12 |
THE COUNCIL |
The drums stopped. The wasp men, gathering at the edge of the cliff, first gazed into its awesome depths and then outward at the escaping fugitives. Once at a safe distance, Zan and his group did not look back. Several of the warriors threw their spears in sheer rage, although they knew that their targets were well out of range. Then they turned their wrath on their leader, as though it had been his fault that their intended victims had gotten away. Before long they were all arguing among themselves. They were indeed a quarrelsome people, swift to anger and far from unified—except in their shared desire for pillage.
Not one of their large group dared attempt the leap that Chul had made, and the next point of passage over this great schism in the earth was three days away. A few were ready to make the trek, but the greater number were not. Unnerved by the physical power of Chul and the inept beginning they had made, they decided to go home for a while to regroup their forces and salve their morale. Later they would build another bridge, when they had the materials they needed at hand. This was finally agreed upon, but not without such violent dissension that they came near to attacking each other.
It need hardly be said with what surprise, joy, and excitement the return of Zan-Gah, Dael and Chul was received. From a distance, Thal recognized the two familiar globes of hair as in former days. How happy he was to see his two sons together whom he never thought to see again! When they arrived, Wumna, not believing her eyes and afraid the vision would disappear, nearly fell down from sudden happiness; while the father stared in wonder at his boys, now taller and softly whiskered. Zan, slim and grown, thought that his mother had shrunk, and that Siraka-Finaka seemed even smaller than he remembered. Siraka-Finaka completely ignored Zan and Dael, considering only the giant before her. She pounded her husband’s hairy chest with her little fists to make certain that he was real. Chul lifted her off her feet, embracing her and his children as he never had before. Then he twirled his war club over his head with a whoop of triumph joined in by one and all. Unnoticed at first, Lissa-Na and Rydl were accepted and welcomed as the friends of Zan-Gah, and Chul was not slow to tell how Rydl had saved him from sure destruction. Zan, too, informed his family that Lissa-Na had been his healer and friend. Wumna squinted her eyes and looked narrowly at her for a moment, and Siraka-Finaka examined her red hair in wonder, as at the plumage of an exotic bird. But Lissa was soon made to feel at home.
That night before the fire, conversation turned to serious matters. Thal was visibly older, and white hairs had appeared in his dark beard. He was more somber than Zan had ever seen him. The feud between the clans had begun again. It was the Hru who had broken the truce. They had gradually regained their strength once they had gotten some food. Zan remembered the rabbit he had given them when they were too hungry to hunt or attend to their own needs. Emboldened by Chul’s absence, their defensiveness had changed to aggressive hostility, and although no one yet had been killed, some were seriously wounded.
“Friends,” Zan said, “I must depart again to visit Aniah as I promised to do if I should return, and I must bring Dael with me if he will go. We cannot afford our hatred. I have reason to believe that the wasp men will be coming in great force, and we must stand together against them once again if we are to survive.”
Very early the next day, Thal and Chul walked with the twins most of the way as their guards, but on approaching the dwelling of Aniah they remained behind. Their presence would only aggravate matters. If peace could be made, Zan-Gah would have to make it without their help.
The word soon spread throughout the clans that Zan-Gah had returned with his brother. How this became known so quickly was a mystery, although not a difficult one; for although the men spoke only within their own clans, the women mixed secretly at times, sometimes for religious reasons. Generally, the women were less separated by hatred than their husbands. It was their own sufferings that they cared about, not the rancor and prejudices of their men.
When Zan and Dael approached the northern clan, they were welcomed in a more friendly fashion than ever. Zan-Gah, the hero of the lion hunt, was now also seen as the determined champion who had risked all to recover his brother and twin. Aniah clasped their hands, feasted them, and gave them audience. He looked at Dael with curiosity, for he could see that he was much changed. He observed that Dael said nothing, and stood behind Zan-Gah like his shadow. Zan had a great deal to tell, but he confined himself to the wasp people. He told Aniah how he had narrowly escaped, and how the might of Chul had temporarily prevented a massive invasion. “The wasp people are determined,” he said, “to destroy us or make slaves of us,” adding that many, perhaps two hundred had come at them.
Aniah had the look of one who is groaning inwardly with pain, his brow newly entrenched with a leader’s woe. “It is hardly seven days since we were at each other’s throats,” he said. “Of all the five clans there is not one that does not feel aggrieved about something.”
“Hear me, Aniah,” Zan said with an intensity that surprised the old man. “We must unite. We have no choice! It is only by good fortune that the wasp men are not here this very day! I have struggled with land and weather, with enemies and fierce animals, as you have. But always the chief struggle was with myself! We must fight down our passions and our rages before we can defeat the greatest of our enemies.” Then he added: “I know that you are a great man, older and wiser than I. But when did wisdom make war when it was not necessary, and neglect it when it was? Let us use our wisdom and your leadership to end this bloody strife.”
Aniah was amazed at the manly change that had taken place in one whom he remembered as a boy. With his hand over his mouth, and furrowing his aged, wrinkled forehead, he thought deeply over what Zan-Gah had said. He stirred the fire with a stick and after a long pause declared firmly at last: “There is only one man who can pacify our clans and lead us to a truce.”
“And who is that, Aniah?”
“You, Zan-Gah! You are the only man among us who has the admiration and love of all! When you slew the man-eating lion you won the hearts of everyone, and your return with your lost brother just as you promised has gained increased respect!”
Zan was gratified by this speech, not only for Aniah’s praise, which he much valued, but because Aniah had called him a man. Was he a man now and no longer a boy?
“The Hru will not receive me,” Aniah continued. “The Luta will not welcome your father or your uncle. There is no one but you!”
“Then hear my plan, Aniah, for I will need your help.”
Zan’s project was first to hold a council to which each of the five clans would send two elders and one woman of their selection. The meeting place was to be the exact spot where together they had killed the lion. It was chosen deliberately to remind those present of their former unity and how well it had served them. Aniah saw no reason to include the women, but Zan insisted that his plan could not succeed without their participation. Zan personally visited all of the five tribes, and was well received by every one of them. Even the truculent Hru chieftains made an honored place for him at their fires. Since his return with Dael, Zan’s prestige had soared, so that there was none save Aniah who was more highly respected among the peoples.
There was little resistance to the idea of a meeting once the elders of the clans became acquainted with the impending danger of an attack by the wasp men—although each and every one protested against the presence of females. Zan had a special reason for wishing to include them. Not least was his certain knowledge that the women hated the feud with all of their hearts, and not much less the masculine vanity that fed it. They would tip the scales in favor of Zan’s project, and be a force for moderation among their men. “Bring no weapons,” Zan told them, “but carry some wood there and bring food if you have any. I swear you will not be sorry.”
When the tribesmen heard that Aniah favored the council, women included, and that he himself promised to be there, all sensed that they dared not stay behind while great actions were being concluded. So everybody went.
They met when the sun was high in the sky. (It was useless to expect men at war with each other to come weaponless at night, vulnerable to any treachery.) The men approached proudly, their women behind them. Character was deeply carved on every brow. They were mostly old warriors like Aniah, their hair whitened by age, and like him lean and muscular and covered with scars. From the Hru came Morda, the haggard chief who, long ago, had turned his back on Zan to kick dust in his direction. Morda had regained his strength and with it his haughty insolence. His shaggy brother stood beside him—a ragged branch of the same tree. One chief had a hideous gap where his eye once had been. He was the one that Thal said had been mauled by a lion. Another, his side teeth long since broken out by the blow of a club, exhibited a black hole in their place. Still another lacked a hand, which had been taken from him when he had been a prisoner—until Thal and Chul had succeeded in rescuing him from his tormentors. None of these battle-scarred men was handsome, but every one of them possessed the noble beauty residing in pride, honor, and manly dignity. The women, too, bore themselves with a statuesque dignity appropriate to their new role.
Zan-Gah appeared cloaked with the skin of the lion he had slain. Holding no spear, but only the staff that signified that he meant to speak, he stood before them like a stately pillar. He had grown taller since any there had seen him. Difficult trials had lent him both dignity and wisdom, and all waited eagerly to hear what he would say. None could look at Zan-Gah without detecting his deep sense of purpose and resolve. In the lion hunt, one man commented, Zan-Gah had stood behind his father, but now Thal and Chul were standing behind Zan-Gah. They also noticed that Siraka-Finaka had come. She and some other women were building a fire. Zan assisted them, anxious that they should not be perceived only as servants.
The meeting began and all were silent when Zan-Gah started to speak. He stood in their presence like a tall, slender tree in front of a group of ancient, gnarled oaks. Long he remained there wondering how to begin. “Friends, brothers, and sisters,” he finally said. “On this very spot we all united together for our good against a dangerous wild beast. Although I was fortunate enough to strike the fatal blow, and though I wear the animal’s skin today, it was our cooperation alone that made that victory possible. We had differences then too, but we understood that it was necessary to work together to achieve our ends. It is necessary again!”
He told them of his captivity with the wasp people and how their army had pursued them to the great cleft in the earth. The listeners learned of the feats of Chul with wonder. Chul the giant blushed in spite of himself beneath his ragged beard, so that some smiled and all huffed out grunts of approval. Zan continued: “The wasp men will not give up. I know for a fact that they mean to kill us or carry us off. That is why I beg you to unite—to put aside your ancient quarrels and thoughts of honor in a foolish cause. For when was honor to be gained from stupidity—and is it not the worst stupidity to fight your friends and leave yourself naked to your enemies?”
Several chiefs growled or muttered their anger and defiance. One gaunt and sinewy elder with deep, glittering eyes prepared to speak. He was known to all as Kragg. Kragg’s scars told his story, and he wore the stern demeanor of one who had maintained his integrity through a thousand hardships and conflicts. Zan yielded the staff to him. “It has always been thus, as long as I can remember,” he said with his gravel voice. “My own brother was killed when we were young, and I have sworn revenge. He died when the moon was new, and with every new moon I renew my oath. I know some of you have made similar oaths. Can we with honor break them?”
Siraka-Finaka was not shy. Aflame with indignation she seized the stave from the old warrior and pounded the earth with it, demanding to be heard. It was the first time in the long history of the clans that a woman had spoken her mind in a council. “Hear me, elders,” she cried above the clamor. “Which of you would lose a child or a brother—which woman here would lose a husband or son—because of stubborn pride or anger over something that happened so long ago that we cannot even remember what it was? I refuse henceforth to cook meat and to chew hides to feed and clothe fools!” The women, silent until now, murmured their approval of this speech. The men looked at each other, and their expressions were not happy ones.
Chul spoke next, and his words were few: “I am sorry, Aniah, that I slew your kinsman.”
Taking up the staff, Aniah replied: “In our long war I have killed too—and when I did I myself died a little each time, even though many have praised me for my deeds. I would gladly bring back all of my enemies to recover one friend.” A tear rolled down a wrinkled cheek that had never held one before. “We have been fools! Fools! Quick to anger and slow to wisdom!”
Something was happening so dramatic and unexpected that Zan was taken aback. These great, proud, life-bitten chiefs were saying that they were sorry! Zan could hardly believe his ears! Taking the staff again he said with a clear voice, “Let us seal a permanent peace with each other in order to stand firmly against our true enemies. Here is my proposal: Let this group of men and women be called the council of elders, and let it supervise all marriages. Henceforth, let no one take a wife from his own clan but with their special permission, rarely to be given. Rather, let us achieve a marriage of the clans by choosing from outside of our own, as we never yet have done. Swear to this and we become a single, unified people, and not five quarreling bands. Swear to this, and to abandon our ingrown hatreds, and we become a nation capable of standing up to the wasp men or any other invader.”
The elders consented with loud grunts of approval. Making a ring about their fire and each taking the hand of the nearest person, they swore. Zan-Gah administered the oath. Then he announced that there was further business. “In return for this vow, and to show my confidence in our new unity, I am going to present you with a gift—two gifts.”
Zan paused to catch his breath, a little bit afraid of what he was about to do.