[Belin]

Hillmen

Wolf walked outside of the village with Fletch in order to make sure that the man understood precisely what was expected of him. He trusted Fletch’s knowledge of geography, but not of people, and he wanted no mistakes between him and the leader of the village nearby. He very much doubted that all of what he said would remain in this messenger’s memory, but he had at least the foresight to teach him an apology for any possible mistakes, to be spoken before anything else.

“But remember how to approach him. Remember, he is not your chief, so he expects more respect. Everything depends on this.” He looked Fletch full in the face, to make sure he understood. The messenger nodded. Wolf smiled faintly. “This will be good for you. Be sure you don’t insult his brother.”

Fletch opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, but Wolf was already gone, loping off homeward with that peculiar grace of his. He didn’t hear Fletch grumbling briefly to himself, or see him trudging off through the thickening rain. He was intent on his plan to consult with his priest and to encourage his people. He would have to make sure that at least some aspects of life would continue normally. Where would the food come from, he wondered, and who would be free to hunt for it? If they were to have any hope of victory, they would need to eat well and build strength.

But do we have any hope?

Well, he would have to consult with his priest. His eyes wandered in the direction of that individual’s dwelling, and he followed the trail of smoke that emerged from the hole in its roof skyward, and there he saw a scavenging bird circle once, twice, and suddenly dive.

He frowned. What could bring them out in the rain? Was any death so choice? Perhaps it was worth his attention. He skirted the edges of the village, avoiding for the moment the eyes of others, and moved past it, a sudden unjustified anxiety prompting both speed and silence. Perhaps it would be no feast he’d want to steal from the birds, but he was not fool enough to leave anything valuable simply because others enjoyed it as well. Besides, the strangeness of their behavior alone merited a look. He seldom saw them in the rain.

*************************

There was only a pair of them there, sitting irritably on a branch, croaking to each other in their usual businesslike manner, but here was no carcass for them to pick at and quarrel over, though surely this was the smell of death.

“You’re early,” he said to them. “The real death hasn’t started yet.” They glowered down at him, apparently unmoved. “You see, timing is the secret to being a good scavenger,” he went on, maneuvering carefully around the base of a tree. “If you arrive too late, everything is gone, and all that’s left is to wreak your revenge on those that got there first—if you care for that. If you get there too early, you miss all the richer deaths that have happened elsewhere. You can starve to death on potential, you know. And then there’s always the revenge problem. It’s a hard life, scavenging.”

The vultures eyed him silently. He smiled grimly. They were merely resting, it seemed, not hunting… but the smell puzzled him. He scanned the ground carefully in search of whatever cautious beast was camoflauged so effectively even in death, but he saw nothing more interesting than a small pile of brush. He walked over to examine it more closely. Visible through the diverging branches, like paler twigs, stretched fingers and twisted human limbs. Wolf knelt near it carefully, pushing some of the branches aside, just enough to be sure that this was the corpse of Calem. The playful mood of a moment ago dropped from him instantly.

Who would dare to kill Calem? The hillmen might avoid him or mock at him, and there were many who would have done worse had he allowed it, but none of them would kill a man whose life was an omen they could not read. But there was no doubt that these branches had been drawn over him by a human hand. The settlers, or the rangers, if indeed there were any distinction to be made between them now.

Returning the branches to their former position, Wolf stood. Calem had no friend or kinsman to tend to the burning of his body, unless the gods themselves were to set fire to this place. Wolf would not interfere.

Deeply troubled, he trudged back toward the village. Perhaps the gods would avenge the impropriety of this death upon the Rangers. Wolf sighed. Perhaps the gods had been driven out by these offensive newcomers.

He hoped that Cleft could tell him more.

[ November 01, 2003: Message edited by: Belin ]