Part Three
Chapter 19
CAMP
"I don't like the looks of this."
Kunahr stood at the edge of camp and gazed across the plains. The breeze was bringing the clouds, and the clouds were bringing rain; Nuzhunpa had said so, and he could always tell when it was about to rain, somehow. She sniffed the air experimentally.
Kunahr hated the wind. She stood there facing it defiantly, daring it to defeat her, and at the same time on the lookout. This wind was dangerous. This part of the season was dangerous. A wind at this part of the season can only bring bad things. Nuzhunpa said so.
Nuzhunpa emerged from a mound made of dried mud and shoam-stalks to inspect the thatched roof, throwing a distrustful eye at the sky. He saw no call for last-moment repairs there and proceeded to totter around the camp, checking the roof of each shelter. Satisfied, the old um straightened his back, staring out at the oncoming clouds. He tried again the old trick he had learned from the Zhonoys many seasons ago at the Ealdlazay Fair: inhaling, he would lick the roof of his mouth... No doubt about it. It was going to rain.
Sighing and shaking his head, he turned to make his way down to the quays. This time of the season could be so pleasant, with the blaorzh harvested and the Ealdlazay Fair coming up; why did it have to be visited with such ominous weather this season? Not that it happened very often, but he could remember what can happen, and he was doing his best at this moment to make sure his little contingent was ready for it.
"Runahr," he shouted at a young um handling a length of rope. "Fo! Get them all away from the quays! Dacoar, all of them! You, Burfohn, you oaf - bind down the corner of that wrap! Fo, fo! the other corner - dacoar, that one! The blaorzh must stay completely dry or the Zhonoys won't trade one pebble of sharbohn for it. Fo, Opumohn, two stakes, two ropes for every vaisoh! Dacoar, two. In case one pulls out, that's why! Dacoar, dacoar."
For all their grumbling and bumbling, Nuzhunpa smiled. They were doing the best they could do, and it would be enough. If it rained, the barges of blaorzh would be protected by the wraps; if the Luhvluhv flooded, they would be separated and anchored securely in two places each. He turned to his daughter, who was covering the last vaisoh with its wrap, and smiled again as he watched her.
Such a block of industry! She was as strong as any two of the ums, and she controlled the long vaisoh with ease. If only she were slim and beautiful, like Feeshare, or even slim like Kunahr, he reflected, perhaps she would have a shainu of her own by now! But no, his solid Zholybet was still with her prahnum, still his faithful and hard-working numpa, and still shunned by the other Laizuvrians. He watched as she expertly finished her chore, and then called her over to him.
He sighed as she turned her ungainly face towards him. So pale and round! He sighed again when she approached him with her long, loping stride. "Patience and grace, grace!" he chided automatically, forgetting for a moment in his fatherly concern that they were preparing for a disaster. She smiled understandingly.
"Oh, prahnum!" she chided in turn. "I'm not a babe! You may stop coaching me any day now."
"I said it without thinking," he confessed apologetically. "I wanted to tell you to go give Kunahr some company. She has been watching the plain for quite a while now, and her attention may wander. Go help her. I will see that the ums finish everything here."
He watched her loop off, and looked up into the sky again. It was getting darker.
For many seasons now Nuzhunpa had led the vanguard of the Laizuvrians to this outpost camp of theirs situated across the Luhvluhv from the Ealdlazay Fair; towing the largest of the blaorzh vaisohs up the river from Todymody downstream.
The vaisohs, the barges, were long, flat and narrow crafts, with surprisingly shallow draughts considering the weight of the cargoes they bore, which were blaorzh, towed upriver before the trockzelay; and sharbohn, drifted down afterward. Diagonal beams attached to the bottom of the vaisoh served as both keel and rudder, catching the current of the river enough to keep the barges out from the bank from which they were being towed.
It was a slow and laborious process bringing up the blaorzh vaisohs, and Nuzhunpa's crew necessarily started out a hand-day or so before the others. They had had good weather so far. The Luhvluhv was a little lower than usual this season, which rendered the current that much less an obstacle, although exposing more sand-bars. The extreme dryness of this season had resulted in another boon to the travelers: they had not seen a single one of those dreaded malwozzohs which so infested this part of the plain. They had gained the outpost camp in something like record time, and had settled in to rest up from the trudge and prepare for the festivities to come.
But then the clouds had blown in, and Nuzhunpa had to rouse his workers again. Battening down the barges and covering the cracks in the roof against the threat of rain was the easy part. Nuzhunpa hoped they wouldn't see the thing he feared, which could really put his group to the test. He left the river bank, where everything that could be done was done, and hobbled on his tired old legs back to where Zholybet and Kunahr stood watch.
The two numpas jumped back onto their feet when they saw him approach. He shook his head to himself, but said nothing. They did not understand the danger, and everyone was stiff and sore from the march up. The day was nearly over; indeed, it was already nearly as black as night with the low-lying clouds overhead. Nuzhunpa stood in silent thought.
He feared lightning. Rain was a nuisance, but lightning was a killer. Lightning, wind, and the crisp dryness of the vast open fields of shoam were what he was thinking about. He debated whether he should begin cutting a fire-brake around the camp or fo. Everyone was tired, and the light was almost gone. There may not be any lightning at all. He decided to take the risk, and let them get some sleep. They may need to be rested tomorrow.
"Zholybet, Kunahr," he said, "go on back to the huts. Tell the others to get something to eat and get to sleep. Fo play tonight!"
"Prahnum," said Zholybet tenderly, assuming that he would be returning with them, "lean on me; your legs are tired."
"Fo, thank you for the thought," returned the um. "But I will stay and watch. I have not your strength, but my senses are still sharp. It will be my part to watch while you sleep."
Zholybet turned to Kunahr. "You go ahead. I'm going to stay here with my worried old prahnum."
"Fo!" Nuzhunpa's reaction surprised the numpas by its vehemence. "Fo, Zholybet, you go, too! This worried old prahnum is worried for a reason, and if that worry comes to be, believe me, you will be called to help then, and you will need to be well-rested. One flash of lightning out there," he waved his arm across the plain, "one! and the whole thing could go up in an explosion of fire, and if that happens, dear daughter, we will all be fighting to save the camp, and ourselves!" His face was grim.
When he saw the sudden look of consternation in their faces his expression eased a little, and he added: "So go now. There has been no lightning yet, and you may wake in the morning to a new breeze and a clear sky. I hope so. Go. Tell the others."
Zholybet gave him a worried look.
"I'll be all right," Nuzhunpa said in answer. "If I become too sleepy to watch, I will wake you to take my place. Dacoar?"
She smiled. "Dacoar."
"Mairdly!" Burfohn struck the table with his fist. Kunahr had just announced to those in the hut that they were to sleep as soon as they had eaten, and he was irritated. He and his brother Opumohn had just begun to set up a beazhat game.
There were not enough cots in the huts to go around, and some of the ums took turns sleeping on the floor on bundles of shoam. Burfohn and Opumohn had brought with them their simple game, which consisted of a few beas (small spheres about the size of their fingertip) and a zhat (a large well-turned cup). The past two nights they had played beazhat to determine which of them would get to sleep on the cot, and Burfohn had narrowly lost each time. He rarely lost at Beazhat - he suspected Opumohn of cheating (which was impossible) - and he was determined to avenge himself tonight; but then Kunahr had come in with Nuhzunpa's instructions, and he was frustrated.
The rules of beazhat were simple. One player would set the zhat to wobbling on the table, and toss a bea into it so that it rolled around and around. A different player would take another bea and and attempt to drop it into the rocking zhat in such a way that it would roll down the side, across the rounded bottom, and pop up again and out the other side, where the same player would catch it in mid-air. It was not easy. If the zhat stopped wobbling, if the beas would collide inside the zhat, if the dropped bea did not come up out of the zhat again, or if the player failed to catch it when it did, the turn was forfeited and the other player had a chance. If the bea was caught, the player was awarded a kosh and another try. Play would continue up to a previously set goal, the first player to reach it winning.
Burfohn and Opumohn were skilful beazhaters, and their games were lengthy. One hand was the usual goal set among the Laizuvrians, but Burfohn and Opumohn played to both hands-and-feet. They had played against each other their entire lives; they both remembered each other's first kosh. Admiring crowds would gather to watch them compete back in Todymody, and the members of the camp did the same.
But not, Burfohn sighed, tonight. The crew settled onto the cots and shoam-mats. Nuzhunpa's word was law, and there was no further grumbling, because Nuzhunpa did nothing without cause.
Zholybet lay awake for a while, troubled, but then even she fell asleep.
It was the middle of the night when Nuzhunpa rushed into the hut.
"Make haste!" he was shouting, shaking the sleeping Laizuvrians. "The shoam is burning! Hurry, there is much to do!" Satisfied that this hut was roused, he hobbled out with surprising speed to the next.
He licked the roof of his mouth again on his way from hut to hut. Dacoar, there was no doubt of it: smoke! He was puzzled; he had seen no lightning, heard no thunder - but yet, something was burning out on the plain, and that meant that soon (if it was not already so) everything would be burning.
Those he had awakened first were somewhat peevishly waiting for him at the edge of the camp when he returned there.
"There is no fire, Nuzhunpa!" declared Anyogatoh irritably. "Why did you wake us?"
"I can't see it yet, but I smell it," Nuzhunpa explained, guaging the strength of the wind with a finger. "I hope we may have time to prepare for it. Prepare, yourselves, numpas and ums; we have a long night ahead of us!"
They set to work at once clearing a fire-brake at the direction of Nuzhunpa, who paced among them testing the wind and sniffing the air. It was slow work. If only they had brought some of their harvesting tools from the shoz around Todymody, what a difference it would have made! but as it was, they had to do everything by hand. The shoam was not hard to knock down, it was so brittle; but it was thick, and bulky, and they had to carry it out of the path of the wind so it would not blow into the huts.
As the night wore on Nuzhunpa's nervousness increased. The wind was steadily picking up, and he thought he could see the glow of the wildfire reflected on the bottom of the clouds in the distance. He pointed this out to his workers; some agreed, some weren't sure, but still he urged them on. Then, finally, they heard the distant rumble of thunder.
Opumohn paused to catch his breath, wheezing in that peculiar throaty way he had when he was tired. His arms and legs were dirty and scratched from the shoam-stalks, and his back ached from the constant bending (and a hand and two days of vaisoh towing before that). He turned into the breeze to cool his face, and gasped in alarm.
"Fire!"
The entire horizon was a bright, narrow band of flames, and it was obvious even from this great distance that it was advancing very fast. Nuzhunpa closed his eyes and clenched his fists for a moment, as if calling up some deep reserve of determination, and began barking out instructions to the others in a rapid staccato:
"Don't carry any more shoam, we don't have time! Throw it over there! Fo, over further. Dacoar!
"You - who is it? Anyogatoh, get Burfohn and Feeshare and clear away more over there, by that hut. The wind is blowing. Hurry!
"Rokay, Zholybet, Opumohn - run to the Luhvluhv and jump in. I am not joking! Get yourselves soaking wet and come back here right away. Go!
"Kunahr, where is your brother? Oh. Go into the hut and take the wraps to the river. We need all the rabazhwahs we can find. Runahr, run over there and tell those others to wet themselves, too, and you go with them."
Nuzhunpa walked as fast as he could to the hut nearest the shoz, where Anyogatoh and the others had hastily pulled down a large pile of shoam.
"That will have to be enough. Get it out of here - fo! that way, carry it down to the Luhvluhv and throw it in the water, it won't burn there - and throw yourselves in after it! Then get a rabazhwah from Kunahr and meet at the closest fire. It will be upon us in a moment! Now go!"
He hobbled down to the river himself, on the way passing the others (who were returning) and telling them where to meet him. He waded out, splashing himself as he went. By the time he made it back to the group an awesome spectacle confronted them.
The black plain had become a roaring expanse of fire. The tinder-dry shoam-stalks went up in a flash, and the wall of flame raced to meet them. Here and there the wind had blown burning ashes ahead of the main onslaught, and bright patches had erupted in front of the advancing wall, only to be swallowed up again soon. The bitter smoke was already blinding and choking them where they stood at the edge of the camp. The wind was hot in their faces.
It was these advance attacks borne on the wind that Nuzhunpa feared most, and he instructed his party not to bother trying to stem the flow of the wall, but to watch for and stamp out any flying fire.
"We cannot hope to stop the blaze. It is everywhere. The firebrake we have managed to cut should keep the main fire from the camp, but we must stop the flying ash. Keep your eyes to the wind, and keep your mouths covered!"
No sooner had he got these words out than they were swallowed by the wildfire. As if on cue from some malicious spirit a mass of blazing ashes scattered across the compound, and the Laizuvrians scrambled to chase them down. The heat was unrelenting and overpowering, and the noise of the conflagration made it impossible to hear voices. Everything was upside down: the ground was hot and bright and the sky cold and dark.
It was a nightmare. It seemed to Zholybet that no sooner had she smothered one blaze than two others sprang up to replace it, and she was getting tired, harried, singed, and worried. The fire showed no signs of letting up.
Opumohn succombed to the smoke early. It was impossible for him to breathe, and that, coupled with the searing heat, conspired to drive him to his knees, and then to unconsciousness. Rokay anxiously dragged him to an already burned-out patch and covered him with a rabazhwah; he could do no more for him just then.
The last minute fire-brake cut around the furthest hut had not been enough. Rokay saw the roof of it ablaze at the corner nearest the shoz, and he ran with his rabazhwah to try to slap it out. Many of the others saw it, too; but by the time they reached the hut, the thatch had lit, and the entire roof was engulfed. They stood and watched it in fascination, seeming to forget everything else, until Nuzhunpa ran up to them, screaming to make himself heard.
"Leave it! Let it burn, we can't stop it now. Look after the other huts! The thatch will blow easily - worse than the shoam! Look after the other huts!" He pushed them off in all directions, toward other parts of the camp.
Nuzhunpa was exhausted. The activity and the lack of sleep were almost too much for him at his age, and he was beginning to despair of saving the camp. Just when the fields had begun to burn themselves out, and the sky was beginning to lighten with the early dawn, the hut had caught fire, and he very much feared that the ashes would fly over their heads to the other huts and there would be nothing they could do about it. Looking back across the camp, he saw that the plucky group had stationed themselves so as best to observe any blowing fire, which meant that they necessarily had the huts between them and the river. They could protect the huts this way, but Nuzhunpa realized suddenly that they could not see the blaorzh vaisohs.
He ran around the corner of the burning hut, and was badly frightened at what he saw. A strip of fire had made its way along the riverbank around the camp, and ash was flying past the vaisohs! This could be disasterous! The huts were a convenience to them, but the burning of the blaorzh for the trockzelay would be ruinous.
"To the vaisohs!" he cried, wildly waving to the others as he ran. "Everyone, to the vaisohs!"
Fires were already at the stakes when they ran up, but they were in time to save the moorings. Zholybet ran right through some flames into the river, and began splashing water onto the wrap. Burfohn came up with his zhat, and soon had another vaisoh dampened and safe, and with the whole party gathering on the bank they quickly put the blaorzh out of danger.
But even as they were congratulating themselves on this accomplishment, they realized that they had abandoned the rest of the camp, and they looked on with horror as first one, then another, thatched roof took fire. Burfohn vainly ran to a blaze with his zhat full of water, but the others stood despondant, defeated, exhausted.
Suddenly, inexplicably, unexpectedly, Nuzhunpa, slumping sullenly on the river bank facing the vaisohs, began to laugh. The younger Laizuvrians wondered whether he had lost his mind, pushed too far to recover. Zholybet herself doubted her prahnum's sanity just then. There certainly was nothing to laugh about.
But Nuzhunpa's laugh was not one of despair, or madness. It was the laughter of relief. He pointed out to the river, and then the others saw what he had just seen in the early morning light: myriad rings of ripples on the water.
It was raining.
They ran now with rejuvenated spirits to help Burfohn with the fires, and with the aid of the weather they soon had controlled the last of the blazes. A final inspection of the camp satisfied Nuzhunpa that the fires were indeed put out, and with joy in his voice he declared the emergency over, and that they should all get out of the rain and rest.
It was a tired and dirty but exuberant group that sat together in the hut taking stock of their bruises and burns, and talking all at once of their exploits during the night. They all sang the praises of the rain, swearing they would never again complain of it, and Anyogatoh and Feeshare actually went out in it again, rinsing themselves off and justly appreciating the cool wetness of it after their firy night. Burfohn slumped onto a bench, gingerly inspecting his singed feet and legs. Runahr collapsed onto a cot and almost immediately fell asleep. Zholybet, ever industrious, was laying the rabazhwahs out over benches and tables to dry.
Nuzhunpa straggled in, dripping, but smiling. He had come from the other hut, and everyone seemed to have come through the ordeal relatively unscathed. He looked around the hut, laughing at the already snoring Renahr, and smiling at his incorrigibly busy daughter. But when his eyes lit on the zhat sitting on the table before Burfohn, a troubling thought came to him, and he counted heads.
"Burfohn!" he called with concern in his voice. "Where is Opumohn?"
No one knew where Opumohn was. In all the confusion and celebration they had forgotten Opumohn, and Nuzhunpa rushed out into the rain to ask the others.
Rokay was very upset with himself when Nuzhunpa asked his hut-group about the missing um, and he told what had happened to an anxious and quiet audience. He was the first out the door when they went to search the plain, but Burfohn and Zholybet had started from their hut even before, and were searching aimlessly in the wrong direction.
"That way!" Rokay called over to them, as he, with Nuzhunpa struggling to keep up, ran toward the shoz where he had covered Opumohn with the rabazhwah.
Burfohn scanned the muddy ground in the direction Rokay was pointing, and saw a motionless lump far out into the plain. "There he is," he said to Zholybet. "Come on!"
Rokay went straight up to where he had left the unconscious um, and knelt beside the still rabazhwah. Nuzhunpa could see the fear in Rokay's eyes when he approached, and he indicated for him to remove the wrap.
Opumohn was unconscious, but breathing.
By now quite far out into the sticky plain, Burfohn and Zholybet were intent on reaching the lump they had seen, and were almost up to it when they heard Nuzhunpa shout to them to come back. They could see Rokay picking up Opumohn's limp body, and Burfohn at once began to run back to the edge of the camp. Zholybet was curious as to what it was that they had seen, though, and she reasoned that Opumohn had all the help he needed and that she might as well investigate. As she neared it through the now stinging rain she could see that it was not a wild beast of some kind, which she had suspected on realizing it could not be Opumohn, and that it was breathing. She carefully looked it over with mingled fear and curiousity. Dacoar, it was alive; barely alive, perhaps; burned, scratched, and covered with mud and huge ugly sores, but alive. She gently grasped its shoulder and turned it over onto its back, holding her breath.
Its eyes were open, but rolled all the way up in its head. She shuddered as she realized what it was.
"A Zhonoy!"
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