Гарри Тертлдав - The First Heroes

Dett stood on Western Isle's cliff, ignoring the thousands of birds wheeling and shrieking above him, even when some spattered his deerskin cloak with their droppings. He studied the sky as the sun dipped toward the horizon, as he had done these past few months whenever the clouds lifted enough to see the sunset. That wasn't often; the Islands usually spent the summer months wrapped in fog, and this particular summer had been especially cold. What he saw unnerved him. These colors are wrong, he thought. Too red, too orange, too yellow—like fire. I have never seen sunsets like this before, yet ever since the Day of Darkness in late spring, they have all looked this way. Why have the sunsets changed? It must mean something. But what?

He turned his gaze upon the waves pounding the sheer cliffs below him. Guillemots, kittiwakes, and auks, unafraid of the power of the Mother of the Sea, darted in and out of the water, seeking fish and crabs. His eye was accustomed to their rapid motion, likewise, to that of the seals hunting their prey. Then, at the base of the cliffs, he spied a strange sight amidst the seafoam.

A blood-red figure—its color much the same as the queer skies— broke through the billows and stretched a long red arm upward, grasping, but catching nothing. A powerful wave knocked it back under, but only for a moment. It surged up once more, allowing Dett a glimpse of a gigantic head with a gaping mouth, before another wave, as strong as if pushed by the Mother herself, overcame it. Dett watched the same spot for more than an hour, but the thing did not return. The wind that tore at his hair and clothes and chapped his lips didn't bother him. He would have noticed it more if the wind had stopped. Gust-blowing demons continually plagued the Islands, sometimes banding together to create a terrific gale in hopes of pleasing their lord, Father Winter.

"Dett!" A deep, resonant voice called him. He turned to see his brother Mebaw ascending the slope to join him at the cliff's edge. Mebaw was wiry where Dett was stocky, but they both had the same oval faces and high cheekbones, the same warm brown eyes.

"Jolpibb thought you'd be up here," Mebaw said. A broad smile appeared in a thicket of dark brown whiskers. "What do you hope to find here, brother? Saving birdshit, of course."

"Answers," said Dett. "Instead, I found another question. Perhaps it is a blessing that you are here, for you are the Mastersinger's Second, and learned in signs and portents. Look down there, by that slanting rock with the four seals and the cluster of terns. Do you see anything? No? Let me tell you what I saw." He described the sighting, and Mebaw's jolly face creased into unfamiliar frowns.

"The elders must hear of this, brother, but I fear it sounds like Klevey. This could be very serious, for there are few monsters on land or sea that can wreak destruction as Klevey." Dett shuddered. "That is what I thought, too. I came up here, as I have for many weeks now, seeking the reasons why the sun has hidden its face. This is the height of summer, yet we have had as many weeks of freezing clouds as when Lord Father Winter reigns. And behold the sunset! The sky seems touched with flame as the sun goes to its rest. Do you think the reddened sky is a sign that Klevey is near? The red flesh I saw thrashing in the surf was much the same color."

Mebaw's bony shoulders moved in a shrug under his sealskin cape. "Nothing in the songlore connects Klevey with oddly colored skies. He is a creature of the ocean, not the heavens."

"I fear that red sky means something is wrong in the heavens."

"Do you remember that trader who came some years ago, the one with the so-sharp metal knives? He thought the air of our Islands shimmered, and seemed different from the air of his native land in the distant south."

"And Grandmother Glin told him it was because the Seafolk ground pearls to sprinkle on the fishladies' tails, and must have tossed some into the sky," laughed Dett. "But the trader, for all his fine wares, was a fool to believe that. A shimmering! Bah! It is nothing but the sea salt in the air. You can taste it; you can see the crystals catch in your beard.

But if you go far from the sea, where the trader has his home, or into a sheltered place, you cannot see any floating sparkles."

"Perhaps it is because the Seafolk cannot throw the pearl dust into such places," Mebaw said with a wink. "Besides, who can go far from the sea in the Islands? No one but mad adventurers like Father and Uncle Talloc on their boats!"

"Ah, Uncle Talloc," said Dett with bitterness. "I am sorry he was named to the elders' council. Not that I doubt the wisdom of his years, but I am his least-favorite nephew because I am no sailor. Father made allowances for my terrible seasickness—why couldn't Uncle?"

"I am fortunate the Mastersinger chose me for his Second, saving me from a life at sea. No one, not even Uncle Windbag, can argue with the Master."

The pair stood silent for a while, staring down at the waves. Mebaw finally spoke again, "The cliffs and rocks below are of red sandstone. Is it possible, brother, that you mistook a rock for the monster?"

"No," Dett said firmly. "I am not versed in lore, but my eyes are keen." "Then we shall present your sighting to the elders. They meet in three days' time, when the moon is full. For now, brother, let us go home. Your wife is waiting."

The two brothers turned away from the sheer red cliffs and trudged down the sloping hills. Soon they passed some of their fields of barley and wheat. "Look," Dett pointed. "The fields do poorly because the weather has been bad ever since that day when the skies became as black as night. Our harvest will be a small one this autumn."

"How cheery you are today," Mebaw said. "Can you not find something pleasant to say, such as, 'My brother, your singing has improved of late. How many verses did you manage last night—sixteen? No, twenty!'"

"Of course your singing has improved. It could hardly worsen. The auks are in better voice, or the sheep. Harken at them; they're doing the chorus, you can chant the verse."

A rise, sprinkled with hundreds of small pink flowers, shielded the sheep pen from their sight, but the bleating of the lambs and the reassuring calls of the ewes penetrated the ever-present growling of the surf. They also heard a piping voice swearing amidst the other sounds.

They crested the rise and looked down. The enclosure was protected on one side by the steep rise, and bordered on the others by stone walls with a single wooden gate. The foul words came from the direction of the gate, where a small figure in a dark cap was shoving a gray ram back inside. The boy was soaking wet and shivering. The ram's gray fleece, recently shorn for the summer, was also damp, though the beast showed no sign of feeling a chill.

"Trouble, son?" Dett called out. He and Mebaw walked down to the flagstone wall his great-grandfathers had built, or so said Grandmother Glin. It was a strong and sturdy wall, not unlike Glin herself, the oldest woman on Western Isle. They leaned on it, watching the lad struggle with the animal.

"Father, this one should be named Trouble!" cried the boy. He slammed the gate shut. "He's done it again, cursed beast! I grow tired of his games."

"What games, Fummirrul?" asked Mebaw. "I love to play games."

"Not these games." Fummirrul heaved a shell at the ram's backside. The animal twitched at the impact. He turned his horned head and appeared to scrutinize the young shepherd for a moment, then walked toward the small stone barn.

"One of the other sheep was grazing next to the wall. Trouble saw her there, leaped on her back, then sprang over the wall. The other two new rams have done this trick, too, whenever another sheep goes close by the wall. Not the ewes, for which I am thankful, for there are many more of them. Two mornings ago, when I came to take the flock to pasture, all three rams were outside the pen."