Climate of Change (29 page)

In due course they returned to the matriarch. “Here is the first man,” she said, indicating a gruff old man. “His name is Grubber. He is a scavenger.” She turned to the man. “This is Keeper, who offers his sister Haven.”

The man approached Haven. His odor preceded him; he must have been grubbing among the rotting fish heads recently. He was wrinkled and potbellied, and wore a habitual scowl. Keeper did not need to look
at his sister for any signal; he knew the prospect of marriage to such a man revolted her.

Grubber reached out and squeezed one of Haven's full breasts. She had the grace not to flinch. He drew up her skirt to uncover her bottom. “She'll do,” he said.

“What happened to your prior wife?” Keeper asked.

“She ran away.”

“My sister is not for you.”

Grubber turned away, unsurprised. He was surely accustomed to being rejected by women.

Another man approached. He was big and muscular. “This is Maul,” the matriarch said. “To marry this woman.”

Keeper didn't wait for the man to feel Haven. “I think not.”

“Not?” Maul inquired, looking dangerous. He took a step toward Keeper, but Brownback growled, warning him off. The man could surely handle the dog, but it would be an ugly scene, not worth it, since the decision was Keeper's to make regardless.

“The third man will be here in the morning,” the Matriarch said as Maul stalked off. “Come back then.”

Keeper was learning caution. “What is the third man's name?”

“Pul. He is a warrior.”

“Why isn't he married already?”

“Never found the right woman. But I think he would like this one.” She turned away.

They walked back into the forest, preferring to get away from the oppressive smell. “Pul could be all right,” Haven said.

“And he could be another bad one.”

“I think she was showing the worst first, to make her real choice seem good in contrast.”

He hadn't thought of that. “But is any man of this village good for you?”

She shrugged. “What choice is there? I should have stayed with Harbinger when I had the chance.”

“And had the spirits take another baby? No, I think you did right. No problem of that, with Rebel.”

“Which makes a problem,” she reminded him.

“Haven, nothing about this seems right. I don't want to see you ill-married, or to lose you from the family, and I know you don't want to go.”

She shrugged. “I wouldn't stand in the way of family harmony, even if I could.”

They ranged out, finding a suitable tree to camp under for the night. “If you had a single wish for the spirits to grant, what would it be?”

“For my baby to have lived,” she said immediately.

“But that would mean you would still be married to Harbinger!”

“Without the curse of the spirits,” she agreed. “Maybe it is that curse I wish to be rid of. My life has not prospered since then.”

“But you were blameless! Then and now.”

“I let myself be raped. That was blame enough.”

He pondered. “Had it been Rebel, she would have killed him rather than be raped. Then he would have married no one.”

She spread her hands. “Perhaps it worked out as it had to be.”

“You are so gentle, you blame no one but yourself. Now Crenelle is driving you out.”

“She has the right. Were I married to her brother, and she single, I would have authority over her. It was perhaps my folly that led to this.”

She would not even blame Crenelle. But Keeper did. He loved Crenelle, but what she was doing was wrong.

They slept. In the night he dreamed. He was walking south, along the shore. He walked and walked, traveling an enormous distance, more than he could cover in two months of waking walking. He came to the land of the mad stranger. There were people growing the strange edible plants called potatoes, that grew from eyes. He picked up a potato, wanting to take it home and grow others like it, but it opened an eye and looked at him, and he lost his nerve and put it back. He walked through a mountain village, and saw fat little rodents called guinea pigs running around their houses, underfoot; all the people had to do was pick one up and prepare it for eating. Then
he saw a llama, a strange animal like a solid deer with a long neck and woolly fur. Its head lifted up so that it looked him in the eye from his own height.

Startled, he woke, and realized that it was indeed a dream, based on what Baker had told him. Of course it might not be true; the folk who lived south probably farmed the same crops and hunted the same animals they did here. But it intrigued him mightily, and he wished he could visit that rare land and see for himself. But that would require an arduous journey, perhaps by boat, risking storms. He couldn't do it; he had a family to support.

And in support of that family, he had to put his sister into exile in a stinking village.

When morning came, they foraged for fruit to eat, then returned to the village. Matriarch was there, but the man wasn't. “He should be on his way,” the woman said. “Do what you wish, meanwhile.”

They went back to the shore, accepting the squalor and smell as the price of it. This time they saw two fishermen working in their boats, not far offshore. They had a net, and were seining it through the water, hauling it up laden with fish. They grabbed the fish they wanted, and dumped the others back into the water.

“Little ones,” Baker said. “No point in harvesting them. Let them grow until they are big; then we'll eat them.”

“The way we leave squash until big enough,” Keeper agreed. It hadn't occurred to him to do it with fish, however.

“But they are throwing back some big ones,” Haven said, peering at the boats.

“Trash fish,” Baker explained. “Inedible, or bad tasting. Sometimes bits of waterlogged wood. They're sorting out the catch.”

“Sorting out,” Keeper agreed. An idea simmered, but did not quite take form.

A little boy ran up to them. “Strangers!” he cried, addressing them. “Pul is here!”

It was time. Keeper did not look at his sister as they walked to the matriarch's station.

Pul was a large, muscular man, not handsome but not mean-looking. He eyed Haven appraisingly as they approached.

“You'll do,” the man said. Men were quick to make up their minds, especially when the woman was well formed. Haven, at age twenty-four, was not young, but she had very good breasts and thighs.

“Why are you single?” Keeper asked.

“I like a woman, but she likes another man better,” Pul said. “Can't think why; he's scrawny.”

“Is he smart?”

“Pretty much. What has that got to do with it?”

The man couldn't see why a woman would prefer a smart man to a strong one. And it was true, some woman didn't. Crenelle, maybe. Was he going to be able to hold on to her, even if he let Haven go? She wanted Hero.

Haven kept silent, but he knew she wasn't thrilled with this man Pul. He might be all right, but Haven was not a stupid woman, and would be somewhat stultified even if Pul were gentle.

Keeper thought of the fishermen, throwing away the bad fish. That was what he was trying to do here: throw away the bad men. He didn't like Pul, and didn't want the man to have his sister. Also irrelevantly, he thought of the teo weed, with its hard little seeds; it was so much work to gather them, though they were edible. If he could just throw away the bad ones, and keep the good ones, and have a better harvest later. . .

And why not? Each plant's seeds produced more plants of its own kind. Suppose he reversed it, and ate the small hard seeds, and threw away the nice big ones: putting them in the ground, where they would grow more plants. More big-seed plants. Would he have more good ones?

Suddenly excited, he wanted to get home and try it. But then he became aware of a silence. The others were looking at him.

“No,” he said abruptly. “I will take my sister home.”

Both the matriarch and Pul looked at him, astonished. They had thought he would have to take this final offering. And maybe he should. But he couldn't do it to Haven. Even if it meant he lost Crenelle.

In any event, he had something else to occupy him now. The
prospect of planting good teo seeds excited him. Who could say what might come of this?

Soon they were walking back toward the mountain. When they were out of sight of the village, Haven grabbed him and kissed him hard. “Thank you, little brother! But why did you do it? You know the mischief this will make.”

“I know,” he agreed. “But I have seeds to plant.”

The first tiny cobs of maize appeared 5,000 years ago, adapted from teosinte. It was a long, slow process, for teosinte in the wild was nothing like modern maize, now called corn in America. The seeds were on small brittle stalks, which shattered as they matured. But when the transition to large soft seeds on cobs was made, it was to transform New World agriculture, and later the world's, for maize was destined to become one of the major food crops of the planet.

So was the one Keeper didn't quite believe existed, the potato. That eventually became
the
leading food crop in the world. But there is no evidence that the potato made the transition from South America to Central or North America until relatively recently. Similarly the llama remained where it was. As a result, the South Americans progressed to the settled life and civilization earlier than the Central Americans did, though in this case the climate would have permitted an earlier transfer.

Neolithic farming spread across Europe from east to west, reaching the Iberian peninsula (now Spain and Portugal) circa 6,700 years ago. There does not seem to have been any wholesale genetic replacement as the farmers moved in on the hunters and foragers; the various populations simply merged. This does not necessarily mean that there were no cultural clashes. The change just may have been slower and more subtle than outright conquest.

The setting is northern Iberia, the foothills of the western Pyrenees. The time is 4,100 years ago.

Haven shook her head. There simply wasn't enough left to eat. It had been a lean summer, and now they faced the fall and winter without adequate stores. Something had to be done.

She discussed it first with Crenelle, as she also had a child. Adults could suffer through when they had to, but it was awful to do it to children.

“You're right,” Crenelle agreed. “We can't make it through the winter.”

“What are our alternatives?” Haven knew them, but didn't want to speak them.

“We can't stay here. We'll have to go. But where?”

Where else? “We'll have to go to your people,”

Crenelle was grim. “Tour can't go there.”

“Anywhere else is doom. The drought is all over.”

“All over,” the woman agreed.

“And you know the people.”

“I know the people. Yet . . .” Her eyes flicked toward her daughter, who was playing with Haven's son in the corner. Tour was seven, Risk six; they got along well together.