The Gathering Night (33 page)

‘Of course I do!' I cried. ‘Osané was my friend as well as my sister.'

That was true. Osané is four Years older than I. I owe it to her, not my mother, that I lived. When I was small she carried me on her hip when I was almost as heavy as she was. She took me with her when she went out for food. She kept me warm at night with her own body. She picked the lice out of my hair, and sewed shoes for me when it snowed.

I was snatched from Osané's side when they took me to Initiation Camp. I was so glad! I'd been old enough to go the Year before – just – but I hadn't been taken – I'd begged the spirits not to leave me behind again. I was terrified the men thought I wasn't fit. I knew no reason: I wasn't crippled, I didn't act like a woman, I'd done no great wrong to anyone – nothing like that. I worried about it because I wanted to leave my family more than anything in the world. I wanted it much more than most boys do, and so I feared all the more that it would never happen. But that Year they took me, and I became a man. When I came back I wanted to show Osané what they'd written on my back. Osané had gone. Someone had tried to kill her, and Kemen had taken her away.

I knew it wasn't Kemen who'd tried to kill her. I thought it might have been Edur. That confused me. Although I was now a man, I still felt like a child in many ways – I didn't know how to rescue my sister. I didn't even know if she
wanted
to be rescued. Edur had joined us at Initiation Camp, but he wasn't there to begin with. He wasn't with us when Osané was attacked. Edur took Amets' place after the Hunt. No one told us why. Edur was much harder on us than Amets had been, but we admired Edur more. We knew Edur was a great hunter, and he was generous about teaching boys who were quick to learn. He didn't care about boys who weren't quick. I did well, and I learned more from Edur than from Amets. I knew Edur was going to take my sister. I was proud. I showed off about it to the other boys. Edur didn't stop me. He just smiled.

So now I said to Hodei, ‘Of course I want to see my sister again!'

‘Then I'm sending you away.' I must have looked stricken, for he touched my arm. ‘No, no, Itzal, not away from the Auk People. You struck your own father – the spirits saw you do that – but' – he looked at me, as if wondering how much to say – ‘right is born from right, and wrong from wrong. This wrong wasn't yours in the first place, Itzal. The spirits punish People for what others have done before them – the spirits don't care which of us is which. But People – we can feel what it's like to be one another. I don't want to punish
you
, Itzal, but there's a wrong here that must be put right. Or the spirits will be angry, and destroy us all.'

‘So what must I do?'

‘To begin with, you must go towards the High Sun Sky, to Zigor's family. Can you find your way to their Camp?'

‘Of course I can! I know where to go, and who to ask.'

‘Very well. I want you to go alone. Leave quietly. Don't take any dogs. Cross the loch as if you were going fishing, and perhaps to visit some of the Camps on the other side. No one will take any notice. Then leave your boat and walk towards the High Sun Sky. Don't tell anyone why you're going. Find Zigor, and give him my message.'

‘What must I tell him?'

‘Tell him how Edur came here with the two Lynx People. Tell him Edur has talked to the men here. Tell him we plan to bring Basajaun and his cousin, all unsuspecting, to Gathering Camp. Tell him that we need to make sure Kemen comes to Gathering Camp too. Tell him we plan to bring all three of these Lynx men into the Hunt. But what the Lynx men will not know is that they will not be among the Hunters. Our plan is that the People shall cast them out, and hunt them to death, and none of their names shall ever live among us!'

I stared at him, open-mouthed. ‘But . . .'

‘What, Itzal?'

‘These men . . . Kemen too . . . We gave them food! Every day we give them food!'

‘I know that. Men often ask themselves, “Which is the greater wrong?” They think, “A man has wronged me; I will do him wrong.” The spirits of the Animals don't set one wrong against another like that. They see only that wrong follows wrong. This is why they withhold themselves. This is why our People grow hungry. This is why it won't help us to kill these men privately just because they've harmed us. This is why only the Hunt itself can make right what has been made wrong. Do you understand me, Itzal?'

‘I understand the message I'm to give to Zigor.'

‘Tell him, then, that this matter must be dealt with before things get any worse. Tell him I ask him to come at once to Loch Island Camp. Tell him we must speak to the Animals about this plan, and find out if that's what they want us to do. Tell him that's why I need his help.'

Nothing could have been plainer that that. I gave Zigor this message very clearly. I travelled for a hand-full of days, going from one Camp to another, and in each place People set me on my way. I found Zigor at his family's Berry Camp, which lay far inland up a River I had never known before. I followed the River as it grew small and wild, chattering over stony shallows where dippers fished, tumbling over rocky falls, losing itself in reedy marshes, then climbing thin and quiet among the birches until it ended in a limpid spring. I stopped and looked around.

The Sun shone slantwise through the still trees. Bogbean and mint grew at the edges of a round pool. The bottom was lined with white stones that could only have been laid there by the hands of People. I saw a stony beach by the pool where many feet had walked. Above it the birch roots had been polished smooth along a winding path. The spirits of the spring hung lazily in the warm air, watching me. I carried no water because I'd been following the River all day. I untied my waterskin and, bowing to the unseen watchers, I shook it over the pool, squeezing the sides together. A few drops fell. The Sun caught them; the spirits were content with the little that I had to give. I squatted on the stony beach, cupped my hands and drank.

Zigor's Camp was less than a dozen heartbeats from the spring. I hadn't known I was so near. The breeze was taking the smoke the other way, the dogs were out and no one was at the hearth but the oldest and the youngest, all dozing in the late Sun. An old woman roused herself and gave me a roasted lapwing with bilberries and rowanberries. Hodei is my uncle, so I know what it's like to have cousins of every degree suddenly turning up wanting a Go-Between. That's why Go-Between families seem less curious about everything than ordinary People. No one spoke much, but their spirits had already greeted me kindly. I felt welcome. I basked in the Sun with the others, gazing into the blue distance and thinking about nothing much at all, until the afternoon wore towards evening, and the rest of the People drifted home.

Zigor barely greeted me when he came in. By then the women were roasting the carcass of a young deer on the spit. We ate until the Moon rose, and that night I slept at Zigor's hearth. In the morning he said curtly. ‘You bring the message from Hodei?' So he knew already – the thought flashed into my mind – why had Hodei sent
me
– if Go-Betweens wish to speak there are easier ways than sending a man on a long journey – so why . . . ? ‘Then come,' said Zigor.

I followed him uphill, away from the spring. The summit was a rocky outcrop where no trees grew. We looked out to blue mountains that lay far off under the Morning Sun Sky. The rocks were yellow with lichen. Zigor sat down, and gestured for me to sit too. ‘So?'

I told him everything Hodei had asked me to say. Zigor raised his brows, and gazed at the distant hills. We were silent for a long while. I wondered if I'd said anything at all that Zigor didn't know already.

‘And you, Itzal,' he said suddenly. ‘You've told me everything that Hodei wanted you to say. What d'you think about it?'

‘Me?' I stammered. ‘I . . . I . . . does it matter what I think?'

‘I'm asking you.'

I met Zigor's eyes. They were blue and hard. ‘We gave these men food,' I told him awkwardly. ‘We've eaten with them, as if they were our brothers.' I plucked up my courage. ‘Does a man hunt his brothers?'

‘Every day,' replied Zigor. ‘Are the Animals not our brothers?' I puzzled over that. Then I said, trembling a little – for Zigor was Go-Between, and very powerful – ‘But the Animals
give
themselves. They choose!'

‘And have these Lynx men not chosen, with every step they take?'

My words seemed to be dragged out of me. ‘No.' It was terrible to find myself arguing with a Go-Between! What might he do to me? I cleared my throat. ‘No! You can't tell the Animals lies, even if you try. But if People are told lies, they can't choose. Because . . . because they don't know what's happening. You can only choose about things you know. Telling People lies makes them weak.'

‘Thank you, Itzal.'

I looked at him sideways to see if he was mocking me. A small wind nipped at my cloak. It blew Zigor's straggling hair across his face so I couldn't read his eyes.

Zigor said, ‘Now you must go back, Itzal. Say nothing and do nothing. Keep out of things as much as you can. Tell Hodei that help will come very soon.'

‘Shall I tell him you'll come?'

‘I've told you what to tell him.' Zigor stood up stiffly. ‘Now then, my women here are useless, as you see, and there may be nothing for us, but no doubt we can find you some scraps the dogs have left - if we can, we'll eat, and then you must set off while the day's still young.'

I was furious when half a Moon later Nekané turned up at Loch Island Camp instead of Zigor. My sister Osané had been stolen by Nekané's family. She was our enemy. Why had Zigor sent her instead of coming himself? Now Loch Island Camp was full of our enemies on every side. We had to eat with them as if they were our family. Wherever I turned, I felt as if I were living inside a lie. Two days after we brought Nekané, all the men came back to Camp. They brought no meat. That night the women got other food ready without anyone saying anything.

I was still breaking crab legs to get at their meat when everyone began to mutter. Koldo nudged me. ‘The Go-Betweens have gone!' I shrugged – I wasn't going to show I was scared – and went on eating.

The sound was like rain. It couldn't be – the sky was deep dark blue, turning to night. There wasn't a Moon. The sound was a River, but there's no River at Loch Island Camp. One by one the stars came out. The sound was the Go-Betweens' Drums. They didn't frighten me – that's
true
– the Drums sounded kind to start with. My anger faded. I forgot what I had to fear. I lay back, snapping the spindly crab legs and sucking out the meat. I watched the stars turn around the one Still Star in the Sunless Sky. Where the Sun had set I could see the Wolf, the Red Deer, the Lynx and the Fox. The night was so clear that even the Cat showed herself, and dimly between the Lynx and the Fox I saw the Eagle Star, which only happens in the emptiest nights of all. The River of Milk, that was made when the Milk of the First Mother spurted across the sky in the Beginning, arched so brightly I could see the whole way plain.

The fire had gone out. We sat in the dark. People were dim outlines like the trees and rocks. Even the children were still. A fox barked on the mainland shore; my dog growled in its sleep. I heard the rustling of Animals on the move. On the ground, and in the air – at first I thought there were a lot of bats about, but bats don't lift your hair or brush against your skin. I felt a cold breath on the back of my neck, but when I swung round there was nothing there.

The Fox barked on the island. Now I recognised her: Hodei had been Go-Between at our hearth since before I was born. The Fox came nearer. She barked between the People and the dead hearth. I heard the harsh cry of a Swan. I didn't know that Swan. An empty shape swept over us. The spirits shifted in the trees, under the stones of the hearth, in and out of the cloaks of the huddled People. White waves curled against the hearth stones and gently broke. I saw the curve of a Dolphin's back. I'd never seen that before. A small patch of darkness tumbled against the stars. I knew what it was: I'd heard her song at our hearth from my earliest days. I strained my ears to hear it now:
pee-wit pee-wit pee-wit.

Softly the echo came:
pee-wit pee-wit pee-wit
. . . Out of it our song grew, as it often had before. My voice was inside the chant. My heart followed. The spirits sang. The dead hearth leaped into flame. Firelight shone on our faces. The Go-Betweens drifted back to their places by the hearth. Nothing moved between our upturned faces and the stars.

The Go-Betweens struck like lightning. They seized someone from the huddled People and dragged him into the firelight.

‘Speak, you!'

Hodei's spear was at the hollow of the man's neck. He stumbled as they pulled him forward. A flame caught at a log and flared. Light fell on the face of Kemen's cousin.

‘Speak, you! Whatever it is, you must speak now!'

Our voices joined the chant, surrounding him. ‘Speak, you! Speak! Whatever you have to say, you must speak it now!'

He looked over the Go-Betweens' heads, staring with wild eyes into empty space. I don't know what he saw – there was nothing there as far as my eyes could tell – but I felt cold terror coming from inside the emptiness. So could everyone else. The People shrank back, though I don't think any of them knew what that Lynx man was staring at, any more than I did.