The Days of the Deer

by Liliana Bodoc

  Drimus passed from tears to laughter, without any great change to his features. How not to trust in the Master and the power of the Enclosed Brotherhood? If that wandering magician and his herd of pigs, that band of disloyal wizards who had chosen to distance themselves from Wisdom – if they were the best the Fertile Lands had to set against them, then there was nothing to fear. Let Leogrós put his faith in his arsenal of powder and weapons! Let him believe, for now, that his war was the one that would bring victory. The poor wretch would see soon enough that nothing would have been possible without the efforts of the Enclosed Wizards. When everything was in its proper place, then he would become aware of his true destiny. For the moment, better to let him finish off the already dead.

  Misáianes worked on his chosen ones in such a way that they all believed they were his favourites, and that the role they played was crucial to the fulfilment of the Great Plan. They were suspicious of and mistrusted each other because they never knew exactly what the others’ orders were. Still less which of them the Master would finally anoint when the time came.

  ‘Have faith in our weapons!’ Leogrós insisted. ‘They are more than enough to exterminate every last one of those on this continent which, before you even realize it, will be our palace.’

  Peeling off a glove, Leogrós rubbed his cheeks in a familiar gesture. He liked the touch of his hand on the thick beard, just as he liked to look at his own features in the glass he brought with him wherever he was. He knew the hunchback could not appreciate the glory of war. But the fact that the Doctrinator was unaware of it did not mean that Misáianes felt the same. The Master, who saw everything from beginning to end, compared warfare to the wind. ‘It will blow through this world, sweep away the heights of the revolt, reduce everything to the same level.’ When Leogrós heard Misáianes talk, he felt for the first time that someone understood his own dreams. Not only did he understand them, but he gave them a perfect shape, and had the power to make them come true. ‘War, our war, is first of all slaughter. Then it is eternity,’ he had whispered to him. ‘And it is in war that Time will find its only chance to continue to pass.’ Let the hunchback continue to fantasize over the supremacy of his doctrines! One day he would see that the laws of distant skies had to bend before the rules of war.

  ‘I accept your view,’ said Drimus, although this was far from his true way of thinking. ‘In return, explain to me what your plans are.’

  Outside the fortress, on his stomach in a small hollow on the hillside, Kume was waiting for nightfall. He had followed the Sideresians’ retreat until he came within sight of a wall of wooden posts forming a semicircle around a group of hastily constructed buildings. From his hiding place, Kume could make out the ones higher up the slope, placed there to take advantage of a flat stretch of ground on the hillside. All these buildings were made of wooden posts like the wall, and roughly covered in straw. Only one was bigger and taller than the rest. That’s where their leaders must be, thought the Husihuilke.

  The place where the Sideresians had chosen to build their fortress was close to the Yentru coast. At that height, the ground was sandy and the vegetation had thinned out.

  All that afternoon, Kume watched the Sideresians coming and going. Between the fortress and a nearby stream, two lines of men were rhythmically passing from hand to hand empty buckets and full ones. Others dragged their heavy weapons to gaps opened in the semicircular wall. After that, the only men he could see were the guards keeping watch from their towers, who were relieved at nightfall.

  Kume had not planned what he was doing; he had not even stopped to think about it. He did it because that was what his spirit urged him to do. The same urgency that had driven him to carry out the most important acts of his life, although he never knew where it came from. Only one thing was certain: when he felt its call, Kume became utterly determined to see it through, whatever the cost. Once again he had acted in the grip of this force. He knew what he had to do in the midst of the battle. And if he glimpsed how it all would end, that did not weaken his resolve.

  His wait would have made anyone but Kume reflect. In his place, another person would have baulked at how little chance he had of achieving what he proposed. Someone else perhaps would have realized that such determination might be turned against those he pretended to favour. A third person might stop to wonder if all this was not excessive pride, which could ruin everything. Kume had none of these thoughts. All he concentrated on were the practical details of what he was going to do. He was like a child about to start a game.

  At last night fell. Luckily for him, it was moonless, and filled with the sounds of nocturnal insects. There was only one thing Kume wanted before he headed towards the fortress: water. He wanted water to drink ... he watched it spilling out of the buckets the Sideresians were passing to each other, and remembered he had not had a drink since the battle. He crawled slowly towards the stream. The light from the torches around the fort did not reach this far, so that Kume was in no real danger. He heard the sound of the water before he reached the bank, and saw a cloud of fireflies hovering above it. The Husihuilke greedily drank his last fresh water. Then he looked around him: everything was still and silent. No reason to wait any longer.

  The information he already knew, and what he had seen that afternoon, was whirling around his head: he must forget nothing if he were to carry out his mission. While they had been staying in the House of the Stars, the warriors had been taught about the Sideresians’ weapons. Everything the Supreme Astronomers had learnt was explained to them in great detail. They were shown the arms captured in the first skirmishes. They saw and smelt the grey powder feeding them. More than anyone else, Kume had shown a great interest. His admiration was so great his brother warriors were disturbed; Molitzmós was the only other one who shared this feeling, and who devoted himself to studying them without resentment. This was what had brought the two of them together for their discussions by the pond, of which Kume now recalled many important details. Of course at that time none of them knew of the heavy weapons that the Sideresians used in the battle of the Border Hills. But from what Kume understood, from the way that they blew things apart they must need the same powder.

  As he fought alongside the other warriors, Kume had understood the Sideresians would return far too soon. They must have more of these huge weapons in their fortress, and more of the powder that fed them. If this was the case, the victory of the Fertile Lands was little more than a dream. But if he could find and destroy the arsenal of grey powder, the Sideresians would be unable to use these weapons. Then the Deer would have time to regain his strength in many ways before the Sideresians could return. Kume might have shared his plan with Molitzmós, but he had seen the Lord of the Sun fall in battle. And he knew that if he tried to explain to anyone else, that would rob him of his only advantage: the time their enemies needed to reorganize.

  Beyond the light from the fortress torches, Kume went over in his mind what he had to do next. He wanted to be sure he had enough time between the signals the guards exchanged in their towers. These wooden towers were built at each end of the fortress’s front wall. By waving a torch, one sentry could tell that the other one was in position, and that everything was as it should be.

  Kume edged as close as he dared to the sentry at the western end of the fortress. Now everything depended on his aim. If he did not hit his target, if he left the Sideresian with enough life for him to be able to cry out, then all was lost. The arrow and its poison had to strike him deep in the heart, so that there was no distance between life and death. The Husihuilke was ready. The sentry responded to his companion’s signal, then hung the torch in a bracket and stood peering out over the dark countryside. The arrow whizzed through the air and plunged into the Sideresian’s chest so precisely it seemed almost to be taking pity on him. This end of the fortress was left unguarded. Kume ran to the wall. He climbed up it, then up the crossed supports of the tower. When he reached the top, he waited. The next signal came
at the appointed time. Kume took the torch from the bracket and signalled that everything was in place.

  Far from being behind him, the most difficult part still lay ahead. This time it did not depend on the Husihuilke’s good aim, but whether destiny wanted the same as him. He had to climb down from the tower, discover where the Sideresians kept their grey powder, and then set it alight. He had only a short space of time to do all this. When the sentry in the tower did not respond to his companion, the alarm would be raised.

  Kume climbed down. Reaching the foot of the tower, he gazed around the inside of the torch-lit fortress. That night, destiny and Kume were at one. On the same side as the one he had chosen – chosen because he had seen the men’s huts by the far wall – he saw a long, low stone building. Too low for men, made of stone to offer protection, on its own for safety, and, above all, kept under guard. Kume had no doubts, and no time for any. If this was where the Sideresians kept their powder, he would do his bit. If not, he would try to escape with his life.

  He moved cautiously towards the stone building. It would not be long before the sentry in the eastern tower signalled with his torch and, not receiving any reply, would realize something serious was going on. Kume used projecting stones to help him climb onto the roof. From there he leapt down onto the man guarding the entrance, who was dead before he knew what was happening.

  At that very moment, Kume saw the torch waving high in the tower. He peered inside the building. In the darkness all he could see was a pile of objects he had no time to properly identify. Running to the nearest torch, he seized it. As he was returning, he heard the voice of alarm being raised all round the fort. How comforted Kume would have been, had he known what he was about to destroy! Almost all the reserves the Sideresians had in powder, weapons, and shot.

  Kume had no time to inspect anything. He took a few steps inside the arsenal. Thanks to the torch he was carrying he could see some barrels: he threw the torch at them, then ran out as quickly as he could. He had no way of knowing all that the Sideresians were about to lose. But they could do nothing in the face of an explosion that destroyed everything.

  When this happened, from his hiding place in the dark Kume saw the stones erupt and a fire break out that would last longer than he did. He tried to remain hidden among all the confusion of men, shouted orders and cries, still hoping he could escape. But he soon saw the pack of black dogs coming closer, sniffing at the ground. Kume tried not to give off a smell of fear, of Husihuilke, but it was impossible. Drimus’s dogs were the first to find him. And it was only the Doctrinator’s voice that could drag them off him.

  Kume fought like ten pumas. Like a hundred, a thousand pumas surrounded by men who had been ordered to capture him alive. The only fighting code that Kume knew was that of the Husihuilkes. For that reason he could not comprehend a death different from the one they would give their enemy. If he had been able to, he would have taken his own life rather than let himself be made prisoner.

  Stretched out on the ground and savagely beaten, he heard Drimus approach and squat beside him.

  ‘You miserable vermin! My pups deserve to have your rotten meat for their dinner,’ he said, quietly and calmly. ‘But that cannot be. Your death will leave you intact on the outside, but drilled with holes inside. That way your sad army will see you, and recognize their own fate in you.’

  Drimus took Kume by the hand and forced him to feel his hump. Kume clenched his fist and tried to resist, but no longer had the strength.

  ‘Feel it, you cur,’ the Doctrinator insisted. ‘Feel that bump of wisdom: that is what distinguishes me from the rest. I want you to die knowing that the delay you have caused will not change destiny. We shall be the masters of these lands, and every Husihuilke will pay for what you have just done.’

  We have to be as close to one another as two grains of sand, Kume remembered.

  From that moment on, he never said another word. Not one when they stripped him, not one when they forced him to his knees, not one when the hunchback promised him the worst kind of torture imaginable, spraying his face with saliva.

  Kume watched them preparing his death without being able to comprehend it. His enemies drove a sharpened post into the ground. He thought of all those he loved. As death penetrated his body, Kume’s scream collided with the sky.

  Thirteen times thirteen warriors, plus seven more. That was the number Cucub had counted of those able to march on towards the Sideresians’ fortress. The others were too badly wounded. They would be taken back to the House of the Stars, accompanied by men who could attend and aid them.

  Molitzmós had come out of his stupor that afternoon. He came round all of a sudden, and leapt up in a way impossible to imagine in someone who only moments before had been on the verge of death. In the short space of time when he was lucid, he kept repeating that he was going to ride alongside Dulkancellin. It all happened in a flash: he woke up, threw off the blankets covering him, stood up, asked for all the details of the battle, and swore that this time he would do all that his wound had prevented him from doing until now. The warriors around him could make no sense of his excited gestures until he began shouting for the weapon he could not find.

  ‘Here it is,’ said Cucub. ‘You can rest easy: it has played its part.’

  Molitzmós gazed at Cucub with feverish eyes. He was still very pale, and perspiration ran down his face. The Lord of the Sun did not even manage to take his weapon back. He stood rooted to the spot, blinking furiously. The image of Cucub, arm outstretched to hand him back his knife, suddenly became clouded. He tried to focus, but could not; he tried to walk, but lost his balance. Two men rushed to catch him, and laid him out on the ground. By the time Dulkancellin and Hoh-Quiú came to see him, he had slipped back into his stupor. Kupuka thought his moment of recovery must have been the spirit of Molitzmós saying farewell. For once, the Earth Wizard was mistaken. Molitzmós went no further than into a deep sleep.

  ‘You ought to return to Beleram with the wounded,’ said Dulkancellin.

  ‘You are the one who ought to do that,’ Kupuka replied.

  It seemed vital for the Earth Wizard to be in both places at once.

  ‘I can guide you quickly to the fortress,’ he said. ‘And as for the wounded . . . those who arrive at the House of the Stars will be in Zabralkán’s good care; the others will not survive anyway.’

  It was still not first light on the day after the battle when the army of the Fertile Lands divided. The caravan heading south travelled slowly, weighed down by the cost of victory. The warriors setting out for the Sideresian fortress left well armed and mounted on the backs of the animals with manes, although many of them had to learn to ride along the way.

  ‘Spirit of the Wind is not Dusky One,’ Cucub warned Dulkancellin. ‘Try to understand him. For my part, I’ll make use of the journey to find a name for this one I have chosen.’

  Kupuka, Hoh-Quiú and Dulkancellin rode out in front. Thungür and Cucub made sure they stayed close to them, as if they thought that by keeping their eyes fixed on Dulkancellin they helped him stay upright. The warrior’s condition was worsening. In spite of all Kupuka’s care, the infection of the wounds was spreading, and the fever hardly ever left him. But Dulkancellin rode at the head of the warriors, and there was no force on earth or in heaven that could have persuaded him otherwise. Dulkancellin was someone born worth ten men. They all knew as much, and made no attempt to dissuade him. No one except Kupuka, who had to be content with riding alongside him and easing his pain. To make matters worse, the Husihuilke had not slept all night. The lack of sleep made the night seem endless, and it was filled with Kume’s absence. Where could he be? Why had he disappeared? The father could never have imagined that while he lay awake, Kume was performing such a noble deed. Afterwards, he had no wish to know whether his son had acted out of pride, bravery, or sadness.

  The time Kupuka had estimated that it would take to reach the fortress was much shorter now they were riding. There were
still hours of daylight left when Dulkancellin ordered his men to halt. From that distance, they could see the signs that the fortress had been abandoned. It was no more than a desolate, burning shell. Seeing this, the warriors rode on. As the silence had indicated, no one tried to stop them.

  The wooden wall was breached in several places, and one side was still in flames. Dulkancellin and Hoh-Quiú went in first: the ground was strewn with rocks, fires, all kinds of objects left behind in a recent flight. In the midst of all this desolation, they saw Kume’s body thrust through with a stake.

  After Kume, after the pride, bravery and sadness of Kume, everything had changed for the Sideresians.

  The certainty of victory, the joy at savouring their revenge, the pleasure at being able to offer Misáianes a handful of his new lands, had gone up in flames. Without the protection of their powder, Leogrós’s plans came to nothing, and his army was shown for what it really was: a miserable, fearful rabble whose only wish was to flee. It was true that Kume’s torture had for a moment concealed their true natures. Thanks to its ferocity, they had once more seemed terrifying. But that appearance did not last long. They soon returned to making their pleas to leave – pleas which would become demands if their leaders would not listen. Leogrós knew there was nothing to do but comply. It was impossible to win this war with the few weapons they had been able to save; nor could they attempt to resist until the arrival of a new fleet. No promise of riches or power was enough to buy off the dread the Sideresian army felt.

  ‘But I cannot go back after a defeat like this,’ murmured Leogrós.

  Drimus listened to him with drooping mouth and eyes wide open.

  ‘What shall we do then?’ asked the Doctrinator. ‘What shall we do?’

  ‘To begin with, we must leave here,’ Leogrós replied. ‘But not as far as they expect. Not so far, and not for so long.’