Dance of the Tiger

by Bjorn Kurten

  For Viper, the commander of the army, was indeed a stern and demanding leader. He had a heart of stone, the men said. He had not always been like that. After his humiliating retreat from Blue Lake, every human feeling seemed to have frozen within him. His cold eye missed nothing, and woe to those who made a mistake. In comparison with Viper, Tiger’s immediate superior, Diver, was a cheerful and easygoing person. Though he could flare up in anger, it always passed quickly. Viper never forgot anything.

  Many of Tiger’s fellows in the company were veterans from the times in the Land of Flints, and they had many stories to tell. Some of them talked nostalgically of the good old times.

  “Then, you simply took what you wanted,” said one of them, a man named Owl. “No fooling about with caribou and such things; rich chiefs to rob; pretty women to win. Ah well, that’s life. We’re becoming ordinary caribou-keepers in our old age.”

  “So we always have food,” remarked another. “Many times you had to go hungry in the old days, don’t you remember?”

  “Food, yes; everything is so well-ordered and dull that you get bored to death. All our fighting is just play. Shelk doesn’t lead us any more. Instead, that Viper is snapping at us with his fangs. Sometimes he takes us for a promenade in the woods—we’re supposed to catch those bandits, Wolf and his gang, but they’re too smart for Viper. Then, of course, we took the Troll island. That was meant to be a war, but it wasn’t really.”

  Tiger pricked up his ears. “What happened?”

  Owl, the veteran, told of their assault on Veyde’s Island. It was a big operation. Everyone knew who was there! The great Black Shaman, the one who killed the Master’s shade, said Owl in lowered tones. The Master himself came with them; and Viper, of course, as army commander. He was probably ashamed about the time when he came back from Blue Lake with his tail between his legs. But was the Shaman there? No! From what the Trolls said, he’d been lost on the ice! Hah! Not much of a shaman, hey? Everybody laughed.

  No, Owl went on, it turned out to be as easy as anything, after all those preparations and all that practice. They had waited for the winter and the ice, to get a big troop across to the island. Ho! Ten warriors would have been plenty. Of course, you couldn’t guess that beforehand, and it was true that everyone felt his ears tingle when he thought about that dreadful Shaman.

  They crossed the ice in the dark of night and stole up to the village. At dawn they had it completely surrounded, before the Trolls were even awake. Then a Troll bitch came out of her house, carrying a spear. Behind her came a Troll ox, unarmed. He was the biggest Troll ox they had ever seen, like a great boulder, yes indeed! Some other Trolls came out too, but these two were the leaders.

  Viper spoke to them. Now he, Owl, didn’t understand a word of the Troll lingo—just bah-bah-bah—but he heard afterwards that Viper had ordered them to surrender the Shaman. The bitch told Viper that the Shaman was dead, that they had better get out of there. At that Viper started to laugh, and the bitch raised her spear.

  “She shouldn’t have done that,” said Owl seriously. “Bunting, who was standing beside me, thought she was going to throw it at Viper. It didn’t look like that to me, but he let fly with his spear, catching her right in the chest. And you know, that big Troll ox just sprang into life. He came straight at Bunting with his bare hands outstretched. Right away ten spears were launched at him. He had more spears in his body than a hedgehog has spines, but that didn’t stop him. I never saw such a tough Troll ox. He put out a hand as big as a bear’s, got Bunting around the neck, and pulled the head off him, just like that, like a child picking a flower! By the Mammoth, I never saw such a surprised-looking head as Bunting’s.

  “Then, of course, the ox died. We might have butchered all the Trolls—a few more got spears in them—if the Master had not intervened. He called a halt, raised his hand, and suddenly his guiding spirit was there, high above us, calling out his magic words. That did it; the Trolls fell to the ground. After that they came along without trouble, and now they are in there”—he pointed to Sunwood—“with the other caribou-keepers.”

  Owl shook his head. “No,” he said, “it wasn’t much of a war. There’s nothing to tell about it; nothing, except for one thing—that Troll ox. Such another Troll ox I never saw.”

  Tiger nodded. It was not a bad obituary for Mister Marestail, he thought. And he rejoiced at the confirmation of what he had read in the frozen face of his dead friend.

  After one moon in Diver’s Company, Tiger looked back at his earlier ideas of defeating Shelk with an armed force and smiled pityingly. What kind of chance would he, or even Wolf, stand of defeating the Men of the Eagle Feather? Caribou Lake was an impregnable fortress. It was guarded by the Gorge, by Caribou Lake, by the palisades, and above all, by the invincible warriors who manned it. Fox was right: Wolf was but a mosquito. He could do mischief for a time, but no real harm. There was a new power in the land, one that had never been seen before.

  The defenses had a dual purpose. They kept human enemies away; they also kept away the carnivores that might be dangerous to the caribou. In the early days, before all was ready, they had made a lot of trouble, especially the hyenas. But being intelligent animals, they had now learned their place and wisely kept away.

  The only animals that made trouble these days were the itinerants, those who did not have a permanent territory like the hyenas. It might be a wolf pack coming across the ice of Caribou Lake, in which case there was a great hunt. The greylegs were driven into the bend of the Gorge and killed off. Bears were another menace, but they were abroad mostly in the summer, when the lake was open. It sometimes happened that a drowsy and hungry bear managed to get across the ice in the spring, and he always ended up on the spit. As for the occasional solitary hyenas, they were demoralized from the beginning and easily dealt with. Few cared to eat their meat.

  By far the most troublesome animal was the glutton, an elusive beast. Free from their greatest rivals, the wolves, the gluttons were having a good time in Sunwood. No matter how many were killed, new ones seemed always to crop up. Many times the warriors were sent into Sunwood to hunt out predators, but Tiger had to stay at home. He was not yet fully trained.

  And the caribou, the cattle of the Sun? They were causing trouble too. The warm summers were hard on them, and many died, especially the calves. Fortunately, the losses could be made up when the migrating herds passed by. The warriors learned to cut off groups of animals from the main herd and drive them into Sunwood. They needed food, though. Caribou don’t live on Troll piss alone, as Owl put it. Big as it was, Sunwood was getting short of caribou food. So were large areas of the land around Caribou Lake. Lichens were collected by women in camps like Goshawk’s, and the burdens were carried to Sunwood by Troll oxen, long lines of them, toiling under the escort of warrior patrols. The other garrisons at Blue Lake, Big Lake, and Swidden Moor had to contribute by hunting. So the Men of the Eagle Feather were gradually turning into ordinary villagers again, who must hunt to keep alive, even though they now had slaves to do the more tiresome tasks.

  There were always many women in the camp. Whether they worked in Sunwood or in the surrounding forest, they usually came to the camp for their days off. When a warrior had his woman in the camp, he worked half-time, unless he had had the misfortune to bring down Viper’s ire upon his head. The half-time rule did not apply to Tiger, who was still a recruit, but he did have some time off, and Tern had appropriated him immediately, by the simple device of announcing to Diver that she was Wildcat’s woman.

  At such times they had the use of one of the family huts which had been built close to the place where the little stream joined the Great River. This was close to the Gap, where the river was transformed from a thundering cataract into a serene sheet of flowing water. The Gap itself was hidden by a spur of rock, but flying spray rose in the air, and at sunrise the foot of a rainbow could be seen. The roar of the rapids drowned most sounds except occasional piercing screams from the huts where
men and women gave vent to the desire accumulated during their six days of abstinence. Above all, however, the family village was an idyll, separated from the War Camp and its harsh regime. Children played under the proud eyes of their parents, fathers coached their young sons in the skills of the hunter, and young lovers went around hugging each other tenderly. Most of the women who spent their free time in the family village were Black, but there were also a few White girls, and Tiger sometimes had to act as interpreter between a Black warrior and his White woman.

  Tiger was grateful to have Tern’s favor, and not only because she was pretty, cheerful, and affectionate. It was more than that. She was the only one for whom he permitted himself to entertain friendly feelings. True to the task he had taken upon himself, he refused to see the warriors as anything but cold-blooded murderers. Mentally he had armored himself against them, although he was careful to keep up a friendly appearance. To a young man of Tiger’s frank and open nature, this situation would have become unbearable if he had not found an outlet for his emotions in the company and embraces of Tern.

  There was another reason, too, which he admitted to himself. As long as he was “nice” to Tern, as she herself put it, he could at any rate be sure that she was not going to betray him. So it happened that he was loath to let her out of his sight. Tern attributed this to jealousy and was flattered. She had a flighty nature, and in the normal order of things would probably have turned her interest in other directions soon enough. But there was so much to keep her curiosity alive. Why had Goshawk called him a great shaman? Why did he have two names? Why did he hide his greatest treasure, the big tiger fang? To her he became a figure ranking almost with the Master. None of Tern’s questions was answered, but Tiger’s untold secret bound her to him as much as his obvious, passionate need of her presence.

  And now, after one moon in Diver’s Company, when Caribou Lake was ice-free at last, Tiger was called to Shelk once more.

  THE ARTIST

  Eagles and lions can never be so plentiful as pigeons and antelopes.

  —A. R. Wallace, On the tendency of varieties to depart indefinitely from the original type

  Tiger and Baywillow were together again.

  Unknown to him, Shelk had arranged this when he took Tiger out of Diver’s Company, after one moon of training, and made him the artist of Caribou Lake. The decoration of the Sun Pillar was Tiger’s first commission, and Shelk wanted it ready for the Midsummer celebration.

  Tiger’s second interview with Shelk was less trying than the first. No questions, no wandering in a nightmare of lies. The conversation was in the Black language, and Hind sat listening in her usual place. During the pauses, Tiger saw Shelk’s eyes stray to the picture of the caribou cow and calf, which now hung on the wall beside him.

  Shelk described the animals he wanted on the pillar. Three were important, the Sun’s cattle: the mammoth, the caribou, and above them both the shelk. As for the others, he gave Tiger free rein. The commission pleased Tiger, because it meant that he was now freed from Diver’s Company; and the work was challenging. He and Shelk spoke for a while about the composition and the animals to be rendered. Already Tiger saw pictures in his mind, and he offered several suggestions, to which Shelk readily assented.

  “Then we’re agreed,” said Shelk. “You will move away from the company today, Wildcat. You have learned enough to be a good warrior, should the need arise; but in peacetime you are now free of service. I want a pillar to delight the Sun and the Guardians of the animals. You must devote all of your time to it. A house has been built for you in the village of the Overseers, and I trust you’ll find what you need in it. If there is anything you wish, speak to Buzzard, one of the Overseers of Sunwood; he’ll arrange things for you. I must tell you in confidence that he’s the best of all the Overseers and speaks both languages perfectly. I have instructed him to give you all the help you need.”

  Tiger’s eyes were shining, and Shelk smiled. “I can see you’re glad to get work that suits you better than the drudgery of the company,” he observed.

  So Tiger moved into his new house at the far end of the Overseer’s village. In accordance with Shelk’s wish, he went to see Baywillow as soon as the Overseer returned from his usual round in Sunwood. The brothers had much to tell each other of their adventures since they had been separated on the ice at Deadman Island, but Tiger’s first question was: “Veyde? Marten?”

  “Alive and well. Veyde’s taking care of Marten and of Centaury, my daughter. She knows you’re here, and she is ready to do anything to help you. She has talked with those of the Whites whom she can trust, but there are many who are awed by Shelk. They think he’s the Guardian of birds, because he has a raven that goes everywhere with him and speaks to him in the language of man.”

  “He may be that,” said Tiger, “but we’ll find a way. We are here now, and we must go on. Do you know anything about my family from Trout Lake?”

  “Yes. Your mother, Oriole, died last summer, but your sister—our sister—Godwit, is alive. She lives with another woman from Trout Lake in the village of the Black women in Sunwood. There are many women and children from Trout Lake.” Baywillow, who as Overseer had all the names in his head, reeled them off. Tiger listened, deeply moved. Once more he was in the country of his childhood, with his mother whom he had lost forever. But Godwit was alive. How had she fared?

  “She is a grown woman now,” said Baywillow, “intelligent and beautiful. I’m proud of my sister, but I haven’t made myself known to her. I’ll do it if you wish, Tiger, and I’ll tell her about you.”

  “Do, Baywillow, if you can do so in secret. But don’t tell anybody else; we don’t know whom we can trust. Many of those women live with Shelk’s warriors. We are in constant danger as it is; too many people know my secret.” Tiger told him about Goshawk, Tern, and Hind. Baywillow shook his head. “From what you say, we can trust the girls. Goshawk may betray you from sheer foolishness. We’ll have to keep an eye on him.”

  Then Baywillow told Tiger about the storm. He had managed to get ashore on Deadman Island, and had built a hut where he stayed until the weather cleared. After that, he spent a couple of days searching for Tiger. In the end he gave up and returned to Veyde’s Island. Tiger already knew what Baywillow had found there. Like Tiger he had resolved to join Shelk’s army in the hope of avenging himself.

  “Tell me, Baywillow, how did you get to be an Overseer?”

  Baywillow had been lucky. Close to Caribou Lake he met a warrior who turned out to be a messenger on his way home. They made the journey together, and the warrior recommended Baywillow to Fox. Baywillow was put in a company—Horned Owl’s, not Diver’s—but he had to stay for only half a moon. Crow, one of the Overseers, had fallen ill and was unable to do his job. Goshawk, who up to then had worked in Sunwood, was transferred to Crow’s job; and Baywillow got Goshawk’s vacant post in Sunwood.

  “That nitwit Goshawk boasts that he knows our language,” said Baywillow. “In reality he speaks such a queer lingo you don’t understand half of it. He was having trouble in Sunwood, because that’s where most of the Whites are, and Shelk was pleased to find a good linguist for the place. So that’s how I got here, and now you’re here too. If Shelk only knew!”

  “He’ll know one day,” Tiger answered. “But if the Guardian of the tiger and mammoth wills, it’s going to be on our terms. Have you got a plan?”

  Baywillow shook his head. “I’ve seen one thing: no human power can break the power of Shelk. The only people on our side are Veyde and her Whites. What can they do?”

  “We could arm them and take over Sunwood,” suggested Tiger.

  “Shelk’s fighters would kill them like so many caribou. You’ve seen them yourself: do you think we could stand up against them? Even with the help of your friend Wolf? No, Tiger, it has to be done another way. But how?”

  They had reached the beach at Caribou Lake, shelving at this place; to the east it rose steeply. Tiger looked out at the great
sheet of water, now calm and like a mirror in the light of the setting sun. It was bigger than any other lake he had seen, bigger than Trout Lake. It reminded him of the sea. Its spirit must be the most powerful of them all. Perhaps it was he who roared in anger when his waters were compressed and forced through the Gorge.

  Baywillow spoke of his original plan: to kill Shelk suddenly and unexpectedly when alone with him. Tiger had had the same idea; but afterwards? Viper and his men were sure to kill them.

  “Besides, Baywillow,” said Tiger, “I don’t know if I could do it. When I’m alone with Shelk, my blood becomes cold and thin like the water in Caribou Lake. He frightens me.”

  “I, too, feel frightened by the presence of a man who is so powerful and evil.”

  “He doesn’t frighten me because he’s evil,” said Tiger. “He frightens me because he’s good.”

  Baywillow looked at him in wonder, and Tiger went on: “There’s something wrong, Baywillow. I’ve heard a great deal about how it all started. The Men of the Eagle Feather are robbers and murderers. They have lived by killing their fellow men and taking their goods. Perhaps it was the other Shelk, the man you killed, who was their leader then. This Shelk is different. He talks about how the caribou can help us live a good life under the Sun. All the things he said when he spoke of the pictures on the Sun Pillar were true and good. I just don’t understand it. But one thing I do know. With cold blood like this”—and he bent down and dipped his hand in Caribou Lake—“I can’t kill him.”