The Elder Gods. David Eddings
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 take Misty-Water 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 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 that 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 no 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. They didn’t think it was 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. The young couple were popular in the tribe, and their joining promised to be the happiest event of the summer. The young women of the tribe gave Misty-Water little 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.
Finally the day of their joining arrived, and in keeping with tradition, Misty-Water arose at dawn to go alone to a quiet pool in the nearby forest to bathe and then to garb herself in the soft white deerskin garment she was to wear during the ceremony.
Longbow was not supposed to look upon her that day until the time of the ceremony, and so he kept his eyes tightly closed as he lay on his pallet while Misty-Water gathered up her ceremonial garment and quietly left her father’s lodge. ‘Hurry back,’ he said softly as she went out into the morning light, and she laughed a pearly little laugh that touched his very heart.
The sun rose above the deep forest to the east, and the blue shadows of morning gradually faded as that most special of days plodded slowly along. Longbow garbed himself with some care, and then he waited.
But Misty-Water did not return.
By mid-morning Longbow was frantic. Misty-Water was as impatient as he was to go through the ceremony of their joining, and nobody could take this long to bathe. Finally Longbow cast custom and tradition aside and ran out of the village along the path that led to the quiet pool in the forest. And when he reached it, his heart stopped.
His mate-to-be, garbed all in white deerskin, was floating face-down in the still water of the pool
Desperately, Longbow rushed into the water, gathered her in his arms and struggled back to the moss-covered edge of the pool. He laid her face down on the moss and pressed her back as One-Who-Heals had instructed the young men of the tribe to do to revive a drowning victim, but despite everything Longbow tried to revive her, Misty-Water showed not the faintest sign of life.
In agony Longbow raised his face and howled as all meaning faded from his life.
When Longbow, insensible with grief, carried the still body of Misty-Water back to the village, Chief Old-Bear wept, but in time he sent for the shaman of the tribe, One-Who-Heals. ‘She could not have drowned, could she?’ the sorrowing chief demanded. ‘She swam very well, and that pool in the forest is not deep.’
‘She was not drowned, Old-Bear,’ One-Who-Heals replied grimly. ‘The marks on her throat are the marks of fangs. It was venom that took her life.’
‘There are no poisonous snakes in this region,’ Old-Bear protested.
One-Who-Heals pointed at the marks on Misty-Water’s throat. ‘No snake of any size has fangs this large. It is my thought that these are the fang-marks of one of the servants of That-Called-the-Vlagh. There are many stories about the servants of the Vlagh. Old stories seldom have much truth to them, but it seems that the stories about the creatures of the Wasteland might well be true. It was That-Called-the-Vlagh that made them, and we are told that the Vlagh gave them venom so that they would need no weapons.’
‘Why would a servant of the Vlagh kill our beloved Misty-Water?’ Old-Bear demanded in a voice filled with grief.
‘There are rumors in the air which tell us that the Thing-Called-the-Vlagh grows restless and that it sends its servants out of the Wasteland into the coastal domains to watch us so that the Vlagh might come to know of our weaknesses. Those servants do not wish to be seen, I think, so they will most probably kill any of us who happen to see them so that they may continue to watch us and to carry what they have seen back to the Vlagh.’
‘It might be well then if none of the servants of the Vlagh return to the Wasteland with this knowledge,’ Old-Bear said grimly. ‘I will speak with my son Longbow of this. His grief may be a well-spring for eternal hatred, and I think That-Called-the-Vlagh may come to regret what its servants have done this day.’
‘Send him to me before he goes to the hunt, my chief,’ One-Who-Heals suggested. ‘Let him grieve first, though. He’ll think more clearly after his grief has run its course. And while he grieves, I will do what I can to gather more information about the servants of the Vlagh, so that I can advise him of their peculiarities.’
It was late in the winter of the following year when Old-Bear decided that it might well be time to take the still-grieving Longbow to the lodge of One-Who-Heals, for Longbow’s grief showed no signs of fading, and so he bleakly commanded his despairing son to accompany him.
And so they trudged through the melting snow to the shaman’s lodge, and when they entered, One-Who-Heals opened a bundle of dried bones and spread them out upon a blanket for them to see. ‘Since little is known of the creatures of the Wasteland who serve That-Called-the-Vlagh, I thought it might be well if we had a dead one to examine so that we might better understand its peculiarities,’ he told them.
‘Where did you find this dead one?’ Longbow asked in a flat, unemotional voice.
‘I didn’t really find it, Longbow. After the death of Misty-Water, I went out to trap one of them. They know little about the forest, so it’s easy to conceal a trap from them. I found tracks which told me where I might have some luck with a trap, and then I dug a pit and concealed it under fallen leaves and twigs. It was a fairly deep pit, and I lined the bottom with sharpened stakes and then, when it was well-concealed, I waited. It took a while, but finally one of the Vlagh’s servants fell into my trap, and the stakes