Cucub began to pay more attention.
‘What do you mean?’ he wanted to know.
‘I dreamt that the lukus were drinking maize beer. A rush carpet was spread out on the sand, with bowls filled to the brim placed on it. The lukus seemed contented. So did the Pastors, but they were not drinking ... they were waiting.’
‘What were they waiting for, Dulkancellin?’
‘They were waiting to see the lukus die.’
This jolted Cucub fully awake.
‘Brother warrior, tell me what you are thinking.’
‘I think we need to save ourselves. We are not to blame for what happened to the lukus. And I am beginning to think that no one here is really interested in finding out either. We must flee this place, and if we live long enough, we can come back and discover the truth.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ said Cucub. ‘If I succeed in getting out of here, I never want to return.’
The sound of the bar on the door being lifted interrupted their conversation. One Pastor entered with their food; another stood on guard at the entrance. The breeze wafting in through the opening gave the two men more satisfaction than the scrap of dried meat and warm gruel they were given each morning.
‘Is this the Pastors’ hospitality?’ said Cucub, not expecting any answer. ‘Tell your chief from me that in our Remote Realm we treat our guests far better.’
The Pastor did not respond, but placed the clay bowls on the ground and left. No one would come again now until sunset. When Cucub and Dulkancellin were alone, they renewed their conversation.
‘The Pastor who brings the food is easy to overcome,’ said the warrior.
‘Don’t forget the one at the door.’
‘Of course not!’ said Dulkancellin impatiently. ‘We only need to think of an excuse to bring him inside as well. I can take care of both of them. Then you and I can escape.’
‘As far as I can see, all you are taking into account is your own strength,’ said Cucub.
‘What else should I be considering?’
The Zitzahay made as if he were looking all around him.
‘That window, for example.’
‘That sounds like nonsense to me. No one could fit through it.’
‘That’s true,’ Cucub agreed. He dropped back onto the straw pallet, then went on: ‘No one who was not the acrobat who enthralled entire villages in the Remote Realm.’
Dulkancellin knelt beside him, waiting for the Zitzahay to explain more fully.
‘From the first moment we were put in here, I’ve been using my brain. I have an escape plan that has several advantages over yours. To tell you just one: it depends on a clever trick.’
‘I can see that. What else?’ asked Dulkancellin, unable to believe Cucub was talking seriously.
‘We won’t run the risk of an unequal fight between you and two other people.’
‘I’m willing to take that risk.’
‘I knew you would say that!’
‘What other advantages are there?’
‘We will not have to cross the camp with the Pastors all around us. The best thing is they will not know we have gone until several hours later. Do you accept that this would considerably reduce the risks?’
‘The risks aren’t that great. We hear every morning when the Pastors leave with their focks.’
‘We also hear the ones who stay in the camp.’
‘That can only be a few of them.’
‘And there will only be a few risks if for once you just listen to somebody other than yourself, Husihuilke of the Ends of the Earth!’ Cucub took a deep breath and controlled himself: ‘Besides, and this is important, my plan will give us a whole night to get ahead on our journey.’
Dulkancellin knew that the most difficult thing about their escape was not getting out of the camp but managing to put as much distance as possible between them and the Pastors. He was also aware that the lack of a sentry at the entrance to the store would not go unnoticed for very long.
‘Tell me what you have been thinking,’ he asked.
Soon afterwards, the details of their escape plan were complete.
The Pastors changed the guard four times a day, but only opened the door twice. At first light the man with the meat and broth came in. At sunset they were brought a pitcher of milk. This was when life returned to the camp, as the Pastors came back from grazing their flocks. Then there was a smell of cooking, the noise of games, songs, laughter. To try to get away then was unthinkable.
That evening was the same as usual. They were given their milk, the flocks returned, food was cooked over the fires, the men played games and sang. Cucub and Dulkancellin paid particular attention to this routine; and when the last sound of laughter and talk died down and they were sure everyone in the camp was asleep, they set to their task.
Dulkancellin knelt down and Cucub climbed on his back. Dulkancellin stood up, and the Zitzahay clambered onto his shoulders, then also stood up. This brought him to the edge of the opening, which he clung on to. Dulkancellin stepped back, but immediately rushed again to his original position, arms outstretched. It was impossible to get through that narrow gap! The little man could not hold on for long. Certain he would drop from the ledge, the Husihuilke prepared to catch him before he hit the ground. But Cucub hauled himself up, and succeeded in getting head and shoulders through the opening. Dulkancellin had to accept that for the moment his strong arms were not needed.
Cucub took a deep breath. He had very little room and had to take advantage of every nook and cranny. He pushed himself out further, and slowly turned his body. With a further effort, he heaved himself up so that his legs were still inside the store, but his back was out, facing the desert. The worst was over. He pulled on the rope tied round his wrist, and when it came tight, toppled over backwards. The rope was made up of bits and pieces of thongs and belts. Dulkancellin kept a firm hold on one end of it, while Cucub wriggled out of the opening and used his feet to climb down the outside wall, until finally he was standing on the ground. There were only three people awake in the camp: the guard, who was yawning and staring into space; Cucub, who managed to relax his face muscles; and on the other side of the wall, Dulkancellin, who smiled at the rope he was still clutching.
In the darkness, the unmistakable hiss of the most feared snake in the desert could be heard close by. The guard shuddered, desperate to know where the sound came from. The hissing started again. ‘It’s over there,’ the guard whispered to himself. It seemed to be coming from the northern side of the store, where there was a small window. Machete in his perspiring hand, he walked towards it, carefully watching where he put his feet. It would fool me too, thought Dulkancellin.
When the guard went past the window, Cucub was hiding beyond the next corner. He pursed his lips and made the snake hiss once more. The guard strode towards the sound: it did not seem quite as close now as before. Cucub quickly turned the corner of the store until he was on the southern side. He curled up his tongue and imitated the snake again. This time the hissing brought the guard up short just before he reached the corner.
The war between the snake and the Pastors was a long history of hatred, in which it seemed that running away was not important. If the guard killed this one, the next day he would be a hero. The thought made him grasp the machete more tightly. Be careful now, thought Cucub. He was retreating with his back to the west. The next hiss seemed to be mocking the Pastor guard. He swore that after he had killed the snake he would cut off its head and hang it at the entrance to his tent. If your sisters come to pay me a visit, they will see what happened to you, and will be afraid of coming near my mattress.
Cucub pulled back again, feeling his way along the southern wall. His fear made it seem endless. At last he touched the rounded end of the building, and felt the western wall against his back. Cucub took a moment to calculate the risk. The door was close by; so was the guard. Cucub could hear him drawing nearer. Only fresh hissing from the snake could make him h
alt, and give the Zitzahay the time he needed. But Cucub’s mouth was as dry as dust, and he could make no sound. He reached the door, laid his hand on the bar. But his mouth was still too dry.
No longer hearing the snake, the Pastor hurried on. He was facing the sea, but his face showed disappointment. It must have seen the machete and gone back to its nest. He lowered his weapon, and decided to return to his post. Just as he was doing so, the snake found its voice. A long, loud hiss paralysed the Pastor and concealed the noise of the bar being slid back. The door edged open, and Dulkancellin slipped out. The next hiss was so fierce that it covered the sound of the bar being dropped back into place. Recovering his breath, the guard leapt back. Cucub and the warrior vanished round the north-western corner of the store, and found themselves beneath the window once more. When the guard returned to his post after stalking his invisible enemy round the entire building, the door was as it should have been, with the bar properly drawn across it. The guard looked out into the darkness, and yawned again.
Helped by a cloudy sky, the Husihuilke and the Zitzahay made their way through the camp. Some of the fires were still lit, but snores from the Pastors asleep in their tents, oblivious to what was going on, were the only sound to be heard.
Near the animal pens they found some llamels grazing.
‘We mustn’t let this opportunity slip by,’ Dulkancellin whispered in Cucub’s ear.
The llamels were tame animals, used to all the chores their masters imposed on them. Dulkancellin mounted first. Once he was astride the enormous hairy beast, he helped Cucub get up on another one. The llamels and their riders set off towards the north.
They started out with no belongings or weapons, as all of them had been taken from them when they were shut in the grain store. And because of their haste and the risk they were running, they had no supply of water either.
‘A performance like that would have won me a good few gourd seeds back in the Remote Realm,’ Cucub said triumphantly.
‘You were very good,’ Dulkancellin admitted.
Cucub took a deep breath, then proudly blew out the air.
‘Let me remind you what you said to Kupuka. And correct me if I’m wrong,’ said Cucub. This time it was his companion’s voice that he imitated: ‘“I’m not going to need the Zitzahay on the journey.”’
The Husihuilke’s only reply was to kick his mount to make it go faster.
‘Let’s go!’ he said, ‘there’s no time to lose.’
15
THE DAY THE SHIPS SET SAIL
For an entire day, the llamels made their way across the desert almost without any rest. The two men had to choose between the uncertain safety the coastal route offered them and the possibility of finding water and food in parts further from the coast, where patches of green promised some nourishment. But this was where the Pastors were lords and masters. In the end, they took the inland path, despite the risk of coming across the Pastors. The next dawn found them in the midst of some thorn bushes, digging in the soft, dry earth for anything of use to them. They emerged with real treasures: two shoots from a giant cactus that they stripped of spines and hollowed out to make bowls. Two stakes they could sharpen. A pliable reed to take the place of Cucub’s staff, and several stones to use as tools. Even though there was no sign they were being followed, they wrapped all this in the Zitzahay’s cloak, climbed back on their mounts, and set off again.
They were anxious to get on, but increasingly found they had to call a halt to their journey. The scorching sun at the height of the day, the freezing cold at night, as well as the llamels’ weariness, all slowed them down. Yet it was thirst, the need to drink and the certainty they would soon feel thirsty again, that was the worst thing their bodies and souls had to suffer. Four of them needing to drink. Four, if they wanted to continue to ride. Four, all of whom had set out without water supplies. So far, they had only found one spring a short distance from the camp, where the llamels had drunk enough to last them a few days. After that there was only water from the cactuses that the men could sip. As they went on and on, they were desperate to be able to drink their fill. They were exhausted, their muscles weary, their lips cracked and their eyes smarting. When the land began to rise and fall in front of them, they sat on their mounts, their minds numb, and let the animals seek their way.
Day was dawning. A dry, chill wind made them draw closer still to the animals’ bloated stomachs, trying to find sleep that refused to come, or only fitfully. That was why when Cucub suddenly spoke, Dulkancellin thought the Zitzahay must be talking half asleep.
‘It’s her! It’s her!’
An eagle was circling high above Cucub’s excited outburst. Cucub sprang to his feet, but the bird flew away.
‘Don’t worry, she’ll be back,’ he said. And to show he himself was not worrying, he sat down again.
Dulkancellin remembered Cucub’s description of his journey to Whirlwind Pass, and the friendly eagle he was so grateful to.
‘Are you sure this is the same bird?’ he asked.
‘As sure as I am of my own name, brother. Let’s continue on our way, and you’ll soon see the eagle will bring us comfort.’
What he said soon came true. First they found some of the fleshy leaves that had refreshed Cucub on his outward journey. Then, before too long, the bird guided them to the water holes the desert kept for those whose dwelt there. And she flew in a looping zigzag that led them well away from the Pastors.
At night they could see points of light which made them think their pursuers could not be far behind, and were just waiting to lay hands on them. But the days went by, and nothing happened.
‘We are coming to the end of this sad land,’ said Cucub.
The constant difficulties they had to face simply in order to survive and make their slow progress northwards meant they forgot the ultimate reason for their journey. Urgent matters kept all thought of this at bay, until the Zitzahay’s words suddenly brought it sweeping back. A pitcher of water spilt on the sand suddenly made them think of who they were and what they were doing in the desert. They were being pursued, and had to get to the House of the Stars. They were two people who would never have met had it not been for the fact that an ancient prophecy was about to be fulfilled. The ships will come back across the Yentru Sea. Either we or Misáianes’ army will be on board. This will mean the survival or the end for all that lives on this earth. That ancient pronouncement of the Northmen, forgotten by all but a few, was leading them to a shared destiny.
The eagle reappeared early the next morning. It came from the sea, and as soon as it spied the two men began to fly backwards and forwards above them, telling them they should also head for the coast. Cucub and Dulkancellin hesitated: they could see the end of the desert in front of them. There was no sign of the Pastors: no shadows or campfires. But the eagle flew so insistently over their heads that in the end they followed her. Every step they took that was not towards the north seemed doubly tiring. Even Cucub went along protesting about his winged friend’s puzzling ways. Yet, as had so often happened in the past, he soon had to bite his tongue: they got to the top of one of the many sandhills, and suddenly there was Kupuka. Possibly it was the brightness of his clothes’ colours in the midst of the dull brown of the desert that made him seem like a miraculous mirage. They closed their eyes; opened them again. The Earth Wizard was still there, beckoning to them.
When they drew close, they could see how weary he looked. Kupuka had come from far away, from long voyages and hard tasks. It was plain it had been a great effort for him to come and meet them. In all this strange solitude, Kupuka was a true friend, and they greeted him as such.
‘How did you manage to get here?’ asked Dulkancellin.
‘There is always a way.’
The Wizard smiled down at his wet feet, and the two men remembered the fish-women. But they never found out if they were right, because Kupuka changed the subject at once.
‘The eagle knows things and has told me the
m. What do you two have to say to me?’
A lot. So much had happened, from Kume and the feather to their escape from the Pastors’ camp. The three men sat in the shade of a rocky crag, that shrank as the sun rose in the sky. Since there was so much to tell, Cucub related most of it, Dulkancellin rather less. As they spoke, they handed round a wineskin that Kupuka had brought, filled with a health-giving water that was bittersweet at first, and left a taste of salt in the mouth. The further they got with their story, the darker the Earth Wizard’s face grew: he became lost in thought. He listened to everything they had to say, and since it was a long tale, the three men eventually ended up huddled against the rock to take advantage of the last of the shade.
Kupuka began to draw in the sand. Cucub and Dulkancellin saw him grow more agitated with each line he traced. Then he rubbed the drawing out and began all over again, slightly changing the position of the figures. Kupuka drew big and small circles, stars, triangles, spirals that joined with wavy or broken lines. He walked around, taking a few steps away and then coming back to draw more shapes with anxious fingers. He was muttering snatches of words, and answering his own unfinished questions. It was all the more surprising to see him in such a frenzy because the sun was beating down so fiercely it was all the others could do to breathe. When the Earth Wizard began to dance around his drawings, the two men realized these were random thoughts he had set down, and that now Kupuka was in a world of visions that would help him organize them wisely. Sweating profusely, Kupuka returned to his work, rubbed it out determinedly once more. His next attempt was very different. His hand knew what it was doing: when it drew a shape, the Earth Wizard left it. He came to a halt, observing the result of his trance, raining drops of his own sweat on the predictions he had traced. His eyes closed, and he fell fast asleep on the sand.
‘Who knows how long he will sleep,’ said Cucub, wondering how they could protect him from the sun. ‘Perhaps between the two of us we could lift him onto a llamel, then lead him to that patch of vegetation over there. There’s not much of it, and it doesn’t offer much shade, but it might bring us some relief.’
The Days of the Deer Page 11
