Stone Spring Part 5

'Shut up, Novu,' his father said. Chona was startled at the change in his voice. Where he had treated the women with indifference, there was real hatred in his tone towards the boy.

But Novu kept talking. 'The last trader we had in here was just the same. He threw up in the p.i.s.s-pot-'

Magho leaned over and punched the boy in the side of the head. Novu went sprawling. 'I told you to shut up! And if you did what I told you, you wouldn't be in this plight now, would you?' Magho took a deep breath, his ma.s.sive chest expanding. Then he sat up and turned to Chona, his smile returning. 'Don't worry about that. I caught him above the hairline. The bruise won't show.'

Chona watched the boy rise, cautiously, rubbing his head. He wondered why the father thought Chona would care. And why, if the boy angered his father so much, he was keeping him here in the house during this meeting. 'He doesn't bother me, Magho. He's just a child.'

'A child? A child-man, and that's all he'll ever be, I fear. The G.o.ds know he's a difficult one. Here, try some of this tea.' He handed Chona a clay bowl of hot, steaming green liquid. 'We've business to do.' He glanced over at Chona's pack. 'I take it you have what I want.'

Chona allowed himself to smile. 'I wouldn't be here otherwise, my friend.' He leaned over and unfolded his pack. In with the bits of sky-fallen iron and shaped flint and fragments of reindeer bone carved into elusive fish and lumbering bears, he had tucked small parcels wrapped in the softest doe skin. He made a show of unwrapping them slowly. Magho all but drooled.

Small, precious items, bartered across the Continent, were Chona's stock in trade. Not for him the heavy work of trading meat or grain, or sacks of unworked flint. What he liked to carry were treasures valuable far beyond their size and weight - and the further from their source you took them the more valuable they became. The fragments of obsidian he unwrapped now, taken from sites in a mountain range far from here, were among the most valuable of all.

He handed Magho one of the smaller pieces. Magho turned the black, s.h.i.+ning rock over in his hands, his eyes wide, his mouth a dark circle. 'I take it you have better examples,' he breathed.

'Oh, yes. All from the finest source in the known world. And all yours, if-'

'If I can pay.' Magho let out his throaty laugh. 'I do like you, Chona. Well, I like all traders. At least you're honest, which is more than can be said for most people in this wretched world.'

'That particular piece would make a fine axe-head,' Chona said. 'Or perhaps something more abstract. An amulet-'

'Oh, I'll leave that to the experts,' Magho said. 'There's a man on the other side of town, called Fless, very old now, about forty and half-blind, but he works stone as you wouldn't believe. My way is simply to give him such pieces as this, and let him see what lies within the stone, see with his cataract-blighted eyes, and then tease it out, flake by flake with his bits of bone.' He mimed a fine pressing. 'Marvellous to see him work, with those twisted-up hands and his milky eyes. Yes, he's the man. If I can get his time, if somebody hasn't stolen him away.'

Chona took back the obsidian sc.r.a.p, and handed him another piece. 'I'm sure what Fless makes of these pieces would dazzle your friends like rays of the sun . . .'

This was the odd part of trading with the men of Jericho. Everywhere in the world you found men, and sometimes women, of power, who acc.u.mulated wealth - maybe trinkets, maybe more functional items like tools or food. But everywhere else you showed off your power by giving your treasure away: the more you had to give, the greater you were. In Jericho's elaborate, layered society men strutted and showed off what they owned, be it women and children, goats and stores of grain - and pointless, purposeless trinkets. Your status came from what you kept to yourself, not what you gave away.

Well, Chona didn't care. He never judged a man he traded with. Magho could wipe his a.r.s.e on his precious obsidian for all Chona cared - as long as Chona got a fair price first.

But the boy, Novu, still nursing his head, snorted his contempt at Chona's manipulation.

Magho handed back the stone. 'Let's do business. How many pieces?'

'A dozen. I'll show you the rest when we have a deal.'

Magho nodded. 'Very well. So let me show you what I have to trade . . .' He produced a figurine of a pregnant woman, carved of the tooth of some sea creature, quite fine. And a whistle made from the bone of a bird, delicately carved, so small you would need a child's fingers to stop its holes, and yet fully functional, Magho a.s.sured him. And a bit of iron, small but one of the purest pieces Chona had ever seen. Magho evidently knew Chona's preference for small, portable treasures, and with one piece after another he built up an array on the rush mat.

Chona kept his face like stone, merely nodding politely. Some of this was impressive, and in the loose map of the Continent he carried in his head he calculated where he might make a decent profit on each of these pieces. Still, when Magho was done arraying his treasures Chona was disappointed. He would win out of the deal, of course, but not as much as he had hoped.

'I have to be honest, Magho. I'd love to do business with you, you know that. But I'd have to haul away a sack full of pieces like these to compensate me for my obsidian.'

Magho's face fell, but Chona wasn't fooled; Magho, while clearly wanting the obsidian, was an experienced trader too. 'Perhaps we could come to some arrangement. If I could choose the best four or six of your pieces-'

'I wouldn't want to break up the set. That way, if I need to take it elsewhere in the town, I'll have a much better chance of a sale.' That was true enough, and a subtle threat to take the h.o.a.rd to one of Magho's deadly social rivals.

'I know what will make him cough up the obsidian,' said Novu, the son, still cradling his head, but speaking slyly. 'I saw the way he looked at Minda. Give him a bit of time alone with her and-'

This time the blow he received from his father was to the back of his neck. The boy recoiled, obviously shocked.

'I apologise again for the boy,' Magho said. 'But . . . Minda.' He grinned at Chona. 'You couldn't help noticing her, and I couldn't help noticing you. Fifteen years old and sweet as a peach. Virgin, of course.'

'Your wife's sister?'

'Niece, actually. Promised to another. I couldn't help you there, my friend. And besides I already owe my wife's brother, her father, a favour.'

Chona shook his head. 'I have no interest in the girl,' he lied, but he hoped it didn't show. 'We were speaking of trade.'

'Yes, yes.' Magho eyed him, and Chona realised he was about to come to the nub of his offer. 'I do have one more item for you to consider. Something unusual - I merely ask you to have an open mind.'

'What item?'

Magho stood, heavily. And he reached over, grabbed his son by the scruff of the neck, and hauled him to his feet. 'This!'

Novu, obviously dizzy from the blows he had taken, whimpered, staggering. 'Father? What are you doing?'

'He's no use to me,' Magho said. 'Far more trouble than he's worth. But in the right hands he could be invaluable.'

'I don't take slaves.' Chona was confused by the whole situation. 'Invaluable how?'

'He can make bricks,' Magho said, almost proudly. 'You've seen them being baked on the hillside yonder. There's something of an art to it, you know, getting the right proportion of mud and straw and water, mixing them just so, drying them. Get it wrong and they crumble in your hands. Get it right and they last for ever, nearly. This boy has the knack of doing it. Ask anybody, it's a gift of the G.o.ds, it's nothing to do with me. I mean, he's useless at everything else.'

Chona snorted. 'Bricks might seem valuable to you. But this is an unusual place, where bricks are prized. You know that.'

'But not unique. Come on, man, I've heard you talk. There are towns in the north and west-'

'Far from here. Many days' walk.'

'You're not going to have to carry him there, are you? You can walk him to wherever you want to sell him. He can even carry your pack for you.'

'Why do you want rid of him, Magho?'

Magho glared at the boy. 'Because of an incident that won't make any difference to you. He's a thief. He took a jade piece I particularly treasured, and hid it. I won't have a thief in my house. I can't afford it. A man in my position in this town-'

Novu protested, 'You told mother you forgave me for that!'

'So I lied. You're no son of mine. You don't have to sell him for making bricks, of course. He's not bad looking, and he's still young.' He pinched the boy's biceps and thighs. 'You can see that. Feel for yourself. His b.a.l.l.s have dropped.' He cupped the boy's groin; Novu flinched. 'And he's a virgin, of course, except for his close relations.h.i.+p with his right hand.'

'I don't run slaves,' Chona repeated.

Magho heaved a sigh. 'You strike a hard bargain. Suppose I had a word with Gorga. My wife's brother. If I could persuade him about Minda, you know . . . A night with her?'

'Well . . .

Magho clapped him on the shoulder again. 'Just don't ruin her for her husband, you bull. Look, I'll leave you with the goods. I'll come back after I've seen Gorga. And you,' he said, pointing a finger at his son, 'show some respect or I'll break every tooth in your head, no matter what it does to your selling price.'

He stalked out.

The boy sat again, s.h.i.+vering. But he stared defiantly at Chona. 'He set it all up, you know. My father.'

'Set what up?'

'Minda. Do you think it was an accident she was here when you came?'

'You know this, do you?'

He snorted. 'I know my father. I know how he works. Why, once, my mother, his own wife, he made her-'

'Shut up. I don't want to know.' If Magho had set up Minda as a way to swing the deal then he was a better trader than Chona had imagined. But again he felt the blood surge in his loins. Breaking the girl would do him good. Magho had a deal, he decided. An unusual deal, but a deal.

'Get dressed to travel,' he said to the boy. 'Pick out your best clothes. I know places where such clothes will fetch a good price. I've some old skins that will do for you on the trail.'

The boy stared. 'You're taking me? You can't be serious-'

As Novu protested, Chona leaned over and absently picked at the edge of the boy's smock, fascinated by the detail of how the fabric had been woven.

And he coughed suddenly, a deep rasping cough that came out of nowhere and tore at his throat.

10.

This morning they were to begin the Spring Walk south to the oyster beaches of the Moon Sea. It was only a few days before the equinox.

Etxelur was inhabited by six extended families, including Zesi's, some tens of tens of people, all of whom Zesi knew by name. More than half of the people who lived here would be travelling today, men, women, and many, many children, walking south across the hills they called the Ribs of the First Mother to the rich coastline of the Moon Sea. Those left behind included the very young and their mothers, the old and ill, and others with urgent jobs - fisherfolk who needed to patch their boats and mend their nets ready for the new season, others who were already out hunting the grey seal who came ash.o.r.e to breed, or climbing the sandstone cliffs further along the coast in search of nesting sea birds and their eggs.

The people started to gather early on the dunes overlooking the Seven Houses. Zesi heard the children playing in the long gra.s.s even before she first emerged from her house, carrying the buckets full of the night's p.i.s.s to empty into the stone-lined fuller's pit. And by the time she and Ana and the Pretani boys had prepared their travelling kit, the dunes were crowded. All here because of Zesi.

As the discussions about the Spring Walk had firmed up, it had been Zesi who had taken a leading role, Zesi who had drawn out agreement, Zesi who had settled small disputes - Zesi around whose house the walkers now gathered, eager for the off. Her missing father had left a big hole in the community. In Etxelur women owned the houses, and made many fundamental decisions. But men made day-to-day choices, about whether to go fis.h.i.+ng this month or hunt inland.

After half a year of making decisions on behalf of her vanished father, Zesi sometimes felt exhausted - wrung out, chased. But she admitted to herself she was having fun playing this dual role, of man and woman. Sometimes, when a boat was sighted coming in from over the horizon, a flurry of excitement would whirl around the settlements: could it be Kirike returning at last? The look of painful hope on poor Ana's face on such occasions was distressing. But Zesi was beginning to think her own feelings about her father's return were much more complicated - and when she felt that way guilt stabbed at her.

She kept her patience as everybody fussed, but the sun was higher than she would have liked before they were ready to go. At last she nodded to Jurgi. The priest stood high on a dune with his bull roarer, a bit of bone on a rope he whirled around his head to make a tremendous screaming noise that had the smaller children running to their mothers and the adults cheering.

And then they were off, with Zesi in the lead and Jurgi walking in his place just behind her, both of them singing the ancient songs of the land ways - and each quietly reminding the other which way to go where the path wasn't clear. The people chattered loudly, and some of the children sang a song in praise of the little mother of the land. The two Pretani boys, who wouldn't let themselves be excluded, whooped and hollered aggressive hunting songs of their own.

Zesi thought she could feel everybody's relief to be off on this adventure after the long winter. Even the dogs ran and yapped in excitement, even Lightning who had spent the winter pining for his owner, Kirike.

They headed south, making for the valley of the river they called the Little Mother's Milk. Away from the coast the land rose and became a sandstone fell, bleaker and more exposed. In places huge layered rocks lay tumbled, as if dropped by giants.

The sun was bright, but a spring mist hung in the air, glowing with light, masking the plains of the far horizon. To either side of the trail, littered with loose, pale sand worn free of the soft underlying rock by footsteps human and animal, the heather had begun to grow, thick and short and green. Zesi found some hawthorn as she walked along, and absently plucked the buds, still early, bright green. They had a rich, nutty flavour when she chewed them. And the first pileworts were out, a bright and early flower with s.h.i.+ning yellow petals. She pointed this out to the priest, for it was a good treatment for piles, and worth collecting.

But the country was troubling her, as she sang her songs with the priest. It had been some years since the last walk, and while the trail was easy to find it seemed to Zesi that in some places the ancient songs of the land, with their lists of landmarks and directions, did not match what she saw before her eyes.

The ground was boggier than it used to be, and new ponds pooled in hollows. Here was a stand of trees she remembered playing in as a child. Now the birch were leafless and dead, though a couple of alders survived, and where she remembered fern and gra.s.s there now grew samphire and cordgra.s.s. When she dipped her finger in the muddy water that pooled around the surviving alders, she tasted salt. Very strange.

At last the path led them down into the valley of the Milk, steep-sided and cloaked with wood. The pace slowed as people spread out to look for water or to hunt, or bled the birch trees of their sap for resin for rope-making, or inspected fallen trees for flint nodules dragged up out of the earth by the roots.

Zesi was relieved when Gall ran off into the first dense bit of forest they came to, stabbing spear in his hand.

The younger Pretani, Shade, however, stayed close by, walking with her. He was taken with the holloways they followed, paths close to the river that had been worn into the earth. They were channels choked with debris, plant growth, tree roots, last year's leaves, and pools of brackish water. The people kicked them clear as they walked.

As the sun started to go down they stopped to make shelter for the night, close to the river. People worked busily, collecting wood for lean-tos and for the fires.

Zesi sat at the edge of a pond and set to work using a flint knife to dig out a stand of bulrushes. Later she would char their thick stems on the fire, and they would suck out the starchy interior.

Shade was still close by, as he had been all day. He had an endearing awkwardness, as if he was never quite sure what he should be doing.

They spotted hares chasing each other through the long gra.s.s. Two big animals faced each other, their long black-tipped ears bristling, a male and female, and they stood up on their back legs and boxed with their front paws - mad with l.u.s.t, Zesi thought, for it was that time of year.

Watching the hares, Shade spoke to her shyly. 'This land is very old,' he said. 'So old your feet have worn tracks into the earth.'

'We follow the tracks our ancestors made when they first walked here, following the little mothers as they made the world. Where's that brother of yours? He's been gone a long time.'

'He is a great hunter. Sometimes, at home, he is away for days, alone. He won't come back without a kill. You'll see . . . The walk is useful.'

That word made her laugh. 'Useful? How?'

'The children are learning how to live on the move. In the forest. As your ancestors might once have lived. They are learning old skills, that might be needed again.'

She grunted. 'You sound like our priest. He likes to say how useful things are. You sound like an old man, not a kid.'

His cheeks burned under his spa.r.s.e beard. 'I am older than your sister!'

She tried hard not to laugh. 'Does Ana treat you like a kid?'

'She treats me badly. I don't know why. I-'

'I can tell you why.' The voice was Gall's. Suddenly he was here, a ma.s.sive presence silhouetted by the low sun. Zesi saw that he had something heavy and limp draped over his shoulders. He was breathing hard, his tunic bloodied. 'Because you're a skinny runt. Here, little boy, I bought you a present.' And he threw his burden to the ground.

It was a deer, a young female, and pregnant.

'Be a man,' Gall said. 'Finish it off. This is your chance to show cold-faced Ana you've got b.a.l.l.s - and I don't mean those shrivelled-up nuts she sees you was.h.i.+ng every morning, hah!'

Zesi could see the swelling of the doe's belly clearly against its slim form. Panting, salivating, exhausted, obviously terrified, it tried to stand. But the backs of its legs were matted with blood, and every time it rose it fell back to the ground.

There was something fascinating in the deer's agony, Zesi found herself thinking. And the power Gall had over it.

Gall was watching her, amused.

'This is not how we hunt, Pretani. A quick kill, an apology to the beast's spirit - that's our way. Not this, not a half day of agony for a creature like this, all to play a kind of joke on your brother.'