Firesong (13 page)

Late that afternoon, unable to go further, they drew the wagon to a stop and tethered the horses and the cows beside it. Then they pulled the weather covers outwards from the high hoops, spreading them over the beasts like the skirts of a dress, and laced tight all the slits. The Manth people then crowded in with the beasts: men, women and children together, to share warmth as they slept.

Creoth slept between two of his cows. They seemed to understand that such closeness was necessary; or perhaps they were just too weak to protest; but they settled down quietly among the unfamiliar crowd.

‘Squeeze close to each other,’ said Hanno. ‘That way we’ll hold our heat.’

A pale silver light filtered between the cracks, reflected from the surrounding snow into the shadowy shelter. Pinto, still weak from her illness, crept close to her mother. Kestrel lay down on her other side, and timidly laid one arm over her. When Pinto didn’t object, she huddled up close. Bowman lay with his arms round his father, and behind him, Mumpo and Mrs Chirish pressed against him. The Mimilith family, all five of them, had drawn Scooch into their heap, and half across Scooch lay Tanner Amos and his sister Sarel. Sarel Amos held Ashar in her arms. The two had become close since the terrors of their captivity. The big Shim boys slept with Miller Marish and his two little girls. And so it went on, every one of them twined up with others, burrowing for warmth as the day ended outside, and the hard winter night set in.

The last to join the great huddle was Mist the cat. The moon was already in the sky when he found his way under the canopy and between the wheels. He stalked delicately over the sleeping people to where Bowman lay. There in the crook of Bowman’s legs he found a snug hole in which to curl up. He scratched at Bowman’s clothing to arrange it in more comfortable folds, and settled himself too down to sleep.

Some time in the night snow began to fall once again, more heavily and more steadily than before. When the Manth people woke, early and chilled, they saw the covers sagging low above them, and knew they were heavy with snow. Mo Mimilith, who was the first to venture out, found that the snow was lying two feet up the sloping canopy, and he had to beat a path through the drifts. Outside it was snowing still, the visible world shrunk to a curtain of swirling white flakes.

Rollo Shim was next out, limping on his hurt leg; then Bowman, and Mumpo. Even a bare few paces away, the wagon with its tented covering and all the people and beasts within disappeared, lost in the engulfing whiteness. The young men trudged off through the snow, needing to empty their bladders, but they dared not go far. Even where the snow had not drifted, it lay knee-deep on the ground.

‘The wagon’ll never move in this,’ said Rollo Shim.

Bowman nodded, brushing off the snow that was settling on his head.

‘We’ll have to wait,’ he said.

They built their last fire beside the wagon shelter, and with difficulty managed to get it to light even as the snow went on falling. The people were quiet, subdued by the gravity of their plight. Everyone understood that there was no point in struggling on in such conditions. They must wait for the skies to clear, and the snow on the ground to freeze, so that it would bear the weight of the wagon. No one asked how long they would have to wait, or what they were to do when the fuel ran out. Their eyes, however, turned again and again towards Hanno and Ira Hath, as if to say, You led us here. You must save us.

When the fire was hot they boiled a pot of water and melted the last of the sourgum in it. This made a sweet tangy drink that warmed their stomachs. As they drank, their spirits revived; and with new strength came a new willingness to face their predicament.

‘So tell us, Hanno,’ said Miko Mimilith. ‘How bad is it?’

‘You know all that I know,’ said Hanno.

‘Well then, what I know is that we can’t stay here, or we’ll freeze and starve. And we can’t go on, because the snow’s too deep. So I say it’s bad.’

‘Yes, Miko. It’s bad.’

It was necessary to feed the fire with logs all the time, to keep the core of heat strong enough to melt the falling snow. Each time Bek Shim went to the wagon bed and returned with another log, the people round the fire asked him,

‘How much more, Bek?’

‘Not so much,’ he said.

Still the snow fell. Almost the worst of it for the Manth people was not being on the move, not going anywhere, not being able to see more than a few yards in any one direction. Fearful and helpless, their spirits sank as the day wore on. Tempers began to fray. There were mutterings in corners, and some were heard to say it was all the fault of the Haths.

Then Bek Shim brought the very last log from the wagon, and put it on the fire, and straightening himself up, said to those near enough to hear.

‘That’s all.’

The word rippled through the people.

‘No more firewood! No more firewood!’

As if hypnotised, they stared at the glowing fire, which already, it seemed to their frightened eyes, was dwindling and dying before them.

‘Hanno Hath,’ said a grave old voice. ‘What is to become of us?’

It was Seldom Erth. He was a man who had always prided himself on seeing clearly, and facing hard facts. He had no wish to blame Hanno. What use was blame now?

‘I don’t know,’ said Hanno.

‘I make no complaint,’ said the old man. ‘But if I’m to die, I want to know, so that I can prepare my mind.’

‘It may come to that,’ said Hanno. ‘I hope not.’

‘You hope not?’ This was Cheer Warmish, speaking with bitterness. ‘I hoped my husband wouldn’t die, but he’s dead. What use is your hope to me? Don’t tell me any more of your dreams. We all know it’s over for us, so why pretend otherwise?’

Hanno looked from Cheer Warmish to all the other pale faces watching him.

‘If I’ve failed you,’ he said quietly, ‘I ask for your forgiveness. I have believed that one day we Manth people, few as we are, will reach our homeland, and our wanderings will be over. I have believed that so long as we stay true to our goal, whatever the hardship, we will live to see that day. I still believe it, even now, as I watch the dying of our last fire. I will believe it after the ashes lie cold under the snow. I will believe it until the moment I die. And after I’m dead, my children will believe it.’

He fell silent. For a few moments, no one spoke. Ira Hath squeezed his hand. Bowman was filled with a fierce stinging pride that made him want to cry, which he refused to do. He felt the same feeling in Kestrel, and reached out to her with his mind.

He’s the strongest of us all.

I love him so much
, responded Kestrel.
So much.

Then Scooch stood up. It was comical to see how this shy little man felt he must stand to command their attention. He had never made a speech before, and mumbled rather, but they could all hear him well enough.

‘I just want to say,’ he began, ‘I just want to tell Mr Hath, it’s not so much a case of forgiving, it’s more like a case of thanking. Speaking for myself, that is. I well remember back in Aramanth how I was a floor sweeper in the brickworks, and had been all my grown life, and thought it was all I was good for. It was Mr Hath who showed me how to believe I could do more. That’s how I came to biscuits, and from biscuits to pastries, and from pastries to respect. I have Mr Hath to thank for that. I was proud to follow him on this march to our homeland. And if our fate is now to die here in the snow, well, I’m proud to die with him, too.’

He gave a little bow in Hanno’s direction, and abruptly sat down. These two speeches, by Hanno and Scooch, had a paradoxical effect. Because both said in plain words that they might die, the terror of dying began to fade. Every one of them had been thinking it. Now they all thought it together, and took strength from each other.

Young Ashar Warmish whispered to her mother,

‘If we die we’ll see papa again, won’t we? So we don’t have to mind so much.’

Jet Marish, the smallest of the children, not really understanding, asked her father,

‘What happens when you die? What does it feel like?’

‘Like going to sleep,’ Miller Marish told her.

It was Pinto who thought to put the direct question to her mother. After all, Ira Hath was a prophetess.

‘Will we all die, ma?’

‘I don’t see how it can be otherwise,’ said Ira slowly. ‘And yet, even here in this snowstorm, I feel the warmth of the homeland on my face. Perhaps something will happen.’

This wasn’t exactly a prophecy, but it was cheering nonetheless. Old Seldom Erth pulled out some of the dwindling store of hay for his horses. Creoth saw to the watering of his cows. The cat, annoyed by the falling snow, left the group round the fire and retreated to the shelter of the wagon.

As the heat of the fire faded, the people followed the cat under cover, and sought the warmth of each other’s bodies, as they had done in the night. Here in the grey half-light they felt the surrounding cold press in on them, and steal the heat from their fingers and toes. They began to accept now that it was really going to happen, that they were living through their last few hours. The cold didn’t hurt them, it made them sleepy. They knew that once they surrendered to the creeping drowsiness, they would not wake again.

In this shadowy half-light they began to tell each other things they had never said before; things that had long weighed on their minds. They were like travellers who come to a wide river, and know that they must enter the water, and one by one they lay down their belongings, and then strip off their clothes, so that they can swim unburdened to the other side.

Tanner Amos knelt before Hanno and Ira Hath, and kissed their hands, and said,

‘Forgive me for hating you after my Pia died. I was wrong. But I was so unhappy.’

Sisi said to Lunki,

‘I’ve never thanked you, Lunki, for all the years you’ve cared for me. I couldn’t live without you.’

‘Oh, my pet! As if I’d ever let you! Caring for you is as natural to me as breathing. I can’t stop now.’

Pinto crept up close to Kestrel and whispered to her,

‘I’m sorry I said those terrible things. I don’t want to kill you at all. I’m just a hateful rat-child, like Mumpo says.’

‘No, you’re not,’ said Kestrel, kissing her. ‘You’re my own sister and you can kill me as much as you want and I’ll still love you.’

‘Can I ask you to do something for me, Kess? For me. Not for anyone else.’

‘Yes. Anything.’

‘Be kind to Mumpo.’

Kestrel bit her lip to stop the tears rising to her eyes.

‘I’ll be as kind as I can,’ she said.

Bowman was watching Sisi, who was sitting alone now, her back very straight, her eyes gazing far away. He wanted to speak to her, but was not sure what he wanted to say. Then she turned and met his eyes, and inclined her head, in the manner of a princess who says, You may approach me. So he went to her.

‘Well, Bowman,’ she said. ‘Where is the one who was to come for you?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps I was wrong.’

‘How can you be wrong? Aren’t you the chosen one?’

‘Are you laughing at me, Sisi?’

‘Only a little. Do you mind?’

‘No. I don’t mind.’

‘You can laugh at me, too. Do you know what I wish?’

‘What do you wish, Sisi?’

‘I wish the stinging fly would come again.’

But Bowman didn’t laugh. He took her slender hand in his, and kissed it gently. Her skin was very cold against his lips.

Kestrel sought out Mumpo, as she had promised. She found him in a far corner, and they put their arms round each other, because time was running out and they were so cold.

‘Do your wounds still hurt you very much, Mumpo?’

‘Not the wounds,’ he replied. ‘Only thinking that I’m no use any more.’

‘But that’s not true!’

‘Before, I knew that even if I was slow and stupid, I was a good fighter. So I thought, I’ll always have that for Kess. I’ll fight for her. That’s how I’ll show her I love her. But now, I don’t even have that any more.’

He spoke without self pity, as if he was saying no more than the simple truth. Kestrel knew she could only respond in the same way, out of respect for him.

‘I know you love me,’ she said, ‘and I’m proud that you do. I wish I could feel the same way. But that’s not how I am.’

‘It doesn’t matter now,’ said Mumpo, holding her close.

‘It’s not you, Mumpo, it’s me. I can’t love anybody the way you love me. If I could, I’d love you back. You’re good and you’re strong, and there’s no one I’d like to love more. But I’m wrong inside, Mumpo. Please forgive me.’

‘Nothing to forgive,’ said Mumpo, happier now than he’d been for a long time. ‘You’re my friend, Kess. You changed my life. The day you became my friend, my life became worth something. Friends love each other, don’t they? If we’re truly going to die here, I don’t mind so much, because I know we love each other a little.’

‘More than a little. As much as I can.’

‘Well, then. I’m not alone, am I? It’s not so hard to die when you’re not alone.’

‘Oh, Mumpo. You’re so very, very dear.’

She kissed his face, many times. Then, quickly, she slipped out of his arms, and between the flaps of the cover, into the falling snow.

She walked and walked, plunging her legs into the deep snow, moving fast, weak and cold as she was, needing to get away from everyone, needing to be on her own. When the veil of snow surrounded her on all sides and she could no longer see the encampment, she came to a stop. Unable to help herself, she started to sob aloud. Tears rolled down her cheeks, warm on her chilled skin. She wrapped her arms round her chest and felt her body being wracked with a terrible wrenching sadness.

It had started when she was with Mumpo. She had felt it so clearly, his simple goodness, his power of love, his feeling that he was worth something: and with it had come a mounting despair about herself. She was neither simple nor good. She had no love in her, apart from for Bowman, and that was as much the life force in her as anything that could be called love. She was worth nothing. She took without giving, let herself be loved without loving, and was not, not at all, content to die. She felt in Mumpo a generosity that accepted death as gladly as he accepted life. There was no generosity in her. There was bitterness and rage at this slow freezing of the blood.