The Days of the Deer (4 page)

‘Take it like this so that they can serve themselves,’ she said, pushing several wooden sticks into the paste. ‘It will be well received.’

Wilkilén went off with the pot, carefully watching where she put her feet. Old Mother Kush stared after her. Just when she was almost out of sight, Kush saw Dulkancellin striding towards
her.

Her son was looking for her. They had to go together to talk to Shampalwe’s family, who had come all the way from Wilú-Wilú.

‘Are you ready, Kush?’ he asked her.

‘Yes. Take the presents I have brought for them out of my pack and let’s go.’

They walked away without another word. It was not easy for either of them to see Shampalwe’s eyes again in the faces of her brothers and sisters. But the gathering in the valley was one of
the few occasions when they could see the children and hear the latest news. Wilú-Wilú stood at the foot of the Maduinas Mountains, a long way from Whirlwind Pass, so that they could
meet up only a few times each year.

The sky was rapidly turning dark; the air was growing colder. Sheltered in the valley, the Husihuilkes stared up at the wind above their heads just as Wilkilén had done, and predicted it
would be a hard journey home. The celebration would soon be over, and one single question was on everyone’s lips: where is Kupuka?

Kupuka was not in the Valley of the Ancestors. The Earth Wizard, who saw further than anyone and knew the language of the drums, had not arrived as he usually did, his pack filled with
mysteries, to await the arrival of the rain with everyone else. The Husihuilkes felt strangely abandoned, and wondered what the reason for his absence could be.

Someone who was not thinking about Kupuka heard the question repeated time and again, but paid no attention. Walking as if he wanted to remain invisible, he went through the mushroom ring and
carried straight on. He took the track to the west until the route forked into a narrow path. Branching off from the main route, this path did not head uphill, but immediately went down a steep
slope. After reaching here stealthily, the small fgure immediately started down at a surprising speed, compensating for the incline by leaning backwards. Almost at once, though, he heard a familiar
voice calling to him:

‘Piukemán! Piukemán, wait for me!’

Somewhat surprised, but even more annoyed, Piukemán stopped and looked back. Wilkilén had followed him, and was coming down the path almost sitting down to avoid falling.
Piukemán climbed back up towards her.

‘What are you doing here, Wilkilén?’ he shouted furiously. ‘You always spoil everything!’

‘I don’t ...’ the girl stammered. Piukemán cut her short:

‘Don’t say a word!’

Wilkilén’s black eyes brimmed with tears. As she always did when she was sad, she started playing with her plaits.

‘And don’t cry either!’

This only brought on more tears: Piukemán was her beloved brother, and he had never treated her like this before.

But Piukemán was no longer even looking at her. He was trying to decide whether to return to the Valley of the Ancestors, or to take his sister with him in his adventure. He could not let
her go back on her own. Then again, if he missed this opportunity he would have to wait until the Festival of the Sun, and that seemed too far away. Taking Wilkilén by the hand, he started
down the slope again.

The path the two of them had taken was the only one that reached the Owl Gateway, beyond which it was forbidden to go.

Of all the males in the family, Piukemán was the one who most resembled his mother. He had inherited from her a restless curiosity about everything. Shampalwe had paid with her life for
her interest in the strange flowers from the cave. Piukemán too would one day pay a high price. Ever since he was of an age to understand, he had been asking what lay beyond the Owl Gateway
and who had forbidden the Husihuilkes to go there. He had never received any answers, and so now he was determined to find out for himself. In previous years he had twice left the celebrations and
ventured as far as the boundary of what was permitted. Twice he had been overcome by fear, and had returned without daring to disobey the ban that came from time immemorial. Now, though,
Piukemán had lived through eleven rainy seasons, and refused to let another one go by without crossing the Owl Gateway. He would not be defeated a third time. Wilkilén’s sudden
appearance made him hesitate, and yet he could not accept having to back down again. He decided to go on, even if he had to drag his sister by the hand.

The steep, narrow slope they climbed down with difficulty ended in a dark, gloomy hollow. The air was so cold and damp that it hurt when they drew breath. A deep carpet of leaves buoyed them up,
so that they could continue without getting muddy. Plants of the shade proliferated at the foot of all the trees. Creepers, toadstools, and tiny worms that appeared whenever their feet dislodged a
stone were the most obvious signs of life. Piukemán had been here before, so he strode on to join the path again, even though it seemed to be deliberately concealed. They zigzagged from side
to side through thick vegetation as they advanced across the dark hollow. By now they were shivering, and their teeth were chattering. Not even the cloaks they wore wrapped tightly around them
offered much protection because the damp cold rose from their feet. Then all at once the path straightened out and the undergrowth thinned. They had reached the Owl Gateway.

In front of them stood two enormous trees. The gap between them was about the width of a man with his arms outstretched. From a distance it was plain to see that the outline they made had the
shape of an owl. Wilkilén and Piukemán stood motionless, staring at the silhouette of the bird of many names, close kin to the Earth Wizards.

Piukemán was the first to recover. With what he hoped resembled a gesture of defiance, he signalled to his sister that they should keep going. Clasping each other tightly by the hand,
they stepped towards the Owl Gateway. As they drew closer, the outline of the owl became less clear, making it easier for them to pass through the forbidden gate.

Piukemán wanted to whistle to show he was not afraid, but the sound would not come. Not even Wilkilén, normally so talkative, could utter a word. Although everything around them
seemed normal, never before had the forest made them feel so sad.

As it was, they did not manage to get much further. As they rounded a bend, in a clearing by the side of the path they caught sight of Kupuka. The Wizard did not seem to hear them. He was
squatting down, his back towards them. In one hand he held a branch in the shape of a snake; with the other he was drawing something on the ground that the children could not make out. His silvery
locks cascaded down his back, and below the deerskin cloak they could see his bare feet, toughened from walking through forests and over mountains.

Quickly, the two of them hid behind a bush, fearful of Kupuka’s reaction if he discovered them on this forbidden territory. The Earth Wizard was chanting a sacred chant. When he finished,
he turned his head towards his heart, revealing his profile. As soon as they saw it, the children realized there was something different about it. This was not the face of the Kupuka they knew. The
change was hard to define, but was no less terrifying for that. His faring nostrils quivered strangely. His chin was jutting forward, and his breathing had threads of colour in it. If the brother
and sister had been able to move their legs, they would have run away as fast as they could, all the way back to Old Mother Kush’s welcoming arms. But their legs refused to move. All at once,
Kupuka gave a howl and leapt to his feet. He sang words in a language they did not recognize. As the two petrified children looked on in horror, he began to spin round on one foot, the other one
stamping the ground as he did so.

Kupuka’s face seemed to change each time he spun round. His voice, though, stayed the same, and he went on singing, although the sound seemed to come from a long way off. At the first
turn, his face appeared to have grown feathers. The next time, he had a hare’s muzzle. A lizard’s tongue darted out from between the fangs of a wild cat as he came to a halt, sniffing
the air.

Piukemán could not think. Wilkilén could not cry. They remained stock still, until a stab of pain roused them from their state of fascination. Red ants had climbed their boots and
begun furiously to bite their legs. Stifling the urge to cry out, they tried desperately to brush them off, forgetting Kupuka for a brief instant.

Before they succeeded in getting rid of all the tiny creatures by now crawling all over them, they heard a sound that quickly made them straighten up. A growing cloud of white butterflies had
appeared from nowhere and was fluttering between the sky and their heads. It was as if they had come into existence through a hole in the air. As though responding to an order to attack, the mass
of butterflies flew at them. Hundreds and hundreds of wings beating against their faces. So many that they completely covered the clearing where Kupuka was performing his ceremony.

Piukemán and Wilkilén staggered back, waving their arms to try to get the swarm off them. They had little success, and before long they were two human shapes covered in
butterflies. Their hands were smothered in them as well, and so were of no use to try to brush the rest from their faces. Blinded by the beating wings, Piukemán groped for Wilkilén,
who in her efforts to fight off the attack had become separated from him. As soon as he reached her, he clutched her tightly against him. Then he ran as fast as he could . . . poor Piukemán
ran and ran, still pursued by a howling wind of white wings, until he was back across the other side of the Owl Gateway.

Not a single butterfly crossed the threshold of the gate. They hung in the air on the other side, and then flew off again. As soon as Piukemán was certain they would not come back, he set
Wilkilén down slowly, and sank to the ground himself to get a moment’s rest. After two or three deep breaths they were able to continue on their way. A few steps further on towards the
Valley, Piukemán turned to look behind him. Between the two trees, the Owl Gateway was completely covered in an intricate spider’s web that must have taken several days to spin.
Although he could not understand what had happened, Piukemán felt relieved. Perhaps they had never been on the other side.

The remainder of the walk was easy. Comforted by the fact that they were on their way back, they were not even afraid of Dulkancellin’s anger at their absence, which he must have
discovered by now.

The same path took them down into the Valley. The celebration was still going on. They mingled with the crowd, heads down, ashamed to imagine that everyone already knew they had broken the rule.
Before long, they bumped into their grandmother and their father. Piukemán and Wilkilén slowly raised their eyes, fearful of Dulkancellin’s flashing, angry eyes, and
Kush’s sad look. But they were in for another surprise: both adults smiled at them.

‘We were looking for you. We all need to go together to greet your mother’s family,’ said Kush.

‘There’s Kuy-Kuyen,’ said Dulkancellin, pointing to her. ‘Go on ahead with her. I’ll look for Kume and Thungür.’

Piukemán and Wilkilén simply nodded their heads and did as they were told.

The celebration was coming to an end. All the families were packing up their things and saying goodbye. Under a heavy sky, the Husihuilkes set off into the icy wind rising from the sea and
whistling round the forest up to the mountain peaks.

The Valley of the Ancestors was deserted until the next fine day. With only the souls of the dead to inhabit it.

4

A man was leaving Beleram at dawn. At that time of day, the city was already
busy. Some servants from the House of the Stars were raking the games court. Tardy
street-sellers were carrying their goods as quickly as they could down the narrow lanes to the market. Savoury odours from the food stalls filled the air. The man stopped at one of them to buy a
tortilla wrapped in leaves. It smelt particularly delicious, and only cost him a few cacao seeds. This early halt had not been part of the strict itinerary the Supreme Astronomers had set out for
him, and yet how often on his journey did the memory of that taste give him the strength to go on!

He was known to many people in Beleram, and several of them greeted him as he passed by. His pack made it obvious he was setting off on a journey. In fact, he had left the House of the Stars
with less than half of the treasures he had entered with: a bag full of unusual objects, as well as others he usually carried with him. The Supreme Astronomers had insisted he reduce his load, and
despite showing them why each and every one would be useful to him, he had finally to resign himself to leaving behind a wealth of wonderful things. ‘Remind me to ask for them back when I
return,’ he protested as he left. Although they could see he was carrying enough for a long journey, none of the people who saw him pass by bothered to ask him where he was going or why. He
was always someone who came and went.