Zan-Gah and the Beautiful Country (11 page)

Those two wanted to go hunting for something they were not afraid of, and chose to bring down the doe that frequently appeared on the far side of the lake. Dael, who was always restless for action, went along, and for some reason Pax decided to quietly follow them from a
distance. Zan had been lazing around, and had nothing better to do than to keep her company. Pax warned him to avoid being observed.

Dael's former description of deer kissing their reflections on the water was apt. The gentle animal they hunted was always to be seen, morning and evening, wading into the shallower water and peacefully drinking, so that her face actually met and seemed to kiss its reflection. Apparently she did not fear the distant tribesmen, nor suspect that they might come to kill her.

Dael and his friends were not good hunters. Accustomed to pushing ahead without taking thought, they had little mastery of the delicate art of stalking game. At first they loudly crashed their way through the trees, but as they approached their quarry they made an effort to move very carefully and quietly. They were soon within striking distance of the deer, with Pax and Zan closer behind than they realized. Dael had fashioned and learned to use the new spear-throwing device, and was an excellent marksman; but low-hanging branches stood in the way of the spear's path, and he had to maneuver around to get a clear throw. Oin and Orah were following him, evidently content to let their leader have the first strike.

They still had no idea that Pax and Zan were nearby, and all three hunters readied their flint-tipped weapons. When a sharply snapping sound alerted the doe, however, Dael thought Orah had carelessly stepped on a dry twig. The deer raised its head suddenly, ears outspread and senses alert, charged into the thicket, and was gone. Dael kicked Orah in the buttocks with his bare foot, and the
three turned to go back. Orah did not even ask why he had been kicked, taking it for an expression of Dael's bad temper. Zan and Pax hid themselves, and the three spear bearers walked right past without seeing them.

“Why did you make that noise, Pax?” Zan inquired after the hunters had gone some distance. “You knew that snapping a stick would frighten the doe away.”

“We do not need meat right now,” she said almost angrily. Zan looked at her with surprise and she added: “I see that doe every morning when we wake up, and I like looking at her.” And she marched ahead without waiting for an answer. From behind Zan regarded her with amazement and admiration. “What a strange and wonderful woman I have married,” he thought to himself. He should have said as much to her, but it was his nature—and his failing—to be silent.

Meanwhile, Dael and his companions were diverted by a surprising sight. It was beginning to get dark, and the fires of the Ba-Coro were plainly visible across the lake. But on their own side, only a little distance inland, a single campfire blazed. Whose was it? Could it be the red men? Dael slowly ventured in its direction, Oin and Orah right behind him. Zan and Pax took this as an opportunity to slip past them and return to their camp. Only the next morning did the other three get back—and there was blood on Dael's spear.

 

 

 

 

Dael had not discovered a camp of the red men as he supposed at first. When he saw the beds of the men of Noi arranged around their campfire, he could not restrain himself. He knew them by their dress and ornaments, and the sight was maddening. He thought he recognized two as his former tormentors, and without waiting for his companions he rushed at them and slew them before they could get up, one with his spear and the other with a large rock that was at hand. There were two more who, alarmed by the sudden assault and unsure of the number of their attackers, fled into the forest and were seen no more.

On returning, Dael did not mention the bloody encounter to anyone, but his companions did, enthusiastically enlarging on Dael's courage and ferocity. The entire camp was soon talking of a likely battle. Older warriors like Morda and Chul seemed worried and spoke of the need for defenses and sentinels. The women began looking about them for possible danger, and although the children still ran and played, their mothers kept them closer than usual.

For many days nothing happened, and people began to forget about the danger, but after a month or more had passed, a large group of fires was seen reflecting on the far side of the lake. Whole families of the Noi were visible across the water, indicating that war had not been their purpose in coming. It appeared, rather, that the Noi also had decided they would prefer to live in this fruitful region instead of the desert, and had made a migration similar to that of the Ba-Coro.

Each group was aware of the other and, because blood had unluckily been spilled, both feared a possible war. But war did not come. The new arrivals were busy building, and each group seemed content to let the other strike first—except for Dael, who was grimly pleased to have the Noi within his reach and would gladly have attacked the new settlers single-handed. His friends restrained him, however, and he decided to wait for the right moment.

It was not a good time for Dael. The sight of Noi warriors brought back a flood of painful memories, and the world almost turned black before his eyes. His darkest thoughts revived and every inward wound was made fresh. During the day he was listless and dreamy, but as night approached he seemed to come to life like a nocturnal animal, his face agitated by his intense ruminations. When he finally slept he seemed even more distressed, troubled as he was by vivid and ghastly dreams. His groaning disturbed his fellows, and Zan, who had been watching Dael's deterioration with dismay, pondered what he could do to calm him. He suspected
that Dael wanted to die, and a man with this desire is dangerous to everybody, not just himself.

One night Zan tried to talk to his brother, although they were not on good terms and rarely communicated. Dael surprised him by listening, but would say nothing himself. He only clenched his teeth and stared furiously into the empty air. Zan spoke of anything he could think of, hoping to get his brother to open up to him. He touched on subjects of hunting, of their happy childhood, even of Dael's enemies and the threatening war—all in vain.

After these failed attempts, Zan took a perilous step. He gently broached the subject of Dael's dead wife, Lissa-Na. Dael started at the sound of her name. His expression was of one who might well burst into flame, so intense and contradictory were his passions. How could Zan know that it was often of her that Dael dreamed; that even as he was savoring in sleep the sweetness of her love and those tender explorations that lips and fingers make, he would be attacked and torn by his enemies with their furious and horrifying faces—the Noi, who were her people and her blood? He dreamed of his lost baby covered with blood, and was visited by troops of fragmented, frightening memories that were half real and half ghost.

Dael could scarcely bear to hear Lissa's name spoken. He cut Zan off sharply, crying to him to be silent and never, never to speak of her. But after a short period he began to talk softly about her himself; and as he did he roughly jostled his two pets who, seeming to understand, pressed closer to their master and listened to his voice.

“In my worst moments then, when I was their captive, she came to me in the dark of night, bringing me food and whispering a few words to comfort my misery. You know, Zan, she had a low and gentle voice. One could have loved her for her voice alone, but that was the least of her virtues. Her beauty was hardly of this world. Do you remember how much everybody admired her and tried to imitate her? She was like a goddess! And she was unaffected by all the eyes that followed her, as though she were completely unaware—or else thought all that admiration was her due and not to be noticed.” Zan quietly agreed although deeply moved by his memories. He had loved her before Dael, and wanted her when Dael had been too sick to want anybody.

“Her wisdom,” Dael continued, staring straight ahead, “was as great and noble as her beauty. She knew the secrets of the earth to heal the ill and wounded. And she could see into your heart, Zan, detecting thoughts and feelings you hardly knew you had—isn't that so Zan?”

Zan was stirred, and a tear might have been seen forming in his eye if it had not been so dark. “Yes, Dael,” he said because he had to say something. He remembered her as if she were standing in front of them. “She nursed me to health after I had almost died in the desert. Suddenly I found myself a patient in her quiet cave. She was bending over me with her gorgeous hair falling on my face and shoulders. It would be difficult not to… admire her, to…love…her.”

It was Dael's turn to listen, but in his illness he was subject to violent changes of mood, and now he altered
abruptly for the worse: “Yes, you pig, you wanted her. I knew it then. Did you think I couldn't see your lovesick eyes searching her out—oh yes, even after we were joined in marriage? Even after you were coupled with your own man-bride? Do you think that I am blind, or was ever ignorant of your womanish infatuation?” The fire illuminated one side of Dael's face, lending it a frightening aspect while the other side was black as night.

Zan could deny nothing of what Dael said, and stated in honest terms that he had loved Lissa-Na as much as honor allowed. He did not admit that he had burned with love for her, but Dael knew he had.

“And yet you let me take her from you—you the great lion killer Zan-
Gaaah!”

“I don't know why Lissa chose you over me,” Zan said. Her vision floated before him. “I used to think that you were almost worthy of her, but I begin to change my mind.”

“I told you before and I tell you again: Do not ever dare to speak her name to me, or who knows what I might do? Leave me. Leave me and don't trouble me any more.”

There could be no profit in continuing the conversation once it had taken this unpleasant direction. Zan rose, turned sharply, and left. He did not realize that Pax, who happened to be busy nearby, had overheard most of what was said—had heard her husband praise Lissa-Na and confess that he loved her. That was bad luck, and there was more to come; but what Zan said was no more than what she already knew.

The next morning Zan approached Dael as if nothing had happened the night before. He had been looking for a chore that would distract his brother from his grief, and carry him away from the Noi before something dreadful happened. Rydl had suggested a project for which a good deal of help would be required.

“We need tar, Dael,” Zan announced. “It is a better sealer than mud, and will help keep the cold out of our shelters this winter. Rydl thinks he knows where it can be found—in the direction of the midday sun behind some of these hills.” Dael looked over his shoulder toward the sun and squinted. With one foot he stirred the wolves sleeping nestled against him, rose, called to Oin, Orah, and some other friends, grabbed his weapons, and strode off with Zan and Rydl.