Kabardan Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

Domojon soon discovered that for all of Chiokërang's pretense at Human-style modernity, steamcars were feasible only in the environs of major cities such as Tregon, Sarkón, Pardunad, and Uteraí; the route east, to Pelún and Human lands, was near-wilderness, dirt roads that quickly became gluey mud, cold rain with small biting hailstones, a bracing cold of mountain air that forced Akrava to buy a woolen cloak and a warm doeskin kilt, and later a small heating coil.  Small, biting snowflakes fell sometimes in the late evening, but much worse was the cold thick rains of noonday.  Tiring of surviving on the week's salary Jerei Bear had given them, Domojon tried to call to his friend Hajat Donluun, and then Nok Dragon, but Human were no longer allowed access to the public telephone offices.  Akrava called some of his friends in Tregonëv, but though they waited three days, the money never arrived.  Finally, he had to advertise his services as a professional prayer-maker in some of the villages along the river Ndeloferë.
As summer wore into a cold fall, the coldest in twenty years, the path grew even more hilly, and villages fewer and fewer.  The few farmers and miners and eremites they met spoke Tilach badly, if at all; their language was Svantoi.  These towns on the border of Pelún were popular for pilgrimages -- every Kabard liked to spend days or weeks in the wilderness, communing with whatever lonely spirits might moan on the mountaintops.  But not at this time of year, not when there was a war on.  Finally the river narrowed to a trickle, and they found no village, no guest houses, only a few wilderness stores where they bought dried meat and warming blankets.
"I think," Akrava said one afternoon, "That we've reached the end of the wilderness.  We'll have to sleep outside tonight."
"Outside?" Domojon exclaimed.  "That's for bats and highwaymen!"
"Nonsense -- I've been on many mountain retreats.  Not at this time of year, necessarily, and not in this part of the world, but the rules of making fire can't have changed that much."
"Only we don't need a fire -- we have a heating-coil."
"You know what I mean."
They ate a dried-meat and groundnut stew which Akrava made quite tasty with sprigs of wild parsley and scallions, and wrapped themselves in blankets by the cheery orange glowing heating-coil, and tried to sleep beneath four misty moons.
Domojon had only slept out-of-doors once, when he was twelve.  He still remembered the thud of the gate behind him, the fear, the homesickness, his stubborn determination. And he remembered Akrava's hand on his shoulder.  "Don't be afraid, Domojon. It'll be fun."  And it was fun, exciting for a twelve-year old Human to sit beside a fire under the moons, under the glowing stars, and hear tales of Kabard ghosts and monsters until Akrava decided it was time to sleep.  But now, as light poured down into the valley of Chiokërang, he was afraid of those who looked out from their cloud-houses in Tregonëv, Charalth Aigght who had descended into madness, and the other Human Queens.  And from the utter north, Mozhäu sat on the rim of his dire-cauldron, mixing and turning the brew within, laughing in the open darkness of the sky.
He nestled against Akrava in the darkness.  His body glowed a dull, cheery red.  He put his arms around his and drew his close.
"It's nice, being outdoors," he said suddenly.  "It is like the first times, when Kabards were free."
"Yes.  Very cozy."  He held him closer.
  "I don't know why. . .it excites me, though."  He pressed his nose firmly against hers, then, when he didn't draw away, gazed at him for a long moment in the red light.  His tongue darted into his mouth with little jabs like fire, and he held his tightly.  "Domojon, I. . . ."   Then he could talk no more.  He kissed his deeply for a long time; his hands groped under his cloak, squeezed at his breasts.  He moaned, gasped, pulled his closer.  He felt his passion rise, very slowly, but his was prodding, insistent. He wanted him. . . in a way he wanted him, he realized, but in the Human way, in the playful, gentle Dance of Love's Solitude.
"No," he whispered.
"No?"  He raised his head, stared at him.  "Be careful what you say."
He puhed him gently away.  He folded his arms against his chest and moved to the heating-coil, his passion still obvious.  He fell against his lap, took his hand, pressed it to his cheek.  "Akrava, I love you -- you know that.  And if you want. . .this, I will do it just to please you.  But. . . ."
"But you need a group in order to enjoy it," he said in a small pouting voice.
"I've only been erëktilit a few months.  Passion without the group seems odd, unnatural to me.  Even the Dance of Love's Solitude, in which the two dance alone."  This was a lie -- he hadn't been initiating the Dance of Love's Solitude -- more like the Dance of Passion's Exuberance, if there was such a thing.  "Perhaps as time goes by, you can teach me how you would be loved."
"I'm sorry, too."  He hung his head.  "Kabards take this much more lightly tha Human, I suppose.  We have few friends who have not been lovers.  In fact, our closest friends are those we have loved."
"You have loved me, Akrava."  He pressed his face against his chest, and his arms encircled him.  Some time later, he fell asleep in that position.
Someone was branding his on the back of the neck with a glowing iron.  Domojon cried out in pain, tried to jerk away, but of course he couldn't move.  And in his mind, echoing through the chambers and hidden grottos of his mind-cave, a voice was singing.   Not in Humanish, not in Tilach, nor yet in the Svantoi language of western Chiokërang.  He did not know the language -- yet he knew the song about pale stones and ocean foam, of hearts scooped from meaty flesh, and the smell of bones charring in a campfire.  He strained his eyes to make out who was singing, but all he could see was darkness, a dull, smoky darkness full of stinging ash and the prodding touches of a thousand Human minds.
"Domojon, are you going to sleep all day?  I've had breakfast ready for half an hour," Akrava called, smiling a toothy smile.  "Bread and fresh herbs for you -- unless, of course, you'd care to try a little rabbit."  He gestured in the direction of the heating-coil, from whence came the sickening smell of burning flesh.
"Hearts scooped whole from meaty chests, and the smell of broken bones charring," Domojon signed to herself, fighting a wave of nausea.
"What?"
"Nothing -- I was remembering a dream."
"A Human dream!"  Akrava seemed in a positively exuberant mood; something to do with the solitude, no doubt, and very annoying to Domojon. "Human dreams are always prophetic!"
"Well, this one wasn't."
"Tell me all about it anyway."
"I don't remember much. . .someone was singing to me about burning flesh, and burning bones, and congealed blood.  And it all seemed so virtuous then, so desirable that. . .I wanted more than anything else to bite into. . .an animal corpse!"  He tossed the plate to one side, and retched loudly onto the grass beside him.
"Hey, you're sick, little mushroom," Akrava said, and he helped Domojon lie down again.  "I hope I didn't scare you last night.  I'm stronger than you, of course, but you know I would never force something you didn't want on you."  He crawled over to the heating-coil and flipped it off.  The orange glow dimmed to a sooty black.  "Sorry."
"It's not that -- you were perfectly kind."  Domojon tried to close his eyes, but the sun still shone through with a bloody red light.  He covered his face with his hands again, but didn't dare turn over for fear of vomiting. "What time is it?"
"Two hours past the dawn," said a high-pitched squeaking voice, very similar to the clack of a badger claw on stone.  And from behind a clump of elder trees came a dragon.  Or at least it seemed to be a dragon, tall with goldgreen scales and a snakelike tail, brown eyes too large to be human, and a slow gaping mouth.  It wore a mudbrown jumpsuit, featureless save for the small ruby insignia over the left breast that marked it (quite oddly) as a devotee of a Human religion, Vorhëdhir.  In a scaled hand it brandihed a short sword with a curved blade, the type called falchion, used to drain the blood from an animal quickly without damaging its meat.
"What are you, now?" it asked in the chirping tongue of the Svantoi.  Then it returned to Tilach, and a thin grey film misted its eyes.  "Kabard ghosts or Kabard traitors or Pelún disguised to look. . .to look very strange?"
"None of those, I'm afraid," Akrava said with a smile.  "Am I to presume that you belong to the Val tribe?  I don't want to appear unsophisticated, but I've never seen one of you close up before.  Val are rare in Kabard lands."
It approached Akrava cautiously, as one might approach a strange dog.  "I know, I know -- you have been reading about the poor little Val, forced to stoop in mud-crag houses and chase crayfish through the mud and chant prayers like bubbles to blind goddess!"  his eyes flickered with a red flame, and he danced from one foot to the other like an impatient child.  "Poor little Val, conquered first by Human, then by Kabard, but still somehow -- what the word is -- still somehow docile."  It snorted, a monstrous flaring of his nose.  "Well, I am here, far from Valmarkum, am I not?  I hunt of the scaled fish from cold Chiokërang streams, do I not?  And I practice not the bowing and chittering before our river-goddess, but devotion to the Way of the Vorhëdhir, do I not?  And I am not docile!"  Suddenly calming, it eyed Akrava with something like a grudging appreciation.  "Well-formed you are, birdman.  You are a male of the Kabards, I perceive."
"Yes. I am a male named Akrava."  He raised two palms in greeting.  "My companion is a Human female, Domojon.  What is your name. . .and if I might be so bold as to inquire, your gender?"
The dragon's eyes flahed fire again. "You insult me, birdman!  You think I am not fully human because I am dzontaa, a carrier, yet I do not carry!  You think I am incomplete unless my pouch holds the child every moment of my life!"  He came very close to them; his breath seemed to smell of sulfur.  "Well, let me to tell you, birdman, I have more and better to do with my pouch than mind babies!  You want to know what, just ask, tomcat."  Again his mood changed suddenly from anger to a grudging acceptance, even flirtation.  "But first, why don't we just drop the little Human cave-mite into the ocean, please," he said with a disdainful snort.
"I'm afraid we can't do that," Akrava laugh.
"Then just to keep it quiet, please." He shrugged.  "Perhaps would you breakfast with me?  I plenty of fish have captured."
For Domojon, the breakfast proved less than satisfactory. Beises casting non-too-subtle erotic glances at Akrava, the Valak -- who finally identified herself as Etlzonát -- insisted on performing the meticulous morning ablutions required by his Vorhëdhir faith, snorting water through his nostrils, squirting more through his tubular pouch, running a finger under his eyelids.  Then he chanted high-pitched, grating prayers to the Vorhëdhir high goddess for nearly an hour.  Like most converts, he was more than usually devout.
When he wasn't compounding Domojon's nausea under the pretense of religious devotion, Etlzonat was insulting Human.  "It is because of you, Human, that we Val do not leave our saltmarhes and conquer the world like Kabards and Humans, did you know that?" he squawked.
"No," said Domojon, eyeing his bread-and-herb sandwich with the idea of maybe taking a bite whenever the Valak decided to eat with his mouth closed for a change.  "Human have been blamed for nearly every Kabard problem, but I didn't think our influence extended as far north as Valmarkum."
"Don't change the subject so much, and I tell you why. Valmarkum just began knowledge of science and inventions during the Era of the Human Wars, when the religion of Eluse was to be rushing up Human lands like a brush fire in the summer.  But, pop! Human destroyed our capital Neralin, and occupied our northern provinces.  We founded of a new capital at Lstulaí, but even then many Human raids were.  No time for planning strategies.  And when the Human left, then came the Humans of Runoe, marching into our ruined cities and rebuilding them cramped, like Humans dote on.  So it is because of the Human that Valmarkum has never become a power to be reckoned with in the world, like Runoe and Chiokërang and Pelun."
"We Human are in the same hunt," Domojon said.  "Humanan was fought over by Humans and Kabards for many centuries, and never had the opportunity to became an important power.  Now Human are scattered across the world under Kabard overlords, worshipping gods that are not our own, speaking in languages that are not our own."  He hesitated, not sure how easily a dragon would offend.  "At least you have a homeland of your own."
"Yes, a homeland."  He snorted.  "A muddy brown river, and muddy brown houses, and a few of the altars to the Mistress of the Swamps, for those of us who do not follow Queen Eluse.  Nothing to do, no work.  Many of us leave.  Do you know, the second largest city in Valmarkum is Utëd Markum?"
They all laughed.  The Val population of Uted Markum was legendary.
"But tell me, Kabard-Human duo," Etlzonát said, "Where are you to be going?"
"We're going to Pelun," said Akrava.  "The long way, since Human are forbidden to leave Chiokërang now."
"You'll have a hard passage, over the mountains in the autumn of days.  And guards, lots of guards between here and the border in Dzoráng, so you must be careful like rabbits."
"And where are you going, Etlzonát?" Akrava asked.
"Go?  No place.  I wander the border between Pelun and Chiokërang, for I am fluent in all the tongues, and at home in none of them.  I hunt and fish, sleep and whistle."
"Don't you get lonely?" Domojon asked.
The Valak stared at him as if he were insane.  "You mistake me for someone else, Human.  Loneliness the Val can never know.  We like it best alone."  He glanced at Akrava.  "Nevertheless I am feeling confined by these mountains -- in the winter many of the streams will frozen to be, and the fish will go elsewhere.  I will be descending the mountains again, to fish in Pelun where it is warm."
"Then perhaps you will take us with you," said Akrava, "For we are city dwellers, and never have we spent the day out of doors before.  Or the night," he added, glancing nervously at Domojon.
He laughed.  "Sure, sure, why not?  I am free, not a slave, am I not?  I'll be glad to lead you the way into Pelun."
Domojon bristled.  He had no intention of spending the next few weeks in the company of an obnoxious dragon.  "That won't be necessary, but thank you very much," he said in his politest tone.
"Nonsense.  It is extreme necessary."  The Valak turned his head slightly and stared at Domojon out of a single mud-brown eye.  "I know the secret ways, the ways guards do not know, so you cannot find Pelun without my help."  He nodded triumphantly.
"But why would you want to help us?"
He grinned, a dark savage grin that displayed two rows of teeth.  "I like the bird-man.  And I like you, little Human.  And I tire -- not to get lonely, of course! -- but I tire of the not telling my deep thoughts to another being for months and months.  I must descend from the mountains for winter anyway, so why not now, with bird-man and Human?"
For the first few days they passed other travelers, a few Human and Human clans fleeing to Pelun, carrying their possessions in large bags on their backs or dragging behind them on wooden wheel-barrels.  Then Etlzonat led them onto a side road, narrow stone ledge up the face of a mountain.  The ground was rocky and steep, the east winds bitter cold.  Etlzonat took from his pack thick leather boots and three woolen vests; Akrava accepted one gratefully, and for the first time put on a pair of woolen trousers as well.  Domojon found herself needing hard glass windshades, but still his eyes ached from the cold.  No cities remained, no villages on that narrow ice-glazed road: only a few neglected shrines and, once, a long-abandoned guesthouse.  For water they melted snow on their heating-coil; for food, they ate the hard bread and dried fruit and chocolate from their packs.  They slept in Etlzonat's beehive-shaped tent with the heating-coil on its lowest setting so it would last the night.  The mountains were white and glistening like fences of split bone, like the spires of Kabard bedlam-towers and the leprous white moss in the Caverns of Eternity.
"I wonder why Kabards do not live much in the mountains, since you love the heights so much," Domojon murmured once, his breath harsh and ragged from the thinness of the air.
"You might as well ask why Human do not still live in the caverns," said Akrava, who was suffering less discomfort.  "Kabards came from the mountains, and we still prefer them to other places, but necessity compels us to build cities in the lowlands."
"Do you love even these mountains?"
"Well. . .not so much as others."
Nevertheless Akrava was heartened by the mountains, where the air was thin and biting, and snow fell in tiny flakes like glitter dust onto his mane.  He began to compose heroic poetry in rhyming couplets, which he recorded into his datarod.
On the fifth day they climbed to a snow-covered plateau surrounded all around by mountain peaks.  Etlzonat pointed north about half a mile to a lake of frozen snow that gleamed beneath a bare cold sun.  A broad cruhed-stone road rose up from the east, snailed part of the way around the lake, and then meandered toward the west.  Two wooden guard towers faced each other, one flying the red sun on blue of Chiokërang, the other Pelun's red Eluse on white.  At this distance, the two banners looked nearly alike.
"This is the border," Etlzonát said, "And now in the bad times it is closed.  If we were to be treading on the low road, thus, we would surely be turned away.  So we slink like cats across the ice-floes in the headwaters of the river Ndeloferë."
"Ice-floes?" Domojon repeated.
"A very narrow stream is it, Human.  You could jump over blindfolded, probably."  He pointed to the west.  "Then straight down it is into Pelun."
It did seem narrow enough, perhaps twenty long Human strides across, and not terribly cold.  Of course, there was no way to know how deep it was without plunging in.
"Our packs will most certainly remain waterproof if they have been purchased properly.  I will go first, to show the depth."
The Val waded in without hesitation, struggling a bit against a current that he called as "a toe-biter."  The water barely reached his waist, which meant that it would be chest-deep on Domojon.
"Do you want me to carry you?" Akrava asked.
"No, of course not," Domojon said.  "I'm not in the habit of being taken care of, and I'm not going to start now."  He removed the datarod from his belt and, holding it high in the air, splahed into the river.  his feet and ankles grew numb immediately; his waist, more heavily-protected, just became soggy and uncomfortable.  Currents lahed out at him like tongues of fire.  He was so numb that he couldn't piece his feet across the rocks.  Suddenly the current swept his feet out from under him, and he was immersed in water.  He noticed first how quiet the underwater world was, then how cold. . .the current was sweeping his into the mountain lake.  He didn't worry. . .he would be dead long before the Pelun or Chiokërang guards saw him.  He flailed about in the water, splahed; he swallowed water, dirt, gasped cold air.  his fingers were too thick and numb to hold onto his datarod any longer; it ducked out into the water, and she reached out for it. . .and clasped a rock.  Now, slowly, she eased across.  his body felt like ice.  Then Akrava lay a cold hand on his shoulder and dragged his ashore.
They stripped off his clothes, wrapped his in damp clothes, and rubbed his hands and feet for an hour before he was able to move.
"No more traveling," he murmured.  "It's fine from an airship, but gadding about on foot is barbaric.  We've invented fire. . .why can't we invent horses?  From now on I'm a stay-at-home."
"He's delirious," Akrava said.
"I'm not delirious!  I'm completely serious.  When we arrive in Rikáng, I'm staying.  I can use my dream-seeing talents as well in Pelun as anywhere else."
They camped that night in a trench near the Pelun guard station, unable to walk any farther.  In his rescue attempt, Akrava had lost the pack containing most of their remaining food, so they had only three squares of chocolate and one dried peach apiece.
The next day, tired, hungry, and still cold, they crossed the plain and descended a little road through the ice.  Etlzonat shot a white-winged hawk for their dinner, and later Akrava found some puffy yellow moss, a wild variety of the tsolenak-ilh which Kabards cultivated for moss tea.  At noon they came to a ledge that looked down on the Valley of Dzoráng, a bell-shaped forest of blue pines and silk-trees and towering yew, meandering rivers as blue as sapphire and quilted fields of white rice and corn.  Red-and-white tile houses were visible beyond vague and fragile trails of mist.  The air was so cold and clear that it hurt, almost, to look.  Domojon gasped in pleasure.
"Now I know how the Kabard explorers felt when they first looked down from Harchi onto Human lands.  It's like Vahel-of-the Clouds or lost Jerizhei."
"Humans like their country straight-edged and even," said Etlzonat.  "We've certainly left Kabard lands far behind now."
"We must say goodbye to the east, the land of Kensor's birth," Akrava said dreamily. "To the land of time's beginning, and mountains and forests no one has yet explored."
"And say hello to the Humans," Domojon said.  "And to Pelun, our new home."