But Guo had not hesitated. She had lunged down the river and battled with the monster, after ordering her flankers away. For once, Guo fought something bigger and slower than she, and the young battlemother had used the advantage shrewdly. Eluding the kraken’s palps, luring it back downstream, she had given the army the time it needed to finish the crossing.
Kopporu looked up at the five little males who were proudly riding atop Guo’s cowl, behind their shield of battle. Pipes in arms, as always.
Guo’s preconsorts had secured their own place in legend, that day. The Kiktu had had to make another shield afterward. The kraken had made splinters of the one that had been there before. But Guo’s malebond had remained at their posts. And had managed, finally, to blind the kraken in one eye.
From that moment, Guo had pressed the fight. In the end, while the entire army watched from the safety of the riverbank, the kraken had tried to flee. To no avail. Guo was in full kuoptu, and had pursued, hammering the monster with her maces, until the great beast was nothing but a mass of bloody flesh drifting with the current.
No, thought Kopporu, the Swamp was not simply a place of horror. It was also the place where the people recovered their soul.
She looked back at the long column behind them. Looking, partly, to reassure herself by its great length that she had saved many people for whatever lay in their future. But also, and more, looking for the signs of that new people’s strength.
For it was a new people. Kiktu, still, somewhere at its heart. But Kopporu saw the files of the Opoktu, marching with a dignity they had never possessed, in the days when they had been merely the smallest tribe on the Papti Plains. The Opoktu were small in no one’s eyes, now.
She saw also many swamp-dwellers—former swamp-dwellers—scattered here and there, a part of many different battle groups. A cherished part, not a despised one. The southern ex-helots might still—so much could not be denied—remain less adept at battle than Kiktu or Opoktu. But their courage was doubted by none. The tribespeople would have perished, many times over, had it not been for their guides.
Scattered through the battle groups, as well, Kopporu saw many former members of other tribes. Refugees, once; no longer. Honored and respected members of—
—of what? Kopporu asked herself. What are we now? The tribe called Kiktu? No, no longer. We are not even a tribe, in any proper sense. No clan leaders, outside the Opoktu. Even the clans themselves have gotten vague at their edges, with so many new adopted members.
How many eightdays has it been since I heard a warrior even use the name “Kiktu”? The Opoktu still, on occasion, call themselves by their own name. But, even among them, I have noticed that it is only their clan leaders and old warriors who do so. The rest of the Opoktu simply use the phrases which have become common to the army as a whole.
Kopporu’s army. And, more and more often, the Guoktu.
Guo’s people.
Ranging further down the column, Kopporu’s eyes fell on still another group of gukuy. The sight of them removed all fond memories, and brought the harsh realities of the present back to her mind.
The Utuku captives. And Guo’s temper.
If that young fool cannot restrain herself, we will all die.
Guo was not only young, and still given—on occasion—to childish tantrums. But what was worse, knew Kopporu, was that she had not witnessed the demons in battle. Guo herself had been preoccupied throughout the battle, too busy smashing the Utuku before her to pay much attention to anything else.
But Kopporu had seen. Kopporu had commanded the entire battle from the rear, instead of the front lines. It was an unheard of practice among the tribes, but it was one of the Anshac methods which Kopporu had finally been able to implement. And there had been no demurral; not even any whispered private remarks. Aktako would have heard, and told Kopporu, if there had been. The warriors knew that Kopporu’s courage had been proven many times before, on many battlefields. And the disaster on the plain had—finally—taught even the proud Kiktu that courage alone was not enough.