Wolf Road, page 19
‘What is it, Andar?’ said Tuuli, sounding very worried.
He took a deep breath.
‘I go,’ he said.
‘No…’ said Tuuli, a chill spreading through her heart.
‘I go,’ repeated Andar.
‘Oh, Andar, don’t!’ exclaimed Wren. ‘It will be all right. As Aski always says, all will be well. Really, it will.’
‘It will just take some time for people to get to know you,’ said Tuuli. ‘Yes, you’re different. But it will be all right. We know you. We know you’re not so different.’
Andar sighed. He reached down to Lupa, who had sidled up to him, and rubbed her snout, her head, her ears. Then he reached his hands out to Tuuli and Wren, palms up.
‘No… Andar,’ pleaded Tuuli. ‘Please don’t go. Please.’
Andar smiled at her, sorrowfully. ‘I go,’ he repeated. ‘Friend,’ he said.
This time, Tuuli and Wren hugged him. Tuuli couldn’t speak.
‘Goodbye, Andar. Goodbye, friend,’ Wren said.
And then they let go of him and he turned around, pushing back his hood so that his shining, honey-coloured hair fell down around his shoulders. Tuuli found her voice.
‘Goodbye, Andar. Friend,’ she said.
And he strode off, up and over the hill. He didn’t look back. And Tuuli fell to her knees, sobbing, with Lupa’s wet nose pushing into her face, and her cousin’s hand resting on her shoulder.
THE DART-THROWER
‘I should have gone with him,’ Tuuli said, resting her head on Wren’s shoulder. They were sitting down by the water’s edge, as the sun sank low in the sky. Petrel was sitting on the other side of her. Kuba was sitting next to Wren.
The four of them gazed out across the gleaming estuary. A herd of ruddy-coloured horses was splashing through the shallow water around a distant sandbank.
Tuuli felt she would have followed Andar to the ends of the earth. And yet, in the moment of his leaving – again – she hadn’t. What invisible sinews kept her tied down here? Perhaps her friends. But the stronger ties of family were binding, pulling her back.
She talked about the rescue from the river. She could have died if Andar hadn’t been there, she insisted. Petrel stroked her hair, plaiting and re-plaiting her locs. Wren talked about the cave, the song and the ghosted hands – the impressions of themselves they’d left traced in charcoal-black on the wall. A commitment to friendship.
‘Why did he have to go?’ said Tuuli. ‘Our law of hospitality says we should welcome the stranger into our midst, feed her and clothe her. Why should it be different for him?’
‘We tried,’ said Wren. ‘We tried – you and I. We tried, within our talo. But here…’ She glanced back over her shoulder at the sprawling camp behind them. ‘It’s not so simple. I think he realized that.’
Tuuli buried her face in her hands.
‘I think this is it,’ she said. ‘I don’t think we’re going to see him again.’
There was a long silence. At least, a human silence. A huge flock of geese were honking in the distance. Waves of noise, rising and falling. That was comforting, somehow. A familiar sound.
* * *
The next day, Aski came to find Tuuli.
‘I want to talk to you,’ she said. ‘Let’s go for a walk.’
Tuuli was happy to get away. The previous evening, Jutsa and Remi had hugged her, and told her that Andar leaving was for the best. They didn’t understand. And that morning, Remi had been grumpy. Somehow, since they’d got to Summer Camp, he’d lost his dart-thrower.
Aski chatted about the camp, about the new tipis they were constructing with the long poles, about the people she’d caught up with over the last couple of days. She hadn’t seen Leon, which was a relief.
They sat down on tussocks in a drift of bobbing bog cotton. Aski unwrapped Nika from the sling and bounced her on her knees. Aski made a popping sound with her lips and Nika giggled.
‘That is so cute,’ said Tuuli. ‘Can I hold her?’
Aski passed Nika into Tuuli’s arms, and the baby reached up and grabbed her hair.
‘Whoa, she’s getting strong,’ said Tuuli. ‘She’s trying to stand on her feet!’
Then she laid Nika down on the sling and tickled her tummy and feet with a piece of tufted bog cotton.
‘So,’ began Aski, marking a more serious turn in the conversation, ‘I want to tell you a story; a story that I believe has something to do with Andar.’
Tuuli had been waiting to hear it.
‘Go on,’ she said.
‘There are old stories,’ said Aski, staring out across the shining estuary. ‘Stories from the depths of time. About where we come from and about the feats of our ancestors, the Ancient Ones.
‘This is the story about the Others, who lived in these lands long ago, and who our ancestors met.
‘When Ama came to this land, from the land of the rising sun, she had many female babies. She brought them with her in baskets, and those girls grew up to found the tribes of the river valleys: the Swans, the Snow Geese, the Eagles and all the others. At this time, the land was always icy and Ama dressed her children in feathers and gave them snow to eat.
‘Then Hern arrived, and as he walked across the land, the ice melted from his footsteps and green things grew. He melted Ama’s heart. He made men from the mud of the river, moulding the wet clay with his hands, and these men married the Daughters of Ama. Hern put reindeer in the valleys and fish in the river for the tribes. At first they hunted with their bare hands and slept in the open like the birds and the deer.’
So far, so familiar. Tuuli had heard this creation story many times.
‘But the wolves and the lions and the hyenas stalked them at night, and their bellies ached with hunger. The Children of Ama went to Hern and pleaded with him to make them safe and relieve their hunger, and he gave them a burning torch, the first fire. He showed them how to break stones and make weapons and hunt with spears and harpoons. Now they were safe from danger, and well fed. They went to sleep each night with the fire burning, and with full bellies.
‘And Hern gave Ama armfuls of flowers and baskets of honey. He had brought summer to the world and Ama was happy.’
This was still all very familiar.
‘But then,’ Aski said, ‘the Others came. These beings who were not Children of Ama. In fact, they had been there all along, hidden in caves and hollows.’
Tuuli raised her eyebrows. This was a new tale.
‘Their skin was pale, like fresh-cut larch. And their hair was golden.’
‘No!’ exclaimed Tuuli, in wonder. Aski nodded.
‘At first the Children of Ama thought these Others were gods, and they revered them. But soon they learned to see them as just a different sort of people. And they became suspicious of the Others. They worried that the Others would slaughter all the reindeer and steal their babies. They knew they had to defend themselves.’
‘What did they do?’ whispered Tuuli.
‘The tribes invited the Others to a great feast, and fed them great piles of roasted reindeer and salmon. The Others ate so much they fell into a deep, deep sleep. The leaders of the tribes had planned to kill the Others in their slumber, cut their throats. But when each woman approached her victim and held the knife to a pale throat, she found she could not go through with the murder. The Others were left sleeping, and they all awoke the next morning, with no idea how close they’d come to death that night.’
Tuuli was listening, spellbound.
‘But some days later, the Others began to fall ill. They stumbled around and coughed blood from their lungs. One by one, they collapsed and died. Every single one of them.’
Tuuli had her mouth open wide. Aski paused, then picked up Nika, who was grizzling. She rocked the baby gently in her arms.
‘Ama saw the beautiful pale corpses of the Others and she called the leaders of the tribes to her. “Is this your doing?” she asked them, and the leaders all replied with one voice, “No!”’
‘But Ama did not believe them and she resolved to punish her children. She lifted her arms to the sky and white feathers began to fall until the whole world was covered in white again. Hern intervened. “It is not their fault,” he said. But Ama’s heart was set. “They did not do it. But they intended it,” she said to him. “So the punishment cannot be total,” argued Hern. Eventually they came to a compromise. The snow would last for two thirds of the year. But one third would be summer. Between them, they created winter and summer, and the women and men learned to survive in each season, by following the reindeer down the river in spring, and up the river in winter. And Ama forgave her children and taught them to sew furs into clothes to keep them warm in the snow. And she gave them the law of hospitality, so that never again would they turn against strangers.’
Tuuli breathed out heavily.
‘This is so weird,’ she said, with her hands over her mouth, shaking her head. She lowered her hands.
‘Do you think it’s possible… that the Others were… were real people like Andar?’
‘It’s not just possible,’ said Aski. ‘When you first told us his name, I said “Andar” is “Other” in the Ancient tongue. Do you remember?’
‘Of course.’ Tuuli nodded.
‘And then we met him. All these myths have truth in them.’
‘You’ve never told me the story like this before, though,’ said Tuuli. ‘You just said Hern and Ama argued and that she loved winter and he wanted to have a bit of summer each year. You left out the bit about the almost-murders and the punishment. You left out the Others.’
‘Yes, well. Some of the myths have morals. They help us think about how to live better. But I was never sure about the moral of this one. But perhaps it’s not just a moral tale. Perhaps it is true.’
‘At least parts of it,’ agreed Tuuli.
‘Ah, you’re like your father,’ said Aski. ‘There are deeper mysteries, deeper truths out there.’
Tuuli was off following her own thread of thought. It was like she’d spotted some prints in snow and was tracking down her prey.
‘So some Others must have survived,’ she said. ‘They can’t all have died of that mysterious disease. How long ago was it?’
Aski shrugged her shoulders.
‘The myths are from the time of the Ancients. They go back to our grandmothers’ grandmothers’ grandmothers and beyond. Way, way back.’
‘And there must be more people like Andar. More “Others”. Still around today. I mean, he must have parents, at least.’
‘Perhaps he wasn’t born like us,’ suggested Aski, mysteriously, cuddling Nika.
Tuuli looked at her askance.
‘I don’t think he’s that different,’ she said. ‘I thought he was magical when I first saw him. But he’s not. He’s just a boy.’
Tuuli was looking suddenly very sad, and Aski reached out and squeezed her knee.
‘Even if he never returns,’ she said, ‘his friendship will stay with you. You treated him kindly and encouraged others to as well. So your story completes the myth. Thanks be to Ama.’
* * *
Tuuli stuck around the camp for much of the rest of the day, helping to sew up skins to cover the smart new tipi skeletons. Then she ventured off just a short distance with Kuba and Wren to collect armfuls of sedge for the floors of the tipis.
When they came back to the camp with their bundles, there was a great commotion. A large group of people had gathered – around Leon, it seemed. Remi broke away from the crowd, and came marching over to Tuuli. He looked furious and upset. He was holding his missing dart-thrower, as though he intended to smash something with it.
‘Tuuli,’ he said. He didn’t sound angry with her, but urgent. ‘Something has happened.’ He was shaking his head. ‘Leon took my dart-thrower to go hunting. But he didn’t just hunt reindeer.’
Tuuli’s heart was thumping hard and fast.
‘He’s just come back,’ said Remi. ‘And he’s telling us he’s a hero. He’s kept the camp safe. Because… because he’s just killed a lone wolf.’
IN THE DUNES
‘Where?’ said Tuuli, hardly able to speak.
‘I don’t know. In the dunes,’ said Remi, gesturing vaguely towards the great sand sea. ‘We’re telling him he can’t leave the body there… it’s not right. There should be a sky burial…’
‘I’m going…’ said Tuuli.
‘You are not,’ replied Remi firmly. ‘You will stay here. We will send a search party out.’
He stepped forward and gave her a hug. He hadn’t done that for a while. Then he slipped back into the throng of people, where Leon was still sharing his story and drawing an even bigger crowd with his pumped-up bravado. Younger men were slapping him on the back. Skire was standing at his side.
Tuuli ran past Wren to the tipi where she’d stowed her stuff.
‘What’s happening?’ asked Wren anxiously.
‘I think it’s Andar,’ said Tuuli. ‘Something awful’s happened. I have to go.’ And before Wren could react, Tuuli had grabbed her spear, darts and a water pouch, and was off, running up into the dunes and away from the camp, Lupa at her heels.
‘Wait, Tuuli!’ shouted Wren.
But Starra had appeared at her side and she grabbed Wren by the wrist.
‘Don’t go,’ she said.
* * *
It didn’t take Tuuli long to spot what she presumed was Leon’s track: large footprints, heading back towards the camp. She paused. No one was coming after her. Then she followed the track in the opposite direction to its travel, away from the tents. The sun was sinking towards the horizon to her right, and the dunes were starting to collect deep, purple shadows in their hollows. It was hard work – and reminded her of nightmares where she would be running, running, but staying still.
The sand dragged at her feet and sapped energy from her at every step. The wind was picking up, whisking up the sand and scouring her legs. She was terrified the wind would blow away the track, but it was just softening the footprints, not obliterating them. Lupa stayed close to her, sensing her fear. A great skein of geese flew overhead, noisily calling to each other, heading out to the sandbanks in the estuary to roost.
Every time she crested a dune, Tuuli dreaded seeing a body. And yet, she had to find him. Even if he was dead.
The tracks were growing fainter now. The raking orange sunlight helped to throw the footprints into contrast, but the sun was now touching the horizon and its direct light would soon be snuffed out. Tuuli would still be able to see the tracks for a while in the afterglow. As she reached the crest of another dune, Lupa froze at her side. Scanning around, Tuuli spotted a dark shape on the flank of the dune ahead of her. Lupa raced ahead and Tuuli plunged down the side of the dune towards the shape - towards him. It was Andar.
She could see his pale limbs and she recognized his clothes; he still had Jutsa’s hood over his head. But she could also see the dart sticking up, out of his upper back. He was lying face-down, motionless. As Tuuli half ran, half stumbled up to him, she saw there was a dark patch of sand between his torso and his right arm. Shuddering, Tuuli sank to her knees beside him and laid a hand on his back.
‘Andar…’ she whispered. ‘I’m here.’ Nothing. She couldn’t feel any movement at all, not even the slightest rise and fall of breathing. Could she move him? She couldn’t roll him over, with the dart in his back. She gingerly touched the sticky blood around the entry wound. She took the lower edge of the hood at the base of his neck, and pushed it up and over his head with her right hand, gently lifting his head with her left. His head was turned to the right, eyes closed. She brushed back the hair that had fallen over his face, and cupped the palm of her hand over Andar’s mouth and nose. She felt a faint breath, she was sure. Very subtle - but definitely there. And the skin of his face felt warm. He must be alive. She spoke his name again, and he sighed.
‘Open your eyes, Andar,’ she whispered. But they stayed firmly shut. Lupa lay down next to Andar, gently nudging him with her nose.
Tuuli hadn’t thought about what to do when she found him. She couldn’t leave him here and go back to the camp. He might be dying, right now. But if she didn’t go back and get help, he would probably die anyway.
* * *
She poured a little water from her pouch onto his lips. And he opened his mouth a little. Then he opened his eyes, just a crack. It was such a relief. Andar shifted his weight a little and let out a faint groan. Tuuli wondered if she should try to pull the dart out of his back. She felt down the shaft to the flint tip, buried in his flesh. It had glanced across his shoulder-blade but didn’t seem to have entered his chest. Her heart leaped with hope. Andar might have lost a lot of blood, but his lungs wouldn’t have been pierced. She placed her hands around the dart, gripping it.
‘I’m sorry, Andar,’ she said, bracing herself. She gave a mighty tug on the dart - and it came out cleanly. Tuuli staggered backwards, a few steps in the sand. Fresh blood was now flowing from the wound. She took off her cape, bundled it up and pressed it down hard on the gash in his shoulder. Andar groaned again and closed his eyes.
‘Don’t go,’ said Tuuli, quiet desperation in her voice. ‘Andar, stay with me.’
She pressed down on the wound for what seemed like an age, and she kept talking to him all the while. Eventually, the blood stopped flowing.
‘Tuuli,’ he whispered. The first time she’d ever heard him say her name. His eyes were still closed, and his breath seemed even shallower. She thought she was losing him.
‘Please, Andar. Please stay.’
Lupa was licking one of Andar’s cold hands.
