“I’m just a little new at this, friend Longbow,” Red-Beard reminded him. “I’m sort of feeling my way along right now. It doesn’t seem that it’d be polite to just bull my way around, giving everybody orders.”
“It doesn’t work that way, friend Red-Beard. You don’t have time to be polite. The growing season’s already started, so the women of your tribe should be planting. If the women don’t plant, nobody will eat when winter comes.”
Red-Beard blinked. “I’d forgotten about that, I guess,” he admitted a bit sheepishly.
“Meat and fish are only a part of the food that keeps the people of the tribe alive, Red-Beard. Hunters forget that sometimes. If
I
happened to be the one who was doing this, I’d be talking with the women instead of the men. Never offend the ones who cook the food. If you do, you might get boiled dirt for supper.”
“I’ll have to see the meadow,” the stout middle-aged woman named Planter told Red-Beard that afternoon. Red-Beard had asked around, and almost everybody in the tribe had told him that the women of Lattash took all their problems to Planter, and she usually solved them. In an odd sort of way Planter was the actual chief of the women of the tribe, largely because she knew more about growing food than anyone else.
She also had a bad temper when things didn’t go the way she wanted them to go, so Red-Beard stepped around her rather carefully. “We’ll talk with my friend Longbow,” he said. “He might have noticed some things I didn’t. I’ll be honest with you, Planter. This new place isn’t nearly as pretty as Lattash, but
safe
is way ahead of
pretty.
The tribe
must
move away from here, or we’ll be drinking melted rock instead of water before long.”
“You speak plainly, Red-Beard,” Planter observed. “That’s a rare thing for a chief.”
“I’m still a little new at it,” Red-Beard confessed.
“You’ll do,” Planter said a bit cryptically. “Let’s go speak with this friend of yours. If time’s as crucial as you seem to think, we’d better hurry.”
Red-Beard and Planter found Longbow in the lodge of his chief, Old-Bear, and Planter cut across the usual courtesies rather abruptly. “Has this meadow ever been worked?” she asked.
“I don’t think so,” Longbow replied. “Red-Beard and I didn’t see any signs that any tribe had ever lived there.”
“How high was the grass?”
“Waist-high or so, wasn’t it, Red-Beard?”
“At least that high,” Red-Beard agreed.
“You’d better find someplace else, then,” Planter declared.
“What’s wrong with that one?” Red-Beard asked her.
“Tall grass means thick sod,” Planter explained, “and we’ll have to clear the sod away before we can plant. That’ll take too long. Summer’s almost here, and we should have planted already. If the women of the tribe have to spend half the summer clearing the sod away before they plant, the crop won’t have time enough to grow before the first frost, and there won’t be anything to eat this coming winter.”
Old-Bear squinted at her thoughtfully. “It is my thought that we should find some way around certain traditions,” he said gravely. “If the tribe of White-Braid is to have food to eat after the seasons turn, we will need many hands to remove the sod so that the women of the tribe can plant.”
“There aren’t really that many women in our tribe, Chief Old-Bear,” Red-Beard reminded him.
“Then perhaps those who are
not
women should help.”
Red-Beard laughed. “That might just be the quickest way for me to get out from under something I didn’t want in the first place,” he said. “If I order the men of the tribe to do women’s work, they’ll find themselves a different chief almost immediately.”
“I am not familiar with the customs of your tribe, Chief Red-Beard,” Old-Bear admitted, “but in my tribe, the building of lodges is men’s work. Is it also men’s work in your tribe?”
“It’s customary,” Red-Beard conceded. “Where are we going with this?”
“When I was much younger and adventurous, I traveled far to the north into the Domain of Zelana’s older brother Dahlaine, and I came upon a place where there were no trees. It was a land of grass only. The region had much game—large deer and wild cows—for there was much grass for them to eat. The hunting was very good, but the absence of trees made the building of lodges very hard. The people of the place with no trees gave the matter much consideration, and a very clever young man had a thought. Since there were no trees, the tribe would be obliged to build the lodges from something that was
not
trees.”
“I don’t think a lodge made of grass would be very good in the wintertime,” Red-Beard said dubiously.
“It seemed that way to me also,” Old-Bear said, “but I was wrong. The clever young man saw that grass is not stems only, but it is also roots, and the roots of grass cling quite firmly to the dirt from which the grass grows. The result is that which we call sod, and it was sod which the clever young man used to build his lodge. The other men of his tribe saw the wisdom of what he had done, and they also built their lodges of sod. I visited several of those lodges and found that no wind, however strong, can blow into a lodge made of sod, and the winter cold cannot penetrate such a wall. The lodges were strong and warm in the coldest of winters, and the people of the tribe were content. It is my thought that if the men of your tribe were told to build their lodges of sod, they would clear much ground for planting without feeling shame that they were doing women’s work.”
“You are fortunate to have so wise a chief, Longbow,” Planter said with a broad smile.
“The next problem is how to persuade the men of the tribe that sod will make better lodges than tree limbs and bushes,” Red-Beard said a bit dubiously.
“As I remember, the beach near that river was very windy,” Longbow mused.
“It seemed that way to me, too,” Red-Beard agreed.
“A lodge made of tree limbs might not be a good idea in such a windy place. It would be very embarrassing to have one’s lodge blown down in the middle of winter, wouldn’t you say?”
“‘Embarrassing’ might not be the right word, Longbow,” Red-Beard said. “I think it might go quite a bit past that. Winter winds are much stronger than summer winds, though. If we want the men of the tribe to start cutting sod now to clear the meadow for planting, I don’t think we should depend on the summer wind to persuade them that it’s the best thing to do.”
“You and I might need to help the summer wind just a bit, friend Red-Beard,” Longbow replied. “I’m sure she’d appreciate that. If every lodge the men of your tribe have built collapses some breezy night, sod should start to look very attractive, wouldn’t you say?”
“You people of Old-Bear’s tribe are very devious, aren’t you?” Planter suggested.
“Indeed they are, Planter,” Old-Bear said with a broad grin, “and that makes life much, much easier for me.”
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Chief Old-Bear,” Red-Beard said a bit hesitantly, after Planter had left the lodge.
“I will answer you as best I can, Chief Red-Beard.”
“Is it really necessary for a chief to speak so formally?”
“It’s a part of the pose that goes with the position, Chief Red-Beard,” Old-Bear responded in a somewhat more relaxed manner. “Formal speech makes a chief sound as if he knows what he’s doing. When you speak formally, the men of your tribe will usually do what you tell them to do. Formal speech will make you sound wiser.”
“But it’s so tedious to talk like that,” Red-Beard complained.
“Tell me about it,” Old-Bear replied sardonically. “It’s tiresome and pompous, and about half the time you’ll forget what you’re trying to tell them before you finish talking. The important thing’s that it makes you sound wise—even when you’re telling them to do something that’s foolish.” The old chief paused. “If I were you, Red-Beard, I’d sort of keep that to myself. It’s one of the secrets of the trade. If you pay close attention to the outlander chieftains, you’ll notice that they do things in more or less the same way. If you
sound
like you know what you’re doing, the men of your tribe will believe that you
do,
even when you don’t.”
“It’s all just a deception, then?” Red-Beard demanded.
“I thought I just said that,” Old-Bear replied.
“It’s not nearly as well protected as the old village was,” Sorgan Hook-Beak observed as the
Seagull
approached the beach at the new village site a week or so later.
“There aren’t any fire mountains nearby, though,” Longbow reminded him. “White-Braid’s tribe can stand a bit of wind and weather. It’s much better than trying to wade through melted rock.”
“That’s true, I suppose,” Sorgan conceded. “What have the people we brought here last week been doing? They haven’t even started building huts yet.”
“They’re back a short way from the beach,” Red-Beard explained. “The men are gathering sod, and the women are planting beans.”
“What do you need with sod?”
“We’re going to build our lodges with it.”
“Why not use tree limbs, like you did back in Lattash?”
“Several of the young men tried that when they first arrived,” Red-Beard said. “A wind came up one night, though, and their lodges fell down.”
“That must have been
some
wind,” Rabbit said.
“Longbow and I helped it just a bit,” Red-Beard admitted. “If you know where to push, it isn’t too hard to make a lodge collapse.”
“What did you do that for?” Rabbit asked curiously.
“We needed to persuade the young men that sod would be much stronger than tree limbs.” Red-Beard made a sour face. “Actually, it was just a deception. The young men
think
they’re digging up sod for building lodges, but all they’re really doing is opening up the dirt below the sod so that the women can plant beans and yams. We’ll need that food when winter comes, so it’s important to get the seeds into the ground.”
“Why did you have to lie to them?” Rabbit sounded a little baffled.
“Planting is women’s work. Young men feel insulted if you tell them to plant. Building lodges is men’s work, though, so when all the lodges the first ones who came here built just ‘happened’ to fall down one gusty night, Longbow and I suggested sod houses instead. Now they’re out in the meadow doing what they
think
is men’s work. Everybody’s happy, and the tribe will have plenty to eat when winter comes along.”
“You people have a very complicated set of rules,” Sorgan observed.
“It makes life more interesting, Sorgan,” Longbow said. “Dancing around the rules gives us something to do when the fish aren’t biting.”
V
eltan’s little sloop came through the inlet a few days later, and Zelana’s younger brother seemed to be just a bit upset. “What are you people
doing?
” he shouted as he beached his sloop near the new village.
“Moving,” Red-Beard explained. “We didn’t think Lattash would be safe anymore, so we’re setting up a new village.”
“Where’s Narasan?”
“Probably on his boat out there in the bay.”
“He’s supposed to be on his way down to my Domain,” Veltan fumed.
“I think he might be waiting,” Red-Beard replied. “Something that was
supposed
to happen hasn’t happened yet, and I think Narasan’s going to stay here until it does.”
“What’s this all about, Red-Beard?”
“Your sister promised to give Sorgan a big pile of those yellow blocks for helping us up there in the ravine. She hasn’t done it yet, and I think Narasan wants to find out if your family keeps its promises.”
“Well, of
course
we do!”
“You’d better find your sister and remind her about it, then,” Red-Beard advised. “I don’t think Narasan will move until he sees Sorgan getting paid. That’s up to you, though. I’ve got enough problems of my own to keep me busy.”
“Where’s Longbow right now?” Veltan asked with a slightly worried look.
“The last time I saw him, he was showing the young men of my tribe how to cut sod. The sod blocks need to be all the same size, and the young men weren’t cutting them right.”
“What do your people need sod for?”
“It’d take much too long to explain,” Red-Beard said with a weary sigh.
“Just exactly where
is
this place?” Red-Beard asked Veltan as the sloop sailed out through the inlet that led into the bay of Lattash.
“Not too far from here,” Veltan replied a bit evasively.
“We’ve both seen the sort of things the members of your family can do when it’s necessary, Veltan,” Longbow said. “I think we might be just a little pressed for time, so Red-Beard and I won’t be particularly upset if you cheat.”
“We don’t really look upon it as cheating, Longbow,” Veltan replied almost apologetically. “We try to avoid waving certain capabilities in the faces of the outlanders, that’s all. It gets to be a habit, I guess. You and Red-Beard are both natives of the Land of Dhrall, though, so I don’t really need to be secretive. We’ll go around the southern end of the Isle of Thurn. Zelana’s grotto’s not too far up on the west side.” He gave the two of them a sly look. “If you think that speed’s really essential, I suppose I
could
call my pet. She could take us there in the blink of an eye. She’s terribly noisy, though.”
“So
that
was how you came popping out of nowhere up in the ravine when you came to warn us about the fire mountains, wasn’t it?” Red-Beard suggested.
Veltan nodded. “I didn’t really have much in the way of alternatives. Yaltar’s dream took us all by surprise, and we had to get our friends out of that ravine in a hurry.”
“What causes mountains to do that?” Red-Beard asked curiously.
“That particular eruption was the result of Yaltar’s dream,” Veltan replied. “The Dreamers can break all sorts of rules when they think it’s necessary.”
“But sometimes that sort of thing happens even when there isn’t a Dreamer around to make it happen, doesn’t it?”
Veltan nodded. “It’s a natural phenomenon,” he said. “The core of the world is molten rock, and it’s under enormous pressure. Every so often, it breaks through the crust, and the pressure sends it spurting up into the sky for miles.” He pointed toward the west. “There’s the coast of Zelana’s isle,” he told them.