Fyvesdee, the 15th of Falling, 768 A.E. ??

  The ride from Miniya to the Lake of Grey was short but sweet. There were no mishaps or giant storms to throw their boat about for four Dees. No, this time it seemed that Tulis was going to let them do what they must.

  It had taken them the better part of two Dees to reach this far, having left early on the 14th of Falling, and this being the half past the sixth Ouer on the 15th. They’d been running a parallel course to the north shore of the Lake of Grey for some time now, and the port lied just ahead. The Lake of Grey split the island of The Vale from the mainland of Elegius. The Vale was named for its wide swathes of grasslands between two shoulders of stony mountains, while the actual lake was named The Lake of Grey because of the stony-colored reflections that gave its waters such a somber cast.

  Anthea was already on the deck soaking in what was left of the sun peaking over the mountains in the failing evening when the port was finally spotted. Upon hearing the call for approaching land and the bell ringing at the docks, Rolf, Sagira, and Bedros appeared. Makan was busying himself about the ship, helping where he could, apparently feeling left out of boat-related work after being deprived of his own vessel for so long.

  Part of Anthea had expected to see primitive huts or vast herds of Ox-Men spread out on hills of grass, but instead a small settlement of clay and stone buildings lay ahead of them. It hugged the waterline, almost like it was afraid to stray too far into the grassy knolls behind it.

  “I thought that this was the Ox-Men’s land? Someone said something about this Vale place being theirs.” Anthea wondered aloud, staring at Sagira as she awaited an explanation.

  The Elegian woman put on a gamey face and chuckled. “Anthea, the complexities of Elegian relationships with anyone are never simple. While we have ceded the land to them, it was under the condition that we could maintain three small ports on their island. Each of them is capable of trading with the Ox-Men, refitting and weathering vessels, or repelling minor attacks from the Kerathi.”

  “The Kerathi never launch a minor attack.” Rolf announced contradictorily.

  “Be that as it may,” Sagira continued as if Rolf’s petulance bothered her not in the least, “we have three settlements on this island. It’s too important to leave totally unmanned, lest it be used as a stepping-stone to Elegius. We have a larger defensive settlement on the island of Qinor to the northwest of The Vale. It’s one of the largest concentrations of our navy as well.”

  “I see. So, these people trade with the Ox-Men?” Anthea asked.

  Sagira shook her head. “Hardly. The Ox-Men require very little they can’t get for themselves. They’re self-sufficient in a way we could never be.”

  Bedros assented with a grunt and a toss of his ears.

  Rolf crossed his arms over his chest and raised a hand to comb through the chin of his beard, watching the Elegian settlement grow closer. Sagira performed a similar gesture, though she toyed with a dangling earring since she had no beard. Both did it unconsciously, and neither knew how closely they emulated each other. Anthea noticed though, and grinned widely, wondering how they’d react if they knew.

  Bedros’ anxious pacing, his hooves clapping loudly on the deck boards, distracted Anthea, and it wasn’t until they had dropped sail and were coasting into the slip readied for them that she realized why Bedros was so anxious. Arrayed around the docks, back away from the Elegians who watched them warily as they prepared for the boat’s arrival, were a score or more of Ox-Men.

  They looked strangely out of place amongst the stone slab constructed buildings, buildings that reflected the rounded and often simple architectural aesthetics of Elegians. They built simply but did it tastefully and with a level of precision that made simple designs seem more complex. They knew when to bother with decoration, and when it was a wasted effort, so there were no beautiful carvings or painted scrollwork eaves on these buildings. Anthea guessed that if they had a shrine to Juria in this settlement, that alone would be highly decorated.

  Yet among all of these Elegian buildings was the gathering of Ox-Men, all of them over two Mayters tall, some pushing three. They had a wild look about them. Many of them had braided hair caught up with leaves, twigs and other natural elements that must have been common for them. All but one of them avoided any strong statements of adornment. The one was different. His ear, for one was missing, and his nose were pierced, and his horns were colored, possibly even carved from the way they glinted strangely in the shallow light.

  “I’ve don’t know why they’ve gathered to wait like this. It’s almost like they knew he was coming.” Sagira remarked.

  Anthea looked from her companion of so many Yarres to the waiting group of Ox-Men. “Maybe they did.” She said quietly.

  Bedros huffed and hurried over to where the gangplank was being lowered as they tied the vessel off. Elegians stepped aside and let the impatient Ox-Man pass, not wanting to put themselves under the hooves of such a large creature.

  “You’d think he had a girl waiting or something.” Rolf said dryly, earning him a few strange looks. “Well? He might, right?”

  “You’re right. He might.” Anthea replied, though she doubted that was the reason for her friend’s urgency. No, this felt like something much stronger and of deeper need to him.

  Bedros strode powerfully down the docks toward the gathering of his distant kin. Their scent filled his nostrils; a heady scent of musk that reminded him of the breeding pen he’d been raised in deep below Cenalium. He exuded cheer and eagerness as he approached his people, his eyes on the Shaman among their ranks. He’d not seen this many Ox-Men in Yarres – not since he’d been chosen to guard the daughter of Orestes. An Ox-Man in Cenalium was there to work, not to be seen about by proper citizens.

  His duty was lonely but rewarding. The Aurean girl was dear to him, as dear as his own child might have been, or a herd brother, but she was not an Ox-Man. Her smells were not of his kind, and she certainly wasn’t the size of any of his kind, but he loved her fiercely still, as he was sure she did him.

  The Shaman stepped forward, raising his head high. His features were wrinkled and old, but his eyes were strong despite the amount of graying hair on the bridge of his broad nose and on his chin. Bedros lowered his head, offering his horns to his elder. They clacked horns jarringly, the carved horns of the Shaman and Bedros’ own dark and curved horns. The echo rang through the evening air, startling many of the onlookers.

  Anthea knew a moment of fear as it looked like Bedros was going to get into a fight. Why these Ox-Men would treat him with such violence surprised her. As she moved to do something about it – she didn’t know what, but she had to do something – Makan’s hand clapped down reassuringly on her forearm. He shook his head.

  Bedros raised his head and snorted, stomping his hooved feet. The Shaman threw back his head and began stomping while beating on his chest, which in turn caused the others in the group to do the same. The twenty stomping, snorting, and huffing Ox-Men raised quite a commotion, enough that even the most diligent of workers within hearing range stopped what they were doing to come see.

  Then, abruptly, almost as if they sensed they’d gathered a large enough crowd for such an occasion as this, they stopped. What followed then was the quickest and most complex series of gestures in the Ox-Men’s strange language that Anthea had ever seen.

  There were ears flickering, noses snorting, teeth being shown, hooves being stomped, and tails swishing. All of this was punctuated with throaty grunts and an occasional pounding of a chest. It sounded like an orchestra of sick animals to Anthea, and she was used to Bedros’ sounds. She couldn’t imagine what some of the other nervous onlookers thought.

  “What are they saying?” Rolf asked. He, as with the rest of her companions, had no reason to leave the ship, so they stood there lamely along the railing and watched while the workers tried to go about their work.

  “I think he’s explaining his strange company.” Anthea replied, chuckling. “This is all just a bunch of introductions.

  Sagira glanced sideways at Anthea. “What’s so funny?”

  “The names they have for our peoples, though they’re more like descriptions of our traits.” Anthea replied.

  “How do you mean?” Makan asked.

  “Well, you, a Mueran, is known to them as the water-walker, or sea-insect.”

  “Sea-insect? That’s not very flattering.” Rolf teased.

  Anthea smiled at Rolf. “You’re a northern warlord, Rolf. One of the half-bearded.”

  “Half-bearded? How is that?” Rolf demanded, tugging at his rather full beard.

  “Compared to them, you have only half a beard.” Anthea replied. “Their beards cover their entire neck, head, chest, and shoulders.”

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Rolf rolled his eyes. “No, thank you. I’d never get a wife like that.”

  “Assuming you would anyway. The hair on your face isn’t the kind a woman worries about.” Sagira teased, winking at the younger man and causing him to blush in a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

  Anthea turned then to Sagira to share her name with her. “So speaketh one of monument builders of the sandy lands to the south.”

  Sagira shrugged. “That’s fair. Personally, I don’t do much of the building though.”

  “Half-bearded.” Rolf muttered under his breath, gripping the railing tightly.

  “Don’t let it bother you. They have different perspectives than us. I, for one, am a strange mountain bird, escaped from her cage in the sky.”

  Rolf grunted. “That’s sort of pretty and poetic though… not insulting.”

  “Fitting.” Makan admitted.

  “I wonder what they call the Aynglicans.” Anthea wondered, still watching the exchange between the Ox-Men intently.

  “Probably money-grubbing cowards.” Rolf suggested.

  “I happen to know a few rather upstanding Aynglicans.” Sagira protested.

  “Doesn’t surprise me.” Rolf said dryly. “Your two peoples should get along famously.”

  “What does that mean?” Sagira demanded, stepping up to get in Rolf’s face.

  He stood up that much straighter, facing her down. “It means, that both of your peoples like burning Clan villages full of women and children for sport while their men are out in hunting parties.”

  Sagira guffawed. “That means a lot, coming from one of the members of the most violent race to ever walk the Broken Crown. The only people that haven’t ever been raided by the Kerathi are the Uleauts, and only because the Kerathi couldn’t figure out how to get to them.”

  “We never attacked the Mueran!”

  “Actually, a raiding party of very lost Kerathi washed up on the shores of one of our islands once. They proceeded to pillage and rape as many people as they could before our warriors put an end to them.” Makan interjected.

  Rolf frowned while he thought up a rebuttal. He’d never heard that story before, but it did seem like something his kind might do. “Well, they were probably delirious from drinking too much sea water and eating too much spoiled food.”

  “Assuredly.” Makan said with a slight smile.

  “Or the Ox-Men.” Rolf said righteously.

  “No, I’m afraid we did enough of that for you.” Sagira admitted sadly. “It’s one of the darker blights on our history.”

  “One of many.” Rolf replied, unwilling to let such an opening go unused.

  “Perhaps.” Sagira admitted. “We have done much wrong, but we have done much good as well. We are a more enlightened and less oppressive people that before. We have tried to rule all the Broken Crown before, and we have seen the error of our ways. We now work solely on improving our own Empire from within instead of expanding outward.”

  Before Rolf could add anything to the argument, fueling a fire that Sagira was trying not to allow to come into a full blaze, Anthea shouted aloud, drawing all of their attention. “They’re moving!” Anthea exclaimed, pointing to where Bedros was following the herd out of the square.

  Just before Bedros left sight, he turned, signaled back at the boat, and took off running. Everyone turned to look at Anthea expectantly. She scratched at her cheek for a moment and considered the series of gestures she’d seen. None of the translations she tried to make made any sense though.

  “I’m not really sure.” She announced finally. “He said he’d be back soon, but I’m not sure what he is going off to do.”

  “It’s a woman, has to be.” Rolf announced, sure of himself.

  No one bothered to disagree, because no one could come up with a better answer.

  Bedros returned alone just over an Ouer later, breathing hard and looking lathered like a horse that had been run too hard for too long. Yet there was a calm joy about him that Anthea had never sensed before. Her mind went back to Rolf’s insistence that Bedros had been off to see a woman, and from what she knew of the interactions between men and women, that certainly could have been an explanation. Somehow, she didn’t think that’s what it was though.

  The Elegian dhow had long since been resupplied for their journey to Rummas. They had taken on extra sail to run up, because the captain wished to make Rummas in time for the Faestivul of Coming Cold, which was only five Dees hence if one were to discount the current Dee, since it was not far from over.

  The upcoming Faestivul had everyone’s sprits up, and that seemed to be the most popular topic of conversation among the sailors. From what Anthea had gleaned from the sailors’ less-than-gentlemanly talk, Rumani women were renowned for their physical appetites and their beauty – not to mention their legendary love of drinking. All this combined with the celebratory air of a Faestivul would make for some happy Dees for sailors despite being in a port far from home. It would be a welcome rest after seven full Dees of hard sailing almost without stop.

  Anthea was sitting at the bow of the ship when he returned, her hand on the bowsprit as she basked in the weak light of the lantern that hung from it. Steam was rising from his sweaty form, as his flesh was much warmer than the night air. His nasal exhalations clouded the air, rasping slightly as the lungs and noses of the very tired often do.

  “Bedros?” She called out to him.

  His teeth flashed into a smile as he strolled exhaustedly down the dock and up the gangway. His hooves clopped on the deck as he walked to the front of the ship, ignoring Makan’s curious gaze in favor of his charge. He settled down onto the deck next to her, his tail swishing as he made himself comfortable. One of his hands reached out to flop open on the deck beside her. She smiled and put her small hand in his very large one.

  “How was it, among your kind?” She asked softly.

  He grinned again and his ears worked furiously for a moment. She could have read his pleasure from his expression even if she hadn’t known how to communicate with him otherwise. But he told her of the great herd, a family grouping hundreds strong that roamed the hills like a force of nature. He tried to convey to her with his somatic cues and expressions how lost and free he felt among the masses, but there were some things that his language wasn’t built to say. Some things had to be experienced firsthand.

  “So, you felt like you belonged. I am sorry that you left that then, my friend. When I am safe, I bid you to return here and seek your place among them.”

  Home is where I am needed, he said to her then, though not with his voice. They don’t need me here, but they welcomed the news of their brethren in the far north. I gave them contact with kin thought long lost to them. He ended the sentences of gestures with a relaxed, far-off look.

  Anthea smiled. “Then you are a hero and a blessing to them. No wonder you were welcomed so strongly.”

  Bedros huffed happily, eyeing the stars in the sky. The joining of the herd offered by One-Ear, the Shaman, even if for only one Ouer, made his body tingle. He had run with them as one, and they had been of one mind. Like a school of fish, they had responded to each other and moved over those hills in a pattern that had shifted as easily and naturally as the winds.

  Makan approached then, sensing an opportune time and break in their conversation to tell them that the captain was ready to go. “If you’re ready, we have a long way…”

  “Bedros?” Anthea asked, because he was why they’d stopped.

  The Ox-Man nodded stiff-necked to both to signal he was ready.

  “We’re ready.”

  “Let’s spread our wings in the wind once more, then. We’ll show you how this boat can race across the sea like you must have in the hills.” Makan said to Bedros with a broad smile that split his dark face made even darker by the moon’s half-light.

  Bedros regarded Anthea after Makan had turned and gone. He gestured to her how he felt that Makan was very intuitive. She nodded in agreement.

  “That he is, Bedros. That he is. We’re lucky to have him with us.”

  ?????

  Later in the night, with only an occasional beam of moonlight leaking through the portal to light their small cabin in the dhow, Anthea had a crystal pod lighting the cabin. Rolf and Sagira sat opposite her and Bedros, who sat at her side. Makan was busy above deck enjoying the cold sea spray and the whipping winds that kept the sails billowing and full. He would hear things later. Right then, he was racing among his own kind of grass-covered hills.

  “So, is he going to tell us of his adventure, or do we have to torture it out of him?” Rolf asked anxiously.

  Anthea gave Rolf a chastising look that bid him to be patient. “He’ll have to tell me what to translate for you.”

  “He didn’t already tell you?” Sagira asked.

  “Only a bit. It’s his story to tell. He’ll say however much he wishes to say.” Anthea answered.

  “Looks like he’s starting.” Rolf announced, pointing at Bedros’ gesturing.

  Anthea laughed. “No, he’s just scratching his head.”

  Bedros snorted in laughter, which earned a hearty laugh from Sagira.

  “Well, it looks the same!” Rolf protested.

  “Here we go.” Anthea said as Bedros began a long series of deliberate gestures, noises, and expressions.

  Sagira and Rolf watched the Ox-Man at first, but then tired of watching what they couldn’t understand, choosing instead to watch Anthea and wait for her translation. After a long moment, she finally spoke.

  “He said he spent the time among his people, roaming the hills in a large pack.”

  Rolf put on a disappointed frown. “That’s it? That’s all he said? He made a lot of motions.”

  “Their language is slower than ours. They don’t engage in idle chitchat because of it. They say only the important stuff.” Anthea explained, watching Bedros’ next series of signals. “He said that there were many fortunate members of his kind there. Many had an oxpecker or two.”

  Sagira scratched thoughtfully at her cheek. “Oxpecker?”

  “It’s a bird that cleans an Ox, or Ox-Man in this case, of insects and parasites.” Anthea answered.

  “That’s fortunate, having a bird pick the nits off you?” Rolf laughed.

  “They have no other form of wealth.” Sagira remarked.

  “Still… a bird is a big deal?” Rolf shook his head.

  Bedros grunted.

  “Rolf, do you want to hear or not?” Sagira demanded.

  “Fine, I’ll be quiet.”

  Sagira glared at him. “Please do.”

  Anthea waited for the two to finish talking before she said anything more. “Can I continue?” They both nodded, so she launched right back in. “He saw many of the young among his people, a fortuitous sign. He brought news of the few of his kind in Cenalium to these distant kin, and they were overjoyed. So, they invited him to run with the herd. That’s pretty much it.”

  “So, he’s something of an honorary clan member or some such thing?” Sagira inquired.

  Bedros grunted again to punctuate a stiff-necked nod, something that needed no translation.

  Rolf nodded, liking what he’d heard. “It all seems rather simple, but then I guess simple is sometimes peaceful.”

  “That’s very profound for a Kerathi.” Sagira teased. “Did you read that somewhere?”

  “That’s a Vorcinth-damned thing to say.” Rolf growled, pushing himself up to a standing position, though he had to stoop under the low ceiling. “It’s no wonder our two peoples have never gotten along.” With that, he left the cabin, leaving the door swinging open behind him.

  “He’s a bit high strung.” Sagira remarked, choosing to ignore Rolf’s curse under the name of the God of trickery and deceit.

  Anthea shrugged, not really wanting to take sides, though Rolf’s outburst made it a clear choice. “He’s an emotional man. He lets his emotions rule him.”

  “Don’t they all?” Sagira said with a laugh.

  Bedros’ head shook back and forth as much as his neck and the close quarters would allow, disagreeing with the women’s speculations, but then, that was a disagreement man and woman had been having forever. Who was he to stop that? For a moment, he toyed with the idea of going to see above decks, but instead he settled down to sleep, letting the women’s voices drag him off into dreams of running with his kind in The Vale.

  His mind was still with the herd even if his body was not, a remnant of the ceremonies he’d partaken in with the Shaman. There were things that even Anthea needn’t know because she could not fully understand the ways of the Ox-Men. He saw through One-Ear’s eyes for the rest of the night, until he grew too distant and his mind too tired to maintain the contact. Yet even as the contact faded during his sleep, he knew that the one eared Shaman would be there awaiting his return.