He regretfully turned away from the spectacle of his soldiers performing their morning calisthenics, some five thousand bodies in close formation, moving as one. It had been 12 years since they had last seen battle, but he had remained ever vigilant to ensure their readiness. He had watched over them like his own children, never allowing them to become fat and peace-loving. Thanks to his exacting training schedule, the High Council of Tannik was still in a position to demand annual tribute payments from all their neighboring states in exchange for the promise of protection in case of need.

T'an squinted into the distance. Where were the other wagons? It was supply day, and there should be a dozen of them, loaded with grain and produce and other needful things for the camp. Even this solitary conveyance was moving too rapidly to be fully loaded.

He signalled Marin, his second-in-command, to take charge of the troops, and strode down the ridge towards the wagon. The two scarlet-robed figures clambering down from the seat were as lathered as the horses.

"Greetings, Grandfathers of Tannik," T'an addressed them formally. "You honor us with your presence. Have you come to inspect the troops?"

"Nay, great Father of Warriors. We are in dire need of your assistance."

T'an stiffened when he recognized the voice of Grandfather D'ar. This had to be serious, to warrant a personal visit from the Supreme Grandfather of the High Council.

Grandfather D'ar gingerly pulled back his hood and ran his fingers over a discolored lump on his bald scalp.

"We are under attack," he said, his voice breaking.

"Enemy troops have penetrated into our settlement without my knowledge?" T'an asked incredulously. "I swear to you by the honor of Tannik that all the perimeter guards shall be flogged to the death!"

Grandfather Loki, personal assistant to the Supreme Grandfather, threw back his hood with an agitated gesture. His head, too, was bruised and blood-stained. "Nay -- it is worse than that. Much worse. The scourge is in our very heart. The women and the seed-bearers -- Tannik have mercy! -- defy the Maxims of the Lawgiver. Even some of the warrior whelps have left their camp and joined them."

Grandfather D'ar staggered, and T'an moved quickly to steady his elbow.

"Let us go to your tent," Grandfather Loki suggested. "We have not eaten since we broke our fast yesterday. Perhaps a little food and wine..."

Supporting the old man between them, they climbed the rise to the command tent. T'an snapped at one guard to take charge of the horse and wagon, and instructed the other to find a healer and some food. "Someone must have surplus rations to offer," he said with a confidence he did not feel. Lately the provisions on the supply wagons had been inadequate. Not wishing to appear less than competent to the Grandfathers, he had shortened the rations and lectured the men on the moral and military benefits of hunger. He had even excused some from tactical exercises to go hunting. But his own stomach was hollow and rumbling, and he knew that his men were looking forward to the supply wagons as much as he was.

T'an helped Grandfather Loki lower the Supreme Grandfather onto his own camp bed, and covered him with a blanket. The old man closed his eyes.

"He is exhausted," Grandfather Loki said. He sat down carefully.

"What has happened?" T'an demanded. "Who has dared to raise a hand against the Grandfathers?"

"It is unthinkable," Loki said, more to himself than T'an. "Women are wont to be excitable and unstable, but the seed-bearers have been raised and trained to know their duty. They forget ... they forget the horrors of old."

"Perhaps you should begin at the beginning," T'an said.

"Yes, yes, of course," Loki said. "Have you any food?" He looked around hopefully.

"I am sorry. We must wait." T'an was wondering what he would tell the soldiers about the supplies, especially now that there was a military emergency. Perhaps he would be forced to send raiding parties to Maruba to persuade the people to yield some additional tribute. No army could be expected to fight on an empty stomach.

"It seems that the trouble began many moons ago," Loki said. "Since the last Sacrifice, our food has been badly prepared, and our clothes are allowed to become dirty and unmended. We should have paid more heed."

T'an was inclined to agree, but thought it disrespectful to say so. The current crisis would most likely have been avoided if appropriate action had been taken after the blasphemous interruption of the Sacrifice. At the most holy moment of that ill-fated ceremony, the woman known as Elyssa had cried out that the slaughter of seed-bearers was not the will of the gods, but of men polluted by lust for bloodshed and domination. She had been quickly pulled back and silenced, and later flogged in the public square, but not to the death, as the Lawgiver prescribed. Evidently, the Grandfathers had become too complacent during the years of peace.

"They have sent fewer supplies of late," T'an said thoughtfully. "I thought it was because the harvest was insufficient. But most likely they meant to weaken the warriors. They have been planning this for a long time."

"Indeed they have." Loki shook his head. "There are only a few infants now. And none of the women are pregnant."

"Perhaps it is the displeasure of Tannik. The thirty-fourth Maxim states that when the people sin, the crops fail, and wombs are closed."

"The earth shall dry up even as the wombs of the wild beasts, and the cattle, and the women who give men's seed back to them," Loki quoted the scripture lovingly. "Nay -- this is a spring like any other. The trees are budding, the grass is already lush, and there is a fine crop of calves."

"You mean that the seed-bearers are neglecting their duty? That should be easy to correct. A few judicious executions..." T'an had become increasingly concerned for the welfare of the state as cycle after cycle passed without executions to demonstrate the fruit of transgression. Some of the Maxims were difficult to understand and apply, but the Twenty-sixth was self-evident: The few who walk the way of evil must be put to death in the sight of the people for the good of the many who would learn from them.

"The women have refused to let us take them. They no longer heed the Maxims, and when we attempt to instruct them, they do not come to our gatherings," Loki confessed, his head down.

T'an felt his heart speeding up. At last, he and his forces could prove their mettle in a real clash of arms! The victory would be too easy to provide any great test, but nonetheless, it would demonstrate the indispensability of warriors to the children of Tannik.

"The warrior's hand brings justice to the land," he quoted forcefully.

"The twelfth Maxim has fallen into disrepute of late," Loki said. "We thought that if we were gentle and allowed the women to speak with us, they would come to their senses in time."

"Women are like children -- they must be disciplined," T'an said wisely. That was not one of the Lawgiver's Maxims, but in his opinion, it should have been. It was the duty of women to till the land and prepare all things needful for those who ruled and protected them, and the duty of the Grandfathers to see that they obeyed the Maxims. Women's wills were too feeble to embrace goodness without encouragement from their betters.

Loki sighed. "Some Grandfathers spoke so, but others argued that women should be allowed to speak to the High Council on occasion. We were foolish to listen. We meant to give a drop, and now they are draining the ocean. Yesterday, a delegation of women and their seed-bearers came to us with this." Frowning distastefully, Loki brought a scroll out from under his robe. He smoothed it out and began to read it to himself, commenting as he went. "They declare that there must be an end to the planting sacrifice -- they say there is no need for the seed-bearers to be returned to the earth in their fiftieth cycle. They want them to take their place on the High Council with the Grandfathers, as warriors do."

"How can they expect crops without blood sacrifice at planting time?" T'an asked indignantly. "Have they forgotten the words of the Lawgiver?"

T'an had been taught to repeat the seventh Maxim -- commonly referred to as "The Spring of Life" -- before he attended his first Sacrifice. He had been too young to understand its meaning then, but he had repeated it zealously until he was letter-perfect. He had recited it with the other worshippers at forty-six planting rituals: New seed in sorrow planted begets rich harvest. Worthy sacrifice unites the strength of the seed-bearer with the strength of the warrior, that the children of Tannik may flourish forever. Just as the lives of the seed-bearers ensured the conception of new generation, so their deaths ensured the peaceful survival of the entire community: the women who tilled the soil, the seed-bearers who generated life in their wombs, and the warriors who protected them from their enemies.

Loki was now oblivious of everything but the parchment on his lap. "They want to raise both their male and female children themselves," he muttered, "instead of sending their boys to the rearing camps to be taught their duty. They demand that women take their place in the High Council as Grandmothers. And they want the Warriors to..." His voice faded to a dry rasp. "Have you no wine?" he asked querulously.

"All I can offer you is water from the brook." T'an held out his canteen. Loki favored him with a disappointed frown, then took it and drank. Once refreshed, he launched into a histrionic tirade, waving his arms.

"How could this happen? Our ways have kept the land strong for over three hundred years, and now they seek to destroy everything! We should never have allowed them to bring teachers from beyond our borders! Vipers have poisoned our lifeblood, and we are undone!" Loki began to weep. T'an paced impatiently, wondering if the healer or the food would ever arrive.

The healer came first, bearing his herbs. He assured them that Grandfather D'ar was more in need of rest and food than any medicine. He left a calming tincture for Loki, who had stopped weeping and was staring silently at the wall of the tent. After the healer had departed, T'an picked up the parchment on Loki's lap. He scanned the preamble and continued through the long list of demands until he found what was so blasphemous that Loki had been unable to speak it out loud.

We demand that warriors and seed-bearers no longer be segregated, but take their rightful place as husbands and fathers of our children. Let there be husbands and wives; one man to one woman, as it was in ancient times. No food shall be cooked, no fields tended, and no children conceived until our cause has prevailed.

Before T'an had time to absorb the enormity of this blasphemy, the guards returned, full of apologies, with a mouldy loaf of bread and some wild berries. T'an stationed them outside the tent and divided the food between the two Grandfathers, even though his own mouth watered uncontrollably. D'ar and Loki did not pause to complain, but gobbled up the food and looked around hopefully for more. Afterwards, they seemed sufficiently revived to discuss strategy.

"We cannot tolerate this sacrilege," T'an began. "We must take strong action."

"It is not so simple," Grandfather D'ar said heavily. "Some of the Grandfathers have taken women as lovemates, and have sided with them."

"Fourteen Grandfathers remain faithful to the Lawgiver," Loki added. "They are confined under guard in the parley house. The others stand beside the women, and are teaching them to use weapons."

"We must put them all to death," T'an declared, "according to the law. Warriors and those who rule may not lie with women. Those who do so must die, and those who lie with them must also die, the few for the many, that the land may be cleansed." Loki shook his head mournfully. "If we succeeded in that, there would be no more children...."

"We can bring women and children from our tributary states."

"That will provoke a war we cannot finish."

"We must take back the settlement," T'an declared. "My warriors must be fed. If we kill a few rebels and maim a few, perhaps the others will see the error of their ways."

"They have weapons," Loki said hopelessly. "When we tried to punish them, they savaged us. They no longer repect any authority. They ordered us like slaves ... sent us here to ... to ... inform you of the new order they mean to bring about."

"I shall provide them with a little information of my own," T'an assured him grimly, and went forth to rally his troops.

In the morning, they marched out gloriously to claim what was theirs and restore the universe to its rightful order, dreaming of feasting on fatted cattle when the day was done.

At nightfall, they returned to their camp, considerably worse for wear, with only a few meager provisions to show for their efforts.

"Who would have imagined that women and seed-bearers could fight with the strength and spirit of warriors?" they asked each other gloomily around their campfires.

"And who would have thought that the male children would choose loyalty to their mothers over their duty to the state?" Almost all the warrior whelps had left their camp, and had made exemplary use of their fighting lore.

At sunrise, T'an had Marin read the women's document to the troops in its entirety. They groaned in dismay.

"The Lawgiver taught that only a warrior is a fit lovemate for a warrior," T'an reminded them in his subsequent motivational speech, "but the women want us to become their playthings, as it was in the dark ages. We must teach them a lesson they will never forget.

"Today, you must show your mettle like the fierce warriors you are, and impregnate the women by force. That will teach them that they cannot refuse to bear the children we must have to maintain the strength of Tannik."

When the troops moved out, the formations seemed less synchronized than on their previous sortie. T'an tried to convince himself that his annoyance had made him more critical than usual.

Less than half returned to the camp that night, looking more like a ragtag band of beggars than proud warriors. Groaning from their wounds, they roasted their dwindling supply of unground grain. T'an sent Marin to determine how many women had been impregnated.

"You will not like my news, Father of Warriors," Marin cautioned him when he returned.

"Tell me."

"Six."

"Six?" T'an roared. "Five thousand warriors could subdue only six women?"

"The men are not accustomed to lying with women," Marin said unhappily. "Alas -- there are fewer than two thousand warriors now. Some are dead, some wounded, and some defected."

"We will hunt down every miserable one of them," T'an stormed, "and give them cause to regret their decision." But they both knew he could not spare the men to carry out his threat.

The following morning the woman known as Elyssa arrived to parley. When T'an held a knife at her throat, she stared him down coldly.

"If I do not return within the hour, the settlement will be burned -- including your precious Grandfathers."

T'an put his knife away and signalled his men to withdraw.

"What are your terms?" he asked hoarsely.

"Everything we have asked before," she said, "and two new stipulations. Your warriors will take their place with us without delay to work the land, and take arms only when it is necessary to protect ourselves. We have negotiated treaties with Maruba and the other tributary states, which you must ratify. From now on, there shall be no more tribute. We shall stand together in good times and bad, and all shall be equal."

All shall be equal. Despite his ravaged honor, T'an had to admit it had a fine sound to it.

"You must answer soon," Elyssa said. "Each day, the price becomes higher."

"Indeed it does," T'an said. "If the Sacrifice is not made soon, there will be no crops this year."

"The crops grow just as well in other lands that do not perform the Sacrifice," Elyssa said sharply. "'Twas all a fiction to keep the seed-bearers from sitting on the council."

"But why?" T'an asked, despite himself. He had questioned some of the Maxims in the past, but never that one.

"The generals were afraid that the seed-bearers would speak for peace ... and marriage ... and the needs of women." Her voice was softer now, but still uncompromising.

T'an shook his head. He was too hungry and weary to think of a confident rejoinder to Elyssa's preposterous claim. In a few months, he would be old enough to become a Grandfather, and someone else would become the Father of Warriors -- if, indeed, such a position still existed. For a moment, he allowed himself to dream of how it would be to have his own hearth and fire, land to work, and a woman to tend to his needs.

"If you have your way and we all live together, some of the warriors will be tempted..." he said, his voice trailing off. From boyhood he had carried the secret shame that he was unfit to be a warrior. Despite fervent prayers to Tannik for the inner transformation of holiness, he felt no arousal when he looked upon the nakedness of another man.

"Some men seek men for love-mates," Elyssa said, "and others women. No number of maxims can change that." There were no sharp edges on her tone now.

"Why...?" he asked again.

"It seemed good to the Lawgiver to have soldiers with no wives at home to worry about, or to sneak off to visit."

T'an felt sick. He had never taken a lovemate, pleading new and plausible excuses year by year. He had proclaimed nobly that, since all warriors were as brothers to him, to be treated equally, he dared not single out any individual. But despite everything he tried, dreams of women had continued to call forth his seed in the night, leaving him shamed and depleted in the morning.

"Return," he said harshly, striving to mask his confusion. "I will persuade Grandfather D'ar and Grandfather Loki that we have no choice but to parlay. If you provide them with some food and wine, you may well find them more than reasonable."

Elyssa's stare bored into him until he averted his eyes. He steeled his body to march away, but something held him helpless before her.

She spoke in the musical voice he remembered from his early childhood. "Each cycle, we must scatter new seed so that the crop will grow. And so it is now with the people of Tannik. The ancient ways gave way to the precepts of the Lawgiver, which served us well when we were hard pressed by enemies on every side. But they serve us no longer, and now they, too, must give way." She paused. T'an dared to look into her face again -- and saw tenderness.

"Would it be so terrible, O brother of mine, to be reunited with your family?" she asked softly.

He shook his head fiercely. "From the day I was taken from my home, I have dwelt in sorrow. I counted it an honor to sacrifice my heart for the good of Tannik. Since I was an untried whelp, I have labored cycle after cycle to prove my worth and make each day better than the one before. Now it is all for nothing. The tellers of tales will spit upon my name."

"That will depend on who tells the tales," Elyssa said, and held out her arms.

Before he realized what was happening, his eyes were stinging and his sister's body was pressed against his. They rocked each other without speaking.

When they separated, the turmoil in his heart was stilled. Oath or no oath, he would tell the Grandfathers that no scripture lives forever and the time for new ways had come. Perhaps it was not too late to father a son or daughter of his own.

Christine writes and surfs the Net in Northern Ontario logging country. In December 1997, her stories, essays and poems began appearing in Eternity On-Line, Millennium, The Canadian Writer's Journal, Romance and beyond, The Orphic Chronicle, Anotherealm, and other publications. She is a regular contributor to Jackhammer E-Zine.