Chapter 3: Phylomon’s Message
A week later, a dozen miles from Sanctum, they pushed their wagon over a mosquito-ridden bog into a grassy field. Scandal raised a shout. At the far end of the field, near a stand of spruce, a herd of woolly mammoths grazed by a pool. They were tended by four Hukm that had begun shedding their brown summer fur for coats of winter white.
Tull and the others pushed their wagon forward with such eagerness that soon the whole party moved at a run. The Hukm spotted them and casually walked into the trees, then returned from the shadows carrying war clubs.
They appeared to be a small family—a large female, her husband, two boys. Yet the Hukm boys were taller than Phylomon. Unlike humans and Pwi, who wear clothing out of a sense of modesty, the Hukm wore clothing only for decoration. Each was adorned with haphazard collection of bandoleers, armbands made of bark, or belts. They wore ornaments made of colored shells and agates in their ears and noses.
“Wait!” Phylomon shouted in an attempt to slow the others. “They’re afraid of us. They have been at war with the Craal for eight hundred years. They don’t like us any better than others of our ilk. Just because we want them to loan us a mammoth, doesn’t mean they will. Let me speak to them.”
The party stopped, and Phylomon waved his left hand in the air as a sign that he wanted to speak. The big female that led the group motioned him forward. They stood for nearly half an hour. Phylomon spoke in finger talk, and the big female answered him in kind, occasionally grunting or barking for emphasis. Phylomon finally returned.
“They’ve agreed to barter over dinner. The Hukm don’t use fire, so we won’t be able to cook. Don’t make any aggressive moves. Leave your weapons. And don’t smile or show your teeth. They’ll see it as a ‘baring of fangs.’ Don’t speak, even among yourselves. They might worry that you’re plotting against them. So keep silent. I’ll do the talking.”
The Hukm grabbed two logs and pulled them side by side. The four Hukm sat on one log, Tirilee and the humans and Pwi sat on the other.
The great female, who stood ten feet tall and measured four feet at the shoulders, walked forward and sniffed each member of the group. Her hair had been cut in the front, to keep it from falling in her eyes, and she wore only a dark red bandoleer of cedar bark. When she moved in close to smell him, Tull could see that the bandoleer was a pouch filled with small cured leaves.
Tull looked into her dark brown eyes, and inhaled. She smelled of open grasslands and mammoth hide, like something wild. She reached forward and touched his chest, very gently, with one finger. When she passed on to Wisteria, she lifted one of Wisteria’s breasts, then pointed at her own relatively small breast, as if to say, “I am a woman, too.” There was a look of respect in the Hukm’s eye. Only when she studied Wisteria, did she look at an equal.
The Hukm moved on. When she checked Tirilee, she failed to notice the Dryad’s budding breasts. She gestured to Phylomon, pointed out Wisteria, let her hand fall and her fingers waggle.
“She will barter for use of a mammoth only with you,” Phylomon said. “Since you are a woman, you will understand how she loves her mammoth children. She wants me to translate for you.”
“But,” Wisteria protested, “I don’t know what to say to these animals.”
“Try to see them as more than animals,” Phylomon answered. “The only thing we have that they would want are Scandal’s spices. We’ll use those to barter.”
“All right,” Wisteria said.
Scandal went to the wagon and brought out the spices. Compared to the size of a mammoth, the packets of black tea, vanilla beans, cinnamon, ginger, sage, cardamom, anise, and dried orange peel were tiny.
Yet when arrayed on the ground, the Hukm went wild. They fingered the tiny wooden boxes, recognizing their great worth, and the two young Hukm actually drooled. The Hukm quickly made an offer. They’d obligingly take the spices in return for a mammoth, provided that the two young Hukm escort the party the length and breadth of the entire journey.
Wisteria and Phylomon discussed the offer for a long time. Hukm were dangerous, and did not understand the ways of humans. Yet they would not let the mammoth go without an escort. Under his breath, Scandal whispered, “God! Not all of them! These spices are worth a fortune in steel eagles!”
Many of the spices had traveled two thousand miles by sea and could be bought only at great cost.
Wisteria countered the offer—one-quarter of the spices in return for a mammoth, and the haggling was on.
The Hukm came forward to sniff each spice, each of the teas. They savored the exotic aromas—rejected some and sorted others into piles. As the day wore on, hunger forced the Hukm to dip into their pouches for dried fruit.
Scandal went to the wagon and brought out dried apples, pears, and pickles to feed the party. After several hours, the dealing wore down. The party would pay nearly three-quarters of the spices for the mammoth, but Scandal was relieved to find that the Hukm rejected some of his most expensive herbs.
When the bartering was done, Tull stretched himself and crossed his legs. He sat for a moment, then looked over at one young Hukm. The boy was breathing heavily, and seemed to be glaring at Tull. Tull watched the youngster for a moment, then glanced at Wisteria and the others beside him. The young Hukm was obviously glaring at him. Tull uncrossed his legs. The Hukm stood and roared.
Tull smiled at the creature, and it charged. Tull remembered that he was not supposed to smile.
Tull jumped up, and the Hukm swung. Tull threw himself backward. The blow caught him in the chest and sent him flying twenty feet. When he hit ground, Tull was still trying to figure out if he could move as the Hukm jumped on him—six hundred pounds crashing onto his chest and belly. Tull heard ribs snap, saw the young Hukm’s mother struggle to pull him off. After all of the care I’ve taken to keep from injuring my feet, he wondered, how will I push the wagon with broken ribs? Although the mother smacked her lips together to make the sound Chup, Chup, the whole scene seemed strangely quiet.
Tull woke to creaking wagon wheels. The wagon bumped with a jounce; the motion knocked the air from his lungs. He looked up and could tell immediately that he was bedded in the great oak barrel where the women had convalesced. Tirilee sat beside him, holding his hand, and Wisteria slept at his side. He jerked his hand away from the Dryad, but she just watched him, as if mesmerized.
“Water,” he said.
“Tull is awake,” Tirilee shouted to the others, scrambling from the barrel. “I’ll get you some water,” she called over her back. The wagon kept moving, and Wisteria stirred, sat up on one elbow. “Are you all right, my love?”
“My chest feels tight,” Tull said.
“Phylomon wrapped it. You’ve got at least six broken ribs. You’ll have to stay down.”
Tirilee returned with a flask, said “Here,” and poured some water in his mouth.
“What happened?” Tull asked.
“You pointed the sole of your foot at a Hukm.” Tirilee said. “It’s one of about a thousand things you never do to a Hukm!”
“Phylomon’s very sorry,” Wisteria said. “He’s apologized a dozen times. He said he should have warned us before we met for the parley. The Hukm can’t speak much, so they waggle their tails, move their fingers, use gestures. Pointing your foot at a Hukm roughly means ‘you smell like dung.’ It didn’t help when you smiled at him afterward.”
Tull smelled the stink of woolly mammoth, heard the steady plod of its feet. The Hukm had obviously struck a bargain. He said, “I’ll try to remember that.”
Tirilee said in her high, chiming voice, “Phylomon has warned the Hukm not to get upset by our nasty habits. But still, you must remember to always go downwind from camp to relieve yourself, and make sure you go at least two hundred yards. They don’t like the smell. And don’t pee on bushes, since they might want to eat the leaves. Most of the things that offend them are so strange you’d never do them anyway. For instance, never bark like a fox behind their backs. But some things you might do by accident. For example, never point your little finger at the Hukm, don’t yell at their mammoths, and don’t wiggle your butt from side to side when you are standing still. And don’t wear anything red, since that is the color of war, and don’t kill any birds—since those are the messengers of heaven.”
“And don’t clench your fist and hold it over your head,” Wisteria said, “That’s another bad one, because they think you are trying to throw a curse.”
“And don’t spit in their direction,” Tirilee added.
“Or if you want to be nice to them,” Wisteria continued, “throw a handful of leaves to the wind at sunset to feed the spirits of their dead.”
“Or you can hold your hand open at sunset,” Tirilee said, “if you don’t have leaves to throw.” The girls looked at each other. “We’d better get Phylomon to go over the list again. I know there are a hundred more things he told us.”
“At least a hundred,” Wisteria said. “Still, Scandal thanks you. You saved some of his spices. The Hukm were embarrassed by the incident, so they settled for a better price.”
“We got our mammoth,” Tull said more in satisfaction than as a question. He did not need to worry so much about carrying his share of the load.
“We’ve got two,” Tirilee answered. “Short Tail—the Hukm who tried to kill you—he’s driving the wagon now. His brother, Born-in-Snow, has a mammoth up ahead clearing a trail. We’re going very fast. We’ll be in Sanctum tomorrow.”
Tull leaned his head back and smiled. Sanctum. It sounded like a good place to be.
***