underground a variety of tortars, a fleshy sort of root vegetable that was able to flourish without sunlight. Unfortunately, tortars were the only edible plant that would.
Only the hardiest, the most tenacious of them refused to yield to this easy but unhappy way of living. Those most determined stayed on the crusty dry surface to nurse along their crops and animal herds against all the hazards. Some called them foolhardy--admittedly resilient but fools just the same--to put life in the sun ahead of possessions and safety.
Among those who persisted were Baka and his family, refusing absolutely to consider moving permanently into the dark, cold underground caverns.
"It is better to be alive and cold and miserable in the underground dimness," expounded the new inner-earth dwellers, "than warm and dead in the sunlight." More than a molecule of truth lay in this statement, for so many died in the wind funnels, so many froze, so many fell stricken from the heat and dust that clogged their lungs. Those who didn't die from the heat or the cold died in the deluging waters or were crushed by falling trees or boulders or were worn down from sheer fatigue, until they sickened into death.
There were so many ways to die on the surface, but there was only one way to die underground.
Some whispered that the Gods would have their revenge on Baka, who resisted them at every opportunity. "I will not!" raged Baka when a delegation of his neighbors requested that he sacrifice his most potent male, the one Far-Awn called Musha. "I will give a lesser male to the Gods, but not Musha!" His friends and neighbors scowled: to give a lesser male was not a sacrifice. Only the best would appease the Gods. They had given their most fertile males, so why should Baka be allowed to give less?
Not more than one bag of grain would Baka burn at the altar! He cheated in so many ways, his neighbors whispered among themselves.
Only by wearing his woebegone expression did Baka hope to disguise his antagonism to a religion that demanded the best of everything in sacrifice. Baka grumbled to his wife. "Next they'll be asking for my best son to sacrifice...and then my daughter. Give the priests Musha and there will be no ending to their demands. And how do we know if the Gods even notice?"
"Ssssh!" cautioned Lee-La in a hushed voice of fear, cautiously looking around to see who might have overheard. Then she asked, with strong curiosity on her round pleasant face, "Our ancestors used to give their first son, but if you were forced to sacrifice your best son, which would it be?"
"None!" shouted Baka angrily. "Those days are gone! Of human life we have too little--I won't give one, the best or the worst!"
"But just for my benefit, tell me which is the best?"
Baka glared at his wife in hot temper, then threw himself down on the bed. The second sun was near the horizon. Soon all would fall into oblivion, but he had the time to wonder briefly which son would he willingly sacrifice--if someday he must: Not one, not one...not even the worst, who was in some ways the best. I too am a fool, he thought, and then slept untroubled, even by dreams.
It came about in the days that followed that once-friendly neighbors stayed as far from Baka and his family as they could, lest they share in Baka's special punishment from the Gods when it came. And come it would, sooner or later. Twelve sons alive and healthy--though Far-Awn was doubtful mentally--was sure to be noticed. That woebegone expression of Baka's could be just the result of overwork and too much mental strain, and not his natural humble expression, as it should be.
Finally, the weather became so unendurable, all but Baka moved underground. He and his family alone were left above to suffer whatever the Gods chose to give him. Those below waited, beginning to feel that Baka and his entire family was indeed just the sacrifice that would appease the Gods who lived on Green Mountain.
That year Far-Awn was twelve. Of
Only the hardiest, the most tenacious of them refused to yield to this easy but unhappy way of living. Those most determined stayed on the crusty dry surface to nurse along their crops and animal herds against all the hazards. Some called them foolhardy--admittedly resilient but fools just the same--to put life in the sun ahead of possessions and safety.
Among those who persisted were Baka and his family, refusing absolutely to consider moving permanently into the dark, cold underground caverns.
"It is better to be alive and cold and miserable in the underground dimness," expounded the new inner-earth dwellers, "than warm and dead in the sunlight." More than a molecule of truth lay in this statement, for so many died in the wind funnels, so many froze, so many fell stricken from the heat and dust that clogged their lungs. Those who didn't die from the heat or the cold died in the deluging waters or were crushed by falling trees or boulders or were worn down from sheer fatigue, until they sickened into death.
There were so many ways to die on the surface, but there was only one way to die underground.
Some whispered that the Gods would have their revenge on Baka, who resisted them at every opportunity. "I will not!" raged Baka when a delegation of his neighbors requested that he sacrifice his most potent male, the one Far-Awn called Musha. "I will give a lesser male to the Gods, but not Musha!" His friends and neighbors scowled: to give a lesser male was not a sacrifice. Only the best would appease the Gods. They had given their most fertile males, so why should Baka be allowed to give less?
Not more than one bag of grain would Baka burn at the altar! He cheated in so many ways, his neighbors whispered among themselves.
Only by wearing his woebegone expression did Baka hope to disguise his antagonism to a religion that demanded the best of everything in sacrifice. Baka grumbled to his wife. "Next they'll be asking for my best son to sacrifice...and then my daughter. Give the priests Musha and there will be no ending to their demands. And how do we know if the Gods even notice?"
"Ssssh!" cautioned Lee-La in a hushed voice of fear, cautiously looking around to see who might have overheard. Then she asked, with strong curiosity on her round pleasant face, "Our ancestors used to give their first son, but if you were forced to sacrifice your best son, which would it be?"
"None!" shouted Baka angrily. "Those days are gone! Of human life we have too little--I won't give one, the best or the worst!"
"But just for my benefit, tell me which is the best?"
Baka glared at his wife in hot temper, then threw himself down on the bed. The second sun was near the horizon. Soon all would fall into oblivion, but he had the time to wonder briefly which son would he willingly sacrifice--if someday he must: Not one, not one...not even the worst, who was in some ways the best. I too am a fool, he thought, and then slept untroubled, even by dreams.
It came about in the days that followed that once-friendly neighbors stayed as far from Baka and his family as they could, lest they share in Baka's special punishment from the Gods when it came. And come it would, sooner or later. Twelve sons alive and healthy--though Far-Awn was doubtful mentally--was sure to be noticed. That woebegone expression of Baka's could be just the result of overwork and too much mental strain, and not his natural humble expression, as it should be.
Finally, the weather became so unendurable, all but Baka moved underground. He and his family alone were left above to suffer whatever the Gods chose to give him. Those below waited, beginning to feel that Baka and his entire family was indeed just the sacrifice that would appease the Gods who lived on Green Mountain.
That year Far-Awn was twelve. Of
Similar Books
Gossip Can Be Murder
Connie Shelton
Los cañones del atardecer
Rick Atkinson
New Species 09 Shadow
Laurann Dohner
Teleporter (a Hyllis family story #2)
Laurence Dahners
Camellia
Lesley Pearse
Bank Job
James Heneghan
The Traveller
John Katzenbach
Horse Sense
Bonnie Bryant
Drive-By
Lynne Ewing