‘What do these silly girls want?’ he snapped at Cygan. ‘I have been here for days; surely they are used to my appearance by now.’
Cygan laughed, something Whitey didn’t know he was capable of. ‘Yes, but they know you are brave now. You have defended our people without any concern for your own safety. You are
one of us now, which means’ – he nodded over to the girls who were blushing a little – ‘that they are looking at you as a potential husband. All the girls that have been
over here are unmarried. They are sizing you up, judging your potential. You helping build this house is doing your chances no harm at all.’
‘You are not serious?’
‘I am deadly serious. Your appearance, as you put it, makes you rather exotic to them. They have been on at me to teach them some words of your language, so that they can try to seduce
you. Of all the Taneren to come here, they see you as the most eligible. Are you married? I can tell them that you are. It will upset them but they will leave you alone.’
Well, this was unexpected. And all along he thought they were laughing at him. ‘I am not married.’
‘I can tell them that you are anyway.’
‘No. Do not lie to them.’
‘As you wish. You had better get used to the attention, though.’
‘I will.’
He continued to tie the logs of the house together. After a few minutes he spoke again. ‘Cygan.’
‘Yes?’
‘Your language. Can you teach me some of it? Just so I can say hello to them, that is all.’
‘All right. Let us finish this and I shall teach you a few simple words.’
He then went over to the girls and started to speak with them. Whitey could not hear what they were saying and continued to work. When he finished he stepped back, pleased with himself, turned
around and started in surprise.
The girls were standing right next to him.
One of them, a little bolder than the others, smiled sweetly at him and with a deal of concentration opened her mouth to speak.
‘Hello-oo, Baarrisss.’ She pointed to herself. ‘Emterevuanu.’
Everyone was blushing, Whitey felt it incumbent on him to reply.
‘Hello, Emterevuanu. How are you?’
She looked over to Cygan, who seemed beside himself with amusement. He mouthed a reply to her.’
‘I am we-ll.’ The three girls blushed and giggled simultaneously. Cygan spoke to the three of them and they all spoke together:
‘Goo-d-bye, Barrisss.’
‘Goodbye, ladies.’
They headed back to their boats, waving and shouting out, ‘Goodbye! Goodbye!’ as they did so. Whitey watched them row away to the houses over the lake, their clear chatter carrying
far over the water.
He had never been so popular in his life.
As the light started to fade and the torches were lit, the great house on the lake started to fill with people. The feast held to celebrate the defeat of the Malaac had been a joyous occasion
with no sober heads left in the village the following morning. This, however, was a much more sombre occasion; further refugees had arrived in the village in the ensuing days after the victory on
the Black Lake. The Malaac had been driven back, but not entirely defeated. There was still much to be done.
In the front row were the Circle of the Wise, together with Terath and Dirthen, who had been busy in recent days healing the wounded; rather effectively, as it had turned out, for no one had
succumbed to the Malaac poison as Tegavenek had done. The Elder, as he had done on so many occasions, caused the brazier to smoke and started to address the assembly. It was an unusual meeting as
some of the women were there, a recognition for their role in the defence of the village. Vaneshanda was sitting beside her husband, her eyes shining and proud.
‘We have won a great victory here. The Black Lake stands alone among our people free and undefeated, testament to our bravery and the sacrifice of the warrior Cerrenatukavenex. But the war
against the Malaac has barely started. Many warriors from other tribes are here and their villages remain to be taken back. Talk is not what is needed now. This is a time for deeds. So how shall we
do it? How shall we drive the Malaac back to the Lake of the Eye? This is what we need to decide now. I invite our worthy visitor, the elf Terath to speak, for he has ideas on this particular
subject.’
As Cygan translated for the men of Sketta, Terath stood to address everybody. It was a thing of wonder here, but barely after a few days of intensive learning his grasp of the new language was
fairly comprehensive.
‘There are lizards here that, if you grasp their tails, they can run off uninjured, leaving the tail itself behind in your hand. This is what we have done to the Malaac; they have lost a
limb but they can regrow it in time. To kill it fully, the head has to be severed from the body and the Great Dragon, the one you call Ventekuu, is the head. The Malaac will defend it but it is the
dragon, or more particularly, its controller that has to die. Some people here from other villages say they have seen it, but, from the sounds of it, it has not strayed far from its home
lake.’
‘I have seen it at the lake of the Jagged Rock, when we evacuated the people there,’ said Cygan.
‘Yes, but it is my guess that, if we keep forcing the Malaac back all the time, they will eventually retreat to their home.’
‘The Lake of the Eye,’ said Dumnekavax. There was a murmur among the Marsh Men, a fearful one. Of all the places they did not want to hear about this seemed to be the chief among
them. One of Whitey’s associates piped up with a question that Cygan translated.
‘What is the Lake of the Eye, they wish to know. Do you want to tell them, Elder, or shall I?’
The Elder spoke up. ‘The Lake of the Eye is a name of dread among our people. It was the spawning grounds of the darker of our gods and spirits, the place where the Malaac were created
along with the mosquitos, the leeches and the other creatures that plague us so. Ventekuu, the jealous spirit, is their leader. The lake itself is circular with many rocky islands and it is
surrounded by pits of fire, full of tar and boiling mud. None of our people would go there willingly, for it is a place of death and evil omens.’ Dumnekavax spoke with his head bowed.
‘Nevertheless,’ said Terath, ‘if we defeat the Malaac elsewhere, it is to the lake that they will retreat; it is there that they will make their stand to defend Ventekuu. It is
to there that we must go to end this curse on your people.’
‘And how do we defeat this man who rides on Ventekuu, when we finally corner him?’ Fasneterax asked in a hushed tone.
‘We have to cover him with lime,’ said Terath. ‘He is no longer fully human and the lime should shrivel him as salt shrivels a slug.’
‘But he rides Ventekuu, a great serpent,’ Fasneterax persisted. ‘How can we possibly attack him up there?’
‘We have slings,’ said the Elder. ‘I suggest making some sort of vessel of thin clay which will shatter when it impacts on their target. If we fill them with caustic lime, then
we should be able to attack this man with them.’
‘But we would still have to get close to the creature to use them. Fasneterax was not giving up. ‘Cygan, you have seen this creature as have I. It is huge.’
Cygan nodded and an uncomfortable silence followed. Dumnekavax spoke again. ‘No one ever said that the risks were not terrible, but if this man is not killed, every tribe on the Great
Marsh will ultimately cease to exist and then so will the villages of the Taneren. It is that much we have at stake.’
Terath continued. ‘I have been told that there are rivers going south and west from here. I suggest that we move in two groups along each river, seeding the waters with oil at every
village and driving the Malaac back slowly, freeing one tribe at a time until it is only this terrible lake that stands against us.’
Sergeant Dennick spoke. ‘Give us a guide and I can return to Sketta and bring more oil. I could be back within the week and then we could embark on this project.’
‘I cannot spare Cygan,’ said Dumnekavax. ‘He is needed here to translate for us. Radu can go with you; he has journeyed to your trading post before and you know the way from
there. You do not need to speak each other’s language to be able to complete this task. It is settled then. The Taneren will obtain more oil and in that time we will prepare for our
two-pronged assault that will take us to the Lake of the Eye. I will lead prayers to Cygannan tomorrow so that he may bless our enterprise. Are there any objections to what we are attempting to
do?’
No one said anything, though the sombre mood had not lifted from the listeners.
‘It is decided then. Return to your homes and sleep, for your strength will be needed for the days to come. Our way of life is at stake, our people threatened; this crisis is truly as
grave as that. Pray for our people tonight.’
Whitey started to head for his little boat. All of the outsiders had been given one as a gift, a thank you for their help. The tented camp for them was located amid the bulk of the village on
the lakeside and, with a cold mist rising on the placid waters, he was looking forward to sitting at the campfire and warming his chill hands.
‘Barris.’ He heard a familiar voice. Cygan and his wife had come over to him.
‘What is it?’
‘Vaneshanda wishes to thank you for saving the lives of our children.’
‘I didn’t. I really didn’t.’
‘She would disagree with you. She wishes to cook you a meal tonight to express her gratitude.’
‘Will it be fish?’
‘I believe so, covered in herbs and garlic. There will also be cheese and flatbread. And spirit, of course, strong spirit. It will be just us four – my brother and yourself. What
shall I tell her?’
Whitey smacked his lips with distaste. He didn’t really like fish. ‘Fish,’ he said without enthusiasm. ‘Do I have to come?’
‘Of course not. I can tell her you are feeling unwell.’
‘She will be disappointed, won’t she.’ He looked at the expectant face of the dark pretty woman next to Cygan.
‘Yes. But it won’t kill her.’
He sighed, trying to mask his disappointment. Why couldn’t people leave him alone? ‘Of course, I will come. What time do you want me there?’
‘The whole thing should take about an hour to prepare, an hour and a half if the children help her, but if you come back with us now you can join Uxevallak and myself for a drink on the
island, among the goats. Drink quickly enough and your tongue will be too numb to taste the food.’
‘Very well, I guess it will keep the cold away.’
‘That it will. Then we can go indoors to eat by the fire. You can sit in the very house you helped rebuild.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ As they headed for their boats Whitey had a mental picture of himself with a fish tail protruding from his mouth covered in pieces of collapsed
roof. It had been a long day.
It turned out to be quite an enjoyable hour. The three men sat on the platform outside the house, passing a jug of some clear liquid that tasted of grass and nettles and which, after half an
hour’s imbibing, made his head feel decidedly odd. It was not like the leaden kick of a heavy ale; rather it was light and airy, giving an almost euphoric feel. Whitey, though, knew he would
be feeling it the following morning.
‘Cygan,’ Whitey said, as he looked over the lake watching bubbles caused by feeding fish float to the surface, ‘your children – what are their names?’ He could hear
their excited yelps coming from inside the house along with a cooking aroma that was beginning to make his stomach growl.
Cygan spoke to his brother, who was already well into his drink. Uxevallak barked a short sharp laugh before raising the jug to Whitey.
‘They have no names,’ Cygan finally replied. ‘Not until their fifth summer. Giving a child a name gives him power in our eyes; if the child dies in infancy, then that power is
lost to the tribe. If a child survives to five, then he has an even chance of getting to adulthood. So we name him or her then. The Elder performs a ceremony and we spend the rest of the day
drinking this stuff. My boy will be named this summer; my girl in two years. It is a pity you won’t be here for it. If the village still stands, that is.’
‘Have you lost any children?’
‘No. But my brother has. None of his children reached their naming ceremony and he lost his wife some years ago too. He is my children’s second father and they dote on one other.
What of you? Do you have family?’
‘No, I am a bastard and my mother rejected me as soon as she could.’
‘But why?’
‘My appearance. I resemble a demon in our holy book.’
Cygan’s eyes widened. Then he spoke to his brother. They both looked at him and started to laugh. Whitey felt a little unsettled at first, but, with the alcohol dancing merrily in his
brain, he found himself joining in. Soon the three men were laughing helplessly, at what exactly Whitey did not have the faintest idea.
‘It is one of those cases where,’ Cygan said finally, his eyes wet with mirth, ‘your people see us as uncivilised savages and where we also see you as uncivilised savages. Your
holy book makes you a demon? That is one of the most foolish things I have ever heard.’
‘But everyone believes it...’ He didn’t finish his sentence for the two men were off laughing again. Cygan was the first to stop, putting his hand to his temple. ‘Ow! My
head!’ He grimaced.
‘You have not drunk that much,’ Whitey said. He was surprised at Cygan’s grave expression when he turned his head to look at him.
‘It is another matter, Barris,’ he said. ‘I took a beating when I was captured in your city and since then I have had these headaches. They come and go but they can be very
sharp at times, very painful.’
Whitey felt sheepish, and guilty. ‘Sorry,’ was all he said.
‘Do not be. It was all part of a series of events that led you here, to save my children. I would change nothing in my past for that reason. Now let us pass the drink around one more
time.’
Soon after, Vaneshanda came out to tell them that the food would be ready shortly. Still laughing, the three men trooped indoors, Whitey following their lead in sitting on blankets around the
fire pit over which a pot hung. Something bubbled away inside it and it smelled very tempting. The screen on the landward side of the house had been securely fixed, enclosing the small space and
making it incredibly warm and cosy.