Aurora Wolf

                       The Road Too Long 

                         by James Hartley

The tribe was only ten days into the annual migration, and Hordan realized he was going to die. His injured leg was hurting, and as sunset neared, he was almost an hour behind the rest of the tribe. He would make it to the camping place, but dinner would be over, and he would be lucky to get scraps. Then he would get less sleep, and wake with his leg tired and already hurting. Tomorrow he would be more than an hour late at the campsite. In a few more days he would be left behind. If he didn’t get far enough to the north, the rapidly growing sun of summer would roast him. And alone he would be easy prey for the animals fleeing the heat, animals that would avoid the tribe but attack a single man.

#

As the tribe was readying for the migration Hordan had gone to ask Chief Potami for help. The old Chief, Droom, had made sure Hordan had help for each of the two migrations since his injury. But Droom was dead and Potami had taken his place.

“Potami, who is to help me in the migration?”

“Help you?” Potami had been drinking the fermented redberry juice that Hordan had invented. His words were slurred. His face contained no trace of friendship. “Every adult in the tribe has to pull his own weight in the migration. Why are you different?”

“The last two migrations, since my injury, Droom had others help me. With my bad leg, I don’t know if I could have made it otherwise.”

“That was Droom. I am not Droom. Ancient custom calls for the injured to be sent to the Spirits.”

“Droom declared that custom wrong. He said I had done much for the tribe. Like,” Hordan pointed to the water bag half hidden behind Potami, “the juice you are drinking. He let me live, me and other injured who can contribute.”

Potami shoved the bag further behind him. “True, Hordan, true. Whatever I think, I can’t change that. I wouldn’t dare. Too many still remember and respect Droom.”

“Well, then, what about my help?”

“Hordan, I’m sorry, but there’s a problem.” Potami now had an evil grin on his face and looked anything but sorry. “Many families have all they can do to face the migration. I’ve assigned the strong to help those with children, and there’s no one left to help you. No one can blame me, the tribe is always short-handed.”

“Potami, why won’t you help me?”

Potami was quite drunk now, and grew careless with his words. “Hordan, I always wanted to be the Chief. All through boyhood, I looked toward that goal and saw you ahead of me. Your skills at hunting and fighting, and even worse, your damnable inventions. Your calendar, your tally of the days from hottest sun to hottest sun, so the tribe could start our migration at the proper time. That alone would have won you the Chief’s job. Until your accident. Even Droom could not overrule the custom that a cripple may not be Chief. I had my chance, and I took it. I am here, I am Chief.”

“I lost, I accept you as Chief, I work for the good of the tribe. I’m no danger to you, why do you hate me?”

Potami looked at Hordan with a strange expression on his face, but did not speak. The tableaux held for a minute, then Potami waved the gesture of dismissal and Hordan left Potami’s tent. Hordan looked back for a moment, and saw that the Chief was asleep … or unconscious.

Hordan went back to his homesite to pack as best he could. As a bachelor he had little to take. But with his bad leg, he feared even that little would be too much.

#

Hordan pulled his mind back to the present as he finally stumbled into the night’s campsite by the light of two small moons. As he had expected, there was little food left, but he took what he could get and ate it. As he sat there eating, he felt eyes on him. He looked up and saw one of the kitchen women turning quickly away. He watched carefully during the rest of his meal, but he saw no more signs of interest.

He made it to his bed after almost all the others, and fell into a fitful sleep, being wakened far too soon by the dawn. The day promised to be hot, the rapidly growing Sun aiding and abetting an already unusually hot and dry spring season. By the time the tribe got moving, Hordan’s leg was already throbbing badly. The day was torture to Hordan and he fell further behind.

When he finally got to camp and ate his dinner, he was resolved to talk to Potami one more time. He didn’t notice that the same woman served him, or that he had an almost normal portion instead of the short rations of the day before.

The Chief was almost asleep when Hordan arrived. He had obviously been drinking again, but he dragged himself up to listen.

“Potami, please help me, or I’ll die. I promise to support you as Chief. Whatever happened in the past, let us look to the future, I beg you.”

“Help you?” He laughed. “Hordan, I live in fear of you. Someday you will do something so great they will make you Chief in spite of your injury. I can’t kill you, but I won’t save you. A natural death on the migration would be so convenient.” Hordan started to protest, but Potami signaled for his guards, and soon Hordan found himself deposited outside the Chief’s pavilion.

#

Again in the morning Hordan was tired from lack of sleep. He ate breakfast quickly, then gathered his meager possessions into his pack and slung it up onto his back. A lance of pain went through his bad leg as he put too much weight on it and he almost fell. He felt hands bracing him, and he was able to shift the weight to his good leg and stand upright with his pack. He turned, and saw the woman who had served him dinner the night before.

“Thank you,” he said.

“It was nothing, you just needed a little extra balance until you got the pack right. Why isn’t anyone helping you?”

“Potami dislikes me and fears me, and won’t give me any help. But I thank you for yours. What’s your name?”

“I’m Jenar. Potami hates me too.”

“I’m Hordan.”

“Yes, I know. Many times you came to our house and helped my father with the skinning, even though you were supposed to be the next Chief.”

“Of course, I remember you now. Little Jen! You’ve changed since then.”

“Yes, I guess I have. And you’ve changed–oh, the signal to start. I have to join the other kitchen girls. Good-bye.” She spun around and raced off to her assigned group, the single girls who provided a communal kitchen during the trek.

Hordan watched her go, then turned and started forward with the general mob that had no special assigned group. Soon, he knew, he would be at the back edge, and then far behind. His mind wandered back to the time of his accident …

#

It had been the first hunt after the tribe returned from the north. Game was skittish, not having settled back down after being driven to cooler climes by the blaze of the summer sun. Hordan and several others, the best hunters, had to go out and replenish the tribe’s nearly empty food supply. Potami was the only one of the good hunters who didn’t go, claiming a fever.

Hordan’s group had spotted a large jarbuck and chased it. The beast was old, with typically thick jarbuck skin, and the stone-tipped arrows only served to infuriate it. Finally they managed to corner it against a patch of thicket too dense for the animal to penetrate. Hordan climbed a tree behind it and jumped down onto the beast’s back, grabbing its neck and putting his stone knife into its eye. As the animal started to sag, suddenly there was a cry of “Jarbuck!” from somewhere beyond Hordan’s group, and a rain of arrows on Hordan and the beast. Hordan felt a sharp pain in his leg, then he lost his balance and fell. The jarbuck fell on him, and he heard a snap from his leg before he passed out.

Hordan woke. His assistant leader Renta was looking at the broken leg and shaking his head.

“Hordan,” said Renta, “shall I grant mercy?”

“Renta, I have no wish to die.”

“But the customs …”

“The customs be damned. I think there’s something we can do, just let me try to remember.” Hordan sat for several minutes, obviously in pain but trying to ignore it. “Ah, I remember. When I was a boy, I found an injured offog in the woods. It had a broken leg and couldn’t walk. I thought if I could tie some sticks on the leg, it would stay stiff and the animal could walk.”

“Did it work?”

“Not as well as I thought, the leg still hurt the offog too much to walk. But I took it home and fed it, and kept the sticks on. A few weeks later the bone was whole and the offog could walk again.”

“And you want us to do the same for you.”

“Yes. You’ll have to tie up my leg with sticks and carry me home. Once there, I’ll argue the customs with Droom. I’ll tell him it was my orders, so you and the other men will be blameless.”

Renta sent the men out for sticks and bound up the leg with them. As gentle as he tried to be, Hordan passed out. When he awoke again, he was being carried back to the tribal camp.

The bone healed, but it had not been set straight and it knitted crookedly. Hordan’s leg was weak and unable to do more than barely support his weight, although his arms and the rest of his body were still strong, perhaps stronger than any other man in the tribe. Hordan’s status went from that of hero and candidate for Chief to crippled near-outcast. Many people felt Hordan to be alive in mockery of the tribal laws and customs. Only the intervention of Droom, the Chief, kept Hordan alive with a decree that useful cripples should be allowed to live if they could.

#

Hordan’s mind snapped back to the present. He was now at the back of the tribe, and it was only noon. He thought about trying a little extra speed, but a twinge from his leg warned him not to try it. With luck, if the fleeing animals stayed away from the tribe, he might survive another day or two. He concentrated on moving, and avoiding pain to his leg. Just stay alive, he thought, just stay alive and maybe there will be some way to make it. The day wore on, and he dropped farther and farther back.

Long after dark he limped into camp. He was surprised to see the kitchen still set up, then realized that it was just one woman, Jenar. She fed him, a full meal and more, rather than the scraps he expected.

When he finished eating, he asked, “Why are you doing this for me, Jenar?”

“Because we have one thing in common–we both hate Potami. And because I always admired you when I was a little girl.”

“I’ve tried not to hate Potami, but he makes it hard, trying to kill me by denying aid on the migration. Yes, I’ve got good reason to hate him. But why you?”

“I was engaged to him, back in the days before your accident. Then he became Candidate, leading Candidate, and the other girls flocked to him. Many girls, prettier than I. He grew cool to me. Finally, when he became Chief, he threw me over completely. Wives and concubines he has, but I’m not among them. I’m not pretty enough to suit him.”

“I see.” Hordan felt pity for her. She was a plain girl, not ugly but not pretty either. And she was big, almost as tall and heavy as some men. Hordan knew the kind of girls Potami kept, the tiny, pretty ones. Still, she had a good chance to live out the migration, a better chance than he did. “Thanks for your help, Jenar. Now, we’d better get some sleep.” He spread his sleeping blanket and lay down on it, needing no covers in these days of the hottest sun.

He was almost asleep when he felt something. Jenar was lying on his blanket with him.

“What are you doing?” he turned over and asked.

“I want to help you on the migration, and the only way the customs permit is for me to be concubine or wife. I can’t ask for the latter, so I’ll settle for the former.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I don’t love you, my heart is still too bruised from Potami to love anyone. But I like and admire you, and I want to help you.”

“All right, I’ll grant you the status of concubine and accept your help … for now. As to later, we’ll see.” He put his arm around her, but he was so tired he fell asleep before he had a chance to sample any more of what was being so freely offered.

In the morning she packed his things with hers, then shouldered the entire burden herself. As they started out, they could see there was much staring and pointing at them, much wagging of tongues. But soon the novelty wore off and they were ignored.

“Hordan,” said Jenar at one point, “I must repeat that I don’t love you. My motive is hate for Potami, helping another who also hates him.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take what I can get, I can’t afford to be choosy. But tell me, aren’t you worried about babies?”

“Babies are to rejoice in, not to worry over. Why should I worry?”

“They say that a crippled man will produce crippled babies. That’s one reason the women of the tribe shun me.”

“It isn’t true. A while after your accident, another man was injured and crippled, a married man. His wife has had two healthy babies since then. I’ll take the chance.”

Sometimes they walked in silence, and sometimes they talked. Sometimes they just walked, and sometimes she took his arm and helped support him, to take some of the weight off his bad leg. Each day from then on she carried all his things in a single pack with hers. Hordan stopped worrying so much about dying. With Jenar’s help, he had as good a chance as anyone else in the tribe.

Days later disaster struck. The tribe reached a stream where they had stopped for water in years past, and the stream bed was empty. The unusually hot and dry spring had parched the land. The tribe had counted on finding water here, and had nowhere near enough to carry them through to the ice cliffs of the far north. It was uncertain if they had even enough to get north to the point where the summer sun would start to sink below the southern horizon.

Potami suggested that the most important members of the tribe take all the water and go on. He was hooted down, and several in the crowd remarked that Potami had been drinking something stronger than water. Scouts were sent out, but they reported back that all the land around was dry. Camp was pitched while people tried to figure out what to do.

Hordan looked around. “You know, Jenar, I remember this place from when I was a boy. You’re too young to remember, but one year we started the migration early. When we got here, this stream was a rushing river, too swift for the weaker members of the tribe to cross. We camped here for two weeks until the water started to subside. Then we filled up our water bags and went on.”

“This looks like it might have been a nice place if there were some water. Grassy, I imagine?” she asked. “And those hills over there, covered with flowers?”

Hordan nodded, then paused, remembering. “I went exploring over there with some of the other boys. The hills are honeycombed with caves, deep caves. There were even underground lakes … underground lakes! Water!”

“Water? Can we get it for the tribe? How long would it take to get it?”

“Well, it takes half a day or less to walk to the hills, and a little over a day down into the caves until we get to the water. And longer coming back, carrying the water bags. No, it’s too long, and too hard to carry enough water bags up from the deep lakes. Sorry, Jenar, I thought we had a way out.”

“Yes, too bad, it sounded so good. Is there any other way?”

Hordan sat for a while in thought. Then he said, “When we went in those caves, they were cool, especially down deep. Even when we left them, when the heat was rising outside, they were cool. It might work. It has to work, it’s our only chance.”

“Well, don’t tell me about it, tell the tribe.”

“Yes, of course.” He jumped up and started yelling for attention. As people began to gather around, he explained his idea.

At first many were skeptical, it was a new idea, but gradually they realized it was their only chance, and started chanting “To the caves, to the caves.”

Potami heard this from where he was conferring–and drinking–with his lieutenants and came running over. “Stop! Quiet! You can’t let this cripple lead you to doom. You must follow me, I am the Chief.” He was shouted down by the chants of “To the caves.” He tried in vain for several minutes to quiet the crowd, searching for the leader. Finally his eyes fell upon Hordan. He gestured to one of his henchmen, who raised his bow, knocked an arrow, and started to aim at Hordan.

Jenar saw the arrow. Yelling, “Hordan! Look out!” she threw herself at the feet of the bowman, knocking him off balance and sending the arrow veering off course into a clump of bushes. The bowman began to hit Jenar. Hordan moved as quickly as his leg would allow and grabbed the bowman, bending his arm up behind his back almost to the point of breaking.

There was pandemonium, everyone shouting at once, but above it all could be heard Jenar screaming, “He tried to kill Hordan! He tried to kill Hordan.” Potami was screaming too, but nobody was paying any attention to him. Finally a dozen of the most respected men of the tribe, the elders, joined together in calling for quiet, and slowly things quieted down.

The elders conferred briefly, then one of their number, an man called Klament, announced, “In the absence of a Chief we can trust to judge this matter,” he looked at Potami, who glared back at him, “we elders have agreed to take responsibility.” He turned and addressed the bowman. “Why did you try to kill Hordan?”

The bowman just gurgled a little until Hordan relaxed the hold of his powerful arms. Then he said, “I was ordered to kill him. By Potami.”

Potami yelled, “That’s a lie. He lies. Kill the lying traitor.” He whipped out a knife and started for the bowman, but was quickly grabbed and restrained by several other tribesmen. He struggled to free himself. “Let me go! I’m the Chief! You have no right to hold me!”

Klament ignored him and continued to question the bowman. “Why did he want you to kill Hordan?”

The bowman replied, “He has wanted Hordan dead for many years. He had me try to kill Hordan three years ago, on the hunt. Wanted it to look like an accident. But I missed, only caused Hordan’s fall and broken leg. This time, well, the tribe was about to follow Hordan to the caves. I guess Potami was desperate, didn’t have time to make it look accidental. I would have done it, too, if it hadn’t been for Hordan’s damn woman.” He spat at Jenar, then screamed as Hordan pulled up on his arm. Everyone heard the loud pop as the man’s shoulder dislocated.

Klament turned to the Chief. “Potami, what about it? You have heard him, what do you say?”

Potami, still in the grip of several tribesmen, looked around wildly. “Lies, all lies. He’s crazy. I wasn’t even along on the hunt where he tried to kill Hordan and bungled the job …” His voice trailed off as he realized what he was saying. Fear glinted in his eyes.

The group of elders conferred briefly, then Klament announced, “We have decided. First, to the bowman, we grant merciful death. Hordan, you were most offended, you may have the privilege.”

Hordan nodded, shifted his powerful grip to the bowman’s head and neck, and gave a sudden twist. Then he released the bowman and allowed him to fall to the ground, neck at an impossible angle.

Klament continued, “To Potami, for abusing the office of Chief, death without mercy, the privilege to all members of the tribe.”

The tribe gathered into a circle around Potami. The men holding him let go and joined the circle. For a minute he just stood there, then it started. No one could tell who threw the first stone, but in moments Potami was a crushed and bleeding corpse on the ground.

There was a moment more of silence, then the shouting started again. This time, “To the caves,” was mingled with, “Hordan for Chief.” It took an hour to get things calmed down, and then Hordan, the new Chief by acclamation of the tribe, started organizing the tribe for the trip into the caves. After choosing a crippled Chief, the tribe was in a mood for change, and many other old customs fell that day.

That night, Hordan and Jenar lay on their blanket just inside the opening of the cave and talked.

“Now that Potami is gone and there is no one to hate, do you still want to stay with me, Jenar?”

“Yes. I’m still not sure if I love you, but I like you, and I’m willing to stay and see.”

“That’s good, and I want you to stay. But not as my concubine.” She tensed. “A concubine is fine for an outcast cripple, but a Chief needs a wife.”

She relaxed again. “Maybe I do love you, after all.”

“I think you do. And I know I love you.” He kissed her.