A Wizard in a Feud

3

Alea whirled to see a dozen children of various ages come hurtling around the corner of the house. Another band sprang howling from the shade of a great old willow. “Belinkuns!” several voices shouted. “Get ‘em!”

The children leveled wooden rifles and shouted “Bang! Boom!” and other assorted noises. Some spun about with harrowing cries and fell in very theatrical death scenes. In two minutes, only two children were left standing on each side.

“No fair, Clay!” one girl called. “I shot you!”

“Can’t have, Lizzy!” a boy called back. “Farlands always win, you know that.”

Lizzy pouted but dutifully sank down and threw herself about in very loud death throes. So did her compatriot. “Battle’s over,” one of the survivors declared.

The corpses jumped up, and Lizzy called, “I want to be a Farland this time!”

“Yeah, Clay!” a boy called. “Your turn to be a Belinkun!”

“Turnabout is fair, Clay,” Jethro called.

Clay heaved a massive sigh and lifted his toy rifle. “Okay, I’m Hezekiah Belinkun!”

“No, I’m Hezekiah,” a tall girl said. “I’m the oldest.”

“Hezekiah’s a man, though,” Clay objected.

“Well then, I’ll be Great Gran Belinkun,” the girl stated. “Okay, Hezekiah, call up the clan! The sentries are telling us them Farlands are attacking!”

Alea stared, then exchanged a quick glance with Gar and saw the same horror in his eyes as she felt in her heart. “Welcome to our house,” Gammy said formally.

“Thank you,” Gar said, his face a smooth mask again. He turned and scraped his boot across a dull blade set beside the door, then scraped the other and went into the house. Alea imitated his actions, wondering how he had known about the boot-scraper, and followed him in.

The first thing that struck Alea was the number of children running around the place. She would have thought that the mock battle she’d seen included all of the younger generation, but there were at least that many more playing intricate games with balls and tiny hoops, setting plates and forks on the long table in the center of the hall, or roughhousing with a great old patient sheepdog who lay near the hearth. Her amazement subsided a little and she had time to notice the room itself. It was huge, with a ten-foot ceiling and wainscoting of a golden wood. Between wainscot and ceiling, the plaster was whitewashed and hung with a dozen or more pictures, portraits, and landscapes done with varying degrees of skill, but all warm in tone and expressing a feeling of safety.

Alea realized that the clansfolk had fashioned a refuge, a retreat to give them the feeling of a security they might not have had in real life.

“Jeb will take you out back to the pump,” Gammy said. “When you’ve freshened up a bit, we’ll introduce you to Great Grandma.”

“We’ll look forward to it,” Alea said, then turned to follow a young man across the great room to a door in the hearth wall.

Behind it was a bathroom, which was to say, a room for taking a bath. A great tub of gray metal stood at one end, and beside it was a stove with a huge kettle hanging from a stout boom. Alea realized that the stove shared the chimney with the fireplace in the main room. At the other end of the chamber was a row of windows. Beneath them stood a counter with a large basin, a small pump perched beside it.

Alea frowned, recognizing the machine from her reading. She went forward and worked the handle warily, but sure enough, gouts of water sprang from the spout into the basin. “You too, traveler,” she called to Gar. “Take off a layer of dust or two.”

Gar laid his hat on the counter and came up beside her to splash water on his face. Jeb handed them each a towel. Drying her face, Alea looked out the window before her and saw four small outbuildings in a row. She remembered more reading and recognized them as privies.

Jeb took her towel and hung it on a nearby rack. “How about a slice of bread and a hunk of cheese, with some cider to wash it down?”

Alea was suddenly aware that she was hungry. “That would be good, but isn’t it nearly dinnertime? It smells wonderful.”

“Almost ready,” Jeb agreed.

“We’d just be in the way in the kitchen, then,” Alea told him. “I think we’re ready to meet Great Grandma—if she’s ready for us.”

Jeb glanced questioningly at Gar, but he nodded, so Jeb said, “I reckon she’s ready. Let’s go.”

He led them out the door and down the length of the room. Alea saw that the table was fully set now, with a loaf of bread near each end. In the massive chair at the table’s head sat an ancient woman, bony and spare of frame, face lined and cheeks sunken with age, but the eyes that met Alea’s were bright with intelligence and lively with curiosity. She sat erect as a pine and wore a dark blue dress with a white lace collar and cuffs. Uncle Isaac stood near her, shifting his weight from side to side and frowning with concern.

“Oh, quit hovering, Isaac!” the old woman told him. “I’m not about to kick off in the next minute or two. Cease your fluttering and introduce me to these nice people.”

“If you say so, Aunt Emily,” Isaac said, not reassured. He came around to the guests and held out a hand. “Gar Pike and Alea Larsdatter, this is Emily Farland, Great Grandmother of our clan.”

“Please to meet you.” Alea couldn’t help curtsying, awed by the woman’s age.

Gar followed her example with a little bow. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Ms. Farland.”

“Say ‘missus’ clear, lad,” Great Grandmother Farland said severely. “None of this mumbling, now. I hope you insist your man treats you like a lady, Alea Larsdatter.”

“Oh, he does, ma’am,” Alea said, “but he’s not mine.”

“I am your friend, I hope,” Gar said gravely.

“Well, yes, and the closest I’ve ever had,” Alea said, her gaze imploring his understanding.

“But only a friend, hey?” Great Grandma asked. “Well, you’ll learn the truth of it in time.”

Alea hid her exasperation. Why was it that even total strangers thought she and Gar were bonded? Not that she minded the idea, of course, but …

She froze, shocked at herself. When had that notion crept in? Gar was a friend, a good friend even, but nothing more! “Isaac tells me you’ve come a long way,” the matriarch said, and to Alea, “My sympathies for your loss, lass.”

“Thank you,” Alea mumbled, then remembered the old woman chastising Gar and said clearly, “It’s been two years and more, though, so I’m past the worst of it.”

“Decided on living, have you? Well, it was the right choice.” Great Grandma turned to Gar. “What set you on your travels, though, young man?”

“Heartbreak, I suppose you’d have to say,” Gar said slowly. “Heartbreak of a kind.”

Alea fought to keep her face impassive. That explained a good deal about him; but why had he never told her? Because she had never asked, of course—she had to admit that. He had said it so openly, so readily, that he would surely have answered her, but it was too personal a question for her to have said aloud.

Not the way Great Grandma asked it, of course. “Heartbreak,” the old lady said, musing. “And you have to find a way to mend it before you can go home, eh?”

“That’s … one way to say it,” Gar said, a bit disconcerted. Isaac laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s why she’s the clan chief, lad—‘cause she can see right through you in an instant, man or woman.”

“See right through a problem, too,” Aunt Martha said, coming up, “whether it be a fight between two of her folk or a Belinkun attack, she sees the way, to set it right in an instant.”

“You’re shaping up pretty well yourselves,” said Great Grandma. “Both of you. When I kick off, I won’t be leaving the clan lorn.” She gave Alea a bright, challenging glance. “What trouble would you have me see through, girl?”

Alea stood stunned, then bit her tongue to keep from saying the first and most honest answer. Instead she said, “Why, the way for an orphan to find a home, Grandma Farland.”

“An orphan, is it?” Great Grandma asked. “Well, the way of it is to find yourself a man and make a family of your own, girl, for you’ll never be an orphan then.”

“What if the man won’t be found?” Alea was very much aware of Gar’s gaze on her, amused and sympathetic at the same time—and altogether too interested.

“Then find out who your people are, even if you have to go all the way back to the Founders,” Great Grandma said, “for surely no one comes to life alone, and every one of us is part of something greater. We all have kin, whether we know it or not. Distant they may be, but kin nonetheless.”

Pain lanced Alea’s heart, for she couldn’t help but think of the third and fourth cousins who had gleefully cast her down into slavery when her parents died and no man had come forward to ask her hand. Her voice had an edge as she asked, “What if they be kin but won’t have you?”

Great Grandma had already seen her pain, though, and her gaze had turned sympathetic. “Ah, then, poor child, you choose among the clans that will have you. Like will to like, as the poet says. Find them as are like to you and cleave unto them. Seek out the clan that will have you, and that you will have.” One old wrinkled finger speared upward in caution. “But don’t jump too fast. Bide with them a while and sound them out, for there be some as will have you only to use you, and only one or two that will have you because you’re their kind.”

Alea glanced at Gar, she couldn’t help herself, but as quickly glanced away. “You’re saying that the clan that are my kind will take me in even if they don’t like me?”

“They will that, because, as the other poet says, when you have to go there, they have to take you in—that’s what it means to be your kind. But unhappiness lies that way, child. Don’t settle for half. Seek for likeness and liking both, and don’t take less, though the searching takes you half your life. It will be worth it when you find it.”

Alea stared, confounded. “How could you know?”

“Why,” said Great Grandma with a warm and loving smile, “that was my own tale too, upon a time. I wasn’t born to this clan, child. No woman is, for marrying cousins leads to madness or sickly children, or idiots who are children in bodies grown.”

“Marriage to third and fourth cousins is allowed,” Isaac said stiffly.

“Yes, and we all know your Dory is the love of your life and the life of your love, Isaac, though she be your third cousin once removed,” Great Grandma said with a touch of exasperation, “but there aren’t all of us that lucky.” She turned back to Alea. “I went on wandertime with a band of my own clan, lass, and other bands joined us as we journeyed. My Tyler was among them, but I didn’t say ‘yes’ to him till I’d stayed a month with his family, that I didn’t, and made sure they were my kind and I theirs.”

“No one could be more a Farland than you, Aunt Em,” said Isaac.

“Yes, well, that’s because there’s scarce a one of you that isn’t as much my flesh and blood as Tyler’s, now, isn’t it?” Great Grandma said. “It’s a wonder what age and time can do. But his people was as much like me as my own, maybe more.” She nodded with satisfaction. “I was lucky, that’s a fact.” She cocked an eye at Alea. “You will be too, child—wait and see.”

“I’ll wait.” Alea gave Gar a very direct stare of her own. “You never have taken me to meet your people.”

“It’s a long way home,” Gar said apologetically.

“Help him find the poultice that will heal his heart, child,” Great Grandma advised. “Then follow him home and see if his kind are your kind, and one among them more than a friend.”

Alea suddenly realized which one of them she wanted to be more than a friend, but fear clamored up with desire and left her mute.

Great Grandma turned toward the kitchen with a frown. “The body goes and the senses weaken, but I could swear I smell pork chops cooking.”

“So you do, and they’re ready to serve,” Aunt Martha said, coming up. “Sukey bade me call us all to table, Gran. You’re there, I see, and the guests.”

“Go beat the triangle, then, Martha,” Great Grandma said. “Just be sure it’s not the alarm bell.”

It looked like the great hall of a medieval castle, a double rank of tables made of plank tops set on sawhorses, covered with linen and set with wooden plates and bowls with whittled spoons and forks. The clansfolk cut with their belt knives and drank from pottery mugs. The great keeping room was alive with laughter and jesting, with here and there the wailing of a baby. Great Grandma sat through it all, eyes gleaming with pride, eating little but nodding with satisfaction.

The conversation ranged widely; the great room was filled with a hum of talk. Very little of it involved Great Grandma, though. Now and again one or two of the clansfolk would come up to her with a disagreement and ask her for fact or opinion. She always told them the straight of it without hesitation; they always went away, satisfied.

“Strange how it’s so often the great grandmother who leads the clan,” Gar said to Isaac, who sat across the table from him at Great Grandma’s right hand. Gar even kept a straight face through Alea’s mental jibe: So often? As though we’d visited a hundred clans?

“That’s because the women live longer than the men.” Isaac nodded sagely.

“Can we help it if our constitutions are stronger?” asked Martha. “We take our share of risks when the Belinkuns attack, you know!”

“Oh, I know it well,” Isaac assured her. “Still, I’ve heard of clans where it was the great grandfather who was clan chief—until he died, of course.”

“Well, you can’t be surprised if the younger folk turn to his wife for comfort and guidance then, Isaac,” Grandma Em said. “After all, we’ve lived so much longer than you that we’re bound to know better what to do.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I’m growing weary, though—weary and weak. I’ll be taking to my rocker soon, and letting one of you younger folk take the lead.”

“As long as you’re there to lead the leader, Gran,” Martha said.

“Only when you truly have need of me,” Grandma Em said. “Old folks grow tired, you know, Martha—tired and weak.”

“But never dull,” Isaac said. “You’re still sharp as a razor, Gran.”

Alea looked at his beard, glanced at the full bushes on the other men, and was surprised they even knew what a razor was.

When the meal was over and the children set to clearing away the dishes, several teenagers pulled the corks from jugs and went from place to place, pouring two fingers’ worth into each mug. Alea tasted hers and felt fire burn all the way down into her stomach. She glanced at Gar and from the roundness of his eyes knew he was feeling the same. He exhaled loudly and said, “What a delightful aftertaste!”

Great Grandma nodded in pleasure. “That’s my own recipe, that is—peaches in with the mash. The flavor grows as it goes through the still.”

At one of the tables, a man began to sing. Others joined in, higher voices harmonizing with lower, some even high enough to send a descant floating over the music during the choruses. Gar and Alea listened in pleased amazement as the voices sang,

The clansfolk told, with tongue in cheek, how the handsome youth had been bitten by a snake and how his true love had tried to save him by sucking out the poison but had finished by dying with him. When it was done, Gar and Alea sat amazed, partly by the beauty of the singing, but also by the spirit in which the story had been told—and by the spirits in their mugs, but they sipped sparingly at those.

“What of yourselves, travelers?” Isaac asked. “Can you offer song in return?”

“Time to sing for our suppers,” Gar muttered to Alea.

Alea bit her lip, trying furiously to remember the song of the Lorelei, but Gar turned to his hosts and said, “I’ll be glad to sing, Goodman Isaac, if you’ll suffer the cawing of a crow.” Then he began to sing in a surprisingly rich baritone,

Alea listened, amazed, to the tale of a horse thief and the young man who chased him, ending with the young man riding the stolen horse home with the thief’s son beside him. She hadn’t known Gar could sing so well and wondered why he never had before.

She wasn’t so caught up in his song, though, as to miss its effect on the clansfolk. They followed the tale of the chase with excitement, cheered the young man’s defiance when the thief had him at his mercy, then turned thoughtful as the two declared their respect for one another and the young man pledged friendship with the thief’s son. She decided Gar had chosen an interesting selection for a clan dedicated to a feud.

They learned quickly, though. As he began to sing the first verse again, to end the song, several of the clansfolk joined in. When he finished, they applauded, and Great Grandma Em nodded. “A good song, young man, and one so long merits another in return. Tull, sing the ‘Lay of the Founders’ for us.” A young man rose, reddening, and said, “If you please, Gran, but I’ll ask everyone else to join in when they should.”

“Of course, lad,” said Isaac. “On with the song, then.” Tull cleared his throat and began.

“Aye!” all the clansfolk responded with a massed shout that shook the walls.

Tull went on without missing a beat.

The lay went on for half an hour. Alea was staggered not only by its length and the amount of detail, but also by the verve with which the clansfolk shouted their responses, by their total devotion to the goals of their ancestors—even when those goals became murderous.

For the Farlands weren’t the only people who had decided to give their unborn children a clean start. So had many other families, though the song implied that the Farlands had led the way in their own spaceship and the others had simply followed along to steal the clan’s real estate. Alea had read enough about terraforming and genetics to know that couldn’t be true, that it would have taken hundreds of thousands of people to tame an alien world and seed it with Terran plants and animals, even with the help of robots and automated farming equipment. Moreover, she knew that those hundreds of thousands of people would have had to raise millions in cash to be able to buy those machines, not to mention the seeds and the animal embryos to stock their farms.

Apparently they had also brought along rifles.

Whatever organization had remained on Terra to earn money and ship them supplies, was disbanded when a reactionary government came to power on the home world and cut off all the colony planets that weren’t self-supporting. Claiming that the colonists were impoverishing Terra, the reactionaries only kept up relations with the older colony worlds, the ones that had been established so long that they were able to export raw materials to Terra for its orbital factories, and to buy the goods those factories produced.

Suddenly tractors became fabulously precious. Shortly after, they became useless because there was no fuel. People began to plow with oxen again. The forgotten hay rakes and reapers were reconstructed from history books, farmers learned how to use scythes again, and people reinvented the wagon wheel. Agriculture staggered on, but without pesticides or fertilizers, save manure, and yields dropped dramatically.

Livestock could graze the marginal lands that weren’t fit for tilling, so sheep, goats, and especially cows became vital to survival—which meant that bulls also became important. Most were gelded to make draft animals or meat, of course; each clan kept only one or two of the strongest and most massive for breeding. Then the Belinkuns’ bull died. Faced with no new calves and knowing the Farlands had prudently kept two bulls, they organized a midnight raid and stole a Farland bull.

That, of course, was a life-threatening action, since there was no guarantee the remaining bull would prove potent in the spring. There was recourse, though, and Rogan, the clan chief, sent a dozen clansfolk to the High Druid to petition for justice. The party had a great deal of difficulty getting there; the roads had deteriorated sadly since the enchanted machines that built and repaired them had expired. The Farlands’ magic chariot kept breaking down and needing new spells, but there were few wizards to re-enchant it and get it going again.

Finally, though, they did come to the High Druid and laid their case before him. He gave them his judgment; the price of the bull must be a hundred cows and the first bull calf of the next season. He wrote that judgment on paper in magical runes and gave it to the Farlands to take and show to the Belinkuns, but he could send no guards to enforce the penalty; all his men had gone home to farm, since they could no longer be fed from the surplus that Homeworld magic had created.

The enchantment on the Farlands’ chariot had now worn off completely, so they had to walk home. The clan rejoiced at the judgment and went as a body to present the High Druid’s letter to the Belinkuns.

They brought their rifles, of course. No one ever went anywhere without one in those days. There were snakes to kill, and always a chance of a rabbit or even a wild pig for dinner.

Rogan laid the High Druid’s judgment before the Belinkuns. Orbin, the leader of the party who had gone to the High Druid, recited his threats of supernatural punishment for the Belinkuns if they disobeyed his edict.

They laughed.

Worse, they mocked the High Druid and jeered at the notion that he had any authority to judge them. Worst of all, they mocked Rogan. Angered, he struck Enoch—the Belinkun leader—slapped him across both cheeks, then turned on his heel and strode away.

A ratcheting sounded behind, the noise of flintlocks being cocked, and many of the Farlands glanced backward dubiously, lifting their own rifles—but Rogan strode angrily onward, never glancing back, and his people turned to follow him, each expecting at any moment to feel a rifle ball in their backs. Enoch bade his people not to fire, though, for he would not have it said that he was so cowardly as to attack his enemy from behind.

It was the last time such honor was observed between the clans.

Outraged at the Belinkuns’ impiety and even more at their insolence, the Farlands attacked in force and stole their bull back—leaving half a dozen Belinkuns dead and carrying home two corpses of their own. Each clan hated the other as murderers, and the stolen bull’s price had been increasing for centuries, paid in the blood and life of clansfolk.

When the song was done, Gar and Alea sat stunned while the clansfolk cheered around them.

“Well sung,” Grandma Em judged, nodding with satisfaction. “He’s a rare fine singer, our Tull.”

“It always feels good, being reminded why we’re fighting.” Martha drank off the last of her ale and stood up. “But the morning doesn’t start any later just because we have guests. May I help you to your bedroom, Aunt?”

“Yes, thank you, Martha.” Grandma Em stood without assistance, though both Isaac and Martha sprang close to catch her if they were needed. “I’ve managed,” she told them with an impish smile, then turned to nod graciously to her guests. “Thank you for your song.”

“It was our pleasure,” Gar said.

“The least we could do to repay such excellent hospitality,” Alea added.

“Isaac will show you to your rooms.” Grandma Em turned away, leaning heavily on Martha’s arm and on her cane. “Sleep well.”

“Sleep well,” Gar and Alea replied, “and thanks.”

They watched the old lady hobble away, then turned to Isaac who said, “Come. I’ll show you where to sleep.”

They lay awake in small whitewashed rooms surrounded by darkness, but their thoughts sounded in each other’s minds.

How much of that story was fact, Alea wondered, and how much fiction?

Legends do turn into better stories as the years pass, and they’re told and retold, Gar admitted, but there’s always a core of fact. One thing we know is true—that when the PEST party came to power on Terra, it did indeed cut off commerce and aid to the colony planets.

Alea nodded, though she knew he could not see. And I think it’s not too unlikely that whatever kind of central government this colony had, just withered up and died without Terran money and equipment to keep it going.

Certainly it would have lost communication with the towns and villages, Gar agreed, when the road-repairing equipment ran out of gas and spare parts, and the radios and computers broke down and couldn’t be fixed.

The dwarves of Midgard learned how to make their own. Alea couldn’t hide a bit of gloating when she found something to be said in favor of her home planet.

Gar took it as a good sign. Not all colonies were lucky enough to have people who learned electronics so quickly—and you must admit the dwarves weren’t big on road-building.

Well, no, but the giants were. I take your point, though—there aren’t any giants here, either.

They do seem to be excellent farmers, if the crops and orchards we’ve seen are anything to go by, Gar pointed out, and skilled fighters, from what we saw in the satellite photos. Maybe that’s why the central government had a system for resolving disputes between clans.

Yes, a system headed by Druids. Alea frowned. That’s the only evidence of religion I’ve noticed around here.

At least when the central government died, there was some form of law left, Gar said, even if it was only religious law.

The Druids were supposed to have been skilled as judges according to their own legal code. Alea had read the books more recently than Gar. It only works as long as the people believe in the religion, though.

Yes, and if Enoch Belinkun’s reaction to the High Druid is any indication, these people had lost their faith pretty thoroughly, Gar said. I find it in me to wonder how deeply their ancestors believed it.

Just introduced it as a kind of play-acting, you mean? I think that’s a little unjust, Alea said. After all, every generation finds some belief of their own to prove their independence. Children and grandchildren could have drifted farther and farther away from the Druids’ teachings.

Away from Druidism—but toward what? Gar wondered. What replaced it? What do they believe in now?

The blood feud, Alea thought darkly. The vendetta.

Yes. Gar’s thoughts had somber overtones. When there’s no law, people band together into clans and tribes for security. Their only protection against strangers’ mayhem is knowing their own clan will take revenge if they’re hurt.

So someone from clan A kills someone from clan B, Alea said, and clan B kills a clan A member in revenge.

Then clan B goes out to kill as many clan A people as it can, Gar said. Vengeance begets vengeance, and pretty soon clansfolk from A are killing clansfolk from B in revenge for the last death, and clansfolk B are killing clansfolk A in revenge for the revenge …

…And revenge for the revenge for the revenge, Alea said, and so on and so on and so on.

Before long; A clansfolk are killing B clansfolk whenever they can, simply because they were born to, Gar finished, and no one even remembers how it started.

Or if they do, they don’t care, Alea said. Neither do I. Never mind how they started the feud-how do we stop it?

By introducing law, Gar answered.

Brilliant, Professor, Alea thought with withering sarcasm. How do you intend to do that?

I haven’t quite worked out that part yet, Gar admitted.

He would, though—Alea was sure of that. She felt a cold chill. Gar’s plans always worked, but they sometimes had disastrous side effects.

The clansfolk were up bright and early very bright, and far too early. They were out feeding the barnyard animals in the false dawn. When Gar and Alea were on the road, though, that was when they usually woke up, so they sat down with the family and pitched in to a very hearty breakfast.

They were at the head table again, and the talk was of the crops and the stock, the weather and the work to be done that day. Gar and Alea listened, soaking it all in but unable to join the conversation, since they knew nothing of the topics—not here, at least.

After a while, the family realized it, and an uneasy silence settled as everyone thought frantically of a topic that would include the guests, but Alea found one first, one that had been piquing her curiosity for some time. “We met some … people on the road such as we’ve never seen before—glowing creatures with wings who claimed to be older than any human folk. Could they have been real?”

Isaac and Martha shrank back in their chairs, making signs against evil. So did Grandma Em, but she gave them a look that was quite severe and demanded, “Had you gone into the deep woods, then? Tell me you didn’t meet them in the fields!”

“No, we didn’t,” Alea stammered. “We lost our way…”

“In the woods.” Gar took up the tale with easy grace. “The road led into a woodlot, then ended. We cast about, trying to find our way back to the fields, but the trees grew larger and larger until…”

“Grandma Em!” A young man hurried up to the table, rifle still in one hand as he snatched off his hat with the other. “Ephraim has sent word, from the fence out past the north forty. He saw the glitter off a gun barrel coming down the hillside a mile off. Then a flock of grackles burst into the air, making a racket that sounded an alarm for all the birds in the forest!”