Saying this, the Wizard rapidly turned his head towards Piukemán, his two eyes flashing like lightning. No one apart from the boy saw the snake’s tongue dart out from Kupuka’s slight smile, flicker in the air for a second, then vanish. Kupuka saw how the boy turned white and caught his breath. Satisfied with the lesson he had taught him, he went on with his story.
‘The Wizards who live on the islands of the lukus learnt of these new happenings through the fish-women. The oldest Wizard dreamt of them in a dream he usually has before he wakes at the foot of a tree.’
As Kupuka spoke, many things began to make sense to the Husihuilkes. The call from the hawks, which the Earth Wizard had to answer as soon as he received it, explained his absence from the Valley of the Ancestors. And the drums which had sounded so oddly in the forest must have been conveying a similar message. Dulkancellin could contain himself no longer.
‘Many things are still dark for me,’ he said.
‘If you can see them, they can’t be that dark,’ replied Kupuka jokingly. Then his voice took on a more forlorn tone. ‘The really dark things are those you stumble over before you even know they exist. But go on, ask away!’
The warrior bit his lip. On this occasion, Kukupa’s puzzles were annoying.
‘Answer me this,’ he said. ‘Why were human messengers chosen? You spoke of other kinds of messenger. Aren’t they more to be trusted? Aren’t their tongues more truthful than those of men?’
‘They may be more truthful, but they are less subtle,’ Kupuka replied. ‘Only human languages can describe the shape of a feather or the roughness of a patch on a bird’s beak. Human messengers will tell the news in much greater detail than any other creature could.’ The Earth Wizard suddenly became agitated. ‘And men will be far more than the heralds of these events. They will be the makers. Men will take decisions, choose which direction to take. Afterwards there will be consequences.’
‘Let me see if I have understood,’ said Dulkancellin. ‘The Supreme Astronomers have chosen a few persons from all round the Fertile Lands whom they are going to inform of great events that are happening or are about to happen. Now tell me this: what does this mean for us? Why should my life change more than that of the other Husihuilkes?’
‘Oh, my goodness!’ Kupuka protested. ‘Nothing seems to be clear enough for you! You, Dulkancellin, are one of the few whom Magic has chosen. The Zitzahay messenger will knock at your door, and make you see these things.’
The Husihuilke family retreated into silence once more. They all knew they still had to hear the most important part.
‘Brother, your life will change. You would do well to accept that without protesting. And so will all their lives.’ Kupuka, who no longer spoke in a joking manner, included the others with a wave of his gnarled hand. ‘The Zitzahay messenger will take you with him. And it will be for a long, long time. Perhaps—’
‘Take me with him? Where to?’ Dulkancellin interrupted him.
‘Far away from here. To the Remote Realm.’
Dulkancellin stood up and went over to the Wizard. Kneeling down, he looked him in the eye.
‘I am nothing more than a Husihuilke warrior. Here, I live among my living and my dead. Everything I need is in this forest. Tell me the reasons why I have to leave for the lands of the Zitzahay and become caught up in the labyrinths of Magic.’
‘I’ll tell you why,’ replied the Earth Wizard. ‘You have to do so precisely because you are a Husihuilke warrior, because here is where you have your living and your dead, and because you can find all you need in your forest. And possibly because all that is in danger.’
Dulkancellin was about to ask him more questions, but Kupuka quickly stopped him.
‘That’s enough! The messenger is about to arrive. There will be time for words afterwards.’ He turned to Kush: ‘You need to warm up that mint tea! The visitor will be cold when he gets here.’
Old Mother Kush rose to her feet at once. Partly to carry out Kupuka’s instructions, and partly to hide her sadness. The warrior stood up too, and shifted away from the fire. The Earth Wizard also moved off his rug and, with all the children staring at him, went to one side of the room. When Wilkilén saw him coming close to her hiding place, she began to tremble like the leaves outside their hut. Yet Kupuka did not seem to notice her presence. He slowly began to untie his pack. To judge by the difficulty he had in finding what he was looking for, he must keep many things inside it. Finally, he pulled out a clay pot the size of a walnut. Holding it between two fingers, he showed it to the whole family. Kush gave him an enquiring look.
‘This is for the children,’ Kupuka said in answer to her silent question. ‘Should they need it, this will help soothe certain stings they may have received.’
The Earth Wizard raised his head towards the ceiling and chuckled in a way that nobody but two youngsters in the hut could understand.
‘Here he is! At last he’s arrived!’ said Kupuka, still laughing.
The visitor rapped on the door with his knuckles. When Dulkan cellin opened it, he had to look down to see who was there. From below, a man no taller than a child greeted him, a smile like a crescent moon spreading from ear to ear. Dulkancellin was so amazed at this extravagant creature that it took him some moments to react, giving the newcomer the chance to quickly slip past him into the hut. With two bounds, he was in the centre of the room. Dulkancellin whirled round, ready to take him to task for such an impolite entrance, but the little man was already introducing himself:
‘My name is Cucub. I come from the Remote Realm, where I first saw the light of day. I travel all around performing tricks and recounting great deeds. I am a travelling minstrel by trade: that is what I know best. Unwittingly, I have been chosen as a messenger, and I must say, have not done badly at that either. I may have been a little late. Only a very little. But I am here now. I reached the end of my difficult journey, and that is the main thing. Brothers, Cucub greets you all!’
This torrent of words was uttered quickly in a squeaky voice that sounded far too loud for the small hut. The Zitzahay embellished his speech with all kinds of gestures, exclamations and bows, like a ham actor playing to his audience. When at last he finished, they all seemed pleased that Cucub was among them. Almost all of them.
6
AN IMPORTANT CONVERSATION
‘What’s this?’ said Dulkancellin, unable to hide his irritation.
‘He has already presented himself,’ Kupuka replied. ‘I don’t think I have anything to add.’
‘All I heard from this man’s mouth was idle boasting.’ Dulkancellin advanced towards the Zitzahay, pointing an accusing finger. ‘Who in our present situation needs to hear you praising your own talents as an artist?’
Cucub looked round to see if everyone else was on his side.
‘The others do not seem to think that way,’ he said. He was beginning to behave more in keeping with his surroundings, yet still his attitude seemed extraordinary to the Husihuilkes. ‘You must be ... Dulkancellin! Brother Husihuilke, you have a fine name! Fine and sonorous. But do you agree with me that it’s too long? If you are willing, I’ll call you Dulk.’
‘I have no idea how you know my name. I ought to have been the one to tell you, but you spoiled our welcoming ceremony. Yet you are right about one thing: my name is Dulkancellin. And you are never, ever to call me anything different.’
‘Now I come to think of it, Dul-kan-ce-llin is the right length,’ Cucub readily agreed. ‘Dulk isn’t right, it sounds like a bird cawing. Dulk! Dulk!’
As he said this, the Zitzahay strutted up and down, imitating a bird. There was stifled laughter in the room, until the warrior silenced it with a scowl. Kupuka thought it best to step in.
‘Let’s help our guest recover from his long journey. You, Kuy-Kuyen, serve him a cup of mint tea. And make sure it’s piping hot.’
Kush and her elder granddaughter saw to it that Cucub was made comfortable. The old woman asked his permission and took
his bag, placing it alongside Kupuka’s. Kuy-Kuyen took his cape and staff. The little girl had never seen anything like them. The jaguar skin of the cape and the jade stones set in the staff fascinated her. Old Mother Kush thought her granddaughter’s curiosity might upset their visitor, and so hurriedly caught her attention.
‘Come on, Kuy-Kuyen! Hurry up and serve that mint tea as you were asked.’
Sitting close to the warmth of the fire, Cucub sipped the tea with pleasure while he devoured the bread the little girl brought him.
‘A feast! A delight for the hungry traveller!’
Everything about Cucub – his tone of voice, his attire, the way he was always gesturing – seemed outlandish and extravagant compared with the Husihuilkes’ naturally austere manner. Faced with this performance, Dulkancellin lost his last reserves of patience. Cucub was so far removed from his idea of someone he could trust that the warrior could not and would not hide his suspicions any longer. How was he meant to trust such a loud-mouthed, impertinent man, someone who was so small and skinny? Dulkancellin stroked his chin, ready to explode. The Zitzahay must have realized this, because he put down his bowl and surprised them yet again:
‘You, dear mother, must be Kush. Or rather Old Mother Kush, as you are known at the Ends of the Earth. And you must be Kuy-Kuyen. I’m not wrong, am I?’ The girl gave an enchanted smile. ‘You are the eldest, your name is Thungür. And you are the youngest boy, and are called Piukemán. And you? Of course! You are Kume.’
Kume glared back at him, but the messenger simply smiled. There was no doubt that, like his father, the boy disapproved of him.
‘But there’s someone missing,’ said Cucub, as if he had not noticed anything. ‘That is ... that is ...’
‘That’s me!’ said Wilkilén, popping up from behind the pile of blankets. ‘Do you know my name?’
The rest of the family were startled when they saw her appear. Kush was ashamed she had not realized her granddaughter had vanished. Wilkilén came out from her hiding place and stood in front of Cucub, waiting for him to answer her question.
‘Let’s see.’ Cucub pretended not to remember. ‘Your name is Wil .. . Wilti . . . Wilmi . . . Wilkilén!’
Wilkilén’s eyes shone with joy.
‘You may be tiny, but you know a lot,’ she said, stretching out her hand to touch the visitor’s.
A pang of nostalgia caused a fleeting shadow to cross Cucub’s smiling face.
‘I’m far from home,’ he said. ‘So far that by the time I return the rain will have ended in your land, the trees will be in blossom, and the first fruits will have ripened. Believe me, when the distance separating you from your own hammock can be measured in harvests, a friendly hand is a great comfort.’
‘I think it’s time we heard what has brought you here,’ insisted Dulkancellin.
‘This time, sister Kush,’ Kupuka interrupted. ‘This time I must ask you to leave us on our own.’
Kush and her five grandchildren started to leave the room. But before she did so, Kush stepped back a few paces. A guttural sound, accompanied by a rapid darting of the tongue, came from the old woman’s mouth. The others greeted this strange behaviour enthusiastically. The children skipped round her. Dulkancellin and Kupuka laughed out loud.
‘You have won again, Mother,’ the warrior said. ‘You are the lucky one.’
Cucub had not the faintest idea what was going on.
‘Just look at you, Zitzahay! For once you seem lost for words!’ Kupuka said gleefully. ‘What happened is that Old Mother Kush here has just told us with her Water Cry that she was the first to hear the rain start to fall. That gives her a right she can call on whenever she considers it essential.’
‘A right? Explain that to me.’
‘From this moment on, until the start of the next season of rains, she has the right to impose her authority on one occasion. That is our Husi-huilke custom! The first person to hear the rain has the right to settle matters should there be a disagreement, if she thinks it is necessary. As you have seen, it does not matter that she is not the head of the family.’
‘You said “if she thinks it is necessary”. Does that mean she can decide not to exercise her right?’ asked Cucub.
‘That is often the case,’ said Kupuka. He turned to Kush: ‘Isn’t it true, Old Mother Kush, that you have never used what our visitor calls “your right”?’
‘Never, ever,’ replied Kush, leaving the room with her grandchildren. ‘Never. And that’s a good thing.’
Cucub’s face shone.
‘Explain one final thing to me if you would,’ he asked. ‘How do you know for certain that the person who says they have heard the rain really did so?’
‘How little you know the Husihuilkes!’ said Kupuka indignantly.
Cucub squirmed on his rug and muttered an apology. By now the rain had started lashing down on the Ends of the Earth.
The three men were left alone in the room. A Husihuilke, a Zitzahay, and an Earth Wizard sitting facing each other. The time for explanations had arrived, and Dulkancellin came straight to the point.
‘What is the news you have travelled so far to bring us?’
‘Since I can see I will have no opportunity to introduce any persuasive rhetoric or significant silence as befits a true artist, I will simply tell you what I have been sent to say, as if I had no skill in oratory.’
Neither Kupuka nor Dulkancellin quite believed he would keep his word, but they remained silent and waited for the Zitzahay to begin.
‘I have to inform you of events which are happening as we speak. It was for this and something more that the Supreme Astronomers sent me on such a long journey,’ said Cucub. ‘You, Dulkancellin, know nothing about them. You, Kupuka, know something, but not enough. So listen closely! The Magic of the Open Air has learnt beyond a shadow of doubt that there will soon be a fleet from the Ancient Lands coming to our continent. It is known that the strangers will sail from some part of the Ancient Lands and will cross the Yentru Sea. All our predictions and sacred books clearly say the same thing. The rest is all shadows. Shadows in the stars and our books. Shadows that prevent us from seeing the faces of those who are coming. Who are they? Why are they travelling here? The answers to these questions will decide the fate of everyone living in the Fertile Lands. One thing is certain. Whoever they may be, they must have powerful reasons for wanting to face such an arduous crossing. If this were not the case, nobody would risk sailing across the fearful Yentru from shore to shore. All three of us know that it is an endless voyage, full of dangers and anguish. And yet they will undertake it. The question is: why?’
‘With your permission,’ Kupuka interrupted him. ‘Perhaps the real question is: will it be for our good, or for our ill?’
‘Well said!’ Cucub congratulated him. ‘You have reached the point I was aiming towards. For our good, or for our ill? Is this a good or evil shadow for the Fertile Lands? As yet this question has no answer, or at least no simple one. The Astronomers cannot interpret the signs from the skies with any certainty. They are confusing and do not fit together. Our Magic cannot discover the truth in all this fog and darkness.’
‘Well then?’ asked Dulkancellin.
‘Then decisions have to be taken,’ replied Cucub. ‘It’s no easy matter to decide when there is so much uncertainty and so little time. The strangers will soon set sail. Who knows? They may already be doing so. That is why we inhabitants of the Fertile Lands have to decide without delay what to do, and how to be prepared for their arrival. The Supreme Astronomers say we must form a Great Alliance. They say we must unite in our aims and in our movements, because nothing that has happened in the past bears any resemblance to what is about to happen now.’
‘Well then?’ Dulkancellin repeated.
Cucub slapped himself on the knees and shook his head in disbelief.
‘I suppose that Husihuilke warriors are as sparing of their arrows in battle as they are of their words in conversation.’
‘That’s enough joking; just answer what you have been asked,’ said Kupuka, trying to ward off Dulkancellin’s anger.
‘At once!’ Cucub said again. ‘The reply is easy to imagine. I think that you, Dulkancellin, have some idea what it is.’
‘Possibly,’ said the warrior, not taking his eyes from the Zitzahay’s face. ‘But unless I am mistaken, you came all this way to spread light on what little we know.’
‘You are right. And I have not forgotten my duties,’ said Cucub. ‘I was simply giving an introduction before I came to the heart of the matter.’
‘The heart of the matter is the only important thing,’ said Dulkancellin. His voice sounded more bewildered than discourteous.
Yielding at least for the moment to the demands of his audience, Cucub tried to get to the point.
‘What they are talking of is a Great Council. A council to be held in the city of Beleram, in the House of the Stars. Representatives from every village in the Fertile Lands have been invited. Together with the Supreme Astronomers they will seek to interpret who the strangers are, and what are their real reasons for coming. Even if they fail in this, the Council will have to decide what is to be done. In the House of the Stars a few men will decide on behalf of everyone how the Fertile Lands should prepare to receive the Ancient Lands.’ Cucub sighed. He knew the hardest part was still to come. ‘They have chosen you, Dulkancellin, to speak for your people in the House of the Stars. You are to go to the Council on behalf of the Husihuilkes. And I have to take you there.’
‘There are so many brave warriors at the Ends of the Earth. And so many wise elders. And yet I was the one chosen,’ said Dulkancellin. ‘Truly, I do not understand why.’
Kupuka cut in before Cucub had a chance to speak.
‘Brother, you talk of the tasks before you as if they were some kind of unjustly awarded privilege. You think that many others deserve this more than you, as if they would be happy to be chosen. But listen carefully to this old man, and believe what I say. This is not a reward we have given you. No, it is a heavy burden we are placing on your shoulders: so heavy few people could bear it. From now on you will think and act on behalf of your people. If you are right, all the Husihuilkes will be right too. If you get things wrong... oh, if you do that! Do you really think this is a privilege?’
The Days of the Deer Page 5
