Wars of the Aoten
Chapter XXV
The dim light gave way to fuzzy images. Colors came and went, edges sharpening and blurring in turn, and eventually movement made itself known. Waving and bobbing hues took the shape of ovals and teardrops, and nodded their welcome. At one moment they glinted like light upon the waves of the sea; at another they became a thousand thousand rumidonts running as one across a vast plain. At last they settled on being the leaves of the trees, and drops of water fell from them like the dew, only much heavier. A face appeared from within the foliage, bright cheeks of orange/gold, brows of reddish brown, eyes of blue green, all glowing with the shades of Medialian dawn. But the colors of grief painted the face, furrowed deeply like the bark, and it sighed with sorrow like the wind blowing through the branches. It looked down upon its sleeping child, seeking solace in the tender sympathy, and salted drops fell heavily to the ground. Then darkness claimed its kingdom, and the vision faded away.
Brightness shone all about like the morning, and figures moved overhead. Heads and shoulders — red, black and gray mixed in a confusing alternation. One face with long strings hanging down, like a hideous giant spider, and another with bumps and deep wrinkles. Then one with familiar eyes, framed in ragged, red hair, burly and great and yet with an air of gentleness. For the first time in days, Andreia opened her eyes, if only briefly, and she turned on her side and breathed deeply.
“She will be better soon. The willow will be the best for her now,” said Humus without emotion, but his throat clicked.
“Amazing,” said Aachen.
“We will have games, and a great celebration,” said Artur. “And you must be our guest, Humus, and Dungo as well.”
“Well, you’re welcome,” said Aachen.
“And you, too,” Artur clapped him on the back, feeling downright gregarious at Andreia’s improvement.
“If I guess right,” replied Humus. “Dungo will be in no hurry to travel to your camp. But he loved the wooden hippus, so maybe the temptation of seeing Rufoux riders will be too great for him to resist.”
“Perhaps that, and honey,” said Artur with a relieved smile.
“Perhaps,” said Humus blankly, and clicked.
Artur left the building and stretched grandly as he walked about camp. Many days had passed since he had felt this much at home. A Bedoua treated the sick of his clan, Melics helped build the stockade, and another conveniently held the Koinoni at bay. Even with so many from other clans in the village, Artur felt a depth of well-being he’d never known before. To make him feel truly at home, a hummingbird buzzed circles around his head.
A glance to the river revealed Theodoric and Geoffrey again in talks with a Koinoni, probably Yarrow, and a handful of others. The Melics in camp had become accustomed to the traders’ presence, but still they maintained a careful distance. The robed figures intrigued the Bedoua, however, and Ingle and Mistral approached the gathering. Artur thought it best to listen in.
Theodoric saw him drawing near. “Quite a bargain for me, I must say,” he said discreetly, showing Artur a copper figure about the size of his finger. “It cost me only my reed, and I hear tell it has the power to direct my future. Quite a powerful talisman,” he said, his eyes full of mock wonder, and he tucked it behind his ear. “Even a tall tower begins with a hole for the foundation.”
Artur stared at him in the usual way as he departed, and turned his attention to the Bedoua.
“What do you have?” asked Yarrow.
“What do you mean?” returned Ingle.
“We are Koinoni, we trade. Never have we traded with Bedoua, because no ships sail the desert. What do the Bedoua have to trade? We will make a good bargain.”
“We have only the supplies we brought with us.”
“What do you have?”
“We have some cheese to eat, some rugs to sleep on, and a tent.”
“We will see them,” announced Yarrow.
“Let us bring them to your ships,” said Ingle, much interested. “And we will see what you have.”
Artur began to enjoy the spectacle as the Bedoua brought out their belongings. The Koinoni gathered around the small collection of items, turning and spinning, and Ingle began to offer the cheese.
“What do you want for it?” asked Yarrow.
“How do I know what I want? What have you got?”
“We have this wonderful necklace, beads of shells from the far seas,” said Yarrow as he produced a string out of his sleeve.
“I don’t know,” said Ingle flatly. “Bedoua beads of glass glisten much more beautifully.”
“You don’t like? Then we offer paper, from far to the east, beautiful flat pieces of paper made from fibers of exotic water plants.”
“What is that for?”
“The peoples of the east use dark dyes to draw mysterious figures on the paper, and they look at it.” He demonstrated by drawing the index finger of his left hand over the scrap of papyrus.
Ingle looked to Mistral. “It sounds like the writing of Dungo and Sylva,” he said, and Mistral shrugged and clicked loudly.
Ingle began to click in his throat. “I will give you one of the cheeses for it.”
Yarrow looked at him carefully, or at least that is what he appeared to do from underneath his hood, and he said, “No.”
“No? What do you mean ‘no’?” said Ingle, not clicking anymore and getting irritated.
“Five cheeses.”
“Five? For that?” said Ingle, pointing to the paper with disdain but clicking again.
“Five. Six.”
“Six? No, you said five,” and Ingle stopped clicking again.
“Five then.”
“Yes! Five!” and Ingle clicked furiously. They completed the exchange, and Yarrow said, “What else do you have?”
Ingle pulled out the woven Bedoua rugs, clicking madly, and Artur pulled him aside. “Look,” he said, “you’re a good sort, so let me warn you. These Koinoni are plucking you like a chicken.”
“What do you mean?” said Ingle, turning irritated again.
Artur felt a bit of pride swell, thinking his use of analogy showed he had picked up some Melic wisdom. “One cheese for that paper made for a fair trade. They have loads of it in their boats. Yarrow told me it starts fires quickly — they have stacks of it to burn. Koinoni always cheat a newcomer.”
“They cheated me?!”
“Well, you agreed to the price, right? So you have no complaints yet. But you do have a problem.”
“What is that?”
“Your clicking gives you away. They can tell when you’re pleased with what they say by the clicking. You’ll never get them to come down on a price when your clicking tells them you’re willing to pay more. They’ll pull you in like a fish on a hook.”
“What clicking?”
Artur saw that his help was nearly useless. “Believe me, your people have a habit of clicking your tongues or something when you’re pleased. Krait does it not at all, and Mistral does it all the time; when it happens it betrays your thoughts.”
“Oh, that!” Ingle looked sternly toward the Koinoni for a moment as though he understood, and Artur could see his temper rise. “There’s only one thing to do then,” he said in a huff, and he returned to the pile of goods.
“My brother will trade with you,” he said dismissively, and marched away.
Mistral stood alone with the Koinoni, and waited for Yarrow to say something.
“What do you want for the rugs?”
“Do you have more paper?” asked Mistral, clicking loudly.
“Yes, a little, but would you prefer something else?” asked Yarrow.
“Do you have more little figures?” Mistral clicked.
“How many do you wish?”
“Whatever you can give,” he clicked some more.
“I can give you one.”
“Only one?” asked Mistral with a multitude of clicks.
“If that pleases you,” said Yarrow smugly.
??
?I’m not sure. Maybe. I don’t think so. Should it?” The clicking remained constant.
“Then what about two?” Yarrow grew puzzled.
“That’s twice as good,” he replied with glad clicking.
“Then it’s a trade?”
“What else do you have?” he clicked again.
“Strange powders from the east that burn magically in the fire. They sparkle brightly with color and festivity.”
“I’d like to see that,” said Mistral with much clicking.
“A vile then?”
“Only one?” Mistral said again, as he clicked away.
“Well, perhaps two,” said Yarrow with growing concern. He could not read this abundance of clicking. The more he tried to discover Mistral’s intentions, the more items he agreed to trade. If the clicking would ever stop he might gain the upper hand, but as it went he couldn’t tell what Mistral thought about anything. He didn’t realize Mistral wasn’t thinking at all.
“You like this, no?”
“Sure. What else do you have?”
“Strange and wonderful grains from the west. See the colors — yellow, red, purple? Do they not fill your eyes with wonder?” Yarrow gushed.
“Oh, yes, I’ll take that, too,” clicking and clicking.
The exchange went on for some time, until Mistral had accumulated a pile of trinkets in exchange for a Bedoua rug. The Koinoni retreated to their ships without even trying to attain the tent, and Artur stood chuckling warmly. He had seen the Koinoni run out of villages on a rail, and he had seen them beaten with fists, but never beaten so badly in a trade. He wondered at Ingle’s wisdom working its way through the chinks of his temper.
The sun began to sink into the horizon, so after checking on the work at the stockade, Artur returned to the building where Andreia and the others convalesced. Inside he found Aachen talking to Pepin, returned to the Rufoux camp.
“Your lady improves greatly,” said Aachen with a smile. “This thing astounds me; I have so much to learn. See, she stirs even yet.”
Andreia indeed awoke slightly, bleary eyes blinking, and Artur and the Melics gathered, kneeling around her pallet.
Her eyes fluttered open just a bit, and she sighed with a slight smile as she squinted to see the faces above her. Finally she settled on Pepin.
“I dreamed of you,” she whispered mistily. “Please don’t be so sad.”
“You truly have become an intuit,” he replied. “After some training, you will see things indeed.”