Гарри Тертлдав - The First Heroes

Klevey soon decided he was done tormenting the sheep, so he lurched to the wall nearest to dream-Dett, and heaved himself over with his massive arms. Dream-Dett threw himself behind a boulder, hoping Klevey's single red eye had not noticed him. The Red Scourge followed the path to the tilled fields, and plunged into them. His flippers trampled the young plants; what he didn't crush, his venomous coughing destroyed. The tender green and golden shoots blackened and died; the skies grew darker and the air colder.

When all the fields were smoldering, Klevey finally stopped. The destruction was taking a toll on him. Spasm after spasm racked his broad chest. Klevey was skinless, yet his exposed red flesh glistened moistly as though his exertions had made him sweat. Black blood pulsed through the yellow veins crisscrossing his frame.

After what seemed to dream-Dett an eternity, Klevey stopped barking and wheezing. He rested a moment, knuckles pressed into the turf, then turned toward the village.

Dream-Dett knew it was futile, but he tried to scramble around the boulder to stop the monster. He slipped on the wet grass and found he couldn't get up, for something was pinning down his tunic. He wheeled around to free himself, only to find a large gray seal had the cloth in his mouth—nor did it appear ready to let go. It stared at him with eyes unlike any he had ever seen in a seal before. There was intelligence behind the dark pupils. No ordinary seal, then, but one of the Seafolk.

"You must let me go," dream-Dett pleaded. "Klevey is attacking my village!"

The seal, or, rather, Seaman, its mouth still firmly shut on the tunic, shook its head. Its belly and sides were encrusted with wet sand and a long tendril of seaweed was draped over one flipper. This gave it the appearance of having only just crawled out of the sea . . . except there were no tracks of its passing behind it, only the grassy heath, with the virgin shore some distance further.

"Have pity! Or are you in league with the monster?"

It shook its head once more, its wide eyes wet with tears.

"Is there nothing we can do?" he wailed, fully expecting the creature to shake its head a third time.

It did not, but released him so abruptly he stumbled onto the grass. When he turned back, the Seaman was gone, leaving nothing behind but the seaweed and a few smears of crusty sand on the grass. Dream-Dett ran into the village, but he was too late. Klevey had gone—the tracks of his flippers quite plainly ran through the entire community and down into the harbor, where they disappeared into the surf. A resounding silence met Dett, filling his ears until he thought his head would burst.

Then he awoke and found the silence in his own house was real. Or-rul was dead, his painful wheezing forever ended.

The village elders, when summoned by Mebaw for an urgent council, listened to Dett's account of his dream in an aura of concern. All were shaken by Dett's queer comments at the Pit and by the death of Orrul while his father was witnessing Klevey in his mind's eye. They tried to interpret what Dett had seen.

"Klevey means death and destruction," said the Mastersinger. The gaunt old man knew more songs and tales than anyone in the village, save perhaps Grandmother Glin. "He has not walked among us in long years. This dream is a sign he has come again."

"No doubt of that," said Mebaw. "My nephew's death is but the first, and Dett has feared for some time that the strange skies portended ill."

Uncle Talloc pulled on his dark beard. "But what can we do? Nothing!"

"No!" said Grandmother Glin. "If we could do nothing, then the Seaman would have let dream-Dett die with the rest of us. After the Seaman released Dett, he disappeared. Where? Back to his home in the sea, of course. Therefore, we must beg the Mother of the Sea for protection. She alone can keep Klevey in the sea where he belongs, and away from our lands."

The Mastersinger nodded sagely. "And do not forget the monster's dread of fresh water. We should place buckets of lake water beside the door of every house." Mebaw laughed. "And we should hope the weather stays bad! It is so cold and rainy, the enemy will dare not surface from the depths, for fear the raindrops might sizzle his skinless flesh."

"My brother, watch your tongue," Dett said with great weariness. "You would not speak so lightly had you seen Klevey's hate-filled red eye."

Mebaw, for once, had the decency to look embarrassed.

Later that day, they put small Orrul's body to rest in the barrows beyond the village, then prepared an offering to the Mother of the Sea. They went down to the harbor, ignoring the icy drizzle, and everyone— even Gefalal the stranger girl and Fummirrul, who had left the sheep alone to participate—placed a pinch of grain in a bowl. Then Dett's father and uncle took their boat a short distance into the bay where they dumped the bowl and a chunk of venison, in hope s the Mother would find it pleasing. The Mastersinger, accompanied by Mebaw, sang many verses in praise of the Mother while Orrul's closest relatives made an offering for his safe journey to the world of the dead.

Although Dett grieved for the loss of his small son, his spirit felt lifted by the devotions. And it helped that the heavy rain clouds blocked out the dread, red skies.

Unfortunately, the offering did not please the Mother, for there soon followed the coldest autumn and winter anyone could remember, even Grandmother Glin. It truly seemed as if the Mother had lost her strength, and Lord Father Winter reigned supreme. A snowfall ordinarily lasted a day or so, but now white drifts blanketed the island. No sooner did one melt than another covered the land once again.

Klevey was working in tandem with his oath-brother, for his vile touch was evident in the stunted wheatstalks, the frost-damaged vegetables, the withered and brown grasses. With the cold and the failing crops came the deaths, leaving no family unaffected. Uncle Talloc was hardest hit, losing a dozen family members to different ailments. Only his oldest son, now a widower, and Gefalal survived. Dett's wife, Jolpibb, and the baby died before the solstice, and only Grandmother Glin's skillful nursing saved Rarpibb from a deadly flux. Grandmother herself seemed undaunted, save she walked more slowly and her back was more bent. Otherwise, she was as enduring as the red cliffs, taking punishment from the pounding waves, yet still standing.

Fummirrul, on the other hand, no longer smiled and joked, and his slim frame seemed bonier than ever. He had ceased complaining about the pesky new sheep and treated Rarpibb so tenderly the little girl wearied of it. One night, she tried pinching him to provoke him into teasing back. He simply moved away to the other side of the hearth and continued sewing a seam in his trousers. That was usually women's work, but the only woman in Dett's household was Joloc, and she was sorely overburdened. Under more ordinary circumstances, Grandmother Glin would have stayed to help Joloc; Glin had no permanent home, being related to everyone, but moved where she was needed. As the most skilled healer, she was in constant demand that season. It would have been too selfish of Dett to insist she stay after Jolpibb died, not when others needed her care.

Rarpibb, small as she was, helped where she could. Her sister was teaching her homely skills, but she was still clumsy at sewing and weaving and weak from her illness. Dett hoped Rarpibb would stay healthy and learn more, for the day would come when Joloc's courses would begin, and she would eventually wed and move into the house of her husband's family.

But that was still several years distant. For now, Fummirrul's somber ways were a more immediate burden on Dett's mind as he and Mebaw worked to repair a hole in Mebaw's roof. "It's as if Fummirrul's spirit is being crushed by all the deaths. He has not laughed in days. Every week, he reports we've lost another sheep, and Joloc counters that another villager has died. How long can Klevey plague us?"