Part 3 (1/2)

On the other hand, what could they do? Mr Snow and the entire clan had perished in the battle at Twin Forks or in the simultaneous raid on the settlement. He, Cadillac Deville, was the sole survivor.

No . . . that was wrong. He was no longer a M'Call

For the foreseeable future, the clan ident.i.ty would remain the basic unit but there could be no going back.

They had to build on that first fragile consensus. The Mutes had to develop a wider allegiance, a bond that went beyond their clan and their bloodline. He and Roz - two of The Chosen - were the first members of the Plainfolk nation that would be forged by Talisman.

Cadillac knew he had to go to Sioux Falls and brave whatever hostility he might encounter. He had to impose his view, his vision of the future. It would not be easy. In fact, it would be incredibly difficult and, above all, dangerous. The change of heart and mind that were required would be seen as an attack on the cherished traditions and fundamental beliefs of the Plainfolk.

Talisman, the Thrice-Gifted One, would no doubt have the power to impose his views by his presence and by the defeats he could inflict upon the enemies of his people. But Talisman was not here now - at a time when the Plainfolk were in greater danger than ever before. The first step towards nationhood had been taken. To maintain the momentum, Cadillac realised he would have to lead from the front.

His heart quailed at the prospect. From early childhood he had longed for greatness, craved recognition, adulation, standing. It was there for the taking, but would the warriors and wordsmiths of the other She-Kargo clans listen? He was not even twenty years old!

If only Clearwater was here! And Brickman too, with his flair for action and his devious mind. It was impossible to discover what his true motives were, but in their daring attack on the wagon-train, their talents had meshed smoothly and - for the first time - they had managed to work together without the usual backbiting.

Brickman, of course, would want to take charge, but his presence would be a challenge that he, Cadillac, would have to surpa.s.s. And it would not be like it was before. Roz had changed all that. She had restored the balance. He was no longer the odd man out. Her presence had given him the strength to face the woman he had lost and her chosen partner without any of the past bitterness and pain.

It was a great pity the other two were not here to witness this change and work with him in this new spirit of cooperation. It would have made his present task a lot easier. But they weren't, and there was not the slightest chance of them appearing magically over the horizon if things got tough. For the first time in his life he was faced with making major decisions without the steadying counsel of Mr Snow, Clearwater and, yes, even Brickman. This was the testing time he had both longed for and secretly feared. Roz, he knew, would help in every way she could, but he had to set the goal, take the lead, the responsibility - and the blame...

Cadillac walked over to where Roz was trying her hand at making another batch of flat-bakes. She looked up at him and wrinkled her nose. '

'Fraid I'm not having much SUCCESS. ' He hunkered down beside her, picked up an iron ladle and took a sample of the mixture, testing its liquidity by pouring it back into the bowl. 'Too much water.”

He tried one of the burnt offerings. 'And not enough salt.”

Roz sank back on her heels with a sigh. 'I don't believe this! Only three ingredients-bread-meal, water and salt.

How the beck can it go wrong?!” 'There's more to it than that.

There's the temperature of the cooking stone, the amount of mix you pour on and the way you spread it.” Cadillac took charge of the mixing bowl, added more bread-meal and salt to correct the imbalance and stirred until it achieved the right consistency. He then checked the heat of the stone by pouring a thin stream of water onto it. 'That's okay.

See the way it pops and dances as it boils off?”

Roz nodded and watched as he filled the ladle to the brim and with a practised flourish, quickly poured a ring of creamy dough mix then, spiralling inwards towards the centre, filled it with the last drop.

'There ... see? The right size, just over a hand's breadth across, nice even thickness.”

'Hmmff!” Roz took the offered ladle, filled it to the brim and managed a lop-sided imitation. 'Is there any rule that says they have to be round?”

'No,' laughed Cadillac. He lifted the edge of the first bake with a flat tapered wooden flip shovel and turned it over. 'But once you start pouring, keep going otherwise it'll fall apart.” He removed his neat, circular flat-bake from the stone and pa.s.sed Roz the small shovel. 'Don't overcook the top side, otherwise it gets too brittle.

Just leave it long enough to brown.”

'Yeah...” Roz tried to turn her mis-shapen bake over.

It broke into several curved fragments. 'd.a.m.n!” 'Never mind. It's still eatable.” Cadillac picked up a fragment, blew on it then took a bite. 'Delicious. You just need more practice, that's all.”

Roz handed him the mixing bowl. 'Show me again, champ. Several times.” She watched Cadillac produce ten more faultless flat-bakes in as many minutes then, when she was allowed to start turning the next batch over, she said: 'I thought this was women's work - like fis.h.i.+ng.”

Cadillac smiled. 'The only real women's work is bearing children. The normal everyday tasks are shared by everyone in the clan regardless of s.e.x and age. If the women seem to have cornered certain tasks, it's more a question of apt.i.tude and convenience. There are no hard and fast lines of demarcation. The females fight, and the male warriors can prepare food and make flat-bakes.