Allan and the Ice Gods (28 page)

make Wi marry you, as, being so beautiful and clever, doubtless you

can do if you wish, and take the chance of the curse that follows

broken oaths falling upon his head and yours and on the tribe, and be

happy until it falls or does not fall? Or will you not marry him and

continue as his counsellor with your hand in his but never round his

neck, until the wrath of the tribe strikes you, stirred up by your

enemies, of whom perhaps I am the worst—” here Laleela smiled—“and

you are killed or driven out to die? Or will you, perhaps, be pleased

to return to your own people, as doubtless you can do in that magical

boat of yours, or so declares Urk the Aged, who says that he knew a

great-grandmother of yours who was exactly like you.”

Laleela listened, wrinkling her fair broad brow in thought. Then she

answered:

“I must think. I do not know which of these things I shall do, because

I do not know which of them will be the best for Wi and all the

people. Meanwhile, Pag, I thank you for your kindness to me, since the

moon led me here—you know I am a moon-worshipper, do you not, like

all my forefathers before me? If we should not talk again, I pray you

to remember that Laleela who came out of the sea thanks you for all

your kindness to her, a poor wanderer, and that, if she continues to

live upon the earth, often she thinks of you, and that if the moon

takes her and she has memory in the houses of the moon, that thence

she looks down and still thanks and blesses you.”

“What for?” asked Pag gruffly.

“Is it because I hate you who have

robbed me of the company and the trust of Wi, whom alone I love upon

the earth? Or is it because with one ear I have listened to Aaka, who

urges me to make an end of you? Do you thank me for these things?”

“No, Pag,” she answered in her quiet fashion. “How can I thank you for

that which is not? I know that Aaka hates me, as it is natural that

she should, and therefore I do not blame her. But I know also that you

do not hate me; nay, rather that you love me in your own fashion, even

if I seem to have come between you and Wi, which, if you knew all, in

truth I have not done. You may have listened to Aaka with one ear,

Pag, but your finger was pressed hard upon the other; for you know

well that you never meant to kill me or to cause me to be killed, you

who in your goodness have come to warn me against dangers.”

Now, hearing these gentle words, Pag stood up and stared at the kind

and beautiful face of her who spoke them. Then, seizing Laleela’s

little hand, he lifted it to his thick lips and kissed it. Next he

wiped his one eye with the back of his hairy paw, spat upon the

ground, muttering something that might have been a blessing or an

oath, and shambled away, while Laleela watched him go, still smiling

sweetly.

But when he had gone and she knew that she was alone, she smiled no

longer. Nay, she sat down, covered her lovely eyes with her hands, and

wept.

That evening, when Wi returned, she made her report to him as to the

babes whom he had set in her care, speaking particularly of two who

were ailing that she thought needed watching and chosen food.

“What of it,” asked Wi in his pleasant fashion, “seeing that you watch

them and give them their food, Laleela?”

“Oh! nothing,” she answered, “except it is well that everything should

be known to two, since always one might be ill or forget. And that

puts me in mind of Pag.”

“Why?” asked Wi, astonished.

“I do not know, and yet it does—oh! it was the thought about two. You

and Pag were one, and now you have become two, or so he thinks. You

should be kinder to Pag, Wi, and talk more to him, as it seems you

used to do. Hark! That sick baby is crying; I must go to it. Good-night, Wi, good-night!”

Then she went, leaving him wondering, for there was something about

her manner and her words which he did not understand.

Next morning, Laleela was missing. When Wi noticed this, as he was

quick to do, and inquired of her whereabouts, one of the women who

helped her in the care of the cast-out babes answered that the “Sun-Haired-White-One,” as she called her, after she had prepared their

food that morning, had told her that she needed rest and fresh air.

She added, said the woman, that she was going to spend that day in the

woods and that therefore none must trouble about or search for her, as

she would be back at nightfall.

“Did she say anything else?” asked Wi anxiously.

“Yes,” answered the woman. “She spoke to me of what food should be

given to those two sick babes and at what hours, in case she should

make up her mind to spend the night in the woods, which, however, she

was almost sure she would not do. That was all.”

Then Wi went away to attend his business, of which he had much in

hand, asking no more questions, perhaps because Aaka had come into the

cave and must have overheard them. Yet that day passed slowly for him,

and at nightfall he hurried home to the cave, thinking to find Laleela

there and to speak to her sharply, because she had troubled him by

going out thus without warning him so that he could cause her to be

guarded against dangers.

But when he came to the cave, as the day died, there was no Laleela.

He waited a while, pretending to eat his food, which he could not

touch. Then he sent for Pag. Presently Pag shambled into the cave, and

looking at Wi, asked:

“Why does the chief send for me, which he has not done for a long

while? It was but just in time, for, as I am never wanted nowadays, I

was about to start for the woods.”

“So you, too, desire to wander in the woods,” said Wi suspiciously,

and was silent.

“What is it?” asked Pag.

Then Wi told him all.

Now, as Pag listened, he remembered his talk with Laleela and was

disturbed in his heart. Still, of that talk he said nothing, but

answered only:

“There is no cause for fear. This Laleela of the sea is, as you know,

a moon-worshipper. Doubtless she has gone out to worship the moon and

to make offering and prayer to it, according to the rites of her own

people.”

“It may be so,” said Wi, “but I am not sure.”

“If you are afraid,” went on Pag, “I will go out to search for her.”

Wi studied the face of Pag with his quick eyes, then answered:

“It comes into my mind that you, Pag, are more afraid than I am, and

perhaps with better reason. But whether this be so or not, nobody can

search for Laleela to-night because the moon is covered with thick

clouds and rain falls, and who can find a woman in the dark?”

Pag went to the mouth of the cave and looked at the sky, then came

back and answered:

“It is as you said. The sky is black; rain falls heavily. No man can

see where to set his foot. Doubtless Laleela is hid in some hole or

beneath thick trees, and will return at dawn.”

“I think that she has been murdered, or has gone away, and that you,

Pag, or Aaka or both of you, know where and why she has gone,” said Wi

in a muttering, wrathful voice, and glaring at him.

“I know nothing,” answered Pag. “Perhaps she is at the hut of

Moananga. I will go to see.”

He went, and a long while afterward returned with the rain water

running off him, to say that she was not in Moananga’s hut, or in any

other that he could find, and that none had seen her that day.

All that night Wi and Pag sat on either side of the fire, or lay down

pretending to sleep, saying nothing but with their eyes fixed upon the

mouth of the cave. At length dawn came, a wretched dawn, gray and very

cold, although the rain had ceased. At the first sign of it, Pag

slipped from the cave, saying no word to anyone. Presently Wi

followed, thinking to find him outside, but he had vanished, nor did

any know where he had gone. Then Wi sent out messengers and inquired

for Laleela. These returned in due course but without tidings. After

this, he dispatched people to search for her, yes, and went himself,

although Aaka, who had come up to the cave, asked him why he should be

so disturbed because a witch-woman had vanished, seeing that it was

well known that this was the fashion of witch-women when they had done

all the ill they could.

“This one did good, not ill, Wife,” said Wi, looking at the foundling

babes.

Then he went out to the woods, taking Moananga with him.

All that day he searched, as did others, but found nothing, and at

nightfall returned, weary and very sad, for it seemed to him as though

Laleela had torn out his heart and taken it with her. Also, that

night, one of the sick babes which she had been nursing died, for it

would not take its food from any hand but hers. Wi asked for Pag, but

no one had seen him; he, too, had vanished.

“Doubtless he has gone with Laleela, for they were great friends,

although he pretended otherwise,” said Aaka.

Wi made no answer, but to himself he thought that perhaps Pag had gone

to bury her.

A second dawn came, and shortly after it Pag crept back to the cave,

looking very thin and hungry, like a toad when it crawls out of its

hole after winter is past.

“Where is Laleela?” asked Wi.

“I don’t know,” answered Pag, “but her hollow log has gone. She must

have dragged it down to the sea out of the seal cave at high tide,

which is a great deed for a woman.”

“What have you been saying to her?” asked Wi.

“Who can remember what he said days ago?” answered Pag. “Give me food,

for I am as empty as a whelkshell upon the midden.”

While Pag ate, Wi went down to the seashore. He did not know for what

reason he went, unless it was because the sea had taken Laleela from

him, as once it gave her to him, and therefore he wished to look upon

it. So there he stood, staring at the gray and quiet sea, till

presently, far away upon the edge of the mist that covered it, he saw

something moving.

A fish, he thought to himself, but I don’t know what kind of fish,

since it stays upon the top of the water, which only whales do, and

this fish is too small to be a whale.

There he stood staring idly and caring nothing what sort of fish it

might be, till presently he noted, although it was still so far away

and so hidden by mist wreaths, that the thing was not a fish at all.

Yet it reminded him of something. Of what did it remind him? Ah! he

knew—of that hollow log in which Laleela had drifted to this shore.

But it was not drifting now; it was being pushed beachward by one who

paddled, one who paddled swiftly.

The gathering light fell on this paddler’s hair, and he saw that it

glinted yellow. Then Wi knew that Laleela was the paddler and ran out

into the sea up to his middle. On she came, not seeing him until he

hailed her. Then she paused breathless and the canoe glided up to him.

“Where have you been?” he asked angrily. “Know that I have been much

troubled about you.”

“Is it so?” she gasped, looking at him in an odd fashion. “Well, we

will talk of that afterward. Meanwhile, learn, Wi, that many people

descend on you, coming in boats like this, only larger. I have fled

away from them to warn you.”

“Many people!” said Wi. “How can that be? There are not other people,

unless they be yours that you have brought upon us.”

“Nay, nay,” she answered, “these are quite different; moreover, they

come from the north, not from the south. To shore now, and quickly,

for I think that they are very fierce.”

Then she paddled on beachward, Wi wading alongside of her.

They reached the shore, where some who had seen the canoe had

gathered, among them Moananga and Pag. It was dragged upon the sand,

and Laleela climbed out of it stiffly, helped by Wi. Indeed, she sank

down upon the sand as though she were very tired.

“Tell us your story,” said Wi, his eyes fixed upon her as though he

feared lest she should vanish away again.

“It is short, Chief,” she answered. “Being weary of the land, I

thought that I would float upon the sea for a while. Therefore I took

my boat and paddled out to sea for my pleasure.”

“You lie, Laleela,” said Wi rudely. “Still, go on.”

“So I paddled far, the weather being calm, toward the end of the great

point of rocks which lies out yonder, though perhaps you have never

seen it,” she continued, smiling faintly.

“There, last evening at the sundown, suddenly I saw a great number of

boats coming from the north and rounding the point of rock as though

they were following the shore line. They were big boats, each of them

holding many men, hideous-looking and hairy men. They caught sight of

me and yelled at me with harsh voices in a talk I did not understand.

I turned and fled before them. They followed after, but the night came

down and saved me. Sometimes, however, the moon shone out between the

clouds and they caught sight of me again. Then at last her face was

covered up and I paddled on through the mist and darkness, having seen

the outline of these hills and knowing which way to row. I think that