by Kevin Ashman
Golau stood up to face Sky and his heart softened. Wiping a tear from the girl’s cheek, he spoke gently.
‘You must be strong, Sky,’ he said, ‘for your mother’s sake. Bran sits at a different fire tonight.’
Sky collapsed into Golau’s strong arms, sobbing loudly. Tan stood and approached them.
‘Go and pay your tribute, Golau,’ he said, ‘tomorrow night we will feast in Bran’s name and you will tell your tale.’ He walked slowly to his hut leaving Sky crying in Golau’s comforting arms.
Keera gently eased Sky from the hunter’s embrace and helped her to her family hut to break the appalling news. Golau turned away, walking toward the edge of the camp, eventually stopping outside the Shaman’s hut and he sat cross-legged in front of the entrance, waiting patiently.
----
The pungent smell emanating from the tent was overpowering, but he waited stoically, eyes watering from the smell of the unknown burning herbs inside. The hut was twice the size of the others and it was the only one assembled by the men of the clan when setting up a new camp. Unlike the others, it was circular in shape and formed from bent saplings tied together at the top to form a large dome, its old and rare Mammoth skin hides covered a large dark space, big enough for ten men to stand within. The surface was covered with strange geometric designs and finger-painted scenes of the many prey animals hunted by the clan.
As always, Seren guarded the entrance by sitting to one side, her long straggly hair and smoke-darkened skin, provided a shocking dark canvas against which her pale green eyes stood out like lone stars in the night sky. She sat opposite Golau, her piercing gaze never moving from his, as they both waited in silence. The hunter felt uncomfortable and would have cuffed the child in any other circumstance, but the air of mystery she emanated, and the fact that she was the Shaman’s personal handmaiden, forced him to stay his hand.
After what seemed like a lifetime, a thin raspy voice drifted through the skins of the hut.
‘We see you, Lion-heart,’ came the voice.
‘I see you, Wise-one; I bring tribute.’ He passed the leaf wrapped package to Seren, who took the meat and placed it on her lap, her eyes never leaving his.
‘Yesss,’ hissed the response, ‘sweet, sweet auroch tongue.’
‘The price was heavy, wise one.’
‘Aaah, but not for you, Golau.’
Golau paused, not for the first time impressed by the extent of the wise one’s all-seeing knowledge. His skin crawled as the sickly sweet smell of death enveloped his whole being.
‘I claim a question, Wise-one,’ stated Golau, causing a sharp intake of raspy breath from inside the tent. After what seemed like an age, the handmaiden raised the entrance flap.
‘Draw close, Golau,’ said the disembodied voice again.
The hunter entered the darkness of the Shaman’s hut and sat just inside the flap. The smoke burnt his eyes as his vision struggled to adjust. The girl had entered also and sat alongside him.
‘Ask your question, Lion-heart,’ rasped the hypnotic voice, granting the hunter the traditional price of the tribute.
Golau hesitated. All along, he had intended to ask the Shaman if Bran indeed walked with the Sun-god, but as he was about to speak, he changed his mind and asked the other question that had been bothering him.
‘Who owns the footprint I found in the forest?’
The ensuing silence seemed to lick at his sweaty skin as he tried to see into to the rear depths of the tent. No one he knew had ever actually seen the Shaman in the day, though he knew she was a woman.
‘Your question troubles me, Lion-heart,’ whined the voice.’
‘What do you see, wise one?’ asked Golau.
‘I see one, yet I see many. I see man, yet I see beast. I see the clan’s death and the clan’s birth.’
‘This is no answer,’ Golau responded.
‘Yet, it is so,’ answered the disembodied voice.
‘I need more!’ he demanded.
‘You have had your answer, Lion-heart.’
Golau stubbornly stayed where he was.
‘A young boy has paid a great price for your treat,’ he said scornfully, ‘surely that is worth more than these meaningless words.’
The silence that followed lasted almost a minute before the voice answered again.
‘Who are you that dares to speak so, hunter?’ she asked, the tone distinctly changed.
Though Golau didn’t believe most of the magic the Shaman claimed to do, he was aware of their great knowledge, and it had to be said, they were capable of strange things, so he had to be careful he didn’t incur their wrath.
‘I may be a mere hunter, Wise-one,’ he said, ‘but am I not Golau, he who brought you the heart of the Lion?’
‘Many have killed such beasts,’ the reply came. ‘Why should I share the sight with you?’
‘I wait to carry the Hell-farch when Tan travels to the sun and soon, I will lead these people. Is it not the role of a leader to seek all knowledge to protect his clan?’
‘Perhaps so, but you are not Tan yet!’
‘If I insult you, then I apologize. I am not well versed in the ways of magic or the traditions of the Shaman hut. But I think the clan may be in danger.’
‘Why do you think this?’
‘When I was in the forest, I was aware of something watching me in the darkness. Something ancient and evil, and for the first time in my life…,’ he paused and glanced at the handmaiden.
‘Continue!’ insisted the creature in the darkness.
‘For the first time in my life, I was afraid!’
Again, silence fell in the hut while they all absorbed the hunter’s words. After what seemed an eternity the voice came again.
‘I will forgive your arrogance this time, Golau,’ it said, ‘I cannot give you the answers you require, for nothing is certain, but know this; you are right to be afraid. Once again, the Soul-eaters roam forth from their lairs.’
‘Soul-eaters are nothing more than stories to frighten children in their furs,’ said Golau.
‘Stories, yes, but it doesn’t mean they don’t exist.’
Golau considered the revelation.
‘If this is true, how do they pose a threat to us?’
‘In ways you cannot imagine.’
‘Tell me!’ demanded Golau.
‘You will find out soon enough,’ the reply came, the anger once again rising in the Shaman’s voice.
‘How?’
‘You will not want to know.’
‘I have paid my price. I demand an answer.’
‘Ok, Lion-heart,’ she replied slowly, ‘know this; before this year is out, you will choose to kill the one you love.’
‘Who?’
A colourless albino face thrust itself out of the smoky darkness to within an inch of Golau’s face, the opaque sightless eyes matching the colour of the sprawling web of white hair hanging down about its toothless wrinkled face.
‘Your son!’
Golau fell backwards, shocked at the sight of the Shaman, and the horror of the disclosure.
‘What do you mean?’ he stuttered.
The horrific vision had receded back into the smoky dark recesses of the hut.
‘You should go,’ stated the hand maiden.
‘I need to know more,’ he said, ‘I would never harm my son!’
She lifted the flap of the hut.
‘There is no more.’
Golau stood and stumbled, coughing into the welcoming freshness of the late afternoon air. Behind him, the voice of the Shaman echoed from the hut.
‘Sweet, sweet auroch tongue. Poor, poor Bran.’
----
Little-bear was four summers old and looked after by his grandmother. Two winters previously, Golau’s woman had been taken by the sickness, coughing blood and choking on her own phlegm right to the end as the spirits dragged her soul from her body to a dark place. It had been a bad death and caused Golau great pain to lose the
woman he loved.
As he approached the familiar hut, a bent head exited the entrance and looked up at the hunter.
‘I see you, Golau,’ said Fox-tooth.
Before Golau could return the formality, a mad four year old rushed past the woman and crashed lovingly into his legs, wrapping his arms tightly around Golau’s knees.
‘Golau, Golau, Golau,’ he shouted excitedly.
‘What is this?’ Golau said sternly yet inwardly grinning. ‘Is this how hunters meet now?’
Little-bear stopped, and realizing his mistake let go of the hunter’s knees and ran quickly back into the hut to search for something. Golau looked to the old woman.
‘I have been gone seven sleeps and he seems to have grown already!’
‘He grows quickly, Golau; he wears my tired bones out,’ she smiled.
Little-bear emerged excitedly from the hut with his tiny spear, a small replica that Golau had made for him the previous winter.
Little-bear stopped short, and with a comical look on his face, placed his feet shoulder width apart and brandished his spear as high as he could above his head, the weight almost tipping him backward. Fox-tooth discreetly stepped to one side to avoid a potential blow from the clumsily wielded weapon.
‘See you, Golau!’ shouted Little-bear.
Golau lifted his own spear and returned the compliment.
‘I see you, Little-bear,’ he stated brusquely, fighting the urge to laugh with every sinew of his body. Lowering his spear, Golau dropped to his knees and after placing his weapon carefully on the floor looked up smiling.
‘Now, show me how a son greets his father.’
----
Chapter 9
The older men dug a pit the depth of a spear, five paces across, and filled it with wood. Tan started the fire and as the firewood burnt down, they added even more fuel until the bottom of the pit was half full of red hot embers throwing up severe dry heat. When the fire was at its most intense, they added dozens of flat dry river stones forming a layer of rock above the ash and flame below.
A butchered Forest-pig was laid out evenly on the white hot stones, and baskets of root tubers and fruit were thrown onto the meat forming a thick blanket layer of fibrous vegetation. Finally, a water-soaked reindeer skin was laid over the food and the hole was filled in with the previously excavated soil, forming a mound above the fire. The subterranean oven was then left to slowly bake its entombed ingredients for the rest of the day
Much later, as darkness fell, the clan congregated around the fire, the older men and hunters sitting evenly spaced on rocks, while younger boys squashed in between to get a good seat near the fire.
Women and small children sat on skins as close as possible to the rear of the men, or they stood around the earthen mound, waiting for the moment when the eagerly anticipated feast was uncovered. Tan signalled it was time and two young men attacked the warm soil mound with reindeer-antler scoops.
The last of the hot earth was scooped out of the pit, and as the reindeer skin was carefully lifted out, the mouth-watering aroma of roast pork and vegetables raced around the camp, causing excited chatter from the hungry children, approving comments from the women and aloof silence from the hunters. The meat, vegetables and fruit were all safely piled on the still warm reindeer skin, and the men resumed their places at the campfire, each sitting on their own nominated rock or tree stump, leaving the women to sort out the details.
Keera searched between the pile of piping hot food with her knife and, and finding the treat she had been seeking, gave the Pig’s heart to the Shaman’s handmaiden who scurried quickly back to Night-owl’s hut with her prize. Tribute paid, the women fell about the rest of the food and shared out meat and vegetables equally among all the clan. The feast could begin.
----
The four, flesh laden Pig’s legs were given to the most senior hunters, who after cutting a generous slice from the joint, passed it along to the person alongside him. Each man chewed the hot meat contentedly, the delicious fat licked noisily off fingers, whilst waiting for the next joint to arrive on its circular journey. Children and women had smaller choice cuts of belly meat or tender muscle threaded onto river reeds along with sweet hot fruits and roots.
Several blackened water lily packages were retrieved from the fire’s edge, and opened up with a sharp flint to reveal steaming and succulent river fish, stuffed with berries and forest herbs. Woven baskets of forest fruits and tender leaves, mixed with golden honey were keenly anticipated by child and adult alike as they were passed between the people, the delicacy watched eagerly by the younger eyes, making sure playmates and friends didn’t grab more than their fair share.
Young boys forced their way between hunter’s seats to roast frogs skewered on long sticks over the smaller flames at the fire’s edge, the live treats kicking violently in the flames, before meeting their demise in the fire’s heat. The food was plentiful and any surplus was shared between the clan, wrapped in leaves and taken back to huts for the following day.
Useful bones were put to one side for purposes ranging from skewers, hairpins, needles, or scrapers, to simple cudgels, beads, or cloak fastenings. Other bones were tossed to the ever hungry dogs lurking at the perimeter of the group or thrown to the flames. Children were cajoled and threatened into eating as much as possible by overbearing mothers and grandmothers, always conscious that winter was never far away and it was important to put on as much weight as possible for the cold and hungry months ahead.
Earlier in the day, the old women had collected the congealed blood from the slaughtered pig and after mixing it with crushed acorn flour, flattened the paste into patties and baked the rich blood cakes on hot stones around the fire, turning them regularly to cook them through into a crisp, nutritious biscuit.
To wash the meat down, wooden bowls of fermented fruit juice were passed around the circle of men; its lumpy consistency gulped down and passed on quickly, as its alcoholic content burnt their throats and watered their eyes. Younger boys, keen to be seen as mature as possible, pretended to drink from the bowls, though seldom allowing any of the bitter liquid to pass their lips. The meal progressed, and as the mood lightened around the fire, the men’s tongues loosened as the alcohol took its effect. Gradually, the whole clan gathered close to the warmth of the fire, huddling beneath their reindeer cloaks, and nibbling on the blood biscuits, avidly listening to the stories of the hunters.
----
Golau sat quietly, thinking about the tale that he was about to tell. He looked toward Sky being comforted by Raven-hair, mother and daughter’s mutual support helping each other through the tragedy of Bran’s death. Bran’s father sat close to the fire, his strained features betraying the inner turmoil and hurting heart, seeking solace in the numbness that the fruit water would eventually bring.
Eventually, Golau realized that the chatter had died and all faces were expectantly turned to him, none more earnestly than Bran’s father. The tribe’s very existence revolved around the stories told at the fires. Tales of the ancestors and the history of the clan were passed by word of mouth from generation to generation, and by its very nature, the clan would hang on every word that Golau would now speak. It was his duty to relate every fact in exacting detail of how a young, foolish, and inexperienced hunter met his clumsy and unnecessary death on the forest plain. He stood up and the camp fell silent. Golau looked at the expectant eyes of Bran’s father and the dry, tear-drained eyes of Raven-hair and Sky. He took a deep breath and started his speech.
----
For the next hour, Golau retold the tale of the recent hunt, and ultimately Bran’s death. He told of how Bran had been the one who had given encouragement when Golau wanted to return to camp, cold and tired. Of how Bran had tracked and found the herds, and how Bran had patiently laid in wait many hours for the prey to come closer, hidden under a hide of spoor covered skins, while Golau shivered like an old woman at the forest edge. He told the enthralled audience how he, Golau,
in his shame had prematurely charged the auroch, and how Bran had to bravely attack the beast, armed only with knife and spear to save his life. The gathering listened fascinated as he recounted how Bran had single-handedly killed the magnificent auroch and ultimately made the ultimate sacrifice. Finally, he told of how Bran and the auroch died together, man and beast linked in the after world for all time, and how Bran would surely ride astride the auroch forever in the Sun-god’s rich plains, firing his arrows into the prey herds, as thick as the grass.
When the story was told, the women gathered up the children to take them to their huts, all comforted that Bran had died a good death and had indeed been a brave and skilful hunter. Much to their evident disgust, the young boys, usually allowed to stay at the fireside learning from the man-talk that would follow, were ordered to their huts by Tan.
The hunters remained sitting around the fire in awkward silence. Golau sat, staring blankly into the embers. He knew that he may have fooled the women and children, but the embroidered web of lies he had spun would not have taken in one man around the fire. Bran’s father stood to be heard and the hunter’s murmurs died down.
‘Golau Lion-Heart,’ he said quietly, ‘you have spoken well of my son. His name will be honoured at our fires by our grandchildren and for that you have my thanks, but I seek one answer truthfully.’
‘Ask your question, ’Golau replied
‘Who dealt the death blow to the Auroch?’
Golau paused considering his answer.
‘Hear me in my truth, Mon-du,’ he stated formally, ‘it was truly Bran’s spear that pierced the beast’s heart.’
Mon-Du nodded his gratitude and sat back down silently, satisfied that his son was indeed with the Sun-god. Golau glanced across the dying fire, his eyes meeting those of the clan chief. Tan nodded his head imperceptibly, acknowledging the sacrifice Golau had made to save Mon-du’s face at the campfire.
----
Suddenly, the barking dogs alerted the gathered hunters of approaching danger and the splashing of water indicated people crossing the river. The hunters jumped up clutching their ever-present spears before realizing it was the returning party sent to retrieve Bran’s body the previous day. The four returnees walked quickly into the fire lit circle, the anguish and tiredness clear on their faces despite the gloom. Formality was foregone as they approached the chief who was helped from his seat by Golau.
