The Water Road (20 page)

Antrey pushed on, regardless of the
barrier between them. “Kohar?” she asked, making a gesture behind her head as
if she was wearing a long braid herself. Then she pointed to herself and said,
“Kohar.”

“Kohar?” the one across the stream
said, then laughed. Again, there was a rapid-fire barrage of words, the general
gist of which was that he and his companions were certainly not part of such a
pathetic clan. When he was finished, he grasped his braid and held it in front
of him, showing off the red, black, and white stripes. “Dost,” he said. “Dost.”

That was something, at least.
Antrey knew that the Dost was one of the smaller clans and that its circuit was
in the mountains south of the Water Road but just west of the coast. She had
not made it very far up the river before turning south, it seemed. How much
more information could she get out of them? “Antrey,” she said, pointing to
herself again. “I am called Antrey.”

One of the others cocked his head
in confusion. “Kohar?” he asked, then turned to the one across the stream and
said something in lilting tones that must have been a question.

The one across the stream appeared,
to Antrey, to roll his eyes at his underling’s question. He shook his head and
pointed at her. “Antrey,” he said, then something that must have been either
“and” or “but,” then said, “Kohar.” He pointed to himself and said, “Hirrek,”
the same conjunction, then “Dost.”

“Yes,” Antrey said, nodding
vigorously. “Antrey.” She smiled a bit, relishing the small breakthrough. But
her happiness was short lived, as Hirrek bounded across the stream and came
within just a few feet of her. The others closed in around her in similar fashion.
From behind her, she could feel the cold breath of the young one on the top of
her head.

Before Antrey could ponder a next
move, she was knocked off the rock on which she had been sitting, landing face
first in the pool. The water was still, shallow, and bitterly cold. She gasped
as she rose to her knees in the middle of the water.

Hirrek said something that made the
others laugh, again, but this time in a more menacing way. Antrey was completely
at their mercy and, regardless of language, they knew it. She tried to stand,
but before she rose to her feet, she felt a crack at the back of her head. The
last thing she remembered was the freezing water rushing towards her again.

~~~~~

When she awoke, the back of
Antrey’s head felt as if it had been cracked open and then jammed shut again,
over and over. She could not tell how much time had passed, whether it was
hours or days. She opened her eyes and tried to make sense of her surroundings.
She was lying on the ground, but not directly on the snow or damp earth. There
were layers of soft material piled up underneath her, a bed of animal skins and
who knows what else. It was firm, but infinitely more comfortable than the beds
she had made for herself since fleeing Tolenor. And it was huge, swallowing the
length and width of her body with ease.

The room was small and rectangular.
The walls were barely visible, but appeared to have the texture of animal hide.
After a few moments, her nose confirmed it. The hides stretched over rough but
solid wooden posts and beams. She was lying in one corner of the tent. Along
the opposite wall, the other short side of the rectangle, there was a flap in
the wall that acted like a doorway. By the door stood a tall Neldathi warrior,
an overlong rifle propped up at his side. He said nothing to her and appeared
to take no notice, so long as she did not move. Along the long wall across from
her she could see the flickering of candlelight and what appeared to be a person
seated on a low bench, back to her, working at a long table.

Antrey tried to move, but only got
far enough to make her head hurt even more. She moaned and flopped back on the
bed. She heard movement from across the room.

“You are awake,” said a slow,
measured, thin voice. She watched as a Neldathi man, middle-aged and short for
his kind, shuffled over to her and leaned down over the bed. “I had entertained
thoughts that you may not awaken. I am pleased to be proven wrong.”

She looked at him, puzzled. “Wait,
you’re speaking common Altrerian,” she said.

The man nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I am.
So pleased am I to have someone else with which to use it.”

“But,” Antrey said, raising a
trembling hand, “you’re Neldathi.” She paused, but he did not respond to that. “Who
are you?”

“I am the one called Goshen the
Holy,” he said, stiffening with pride. “You may use the name Goshen, if you
prefer.”

A Neldathi priest of some sort,
Antrey assumed. She did not know enough about their society to know whether
such positions existed in every clan or even any of them. While she was
processing this information, she noticed something odd about Goshen’s
appearance. “Your braid,” she said, pointing to the hair that had been pulled
around to fall down his chest, “is black. No colors. No stripes. Why?”

He put a finger to her lips gently,
to quiet her. “All your questions will be answered in due time. I have waited a
very long time to meet someone like you, who is called Antrey. But now, if you
may stand, we must see the thek.” He stood and extended a hand. She took it and
pulled herself to her feet.

“How do you know my name?” Antrey
asked.

“Hirrek made an educated guess,”
Goshen said dismissively. “Even he thinks correctly from time to time.”

“Hirrek,” she said, “is he the one
who knocked me out?”

Goshen shrugged. “I cannot say with
certainty who delivered that blow. Hirrek is Dost’s master of the hunt.”

Antrey nodded. “The one with the
knife,” she said.

“I beg your pardon?” Goshen asked.
His formalized tone threw Antrey off her balance, given the rugged nature of
the surroundings.

“Never mind,” she said. “Who is it
you’re taking me to see?”

“Thek Ushan, the leader of this
clan,” he said. “She and her advisors are waiting. We must not tarry, or she
will be quite upset.” He turned and started to walk to the door outside, but
Antrey grabbed him by the upper arm.

“Wait a second,” she said, turning
him back around. “I know Hirrek doesn’t speak my language, and I don’t speak
his. What about this Ushan and the rest?”

Goshen smiled slightly. “You and I
alone, Antrey, speak your language in this place. But I also speak the Dost
tongue. The variations among the clan tongues are slight, compared to the
difference between any one of their tongues and what you speak. I will
translate for you and Thek Ushan, who you shall refer to as Great Mother,” he
said. Then he made a short low-pitched noise and motioned for Antrey to repeat
it. “Great Mother,” he said. “It will endear her to you.”

Antrey practiced the word a few
times before Goshen was convinced she could do it passably well. “Now let us
go. They are waiting.” He walked to the door of the tent and opened the flap,
holding it and motioning for her to walk outside.

When Antrey walked through the
door, the crisp, cold air hit her like a smack to the face, as did the
darkness. She had not realized how well insulated Goshen’s tent—she assumed it
was his—had been. She made a mental note to see just how it was done, given the
temporary nature of the structure. Goshen’s tent was one of perhaps two dozen
of similar size spread along this low ridge. In the distance, away from the
direction he was leading her, Antrey could see the smaller tents and campfires
where the clan had settled down. This area appeared to be set aside for the
clan’s upper class, which made Antrey even more curious about Goshen and his
background. From down the ridge, she could hear what sounded like a pipe of
some kind, playing a syncopated tune at the urging of clapping hands.

In the midst of the rectangular tents
was a large circular tent, with black smoke billowing from a hole in the roof.
It was surrounded by other auxiliary tents, some smaller versions of the same
design, others like Goshen’s. Armed sentries made their way around the whole of
the area, in pairs and groups of three. Some held rifles, like the one the
guard in Goshen’s tent had been carrying. Others had long bows slung across
their backs, others long pikes or spears. There were probably thirty of them,
Antrey estimated. More than enough to stop her from running if she tried, if
she even knew which direction to run.

A pair of guards stood watch on
either side of the entrance to the tent. Each held a more ornate version of the
pikes Antrey saw some of the others carrying. They stood with them crossed
across the entrance, to bar entry to anyone who had no business there. Antrey
assumed it must be some kind of common hall or meeting place. As Goshen
approached, with Antrey just behind, they stood aside without a word and let
her and Goshen step inside.

Inside, the tent was like a great
round room, reminding Antrey of the Grand Council chamber. There was a fire
crackling in a pit in the center of the circle. Arrayed around the firepit was
a series of low benches, with a path that circled around the pit and towards
the other side of the tent. At the end of that aisle was a pair of chairs, both
large but one more ornately carved and decorated than the other, flanked by
another pair of benches. The legs, arms, and backs of the chairs depicted elk
horns, fish, and other animals that must dwell in this territory. At the foot
of the larger chair, the various depictions blended into what looked like the
paw of some great beast. Trimmed with rough white fur, they were the size of
Antrey’s head. Through the dancing flames, Antrey could see people seated in
each of the chairs and along the benches beside them.

Goshen motioned for Antrey to
follow him, then walked around the firepit and down the aisle. When he reached
the area just in front of the chairs, he bowed deeply and repeated the sound
that meant “Great Mother.”

Antrey did the same. The honorific,
she assumed, was for the old Neldathi woman who sat in the more elaborate
chair, to Antrey’s left. She had a pair of braids that ran down along her
chest, the hair nearly white at the scalp, before transitioning to the clan’s
colors of red, white, and black. Next to her sat a man of similarly advanced
age, yet still in prime fighting form, with broad shoulders and thick, muscled
arms protruding from the skins in which he was wrapped. He studied Antrey
intently, surveying every inch of her in a series of slow, deliberate scans.
The woman leaned over and asked something of the man sitting on the bench to
the other side of her. Antrey recognized Hirrek from their confrontation at the
pool.

“Great Mother, the outsider is
awake,” Goshen said, first in Altrerian for Antrey’s benefit and then in the
clan’s tongue. He gestured towards Antrey, turning to her and returning to
Altrerian. “This is Thek Ushan, Great Mother of the Dost. She is joined by her
husband, Kajtan, War Leader of the Dost.”

Antrey bowed again and repeated the
honorific towards Ushan. She did not know how to react to Kajtan and thus did
nothing while Goshen repeated his words in the local language.

Ushan clipped off a quick series of
short words, all strung together with a lilting legato tone. Goshen turned to
Antrey and translated. “My son tells me you are called Antrey. Is this correct,
halfbreed?” At that last word, his face flashed regret.

Antrey nodded. “Yes, Great Mother.”
Goshen translated and Antrey learned her first useful phrase.

Ushan responded, via Goshen. “Then
that is what you shall be called, so long as you remain among us.”

Antrey responded, this time in the
local tongue, “Yes, Great Mother.” Her attempt at their language brought some
smirks, but across the old woman’s face only a broad smile developed.

“Are you in any pain?” Ushan asked.

“No,” Antrey said in Altrerian,
before Goshen told her the correct sound and tone for the Dost dialect. Then
Antrey said, “No, Great Mother,” in the local tongue. It was a lie. Antrey’s
head still throbbed, although it had improved since she had been on her feet.
But she saw no benefit to letting the Neldathi think either that she was weak
or somehow being ungrateful.

In the same lilting tone as before,
Ushan asked another question. “Hirrek says that his hunting party found you
this morning by the elk pool. Is that true?”

“Yes, Great Mother,” Antrey
responded.

The next question from Ushan was
much shorter and more guttural in tone. “You are Kohar?” Goshen asked.

“No, Great Mother,” Antrey said in
Dost, but then reverted to Altrerian. “My mother was Kohar. I lived with that
clan in my youth, but I was cast out by them on my thirteenth year. I do not
know my father.” Goshen translated the explanation.

Ushan asked several more quick
questions in succession. Goshen looked like he at first intended to translate
them one at a time, but the old woman left no pauses where he might jump in.
Finally, he said, “You are still young, Antrey, but no longer in your
thirteenth year. Where have you been in all the years between? Have you
wandered through the territory of the Dost or the other clans?”

“No, Great Mother,” Antrey said,
again in the local tongue and then switching to Altrerian. “I made my way to
Tolenor. Tolenor is,” she paused for a moment, pondering the best way to
explain the city. Goshen, in the meantime, translated what she had already
said.