by Jack Lasenby
“There’s harness goes with them. They’ve been trained for carrying loads. But we are the Iron People. We don’t travel.”
The boys led down the donkeys. All five. I went over each one, looking at their teeth, their feet. Feeling their ribs, their legs. They were healthy and in good condition. The boys reappeared with the leather harness.
“We’ve kept it oiled,” said Henga.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you our woollen tunics and packs for the five of them and the harness.”
“Done!” said Henga. She smiled. “And we’ll give you some pork to take with you.”
It was time for us to be generous, too. “Have you a grandchild?” I drew out a tiny tunic sewn from the pieces of cloth the little ones had woven. Odd shaped pieces, well-sewn together by Maka. A colourful patchwork tunic for a baby. Henga sighed and held it up. “It might be a little big now,” she said, chuckling, “but she will grow into it by winter.”
Then, saved till last, Puli’s length of cloth I had been keeping hidden. Warm and yet light. I let it unfold from my hands. “You can wear it over your head or put it around your shoulders.” I stepped forward. “Like this!” Henga smiled and flushed until she looked younger. And I remembered the way Hagar traded with Tara and her father, how she made me give Tara the scarf she had woven for herself.
Henga laughed while we slipped on leather tunics and handed over our woollen ones, our woven packs.
The donkeys stood in their resigned way, while Tepulka and I harnessed them and tied on the leather packs. The bags of arrowheads and spearheads, the axes, and cooking pots. The spare set of harness from the donkey Henga’s people had eaten. As we balanced the loads Henga sent the young men off.
I whispered in their tall ears to the two bigger donkeys, “Your name is Hika. Your name is Bok.” My mind filled with a picture of two donkeys running down to the water’s edge as Taur and I sailed from the North Land to Marn Island.
The young men returned with even more gifts. When we left, the donkeys also carried: a fresh carcass of pork, a whole cooked pig, and two huge cooking pots, twice as big as the others. Then, at the last minute, Henga produced three more knives.
“We will trade for all the woollen tunics and cloth you can bring. We’ll make the shears and anything else you want. And we’ll throw in some more pork.” Puli’s shawl about her old shoulders, black eyes shining with pleasure, Henga thought she had traded well. So did we.
“You said there is a lake to the north?”
“Lake Ka,” Henga replied. “Kalik’s people!” She spat and made a sign with her left hand. The two middle fingers bent down. The outer two raised like horns. “Their slaves carry dried fish and meat, fruit, vegetables. And wine. We trade because it suits us. But I do not trust Kalik!” She spat and made the sign again.
“In the olden days, we traded for woven clothes and blankets with the Woollen People who lived by a lake among mountains to the south. They came up a river, they told my mother. One year, when she was a girl, they stopped coming.”
“What was the name of their lake?”
“Lake Tip, my mother called it. When will you come again, Chech?”
“I’ve just remembered something else we want. Scythes!” I pretended I hadn’t heard Henga’s question, knelt, and drew in the dirt.
“A blade that long?” asked one of the young men.
I nodded. “Sharpened along this side. The back you can make about this thick, for strength. And a lug here, to go on the bottom of the handle. A strut to go across from the blade and fasten on the handle up here. I can make the handle.”
“This lug,” said the young man. “Can you draw it? Where it fits into the handle?”
I drew what I hadn’t explained. “A metal sock to go round the bottom of the handle. With a hole to take the lug. Does that make sense?”
“Yes.”
“Then the strut takes up the strain, and the lug’s held in place.”
“What’s it for?”
“Cutting grass.” I held my hands out, as if grasping a scythe. Swung the long cutting stroke. Stepped forward and swung again.
The young man nodded. “Like a long knife. A curved one. But not chopping the grass. Slicing it. This edge slicing a strip. Then another.” He understood at once how the scythe would work.
“That’s it!”
“We can make it!” He turned to the other young man and explained something. “How many?”
“Three.”
“When will you be back?” Henga asked again, but the young man asked me to draw the handle. When I drew the shaft, he nodded.
“You can’t hold that,” he said.
“I’d forgotten. Here, like this.” I drew in the two hand grips. The two young men talked excitedly, kneeling, drawing in the dirt.
“We’ll make something for you.” I could tell by his voice he was interested. He was like the men of the Coal People, proud of what he could make of iron. “We’ll work it out!” he nodded and smiled.
“And you’ll be back for them when?” Henga’s lined old face cracked with laughter. She knew I was trying not to answer her. “Traders have to be good at minding their own business, Chech,” she said.
“Late winter,” I said reluctantly. What if Kalik came and she told him about us?
“I will make sure it is kept a secret.” Henga chuckled. Her old voice stirred a memory. “Goodbye, Chech! Terek!” And by the way she said our names, I knew she understood they were made up. We smiled at each other.
As a spur closed off the Trading Ground, I looked back. Henga brought out one hand from beneath Puli’s shawl and waved. My eyes blurred. She had reminded me of Old Hagar. I liked the idea of her being warm that winter.
I made myself walk quietly, in case anyone followed. We worked east, well back into the Cold Hills, saying nothing until the smell of coal smoke and the reek of the pens was gone. Then I clapped Tepulka on the back. He laughed and hugged me. “What luck! What luck!” We ran around the donkeys, patting them, rubbing their long noses. Tepulka felt their ears, rubbed their hairy coats.
“This one’s name is Hika,” I said. “This is Bok.”
“When I heard that bray, I knew what it was before I even looked up. Hee-haw!”
“Watch out! They can kick.”
Tepulka skipped back. “I knew it from the story. The drawings!” “You wouldn’t stop staring!”
“I almost said ‘Ish’. Then I couldn’t remember your other name. Hee-haw! Hee-haw! Wait till Chak and Kimi hear them.”
“Lucky Henga wanted our stuff.”
“She thought she got a good deal!”
“And wanted to make sure we’ll come back! They need our woollen stuff. Lucky we had Puli’s piece. It’s good trading to finish with a gift.”
Further east we went, leaving two fireplaces, then turned north and swung back above the broad valley with Kalik’s track.
I left the donkeys in the trees with Tepulka, went down the slope. Nobody had gone along the track. We watched – taking it in turns – all night and next morning.
“Henga almost certainly told the truth. Still, I want to be sure she doesn’t send a messenger to Kalik.”
“What if we see one?”
“I suppose we’ll have to kill them.”
If it was necessary to kill, in order to help the Children escape their slavery, didn’t that justify it? Their safety for the life of a messenger. It seemed a good trade.
As we watched, I thought of the Shaman. How he took responsibility for necessary killings, executions. And for the times he decided somebody was better dead than alive. Like the woman, Heta.
He had borne the responsibility – and suffered for it. But that was being a leader – I wondered again if I was strong enough. Kalik and Lutha killed without a second thought. But I had no wish to become like either. And Paku, when he became leader of the Children, would he be fair?
No messenger came trotting along the track. As we crossed next morning, o
ne of the donkeys dropped dung where the track came up out of the stream, and we had to carry it away. Every last bit. We brushed out our own sign and every mark the donkeys left. A little wind blew the sand. Soon there would be only the marks of wild animals and birds.
When we came down beside the wild river, Hika smelled the smoke and brayed. I can still see Chak’s face as he jumped up, crying back, “Hee-haw! Hee-haw!”
The Children surrounded the donkeys, unloaded them, rubbed their backs with handfuls of dried grass, led them down to drink. They argued over names for the other three. They brought armloads of grass. Kimi put her arms around Hika’s neck and kissed his ears. And, just as he had taken charge of the sheep, Tama now took over the donkeys. They looked for him, ears turned to his voice.
Everyone had to handle each arrowhead, spearhead, axe, shovel, needle. Chak and Hurk up-ended the biggest cooking pots over their heads and banged into each other until Tulu called, “Don’t go breaking them before we’ve even used them!”
That night, we feasted on rich pork. Boiled and roasted. “Where we are going,” I said, “we’ll catch some pigs and tame them. Henga, the old woman, said they eat anything, grubs and roots, scraps, and grow fat on it.”
“Good animals to have.”
“Not as good as donkeys,” said Chak.
Next morning, I took out the bag of knives. Seven. I had mine. Paku and Maka wore the guard’s knives. Tepulka the one I had picked up on the track. I gave one each to Tulu, Tama, Puli. “You’ll find this handy for weaving,” I told her. One each to Kitimah and Sheenah. “That leaves us two for spares.”
“What about me?” asked Chak.
“You’re too small to want a knife,” Puli told him. Chak’s face fell. I remembered how much I wanted a knife when I was little.
“There’s only two left. And there’s four of you without them. Kimi and Tupu –”
“They’re girls!”
“Girls have plenty of things they need knives for.”
“It’s not fair,” said Chak.
“I’ll tell you what, you and Hurk can have a knife between you. You can wear it one day, Hurk the next. And Kimi and Tupu can share one.” The four small faces smiled. “But,” I said, “everyone’s got to make a sheath, long ones right up the handle, so you don’t lose your knife. There’s plenty of leather. And you can’t wear your knife till you’ve shown Paku your belt and sheath and he says it’s strong enough.”
The camp was a very quiet place the rest of the day.
Chapter 25
By the River Rushing By
“I couldn’t find a crossing anywhere downstream,” said Paku. “But there’s a waterfall one day upstream. Too steep to climb, but it looked as if the valley opened up above it.” He had worked back and found a deer lead climbing through a low gap in the cliff. “I think there’s a crossing,” was all he would say.
“If there’s a chance of getting across the river now….” I said. “Build our winter camp on the other side….” I didn’t look at Maka.
It took us several days working through thick-growing trees and ferns. “All the harder for anyone trying to find us,” I said. We followed Paku’s deer lead above the waterfall, and the valley opened up as he had said. Wide enough for two islands to split the river. Gravel banks rather than islands, a scatter of summer’s grass bleaching upon the stones. No bushes or saplings. So they must be submerged by winter floods. Upstream, the river hammered in yet another gorge. We had the axes to make a raft now, but it would be impossible to swing it across because of rocks and broken water. Below was all rocks and dangerous water again to the top of the waterfall. If we were going to cross, it must be at the islands.
I could see why Paku hadn’t tried it on his own. We crossed now with Tepulka and Maka. The bottom as far as the first island was rocky. The middle channel was a chute, deep and fast. We would have to take across the others, and the animals, one at a time. From the second island to the far side, the third channel was shallow. An easy shingle bottom.
“What do you think?” asked Paku.
“You did well,” I told him. “Found the only crossing by the look of it. Let’s try that middle one again.”
We tried it several times. I let myself go down its chute and swam back in below the foot of the second island.
“Have a go. Let the current take you, then go on a slant for the foot of the island. You’ll feel sand under your feet.”
They came ashore easily. Laughing. “Remember,” I said, “don’t fight it. Just make sure whoever you’re helping is all right.”
“If we cross now,” Tepulka said, “some of us will have to come back over to trade with the Iron People. And cross back again.”
“The four of us and Tulu can get the donkeys and their loads across in spring,” I said. “Two of us to do the trading. Then meet the rest of you here and cross back again.
“Cross now, and the little ones won’t need to come near the river again. And Kitimah and Sheenah will be near their time in spring.” I drove in a stake at the water’s edge.
We discussed it around the fire that night. Make a winter camp this side? Or cross now? Nobody mentioned Kalik, but I knew he was in the back of everyone’s mind. The Children all turned and looked at me.
“I’ll make up my mind in the morning.” At first light, the stake showed the river had dropped.
Kitimah floundered and needed all four of us to get her across. By late afternoon Sheenah, Tama, Puli, were safe with her on the far bank. Tulu was there, directing them to put up a camp for the night. Nearly all our gear was across. Most of the sheep. And four donkeys. The Animals gathered around Tama as they got across.
Then Tepulka and I lost one of the rams in the centre channel. It whirled and sank – probably the weight of its fleece. At the same time, Paku lost a lamb in the last, the shallowest channel. He and Maka swam after, dragged it out dead. Tepulka and I were unable to feel or find any sign of the ram. It might have gone over the waterfall.
“We’re too tired. Bleed the lamb and cook it for your meal, Paku,” I said. “Tepulka and I’ll go back across the other side for the night.”
We had the four little ones to get across tomorrow. One donkey, Hika. And a bit of gear.
Chak was crying for the lost lamb. The other three were long-faced. But the person most upset would be Tama.
I woke in the night. A different sound to the river. I got the fire going and saw our footprints on its sandy bank were already covered. Tepulka woke. “Rain,” I whispered, “back in the hills.”
Across the far side next morning, I saw Paku go off with Tulu, exploring. Tama led the sheep to graze. The four donkeys lifted their heads, watched a moment, and followed him, too.
On our side the four little ones were busy with Hika. Tethering. Feeding. Shifting him on to better grass. Tepulka and I thatched a thicker shelter, in case the rain spread down the valley. That first day went fast enough. The second was slow. The third, the river dropped and cleared. Still, I put off crossing until the next morning.
We got Kimi, Tupu, Chak, and Hurk to the first island. Paku helped us get them over the dangerous channel to the second island. As we handed Hurk up to Maka, I realised the river was rising again. I swam back to the first island, and waded for Hika who waited, loaded. We got to the first island. On the far side, Tama waited with the other donkeys.
Maka got Kimi on to the far bank. Paku was piggybacking Tupu. Tepulka waited with Chak and Hurk on the second island while I led Hika into the middle channel. The water was faster. When Hika stumbled, I pulled his head up with the rope. I was not going to lose him now.
Hika turned. I dragged to keep his head upstream. He turned again, kicked out. I swam past, got hold of the rope, kept away from the flailing hoofs, felt sand under my feet and, suddenly, Tama was there, helping me pull Hika in. Laughing. “I’ve got him, Ish!” Taking the rope. Hika shook himself, long ears flopping, scattering drops as he followed Tama up to the head of the island and across th
e last channel.
Tepulka had just got Hurk across, handed him to Maka who was dropping him on his feet on the beach the far side. Maka screamed. Tepulka turned, dived at something that rose, rolled, disappeared. Paku dropped Tupu off his back and raced down the far bank.
I flung myself into the chute. Below the foot of the island, I touched a hand. Lost it. My feet brushed something soft on the riverbed. Fleece. I swam on, feeling with hands and feet. Desperate. Swept towards the waterfall’s lip, into dead water behind a boulder, I lunged between rocks for the bank, helped Paku out. Then Tepulka, gasping. Upstream, Tama was galloping Hika along the bank, water streaming off his sides. And Maka was screaming. Throwing herself in the third channel. We caught her, dragged her ashore as the others came running.
Paku and I climbed out on the lip of the waterfall, but there was no sign. The islands had almost disappeared. The water brown now. I waded out, swam down the middle channel again, could not feel the ram’s carcass this time. When they went to swim down the inside channel, I ordered Paku and Tepulka out.
We found Chak next morning snagged on a log above the waterfall. Mouth packed with mud and sand. Tunic gone. And the knife he was so proud to wear. Drowned because he tried to cross the last channel on his own.
We cut a pole for a handle, jammed it into the shovel head. Buried him above the level of winter floods. I remembered the Traveller’s ancient song beside the river crossings. In memory of all our people who died there. We huddled together as I sang. The Children’s voices joined and sang it through again as drizzle came down the river, hid its other side.
By the river, our people lie,
By the river rushing by.
They hear no sound,
Feel no burning sun.
Their journey ended. Ours goes on.
I woke that night and thought of my vow to save all twelve children. “It was my fault,” I heard a broken whisper. “We could have stayed on the other side. But I wanted to cross, to get away from Kalik.”
I put my arm around Maka. “Not your fault! It was my decision. We had to cross – either now or at the end of winter.” And I remembered Hagar’s words when I lost my first sheep in the Onger River: “The river charges a toll,” I said.
