Avram Davidson - The Kar-Chee Reign

“Clearly,” he said, when Lors at last paused, dry-mouthed, and at a loss for further comment, having already repeated himself at least twice; “clearly, we must take a breeding stock of these intelligent and useful creatures with us.”

“There is another breed related to them that runs wild in the Uplands — guanacos. They’re smaller, but the fleece is softer.”

“We must have those, too. I will make a note of it.”

They watched him leave as they started unloading the seed-corn. They indicated neither by word nor conscious expression any fears not yet laid quite to rest. But evidently nothing more than a routine inspection of yet another aspect of the work of preparation had brought Gaspar up to look at them. It was probably fortunate that the inspection had not been made by someone with younger legs and keener eyes who might have traced them up the vantage-point and overheard what they were saying there.

Thus, as on the raft, consultation awaited the fall of night. When they were together again Lors said, “My brother — Duro, my younger brother — has an idea which might bring us to a safer way through the hills.”

But Rickar was feeling somewhat discouraged. “I did speak to Lej, but he said that three people were enough for a scouting trip. Not that the others are especially needed for anything else; it’s just the Knowers’ frugal way: if three are enough, then only three will go.”

Liam, in the darkness, felt someone settle next to him, felt an arm touch his — a smooth and not a hairy one. A woman. He reached, gently, and his hand encountered a soft mass of curls. Fateem. He patted them, and heard Rickar ask, “What now?”

Liam said, “Now we ask Lors to think of where we’ll all rendezvous… after he arranges for the rest of us to start out for the Uplands to see about those — what did you call them? Ah, yes. Guanacos. Can’t a rendezvous be set for — where is this place your brother has in mind, Lors?”

Out of the darkness Lors said, “We call it the caves…”

The scheme had worked… so far. Rickar, Duro, and Cerry had gone off to the caves. Lors, Liam, Fateem, a raftsman named Dunal, and Seqah, one of the young and crypto-heretical Knowers, were the Uplands party. Lej had felt himself obviously less certain as to the number required for the unprecedented task of seeing to the acquisition of guanaco breeding-stock, and Lors had been insistent. Lej’s final statement—”Since they are smaller animals, then, five people should be enough”—seemed to indicate that he perhaps thought they would each carry one of them slung across their backs!

What they did carry, slung across their backs, were several days’ rations apiece. And so, when they came across him, was Tom-small.

Tom-small shrugged. “My popa has been building canoes in a fury. He claims that even though the strangers seem to have taken over the country, at least they’ve attracted enough fools — your pardon, friends — so that he can handle the rest of ours who’ve stayed faithful. Then (he says) if it’s really necessary to flee, he’ll find out where the arks intend to go, and he (that means us) will make damned sure to go somewhere else… He won’t admit, but he’s following Knowers’ advice in at least one way. We’re living in brushwood shacks now, for the most part, because he’s having the houses pulled down for boat-timbers.

“He says that if we’ve got to leave, then the houses won’t be of any use to us. And if we haven’t got to leave, we can always build new ones. Any news of the thick-and-thins?”

Lors exchanged quick looks with the others. They raised their eyebrows, shrugged, leaving the decision to him. He said, “The two kinds of Devils, you mean… Well, Jow’s son, we have some hopes of our finding out some news before very long. But it’s got to be private news… if we get any… for the time being, at any rate. Understood?”

Tom-small straightened the skin bag of supplies slung across his broad shoulders. “Understood. Where’s Duro, then?”

“We’ll meet up with him at the caves, later on.”

“But this isn’t the way to the—”

“The longest way around is sometimes the straightest way there. A saying from the wise wisdom of the knowledgeable ancient old Knowers, which I just made up… What do you know about chasing down the wild guanaco, shorty?”

Jow’s son grinned. “Not a thing. Why?”

“You’ll soon know something. Knowledge is contagious. And now, talk more if you like, but I’m going to save my breath for climbing.”

The thickets thinned out, were succeeded by farmlands, which in turn gave way to moor. The winds began to nip at them, and they were glad for the extra clothes Lors had had them bring; and, when night began to settle, glad for the warmth of the fire in the grove they picked for their camp: not only did it serve as a windbreak, but it was naturally supplied with wood. They ate, drank hot infusions of herb, and, well-tired, turned to sleep.

After a while someone came and lay down next to Liam and he felt arms close softly around him. There was a whisper: “It is me — Fateem.”

He grunted. “I’m relieved it’s not one of the boys, behaving so.”

She breathed angrily. “ ‘Behaving so—’ Silent hero, cautions, careful, stiff and aloof! Should we all behave the same? I won’t. I can’t!”

He sighed. “What do you want, then?”

Her whisper trembled, broke — perhaps still with anger, perhaps with cold — but went on again. “I don’t know what you — I can’t go along, waiting forever. I can’t be alone like this any more. Before, there was the safety of the family and the folk. Then there was the ark… and Rickar. What’s Rickar? Very little. I — Tomorrow the entire ground may give way beneath our feet. And you go on, as if — What do I want? I want to know that I’m not alone, not just one of a band of brothers or something like that. I want to know that I’m something special to some special person. Not forever. I don’t know about forever. I know about tonight—

“Tom has his father, Lors has his brother, you have your secret dreams, I — what do I have? You know what I have. Tonight is not for dreaming! Aren’t you a man, made like other men? Ah… yes… there… so… I knew that you were—” Her voice broke off, then began again, even lower, without words.

Morning was cold and wet and there was very little in the way of talk until more hot herb tea was made and drunk; then they went on, following the path with lowered eyes, the dim light of sunrise made further dim by the thick mists.

And then, as a portion of the mists blew away, they saw three figures: as strange to all but Lors as they were suddenly come upon… and even somewhat strange to him.

Three men stood athwart the trail, tall, each one with a tall staff in the crook of one arm and a bow as tall as himself resting, unstrung, in the crook of the other. The pelt of the wild, fleet guanaco was their clothing, and the mists and dews distilled in droplets in their thin, dark beards.

One said, “Hey, people!”

One said, “Where do you go, people?”

One said, “Only maybe not, eh, people?”

They straggled to a halt, irresolute. Tom and Lors, in turn, identified themselves, and began an explanation of their purpose. But presently they stopped. The three men were not listening to them, were not looking at them. They were looking at Liam. Intently.

One said, “Hey, person, your eyes don’t match!”

One said, “You’ve got power of a sort, person?”

One said, “Only maybe not, eh, person?”

Liam said nothing. He returned their looks. By and by the long silence was broken again as the men touched their breasts in the identification which was, evidently, among them a form of greeting.