Helgvor of the Blue River Page 9

  “Let our warriors attack!” he screamed.

  He whirled when very near the ambush, and with the quick spring of a leopard he was on the nearest Tzoh, knocking him down. Another, coming on in great leaps, stopped too late. The enormous club smashed across his loins, fracturing his spine.

  At the same moment, arrows, stones, spears spouted from the refuge of the Ougmars and the Gwahs. The dogs barked, the men bellowed like aurochs and wolves. Six tall warriors emerged, then others, blacks with pointed ears, sliding through grass as rapidly as the barking dogs.

  It was a panic—the Tzohs believed themselves facing the whole clan, and the majority, filled with terror, scattered at random. But six or seven faced the unexpected foes. They slew two Gwahs and one Ougmar, but great clubs broke their bones, knocked out their bowels from ripped bellies. When they had been exterminated, the Men of the River and their beasts took up the chase. Those who were caught made no resistance. The pointed stakes of the Gwahs, the clubs, the hatchets, the spears of the Ougmars cut off their defenseless lives.

  More agile than were the short-legged Tzohs, the victors had wiped out almost all the vanquished when they reached the camp and the women. Their guards, mediocre fighters, had fled. Those that were overhauled allowed themselves to be slain without a fight.

  The day was about to end. The red Sun, half-buried in clouds, already slid down toward the river. Almost all the Tzohs had died.

  Shtra, filled with admiration and enthusiasm, cried out,

  “Helgvor, son of Shtra, is a mighty warrior—strong as the mammoth, swift as the tiger—Heigoun is only a wolf!”

  The Ougmar warriors repeated,

  “Helgvor, son of Shtra, is a mighty warrior!”

  The women, overjoyed at their rescue, clamored with the men. They had seen Helgvor’s first exploits.

  And the clouds were twisted into mirages like all the mirages that had filled the clouds through aeons and aeons. It was a brilliant evening upon the perishable Earth; a soft breeze ran across the waters; and when the fires were lit, the joy of life filled those who had suppressed life.

  Helgvor felt the pride of being a dreaded warrior, but his pride was laid before a remote fire, before a supple shape, and his heart quivered with sweet yet terrible anguish.

  XIII. Glava in the Night

  When Helgvor vanished beyond the hills, horror swooped upon Glava. Haggard, she stared at these unknown beings about her, found the sight of them less and less bearable.

  Akroun had given strict orders that no one should go near the foreign woman. She was in the middle of the encampment. Men’s glances went toward her, which irritated her. Because she was alone, the peril was not great and Akroun’s protection surer. For almost all these warriors had lost their women, and were rivals.

  The day passed dully, without incident. A heavy boredom crushed the men and many fell asleep. Akroun scanned the horizon, or dispatched small parties of warriors as scouts, instructing them not to go beyond the hills. These would soon return without anything to report.

  The camp was guarded by six sentries, stationed at regular intervals and changed often. No surprise could be feared. The chief remained gloomy. The Ougmars’ distrust weighed on his mind for he knew it would increase at the least failure. Then he would lose authority and would be put to death, for Heigoun would not tolerate a living rival.

  The image of Heigoun oppressed Akroun as if the warrior had been near, with his cave bear’s chest, his ferocious eyes and his enormous shoulders. He also thought of Helgvor, whom he admired grudgingly for his exploits, his skill and his vigor. Much too young to become a chief, Helgvor, no matter what happened, would not prove dangerous. In any event if he, Akroun, made good and recaptured the women taken by the Tzohs, he would be pitiless to his foes. But would he recapture them? The Tzohs were too numerous and his allies too weak! Dull doubt gnawed the chief’s brain.

  Night came.

  Neither Shtra nor Heigoun had come back, and the sentries on the hills signaled nothing. Perhaps the scouts had been surprised by their foes and killed off. Then, all struggle rendered impossible, the Ougmars would return to their homes beaten, to live without women, without sons, and their race would die.

  Glava also thought bitter, harsh thoughts. Her youth was weary as old age; her anxiety was increasing. A few stars appeared, gleaming a while to be extinguished by a light downpour, which turned into a torrential rain.

  The rivers filled space. Water rose in the pools. Wild beasts sought their dens. Owls hooted mournfully and the jackals complained.

  One by one the fires went out, and the night spread thick as velvet. Here and there men still stirred, but the water soaked through their furs, moistened hair and beards, seeped into ears and nostrils, extinguishing their lust as it had put out the fires.

  Nevertheless, their snores annoyed Glava. Unable to bear the sounds longer, she crept away in the darkness. No definite plan was in her mind. She fled like a doe pursued by the wolf, like the stag pursued by the tiger.

  She crept a long time with animal prudence, noiselessly circling the prone bodies. Dogs awoke with short growls, then they identified Glava, whose scent was familiar, and dropped back into their shivering torpor.

  Then she was alone and crawling quicker; she soon left the camp behind. There were no more rough sounds, no odors save those of the moist sod, the grass and the trees. Weary, she remained motionless an instant to gather her scattered thoughts. She ardently wished to join Amhao. She also would have desired to see Helgvor. She loved him more than she herself knew, with a love similar to that she granted her sister.

  But Helgvor was away, sent off purposely to leave her defenseless. She could not understand why he had gone, although she knew that he could not disobey a chief. The terrifying silhouette of Heigoun lifted in her mind. Why had Helgvor not come back? Death was all about.

  She started forward again. Like an unchecked torrent the rain fell and its sounds muffled all other noises. Even the jackals were quiet. Glava was chilled to the bones, her limbs tired.

  Then there was no time and no space, all melted into the dark, watery night. The water rose to the fugitive’s chest, she did not know where to step. Everywhere her hands encountered the cold fluid which penetrated and submerged everything.

  She struck a hard object, which moved. Glava identified a canoe. She held onto it, drew the craft near, and succeeded in climbing into the hull. There were paddles, which she handled at random. Then she felt the gentle, soft slide as she was borne away, faster and faster.

  Dawn came at last, a smear of ashy white in the depth of the sky. Light increased, and the world was dripping with happiness. Far off, Glava discerned vegetation and rocks, and as the current shot the canoe along rapidly she knew that she was on the river. With this knowledge hope was reborn. She thought of rejoining Amhao on the Red Peninsula.

  Despite her weariness she paddled long, to increase the distance between herself and the Ougmars. When she was tired she inspected her boat. There was only a pointed stake for a weapon and a sharp-edged stone for a tool. The point of the stake was worn dull, and could be employed only against weak beasts. For a long time she suffered from cold, then the rising Sun warmed her chilled limbs which resumed the suppleness and the spring of youth.

  “Glava shall see Amhao!” she said.

  Then the canoe slid slowly on the immense surface. Glava had gone near the left bank to be sheltered from sight. She was hungry, and she found a haven in which to land. It was a gently sloping stone platform in a rocky cliff at the end of which was a small cave. Glava, having made sure that no wild beast lived therein, dragged the canoe into a seam of the stone and fastened it with leather ropes left in the craft by the Ougmars.

  The cave connected with the top of the cliff, through cracks. Glava picked up the stake, to hunt game and defend herself. By a corridor of basaltic rock she reached soil that the waters could not reach, a narrow plain fringed the thick forest which had spread over the universe long b
efore the birth of the Gwahs, Sons of the Night.

  Glava was afraid, less of the beasts than of the forest and of the unnamed things which menace living creatures. When she had fled with Amhao, the presence of her sister and the child had populated the world. Now, she was wholly alone, to face the immensity of the river and of the forest, and hostile life.

  She hesitated before plunging into the jungle, but nothing appeared on the plain save a few animals which remained too far away to be caught. In the forest, Glava found white mushrooms such as were eaten by the Tzohs. Raw, they smelled like mouldy wood, but she ate two to appease her intense hunger, before disgust overcame famine.

  Two squirrels appeared on the lower branches of a sycamore-tree. Invisible behind a young tree, she spied upon the small beasts covered with gray fur, with brushy ears and extraordinarily hairy tails longer than their bodies. Their rats’ eyes glittered and each of their movements was graceful. With a bow, or even with a spear, she could have killed one of them, but the clumsy stake would surely miss the target.

  They gnawed peacefully and did not see, in the thick foliage, death nearing them. A lynx was there, strange feline with triangular ears, hair sprouting on each side of the jaws like a beard, and a spotted pelt. He was as silent as night. They saw him suddenly, and leaped. But the quick beast fell on them like a projectile, broke their backs with two strokes of his paws. They dropped to the ground and the lynx slid down the tree to get at them.

  Rage at seeing his legitimate prey claimed by another vibrated through the slim body, and the lynx lifted a paw warningly. Glava held the point of the stake toward him. The animal measured the height and mass of the girl with a glance, and recalled Gwahs encountered in his native forest. They were beings such as this one, more dangerous than wolves, equipped with queer claws that they shot far from their bodies. A lynx should yield to them. But this was the first time one of the erect beings had seized prey from a lynx.

  “Glava is stronger than the lynx!” the young girl shouted, knowing that animals must be menaced. The lynx growled, and she tossed the stake at him. Then, furious but resigned, the beast leaped away, vanished into the undergrowth. One of the squirrels was dying, the other dead. Glava, with their flesh, could face the unknown forces which destroy human beings. Laden with the small, tawny bodies, she went back to the canoe.

  One of the squirrels contributed his mysterious energy to her body without driving off the need for sleep. She sought a shelter, but found none. Wild animals could come down to the river bank. She could not sleep in the canoe; tiger or lion would have reached her in one leap. And the craft was too heavy for her to turn over, as she had done on occasions while with Amhao.

  An island would be the best refuge, but the flood had submerged the low ones, and of the larger, only the crests emerged. Glava would have preferred a small, easily explored islet, on which she could be sure no felines lived.

  The canoe had started again, and now slid swiftly, bearing away the weak human beast.

  After a long time, Glava espied two islands of different sizes. The largest was prolonged by long, slender headlands, at the tips of a thickly overgrown plateau. The sight of many large crocodiles and snakes which the flood had driven to the center of this island kept her from attempting a landing. The second island, smaller and very rocky, appeared more hospitable, there were few trees and the low grass revealed no suspicious presence.

  Two boulders left between them a slit too narrow to give passage to tiger, lion or gray bear, which, in any case, would have had to come from one of the banks, something that Glava deemed impossible. To avoid risk, she further barred the way with twisted branches and lianas, and having moored the canoe, fell asleep.

  The Sun was already low on the horizon when she awoke. Its yellow radiance flushed the right bank, and a deep, luminous peace reigned over the waters. An old hippopotamus, hideous and peaceful, slumbered at the tip of the island. A bird twittered, perched on a quivering bough.

  Toward morning, a slight noise awoke her, and in the light of the stars she saw a head gnawing the small bones of the squirrel. It was a diminutive animal, the size of a young fox, with pointed ears and eyes that glowed like fireflies.

  The immensity of the sky was still sprinkled with luminous flowers. In their weak glow, Glava identified a jackal. He did not appear to have attained his full growth, and his presence on the islet was astonishing. Doubtless he had been brought here by the flood, shaken on the rushing water and thrown upon this deserted rock. Was he alone?

  She did not drive the jackal away but listened to the little sounds made by the teeth on the bones. Glava, no longer sleepy, stood slowly. The baby jackal fled, and she already regretted moving when she saw it returning, furtively, eyes on the heap of branches hiding the unknown beast.

  It started gnawing the bones again, then, having discovered the pelt, it chewed it. Its presence became pleasing. At an age when distrust did not yet have roots in the depths of instinct and experience, the jackal grew accustomed to Glava’s scent. Prompt to terror, it was also prompt to familiarity, once certain no harm would befall it.

  The little stars vanished, the larger ones dimmed. And beyond the right bank, where the Ougmars pursued the Tzohs, light rose so slowly that it seemed it never would reach the bank. The forest was lit in turn, and an enormous Sun spilled its motionless flames in the clouds. The sky became a limitless world.

  The jackal uttered a little, plaintive cry. Ceaselessly it fled, ceaselessly it came back. It was very graceful, with its brownish pelt, paler on the chest, its fine, mobile ears, its delicate paws. All its movements had the awkward ease of a stillgrowing animal. And, looking at him, obscure tenderness swept the young Tzoh girl.

  Meanwhile, hunger had come again, and the islet produced no plant suitable to feed man. The Tzohs knew how to fish with a harpoon, even with bare hands. Motionless, Glava stared a long time at the perch, the trout and the pike which swam in the stream. But it was a tortoise which brought its strength. It had climbed upon a flat rock, and its snake-like head was over the stream, seeking prey, when it became prey. The head withdrew into the shell, and Glava seemed to hold nothing but a colorful stone.

  She made a fire and cooked the tortoise. The jackal roamed about, constantly driven away by fear, brought back by hunger and hope. When it received the organs of the tortoise, it dropped all distrust. It joined Glava as it would have joined its breed. It rubbed against her legs, did not dread the touch of her hand, but when Glava took it into the canoe and it saw itself floating on the river, fever flared in its pupils.

  Then the canoe itself became familiar, and in the infinite chances of life and death, the jackal followed the fate of the woman.

  XIV. Men of the Night

  A few days elapsed.

  As long as light endured, Glava sailed on the river, upon which, despite whirlpools and rapids, she felt more secure than on land. Each evening she was nearer to Amhao, and her impatience waxed like the crescent of the Moon. Between her and the young jackal, alliance was complete. The young animal attached itself the more as it realized its weakness and the imperfection of its instinct.

  In the vast solitude the little beast became very dear to the fugitive. It showed quick intelligence and already its subtle senses helped Glava in tracking down animals and discovering prey. By living with a human being, the jackal understood all that an animal may learn from man; and Glava, with her intuition of her companion’s reactions, wondered how much it could make plain, by its action, its caresses and its glance.

  It appeared scarcely less intelligent than certain human brutes, such as the son of the Sheep, a clumsy, loutish warrior, whose eyes remained still as those of a crocodile, while the eyes of the little jackal were alert and full of willingness to serve.

  One night, when the fire had gone out, the jackal scratched her shoulder, and the girl, awakening with a start, sat up to see two tall black wolves creeping toward her. Had she been surprised asleep she would have succumbed to their fangs
. She uttered a harsh cry and cast her stake, the point of which she had mended and hardened in fire. Moreover, Glava now had a club hewn from a locust-wood branch, and a provision of sharp stones. The wolves, seeing the vertical beast rise, startled by the shout, stood still.

  The half moon revealed their necks and their keen fangs; they were wolves of the big breed, able to strangle a man, to fight a panther. But even hunger had not killed their prudence. The young jackal had taken shelter behind the woman, although it knew, by instinct inherited from generations, that it was not a good prey for these huge animals which resembled it somewhat.

  “Men are mightier than wolves,” Glava threatened them. “Glava will pierce their bellies with this stake, crush their bones with this club!”

  The wolves listened attentively. The human voice was not unknown to them, for they had heard, rarely, the voices of the Gwahs. But the Gwahs spoke little, confined their speech to war howls. Higher pitched and changing in tone, Glava’s voice awoke distrust, without, however, persuading them to avoid combat. Their entrails, ablaze with hunger, gave them courage.

  “Let the wolves hunt the stag, the doe or the antelope!” the woman resumed.

  The stronger wolf, excited by her scent, breathed hard and bared his teeth. All his flesh sensed the joy of a meal. It needed but one leap, teeth dug into an artery of the throat, and the prey would appease the call of his belly.

  Filled with fury against the beast which kept food from him, the wolf howled. Glava tossed a sharp stone at him, not too hard, for the rage of wounded beasts was to be feared. The less bold of the wolves, struck on the head, uttered a cry of mingled pain and terror, retreated, while the other understood that this prey might be dangerous.