He laid the sticks down one by one before he spoke again.
‘We have decided that every war chief of the eight clans will take one stick. We know that each chief will want to take the red stick of most danger, so we have made the choice for you. This is not a reflection on the courage of any clan. But some know different parts of the land better than the other. Every chief will take the stick we give them and then two from each clan will join his party. Is that clear?’
There was a universal shout of ‘A-hum!’ Then the clan names were called out and Anne watched as, one by one, the clan war chiefs went to receive their commission. The Bear war chief had died defending his village. His heir, Sada, had not been formally appointed. But Sada was injured, so the stout Ganogieh took his place. In the end, there was only the red stick left, and only the Wolf clan unannounced. She watched as Black Snake, moved forward, bowed, and picked it up.
The meeting now divided, with each warrior seeking to be taken on the various hunts. Most would remain behind, as the elders required. This was not a time for the village to be undefended. But there was prestige in the hunt, honour. Anne saw many warriors jostle around each chief, a few expressing their delight, most walking away disappointed. Then she saw Black Snake move through the crowd toward the Bear clan, still gathered around Sada and Tagay.
Black Snake’s question lifted his brow, the serpent tattooed around his left eye. ‘Are there two Bears brave enough to join me on the Island of Grapes?’
He was immediately harangued from all sides. ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘I would want to take my rival from the Game but …’ He looked down at Sada’s swollen foot. ‘It seems you have missed your chance.’
Sada hopped forward. ‘I could still run around you, Black Snake.’
The smile left the tattooed face. ‘We will have to wait a while to see that. And now the tribe needs food. I do not need lame birds but warriors who can move and move fast.’
Before a furious Sada could reply, Otetian stepped in front of him. ‘Then you will need me.’
Immediately there was a rush of others. Black Snake waited for the tumult to abate a little, then said, ‘Otetian honours me and I accept him. But he was, after all, the loser of the race.’ A raised hand halted Otetian’s protest. ‘Does not the winner dare to come? Or does his skill lie only in speed? Is that why he does not volunteer?’
All turned to Tagay. ‘I had not offered myself because I know how many more of my clan are worthy, who have the skills of the hunt that I lack.’ He stepped forward so that his face was level with the tattooed one of Black Snake. ‘But I am more than willing to take the place of my cousin, Sada, and honour him.’
For a silence that lengthened, Black Snake stared deep into Tagay’s eyes. ‘Good,’ he said finally, a slow smile returning, ‘it is settled. Get your provisions, prepare your canoes. We leave when the sun is in the treetops.’ And with that, he turned and headed for the river.
The Bear clan watched the muscled, coloured back moving away from them. Sada touched Tagay’s arm. ‘You must be careful on the island, Tagay. I do not trust this man. He keeps some secret behind his eyes.’
‘I will watch over him, Sada, since I carry his mark.’ Otetian raised his elbow. ‘Besides, on the island I will prove this cub’s triumph over me was mere chance.’
The clan split up. Other delegates went off to the gathering of their hunts, accompanied by those who must remain. Otetian said he would bring provisions for Tagay. So the young man was left, as his clan dispersed, standing alone in the suddenly emptied open space within the gates.
Not quite alone.
‘So, you have your desire, Tagay.’
The voice, coming from behind, surprised him. For a moment, the words were unclear, muddied. It took him a moment longer to realize they were spoken in French.
She stood with her back to the sinking sun. Its beams dazzled Tagay, making him squint and shade his eyes. He saw the thick hair as dark as his, as long, flooded now with a light that turned it as red as an autumn forest.
‘Anne-edda,’ he murmured. ‘White Cedar.’
She moved forward, around, so he no longer gazed into the blaze. A hand reached out but when none rose to meet it, slipped back to her side.
‘They have taken you back.’
‘Yes.’
‘I am happy for you.’
‘Thank you.’
A silence came, as awful as the stilted sentences. All those words they’d spoken after she’d fallen from the Paris sky were as nothing, mocked by this awkwardness. She coloured, hating the tone of her voice, hating having to ask. She had never depended on any man apart from her father – and he had died so they could get here. So she had no choice but to ask.
‘And what of me?’
‘You?’ He shifted, looked away, back to the brightness. ‘You are treated well, are you not? My aunt looks after you?’
‘Treated well?’ The tone in her voice changed. If she drew strength from her father she was her mother’s daughter too and had Beck’s temper. ‘I am not a visitor, Tagay. Some stranger given a bowl of stew and a place beside your hearth. If you had a reason for coming here, so did I. Or have you forgotten my cause in the excitement of your own?’
‘Excitement?’ His voice hardened to match hers. ‘This is not a game, Anne. I have come back to my family, my clan, my people. Only today was I truly born.’
‘And only yesterday did my father die.’ She spat the last word at him.
‘He did not die for me.’
‘He did. He died because I persuaded him that the only end for the cause of his life was in this New World, free from the Christian savagery of the Old. Your world. He gave his life for both of us so we could get here together and you would help me bury … this!’
As she spoke, she had reached into the deerskin pouch Gaka had given her. From within it she pulled the soiled wool bag. Pulling the material tight, she thrust it toward Tagay, so he could see where it pushed out at six distinct points.
He recoiled from it, took a step away. ‘So you are here. In this New World that is as old to our people as your world is to yours. Bury it. Bury it now.’
‘You know I cannot bury it till a full moon. That was this Queen’s wish.’
‘So bury it then. And there will be an end to it.’
‘Will it?’ Suddenly, her voice dropped to near a whisper. ‘And what else will it be an end to, Little Bear?’
With that, clutching the hand before her, she turned and walked through the village gates.
‘Anne.’ He took a step after her. ‘Anne, wait.’
‘Leave her, nephew. Leave her alone. Unless you are going to speak the words she needs to hear.’ His aunt emerged from the shadow cast by the palisade. ‘Can you speak them?’ she continued, walking toward him. ‘Do you know what is in your heart for her?’
‘Aunt.’ He looked at her, then back to the direction Anne had taken, out of sight now along the stream bank. ‘I do not know what I feel. She is part of another life. One I hated, one I left behind. How can I … love her? She knows nothing of this world.’
Gaka halted before him. She coughed, wiped her mouth. ‘And you, born just this moment, know so much?’
‘She will not want to stay here, Aunt. I know these people. They call us savages because we do not follow their God, their ways.’
‘Have you asked her if she wants to stay?’
‘No.’
‘Have you told her of your confusion?’
‘I have not had a chance.’ He could not meet his aunt’s amused stare. ‘I would not know what answers to give her.’
Gaka laughed. ‘It is always the same with men. You think you must know everything before you speak. But often all you have to do is ask the true question of your heart. And let the woman hear it and give the answer.’
Before Tagay could reply, Otetian appeared beside the nearest longhouse. ‘Tagay, come,’ he called, ‘the canoes are in the water.’
He took a ste
p toward the summons, then turned back to his aunt. ‘Tell her,’ he said, ‘tell her, when I return … if I …’
‘Yes, nephew?’
He looked again at the impatient Otetian, at the bow, quiver and pouch he held in readiness for Tagay. Looked beyond him, to the hunt, to the dangers that awaited him on the island. To more of his New World.
‘Nothing. There is nothing to tell.’ He went to the waiting warrior, put the quiver on his back, the pouch to his side, took the bow. Together they ran out of sight toward the water’s edge.
Anne strode along the banks of the stream, not noticing anything beyond the step before her, the one after that. In speed there was some comfort, a distance gained between her and her confusion – or so she thought. Yet when she stopped to breathe some distance from the palisade, she realized that confusion had only come with her.
Now she looked around at a place she had never seen before. She had wandered off the main path, down alongside an even smaller stream. Where she stopped, it widened slightly, deepened, forming a small pool. It was shaded by the drooping leaves of three silver birch. The familiar trees, the gentle sound of the water, reminded her of that other glade, outside the walls of Montalcino.
‘Oh, Haakon, Haakon.’ Her eyes filled with water as she thought of the big, grey-bearded Norseman and those others she loved. Her mother, a widow now, needing her absent daughter. The gentle Fugger. Erik and Maria, the young lovers she envied. Suddenly, she felt so far away from everything she understood. All because she’d listened to the runes, in a place much like this one.
She looked down at the bag she yet clutched before her, felt the outline of that dead queen’s bones within it.
Why must I wait for the full moon? she thought. Here is as good a place, as good a time, as any. Why not just bury it here and have done? Then, when Uncle Pierre returns with his ship, I can be ready to leave on the instant and return to those I love, who love me.
On the other side of the pool the trail went on into the wood. There had to be a secluded spot deep within it, perfect for such a burial. Hoisting to her hips the bead dress Gaka had lent her, she stepped into the pond to cross. It rose to the middle of her thighs and for a moment she paused to savour the feeling, the delicious coolness in the summer heat.
Something dropped into the water beside her with a loud ‘plop’. She looked up hastily to the overhanging tree. Then she heard the chuckle and turned to see what at first looked like a blue snake peering from the tall grasses that lined the pool.
‘I was only a boy, when the last of the Pale Thieves fled, because they were so weak and couldn’t settle here,’ Black Snake said, thrusting his whole face into view. ‘But I remember all their women were scrawny little bitches. They did not have legs, strong like yours.’
Anne dropped the dress, careless that it now soaked up the water. She moved swiftly back to the bank but not swiftly enough to get there before Black Snake. He stood above her, a hand stretched out.
‘Let me help you,’ he said gently. It was the gentleness that made her pause for she saw the coldness in the eyes, knew a sudden stab of fear. She looked away, down to the hands he wanted to take. One still clutched the remains of Anne Boleyn. She reached back to her hip pouch, slipping the woollen bag into it.
The gentleness had gone. ‘What is it that you have put away so quickly?’ he said. ‘Could it be the Oki of the Great Witch that I have heard about?’
There was no time to wonder at what he said, where he could have heard of Anne Boleyn’s hand, because he bent and pulled her, sudden and fast from the pool, one arm snaking around her, trapping hers, squeezing her chest to his.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘and you are not scrawny here, either.’
A hand passed over the front of her dress, fingers jabbing into her breasts. ‘Yes,’ he grunted again, his voice suddenly thick.
His tattooed arm was like a band of steel wrapped round her, squeezing. It was hard to get any air. She looked up into eyes that showed no pity, only a terrible desire. He began to walk backwards with her.
‘White Cedar! White Cedar!’ It was a young voice, a boy’s, and it came through the screen of tall grass, from the path behind them. The grip loosened slightly and some air got in.
‘Do-ne!’ she called. In a moment, the boy appeared, hopping swiftly toward them on his one good leg.
‘Get away, child.’ Black Snake still held her, fury in his eyes, a beast surprised over its kill. ‘Get away before I hurt you.’
The little boy stopped, but he did not retreat. ‘But Black Snake,’ he said, his voice quavering, ‘this is where we have come to practise our javelins. See!’ He raised the one he held.
The warrior, still holding Anne, took a step toward him and Do-ne limped one back, balancing the spear in the manner just before throwing. Black Snake halted, though the threat from the crippled child seemed ridiculous. And in the moment he stopped, before he could speak again, the sound of other voices came from the path and a crowd of ten-year-olds, all clutching javelins, ran into sight. They halted immediately, eyes and mouths wide.
Black Snake pushed Anne backwards. She stumbled, one foot slipping into the water at the pool’s edge. He bent to her.
‘There will be another time for us.’ His voice was low so only she could hear. ‘And your Witch’s Oki, and these children, will not protect you. Nothing will.’
Then he stood and ran past the startled boys.
In a moment, Do-ne was beside her. ‘I saw you leave the village,’ he said. ‘Then I saw Black Snake follow. He is not a good man, so …’
He took her hand, held it as she slipped sobbing to the ground, looking with embarrassment at his young companions as she clutched his frail body to her, rocking him, for as long as the tears fell.
FOUR
DEER HUNT
Tagay dropped more dried grass into the small hardwood bowl then blew gently, watching as the flame caught in a sudden burst of crimson and yellow. Carefully he added a few broken twigs, and when these too fired and glowed he nodded to Otetian and moved a step away, watching as the next firebearer stepped up to the crouching warrior. Otetian held the device, a short bow lying horizontally, its string wound about the top third of an upright stake whose pointed end rested in a groove on a flat piece of bark. Just above the point the stick was thrust through a lump of heavier wood. By pulling the bow up and down vigorously, the weighted stick spun into the groove causing sparks to fall on bits of grass, which, when they caught, were swiftly transferred to the wooden bowls and their kindling there.
Tagay moved away to his appointed position, nurturing his flame, marvelling at the ingenuity of his people. In the world he’d come from, flame was ever present, carefully preserved from one day to the next. Here, it was simply conjured forth when required. Lowering himself gently, he placed his back against a spruce tree, holding the bowl to his chest, blowing and feeding as required, stretching his legs out before him. He did not think there was a part of him that did not ache. The running of the day before, together with the night hours of hard paddling that had brought them to this island, had spread fire throughout his limbs as completely as Otetian’s bow had brought it out of the wood.
Otetian, seemingly tireless at his paddle, had told him that they were lucky, for such a hunt would usually require more protracted effort. Several hundred warriors would take part and spend the first ten days building barriers of fresh brush stretching either side of a valley for half a mile, tapering to a narrow point – the killing zone. After the slaughter there, the deer would be skinned, butchered, the meat and hide dried before fires and packed into bark barrels for transport back to the village. But this could not be the case with their hunt for they were few, a mere sixteen hunters. There was no time to build many fences, so they had fetched old ones from their usual hunting valley further inland, repaired them where necessary. The earth had provided them with this killing ground, the slopes were steep where the valley narrowed. So they had blocked off its end with the
ir few fences. Black Snake and half the party waited down there. Otetian headed the other half, who would fire the dry brush around them, using flame and their voices to drive the deer into the ambush. And they would only bring fresh meat for this feast.
He had also told Tagay they were lucky in something else. Though this island was traditionally the hunting ground of the Tahontaenrat, more and more parties had encountered their enemy, the Nundawaono, the Great Hill People, in ever larger numbers. Many had been slain or taken captive in recent years. But today, Otetian said, Black Snake had scouted ahead and found no sign of the fierce, tattooed warriors.
‘And he should know their mark,’ Otetian had reminded him, ‘for he was once one of them, before he was reborn as one of us.’
The late afternoon sun slanted through the thick canopy of leaf. Tagay shifted, straightening his back, rolling his shoulders and neck, checking for the tenth time that his bow was strung to the right tension for him – he was using a boy’s bow and though it was still powerful it was not the huge one carried by most warriors, which needed a lifetime’s training to pull. He knew he was not yet a hunter, would just have to do his best. And he was very glad that there was no sign of the enemy. Though he had trained long hours with the sword, had even fought a few times in France, they were mere drunken brawls, entered into because of a woman and too much wine, ending in minor cuts and salvaged honour. Facing a screaming, tattooed warrior with a stone tomahawk would be somewhat different.
The file of warriors had received their fire and dispersed again. When the last was in position, Otetian swiftly dismantled his flame maker, then stood. Most could see him, as they strung out across the mouth of the valley like wampum beads on a belt. So his cry was for those at each end who could not and for those who waited up ahead.
‘Ay-ee!’ Otetian called and as he cried he tipped the contents of his bowl onto a pile of brush at his feet. Tagay did the same, as did each of the warriors. The dried grass caught, ran onto the kindling below, spread beyond. The wind fanned it, soon small bushes began to smoulder; here and there one broke into flames, scorching the lower branches of the canopy. Leaves curled, cones glowed. The breeze blew from behind them, so smoke pushed up the valley.
Blood Ties Page 37