Naran was 7 summers old when she saw her first outsider. Her tribe’s home lay high in the mountains, the cold and wind leaving them isolated as few would pass through their land. She had followed the crowd to the main gathering hall, the low fires lit as always, the warm smoky heat a contrast to the blowing winds outside. The stranger was odd to her eyes, she had never seen anyone with skin so pale. He was shivering rapidly under a massive fur close to the fire, the healer Masha making him drink from a carved stone cup. She recognised the broth and didn’t envy the stranger the taste, but it was needed for someone that had been bitten deep by the cold.
She knew the names and faces of everyone in the tribe, it was hard not to with their small numbers. She took in his features, drinking in the new possibilities. He had a larger nose than she knew was possible, everyone she knew had flat, small noses while his jutted out proudly. His ears were not flattened against his head, she saw them wobble as she shook his head at the taste of the broth. He was thinner than she thought possible, she thought he was starving, but when he stood she saw he was well proportioned and stood just as tall as any of the tribe.
She made sure to sit at the front of the crowd, her small size allowing her to squeeze past the legs of the adults and sit beside Batu, crawling under a fur blanket together to share warmth. He was the only other child close to her age so they clung to each other for lack of other options. She was brimming with questions, she wanted to know what the stranger knew, her world ended at the stone walls that enclosed the gathering of huts sank into the mountain stone. She opened her mouth to let the flood flow but snapped it shut when she saw Gantulga approach, the crowd parting like fresh snow before a torch to make room for him. He was the wisest and the strongest Speaker of the tribe, her idol and ideal. He had once told her that it was always best to observe then speak, allow the world to answer her questions with no need to ask. She had spent 2 weeks without saying a word until he had gently advised her to speak sometimes.
The stranger shrank back as Gantulga approached, and Naran watched. “Think about the world as you see, then ponder how others may see it”, she thought. She had drunk Gantulga’s lessons like the cleanest water, endlessly returning to the well and repeating them over and over until they had been burned into her mind. She knew Gantulga as a friendly uncle, an always open set of arms to share warmth and wisdom. Viewing him as the stranger, she saw a hulking figure, a mass of furs topped by an antlered skull. A pair of sunken eyes staring out from the mass. Gantulga pulled back the furs as he approached and delicately removed the skull that marked him as eldest of the Speakers. His bearded face gave the stranger a gentle smile and sat down, slower and more stiffly than Naran had ever seen. “Always present the version of yourself that best suits the moment” she thought. A kindly, weak old man to put the stranger at ease. She smiled to herself, hiding her mouth with the fur. She had once seen Gantulga crack a huge boulder with a touch, he was a master of the Word of Force. He could crack the stranger’s spine like a snowflake if he wished.
Gantulga was the only one that spoke the strangers tongue. He had travelled in his youth, returning with a collection of trophies that still adorned his hut, delicate things made of some strange clear material that could slice flesh but shatter when dropped. She still had a scar across her palm. He had also brought back knowledge of the common tongue, he said they called it “Tradespeech” down below the mountains, it was the most common language spoken across the continent he had said. He spoke with the stranger in short sentences, repeating back what was said in their own tongue.
The stranger was named Larlian, he was something called a bard. Gantulga took a moment to speak with him, then clarified a bard was a keeper of songs, travelling to spread, share and learn. Naran sat forward at that. She knew their small collection of songs by heart, she was greatly interested in the thought of new songs to break routine. He had a great need to reach the far side of the mountains, Gantulga translated, an appointment to keep that would leave him set for life. He couldn’t afford the time needed to go around, so a man in a pub (a place people gathered to drink together Gantulga translated) had given him information on the pass guarded by the tribe. Gantulga laughed, and translated that the advice came from a man the bard had just beaten in a game of wits. Water from a poisoned spring. The tribe laughed at that, the bard giving a nervous smile as he glanced about.
The tribe sat forward as one, this was the most entertainment they had in months and would see until the snows lifted enough to allow for a proper hunt. They knew the implication, he needed to traverse the pass, and none could travel for free. The bard would have to pay his way, or defeat one of the tribesmen in a contest. The bard shrank back as the standing tribesmen loomed over him in his seated position. They stood as tall as or shorter than the bard, but even young Taymour was nearly twice as broad as the stranger. Gantulga spoke briefly, and took a handful of something from the man. He showed the tribe, 3 small plates made of metal about the size of his palm each. The tribe had no need for metal, in the cold it clung to skin painfully and would shatter with the Word of Force, sending metal slivers flying. A contest it was.
Naran’s father stood forward, shaking off his upper layers to show his thick broad frame and challenged Larlian to a boulder splitting. Before the terrified looking bard could answer (or Gantulga could finish translating) her uncle stood forward, crouching down like a fanged beast to challenge him to a mock hunt. Larlian somehow grew even paler as Naran watched interestedly. He said something to Gantulga, who smiled and gave a small chuckle before speaking to the tribe. “He wishes to challenge me.” The tribe laughed uproariously as one, the bard giving a small nervous laugh as he tried to hide within the pile of furs he was wrapped in.
“Let the fool chase his death then!” cried her uncle, and other cheered in agreement. Gantulga’s eyes had not left the traveller. Naran studied Gantulga’s face closely. He looked interested, Naran saw. The Speaker and The Bard spoke between themselves for a short period, the tribe waiting excitedly and chattering back and forth, trying to guess what contest they would see. Eventually Gantulga stood up, now no trace of the feigned stiffness in his movement. She saw the bards eyes open wide as he deftly swung himself up to a standing position to speak to the tribe. “Our visitor has challenged me to a game of his folk.” There was a murmur of disagreement at that. “Can he do that?” came a voice from near the back. Naran recognised the voice of Anu, he was usually the first to voice a question on anything. “Of course he can!” thundered back Gantulga, the crowd shrinking back and the bard falling flat at the sudden roar of noise. “Would you have me dishonour us by refusing a challenge!?” The silence was his answer.
Gantulga allowed the silence to reign for a few moments before speaking again, looking out at the crowd. “He will stay here for three days. He will teach me the rules of the game and how to play while he recovers from the cold, then we will play on the fourth. Those of you with no business will not bother us.” Naran always envied his way of speaking, he spoke with such firmness and command that there was no arguing, what he spoke was what would be or he would forcibly make it so. She had tried it once, speaking to her mother in her best imitation to give her extra milk. The glare she had gotten in return had made her cry on the spot.
The 3 days passed as they do, the tribe skirting Gantulga’s commands to leave him and the bard be. In the day the people would find excuses to visit those closest to the Speaker’s hut, speaking quietly to try overhear anything over the winds, but the few words that could be caught were in the odd speech of the visitor and they came away frustrated. In the evenings they would all gather in the long hut and eat together, this deep in the winter nought but dried meats and fruit with milk from the pack animals. The bard would listen to their songs, even after just 3 days he had heard them a few times each. Then he would produce his instrument, to Naran’s eyes it looked so beautiful, a thing of shining brown wood and thin strings. Their own instruments were leather wrapped around stone frames, in function unmatched but blending with the surroundings. Her eyes were wide as he played and danced around, a strange music. Their music was deep and guttural, sung from the depths of the throat in low continuous roars, his seemed like what she had once imagined snowflakes sounded like to one that spoke the Word of Hearing, delicate notes that hung in the air then vanished, but replaced in an instant with more. He danced around more graceful than she knew a person could, his feet twisting and shuffling as he moved around the packed hut, never stumbling or disturbing an outstretched foot or mug. The instrument shone and reflected the low firelight, for a moment Naran thought he held a star in his arms. She watched and listened in awe each of the 3 nights, shaking off the fur she shared with Batu to dance to the strange music and the words she couldn’t understand but sounded beautiful. The adults laughed, the only dance they regularly performed was a gentle rocking of the shoulders and swaying of the body, better to not exhaust oneself with a frivolous thing. But she heard no mocking, they delighted in her clumsy movement, and cheered as the bard matched her, following her steps in a graceful elevation and cheering as he finished and took a bow. She knew then there was more magic in the world than what Gantulga had spoken of.
The fourth day arrived, and the tribe gathered. A small table had been set up with a carved stone seat at either side. There was no cheering or talk now, just the silence in the long hut and the howling wind outside. Larlian and Gantulga entered together, the crowd silently forming a passageway for them. Gantulga held a small wooden rectangle in his arms. The 2 approached the table, and sat down. Gantulga opened the rectangle and shook out a collection of small figures, from her seat near the front Naran couldn’t see exactly what they were but there were different sizes and shapes, some all in black and some all in faded white. The rectangle was laid flat, the pieces set up, black on Gantulga’s side and white on Larlian’s side. Naran saw that the pieces on Gantulga’s side were larger and fewer than those on Larlian’s side, and opened her mouth to ask why. Her voice was silenced by a firm hand on her shoulder, her mother’s. She fell silent. None were to disturb the challenge, even a child. She felt ashamed, but saw Gantulga sneak a glance and a small smile at her.
The game began without words, and Naran tried to observe and understand. “Allow the world to answer my questions” she thought. The 2 took turns at the board, moving one piece at a time. Gantulga’s larger pieces moved slightly while the bards moved in large jumps, crossing the board each turn. She thought she understood the game, a force of slow moving giants against rapid but smaller foes, when Gantulga moved one of his pieces clear across the board, passing over one of Larlian’s smaller pieces. Gantulga made to pick up the small piece he had passed over, then paused to look up at Larlian. The bard smiled and nodded, and Gantulga took the piece, placing it off the board on his side. “He’s still not sure of the rules” she observed to herself. She was shocked, she had always thought of Gantulga as solid as the mountain, it was the first time in her short life she had seen him unsure of something.
The game did not last a long time. Gantulga took his time with each move, observing the board carefully and slowly and deliberately moving his pieces. Larlian in response would flick his pieces, his hands shuffling the pieces with a click of wood on wood just as soon as his opponent had finished his move. The pieces danced back and forth. The piles off the board grew. Gantulga’s pile grew slower, and before too long he looked down at the board and flicked over one of his pieces. The crowd murmured, not knowing how to react to his defeat. If the players noticed the crowd they betrayed nothing. Instead they rotated the board and reset the pieces, playing the opposite colour this time. The crowd fell silent again, and watched. This game lasted longer, but again ended with Gantulga flicking over one of his pieces. He and Larlian spoke quietly, shared a small laugh and rotated the board again. They played one more game, the longest of the three. They spoke where they had played in silence before, like old friends. The pieces moved, the piles growing at a slower rate than before. Eventually Larlian looked down at the board and smiled, and flicked over a piece. He held out a hand, and Gantulga took it and shook. The crowd watched in silent, until Naran’s uncle stepped forward, looking nervous.
“Speaker? Who is the victor? It looked like you won the last contest, but…” he trailed off.
“I was defeated in the second game. He allowed me the third game to practice more.”
There was a small murmuring that was silenced by a raised hand.
“He will be leaving today, with enough supplies for 4 days walk. Anu will take a pack animal and escort him through the wind until he can walk safely off the mountain.” There was no arguing with Gantulga. Some left to prepare the animal and supplies, Anu headed off to prepare. The remaining crowd talked in hushed whispers. The bard said something to Gantulga and headed out, presumably to the hut he had been lodging in that contained his few belongings. Naran watched Gantulga. “Something is wrong”, she thought to herself. “He looks…old.” Gantulga had remained seated. She had never seen him in this light. It was if a glamour had fallen, and she was seeing him for the first time. Was his beard always this white? Were his shoulders always this low?
The tribe watched from the borders of their stone wall, the great wooden gates hauled aside to allow passage. The pack beast followed Anu obediently, there was no need for a leash or binding, nor any that a single man could use to restrain it but it followed him calmly. The bard, wrapped in borrowed furs, shuffled behind, still struggling to walk through the snow as Anu did. He turned to wave at the tribe one last time and then disappeared into the wind. The tribe did not remain outside long, there was nothing to see and the cold would bite them deep if they stayed. Naran glanced back at the gate and saw Gantulga, he had stayed behind as she went back to the warm hut.
That night, she braved the snow to visit Gantulga in his small hut. He was staring into the fire, tossing something in his hand and snatching it out of the air absent-mindedly. The game board had been left behind, she saw. It sat open on a shelf, the pieces resting in the upside down case.
“Speaker.” She said. She always tried to appear strong and wise in front of him.
“Naran.” He replied, a forced smile creeping onto his face as he paused his tossing and sat forward. “It’s time for little ones to sleep, but there is something important you wish to know.” He often spoke like that, announcing things rather than questioning.
She paused, squeezing handfuls of the furs she was wrapped in before answering. “There’s something wrong, isn’t there?”
He paused a while, then nodded with a small smile. “There is.”
She said nothing. She already knew better than to ask. If she was meant to know, Gantulga would tell her.
There was a brief silence, and she understood he was done. “Sleep well Speaker.”
“Sleep well little one.”
As she left, she heard a small whisper from behind her, filled with something she did not recognise. “We should have killed him at the gate.”
Naran was 16 summers old when she saw her second outsider. He came in the summer, walking through the damp grass with a half dozen men behind her. They came from the pass she had once watched the bard disappear into. He was wearing a strange thin outfit that clung to his frame, black and white standing against the green grass and splash of colours of the flowers. The men behind him wore blue coats and black trousers, and wore odd wood and metal poles on their backs, leather straps over one shoulder. He raised one arm in greeting, but made no move to approach the walls. Naran was at the border with Batu, picking weeds out from the bottom of the wall. She continued her work as she watched them approach. She sent Batu for Gantulga, her voice as firm as she remembered the Speaker’s being. She had been Gantulga’s apprentice for 4 years now, and was already obeyed as he was. She waited for Gantulga, and followed him as he left the walls and approached the strangers.
Gantulga had taught her the Tradespeech, one of her first lessons. She had not known why they had started with that, but she would not have been chosen had she been fool enough to question.
The stranger in black looked at something in his hand as they approached. “This is the land of the Bear-Sky tribe?” he asked as they approached. No greetings, Naran noted.
“That is how we would be called in your language, yes.” said Gantulga.
“I wish to challenge your tribe for ownership of the pass here. You have a code of honour that prevents you from refusing I believe?” Naran did not move, but inwardly she felt a weight in her gut. She looked at Gantulga. He had aged much in the past 10 years. He was leaning heavily on his staff, carved of mountain rock.
“You are correct, we cannot refuse and maintain our standing with other tribes.”
The stranger smiled, there was a cruel joy in it that Naran disliked.
“Then we shall play this game, I believe you are familiar?” He held up a rectangle, the same kind of board the bard had with him that cold winter.
Gantulga nodded, and turned to Naran to speak in their language. “Prepare the long hut. Allow no one else to enter.” He turned back to the stranger. “I will ask the others with you to remain here. We will play inside. I can promise no harm will come to you.”
The stranger nodded, and approached. Naran moved ahead of them. She had grown well in the years, already taller than some of the men. Her long rapid strides carried her through the village, moving rapidly ahead of the pair. Some looked up as she moved, but she shot a look at all and they understood the intent. They picked up their work and moved it indoors. By the time she had reached the long hut the grounds were empty. Batu was inside, readying a table and hauling over 2 chairs. He was good at that, she thought, at anticipating needs. He had briefly been her fellow apprentice, but he had removed himself. He had no patience for the thinking needed to be a true Speaker, but he was still better than most at seeing which way the winds would blow. They shared a grim look as they moved the chairs into position. She helped him with the chairs and put them in position. He asked if he should stay, and a look answered him. He left the back way, just as the stranger entered ahead of Gantulga. There was no words between the 2. They walked to the table and sat down, the stranger making no secret of his displeasure with the hard stone seat.
“You may choose which side to start with, best of 3 games.” said the stranger. He had yet to introduce himself it seemed. He took something shiny and yellow out of his pocket and with a click it opened, a white face with black lines briefly visible before snapping it shut with a click.
They played in near silence, Naran the only observer. She stood between them and watched the game. She knew the rules well, Gantulga had taught her the game. He had improved much since the bard had come. The pieces moved fast and without pause. The stranger seemed thrown off, and it was he that first flicked his Lord piece over. He looked like he would launch himself over the table and strike Gantulga, but he gripped the edge of the table and took a deep breath. He stood for a moment and removed his long black coat, folding it and putting it in his lap. The second game moved even more rapidly, and this time Gantulga flicked his Lord over. The stranger had a proud smile now, and they rotated the board for the last time.
Naran watched. This final game lasted longest but the pieces moved rapidly, each side dancing back and forth and clicking almost as soon as the opponent had finished. Eventually the pieces stopped, and both watched the board. Gantulga flicked over his Lord. The stranger stood and swept the pieces into the folded board and replaced his coat. He walked out with the board under one arm. “Our men will be along in a week to construct a checkpoint. We will allow you to remain in your settlement, but you are not to interfere with the construction nor the guards that will remain here.” He left immediately, without looking back. No handshake or gesture of respect, Naran noted. She stood in the hut by Gantulga, silent. He looked broken, she thought, though she would never say it aloud. He was bent as if the stranger had beaten him physically. It was quite a while before either spoke. She thought about what had happened, what she knew, and only spoke when she was sure, as he had taught her.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“This is why you hated the bard. You knew he would tell others how they could destroy us without a single drop of blood” she said quietly. She had pondered the whisper she had heard that night for years. At last she knew enough to see the answer to what she had heard in his voice.
He sighed quietly before answering. “Knew? It is impossible to truly know the future. I feared it, but I couldn’t know. I prayed I would be wrong. But yes, I hated him. He was a singer of songs and tales, it was too good a story to keep secret” he spat the last words. She had never heard him speak with this much emotion.
She stood in silence for another while. “At least they only want the pass.”
Gantulga gave a humourless laugh. “For now they only want the pass. You heard the talk of construction, of guards. They will build as they need, and tolerate us as long as we are not an inconvenience.” He sat quietly for a while, then looked up at her and spoke with a quiet voice, not the voice of the Speaker she knew. There were tears in his eyes. “I don’t know how to protect us.”
Naran stood still, but inwardly she wept. It was like seeing a mountain crumble, and she truly saw him as the old man he was, the caring old man forced to carry the entire tribe as a burden, maintaining an unmoving fa?ade to keep the rest safe. She sorted through her memories of his lessons, looking for one that could help, then came to a decision. She bent down and hugged him, the kind old man who had bounced her on his knee and made the shadows dance in the shape of birds and beasts. She held him until he gently pushed her away, his eyes dry now.
“A Speaker is supposed to a solid rock of foundation for the tribe, should betray no emotion. A guiding hand and the first defence against a cruel world” he said with a small smile.
She gave him a smile in return, and stood tall. “You were always too kind for a Speaker.” She straightened up, towering over the sitting Speaker. “The cruelty of the world comes in new forms, so we must adapt. How can it stand against us united?” She replied. She helped him up to a standing position, and they headed out together to address the tribe.
The first workers arrived 10 days later, delayed by the mountains hostility no doubt. Naran watched them from the walls, carrying piles of materials in wagons and beginning construction immediately. There was no sign of the stranger in black this time. She watched the 3 go up over the following days, and allowed herself a small smile. They built tall and proud, and had dug a pit between the 3 they filled with logs and coal to start a fire. Even in the summer the wind carried a cold that moved through any gaps and openings. Naran and Gantulga had sat in his small hut together, talking from light to dark on what could be done, and she had decided on a plan. Like a true speaker, she had announced her intention and he had followed with a proud smile. For now, they would watch.
Over the next year she watched and studied the small cluster closely whenever she had time. The tribe made a point of avoiding the workers and the few travellers passing through, allowing no opportunity for challenge but Naran and Gantulga were guarded at all times despite their strength, preventing the approach of anyone would challenge them in the Tradespeech. Today her father was guarding her. He was acting odd around her as of late. He was torn between his duty to her as a father and her authority as a Speaker in training. He had always been an affectionate and talkative man, but as her training progressed he was less and less confident around her, always stopping himself as he approached her. She missed their closeness but knew it was needed, a Speaker needed to stand apart from the tribe. Today he spoke, the formal briskness of his voice still alien to her. “They still repair the buildings, trying to defeat the wind” he observed. She nodded in agreement. There was a constant stream of supplies arriving to the pass, food for the men stationed there, wood planks to repair the walls damaged by storms or curious beasts and endless fuel for the fires they kept burning night and day for the guards stationed to watch the road to huddle around. Naran waited, they needed to choose their moment well, speak with someone with authority, not the guards. She recognised when people had no power in their life, there was a defeat in their eyes and manner as they repeated the same tasks day in day out.
It was another 3 weeks before the chance came, the summer already ending and the grass disappearing slowly behind snow that stayed a little longer each morning, the flowers long wilted, their seeds scattered. She watched alongside Gantulga from the walls as the man in black approached at a rapid pace. “He’s angry, things aren’t as planned. Good.” she thought. She bid her uncle inside, relieving him of guard duty with a nod. He knew better than to argue. She headed out, Gantulga stopping at the gate.
“You believe this will work.” he stated. They had gone over her plan many times, and rehearsed her manner of talking. She remembered the way the man had gripped the table at losing a single game, there was great pride there and a hatred of unmet expectations.
“Yes Gantulga. I will appear eager to deal, hiding desperation, while gathering as much insight as I can.”
He nodded gently. “Then go, with all our fates resting on you.” He said in response. It was no statement of burden, he was placing his trust in her and allowing her to soar or fall by her own merit.
The guards had been assembled outside in the centre of the 3 buildings, and the man in black was shouting at them. Naran approached from behind and listened, the man in black too deep in his anger to notice her at first.
“…constant material requests, burning through a month’s fuel allotment every week, do you think this is sustainable?!” She stood behind as he glared at the assembled men, awaiting an answer. Before long, he realised they were looking past him and turned, taking a half step back when he saw her. She stood as tall as him but was far broader, her arms more than twice the thickness of his. She held a bundle of grass and weeds in both hands before her, ensuring he saw her hands were occupied and not holding anything out of reach. He recovered quickly, stepping closer to her and readjusting his coat.
“And what do you want? You have no business here, this is our property.”
“Your settlement is having issues. I would like to discuss solutions that would benefit us both.” She tried to speak softly, and bowed her head as she spoke, trying to appear subservient.
He stared at her for a short while, his anger still heavy on his face, before waving at the guards behind them. “Back to your stations. And consider the implications that I find it more worth my time to speak with the savage than you fools.” She ignored the insult in the word.
He did not move, nor make any question to move. A good a place as any to talk it seemed. “Well?” he said at last when he was satisfied the guards had dispersed appropriately. She took a quiet breath before speaking. She must not lose her temper with this man.
“You are wasting too much to properly maintain this settlement. You put more in than comes out.”
He stared at her, waiting for more apparently. When it became apparent she was done his face grew red in the cheeks and he spoke through clenched teeth. “I am aware of that, did you just come to waste my time?”
“We have been watching how much is used. Your guards use 10 times as much as us for less result. We can do their tasks for you.”
He blinked at her a few times, his mouth moving in silent questioning. He shook his head and coughed, standing straighter and giving her more attention. So far so good, he was interested.
“You would take over the checkpoint? In return for what? You wish to reclaim the pass, that we return what was rightfully won?” There was a challenge in his voice, but he spoke with more restraint now.
“The pass is yours by right. But the men you have sent here make it harder for us to live. They strip all they can find to feed the fires, attract beasts we would be best to avoid and scare off those we want nearby. We cannot continue as things are.” It was a gamble to expose their weakness like this, he might just choose to starve them out. They had tolerated the tribe so far but near every day the guards had patrolled closer, the ground flattened and the road widened every day by men with shovels and pickaxes, bringing them closer to the walls.
He was holding his chin as he looked down in thought. He peered up at her to speak “What of the tolls? They must be collected and I don’t believe much if any of your tribe can handle money.”
“You will teach us.” She spoke firmer now, leaning forward. This part needed just the right amount of force behind it. “We are not tools. We are not fodder. We shall be allies, and aid each other. Or we shall burn all this to the stone and disappear into the mountains. Until you rebuild, then we will burn it again.”
He took a step back, the red rising in his cheeks again. “You can’t. Or you would have done so already.”
She shrugged. “We would lose many in the mountains, and the attacks would claim us slowly, we have no illusions of attacking with no losses. It would be a long, violent suicide. But how long can you continue to lose men and materials?”
There was a tense silence. She clenched her toes in her thick boots. This was the moment, the knife edge. Either the tribe would live on, or be doomed in the next few moments. There was a long silence, and she mentally prepared to fight her way back to the walls to call for an escape into the mountains.
It was broken by the man in black’s small cough as he smoothed out some imaginary wrinkles in his coat. “It is true that the gate is nowhere near as profitable as we had hoped. I believe we have things to discuss.” He spoke louder now, loud enough that some of the guards and workers still outside turned their heads at his voice. “I, Frederick Johannsen, hereby formally enter negotiations with a representative of the Bear-Sky tribe on behalf of the Carrick Coach Company.” He stuck out a hand for Naran, and she took it and shook. With no prompting she thundered out “I, Naran Bear-Sky of the Bear-Sky Tribe hereby enter negotiations with a representative of the Carrick Coach Company.” She didn’t like how the names sounded in the Tradespeech, it lost most of its meaning moving into the plain rough tongue. But it would have to do.
The man shrank back as her voice echoed out, much louder than his, but he smiled nonetheless.
She was in her 36th year now, and she looked out at the tribe’s lands with a mix of pride and sadness. The village, once so small and fragile had grown so much in the years since that handshake. The negotiations had taken 4 years, meetings broken by long periods of Johannsen disappearing back down the mountain for weeks, speaking with his superiors. They had initially taken a near mythical quality within the tribe, these mysterious beings of power that would decide their future, but she had quickly fought that notion down. They could not deify them, they were but men, sending Johannsen and the workers and guards out to bring them back spoils of the land. The tribe had been angry with her when she had told them they were to negotiate, their anger breaking any hold her role as a Speaker in training had over them. They had shouted and spat on the ground, striking the ground with their weapons and calling for an attack on all that would threaten them. Her own father had slapped her in the face hard enough to make her stumble to the ground, declaring her a stupid girl that would doom them. Gantulga had responded by tapping her father’s arm with his staff, the Word of Force shattering the bones.
“The world comes to our walls, with hungry bellies and weapons bared. We cannot fight them, not forever. We will adapt as a whole or see our end before your children’s children make their first cries.” Gantulga said, his voice still and commanding but his cheeks flushed with rage as he glared at Naran’s father, clutching his shattered arm and gritting his teeth to remain silent.
Batu had stepped forward then, grown so much. He had thumped his chest and declared “Better to die as ourselves than allow them to remake us!” which had been answered by a few assenting murmurs. Gantulga had quickly tampered their fervour, and none were eager to attract his anger, but Naran knew those sparks would grow again if left to burn. She removed a small stone dagger from her belt and threw it down in front of Batu.
“Then here, open your throat, and die as you are.” Batu didn’t move, and none of the assembled crowd moved or spoke. “Or would you prefer to leave with whoever will travel with you? Strike from the mountain shadows, be remembered as wailing ghosts clawing at the living to join them instead of accepting their end?”
Again, none had moved or spoke. The crowd shrank back as she stepped forward and picked up the dagger. “We did not choose this. I did not choose this. We must do this, or we will cease to be entirely, and we will not be remembered.” Her and Gantulga had taken them into the long hut then, and spent many hours discussing the future.
That night she and Batu had snuck off away from the walls. She had spoken with him before the tribe had come together, and given him the words to speak. He took the role of dissenter for her to strike at to control the tribe’s anger before it raged out of control. They had lain together under a pile of furs under the night sky, and afterwards she had wept, for her tribe and as a young girl that had been struck by her father. She loved him for that, he always allowed her the luxury of dropping her mask as Speaker. They spoke of the future, not the careful words she had spoken for the tribe, and she poured out her fears and hopes as they clung to each other. As they returned to the walls, she clung to his hand. “We will lose much of ourselves. I hope I have chosen the correct path.” He had smiled and kissed her, but he did not answer.
Eventually things had been decided and declared formally. The workers and guards would be slowly replaced with the tribe, and in exchange for supplies and education the tribe would guard the pass and collect tolls from travellers. She had laughed herself silly at the sight, the old warriors of the mountain sitting at tables far too small for them in the workers hut, a stern woman sent by the company showing them images of letters and numbers of Tradespeech and having them call out the names of the symbols, the terror in her uncles eyes as he was made to stand up alone and name 3 in a row. She had admired the woman, she was old and small but projected a strength that would make any Speaker envious. She had once watched Anu strike down a beast twice his size with a single Word of Force empowered blow, but he shrank in terror when the woman glared at him. She spoke with her briefly but the teacher had not much interest in anything beyond her task, visiting for a few hours each week then disappearing down the pass as soon as her work for the week was done.
Now, the pass was only the tribe except for 2 or 3 guards, sent to act as representatives of the company if there was ever any dispute or need. They had adapted as the tribe had, grateful for the warmth of the tribe’s sunken huts compared to the standing shacks they had been in before and adopting the same fur outfits the tribe wore, much warmer than the long coats they were issued that sat above the knees and allowed the wind to rise into them. But she still felt great sadness as she looked out. Several tribes had come to join them, envious of the relative comfort they enjoyed with regular food deliveries to help through winter when there was no hunting. The tribes had mingled and mixed, but always something was lost. More of the children spoke in Tradespeech more often than their own tongue, and there was never enough time for all the songs anymore. The pass had grown busier, there was a regular flow of carriages and travellers now, always needing checking and collecting of the tolls, the iron plates sitting in sacks that were sent down once a week. The guards never counted anymore, they trusted Naran and the tribe to collect the amounts and they knew the tribe had no interest in taking the things for themselves. Where would they spend it even? It seemed every time she looked something else was being worn away, some small custom abandoned for more pressing duties.
The machines of the company had torn open the mountain, great metal things that devoured coal and wood and water to send huge metal stakes high into the air and crashing down, shattering stone. The pass had once been barely big enough for a pack animal, now there was tunnel carved through the rocks, the mountain held up with huge beams of wood with bands of metal. She had once walked through the pass to see the rest of their work and seen the path that had been carved, a great zigzagging wound of flattened carved stone working its way up the mountain, a climbing road for carriages and people visible down as far she could see, until it met the green of the plains below.
So much had changed, so much lost. But they were alive, and in many ways more prosperous than they had ever been. But she was troubled, which did not escape her husband. Batu had asked her one evening as they had put their daughter to rest, just 2 summers old. He spoke not as the chief and she not as the speaker, plainer with each other than they could be with anyone. She had spoken of her meeting with the latest representative of the company, a woman named Gibson. There were difficult things to explain, some she didn’t grasp fully herself. There had been a “takeover” she had called it, the company was at the same time no longer the same but also the same. Gibson had assured Naran that they were happy with the arrangement, but many of the people she had spoken to in the past would be replaced.
“It sounds like nothing that concerns us, no? Our arrangement remains in place.” Batu had replied slowly and thoughtfully after she had explained what she had been told, but he seemed unconvinced of his own words.
“This time, we were unaffected. But events out there” she waved a hand in the general direction of the pass “come to us and could cause upheaval here, with us never meeting those responsible.”
“So what would you do?” he had spoken with a sadness in his voice. She kissed him then, he was still excellent at reading her mood and knowing her plans before she voiced them, but he clearly did not want to speak it aloud.
“We cannot continue to willingly turn our eyes away from the world. We need to know, truly know, our place in it. Which we cannot learn this far away from everything.” Her eyes were tearing as she spoke but there was no sadness or bitterness in her voice. She was a full Speaker, the tears were her only allowance for her love. “I will travel out. I will speak with any who will listen and bring back knowledge and anything else that will ensure our survival.” He knew better than to argue with her, either as husband before his wife or Chief before his Speaker. He held her, and they had quietly wept together.
She had made her announcement in the morning before the assembled tribe. There had been murmurs, but no one stepped forward to challenge her. They knew that when a Speaker declared their intent there was no point, though they would no doubt be angry discussions once she was no longer present. She quietly went to gather her belongings and prepare. She would travel light.
Gantulga watched her select the few items she would take with her. He rarely left the hut anymore, he struggled with even the small steps that would take him outside, and his mind was not what it had once been, but today was a better day than most. He gave her some advice, and a small pouch of the metal plates used as currency, which surprised her. He confessed he regularly played with travellers, indicating the well-worn game board, and too many were eager to take money from an old man. He gave a laugh that turned into a hacking cough, and she waited until he had recovered. “Be wary off the mountain” he had said quietly as she stepped out for the last time “Guard your centre. You will need to adapt and change down there, but mind you do not lose yourself, and come back to us.” She had dropped the small bag of belongings, and ran back to embrace him. He had put his thin arms around her, and gently patted her.
Most of the tribe watched her set off, except for a small few collecting tolls and checking travel passes. Batu stood at the front, their child asleep in a bundle of fur in his arms. She had allowed herself to weep overnight, so she could be strong now, but she yearned to drop her bag and stone club and shield, hold her daughter and never leave. But she knew it was her duty. Her father and mother had stepped forward at the last. They had never properly recovered from the day he had slapped her, his standing fallen as a man that had attacked a Speaker and been low enough to use violence in an argument, but they still cared for another. They raised their arms in salute, her father’s ruined arm curled at his side, never recovered from Gantulga’s shattering, a mark of his shame. Then he raced forward, ignoring the few cries behind him. He had thrown his good arm around her and held her close as best he could. “Be safe my daughter” he had said through tears “Be safe and come home. We will watch the pass for your return.” That had nearly broken her, but she remained still. She blinked back tears, and whispered down “I will return safe. Be well father.”
She had turned then, the sounds of her father’s quiet sobs behind her. She knew she could not look back. As a Speaker, she could not be seen to second guess her decision. As Naran, she knew if she looked back she would never leave.
She walked through the tunnel and blinked as the landscape opened before her, stretching away below the mountain. She had a day’s walk at least before she was off the mountain, but it was best to plan her destination from this height. She was distracted by the sound of a woman grunting, and saw a slight pale woman with a fur coat over a long yellow dress struggling to push a trunk into a wagon, ignored by the few other travellers. She strode over and with no word pushed the trunk up, the woman slipping forward as the weight was taken and catching herself on the edge of the wagon. She looked up at Naran, eyes widening at her broadness.
“Oh I cannot thank you enough, hit a rock on the way out and damn thing slipped out.”
“It was no trouble” replied Naran and started off before the woman caught her arm.
“Please dear, I would have been here for ages trying to get that thing up there without you, please allow me to at least give you a ride down, spare you the walk down.” She had gently pushed Naran with both hands, a fruitless endeavour but Naran gave in.
Naran allowed the woman, Dorothy she introduced herself as, to shuttle her down, Naran sitting in the back as she would not fit alongside Dorothy on the front seat of the small wagon. She learned Dorothy was travelling to meet family and would be headed south once they were clear of the mountain.
“So what about you darling, where you headed?”
“To be truthful I do not know, I travel to learn and spread my peoples story, but I am not sure where to begin.” She was surprised at herself, something about the woman’s aggressive friendliness had disarmed her into speaking more plainly than she intended, stripping away her Speaker training.
“Ohhhhhhh a bard are you? I saw a lovely woman with an accordion on the far side of the pass, friend of yours?” Naran opened her mouth to answer but Dorothy continued with no pause before she could say anything. “I also heard a simply delightful old man a few years ago, he told the most wonderful stories. Anyway honey you want to go to Xrantha, there’s so many people there, and they’re always looking for new entertainment, why my sister…” Dorothy continued on and Naran tried to follow, it was an endless barrage of names and places and events, Naran never had to utter a word.
The journey down took them a few hours, shorter than Naran could have walked, and they parted ways at a crossroads not far from the base of the mountain.
“Xrantha’s a few days that way honey, just stick to the main road and watch out for bandits! Though a big strong girl like you can certainly defend herself. Anyways I must dash, it was simply divine meeting you!” She took off without waiting for a reply, but Naran watched her go and waved back as Dorothy turned back to wave. She felt thrown by her encounter, the small woman had a personality with the strength of the sun it felt like. She saw the smoke on the horizon, Dorothy had said it would be visible for much of the journey and act as a landmark. Naran took a long, deep, breath, and set out.
