The Days of the Deer

by Liliana Bodoc

  ‘The Supreme Astronomers told me many things about the Ends of the Earth. For an unknown reason, some came back to me more than others as I travelled through the forest. “The Marshy River separates the Land Without Shadow from the Ends of the Earth. That is where the Husihuilkes live and die. Their villages are grouped around a family clan. Each clan has the same founding ancestor who unites each family through blood and war. These family clans are all Husihuilkes. But these ancestors also make them adversaries ...”

  ‘I am repeating here exactly what I was told by the Astronomers, without adding or omitting anything. Often when I rested, their words came back to me. As I sat high in a tree, searching the sky for a familiar star to light the way for me, I could hear the voices of Bor and Zabralkán: “The Marshy River separates ...” And during those nights, even though it may be hard to believe, I thought of Dulkancellin. That’s right, warrior, I thought of you, and wondered what kind of man you were. Not just any man, obviously, if you had been chosen to represent your neighbours and your adversaries at the Great Council.

  ‘As I understand it, there are clans linked by honour or family ties between their original leaders. And there are others which, despite having been bitter rivals, have put an end to the wars by marrying their sons and daughters. But it was also explained to me that some clans will not accept any alliances beyond that of their blood mingling on the battlefield, or any pact apart from the truce agreed so that each side can carry off their dead.

  ‘Dulkancellin will have to take weighty decisions in the name of everyone. This man I have come to find, I remember telling myself whilst waiting for sleep to come, this man will have to be able to do so without disregarding anyone.

  ‘The first part of my journey, from the dawn when I left the House of the Stars until the moment I crossed the bridge over the Marshy River, took me thirteen times ten days, plus another nine. Each day was a notch on my belt. The next stage, from the southern end of the bridge to the door of your house, took me only half that time. Not that the distances were very different, because the river is almost halfway here. No, it was because it was so much easier to make progress through the forest than through the desert.

  ‘It was no lie when I said that my journey through the forest was untroubled. Despite this I could tell you any number of stories about things that happened on the way, finishing off with the tale of how I rested very close to here to check that the Kukul feather was where it was meant to be. But I will not go into all that. I’ll omit those details, and come quickly to the point where the warrior opened the door to me, and after having travelled for two hundred and nine suns when all I had seen was my own reflection in water, I saw another human face once more.

  ‘You are mistaken if you think I have lost interest in telling you more about my journey. I’m not ending here because I have no wish to continue . . . but I am stopping because of Piukemán. For a long time, the lad resisted falling asleep, pinching his hands and changing position on his rug. But now he is sleeping. I look round and consider what I see. Who is still awake? Kush, Dulkancellin, Thungür, and of course, the Zitzahay here.

  ‘I have learnt that nothing happens by chance these days. That is why I interpret their falling asleep not as an insult to my art but as a valuable opportunity I have no wish to squander. If I had any doubts about revealing certain secrets whispered to me in the House of the Stars, this has removed them. The little ones are sleeping. The three who are still awake are those who can and should know about ancient events, which are the origin of what will happen both today and tomorrow.

  ‘Dulkancellin will learn of them the moment we arrive at the House of the Stars. But the sooner he hears about these events, the longer he will have to reflect on them. As for Kush and Thungür ... I imagine Kupuka intends to inform them of everything when he returns. My question is: what if Kupuka is not able to return? Let us not forget for a moment that we are living in uncertain times. In every part of the Fertile Lands there is talk of inexplicable occurrences. Among them, several disappearances. Will the Earth Wizard return? If he does not, and if Dulkancellin and Cucub do not come back either, at least two people among the Husihuilkes will know the facts and be able to decide what to do next. This is what I think, and I trust I am not wrong.

  ‘Before I begin, though, I think it would be better to carry the children to their beds; I imagine they are quite clever at waking up without anyone noticing. If you will allow it, I think I am strong enough to carry Wilkilén.

  ‘Oh! and Old Mother Kush, perhaps you could bring us some warm milk and some corn bread.’

  10

  ANCIENT EVENTS

  When Dulkancellin, Thungür and Cucub returned to sit by the fire, the bread and milk were already laid out for them.

  ‘Drink while it’s hot,’ Kush told the Zitzahay. ‘Your voice will thank you for it.’

  ‘Thank you,’ replied Cucub, with a slight bow.

  There was no sign of the storm abating. If anything, the freezing wind grew even stronger, and the sky fell into the marshes.

  Cucub had learnt to trust the roof above his head. When he had first arrived, he thought it would not be long before that wooden hut, with its straw and tar roof, let in the rain. He had recalled with nostalgia the stone walls of the Zitzahay people. But now, dry and sheltered, sniffing the sweet smell of herbs from the chimney, he told himself that Old Mother Kush’s house was the best place in the world in which to listen to the rain.

  ‘Zitzahay, we will go on listening to you because you have promised to tell us valuable things,’ said Dulkancellin. ‘But night will soon be turning to dawn, and we all need to rest a little. Tomorrow is the day before we set off, and there still is much to do. I beg you not to say more than you have to.’

  ‘I will not waste a word. But let me warn you, whether there are few or many words, you will hear and forget them unless you see the need to remember them.’ The story-teller paused for effect. ‘On the day I arrived, I spoke as if in passing of something that is essential to know in order to understand how murky are the events we face. At that time, Kupuka was the only one who understood the importance of my comment. I could tell that from the troubled look he gave me. This time I will be more explicit, not to trouble you but to alert you. The coming events have succeeded in confusing our Magic. Trying to understand the strangers’ real reason for travelling to our shores, and of course the decision to be made as to whether we should receive them with bread or battle, has drawn a line. On either side of it, our Magic interprets the same signs in different ways. Everything is confused. Where some read night, others read day; no one can remember anything of this kind happening before. To my humble way of thinking, I predict that if this does not change we are running a very great risk. If the Council is mistaken in its conclusion, if our actions are not well directed from the start, something terrible will happen to us.’

  ‘How is it that you can understand that, and even I can understand that, but the Magic cannot?’ asked Dulkancellin.

  ‘Of course it can!’ Cucub replied. ‘But it cannot find a way to deal with it, nor to arrive at a definite conclusion. I trust that there is no pettiness or arrogance in our Magic. Nor betrayals. There is Wisdom that has not yet been attained. That, and only that, is what I pin my hopes on. Perhaps by the time we reach the Remote Realm we will find that the movement of the stars in the heavens, the prophecies, the sacred dreams, the calendars, the visions of the initiated and the messages from the earth will all have been interpreted in a single fashion.’

  Dulkancellin waved his hand to show he had understood. Then he encouraged the Zitzahay to get on to the important matters.

  ‘Zitzahay, you have been brief. But now tell us if you can exactly where this line you speak of is drawn.’

  ‘Your question anticipates what I was about to tell you,’ said Cucub, annoyed at the warrior’s impatience. ‘Since you so desire, I will convey this to you in a few words. Some believe it is the Northmen who are coming. Or rather, w
ho are coming back. Others fear – may the stars align in our protection! – that it is the shadows of Misáianes who are on their way, as our ancestors were warned long ago.’

  Cucub paused, sure that the Husihuilkes would ask him to explain further. To his astonishment, Old Mother Kush said:

  ‘The first name you mentioned is not unknown to me. Northmen ... I heard about them when I was as small as Wilkilén. It was from the mouth of one of my grandparents, on a night very like this one.’

  ‘That is possible,’ Cucub admitted. ‘Many people heard talk of the Northmen. And some elders can dig deep into their memories and bring back what they were told. You, Old Mother Kush, must have heard of their red hair and colourless skin. But it is more difficult for you to know what they did when they were among us.’

  ‘You are right. I close my eyes and hear the voice of my grandfather describing those men. I also remember he told us they had never before reached the Ends of the Earth. But that is all I can remember.’

  ‘Sister Kush, there is no way you can recall what you do not know,’ said the Zitzahay. ‘We would have to go back not to one grandfather but seven of them, if we wanted to reach back to the time when the Northmen visited us. And their coming was as secret as it was remote in time. The truth about those events was preserved in sacred books that only a few could read. And so it remained, awaiting the right time to be revealed. That time is now upon us, and we are the first to be aware of it. Is this destiny of ours a good or bad thing? I am not sure.’

  ‘Tell us what we need to know,’ insisted Dulkancellin.

  By now, Cucub felt completely at ease. He went on:

  ‘One day in the far distant past, the Northmen disembarked in the Remote Realm. At that time, very little was known ... or I should say, very little was remembered about them: we knew they lived in the Ancient Lands, on the far side of the ocean. And that they were the direct descendants of a timeless, noble race of men. The expedition of the Northmen brought bad news. Worse than anything that had ever been heard in our lands. Our leaders listened to them. And as I said before, everything the Northmen related was written in hermetic language on folded bark parchments that were placed in lacquered cases, then stored in a stone chest, which was hidden in a private place, and ...’

  ‘Wait a moment, Zitzahay!’ Dulkancellin objected. ‘Try to get to the essential! Please tell us why you said “bad news”.’

  ‘Who said “bad”?’

  ‘You did!’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, you!’ the warrior insisted, obviously annoyed.

  ‘In that case I did not succeed in expressing my real thoughts,’ said Cucub. ‘I should have said “terrifying news”. Or in other words, news that would turn the world upside down. Glimpses of the end.’

  ‘Zitzahay, in honour of the gravity of what you are talking about, forget your artistry for a moment and tell me clearly: what are you referring to? What news are you talking about?’

  Dulkancellin’s manner brooked no contradiction.

  Cucub blushed with silent embarrassment. And the Husihuilkes waited in silence for him to recover from his feeling of shame.

  ‘I was working up to that,’ muttered the Zitzahay, as if excusing himself. Then he began his answer, with the sincere intention of not letting his tongue run away with him any more. ‘A war was beginning in the Ancient Lands; a war so absolute, so different from any that had gone before that the Northmen crossed the ocean to bring us news of it. From the Ancient Lands to the Fertile Lands. No one would run such a risk simply to inform us about a war like all the others. Our ancestors were warned by those Northmen: “Brothers of the Fertile Lands, the motive for us coming here could not be another battle between Creatures, however important that might be. We have come to tell you that in the Ancient Lands the final war is about to be fought. We are facing someone whom his own mother baptized Misáianes, which in distant languages has the meaning “Eternal Hatred”. The Northmen said Misáianes had been created in the bowels of Death itself. Created and trained to unleash the power of fierce cruelty against our world.’

  When Old Mother Kush, Thungür and Dulkancellin heard these words from the Zitzahay, they sensed that Misáianes was a name capable of dividing Time. A shudder ran through the room, fluttered and settled on their souls like a bird of prey.

  ‘The books I referred to,’ Cucub went on, ‘faithfully reflect what the Northmen told us. I can remember some of the fragments most frequently repeated by Zabralkán during the time I spent in the House of the Stars, and I can think of no better way to conclude what I have to say: “It is for us, the inhabitants of the Ancient Lands, to undertake the first battles against Misáianes. That is as it should be, because Misáianes was born and grew on a mountain in our continent. And that is where he is concentrating his forces. We will fight to the last drop of blood of the last noble Creature, but that may not be enough. For now, this part of the world is still safe. We and the ocean are a shield for you. Preserve this place and this life of yours! Protect yourselves, and protect the children we will leave among you! It is in them that we are depositing our hopes for the future, even if the Ancient Lands should fall. If we are victorious, we will return to search for our descendants. You will see us come back over the sea. And then we will pass bread from hand to hand round the ceremonial pyre. But if we are defeated, it will be They who appear. Misáianes will gather strength in the Ancient Lands. Then he will dispatch his armies to devastate this continent, because that is his intention: not to leave a single tree in blossom, not a single bird singing. We know that when this moment comes you will fight as we are doing now. But that moment, if it does come, will only arrive after many, many years. This war will stretch beyond the span of human life: that is why you must ensure you keep the memory of these words alive and protected. No matter how many years go by ... When the arrival of a new fleet is prophesied, there must be some of you who can remember all this in order to decide whether it is the Northmen who are on board, or if it is Misáianes who is drawing near. Them or us. Life or Death. That is all. And make sure that our children multiply!’

  The Husihuilkes were beginning to understand.

  ‘I can see you are starting to understand,’ said Cucub. ‘Is it the Northmen who are coming, or Misáianes? Instead of illuminating us, the signs only make the question more obscure. Everything presenting itself to the eyes of Magic can be read in two different ways, and the result is uncertainty.’

  ‘We have never heard anyone spoken of in the way you described Misáianes,’ said Dulkancellin. ‘Tell us, Cucub, who is he?’

  The Husihuilke warrior’s question had its reply in the sacred books. Testimonies written in a holy tongue. Tales of a war as yet unfinished, that cast its shadow over the present.

  Many years earlier, the ages of seven grandfathers, the Astronomers of the Remote Realm had asked the Northmen the same question that Dulkancellin did of Cucub.

  And when we, the Astronomers, asked about Misáianes, the Northmen replied in the way we have transcribed here. We took down the words exactly as they spoke them, without adding or omitting anything. These are sacred books that we will keep safe until the new arrival of the ships.

  The Northmen named Misáianes. They called him the Ferocious One, the one who should never have been born. That is what the Northmen said. We fear Misáianes, the one who saw the light of this world because his mother went against the Great Laws: that is what they told us.

  Death, condemned not to give birth to mortal or immortal creature, wandered through eternity demanding progeny. She sobbed and begged, but the prohibition was absolute. A refusal that would never be reversed. So Death rebelled. She moulded an egg from her own saliva, then produced it from her mouth. She secreted juices and fertilized it with them. And so from this revolting substance her son was born, protected by the solitude of a forgotten mountain in the Ancient Lands.

  This being, born from Disobedience, brought horror with him; and horror was not merely a part of
him, but his essence. The son brought with him evil such as not even his mother could imagine. That is what the Northmen told us. This happened because the Great Laws were broken – that is what they said.

  When this happened, a wound was opened. And Eternal Hatred, lurking beyond the edges of the world, found this opening. Eternal Hatred found its way in through this wound of Disobedience. It was formed inside the egg, and came into being. Thanks to the son of Death, Eternal Hatred took shape and found its voice in this world. This is what the Northmen told us. Its lizard soul came crawling out. The Evil One.

  Then Death saw what she had done. She saw her progeny was the flesh of Eternal Hatred, and sought to rip it to pieces with her teeth. The first day, she did not succeed. Nor could she destroy it the following day. On the third day she felt proud of the beast, and called him Misáianes. On that third day a new era began, an era of mourning. But nobody knew.

  Misáianes grew. He became master over a multitude of Creatures and extended his empire. You should know that the son of Death will never show his face. So the Northmen told us. It is written that his features will be concealed until the last days. So they said.

  What Misáianes, the son of Death, says is like the truth, and confuses anyone who stops to listen. He knows how to praise the powerful and seduce the weak; he knows how to whisper and set brother against brother. The danger is great. He can seem to us like a glorious master, our new teacher. He can seem like the counsellor of the sun. So the Northmen told us. The danger is great; this they said. Many will run in whichever direction he points. Many in this world will worship him.

  Hear this and remember. Misáianes came to destroy the time of mankind, of animals, of water, of living green and of the moon, the time of Time. Many will be intoxicated by his poison; many more will fall in battle. Better to fall in battle. So spoke the Northmen. Do not forget this, they warned us.