Dance of the Tiger

by Bjorn Kurten

  They buried Marten’s skull high up on Troll Ridge, beside the cairn. When Tiger told the story of the place, Veyde was sure that it must be the grave of Mister Cornel. After his adventure with the tiger, he had left the Gorge and settled by a lake just like this. They paid homage in the ways of their own people, Tiger engraving the likeness of a rampant marten on the boulder with which they covered Marten’s grave. “Though I cannot do it as well as my brother,” he said sadly.

  Finally they decided to return to the cloudberry bog to find their friends from Veyde’s Island. The time for harvest was drawing near. There they could decide whether to go to Blue Lake to engage the Whites for an attack on Shelk.

  “We cached a lot of things before we started the mammoth hunt last summer,” Tiger said. “I do not think Shelk can have found them. There were fine spearheads and other weapons which will come in handy.”

  On the way back Tiger found the cache, untouched. He made two shafts and hafted the finest points to them. Then they added the arms to their burdens and continued their journey.

  That same evening the new weapons came in handy. Veyde and Tiger were sitting by the campfire when they heard the sound of heavy snorting. A great grey shelk appeared in the firelight, its eyes glowing with the reflections of the flames and its immense antlers luminous against the dark background. It seemed to be irresistibly drawn to the fire and hardly noticed Tiger, who gripped his spear and drew to the side, ready to attack. Veyde, with her spear, took the other side of the advancing animal, who came forward, inhaling the wood-smoke in long, luxurious breaths. Tiger and Veyde lunged with their spears, and the shelk fell, struck through the heart.

  While they butchered the animal, Veyde and Tiger talked about its behavior. Tiger felt that it was an omen, that they would slaughter Shelk himself in the same way.

  They stripped the head and found maggots in the nasal cavity. The animal, plagued by its parasites, had sought relief in the tang of the smoke. “I hope Shelk will be eaten by maggots, too,” Tiger muttered, and he started to dress the sheik’s tongue for smoking.

  After the rains, the weather turned warm and sunny. Mushrooms were sprouting. Used to Veyde’s foraging as he was, Tiger was still getting surprises, and one of them came when they were close to Miss Sundew’s Cloudberries. With a hoot of delight, Veyde threw down her burden and kneeled to pick a colony of small mushrooms growing inconspicuously in the moss. At first sight, they looked like autumn leaves scattered over the forest floor.

  “Do you really mean that these can be eaten?” asked Tiger.

  “Yes, of course,” said Veyde. “They are chanterelles. Have you never eaten mushrooms?”

  “Never,” said Tiger. To him and his people mushrooms were uncanny things, sprouting silently overnight like little ghosts, then rotting into slimy corruption. The Blacks were afraid of them.

  “Well, these are among the best, but there are many others. Look at this.” And she picked a big one with a rich brown cap, a green underside, and a fat stalk. She bit off a piece and munched contentedly. Tiger took a nibble. The taste was faint but pleasant, and soon he was eating with relish. They went on, looking for more.

  Tiger found some odd white ones with a heavy, long stalk and a very small cap. The base was enclosed in a kind of sheath. Before he had a chance to taste this new delicacy, Veyde gripped his arms. Her grip was so powerful that Tiger flinched and cried out, “Easy, Veyde! You are hurting me!”

  “Do not touch those, Tiger! They are death! They killed one of my ancestors!”

  “What happened?” asked Tiger.

  “It was Mister Coltsfoot,” Veyde began. “He begat Miss Cowslip, who bore Miss Torchflower, who bore Miss Parnassia, who bore my mother. Coltsfoot was Miss Mayweed’s man. They had lived together for three winters, yet they were childless. Both wanted a child and they begged Miss Crowberry, an old woman, to help them. She sang magic songs and incantations, and they prayed to the birds of the north and the south, but it was to no avail. Another summer went by, and still they were barren.

  “Coltsfoot was in despair. No matter what they did, his seed did not take root in Mayweed. Late in the summer, they went out to gather mushrooms, and he saw this one we now call the death-cap. You see its shape? It is the shape of your own cock when it rises to do its work. Coltsfoot secretly gathered the mushrooms, and ate them far away in the wood. Right away, he felt his cock rise and knew that he would be able to beget a child at last. He and Mayweed were in their tent all that day, and he came into her many times. When she marveled at his power, he told her what he had done, and she was pleased and happy, as sure as he that now they would be blessed.

  “He never ate anything else that day, and made love late into the night. When the waning moon rose he fell sick, and soon was mortally ill. All that he had inside was flowing out of him, and at last his guts came out too. He died in agony.

  “Mayweed was indeed blessed, and next spring she bore Cowslip. Cowslip never saw her father, who died for her sake. We do not know if it was the death-caps that killed him or the exertions of his lovemaking, but since then no one has touched them. And you must not touch them, Tiger, for we are already blessed.”

  Tiger let the mushrooms fall from his hands and smiled at her. “No, we have no need for them,” he said. “And are there other deadly ones, too?”

  “Yes,” said Veyde. “There is the fleabane, the red one with white spots. They say it is dangerous, though I never heard of anybody who ate one. You must stick to the safe kinds—the chanterelles, which are like autumn leaves, and these big brown cepes. I will show you.”

  She jumped up, relieved now that the danger was over. Later on, she taught him to recognize the good kinds: the stately parasol mushrooms with their tall, ringed stalks and a disk two hands across; the small brown ones with a peppery taste; the moist yellow-skinned boletes, which melt in the mouth; and the honey-mushrooms growing in bunches on tree-stumps.

  Veyde was interrupted by a shout, and out of the forest ran Baywillow.

  “I was lucky to find you,” he said. “I came upon your tracks and followed you as quickly as I could. You must not go to the cloudberry bog. The Devils are ahead of us. They have taken Blue Lake.”

  “When?” cried Tiger.

  “Three days ago. Just after we left for Miss Sundew’s Cloudberries.”

  Baywillow told his story. “The day after you left Blue Lake, Silverbirch and his party went on to the bog. They spent a couple of days there, harvesting the cloudberries. Sorrel came, carrying her baby, and told us that the Blue Lake village had been attacked by a group of Blacks. She managed to escape because she was out picking berries and spent the night in the wood. Returning, she heard voices speaking in the Black tongue and knew something was wrong. She crept away quickly and ran to Miss Sundew’s Cloudberries, where she knew she would find us.

  “Sorrel thinks the camp was attacked at sunrise, for she remembers waking and hearing distant noises, which made her wary. And a good thing it was. She went to the island with Silverbirch and the others. I stayed behind to make sure you did not walk into the trap. I also scouted around Blue Lake, and the Devils are still there. They are behaving differently now. Last year they took their prisoners and vanished. This time they are staying longer.”

  “What happened to the people at Blue Lake?” asked Veyde.

  “I believe most of them are still there. I saw women and children, and one of the men. I thought I might get a chance to talk to somebody, but there are many sentries and they will not let anyone out. I do not know how many they may have killed.”

  Tiger was thunderstruck by the enemy’s new move. His mind was racing, but only in a circle. He had counted on the help of the Blue Lake Whites. Now they too had been overpowered. Was there no end to Shelk’s resources and power? The little group of Whites at Veyde’s Island was alone, without friends on the mainland. His chance to fight the terrible Shelk was gone.

  Baywillow was grave too, but he never lost his air of polite c
almness. “What should we do now, Tiger?” he asked.

  Tiger shook his head. In a dull voice he told Baywillow about their journey to Trout Lake, and what they had found there. The tall young man’s face showed little emotion, but he gripped Tiger’s hand.

  “I think we had better go back to the island,” said Veyde. “There at least we shall be safe.”

  “I agree,” said Baywillow. “Miss Silverweed will be waiting for us with the raft, and once we take it, Shelk will find it hard to get across the channel.”

  “He can build another raft,” said Tiger.

  “We will keep watch,” said Veyde. “In that way we will know if they are coming.”

  “Why should they come at all?” said Baywillow. “They don’t know where we are.”

  “Shelk seems to know everything,” muttered Tiger, “but I hope you are right.”

  “We had better move fast,” said Baywillow. “Let me help you with your burdens. That is a beautiful shelk’s tongue. What a good thing you are not pulling runners—they make too big a track. I told Mister Silverbirch to be sure everyone carries his gear on his back to make it harder for the Devils to follow them.”

  Tiger nodded, but the next day he realized that the precaution had been useless. There was a beaten track leading down to the shore, and nothing could be done to hide it.

  THE TRAP

  Darnach sluoch er schiere einen vvisent und einen elch,

  Starcher uore viere und einen grimmen schelch.

  —Nibelungenlied

  Silverweed was waiting for them with the raft, and they paddled across to the island with some difficulty in the fresh southern breeze. “If this weather keeps up, they will have a hard time crossing,” said Veyde.

  From that day on, in fair weather or foul, the crossing was constantly surveilled by one or two of Veyde’s people, from the hill opposite the mainland promontory. Tiger called the place Lookout Point. Summer slowly turned into autumn, and still nothing happened. There were many days of storms and heavy rains, and most people moved to their winter houses. But Tiger pitched a tent on Lookout Point and spent most of his time there. He seemed to live in a dark dream in which the mainland, glimpsed through the mist and driving rain, became a world of malevolence, an evil shadow at the edge of his own world. He felt better when another squall blotted it out of his sight. He practiced shooting with his throwing-stick and his sling, and all the time his thoughts oscillated between his own losses and misery on one side and the enemy’s invincible power on the other.

  Veyde spent much of her time with him, though she was now heavy with child and tired easily. Her presence was comforting. So was that of Baywillow, who came often. Veyde told stories, of which she had an inexhaustible fund. Baywillow brought sketching materials, pieces of birch-bark and charcoal, and prevailed upon Tiger to make drawings, which he would then copy with growing skill. Some of Tiger’s own misery found expression in the images taking shape under his hand. He had always been a skillful artist. Now the lines of backs and legs, antlers and muzzles, took on a sensitive and spiritual quality new to his work.

  For a day or two, Tiger toiled to reproduce the shelk he and Veyde had felled on their way back from Trout Lake. He showed the animal head-on, with its muzzle raised to display the majestic sloping crowns of its antlers. Then, with a savage stab, he thrust a spearpoint into its forehead.

  The others lost interest in the Devils as the menace faded with the passing days. Now the weather changed. They had a late taste of summer, with clear skies and great swarms of migrating birds. One evening just after sunset, the sky lit up with the most tremendous auroral light Tiger had ever seen. He sat with Veyde on Lookout Point, gazing with wonder and awe at the great shafts of light across the sky. They radiated out from a point, their ghostly colors changing all the time from blue and green to red. Not a sound was heard.

  “It is the Great Swan shaking her feathers,” said Veyde. “I have never seen her so excited. She is calling her cygnets. They are coming from the far north to tell us—”

  “We always said it was the Star-Hunters shooting their javelins,” said Tiger.

  Veyde shuddered. “Tiger! I know her message. She is telling us they are on the way. She is warning us, Tiger! They are coming.”

  Tiger was seized by her mood at once. He, too, felt that something extraordinary was astir. He had never seen the aurora so early in the autumn. The northern lights belonged to the winter sky. Now, when the leaves were barely turning, they must be an omen.

  “Go back, Veyde, and tell the others,” he said. “I will keep watch. If they come, they will come in the night.”

  She left quickly, and Tiger looked out across the water to the mainland. Was there something moving? A black speck, far off, against the dull sheen of the water? He rubbed his eyes. Now, when it was too late, he realized that he had made no plans. What would they do when the enemy came? Run away? Or fight? He knew he could fight. But the others? He thought of Veyde’s gentle people, so polite, so compliant. What would they do? What could they do?

  In sudden agony he realized that he should have prepared long ago. What had he done this year? Nothing. He ought to have been planning right from the start. Then he might have had a chance—they might all have had a chance. But he had just drifted along with the stream of events. Still a boy, Tiger blamed himself for not having the foresight and experience of an old man. Now it was too late. He would have to fight alone, like Marten. He would be killed like Marten, too, and his head put on a stake.

  What could he have done? He could have rallied the Whites and the Biglakers into a fighting troop. Wolf, his father’s friend, would have helped. They could have resisted, even attacked. He used to have friends, but Shelk had conquered them all. None were left except the little tribe on Veyde’s Island. And Shelk was coming to finish them. There was somebody out on the water.

  For a year Tiger had lived in a dream. Now he was awake, and shame of his neglect burned into him. He could do nothing now. They would have to flee, but where would they go? In his mind’s eye Tiger saw the map of the islands as he had seen it in the mirage. The Devils would track them: Tiger knew they were good at that. If he and Veyde’s people fled north or south along the fringe of islands, they would be caught in the end. The children would make their progress slow. Their only raft was here. Using it would take them straight into the enemy’s hands. Besides, the raft was too small to carry everybody.

  Could they swim back to the mainland from another island, and escape in the forest? Perhaps, but for how long? Tiger thought of Veyde, so close to childbirth, and of the children. They could not swim so far. The water was already too cold. He could do it alone, save his own skin, but he would never abandon the others.

  The raft was close enough now for him to see it clearly. It was big, and there were at least two hands of men on it. No one spoke, but he could hear the faint sound of the paddling. Somebody on board knew the sea. The flickering light still danced overhead. “O Black Tiger!” he murmured, but the rest of his tormented prayer was silent.

  A hand gripped his shoulder, and he looked around to see Baywillow in the faint light. “Are they coming?” Baywillow whispered in the Black tongue, which he always used when they were alone.

  Tiger pointed at the advancing raft.

  “We’re ready for them,” said Baywillow. “Come with me.”

  “Ready?” said Tiger eagerly. “Will you fight?” It was beyond his expectations. Baywillow smiled. “If necessary, but it may not be necessary. Come.”

  Tiger followed him, his mind full of questions. Baywillow started to go along the path to the winter houses, then stepped to the side. “Up here,” he said, and led Tiger up a steep incline. This was the highest hill on the island, flat-topped, with sheer sides. There were only a couple of places where it could be scaled. “They’ll never take us up there,” said Baywillow. “I have stocked the place with spears and rocks.”

  Hope! Tiger brightened. The great hill was indeed difficult
to climb, especially in the dark. At the top he saw Veyde. The burning shafts of the aurora were still shooting across the sky, and for a moment they seemed to crown her head like a halo.

  She was shaking. “Are they coming, Tiger?”

  “Yes, they are almost ashore now.”

  Tiger realized that the plateau was full of people. “This is a good place,” he said. “We can keep them out of here.” There were boulders which would give shelter from the enemy’s javelins. Yet Tiger felt there was something they had forgotten. “Yes, we can keep them out of here,” he repeated, “but for how long?”

  “As long as we like,” said Veyde. “If they try to climb up, we shall heave spears and rocks at them.”

  “There are only two paths to the top,” said Baywillow. “We can cover both.”

  But Tiger was thinking further ahead. “When all the rocks and spears are gone—what happens then?”

  Veyde scratched her head. The idea was new to her. “You are right, Tiger,” she admitted. “I thought we would send a hail of spears and rocks at them, but I see we can’t do that.”

  Tiger looked around. He remembered how his father had seemed to know exactly what the mammoths were going to do, and he began to see the first step of strategic thinking: putting yourself in the enemy’s position. He tried to imagine what Shelk might be planning. Shelk would try to rush them. When he found that it was impossible, he would do something else. What?

  Slowly the sickening answer came to Tiger. Shelk would do nothing. He would simply wait.

  What if Shelk waited for days? For a whole moon? What would happen then?

  “Veyde, have we got anything to eat and drink?”

  “Of course,” said Veyde. “Are you hungry, Tiger?”

  “Not now! But we shall be very hungry if we have to stay here for a long time.”

  “We cannot stay long,” said Veyde. “There is no spring here. You know that, Tiger. The only spring on the island is down near the winter houses.”