Other Worlds Were Possible, page 9
They ran from the rain. But they also ran from something else: They ran from Hunter, from his threats and bribes, and from the things of which he spoke. For whilst they questioned what he had to say, they were in little doubt that he spoke in half-truths. Sunny had told them about the surveyor. The Sons of Empire were coming. They did pose a mortal threat.
***
It took the clans-folk several days to walk to the Big Camp; their home for the rainy season…
Two adults led the way, to protect the band from a frontal attack. The first, Landscape, had appointed herself a kind of de facto leader. She did not act like a petty tyrant, nor did she claim to possess any mystical powers. She only ever made unilateral decisions on the rare occasions when the clan was confronted by a sudden threat; when there was no time to form a parliament and hold a debate. Even then, her peers could ignore her orders. But Landscape was skilled. She was an expert navigator, who could read the land far better than anyone else. Even though she knew the route, she still took great care to check their position relative to the North Star; viewing that beacon through the gaps in her fingers, to make sure they were still on track. Landscape had a knack for finding the most appropriate places to cross the streams and bogs, which popped up in different places each year. She was known for her ability to sniff out the best spots to hunt, gather, find water and sleep. Landscape had fallen into this role by dint of skill, rather than any desire to lead. And she would fall out of this role, just as soon as they reunited with their tribe.
Behind Landscape and her companion, the clan’s two geriatrics headed up the main group. Bent-backed and a little unstable, Mountain and Setting Sun set a sluggish pace; swaying from side to side, and stopping at regular intervals. They had to be carried whenever the path became too rocky or steep. But they were not considered a burden. Even though their hunting and gathering days were behind them, and even though they rarely made a fire or cooked, they were treated with the utmost respect. They were walking encyclopaedias; repositories of knowledge, able to answer the questions that no-one else could. When the clans-folk came across a fruit or berry they had never seen before, they consulted Mountain or Setting Sun, who always seemed to know what it was, and whether it could be eaten.
The clan’s youngsters followed the elders. Then came the young mothers, holding their infants, and the other adults, who were carrying the clan’s possessions, including their two new guns. A couple more hunters trailed this group, to protect the clan from behind.
Almost everyone gathered food as they went…
There were two schools of thought where such food was concerned. Some people, including Dawn, claimed that the ancestors had chosen this route because it passed by so many fruit trees and berry bushes, which had been there since the day Mother Nature gave birth to the world; when humans still had giant butterfly wings, and serpents still had legs. Others, including Dusk, believed that this idea was too good to be true. The members of their clan walked in a fairly straight line. They did not bend one way to visit a tree, and another way to visit a bush. Dusk argued that the clan had taken this route even before those plants existed. He believed that their ancestors had eaten whatever fruit and berries they could, and gone to the toilet by the side of the path; depositing the seeds from the food they had consumed. Those seeds had sprouted, and grown into the plants which now lined the route; bearing a variety of dates and satsumas, as well as two types of currants which only appeared at this time of the year, four lunar-cycles before the summer solstice.
The group was split, no opinion won out, and the debate rumbled on.
***
After traversing the contours of several hills, the clans-folk followed the lay of three seasonal streams. They set their traps, caught some small fish, ate those fish, speared some larger fish, and only moved on after a day of rest; arriving at the border of the Great Expanse; a yellowish plain, where sand danced atop the earth, and only a few plants had proved stubborn enough to survive.
At first glance, one could have mistaken this place for a waterless void, incapable of sustaining a pilgrim for much more than a day. This assumption was almost correct. The members of their clan could survive for three days before reaching water. It helped that they were acclimatised to their environment. They were experts at controlling their body temperature, by regulating their sweat. But it also helped that they knew exactly where to find their next drink.
Deep beneath the earth, there was an aquifer filled with fossil water; the remains of the snow which had melted towards the end of the previous Ice Age. That water could be accessed via a network of wells, which had been dug by the clan’s ancestors, over the course of several lunar-cycles. It was hard labour. But their efforts were rewarded with a form of immortality, because the water sources they created were named after them. When their descendants cut across this desolate expanse, zigzagging from one well to the next, they repeated their names as they went; travelling from Parrot’s Well to Daybreak’s Well, and so on; stopping there to drink, and refill their vessels, whilst giving homage to the person who had dug that well.
They used some other methods to gather water…
Whilst here in this desert, they dug up cold stones from beneath the ground, just before sunrise, and waited for the dew to form on their surface. Whenever they visited a forest, they rose early to siphon the droplets which appeared on the larger leaves. They followed the lay of the land; knowing that water always sought the lowest point, and that if a seasonal stream were to form, it would do so in these natural valleys. They looked for the greenest vegetation; a sure sign of water. They tracked the birds, and the trails left by animals. And they stopped at two oases; relaxing in the shade of the surrounding palms, and using their nets to catch fish.
The clans-folk, therefore, were equipped to survive in this inhospitable terrain. They had filled their water containers, and were picking a path from one well to the next; using the baskets they had made from reeds, to carry the ferns and cattails they gathered en route, and the meats they had smoked before leaving.
The two strangers they encountered were not nearly so prepared…
Although the members of their clan would never know it, these explorers had been part of a much larger expedition, which had set off with twenty-three mules and twenty-six horses; six wagons, filled with enough food to last them for many solstices; some tables, chairs, rockets and a Chinese gong. But their wagons had come apart almost as soon as they reached the desert, and they had been forced to dump most of their supplies; loading what they could onto their animals. Most of their companions had perished during the days which followed. Several of their animals had been killed for their meat. Now just two men remained. And, judging by the state of their lips, it appeared that it had been days since either had drunk any water.
Sunny’s companions stopped short, staring at these men from a safe distance. It was almost impossible to know what they were thinking. Perhaps they were scared, or shocked, or confused. Judging by the tilt of their heads, and the furrows in their brows, it seemed that they were more curious than anything else. Sunny’s peers had been thinking about the Sons of Empire, ever since Hunter had addressed the group. These mythical creatures had been the subject of several conversations. And now here they were in the flesh.
Yet these stumbling, bumbling wrecks did not resemble the kind of menaces of whom Hunter had spoken. They looked even frailer than the group’s two geriatrics. They wore something peculiar on top of their heads, presumably because they had lost all their hair. They did not appear to have earned a single tattoo. And they smelled of monkey urine.
“They all have that aroma,” Sunny explained. “Uncle Survey smelled the same.”
It was hard to know how to respond. These men might not have appeared particularly fearsome. But they represented something fearful. They were not members of their own tribe, or one of the other tribes who resided in the neighbouring regions; people who looked and acted in a similar fashion to themselves. These strangers looked completely different. They wore different things. They came from an imaginary place, an unfathomable distance away. They represented a group of imperialists who had only been a theoretical idea up until this point; a concept spoken of in stories. Yet here they were in the flesh; a physical reality. There could be no avoiding the truth: The network of neighbouring tribes, which extended as far as the imagination would allow, were no longer the only tribes in existence, with the sole way of life on earth. Their entire world had become claustrophobic; cramped by the presence of a whole new set of people. It was difficult to breathe, impossible to move, and the idea of speech seemed utterly fanciful.
This explained the current standoff; a timeless sort of impasse, that could have lasted for moments, or days, or seasons. The Eagle Clan had little desire to measure time. They lived from event to event. And this present event had left them at a loss; paralysed by an infinity of doubt, and unable to form a response.
The impasse was only broken by Landscape, who tiptoed forwards, stopped, had second thoughts, remained in her new position, tiptoed forwards again, and stopped again; repeating this ritual several times, before arriving in front of the strangers.
She reached over her shoulder, removed a canteen made from an animal’s bladder, unfastened the leather tie, and passed it to one of the strangers.
He drank the water.
Landscape’s behaviour was unsurprising. It was their tribe’s custom to offer hospitality to anyone they encountered. This was why they had allowed Hunter to speak at their camp. They took an entirely different approach to trade; to debt and obligations. But where hospitality was concerned, there was little doubt in their minds: They were obliged to be generous.
The man said something indecipherable.
Others followed in Landscape’s footsteps, stepping forth, offering the water they had been carrying in an assortment of coconut shells, bamboo tubes, hollowed-out gourds, and goatskin satchels; donating what little food they had, and using their lips to point towards the nearest oasis.
The strangers drank all the water they were given.
There was a brief pause. And then one of the men performed a strange gesture. He clenched his fingers into a ball, whilst pointing his thumb in an upwards direction. Sunny was unsure how to react. Pointing upwards meant midday. But it was already late in the afternoon. The man’s hand had formed a fist. But Sunny’s instincts told him that this stranger was not angling for a fight. His eyes looked humble, despite this peculiar upward-thumb.
The other man made a different gesture. He connected his thumb and forefinger, to create an O, whilst fanning his other fingers, to create a K. Members of their tribe used a similar signal, whenever they wished to have sex. But these men did not seem particularly horny. Their groins were not bulging. And Sunny could not imagine why anyone would wish to have sexual relations with a person who looked quite so meek. That seemed a little perverted.
The strangers withdrew their hands and smiled.
Sunny smiled back.
The strangers stood up, spoke a little more, without making themselves understood, pointed their fingers towards the oasis, pointed their lips in that same direction, smiled again, spoke again, and then ruffled around in their sacks.
Bang!
The explosion was so loud, so sharp, so sudden. Sunny’s clans-folk had never experienced anything like it. They sprung up, instantaneously, and sprinted off at full speed; carrying their geriatrics, infants, and most of their possessions; forgetting their pot and a few other items; not turning back, not checking to see what had caused that blast, and not stopping until they were out of sight; hidden behind a ridge and a solitary bolder.
Those crazy strangers! Perhaps Hunter had been right all along. Why on earth and the ancestral realm would they wish to assault them with such a noise? What had the clans-folk done to offend them?
These questions would inspire several conversations, during the days which followed. Some people said the blast had been a threat. Others said it was the result of an attack which had gone wrong. Some people said the strangers had wanted to eat them, or steal their skin, or turn them into rocks. Others said it was a strange, foreign way of saying “Thank-you”. No-one guessed the truth: That it had all been a dreadful accident. What kind of person would produce such a noise by mistake?
The debate rumbled on, without a middle, and without an end.
***
Sparrow’s stomach rumbled on…
The gunshot had spun him into a state of shock. He had still managed to flee in fear, along with the rest of the clan. But as soon as he had come to a stop, he had bent double, gagged on the air, and vomited over his toes. His peers had rushed to his aid, helping him to regain his composure. But they had given little more thought to the matter. Sparrow did not mention his other symptoms. And he did not appear to need assistance, until he was seen clutching himself, shivering, and turning a paler shade with each passing moment.
Was Sparrow undergoing a metamorphosis, transforming into a Son of Empire? His skin was certainly fading. His body was shrinking, and he had an overall aura of weakness. Perhaps this was why the stranger had fired a gun. It was a form of witchcraft; an act of psychological warfare, which would turn them all albino.
Sunny kept his thoughts to himself, whilst Health got to work. The clan’s herbalist inspected Sparrow, and pondered his symptoms, before declaring that his kidneys were still suffering from the aftereffects of shock.
She dispatched a couple of search parties to gather bombax.
The first group returned soon after, bringing a basketful of leaves, which Health turned into a tea. The second group reappeared much later; carrying some bark and fruit. Health burnt the bark, mashed up the ashes with the fruit, and fed the concoction to Sparrow.
Sunny was not surprised. Health always knew which plant to use, no matter the ailment. He had seen her use ginger to soothe respiratory complaints, spear grass to fight off impotency, turmeric to combat inflammation, devil-pepper to treat hypertension, clove basil to stop diarrhoea, papaya seed to kill parasites, and aloe vera to heal skin disease. Health had learnt these things by observing her mother; a woman who also carried a supply of herbal aspirin, which she made from meadowsweet; an antimalarial, which she made from cinchona; and a good supply of neem, an anti-inflammatory, which she used to heal everything from fungal infections to liver complaints. Had it been necessary, Health would have known just how to use acanthus to treat syphilis, amaranth to treat abdominal pains, and dogbane to treat filarial worms. She knew how to extract all the active ingredients; how to make infusions, lotions, charcoals, snuffs, poultices and gruels.
But such things were never enough on their own. Members of their tribe believed that ailments were not only physical. They also had a supernatural cause. They might be inflicted by a jealous ancestor. Or they might be a lesson from Mother Nature; a way of reminding a person not to neglect their spiritual, social or moral duties. Because of this, illnesses had to be cured by spiritual means, as well as by medicine; through divination, incantation, sacrifice, exorcism or libation.
Hence, just as soon as Sparrow had consumed the bombax, Health took the clan’s diving rods; a flat set of bones, bound together with leather; and hurled them at one tree after another. She continued until she found a tree that satisfied her; remaining there for quite a while, slashing and thrashing its trunk.
Only once she had finished communing with the spirit world, did she return to the group. She declared that the ancestors had accepted her pleas, and would allow the medicine to take effect, so long as they sacrificed a rabbit.
This inspired a brief but heated discussion…
Dusk insisted that they set their traps, retreat and wait:
“Positively! It’s the only method we’ve ever used to catch rabbits.”
Hearing his rival’s voice, Dawn was propelled into a vertical position, by a force he could do little to withstand. He held four fingers to the side of his head, and flicked his palm towards his peers; the gesture they made when responding to a stupid remark. And he spoke with uncharacteristic speed:
“Negatively! We can’t afford to waste time, sitting about, doing nothing, hoping for our traps to fill themselves. We must attack those rabbits with our spears.”
Rather than take sides, the clans-folk agreed to do both these things. And, when neither method was successful, they settled down for the night, telling stories beneath the moonless sky.
They tried once more the following day, failed again, fell asleep again, awoke on the second morning, found a rabbit in one of their traps, offered it up to the ancestors, and checked on Sparrow.
Sunny, for his part, was far from convinced. He had enjoyed Health’s theatrics. When she bounded from tree to tree, he had clapped and stamped along. But he could not be sure if it had made the slightest difference.
Perhaps another factor was at play. Sparrow had needed time; time to rest, recuperate, and allow the medicine to take effect. Perhaps this was why Health had demanded a rabbit. It was a stalling tactic, designed to give Sparrow the time he needed to recover. Or, then again, perhaps it was not.
One thing was clear: The colour had returned to Sparrow’s cheeks. He no longer looked like the strangers they had met in the desert.
Health picked some grass. She fashioned it into a talisman, to ward off evil spirits; tied it around Sparrow’s chest, and declared that they were ready to depart.
***
The clans-folk wandered for several days and several nights…
They discussed the gunshot, Sparrow’s illness, and Dawn’s ridiculous plan to hunt rabbits with spears. They talked about the bushes, streams and trees; recounting ancient tales they had heard a hundred times before, and new stories which they invented as they spoke.
