Brian Aldiss - Helliconia Spring

They watched a tall aged figure running crazily along the banks of the Voral. Nearby towers obscured the figure, then they saw it again, skinny arms and legs flying. It stopped once, scooping up mud to plaster over its head and face, then ran on with its tottering gait.

“She’s gone mad,” Nahkri said, smoothing his whiskers pleasureably.

“Worse than that, if you ask me. Crazy, high in the harneys.”

Behind the running figure went a more sober one, a boy on the verge of manhood. Laintal Ay was following his grandmother to see that no harm came to her. She ran ahead of him, crying aloud. He followed, glum, silent, dutiful.

After shaking their heads, Nahkri and Klils put them together. “I can’t see why Loil Bry’s behaving like that,” Klils said. “You remember what Father told us?”

“No.”

“He told us that Loil Bry only pretended to love Uncle Yuli. He said she didn’t love him at all.”

“Ah, I remember. So why’s she keeping up the pretence now that he’s dead? It doesn’t make sense.”

“She’s got some clever scheme, with all that learning, you see. It’s a trick.”

Nahkri went over to the open trap. Women were working below. He kicked the door shut and turned to face his younger brother.

“Whatever Loil Bry does, that’s not important. Nobody understands what women do. The important thing is that Uncle Yuli’s dead and now you and I are going to rule Embruddock.”

Klils looked frightened. “Loilanun? Laintal Ay—what about him?”

“He’s still a kid.”

“Not for long. He’ll be seven, and a full hunter, in two more quarters.”

“For long enough. It’s our chance. We’re powerful—at least, I am. People will accept us. They don’t want a kid ruling them, and they had a secret contempt for his grandfather, lying about all the while with that madwoman. We must think of something to tell everyone, to promise them. Times are changing.”

“That’s it, Nahkri. Tell them times are changing.”

“We need the support of the masters. I’ll go and speak to them now—you’d better keep away, because I happen to know that the council think you’re a trouble- making fool. Then we win round a few leading hunters like Aoz Roon and the others, and everything will work out.”

“What about Laintal Ay?”

Nahkri hit his brother. “Don’t keep saying that. We’ll get rid of him, if he’s any trouble.”

Nahkri summoned a meeting that evening, when the first sentinel had left the sky and Freyr was moving towards a monochromatic dusk. The hunting party was home, most of the trappers were back. He ordered the gates closed.

As the crowd assembled in the square, Nahkri appeared on the base of the big tower. Over his deerskins he had thrown a stammel, a coarse woollen garment of red and yellow, without sleeves, to lend himself dignity. He was of medium height, with thick legs. His face was plain, his ears large. Characteristically, he jutted his lower jaw forward, giving his features an ominous, top-heavy quality.

He addressed the crowd in a serious way, reminding them of the great qualities of the old triumvirate, of Wall Ein, of his father, Dresyl, and of his uncle, Yuli. They had combined bravery and wisdom. Now the tribe was united; bravery and wisdom were common qualities. He would carry on the tradition, but with new emphasis for a new age. He and his brother would rule with the council, and would always give ear to what any man had to say.

He reminded them all that phagor raids were a continual threat, and that the salt traders from the Quzint had spoken of religious wars in Pannoval. Oldorando must stay united and continue to grow in strength. Fresh efforts were needed. Everyone must work harder. The women must work harder.

A woman’s voice interrupted him.

“Get down off that platform and do some work yourself!”

Nahkri lost his presence of mind. He gaped at the crowd below him, unable to think of a reply.

Lailanun spoke from the crowd. Laintal Ay stood beside her, looking down at the ground. Fear and anger shook her frame.

“You’ve no right to be up there, you and your drunken brother!” she called. “I am Yuli’s issue, I am his daughter. Here stands my son, Laintal Ay, whom you all know, who will be a man in two quarters. I have as much wisdom and knowledge as a man—gleaned from my parents. Maintain the triumvirate, as you were intended to do by your father, Dresyl, whom all respected. I demand to rule with you—women should have a voice—I love our family. Speak up for me, everyone, see that I get my rights. Then when Laintal Ay is of age, he will rule in my stead. I’ll train him properly.”

Feeling his cheeks burn, Laintal Ay looked about under his lowered brow. Oyre was gazing at him sympathetically and made a sign.

Several women and a few men started to shout, but Nahkri had recovered his poise. He outshouted them.

“No one is going to be ruled by a woman while I have anything to do with it. Who ever heard of such a thing? Lailanun, you must be as soft in your head as your mother to think of it. We all know you had bad luck with your man being killed, and everyone’s sorry, but what you say is all nonsense.”

The people all turned and looked at Loilanun’s flushed worn face. She returned the gaze unflinchingly and said, “Times are changing, Nahkri. Brains are needed as well as brawn. To be honest, a lot of us don’t trust you and your blockhead brother.”

Many murmured in Loilanun’s favour, but one of the hunters, Faralin Ferd, said roughly, “She’s not going to rule me—she’s only a woman. I’d rather put up with those two rogues.”

At this there was much good-hearted laughter, and Nahkri carried the day. As the crowd cheered, Loilanun pushed her way through it and went somewhere to weep. Laintal Ay followed her reluctantly. He felt sorry for his mother, he admired her, he also thought in his harneys that it was absurd for a woman to expect to rule over Oldorando. Nobody had ever heard of such a thing, as Uncle Nahkri said.

As he paused on the edge of the crowd, a woman called Shay Tal came to him and touched his sleeve. She was a young friend of his mother’s, with a fine complexion and a keen, hawklike look. He knew her as strange and sympathetic, for she occasionally visited his grandmother, bringing bread.

“I’ll come with you to comfort your mother, if you don’t mind,” Shay Tal said. “She embarrassed you, I know—but when people speak from the heart it often embarrasses us. I admire your mother as I admired your wise grandparents.”

“Yes, she’s brave. But still people laughed.”

Shay Tal looked scrutinisingly at him. “Still people laughed, yes. But many of those who laughed admire her nevertheless. They are scared. Most people are always scared. Remember that. We must try to change their minds.”

Laintal Ay went along with her, suddenly elated, smiling into her severe face.

Fortune favoured Nahkri and Klils. That night, a furious wind blew from the south, shrieking continuously among the town like the Hour-Whistler itself. Next day, the fish trappers reported a glut of fish in the river. The women went down with baskets and scooped up the gleaming bodies. This unexpected plenty was taken as a sign. Much of the fish was salted, but enough was left over to provide a feast that night, a feast at which barley wine was drunk to celebrate the new rule of Nahkri and Klils.

But Klils had no sense and Nahkri no wisdom. Worse, neither had much feeling for their fellow men. In the hunt, they performed no better than average. They often quarrelled with each other over what was to be done. And because they were aware in a shadowy fashion of these defects, they drank too much, and so quarrelled the more.

Yet luck remained with them. The weather continued to improve, deer were sometimes more plentiful, and no diseases struck. Phagor raids ceased, though the monsters were sighted occasionally a few miles away.