For a heartbeat I saw my Dolphin lying dry on a sandy beach. Seaweed was strewn along the high-tide mark. Alder and sallow willow grew at the top of the beach, and sea poppies in the dry sand. I looked into the dying eye of my Dolphin. The embers of a small fire and a smooth white pebble lay on the sand before his body. I picked up the white-stone pebble and put it in my pouch.
Lynx fought hard but there was nothing he could do. When he realised what I’d seen, the strength went out of him. His grip on Osané’s soul began to slacken. I put my mouth to her neck and sucked him out of her. I made him let go. I swallowed him and spat him out. I watched him flee with flattened ears and tail towards the High Sun Sky.
Osané’s torn soul drifted in the darkness.
I lay across her body and began to call her back. The People swayed to the rhythm of her name and took up the chant. ‘Osané, Osané, Osané . . .’
Her soul heard. Watching her face, I saw her eyelid flicker. She opened her eye. The black centre had grown huge, with just a little rim of blue. The other eye was a slit in the swollen flesh. Osané blinked. Slowly I saw her gaze come back to me and fix itself on my face.
‘It’s all right, little daughter. You can come back now.’
I had her carried into the Go-Betweens’ shelter. We cleaned her body, and put cold moss on her bruises. I gave her water, and after a while I persuaded her to eat some berries.
‘We must keep her there until she finds a family,’ I told Zigor later. ‘She can’t go back to her parents.’
I didn’t know what he was thinking. Nor could I make my memory of the soaring Osprey join up with the thin man squatting beside me at the Go-Betweens’ hearths. Zigor reached for his waterskin and took a long drink. He didn’t offer me any.
Zigor wiped his mouth and said as he stared into his fire, ‘So you found the first cause?’
‘First cause?’
‘Of her sickness! You surely had the wit to look for that?’
‘I found the cause.’ I felt as if I were fighting all over again. ‘I’m not sure who strangled her – or tried to – she won’t say a word – but I think I can guess.’
‘You think you can guess! If you’re Go-Between, Nekané, you neither think nor guess. You find, and learn. As to whose hands made those marks – does it matter? Or can you go no further than that?’
‘It matters that she never goes back to her parents.’
‘Then give her to Edur. His family can have her.’
‘Zigor, do you remember what Arantxa was like when she was young?’
‘Do I care what Arantxa was like, then or ever?’
‘Perhaps you should.’ It was difficult to say enough without saying too much. ‘Itmight be better for the Auk People if Arantxa’s daughter took a man who can’t be related to her in any way.’ I glanced at him. Zigor was clever: surely I need say no more? ‘In any way,’ I repeated. He must have understood me now.
‘Is that all you have to say?’
‘No, it’s not all.’ He was Go-Between for the Auk People, and so was I. His Helper had come to my aid, and he must have seen my Swan and Dolphin. I told him exactly where I’d found Osané’s soul, and everything that had happened on my journey.
I knew Zigor wouldn’t praise me. What mattered was that he listened. When I’d finished he didn’t speak for a while. I watched him tracing patterns with a twig in the ashes round the fire.
‘Last night I read the mark of Lynx on a man’s back,’ said Zigor at last. ‘I wrote Auk over it.’
‘But the spirits Kemen brought with him are good! I saw that at White Beach Camp.’
‘All spirits are good. You know that. But the good spirits of one People can be the enemies of another. When you followed Osané out of the world you met Lynx. Be careful how you read that Lynx. It might not mean what you think. There’s no such thing as a bad spirit. Your beloved Helpers are your enemy’s worst enemies. Never forget that.’
‘All spirits? But . . . the sea that washed away the Lynx People’s land and killed so many of them – how was that good?’
‘Everything on earth is good.’ Zigor spoke so bleakly he might as well have said the opposite. ‘But the spirits of the Sea care nothing for People. Why should they?’
‘So the Sea became the enemy of the Lynx People—’
‘The Sea was not concerned with the Lynx People.’
‘But why should Lynx be our enemy? Kemen is not . . .’
‘No. We can use that.’
‘How?’
‘Give her to him.’ Zigor bared his teeth in the semblance of a smile. ‘That solves your other little problem too, I think.’
My thoughts ran fast. Remember I’d never worked with Zigor before. Now I know very well how far that man saw! That first day he surprised me. But yes – I could see it now. On my journey into the spirit-world Lynx had been Osané’s enemy – our enemy. But all spirits are good . . . Lynx is also good. If Lynx is taking care of his own People, that might be the worse for us. The spirits that bring sickness can’t be destroyed; you have to make them change sides.
And the first cause? I was beginning to understand: whoever attacked Osané had got caught up in this – we all had. Perhaps it was Edur who’d so nearly throttled her . . . Edur wanted Osané, and Arantxa had egged him on because she was frightened that her sons would go away after Gathering Camp and leave her to starve – all that woman was after was getting a good hunter into her family – maybe Edur had got fed up with Osané evading him and had tried to force her. I’d seen no signs of rape when we’d undressed her. That didn’t mean much – she’d have cleaned herself up – girls usually do – which means you can never prove anything – but I wasn’t sure it was Edur. All spirits are good, but to their enemies they become evil. In which case . . .
‘The first cause,’ Zigor repeated. ‘You keep worrying about details. What do they matter?’
I jumped: had he read my thoughts? I answered as humbly as I knew how. ‘I think that every small thing matters. But of course I don’t know.’
‘You want the girl to live?’
‘Of course I do!’
‘Then I suggest you don’t mention again that she hasn’t spoken to you.’
‘You mean—’
‘Everyone says you’re a clever woman,’ Zigor mocked. ‘Someone tried to kill Osané. D’you think there’s a man lurking among the Auk People who longs to be shamed in public? Who can’t wait to be cast out? No? But there is a man among us who’s tried to kill Osané. Where is he now, Nekané?’
I was angry that I hadn’t thought of this. ‘Osané’s no weakling,’ I said, working it out. ‘There are women here with strong hands, but I don’t think . . . She’d have fought back! She’s small, but she’s strong, and very agile. She’d have left a mark, anyway, and I don’t think anyone here . . . I can soon find out. It’s almost certainly a man. And if a man’s strong enough to do that to her without her fighting back, he’s strong enough to go hunting. So he’s not here now. But he must know he didn’t kill her. Osané’s got a tongue in her head. He knows his danger.’ I clenched my fists together. ‘But how do I make him think she’s told me, when she hasn’t uttered a single word? How can I hide the fact that I don’t know?’
‘Easily. You don’t need my help for that.’
I shook my head slowly. ‘Not for that, no.’
I waited three heartbeats. Zigor said nothing.
If I didn’t seize my chance now it would vanish. I crouched, head low, for three heartbeats, every muscle tense. Then I leaped: ‘I said just now I didn’t know. I don’t know because I’ve not been taught. Every new Go-Between must have a teacher. That I do know!’
Zigor wiped out the patterns in the ash with one flourishing circle, then swept over it with the twig. He dusted the ash from his fingers, and reached for his waterskin. His lips drew back, showing stumps of blackening teeth. He was smiling. My heart sank.
At last he answered me. ‘Have I so many words inside me that you t
hink I want to waste them? You ask me a round hand-full of questions, and still you ask me “Where is my teacher?”’
I stared at him, trying to take in what he said. ‘When did you know this?’ I asked at last.
‘When did you know it, Nekané?’
The answers to that were piled in so many layers I couldn’t seize upon any. Thoughts reeled round my head. I watched Zigor lean forward, pick up the twig he’d used to write and hold it in a flame. When it was burning he dropped it into the fire.
Presently I reached into my pouch and took out the white pebble I’d picked up on my journey. I gave it to Zigor. He held it in the palm of his hand and studied it.
‘You’ll know that place again,’ was all he said.
‘Yes.’
‘This matter is up to you, Nekané: you made the journey. Will we give her to Kemen when he comes back from the Hunt?’ He dropped the white pebble into my hand, and I put it away.
‘All the winds blow that way.’ I sighed, though I had no reason to be sad. ‘I made the journey, but you saw what it meant.’ I thought it clever as well as right to give him his due. ‘It certainly answers a lot of questions. But where it will lead us in the end – that’s what I can’t see.’
‘Surely you know, Nekané: that’s exactly what we never see.’
Amets said:
Initiation Camp is high in the hills. We take the boys to the mountain-tops to teach them the lie of the land. We show them where the spirits live. It’s good for the boys to hunt in the bare lands above the trees. If they can find food for themselves there, they’ll find it anywhere. They need to learn what to do in cold and dangerous places. In the high places it can be winter in any Moon.
When I thought about it later I was pleased at how well the boys did that Year, in spite of all the other things that happened. No one died, their cuts healed well and not one hurt himself enough to matter. I heard later that nearly all of them came back to Initiation Camp on the right day, with full stomachs and grins on their faces. The only one who was small and weak turned out to be clever enough to make up for it. I wish I’d been there to see them all come back.
I did see them half a Moon later, when they all returned to Gathering Camp. Not one had forgotten the words or the stories, and the tests ended in laughter, which is a good way of making People remember. I was proud of our Ortzi too, though I was careful not to let him know it.
But that was later. When the men reached Hunting Camp word came to bring the boys to the Hunt. The boys had just finished making their weapons. They’d wasted a lot of stone, but they’d all ended up with a spear and arrows that I wouldn’t be too ashamed of carrying myself – if it were a dark night and none of my cousins was looking too closely. We led the boys up to the Hidden Place – no, I’m not telling you women – or you little ones either – where that is! We showed them the Pool of the Young Men. We mixed water and ochre on the flat stones round the Pool. The spirits of the water showed each boy the colours he must write.
We sent the boys off to get food. They weren’t allowed to go below the tree line. When they understood that they had to get enough food from the high places for all the men coming to Hunting Camp, and have it cooked and ready for them, they went pale with terror. No wonder! I’ll admit to you now – though I’ve never told any of you People before – that when we boys were put to the same test among the Seal People we failed miserably. It wasn’t the beatings I minded, it was the shame. I thought the men would never forgive us. I only understood afterwards that forgiving had nothing to do with it; we just became a standing joke that got told again and again every single Year. We grew used to it after a while.
Anyway, these boys did neither badly nor well. They came to Hunting Camp with fat ptarmigan, snow bunting and plenty of smaller birds. Itzal had trapped a hare. Ortzi pointed out that men ought to fast before they hunt, and so, he explained, the boys had been careful not to get too much. I cuffed him round the ear, but not hard, because of course he was right. Ortzi was often quicker to get the point than the others.
The great Hunt of Deer Moon belongs to the high places. You little ones – you often see your fathers and brothers and cousins take their dogs and weapons, and quietly walk away from your hearths. You may not see them for many days. You know, wherever your Camp may be, that they’re heading for the high hunting grounds. But you’ve never been there yet.
Shut your eyes and see my words inside your minds: you’re climbing uphill through the trees – you’ve often done that. It’s Deer Moon. The Sun slants through the leaves – green and yellow and gold. The ground’s bright with fallen leaves and green mosses. You’re clambering over slippery rocks, white with lichen. As you climb higher the trees grow smaller. The River doesn’t sound like the wind in the pines any more. Its voice changes: it’s rushing between the rocks, seeping through marshes or tumbling over broken boulders in little waterfalls. The trees are thinning out. They lean towards the Morning Sun Sky from the weight of the wind on their backs. The oaks are bent and spindly. Soon they give up. You’re among birch and rowan and juniper. Clumps of bilberry and bog myrtle scratch your deerskins as you pass. Between the trees bees browse among the heather. You can’t see the path – the scrub’s above your waist – but your feet know where to find it. Now you see the mountain peaks above you, closer than you’ve ever seen them yet. They’re guarded by the crags of the high corries. In the hollows of the corries the spirits have spread pastures of sweet grass and tender herbs. That’s why the hinds are still there in Deer Moon. The Rut hasn’t begun, and winter hasn’t yet driven them down into the woods.
Hinds never leave the lands they know. The old ones know everything – just like the old women of the Auk People! The lead hind sniffs the wind and chooses the best places. Wherever the wind blows from, some old woman – People or Animal, they’re all the same – will always remember a sheltered hollow where food can be found. The trick – if you’re a man, that is – is to read what’s going on inside her mind.
When the men arrived at Hunting Camp we were ready. The boys had slung shelters between the skinny birches and thatched the roofs with bracken and heather. They’d fetched wood and water. Heather and bog myrtle were trodden flat around the fire. The boys were busy cooking the meat. The men took no notice of them, but you can always see the eyes of the fathers flickering round the Camp to check their own boys are there. I was happy that, so far, no man had to face that grief this Year. I was also glad to see Kemen with Sendoa. Things must have gone well for him when they spoke to the Animals about the Hunt. When Kemen went off to the stream to refill his waterskin I walked with him.
‘I’m glad to see you,’ I told him.
‘I’m glad to be here. But I’m hot!’ Kemen squatted by the stream, filled his waterskin, then drank from the stream, water dripping from his cupped hands. I began to feel thirsty too. I knelt beside him, cupped my hands and drank.
‘That’s better!’ Kemen wiped his mouth, stripped off his tunic and began to splash cold water over himself.
I stood up, and saw his back. The swift mark of Lynx still ran across his shoulderblades, but now it hid behind a mass of welts. Under the blistered skin I read three spirals of red smoke. Below it, raw and shining, the three blue curves of Auk. Through the welts I also saw what was not there: the red birth-line of Auk had been left out. When I cried out, Kemen whipped round at once. ‘What is it?
What do you see?’
‘Nothing now. Turn round again!’
‘You weren’t at the Dance,’ he said with his back to me. ‘Didn’t anyone tell you they’d done this?’
‘No, but I read it now. We were doing the same thing where I was.’
‘You were at Initiation Camp?’
‘Boys must become men. And a few men have to change all over again in the middle of their lives. That’s hard, but it can be good too. More good than bad in the end, sometimes – at least, that’s what I think.’
‘Amets! Tell me what he wrote! Becaus
e I can’t see it.’
‘Don’t you know?’ I stripped off my own tunic and turned my back to him.
Kemen was silent, reading what was written. Then he said, ‘Almost, but never quite. And mine says the same?’
I turned to face him again. ‘No man ever sees his own back. But you and I were both born under other skies. Now I think we belong in the same place.’ I glanced at him. Since he’d been accepted into the Auk People I was free to say something I’d been thinking about for several Moons. ‘The family I belong to is much too small,’ I told him. ‘I won’t go back to our winter Camp this Year if I’m the only hunting man. I decided that after my wife’s brother was lost. But River Mouth Camp’s a good place. If we don’t go back this winter someone else will take it. It would be a shame to lose it.’
‘You think that I—’
‘I can’t offer you much. The hunting’s good. But my wife’s little sister is only a child. Otherwise there’s only her parents. If you want a woman you’ll have to take one before Deer Moon!’ We laughed, and I clapped him on the shoulder. ‘If you want a woman!’
Kemen looked at the ground, grinning. ‘What do you think?’
‘But you’ll join my family?’
He seized me by the shoulders and hugged me to his heart. ‘I ask nothing more!’ He grabbed my hands and shook them up and down. Joy was written all over his face. ‘Amets, I ask nothing more!’
‘Not even a woman?’ I asked slyly. After that we had to grip each other’s shoulders to stay on our feet, we were laughing so much. And so the matter was settled. I was very pleased with myself, because I’d had it all planned in my head long before.
I asked Edur if he’d let Kemen go with him on the Hunt. I knew Kemen would learn more about Auk hunting lands from Edur than anyone else. Edur wasn’t willing. I didn’t blame him. It’s hard enough to take a boy who knows nothing – who may kick a loose stone, or show himself above the skyline, or let the Sun gleam on his face – all the things that foolish boys may do when they first come to the Hunt. But to take a man who’s already a hunter in his own country, but who’s lost his place in the world – it’s difficult to tell a grown man what to do. You can’t just cuff him if he makes a mistake! But a useless man is a lot worse than a boy, and twice as dangerous. I didn’t want to cast a burden on Edur that should have been my own.
The Gathering Night Page 14
