by John Boyne
This was not a practice that was common in the southern parts of the country, but I had heard that the further north one went, the more prevalent it was. I found the custom to be strange, even a little barbaric, but it was not for me to express an opinion on their ways.
“He is ill,” continued Eipe. “His memory is gone. His body can no longer support his desire. He cannot look after himself or contribute to the community. And so, we must say farewell. And you, stranger,” he asked, looking directly at me now, although I noticed how his eyes regularly returned to the line making its way past his father. “What brings you here?”
“I travel toward the far north,” I told him. “The great chieftain, Angerdlánguak, awaits my presence.”
He raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “You are an intimate of his?” he asked.
“No,” I replied. “I am simply a maker of amulets and was commissioned to create some as a gift for his wife.” I reached into my satchel, which I kept close at hand at all times, and took one out. There were sixteen in total and the one I chose was the most elaborate by far, intended for the Overlord himself. Fashioned from the feathers of longspur, brant and steller’s eider, I had used pieces of glass to capture the light, and threads of scarlet and gold to symbolize his glory. At its heart, I had placed an image of an owl, to symbolize wisdom, and a spearthrower above the bird’s head to represent courage.
“You are quite the craftsman,” said Eipe, handling the amulet with the care of one who understood the importance of beautiful things. “I imagine a charm like this must be of considerable value.”
I smiled but chose not to reveal just how much Angerdlánguak had agreed to pay me. I had only just met this man, after all, and was fearful that my treasures might be stolen while I slept, if not by him, then by someone overhearing our conversation.
“Do you get many travelers through here?” I asked, changing the subject, and he shook his head.
“Not many,” he replied. “Although another man did arrive earlier today. Also from the south. He will be sleeping in the same igloo as you tonight. Ah.” He looked over to where his father was rising slowly to his feet and nodding in his son’s direction. “It is time,” he said. “Will you join us?”
As an outsider to their community, I was uncertain whether I should take part in the ritual or not, but Eipe insisted and so, to avoid causing insult, I agreed to accompany him.
We left in a group, Eipe and Gudmundur leading the procession, the rest of the villagers following in a close group behind, singing a mournful song as we made our way toward the water. It was a march of forty minutes or more and, after the long journey that I had endured throughout the day, I began to regret not taking to my bed immediately after my meal, for I was greatly tired. Eventually, however, I heard the sound of waves lapping the shore and knew that we had arrived.
When we stopped, Eipe chanted a prayer for his father while the rest of us bowed our heads, and then he and Gudmundur, along with a woman and some children who I took to be Eipe’s family, embraced Gudmundur without tears. He walked with purpose toward the bank, where two men stood waiting for him. A large iceberg had been carved out of the landscape and they guarded it carefully, lest it float away, until Gudmundur stepped upon it. When he did, they released their grip and he sat down, his legs crossed beneath him, his face a mask of peace and contentment such as I had never witnessed before.
The men stepped away from the bank now and the gentle waves took both the iceberg and its cargo out to sea. As Gudmundur floated away, songs filled the air and he drifted toward the Unknown World. When the fog descended and he could no longer be seen, we turned as one back toward the village.
* * *
• • •
When I retired to my igloo that night, I chose to remain awake until my fellow traveler appeared. Soon, he stepped inside, his face covered in a mask of wolf skin to ward off the cold. He was a big man, tall and strong, and he paused as he looked down at me. Although I could see only his eyes and mouth, it seemed to me that he broke into a wide smile.
“Were you not told that you would have a companion for the night?” I asked, doing my best to sound friendly, for it was well known that wanderers in these parts could turn aggressive at the slightest provocation. It was the cold and the hunger that made each of us wretched and I did not want to have survived the treacherous conditions of my journey only to be murdered in my bed.
“I was,” he grunted. “Although I didn’t expect it to be you.”
I frowned as he walked over to the other side of the room, where the skins of a dozen or more animals had been laid for him to sleep within.
“Do we know each other, friend?” I asked, and he nodded but didn’t turn around.
“I saw you this morning,” he said. “At the village in Parquoia. You were eating breakfast while trying to charm that girl.”
Of course, it was the man who had been asleep when I arrived at the previous night’s igloo and who had somehow seemed familiar to me. He’d marched past me before leaving and I hadn’t wanted to look at him in case he took a larcenous interest in my amulets.
“And where are you traveling to?” I asked as he lifted four or five of the animal hides and slipped in between them, the mask still covering his face.
“The same place as you,” he said. “To see Angerdlánguak.”
“How do you know that’s where I’m going?”
“You told the girl. You were bragging to her, were you not? To secure her affections?”
I opened my mouth to disabuse him of this notion but could not find the words. After all, he was right.
“What brings you to the Overlord?” I asked.
“He gave me a job to do and I did it. I return now to claim my reward.”
“Might I ask how you make your living?”
“I kill people.”
I swallowed nervously and could see from the manner in which his mouth twisted upward that he welcomed the fact that I found his remark unsettling.
“A man insulted one of Angerdlánguak’s daughters before making off in the night,” he explained. “So I was sent after him to achieve satisfaction. Do you see that bag over there?” He glanced in the direction of a black bag, made from the skin of a walrus. “It contains the man’s head and his cock. The latter thrust inside the former. I’ll show them to you if you like.”
I slunk deeper into my own hide, hoping that we would both go to sleep and this conversation might come to an end. “Thank you, but no,” I said.
“It’s an amusing sight,” he replied with a shrug. “And what about you, what takes you to Angerdlánguak’s home?”
“Something far less dramatic,” I said. “I’m a craftsman. A maker of amulets. I was asked to design a set for the Overlord and his family.”
He laughed. “Women’s work,” he said, and although I took offense, I was not going to challenge him lest my own head ended up in the bag, too. “Still, I suppose you were always good with your hands, weren’t you? From the day you were born, you preferred making things to fighting. It’s one of the reasons that you and M’arak were never close.”
I stared at him. What he had said was true, but how could he know such a thing? And how was he familiar with my father’s name?
“Have we met before, friend?” I asked, sitting up now. “You seem to know a lot about me.”
“You don’t recognize me, Brother?” he replied, reaching up and pulling the wolf-mask from his face. “Still, it has been a long time. And we’ve both changed.”
I gasped in astonishment, for I could scarcely believe who I was looking at.
It was my missing brother.
It was Jôrut.
PERU
A.D. 665
I HAD OFTEN SPECULATED about when, or if, Jalen would reenter my life, but when I had imagined a potential reunion, I had pictured hi
m riding into our village, clothed in the robes of the wealthy, a beautiful wife and a flurry of red-headed children by his side. I had never expected to encounter him again in the unassuming setting of a brick hostelry in the city of Pachacamac.
“I still cannot believe it’s you,” I said when we left our beds and stepped outside to take the night air. The evening was cold and neither of us could conceive of sleep after such a great surprise. “It’s been so many years since we last saw each other.”
“Too long for brothers to be separated,” he said. “I wondered whether you might have forgotten me by now.”
“I could never do that,” I replied, shaking my head. “Every day I’ve wondered where you were, whether you were still alive, whether you were happy—”
“Happy?” he said, frowning, as if he had never even considered such an extraordinary notion. “Are there happy people in the world? Do you know many? I should like to meet them if there are. Still, it’s only chance that brings us together again now.” We sat down in the dust, our backs pressed against the stone wall of the inn. “And if I’m honest, I haven’t thought about our family in years. I haven’t dared.”
“We thought of you. We all did.”
“Really?” he asked, looking doubtful. “I doubt your mother regretted my departure.”
“You’re wrong,” I insisted. “But she never understood why you disliked her so much or why you treated her with such disrespect. She never betrayed you to our father, you know.”
He turned to look at me with an expression of surprise on his face.
“I assumed that she would have told him what I did the moment he returned.”
“From that day to this, she has never uttered a word on the subject, I swear it. As far as Mavra is concerned, you simply ran away. He’s never known the reason why.”
He looked down at the ground and nodded, his expression proving to me that he regretted his actions.
“It was a silly, childish prank,” he said finally, his voice cracking for a moment as if he might weep, but he coughed then to mask his shame. “Born out of jealousy. I meant no harm by my actions. I was just a stupid boy, that’s all. Fabi was a good woman, I realize that now, and I was selfish and spoiled. Is she still alive? Is our father?”
“They both are,” I said. “And our oldest sister and several other children that our father has begotten over the years.”
“How many?” he asked.
I thought about it, counting off names in my head. “Seven,” I said cautiously. “Maybe eight? I’m not sure. There’s probably a few I don’t even know about.”
“Some more by your mother?”
“Yes. And you may recall that fidelity was never Mavra’s greatest attribute. The children have been borne by various women of the village. Well, girls of the village, I should say. They’re more to our father’s taste.”
“And he’s allowed to behave in this way?”
“He’s an elder. If a girl’s father or brothers protest, he simply challenges them to a fight and, so far, he’s never found himself in the dust on account of his actions.”
Jalen paused for a long time, considering this. “He was a difficult man, as I recall,” he said. “Unlikely to stay loyal to any woman for long. I take after him in this regard.”
“You’ve been unfaithful to your wife?”
“I never married,” he said. “Like our father, I prefer variety. And you, Brother?”
I recounted for him the story of my wedding day and how Laritel had been taken from me within hours of our union by a tornado that had blown across our village. I suffered a double loss that day, I added, for she had been pregnant with our child at the time.
“And you haven’t married again?” he asked, offering no sympathy, which I found refreshing.
“No,” I said. I considered telling him about the girl whom I had encountered the previous night and who had already taken a firm hold of my heart, but as I had no guarantee that either she or he would play any further role in my life, I decided against it for now.
“A man needs a woman,” he said determinedly, slapping his left hand on the ground between us. “Without one, how can he be called a man?”
“I have a cousin, Hakal,” I told him, “who prefers men to women.”
“Many do,” he replied. “We’ve all tried that, haven’t we? If there are no women around and one is surrounded by compliant boys, then they’re better than nothing. But the pillar and the stones have never really been to my taste. I prefer the welcoming valley. And this Hakal, he is happy with the man he loves?”
“I think so,” I said. “The boy works for me and is popular among the laborers, although I’m not sure how great his skills are.”
He nodded and turned away and I wondered whether he had missed out on family life, having run away from us all at such a young age.
“And your life, Jalen?” I said. “Tell me what you have done with it.”
He stood up now, so quickly that I jumped, and walked along the path, kicking his sandals in the dust. I gained the impression that he was rarely asked to tell his story and was uncertain where he should begin.
“After I left our village,” he told me, “I didn’t go far at first. In fact, I hid nearby for several days, wondering whether I should return and beg your mother for forgiveness. Finally, I realized that I could not bear to humiliate myself before her and walked north for a few weeks instead, to towns and villages that I had never heard of, places where even the language was unfamiliar to me. In one such place, Valina, I found work training the sons of proud houses to fight, for in that part of the country there are interminable skirmishes. I proved my worth so well that a wealthy spice trader named Conquiga sent for me and invited me to be his champion.”
“His champion?” I asked, looking up at my brother, who was picking up pebbles and tossing them into the distance, where they landed soundlessly in the dust. “Meaning what exactly?”
“Conquiga is master of a land that spans to the horizon,” he told me. “Thousands of men, women and children fall under his patronage. He works hard for the prosperity and education of all. Some years ago, he created a rather unusual system of justice for law-breakers. The sole judge, he hears these cases and, if he decides that a man is guilty of the crime with which he has been charged, then the law-breaker is given a choice of punishment. He can either forfeit a limb immediately or agree to fight me in public. Should he choose the former, then I take my sword and immediately slice an arm or leg from his body. Should he choose the latter, we engage in single combat and all the man has to do is draw a single drop of blood from me and he will be set free. The moment I draw blood from him, however, he stands convicted and loses his head, regardless of the seriousness of his crime. Theft, murder, an insult against a neighbor, it doesn’t matter. The choice is his.”
“And you agreed to such a random law?” I asked.
“Of course,” he replied with a shrug. “It paid well, and look at me, Brother, I am not easily defeated.”
It was true. Like our father, Jalen was a mountain of a man, his body a carefully carved terrain of muscle, sinew and vein. Recalling the beatings that he’d inflicted on me when we were only children and his strength was far less developed, I dreaded to think of the damage he might be able to wreak now.
“And you still hold this occupation?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “My fortunes changed when a trio of bandits came to the town. They stole from merchants, raped the women and burned buildings to the ground. It took dozens of men to capture them. After their trial, Conquiga offered them the same justice that he offered everyone else but, in their case, he said that all three should take me on together. It was not a fair fight, but I think he wanted to test me. Naturally, they agreed, but not one could draw blood so I defeated them easily. By the end of the afternoon they were lined up on a dais side b
y side, where I took a sword to each of their heads. I resented Conquiga, however, for this. It was obvious that he’d grown weary of my victories, so I resigned my position. But my reputation had spread and since then I’ve been known as the greatest fighter in the country, at the employ of wealthy men. Whoever can pay the most, I am his to command.”
“And the bag in our room?” I asked, for he had told me earlier that the moccasin satchel he carried contained a dozen left hands, all of which he was bringing north with him.
“Thieves,” he said. “Petty thieves. Small larcenies, nothing important. But my employer wanted to make an example of them. He was not going to cut their heads off like Conquiga. A hand from each would suffice.”
“And this work?” I asked. “It gives you pleasure?”
He seemed surprised by the question, as he had when I’d asked whether he was happy. “It doesn’t displease me,” he said. “It’s work as much as any other work. And I enjoy watching the faces of men as they’re led to their deaths. Some quake like cowards, some are brave like men should be, some try to offer words of wisdom to which no one pays any attention.”
“A strange curiosity,” I said, shivering a little. “And how many men have you killed?”
“Who can tell?” he replied with a shrug. “A hundred? Two hundred? A thousand? I don’t keep count. And you, Brother? We live in dangerous times. Are you telling me that you have never dispatched a man from this world for the next?”
I turned away, not wanting him to see the expression on my face. Unlike him, I had the deaths of only two people on my conscience—a boy and a man—but I did not take pride in either. If anything, their memories haunted me. “No,” I said.
“I can always tell when a man is lying to me,” he said after a moment. “Do you know how?”
“No,” I replied.
“His lips move.”
He let out a great roar at this and I laughed along, somewhat nervously. When he sat down next to me on the dust again, he slapped his hand down on my knee so hard that I had to stop myself from crying out; any harder and he would have surely snapped the bone.
