Robert Adams - A Man Called Milo Morai

While he waited, Gy arose and was soundly, linger-ingly kissed first by Karee Skaht, then by Myrah Skaht, then by Karee once more, then by Myrah yet again. Finally, Milo strode over and tore the two girls away from the tall, dark-haired boy, admonishing them and him.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think Gy Linsee bound outward for a journey from which he might never return. You two will see him no later than dawn tomorrow, you have my word on the matter.”

As the ageless man and the adult-sized boy strolled in the bright moonlight along the bank of the riverlet, Gy beamed hesitantly, “I … uh, Uncle Milo, if still you wish to take me with you and the Tribe Bard, I … that is, you had said that-I might bring a wife with me. Might I … I mean, would I … could I …”

Milo chuckled, beaming back, “Two wives will be acceptable, Gy—another set of hands never hurts when setting up camp or breaking camp or loading or unloading horses. If you and they both are in agreement on the matter, I say, fine. They’ll learn a lot, as will you, my boy, traveling from one far-flung clan camp to the next. You’ll meet Kindred you’d never see if you lived long enough to go to a dozen Fifth-Year Tribal Councils. I’ll teach the three of you how to read and to write more than just your name, and you’ll help me in preparing a series of maps of the land as it now lies. We will explore ruins as we come across them, seeking out metals and ancient jewels and any artifacts still usable after so long in the earth; some, the best, of these, we will keep, others will be guest gifts to clans we visit, the rest we will sell to roving traders or bring up to the next Fifth-Year Camp.

“We may live or migrate with this clan or that for months, and then again we may go it alone in good weather for just as many months, only seeking out a clan with which to winter when the cold begins to nip at us. Perhaps we will winter one year in a friendly Dirtman settlement. Yes, Gy, there are a very few such places, although they are scattered most widely and most lie far to the south of where we now are.

“And of course, all the while, Bard Herbuht will be teaching you the history of the various clans and of the tribe itself—the facts, the legends, the heroes, the great chiefs, significant raids, battles, victories, defeats, genealogies of clans and septs, and so much, much more that a Bard of the Tribe must know and recall when the need arises. He and I will also school you in the proper use of your mindspeak, and I am convinced that you possess already great untapped powers of the various types and levels of mindspeak, Gy. I am anxious to see you develop those powers, for a Tribal Bard is more than that title might seem to imply. At times he must be a mediator, a peacemaker between clans or factions within clans, and on those occasions, in those ticklish situations, an ability to soothe the minds of angry, blood-hungry men as well as frightened horses is a necessity owned by few. Herbuht is one such, I am another, and I believe that you can be, too, once your mind is awakened and becomes aware of its true talents and potentials.

“But back to the very near future, Gy. In the morning, my hunt will be riding back to where we were today, after the rest of those pigs—they’re just too much meat in one place to pass them up. I’ll be wanting you along and any other good spearmen you know of, too.”

“But … but please, Uncle Milo,” beamed Gy from a roiling mind, “I … we … it was my section’s day to fish. Karee and Myrah said—”

Milo clapped the big boy on his thick shoulder, laughing. “Oh, don’t fret, Gy. I’ll ask for your two intendeds on this hunt with us tomorrow, and I doubt that Hunt Chief Tchuk will voice any really strenuous objections to the rearrangement of schedules.”

At the Linsee area, Milo shooed Gy off to his lean-to, but he himself did not immediately retire. Instead he sent out a mindcall for Hwaltuh Linsee.

“On the council rock by the water, Uncle Milo,” came beaming the silent reply. “Come and join me.”

Milo climbed the flat-topped, mossy rock and squatted beside the Linsee subchief, one of the few adult warriors along on this very unusual hunt. Below them lay one of the backwater pools of the riverlet, and in its near-stillness, the silver disk of the moon was reflected. Now and again at intervals, something splashed in the pool and sent ripples out to break that silvery radiance into wavering shards that slowly recoalesced as the agitation of the water decreased to near-stillness again. It all looked so quiet, so peaceful, but Milo well knew that it was not. It was anything but peaceful, night in the wilds; night was the time of death as the night hunters prowled with growling, empty bellies in search of their natural prey.

“Were you at my tale-telling this night?” beamed Milo.

“Yes, for the first part only, though,” Subchief Hwaltuh beamed in reply. “Snowbelly mindcalled me from up above. Crooktail had found a strange scent out a few score yards from the area of short grasses, where the horse herd is biding this night.”

“And you found … ?” inquired Milo.

The Linsee warrior shrugged and shook his head, his braided hair flopping. “No tracks that I could see in the moonlight or feel with my fingers. I couldn’t smell anything, either, except a trace of skunk or weasel musk in a couple of places. Nonetheless, I told the cats that I’ll bed down up there tonight, close to the herd. With a strong bow and a ready spear and a few darts, I’ll be ready for whatever may befall, I think.”

Milo nodded. “A wise decision, that one. Now make another one, Hwaltuh. When we return to the Tribe Council Camp, Gy Linsee will announce his intent to wed Karee Skaht and Myrah Skaht. I ask that you not only not oppose this match but give it your full support should your chief object.”

“Oppose it, Uncle Milo?” The Linsee warrior grinned. “Why should I oppose it? Those two Skaht chits show taste and intelligence rare in Skahts. Besides, they both look healthy and strong enough, and that Myrah Skaht has a fine eye for archery. Certainly I’ll favor the match should the Linsee object to it for some reason, but I don’t see why he would. How does this matter sit, though, with Tchuk Skaht?”

“He is of the mind that it will be a good thing for both clans,” Milo replied. “And he has offered unasked to intervene with his chief, the girl Myrah’s sire, on the matter.

“But that is not all on which I want your help, your voice, Hwaltuh,” Milo went on after a brief pause. “After the hunt is done and Gy is married to his two wives, I mean to take him with me and Tribe-Bard Herbuht Bain of Muhnroh for a few years. The Linsee may object to it, the boy’s sire is almost certain to do so, and a few words in favor of the idea from you would be at least helpful.”

“Why in the world would you want to take a fledgling warrior with two young wives who are both certain to be rendered gravid in a very short time with you and the Tribe Bard, Uncle Milo? If it’s bows and swords behind you you want, I can think of a goodly number of Linsee men who could and would ride with you for a couple of years for a reasonable figure, just as warriors hire out as guards for the trader wagons now and then.”

“No,” beamed Milo, “you misunderstand me. Bard Herbuht and I and our party carry very little of value with us, we both are ourselves proven warriors and our women too, so we need no hired guards. Look you, Hwaltuh, Gy has a rare gift of a voice and of a memory and of improvisation; he should rightly be a bard, he longs to be a bard, yet you know as does he that he never will be allowed by his sire to become the Clan Linsee bard, in favor of his elder brother. Not so?

“Well, I hate to see natural talent of any sort or description wasted needlessly, and Bard Herbuht is of like mind. I want Gy to wend with us for long enough for Herbuht and me to fully test him and make a determination as to whether or not he will be suitable material for the next Tribal Bard.”