Firesong (12 page)

She turned and ran and ran and ran.

No one noticed her absence. The return of the captured girls occupied the attention of all. As the winter sun rose, the Manth people gathered round the wagon, and there was meat to eat and water to drink, and the whole story to tell. By the time Pinto came creeping back, miserable and shivering, she found everyone listening as Kestrel told about Rufy Blesh, and how he had helped them escape.

‘Whatever wrong he’s done to us,’ she said, ‘he’s paid for it now.’

Pinto looked from Kestrel to Mumpo, and shivered and felt ill and sad, and thought how no one cared for her at all and perhaps she’d die and then they’d be sorry.

Ira Hath heard what Kestrel had said with compassion.

‘Poor boy. These are cruel times.’

Kestrel was remembering how, back in the long ago days of Aramanth, Rufy Blesh had written a poem, and it had won a prize. Now, rather than the bitter young man who had run away from the Mastery, or the bandit with the bleeding and disfigured face, she remembered the boy who had written the poem.

No, I’m not sad

And though I say nothing

I want to talk.

I’m waiting for you to smile

Then I’ll smile too

And we can begin.

Are you like me?

Does it go on for ever

Waiting to smile?

7

The dying of the last fire

W
hen the march began again, Mumpo insisted on taking his place at the head, alongside Bowman. His wounds were healing, and he walked with his usual loping stride, but Bowman could tell that he was in pain.

‘Why not ride in the wagon for a while, with Rollo?’

‘Rollo can’t walk without limping. I can.’

‘The pain’s stealing your strength, Mumpo. I can feel it.’

‘So long as I can march, I’ll march.’

A cry went up from the group by the wagon.

‘Bowman! Get Bowman!’

Bowman turned and ran back. He raced past Creoth, who was trudging along behind his cows. One of the cows, startled by Bowman’s pounding feet, shied and bolted across his path, narrowly missing him.

‘Whoa, Tawny!’ cried Creoth. ‘What’s got into you, girl?’

Bowman found his father holding Pinto tight in his arms. She was screaming and twisting. Her face was bleeding.

‘Go away! Leave me alone! I hate you all! I’ll kill you, I’ll cut off your head, I love you, don’t look at me, I’ll claw out your eyes, Come closer, Hold me, Hurt me, Hurt you, Love you, aah! Aaahh! Kill me! Murderer! Monster! Aah! Aaahh!’

‘She’s scratching herself,’ said Kestrel, with tears in her eyes. ‘Really badly.’

‘Get out!’ shrieked Pinto, trying to free her hands. ‘I hate you! I’ll kill you!’

Bowman needed only one glance at those bleeding scratches.

‘It’s in her,’ he said. ‘It’s the stinging fly.’

Mumpo now caught up with them. The sight of him sent Pinto into a further passion of violent screaming.

‘I want Mumpo! Make him love me! He’s not to love Kess! Don’t look at me, I’ll kill you, kill Kess, cut off her head, tear out her eyes! Mumpo – aah! Aaahhh!’

‘Don’t listen to her, Kess! Move back, Mumpo! It’s not her talking.’

Kestrel and Mumpo both moved back, out of Pinto’s line of sight, avoiding each other’s eyes. Bowman was forming a rapid plan, ignoring Pinto’s delirious shrieks.

‘Creoth!’ he called. ‘Rope one of your cows! Get help. Hold it tight.’

To his father, who was struggling to keep hold of Pinto as she thrashed in his arms, he said,

‘If there’s only one fly, I think I can make it so it never returns.’

Creoth understood Bowman’s command, though not the reason for it. He and Bek Shim got a rope round one of the cows’ horns, and braced themselves to hold the animal still between them.

‘There, Star, my Star, my beauty,’ said Creoth, trying to soothe the terrified cow. But the cow became increasingly agitated, and tried to escape.

‘Hold it still!’ called Bowman.

Sisi, who like everyone else had gathered to watch the bewildering events, saw what was needed to be done. She went to the blanket pile, pulled out a blanket, and threw it over the frightened cow’s head. The cow became still at once, turning its blinded head this way and that, unsure what had happened.

Bowman and Hanno, meanwhile, holding Pinto between them, carried her towards the cow. Pinto fought, struggled and shrieked every inch of the way.

‘Get away from me! Kill me! Save me! Aaaahh! Hurt me!’

Her screams were terrible, but Bowman paid no attention. Holding her locked in his arms, while Hanno gripped her jerking legs, he carried her close to the blanket-covered cow. The scene would have been comical had it not been so pitiful, to see Pinto so deranged and the cow so helpless.

‘Everyone move back!’ ordered Bowman.

‘Murderer! Monster! Let me go! Aaahh!’

Creoth and Bek Shim braced themselves on the ropes that held the cow’s horns, as Bowman forced his struggling sister close up to the cow’s covered head. There, once in position, he pressed his cheek to Pinto’s bloody cheek, and pushed his way into her mind. This time he went straight for the invader, and found it, huge and fat, swelling within her. He grasped it tight, and squeezed it, and pulled. Little by little he felt its grasp give way, for though plumper than before, it was not as strong. As he dragged it out from within her he sensed that it was shrinking, dwindling from the fat grub back to the tiny buzzing fly. Then with one last tug he had it out, and hurled it directly into the head of the terrified cow. For a moment he heard the high faint whine. He saw the cow’s head shudder beneath the blanket. He felt his sister go still in his arms.

‘Alright, pa. You can let go now.’

Hanno lowered Pinto’s legs to the ground. Bowman kept her folded safe in his arms. He kissed her cheek, his lips tasting the sweat and blood already drying on her skin. To his father and mother, anxiously watching, he said,

‘She’ll be alright now.’

Kestrel came forward and lightly stroked Pinto’s hair, as she lay in her sleep of exhaustion. Bowman felt her distress.

It wasn’t her talking, Kess.

Wasn’t it?

She gave him a look of such sadness that he didn’t know what more to say.

The cow, still tethered by the horns, let out a low bellow.

‘Let the cow go,’ said Bowman. ‘Keep away from her.’

Creoth pulled away the blanket, and the cow rolled its eyes. He untied the ropes from its horns.

‘There, my Star. It’s all over now.’

The cow bellowed again, a great mournful heartbreaking sound.

‘There now, Star! There, my Star!’

Creoth stroked the animal’s neck and flank with his big soothing hands. The cow shifted from hoof to hoof, splaying out its legs, and started to shiver violently. Its whole hide shivered.

‘What is it, Star? Bowman, what have you done?’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Bowman. ‘I had to do it. Don’t stay too close to her. The thing is in her.’

‘Oh, my poor girl! My poor girl!’

He hadn’t left the cow’s side.

Pinto now reopened her eyes and started to gulp in air as if she had been suffocated.

‘You’re alright now. It’s come out of you now.’

‘Oh, Bo! It was horrible! I wanted – I wanted – I wanted to tear my own face off! It was there, just beneath my face! I had to tear – to dig –’

‘No more. Hush now. It’s gone now.’

She was crying, great sobbing tears of relief. Bowman handed her into their mother’s arms.

Creoth tugged at Bowman.

‘You must take it out of my poor Star, Bowman. You must save my Star.’

‘No, Creoth. I won’t do that. So long as the thing stays in Star, the rest of us are safe.’

‘But she doesn’t understand. See how she rolls her eyes! She knows something’s wrong, but she doesn’t know what.’ The cow moaned again, even more piteously. ‘Take it out of her, and put it in me.’

‘No,’ said Bowman. ‘It’s best this way.’

‘Why must Star suffer? She never did any harm to any living creature. I’ve led a life of idleness. Let me be driven mad.’

‘No,’ said Bowman.

‘You’d bring torment on an innocent beast?’

‘Yes, Creoth. I do it, not you. I’m the one who must live with that. You are free to love and to grieve.’

Bowman’s sad wisdom awed Creoth.

‘Beard of my ancestors!’ he exclaimed. ‘You’re growing up fast.’

The cow began to swing its head from side to side. Then it let out a new sound, a bellow of rage, and lunged with its horns at Creoth’s body. Creoth jumped back, caught by surprise.

‘Star! It’s me!’

‘It’s not Star any more,’ said Bowman. ‘Let her go.’

The cow veered about and cantered away, snorting and bellowing, to come to a stop a hundred paces distant.

‘I can’t just leave her,’ said Creoth.

‘No,’ said Bowman. ‘We can’t leave her.’

‘What can I do?’

‘I think you know.’

The cowman who had once been an emperor turned his bearded face to meet Bowman’s steady gaze.

‘Please,’ he said. ‘Anything but that.’

‘I’ll do it.’

‘Oh, Bowman! How you’ve changed.’

‘I’ve seen what it does to my sister, and my father, and Sisi. I won’t let it follow us any further.’

Creoth turned and looked towards the tormented cow, and then back to Bowman.

‘How is it to be done?’

Bowman laid one hand on his short sword.

‘And if we do it, what then?’

‘Then the thing is trapped in the cow’s body, and we bury the body, and we hope it is never released again.’

The cow bent her forelegs and slumped to the ground. There she lay, her hide shivering, rolling her eyes.

‘Will her suffering ever end?’

‘No,’ said Bowman. ‘The thing will grow inside her until she’s driven mad, and will do anything to be free of it. You saw the man we buried by the roadside.’

‘Yes. I saw him.’

Creoth bowed his head, and did not speak for a few moments. When he looked up again, his expression had changed. He had aged.

‘She knows me,’ he said. ‘I won’t leave her now to the mercy of strangers.’ He held out his hand. ‘Give me your sword.’

‘Are you sure you can do this?’

‘If she’ll let me,’ he replied.

Bowman gave him his sword. Creoth went alone to where the cow lay, and sat down beside her. The cow let out a long moan. Creoth laid an arm over the animal’s neck.

‘The long prison of the years unlocks its iron door,’ he said softly. ‘Go free now, into the beautiful land.’

His quiet voice seemed to calm the cow. She turned her sorrowful eyes to meet his.

‘Forgive us who suffer in this clouded world.’

He raised the sword in his right hand, and turned the point of the blade downwards, above the back of the cow’s head, where the skull joins the neck.

‘Guide us and wait for us, as we wait for you.’

The cow uttered a quiet murmuring sound, as if in answer.

‘We will meet again. We will, my Star. We will meet again.’

He struck quickly and hard, knowing his kindness depended on the power of the blow. The sword drove true. The cow’s head dropped to the hard ground. For a moment, before the blood flowed, he stroked the dead face. Then he rose and walked back to Bowman, and gave him back his sword.

Bowman said, ‘That was well done.’

‘Don’t talk to me!’ Creoth’s voice cracked like a whip. ‘Not one word!’

He turned to his cows, of which only three now remained, and sought comfort among their slow movements.

The days were colder now, and shorter. Each morning there was a hard frost, and the sun rose dazzling bright into an ice-clear sky. The wagon-wheels locked to the axles, and had to be clubbed loose with blows from a sledge hammer. Meals were carefully rationed, so that the meat and the sourgum would last many days. The urgent shortage now was of firewood. One modest fire was no longer enough. A big fire must be built, morning and evening, to thaw out people and animals, and boil water, and soften the frost-stiffened leather harness. Already the bare boards of the wagon bed could be seen through the wood stack. Without fire, as the winter hardened around them, the Manth people knew they had no hope of reaching the distant mountains.

All that day and into dusk the Manth people trudged on, and clouds formed in the sky to the north. That night snow fell while they slept, and they woke to a white world. Snow had drifted through the gaps in the wind-covers beneath which they lay, and formed a frozen crust on their hair and clothing. The firewood too was deep under snow, and had to be knocked log against log before it would burn. While they waited for the fire to catch they jumped up and down, banging their arms by their sides, to send the chilled blood flowing through their veins.

The ice in the water barrels had to be broken with hammers, and stirred with sticks to stop it freezing over again. The cows no longer gave milk. Their feed was too meagre, and the cold too hard. Such energy as was left in their bony frames was needed to keep them alive.

Bek Shim came to Hanno Hath to ask how much firewood he was to break out for the fire. It was not an easy question to answer.

‘As little as possible,’ said Hanno. But after a moment’s thought he changed his mind. A small fire that failed to warm them was a waste of fuel.

‘The same as yesterday,’ he said.

Bek Shim shook his head.

‘That will leave enough for one more day,’ he said.

‘I know,’ said Hanno. ‘We must hope for kinder weather.’

The sun stayed hidden by clouds all that day, but no more snow fell as the marchers plodded on across the endless plain. In front, the smooth untouched whiteness stretched as far as the eye could see. Behind, the deep ruts of the wagon wheels, and the beaten snow where horses and cows and people had passed. The pace of the march was slowing down. The horses found it heavy going, hauling the wagon through the snow; and the people, their boots sinking to the ankles with each step, were soon wearied.