The Line of Cain

Cain was the first man on Nod, the Cainite warriors told Grant. One of the many, many titles they knew him by was “The Second Man,” but they had no notion whatsoever who the First Man might have been. Grant had a theory on that.

“As to his age, I do not rightly know.” the wagon-driver Grant had rescued said by a campfire, once they had rallied with the other survivors of the skirmish and found their way to a Cainite war-camp of a hundred or so. “It would have to be in the… oh, hundreds of thousands, I would say.”

A younger warrior, whose flat nose, upturned eyes, and sharp chin gave him a serpentine look, scoffed at them. “Mankind's not that old. I was studying for the civil service exam in Lugo before I joined up, you know. The genealogies of the early emperors back to Cain suggest five, six, maybe as many as ten thousand years, but no more than that.”

An older warrior with scars across his gray-bearded face looked up from sharpening his sword. “Cain's spoken of watching the coasts change shape and jagged mountains worn smooth by the wind. Have you ever seen a rock ground to dust by countless ages of air passing over it? I would not put him younger than five million years, even if he has aged mightily more gracefully than I in that time.”

The snake-faced ex-scholar sighed. “Well, however long the true tale of human history might be, Cain’s been there for all of it. Sometimes a king shaping the face of Nod, sometimes a pauper watching from the shadows, but all of it goes back to him. Of all who rule in this world, most strongly his, as patriarch of the whole Human Clan, is the Mandate of Heaven. That's why I'm here, after all.” He turned to Grant. “I would normally expect your reasons not to be much different… what are you, a Vetano? But wherever you're from, stranger, your lack of familiarity with Cain, beyond the name of your progenitor, is strange indeed.”

“What? No, I'm from Texas. All of us where I come from are descended from Seth.” A few preachers from thereabouts would have disagreed, but seeing how much these known descendants of Cain in front of him varied in skin color, Grant didn't reckon those fringe views were worth voicing. “But if everyone in this place is from Cain’s bloodline, what makes you bunch especially Cainite? Why do y'all seem to be just one tribe or one nation among many?”

“We serve him.” The old warrior paused. “Daguk never properly introduced you, did he, stranger?” He cast a sidelong glance at the wagon driver. “I am Piran ba-Pirfez, originally from Ak-Jiresh in Jalabarta. Our renegade scholar here is Gotai, scion of the most esteemed Lan clan of Lugo. The girl is Iona, a Vetana of piratical stock. And you, Texas man?”

Grant did a bit of a double-take at that last one, realizing now that a fourth warrior around this fire– who had not yet said anything– was not a slim teen boy as he had first assumed. Her stiff leather cuirass and hooded cloak hadn't helped prevent that mistake. “Grant. Grant Herrera, from Austin. Did all of Cain's men… all of his warriors come here from somewhere else?”

Piran shook his head. “Cain started this horde with a band of brigands he strung together from the refuse of civilized lands, but it's swollen over the last two or three centuries into a huge tribal confederation. Many of us in this company are freebooters from those same lands, wandered north and sworn to Cain, but Daguk there is of a native steppe tribe called the Bayut. Our commander, who you will no doubt meet soon, is the heir to their chieftain.”

“I see. So I could join up with Cain? Kill more of those Bekhite savages?”

“Easy, Grant.” Daguk said, “As a proud savage, I do not appreciate the Bekhites being described in such generous terms.”

Gotai turned up his nose at their mention. “Those beasts have been a thorn in Cain’s side since he began this project. You still hear talk here and there of trying to bring them into the Cainites, but that would require a capacity for reason on their part I doubt they possess. But as to joining us… yes, speak to our commander first thing tomorrow morning. He will send us out again soon, I think, and seeing as you've already laid claim to several horses and more armor than you could hope to wear, you should be fit to ride with us.” Gotai had been among the cart’s defenders who had abandoned Daguk to the Bekhites, and his voice now carried a note of resentment, presumably at how the slain cannibals’ equipment and horses had been divided between the cart driver and Grant. But, so far as Grant could piece together from snippets of conversation heard at the time, their warband followed the Bayut tribe's customs for distributing battlefield loot, and under them, to flee was to forfeit any claim. And if Gotai were truly angry, Grant didn't think he would have entertained the thought of his joining their company at all.

“Are we going to be escorting another wagon full of food?” That was another thing Grant had noticed: pulling aside the canvas draped over the wagon’s contents, he had seen sacks of grain, sealed clay jars marked with simple drawings of this fruit or that livestock animal, all bulk food preserved as well as could be without canning or refrigeration. Not militarily unimportant, he understood, but the amount hardly seemed worth the loss of life he had witnessed a few days ago.

Piran nodded. “As a matter of fact, we are. In a larger convoy, with several wagons and a much larger escort. If we can't evade or outrun the Bekhite war parties, that only leaves cutting our way through them. And we can get that done all at once, with enticing enough bait.”

“So what's the bigger picture here, if I might ask? Where is all this food coming from, where are we taking it, and why?”

“I will happily tell you what I myself know: we are now north of Jalabarta, my mother country. Along the edge of this steppe plateau, especially where it spills out onto desert, many Jalabartan clans have set up fortified manors outside the reach of their king’s tax-collectors. This is a new development. These grasslands would not be the haunt of nomads in the first place if they were easy to farm, but from what I gather, Jalabarta proper is not so fertile a land now as it was in the days of my youth. Because these outposts are also outside the reach of the Jalabartan king's armies, many pay tribute to Cain for protection. They give a decent portion of their harvests, although I suspect we are giving them a far better deal than the royal tax-collectors. In any case, this company has the task of gathering this tribute, and passing it along to a larger camp to the north. The overall goal seems to be to gather and store it, not distribute it, but to what end, I do not know.”

“Sounds simple enough. I would be glad to join you on your next round of collections, although Daguk mentioned that Cain would want to see me.” He displayed the back of his hand. “Apparently, I've been marked as something called a Penitent. I don’t know what that means, but it sounds like he's awful interested.”

“Clearly, Daguk was able to tell you more of this than I could have, but do not think Cain will be disposed to an audience just yet. He is leading a campaign against the Bekhites to the west. In the meantime, ride with us. We should have the company of a Bayut shaman; perhaps he can answer any questions you have on the matter.”

The next day, the mission got underway surprisingly quickly. When Grant approached the Bayut prince, a man about his own age with a curt, clipped way of speaking, he was immediately instructed to pick out the best-fitting armor and bow, keenest sword, and swiftest horse out of what he had looted from the Bekhites. A train of mostly-empty wagons was prepared, which for the trip out would contain only a minimum of supplies for the drivers and escorts, as well as anything the company wished to sell at the Jalabartan outposts. Grant would be able to turn the six bows, five swords, five suits of boiled leather armor and four horses he had spare into hard currency, whatever form that took in these lands. By midmorning, Grant was suited up in leather-and-bone lamellar and a plumed helmet over his hunting camo, riding alongside their convoy in a warband of forty, led by the Bayut prince personally.