The Lyre Dancers

by Mandy Haggith

  From the look on Mother’s face I see it’s a great honour.

  I thank her, blushing. It might not seem like much to anyone else, but it feels to me like the beginning of my initiation. It is a kind of test. What herbs can I find? I know so little of what grows here.

  ‘Mind you keep your focus on the dinner!’ Danuta’s eyes are twinkling and I’m not sure why.

  ‘Your boy might fancy going too? What do you think?’ Mother is addressing Manigan, of course, not wondering what I might think of the idea, although, for a moment, I thought she was referring to the boy as mine and I knew exactly why.

  ‘Aye, take him, and stay out as long as you can. You never know, you might lose him.’

  ‘You’re so cruel.’ Mother is laughing at him.

  I don’t know if he’s joking or not. I can never tell with Manigan, and half the time it turns out he is, but I don’t find him at all funny. Like now.

  But then he turns to me. ‘Poor Soyea. You don’t want to be burdened with a lout like that. He’ll ruin your nice quiet walk.’

  ‘I don’t mind taking him.’ If only to spite you, I don’t say. But it’s true. ‘If he wants to come, he’s welcome.’ I grab the basket.

  ‘There’s a load of smelly fish out there,’ I say. ‘The seagulls are desperate for it.’

  ‘We can smoke it later,’ Mother says.

  When I leave the broch, Fin is already nearly back, bowed down by the roll of hide. Behind him comes Kino, with the tusks, and I know exactly what he’ll be asking for when he arrives. He can ask someone else.

  I say to Fin, ‘Is there more to bring?’

  He shakes his head, putting down his load.

  ‘I’m going nutting. Do you want to come?’

  He seems to think about it, looking around for other options. His monkey is asleep on his coat. He says, ‘Why not?’

  It takes me a moment to realise this is assent. I take a bannock down to Badger, who makes the inevitable rude remarks when I tell him we’re going for nuts, then we set off away from the shore.

  I lead the way across the pastures and corn fields and along a path into some birchwoods. It is cool and green in the shade. As we come around a bend, three roe deer bound away from us, brushing vegetation aside like cloth.

  Fin lopes along behind me, not saying anything, which suits me fine. I have nothing to say to him either, and now he is here I am a bit embarrassed. For a while I regret inviting him. On my own, I could be singing, or telling myself a story.

  I point out some flowers along the way but he isn’t interested. They are so many lovely colours now: milkwort, so deeply blue; lousewort, pink; and tormentil, yellow and everywhere.

  Near where the path divides, one going to Achmelvich, one up to the Shaman’s cave, there are ramsons and sorrel leaves for salad.

  ‘It’s going to be a good dinner,’ he says.

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘Always.’

  ‘I’ve more bannocks. I was planning to eat them when the basket is full, but we can have them now, if you like.’

  We sit on rocks by the side of a stream and munch the rolls. Then we carry on. The path follows the stream up the glen, and we’re soon among thinner trees where the understorey is thick with flowers and herbs.

  The feathery leaves of pignuts are thick here. Our pace drops as we keep stopping to dig them up. We have to stay close because there’s only one basket. I like the way he holds his cupped hand out to empty it as I proffer the wicker container. As we repeat the action, it becomes more and more like a dance; an offering, acceptance – his gift, my thanks. He acts it up a little bit, and it makes me laugh. I curtsy with exaggerated gratitude. I like the way he smiles mostly on the left side of his face.

  We’re concentrating on digging up the nuts, eating a few of course, but largely they go in the basket. There is a trance-like state you get into while gathering; the plants you’re after seem to multiply as your eye gets used to spotting them. Everything else in the world fades out of focus. There are just pignuts, the digging stick and the basket.

  Then something makes me look up, and I see the bear, in its own foraging trance, munching and snuffling its way towards us.

  Fin is near enough for me to reach out and touch him on the sleeve. He turns, and I put my finger to my lips then point out the bear.

  He freezes. His face has alarm written all over it, eyes wide, brows raised, mouth agape with the last intake of breath.

  ‘Greetings to you, Furry Sister.’ I hope I sound strong, but friendly.

  There is no response, and I guess I’m too quiet, so I raise my voice. ‘Big Sister, Hairy Paws,’ I call out.

  Her ears twitch and she lifts her snout.

  ‘We’re nutting too, I hope you don’t mind us taking a share.’

  She’s listening to me, so I carry on, calling the first things to come into my head.

  ‘I’m Soyea. I’m not from these parts originally, but I’m staying with Danuta in the broch. This is Fin, he came here on a boat with Manigan today. He’s not had fresh vegetables for ages. We’re very pleased to meet you.’

  I go on in this vein and the bear seems to be paying attention. When I pause, she keeps her head up for a moment, then lowers her muzzle to the herbage again.

  I look round at Fin. He has closed his mouth but his eyes are still wide with fear. I am thrilled with all that this encounter signifies, but he has drawn his knife.

  ‘No need for that,’ I whisper. ‘She’s just doing the same as us.’

  ‘We need to back off,’ he hisses.

  ‘If we keep upwind of her, she’ll know who we are.’

  He is shaking his head.

  ‘She’ll not hurt us.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘Sister Hairy Paws,’ I call. ‘We’re coming down this way.’

  She lifts her head again, her furry ears swivel, and I move out into the clearing, circling around so that the wind will take our smell to her. Fin follows, tiptoeing.

  ‘Off we go now. It was lovely to see you.’ We are almost directly upwind now and she raises herself onto her hind paws, her mouth wide, breathing in our smell. I know she doesn’t see too well, but she will know everything about us from our scent. She slumps back down, turns her back on us and saunters away.

  ‘Goodbye Sister,’ I say.

  Within moments she has gone. Her big hairy rump has swung away, grass and bracken have closed behind her, and we look into a wooded space that hides her and who knows what other mysteries.

  ‘She’s gone.’

  ‘How do you know it’s “she”?’

  ‘I don’t know. She’s small.’

  He nods. ‘You’re not scared.’

  ‘No.’ I’m digging again. My fingers will be muddy for days. I crunch on one and smile at him, then swallow. ‘She’s our spirit sibling. There’s nothing to fear.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Mother, I guess. All I know is, “Never fear a bear unless you’re between him and his food, or between a cub and its mother, or otherwise being rude.”’

  He’s not looking at me. ‘I don’t trust any bears,’ he grumbles. ‘Have you seen their jaws?’

  ‘They’re more scared of us than we are of them.’

  ‘I’ve seen bears that show no fear at all.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In the ice.’

  ‘Manigan talks about them. They’re white?’

  ‘Yes. Huge. They just want to eat you. I’m terrified of bears, sorry.’

  I’m surprised that he is so candid about this fear. He’s so different from Manigan.

  ‘I’ll keep you safe, don’t worry.’

  We both laugh. I feel big and brave.

  He doesn’t seem at all ashamed of his fear. ‘Manigan calls me a coward.’

  ‘Manigan never has anything good to say.’

  ‘Except about your mother. Rian does no wrong.’

  We exchange looks that leave me in no doubt we und
erstand each other perfectly, then walk on for a while. I have an urge to go down to the shore of the lochan. There are flag iris just coming into flower and I dig up some roots. I love the blue dye they make. I look at Fin, who’s watching the surface of the water. His eyes are flitting as he tracks the flight of a green dragonfly. The insect alights on a spearwort, green and gold shimmering together.

  ‘That’s surely a spirit messenger,’ he murmurs.

  We stroll around the loch edge to the outflow where the brown peaty water pours out in a series of steps, pooling, swirling, then tumbling down more rocks. Each little pool is a garden of mosses and ferns. We follow the stream down and pause where trees overhang a waterfall; a tangle of willow, a glossy holly and a rowan stretch out over the white cascade.

  Fin speaks and I have to turn towards him to hear him over the splashing torrent.

  ‘Where does it go?’

  ‘I don’t know. The sea?’

  ‘It’s like time. One day,’ he gestures from one pool down to the next, ‘then another day.’

  ‘And eventually we die,’ I say.

  He nods.

  There’s a crag on the far side of the stream where rocks have fallen recently. As we clamber over them, I say, ‘These dropped off that cliff after heavy rains last winter. This used to be an easy path, Donnag told me.’

  ‘Everything flows,’ he says. ‘Everything.’

  ‘You don’t think anything stays the same?’

  He shakes his head.

  ‘The ocean?’

  ‘All flow.’

  I think I see what he means.

  I stop at the next patch of level ground and he comes and stands beside me, close enough that I can reach up to his cheek and bring his face down to mine. I have never kissed a man before. I feel the force as the two of us flow briefly into one.

  By the time we get back to the broch, Bael is at odds with Manigan. It starts with bickering about how much food we are collectively going to eat and whether it is reasonable to expect such hospitality at this lean end of the year. I sit with Danuta, listening in. She is asleep, or pretending to be. I have some sympathy for Bael, after all it is a long time since harvest and we are a substantial crowd of people, with big appetites, who have descended on his household without being invited. Manigan is acting as if it’s his right to be here. When the men reach a blazing argument about slavery, I head outside. The last thing I hear is Mother’s shrill voice. ‘Put that weapon down.’

  I find Fin sitting on the seaward side of the broch feeding pignuts to his monkey, tossing them across rocks and making the animal scamper about for them. It’s a beautiful evening, the sunset painting clouds the colours of orchids and clovers.

  ‘I have been talking to Buia,’ he says. ‘Or at least, she was talking to me.’

  I don’t want to pass any kind of judgement. Her hut is close by. I gesture to it. ‘Is she there?’

  He shakes his head. ‘She went off. She told me about you, your father, your grandfather.’

  I sit down on a rock, where I’m able to see him without facing directly. I look at the sea, but also at him. His hair is like the clouds at the end of a spell of fine weather. There’s a band of sunlight across the sea, too bright to gaze on. ‘He was a slave, my grandfather.’

  ‘She says he built this broch. Is that right?’ He pats the stone under him and tosses another nut at his monkey.

  ‘His mother was a witch. My great grandmother. I only just found out myself.’

  ‘Buia said she was a healer. The best there ever was.’

  There is something so kind about him. Talking isn’t easy, not like this, about myself, but I don’t want it to stop.

  ‘She was a slave as well.’

  ‘But you’re not.’

  ‘I don’t know. Mother’s still running away.’

  ‘From my aunt.’

  ‘Ussa’s your aunt?’ My ribs tighten.

  He gives a big puff of breath and throws three nuts in quick succession for the monkey, so it has to scamper back and forth. ‘She’s so embarrassing,’ he says softly. ‘Crazy with greed.’

  He hands me a nut. I hold it in my palm and the little animal creeps towards me, glancing between my face and my hand. ‘I’ve never seen her. Just heard about her all my life.’

  ‘Did you never meet her on Ictis?’

  ‘Nope. Always hiding. Then she stopped coming.’

  ‘Fell out with the Keepers, I suppose. She falls out with everyone in the end.’ He sounds as if he is sorry for her.

  ‘Is she mad or bad?’

  ‘How do you tell?’ He is looking at me.

  I think of Buia and of Bael. One has feathers in her eyes, the other iron.

  The monkey grabs the nut from my hand and scampers to Fin’s side.

  DESTINY

  Next morning it is a blue, breezy day but the boat is being packed again. I lug the butter churn outside.

  Mother comes out wearing winter clothes: stout boots, thick coat and the hide leggings she wears for traveling. It’s all completely incongruous for this time of year. She’s carrying a bundle wrapped in fleece.

  ‘You’re going with them.’ I don’t sound as amazed as I feel. I try to keep an even rhythm with the handle of the churn.

  ‘Yes. I’m…’ She stops. ‘Will you stay and look after Danuta?’

  ‘So I don’t get to go?’

  ‘Do you want to?’ She puts her bundle down.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘North.’

  ‘Where?’ I give the butter paddle a bit more force.

  ‘Walrus hunting.’

  Of course I don’t want to go.

  ‘I thought you’d rather stay here,’ she says.

  ‘On my own.’

  ‘You’ll not be on your own. There’s Danuta and Donnag. You’re old enough… I thought you’d like to be independent. Free of me.’

  ‘You thought.’ I don’t know what else to say. But I put what I am feeling into the handle of the butter churn. I thump it round and round, hard.

  Mother looks ridiculous in her leather coat. She must be sweating. It’s a day for bare arms.

  ‘It’s been such a swift decision by the men. I had to make my mind up quickly. I’ve always wanted to go north with Manigan, but when you were children… You’re not a child any more, Soyea.’

  ‘And by the time you were my age you were already a mother. I know.’

  ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’

  ‘You didn’t ask me though, did you? You’re just dumping me with this bunch of no-hopers to go off with him.’

  ‘This is my home,’ she says.

  I stop beating for a moment, then restart, harder than ever, sloshing the milk into a new rhythm.

  ‘I’ll miss you, but we won’t be gone long. It’s never more than a month or so at this time of year. Danuta will teach you so much.’

  I don’t say anything. I want to stay angry with her but I know she is right, which is just as annoying as her being wrong. I have wanted her to leave, to be alone, to be free of her, to make my own decisions, and I know Danuta intends to let me into her secrets. It will all be so much easier if Mother and Manigan aren’t here. But I am exasperated that she is right, and I am not going to let her have the satisfaction of seeing it.

  ‘Go on then.’ I thump the butter round and round.

  ‘Give me a hug, Soyea. Stop that, just for a minute, please.’ She is crying and trying not to.

  I stop. ‘Have you told Danuta?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve said goodbye.’ She comes towards me, stretching out her arms and reaching them around me in her stupid, thick coat.

  ‘It’s like hugging a cow,’ I say, and she laughs, and I can’t help but smile a bit.

  Fin and Manigan are loitering just outside the door. Mother notices them and pulls away as Manigan steps towards us. He puts an arm around Mother’s waist and with the other he squeezes my shoulder.

  ‘I’m stealing your mother away. You’re a fre
e woman. I guess we’ve both got what we wanted.’ He pats my upper arm as if I’m a pet animal. I want to hate him.

  He spins Mother away and she turns back to give me a watery smile and a pathetic wave.

  ‘Come and wave us off.’

  ‘No rush,’ says Manigan. ‘It’ll take us a while to get ready to sail.’

  They head away down to the shore. Now there’s only Fin, watching me.

  ‘It’s been good to meet you.’

  ‘Good hunting.’

  He nods and I nod back. He makes no attempt to touch me, which is fine, and although I want him to say something else, he doesn’t, which is fine too, in its own way. Better that than Manigan’s endless drizzle of words. He turns and strides away, the long, thin shape of him diminishing towards the boat. I fit the rhythm of the churn to his steps, like a drum, and add a chant of safety under my breath, a secret charm.

  And then I try to put him out of my mind. It doesn’t take long to discover I can’t, of course.

  When I cannot see the people on board any more, but before the boat has passed around the headland, I return to the churn. When the butter firms I heave it back indoors. Danuta is coughing so I go in to see her and give her a cup of the herb-flavoured mead Mother prepared for her.

  ‘You’ll have to tell me how to make this.’

  ‘It’s mostly self-heal, yarrow and Brigid’s balm boiled in milk. I’ve lots of recipes if you’re keen. I’ll show you how to make the mead too, and how to take the honey from the bees, that’s more important.’

  ‘I want to learn how to heal people.’ I’ve never really known this, but as soon as the words are out of my mouth I feel certain that it’s my destiny.

  Danuta pats the cover. ‘You know, what might just heal me is some sunshine. It’ll make me feel better, at least. I can smell it on you. You’re like a buttercup.’

  I help her out of bed, support her as she totters out of the broch into the sunshine and hap her up in a blanket to keep the breeze off her frail old bones. I sit down beside her.

  ‘I’ve never known anyone of her age love a man like your mother loves the Walrus Mutterer. She’s daft as a maiden for him, isn’t she?’ She cackles.

  ‘They’re apart so much.’ I can’t believe I’m justifying her.