by Jo Sandhu
There were still days when their way was blocked, or they had to retrace steps around ravines and deep waterways, but each day brought them closer to Mammoth Clan. Tarin was sure of it, and while his heart urged him onwards, there was a part of him that wanted to hold back. He had no idea what to expect after so long. What if everything had changed? He had certainly changed. What if no one knew him anymore?
It was mid-afternoon when they came to another river. This one was wide and turbulent, and the ice around the water’s edge was studded with rocks and old tree branches. There would be weaknesses there, ready to break should they test their weight on it. They stood on the top of a sparsely forested cliff and studied the course of the river.
‘We can’t cross here,’ Kaija said. ‘Too much white water.’ She narrowed her eyes and looked downstream. ‘And it won’t be any easier that way. See how the cliffs narrow into a gorge?’
Tarin squatted down and hugged his knees. He looked at the softer rolling hills on the other side of the river and felt his breath catch in his chest. His heart pounded.
‘We have to reach Two Rock Peak. Then we can cross,’ he said.
Kaija and Luuka looked at him in surprise.
‘Tarin? Your face is white!’ Kaija knelt next to him. Tarin rubbed his face and took a deep breath.
‘This is the river,’ he said. ‘I crossed here with Niko.’ He looked down at the tumultuous water and shuddered. ‘This is where I was washed away.’
Kaija followed his gaze. ‘If you tried to cross here, I’m not surprised. What were you thinking?’
Tarin made a noise halfway between a laugh and a snort. ‘I guess we weren’t thinking.’ He shook his head. So much had happened to him since he first set out on his great journey. Looking back now, it was like looking at the story of a different person. That scared, weak little rabbit had travelled further and learned more than anyone could ever imagine. He wondered if his family would see how he had changed, or would he always be Tarin Twisted Leg to them? Always shunned. Always Haamu.
He pushed himself to his feet and felt the colour return to his face. ‘We go upstream from here,’ he said, and he turned and led the way.
They followed the ridge of the cliffs, keeping the river in sight, until they came to a tributary. They tracked the smaller river eastwards, until they found a place they could swim across. Chunks of ice bobbed in the water, but there was no choice – it had to be crossed.
The wolves were the first in the water while the others struggled behind, their packs balanced on their heads to keep them as dry as possible. Utu rode on Tarin’s shoulders, and complained loudly when his feet touched the water.
‘You could just fly over,’ Tarin told him, but Utu didn’t respond.
For two days they followed the course of the river. At night-time, their clothes often stiffened with ice, and they huddled together in their tent to keep warm. The wolves’ fur grew thick and lustrous, and gave them extra warmth at night. Even Utu’s feathers grew thicker as Winter rushed towards them.
Food was running low. Luuka managed to catch some fish, but the berries and herbs of Autumn were finishing, although late crowberries and bilberries could still be found.
‘The women of River Clan say eating bilberries gives you ugly children,’ Kaija said. She shrugged and swallowed them down, grinning. ‘I’d rather not be hungry, though.’
Even breathing was difficult in the frigid air, and when they stopped to make tea, they clustered around the fire.
It was mid-morning when they came to a waterfall. In the warmer months, it must have thundered over three rocky terraces before falling into a deep aqua pool, but now its flow was reduced to a trickle, and the icicles that hung by its edge sparkled in the sunshine. The day was crisp and clear, the sky intense blue, and the pine trees rose green out of their dusting of snow.
Kaija sighed deeply. ‘Normally, I would love a swim in that pool, and to stand beneath the waterfall . . .’ Her voice faded.
‘But?’ Tarin asked.
‘But I’d probably turn into an icicle.’
‘The wolves don’t care,’ Luuka said. Rohk and Nilkka were already jumping through the falls and snapping at the water spray.
They decided to stop for a meal – cold leftover fish – and Tarin made mint tea. He sat with his back against a rock and watched Kaija feed small pieces of fish to Utu.
‘Do you remember how small and wretched he was when you first rescued him, Tarin?’ Kaija asked.
‘And angry,’ said Luuka.
Tarin smiled at the memory. He had been wretched, and angry with fate too. He had wanted to die there on the Mountain, but Raven and Wolf had other ideas, and Owl had given him this tiny scrap of wet feathers to care for.
‘I remember,’ he said, and laughed when Utu stretched his wings and fluffed his feathers in a fearsome display.
After their meal, they climbed the rocky stair that led to the top of the waterfall, and stood looking out at a wide, stony river plain. A cliff in the distance drew Tarin’s attention. It was steep sided, and dotted with birch, alder and pine, but what made his breath catch in his throat was the shape of the peak. Two huge, rounded boulders, bigger than a mammoth, balanced precariously over the now shallow river. Like silent sentinels, they stood guard over a rocky causeway.
Tarin closed his eyes, and opened them again, just to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. He took a step on legs that felt suddenly weak, and his heart leapt.
After all his travels, he had finally found Two Rock Peak.
It took another day of walking to finally reach the towering boulders. Tarin craned his neck upwards and wondered what ancient Spirit had placed the rocks there, in such a way. His hand reached out to touch the grey rock of the cliff before him, and he imagined he was touching the boulders themselves.
‘Spirit of Rock, thank you,’ he whispered.
The water that usually flowed over the causeway was now frozen, but even in the height of the Spring floods it still provided safe crossing for the travellers and traders who journeyed this way.
How different his journey would have been if he had followed his father’s advice, Tarin thought. He wouldn’t have been washed downstream and nearly died. And he may have reached Mother’s Mountain so much sooner. But then . . . he wouldn’t have met Kaija and Luuka. They wouldn’t have Wintered with Worj’s clan, and maybe he may never have found the Mountain at all.
Different journeys, he thought. Different songs to sing.
The Earth Mother has a plan for us all . . .
A yelp from Rohk broke his reverie. The wolf jumped up and placed two wet paws on either side of Tarin’s chest. He whined and licked him across the face. Utu hissed in disgust.
Tarin ruffled his fur and breathed in the scent of the animal. ‘If I had crossed here at Two Rock Peak, I would never have met you, Brave One.’ The thought squeezed his heart. Rohk yelped sharply and raced away to wrestle with Nilkka.
The first touch of ground as the travellers reached the other side of the river was like the touch of home to Tarin. They still had a journey of three or four days, but Tarin felt as though he were already there.
They left the river valley behind and the landscape became wilder once more. Rocky ravines gave little chance for the forest trees to take root, and instead, silvery-leaved sagebrush and tufted grass covered the stony ground.
Rohk flushed a small rabbit and gave chase, sticking his nose into a low-growing milk vetch bush. Tarin, Luuka and Kaija laughed at the wolf ’s surprise when the hairy seed pods stuck to his muzzle. He ran around in frantic circles, trying to dislodge the burrs.
But as they covered the distance between the river and Mammoth Clan, Tarin smiled less. Sometimes, he would stride ahead, the rhythm of his march echoed by the beat of his heart. Grim thoughts filled his mind. Anger . . . pain . . . It was during these moments that he wished he could fly like an owl, and reach home sooner.
But you have forsaken Owl, the angry voice inside him
said. You have turned your back on Owl.
Then his steps would slow. The fear would return.
Little rabbit, we never thought you would succeed . . . and we were right. He imagined Jarkko saying such words, and his heart shrivelled.
And what of his father? Would he turn away from Tarin, regretting that he had entrusted such an important task to his weakling son?
Father, he would cry. I’m no longer the snivelling child I was. I am a hunter!
But Kalle would merely shake his head and look sad. It is too late, my son. You have failed. Mammoth Clan has died.
Or had Kalle been so badly injured that he, too, walked in the Spirit World?
Tarin stopped, unable to take another step. He didn’t think he could face his father’s rejection. He would rather have him believe him dead, somewhere out on the steppes.
He was ready to turn and walk away from Mammoth Clan forever, but then he thought of his mother.
Return to me, Tarin. One day.
He remembered the promises he had made to Aila so long ago. She would want to know that he had reached the Mountain, even if his quest had failed. She would want to look upon his face one more time.
And what of your pledge to Asa and Eero and Ilmi? Have you forgotten so soon?
No, not forgotten, Tarin thought, spitting the bitter taste from his mouth. Just pushed deep down inside, waiting for the right time . . .
‘Never forgotten,’ he whispered.
Utu whistled from far overhead, and Tarin shaded his eyes to follow the owl’s flight, and slowly, he started walking again.
Kaija was aware of Tarin’s hesitation. She watched the different emotions flash across his face. At times, his eyes would be like the grey stone cliffs, and his lips would press together. Then his brows would draw together in a frown and he’d stop to study the ground. His shoulders slumped, as though he carried a great weight.
It was twilight, and they had been walking all day, when Kaija called a stop. Tarin was some paces ahead, and she had to send Rohk after him before he was aware they were making camp for the day.
‘Tarin! You were going to show me how to search for the crowberries beneath the snow. There’s a bush here that might be the right one.’ Kaija searched for a way to break through Tarin’s gloom. She didn’t look at him, but started to brush a layer of snow away from the low-growing bush.
‘That’s the one,’ Tarin said, joining her. ‘The leaves are spiky. We should pick some for our fire, too.’
They were both bending over the shrub when Utu suddenly cried a loud, piercing whistle, and plummeted downwards, straight into a heavy drift of snow. Before Tarin could run to rescue him, he wriggled backwards, a small rodent in his beak.
‘How did he see that?’ Kaija asked.
‘He must have heard it.’ Tarin shook his head in amazement and Kaija was happy to see his worried frown had eased.
Tarin was the first to wake the next morning. He had slept poorly the previous night, disturbed by vivid dreams and images. In his dream, he had been surrounded by grim faces that stared at him accusingly.
‘We asked but one thing of you, Tarin Outcast,’ the voices boomed. ‘Have you completed your quest?’
And the Tarin of the dream cowered on the floor and couldn’t answer.
As dawn lightened the sky, he woke in a cold sweat. Utu blinked at him, and chirruped softly. Tarin traced the pattern of his feathers with a gentle finger.
‘Spirit of Owl, you always watch over me,’ he whispered. ‘I thank you.’
Utu nipped his finger gently.
Kaija stirred. She opened her eyes and stared upwards at the sky, before sitting and pushing her hair back from her face. She looked around for a water flask, and nodded her thanks when Tarin handed one to her.
‘I see Luuka slept well,’ she said.
Tarin glanced to where Luuka lay on his back, his mouth open, and grinned.
Kaija rinsed her mouth and spat the water out. She looked at Tarin hesitantly. ‘But I don’t think you did.’
Tarin shrugged. He crouched before their fire and prodded the embers back to life. He felt weary, and he knew Kaija’s sharp eyes would see the dark circles beneath his eyes and the worry that lurked in them.
‘We . . . we haven’t really talked about . . . what Kai said.’ Kaija crouched next to him and added some twigs to the flames.
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Tarin said, and he knew his voice sounded sharp. He kept his gaze on the fire.
‘I was so, so sorry . . .’ Kaija said softly, but she stopped when Tarin jumped to his feet and moved away. ‘Tarin, it might help to talk. Don’t forget, Luuka and I have both lost those we love.’
Tarin rubbed his face, but didn’t speak.
Kaija sighed and tried again.
‘I just want you to know we understand. And I also understand your anger. I see it in your eyes, and the way you walk –’
‘They left them to their deaths. Out on the plains, in Winter. They were old, and frail.’ He stopped speaking and closed his eyes. The only sounds were the crackling fire and Luuka’s soft snores.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Kaija’s voice was barely a whisper. She turned back to the fire and emptied some water into their cooking pot to make tea. Her hair fell forward to cover her face, and Tarin felt angry with himself.
‘I know,’ he murmured.
Kaija nodded to show she had heard him. Then she spoke softly. ‘Tarin, don’t do anything rash when we get to Mammoth Camp.’ His muscles tightened as Kaija raised her head to look at him. ‘The hate in your heart? Let it go,’ she said. ‘It will serve no purpose. I know.’
‘How do you know what’s in my heart?’ Tarin asked.
‘I know hate too.’ Kaija handed him a cup of tea. He smelt mint and pine, and sipped the hot liquid thankfully, staring into Kaija’s troubled eyes.
‘You cannot bring them back,’ she said. ‘Let go of your hate.’
Tarin stared at the dregs in his cup. He didn’t want to let go of his hate. He wanted to march up to Matti and drive a flint knife deep into his chest. He wanted to tell Matti – go out into the snow. Feel their pain. Feel how it is to be outcast . . . exiled . . .
And suddenly Tarin’s song was no longer about Asa and Ilmi and Eero. It wasn’t about his father lying wounded and barely alive. It became about him. Outcast by his clan. Declared Haamu because he made a mistake. Exiled from all those he loved. The hate and anger gripped his heart and refused to leave. Tarin tossed the rest of his tea away and picked up the spear thrower.
‘I’ll see if I can find us something to eat,’ he said, and walked away.
Tarin placed one foot carefully in front of the other, put a spear along the groove in the spear thrower and readied his cast, all without his eyes leaving the suslik hiding in the patch of fallen leaves. He was pulling his arm back, ready to cast the spear, when he heard Rohk and Nilkka growling and snarling. Luuka shouted.
Then Kaija screamed.
The suslik was forgotten as Tarin ran to his friends. His heart pounded. He imagined a pack of wild wolves surrounding them, ready to rip out their throats.
On his shoulder, Utu hissed and flapped his wings, urging him faster. Tarin touched the pendant at his neck and sent a silent plea to Spirit of Owl to lend speed to his feet and protect his friends. His fingers curled around the spear thrower as he ran.
He burst around the corner. A dry watercourse and an outcrop of rock formed a small blind canyon. Tarin’s gaze swept the scene and he felt cold. A boy lay on the ground, bleeding badly from a mauled arm. It ran thick and red from his wounds and his face was deathly pale. Luuka and Kaija had grasped him beneath his armpits and were trying to pull him from the canyon.
A second boy also lay on the rocky ground, blood running down his face. His arm was upraised to protect himself from the fierce dagger-toothed cat that loomed over him. Its mouth was open in a ferocious snarl, showing long, jagged teeth. It raised its massive paw, ready to strike with kn
ife-sharp claws.
Tarin knew it wouldn’t risk breaking its teeth on a bone. Instead, it would slash the victim’s throat and belly and gorge on the soft insides. This is what his father had faced, he thought. Dagger-tooths rarely left survivors.
Rohk and Nilkka danced around the cat and the boy, lunging forward to snap and snarl. The cat spat at them. Its claws struck lightning fast. Rohk yelped and staggered as his old wound opened, blood running from his side.
The cat returned to its prey, who lay helpless on the rocky ground. The boy struggled to escape, but the cat pushed him down with its massive chest.
Tarin didn’t stop to think. He brought the spear thrower back, then lunged.
The spear flew through the air and lanced the throat of the great beast. Blood spurted from the gaping wound and the big cat collapsed to the ground.
‘Get it off me! Get it off me!’ The boy on the ground screamed and pushed the creature where it had fallen over his legs.
Luuka helped him wriggle free, then took the boy by the shoulders and shook him. ‘It’s over. You’re safe!’
The boy stared at Luuka with wild eyes, as though he couldn’t comprehend what had just happened.
‘A dagger-tooth!’ Kaija gasped. She still had her arms around the other boy, and she was covered in his blood. She looked down at herself in surprise as she realised. ‘Quickly, Tarin! We have to stop his bleeding.’
She looked towards Tarin, who stood frozen to the spot. The spear thrower hung from his hands and his face had lost all colour.
‘Tarin?’ The boy with Kaija looked confused, then his mouth opened, and he too turned white. ‘Tarin?’ His voice rose and he struggled to sit up.
‘You have to stay still.’ Kaija fought to restrain him.
‘Tarin!’ The boy pushed Kaija, but he was weak from his injuries and he fell back onto the rock.
‘Taavo!’ Tarin found his voice and hurried forward. He took his brother’s arm gently in his hand and examined the wound. Blood was still oozing from the gashes. He dropped his pack and hurriedly pulled out his extra tunic. He bunched it up and pressed down on the wound.