Dawn of the third day on the plateau was glorious. He had stayed awake nearly the whole night, dazzled by the number of stars that shot across the heavens. And his mood of wonder continued on the journey back to the village. He even found he was joking with the other members of the party, joining in some of their tussles.
And then, at last, he discovered something at which he was better than them.
They had just arrived at the edge of the plain that would lead to the playing field. Tagay was, as usual, at the end of the line of men.
‘You are slow, Tagay, your feet drag across the ground,’ Otetian, the tallest of the warriors, had said. ‘You are like a porcupine, you move like this.’
He squatted down and shuffled forward, his bottom raised in the air. There was laughter from the others.
‘And Otetian is like a heron. Clumsy in flight and walking with its big legs like this.’ Tagay impersonated the bird, his own long legs jerking forward.
There was more laughter. Otetian stepped up to Tagay. He had been one of the most provocative of all Tagay’s ‘tutors’.
‘So you think a porcupine can beat a heron? One flap and I would be at that tree across the grass before you had got your prickly arse off the ground.’ He pointed to a tree that stood about two hundred paces away.
Sada called out. ‘Beware, Tagay. Do not bet him anything. Otetian has beaten every member of every village in the foot races.’
Tagay looked into the preening face of the warrior. ‘Not every member,’ he said, quietly.
There was a chorus of jeers. Otetian stuck out his chest. ‘You would race me, Little Bear?’ There was no mistaking the colour he gave to the word ‘Little.’
Tagay leant in, till their faces were just a hand’s breadth apart. ‘I would.’
Bows, quivers and pouches were handed over. Sada stood before them, a hand on each of their chests. The others ran ahead to the tree. When they reached it and had formed a rough line, Sada said, ‘On my word, fly.’
Tagay crouched in readiness. Beside him, Otetian gave a lazy grin and barely took a stance.
‘Go!’
They took off together, matched pace for pace. Then Otetian began to lengthen his stride and a slight gap opened between them, with half the distance covered.
Tagay had let that happen. The man was fast and, with fifty paces to go to the cheering men, the gap between them was five paces. At twenty-five, Otetian saw a shape reach to his shoulder, then watched that shape surge past him. Despite his desperate pumping, Tagay beat him to the line by three full strides. He was surrounded immediately, hands patting him on his back, grasping his forearm. It was the first time his clan members had given him praise and Tagay revelled in it.
A voice broke into the cheers. ‘So, Little Bear, you tricked me there.’ Otetian was trying to keep a smile on his face and failing. ‘I do not think you would be so clever a second time.’
Tagay, flush with victory, said, ‘The heron wishes to race again?’
‘Yes,’ came the reply. ‘But not such a paltry distance. Will you race to the gates of the village?’
Tagay thought. They were on the plateau that led to the game field. He could see the great oak where he’d first watched the game in the distance. They would get to it in perhaps another quarter hour of walking. The trail of the cliffs led down from the small forest there. From their base, it was a short run along the stream bank into the village, maybe another half-league.
‘Yes, I will race you there.’
‘And I too,’ yelled another warrior. ‘I am a man for that distance.’
‘And I! And I!’ called the others, all equally fired by the race they’d just witnessed. ‘Let us go now.’
‘Wait,’ said Sada, his low voice commanding instant silence from the forty warriors. ‘Such a race is a matter of honour. Why should not our people join in and pay tribute to the victor?’ He turned to one member who had seemed less keen on the race, probably due to his stoutish stature. ‘Run ahead, Ganogieh, and let the Bear clan know of what we do. When you disappear into the trees, we will be coming.’
This warrior nodded and, without further words, set off at a pace that belied his shape. As the others yelled encouragement at their departing friend Sada took Tagay aside.
‘Listen well, Tagay. Otetian is fast and tireless. He is one of those who runs between villages bearing news and “the sticks that summon”, when all our scattered tribe must gather. Since becoming a man, he has never lost a race. That may also be because he is rumoured to cheat.’ Sada grinned. ‘So watch for him on the cliff path.’
Tagay nodded and retrieved his bow and quiver from the man who’d held them for him during the first race. Each would have to carry their own during this one.
They watched the running figure recede toward the cliff-top forest. Soon he was a mere plume of dust to all eyes save for one of the younger warriors who had climbed up and balanced on the lower branches of a walnut tree, shading his brow from the sun’s glare.
‘He gets close,’ he called down. ‘Ten breaths and he will be there.’
He dropped down, took his place in the single rank of jostling men. Tagay deliberately walked up and squeezed into the space next to Otetian. The taller warrior leaned down and shoved Tagay hard, shoulder to shoulder.
‘Give me room there, cub,’ he growled.
‘You can have all you want in a moment,’ Tagay replied, shoving in return and smiling. ‘For you will be watching my back.’
‘Ready?’ Sada raised the banner of the clan, a bear’s paw thrust onto a spear, above his head for all to see.
There was one shout of acclamation.
‘Then let us … run!’ cried Sada, taking the first step.
He only kept the lead for a few paces. Then several of the younger warriors passed him, already running at nearly a full sprint, forming a group of some ten that swiftly moved ahead. A second, larger group coalesced about Sada, not far behind. About a dozen steps to their rear, Tagay moved a pace to his left and dropped one back. Then he simply matched Otetian stride for stride as they trailed the packs. The other man glanced at him once, disdainfully, then settled into a rhythmic tempo.
It did not take long for the front-runners to realize their error. The middle group, Sada in their lead, had caught them, the two packs merging by the time they were halfway across the plain. Only two of the early sprinters kept up, the rest of them slipping back so that even Tagay and Otetian, still trailing, overtook them, though they tucked in just at the rear and did not lose contact.
As one body, the Bear clan of the Tahontaenrat tribe ran, their moccasined feet drumming the earth, dust rising to trail from the grass tips like tendrils of smoke, the steady breaths, the occasional thump and grunt as pumping elbows collided, the only other sounds. Tagay was breathing easily, enjoying the freedom of his limbs almost as much as the collective will that drove the group on. For the time that he’d been with them in the wilderness, he’d been the object of their scorn, the focus of their efforts and thus distinct, separate. Here he was just a runner, as good as any of them.
Better! He had to be better. He was never going to match them with bow or javelin. He would never read the trails for game, or track by the stars, or know so well the ancient tales of their people. And he would never take to the field of play and shoot the ball between the posts to defeat the clan of the Wolf, as his cousin Sada had. But he could run. And, as Otetian suddenly increased his speed and began to move through the pack, he knew he could win.
Otetian’s surge took him to the head of the crowd, Tagay one step behind. They passed Sada, who had set the pace till then and who grunted in frustration as he was overtaken. But Otetian was not content to just lead the field. He kept driving forward and Tagay had no choice but to match him.
The sounds of the others’ exertions fell away. The trees were just ahead, a hundred or so paces off, the village trail clear. Yet Tagay still hung back. The cliff path was treacherous in places and he had negot
iated it last time with his aunt on his back, his eyes focused on just the next stone, the next careful footfall. He had a feeling that Otetian would take the descent rather more briskly and he wanted to watch where the man placed his feet.
They entered the wood under the great oak. Glancing up into the thick canopy, he wondered at the changes in his life since he had first stood on the tree’s branches a week before.
He had only glanced up for a moment, the beginning of a downward slope, just a few paces into the forest. Long enough though for Otetian, who had not looked at him since the running began, to hit him. He struck sharply with the elbow, straight into Tagay’s mouth. The blow, combined with the pace of the running, dropped him like a shot bird. He hit the ground hard, rolling over and over, swallowing dust, his progress halted suddenly by the ridged trunk of an ash, knocking out what little wind remained in his lungs.
Hands were under his arms, he was being lifted, held, as his own legs would not support him for a moment.
‘You need to watch the path, cub, then you won’t have to argue with a tree.’
Sada’s seven faces whirled above him. On either side warriors, drawing deep breaths, passed. Tagay shook his head again and again, though it did little to disperse the mists. Feeling something warm on his lips, he reached up. The sight of blood on his fingers brought his eyes into focus. Sada’s suddenly clear face held a look of amusement. He reached out and wiped some more blood from Tagay’s lip.
‘Or did someone guide you into the tree’s embrace? Huh? Did I not warn you that Otetian does not like to lose?’
‘Yes,’ was all Tagay could manage.
‘Then you have one more reason to catch him. You owe him this.’ Sada wiped the blood onto Tagay’s hair. ‘Come.’
‘He’s too far ahead now,’ Tagay mumbled through a swelling mouth.
The smile left Sada’s face. ‘You do not understand. Have you learned nothing? A Bear of the Tahontaenrat does not give up. Ever. Now run!’ He began moving down the path, his arms lifting and propelling the younger man.
‘Besides,’ he added, as Tagay flailed forward, ‘you were right. Otetian is a heron. And long, skinny legs do not like the cliff descent. Even he will lose some speed.’
Of the next hundred steps, as many were to the side as forward. Gradually though, the strength returned to his legs and soon he was stumbling on his own. To start with he reached up to wipe the ceaseless flow of blood away from his mouth. Then he realized the movement was interfering with his rhythm. Besides, the taste of blood was the taste of anger.
By the time they reached the cliff top, they had caught up with the stragglers. The descent was narrow but, at Sada’s urging, Tagay began to push past the other warriors. Some let him by easily, others seemed more reluctant and these Tagay moved aside with a shift of weight, a shoulder dipped and lifted. Sada trailed him a pace behind, planting his foot where Tagay planted his, making the same leaps down, landing with bent knee on rock shelves and shale slides.
They had passed over half the clan and were close to the bottom, the level plain ahead, when Tagay heard a slipping and then a cry. He turned to see Sada sprawled at the base of the huge rock Tagay had just leapt from. He made to return, but Sada, clutching an ankle that looked as if it was already swelling, waved him away.
‘Go on. Run, Tagay, run!’
He turned back. The base of the cliff path took three more leaps, then he was running on the level, his legs wobbling at first at the renewed sensation. Soon they settled, as he did into his stride. He began to overtake the determined remnants of the clan. The youngest, who had sprinted ahead at the very beginning and who had got a second burst of power, even these were fading now, their breaths drawn in huge gulps. They had enough wind, though, to cheer him as he passed, just as the whole pack emerged from the canyon that led from the cliffs to the village.
There it was before him, the late afternoon sun reddening the wooden palisade as if with fire, shining off the wide river beyond. And between him and it, about halfway along the stream bank that flowed toward it, there was one figure. At the warriors’ acclamation, the figure seemed to sense Tagay bursting from the pack who pursued him and attempted to increase his speed. But Otetian’s heron legs were failing.
There were maybe two hundred paces between them, three times as much again to the palisade gate. Tagay saw movement there, people spilling out to line the pathway in, faint shouts carrying on the wind. Scent carried on it too, the cooking fires of the Tahontaenrat, of the people he had travelled across the world to meet.
His people.
He tasted again the blood on his lips, the same blood that flowed in those now gathering at the entrance to the village.
His village.
Suddenly, he knew. He was more tired than he had ever been in any chase through the hunting forests of King Henri. His chest was bruised where it had met a tree. His face ached where it had met the elbow of a warrior, the man who ran just ahead of him now, nearer with every step Tagay took.
He was maybe two hundred paces from the gates when Tagay heard the man’s breath, heard it because the man who never glanced back was glancing back now. Otetian’s face showed his desire to push on faster. His legs failed to act on that desire. Tagay was ten paces behind him when Otetian reached the first of the cheering villagers, five when they crossed the slat bridge over the stream. It was narrow and they took it shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow. Otetian didn’t glance at him now, didn’t attempt to raise one of those elbows for a second strike. His eyes were fixed on the gap in the palisade, just as Tagay’s were. And in the few remaining paces that were left, Tagay surged past his rival and burst through the gates of his village, to the cheers of his people.
It was all blur – and pain – for a while. Faces whirled into view, appearing over him where he lay. Gaka, Chief Tangled, others he did not know but who seemed to want to befriend him now, leaning down to pound his back, making scant breaths even harder to draw. The other runners staggered in to fall beside him and Otetian. After a short time, Sada was borne in by two warriors. They laid him beside Tagay.
‘So, cub,’ Sada said, his voice rising above the tumult, ‘it looks like you are no longer dead.’
‘I do not think he is a spirit,’ Otetian said, as he crawled over to them, ‘for look at what his teeth did to my arm.’
He raised his elbow. There, on its end, was a distinct bite mark. ‘Never mind, though,’ continued the long-legged warrior, ‘I’ll forgive you for biting me, seeing as you are a cub and that’s what they do.’
This was greeted by such a roar by the rest of the Bear clan, that Tagay did not even have to protest himself. Instead, he reached into his mouth and, with only a little waggling, produced a tooth. Handing it across to Otetian, he said, ‘A bead for your wife’s necklace.’
Another roar, more back slapping, so that it took a while for the boisterous members of the Bear clan to realize that they were being addressed. The village had gathered and the chiefs were standing before them. It seemed that the excitement of the race had brought them out of the council house, for the chiefs were in their ceremonial wampum beads and all clutched their long pipes.
‘It seems, O you of the Bear clan, that your lost cub has been found. Is that true?’
Sada rose from the ground, balancing on one foot, and addressed the man who had just spoken, while Tagay, suddenly shy under all the attention, rose too.
‘It is up to you, Tododaho, as you are our chief. But we, who have spent time with this cub, say he is fit to return to us.’
Tangled nodded. ‘Then we will admit him, as we planned, in the ceremony of the moon, three sunrises from now. Meantime, he can live with his aunt, my sister Gaka, in her lodge.’
Tagay looked across to where his aunt was standing. She smiled at him and he smiled back. Next to her stood Anne and it was as if her face was divided into two parts; half was joyous for him and smiled, while the other half held a sorrow. And seeing it, he felt his own face mi
rror hers.
Before he could ponder this, Tangled spoke again, raising his voice so that it carried to the whole tribe who had, by now, gathered in the open space.
‘My people, we were in council when news of the race reached us. We came to watch it in joy. For the truth is that it is a good distraction from our debate. We could not reach a conclusion in the matter that so troubles us.’ He gestured out toward the river. ‘We all know the enemy gathers. They have destroyed our villages, the homes of many of you who have now sought shelter with your brothers and sisters here under the cliffs. Nearly all of the Tahontaenrat are here and the “sticks that summon” have been sent out to the last three villages, to bring the people here for the Great Council. In our gathering together there is strength but there is also danger, for even this village cannot feed all the Tahontaenrat for long. And our council cannot decide if we should wait for this danger here, and break the enemy on our palisades as the Great Waters breaks on the rocks of the shore. Or if we should abandon this place and travel far to where this enemy is not.’
Anne had observed how, at all gatherings, each speaker was always listened to in total silence, a tribute to his wisdom, a respect for his opinion. But this last statement produced a collective moan and even a few whispers.
Tangled continued. ‘We will have to deal with this matter, finally, at the feast. But in the meantime, our kettles do not have enough meat for our stomachs and we must gather more so that our feast will not disgrace the hospitality of our ancestors. So our young men must go out and hunt. We know that this has become dangerous, for the enemy encroach each day more and more on our hunting grounds. So it has been decided that each clan will not hunt by itself, but two members from each clan will go on each party. Then, if they must fight and perhaps die, no clan will suffer the loss of all its young men.’ He paused and another chief handed him eight sticks, each with a different colour. ‘Each of these sticks is a hunt, from the land above the cliffs where the beaver and porcupine are plentiful, to the stream of trout to the north; from the geese grounds, to the hills of the bear. This one’ – he held up a stick dyed a bright, blood red – ‘is for the Island of Grapes in the river. It is where the deer are abundant. But it is also close to the villages of our enemy.’
Blood Ties Page 36