Chapter V:
The Other Outcasts
Olgalver
The journey to Olgalvar was for the most part uneventful. Natham, due to his disfigurements, was avoided, and Whately, due to his age and weariness, was ignored. Riders passed them along the road every now and again, some bringing tidings, some sending messages. The whole country was in upheaval over the news that the Merkata had regained control of Fhuhar and Thasbond. Some distant cities were sending their emissaries to make treaties with the new lords. Others sent messengers with threats and promises of revenge. Some stopped to question the travelers, others to give them news of what this or that country or this or that city intended to do.
This was a lush country. When winter was not upon the land it was full of wealth and prosperity. The soil was rich and fertile, perhaps more so than any other place in Tel Arie (except perhaps the soil of Kharku in the far south). They passed acre after acre of carefully tended orchards. Apple trees were planted neatly in rows, stretching out as far as the eye could see. Some hung their leafless branches over the road, casting winding shadows on the highway.
It was not until the first day of Frohest that the two outcasts came to the city of Olgaver. They were waylaid by snow for most of the month of Primus. They stayed the while in a small village called Ernam which was built along the road some fifty leagues from Olgalver.
When at last they arrived they were allowed entrance into the city without harassment. Lord Whately had sent a considerable amount of gold ahead of them with detailed instructions for their arrival. He sent the gold primarily because he could not predict the allegiance of the city. They were, of course, ruled by Thasbond, as all the north was. But how deep their allegiance ran, and whether they would keep their old alliance despite the fall of their masters was more than Whately could guess. 'Gold,' he said, 'is thicker than all ties of duty.'
When they came to the gate, the captain of the city guard came out to greet them. 'Master Siris!' he called out as he approached. Everything is ready for you. Your belongings are already stored away in your house. Please follow me.'
Whately had made sure not only to flatter these men with the gold he sent, but to promise them more upon his arrival, lest they turn treacherous. 'The hope of yet more gold will make any man honest.'
The two were brought to a large house in the middle of the city. The captain took from his garments a large key and handed it to Whately. 'If there is anything else you need, Lord Siris, do not hesitate to call upon the guard.'
When finally he had left, the two entered the house and sought out their possessions. 'We must leave this city at once,' Whately said. 'We cannot tell what these men will do if they learn of our involvement in the fall of Thasbond. If they are loyal to Thasbond we are as good as dead. If they are not, then we have just as much to fear from their new Merkata lords. We must leave Vestron completely, and we must leave it forever.'
They gathered what supplies they thought would be needed and loaded them on the back of a broad shouldered horse. Whately had purchased two very strong horses when he sent his original message. These they found in a very well managed stable outside the back of the house. Whately gave a great deal of gold to the stable boy and sent him cheerfully on his way.
The horse could not bear the great shield Admunth, so Natham, unwilling to part with it, bore it upon his own shoulders. The weight of it would have been too much for a common man to lift, and even Lord Vullcarin, who was one of the few mortal men that were strong enough to wield it, would never have dreamed of carrying it on his shoulders for more than a league or two. Their journey would be more than a hundred leagues.
Whoever came to call upon them that day was sent away with a generous amount of gold. 'While we are here I do not want them to be suspicious of us,' Whately explained. 'Also, I have no desire to carry Vestron coinage beyond these borders. In the lands to which we travel Vestron gold is not accepted happily. Nay,' he corrected himself, 'the gold is accepted happily, and then melted down for their own purposes. It is the gold-bearers that they suspect.'
When midnight came they left the house through the back door and took their horses from the stable. They left several candles lit in the windows to give the illusion that they were still at the house. Whately hoped to be a full day's journey into the woods before anyone knew of their absence.
They made their way through darkened streets by moonlight. There was scarcely a sound to be heard save the stamping of their horses hoofs against the dirt and stone on the ground. When they came to the western gate they paused, for there were three guards on watch.
'We will have to make our way out on the southern side of the city,' Whately sighed. 'We cannot be seen, or we will rouse more suspicion than we would simply by vanishing in the night. If we pass out unseen they will have no answer; but if we are confronted, they will demand one.'
They led their animals south. They passed many large houses of neatly cut timber as they made their way toward the edge of the city where the western wall was unguarded and much lower. Eventually they came to farmlands and then, passing through the barren frosted fields, they came to the edge of the forest. There they were fortunate enough to find a place where the low portion of the wall had been knocked over by a fallen tree. Carefully and quietly they coaxed their beasts through the gap and made their way back north along the outer wall. Long before they approached the gate they turned aside and plunged deep into the woods. 'Let us hope your spirits are not mischievous,' Whately whispered, 'I would not choose to die in these frozen woods if I could have my way in such matters.'
'We must keep going north and west,' Natham said, following the pale shape of Duri with his eyes.
Duri led them as straight as he could into the heart of the forest. A few times he tried to lead them up steep slopes which only his immortal feet could manage. He would then have to turn back and lead them back the way they had come. This made Whately nervous. He grumbled, 'Spirits ought to know their way in a wood.'
'Nevertheless,' Natham snarled, 'We have little choice but to follow him now, unless you have some notion of how to return to Olgalver or how to explain our midnight meanderings to the guards upon our return.'
They continued well into the night until at last they came to a small clearing. The sun came up and let its light shine down upon them. They rested in the clearing for a few hours, eating some ponce, which is a sort of traveling food made by the Merkata. The consistency is much like that of clay, and the taste is only a little better. Duri shook his head and thanked the Astral lords above that he had no need of such victuals. The horses devoured every growing thing in the clearing until nothing but dirt and tree roots could be seen on the ground.
When the sun had reached its height they started again. The horses seemed much stronger now that they had rested and eaten. This was good because their path grew more difficult and at times more dangerous with each league. Soon they found that they were ascending a great hill, if not a great mountain. Duri chose each step with great care, sometimes pausing for long periods of time while he planned their next step. He led them astray far less now that he was reminded of their need for food and rest.
They had scarcely reached the top of the hill when the ground suddenly sloped down before their feet. Looking back they could see just how much space they had covered. They could see nothing of the great Mountain Fhuhar and only a glimpse of the city of Olgalver. 'Your spirits lead us well,' Whately smiled, 'I would not have dreamed that we could have come so far in such a short space.'
Among the Ohhari
There was a great deal of snow on the top of the hill and still more on the western slope. This made things very difficult for the horses. They slipped and slid their way down, neighing furiously and frantically as they struggled to stay in control of their descent. When they came to a flat piece of land they stopped for the day, not being willing to continue along their steep downward path in the dark. They made a fire and roasted some meat that they had brought
from the city and ate some more ponce. The horses were given hey and fruit from their packs.
They were in so shaded a place that it was not until late in the morning that they were able to see well enough to continue their journey. Down they continued until they felt they were sinking beneath the earth itself.
They continued in this way, going up great hills and then down sharp slopes, across frozen streams, and under tall trees for almost a week, until they came at last to a place where the land started to level out. A few more sharp descents brought them into a great valley. Here the trees thinned out and they found the very last thing they expected to find. There was a well kept stone road cutting through the valley from the north to the south. It was built along a swift stream with smooth gray stones. Just to the south they could see a large stone bridge that would bring them to the western side of the stream, though the water would have been shallow enough for them to simply walk the horses across had it been a warmer season.
When they got to the top of the bridge, however, they were startled to find a great company of armed men standing in a line. Their armor was of leather and wood, their blades were thin and curved, and every one of them carried a bow and arrows upon their shoulders. At least a dozen of them had arrows on strings. Every one of them wore a dark green cloak with a dark hood shadowing their faces.
'Halt!' their leader demanded as he removed his hood revealing a stern face with dark brown hair and eyes. 'You cannot go any further into these lands until we have made certain that you pose no danger to our realm.'
Natham looked furiously around for Duri, but he was nowhere to be seen. 'What will you have of us?' Whately asked. 'We are refugees from the East; we bear no ill will to your people.'
'What are your names?' the man asked, taking a few steps toward them. 'And give me no lies, for we know more about you than perhaps you realize.'
Whately was about to speak, about to give false names in fact, when Natham stepped forward and thundered, 'I am Natham, formerly a hero of the Merkata, and this is Lord Whately, formerly their general. But now we are outcasts, for we know that the Merkata do not keep their covenants. We are seeking refuge in the West; in Olgrost.'
Whately turned white as a ghost; he rightly suspected that these men were Ohhari. 'If they know we helped their ancient rivals,' he thought to himself, 'they will not hesitate to strike us down where we stand.'
But the man lowered his blade and signaled his men to lower their arrows. 'I am Ojun, captain of the guardians of the Ohhari, this land is our camp, not our home. You must come with us, the Elder wishes to see you.'
The guardians parted and made a path for the two travelers. Natham went first, looking this way and that for any sign of his invisible guide. The Ohhari stared with wide eyes as the monster passed.
'You say this land is your camp,' Whately asked, feeling a little safer. 'Yet the path is paved with such stones as one is not likely to find even in Thasbond or Olgalver.'
Ojun said nothing for a few minutes. He seemed to be somewhat uncertain about whether he should be courteous to these travelers or not. Finally he shook his head and answered, 'We have been in this, our camp, for many ages. But it will not be so forever. The stars declare our birthright; the Mountain of Fire. In the meanwhile, however, we do not wish to live like brigands and rogues. We have our cities and our homes, temporary though they be.'
Whately sighed within himself, for their words sound to him all too familiar.
The path continued south for some time, always following the river. After about three hours of travel the river turned sharply westward, leaving behind the old stone road. The Ohhari walked swiftly and quietly, almost as if they were hunting. Soon they came to a place where the trees thinned out, growing both more distant from each other and also larger in girth and height. Such tall trees Natham had never even imagined, having spent his whole life near the Rugna desert. Every now and again they would come to places where several smaller trees of a different kind were grouped together in fours. When they drew nearer they could see that they were actually houses. The four trees served as corner pillars, upholding a thatched roof built. The sides of the houses were made of smooth river stones set in some sort of clay. From several of these they could see smoke rising gently into the air. The further they went along the path the more of these strange houses they could see.
Finally they were brought to a small village about three leagues to the south of the bridge. Here there were many of the same odd houses built in the midst of tall trees. There were also several ordinary houses of log and stone. Into one of these they were led by Ojun. But ere they entered he turned and looked to the ground. 'This is the Elder's house. He wishes to speak with the Lord Whately. The creature, however, must go to the guest house which the Elder has prepared for you,' he said with a trembling voice, not daring to look at Natham. 'And there he must remain until your departure.'
Natham said nothing and just nodded to Whately and took the reins of his horse from his hand. Thus they parted, Whately entering the house and Natham being led away with the horses to the northeast along a small stone road. Ojun remained near the Elder's house with seven of his warriors as guards. The remaining warriors were sent to escort Natham to the guest house and the horses to the stable. None of them dared to look at him or to speak to him. The one who took the lead never looked back, those who were behind only lifted their eyes high enough to see his mighty feet stepping along the road. As they passed through the village they saw people sneaking away at the sight of the monster, hiding themselves behind trees and rocks.
When the horses were tied and fed, Natham was brought to a small stone house. There was already smoke rising from the chimney and the air was very warm when Natham entered. At first the room was filled with the last rays of the western sun. But in an instant the door was slammed behind him and bolted fast, as though that would be sufficient to keep the monster locked away in the house. All that he could see now was the dim dancing light coming out of the fireplace in the corner of the house. There was a bed on one side of the room and next to it on the floor was a pile of blankets and furs, apparently meant to act as a second bed. On a small table in the center of the room there was a great loaf of bread and a bowl filled with oil. There was also a basket filled with dried venison.
Here Natham finally caught sight once more of that elusive spirit Duri, who was invisible to all other eyes. 'Where have you been?' he demanded. 'You might have told us what to expect from these men.'
'Did they hurt you?' Duri laughed from beside the fireplace. 'No, they have fed you. Your bags will be filled with apples from their orchards, dried fish and meat from their smokehouses, and water from their sacred streams. This has been a turn of fortune for you, and it is all my own doing.'
'I still would have liked to have been forewarned when I am going to walk into a group of armed woodsmen.'
'The Ohhari, I am sure, do not frighten the mighty Vestron Monster,' Duri laughed again.
'I am not frightened of them as much as I am frightened for them,' Natham said soberly, 'I cannot always promise to be in control of my passions. Rather, there are passions within me that I cannot claim as my own, yet which drive me with the same force as my own will.'
Duri's countenance changed at once, 'I see,' he said, no longer laughing. He turned his eyes and looked strangely at the lump that lay upon Natham's left shoulder. 'I will never do that to you again.'
Dreamer
Whately was brought inside the Elder's hut almost as soon as the company had led Natham away. The inside was sparsely decorated with a few animal skins and various antlers and horns hung upon the wall. In the main hall there was a fire burning and a very old man sitting on the floor. He rose very slowly when the traveler entered. His long gray hair went down almost to his waist. There was a gleam almost of madness in his eyes as he approached them.
'Come, come,' he said as he approached them. 'Tell me all that has transpired in the East, in our ancient homeland.'
He led Whately to the fire and bid him be seated. There were no chairs so he had to kneel on the floor beside the old man. In a moment, bread and dried venison were brought out on trays along with a pitcher of milk. There was oil and butter for the bread and some berries to sweeten the salted meat.
'I am Horas,' the old man began, 'I am the Elder of this village, and a Dreamer. The spirit of these woods, whom we call Boscus the Noble, came to me in a dream some time ago and told me of your coming. He said that great deeds were being done in our homeland. I pray you, therefore, tell me all that you have seen and done in the blessed land of our fathers.'
Whately hesitated for an moment, but when he saw in the man's eyes no insincerity or envy, he started explaining to him all that had transpired in that region. He started with what the Merkata had told him of Vestron's ancient history, and how they had been driven from Fhuhar by the Harz Nobles. This the old man listened to with great interest, asking many questions about the history of the Merkata. 'They were always better story tellers than scholars,' the old man sighed at last. 'We put a great deal of trust in the hands of our historians and our elders. The Merkata, however, have always had their Lady to instruct them. Of course, our own histories inform us that she is the greatest storyteller of them all!' The old man laughed for a good while before he was able to speak again. 'Did she tell you that Fhuhar was once her own kingdom?'
'She did indeed,' Whately answered. 'But I have the feeling that your own histories say otherwise.'
'According to our historians, she was always the Queen of the Desert. The seat of her kingdom was in Oblindin, never in Fhuhar as the Merkata now believe.'
'I had suspected this much,' Whately said, 'In my long imprisonment among them I noticed that the engravings, I mean, the really ancient engravings were not the work of the Merkata. They told of deeds, heroes and gods that were wholly alien to the Merkata.'
'Indeed,' Horas nodded, 'In the ancient days, Fhuhar himself walked among us. That is why they call the Mountain a god; for once upon a time, a god dwelt there. He was the mightiest of all the Ohhari. He was our protector; he and his queen Saila ruled from the city that the Harz call Thasbond; which I apprehend you know well enough. But in his strength he grew careless; and in his prosperity he grew complacent. Before long there was turmoil throughout the kingdom. The Queen of the Desert made raids upon the Ohhari, but the gods did nothing to stop her. Strife arose in every quarter as the Merkata pushed in against our southern borders. Also, in the north, the goblins and the pirates appeared from whence no one can tell. Truth be told, Fhuhar's reign was in its twilight, long before the appearance of those Nanthor Barbarians, those Harz Nobles as they called themselves.'
'Then Queen Malia is a liar?' Whately asked, 'She never did rule in Thasbond.'
'Oh she did,' Horas laughed, 'in a manner of speaking.'
'What do you mean?' Whately asked, always curious about historical matters.
'In her own mind she is convinced not only that she ruled from Thasbond, but that she was wed to the mighty god Fhuhar.'
'Then she is mad,' Whately said.
'Perhaps,' Horas said, 'But some call me mad as well. When I was a small child, my great grandfather was still living. He was convinced that he had fought in a great battle against the Vestri and even sacked the city of Penflas, which lies seventeen leagues to the south of Olgalver. What had really happened, they say, is that he and his companions routed a band of Harz warriors and pursued them to the very gates of that city. Just inside, my great grandfather, it is said, fought the famed Lord Huhn in single combat. He cut off the head of the Harz Lord and shouted a challenge to the entire kingdom of Harz. 'Nandos!' he cried (as we are wont to call the Harz when we are impassioned) 'I call you to account for your crimes against the sons of Fhuhar! Come and taste my revenge!' At that instant, seeing a great number of warriors approaching, my great grandfather's companions took to flight, and dragged him along with them, kicking and screaming curses and mad rants at his enemies.
'You must see how vivid a memory this would create within his mind. Along with this memory, he would always carry around his regret. He felt ashamed that he had left, and never spoke a word of it. He wished that he had fought more; he wished he had gone to Penflas with a larger host; he wished that he had done many things differently. In the end, he spent more time imagining what might have happened than he spent recalling what did. You see? His imagination became stronger than his memory, to the point that preeminence was given to the former in his thoughts.' He paused for a moment and looked at Whately, 'I am sure that a man of your age has had many regrets as well.'
Whately laughed.
'I certainly have had my own share of disappointments,' Horas said. 'When I was a young man, my beloved, whose pure soul awaits mine in the other world, was terribly insulted by another man. I have always felt ashamed that I did not avenge myself; I only consoled her and kept her away from him. When I spoke of the matter with others I always put my own behavior in the best light, hiding my weakness and my cowardice deep in my memory. Before long I was leading people to believe that I had done more to guard my beloved's honor than I had. In time I began to notice that I mixed in what I wish I said along with what I did say; and slowly but surely I began to change the story. Now the events I wish happened shine out more clearly to my aged mind than the events I know to have happened.
'The Lady of the Merkata,' Horas concluded, 'Is much like the rest of us, full of regrets. But hers are very deep and ancient, and her imagination has labored for aeons to convince her that all the things she should have done, she did do. She always hated the goddess of the Ohhari, wishing it were her own white arm intertwining with the arm of mighty Fhuhar. She was always enamored with power, as I apprehend she is to this day. She loved our great god with a passion so deep and terrifying that it can hardly be uttered. This led her to a blind war against our people. It was always the goddess Saila that she sought to destroy; she wanted to take her place.'
'To come to the point, however,' Whately smiled, 'She is mad.'
The old man laughed heartily, 'Madness is not always born of sin,' he said soberly, when he had calmed down a bit. 'Madness is as often born of grief, which the Lady had, or so it is told, in excess. But of that tale, very little is known. All that is known of her comes from Fhuhar's doctrines, which are as old as they are vague.'
'Tell me about them,' Whately asked, his curiosity overtaking his exhaustion.
'According to the most ancient of our histories, before the gods descended from heaven and took up their place among us mortals, Malia was the bride of the greatest of all gods. The Merkata named him Amalu, which in their tongue means simply 'Light'. But during their descent they were separated from one another. We Ohhari have long taken this to refer to her raven black hair; the blackness being what is left when Light and Righteousness depart. But in a very literal sense, it would reference the rending of her own soul from that which she loved and lived for. The Ohhari believe that this is the cause of her madness and wrath. According to some of our storytellers, Malia's lust for power was born out of her love of the Powerful. Her madness seeks to reunite itself with her beloved, the shadow of whom she recognizes in all things of might and strength. That, I imagine, is what she sought after in you as well. Might in counsel, and might in arms. Otherwise it is inexplicable that she would allow you to command her people in war.'
They spoke on for another hour or so, until Horas sighed and stretched his arms over his gray head. 'It is night,' he said, 'and now I must now sleep. I bid you farewell, for the laws of our land do not allow us to grant travelers welcome for more than a night, and to allow one as monstrous as your companion to lodge in our woods, a hero of the Merkata no less, is an exception that will most likely not be repeated ere the world's end. You will be led away in the morning, and I will not see you again in this world. You must not return here, for I am very old and I am the last Dreamer of the Ohhari. The other elders call me a madman for my dr
eaming; they would not permit you to enter into their own lands. But I told them I would accept you without hesitation on the word of Boscus. At this they called me a madman yet again. The Elders, Jikhan and Guera went as far as to declare you, the helpers of the Merkata, to be enemies of the Ohhari. Were it not for my great age and my long labors among our people I would not even have been permitted to have you here this night. My counsel could not prevail against them for any further grace. They gave condescended to the voice of Boscus in the end, however; for all the Ohhari are servants of those who dream of the Noble spirit. When I have been taken up to the stars there will be no more among the living who can listen to the spirit of the woods, by whose grace you have been admitted.'
That night the two travelers felt the closest thing to warmth that they had felt in a long time. Great blankets of fur and deerskin were given to them and there was a small stove that gave off a good deal of heat. Though it tore at his heart, Whately knew that they must leave that peaceful village and continue their journey into the west. Accordingly, he gave no protest when the guards arrived at the door to wake him. Natham was already awake and had left the house hours before the sun arose, breaking the lock with ease. He sought out their horses, scaring the stable-man almost to death, and brought them back to the house. He was, perhaps as eager to leave as the Ohhari were to rid themselves of the strangers. The Ohhari had long been hunted by both the Harz Nobles and the Marin of the west. Pinched between two enemies, they gradually grew more and more elusive and suspicious of outsiders. They lived in peace now, for they lived in a place that was all but inaccessible to their foes. But in older days, when they entertained the hope of attaining a larger kingdom or even of returning to their ancient home, they had suffered many terrible defeats. Now they hid away, all but forgotten by the outside. On occasion, however, some bold man of valor would lead them into combat with the Vestri; men such as the great grandfather of Horas, who meant to take all the forest cities out of the hands of Thasbond. But such designs were always short lived. Not able to look to their own strength for hope, the Ohhari turned to the stars and interpreted them as prophesying their return to Vestron in power. But that goal seemed to them almost as distant as the stars themselves.
By the time the morning sun was fully risen the two men, along with their horses, had been led away from the village along the very same path they had taken upon their arrival. Ojun was once again leading them, though this time with only three other warriors. When they came to the place where the river had left the path they suddenly turned west and followed along its southern bank for several leagues. The trees grew thicker and the path narrower with every step it seemed. Soon the land rose up into great ridges that towered above them on their left and the river fell away into a gorge on their right. They had to walk in single file for almost three hours, leading the horses carefully along the narrow road. Finally, when the sun began to wane, Ojun led them up an incline toward the south and then, reaching the top of the ridge, he brought them west and south along a winding trail. They descended like this for the rest of the day and set up camp in a clearing near the bottom of the slope. From there they could see, in the failing sunlight, a much flatter country to the west, tall mountains to the north and, much closer, jagged mountains to the south. 'The difficult road is what preserves the Ohhari,' Ojun said at last, when they had set a fire and eaten. 'Many ages ago we had cities here. Maja and Zefeneth, both of them are ruined now. We challenged the might of Marin and were put to shame. Such was the folly of our ancestors. Now we seek wisdom from the stars, for the wisdom of our fists has been lacking since the days of Fhuhar. They meant to exterminate us, even as the Harz intended, but we survived in the deep valley where our enemies cannot come in force.'
Homelands
'What is your homeland Master Whately?' Ojun asked as he dropped a log onto a blazing fire. His companions had gone to sleep and he was preparing to keep the first watch. Whately was lying on his back staring up at the stars. 'I was born in Titalo, which is called by its enemies "The Pirate City",' he answered. 'But I spent most of my youth in a place called Ramlos.'
'We have little knowledge of the world that lies beyond these woods, and none beyond Vestron and the eastern marches of Olgrost. Our ancestors never took to the sea.'
'In Titalo,' Whately said, 'the sea is called 'Our Mother'. It was the sea and her bounty that gave rise to us, it is the ice of the sea that protects us, and its violent waves tame us.'
'I have never seen the sea,' Ojun confessed. 'Is it as beautiful as the stories say?'
'It is at times. But when the wind is dead for a week, the endless waves get so dull that you begin to despair of life altogether. And the storms of the sea are such as could not be imagined upon the land. When a storm strikes the land all the trees shake and the clouds rumble. But in the sea, the whole world seems to be tearing itself to shreds.'
'Will you ever return to Titalo?' Ojun asked after some time had passed.
'Never,' he answered quietly. 'I am not permitted to speak of the reason.'
Ojun nodded and looked up at the stars. 'Do the stars really speak to us, as the old prophets claim?'
'Most certainly,' Whately said, 'But they tell their own tales, they speak but little about our own affairs. Ninud, the great Bull, for instance, dashes to and fro in the heavens sometimes lamenting, sometimes rejoicing. In every way he is wild and hateful, yet full of power and vigor.'
'Our prophets teach us that the Great Bull teaches of the fall of Harz,' Ojun suggested.
'It may be,' Whately sighed, 'But who can tell such things? Ninud, Isa, and the dread Brothers Septimai tell stories more ancient than the world. Who is to say that they say anything about our own day? Perhaps they speak of that which has passed in ages now long forgotten.'
'Do you think that we are all fools then?' Ojun asked sadly. 'There are many of us who grow tired of hiding; we feel ready to march again, to fight for our land. Or at least to make an attempt. Let the Astral lords judge us!'
'Why is it so important that you return to Vestron in the first place?' Natham asked, startling both of his companions. Whately sat up and looked at him, Ojun fixed his eyes on the monster.
'What do you mean?' Ojun asked, puzzled.
'Who has the right to live upon the Fiery Mountain?' Natham asked.
'The Ohhari,' Ojun answered unhesitatingly, 'Our people came upon it in the beginning.'
'But how does that make the land belong to the Ohhari? Was not the land there for untold aeons before your ancestors came upon it? Who did it belong to then?'
'It belonged to nobody,' Ojun answered, straightening himself up and looking in the direction of the monster. All that he could see was the faint glow of firelight on the edge of Natham's hood. 'The Mountain belonged to nobody.'
'You say that the Ohhari have the right to live upon the mountain, yet they live not upon it,' Natham said coldly. 'Tell me, how can a man have the right to do something but not the power? The Ohhari have the right to live upon the mountain, but they cannot. That they have a right to live there is meaningless, is it not?'
'What I mean to say, is that they deserve to live there; that they ought to have the right,' Ojun said nervously.
'But right now,' Natham continued, it is clear that the Merkata have the right to live there; that is, they have the power.'
'Indeed.'
'Why should the Mountain's first settlers have any claim upon the land? Did they purchase the mountain? Did they beg its leave ere they fixed pillars upon its slopes?'
'I should think not,' Ojun snickered.
'They simply arrived then, and they took it because there was no one to oppose them. They had the right to the mountain because they had the power.'
'As is the case with all countries,' Ojun said, 'He who finds it first has the right because there is nobody to oppose his claim, nor any need to oppose it.'
Whately took his eyes off the stars and began to listen intently.
Natham continue
d his questions, 'But supposing that to be the case, how does it come to be that you believe that your people have a right to dwell upon Holy Fhuhar?'
'It is as I have said,' Ojun insisted, 'The Ohhari found it first.'
'But that was a different Ohhari,' Natham said, 'not a soul of which remains alive. Wherein then is your claim justified? I apprehend that not a soul among you has set foot upon the mountain.' Natham said, 'I have as much claim to the mountain of Fire as any of your woodsmen, more so even, for I drove Lord Vullcarin from the mountain myself.'
Ojun rose to his feet as though he was going to challenge the monster. Whately looked at him intently; Natham did not budge from his seat; he feared nothing from the Ohhari captain. Realizing this, Ojun took his seat once again.
'The Ohhari of today are but the descendants of those ancients,' Natham explained, 'You will tell me now, I suppose, that lordship of lands passes through the blood like the dark hair of the father and the blue eyes of the mother pass on to the child.'
Ojun was clearly frustrated by all this, but the monster would not relent. Ojun grumbled, 'Yes, I suppose it must. They come to possess it because, again, there are none to oppose them.'
'Ah but there is,' Natham said, 'The Harz oppose them, and more than oppose them; they conquer them. The Harz Nobles came to lord it over the fiery volcano because there are none to oppose them. They have the same right as the Ohhari; nay, they HAVE the right, while the Ohhari can only speak in 'oughts'.'
Ojun was silent for a minute, thinking very hard. 'What would you have then?' he demanded, 'Shall any man have a home? Shall everyone have the power to take from his neighbor whatsoever he desires? Where would it end? It would be war eternal!'
'Is it not war eternal already?' Natham scoffed. 'Your love of a land long lost is as evil as the conquest of the ancient Nanthormen, who slew your god and stole your mountain. Tell me, on what does mankind base its claim to own the earth itself? Everywhere men cry out, "My home!", "My Country!"; "My Kingdom!" I know not when it began; but I would have men leave off owning something that cannot be possessed. It is like taking the ocean herself into a bottle, or the North wind into a wineskin; who can own the earth? What men really have lordship over when they fancy themselves to be lords of the earth are simply their rivals.'
Ojun sat still for a while, considering all that had been said.
Natham spoke again, this time with a hint of gentleness in his voice, 'I would have you go home, master Ojun; home to your wife and your countrymen. Go home and live in your happy valley; grow strong in that valley. Give up the vain hope of a land that could no more belong to you than the sunset or the starry lords above. If the stars demand, as your prophets claim, your eventual return to that hideous volcano, then let the stars take care of their own prophecies. Live at peace in the land that you have been given. The Ohhari do not have a right to the Mountain Fhuhar. Even if you should slay the Merkata down to the last man and cast their witch into the deep well of Oblindin, you would still have no right to the land. You would only have power over the Merkata.'
Whately sighed, 'I pray that an age will come in which all men come to believe even as you have spoken, Natham. So much suffering has been created on account of such quibbling and rivalry, and we all have had our part.'
'Indeed,' Natham sighed, 'This has been on my mind ever since I began to fight against Harz.'
Ojun seemed almost sad as he spoke; tears were behind his eyes, though he never let them fall to his cheek, 'I hope such an age comes also. We have perhaps let the fires of vengeance burn within our hearts for too long. How can our children grow in happiness when their first lesson is that our life is not what it ought to be, and how can our men keep their eyes fixed upon their labors when they believe all our work in these hills and valleys to be vain and temporary. How can our old men shut their eyes in death without believing themselves to be failures, leaving our ancient homeland to fester under the heels of the Nanthormen, or now the foul Merkata Clan?'
The fire burned low as they sat, now all of them in silence. Finally Ojun laughed, 'When I return to my home, master Natham, I will remember your words. I will look upon it as home indeed, and not some tent to dwell in while the gods plot revenge against mankind. I will look upon the face of my wife and tell her that we are home and that there we will remain, to age, to laugh, to die, to love, no longer in the shadow and shame of history.'