The Ghostfaces

by John A. Flanagan

  Thorn shook his head. “I didn’t. But then, I am an ignorant man,” he said.

  “Maybe we could just take them some sweetmeats?” Hal suggested. “Taking an entire oggle bird seems a little extreme.”

  “What ‘sweetmeats’ would you suggest?” Edvin asked him. “Some of Wulf’s ants in honey, perhaps?”

  “Well, no . . . ,” Hal admitted. “It just seems a little extreme to take a big bird like this.”

  “My mother does it when she’s invited to a feast,” Edvin said and Hal had to admit defeat. Mothers were, after all, the ultimate authorities on etiquette and proper behavior.

  Eventually, the day was nearly over, and the shadows of the trees and cliffs behind the campsite stretched long and dark across the beach. As they reached the water’s edge, Mohegas and his two companions emerged from the forest once more.

  “Right, everyone,” said Hal, “let’s get moving.”

  The crew had spruced themselves up as much as they could. Even Thorn had consented to wash. Shirts were clean, leggings and jerkins had been brushed to remove any mud or dirt, and all of them wore their black knitted watch caps with the heron motif on the front. It was the nearest they came to a uniform and Hal did think it imparted a smart look to them.

  Although they left their main weapons behind, they weren’t completely unarmed, since they all wore their saxes in scabbards on their belts. That was normal behavior, Hal had decided. After all, Mohegas and his companions had worn knives when they visited earlier in the day.

  Now, as the Mawagansett elder greeted them, raising his right-hand palm outward in a show of peace, they climbed over the two ladders and stood ready. At the last moment, there was a rattle and clatter of heavy paws on the ladder and Kloof scrambled over the palisade fence to join them.

  Hal regarded her doubtfully. “Should we take her?”

  Thorn shrugged. “Why not? She’s one of the crew. And she fought the bear with us.”

  “Just so long as Mohegas doesn’t have a walking staff that he treasures,” Hal said. Kloof had been in trouble on more than one occasion in Hallasholm after chewing the Oberjarl’s prized walking staff and his ax—a family heirloom that had been handed down from Erak’s grandfather. Hal clicked his fingers, and Kloof, who had been watching him anxiously, as if guessing that she was being discussed, moved to sit obediently by his side.

  “See?” said Thorn, grinning. “Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.”

  “It’s not butter in her mouth I’m worried about,” Hal told him.

  Mohegas studied Kloof with interest. “That is a big dog,” he declared.

  Hal shrugged. “She’s very friendly,” he said and Kloof, sensing that she was being discussed again, thumped her massive tail on the sand and lolled her tongue out the side of her mouth in what she took to be a disarming grin.

  “She’s a pussycat,” Thorn added. It was an unfortunate choice of words. Kloof disliked cats and she growled at the word, a rumbling growl from deep in her chest.

  “She doesn’t bite,” Hal continued, then added, “Unless you’re a bear.”

  That reminded Mohegas of the fact that Kloof had taken part in the assault on the bear the previous day.

  “She fought the bear with you,” he said, and when Hal nodded assent, he continued. “Then she is welcome in our village as well.”

  Which seemed to suit Kloof just fine. She moved to stand by Mohegas, her tail sweeping back and forth. He stood his ground, although the sheer size of the dog, wagging tail or not, was a little unnerving. Kloof put her massive head under his right hand and jerked it up several times.

  “She wants you to pat her,” Hal said.

  Tentatively, Mohegas stroked Kloof’s head several times and she closed her eyes blissfully. When he stopped stroking, she pushed her head up into his hand once more. As he began to pat her again, she sat on his feet. He looked a little surprised.

  “She does that too,” Hal explained. “When you pat her, she doesn’t want you to go away. So she sits on your feet to trap you.”

  “It’s an effective tactic,” Mohegas said gravely. Kloof’s fifty-five-kilogram weight was settled firmly on his feet, making it difficult, if not impossible, for him to escape.

  Hal clicked his fingers at the dog and gestured to the ground beside him. “Come here, girl.”

  Kloof reluctantly stood, releasing Mohegas, and moved to sit beside Hal. Mohegas looked relieved. He indicated his two companions.

  “These are my nephews,” he said. “Their names are Tamorat and Hokas.”

  As he spoke their names the two younger men inclined their heads. Hal nodded in reply. In Hallasholm, he would have stepped forward and offered to clasp forearms with the men. Here it seemed more fitting to simply raise his right hand, palm outward, as a greeting.

  He then introduced the three Mawagansett to the rest of his crew. It seemed his instinct had been correct, as Mohegas greeted each of the Herons with the same palm-outward gesture that Hal had used. When the introductions were done, Mohegas gestured to the tree line, and the narrow path by which he and his companions had reached the beach.

  “It is time to go,” he said and began to turn away. But Edvin stopped him with a hasty cry.

  “The bird!” he said. “We nearly forgot the bird.”

  Beckoning Ulf and Wulf to follow him, he hurriedly climbed back into the stockade and led them to the fire pit. While he raked away the coals that had covered the mud-plastered bird, Ulf and Wulf prepared a rectangle of canvas to carry it in. They laid it beside the fire pit on the sand and Edvin used a forked branch to roll the bird onto the center of the cloth. The mud was baked solid and almost white in color. It steamed with heat and he nodded, satisfied.

  “Pick her up and let’s go,” he said, and the twins lifted it, then manhandled it over the stockade fence again to where the others were waiting for them. Mohegas, Tamorat and Hokas all looked at the twins’ burden with interest. It looked like nothing more than a giant ball of baked mud.

  “What is this?” Mohegas asked.

  Edvin, a little breathless after the rush to retrieve the bird from the fire, made vague gestures in the air, intended to convey the shape of the bird’s fanlike tail.

  “It’s an oggle bird,” he said.

  The tribal elder cocked his head uncertainly. “An oggle bird?” he repeated.

  Edvin threw his head back and tried to imitate the call they had all heard. “You know—oggle-oggle-oggle!” he warbled.

  Hokas recognized the sound and leaned forward to say something to Mohegas, whose puzzled expression cleared.

  “Ah, yes. We call this a comitarkinallita moricansett,” he explained.

  “Comitarkin-a what?” Edvin asked, frowning as he tried to get his tongue around the unfamiliar words.

  “Comitarkinallita moricansett,” Mohegas repeated. “It means ‘large bird with good meat.’”

  Edvin frowned as he tried once more to repeat the words, and failed. “I think we’ll stick with oggle-oggle-oggle bird,” he said finally.

  Mohegas smiled. “A wise choice,” he said. “But why did you bring it? We have food in abundance.”

  Edvin assumed a stubborn look and Hal intervened hastily.

  “His mother taught him this. She says you should never go to a feast empty-handed,” he said.

  Mohegas nodded slowly while he considered this statement. Then he smiled at Edvin.

  “We must always obey our mothers,” he said. “Bring your oggle bird with you by all means.”

  chapter twenty-three

  The forest was dim and cool at this time of day. The Herons followed in single file behind Mohegas and his two companions as they led the way along a narrow game trail among the trees, meandering from side to side to avoid the larger trunks. After half a kilometer, the trail opened out into a wider track, where they could walk tw
o or three abreast. Unlike the animal track, it led in a more or less straight direction to the northwest, and was obviously used frequently by the Mawagansett people.

  With the extra room provided, the crew bunched up, walking now in small groups, looking around them and taking in these novel surroundings. Aside from Thorn and Lydia, few of them had ventured far into the forest to date and they were fascinated to see new and somewhat exotic varieties of trees and bushes, along with more familiar types, such as pine and spruce, that they would have found at home in Skandia.

  There was little talking. An air of expectation hung over them, precluding any idle chatter. On one occasion, Lydia pointed to the left side of the track, where several deep grooves were evident in the bark of a tree.

  “The bear,” she said quietly, and they all looked as they passed the spot, noting the depth of the grooves and the height from the ground. It had been a very large bear, they all recalled. Jesper shuddered, remembering how, in the heat of the fight, he had charged unthinkingly at the huge predator, teasing it and challenging it, then turning to lead it down the beach. In hindsight, he realized how much at risk he had been when the bear finally had him backed up against the hull of the Heron. He recalled the slamming sound of the Mangler releasing, and the heavy thud as the bolt struck home, staggering the bear backward.

  Just as well Hal’s a good shot, he thought, although in the moment, with the adrenaline flowing in his veins, he hadn’t considered what might have happened if Hal had missed. Now, as he did, his blood chilled. He looked at his skirl, who was striding purposefully behind Mohegas, and muttered a small word of thanks.

  “What was that?” Stefan asked. He was walking beside Jesper and thought his shipmate was addressing him. Jesper shook his head, dismissing the morbid thoughts that had been bothering him.

  “Nothing,” he said. “I hope this feast is good.”

  “If it’s not, we can always eat Edvin’s oggle bird,” Stefan said comfortably.

  Near the head of the small procession, Lydia raised her nose and sniffed as a new and homey smell reached them through the forest.

  “Wood smoke,” she said. Thorn and Stig sniffed as well. She was right. They could smell the smoke of the fires in the Mawagansett village.

  “We must be getting close,” Stig said.

  And then, rounding a sharp corner in the trail, they found themselves facing their hosts’ settlement.

  It was placed in a wide space of cleared land, fringed by the ever-present trees of the forest. There were fifteen to twenty sizeable huts, covered with animal hides or large sheets of bark. They were rectangular in layout, with pitched roofs thatched with pine branches and more hides. From the look of them, deer hide was the most common building material available to the locals.

  Each hut was two meters high at the lower part of the pitched roof. The upper slides sloped up to a roofline that was three and a half meters from the ground, so there would be ample room for a tall man to stand erect inside them. They were obviously family dwellings, measuring eight meters long by five wide, and they seemed to be permanent structures. The Mawagansett were obviously not nomadic. Smoke rose from several of the huts, emerging from smoke holes at the rear, where the hide roof covering had been pulled aside to allow it to escape.

  In front of the neat lines of huts was a cleared communal ground, the most prominent feature of which was a large circular fire pit, filled with smoking coals and meat roasting above the fire. Hal saw several haunches of venison, along with plump rabbits and ducks on spits. There were several large fish wrapped in damp bark and leaves, set in the coals to steam, while smaller fish—river trout, he thought—were spitted on green sticks and suspended over the glowing coals. In addition, there were vegetables steaming in clay pots—squash, beans and corn.

  Between the fire pit and the huts were the Mawagansett people themselves.

  They stood silently, watching the newcomers as they emerged from the trees. Hal estimated there were between eighty and a hundred people assembled in several rows, with men and women equally represented, and perhaps thirty being children of varying ages.

  All were dressed in similar fashion to Mohegas, Tamorat and Hokas. Fringed deer-hide overshirts and leggings for the men, with skirts replacing the leggings in the case of the women. In some cases, individuals wore cloaks fashioned from animal fur—wolf skins and the pelts of smaller animals that had been tanned and sewn together. The cloaks looked soft and comfortable, Hal thought.

  An expectant silence fell over the clearing. Then Mohegas called out a one-word command and the assembled people began to sing.

  They sang in their own language, not the common tongue, so the words were indecipherable to the Herons. But the melody was unmistakably warm and welcoming, and the singers fell into a natural three-part harmony. Lydia repressed a smile as she watched some of the boys in the front rank of villagers trying to emulate the deep baritone sounds of the older men, tucking their chins down onto their chests and frowning with the effort of forcing their piping young voices into a lower register.

  Mohegas turned to face the Herons. They had spread out in a single line to face the villagers as they sang.

  “This is a song of welcome to you,” he said. “It says, share our fire. Share our food. Share our love and thanks.”

  “That’s quite beautiful,” Thorn said softly.

  Lydia turned to regard him with some curiosity. She didn’t equate Thorn with the ability to appreciate poetry. Hal, on the other hand, knew that his old friend had a definite sentimental streak. He nodded agreement with Thorn’s comment.

  The song ended on a long drawn-out note that was beautiful to hear. The women, and some of the younger children, added a high fourth harmony to this note and the combined sound rang out around the clearing, infused with a natural vibrato and filling the evening air.

  Finally, without anyone seeming to give a signal, it ceased, and the sound rang on in their memories. Spontaneously, the Herons broke into applause and Hal stepped toward them, his right hand raised in greeting.

  “Thank you, Mawagansett people,” he said in a clear, carrying voice. “Thank you for this beautiful welcome.”

  Smiles broke out among the ranks of the assembled villagers, and then two children, a boy and a girl, were ushered forward by their parents. Each carried a small posy of yellow and blue flowers. Uncertainly, nervously, they advanced on the line of strangers, seeking out one in particular.

  Jesper, expecting the tributes to be handed to Hal or Thorn, raised his eyebrows when the children bypassed those two and stopped in front of him, proffering the flowers.

  “For me?” he said, the surprise all too evident on his face.

  The children piped up in unison. “For the first one to fight the bear. You have our thanks. You own our lives. You will be known to us as Hawasansat, the first to fight the bear.”

  Jesper realized that these must be the two children who had been cowering in the branches of the tree when he launched his attack on the bear. Truth be told, he didn’t recognize them. Events the previous day had been a little hectic and he hadn’t been taking too much notice of what the children looked like. Awkwardly, he accepted the two bunches of flowers.

  “Well, thank you,” he said uncertainly. Nothing in his life so far had prepared him to be honored in such a way and he was totally ignorant of local customs or etiquette.

  He held the flowers to his breast and decided that it might be appropriate to bow. He bent at the waist and bowed deeply. It seemed he had picked the right response as a concerted cry of approval came from the assembled tribespeople.

  It was a signal for the Mawagansett to break ranks and swarm forward to surround the newcomers, slapping them on their backs, smiling and, in the case of the women, hugging them.

  One rather attractive matron singled out Thorn, and embraced him warmly, seeming unwilling to release him. The o
ld sea wolf was beginning to enjoy himself. A little too much, Hal thought, as he saw his friend return the embrace with interest. He coughed sharply and Thorn looked up.

  “Remember my mam,” Hal said. Thorn looked sheepish, and disentangled himself from the woman’s embrace.

  “Ah . . . yes. Correct,” he said. He smiled at the woman and patted her hand. “Very nice of you, my dear. Very nice. But I’m more or less spoken for, you know?”

  Obviously, she didn’t know. She reattached herself to him and he looked helplessly over her head at Hal, mouthing the words, What do I do now?

  “Don’t enjoy it so much,” the skirl told him. Then he was almost swept off his feet as a tall and statuesque younger woman threw her arms around him, drawing him to her with a strength that forced most of the air from his lungs.

  He tried to wriggle out of her embrace, but the more he squirmed, the tighter she held him, eventually stooping, as she was half a head taller than he, to plant a smacking kiss on his cheek.

  “Thank you,” he said breathlessly. The tight embrace was making it difficult to get a decent breath. Finally, Mohegas, failing to hide the smile on his lips, spoke gently to the woman and she released him suddenly, causing him to stagger back a few paces.

  “This woman is the aunt of the children you saved,” he told Hal, and the young skirl nodded to the woman.

  “Well . . . thank you. It was a pleasure to help them. They seem like nice children,” he mumbled. He watched her warily, as she seemed ready to renew her hugging and kissing onslaught at any moment. She beamed at him, then, realizing his comparative youth and understanding his embarrassment, she backed away, still grinning. She said something in her own tongue to a woman nearby and the two of them laughed heartily.

  “What did she say?” Hal asked Mohegas. He could feel his cheeks aflame with embarrassment.

  The Mawagansett elder shook his head, smiling. “Best if I don’t tell you, I think,” he said, and Hal had to be content to leave it at that.