Allan and the Ice Gods (11 page)

it after it had lain in fire until it turned red, and polishing it

with fine sand and water.”

Here it may be stated that, although he knew it not, this substance

was meteoric iron that had fallen from heaven, and that Pag, by the

light of nature, had become one of the first of blacksmiths. When,

finding that he could not touch it otherwise because of its hardness,

he thrust that lump into a hot fire till it turned red and beat it

upon a stone with another lump, he learned the use of iron and took

one of mankind’s first and greatest steps forward.

“It will not break?” said Aaka doubtfully.

“No,” answered Pag. “I have tried. The blow that shatters the best

stone ax leaves it unmarked. It will not break. But that which it hits

will break. I made it for myself, but Wi shall have it. Now help me.”

Then he produced the handle that, like the blade, was of a new sort,

being fashioned with infinite patience and labour from the solid lower

leg bone of a gigantic deer that he had found blackened and half

fossilized when digging in a bog by the banks of a stream to make a

waterhole, doubtless that of the noble creature that is now known as

cervus giganteus
or the Irish deer, which once roamed the woods of

the early world. Having cut off a suitable length of this bone, he had

made a deep slot, dividing the end in two to receive the neck of the

ax, which it exactly fitted, projecting two inches or so above this

neck. Now, with wonderful skill, helped by the others, he set to work,

and with sinews and strips of damp hide cut from the skins of

reindeer, he lashed haft and blade together, knotting the ends of the

strips again and again. Then, having heated fossil gum, or amber of

which there was plenty to be found on the shore, in a shell till it

melted, he poured the resin over and between the hide strips, and as

it cooled, rubbed it smooth with a piece of stone. This done, he

plunged the finished ax into ice-cold water for a while, till the

resin was quite solid, after which he held it in the smoke of the fire

that burned near by to dry and shrink the hide strips by heat. Lastly,

in case the first should have cracked, he poured on more resin, cooled

it with a handful of snow, dried it in the smoke, and polished it.

At length all was finished, and with pride swelling in his heart, Pag

held up the weapon, saying:

“Behold the finest ax the tribe has ever seen!”

“The bone will not shatter?” asked Aaka the doubtful.

“Nay,” he answered as he rubbed the smoke-dulled resin, “I have tested

it as I tested the blade. No man and no shock can break it. Moreover,

see, to make sure I have lashed it about with hide at every thumb’s

length. Now let me go and wake Wi and arm him.”

Still polishing the ax and its handle with a piece of skin as he went,

Pag entered the hut very quietly, leaving Aaka without. Wi slept on

like a child. Pag laid the ax upon the skin covering of his bed, and

going to the head of the hut, hid himself in the shadow. Then he

scraped with his foot on the floor, and Wi woke. The first thing his

eyes fell on was this ax. He sat up, lifted the ax and began to

examine it with eager eyes. When he had noted all its wonder—for to

him it was a most marvellous thing made of a glittering stone such as

he had never seen, that was thrice heavier than any stone, hafted with

black bone as hard as walrus ivory with a knob at the end of it

fashioned by rubbing down the knuckle joint, to save it from slipping

through the hand, lashed about here and there with neatly finished

strips of hide, double-edged and sharper than a flint flake, balancing

in the grasp also—oh! surely he dreamed and this was such a weapon as

the gods must use when they fought together in the bowels of the ice!

Pag waddled forward out of the shadow, saying:

“Time to arise, Wi. But tell me first, how do you like your new ax?”

“Surely the gods made it,” gasped Wi. “With it I could kill a white

bear single-handed.”

“Yes, the gods made it; it is a gift to you from the gods. How they

sent it, I will tell you afterward—that with it you may kill, not the

white brute that prowls in the darkness, but a fiercer beast who

ravens by day as well as by night. I tell you Wi, that this is the Ax

of Victory; holding it, you cannot be conquered. Hearken to me, Wi.

Henga will rush at you with his great club. Leap to one side and smite

with all your strength at his hands. If the blow from this ax falls

upon them, or upon the handle of the club where he grasps it, they or

it will be shorn through. Then, if his hands remain, he will rush at

you again, striving to seize you and crush you in his grip, or to

break your back or neck. If you have time, smite at his leg or knee,

cutting the tendons or crippling him. Should he still get a hold of

you, do your best to slip from his grasp, as being greased perhaps you

may, and before he can catch you again, hew at his neck, or head, or

backbone, as chance may offer, for this ax will not only bruise; it

will sink in, and slay him. Above all, do not lose hold of the ax—

see, there is a thong tied to its handle, twist it doubly round your

wrist thus and it will not come off. Nay, to make sure, I will tie it

there with a deer’s sinew; hold out your hand.”

Wi obeyed and, while very deftly Pag made the thong fast with the

sinew, answered:

“I understand, though whether I shall be able to do all or any of

these things, I do not know. Still it is a wondrous ax and I will try

to use it well.”

Then Pag rubbed more oil all over Wi, looked once more at the ax to

make sure that the damp thongs had dried and shrunk tight upon the

haft in the warmth of the fire, and that the amber resin had set hard,

and, having given Wi a piece of dried fish soaked in seal oil to eat

and a little drink of water, threw a skin cloak over his shoulders and

led him from the hut.

Aaka was waiting outside, and with her Wi’s brother, Moananga. She

stared at Wi and asked:

“Who has cut off my man’s hair?”

“I have,” answered Pag, “for a good reason.”

She stamped her foot, saying coldly:

“How dare you touch his hair which I loved to see him wear long? I

hate you for it.”

“Since you are minded to pick a quarrel with me, why not hate me for

this as well as for anything else? Yet, Aaka, you may have cause to

thank me for it in the end, though if so, it will only make you hate

me more.”

“That cannot be,” said Aaka, and they went on toward the meeting

place.

Here all the tribe was gathered in a ring, standing silent because

they were too moved for speech. On the issue of this fight hung their

fate. Henga they feared and hated, because he used them cruelly and

brought any who murmured to their death, while Wi they liked well. Yet

they dared say nothing who knew not how the fight would go and thought

that no man could stand against the strength of the giant Henga or

save himself from being crushed beneath his mighty club.

Still, they stared wonderingly at the new ax which Wi bore, and

pointed to it, nudging each other. Also they marvelled because his

hair had been cut off, for what reason they did not know, though they

thought it must be as an offering to the gods.

The time came. Although because of the cold mist that hung over sea

and shore the sun could not be seen, all knew that it was within an

hour of its setting and grew more silent than before. Presently the

voice of one who watched on the outskirts of the crowd called:

“He comes! Henga comes!” whereon, taking their eyes from Wi, they

turned and stared toward the cave. Emerging from the shadow of the

cliff, the giant appeared, walking toward them with a heavy tread but

unconcernedly. Wi stooped down and kissed Foh his son, beckoning to

Aaka to take charge of him. Then, followed by Moananga his brother and

by Pag, he walked to the centre of the open space where Urk the Aged,

the wizard, whose duty it was to recite the conditions of the duel in

the ancient form, stood waiting. As he went, Whaka the Bird-of-Ill-Omen called to him:

“Farewell, Wi, whom we shall see no more. We shall miss you very much,

for I know not where we shall find so good a hunter or one who brings

in so much meat.”

Pag turned, glowering at him, and said:

“Me at least you shall see again, croaking raven!”

Taking no note, Wi walked on. As he went, it came into his mind that,

while he lay asleep in the hut, he had dreamed a beautiful dream. He

could not remember much of it, but its substance was that he was

seated in a rich and lovely land where the sun shone and water rippled

and birds sang, where the air was soft and warm and the wild creatures

wandered round him unafraid and there was plenty of fragrant food to

eat. Then, in that sweet place, came his daughter Fo-a, grown very

fair and with a face that shone as moonlight shines upon the sea, and

set a garland of white flowers about his neck.

This was all he could recall of the dream, nor, indeed, did he search

for more of it, for this vision of Fo-a, the cruelly slain, brought

tears of rage to his eyes. Yet of a sudden his strength seemed to

double and he swore that he would kill Henga, even though afterward he

must enter that happy land of peace in which she seemed to wander.

The chief appeared before him wearing his cloak of tigerskin and

holding the great club in his left hand.

“It is well,” muttered Pag to Wi. “Look, he is swollen; he has eaten

all the salmon!”

Henga, who was followed by two servants or slaves, stopped at a little

distance.

“What,” he growled, “have I to fight this manikin’s friends as well as

himself?”

“Not yet, Henga,” answered Moananga boldly. “First kill the manikin;

afterward you can fight his friends.”

“That will be easy,” sneered Henga.

Then Urk advanced, waving a wand, and with a proud air called for

silence.

First, at great length, as master of the ancient customs of the tribe,

Urk set out the law of such combats as that of Wi and Henga. He told

how the chief only held his office and enjoyed his privileges by

virtue of the strength of his body, as does the bull of a herd. When a

younger and stronger than he arose, he might kill the chief, if he

could, and take his place. Only, according to the law, he must do so

in fair and open fight before the people, each combatant being armed

with a single weapon. Then, if he conquered, the cave was his with

those who dwelt there, and all would acknowledge him as chief;

whereas, if he were conquered, his body would be thrown to the wolves,

such being the fate of those that failed.

In short, though Urk knew it not, he was setting out the doctrine of

the survival of the fittest, and the rights of the strong over the

weak, as Nature preaches them in all her workings.

At this point, Henga showed signs of wishing to have done with Urk’s

oratory, being, for reasons of his own, quite certain of a speedy

victory over an enemy whom he despised, and anxious to return to the

cave to receive the praises of the womenfolk and to sleep off the

salmon, which, as Pag guessed, he had devoured almost to the tail. But

Urk would not be silenced. Here he was master as keeper of the oral

records; head official and voice of the ceremonies of the tribe, who

naturally regarded any departure from established customs as one of

the worst of crimes.

Everything must be set out, Urk declared in a high and indignant

voice, otherwise how would he earn his fee of the robe and weapons of

the defeated?—here he cast covetous looks at Wi’s strange ax, the

like of which he had never seen before, although his withered arm

could scarcely have found strength to lift it for a blow. He announced

loudly that once before in his youth he had assisted his father, who

was the First Wizard before him, to go through this ceremony, and the

garment he still wore—here he touched the shiny, hairless, and

tattered hide upon his shoulders—had been taken from the body of the

conquered. If he were interrupted now, he added, as Wizard he would

pronounce his most formidable curse upon the violator of tradition and

privilege, and what that meant probably both of them would understand.

Wi listened and said nothing, but Henga growled out:

“Be swift then, old fool, for I grow cold, and soon there will not be

enough light for me to see so to smash up this fellow, that even his

dog would not know him again.”

Then Urk set out the reasons that caused Wi to challenge, which, being

angered by Henga’s description of him as “old fool,” he did with point

and acidity. He told how Wi alleged that Henga oppressed the people,

and gave startling instances of that oppression, all of them quite

true. He told of the kidnapping and murder of Wi’s daughter Fo-a,

which Wi lay at the door of Henga, and of how the gods were wroth at

such a crime. Warming to his work, indeed, he began to advance other