by Jo Sandhu
Worj clasped each of their hands, and beamed at them. ‘Now, Worj’s Clan even stronger.’
The clan cheered and the music started again. Roba pounded a heavy oak staff into a hollow in a rock and Narn beat a separate rhythm on a collection of deer bones. Soon, the pace of the music increased, as each tried to outplay the other. Lorv laughed, and gave up. He waved his hands at the young men and sat down next to Luuka and Tarin.
Iva passed around a skin flask filled with a sweet mixture of fruit and herbs. The liquor and the music combined to make Tarin’s head spin. He clapped along to the music and joined in the chant. The flask came around again, and he took another sip. He enjoyed the slightly sour aftertaste.
Luuka had picked up Lorv’s flute and he tried to keep up with the frantic beat. He stopped and started many times, and the three musicians all laughed together. They then started again – slowly at first, but then faster and faster until someone gave up.
The competition only ceased when Ruva scolded them. The women wanted to dance. Ruva started first. She didn’t move her feet very much, but she waved her arms and tossed her head in time with the music. The spectators clapped and cheered her. Uva grabbed Kaija’s hand, and pulled her into the circle. Kaija laughed and the sadness in her eyes disappeared as she tried to copy Uva’s movements. Aba and Vana joined them.
Tarin cheered and sipped some more drink. He rested his head on a rock and stared at the walls of the cave. In the flickering light, he imagined the generations of clan who had left their handprints behind springing to life. They were here in spirit. He could feel that. He reached out and touched the rock. He heard their song and felt the movements of their dance. And as the rock shifted and altered in the soft torchlight, he imagined different shapes forming within the shadows – images of huge bison and dancing horses, mammoth and antelope, carved in the ancient stone. One particular rock reminded him of Owl, with outstretched wings. He reached out and traced the shape. Each feather seemed alive beneath his fingertips. He closed his eyes and with sadness thought of Owl. How wonderful it was to fly with his Spirit, to feel the wind whistling through his feathers, soaring higher and higher. To see with vision so clear the mouse under the snow like a shining light . . .
And suddenly, Tarin was dreaming.
How long since he had dreamt of Owl? How long since he had flown free? The sky was filled with owls of all colours and size, all flying with him, but gradually they fell behind, and there was only Tarin Owl, winging above a forest of pine and spruce that stretched endlessly to the horizon. The sky was his, and he banked his wings and hovered on the breeze. He was flying toward a mountain. He recognised the broken tip of Ice Bringer, wreathed in mist. He banked again, and soared over the western slopes, following the river. Below him in a meadow filled with buttercups and sweet vernal, a boy was walking. He carried a spear, tipped with blood. Tarin could smell the blood and it made him shiver. The boy raised his face to the sky, and for a moment Tarin felt he was looking at himself, but then the owl passed onwards and the boy was forgotten.
He swooped low over a cluster of huts. A girl sat by the river, mending fishing nets. Her hair hung in two brown plaits either side of her flat face. She smiled as her hand touched a leather thong about her neck. Two carved beads hung there. The sharp eyes of the owl picked out the detail on each beautifully crafted bead.
Tarin Owl left the settlement, following the course of the river upstream. Past sheer, granite cliffs, and up, over waterfalls and rapids. In a gully by a rocky beach, a giant pine tree lay shattered, dislodged from the cliffs by savage Spring floods and landslides. Its branches caught debris as the river flowed around it, but it would never again be a bridge over the rushing water. Boar Clan territory had diminished.
The forest thinned. The trees clustered around the river – larch, willow and aspen. The gently undulating plains of the steppes were thick now with the lush Spring growth of feather grass and fescue. Carpets of pink and yellow were flung across meadows green with clover. Thickets of blackthorn and hazel ran along ridge tops, and silvery sagebrush clung to the steep gullies that dissected the steppes.
With the Spring melt, the waterways and streams had become raging torrents, carving the gullies deeper and finding new ways across the plains – a landscape in constant change.
Beneath him, Tarin Owl picked out the movements of tiny animals – jerboas, hamsters, marmots and suslik – emerging from their Winter burrows. And the herd animals – saiga antelopes, deer, bison and aurochs. The rich grasslands were teeming with life.
Tarin Owl banked over a cluster of rounded earth-lodges. A woman stood on a rocky promontory, clutching a bone pendant. She looked thin and frail. Her hair was shot with grey, and she closed her eyes against the wind. She took a step toward the edge, and dislodged a small pebble. The pebble fell, bouncing off rocks until finally hitting the water far below. The woman gasped, but took another step. Tarin Owl wheeled toward her, his wings spread wide, his flight soundless. He brushed against her face and she cried out and opened her eyes. She stepped back from the edge.
As he rose again in the sky, Owl saw a man approach her from behind. His wild red beard glowed in the sun. He placed his arm around the woman and held her to him, searching the horizon. But what he searched for wasn’t there.
The man and woman turned and walked back toward the earth-lodges, and Owl continued to soar.
Far away, a herd of reindeer made their Spring migration from the forests to higher grounds. Hunters followed them. A fair-haired woman with eyes the colour of the sky paused and looked up at the owl as it passed overhead.
Now Tarin Owl turned and flew east, toward the rising sun. Here were forests of beech and elder, and fields of fireweed and low-growing juniper. Hornbeam and linden covered the foothills, while dark green spruce and fir covered the higher elevations. It was wild, rugged country.
To the north, the steppes gave way to the sparse flatness of the wide tundra. No trees grew here, only stubby bushes, twisted and deformed by the constant wind and frozen ground. It was a bleak place, but with a raw beauty all its own. Soft brown mushrooms, lichens and spike moss clustered around rocks, seeking protection from the elements. And in the distance was the great glacier, that massive river of ice, that churned slowly forward, crushing the earth’s crust beneath its weight. It was in this dry, frozen wilderness that the woolly rhinoceros, musk oxen and mammoths made their home.
A herd of mammoth strode ponderously toward their Spring feeding grounds. The lead matriarch lifted her trunk, tasting the wind. She swung her head from side to side, brushing aside the last covering of snow to reach the fresh, green shoots below.
Tarin Owl lost the river as it plunged deep under the ground. But he could still smell it – the scent of the water as it churned through the darkness. And there were other smells. The smell of mineral and sulphur. Gases from deep within the earth, now bubbling through springs of water, heating the water so it misted in the air like a breath. The Breath of the Mother.
Tarin Owl faltered. Where had he that heard that before? He was alone now, wheeling high over hot springs, feeling the warmth of the water ruffling his wings. Deep underground, the earth shook. He felt the tremor as rock ground against rock. A new fissure opened, expelling more gas. In subterranean ice caves, knife-sharp stalactites trembled.
Then he was flying upwards – up and up, toward the very peak of Ice Bringer. He had to reach Ice Bringer. He had to . . .
In Winter, we call it Ice Bringer. In Summer, it is Life Giver. That’s what Worj had said.
But the Earth Mother is the life giver, Tarin thought. The owl spun in circles, higher and higher. It had to reach the top.
Ice Bringer. Life Giver. Great Mother’s Mountain.
Tarin Owl reached the top of a spiral and hung there suspended in the air. The Mother’s Mountain! For one glorious moment he hung there, then suddenly, he was falling. Ice crusted upon his wings. The rushing wind blinded him. Down, down Tarin Owl spiralled, until t
he peak of the mountain rose up to meet him and he landed with a thud in the snow.
He was no longer Owl. He was Tarin. And he was standing shivering upon the very tip of the Mother’s Mountain. A small brown owl with eyes as dark as night was watching him.
Tarin Owl. He will go to the mountain?
He heard the brown owl’s voice in his head, and knew it for Ruva. She tilted her head to one side and watched him.
‘Yes.’ The cold, dry air caught in Tarin’s throat. He shivered and rubbed his arms.
The owl smoothed her feathers with her sharp little beak then rose in the air.
Boy will change the journey of all.
‘What do you mean? Wait! Come back,’ Tarin shouted. The snow swirled thicker around him. ‘I don’t understand. Am I making a mistake?’
But the owl was gone, and Tarin woke with a cry.
The cave was dark, save for the glow of the fires. Kaija lay next to him, with Nilkka curled up into a ball. She stirred at Tarin’s cry.
‘What’s wrong?’ She rubbed her eyes and pushed her hair out of the way.
‘Where am I?’ Tarin asked. He felt hot. He rubbed beads of sweat off his lip. ‘What am I doing back here?’
‘You fell asleep in the chamber, so Worj carried you back in here,’ Kaija said.
In the dark, Tarin blushed. He wondered if Kaija was laughing at him. ‘I didn’t fall asleep. It was the drink.’ He rubbed his head and groaned. His head felt fuzzy. There was something he was supposed to remember – something important, but it eluded him. He rubbed his eyes and straightened his sleeping furs. Nilkka growled softly as he disturbed her. He scratched her ears and she licked his fingertips.
Rohk came to investigate and lay down next to him, but Tarin pushed him away. He was too hot to have a large wolf either side of him. He lay down and stared up at the darkness.
He had been dreaming, he knew that, but the harder he tried to remember, the more elusive the dream became. Like the butterflies Rohk and Nilkka tried to catch in the meadow. His thoughts danced and flitted about in his head. He gave up and closed his eyes.
And then, just as he was on the cusp of sleep, there it was. He sat straight up, ignoring Nilkka’s protests. Dawn was lighting the sky. All the rest of the clan slept. Except Kaija.
‘What are you doing?’ she murmered.
Tarin pulled on his boots and grabbed a beaska.
‘Come with me,’ he whispered.
Kaija shook her head in bewilderment, but grabbed her warm clothes and followed him out of the cave. Rohk and Nilkka trod softly behind them.
Tarin led them uphill, toward the meadow above the cave. The air was crisp and they left a trail of black footprints in the dew. He breathed in and enjoyed the bite of the air in his throat. The sky was changing from deepest indigo to soft violet, and was still studded with stars. The wolves loped ahead.
‘Tarin, about what I said – I am really sorry,’ Kaija said, and stopped. Tarin’s steps slowed until he, too, stopped. Mist formed around them as they breathed in and out and Tarin noticed a crust of ice forming on Kaija’s beaska, making the tips of the fur glisten. Dark shadows circled her eyes.
‘Did you sleep at all?’ he asked.
‘A little,’ she said. ‘We need to talk.’
‘Later.’ Tarin took her hand and helped her up the slope. He could no longer hear the wolves running ahead. ‘Now, I want to show you something.’
The sky lightened to rose and the final stars slept. Tarin lengthened his stride. His thoughts were a swarm of Summer midgies, biting and stinging, and he shook his head to chase them away. He had been thoughtless and ill-prepared when he had started this quest. How had he survived so far?
Because of Kaija, a small voice inside him whispered.
They reached the meadow and Tarin looked toward the mountains. Ice Bringer’s broken tip rose above the rest, silhouetted in darkest grey against the lightening sky. The wind was colder away from the protection of the trees, and he crossed his arms over his chest.
‘What do you see?’
Kaija scratched her nose. The breeze lifted her hair and blew it across her face. She tucked it impatiently behind her ears. ‘I see the mountains. I see the sky.’
‘And Ice Bringer.’
‘Yes, of course.’ She frowned at him.
‘I see something else as well,’ Tarin continued. He shaded his eyes and gazed toward the horizon. ‘I told you I have to find the Mother’s Mountain. Well, there she is.’
Kaija chewed her lip. ‘But that’s Ice Bringer.’
‘I know.’ Tarin said. ‘That’s what Valo must have meant when he said the Old Spirits had to show me the way. If we hadn’t stayed with Worj’s Clan, we may never have found it.’ He saw the doubt in Kaija’s eyes and hurried on. ‘Worj said Ice Bringer is also called Life Giver. Don’t you see? The Great Mother is the Life Giver. That is her mountain right there.’ He waved his arms toward Ice Bringer’s huge bulk. ‘One mountain. Many names.’
‘Then . . . you’ve done it, Tarin.’ Kaija’s voice was so soft he barely heard her.
‘We’ve done it, together. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you, Kaija. That’s why I can’t be angry.’
Kaija drew in a sharp breath and gripped his arm. ‘You mean that, Tarin?’
‘I mean it, but no more lies. Clan doesn’t do that to each other.’ He returned his gaze to the mountain. ‘But I still have to get there. It looks close, but Worj says Ice Bringer is a journey of many days. And I don’t have much of the Offering left.’ A frown settled over his face. Rohk leaned into his side and his fingers moved through his thick fur until a darting dragonfly distracted the wolf. ‘I have Ilmi’s bead, and the flint.’ Tarin watched Rohk and Nilkka leaping through the meadow flowers after the dragonfly.
Kaija cleared her throat. ‘I’ve been putting aside a little food,’ she said. ‘To replace what I used. Strips of reindeer, mainly, and some hazelnuts. And I’ve dried some blackberries and currants.’
Tarin looked at her in surprise. ‘You did that? For me? Then I can still make an Offering.’
Kaija nodded. ‘And I’ve made some packets of dried willow and cherry bark. I know it won’t be the same, but . . .’ Her voice trailed away.
Tarin bit his lip and frowned at the ground. Would the Earth Mother accept such a humble gift? He thought of the owl pendant hanging beneath his tunic and thought of the plan he had made. It should be enough. ‘Thank you,’ he said.
Kaija’s cheeks turned pink and she waved aside his thanks. ‘So you don’t need a guide after all.’
‘No.’
‘Oh.’ Kaija scuffed the ground with the tip of her boot. ‘And you will go on alone?’
For a long moment, Tarin studied Ice Bringer. The rising sun now kissed the peak with a rosy glow. It filled his heart with wonder and happiness. So much had changed on his journey – he had changed. He had left Mammoth Clan, fearful and weak, and yet he had survived thanks to his friends. He had become a hunter, a man of Worj’s Clan. It no longer mattered that he had lost his way. It no longer mattered that Kaija had misled him – he knew her reasons, and he was sorry he had ever considered not helping her. The journey is more than the destination. Worj had said that, one evening sitting by the fire as the Ice Mother covered the land in snow and the Long Dark chased the sun from the sky. Tarin thought Jarkko had said something similar, after a long trading mission had ended in disappointment. He had never understood it, until now.
The Mountain was his destination, but he had gained so much on his journey, and his life was richer for it.
‘Will you go on alone?’ Kaija’s voice was a whisper.
Tarin shook his head. ‘Not without my clan,’ he said.
‘Oh.’ Kaija’s voice sounded stronger. A smile lit her face like the rising sun.
‘I can’t survive without my clan,’ Tarin said. He whistled for the wolves and they came bounding across the meadow to him.
‘Neither can I,’ Kaija said, a
nd they followed the wolves back to the cave and breakfast.
Luuka and Lorv were sitting on the rocks at the entrance to the cave, their hands clasped around cups of steaming tea.
‘I was cold when I woke,’ Luuka said as Kaija and Nilkka joined him. ‘No warm wolves to make me sweat.’ He handed his cup to Kaija and scratched Nilkka’s head. The wolf sighed happily and licked his fingers. Kaija sipped the hot liquid and sighed too. The tension and worry she had carried with her all Winter dissolved in the comforting warmth. She found her brother studying her thoughtfully and smiled.
‘So it is decided then?’ Luuka asked, taking his tea back. ‘We go on together?’
‘It is decided,’ Kaija said with a nod.
Lorv hung his head sadly.
Kaija took the old man’s hand. It was warm and wrinkled. Some of his bones were twisted from a hunting accident many years ago. They gave him pain when the weather was wet and cold, but still he could make the beautiful music with his flute.
‘Dear Lorv.’ Kaija pressed his hand. ‘It is time for us to go.’
Lorv nodded and sighed.
Luuka took the bundle and unwrapped it carefully to reveal the bone flute.
