Children of the Plains

Chapter 5

Days passed, then weeks.

With some idea of finding her mother’s people, Nianki put the morning sun on her left, the setting sun on her right, and followed ancient trails across plain and woodland. She was going where she had never been, which Oto had taught her was never wise, and she was alone. Walking by night under a vault of stars, she felt at times like the last woman alive. She passed dark campsites under the white moon’s gleam, finding nothing in them but broken weapons and scraps of clothing stained with blood. Hidden eyes seemed to follow her progress, but no one attacked her. Pakito’s short spear saw to that.

Twenty times she saw Soli rise and set, and on the twenty-first morning she came to a wide river she couldn’t easily ford. It flowed west to east, unlike the rivers in her home range. More proof the world was upside down! Nianki tracked along the river bank a full day without finding a place to cross, then gave up and swam to the other side.

The river turned south, so Nianki followed it until she came to the sea. She’d heard about the sea from Kinar, who’d seen it often as a child. Kinar described it as an endless lake, stretching from horizon to horizon, so vast one could not see the opposite shore. She also shared the stories of her coastal ancestors, stories of fearsome monsters that dwelled in the depths, and of massive, deadly tempests lasting for days, scourging the sea and land.

One hot day in late summer, Nianki arrived at a high headland and beheld the sea. Though it was fully as big as she’d been told, she saw no sign on its calm green-blue waters of sea monsters or storms.

There were, however, many people. She began to encounter increasing numbers of strangers — almost thirty by the time she reached the sea. This was more human company than Nianki had ever seen at one time in her life. The climate was mild, and the local folk seemed placid and accepting. Small hands of centaurs moved among them without rancor, a state of affairs new to Nianki. On the high savanna, plainsfolk and centaurs were competitors, and both were wary of strangers. Unnerved by the crowds, Nianki kept to herself, making contact only when she needed to barter for food.

The coast was rich in forage and game, even with the large number of people about. Much of the provender was strange to her. Fish she knew, but some of the other things the locals ate — like shellfish, crabs, and seaweed — disgusted her. For some days she subsisted on rabbit and wild strawberries, supplemented by fish she obtained in return for mending a local man’s nets.

Gradually her wounds healed, her body grew strong, and she was able to hunt. As the seaside sun baked her skin even darker, the scars stood out as bold streaks and splotches. Nianki wore her marks with pride. She’d won them by surviving, surpassing even her father’s toughness.

Her harsh appearance proved to be an asset in dealing with others. People saw the scars on her face, neck, and arm and knew they were in the presence of a hunter and fighter, not merely some man’s abandoned mate. For herself, the scars also served as tangible memorials of her lost family. Each healed bite, each ragged tear, kept the memory of her father, mother, and brothers alive.

Despite the easy climate and plentiful food here on the coastal plain, every day Nianki saw families large and small leaving, trudging north. At first she gave it no thought, but when she realized they moved even during the punishing heat of midday when sensible folk took their ease, she began to wonder at the reason.

She was sleeping one night within sight of the beach when the sound of footfalls woke her. Snatching up her spear, Nianki rose swiftly to one knee, ready to strike. Instead of marauding four-footed beasts, she found herself faced by a family of four — an old, white-bearded man, a stocky woman of some thirty seasons, and two children — a boy and girl of six and eight. They carried food and water on a pair of willow-withe travois, the woman dragging one, the children the other.

“Peace to you,” said the old man, holding up both hands to show they were empty. “We didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Where are you going?” Nianki asked.

“The mountains,” said the woman, eyeing the scarred girl warily. “As we must every summer.”

Nianki lowered her spear. “Now? There are beasts abroad in the night.”

“We should have left days ago, but the boy was sick with a flux.” As she spoke, the woman kept sidling away. Nianki moved in front of her, blocking her path.

“I’m a stranger to these parts,” said Nianki. “If there’s danger, I want to know.”

The woman’s eyes darted back and forth. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“When I arrived, people were thick as tadpoles here. Now everyone’s leaving. What are you frightened of?”

“The Good People,” chimed the girl child.

“Shh!” hissed the old man. “Don’t speak their name!”

“Who are ‘the good people’?” Nianki demanded.

The woman tried to barge past. Nianki grabbed her arm. The old man moved to break Nianki’s hold, but he found her spear point pressed into his throat. The young boy dropped his side of the travois and started to cry.

“Be still!” Nianki barked. Her fierce shout startled the boy enough that he subsided to a sniffle. The woman remained rooted where she stood, eyes downcast.

“You,” Nianki said to the old man. “Talk.”

His jaw worked. “Every summer, the Good People come here from the east. They are powerful in spirit, but difficult to deal with. Some use their wisdom to help and heal us. Others treat us like game and hunt us for sport, so every summer we leave the shore and travel to the mountains.”

“What do they look like?”

“They are comely people, graceful and lightly made, yet strong. Their color is not like ours — their skin is very fair, and their hair like a dandelion’s. They wear strange bright clothing and command beasts to do their bidding.”

It sounded like a fable, but they were obviously terrified of something. Nianki moved her spear from the old man’s neck.

“Be off,” she said.

“You’d best leave, too,” the woman warned. “The Good People are not to be trusted. They could take your head for a trophy, as they did my poor mate’s three summers past.”

“I’m fairly warned. Go.”

The children picked up their poles and tugged the travois. Their mother bent her back and pushed on ahead, breaking the trail for them. The old man lingered.

“Fifteen summers past I’d have fought you for this,” he said, fingering the mark on his throat Nianki’s spear made.

“Fifteen summers past I fought only for my mother’s milk.”

He scowled as he hurried after his family. The old man limped badly, hips rocking from side to side as he walked. He must have taken a bad fall once, and the bones had never set properly.

Nianki moved her camp in case the old hunter decided to double back and visit her while she slept. She laid a circle of twigs on the ground around her, overlapping them. If anyone tried to creep up on her, she’d hear them when they trod on the brittle wood.

The remainder of the night passed peacefully. Dawn broke hot and hazy, and Nianki was awakened by itching all over her body. From the welts on her ribs and legs, she knew she’d been found by a host of sand fleas.

She searched wide and far for a stream to bathe in, but fresh water was sadly lacking in the pine barrens above the beach. Scratching furiously, she resolved to wash in the sea. She had never before dared immerse herself in the sea, but it was the only body of water around large enough to cover her, and she couldn’t bear the terrible burning itch — the fleas had even invaded her hair.

Down to the beach she went, shedding her clothes. The cold surf felt wonderful on her tormented skin, and she plunged in head first.

Surfacing, she spat water, surprised by the salty tang. The bites stung a bit, but the itching rapidly subsided. She held her head under for as long as she could stand to drown the miserable insects. When she popped up again, she heard voices coming from the beach.

Far down the shore was a sizable party, twelve or thirteen people with animals. The beasts were easier to make out than the people — tall, four-legged creatures, built like elk but less bulky and without antlers. The animals were walking in the midst of the people, tame and docile.

A screech overhead alerted her to the presence of a falcon. It circled the beach in advance of the party, its shrill cry audible above the churning waves. The bird of prey swooped down on the people and animals, coming to land — she was astonished to note — on the arm of one of the men.

Nianki was eight paces from the beach, treading water. Swimming in the surf was tiring, and the cold water sapped the strength in her legs. Early twinges of cramp warned her to seek land. She swam slowly toward shore, keeping her head down and aiming for her pile of clothes. Her short spear was underneath them.

The mixed band of men and animals was approaching rapidly. They were too close now for Nianki to emerge from the water and not be seen. On closer inspection, she counted twelve men and four of the long-legged beasts. Two of the men were actually riding astride the backs of two of the animals, and the creatures didn’t seem to mind. Words spoken by the old man last night floated into her head: They wear strange clothing and command beasts to do their bidding. Were these the Good People everyone feared?

The strangers’ clothing was indeed odd. Instead of faded brown buckskin or tawny hides, they wore smooth, flowing garments, green as leaves. Some wore hoods on their heads of the same green material. Six of the men on foot carried very long spears, and on their heads something shiny caught the light and flashed.

The lead figure pointed and said something unintelligible in a loud voice. Nianki followed his rigid finger to her discarded clothing. The spear carriers ran forward as the foremost figure dug through her pile of clothes, locating her spear in the process.

By this time she was lying on her stomach in very shallow water. Waves were breaking over her head, and a nagging cramp clutched at her right calf. Why didn’t they move on? It was just a pile of clothes and a short spear — or were they looking for the owner?

She pushed herself backward into deeper water. Cramp or no cramp, she could swim past the interlopers and leave the water behind them, out of sight. Nianki paddled along slowly, parallel to the shore.

“Ay-ha!” One of the mounted men had spotted her. Those on foot came back on the double. A spearman cast his weapon. It fell harmlessly short. The other mounted man spoke sharply to the spear carriers, who fell into line and remained in place as Nianki swam away.

They weren’t pursuing her, but the two riders were. Nianki cursed their ingenuity. They had the use of their animals’ longer legs and greater strength. Even swimming as hard as she could, she couldn’t outdistance strong animals.

She tried trickery. Diving, she swam a few paces in the same direction, then doubled back. When she came up for air, she saw the two riders had split up to cover both directions. They hadn’t left their mother’s arms yesterday, these two.

The cramp in her leg was getting worse. Nianki struggled to keep her head up. A few paces in, it was shallow enough for her to stand on her good leg, but the waves kept pounding her. One especially large roller lifted her off her feet and sent her tumbling onto the beach. In a flash, she was up and heading for the trees as fast as her hopping gait could take her. The strangers shouted to each other in their unknown tongue.

Leg burning with every stride, Nianki gritted her teeth and kept going. Halfway to the dunes her right leg seized completely, and she fell. Immediately she was surrounded by slender hoofed legs.

Coiling her good leg beneath her, Nianki sprang up so suddenly that one of the animals shied away, almost tossing its rider to the sand. Before Nianki could exploit this, a heavy net was thrown over her, and she went down again, tangled in its folds.

Somebody hit her with a wooden spear shaft. More blows followed until a clear, authoritative voice rang out and the beating stopped. Several pairs of hands dragged Nianki upright and pulled the net away from her head. Quaking with rage, Nianki found herself staring at a ring of spear points.

“Be still, and no one will hurt you,” said a calm voice.

The speaker was sitting atop one of the animals. By his age and demeanor, she decided he was the father of the other louts.

“Let me go!” she demanded angrily. “Why do you attack me?”

The speaker said something to his companions in their incomprehensible tongue. They laughed. Nianki worked her hands through the folds of the net and with a few furious shakes, managed to loosen it enough that it fell to the sand around her. Alarmed, the spear carriers shoved their weapons close to her face and chest.

The speaker raised his hand and bade them stop. In the midst of her peril, Nianki was struck by the fact the man’s hands were covered in supple hide, cleverly made to encase each finger separately. His eyes were remarkably large and an arresting shade, bright blue like the sky. He mopped his brow with his sleeve and threw back the hood from his head. Nianki gaped. His ears were bizarrely malformed — tall and pointed. There was no doubt in her mind now. These must be the ones the family had called the Good People. Trouble was, she didn’t think they were people at all.

“Do you understand me?” he asked. She nodded curtly. “My name is Balif, of House Protector, first warrior of Silvanos, lord of all the elves.”

“Words, words, words,” Nianki muttered.

“None of which mean anything to you, I know. Do you have a name?” She maintained a sullen silence. He asked again just as genially.

“Nianki,” she said, biting her name into three hard syllables. “You are the Good People.”

Her words amused Balif, and he said something in his own language to his comrades. They laughed again and she realized he must have translated the phrase for them. To Nianki he said, “Is that what humans call elves?”

“I don’t know ‘elves,’ but you’re the only Good People I’ve met.” She began to feel chilled, sitting naked on the sand. “Well, what will you do? Ravish me, or just take my head as trophy?”

Balif actually looked startled. His sky-colored eyes widened in shock. “Nothing of the sort. Give the human her clothes.”

Sandy buckskins were thrown at her feet. Nianki stood up under the strangers’ gaze, and donned her clothes. One or two comments were made, and she was just as glad not to know what had been said.

Hardly had she cinched the bone buckle around her waist when her arms were seized and a wide collar clamped around her neck. It was cold, hard, and smooth, and try as she might, she couldn’t loosen it. Her captors tied a strong cord to a ring on the front of the collar.

“What is this?” she yelled, pulling at the collar. “What are you doing?”

“I am here on a mission for my lord,” said Balif, turning his beast away. “You will not be harmed if you come peacefully.”

He spoke in his own language, and the elves on foot formed themselves two by two and walked in step back up the beach. The other riding elf was given the end of Nianki’s tether, which he tied to his wrist. He and Balif bumped their heels against their animals’ flanks and rode on.

Nianki dug in her own heels. Her determination, though powerful, was no match for the strength of the long-legged beasts. She was jerked abruptly forward and had to flail about wildly to regain her balance.

She was forced to jog to keep up. The cramp had eased, but her right leg was still sore. Cursing loud and long, she struggled to maintain the pace. If she slowed or fell, she knew she’d be dragged.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded breathlessly.

“To our camp, a few leagues from here,” Balif replied.

“What’s ‘league’?”

“Five thousand, one hundred paces,” he said, which was no help at all. Nianki had never had cause to count much above a hundred, so the number meant no more to her than the strange word.

“Why are you doing this?” she said, after abandoning the puzzle of distance. “I’ve done no wrong to you.”

“You wouldn’t understand if I told you.”

His easy superiority enraged her. “Yes, I would!”

He pulled back on the lines tied to his animal’s mouth. It stopped immediately. The walking elves halted as well. Nianki decided this Balif must be a stern father. Men and animals alike obeyed him rigidly.

“This territory has been claimed by my lord Silvanos. It will be added to his realm. You wandering barbarians will be expelled from the land east of the Kharolis River, in order that elves can be settled here. Those humans resisting us will be killed. Those captured, like yourself, will be taken to a camp north of here and held until it is determined whether or not you carry lethal diseases. If you’re fit, you’ll be marched to the central plain and released, on condition you never return to our land.”

She understood the words, but the ideas behind them made no sense to her. Land was what you lived on. It wasn’t a thing you could grasp in your hand, like a stone or a spear. How could anyone claim it? The one thing she did clearly comprehend was that they intended to hold her against her will.

The why of it eluded her. Among her people it sometimes happened that men took women as mates against their wills, or a dishonest hunter might covet and take another’s weapon, but this capture baffled her. She had nothing of value the elves could covet, and Balif’s reaction when she’d asked if he intended to ravish her dispelled any notion of lust on his part. For all she knew, Good People weren’t even made like men and women under their clothes.

Still, she had no intention of being led around on a string. Surrounded by the elves with their animals and spears, there wasn’t much she could do at the moment, but she wagered that even the Good People had to sleep sometime.

As she jogged along between the animals, she passed the time by studying her captors. The old man’s words were true and false. The elves — she decided not to think of them as “Good People” any longer — weren’t ugly, though their slenderness and light coloring made them unlike any plainsmen she’d ever seen. They were abundantly clever, with their smooth clothes, bright adornments, and tame animals, but Nianki saw no sign of special spirit-power in them. The spear carriers sweated in the heat as they tramped along behind the riders. They obviously feared her strength and fleetness if they resorted to a collar and cord to restrain her. No, they were strong in cleverness, but not in spirit-power, and that meant she could fight them.

The morning was gone when they reached a shallow valley lined with heavy scrub. On the other side, a dense forest loomed. The ancient trees grew so large and close that it looked like nothing larger than a fox could enter. The elves seemed pleased to see the forest, and Nianki deduced they lived within it.

An animal-borne elf arrived and spoke excitedly to Balif. With broad sweeps of his arm, Balif ordered his sons to follow the new rider as he galloped into the valley. Nianki called to him as he was about to follow them.

“Balif! Where do you go?”

“More of your kind have been flushed from the ravine. We’re going to round them up,” he said. His animal pranced and snorted, anxious to go. “I leave you with Tamanithas. We shall return shortly.”

“Think your son is up to it?” she retorted.

His high brow arched still higher. “Son?”

“These fellows are your sons, yes? That’s why they follow you and do your bidding.”

Balif steered his animal in a half-circle. “These are my retainers. They are not of my blood.” He galloped after the departed spear carriers.

Alone with the other rider, Tamanithas, Nianki promptly sat down. The elf eyed her with a haughty expression. He uttered a short, no doubt uncomplimentary, phrase.

“Don’t jabber at me,” she said crossly. His response was to wrap her cord around his hand a few more turns. “What kind of hunter are you, anyway, who follows not his father but a stranger? Do you even know who your father is?”

He snapped a single word at her, probably the elf equivalent of “shut up.” Nianki noted his irritation and was pleased. She leaned forward slightly and let the cord fall slack on the ground. With a surreptitious shove of her foot, she pushed the cord toward the animal’s left rear foot. She didn’t think the creature’s hoof was sharp enough to cut the cord, but if Tamanithas was a little careless, she’d have the better of him yet.

“Good People? I laugh! You elves are no better than the hunting pack that gave me these!” She waved a hand over her scars. “Look how many of you it took to catch a lone woman swimming in the sea!”

The elf glowered, repeating his command. Nianki spat in the dust.

“You think you can possess the land itself? Why, if you got down off that beast and faced me, I’d wring your neck like a rabbit’s.” She illustrated her remarks by placing her fists one atop the other and making twisting gestures.

Tamanithas shouted and pulled a weapon from a wooden sheath hanging from his waist. The weapon was like a knife, but it was as long as his arm and made of the same hard shiny stuff as her collar and the hard shells the marching elves wore on their heads. There was no mistaking the purpose of the thing’s wicked point, which he waved in front of her face with harsh imprecations.

The elf turned his animal a quarter-turn to the left in order to present his weapon. That was the move Nianki had been hoping for. The animal stepped over the slack cord. She took the line in both hands and jerked hard.

Tamanithas’s mount felt the cord binding its hind leg and tried to shuffle out of it. Nianki dug in her heels and pulled harder. The elf shouted at her. By now the beast’s legs were hopelessly tangled, and with a loud squeal, it toppled over. Tamanithas was thrown face first to the ground.

Nianki tried to leap on the elf’s unguarded back, but the cord pulled her up short and she couldn’t reach him. The animal thrashed its legs and tried to stand. Braving the broad hooves, Nianki wrapped several lengths of cord around its legs. She looked at the fallen elf. He wasn’t moving.

With some stretching, she was able to retrieve his weapon. It was sharper than flint and cut the cord to her neck easily. Nianki rolled Tamanithas over. He’d hit the ground hard. His nose was bloody and he’d probably spit out a few teeth, but he breathed. She thought briefly of dispatching him with his own weapon, but since the elves hadn’t harmed her when they could easily have killed her, she spared him.

The animal continued to struggle and bellow. Nianki feared the noise would draw the others back, so she clipped the cord tangling its legs, and the beast reared up, rolling its eyes and looking highly indignant. Nianki spread her arms and shouted, “Hai! Hai!” The creature pivoted on its hind legs and bolted through the trees.

She ran in the opposite direction, east. The elves would expect her to run west or north, toward open country.

Down she went into the scrub-filled valley. Saplings and underbrush were so thick she couldn’t work up any speed. The elves’ animals couldn’t follow into these dense thickets, but pursuers on foot certainly could. She zigzagged through the trees. When fallen logs or hanging vines were available, she traveled across them, leaving a much less obvious trail.

Nianki ran until the land began to rise again. The other side of the valley was the homeland of the elves. She certainly didn’t want to go there. Yet her pursuers were likely not far behind, so she needed a place to hide. She found a fallen ash tree that had been hollowed by ants. Both ends were open, and she tested the width to make certain her shoulders would fit inside. They would.

As she was investigating the hollow tree, she spotted a large hornets’ nest high up in another tree. That would make an excellent diversion.

She took off her buckskin shirt and climbed near the nest. Hornets as long as her thumb buzzed warily around her. With a length of branch she draped her shirt very, very carefully around the globe of bark and mud. Shinnying down, she went back to her hollow log. If the elves tracked her, they might see her shirt and think she was hidden among the leafy branches. If they used spears or rocks to bring her down, they’d get a face full of hornets for their trouble.

Nianki slipped into the log and lay still. She took slow and deep breaths to quiet her racing heart. Though inside the log’ was hot and dank, it was far better than being led around by a tether.

She fingered the collar, still firmly in place around her neck. The entire circumference was smooth, save for an oval hole in front. How did this thing work? She tugged and twisted it, but only succeeded in choking herself.

Voices. Heavy footfalls crashing through the underbrush. The elves were coming!

Nianki heard several voices shouting back and forth, and the tramp of many feet came nearer. She thought for a moment she recognized the voice of Tamanithas, speaking loud, unintelligible words to his comrades. No doubt he was cursing the perfidy of his barbarian charge. A cry from nearby brought all other conversation to a stop. They’d found something.

She heard several pairs of feet pass by her hiding place. Nianki held her breath. Something cold touched the sole of her left foot. Had they found her? She bit her hand to prevent herself from making a sound. No cries of discovery followed, and she wondered what was pressing lightly against her foot. No sooner had she thought about it, than the sensation began creeping up her leg.

The open end of the log pointed to the sky. A man of normal height on foot could not see into the log, but an elf on horseback could. Nianki saw Balif ride by, his aquiline profile dark against the bright sky. He didn’t see her.

Whatever was crawling on her had reached the small of her back. Nianki resisted an urge to bolt from her hiding place. If she was still, it would leave her alone. If she didn’t bother it, it wouldn’t bother her. That was true, yes?

Dry and cool to the touch, the thing passed over her right shoulder. The sensation was maddening, made all the worse because she could not squirm, scratch, or reach back to find out what it was. When it brushed Nianki’s right ear, she clenched her eyes shut so tightly tears oozed from the corners. Her breath came in ragged little puffs, lips pressed together, nostrils flaring.

Something passed by her cheek. She opened one eye, her right, and saw a blur of green and black. Her stomach knotted. Green and black were the colors of the ground viper, the most poisonous snake in the forest. If its head was by her cheek, and she could still feel it slithering across her heel, the viper must be at least two paces long.

The snake’s thick triangular head dipped below her jaw, seeking the bottom of the log. Nianki’s hands were clenched into fists under her chin, her arms pinned in place by the tight confines of her sanctuary. She held her breath again as more of the snake crossed under her face. She had one chance of escaping both the viper and the elves. It required absolute accuracy, even by the poor light inside the log. As the snake turned its head left to make room for the rest of its bulky body, Nianki struck. She opened her mouth wide and bit down hard. She had to get close enough behind the serpent’s head so that it couldn’t bite her in return. If it did, she would die inside this moldering old log.

Scales gritted between her teeth. The snake’s pliant bones resisted, then broke under the pressure. Hissing furiously, the snake’s body coiled and flailed. Nianki pushed her right hand out and grabbed the angry serpent. A flickering sensation against her left eye was the viper’s tongue, lashing in vain. Nianki ground her jaws together, into the meat of the snake. Its struggles diminished. She pulled with her hand against the grip of her own teeth and the viper’s head came off. She held on until she was sure it was dead, then she spat it out.

All through her silent battle, the hubbub outside had grown louder. Triumphant cries gave way to screams and obvious maledictions. Nianki heard running and the unmistakable sounds of falling. They must have found her shirt — and the hornets’ nest.

Weary, she lowered her head to the lichen-coated wood. She remained in the log until well after the round patch of blue sky at the open end had changed first to purple, then to black.

At last Nianki crawled out. Listening carefully for prowling elves, she stretched her cramped body. All she heard was the normal nightly chorus of frogs and crickets. She saw the pale splotch of her shirt lying on the ground. Shivering from the cool night air, she retrieved it and quickly put it on.

Nianki pulled from the hollow tree the long carcass of the snake she’d killed. Properly dried, viper meat was good to eat. She slung the dead snake over her shoulder and, with the stars as her guide, began the trek away from the elves’ country.

As she walked, the words of the old man at the seashore came back to her. Powerful in spirit, but difficult to deal with. In her opinion, the elves were a difficulty, but not insurmountable. They seemed less dangerous than the vile beasts that had taken her family, and yet…

She grasped the cold smooth body of the dead snake. There were things in the wilderness a good hunter couldn’t ignore, things that wouldn’t leave you alone even if you were quiet and still.

Plainsmen were leaving the south to escape the elves. Nianki would go, too. Her mother’s people would be gone anyway. There was no help for her to be had, no hands to rely on but her own.

So be it.