Island of Fire (The Age of Bronze) (39 page)

But the southern
wánaks
was as adamant, and as unreasonable, as Érinu on the matter. The native tribesmen of the northern land were only too happy to take up arms and enforce the decree of the two rulers. Words flew, followed quickly by kicks and fists, and, in the end, by shining bronze. Only with difficulty did the kings’ loyal warriors halt the fighting. Having mysteriously grown more numerous than those who thirsted for war, the warriors on the side of this peculiar peace surrounded their erstwhile opponents and disarmed those who still valued their lives. With bitter curses on every side, the travelers gathered what supplies they could for their unexpectedly quick departure. From Érinu’s plentiful stores, the essential provisions were quickly collected, goatskin bags of river water, sacks of roasted barley, and a few additional sacks of dried mutton and venison. The refugees, their numbers thus swollen to seven ships, headed west without delay. With many prayers, they prepared themselves for a race with the coming of the storm god.

Orésta presented the travelers with several jars containing dried figs and dates and a single amphora of wine. It was all that he could spare, he told them. He did consent to sacrifice a ram to the god of the sea, on their behalf, in addition. “Poseidáon prefers horses,” the
wánaks
admitted. “But those are in short supply. Offer up the first colt you come across in your travels. The god will understand, I am sure. Besides, there is nearly half the autumn left before the season of storms arrives in full force. Even then, chances are the drought will continue as it has the past several years. It could easily be months before any significant rains come, if they do at all. You should have plenty of time to reach your new home, wherever you decide to settle.”

Turning their prows toward the west, the refugees made for the open sea beyond P’ayáki’s large bay. The skies were clear above them and the waves of the sea made no threatening movements on that first day. But, whether they slowly rowed their vessels, or whether the great square sail filled with wind and carried them more swiftly onward, they continually turned their eyes anxiously from horizon to horizon. On every stern platform, one man steered while another sat at his feet with his hands uplifted in constant supplication to the gods of sea and sky.

Beside Diwoméde, St’énelo predicted with fatalistic resignation, “Poseidáon will not let us off as easily as that. And who can predict whether the lands en route will offer us safe harbors?
Owái
, I have a bad feeling about this.”

At the end of the first day’s journey, the travelers’ seven ships camped on the well-watered shore of the unfamiliar
Ítalo
Sea. By the campfires that night, questions were many and filled with anxiety. “Why did we head north after we left the bay?” Qérayan demanded of Ainyáh. “You said that the Island of Fire was close to Libúwa. That is south of the Great Green Sea. Even I know that! Where are you taking us? Beyond the North Wind?”

“My father knows what he is doing!” Askán shot back, angered by the hostility in the young islander’s voice. “He has been to the Bull Country and you have not! You have no right to question him.”

“I know where Libúwa is, Qérayan,” Ainyáh snapped, testy himself. “It is close to Fire Island, just as I said. We headed north for a different reason. This is not the Inner Sea to the west of us. These waters are hostile to strangers and always have been. Just the same, we must cross them. I am taking us to the shortest possible crossing. Even from there, it will mean sailing through the night to reach landfall.”

A horrified silence met this explanation. Fear turned to terror as Odushéyu solemnly confirmed the Kanaqániyan’s description. “I know that some of you do not trust me,” the former king admitted, with unusual humility. “It is true that I have told a false story or two, from time to time, but that is in the past. You must understand that I come from It’áka, a small island without wealth or prestige. Everyone remembers the great
wánaks
, Agamémnon, because he was the leader of the largest and wealthiest land in all of Ak’áiwiya. But he did not gain that status through his own cleverness or through glory in personal combat. He was born to that position, just as I was born to poverty in It’áka.”

“
Ai gar
, what is your point, pirate?” T’érsite demanded. “Do you expect us to make you our leader out of pity?” He laughed at the idea. “It will take more than a confession of guilt and a complaint of a little hardship to convince me to replace Ainyáh with the likes of you!”

“We Ak’áyans do need one of our own as a leader,” Qérayan responded argumentatively. “My father knows the way to the Bull Country and to Libúwa just as well as anyone else. Besides that, he is not only an Ak’áyan, he is a
wánaks
! I say we should make him the leader of the Ak’áyans, at least. The Assúwans can follow Ainyáh wherever they want, but we should follow Odushéyu.”

There was a long silence and then Tushrátta began to chuckle. “Peirít’owo, are you asleep? Is this not where you always stand up, throw out your skinny chest, and claim that you, too, are a
wánaks
? You are going to demand the leadership post, too, are you not? Where are you, boy? Someone, wake up our young calf. He will not want to miss such a good opportunity for shouting.”

But Peirít’owo was not sleeping. He was sitting right beside the Lúkiyan, smoothing his thin mustache, thinking the matter over deeply. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, without its usual passion. “I have had my quarrels with Odushéyu. We all have. But there is one thing I know. Pirate or not, liar or story-teller, Odushéyu is most certainly the best mariner in all of Ak’áiwiya, by far. My own father told me that, many times, much as he hated to admit it. I agree that an Ak’áyan should lead us, too. After all, we Ak’áyans outnumber you Assúwans now, two to one, at least. So it is only right. I say this with all due respect to Ainyáh, as I have followed him around the Great Green Sea for several years now. It is true, Tushrátta, I could take the role of leader, myself, if we were going to the east, where I have been before. But I have never sailed to these western lands, so I can hardly guide us there, can I? And before you start yelling about your father, Askán, take a look at him, a good, long look. Ainyáh is sick and has been for some time now. He looks ten years older than when we first started our search for a new home. He will soon be as thin as St’énelo, unless the goddess takes a sudden interest in him. Half the time, he does not even answer when a person asks him a direct question. He either cannot hear properly anymore, or his mind is chasing some
mainád
. Neither is a good quality in a leader.”

Tushrátta spat. “I do not recall choosing to go west,” he grumbled quietly. But he did not argue any further with Peirít’owo. He knew Ainyáh’s failings all too well. When Askán stood, opening his mouth to respond, the Lúkiyan pulled him back to his seat with a rough hand, as well. “Leave it alone, boy. If your father cannot fight this battle for himself, he is not fit to lead us any longer.”

The eyes of each man and boy turned to Ainyáh, waiting expectantly. For a tense moment, the Kanaqániyan did not move, as if to lend silent support to Peirít’owo’s contentions. Finally, with a low moan, he dragged himself wearily to his feet. When he stood, it was lop-sidedly, giving to the left, as if his foot or leg pained him. He limped when he came to take the speaker’s staff from the younger man. Looking around at the quiet assembly, the graying leader spoke, his words coming slowly and indistinctly. “On Fire Island, so they say, there are gods inside the mountains. Day and night, they bring together the elements and cast them into their eternal flames. From these fires, they create copper, lead, and tin. They make silver and gold, too, all the noble metals that men prize.” He stopped for a little while, panting, as if he had run a long way. “The island’s name comes from the work of these gods. You can see the smoke of their divine fires on the mountain peaks when you come near the place. It is the first thing you see.” His voice had trailed off to a whisper. The speaker fell silent again, closing his darkly circled eyes, the color draining from his face. He swayed on his feet. The men glanced around at one another, feeling disheartened at the Kanaqániyan’s words. Did he know what was at stake? Did he even understand that his leadership was questioned? Or was he simply telling them another sailor’s lie, a pretty story, his mind wandering aimlessly.

Just as Odushéyu was about to break in, Ainyáh’s eyes opened and he spoke again, still more slowly than before. “There is a divine metal worker in Libúwa. He is a strange being, with the body of a dwarf, a child who never grows although he lives long enough to become a man, but he has the head of a
dáimon
. Bása is his name and he has power over all metals, it is said. It is his divine children who work the perpetual fires in the heart of Fire Island. There, he casts the noble metals and works the rarest and most noble of them all, Black Bronze.”

“
Avái
, we have heard more than enough sea stories,” Tushrátta growled. But Peirít’owo silenced him with a threatening gesture, running his hand across his throat.

“That is the hardest of all metals,” Ainyáh continued, his voice slurred and heavy, although he had touched neither wine nor the essence of the poppy in several days. “The Black Bronze is so difficult to work that an object crafted from it is worth twice its weight in gold! It is the one metal that cannot be melted. Even heated in the hottest of fires, it only glows red and then white, but remains strong. Never does it turn to liquid, as do copper and tin, lead and silver, even gold. It must be beaten into submission, pounded with great hammers for a day and a night, before it will yield even to the will of the gods. The dwarf god, Bása, pounds the Black Bronze in the mountains of Fire Island and now he is pounding in my head. My soul was cast in bronze at my birth, by my mother’s magic. For this reason, I was never harmed on the field of battle. No bronze weapon could ever kill me. But now, the little god of Black Bronze is beating me, night and day, day and night, pounding, pounding, pounding,
ayá!
He never rests, never gives me a moment’s peace…” His voice trailed away completely this time, his chest heaving from the effort of speaking.

Ilishabát left the cluster of women that had been sitting outside the group of men. With regal composure, she strode to Ainyáh’s side and guided him to the women’s circle. She had him sit and urged him to take a little nourishment. But he turned his head away when offered a sack of watered wine. He put his arm up to push away a little dried fish that she offered, too. When the offending items were taken away, he let his left arm drop limply into his lap again.
“Ayá,”
he moaned weakly. “Bása is driving a sharp blade all down my right arm. Give me relief from this pain and I will eat for you.” His voice was reedy and his breath came in shallow gasps. Sweat beaded on his brow despite the coolness of the night air. But he did not want to lie down, either. The
lámiya
, he claimed, the dreaded demoness named Lilít, would come and sit on his chest. She would keep him from breathing at all, if he laid flat.

Odushéyu quickly stepped into the vacancy left by the sick man. “Every man here must be aware of the dangers ahead of us,” he announced, striking the ground with the butt of the speaker’s staff. “We must cross the sea to the west, then sail down a shore peopled by strangers. Now, for those of you who do not know her, our Dáuniya is Italian. She has kinsmen living among the tribes on this shore. That is certainly a positive fact for us. But, her home is a long distance from our first landing. Besides that uncertainty, the season is late for sailing. Storms will be a possibility every day we spend on the water. Pirates are another real danger. These wild men could be Ak’áyans, Italians, or Libúwans, out here, or a combination of all three. There could be a great deal of fighting ahead of us. The situation demands a strong leader. Talk among yourselves and then we must have a vote. I admit to having faults. But, as Peirít’owo said, I am an excellent mariner, a clever trader, if I was not always the wisest husband, and I am brave in battle. Ask those who knew me at Tróya, if you doubt that description. If there is another here who possesses these same qualifications, let him speak now, so that the men will have choice for leader.” He waved his arm over the group, inviting someone, anyone to step forward.

Several looked expectantly to Diwoméde, but he ignored them, alternately feeding and amusing little Flóra so that Dáuniya could eat her supper. T’érsite and Tushrátta both uttered curses under their breath at his attitude, as they both knew they could not gather followers enough to oppose the It’ákan. “I hope he knows what he is doing,” the low-born Argive muttered to the Lúkiyan. Tushrátta shrugged, unhappy but unable to do anything about it.

“Very well then,” Odushéyu went on, his face beaming, although he carefully avoided smiling, and his step more buoyant than before. “We will vote. All those who would elect me your leader, raise your hands and voices.” A chorus of cries followed along with a forest of upraised hands. “So be it!” the It’ákan cried triumphantly. “Onward to a new Ak’áiwiya and a better one, for this land will have no uncivilized, feather-heads, no
P’ilístas
to contend with this time. It will be a new
Zeyugeláya
!”