Chapter 86 - The Country of the Ground Scratchers part 4

After that, our journey continued without incident, and we came at last into the country of the Ground Scratchers.

Very soon after entering their territory, I had to agree with Ilio's uncle. The Ground Scratchers were a strange people. The homes we passed were odd-shaped huts made of timber and thatch. They were much larger than the dome-shaped tents I'd lived in as a man, with peaked roofs and waist-high openings in the walls through which their occupants could peer outside. Some of the openings were decorated with beaded hangings or weaves, which the humans had to push aside if they wanted to look out. These thatched huts looked very sophisticated to me. I was impressed by the ingenuity their complex construction represented. Humanity had made great advances during my long sleep in the ice!

Surrounding the dwellings were broad yards studded with conical wooden structures. The wooden stakes were angled toward a common center and lashed together with twine, with vines twisted all around and through them. Strange green vegetables bobbed from the stems of the plants.

In the bare dirt yards between these strange vegetable cages, haggard men and women with short-cropped hair clawed at the earth with long wooden tools. Stone blades were lashed onto the ends of the handles, and they tirelessly thrust these triangular shaped blades into the ground and raked the crumbly soil back toward their feet.

We observed the humans working from a little distance, puzzled by their behavior. Whatever task they were set upon, it must have been quite important, for they worked without ceasing, and all the while, other humans in brightly colored garments watched over them, doing nothing but occasionally barking an order or slashing the bent back of one of the laborers with a switch.

"See how they scratch at the ground?" Ilio whispered to me. "It's like my uncle said."

"Very peculiar," I replied. "Why are they scratching the dirt like that?"

Ilio shrugged. "They worship a goddess who lives in the earth. I guess they're scratching her back."

I snorted. "Why? Does she have fleas?"

A few of the laborers took notice of our presence and stopped to ogle us, but they returned to their duties without accosting us, bending quickly to their work when their overseer barked at them.

The presence of so many humans gave me pause, but I sensed no malice in their glances. They seemed only tired and resigned. They smelled of sweat and dirt and a palpable sense of fatalism.

The stern men supervising their labor, on the other hand, pretended not to notice us.

We moved on, making our way up a steep hill. We were in no hurry, just wandering in a lackadaisical manner, taking in the sights like any other tourists would, regardless of the era. We were following a well-worn path that meandered in between the strange, peaked houses and the bare dirt yards where the laborers so diligently toiled. Here and there, men and women tended to fruit trees, and on a distant hillside, a group of humans labored in a field of flax, plucking some part of the stalk and stuffing it in their baskets. Flax, I knew, could be woven into string or the sophisticated textiles the people of this region seemed to favor. My people had used it to weave the string we sometimes used to sew our clothing together, though we'd never harvested it on such a scale.

The sun overhead was bright and warm. It stung my eyes like an infuriated scorpion, but I endured the discomfort for Ilio's sake. His head was swiveling tirelessly back and forth as he absorbed this country's outlandish sights: the strange homes with their bright decorations, the odd behavior of the inhabitants, the colorful beaded clothes of the labor masters.

As we rounded the hill, we could not help but falter in our tracks. Were we already impressed? Down below, stretching across a wide and sparsely wooded plain, all the way to the banks of a gleaming, serpentine river, was a village crowded with an uncountable number of dwellings. I'd never seen a settlement so large, or with so many huts! Judging by the expression on Ilio's face, he hadn't either. Men, women and children swarmed like ants through the avenues. Some of the lodges were truly massive-- by my primitive reckoning, anyway. There were extensive fields where groups of Ground Scratchers labored, hundreds of them it seemed, their bare backs bent to their duties. In other lots, fruit trees marched rank and file, rows upon rows of them. There was a large circular plaza in the center of the settlement, and herds of animals massed in wood enclosures.

"Shall we retreat?" I asked in a low voice, only half-joking.

Ilio looked at me apprehensively. "N-no. Let's go down there."

I glanced at him and nodded.

Hitching our packs, we descended.

As we passed through the village of the Ground Scratchers, my head began to spin. A whirlwind of inexplicable sights and sounds and smells bombarded my senses. Men and women dug ceaselessly at the bare dirt, or stood on their knees at the bases of large, food-bearing plants, picking at the leaves. Other humans dressed in brilliantly dyed garments stopped to gape at us as we passed them in the thoroughfares. Some of them were bedecked in preposterously ornate headgear, pendulous jewelry swinging from their earlobes or nipples or genitals. The women wore beaded skirts and collars of woven plant material cinched around their breasts, which made their teats stick out straight in front of them. The men wore cloaks with feathered collars and plaited vests. Some of them sported long, cylindrical gourds on their cocks, lashed round their hips with strings. The smell of feces was overwhelming. Rivulets of animal and human excrement ran along shallow troughs, or collected into hideous smelling pools in the low-lying areas of the settlement. We paused to listen to a trio of men playing musical instruments in an alley. The tune was loud and cheery. At the fore of the performers, a monkey on a leash turned flips and beat a tiny drum with a stick. We passed a construction of hewn timber that housed a herd of jostling reindeer, and then another enclosing great feathered beasts. The massive birds strutted upon powerful, bright orange legs as long as the boy was tall, their beaked heads rising up twice our height.

Ilio approached the enclosure, grinning up at one of the mighty raptors. I think he intended to pet it. The animal cocked an eye at him, spared him a withering glare, then promptly ducked its head and snatched a beak full of his hair.

"Owww!" he exclaimed, dodging back and rubbing his skull.

"Careful, boy," I laughed.

The presence of so many humans strained my composure. The smell of their warm-blooded bodies had whetted my appetite. I found myself wrestling with my blood-thirst before we'd even passed halfway through the encampment. There were so many of them, and they smelled so delicious! If I had not honed my self-control living with Ilio so many seasons, I might have run amok.

Yet, for all the village's glamor, there was a great disparity among its citizens, one which I did not look upon favorably. Some of the people who lived here were dressed in brightly dyed clothing. They wore great feathered headdresses or jeweled bands wrapped around their brows. Their faces were garishly decorated in livid hues of yellow and red and blue. They were well fed and their faces were untroubled. Yet the majority, the ones who labored in the soil, was naked or dressed in filthy rags. Their bent backs were striped with the scars of many a lash, and they seemed all to be half-starved, their ribs showing through their flesh, their joints knuckled. It was an appalling sight. To see so many men and women so starved, and in such an abundant land--! The disparity was quite distasteful to me, outrageous even, but being a foreigner, I felt I had little right to pass judgment on their society. How could I be so presumptuous? I wanted to suck the blood of every person who passed me by.

I expected to be challenged by the warriors who patrolled the avenues. There were quite a few of them, lean men with cruel, suspicious eyes, and all of them were well armed. They wore bone plated armor vests and shoulder pieces and helmets made of shell and woven plant material, with boar tusks or small antlers curving out from the sides. None challenged our presence, although a couple of them stopped to stare at us a moment before turning and racing away.

"They're running to tell their chieftain about us," I murmured to Ilio. "Are you sure these people are friendly to outsiders?"

Ilio looked at me apprehensively.

Before much time had passed, a procession of men rounded the corner and marched toward us. There were five wizened elders in the group, flanked on each side by a pair of armed guards. I came to a stop when I saw them and casually pushed Ilio behind me.

They approached until they were but six strides away, then the old men bowed to me, more or less in unison.

I bowed back, relieved that we were not immediately accosted.

The expressions on their faces were pleasant enough, and yet there was something about the old chieftains I was immediately suspicious of. I couldn't put my finger on it, not even with my enhanced senses, but they put my wind up, and I was careful of them from the outset.

Something in the aroma of their bodies struck me as peculiar. They looked like any other old men, smelled like any other old men, too: odor of sour sweat and shit. Yet there was an odd undertone to their scent that was not quite natural. It was faintly familiar, but what was it?

And it was not just their smell. The skin of the elders was the color of mahogany, deeply lined by years of exposure to the elements, but their flesh had a glossy texture that was just slightly unnatural. They moved strangely, too. Their backs were bent with age, but they moved their bodies with an ease that belied their advanced years. Their hair was frizzy and gray, but it was glossy as with youth, and their eyes were very bright and clear, not yellow and bloodshot and faded, as the eyes of old men naturally become as they wind their final years toward death.

They wore their authority in bright hues and jeweled adornments. Each was dressed in very elaborate woven garments—bright plated skirts, beaded shoulder mantles and headdresses-- and their faces were painted a pale green hue with swathes of black across the eyes, making the whites of their eyes seem even more unnatural.

We stood appraising one another, the air between our groups thick with tension, until finally one of the old men stepped forward and spoke.

The old man who stepped forward had a large nose, sunken cheeks and only two teeth in his mouth, one at each corner of his lips. The others seemed to slouch a little when he moved to address us. He must be their leader then, I thought.

"Weh owwhen-ah, potashu t'sukuru," he said.

Of course his language was foreign to me, but some of the words sounded like Denghoi words. Owwhen-ah sounded like the Denghoi word for "welcome" and potashu was very similar to the Denghoi word for "drink" or "water". It was not surprising their language was analogous to the tongue of the Mammoth Hunters, as the two cultures were located very near to one another geographically, and, according to Ilio, they had traded in the past. Nevertheless, even with my vampire knack for dialects, it would take me days to master their tongue, and I was stumped trying to decide how I should proceed with this confrontation.

Behind me, Ilio piped, "Do you speak Denghoi?"

The old man leaned to one side and peeked at my young companion, then said, "Yes, I speak Denghoi, though it has been many seasons since we traded with the Mammoth Hunters of the north."

"The Denghoi are no more. I am the last one," Ilio said.

I nudged the boy to silence him, said, "I am Thest. This is my companion Ilio."

The old man stood straight—as straight as his curved spine would allow-- and squinted up at me while scratching the hairy round paunch that hung over his plated skirt. "I am Bhulloch, Thest. I am the Chief Elder of the Oombai people. I speak the tongue of your kind, too, though I've never known a Blood Drinker to approach the village of the Oombai in the daylight. Your people always come with the twilight, from the mountains in the east." The old man's eyes narrowed slyly. "Are you an outcast?"

I did not like the old man's wily expression, so I cobbled up a quick lie. "I am a messenger. I've been sent on a long journey and sought a place to rest."

"And your… slave? I've never known a Blood Drinker who traveled with a living companion."

"He's not my slave. He's to become a Blood Drinker soon, only he's not yet been made," I improvised.

Ilio gazed up at me, his eyes wide, and I looked sharply back at him. Hold your tongue, boy! My glance said.

The old man said, "Ahh! Very interesting!" He turned to his entourage and informed them quickly of our exchange. The other elders, and even their guards, glanced meaningfully at one another.

I didn't like how this way going and was just about to seize Ilio and retreat when the old man bowed again and said, "But of course we have a dwelling where you may rest for the day. We are always honored to host the Potashu T'sukuru. Please follow us. We'll take you to a hut where you can recuperate from your journey."

For Ilio's sake, I followed the elder procession—though I was feeling less confident by the moment the boy might find a home here among the Ground Scratchers.

The people of the village stopped to stare as we passed, their eyes wide. It was obvious from the way they stared that I was not the first vampire they'd seen, but I could tell the sight was not a familiar one to them, or one that was particularly welcome. Although I could easily hear the words they whispered in a rush to one another, I could not yet decipher their language. I was starting to get a feel for the sentence structure and had picked up a couple basic nouns and verbs—the I's and You's and Is'es—but the rest was still gibberish to me.

As we walked, Chief Elder introduced his compatriots to us. "This is Hault, my Second-In-Command." Hault, a tall and regal man with a large hook nose, nodded to me gravely. "This is Y'vort, who is the eldest of us all. He is the One-Who-Speaks-With-Livia." Y'vort, a tiny and incredibly wrinkled creature, waved to me-- a frugal gesture, as if he was too old to waste much energy on petty social niceties. Y'vort had to be helped along by the third elder, who walked at his side, lightly gripping the older man's knobby elbow. "That is the elder Gant, who is Y'vort's son, and this is Ungst, the Chief-Master-of-the-Neirie." Ungst, the youngest of the elders, was a fat old boar with a thick mass of curly black hair and ornate scar patterns scrawled upon the entirety of his gross and hirsute body.

The toothless old chieftain named Bhulloch spoke to me in a brisk, glottal dialect, then switched back to Denghoi when he saw that I did not comprehend his speech. "You do not speak the tongue of the T'sukuru?" he asked sharply, his great bushy brows drawing together.

"I speak many languages, but they are mostly the languages of the northern climes. I do not come this far south very often, and I have difficulty with the tongue of the eastern T'sukuru tribes. I prefer speaking the tongue of the Denghoi."

The old man said, "Hmm..." My lies did not impress him.

The dwelling they allotted us was large and finely appointed, with thick furs covering the ground and many hanging decorations. The lodging was suspiciously well-suited for a Blood Drinker's comfort: there was a circular interior chamber erected within the outer walls, with heavy draperies hanging in the doorway to block any light from falling through the entrance. It was dark as night inside, and there was no firepit or any type of opening in the roof to vent out smoke. Of course, a vampire would have no need for cooking fires. There was a single torch fluttering in the center of the room for light. I could literally feel my eyes twitch in relief, once the sun was no longer needling them mercilessly.

The Chief Elder bowed once more at the interior doorway and said, "Please consider yourselves our honored guests. You are welcome to stay as long as you require. Ungst will send food and drink for the boy. Have no worries, One-Called-Thest. You will be well guarded here in the village of the Oombai. You may continue your journey whenever you are rested, only come seek me before you leave. I humbly request an audience before you continue on your way… at your leisure, of course. The Oombai are ever content to serve the Potashu T'sukuru."

"You're most generous," I bowed.

The old man grinned, his eyes lingering on me a moment too long, then he let the door curtain drop into place.

"What does Potashu T'sukuru mean?" I asked Ilio, shouldering off my pack and dropping it against the wall.

The boy shrugged. "I'm not sure. Susk means feast in Dengoi."

I sighed and reclined on the ground. The furs were thick and soft. "Well, I hope you got an eyeful of their women, Ilio. I don't think we'll be staying here long. I don't like the cunning look in that old man's eyes. They want something from us… or from me. I'm sure of it. It was a mistake to come here."

I cast my eyes about the circular chamber, my nose crinkling. I smelled blood and death in here. Faint. Months old. And there was that unfamiliar odor again!

Ilio sat beside me. "The women here are very attractive. Are you sure we can't stay?"

I scowled at him. "I'd rather not."

"But you heard what they said about your people, Thest. The Oombai must trade with them regularly. Perhaps, we can meet them if we stay here. They might be able to help you find a way back to your wives and children."

I've been telling too many lies!

"Perhaps," I murmured, picking at a tuft of fur.

Before the boy could continue, three women pushed through the flap of the tent. The elder Ungst plodded in behind them, leering at us.

The women seemed hesitant to enter the chamber, their faces drawn with fear, their feet shuffling. The fat man prodded the women forward with a staff of polished wood, briefly annoyed.

"Ne homh t'zwei Neirie," he said to us, his lascivious grin returning. "Forst-ah t'shu?"

When we gawped at him uncomprehendingly, he sighed and gestured with his hands. He made a circle with the thumb and first finger of his left hand, then sawed the forefinger of his right hand back and forth inside the circle. He laughed when he saw the understanding come into our eyes, then flapped his hand in our direction and departed.

Ilio's jaw had dropped to his chest when the servant women slipped quietly inside, their eyes averted. Even I, I must admit, was a little taken aback by their attractiveness.

They were naked save a scrap of leather about the waist. Their bodies were painted head to toe with a brilliant white cosmetic. There were patterns of concentric circles drawn around their breasts and navels, and glyphs and abstract markings on their faces, arms, and legs. Perhaps most strikingly, their hair was shorn near to the scalp, just a fuzz upon their heads, and heavy ornaments swung from their earlobes. They carried with them water gourds and broad shell bowls, all finely formed and decorated with crudely painted figures of animals and humans with exaggerated sexual organs.

We were clearly getting the five star treatment, if you'll pardon the anachronistic metaphor.

"We are your Neirie," the woman at the front said meekly. "We've been sent to attend to your comfort. You must forgive my sisters, most honored ones. I am the only one of us who speaks Denghoi."

Both of us sat up, Ilio at the sight of their nakedness, and I at the smell of their blood. I smiled as kindly as I could, motioning for them to attend to their duties. I made sure my fangs didn't show. I didn't want to frighten them any further than they were already scared, but my effort to look as non-threatening as possible made little impression on them. I could smell their anxiety. It oozed out of their pores in clouds.

The slave women moved demurely to serve us, pouring clear water in the polished shell bowls so they could bathe us. The eldest Neirie attended me, while her sisters looked after Ilio.

"Please, don't be afraid of me," I said to the woman as she kneeled and unlaced my leather shoes. "I won't harm you."

Her fingers slowed as she loosened the laces of my footwear, then she hurried back to her task. She kept her gaze averted as she relieved me of my clothing. She motioned for me to stand.

I accommodated her, ignoring the hunger burning in my belly, and stood naked as she washed me head to toe.

I heard the other women giggle and looked toward Ilio. He was standing naked as well, his pecker rigid as a cucumber. One of the Neirie reached up with a wet cloth and washed it-- particularly well, I might add-- and his face turned red as an apple. Ilio's attendants peeked at one another evocatively, then let out another flourish of giggles.

I could tell by the tension in her shoulders that the woman attending to me was perturbed by her sisters' behavior. She shot them a scathing look, then moved around behind me and began to scrub my back.

"We are strangers to this region. Perhaps you can tell me why your people scratch at the ground as you do," I said as she washed my behind and the backs of my legs.

I didn't think she would respond to me at first, then she sighed and said, "They do it to turn the soil and make the vegetables grow. The old man says it pleases their Goddess."

"The One-Who-Speaks-With-Livia? The old one named Y'vort?"

"I do not believe in Livia. There is no goddess living in the soil. There is just dirt and worms and rocks."

I snorted. "My people share your skepticism. If there are gods, why do they never show themselves?"

"I thought the T'Sukuru claimed to be gods," the woman snapped, tossing her rag into the bowl. She rose and motioned for her sisters to follow her. "Do not think you will charm me with candor," she said, then she swept from the chamber with her sisters in tow.