The Other's Mission

Matthew Wuertz

        

         It was late in the afternoon when the light-skinned man limped through the tall grass. He wore the traditional garb of Yirte men: a pelt around his loins and a leaf headscarf. A small pouch hung at his side, kept in place by a grass-weave strap that crossed his chest and disappeared over his shoulder.

         We watched him for a long time, but he couldn’t see my brother and me. “He’s an Other,” Baakir whispered.

         The man stopped about ten yards from us and brought a water skin to his mouth. With a horrible, throaty sound, he cast it aside. He sputtered words that I couldn’t understand, trailing into a moan.

         Baakir pushed his kisujino in front of his face. I stared at the bloodstained, jagged teeth that protruded along its wooden edge and suppressed a shudder. “He isn’t armed,” I said.

         “You don’t know that. Their weapons aren’t like ours. I’ve heard tales from Fahim about their long knives that shine like water and cut from either edge. The teeth are so small, they’re invisible.” My brother was seventeen, a full three years older than I, and he liked to bring up common knowledge as though I was too young to pay attention to Fahim.

         “I don’t think he could use a sword even if he had one,” I said, recalling the name of the weapon.

         Baakir glared. “You’re not as wise as you think,” he said.

         “Really? Let’s see.” I slowly stood up, despite my brother’s whispered warnings.

         When the Other saw me, he jumped back as though I were a snake. He held his hands up, splaying his fingers. “Who are you?” I asked.

         “I from Other place,” he said, his speech coming slowly and with an odd accent. He jabbed his thumb into his breast, saying (among words I couldn’t understand), “Timothy.” When I realized he was speaking his name I laughed because it was the funniest sounding name I’d ever heard.

         “Imanu,” I told him. Then, to my brother’s horror, I pointed down to him and shared his name.

         Baakir rose next to me, but he brandished the kisujino towards Timothy. “Peace, peace,” the Other said quickly.

         “Why did you come here?” Baakir asked.

         Timothy pointed into the cloudless sky overhead. “Onarre sends me,” he replied.

         Now it was my brother’s turn to laugh. “You came to the wrong family, Other. We do not follow Onarre, for he does not exist. Here we follow the stars and the spirits of our ancestors, for only they can help us to overcome the ogres.”

         Timothy seemed puzzled, and I wondered if he would run from us. “I help,” he said. “Take me into family. You observe. I help.”

         “How can we refuse a plea like that?” I asked with a grin.

         Baakir looked from me to Timothy and at last lowered his weapon. “Fahim will slay him when he sees him. And then he will slay us.”

         Fahim’s sunken eyes rested on Timothy. The worn, wrinkled face blinked sparingly, and cracked lips remained shut, even when a fly landed upon them. When at last he spoke, his voice came like a low belch that slowly evened into a raspy monotone. “We have nothing for you.”

         The two men sat inside Fahim’s tent, a conical dwelling framed by sticks and wrapped in gnu hides. I lay on the ground outside, peering in through a thin opening where the skins did not quite touch the earth. There were two places I was forbidden to go due to my age: Fahim’s tent and anywhere that left me alone with a girl. As creative as I was, though, I had discovered remedies for each.

         “I come not to take,” Timothy said. “I come to give.”

         “Can you keep us from death when the ogres come? Give us that if you can!” Fahim’s toothless grin preceded a light cackle.

         “I tell how to keep you from true death, forever death.”

         The elder’s face fell to a grimace. “Did the Others expel you from their land because you’re crazy?”

         Timothy tussled his blonde hair and took a long breath. His hands came forward, made frantic motions and then fell onto his legs. Certainly he had the look of madness. “Let me stay here. I help. You observe. I help.”

         Fahim observed him for a time before whispering a prayer. The elder then emptied the contents of a small pouch onto the ground between the two of them. I wondered what he would discern from our ancestors’ spirits.

         Passing his hand over the bone fragments he had scattered, Fahim said, “I cannot read you, and that is a strange thing.” With a long sigh, he added, “Bring me a gnu to prove your skills as a hunter. Then you can stay.”

         Fahim had provided Timothy with some dried meat, fresh water skins and a spear before sending him out. Still, watching the Other limp along, I knew he had little chance of success. I thought about spending my afternoon impressing girls, but that didn’t seem as exciting as watching what this Other would do.

         When Timothy was far enough from Fahim’s tent that no one would see, I joined him. “Imanu?” he asked.

         “I thought I’d walk with you,” I said. I took his silence as acceptance. “Do you know where you’re going?”

         “No.”

         “Well, you won’t find any good hunting in this direction.”

         “Where are the animals?”

         I pointed towards the west. “Over that rise. We could be there in an hour if you weren’t hurt.” His left knee was swollen, and he had scratches on his leg. “What happened?”

         His eyes watered. “I do not know.” He rested his weight on the shaft of the spear. “The hunt is for me, but I thank you for all help you can give.”

         We didn’t talk much the rest of the way to the ridge. My toes seemed to find all the cracks in the dirt, but I watched my steps carefully enough to keep balance.

         At the earth’s edge, there was only a fifteen-foot drop to the next plain. In the expanse beyond, we saw a herd of gnus at a watering hole. “Just as I thought,” I boasted with a grin.

         When my eyes fell upon other movement near the herd, I crouched down and pulled hurriedly at Timothy’s arm. As he knelt, I said, “There’s an ogre.”

         The ogre was like several men mashed together into a thuggish conglomeration of bone and muscle. His head lolled from side to side with each step. A mace as large as Timothy dragged the ground behind him, and I was glad for the distance that separated us.

         “Where do they come from?” Timothy asked.

         “The North. Fahim says that they were once masters of the Undain Mountains, dwelling in the snowy peaks. But the dwarves fought them and won the entire range for themselves, so the ogres were forced to leave.”

         “That is sad.”

         “Don’t feel sorry for them, Timothy. Even when they were in the mountains, they were looters and murderers. They are the reason that our family moves periodically, but we are limited by where the gnu herds choose to go. Sometimes we must fight the ogres, and when we lose...” I wanted to tell him more, but my lips wouldn’t move. He clapped me on the shoulder and nodded.

         The ogre pressed towards the herd, and few heeded his approach. When he was within twenty yards, the ogre lunged at the gnus in a hard run. They began to scatter, but not before his mace came among them, crippling several with one blow.

         I felt the ground shaking as the herd stampeded. Their path took them near the ridge before they turned south. Behind them, the ogre sat and ate.

         Timothy scampered along the ridge until he was directly above the fleeing gnus. His arm drew back, and the spearhead dipped towards the herd.

         I ran after him to give him instructions on throwing, but he was too fast. His body tightened, and the spear sailed downward. One of the gnus separated from the herd and fell with the dart lodged behind its shoulder.

         “Where did you learn to do that?” I asked.

         He grinned. “Can you help me bring it?”

         “There’s a shorter drop not far from here. Let’s be quick so that the ogre doesn’t see us.”

         For two months, we took Timothy with us on the hunt, and he continued to impress the men with his speed and accuracy. When our party left the field after a particularly successful day, carrying our gutted kills on our shoulders, I kept to the back so that I could walk with him.

         “Your speech is improving,” I said.

         “Thank you, Imanu.” His mouth formed a crooked smile. “Your family’s dialect of Sokoth was difficult to understand at first. There are still many words I do not know.” He spoke almost as quickly as I did, with an even flow of syllables.

         “How did you learn Sokoth?”

         “A Yirte man named Kgosi worked in my father’s household, and I was fascinated by him. When I was five, he became my tutor. Each day, after we would go over the lessons my father required, Kgosi would teach me his native language, discuss the culture in Yirte, or instruct me on using a spear. I decided that when I was older, I would leave my homeland of Salincia and go to Kgosi’s land. I felt like Onarre wanted me to share my faith with people who did not know anything about him.”

         With a grunt, he hefted his kill higher onto his shoulders. “My father did not want me to go, of course. He said it was too dangerous and that no one would listen to me. ‘You are being impulsive,’ he kept saying. Maybe he was right. Your family was the only one that did not attack me when we first met, and based on their whisperings, I think their tolerance is growing thin.”

         “They’re just not sure what to think about you,” I said. “It is a little strange that an Other wants to live with us.”

         His lips drew flat for a moment. “I do not know what to think of myself either.”

         One of the two men in front of us began to sing, the pitch of his voice becoming just a bit higher than normal speech. More voices supported him with a deep chorus. It was a song common to many families of Yirte about tracking the gnus. Timothy raised his eyebrows at me when he emphatically joined in on the repeat, and I shook my head in amusement.

         Songs blended into one another, comprising a musical tale that lasted the entire return journey. It ended awkwardly when the leading men shrieked. I thought they had stumbled upon a nest of scorpions, but such stings would have inflicted lesser wounds.

         Our two columns spread into a broken line of gawking. A half-mile to the east, light smoke filtered from the charred remnants of several tents. The women were crying and screaming, their voices intensifying as they began to discover our presence.

         Baakir went forward with my uncle and cousin. The rest of us shambled up behind, listening to their words. “What has happened here?” my uncle asked.

         One of the younger mothers named Kamaria answered. “A pair of ogres came.” Her tears fell upon the babe in her arms.

         “We should have moved before now,” my uncle grumbled.

         “Was anyone hurt?” Baakir asked.

         “They killed Fahim and took his body!” she shouted, and all the women began sobbing loudly. My brother let his gnu drop behind him. With a shout, he removed his headscarf and tore it viciously. The rest of us from the hunting party mimicked him, including Timothy.

         “His spirit will be cursed if he is not given a proper burial,” I said softly to Timothy, knowing an Other couldn’t understand all of this.

         “No, I won’t let that happen,” Baakir said, and I felt my face warming. “They’ve taken some of our men before, but we can’t let them curse Fahim’s spirit. We need him with our family, even in death.”

         It seemed like hours until someone else spoke. “Kill the Other!” Kamaria wailed. “He brought a curse to our family, and Fahim will never return to us.”

         Timothy shook his head. “A man’s burial does not determine his whereabouts after death. It is whether or not he follows Onarre that matters.”

         “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” my uncle said to Timothy, and I could see him angling the point of his spear towards the Other.

         “No, it is you who do not know. Your ancestors knew Onarre but denied him. I came to help show the truth you were kept from knowing for so many generations. There is only life in Onarre. I plead with you to answer his call. He wants your people back.”

         I thought those would be Timothy’s last words, and I imagine that he did as well, as quickly as he spoke them. Fahim’s son Jelani clutched my uncle’s spear and shook his head. “Spilling the Other’s blood will not give my father rest. He did not do this. Now, who will go with Baakir and me?”

         “I will go,” my uncle answered, his eyes bulging as he glared at Timothy.

         Three more volunteered before I raised my hand. Baakir’s mouth parted, and his head cocked to one side, but he did not speak against me. No one did.

         “Jelani,” Timothy said, “I had great respect for your father, and though you have heard my beliefs, please understand that I do not wish for his body to be desecrated. I would like to go with you.”

         Jelani ran his fingers over his stubbly beard while some whispered against the offer. Then he nodded abruptly. “The eight of us leave as soon as we can gather enough provisions.”

         Night fell on us before we could set off on our pursuit. In the darkness, I raced to Jelani’s tent and nearly stumbled into Baakir. “You’re ready, finally?” he asked me.

         I held up the kisujino and shield. “Did you remember to take some food for yourself?” I asked.

         When he hesitated, I reached into the basket on my back and handed him some of my surplus flatbread. “You’re welcome,” I whispered.

         “When we find the ogres, don’t try to be so smart,” Baakir said. “You haven’t fought them before.”

         “Is your brother here?” someone asked.

         “Yes,” Baakir replied. “We’re ready.”

         I let the men go ahead of me, feeling somewhat embarrassed at my tardiness. Timothy put his hand to my shoulder briefly. “I guess we will take the back.”

         Once we started walking, I said, “I don’t feel like they want me here. Maybe Jelani does, but that’s it.”

         “I know how you feel, but not just with this group of men. When we get back, I am going to return to Salincia. Aside from my recent words, I do not think I have helped Onarre much by coming to Yirte.”

         “Why did you say all of that, even if you believe it? I thought you wanted to be part of our family.”

         Our feet crunched through the cool grass for several steps before he answered. “If you had known the ogres were going to attack today, would you have warned your family?”

         “Well, yes. That’s a ridiculous question.”

         “You would tell them because you care about them, am I right?” I answered in the affirmative again. “Now I will answer your question. I care about your family, too. Because I care, I had to share something they did not know, something even more important than a future ogre attack. In that one moment back there, I finally said something I have been unable to say clearly since I came to Yirte.”

         I shook my head. “It’s just as your father once said. They won’t listen to you.”

         “Maybe not, but Onarre does not force people to follow him. He shares the truth of who he is and invites people to believe in him.” We didn’t say anything more that night, and I turned the thoughts of our conversation over in my young mind many times during that journey in the dark.

         When the sky began to pale, we were picking our way through giant rocks that jutted through the earth. We called them the Little Undains because they were like a much smaller version of the southern mountains. Gnus didn’t go this far north, so we never roamed there either. It was understood as the boundary between the ogres and us.

         Jelani stopped and signaled me to come to him. “Can you climb up this one?” he whispered. I studied the stone face and nodded. “Then get to the top and see if you can find any ogres. Stay low.”

         Shedding my military gear and basket, I scaled the twenty-foot high rock. My heart soared as I felt useful among these men. The peak was fairly level, and as I crawled over it on my stomach, I thought, “I am the scout! I am the scout!”

         Smoke in the west caught my attention, so I moved in that direction. As I peered over the lip of the mound, I saw two figures sitting before a fire. A third, much smaller, lay next to them. All three remained still for a time until the large ones stood up. One of them spoke in the clumsy language of ogres.

         I could feel prickles on the back of my neck, and my breaths became shallow. Could they see me, I wondered? Had I revealed myself? When I started to back away, they bolted in my direction.

         “They’re coming!” I screamed. In a panic, I clamored down the side and slipped. My right leg snapped as I hit the ground, and all I could do was lay on my back and cry.

         The first ogre came around the south of the stone hill; his bulging arms and legs were moss green, like his fat head. Ragged hides covered the rest of him, except for his feet, which were bound in matted fur boots. With a nasty whip, he lashed at the group of men, and someone fell.

         As the sun pressed into its new dawn, I could see my uncle and brother darting to and from the ogre. The whip snapped, chipping away rock where Baakir’s head had been an instant earlier. Everyone else was slowly surrounding the ogre, holding their kisujinos and shields even with their steps.

         Trampling from the north caught my attention, and I turned towards the second ogre. He was as ugly as the first and a bit taller, or so it seemed as he came upon me. Instead of a whip, this ogre carried a heavy club barbed with six-inch spines.

         The ogre stopped before me and raised his club. “Imanu!” someone cried. I shut my eyes and felt a weight slam upon me, knocking the wind from my lungs.

         When I took a long breath, I found I could not see, even with my eyes open. There was a great deal of shouting, and it sounded as though the Little Undains had collapsed. Then, after a silence, I felt a heaviness lift away, revealing a much brighter sun.

         “Imanu, are you alive?” As I squinted, the speaker came into a more recognizable shape.

         “Baakir? I will die soon.” I moved my hands over my chest, searching for the gashes left by the ogre’s attack.

         My brother shook his head. “You’ll live.”

         I was about to question this impossibility when I looked to my left and saw Timothy lying limp on his stomach. The hefty bludgeon protruded from his back, and blood had painted his side. His face was turned away, and part of me didn’t want to look at it, fearful of the ghastly expression that was likely frozen upon it. But I couldn’t keep myself from crawling around to see it one final time.

         Timothy smiled. “Are you alright?” he whispered.

         Tears blurred my vision. “Why did you do this?”

         “My father is right; I am impulsive. But Onarre made me that way.” After I wiped aside my tears, his eyes became glassy, empty of his soul.

         It was a long time that day before I learned that the two ogres had been slain. No one else had died, and the only injuries were my broken leg and an embedded lash mark on my cousin’s stomach. It seemed almost a relief to the party that the Other had died, even though Fahim’s body had been recovered intact.

         While I waited for someone to fashion a walking stick for me, I looked through the pouch that Timothy had always worn. In it, I discovered two small scrolls. One contained the symbols of Others, which I could not discern. The second, however, had the marks of Sokoth. These I could recognize in part, but I hadn’t learned enough to understand much. When I peered over the portion I had opened, the first written thought jumping to clarity was this: “Love each other as I have loved you.”

         I didn’t believe what Timothy believed, but I could not so quickly dismiss it as the rest of my family had. This Other, this man, had given up his own life for mine. As I sat with the scroll in my trembling hands, I wavered about what to do. Then I kept reading.

 

Copyright 2008, Matthew Wuertz

Cover: "Wizard and the Cloud Dragon"

The old wizard and a dragon find their place in the world together.

Copyright 2008, Michelle J. A. McIntyre

Specializing in colored pencil works on fiber-enhanced paper, more of the work of Michelle J.A. McIntyre can be found on her Webpage < www.fantasyrealmcreations.com > and online store < www.cafepress.com/pawgifts >. She creates a variety of fantasy art subject matter including dragons, unicorns, gryphons, fairies, and centaurs.