«Blade, I did not understand why a warrior like you came through the Forest with only those weapons you had. Now I think I do understand. You did not need any others.» He reached out to grip Blade's arms and help him into the canoe. Blade accepted the help, sat down, coughed some of the Yellow River out of his lungs, then shook his head.
«I could not have killed the Horned One without the spears your men threw me-though one of them threw a little too well,» he added, rubbing the wound in his thigh. Fortunately it was so shallow the bleeding had almost stopped.
«You would not have lived to use the spear if you hadn't used your weapon first,» said Swebon flatly. «The Horned Ones are always dangerous, and this one more than most. If it was out at this time of the day, it is a rogue, very old and very wise. Only nine men of the Fak'si have ever killed a Horned One alone. None of these men killed a rogue, or one so large.»
Swebon put his hands on Blade's shoulders. «Blade, I do not know how you rank among the warriors of the English. But you will be great among the Fak'si of Four Springs village. Will you in return show us how to make and use your weapons?»
«Certainly.»
Swebon gave his orders briskly. The men of the sunken canoe were divided up among the other three. As many of the weapons and as much of the gear as possible was salvaged. Then the canoes started off again, the paddling chant softer this time. Within a few minutes the floating body of the Horned One was out of sight astern.
Chapter 5
Thanks largely to Blade, none of the Fak'si had so much as a scratch, even those who'd gone for an unexpected swim in the Yellow River. All of them wanted to get home, and none of them wanted to run the slightest risk of being caught out on the river by nightfall and more Horned Ones. So the paddlers settled down to their work, chanting steadily as their paddles bit into the water. The canoes shot downstream as if they'd been propelled by outboard motors.
By early afternoon the paddlers were saving all their breath for their work and the chanting stopped. Somehow the rhythm remained unbroken-a little slower, perhaps, but otherwise unchanged as far as Blade could tell. By now that rhythm must be in the muscles and nerves of every paddler, so deep they didn't need the chanting to keep to it.
When a man in their canoe started swaying drunkenly, Swebon took over his paddle. The next time a man began to sway, Blade offered to take his place, but the chief shook his head.
«There is no need for you to work-not today.» After a moment, Swebon added, «Also, you are not used to our canoes and our ways with them. You might slow us down, and that would not be good. My men will not be angry with one who has saved them from a Horned One. They will not be grateful, though, if you keep us from getting home tonight.»
«Very well,» said Blade, appreciating Swebon's tact. «But I admire your canoes and your ways with them. I would learn more of both.»
«In time you shall,» said Swebon. Then he turned back to his paddling.
About mid-afternoon the canoes swung around a last bend in the Yellow River and came out on a larger stream. Everyone was streaming with sweat, and several men were lying in the bottoms of the canoes, fighting for breath. Swebon called a temporary halt, and the canoes drifted on the slow current of the new river while everyone drank. When the water jugs were empty, they were filled with river water and poured over the exhausted men.
«Is this what you call the Great River?» Blade asked Swebon.
The chief laughed. «You have not seen the Great River, or you would not ask that. On the Great River you could barely see the far bank from here. We would never let the canoes drift, either. It would take them in its jaws and crunch them like a Horned One taking a man.
«No, this is only the River of the Fak'si.» He looked up at the sky, squinting to judge the sun's distance from the western horizon. «If our strength holds, we shall be home before nightfall.»
The current of the Fak'si River was slower than the Yellow's, so the paddlers had to work harder to maintain the same speed. In spite of this, the knowledge that they were getting close to home seemed to give the men the strength they needed. The canoes glided steadily onward. As the sun dipped below the treetops, they passed the mouth of a small stream and all the paddlers stopped to cheer.
«We are now within the Home Trees,» explained Swebon. «Nothing can keep us from reaching the village tonight, unless the river itself goes dry.»
The river flowed on, the paddles splashed steadily, and as darkness fell Blade saw a yellow glow on the right bank ahead. The canoes swung toward it, the paddlers shouted and were answered from the bank, and more torches flamed into life. As they did, Blade got a good look at a village of the Fak'si.
He knew at once that these people lived all their lives in constant danger from floods, and took great pains to protect themselves. At least half the houses of the village might more accurately be called houseboats. They were huts of leaves and grass tied over reed frames, resting on light platforms balanced across two or three large canoes. Long ropes tied the canoes at the bow and stern to the trunks or exposed roots of trees on the bank. The houseboats could rise and fall with the river-or if the Fak'si wished, they could be untied and paddled off down the river to some place entirely new.
On land some of the huts were actually perched in the trees, if they could be called «huts» at all. They were more like canopies of leaves, tied in place over platforms of logs. Rope ladders or wooden stairs led from the platforms to the ground, and women and children were scrambling down them to greet the returning hunters.
Other huts were raised high off the ground by complicated frames of logs and reeds. The frameworks also served as pens for the village livestock. Blade saw animals and birds scurrying around inside them. The only buildings at ground level Blade saw were simple tents of leaves or open stockades for more livestock. Everything meant to hold human beings could either rise with the river or stay completely out of its reach.
Swebon rose in the bow of the canoe and waved to the people on the bank. All of them, men, women, and children alike, waved back and a few shouted greetings. Swebon commanded them to silence and began telling the story of the hunting party's adventures. When he got to Blade's battle with the Horned One, he pointed at Blade and motioned the Englishman to his feet. Blade obeyed cautiously, realizing his legs were cramped from sitting all day. He didn't want to spoil Swebon's story by falling overboard in the middle of it!
Swebon finished his praise of Blade, and the people on the bank broke into wild cheering that drowned out the last few words of Swebon's story. There was nothing for the chief to do except stand, pointing at Blade and waiting for the din to subside. When it did, he signaled to the paddlers and the canoe glided forward until Swebon could leap from the bow onto the deck of one of the houseboats. Several old men threw ropes to the men in the canoes, and several more grabbed Blade by the arms and dragged him onto the houseboat. As his feet touched its deck, the cheering started again.
All day Blade had wondered if Swebon might be exaggerating the qualities of Blade's feat against the Horned One. The creatures were formidable, but the Fak'si weren't exactly weaklings. Also, Swebon was obviously a tactful man who wouldn't be above telling a few white lies to make a stranger feel welcome.
This cheering now suggested that Swebon had been telling the truth. Blade was a hero to the Fak'si. He grinned broadly at the cheers, but his feelings were mixed. Starting off as a hero wasn't entirely a blessing. It helped keep spears out of his back, as well as giving him more freedom of movement. On the other hand, it tended to make people expect a miracle from him every Thursday. When he couldn't produce the miracle, disappointment could spread and tempers grow short.