The Clouds Have the Answer

By Brian H. Jones

Two shepherd boys, Sanze and Gersina, lead their nation from weakness to greatness. But Gersina never could say ‘no’ to his women. And now his weakness has hurried Sanze to his end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aichje Books
• Release date: Jun 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463745229

Brian H. Jones

Brian is a former academic who has lived, studied, and worked in South Africa, Canada, Namibia, the United Kingdom, Pakistan, and Australia. He is retired and lives in a country town between Sydney and Canberra.

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The Clouds Have the Answer

Brian H. Jones

Copyright © 2019 Brian H Jones

Smashwords Edition

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CHAPTER ONE: WHEN LAND AND PEOPLE MEET THE SEA

Gersina said, ‘I’m telling you, Sanze, one day we’ll conquer the Dornites. We’ll take their land all the way from here to the coast.’

‘Oh yes? What makes you think so?’

Gersina looked hard at Sanze, the yellow flecks in his eyes glinting. ‘There’s a prophecy that says, Berina one day shall be free, when land and people meet the sea. I believe it.’

‘Prophecy? Ha! That’s not a prophecy. It’s just something that Aggam made up.’

‘It has nothing to do with that old fool Aggam. It comes straight from the oracle at Sininda.’

Sanze grunted sceptically and settled back against a rock, basking in the warmth of the sun. When land and people reach the sea? It was a hopeless dream. Even at that early age, Sanze suspected that dreams and visions betray you like wraiths that lead their credulous victims into fathomless swamps.

Ten years earlier, Sanze and Gersina cemented their friendship while they suffered together in school. They hated school and they hated their teacher, Aggam. With comradely fortitude, they endured their beatings in tight-lipped silence, never showing signs of pain. Whack! Whack! The blows would descend on their shoulders while Aggam, panting, eyes glinting, would roar exultantly, ‘Aha! Too proud to cry, are you? We’ll break that stubborn streak, won’t we, eh?’ Whack! Whack! But the more Aggam beat them, the more they bit their lips, clenched their fists, and retreated into baleful silence.

However, all that was behind them. They had served their time in school and now they were free from Aggam's corrosive control.

Sanze and Gersina sat there companionably, looking over the hills that fell away below their feet while they watched the sheep grazing. What was there to say? Prophecy or no prophecy, even shepherd boys could see how matters stood. The Dornites controlled the fertile plains and the coast. Here in the uplands, the grazing was thin and sparse. Life was hard and insecure. To make matters worse, there was always the danger of an attack by the Dornites, who treated the land, people, and property of Berina like their private beehives, to be raided at their pleasure.

On that far-off, golden-hazy day, they only left the hilltop when the sun began to sink lower in the sky. Getting to his feet, Gersina jerked a thumb and said, ‘I guess we’d better round up the sheep.’ He was right. Even at night, it was risky to be so far to the east in no-man’s land. They would have to move the sheep further into the hills.

After they herded the flocks into a dead-end ravine and secured the entrance with thorny branches, they made their camp on the slope above the mouth of the ravine. It was too risky to light a fire, so they dined on cheese and bread before they dug indentations in the sand, spread their blankets, and fell asleep.

Early next morning, Sanze awoke with a hand over his mouth and with Gersina, hissing into his ear: ‘Quiet! There’s someone down below!’ Peering over the top of a boulder, they saw two men dragging away the branches while farther up the ravine, a third man was marshalling the sheep. They were Dornite rustlers; each carried a sword as well as three spears in quiver-like holders.

Sanze’s pulse raced as he realised just how close they were to capture or death. Death? Probably not. The Dornites preferred to take people alive, to be sold as slaves. Boy captives were usually castrated, to serve as eunuchs on the islands that dotted the Endless Ocean. Sometimes they were sold to be raised as soldiers in one of the Dornite city-states.

What could two boys do, far from home, faced with three fully-grown, well-armed enemies? Watching the men and the sheep as they disappeared from the ravine, Gersina grimaced and rubbed his chin while he said thoughtfully, ‘We have to narrow the odds.’

‘How?’

‘They don’t know that we’re here. Our big advantage is surprise.’

‘And…?’

‘We’ll take them one by one. That way we’ll always be stronger than they are.’

Sanze muttered, 'Right! Let's go.' His hands were trembling and his knees felt like they needed to be clamped in a vice to keep them steady. However, above fear and above apprehension, he was seething with the anger of a people who had been beaten, exploited, and oppressed for too long.

As they scrambled down the slope, Gersina took hold of Sanze’s wrist and muttered, ‘Do you believe that Zabrazal cares for us?’ Sanze nodded and Gersina continued, ‘Then pray that he is with us now.’ Even as he said it, Sanze shot a quick, enquiring look at Gersina. Not for the first time, Sanze suspected that Gersina didn’t really believe in the grace of Zabrazal. True enough, Zabrazal did seem to be a long way from them—a long way from two boys in an isolated ravine faced with three well-armed Dornite raiders. Guiltily, Sanze prayed, ‘Oh, Zabrazal, forgive me! Oh, Zabrazal, we know that you care for us and that you are always with us. Oh, Zabrazal, defender of Berina, be with us now and I will burn five scented candles in the temple when we return safely to Osicedi.’

From the ridge they could see that one man was at the head of the flock, one was to the side where the hillside fell away, and one was bringing up the rear, isolated from the other two. When he stopped to relieve himself, Gersina struck him with a stone from his sling. The man dropped onto his hands and knees, swinging his head groggily and groaning. Sanze hesitated for a moment but Gersina hissed, ‘Kill him, man!’ Gritting his teeth, Sanze ran forward, closed his eyes, and drove his spear downward. It hit the Dornite in the side and he rolled onto his back, screaming and clutching at the wound. During the forty years that followed, although Sanze killed and wounded more enemies than he could remember, he never forgot the sounds that the man made as he lay writhing on the ground. This was a man, not a wolf, and to Sanze it was horrifying and repulsive.

In time, he would get used to it.

Gersina cried, ‘Finish him off, man!’ Sanze clenched his fists, summoned his will-power, took aim at the man’s stomach, closed his eyes and, with two-handed force drove the spear downward. It went in easily, like a knife into soft earth and not at all like a spear thudding into a target. Then, while the man died with a gurgle and a moan, Sanze leaned on the spear with his eyes closed and tried to stop himself from gagging.

Gersina barked hoarsely, 'Pull your spear out, man! He's dead.'

Sanze straightened and withdrew the spear. It came out reluctantly as if the flesh had already claimed it. Without looking at it, Sanze cleaned the point by rubbing it in the sand. Then curiosity got the upper hand and he examined the dead man. Lying there on his back in the dust, the man didn’t look like one of the Dornite bogeymen with which the mothers of Berina frightened their children. In fact, he looked crumpled and pathetic.

The man wore a silver disc on a chain around his neck. One side had an image of a Dornite god, while the other side had a scratchy inscription that read, ‘Janali makes this loving gift to Selek.’ Holding the disc, Sanze wondered who Janali was. Was she the man’s mother, his girlfriend, or perhaps his wife? As Sanze held the disc in his hand, for a wrenching moment he wished that their paths had never crossed. Oh, Zabrazal, thought Sanze, if you really watch over us, couldn’t you have arranged things otherwise? But that was only a fleeting thought. When Sanze remembered who the man was and what he had done, his resolve hardened. What did one dead Dornite matter? Why should he care? After all, the Dornites cared nothing for them. Tight-mouthed, Sanze put the disc into his pouch to keep as a souvenir. He might even be able to sell it.

Suddenly Sanze’s knees went weak and he wanted to vomit. As he stood there gagging, Gersina shook his shoulder and said, ‘No time for that, man! Help me get him out of the way.’

In a daze, Sanze helped drag the body behind a pile of rocks. Gersina said, ‘Help me to prop him up.’

‘Prop him up? Why?'

‘Someone will come back to look for him.’

‘For sure! That's why we ought to hide him.’

‘Not so! Anyone coming to look for him will have to pass us. He’ll be a good target.’

Gersina’s plan worked perfectly. Soon, one of the rustlers came towards them at a trot, looking worried. He spotted the body, stopped, and called out. The first shot from Gersina’s sling killed him. Sanze thanked Zabrazal that he didn’t have to finish him off with his spear.

Two down and one to go! Two hunters and only one prey.

They caught up with the third rustler where the ravine widened into an open stretch of hillside. Gersina’s first shot hit the man in an eye, and he collapsed onto his knees screaming in pain. The second shot hit him on the side of his head and he toppled over, twitching. Sanze finished him off with his spear. It wasn’t easy, but at least Sanze knew what to expect.

They dragged the body up the side of the ravine, scratched out a shallow trench behind a boulder, and covered it with earth and rocks. Hopefully it wouldn’t be visible from the floor of the ravine even if wolves or wild dogs dug it up. Then, as they drove the sheep homeward, they paused to bury the other two bodies in the same manner.

That night, they stopped at the same dead-end ravine as the previous night. They hardly slept and at first light they began to drive the sheep towards Osicedi. Although they didn't say much to each other, it was clear that they both had the same thought: they wanted to get home and they wanted to do it fast.

When Osicedi came into sight, Gersina cried triumphantly, 'We did it, Sanze, we did it!' Grinning, he thumped Sanze on his back.

Sanze replied, 'Maybe.'

'What do you mean—maybe? All's well that ends well, man.'

'What if their comrades come after us?'

'Huh! Those men were just lone rustlers. Nobody cares what happens to them.'

Although Sanze said nothing, he wasn’t convinced.

Sanze was leaning over the rail watching the sheep file into the pen when someone said, 'Hello, Sanze. Where have you been?'

It was Roda. She was standing by his elbow, so close that he could smell the aroma of freshly baked bread and rose-petal scent that lingered about her. Keeping his voice steady—it wasn’t easy—Sanze said, 'We've just brought the sheep back from the hills.' He tried to sound casual even while his body was stirring and tingling.

Roda wrinkled her nose and whispered with what sounded like a mixture between a warning and satisfaction, 'Everyone is looking for you, you know!'

Sanze replied, 'I guessed that might be the case.'

Roda’s violet eyes widened as she moved a little closer. She was always doing that, standing so close that, with one small dip of his head, Sanze could have laid his cheek against the top of her head. Sometimes the instinct to do so was so overpowering that he had to move away feeling foolish. This time, when he shifted away, Roda's eyes glinted as if she had gained a small victory. Now she put a hand on his wrist and asked in a concerned voice, 'Did you have any trouble?'

For a moment Sanze was tempted to tell her the whole story. In those days, he always wanted to impress her, if only to hear her suck in her breath and say huskily, 'Oh, Sanze, fancy that!' He was still wondering how much to tell her, if anything at all, when Gersina called, 'Roda! Hey, Roda, come over here!' She turned away, giving Sanze a knowing look. She squeezed his hand, pressing her fingers into the flesh, even as she called out, 'Oh, Gersina, I've been so worried. You shouldn't stay away so long.'

Gersina grinned and called, 'I can take care of myself, Roda. No worries!'

They walked away together, conversing in low voices. Sanze watched them resentfully, wondering what Gersina had that he didn't have.

As they expected, there was a fuss when they arrived home. However, they stuck to their story about being delayed because they had to find a lost animal. After a while, the fuss subsided, and life returned to normal.

Unfortunately, normality didn’t last long. A Dornite search party found one or more of the bodies, put two and two together, and managed to follow the tracks to Osicedi. Five nights later and without any warning, they attacked the town. The raiders had an easy passage because guards were only posted during periods of general alarm and as this was a time of relative peace. Consequently, the raiders were able to make their way right into the centre of Osicedi before they were discovered.

Although there was a lot of damage and several injuries, only three people were killed. An elderly couple burned to death in their house and the raiders killed one of Gersina’s older brothers when the men of his family spilled out of their house just as the raiding party was approaching. People in night attire were no match for fully armed assailants.

For three days after the attack, Gersina closeted himself in his room, refusing food. He only came out of seclusion to attend the funeral. At the graveside, he looked morose, shaken, and subdued. As the earth was being shovelled into the grave, Gersina muttered to Sanze, ‘One day the Dornites will pay for this.’

After such a disaster, the escapade with the rustlers couldn’t be concealed any longer. When their fathers had finished raging and slapping them about, and after they had endured their mothers’ tears and recriminations, Sanze and Gersina were reprimanded at a town meeting. Next, they had to submit to a cleansing ceremony in the temple where the priests implored Zabrazal to forgive their lack of truthfulness. For Sanze, the ceremony was the worst aspect of the affair. He was certain that Zabrazal would have his all-seeing eye on him from that time onward. How else could it be, when they had to kneel at the altar, the centre of attention for nearly an hour, while the chief priest and the congregation sang, prayed and chanted, and the assistant priests walked around swinging their cleansing censers? Sanze was weighed down by the ominous feeling that he had vaulted to the top of Zabrazal’s watch-list.

However, it wasn’t all gloom. Privately, a lot of people admired them. Even old Aggam expressed his grudging approval when he stopped to speak to them in the street. That was something that had never happened before—and never would again, very likely.

CHAPTER TWO: BERINA HAS A KING

When Gersina and Sanze were twenty years of age, the struggle against the enemy reached a crisis. The Dornite city-states not only formed an alliance under a single military command, but also developed new military tactics based on cavalry and chariots. As success followed success, the Dornites began to widen the scope of their operations. With its lower hills and east-facing uplands, Upper Berina felt the pressure first as the raiding forces swept in against towns and villages, burning, looting, rounding up livestock, and capturing young men and women. Soon, the Dornites occupied a swathe of territory that had belonged to Berina for centuries.

In the face of this crisis, there was rising demand for action to counter the Dornites. From all over, the cry went up for a king to lead Berina. Finally, bowing to the pressure, the high priest, Izebol, convened an Assembly of the Nation.

Gersina and Sanze were appointed to accompany the delegation from Osicedi. Although they were excited at the prospect of seeing fabled sights, Sininda—holiest place of Berina, seat of the high priest, site of the foremost oracle—disappointed them. In fact, Sininda was just a collection of small houses, shacks, workshops, stalls, and storerooms. The only impressive thing about Sininda was the temple, which rose up the hillside in three levels and dwarfed everything else in the valley.

Although the debates and declamations in the temple courtyard were intense and passionate, the issue was simple and clear-cut: was Berina to continue without a king, in acknowledgement that Zabrazal always had been, and always would be, its ‘divine leader’, as the priests put it; or was it time to appoint an earthly king?

Two days later, the Assembly convened on a grassy slope on the outskirts of Sininda. Standing on a platform, Izebol began the proceedings by sacrificing a white goat on an altar. After he examined the entrails and declared that the omens were good, he began scolding the People of Berina for being unfaithful to Zabrazal. Raising his priestly rod in both hands, Izebol declaimed, ‘Fools! You want to become like the nations around you, abandoning your god for the false glitter of earthly splendour.’

A roar of dissatisfaction greeted this pronouncement and, as the noise subsided, a stocky man of about forty years of age with broad shoulders and strong thighs stood up. His hair, thick and tawny, was unfashionably long and unruly as if he brandished it in the face of convention. He wore a soldier’s jerkin and stood with his legs planted firmly apart like a man who knew how to weather a gale. Izebol looked at him calmly from under glowering brows and called out, ‘You may speak, Kainar.’

Gersina whispered, ‘That’s Kainar of Maletar. They say that he might be elected king if the assembly gets to vote.’

Kainar planted his hands on his hips, looked around calmly and called out, ‘We are well acquainted with the mercies of Zabrazal.’

Izebol replied dourly, ‘So you should be!’

Kainar looked around as confidently as if he was in the bosom of his family and replied, ‘We have heard that Zabrazal is angry. But we have not heard his answer to our request.’ There was a roar of approval.

Izebol glared at the delegates and called out, ‘You want Zabrazal’s answer? Good! Now hear the words of our god!’ He raised his rod and declaimed, ‘Zabrazal says that Berina may have what it wants!’ There was another roar of approval. Izebol waved the assembly to silence and continued, ‘However, Zabrazal reminds Berina that it will have to deal with the consequences of its wilful choice.' He stretched upwards, his imposing head turned skyward, and cried, 'Berina may have its king if that is what Berina wants!’ Then he put down his priestly rod, glowered at the delegates, and said ominously, ‘May Zabrazal have mercy on Berina!’

As expected, the delegates voted for the monarchy by an overwhelming majority. When the result was announced, Izebol raised his hands and gave a theatrical cry of exasperation. But he recovered quickly enough—after all, it was a foregone conclusion—and called for the sacred dice.

Amidst a clamour of dissatisfaction, Kainar rose and protested that the delegates, not the dice, should decide. Izebol waved Kainar aside and cried, ‘If you wanted to consult with Zabrazal, then why did you come here? Go somewhere else and decide on your own! Don’t ask Izebol, high priest of Zabrazal, to officiate.’

While the assembly settled down, Gersina whispered to Sanze, ‘Kainar is strong-minded. He doesn’t respect the priests. He doesn’t have a chance.’

‘You reckon that someone else will be chosen?’

Gersina replied, ‘Of course. The sacred dice reflect the will of Zabrazal, and Zabrazal protects the interests of the priests.’ He winked ironically.

As the dice rolled, the priests supervised the process of elimination, tribe by tribe, town by town, and clan by clan, until only the family of Dorgile from Maletar remained. Maletar was in the south-west of Berina, where the mountains and the highlands gave way to the grasslands and meandering rivers of the endless interior. The region had a long tradition of producing entrepreneurs and traders; it had easy access to parts of the coastline, and it also traded with the fertile hinterland across the Great River.

However, the people of Maletar weren’t only shopkeepers and traders. They had a tradition of producing scholars and priests from the celebrated Academy of Philosophy. In fact, six of the last eight high priests, Izebol included, had come from Maletar and its academy.

One by one, Dorgile’s eight sons were eliminated until only Vaxili remained. He was a man of about forty years of age with a slender build and a well-formed face that was marred by a scar that ran from the outer corner of his right eye to under his ear. The scar had contracted the skin around his eye so that Vaxili always seemed to be looking askance at the world. He also limped, dragging his left foot.

Soon after Vaxili was crowned, a rumour spread that he got his injuries while fighting heroically against the Dornites. However, his detractors circulated a rival story, namely that Vaxili was injured when he fell out of a tree while spying on a neighbor’s daughter in her bedroom.

That afternoon, Vaxili was crowned King of Berina. The people were happy—most of them, anyway—Izebol was sulky, and Zabrazal…well, who knew what Zabrazal was thinking?

CHAPTER THREE: A FAVOUR

A month later, Sanze was on the road that led southward from Osicedi towards Upper Berina. After the recent rains, it was pleasant to sit on the box of the swaying wagon enjoying the aromas of the countryside while looking across the swaying backs of the oxen at the pastures and the hills that fringed the valley.

Sanze’s daydream was interrupted when someone grasped his arms from behind. Bandits? As he tried to reach for his dagger, a voice said, 'Keep calm! It's only me.'

'Damn you, Gersina! You scared me. What are you doing here?'

Gersina crawled out from among the bales and scrambled onto the seat. He dusted himself off, looked around warily, and asked, 'Are we alone?'

'Except for a team of oxen, ten dancing girls, and a marching band following the wagon—yes, we're alone.’

Still looking around warily, Gersina said edgily, 'I need your help.'

'If you wanted a ride, you could have asked me! You didn't have to skulk in the back of the wagon like a thief.'

Gersina settled back and said confidentially, 'I'm in trouble.'

'What sort of trouble?'

'I guess you could call it woman trouble.'

'Oho, let me guess! Trouble with Roda?' Gersina nodded morosely while Sanze continued, 'Why am I not surprised?'

'Hey, Sanze, don't take that tone with me! I'm sick and tired of hearing it.'

'Then you'd better explain what's going on.'

Sanze had good reason for saying that he wasn't surprised. Roda had turned into a robust and shapely young woman. With her vitality, flashing glances, bubbly laugh, and low-cut gowns, Roda could make any man yearn with desire. To enhance her desirability, she was the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in Osicedi. People said that Roda could have just about any man that she wanted. Then they winked and added that, in fact, that was exactly what was happening.

Gersina's story was simple and predictable. He had got involved with Roda about four months earlier. Sanze saw it happening and, like a lot of people, he never could understand why he took up with her. Gersina was good-looking and well built, with quick intelligence and a pleasing manner. He came from a respected family and had good prospects. His generosity and easy-going nature blunted the envy even of those who resented the fact that they weren't as gifted as he was. Men respected Gersina and women liked him. In short, Gersina didn't have to compromise his reputation by taking up with a flighty woman like Roda. He could have had just about any eligible woman that he wanted and, what was more, he could have had her in the honourable way.

Gersina hesitated before he said, 'Roda's father is after my blood.'

Sanze grunted. 'Now you're going to tell me that Roda is pregnant?'

'No. Not that I know of, anyway.'

'Ah! That's a relief! But the fact is that she could well be. Not so?'

Gersina said sulkily, 'That's no business of yours.'

'You want my help, but I shouldn't ask for details, eh? Is that how it is?'

Gersina couldn't meet Sanze’s eyes. After a while, head averted, he asked in the same sulky voice, 'Are you going to help me or not?'

'Help you sight unseen? No ways!'

For a while, they sat there in truculent silence. Then Gersina muttered, 'You were right.'

'About what could have been?'

Gersina nodded and continued, ‘She told her father that I had—well, you know, that we had done what—you