“I haven’t agreed to any of this yet,” Sorgan protested.

“Were you going to say no?”

“Well . . .” His objection sort of dribbled off as he remembered that solid wall of gold bricks.

“I didn’t really think so,” Zelana said smugly. “Now go.”

He looked longingly toward the back of the cave.

“Quickly, quickly, Sorgan,” she said, snapping her fingers at him. “The day runs on, and we want to be well on our way before the sun goes to bed.”

THE LAND OF MAAG

1

Now, Old-Bear was the chief of the tribe, and though he seldom spoke, Longbow’s parents had told their son when he had been but a child that Old-Bear was very wise. Longbow had been busy being a child at that time, so he had accepted what his parents had told him without question and had continued his childhood with great enthusiasm.

The village of Old-Bear’s tribe at that time had been located atop a high bluff where the deep forest lay at its back and the shining face of Mother Sea stretched from the foot of the bluff to the far western horizon. Longbow had been certain that there could be no better place in the entire world to be a child.

It had been in the late summer of Longbow’s fifth year when many members of Old-Bear’s tribe had been overcome by a strange illness that had first burned them with fever and then had wracked them with chill. Their skin had been marked with purple splotches, and they had seen things which had not really been there—things so horrible that they had screamed for many days—and then they had died.

Now, One-Who-Heals was the shaman of Old-Bear’s tribe, and he was very skilled in the healing arts, but the pestilence which had crept out of the night resisted his every attempt to conquer it, and fully half the tribe of Old-Bear had been carried off. And among those who had been lost had been the parents of Longbow and the mate of Chief Old-Bear. And One-Who-Heals, realizing that the pestilence had defeated him, had gone to the lodge of Old-Bear and had urged his chief to gather up those members of the tribe who still lived and to flee.

In sorrow, Old-Bear had agreed and had commanded the survivors to burn their lodges, and then he had led them to a new location near the shore of Mother Sea, where they could build lodges on uncontaminated ground, and he had taken the orphaned Longbow into his new lodge and had reared him as if he were his own son.

Now, Old-Bear had a daughter named Misty-Water, but the children had not, as children often do, contended with each other for Old-Bear’s attention but rather had joined together in their grief. Though they had grown up together in the same lodge, Misty-Water and Longbow had never thought of each other as brother and sister—perhaps because Old-Bear had always referred to Longbow as their “guest.”

Even as a child, Longbow had been very perceptive, and it had seemed to him that Old-Bear’s use of the word “guest” had been his way to carefully manipulate the thinking of the two children in his lodge. The ultimate goal of the clever chief had been fairly obvious, but as Misty-Water had matured, Longbow had seen no real reason to complain. Misty-Water had grown up to be the sort of girl who made men stop breathing as she walked by. Her long hair was as black as a raven’s wings, and her skin was pale as the moon. Her eyes were large, and her lips were full. She was quite tall and slender, and as she began to mature, other interesting aspects emerged as well. Longbow had found that it was very difficult to take his eyes from her.

The fathers of attractive girls are frequently very edgy as young men begin to gather in large numbers about their daughters, but Old-Bear remained tranquil because Longbow was attending to the matter. Even as a young man scarcely past his boyhood, Longbow was quite tall and well muscled, and he could be very persuasive. After only a few incidents, the other young men of Old-Bear’s tribe came to understand that the pursuit of Misty-Water could be most hazardous.

Misty-Water appreciated Longbow’s actions, since she had concerns of her own that required her undivided attention. She had observed that several of the other young women of the tribe viewed Longbow with a great deal of interest, and it seemed to her that it might be prudent to encourage disinterest. It didn’t really take Misty-Water very long to persuade those other young women that Longbow wasn’t really available. In most cases, she had accomplished this with a few hints, but a couple of the young women of the tribe had required a more direct approach. There had been a few bruises involved, but very few really serious injuries.

Old-Bear had watched their little games. He hadn’t said anything, but he had frequently smiled.

The other young men of the tribe viewed Longbow with a kind of awe. He had taken up his bow very early, and he had never been able to explain exactly how it was that every arrow he loosed from his long, curved bow went precisely where he wanted it to go, even at incredible distances. He had tried to explain the sense of oneness he felt with every target his arrows unerringly found. The unity of hand and eye and thought lies at the center of every archer’s skill, of course, but Longbow had realized very early that the target must be included in that unification. It was that sense of joining that lay at the core of Longbow’s unerring accuracy. He believed that his target seemed almost to draw his arrow, and that is a very difficult concept to explain.

Misty-Water, however, had not had any difficulty understanding Longbow’s point. She had been unified with her target since early childhood.

Everyone in Old-Bear’s tribe knew by now that it wouldn’t be too long before a certain ceremony would take place, but exactly when was entirely up to Chief Old-Bear, and the chief didn’t seem to be in any great hurry.

Longbow and Misty-Water were fairly certain that the chief’s delay was no more than his way of teasing them, but they didn’t really think it was very funny at all.

It was in the early summer of Longbow’s fourteenth year that Old-Bear finally conceded that the children of his lodge were probably mature enough, so with some show of reluctance he agreed that Misty-Water and Longbow could go through the ceremony which would join them for life.

The celebration began immediately. Misty-Water’s father was the chief, and the young couple was very popular in the tribe, so their joining promised to be the happiest event of the summer. The young women of the tribe gave Misty-Water small gifts, and their gatherings around her were often punctuated with giggles.

The young men gave Longbow well-made arrowheads, spear points, and knives, all chipped from the finest stone, and they helped him build the lodge where he and Misty-Water were to dwell.