you, cannot.”
“But didn’t I make it clear?” Logan said pleadingly, scrambling to her feet and gazing anxiously around at the silent brown faces. “If we don’t get back to our station we’ll … we’ll wither, wither and die. We’ll—”
The chief cut her off with a calming hand. “I said I could not direct anyone to accompany you. This is so. I would not order any hunter to undertake such a journey, but if one wished to go with you …”
“This is foolish talk,” the gatherer Dandone commented from her place. “No one would return alive from such a trek. There are tales of places where the Lower and Upper Hells are joined and the world stops.”
“You confuse bravery and foolishness,” Joyla countered. “A foolish person is merely one who does brave things without thought. Would not any among us risk her life to return to the Home from a far place, no matter the distance or hazards? And would we not seek help from whomever we found ourselves among?” She looked over at the giants. “If these people are like us, they will go despite our entreaties and warnings. Perhaps we have some among us brave enough to go with them. I am no hunter, so I cannot.”
“If I were a young man,” Sand added, “I would go, despite the dangers.”
But you are young no longer, Born thought to himself.
“But since I am young no longer,” the chief continued, “I cannot. Let this not restrain others, those among you who may be eager to go.”
He stared around at the assembly, as did Cohoma and Logan, as did the men and women, as did the wide-eyed children who peered inward from behind shoulders and heads and between calves. No one stepped forward. The only sounds were the brisk crackle of dead wood in the fire, the soft, indifferent murmur of falling rain. Before he had time to think it out, Born found himself saying, “I will go with the giants.”
Innumerable stares of varying intent and intensity pinned him in his place. Now, at last, he hoped for some show of admiration and appreciation. Instead, those stares held sadness and pity. Even the two giants gazed on him with expressions of satisfaction and relief, but not of adulation. Bitterly he reflected how that might change in the many seven-days ahead.
“The hunter Born will accompany the giants,” Sand noted. “Will any others?” Born looked around at his friends. There was stirring within the inner circle, but it came from men finding excuses to study the ground before them, to feel the warmth of the fire, to examine the seams in the leafleather canopy overhead—anything but meet his eyes.
Very well. He would go alone with the giants, and he alone would learn their secrets. “Possibly,” he said coldly, getting to his feet, “it would not be too much to ask for some to see to the provisioning of our party.” Then he turned and stalked out of the gathering, back toward his bower. As he did so, he thought he heard someone murmur, “Why waste good food on those already dead?” More likely, he had imagined it; nevertheless, he did not stop to find out.
Successful hunts, the killing of the grazer—all had brought him nothing. When he alone of all the hunters had been brave enough to descend to the giants’ sky-boat he had gained only the accolades of children. Now he would do something so overawing, so incredible, that none would be able to ignore him any longer. He would take the giants to their station-Home and return, or he would die. Maybe that would make them realize his worth, if this time he failed to return. They would be sorry then.
In his anger, he stumbled on a protruding rootlet and turned furiously to hurl imprecations at his thoughtless enemy. It made him feel a little better. The central fire was well behind him now, and the darkness snuggled close around him. He pulled his cloak down over his head to shield himself from the rain.
If the giants felt they could reach their mysterious station, then why should he not feel as
“But didn’t I make it clear?” Logan said pleadingly, scrambling to her feet and gazing anxiously around at the silent brown faces. “If we don’t get back to our station we’ll … we’ll wither, wither and die. We’ll—”
The chief cut her off with a calming hand. “I said I could not direct anyone to accompany you. This is so. I would not order any hunter to undertake such a journey, but if one wished to go with you …”
“This is foolish talk,” the gatherer Dandone commented from her place. “No one would return alive from such a trek. There are tales of places where the Lower and Upper Hells are joined and the world stops.”
“You confuse bravery and foolishness,” Joyla countered. “A foolish person is merely one who does brave things without thought. Would not any among us risk her life to return to the Home from a far place, no matter the distance or hazards? And would we not seek help from whomever we found ourselves among?” She looked over at the giants. “If these people are like us, they will go despite our entreaties and warnings. Perhaps we have some among us brave enough to go with them. I am no hunter, so I cannot.”
“If I were a young man,” Sand added, “I would go, despite the dangers.”
But you are young no longer, Born thought to himself.
“But since I am young no longer,” the chief continued, “I cannot. Let this not restrain others, those among you who may be eager to go.”
He stared around at the assembly, as did Cohoma and Logan, as did the men and women, as did the wide-eyed children who peered inward from behind shoulders and heads and between calves. No one stepped forward. The only sounds were the brisk crackle of dead wood in the fire, the soft, indifferent murmur of falling rain. Before he had time to think it out, Born found himself saying, “I will go with the giants.”
Innumerable stares of varying intent and intensity pinned him in his place. Now, at last, he hoped for some show of admiration and appreciation. Instead, those stares held sadness and pity. Even the two giants gazed on him with expressions of satisfaction and relief, but not of adulation. Bitterly he reflected how that might change in the many seven-days ahead.
“The hunter Born will accompany the giants,” Sand noted. “Will any others?” Born looked around at his friends. There was stirring within the inner circle, but it came from men finding excuses to study the ground before them, to feel the warmth of the fire, to examine the seams in the leafleather canopy overhead—anything but meet his eyes.
Very well. He would go alone with the giants, and he alone would learn their secrets. “Possibly,” he said coldly, getting to his feet, “it would not be too much to ask for some to see to the provisioning of our party.” Then he turned and stalked out of the gathering, back toward his bower. As he did so, he thought he heard someone murmur, “Why waste good food on those already dead?” More likely, he had imagined it; nevertheless, he did not stop to find out.
Successful hunts, the killing of the grazer—all had brought him nothing. When he alone of all the hunters had been brave enough to descend to the giants’ sky-boat he had gained only the accolades of children. Now he would do something so overawing, so incredible, that none would be able to ignore him any longer. He would take the giants to their station-Home and return, or he would die. Maybe that would make them realize his worth, if this time he failed to return. They would be sorry then.
In his anger, he stumbled on a protruding rootlet and turned furiously to hurl imprecations at his thoughtless enemy. It made him feel a little better. The central fire was well behind him now, and the darkness snuggled close around him. He pulled his cloak down over his head to shield himself from the rain.
If the giants felt they could reach their mysterious station, then why should he not feel as
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