The Days of the Deer (14 page)

The white-tailed luku felt that his message had been understood, and that they had sealed a pact of loyalty.

‘Wait, luku! I will tell my people to prepare an offering in honour of you and your army. We have little more than maize beer, but I think it will be refreshing for you. Drink, it will
give you strength for your journey.’ The Pastor’s smile revealed his black, decaying teeth.

The Pastors told the lukus they would take them to a place where they could celebrate. This was a piece of flat ground surrounded by dunes covered in thorn bushes. The only entrance was along a
narrow path that the lukus found hard to walk down. On the sand in the centre of the hollow, the Pastors had spread a rush carpet. They placed bowls full of their maize beer in the centre. The sun
beat down on the offering.

Exhausted from the heat and their days of travelling, the island creatures tasted the slightly acid maize beer with great pleasure: all the more so as it was cool from being kept in jars under
the sand.

The Pastors did not join in the celebration. Drawn up in two lines on either side of the lukus, they watched them drink. They watched anxiously. They watched them ...

After their encounter in the forest clearing, Cucub and Dulkancellin never saw the lukus again.

Now that the rain had stopped, their trek became easier, so that they soon reached the river on the border. They were at the edge of their territory, and the Earth Wizard had still not
appeared.

‘It’s odd we have not seen Kupuka,’ Dulkancellin commented to his companion. ‘He assured us we would see him again before we left the Ends of the Earth. And he would not
go back on his word except for a very serious reason.’

‘I agree with you,’ Cucub replied, and was even more surprised at his answer than was Dulkancellin.

With the purpose of resting and waiting for Kupuka, the two men decided to halt on the banks of the Marshy River. They walked inland from the estuary until they came to clear water, and bathed
for a long while. Then they washed their clothes in the river and spread them out to dry in the sun. Beside them they laid out all their belongings so that they could dry out too. This was a good
moment to get some respite, because from now on they would have to redouble their precautions.

The Zitzahay looked for a strong branch, and sharpened one end. He waded back into the river up to his knees, then stood stock still with his improvised harpoon raised in one hand. Twice he
plunged it into the river without success. The third time he speared a big fish. So big that after they had flavoured it with herbs and cooked it on hot stones it made a real feast. All this food
left them feeling sleepy, and they decided to rest under the shade of a tree. When they awoke, the sun had set and Kupuka had still not appeared. The Earth Wizard was taking too long: the
travellers knew they could wait no longer. Reluctantly, they put their dry clothes back on, swung their bags on their backs, and set off once more.

Dulkancellin and Cucub crossed the bridge under a full moon that shimmered on the desert sand.

They walked all through the night. At first light, the north wind brought bad news.

‘There’s a smell of death,’ said Dulkancellin, sniffing the air. ‘The wind reeks of death.’

As they walked on, the stench became stronger.

‘It’s coming from over there,’ said the warrior, pointing to a circle of high dunes to the north-east of their path. The gaggle of carrion and their dreadful screeching told
Dulkancellin that they had a lot to feast on.

‘Cucub, we have to go and see what has happened.’

The Zitzahay tried to persuade him otherwise.

‘What are you saying? We have to avoid the Pastors. That means we should aim back towards the coast. And if I am not mistaken, those dunes are in the opposite direction. If we do as you
suggest it would be disobeying orders and running a terrible risk!’

‘Even so, we have to do it.’

‘Why do we “have to”?’ said Cucub. ‘Why go out of our way for a dead llamel?’

‘The stench on the breeze cannot be due to one dead llamel.’

‘All right,’ Cucub admitted. ‘Let’s say there are lots of them.’

‘I trust I am wrong, but I have the feeling this is something far more serious. Anyway, if you are right we will only lose the time it takes us to reach the dunes and return. They are not
far off, so we will not be long.’

With this, the Husihuilke set off towards the dunes. The Zitzahay followed. He was muttering complaints and conjectures until the fetid odour silenced him too. As they drew nearer to the dunes,
it became harder and harder to breathe. In a short while, they were struggling up a steep mound of sand. Cucub made no great effort to catch up with Dulkancellin, who had strode on ahead of him.
Even though they were both protecting their noses and mouths with their cloaks, it was not enough. Cucub doubled up several times, overcome by the foul smell. Dulkancellin also had to fight against
rising tides of nausea.

‘Over here, Zitzahay! I’ve found a path.’

The path was a narrow gap through the thorn bushes, leading to the top of the dunes. From there they could look down into the hollow below. When they did, they immediately wished they had never
come to this spot. Scattered all over the patch of ground, their bodies pecked at by hundreds of beaks, the luku army lay rotting in the sun.

Unable to bear what he was seeing, Cucub closed his eyes. His one thought was that he never wanted to open them again. Perhaps because he had often returned to battlefields in search of his
dead, the Husihuilke warrior forced himself to be strong.

‘Stay here,’ he ordered the Zitzahay. ‘I’m going down there to find out why all the lukus died. And if I can, I’ll try to save the White Stone.’

Dulkancellin rushed down the slope through the thorn bushes. His presence disturbed the birds of prey, though they merely flew up and circled overhead, waiting for the first opportunity to renew
their banquet.

It was midday in the desert. In the burning heat, the Husihuilke searched among the dead bodies for the luku elder. Some of the corpses lay with their faces to the sky. Others had fallen face
downwards, or were piled up in a heap. Dulkancellin pulled them from each other, trying to find the luku with the long beard he had met only a few days before. But all their faces were grimaces of
pain, too similar in death.

Feeling giddy and sick, Dulkancellin carried out his task as if in a dream. He had not achieved anything, apart from confirming that the lukus had not died fighting. At that moment, a noise made
him raise his head. Along the top of the dune he saw two lines of Pastors, already drawing back their bows. And they had Cucub with them!

14

Cucub walked in front of Dulkancellin, with the Desert Pastors urging them on
as quickly as possible.

The Pastors resting in the shade of their tents were amazed to see two strangers arriving, flanked by the desert guards. They ran out to meet them. Neither Cucub nor Dulkancellin could
understand either the questions asked or the replies given, because the Pastors were speaking in their own tongue. They imagined, however, that they were to be taken to see the chief. And they were
not wrong.

The group came to a halt outside a tent that was no different to any of the others. Two Pastors who, to judge by their bearing, must be in positions of command, disappeared inside and did not
reappear until several hours later. By this time it was growing dark in the desert; the wait continued by the light of the first campfires. Cucub held his head in his hands, dejected at the result
of what he saw as their disobeying of the orders they had received. Faithful to his habit of only being concerned with the present, the Husihuilke warrior was busy studying the area in which they
were being held captive.

All of a sudden, the tent flap opened. One of the men inside poked his head out and shouted an order. The two strangers were immediately bundled inside. The roof of the tent was so low that
Dulkancellin could not stand upright. Perhaps for this reason, or because this was the custom, the man who appeared to be the chief signalled the two men to sit on a mat. He himself remained seated
on a high pile of llamel skins. Perched there, and with a cloak covering his entire body, he looked far more imposing than he would have done standing.

‘The lukus came here to tell us of their fears over what is about to happen. Now my men tell me they have found them all dead in the desert. And that you, stranger, were searching among
their bodies. The lukus were our guests. Now they all lie dead in a hollow ... Who are you, and what do you know about these deaths?’ The Pastor chief spoke the Natural Language unclearly,
mixing it with the guttural sounds of his own tongue.

The two men were sure that the lukus had told the Pastor about the Great Council soon to be held in Beleram, and of the warning from the White Stone. They also knew that if they were not
completely honest they would never reach the House of the Stars in time. What then of the command to keep the true reason for their journey a secret? Was that not one of the strictest instructions
they had received?

Cucub and Dulkancellin exchanged glances. The secret was already fatally wounded. They, though, could still reach their destination. The Zitzahay, who was more skilled at speaking, took the lead
and explained who they were and where they were headed.

‘We too spoke to the lukus,’ he said, by way of conclusion. ‘In the forest, two days’ march before the Marshy River. Later, the stench of death led us to the place where
we found them. My companion was not rummaging among their corpses. He was searching for—’ All at once, Cucub decided not to mention the White Stone. ‘He was searching for the
cause of their death. It seems as though there is someone roaming these deserts. Someone apart from you and us.’

Unfortunately, this revelation did not produce the result Cucub and Dulkancellin had been hoping for. The reply they received seemed friendly enough, but it was not what they would have liked to
hear.

‘I believe what you have told us, stranger from the Remote Realm. I think it is true you were sent to take this Husihuilke to the House of the Stars by the Astronomers. I believe you . . .
but I must tell you it is our Head Herdsman whom you have to convince. He is the one who must decide if you will be allowed to continue with your journey. We know he is on his way, and trust he
will soon be here. But until he does we will keep you with us.’

‘Please understand! We must make all haste. We are already late, and many people are awaiting us. Let us be on our way!’

Cucub’s urgent appeal had no effect.

‘That cannot be. But do not worry, the Head Herdsman will be here soon. I promise to speak on your behalf. When he gives his approval, we will supply you with llamels to cross the desert
more speedily.’

With that, the chief spoke to the other Pastors in the tent in their own language. Afterwards, to show his consideration, he explained what he had told them.

‘I have ordered these men to search. I’ve told them to try to discover what happened to the lukus.’

Dulkancellin understood that for the moment there was no point insisting. He contented himself with asking a favour on behalf of the dead lukus, towards whom he had a longstanding debt.

‘I beg you also to order a proper burial for them,’ he said.

The Pastor chief settled on one elbow. His silence could have been taken as agreement.

‘That silence troubles me,’ said Cucub.

‘That silence ...’ Dulkancellin could not forget it either.

The two men were talking together. They were shut in an old building that served as a grain store, a barn when the flocks were having their young, and a shelter against sandstorms. It smelt of
damp and manure. The only light came in through a small opening near the roof.

‘We have been here too long,’ said Dulkancellin.

‘Four suns. The one beginning to appear outside now will make it five,’ Cucub replied.

The warrior paced up and down the floor of their prison.

‘I dreamt of the lukus again last night,’ he said. ‘At first it was just as before. They appeared in my dream in the same way as they appeared to us in that hollow. I went down
towards them ... but before I could touch them, I awoke with a start. This time, though, the lukus waited for me to fall asleep again, then came back to my dreams.’ Only then did the warrior
seem to remember he was not alone: ‘Listen, Cucub! The only wounds I saw on the lukus’ bodies were made by those birds. Death did not come from outside. It came from within, and caused
them great pain. They must have swallowed some strong poison.’

‘You’ve said the same thing countless times in these past few days,’ Cucub complained. ‘Don’t you have anything new to add?’

‘I could add that this second dream left me feeling very uneasy.’

Cucub began to pay more attention.

‘What do you mean?’ he wanted to know.

‘I dreamt that the lukus were drinking maize beer. A rush carpet was spread out on the sand, with bowls filled to the brim placed on it. The lukus seemed contented. So did the Pastors, but
they were not drinking ... they were waiting.’