Гарри Тертлдав - The First Heroes

"What do you mean?" I demanded. "Why, you'd have heard much the same from anyone, but I can tell you the most. The Boii are lately on the move again, and all wildfire is breaking loose."

The headman and his fellows frowned. Gairwarth made haste to bring them into the conversation. Did he want to head off suspicions that we might be plotting against them? I could well-nigh feel the uneasiness everywhere around us. They added their warnings to his. But I need not recall such breaks in discourse.

"Do you know the—the Celtics so well?" asked Herut.

"As well as is good for a man, if not more," replied Gairwarth. "I'm a trader, taking my boat along the river, sometimes clear down to the sea, sometimes clear up to the Boian marches. I've dealt with them if and when they were in the mood for it. Sometimes I've been a go-between on behalf of some of my own folk, as it might be there'd been a fight and we hoped to settle things before the trouble got worse. The Celts aren't always raving mad. Not always."

"So you speak their tongue?" I blurted. "How did you learn?"

His small eyes probed at me before he explained: "From my mother. Her kin lived not far from the Boii. A gang of them came raiding when she was a little girl and carried her off together with two or three siblings. She was raised among them, a slave, though not too badly treated. Years afterward, when she was turning into a woman and my father was a young man, he came that way trading. Like I said, it's not been unbroken war. We've stuff to offer, like honey, fine pelts, or amber when it's reached us from the North. They get wares from the South and East—kettles, jewelry, little metal discs stamped with pictures, and what all else. Once a chieftain's taken you in, you're under his protection till you've left his domain. And some men on either side know some scraps of the other tongue.

"Anyhow, my father liked the maiden's looks, bought her, and took her home. She could never be his real wife—no family left, been in foreign hands, never learned his language well—and must have felt lonely; talked much to me when I was a boy. That's how I got my Boian, and it's stood me in good stead."

He finished bleakly: "I got to know that tribe, too. I tell you from experience, you'd better turn back."

"Why?" I cried, and Herut asked more quietly and wisely, "What's happening?"

Gairwarth sighed. "I can't say for sure. But word runs from steading to steading, through the woods to the water. More and more raids. A few dwellers get away, with nothing left to them but the tidings they bear. Rumor goes that those who lived nearest the Boii saw big war-bands gathering. That may or may not be right. Still, it's enough to keep me here, with my boat ready to carry off my household and me if they come this way." He paused. "Oh, I'm no coward. I'll stand with our men. But, between us, I'll know it's hopeless, and when we break, I don't aim to flee blindly."

Herut sat thinking—my own head was awhirl—before he murmured, "Why do you say hopeless?

I gather the Celts have no fleet of boats. They'd have to go overland, and I wonder how many at a time can get through these forests."

"They needn't be very many," Gairwarth said. His mouth tightened in the beard. "Their weapons are iron."

A shiver passed through me. I had heard something about iron, that it was not only stronger and kept a keener edge than bronze, but was far more plentiful. The Southfolk had long made use of it, and then the knowledge spread to the wild tribes north and east of them, who were soon hewing their way west. But I had never seen any. A vision rose before me, a sword with a blade that shone flamelike.

"Two or three times I've tried to bargain for one, even just a knife," Gairwarth finished low. "The owner would not part with it."

"Was he afraid you'd turn it against him?" gibed Herut. "Small use, a single piece, when you have no way of making more."

"No, it's that they believe their weapons have souls, somehow bound to theirs," Gairwarth answered. "A strange folk, fearless, reckless, spendthrift, yet if a man thinks he's been wronged, he may well brood on it for half a lifetime, planning his revenge— They have holy men, deeply learned in their lore, who stand higher in their eyes than do their kings, yet they sacrifice captives to their gods—I don't really understand them myself. I can only tell you to turn around, go home, before it's too late."

"No, we can't!" burst from me. "Slink off like dogs at a mere word? We're Skernings!"

Herut shook his head at me slightly, made a brief silencing gesture with his hand, and said, "We welcome your counsel and wish to hear more. You'll find us not ungrateful." Whereupon, aided by the round-aboutness of translation, he got talk going in other directions. The Suwebi were glad to set their worries aside and hear about our journey and our homeland.

After the meal, as evening drew in, he said that he and I had better go see if all was well in the crew's encampment before we returned here for more drinking and then sleep. While we strolled off over the muddy ground, among the scattered huts, he told me, "What we need in truth is to speak together quietly. I f honor forbids we give up the quest this easily, mother wit bids us give heed to what we're told and make use of what tools come into our hands. Havakh, we must have that man along with us. I think the gods may have seen to our meeting him."

What gods? I wondered. Have we not left ours far and far behind us? I looked around me. Beyond the squalor of the hamlet, the forest lifted, its crowns goldened by the setting sun, and through the stenches drifted its sweet breath. Mighty ahead of us, the river gleamed. Surely, I thought, if none else, whatever these people call her, Yortha is here also, the Mother for whom the maidens at home dance when the hawthorn blossoms. My heart steadied.

Our feet dawdled while our tongues ran hurriedly through ways and means. Nevertheless, we soon came to the boats, which we must for appearances' sake. As before, the men squatted or sat cross-legged around a fire, where they had heated food the villagers gave them. I did not await more than a glance and maybe a few words. It was a surprise when a big fellow got up and lumbered over to us.

I recognized Ernu of the bog and stiffened, though he had paddled quietly enough. Nor did he now pose a threat. He bobbed his shaggy head and rumbled, "Lord, a word, by your leave?"

I nodded, puzzled. Staring at the ground, he said, "I'm sorry about the fight. Not but what that KJeggu toad— Well, I got him and his kin not talking to me and mine no more, nor us to them." I saw that the two factions sat on opposite sides of the fire. "But we're all at your beck, lord."

"That is well," I answered almost as awkwardly.

Did a sly grin steal through the beard? "We'd not get home without you to lead us." He lifted his gaze to mine. "First, though, lord, we're going on into danger. The wild men, right? What I want to beg is your leave that my kinsmen and me, we make an offering for luck."

"What kind of offering?" snapped Herut, as I should have done. Who knew what might please or might anger the gods of this land and the river? "Oh, a poor little thing. We're poor men. We'll go into the woods and . . . give blood. Our own blood. Just a few drops on the ground. With a few, uh, words." I glanced at Herut. This must be some uncouth rite of the outback. He thought for a heartbeat before he shrugged. "You may," I said.

"Thank'ee, lord. I wouldn't want you to think we were running away or anything. We'll be gone a while tomorrow, but we'll come back. We'll feel better, bolder. And it's for you likewise, lord. Thank'ee." Ernu slouched off toward the fire.

Too many eyes around it were upon me. I turned and strode from them, Herut at my side. After a while he murmured, "That man surprises me. Uncouth, but not witless."