Helgvor of the Blue River Page 7

  There were hours so sweet that the nomad forgot the menace of the outside world. In the morning, when the waves of light had driven away the fog, an immense and formless dream grew with the patience of ferns and trees, flowing steadily as the stream. Then Glava became the life of life, a fearsome mystery which astonished and worried the young man. At times, when he thought that she was of an alien race, he would think that she might be his slave, but when he saw the tawny glow of her eyes, there remained in his flesh but a dazzled humility.

  The canoe of the women, and that of the Tzohs, larger and faster, had been found. On the sixth day, when Amhao was strong enough, they left the granite enclosure.

  X. The Vengeance Trail

  Helgvor found a few old men on the Peninsula, old women and children who had escaped the massacre, and also a number of adult women who had fled in time to avoid capture. He waited two days. He had given his hut to the fugitives while a new one was being constructed for him.

  Then the warriors returned. They were bringing back many horses for the winter, the hunt had been successful, but their grief was deep and touching.

  Akroun, chief of chiefs, was still as strong as a leopard, but years weighed heavily on his shoulders and sprinkled salt in his hair. Craft showed on his rough face, shone in his yellow eyes. Not as tall as Heigoun, the giant of the clan, or even as Helgvor, his shoulders spread like rocks and his torso was hooped with solid ribs.

  He called for Helgvor, and spoke in a gruff voice.

  “Akroun had left the huts filled with women and children. Five warriors watched over the Red Peninsula. What became of the women; where did the warriors go?”

  He knew, for he had met Old Man Hagm far from the camp.

  Helgvor replied without visible agitation, “The women were kidnapped, the warriors have died!”

  “They fought?” the chief of chiefs swept the young man with a ferocious glance.

  “They fought.”

  “What did Helgvor do? Did he not dare look the foes in the face?”

  “It was on the day that Helgvor went scouting with his dog, his wolf and Hiolg. Helgvor saw the Men of the Rocks and came back. The Tzohs were on the Peninsula, Helgvor was alone.”

  “Helgvor alone did not fight.”

  “Helgvor fought. He killed two Tzohs. Later, he killed four others. He wounded two.”

  The warriors surrounded the young man. Heigoun laughed in derision. The chief’s face darkened.

  “No warrior witnessed Helgvor’s deeds!”

  “Hiolg saw all.”

  “Helgvor killed six Men of the Rocks,” a shrill voice piped up, “and Hiolg, with the wolf, killed one.” Boldly, the boy came to stand beside the tall warrior.

  Then Iouk, brother of Helgvor, and Shtra his father, shouted,

  “Helgvor is a warrior!”

  “The word of a child weighs no more than a leaf,” grumbled Heigoun.

  The Ougmars believed Heigoun to be the strongest of men, and when Akroun was not present, he was chief.

  “Here are my witnesses,” Helgvor said.

  From an otter skin he drew seven mummified hands, and Hiolg produced an eighth.

  Then Akroun said, “Helgvor fought.”

  “Where did that seventh hand come from?” Heigoun asked.

  “It is the hand of a Tzoh slain by a fugitive woman from the Rocks, and by the wolf,” Helgvor said reluctantly.

  Heigoun shouted, shaking a spear aloft, “Helgvor thus has made alliance with a stranger?”

  There was hatred between the two men. Heigoun detested the strength of Helgvor, which increased moon by moon. Learning that the younger man had killed six foes, murderous fury whirled in his skull. All stepped aside as the heavy weapon swung high; the red hair of the warrior blazed like a torch; his chest was large as that of a lion, his arms were knotty with muscles, and his legs were stout as small trees.

  “Helgvor allied himself with the fugitives,” the young man answered, stepping back a pace, holding his club ready. “Thus Helgvor knows where the Men of the Rocks live, and the fugitives shall guide the Ougmars.”

  “Akroun wants to see those women!” the chief grunted.

  “All the warriors want to see them!” Heigoun added.

  “It is well.”

  When the women appeared, an astonished murmur spread among the Ougmars. All eyes turned from the wide face, the slanting eyes and the stocky body of Amhao, to fasten upon Glava.

  With her golden hair, her tawny eyes with jade-hued lights, her high, flexible stature, she was comparable with the most beautiful maiden of the Blue River. Because the women were gone, she appeared more desirable.

  “That Tzoh is worthy of entering a warrior’s hut,” said Heigoun, staring at her avidly, speaking in a masterful voice. As she stood straight and proud, an expression of scorn on her face, the man added, “Heigoun is a chief! The Tzoh woman shall be a chief’s woman.”

  “Is Heigoun the chief of the clan?” Helgvor asked, vehement fury flooding his chest. “And did he make alliance with this maid?”

  Akroun listened in silence. The passion for leadership held him entirely, and this quarrel left him indifferent. And if he disliked Heigoun, he feared him because of his strength and his numerous adherents. When Akroun grew old, all expected command to come to Heigoun, the colossal warrior.

  “Helgvor is not even a warrior!” rasped Heigoun.

  “Helgvor looks Heigoun face to face—and will fight with spear, bow or hatchet.”

  The spears lifted, and Akroun wished for the defeat and death of his rival. But he feared that Helgvor would be beaten, and he spoke imperiously, “No man of the Blue River shall have a new wife until the Tzohs have been chastised. Until the hour of revenge, the Ougmars will be like jackals or deer. After, the man who shall have fought best shall obtain the woman he desires.”

  A clamor of applause rose. Many of the warriors were lured by the captive woman, and jealousy already darkened their hearts. The majority, however, wanted to free their women and slay their ravishers. Thus, they all heard Akroun’s words with satisfaction, and Shtra said, “The chief has spoken well. The Ougmars shall obey.”

  “Helgvor defied Heigoun!” the giant howled.

  “The tribe needs all the warriors!” Akroun stated harshly. “If Heigoun, Helgvor, or the two of them, were wounded, the Tzohs would be the stronger!”

  “Heigoun shall kill Helgvor after victory!”

  “Helgvor shall beat down Heigoun!”

  As he spoke, the young man stood straight, and his height was almost equal to that of his adversary; but the shoulders of the grown warrior were more massive, his limbs thicker. Startled by the daring of Shtra’s son, many warriors admired his courage. Glava, aware that Heigoun was interested in her, was pale with anger and hatred.

  The warriors, who were to start the following day, spent the afternoon repairing or sharpening their weapons. Worry depressed Helgvor, and, dimly, he felt how gentle and easy life had been within the enclosure. If the instinct of race and hatred for the Tzohs had not been strong, he would have thought of escape. Glava was as sad, and when the first stars appeared, she felt the threatening weight of the darkness.

  Heigoun was as evil as Kzahm, hostility was aroused in her against the alien breed, and she experienced a certain resentment toward Helgvor for bringing her among these men.

  Akroun called Helgvor to his shelter. “The maid will lead us to the land of the Tzohs?” he asked.

  “Yes,” the warrior replied, “if no one menaces her. Glava does not fear death. She fought like a man. And she will bow to none. If the chief wants her for a guide, let Heigoun stay aside. The maid will talk only to Helgvor.”

  The chief listened, worried, and at heart he approved Helgvor, but he foresaw trouble. Shaken by circumstances, his authority was swaying; he guessed that many among his people blamed him for carelessness. A few had murmured audibly. Heigoun, daring and eager to dominate, would leave him no respite. Because their natures were antagoni
stic, and perhaps because Heigoun had shown his greed for power too soon, the chief of chiefs did not wish to have him take leadership.

  “How came Helgvor to meet the women and fight the Tzohs?” he asked.

  Helgvor related his adventures, the first meeting with the Men of the Rocks, the massacre on the Red Peninsula, the pursuit and the meeting with the fugitives, the fighting on the shore, the combat at the enclosure.

  Those many exploits astonished Akroun, for Helgvor was younger than any warrior who hunted the aurochs and horses. Nevertheless, his skill with the bow was well known; since childhood, he had fired arrows and thrown spears with surprising accuracy. His strength increased quicker than his size.

  Akroun saw in him a rival for the giant; should Helgvor become the hero of the tribe, the chief of chiefs would have no rivals. A very young man would never aspire to command. Akroun no longer claimed physical supremacy. Age had drained his muscles of their suppleness and vigor.

  At least seven men of the clan were better warriors than he; as he reigned through foresight and craftiness, he was the first to reproach himself for the catastrophe befallen the tribe during his absence. Doubtless it was true that the Men of the Rocks had not raided the Ougmars for two generations and had been thought to have migrated far to the east. But a chief should never have forgotten their existence!

  “The daughter of the Rocks shall walk by day with Helgvor,” he decided. “At night she shall be alone, watched by Akroun’s dogs, which cannot be approached by anyone save the chief.”

  Deep sorrow gnawed at Helgvor’s heart. He did not trust even the chief.

  In the morning, Akroun counted the warriors. There were 58, all hardened to fatigue and skilled in the use of hatchet, stake, club and spear.

  “The Men of the Rocks are much more numerous,” Helgvor said. “There are three Tzohs for each Ougmar.”

  “Formerly, the warriors of the Green Lakes fought with us against them,” Akroun said. “But their tribes are now more than a moon’s march away.”

  “We must surprise the Tzohs,” Heigoun grumbled.

  “The Ougmars shall pass through the forests of the far bank,” Akroun said with a somber laugh. “Ten days of marching along the High River will bring them to the Land of the Sun. There they shall try to make an alliance with the Gwahs, Men of the Night.”

  “They are jackals lacking in strength, they eat their dead!” Heigoun retorted harshly.

  “The Gwahs are swift afoot and clever at preparing ambushes,” Shtra stated. “For six generations they have been the friends of the Ougmars. Shtra has hunted with the Gwahs.”

  “Gaor also,” put in another warrior. “It is a fact that they eat the dead men, but they are faithful to friends, trustworthy.”

  The Ougmars forded the river in well-built canoes. Although the forest was thick, the ancestors of the clan had many years ago traced a trail through it, a path often taken by mammoths, bison and other animals. Each craft was carried by four men who were relieved at intervals. This made the march slower, but once the western hills had been crossed, the river would be found in the high valley which led southward on a swift current.

  The warriors traveled all day, stopping only to eat. The forest seemed endless and it grew on slopes ascending toward the sunset sky. At twilight, behind their fires, the Ougmars were stronger than all animals, even than the mammoths and bison which travel in herds. Only vertical beasts were to be feared, but only the Men of the Night were known to live in the forest, a strange people living in the trunks of old trees.

  Glava had been isolated in the center of the camp. The warriors looked toward her often, with fierce yet tender glances. Heigoun roamed as near as he dared, but Akroun had stationed Shtra and some men around her who detested the gigantic warrior and his alert dogs.

  “Akroun didn’t know enough to protect the women,” Heigoun told his friends. “He’s keeping this maid for his friends.”

  And he turned his hairy face, the hue of dying ashes, toward Glava.

  Crushed by fear and regret, she was bitterly resentful that she had followed Helgvor to the Red Peninsula. She had been separated from Amhao roughly, and her sister had been left behind with the old men and the survivors. She had resisted at first, then, understanding that this might prove dangerous for Amhao, she had yielded to superior force.

  Now, she dreamed of circulating again, with her sister, on the solitary trails. As hateful as the Tzohs, and strangers moreover, the Ougmars, by their gestures, their habits, their weapons, their voices, inspired in the young girl an intense dislike. She would gladly have led Helgvor toward the Land of the Tzohs, but she meant to deceive the others, to take them on false roads.

  Helgvor, looking at the maid in the firelight, understood her rancor, and was worried. Several times he had urged the chief to take Amhao on the trip. Heigoun and his friends had opposed this, explaining that the woman would delay the march unless her child was left behind.

  “Helgvor will carry the child,” the young nomad had said.

  “Shtra and Iouk also,” his father and brother had added.

  Heigoun would not accept this and Akroun gave in, careless of what happened to Amhao. As he would not listen to Helgvor, the young man did not risk suggesting that Glava might avenge herself.

  The next day, the first Men of the Night were encountered. Their faces lengthened like sheep’s heads and their pointed ears were tufted with coarse hair. Black as slate, they showed small eyes, like squirrels’ pupils, mouths shaped as if eternally sucking, thin limbs and hollow bellies. Their hair grew in islets on their skulls, faces and chests. Their skins oozed an evil-smelling oil, and the thick upper lip lifted to show fang-like teeth. For weapons, they had only sharp stones and pointed sticks.

  Shtra had met them in the forest for a score of years. Knowing their tongue he spoke, with many gestures, “If the Gwahs will come with the Ougmars, they shall have flesh and blood aplenty.”

  “Why should the Gwahs go with the Ougmars?” asked the oldest black.

  “To help in tracking down the Tzohs. Don’t you remember the time when the Tzohs massacred the Men of the Night? The Gwahs shall have the carcasses of the fallen, for the Ougmars are the stronger!”

  Despite their craftiness, the Gwahs had credulous souls. Tomorrow seemed to them an unlimited time ahead. They sniffed toward the roasting meat, and having been given a share, they ate as they walked beside the River Men. At times, other Gwahs, emerging from hollow trees or from branches, joined the detachment, lured by the example of the others.

  “Flesh will be needed every day,” Shtra said to Akroun. “If flesh is lacking, the Gwahs will stop.”

  Poor hunters, and poor fire-builders, the Gwahs often knew famine.

  “They’ll have flesh,” Akroun assured. “There is much game in the forest.” He counted on the Gwahs less to fight the Tzohs openly than to harass them and draw them into ambushes.

  After a lapse of several days, there were about 50 Gwahs with the party. Despite their small bodies, they were always ready to eat, equally fitted to starve as to gorge. The Ougmar hunters sought stags, aurochs, boars, all large animals, to satisfy the voracity of their allies.

  The Gwahs, inclined to laziness, scattered during the day on all sides of the marching clan, but at night gathered near the fires, inhaling the smells of cooking meat, warming their bodies with much pleasure. Their smells, which resembled those of foxes and skunks, inspired Glava with bitter disgust, but the warriors, after the first evenings, paid no further attention.

  When the High River was reached, it was discovered that there were not enough canoes, and the Gwahs, directed by Ougmars, built rafts. They handled them with more skill than canoes, and did not fear water, for all of them swam like otters. The High River carried them impetuously; in three days they covered an enormous distance and found themselves near the Blue River.

  The stream had overflowed. The water spread in the forest and beat against the lower slopes of the hills. It took six ho
urs to find dry land on the shore. As the plain was broken by great ponds, the canoes and rafts had to be carried along. Akroun hardened his face to maintain his authority in the face of this additional hardship.

  “The Ougmars crawl like worms,” Heigoun cried late that afternoon. “Never shall they reach the land of the Tzohs.”

  “The flood must have delayed the kidnappers,” Akroun replied harshly. “The Ougmars must pursue.” He sent for Helgvor and asked him, “The Tzohs were further than we are upstream when Helgvor met the fugitives?”

  “No, the Tzohs were two or three days’ travel downstream from here.”

  “The Tzohs must have gone overland,” Heigoun suggested. “We must leave the river bank.”

  “Not yet!” Akroun snapped. He stared at Heigoun. “Does Heigoun forget we are on the warpath?”

  “Heigoun obeys the chief! But warriors have the right to group and confer.”

  Akroun grew ashen. There was no talk of gathering the warriors for a conference unless the authority of the chief was questioned.

  “Akroun will call the warriors together when the fires are lit.”

  “If the Tzohs are nearby, they shall see the fires.”

  “Is Heigoun a child? Does he believe that the chief does not know fires must be screened?”

  That night Akroun selected a depression rimmed with trees for the camping place. In any case the scouts, Ougmars and Gwahs, had discovered no tracks up to a distance from which the fires, even on the flat plain, would have been invisible. When the wood burned brightly, Akroun summoned the men.

  “Let the warriors gather. The chief will listen to them.”

  Heigoun’s supporters came first. There were 12 of them, not one of whom had seen over 30 autumns. Those who remained loyal to the chief, whether by trust, by fear or hatred of Heigoun, arrived more slowly. There were 15, among them Shtra, Iouk and Helgvor. The rest, undecided, ready to side with the stronger group, hovered behind.