Гарри Тертлдав - The First Heroes

"Ho ho!" Mebaw chuckled. "Father's prized sheep are trying to go back to their southern homeland."

"Yes, Uncle Mebaw. For they do go down to the shore."

Mebaw looked astonished that Fummirrul had taken his joke literally. Dett, who had heard his son complaining of the new sheep, was not surprised. He asked, "And did they do the same as before?"

"They did. They grazed upon seaweed. Whenever I lead the flock to the farther fields, these stupid new animals keep trying to run to the shore. I spend my days chasing them and bringing them back to their more obedient cousins. But there is even worse. Today, after Trouble escaped, he saw me running after him, and the wretched creature swam out to the rocks. I do not jest or tell untruths. Father, Uncle, I swear that ram was laughing at me from his perch. I had to wade into the arms of the Mother of the Sea to drag him back to shore." His youthful face filled with indignation. "Our old sheep do not behave like this. What am I to do with them?"

"What any man does when faced with a dilemma: do what you think is best to cope with it. So our father told us. So I tell you."

Fummirrul grimaced. This bit of paternal advice was not the solution he sought. He muttered something about drowning them all the next time they went swimming.

"Did you hear me, son?"

"Yes, Father. You said to do what I think best."

"Let us go home, that you may have a hot meal and dry clothes."

"May I run, Father?" At Dett's nod, he pelted down the trail, the dark cap and the pale crook bobbing with every step. "The new sheep are funny sheep," Dett murmured. "And clever. To use another animal a s a stepping stone!" "Father and Uncle Talloc said they ate seaweed on the trip home from the south, after their supply of grain ran out on the long voyage. Nor did they seem harmed by it."

"They must have acquired a taste for it. Don't suppose a little can hurt them; after all, we eat the stuff, too. But for my poor boy's sake, I am glad the old sheep and the new ewes do not play runaway."

"Heh, for all we know, the new ewes might be frisky, too, but for their new lambs," Mebaw said with a malicious grin. "If you want to remain my son's favorite uncle," said Dett, "I advise you keep that observation to yourself."

Dett's village, which nestled in Western Isle's best harbor, numbered around one hundred and forty people. Most, like Dett and Mebaw, farmed and fished and hunted, but there were a few—including their father, uncle, cousins, and two brothers-in-law—who sometimes ventured farther in their boats, trading goods with nearby islands and catching fish that lived in deeper waters. On several occasions, under the guidance of the Mother of the Seas, they traveled an even greater distance, past the Small South Isles to the Great Island. On their last trip there, they discovered a village put to the sword by sea raiders, save a girl and a boy, both young shepherds. After many arguments, they decided to bring them all—sheep and children—back to the Western Isle, though it perilously crowded their vessels. Seven sheep and the boy died on the way, but the girl now lived in Talloc's house and would wed his youngest son after her monthly courses began. Now called Gefalal, or "stranger," she had yet to learn more than a dozen words of their language.

As the brothers entered the village, they spied Gefalal sitting before the doorway of Talloc's house, carding wool from the recently shorn flock. She leaped to her feet at their approach and bowed her head in respect. Whether her people were naturally more deferential or she still felt ill-at-ease after several months in her new home, Dett did not know. He only knew the children of Western Isle tended to be more outgoing. Fummirrul, for one, never seemed still unless sound asleep. Dett nodded politely to Gefalal as he passed; she bowed more deeply.

The sight of the stranger girl brought a question to Dett's mind. "Has Father mentioned when he and the others will go back to sea?"

Mebaw frowned. "He and Uncle Talloc are uneasy about sailing farther than the nearest isles because of the weather. They don't like the cold and clouds any more than you do, Brother Sky-watcher. Our brothers-in-law want to go anyway, this being summer—well, a sort of summer—but the elders urge caution. I suspect they will be even more reluctant to put to sea if they think Klevey lurks beneath the whitecaps."

"I hope they will say I was mistaken in my sighting. Still, it is wise to be cautious. Father says the currents between the islands are treacherous enough in good weather, and many lack safe harbors such as ours. Better to proceed with care than lose ships in an unexpected storm." He turned back to face the western horizon, where the setting sun glowed like an ember. "Sleep well, brother. I intend to wake you early to help me hunt. It is time we had a feast at the Pit."

"You are cruel. The nights are too short as it is, and my wife is after me to make her another storage box."

"If you spent less time singing and more time working . . ."

Mebaw brushed off this scolding and headed for his house at the eastern end of the enclave. Dett entered his home nearby, where the usual din prevailed. His oldest daughter, Joloc, was spooning barley porridge into the next-to-youngest, who was humming as she gummed each mouthful. His wife, Jolpibb, was changing the wrappings of the cranky baby, and Grandmother Glin was singing charms over the bed of the feverish four-year-old, Orrul. Fummirrul, now naked but for a wool blanket, was squabbling with Rarpibb, his six-year-old sister. He teasingly held her doll, a blobbly lump of sealskin stuffed with a handful of wool, above her outstretched hands.

"I am glad Mebaw dragged you from your high perch," Jolpibb said over the baby's howls. "You spend so much time gazing at the heavens, I sometimes fear you will forget what happens here on the ground."

"I know what happens here on the ground," Dett said. He plucked the doll from Fummirrul and tossed it to Rarpibb, who cuddled it. "Nothing grows well in the ground but weeds. From above, the sun stares down on us, clothed in vermilion and yellow robes. And today, in the froth at the cliff's base, I saw something else, something I must report to the council of elders."

"For you to propose such action sounds serious," Grandmother Glin said from the little one's bedside. "You are not given to speaking rashly."

"Would that I were!" Dett cried. "Then everyone could dismiss my worries as they did those of old Telley, who saw disaster everywhere and omens in every least little thing!" He spoke with such vehemence that everyone shut up, even the baby. For a moment, the only sound in the close, smoky room was Orrul's harsh, labored breathing.

"Is something wrong with the sun, Father?" Rarpibb asked, a slight tremor in her voice. "Can you put it right?"

"No man has power over the sun, little one," Dett said. "Our place is here on the earth."

"The sun went away before, when I was little, like Orrul," Rarpibb said, "but it came back, and now it hardly ever is gone, though sometimes it is hard to see in the clouds. I am glad, because I do not like the darkness."

Dett, Grandmother, and Jolpibb exchanged wry looks. To a child, the long nights of winter must have given the impression the sun had indeed left for good. Rarpibb was too young to understand the cyclical nature of the seasons.

"I do not like the darkness, either," Dett said. "But I would like some porridge."

Dett and Mebaw and several other men went hunting the next day and managed to kill two red deer stags. They also spied a doe with a fawn, but let it go to fatten for the fall. They dragged the carcasses to the Pit outside their village, where many of the women were waiting. They exclaimed over the men's success, for deer were not plentiful on Western Isle.