hatred, sentenced to live upon the waters with no place to set our feet, no place to rest our heads! And you beg us to save you from this same end, you would deny us a few metal blades to save you from sharing our fate? Shame upon you, oh worthy Artur of the Rufoux, for you have not the humanity to offer a simple exchange to preserve your very way of life! Keep your weapons, you foul, sweating clan of brutes. We would not accept them, for they do not offer what saves us or you from the curse that pursues!”
