The Days of the Deer (15 page)

‘What were they waiting for, Dulkancellin?’

‘They were waiting to see the lukus die.’

This jolted Cucub fully awake.

‘Brother warrior, tell me what you are thinking.’

‘I think we need to save ourselves. We are not to blame for what happened to the lukus. And I am beginning to think that no one here is really interested in finding out either. We must
flee this place, and if we live long enough, we can come back and discover the truth.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ said Cucub. ‘If I succeed in getting out of here, I never want to return.’

The sound of the bar on the door being lifted interrupted their conversation. One Pastor entered with their food; another stood on guard at the entrance. The breeze wafting in through the
opening gave the two men more satisfaction than the scrap of dried meat and warm gruel they were given each morning.

‘Is this the Pastors’ hospitality?’ said Cucub, not expecting any answer. ‘Tell your chief from me that in our Remote Realm we treat our guests far better.’

The Pastor did not respond, but placed the clay bowls on the ground and left. No one would come again now until sunset. When Cucub and Dulkancellin were alone, they renewed their
conversation.

‘The Pastor who brings the food is easy to overcome,’ said the warrior.

‘Don’t forget the one at the door.’

‘Of course not!’ said Dulkancellin impatiently. ‘We only need to think of an excuse to bring him inside as well. I can take care of both of them. Then you and I can
escape.’

‘As far as I can see, all you are taking into account is your own strength,’ said Cucub.

‘What else should I be considering?’

The Zitzahay made as if he were looking all around him.

‘That window, for example.’

‘That sounds like nonsense to me. No one could fit through it.’

‘That’s true,’ Cucub agreed. He dropped back onto the straw pallet, then went on: ‘No one who was not the acrobat who enthralled entire villages in the Remote
Realm.’

Dulkancellin knelt beside him, waiting for the Zitzahay to explain more fully.

‘From the first moment we were put in here, I’ve been using my brain. I have an escape plan that has several advantages over yours. To tell you just one: it depends on a clever
trick.’

‘I can see that. What else?’ asked Dulkancellin, unable to believe Cucub was talking seriously.

‘We won’t run the risk of an unequal fight between you and two other people.’

‘I’m willing to take that risk.’

‘I knew you would say that!’

‘What other advantages are there?’

‘We will not have to cross the camp with the Pastors all around us. The best thing is they will not know we have gone until several hours later. Do you accept that this would considerably
reduce the risks?’

‘The risks aren’t that great. We hear every morning when the Pastors leave with their focks.’

‘We also hear the ones who stay in the camp.’

‘That can only be a few of them.’

‘And there will only be a few risks if for once you just listen to somebody other than yourself, Husihuilke of the Ends of the Earth!’ Cucub took a deep breath and controlled
himself: ‘Besides, and this is important, my plan will give us a whole night to get ahead on our journey.’

Dulkancellin knew that the most difficult thing about their escape was not getting out of the camp but managing to put as much distance as possible between them and the Pastors. He was also
aware that the lack of a sentry at the entrance to the store would not go unnoticed for very long.

‘Tell me what you have been thinking,’ he asked.

Soon afterwards, the details of their escape plan were complete.

The Pastors changed the guard four times a day, but only opened the door twice. At first light the man with the meat and broth came in. At sunset they were brought a pitcher of milk. This was
when life returned to the camp, as the Pastors came back from grazing their flocks. Then there was a smell of cooking, the noise of games, songs, laughter. To try to get away then was
unthinkable.

That evening was the same as usual. They were given their milk, the flocks returned, food was cooked over the fires, the men played games and sang. Cucub and Dulkancellin paid particular
attention to this routine; and when the last sound of laughter and talk died down and they were sure everyone in the camp was asleep, they set to their task.

Dulkancellin knelt down and Cucub climbed on his back. Dulkancellin stood up, and the Zitzahay clambered onto his shoulders, then also stood up. This brought him to the edge of the opening,
which he clung on to. Dulkancellin stepped back, but immediately rushed again to his original position, arms outstretched. It was impossible to get through that narrow gap! The little man could not
hold on for long. Certain he would drop from the ledge, the Husihuilke prepared to catch him before he hit the ground. But Cucub hauled himself up, and succeeded in getting head and shoulders
through the opening. Dulkancellin had to accept that for the moment his strong arms were not needed.

Cucub took a deep breath. He had very little room and had to take advantage of every nook and cranny. He pushed himself out further, and slowly turned his body. With a further effort, he heaved
himself up so that his legs were still inside the store, but his back was out, facing the desert. The worst was over. He pulled on the rope tied round his wrist, and when it came tight, toppled
over backwards. The rope was made up of bits and pieces of thongs and belts. Dulkancellin kept a firm hold on one end of it, while Cucub wriggled out of the opening and used his feet to climb down
the outside wall, until finally he was standing on the ground. There were only three people awake in the camp: the guard, who was yawning and staring into space; Cucub, who managed to relax his
face muscles; and on the other side of the wall, Dulkancellin, who smiled at the rope he was still clutching.

In the darkness, the unmistakable hiss of the most feared snake in the desert could be heard close by. The guard shuddered, desperate to know where the sound came from. The hissing started
again. ‘It’s over there,’ the guard whispered to himself. It seemed to be coming from the northern side of the store, where there was a small window. Machete in his perspiring
hand, he walked towards it, carefully watching where he put his feet.
It would fool me too
, thought Dulkancellin.

When the guard went past the window, Cucub was hiding beyond the next corner. He pursed his lips and made the snake hiss once more. The guard strode towards the sound: it did not seem quite as
close now as before. Cucub quickly turned the corner of the store until he was on the southern side. He curled up his tongue and imitated the snake again. This time the hissing brought the guard up
short just before he reached the corner.

The war between the snake and the Pastors was a long history of hatred, in which it seemed that running away was not important. If the guard killed this one, the next day he would be a hero. The
thought made him grasp the machete more tightly. Be careful now, thought Cucub. He was retreating with his back to the west. The next hiss seemed to be mocking the Pastor guard. He swore that after
he had killed the snake he would cut off its head and hang it at the entrance to his tent.
If your sisters come to
pay me a visit, they will see what happened to you, and will be afraid
of coming near my mattress.

Cucub pulled back again, feeling his way along the southern wall. His fear made it seem endless. At last he touched the rounded end of the building, and felt the western wall against his back.
Cucub took a moment to calculate the risk. The door was close by; so was the guard. Cucub could hear him drawing nearer. Only fresh hissing from the snake could make him halt, and give the Zitzahay
the time he needed. But Cucub’s mouth was as dry as dust, and he could make no sound. He reached the door, laid his hand on the bar. But his mouth was still too dry.

No longer hearing the snake, the Pastor hurried on. He was facing the sea, but his face showed disappointment.
It must have seen the machete and gone back to its nest.
He lowered his
weapon, and decided to return to his post. Just as he was doing so, the snake found its voice. A long, loud hiss paralysed the Pastor and concealed the noise of the bar being slid back. The door
edged open, and Dulkancellin slipped out. The next hiss was so fierce that it covered the sound of the bar being dropped back into place. Recovering his breath, the guard leapt back. Cucub and the
warrior vanished round the north-western corner of the store, and found themselves beneath the window once more. When the guard returned to his post after stalking his invisible enemy round the
entire building, the door was as it should have been, with the bar properly drawn across it. The guard looked out into the darkness, and yawned again.

Helped by a cloudy sky, the Husihuilke and the Zitzahay made their way through the camp. Some of the fires were still lit, but snores from the Pastors asleep in their tents, oblivious to what
was going on, were the only sound to be heard.

Near the animal pens they found some llamels grazing.

‘We mustn’t let this opportunity slip by,’ Dulkancellin whispered in Cucub’s ear.

The llamels were tame animals, used to all the chores their masters imposed on them. Dulkancellin mounted first. Once he was astride the enormous hairy beast, he helped Cucub get up on another
one. The llamels and their riders set off towards the north.

They started out with no belongings or weapons, as all of them had been taken from them when they were shut in the grain store. And because of their haste and the risk they were running, they
had no supply of water either.

‘A performance like that would have won me a good few gourd seeds back in the Remote Realm,’ Cucub said triumphantly.

‘You were very good,’ Dulkancellin admitted.

Cucub took a deep breath, then proudly blew out the air.

‘Let me remind you what you said to Kupuka. And correct me if I’m wrong,’ said Cucub. This time it was his companion’s voice that he imitated: ‘“I’m not
going to need the Zitzahay on the journey.”’

The Husihuilke’s only reply was to kick his mount to make it go faster.

‘Let’s go!’ he said, ‘there’s no time to lose.’

15

For an entire day, the llamels made their way across the desert almost without
any rest. The two men had to choose between the uncertain safety the coastal route offered
them and the possibility of finding water and food in parts further from the coast, where patches of green promised some nourishment. But this was where the Pastors were lords and masters. In the
end, they took the inland path, despite the risk of coming across the Pastors. The next dawn found them in the midst of some thorn bushes, digging in the soft, dry earth for anything of use to
them. They emerged with real treasures: two shoots from a giant cactus that they stripped of spines and hollowed out to make bowls. Two stakes they could sharpen. A pliable reed to take the place
of Cucub’s staff, and several stones to use as tools. Even though there was no sign they were being followed, they wrapped all this in the Zitzahay’s cloak, climbed back on their
mounts, and set off again.

They were anxious to get on, but increasingly found they had to call a halt to their journey. The scorching sun at the height of the day, the freezing cold at night, as well as the
llamels’ weariness, all slowed them down. Yet it was thirst, the need to drink and the certainty they would soon feel thirsty again, that was the worst thing their bodies and souls had to
suffer. Four of them needing to drink. Four, if they wanted to continue to ride. Four, all of whom had set out without water supplies. So far, they had only found one spring a short distance from
the camp, where the llamels had drunk enough to last them a few days. After that there was only water from the cactuses that the men could sip. As they went on and on, they were desperate to be
able to drink their fill. They were exhausted, their muscles weary, their lips cracked and their eyes smarting. When the land began to rise and fall in front of them, they sat on their mounts,
their minds numb, and let the animals seek their way.

Day was dawning. A dry, chill wind made them draw closer still to the animals’ bloated stomachs, trying to find sleep that refused to come, or only fitfully. That was why
when Cucub suddenly spoke, Dulkancellin thought the Zitzahay must be talking half asleep.

‘It’s her! It’s her!’

An eagle was circling high above Cucub’s excited outburst. Cucub sprang to his feet, but the bird flew away.

‘Don’t worry, she’ll be back,’ he said. And to show he himself was not worrying, he sat down again.

Dulkancellin remembered Cucub’s description of his journey to Whirlwind Pass, and the friendly eagle he was so grateful to.

‘Are you sure this is the same bird?’ he asked.

‘As sure as I am of my own name, brother. Let’s continue on our way, and you’ll soon see the eagle will bring us comfort.’

What he said soon came true. First they found some of the fleshy leaves that had refreshed Cucub on his outward journey. Then, before too long, the bird guided them to the water holes the desert
kept for those whose dwelt there. And she flew in a looping zigzag that led them well away from the Pastors.