Wars of the Aoten

  Chapter XXX

  The tiny Koinoni boat, only some thirty kronyn long, looked like a floating house with Dungo’s opulent sedan chair on deck, surrounded by eight bearers. Gentle breezes played with tassels that hung from the luxurious woven cover, and Dungo adopted a somber, important expression, like an explorer whom civilization might never see again. The barge slid along nicely with the current, making the labor much lighter for the Koinoni sailors. “You will not curse me, oh Alluvia! You will bear me upon your shoulders and carry me like your own tender child!” cried out the Bedoua vizier, half-afraid, lying upon his chair like a bloated puppy.

  Osewold, keeping watch to the north from the stockade wall, always alert to attack, was first to see the ship approach over the horizon. Quickly he alerted Wyllem, who led a group of Rufoux to the banks of the swollen river.

  “Artur! A fast trip for you! No time even for the Koinoni to trade away the teeth from our gums!” he called out jokingly.

  “Enough of that talk,” said Artur, and Yarrow turned to retreat to the stern of the boat. He prepared to unload the huge cauldron of black sand.

  “Behold, my eyes, behold the Rufoux land!” Dungo declared as he disembarked. “Not a bit of sand, not a bit. Surely this ground inflicts cruelty to the feet. But the trees grow so lush, and the grasses thick — only in oasis do we see such growth in the desert. And you have dunes of solid ground, rising high over your heads. I never would have imagined in all Medialia such a land as this. Ho-ho! And your people, they scatter themselves everywhere! So many, so many, and young ones, too. My, you are a ruddy people!”

  “My people,” Artur announced to those present, “I bring to you Dungo, grand vizier of the Bedoua. He has come to see for himself Andreia, healed by Bedoua medicine, and to see with his own eyes the Rufoux games. Osewold, Wyllem, prepare the clan for the games!”

  “Hoo-rah!” arose a cheer, and the Rufoux clansmen scattered.

  “Theodoric, call for the Melics to come, for they will see Rufoux games from the ground for once.”

  “Certainly, Artur, we do accept with honor your generous invitation,” said Theodoric with a deep bow, and he motioned toward the Koinoni, still upon their boat.

  “Yes, and Koinoni as well.”

  Pepin and Mienrade quickly disappeared into the thick forest branches and made for the Melic community. “Ha-ha! Most remarkable thing!” said Dungo. “For surely I thought those Melics stood here just a moment ago. No doubt they will reappear just so quickly! Ho-ho! And here I see the grand fortress walls, no? Very tall, very tall and sturdy. You have done well, Rufoux and Melics together, to build such a structure. May it stand fast against the Aoten.”

  Humus took Dungo by the arm, and together with Artur they tracked down Andreia, organizing mock weapons in the community hall. After a quick examination, Humus declared himself satisfied with her health, and Dungo took hold of her with both hands like a glad grandfather.

  “My lady fair, fully well now, I trust? Bedoua healing has brought you back to life! I’m not sure I believe you were ever ill. But, oh! The power of Bedoua healing! The Bedoua are very clever, skillful people. But did you shrink in your illness? Your people all stand short, but you barely move the air, you tiny wisp of a young woman, you little thing! Ha-ha! This would never do in the Bedoua deserts. You could never rise to vizier being so little. We must have you full of cream and butter to make you fat like Dungo! No more of this little smallness. No wonder you get sick.”

  “Thank you, Vizier Dungo,” said Andreia, and she cast down her gaze.

  “Oh, what grace you show! What a good and wonderful people you have, not what our lying legends say at all! You could not even be called all that ugly, as the stories say. What a grand idea I had, to come to your beautiful, bountiful land. It cannot match the desert, of course, but that is only to be expected. You must believe it a wonderful place to live, knowing nothing else, a grand and glorious land, and the generous hospitality you offer to the Bedoua ranges far beyond our fondest dreams!”

  “Vizier, perhaps you would like to tour the compound?” asked Humus, with an eye to Artur, and he nodded.

  “Yes, indeed! I must see how the Rufoux live, what wonders they hold in their houses and buildings! These huts look nothing like tents at all, not woven of wool, but made fully of rumidont skins! How can that be? Where did Moss and Scree go? I suppose if these came from wild animals, that’s not so horrid …” And he went on and on as his voice faded into the distance, strolling with Humus.

  “So good to see you recovered,” Artur said to Andreia.

  “Thank you. I am feeling much better.”

  “Don’t take Dungo to heart. He talks like that all the time. You’re not too small.”

  “Thank you.” Andreia blushed, being more pale than most Rufoux.

  “Andreia, what would you think —” Artur’s voice trailed off awkwardly.

  “Yes, Sir Artur?”

  “Andreia, would you like — will you— what I mean is —“ Artur looked about desperately. “Would you not call me that,” he sputtered, and left the hall abruptly. Andreia resumed her work, a slight smile fixed.

  The Melics had quickly gathered at the Rufoux village, Carolingia and Picta among them. Many of them flexed their muscles, swinging their razor-sharp axes over their heads with great gusto. Most preferred to carry their musical instruments, however, and they quickly set up a sizeable orchestra and played reels and jigs. Carolingia broke away from the group and strode around the Rufoux stockade. Eventually she found Humus.

  “Bedoua man!” she called out and caught his attention. “You hold the secrets that healed the Rufoux girl, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “The people say you know poisons as well as medicine,” she said, her voice silken.

  “Yes, poison is near kin to cure.”

  “Teach me.”

  “Why do you want to know the art of poison?” Humus asked without emotion.

  “Why do you think?”

  “I don’t know, nor do I care,” he replied flatly. “I cannot show you anyway, for I have nothing to work with.”

  “I can show you something in return,” said Carolingia, sidling close and wrapping one leg around Humus’ calf. “In the forest, and there you will find roots and berries as well.”

  “Indeed?” he replied coldly, but a clicking sound arose.

  “You strike me as a funny one. You run neither hot nor cold. You keep death and life together on one shelf, and find passion in neither lust nor revulsion.”

  “It is my way.”

  “This is my way,” and Carolingia thrust her tongue into Humus’ mouth. Quickly she pulled him into the underbrush at the edge of the forest, and her light frock of woven leaves fell open. Humus displayed no repugnance at her wasted, gray flesh, and he soon found his way between her knees. The act passed in minutes, crushing the tender grasses and leaves underneath, and the Bedoua man lay flat on the ground without expression.

  “Now I have done you a great favor,” said Carolingia, pressing her breasts upon his chest, mocking his flat tone of voice.

  “Melics are a strange lot.”

  “You can do something for me in return. Teach me poisons, and tell me of Romana.”

  “Who?”

  “The Koinoni woman offered to Artur. He wouldn’t have her, would he?”

  “No, he refused.”

  “Show me which one is Romana. I want to know her.”

  “Look for a Koinoni in a long robe.”

  Elsewhere, Picta also had left the Melics and walked among the Rufoux huts. She looked about carefully, seeking a particular balding head of red hair, and finally found Artur, talking with Geoffrey and batting at a hummingbird. As she approached she overheard their conversation.

  “As you say, it has been so since long before my birth,” said Geoffrey. “I cannot guess what might happen to defy such a deep tradition.”

  “But would we really be breaking tradition? For the betrothals e
nded in death. We both were left with no choice.”

  “Son, that may be true, but the ages for the marriage path have been set in our culture always. What Rufoux could even know what to do? A grown man betrothed? How? Only boys undergo the ritual! You wouldn’t even fit the robes. And would the couple wait another six years for engagement, and another six for marriage? How would it work?”

  “Could we not just make it up as we go?”

  “Make it up as you go?! Make it up as you go?! Is that any way to run a clan?”

  “No, I can’t claim that. So you think it hopeless, then? Are the Rufoux so weak that we would not survive this inconsistency? Is it so impossible for our customs to serve us, instead of us serving our customs?”

  “Let me think on this, Artur. Allow me to think.”

  “Thank you, Father. I will talk with Wyllem as well.”

  “That would be wise. Hello, Picta.”

  “Good day, Artur and Geoffrey, welcome back from your journey, back to your own home.” Picta patted Geoffrey’s back and grasped Artur’s arm with both hands, clinging to him.

  “I must go, Picta. I must prepare for the games,” and Artur shook off her touch. As he walked away, she followed him with her moist eyes.

  Geoffrey watched Picta watching Artur ignore her.

  “You despise the Melic ways of marriage, don’t you, Picta?” he asked.

  “With all my heart,” she replied, still looking after Artur.

  “Certainly I disagree with the unseemly practice as well, to conjoin one’s siblings. But I suppose we all have our flaws.”

  “I will not be part of it. I would run away into the mountains before I’d let my people require such evil of me. It disgusts me.”

  “You absolutely reject marrying a brother, as is the tradition of your people? That thought repulses you so much?”

  “Yes,” she said firmly, and turned her eyes to Geoffrey.

  Geoffrey looked at her hard, but with tenderness. “Then you’d best forget about Artur.”