Wars of the Aoten

  Chapter XXIX

  Artur walked among the Bedoua tents, wondering what tide had swept him up. Geoffrey offered little counsel, himself confounded by the Bedoua cannibals: He suddenly had become very interested in not dying, at least not there. Theodoric’s philosophical pondering of every new idea offered no comfort, either. Artur needed Wyllem; perhaps the right questions would point him in the direction of prudence.

  No matter if or when Dungo agreed to visit the Rufoux camp, Artur could not leave the desert for at least a couple of days; this he knew. The full moon would rise in a night or two, and the Bedoua would suffer no one leaving until after the threat of Wolven’s roaming had passed. Artur’s feelings of cozy security, enjoyed just days before, his thoughts of understanding the mysteries hanging over him, vanished into the shimmering heat of the sands.

  All his life he had lived separated into the Rufoux world, never seeking nor desiring the company of the other clans. Ages passed, and all Rufoux generations brought up their children this way, but he had never wondered nor understood why. Now he began to imagine that there had been reasons, established generations ago, good and wise reasons for separating from the other barbaric people, who in the long run could only pervert the Rufoux civilization. Artur knew he must keep the knowledge of this Bedoua custom secret from his people, at least until the wars with the Aoten had played out.

  He shuddered as he thought again of his conversation with Dungo. The shock of eating flesh, human at that, paled when followed by Dungo’s blasé defense — no, promotion — of it. What could drive a man to eat what had been alive, much less a relative? And Theodoric simply weighed it as a quaint personal choice. Of all the Melics, one of only a few disgusted by their own sickening incest, surely Theodoric should understand how debauched were the Bedoua. But instead, he accepted this Bedoua depravity like an invitation to a walk. And then the Koinoni, Artur grimaced, the Koinoni couldn’t care less, selling their own women to sexual appetite, and then only to slip a knife into your back, likely. He still didn’t trust them. The Rufoux leader’s temper burned hot as he considered all these outrages thrust upon him and his people, and his anger doubled at the Aoten for driving him to this.

  But hadn’t Andreia recovered her health because of Bedoua medicine, he thought. Certainly something good could be found in these people. Even Dungo, fat, gaseous-from-both-ends Dungo: Who could long remain angry at the jovial man who loved toys and sweets? The fool. And yet it seemed Dungo realized this as well, and wisely relied upon his daughter. Hadn’t his own people entrusted him with protecting their culture? And also he thought of Picta, who also cringed at the traditions of the Melics. She stood as a contrast to Carolingia, hers the worst excess of Melic carnality. Picta revealed that honor did exist among Melic women, honor that demonstrated itself in behavior and not just empty thoughts and words.

  What too of the Koinoni? Yarrow seemed to have quieted their desire to swindle. They had tried their trading ways time and again, but still the various clansmen had not drawn Koinoni blood yet. Artur still thought they planned some kind of swindle, but so far they had given no rise to suspicion. Perhaps Yarrow sought something else.

  Artur resolved to raise his vigilance. So much remained that he still did not understand about all these strange people; so much distrust still haunted his thoughts. The Bedoua had not yet agreed to fight against the Aoten; he resolved not to be taken into any more agreements until they did. If Dungo traveled to the Rufoux camp, if he saw the stockade, perhaps that would settle the matter for him and Artur. In the meantime, he chastised himself for talking so carelessly around Theodoric.

  Geoffrey found Artur and pulled him aside behind a tent.

  “I had my doubts when Ingle declared the tales of Rufoux raids to be false. After all, they fill up our tales as well,” he said. “But now I am convinced.”

  “How so?”

  “If ancient Rufoux raiders in the mold of Mog had come down upon Bedoua and seen them eating flesh, they would have wiped them off the Earth.”

  “Yes. You’re probably right. Eating flesh is for drooling beasts like the thylak.”

  “Of course I’m right. My father would not have blinked at destroying them. If we didn’t need them now I might suggest that very thing. What a world we live in. Disgusting.”

  “Do you agree we must have them, then?” asked Artur.

  “I’m afraid so. These people seem to have nothing but pikes for weapons, but their length and barbed points could disable many an Aoten giant. We need every man, every man. And poison might save us much trouble.”

  “Thank you, graybeard. You’re still useful, even without your tastiest part.”

  “Ugh.”

  “We must persuade Dungo to come to our lands, to see the stockade, and to join our defense.”

  “Do you think it wise, to reveal all of Rufoux life to him?”

  “I think it’s a reasonable risk. I wish I had brought Wyllem. He would certainly ask something that would make my brain work. But I don’t think we have anything to fear from these people.”

  “Except perhaps Krait.”

  “Yes, and he’s already seen the stockade, so the damage is done there. Dungo seems not to trust him, but we would do well to keep them apart.”

  “Yes. I could kill him,” Geoffrey offered in jest.

  “That may be a bad idea for now, Father. Here’s a better: Dungo will be in his tent all night at the full moon, he so fears his god. We must make sure we join him in that tent, and that Krait does not. I will talk to Theodoric. Mog’s goblins, I can’t believe how much I have to trust a Melic. But I must.”

  The Rufoux men went their separate ways, the sun rose and fell, and a trio of Melic reeds heralded the onset of dusk. And then only one played.

  Pepin and Mienrade walked about the tent city talking until they could tell a third pair of ears listened as well.

  “I have had a dream,” said Pepin.

  “Do tell?” said Mienrade, noodling on his reed.

  “Tonight the full moon comes out, the night the Bedoua say their god goes about thirsting for blood.”

  “Yes, so I have heard.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Why do you say?”

  “My dream. I saw a vast treasure, buried lightly in the wool of a rumidont. Amazing wealth peeked out of the wool — by the light of the sun, it couldn’t be found. It looked like a rumidont, but with so many other rumidonts around it, who could tell the difference? But under the full silver light of the moon, I saw it plainly, a rumidont out by itself.”

  “Why, what an intriguing dream. How could you tell the rumidont was really treasure?”

  “The rumidont’s eyes shined bright, like jewels. Yes, the moonlight in its eyes, they shined like stars of the heavens, and I could see it.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  “Yes, if these foolish Bedoua would not cower in their tents all night under the full moon, they could lay hold of this treasure. Out in these deserts, only the Bedoua could find it. The rumidonts represented dunes; they look so much the same under the sun, but in the moonlight the gems glowed. But the Bedoua hide under their covers, afraid of their silly superstitions! If one brave, shrewd Bedoua took the risk, he would find that dune with the jewels, and he would be rich.”

  “Well, it’s just too bad.”

  “Yes,” Pepin snorted. “Well, we must be inside, before Wolven gets us!” And the two Melics laughed gaily at the thought and headed for a nearby tent.

  Artur, Geoffrey and Theodoric had already taken refuge in Dungo’s tent, invited along with Sylva and the six Koinoni, but Theodoric stood at the fold that acted as a door. When he saw a silhouette skulking out of the camp, he closed the flap and joined the others. “The moon will soon be high above us,” he said. “The feeling of safety warms the heart, no?”

  “Yes, yes indeed,” said Dungo. “You show yourself to be wise, Melic, learning so quickly to fear Wolven. You must tell me one day of your god, for he has made you
wise, and Wolven only makes one frightened. But join us, join us for the night, and we will talk of many things, and perhaps our conversation will cover up the screams, should we hear any.”

  “Yes, I am glad to be safe,” Theodoric continued. “The Rufoux village lies safe as well, for now, would you say, Artur?”

  “Yes. The stockade should hold up under attack for now,” said Artur.

  “That ‘for now’ makes the unsettling part,” said Dungo. “The Aoten are legendary in their ruthlessness. Legendary for their hunger first, then their ruthlessness. They will tear down your fence to get what’s inside, if they want it. The giants will climb or dig or push until they sweep away the fence, and then they sweep away you.”

  “The Bedoua vizier speaks truly,” said a Koinoni, probably Yarrow. The others faced away in different directions to keep a lookout within the tent.

  “You will be safe enough inside,” said Dungo, studying their formation. “I promise to keep the poisons corked, so Wolven needs be your only worry. And inside you will frustrate his ravening tonight. Feel free to take off your cloaks.” The Koinoni did not move.

  “Yes, our people can rest safe in the stockade, for now,” said Theodoric. “But you know rightly, it will not remain so. We may be able to fend off the giants a time or two, but they will eventually find their way inside, just as you say. Then the walls will not ensure safety; indeed, then the outside will offer better chance to live.”

  “Yes, though you speak in riddles, I must agree,” said Dungo.

  What riddle, Artur thought to himself, even I understood that one.

  “We must kill off the Aoten, or drive them off, and I don’t believe the second is possible,” said Theodoric.

  “No, it isn’t,” said Yarrow.

  “Yes, very dangerous business, this fighting Aoten. You would not catch me doing it,” said Dungo, and he looked over his shoulder at Sylva.

  “We ask you to visit our village,” said Artur.

  “You do?” said Dungo, and his smile showed him to be both pleased and perplexed.

  “Yes,” broke in Theodoric. “Artur extends his invitation to you to see the Rufoux games, in celebration of Bedoua medicine. It would be a great honor for you, in thanks for your skill and effort in healing the Rufoux girl.”

  “Yes, I can see that. But the destination demands such a far journey, and Bedoua never travel below the mouth of the Alluvia. Cursed Alluvia, it has never been our friend. The river has favored others, so we stay away. How could I ever make such a journey, and leave my people behind? The trip would be so very long, and no doubt hard on my feet. Yes, you see, from years of walking on only fine rumidont wool and the soft sand, my feet grow tender even to my sandals. Very delicate, and no doubt the walking would hurt them very much.”

  “Have you ever ridden on a boat?” asked Geoffrey.

  “A boat? What’s that?”

  “The most ingenious creation — it turns your enemy the River Alluvia into your slave,” said Theodoric. “The Koinoni invented the device, that sits on top of water and allows a man to stand in the middle of the water.”

  “No! How can that be?”

  “A Koinoni secret,” said Theodoric. “A secret that must be seen to be believed. Let not the blind be too timid to see.”

  “Oh, I would very much like to see that. What is it? A boot?”

  “Boat. And would you not like to see Rufoux riders, too?” asked Artur tantalizingly.

  “Rufoux riders? Like on the little hippus?” asked Dungo, nearly fainting, and he reached over to pet the plaything.

  “Yes. Many will perform at the games. Oh, you can’t imagine the tricks they can turn. Riding on their heads, underneath the hippus, one on top of another,” said Geoffrey.

  “On their heads? Well,” said Dungo, wavering, and he looked to Sylva. Sylva knelt and drew with her finger some figures in a shallow pan of sand as Dungo watched.

  “Yes! I have decided!” Dungo announced grandly. “Dungo will take upon himself this perilous journey, this courageous endeavor of visiting the Rufoux village himself! He agrees to risk the hazards of the desert, as well as those of the River Alluvia who hates us, and venture into the land of the Rufoux! Many will be the dangers he faces, and many will be the tales told in ages to come of his bravery! Make note, Sylva, that you will use the wonderful paper to write the tales of Dungo, and the children of our children’s children will learn to read, and they will know that this night, the night of a full moon, Dungo dared to defy Wolven and became the grandest, the bravest, the fattest of all the viziers of the Bedoua!”

  The little group lifted their glass mugs, filled with milk and honey, and the rest of the night made merry with tales of derring-do, adventures of a vast array of people over their vast land. Again voices spoke and ears beheld the tale of Artur, and Mog, and the doomed therium.

  In the morning, the Bedoua again found themselves safe from Wolven’s ranging, and Dungo rode out of the camp to the cheers of his people, seated upon a sedan chair supported by four swarthy Bedoua. Sylva and Humus followed, and Moss and Scree, as did the men of the other clans.

  Dungo left Ingle in charge of the clan in his absence, and Krait, defrauded of power and hidden treasure, licked his wounds at the back of the camp.