The ultimate object was to cement the people of the Labrys and the people of the Axe into one. That was certainly going to happen: Jutland would come into history as a nation, and even beyond Lockridge’s century remain identifiably itself. Likewise for many another region. The question was, would the Indo-European incursion which the Rangers had launched to destroy the old culture do so here, or would so much of the megalith builder survive, however disguised, that the Wardens could secretly but securely draw upon the Bronze Age North? Reports from the next millennium indicated the latter might well be the case, that the Rangers’ move was to recoil upon them in this part of the world.
But the founding of those kingdoms must be slow, both for lack of agents and because the event must look natural. (Must in fact be natural; a jerry-built empire like Alexander’s or Tamerlane’s was too short-lived to be of much value.) The first step was to bring the villagers around the Limfjord into a union more close and demanding than they had known before. For that, Storm had the awe of her own presence, and her Yuthoaz allies wherever force was necessary. At the same time, she had to league herself with the inland tribes, both aboriginal and newcomer. She sent Lockridge on the first such mission.
He would have preferred to go on horseback. But these shaggy, long-headed ponies had never been ridden, and it would take too long to break one. He walked. When they neared a settlement, he and Withucar got onto their chariots, set their teeth against the jouncing, and arrived in what this era took for dignity.
On the whole, though—even after what followed—Lockridge admitted he’d seldom had more fun. His pet recreation had always been to backpack into some wilderness area; now he could do it with Withucar’s liege men to carry the load. When they reached people, they were hospitably received, and he was fascinated to observe details that weren’t recorded in his diaglossa. (Which, gradually, he was ceasing to need, as repeated usage imprinted speech and customs on his natural memory.) In Battle Axe camps, rough ceremony was followed feasting. The ancient agricultural villages were a little wary at first: not scared, however, for they hadn’t had many clashes with the immigrants, the land being wide and thinly settled. They would begin with elaborate rituals. But they were apt to end with a celebration that would have raised twentieth-century eyebrows.
The message Lockridge bore was simple. The veritable Goddess had established Herself in Avildaro. She was not, as some had said, the enemy of Sun and Fire; rather, She was Mother, Wife, and Daughter to the male gods. The Powers desired Their children to be united as They Themselves were. To that end, the first of a series of councils would be held at Avildaro this midwinter, to discuss ways and means. All headmen were invited. Lockridge didn’t add, “Or else.” That would have been both antagonizing and unnecessary.
Some of what he saw and heard repelled him. But we’ll fix that, he promised himself. Mostly, he enjoyed the people. He couldn’t even call them less sophisticated than his own. Albeit tenuously, they had broad contacts: in the case of the Battle Axe tribes, as far as southern Russia. Their politics were almost as complicated as the twentieth century’s, on a smaller scale, and untainted by ideology; their mores were a good deal subtler; if ignorant of physics, historiography, or that pseudo-science called economics, they were wise in the ways of earth, sky, and humankind.
His route took him by a holy hill which would become Viborg, over country more fertile than what he had seen in the future; north to the surf and wide strands of the Skaw; southward again along the Limfjord. A small beginning. Yet he needed almost a month. The heaths were blossoming in purple and gold, sunrise saw hoarfrost and the leaves had begun to turn colour, before he reached Avildaro again.
That was on a day when the wind came brawling off the western sea, light and cloud shadow raced each other across the world, waves marched on the bay and on the puddles from last night’s rain. The forest tossed and shouted; stubblefields lay yellow and the meadow grass had become hay. A flight of storks went under the sun, Egypt bound. The air was chill, with smells of salt, smoke, and horses.
Lockridge’s party had been seen from afar. He rode through the Yutho encampment among lusty cheers, onto the no man’s land between it and the village. No Tenil Orugaray were out to welcome him.
Except Auri. She came on jubilant feet, calling to him over and over. He made his driver stop, swept her up and hugged her. “Yes, little one, I am fine, we had no trouble, of course I am glad to see you but I do have to tell the Goddess my story first—” He would have liked to give her a lift, but the chariot scarcely had room. She danced beside the wheels the whole way.
At the Long House, trouble touched her. “I will abide in my home, Lynx,” she said, and hastened off.
Withucar stared after her and scratched his beard. “A good bit of flesh, yon,” he said. “How is she with a man?”
“She’s a maiden,” Lockridge answered curtly.
“Eh?” Dismounting, the Yutho gaped. “Can’t be. Not among the Sea People.”
Lockridge explained what had happened.
“We-e-ell,” the chief murmured. “Well, well. But surely you’re not afraid of her?”
“No. I’m too busy.” Lockridge snapped his mouth shut.
“Ah, yes.” Withucar signed himself, though he also grinned. “You are favoured of the Goddess.” That was no longer cause for undue reverence, after he and the American had tramped the hills, hallooed after deer, cursed rain and unstartable camp-fires, and faced possible death together. “This Auri,” he said. “I’ve liked her looks erenow, but took without thought that she was yours. She does nuzzle up to you every chance.”
“We’re friends,” Lockridge said with rising irritation. “Were she a man, we would be oath-brothers. Any hurt done her is done me, and I’ll take revenge.”
“Oh, yes, yes. Still, you’d not wish her left single forever, would you?”
Lockridge could only shake his head.
And she is the inheritor of the old headman here; and you say the curse is off her—hm.”
Well, Lockridge thought with an odd sinking, that may turn out the best answer to her problem.
He couldn’t keep her long in mind, though. Storm waited.
In the presence of Hu and Withucar, she greeted him formally, and seemed only half to listen to his report. He was soon dismissed. However, she had given him a smile and said an English word: “Tonight.”
After that, and the easy comradeship of his past weeks, he didn’t want to spend the day among the Tenil Orugaray. They had changed from the merry folk he knew before, into a bewildered and sullen occupied country. A gap had opened between him and them; he was Her agent, and She had chosen to reveal some of Her more terrible aspects. He could have visited the Yuthoaz . . . but no, he would see their slaves. Auri? Well, that had become a rather difficult relationship. He hiked off alone. The sacred pool on the forest edge probably wasn’t too cold for him to wash off his journey’s grime.
He should have been happy. But something had gone sour. He chewed it over as the miles went past. Surely the peaceful unification of the two races was a good goal. And the Battle Axe men weren’t bad by nature; just sort of overbearing. Like untrained boys. That was it. They needed the fear of the Lord thrown into them. Specifically, they needed a respect for the humanity of the aborigines. At present, they were merely adding the Moon Goddess to their pantheon, with nothing except Her command to keep them from making booty of the Sea People. And no entire culture had ever respected another which gave no good account of itself in battle.
Progress, Lockridge thought sadly. Will man be any different, four thousand years from now? We white Americans may have robbed the Indian, but because he fought back, we’re proud of any Indian blood we may have. The Negro we plain despised, till my very own decades, when at last he stood up and slugged it out for his rights.