An owl hooted. Amets!
Itzal and I sped towards the seals. I saw Kemen and Amets spring from their hiding place. I ran after Itzal. At once the seals were humping over the mud, sliding down the dunes – bulls, cows, half-grown pups – all melting away as fast as you could think.
We leaped between the brown seal and the sea. He dodged Itzal. I stood in his way. He bared his teeth. I saw down his red throat. He reared, bigger than me and much, much heavier. I aimed my spear. Itzal swung round. I thrust for the seal’s throat, just as it turned on Itzal. My spear glanced off its shoulder. Itzal’s spear was in its neck. The seal fought. It tried to bite. The barbs held the spear firm in the wound. Blood poured down. I thrust my spear into its neck as hard as I could. The seal twisted. It tried to bite. I pushed as hard as I could. The seal was stronger. In spite of its wounds, that seal still fought to get to the sea.
I let go my spear. I grabbed that seal above its hind flippers. Its skin was warm. Its harsh fur was slippery. I got a grip on its flippers and flung my weight backwards. The seal dragged me. I dug my heels in. I held tight.
Itzal let his spear go. He clubbed the seal hard on the nose with his stone. Itzal’s hands were wet with blood. He struck again. I held on as hard as I could. I was scared that seal would reach round and bite me.
At last that great seal gave itself. It lay dead. Itzal pulled out his spear.
Itzal’s hair had come loose. He pushed it out of his eyes, smearing his face with blood. He stretched his arms up and spoke to the Seal spirits. Then he turned and grinned at me. ‘Is this good enough for your family, Haizea? Will they want me now?’
I sat in the mud where I’d fallen. I was still clutching the seal’s back flippers. I grinned back at him over the bloodied body of the seal. I nodded.
Alaia said:
Osané’s second son came into this world much more easily than his brother Bakar had done. It’s often like that with a second child; the first makes the way easy for them. Birth is just the beginning: the spirits tend to be kind to younger children all the way along. Life’s easier for my Alazne because her sister Esti is there to make her path smooth for her. I know what it’s like to be Esti – it was the same forme when I had my sister Haizea to look after. Anyway, this boy of Osané’s – yes, that one there – look at him now! He may well laugh at me! He gets everything just the way he wants, and he knows it! He’s always been the lucky one!
This boy here – sitting between Bakar and Alazne – this boy slipped into this world six Years ago, just as the Sun dipped into the sea on the first night of Yellow Leaf Moon. I caught that boy, wet and slippery as a fish, and held him between my hands. Esti cut the cord, using a blunt knife to stop the bleeding. Nekané held the cord for her. Esti cut very carefully, using both hands to hold the knife, while Alazne sucked her thumb and watched, round-eyed. Then I laid this boy of ours in his mother’s arms.
I got to my feet, cramped from crouching for so long. I pulled back the hide from the door. The winter trees stretched their bare arms towards the sky. Over their heads I saw the sliver of Yellow Leaf Moon, thin as a nail paring, soaring clear of their clutching hands. On my right the swollen Sun slid into the sea, staining the water scarlet. On my left the thin Moon rose cool as a fish in the deepening dark. Next to the Moon, the Evening Star sang its welcome to Osané’s hidden boy.
The winter house sheltered our nameless one, but even though they couldn’t see him, the Stars, as they shone out one by one, sang their welcome to him. I stretched my arms up to the kind spirits. I’m not my mother: I don’t usually hear what the spirits say – at least, not plainly – not like words whispered in my ear – which is how they speak to Nekané. But that night – just that once in all my life – the spirits sang to me as if I too were Go-Between. They told me, even before any of us knew who he was, that this boy would be happy among the Auk People for as long as he lived.
Next day the men and Haizea came back laden with seal meat slung on poles. As soon as the dogs greeted them, we ran to welcome them. I was carrying Alazne. Esti and Bakar ran faster than I did. I shouted after them, ‘Don’t speak before the spirits! Remember who listens to us all!’
When I caught up with the children, Amets and Kemen had put down the seal they’d been carrying. Esti sprang into her father’s arms. Kemen caught Bakar and swung him high above his head. Bakar squealed in delight.
Itzal and Haizea laid down their load as I came running up.
Esti was shouting, ‘Dada! Dada! Tell him – tell Bakar’s dada! He’s got a—’
‘Amets!’ I broke in. ‘Don’t listen to that child! But your friend may be asking why his woman isn’t out here to welcome you!’
Kemen saw me smiling. He put Bakar down. He ran like the wind towards the winter house. The children clustered after him like a string of puppies.
‘Osané . . . ?’ gasped Haizea.
I smiled at Itzal and Haizea. ‘Osané is very well. Go in and see her! And perhaps one of you . . . I can’t say more. But one of you may know . . .’
Haizea turned and ran like a hare into the winter house.
When I came in, Nekané was at the hearth, telling everyone not to crowd so close. Osané clasped her baby to her breast. She looked frightened. Could any mother not be frightened? All the family were here. If someone didn’t recognise her boy now, he would be cast out.
‘Let them all see him!’ There was no pity in my mother’s voice. There never is, on these occasions. But then, what use is pity? The spirits arrange things as they will.
Osané’s son lay in an otterskin lined with eider down and sphagnum moss. Osané unwrapped him, brushed his skin clean and laid him naked on her lap so everyone could look at him.
‘A boy!’ Haizea leaned forward to look into his face.
Red and wrinkled as a skinned seal pup, the baby, freed from his wrappings, kicked his legs and waved his arms. There was nothing wrong with him. I heard Kemen take a long breath. He didn’t take his eyes off this new son.
Haizea caught the baby’s flailing heels. ‘He’s strong!’ She stared into the baby’s eyes, frowning. I saw no gleam of recognition in her eyes. Many heartbeats passed. Haizea bit her lip and sat back on her heels.
I met my mother’s eyes. We glanced round at the other faces. Amets and Itzal looked at the baby, at Kemen and back to the baby again. Amets looked blank, and Itzal puzzled. Haizea’s face was a mixture of disappointment and hope. The children looked round at everyone, wondering what would happen next. Only Kemen’s face was hidden behind his hand.
I remembered how the Stars had sung to welcome Osané’s boy. I looked at his little kicking body, strong and perfect. Surely the spirits hadn’t been cruel enough to send us a stranger! Surely there’d be at least one in this family who’d recognise Osané’s boy!
Osané’s face crumpled. She picked up her son and clutched him to her heart. ‘No, no, no!’ She rocked herself to and fro, clinging to her baby. She began to sob. ‘No! No! No!’
‘No!’ Kemen’s arm was round her. ‘No, Osané, listen to me! It isn’t that . . . It isn’t . . .’
‘Kemen!’ My mother’s voice was harsh as a raven’s. ‘You recognise your son! What are you thinking of? Would you risk his life, you fool!’
Bakar began to cry. He climbed on to the bench and clung to his mother.
‘Hush! Quiet, all of you!’ My mother turned to Kemen. ‘You know him! You do know him! You must speak! Would you risk his life – again?’
Kemen took his son from Osané. He held him between his hands. He looked into the baby’s crumpled face.
‘Basajaun,’ he whispered. ‘Oh Basajaun, my brother!’
Nekané said:
Now we’re getting near the end of this story. Now you’ve all heard how Basajaun became one of the Auk People again. You children must never forget the words you’ve heard us speak. Never! Bakar and Basajaun – you need to remember them most of all. I’ve often told you there’s no such thing as a bad spirit. All
spirits are good, but sometimes you have to make them change sides. You two – Bakar and Basajaun – after all that happened between you long ago, you’re here as brothers. As brothers you must be loyal to each other all your lives long. However or whenever you meet one another again, you must always remember that you were once brothers. That’s why all you Auk People listening to us tonight must remember the story we’ve been telling you. Because if these two brothers should ever fight again, the spirits will take us straight back to that long-ago killing. If that happened – if brother were to turn against brother – the Auk People would suffer for it for as long as we remain in this world.
But the story of the Lynx People in Auk lands isn’t quite finished. It’s growing late, but there’s only a little more left to tell.
Kemen said:
When I recognised my son, I didn’t want to tell you who he was because I thought you’d kill him. Thoughts whirled through my head. He was already more than a day old. If I kept quiet for two more days, it would be too late to cast him out. If he lived four days, the spirits would count it murder if anyone tried to take him from his mother. I had wild thoughts of speaking his name in the last heartbeat before it was too late to recognise him, but already too late to kill him. Because as soon as I looked in his face I loved him. I wanted him to live!
I heard Osané’s cry. Out of pity I had to speak. I spoke Basajaun’s name.
No one said anything for many heartbeats.
Alaia took my son from me. She looked into his eyes. ‘Basajaun, we welcome you to the Auk People. You will always find food here.’
A breath softly touched my forehead, as if the winter house itself sighed with relief. Inside my heart the spirits of the Lynx People laid down their weapons. All these Years those spirits had been poised to leap to my defence. I hadn’t even known it until now.
Osané said:
When Kemen recognised my baby I burst into tears of relief. I’d been terrified no one would know him. I’d tried so hard to recognise him myself, but his face was closed to me. Also, I had my own reasons for being afraid to know the truth. Now it seemed as if all my fears were put to rest.
As the Year went into the dark Basajaun thrived. Snow came early, but we had plenty of meat hanging in the shelters, stores of roasted nuts and enough seasoned wood to last until Dark Moon. Amets made a sledge and we brought in lots more wood without even having to carry it home – now I had another baby on my back I thanked the spirits for that! Soon we had to make an extra shelter, we had so much stored wood.
Bakar could find plenty of food for himself now. He wasn’t the baby any more! Nearly every day he and Esti went out together. They’d been bringing home baskets of shellfish as soon as they could walk. They knew how to spear flatfish, and fish for saithe with lines off the rocks. That winter, when the fish left the shallows, the children got very keen on catching birds. Robins, tits, blackbirds, finches . . . all the small winter birds that come close to People’s Camps looking for scraps. Esti and Bakar used their slings and pebbles – they scorned nets and snares. Kemen caught them keeping count. They’d notched up every hand-full on a birch trunk. Amets and Kemen were so angry! I’m sure neither Bakar nor Esti have ever boasted about finding food again after what their fathers said to them! But I was secretly glad that they hadn’t yet learned the hard way that it’s not our own cleverness that feeds us, and we can only thank the spirits with all our hearts for every single thing they give.
But that winter the spirits were pleased with us, and the rightness of things was restored at last. As we sat round the inside fire in the long dark, we sang joyful songs because it was good to be alive. We told stories about Birds and Animals and People. We told how all things came to be in the Beginning, and everything that had happened to the Auk People since. When the Sun came back in Swan Moon, we greeted him with outstretched arms as we stood in the snow. Our fire flared as high as it could to welcome the Sun. The slanting rays of the morning Sun reached between the bare trees and touched our fire with a brighter flame than any earth-born fire could make.
After a while I began to notice that my man wasn’t as happy as everyone else. One day, soon after the Sun came back, I left Basajaun with Nekané, and went with Kemen to empty the eel traps. We walked by the River where it wound through the salt marshes. The snow on the River path had been trodden into ice, so we walked beside it, making two new sets of footprints in the blue-white snow. I’d stuffed our sealskin boots with dried moss. We walked fast until my fingers and toes tingled with warmth.
Now we could see the whole wide sky. Freezing wind blew from the hills. We smelt more snow. Three of the traps were empty, but there were two eels in the last trap. We tipped them into the basket and tied the lid down tight. Kemen swung the basket on to his back. I set the trap back in its channel. Icy water flowed over my wrists. I weighed the long trap down with stones. We clapped our frozen hands together and swung our arms to and fro. My hands were so cold I could hardly pull my gloves back on. I stood with the wind behind me, pressing the soft hare-fur against my cold cheeks.
‘Come on,’ Kemen said. ‘Let’s get back before it snows again.’
It was easy to walk side by side over the snow-covered salt flats. This was the chance I’d been waiting for. ‘What’s troubling you, Kemen?’
He stopped short. ‘What do you mean, Osané? What should be troubling me?’
‘That’s what I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Of course, being a man, that’s what he would say. I didn’t let it put me off. ‘I think you do. Whatever it is, it won’t go away unless you do something about it. I think you’d better tell me.’
‘There’s nothing to tell.’
He tried to walk on, but I stood in his way. When he pushed me aside I grabbed his arm. ‘Is it about Basajaun?’
I thought he was going to hit me. I ducked away. I held my other arm across my face. But I didn’t let him go.
‘Osané! Don’t do that!’ He struck my arm down. I’d made him really angry. ‘Have I ever hit you? Ever?’
‘No. But I’ve been . . .’ I hesitated: that wasn’t what I wanted to say. ‘But I’ve never asked you to . . . I’ve never tried to make you speak before, Kemen, if you didn’t want to. But if it’s about my son, you must tell me!’
I did get him to speak in the end. He told me everything. I wasn’t as anxious about it as he was. Not at first, anyway. But as Swan Moon wore on I had too many chances to think about what he’d said. Slowly the trouble grew inside my mind. I’d told Kemen I’d think it over. Now it seemed to be up to me to decide what we should do. But I didn’t have an answer, any more than he did.
Before Thaw Moon rose from the dark the answer came by itself.
My uncle Hodei walked into River Mouth Camp at dusk. There was no wind; the sky was clear. We were sitting round the outside fire for the first evening that Year. It was good to have the open sky over our heads again, and not a smoky roof. Kemen had shot a swan from his boat that morning, and we were roasting it on a spit.
Itzal was the first to see Hodei. He leaped to his feet. ‘Uncle!’ He ran to Hodei and gripped his hands. ‘What . . . How . . . ?’ Itzal mastered his astonishment. Hodei was Go-Between, after all. Itzal stammered the proper greeting. ‘You are welcome to our hearth, Hodei. There is always food here for you!’
Only Nekané showed no surprise. The rest of us were as astounded as Itzal. No one crossed Long Strait in winter! Hodei’s winter Camp was far away under the hills of Gathering Loch. But Go-Betweens can travel whenever and wherever they please, because their Helpers speak to the spirits and open the closed ways for them. Even the sea will do as they wish, if the spirits desire it.
Hodei held me by the elbows and looked into my eyes. ‘Is all well with you, Osané? Your mother sends you her greetings. This is a hard winter for her.’
I didn’t answer that. I met my uncle’s gaze boldly, and said, �
��Everything is very well with me. My son was born on the first night of Yellow Leaf Moon. His father recognised him.’
‘Yes,’ said Hodei.
I realised as I spoke that Hodei knew already what I was going to say. ‘He is Basajaun.’
‘Yes,’ Hodei said. ‘Perhaps when we sit by the fire you can show this new little one to his old uncle?’
I wasn’t fooled by that sort of talk, but I led my uncle to the fire as if he were an old man and needed my arm to help him – this Go-Between who’d just crossed Long Strait in Swan Moon, and found his way across Mother Mountain Island to our River Mouth Camp, where, as far as I knew, he’d never been before! Not in his body, anyway. I helped him sit down upwind of the smoke. Nekané moved along to make room for him. ‘Well met, Hodei!’ she said. ‘Perhaps these girls of mine will give you a bit of this swan that’s roasting here. You see how poorly we live when we’re alone! I should have taught my daughters how to feed this family better. Now I’m no use to anyone – I’m just a poor old woman, as you know – we have to rely on these young ones. So we may have to starve together, you and I.’
While Nekané was talking, Alaia took the swan off the spit. Soon the steaming meat was piled on the hearthstones. Alaia handed a choice bit to Hodei, and then everyone leaned in and took their share.
We all wanted to know why Hodei had come, but even the children knew better than to ask a guest questions until he’d eaten his fill. And this guest was Go-Between – you can’t ask a Go-Between questions anyway. Hodei seemed content with us all, so it didn’t look as if any of us need worry. He’d spoken kindly about my little son even before he sat down – he wouldn’t have done that if he’d come because of Basajaun. I felt no fear. I looked up at the sky, my heart filled with thanks, as I chewed the meat off my swan-bone. The night was clear as spring-water, the stars strung together like drops of dew on huge cobwebs strung across the sky. Star-webs hung from spiky branches. Under the Sunless Sky green spirit-lights rose and fell like saplings moving in a far-off wind. The night smelt of damp earth where snow had lain. No one spoke while we ate. Beyond the crackle of the fire the swollen River sang of snow melting in the hills. Amets threw more wood on the fire. Flames leaped hungrily. Light flowed over the tree trunks so they shone like shadows of the spirit-lights above.
The Gathering Night Page 34
