Valley People by Evelyn J. Steward (best e reader for epub .txt) 📖

a new maiden dipped through the doorway but Acer accompanied her. She was not much past childhood and scared. Acer brought her to the bed and told Chual to do his duty…
Chual, acting drugged, lay across the girl and pretended to fall asleep.
“He was given too much. You must go and say that he was not well enough and you will come again tomorrow night,” Acer said to the maiden who nodded, grateful that she did not have to go trough this ordeal.
When the Headman found out he came and looked at Chual who slept on oblivious. Luckily it was just a cursory glance.
“Watch him girl,” he said to Acer. If he wakes get the girl back and make him take her,” His eyes bore into Acer’s, a hint of menace in his look, Irritated and frustrated in his plans, the Headman left the hut. Acer was frozen with fear. She ran over to the bed. “He has gone now,” she told Chual.
“We will wait until it is well dark and everyone is asleep. Do they keep guards at night?” he asked her. Acer shook her head. “Then we wait and wait,” said Chual.
Darkness fell over the village but Chual waited until a long time had past to make sure all were sleeping, then slipping the ropes, he grabbed Acer’s hand and slowly moved to the doorway. Listening, he determined that the village was silent. Slipping around to the far side of the hut, they crept between other smaller dwellings and headed for the trees. Going through the woods at night was hard as they stumbled many times over fallen logs and twining branches and plants. Chual set a fast pace and Acer was hard-pushed to keep up. After a long run, they stopped to rest for a few minutes.
“We must make a good run, the sun will rise soon and we have to be long gone. I will not put up with that again.” They started again and the woods thinned out and the going was better. They ran faster. The ground rose gently but the going was good.
Dawn broke and the sky was red and golden. Pretty, had they time to look at it. Acer slowed. She needed to rest. Chual stopped and listened, thought he could hear shouting in the woods far off. “We must go, now!” he yanked Acer up from the ground, held he hand tightly and ran fast. Then stopped. The ground ended in a drop-off. Just below trees grew tall and spread their branches. “We have to jump, no other way,” he urged her
They ran back a little way and then made a mad rush leaping off the cliff top and catching the branches. They were scratched and bleeding but climbed down to where the trees were thicker and they would be hidden from sight. They soon could here the Headman and his men searching for them. Acer and Chual stayed until it was dark then started their descent, away from the village, away from the maidens away from their duties to freedom.


Copyright 2002 continued 2010.


Valley People

Chapter 1 - Chual

Craggy mountains ringed the small valley. Blue shadows coloured the white pristine snow where the sun had not yet caught. Below tree level, in the sun’s fresh gleam, pines on the steep slopes let forth their pungent aroma, ending as a layer of scented air at tree-top height above the valley floor. Tiny fields, bordered the periphery of the village. Snow in the valley was patchy as the rays started to melt a full winter coverlet. Icy breezes caught at the dirty tattered clothing of the few that braved the early spring day. Compared with what winter had thrust at the inhabitants, the air was quite balmy.
Within the compound that made up the centre of the village, the earth was free of snow and frost. A layer of last years straw had kept the freezing ice from totally doing its work and now the ground was slushy but walk-able. The sun had hit the compound early and now people were out and about. A few smudges of green where brave blades of grass dared to break through the ground, brightened the brown of the bare soil. A blossom tree braved the weather and was scenting the air all around the huts with a strong heady perfume from barely open pale yellow blooms. Men and women moved about slowly, trying to complete tasks, their bodies stiff from winter cramps.
Chual was as strong as any other man of his age, or younger for that matter. Gtall, by comparison, but like those he compared himself to, gaunt for time of the season. Not in the flush of youth, he would grudgingly admit, but at least he had made it through the winter with some kind of flesh adhering to his bones, more so than some of the frailer people. They all suffered from the same wasting disease brought on by lack of food and warmth through the winter months. He considered himself lucky.
The grass poking through would feed the few scrawny head beasts that had been over-wintered in one of the abandoned hovels. Not for food for the winter but for the spring and a new crop of young animals. They were not strong enough to be taken to the high pastures until more meat clung to their protruding bones and winter’s icy grip eased enough for the passes to be open and become free of several feet of snow. A few weeks should see them moving. Up there they would have valleys where the grass grew lush, fresh and untouched by the time they were taken up the mountain,
A waft of acrid smoke drifted across Chual’s nostrils. Already, he thought?
The Charnel House, situated on the north side of the village cluster, was filled with bodies, those that had not made it through the bitter winter storms. Three of the old ones had just given up, passed on their rations and waited patiently for the end. Five had perished when an ice block crashed down from above as they lay sleeping. Two were new borns who had come at the wrong time and one……..One was his woman.
The pall of smoke ascended thick and black into the thin mountain air, wiping out the sweetness of the aromatic blossoms, eradicating the pine tree odours. The smoke was sickly with the smell of charred bodies.
Some would eat well tonight!
But not he!
He had no taste for flesh,….. Not of that kind.
Chual carried out favours! For these he was paid in kind, food mostly. Something to supplement his meagre rations. Much of which still remained. He had saved most of his portion and fed himself on what came by as a natural course. White hares mostly, or ptarmigan. It was little enough for a large man. The winter storms had done most of his work for him this winter. His woman, (perhaps he should have bonded with her), had been pregnant. What he did not eat had been destined for her as her gestation progressed. Hardly a feast!
Para had refused at first, saying she was strong and needed no more than any other woman in the village. Chual had insisted. Para had secretly hidden the grain he pressed upon her - in case of emergency. The flesh on her bones had swelled with her gravid state. A greased plump look gave credence to her insistence that she was eating the extra.
A freak accident had killed her outright. A large carver bird flying aloft had dropped the stone it was carrying high above. With spring approaching, the stone - the size of a mna’ fist - was for its new nest. The height that which the bird flew, gravity became the killer. It was sharp and ragged and pierced her brain. For Para, the silent stone was her death knell.
That was six days ago. Death stalked the village at this time of year, in one guise or another.
Turning on his heel, Chual walked away from the wind-blown stench. I sickened him that they had come to this.
Five seasons ago, four even, this had been a happy village full of children. Their laughter had sounded like rippling water. Women baked bread in the clay ovens on the plaza fire, (he could smell its tantalising aroma even now). They chatted, cooked food in the communal roasting pit and washed clothing down in the crystal- clear streams on the southern edge of the village. The sang as they worked the clothing. Men tilled the tiny fields, tended the herd-beasts; hunted the fleet brown deer that sometimes came down to then valley floor. And after work, enjoyed wrestling matches; ran races against each other. Smoked the herbal tobacco traded with visitors during the summer season.
Why had it all changed? Why?
His old friend Raddear had laughed and joked with him on fine summer evenings when work was done, food was eaten and time to take pleasure was abundant. He had gone two summers past. Fallen when a torrent arose and brought great boulders crashing down on him. His broken bones would not knit together. Raddear had begged his old friend to complete the granit’s work. It was the hardest task Chual had ever carried out.
A loud raucous call sounded high above him. Chual turned his head skyward to see a large carver bird flapping its wings lazily in the clear air on his side of the village. Passing across the suns rays, its shadow shaded Chuals head for a moment. He threw up his fist in rage. It might have been the same bird that had inadvertently killed his beloved Para. Thoughts that it might not be the same bird or that his actions were irrational flew out of his mind right then. Had he weapons in his hands he might have tried to shoot a dart into its ugly heart but his hands, like his own heart, were empty. Instead he threw an oath in the bird’s direction. The bird took no notice, slowly wending its way towards the high pastures and the new nesting site.
“Chual, wait up a moment!” It was the new Headman, Kundra.
Chual waited. This man was not someone he cared for but he had only one vote after old Bannor had given up and died. “Yes Kundra.”
“I would have a word with you my friend.” Chual hated being called a friend by someone he