Page 143 of Circle of Days
“The gods demand a balance,” he said. “For a fire, there must be flame; and for a death, there will be killing.” Then he ran after the others.
She watched them leave the circle and charge along the path that led to Riverbend. What were they planning to do in the village? Whatever it was, they would meet more resistance there than they had at the Monument.
She had no way to warn the people in Riverbend. She could not run faster than woodlanders, so she could not overtake them and warn her family, and there was no means of giving the alarm at a distance.
Instead she knelt by the two priestesses on the ground. But her first instinct had been right: neither was breathing. Their heads had been smashed with clubs.
Struggling not to cry, she looked at the burning Monument. She took off her tunic and tried to fight the fire with it. She wrapped the leather around a burning post and succeeded indousing the flames, then moved to the next post; but a moment later both posts collapsed, and the crossbar—also burning—fell to the ground.
There were seventy-five pieces of timber in the Monument—she was one of the few people who could count that high—and she realized that on her own she could do nothing to prevent the whole thing burning down.
She sat on the ground and cried.
A woman Seft had met for the first time that afternoon was on top of him, kissing him, while his hands explored two other people, a man and a woman, one on each side of him. Then he began to hear shouts and screams that were not sounds of delight. He fell still. The woman on top of him said: “What’s the matter?” then she heard it, too, and said: “It sounds like a fight.”
It was a fight. Seft scrambled out from under her and got to his feet. He saw a barefoot woodlander coming toward him at top speed, club raised. He moved without thinking: he dodged the man, then tripped him, causing him to fall flat, then grabbed the club out of his hands. The man got to his knees but, before he could stand, Seft brought the club down hard on his head. The man fell on his face and lay still. For two or three moments Seft had acted mechanically, without emotion, but now he was filled with rage, and he hit the man again, three times, until his head was a pulp and he was undoubtedly dead.
He looked around, suddenly alert and fearful. In the light ofthe fires he saw that the man who had run at him had not been alone. A small army of woodlanders was attacking, using clubs and flint knives. He thought of his three children, fast asleep at home, and knew that he should go to them even before he searched for Neen.
He broke into a run, swerving around pairs and groups of fighting people, desperate to reach his children; but someone came at him from behind, catching him by surprise. He was hit on his head and fell on his front.
As soon as he landed he rolled, in fear of his life, knowing the man would strike him again, as mercilessly as Seft himself had struck moments ago, and he looked up to see a woodlander raising a stone hammer.
Then the woodlander was in turn hit from behind. A hand holding a stone came down on the back of the man’s head, and he staggered.
Seft jumped to his feet, still determinedly holding the club. He saw that the person who had saved him was Neen, and he felt a jolt of elation, seeing that she was unharmed. But the fight was not over yet. The woodlander spun round and raised his hammer to hit Neen. Seft swung his club to hit him in the side exposed by the raised arm, and the overwhelming impulse to protect Neen gave him supernatural strength. He connected with the woodlander’s right shoulder, and the man dropped the hammer and staggered sideways. Neen hit the woodlander’s head with her stone, and Seft hit him with his club, and the man fell.
Seft was filled with savage fury and would have beaten thefallen man to death, but Neen said: “The children,” and they ran together, not waiting to find out whether their attacker was dead or alive.
They raced through the village to their house. They went inside and found all three children sleeping. Tears of relief ran down Seft’s face into his beard.
He bent over the children, staring hard at each in turn, looking at their peaceful faces. It seemed strange that they could sleep through a battle, but perhaps a few shouts in the night were not so unusual. In any case, the noise was dying down.
Seft looked outside. There were bodies of woodlanders and herders on the ground, but the only living people he saw were herders. Those woodlanders who were not dead must have retreated, he deduced. Wounded herders were being helped by those who had escaped injury.
It seemed the woodlanders had not stolen anything. Clearly robbery was not the purpose of the raid. So it must have been revenge. After what had been done to them, it was hardly surprising.
Cruelty begets cruelty, Seft thought, and violence begets violence.
The elders met in the morning, as the smoke of cremation formed a dark cloud over Riverbend. Everyone was still shocked. Nothing like this had ever happened to them. Even Scagga, always spoiling for a fight, seemed shaken.
However, he took his usual belligerent attitude, albeit with atremor in his voice. “We have to make sure these savages can never do anything like this again.”
Ani said: “Best way to do that would be not to burn woods again.”
Scagga shook his head. “We can’t allow these people to live.”
She said angrily: “Do you really not know that what happened last night was your fault?”
“Don’t you dare say that, you stupid bitch.”
Keff intervened. “No more of that talk, please, both of you. Concentrate on what we need to do now.”
Scagga said: “All of Bez’s tribe must be killed. It’s the only way for us to be safe.”
Ani said: “There may not be many left to be killed. The farmers murdered all the children and the old. We know that a certain number have simply left the tribe. And a lot were killed last night.”
“I don’t care!” said Scagga. “If there are two left, we must kill them. Or one!”
