Twelve
Sandon scratched at his
stubbled chin, then gave a wry grin. It was more than stubbled now. The itch was starting to drive him mad. He could barely remember the last time he had
gone unshaven for so long. He stood just
outside Alise’s wagon, waiting impatiently.
That was another thing he couldn’t get used to. Not a single one of the Atavist community
ever seemed to be in any sort of hurry.
He could understand why, from spending long hours poring over the
passages in the large book left to him by Badrae. Everything with a time and
a place. And so
said The Words of the Prophet. At first, he couldn’t wait to get away, to be
off to find what had happened with Men Darnak and the Principate. After the first four or five days — it was so
hard to get any sense of time amongst the Atavists — instead, the idea that had
started working in his back thoughts had started to take real shape.
He’d been here over ten
days, now, but there was no real sense of urgency. The day-to-day preparations at his estates
would look after themselves. They were
used to his long absences on various tasks for Principal Men Darnak. He only really supervised to give himself a
sense of comfort. No one would be
missing him at the Principate, and the only actual person who really mattered
in the equation had effectively banished him.
Men Darnak would not be expecting Sandon to show up in defiance. Spending so much time with Alise hadn’t hurt
either. He could almost feel as if there
might be a place for him here. She had
ministered to him, showed real concern, even talked to him about life here
among her people when pressed hard enough.
He glanced down at the
old homespun robes he now wore, then ran one hand over
the rough weave. It was coarse, but still
slightly soft at the same time. They
were much more comfortable than they looked.
The thick hood guarded against cold and wind alike, and the shapeless
cut hid a multitude of sins. He cleared
his throat and scratched the side of his face again.
He could hear noises of
her bustling about inside the wagon, getting her things together, but he knew
better than to call out to hurry her up.
She would take her own sweet time, just as all of them did. He scratched at his chin again — he had to
stop that — and turned to watch the rest of the camp. Something was different today. There seemed to be more activity, all at the
same unhurried pace, but there just seemed to be more.
“Sandon, ah there you
are.”
Turning his attention
from the campsite, he swung to face her.
“Yes. I was waiting for you,
Alise.”
She frowned reprovingly,
shook her head, and then smiled. “Always
in such a hurry, Sandon. I hope I did not keep you waiting too
long.”
“Well, no, I suppose
not.” He gave her a quick smile. “Not too long, anyway.”
She half returned his
smile, looked slightly puzzled for an instant, then seemed to dismiss whatever
was troubling her. “So,” she said. “Are you ready?”
He had promised to
accompany her to collect some of the plants that grew further inland from the
edge of the escarpment, plants that she apparently used in her treatments and
remedies. He wanted to learn as much as
he could now. He needed to understand
the Atavist way of life as best he could in the limited time available to him
if he was going to carry out his plan.
There were too many dependencies right now, but at least he had a way
forward. Going with Alise as she went
about her errands would allow him to observe yet another aspect of their life
and give him convenient opportunity to ask the hundreds of questions that kept
tumbling through his head. He had to
sort them out, prioritize them and talking to her helped that process.
“Come, Sandon,” she said,
leading off, the hand-woven basket she carried held in the crook of her arm.
“Where are we going?”
asked Sandon.
She answered without
breaking stride or turning around. “Up
behind the hills there grows a profusion of plants. If the Prophet wills it, we will find what we
need.”
Her stride was quick and
sure, and Sandon had to hurry to catch up.
They moved through clusters of tents, the groups of Atavists performing
various tasks. Everywhere, still, despite
the unhurried pace of the adult population, the children ran between the tents
and the tether lines. Sandon shook his
head. Did the onset of puberty release
some special chemical into Atavist blood to slow them down? There was certainly no restraint shown in the
younger members of their numerous family. Nor a great deal of discipline as far as he
was able to observe. Perhaps it was
discipline by example that brought such order and unhurried calm.
“Is there something
special going on, Alise?” he asked, having finally matched her pace. “There seems to be more activity than usual.”
She didn’t answer; she
didn’t break stride.
“Alise?”
“What is it,
Sandon?” Her attention was fixed on the
landscape stretching out and upward from the camp’s edges.
“Is something happening
that I should know about?” Sometimes it
was exasperating trying to extract the merest shred of information. Patience. He had to be patient.
“We are leaving soon, if
that is what you mean.”
“Leaving?” He hadn’t planned on that. Not yet.
“Where?” he said. “Yes, yes, I know.” He echoed her words even as she spoke
them. “Where the
Prophet wills it.”
He sighed. She seemed not to notice.
“Well there must be
someone who knows where you’re going.”
She gave a slight
shrug. “Yes, Badrae,
some of the other Elders. Of
course they know, but then they know better what the Prophet wills.”
Then he would have to
find out, if he could ever track down Badrae long enough to ask him the
question. His plans hinged on knowing
where they were going to be and when. As
he thought about this, he lapsed into silence.
Without his questioning, Alise fell silent too, and then after a couple
minutes more walking, pointed over toward a slight sandy rise further up the
slope. They headed in that direction,
and as they walked, Alise started to hum a low tune. Sandon glanced up briefly, trying to see if
the tune was anything he might recognize.
It was a slow, sweet melody, but nothing he was familiar with. There was something almost ceremonial about
it.
As they crested the low
rise, the landscape became shrubby, scattered with small stunted bushes, hard
and gnarled against the seasonal winds and the poor, sandy ground. They stretched out as far as he could see,
finally disappearing behind another rise further up the slope. While he had stood there looking, Alise was
already ten paces ahead of him. He
grunted and moved to catch up.
“Where are you leading
us, Alise? There hardly looks anything
usable here.”
“No,
not yet. Up further. That’s where I usually find the plants we
seek, but they only appear in this time close to Storm Season. It is important to be here at this time for
that reason. Normally, there are fewer
in the seasonal camp, but it is good to be here.”
“Uh-huh.” He nodded.
“And for any other reason.”
“Sometimes,” she
said. This time it was Sandon’s turn to
frown, but already he knew better than to try and seek more explanation of a
statement like that one. It had all the
characteristics of yet another as-the-Prophet-wills-it response. He looked sideways to peer at her face, but
there was nothing for him to divine. She
looked off across the landscape, a faint smile on her lips, the humming
starting again, almost as if it had never been interrupted. He watched her for a while as they
walked. If it had been
another time and another place...
He would have to find
Badrae soon, if they were about to break camp.
He must find out which direction they would head, but he had no idea if
the Atavist elder would be forthcoming about their plans either. With any luck, they would coincide with his own. He would
find Leannis Men Darnak. He would find
him and then, well then, he’d do what he did best. He’d observe and he’d assess and when the
time was right, he would act. He had to
put things to rights, or at least try.
It was the least he could do for Leannis Men Darnak. He owed him that much.
Traveling with the
Atavist family would allow him the freedom to get where he had to go
undetected, and then, when he found Men Darnak’s party, hopefully join with
them. There were three main things he
was counting on when that finally happened:
The general lack of attention paid to the Atavists by the rest of the
population should assist with his cover; the deep reliance on the teachings of
the Prophet should give him some connection with Men Darnak; and lastly, his
own role over the last few seasons, always in the background, always
unobtrusive. All these things should
work in his favor. He had already
decided to borrow a supply of Alise’s healing ointment to keep his skin stained
dark. Pale-faced official Sandon would
be transformed into the dark skinned, robed and bearded Atavist. There were too many ifs, but at least it was
a plan, and he could improvise as he went along. He was good at that.
“Sandon, where are you
going?”
He’d been so bound up in
his own thoughts, that he’d completely lost awareness of his surroundings. He turned around to see Alise standing there,
basket in hand, quite a distance behind.
“Um, sorry.
I was thinking.”
“We will start
here. Come, let
me show you what we are looking for.”
She placed the basket
down on the ground beside her and knelt on the sandy ground. Feeling slightly sheepish, Sandon made his
way back to where she waited for him expectantly.
“It is funny,
Sandon. Sometimes you remind me of
Tchardo. Do you know who I mean?”
As he joined her, he
shook his head. The name was familiar,
but he couldn’t remember from where.
“In
The Words of the Prophet,” she said
in response to his blank look. “Always lost in your own head. Always heading in another
direction. You should learn to
focus, as Tchardo did. Find the true
path, Sandon. There is a lesson for you
there.”
Yet
something else from that damned book.
“Hmmm,” he said.
He stooped to join her. Tchardo. It was a good name. It was a name that an Atavist might easily
use….
#
They spent most of the day
wandering from place to place, stopping and gathering while Alise explained the
purpose of one or another plant, how to recognize the areas they might grow,
which ones to avoid. By the time they
headed back to camp, Sandon was marveling at the level of knowledge she seemed
to carry around in her head. As they
wandered down the slope, Sandon could see that the preparations for departure
were well advanced in their absence.
They would be breaking camp soon, perhaps the following morning. He really needed to find Badrae. If they were truly going to be leaving, then
the older man should be around the camp somewhere. He had to be.
“Listen, Alise,” he
said. “I have to go and do something. Will you be all right with these?”
“Yes, of course,” she said
with a smile. “I could have shown you
what we need to do to prepare them, but if you have other things to do...”
“I would love to have you
show me, Alise, but really, I have to do this now.”
She nodded. “Thank you for your assistance.”
“No, Alise,” he smiled back
at her. “Thank you.”
As he headed off toward the
camp’s center, Alise made her own way to her wagon. Sandon felt a little torn. He really would have liked the opportunity to
spend some more time with her. Still, he
had other priorities now.
Many of the elders kept
their wagons and tents in an area on the other side of the camp, and he headed
that way. The wagons he passed now had a
full complement of tightly wrapped bundles stacked on the trays
underneath. Pots, ropes, other pieces of
equipment hung on pegs along their sides along with water skins and sacks. The central fires bustled with activity as
the older family members made preparation for the communal evening meal. Long low trestle tables had been set up around
the central clearing. It made
sense. Constantly on the move, a mobile
community, they couldn’t do with permanent furniture. Anything that could be transported on a wagon
would be practical, hence the trestle tables.
They could be slipped away under the wagon beds for transportation,
along with so much else. There had to be
less transient Atavist communities dotted about the place elsewhere, those
involved in farming and raising crops.
He wondered how they interacted, whether it was a system of trade and
barter, but he couldn’t think what it was this particular family might
trade. Something for more thought, and
he filed it away in the back of his head along with the multitude of other bits
and pieces he was accumulating.
Now, where would he find
Badrae? The elders were over that way,
if he remembered correctly. He was just
about to head toward their wagons, when he saw something that drew him up short
and made him quickly reach for his hood.
He had spotted Badrae, and with him was a pair of the other family
elders, but that was not what had stopped him abruptly in his tracks. With them stood another man, an outsider, and
he wore the robes of a priest. Witness
Kovaar! Sandon ducked his head, trying to
draw further into the shadow of his hood.
What was the man doing here, of all places? Resisting the urge to turn and walk quickly
away, he peered across the intervening space and watched.
The four men appeared to be
in deep conversation. Badrae shook his
head and held out his arms, palms outstretched.
Sandon narrowed his eyes. Kovaar. But
wait. This was not Kovaar. This man was heavier, with hair, and it was
gray. It wasn’t Kovaar at all. But that still didn’t explain what a priest
of the Church of the Prophet was doing here in the midst of an Atavist
camp. The priest stabbed the air in
front of him with one finger, and Badrae shook his head again. The other two elders were still discussing something, their faces close together, and then one of them
turned and said something to Badrae. The
older Atavist seemed to consider, then nodded slowly. The priest nodded in return, gave a formal
gesture of blessing, then turned and disappeared between the wagons. Sandon hung back, waiting to see what would
happen next. The three elders drew
together in discussion. After a few
moments more, the other two left, heading in different directions across the
camp. Badrae remained, staring out over
the evening activity, seemingly deep in contemplation.
After a moment’s
consideration, Sandon decided that this opportunity was as good as any.
“Badrae, Alise informs me
that we’re moving camp,” Sandon said as he approached. Sometimes, the direct
approach was as good as any. “I would
like to come with you, if I can.”
It took a moment for the
older man to answer, and when he finally did, he seemed distracted.
“Oh, Sandon. Yes.
Yes, if you want to. You are
welcome among us.”
“But where will you be
headed?”
“Where the — ”
“ — Prophet wills. Yes, I know.
But Alise said you were perhaps closer to the Prophet’s will, that you
might have some idea where you were headed.”
Badrae seemed to collect
himself, and he turned to look at Sandon’s face, peering first into one eye,
then the other. “Why is it so important
to you, Sandon?”
Sandon hesitated, and the
pause was enough to prompt a nod from the older Atavist.
“So be it,” said
Badrae. “You have your own
reasons.” He fixed Sandon with a steady
gaze before continuing. “We will likely
head to one of our settlements down on the plains. We need to stock up before Storm Season
descends with its full force.”
“I am not familiar with your
settlements, Badrae.”
The older man held his
gaze. “There are several,” he said. “The ones best able to fulfill our needs are
to be found close to the area of the mines.”
His expression became slightly calculating. “Will that suit your purpose, Sandon Yl
Aris?”
The use of his full name
caught Sandon slightly off guard. “Yes,
yes. Of course. And I am immensely grateful for all you’ve
done for me, all you continue to do for me.”
“It is no more than we would
do for anyone.” Badrae turned back to
look over the camp. “You are welcome to
stay with us as long as you need.” There
was an air of finality about the last statement.
“Um, Badrae...”
“What more, Sandon?”
“Was that a member of the
Church of the Prophet I saw with you earlier?”
“That is none of your
concern.”
“But isn’t it — ?”
Badrae swung then, his eyes
full of sudden fire. “None
of your concern!”
Sandon swallowed the rest of
his question. “Yes, of course,” he said,
gave a brief tilt of his head and turned away.
He could feel Badrae watching him all the way as he walked back across
the camp, heading for Alise’s wagon.
#
The noise of breaking camp
drew him to consciousness. He stumbled
out of the small tent and looked around himself. During the course of the night, much of the
campsite had already been cleared down, the remaining items being bundled and
packed away in wagons and carts. The
camp was much barer now, and only a few of the tents remained in place. Sandon’s was one of the last. Without a word, two of the Atavist family, having noticed him emerge, headed toward his tent.
“Hold a minute,” he said to
them, and they waited patiently while he ducked inside and retrieved the
book. It would be likely that they’d
have weeks of travel, rather than days, and he preferred to have something else
to do other than bombarding Alise with further questions. Eventually she’d get bored with his constant
chatter, and he didn’t want that at all.
As soon as he reappeared, the pair of Atavists started breaking down the
tent and folding it away. Within
moments, it had been carted off for stowing in one of the wagon beds that
seemed to carry more than half of all the camp’s equipment. It was all remarkably efficient. Sandon ran his fingers through his hair and
looked around for the communal wash facilities, but there was no sign. He wrinkled his nose in distaste at the
thought, but it was clear he’d have to make do with being unwashed and unkempt,
at least for today. Hopefully Alise
could put up with him. Perhaps she might
have some sort of herbal scent he could apply to mask the odor of his body. That brought another thought. He’d made the assumption that he would travel
with her. He’d better check that it was
an acceptable arrangement. Despite the
amount of time they’d already spent together, he didn’t want to presume, and he
wasn’t sure about how their whole association was being viewed by the rest of
the family. No, he’d better check. He headed for her wagon to do exactly that.
He needn’t have
worried. Alise was inside, making the
final preparations, making sure everything was secured and stowed in its proper
place. Bunches of herbs, the results of
their gathering exercise, hung upside down from the wagon’s ceiling, and a
faint vegetable smell permeated the atmosphere inside. Alise looked up from what she was doing as
Sandon poked his head through the rear flap.
“Sandon. I wondered when you might appear,” she said.
He flashed her a brief smile.
“Well, I’m here,” he said.
“And not before time. Are you ready to leave? I presume you are coming with us.”
“Well, yes. That’s my plan. I have nowhere else to go right now.”
“Good. Though you should think about a better reason
for being here, don’t you think?”
He felt slightly chastened
by the remark. “No, I didn’t mean — ”
“It is all right, Sandon,”
she said. “You are coming with us, and
that’s what matters. If you can help me
with the last of these things, then we too shall be ready to leave.”
He placed the book down on
one of the internal side benches, and she glanced at it, then
gave a look of approval. With a brief
nod, she beckoned him over. “Here, I
need to tie this. Hold it in place for
me?”
He crouched beside her and
held the bundle in place while she secured it with coarse twine. He watched her as she concentrated on her
task, the clear blue eyes, the healthy skin, her hair
swept behind and tied behind her head. This close, there was the scent of her again, clean, fresh. She looked up from what she was doing and
caught him watching her. An almost
imperceptible twitch of her lips, and she looked away again, and then crossed
to secure one last bundle.
“There we are,” she said
without turning around. “That is the
last of them. If you come up front with
me, we can join the rest of the group.”
He moved through the wagon,
and pushing through the front flaps, positioned himself on the hard board up
front. No cushions, no padding,
nothing. Hours of traveling like this,
days even, and he was going to have hardwood impressed forever on his
backside. He refrained from commenting,
and turned his attention to the various wagons and carts drawing together in an
ordered line in the center of what had, until this morning, been a bustling
campsite. There was no confusion, no
real noise. It all happened in the
unhurried, uncomplicated manner that most of the things undertaken by the
Atavists had occurred since he had been here.
“So, you found Badrae?” she
asked, as she steered the padders toward their place in the line.
“Yes,” said Sandon.
“And did he satisfy your
curiosity?”
“More or less. He gave me some idea where we might be
heading. Which reminds
me. Do you often have dealings
with the Church of the Prophet, Alise?”
She looked at him with an
almost frown. “I don’t know what you
mean,” she said.
“Well, do you have much to
do with them?”
“Our beliefs are based upon
the same teachings, but other than that, I still do not know what you are
asking, Sandon.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he
said. She gave him a curious look, held
it for a moment, and then let it pass.
Theirs was one of the last
wagons to draw into place. A few moments
more, while everything got settled, and then the front wagons drew out, leading
the rest of the line. For such a large
group, the departure was as ordered as the preparations. The wagons creaked forward in a long column. A few Atavists rode up and down the sides on
their padders keeping pace with the general progress, and others walked, either
carrying packs, or with the aid of long ajura
wood staves. The sound of the wheels
turning and the occasional snort from one or other of the padders was
interspersed with the clanking of metal pots and containers against the wagon
sides. The start of the column moved
unhurriedly forward, up the slope and away from the clearing.
“Alise?”
“Yes, Sandon.”
“Where are we going?”
“Where we are meant to go. Where the Prophet wills.”
“But we’re heading the wrong
way.” Sandon peered around the side of
the wagon and looked behind them, then turned back. “The path down is there, behind us.”
“So it is,” she said. “One of them. But we have something to do first.”
“What do you mean?”
She smiled at him. “Wait and see, Sandon. Learn patience.”
He clamped his jaw tightly
shut and willed himself to calm.
Sometimes she spoke to him as if she were indulging a small child. All right. He would wait. He turned to watch the passing landscape, occasionally
focusing his attention on one or another of the passing Atavists who rode or
marched alongside their wagon. There was
still little to distinguish one from the other.
He’d have to spend a lot more time with them if he wanted to really know
them and be able to tell them apart.
Two hours, they took to get
where they were going. It was a long
march up and behind the city of
Finally, when he had decided
there was no reason at all for their direction, the lead wagons drew to a
halt. One by one, the rest of the line
pulled up beside them, forming a wide arc halfway up the low rise. Individually and in pairs, the Atavists
climbed down from their wagons and carts, from their padders, or strode up to
join the broad semi-circle upon the hillside.
Alise beckoned for him to climb down, and she led him forward to join
the rest of them. The entire family
grouping was here, now, arrayed before their vehicles and animals. They waited a few moments more, while one or
another tethered their beasts to a wagon side, or moved quietly into
position. Sandon frowned. He had absolutely no idea what was happening.
“Alise?” She put a finger to her lips and gently
gripped his arm to still him. They stood
there, unmoving, silent, the breeze blowing around
them, stirring their robes, until from the arc’s center, a five strong group of
elders stepped forward and turned to face their brethren. One of them spoke, an elder that Sandon did
not recognize.
“One more season, and we
return to learn the lesson of our forebears,” he said in a loud, clear
voice. “One more season, and we see the
legacy left to us by the First Families.”
He turned and headed up toward the crest. The other four elders fell in behind him and
walked, slowly, solemnly up the rise.
When they reached the top, they turned, and together, they gestured the
rest of the large group forward. Sandon
glanced at Alise, but she seemed to be totally absorbed in the
proceedings. As she too stepped forward,
he took his lead from her, falling in beside her slow, measured step.
As they reached the top of
the rise, moving as one, the entire group knelt and clasped their hands in
front of themselves. Sandon was left
standing, staring down in front of him, his mouth open, barely comprehending
what lay before him. Broad arced shapes
stuck up from the dip in the landscape below.
Curved like vast, rusted claws, they reached up to the yellowing
sky. A flat area of wide flat metallic
surface ran between these spars, clumped here and there with vegetation as it
had pushed through in places, fighting against all resistance. Mounds of indefinable objects lay scattered
across this surface, either below, or attached to the ribcage of the huge
metallic beast that lay spread out before him.
Halfway up one of the ribs, a vast sheet angled to the ground, forming
an inclined plane to the sky. A ball of
old dried vegetation rolled across the lower surface as the wind rose and
plucked at his hair and clothes. He kept
staring, unable to do anything else, finally remembering to close his mouth as
Alise reached up and dragged him down to kneel beside her.
He could barely drag his
eyes from the sight in front of him as finally understanding came to him. This was one of the landing craft that had
come from the enormous colony ship that had carried their ancestors across the
reaches. This was all that remained of
one of the vessels that had made it down in that disastrous landing so many
seasons ago. Here lay the skeletal
remains of his heritage, of their history, of all of their history. Of course he knew that there were still
remains of these craft, but he had forgotten about them, pushing the memory to
the back of his mind. He hadn’t really
thought about them since he was a child.
It was the sort of reminder of the Return that most of the population
preferred to forget.
The elder was speaking
again, but Sandon barely heard what he was saying. “Let us give thanks to the Words of the
Prophet, that he has shown us the way.
Let us spend a few moments in reflection, understanding what it is we
have been shown. Let us thank the
Prophet for these reminders of the goodness and rightness of our lives.” He raised his hands and closed his eyes.
Beside Sandon, Alise bowed
her head and closed her eyes. All along
the line, the other Atavists did the same.
Sandon stared at the picture in front of him, the decaying remnants of
the vision that had brought them here and thrown them helpless against the
whims of the twin suns above.