‘There’s only one way they ever can.’ His voice in my ear was as harsh as ever.
‘I could run no faster! Even Basajaun couldn’t run fast enough!’
‘Basajaun!’ He jerked me by the hair. The knife was still at my throat. ‘What did Basajaun do?’
‘Nothing! Nothing! We did no wrong!’
‘You’re lying!’ The knife moved. Warm blood trickled past my ear.
‘No! I loved them all! I did no wrong!’
The knife was gone. The blindfold bit into my forehead.
‘That’s true.’
I didn’t realise at first what he’d said. There was no pity in his voice. But when he spoke again I heard every word. ‘You did no wrong, Kemen. But wrong was done. For every soul a soul must be returned. If their names are ever to be spoken in this world again, it will be among the Auk People, and nowhere else. You hear me?’
‘Yes.’ Although the voice was cruel, relief flooded my soul.
‘Nowhere else. Do you understand?’
I thought that I had, and his words filled me with joy.
‘Turn him over!’
They held me down, my face crushed against the earth. Hands stretched my skin tight. I felt the graze of blades, then a stab like a bee’s sting. The same hand stabbed again, and then again, across my shoulder blade. Cold fire ran through me. Stabs of fire crawled up my shoulder. They hit my collarbone and flared to flame. I let my breath go softly so no one heard me gasp. The stabs went back to my ribs and began to crawl again. I couldn’t read the pattern from inside my skin. Slowly the pain changed: I felt calm inside it, even as I lay blindfold in the hands of strangers, as if this were how things were always meant to be. The warm blood running into the hollow of my back seemed like a caress.
The last island lay far behind us. We flew low over the swell. We wheeled and circled and dipped over our fishing grounds as if we were not many separate souls but one. The Open Sea was our hunting ground. On and on we flew, until the very edge of the world was before us.
He wrote my skin aflame. Careful and slow. His thoughts flowed into me. I felt the icy sting of colour, stab after stab. It no longer seemed like one after another, but all at once, burning a new message into my skin. I’d lost all sense of how long, when at last I felt the moth-like touch of cold ashes sprinkled over me.
Zigor’s voice brought me back from far away. ‘Auks have many enemies, Kemen. Auks use skill more than strength. They travel far across the sea where no one else can reach. Wherever you find one, not far off there’ll be many together. The names of your kin will live among them, if you choose wisely.’
I turned my head sideways and managed to speak. ‘I’ve already chosen.’
‘No man can see his own back,’ said Zigor. The laugh inside his voice chilled me more than words could do. ‘What have you done to make you think it would be so easy? But the one man who can show you what’s written on your back – he’ll tell you the truth. Think of him as your brother, Kemen . . . let him be your brother, and your name will live among the Auk People. And nowhere else.’
Nekané said:
When the Go-Betweens spoke to the Animals about the Hunt it had nothing to do with me. I knew my test would come later. I expected it to be difficult. Zigor was against a woman becoming Go-Between. He couldn’t say it wasn’t possible. Everyone knows that in the Beginning no one was Go-Between because the spirits of People and Animals understood one another without needing to speak. After the Beginning women as well as men had difficult questions to ask. Women haven’t been Go-Between so often because we don’t ask our questions all at once. For the same reason, a girl doesn’t need to be initiated: her initiation happens when her body’s ready and she learns from her family what it means. It’s the same when a woman becomes Go-Between.
I thought Aitor would be on my side because his mother was Go-Between; in fact she was the only woman Go-Between in living memory. Perhaps she taught Aitor what she knew. I didn’t know about Hodei. I was sure that Zigor would stand against me. I’ve known Zigor since we first came to Gathering Camp as babies in the same Year. We didn’t get on. Children will put up with most things from each other, but not whingeing. Zigor couldn’t have kept up with the rest of us anyway: he was always ailing. People thought he’d be one of the boys who don’t come back from initiation. His mother was frantic about him while he was gone – she wasn’t Go-Between, she was a sad creature! But when Zigor came back he was as you knew him later – aloof, frightening, dangerous. Anything could have happened then. But, as it was, he went Go-Between very soon: he became dangerous for the Auk People, and not against us. So the spirits did their work. But now I was scared he’d be against me. It wasn’t just his power as Go-Between – I was also scared he might remember the way I’d treated him when he was little.
I didn’t want to be tested in front of the Gathering. I’d much rather have enjoyed being an old woman, sitting round the family hearths catching up with all my kin. I’d done my share of work. It was all very well to be counted one of the Wise, but I wanted no more than that. Of course when it comes to being Go-Between a soul has no choice.
The Go-Betweens had spoken to the Animals, so the men could set off for the Hunt. At least the men in our family were well prepared – no hurried making of blades, binding arrows, patching shoes, mending old spears or shouting at their women for not doing what they should have done long ago for themselves. Amets had already gone. My husband stayed behind. He said he was tired. If he found it hard to let go of the Hunt he never said so.
Only Sorné and I were up when the hunters left. We were glad to see them go. The morning sky was grey. The Sun had wakened us joyfully every morning since we came to Gathering Camp, but now he was resting. I came out of the tent to the whine of mosquitoes. Sorné pulled back the turfs and laid a green hazel branch on the fire. But today the mosquitoes and midges didn’t mind thick black smoke. I decided I’d take my basket out as soon as I could: warm smoky Camps full of biting flies, weeping children and short-tempered women are something I can do without. I didn’t yet know what the day held for me.
I heard the rustle of bracken from Sendoa’s tent. I bent over the fire. Out of the corner of my eye I watched the men come creeping out of their tents, bodies still painted from the Dance, without waking their families. The dogs came from behind the tents, yawning and stretching, without so much as a growl. The men softly lifted their weapons and slung them on to their shoulders. The dogs waited, ears pricked. I made a great show of laying logs over the burning hazel branch, and blowing last night’s embers into fresh flame. Sorné went off with the water-skins, keeping her back to the men. Very soon men and dogs disappeared into the forest, and we didn’t have to pretend we couldn’t see them any more.
‘Peace at last!’ said Sorné when she came back, laying down the heavy waterskins and stretching her shoulders. ‘And a bit of real meat to look forward to! ’When we were alone my sister and I didn’t worry about tempting the spirits; we knew they didn’t care much what we said. ‘And now the young ones can get on with the work. We can sit around for a change and just be old women, Nekané! What a treat! Most women never get this far, but we grow from a strong tree, you and I.’
‘I don’t see you doing much sitting around! You should try it, though. Sit by the fire and look like one of the Wise!’
‘What, like this?’ Sorné made a prim face and we burst out laughing.
I never got my chance to sit around. Itsaso, Haizea and I, surrounded by clouds of flies, were scraping lily-roots to make a paste when Zorioné came to our hearth. The two girls stiffened as she approached. Zorioné seemed nervous, which was unlike her.
‘Nekané! My uncle asks you to come to Arantxa’s tent!’
‘Does he say why?’
‘Osané is sick. He asks you to come.’
So this was my test! No sooner were Aitor and Hodei away to Hunting Camp than Zigor had seized his chance. I had to admit he was clever. ‘Why doesn’t Zigor heal
her himself? Why’s he asking me? His skill is great, and I’ve none at all.’
‘He said to tell you that in this case the spirits will speak only to you.’
Itsaso and Haizea exchanged glances.
‘Very well. If Osané needs me I’ll come.’
Itsaso and Haizea followed Zorioné and me across the Camp. I ignored them. Up on the Go-Betweens’ mound the great logs from two nights ago had almost burned themselves out. Flies buzzed in the warmth. The spirits were at rest. I passed by without saying anything.
Arantxa is, and always was, a fool. Osané’s father – his name isn’t in this world now – was worse than a fool. It’s a wonder those children turned out so well. You two – Oroitz and Koldo – some call you fine men these days. I’m not so sure: you’re a bit small and skinny – you’ll never get over that – but none the worse, I suppose. The third boy – we know all about him! The girl, who’s worth more than all the rest of that family put together, Arantxa almost killed with her greed and stupidity. When we reached her hearth, the silly woman was wailing and wringing her hands at the tent door.
‘If your daughter’s lying sick in there, this can’t be doing her much good!’
Arantxa stopped in the middle of a sob and blinked at me, her mouth hanging open.
‘Zigor sent for me,’ I told her. ‘Where is he? And where’s Osané?’
She began to weep again. ‘He left us! He went away! My poor girl’s dying, and he wouldn’t do anything for her! He left her to die! He—’
Zorioné broke in, ‘That’s not true! You know quite well what he said! The spirits told him not to meddle, and to fetch the woman! And I have fetched her, like he told me. Here she is!’ Zorioné pointed at me.
‘No, no, no! Go away! She brings bad spirits! They took her son! Now he’s sent them to take Osané as well! Go away! Go away!’
I sighed. The men in this family weren’t good for much, but surely between them they could have shut Arantxa’s mouth and dragged her away. Only they were all at the Hunt. There was no one else at the hearth but a couple of frightened cousins and some snivelling children covered with mosquito bites.
I stretched my arms high and flung my head back. ‘We come for Osané!’ I cried in a loud voice. ‘Take this woman away!’
My Helpers didn’t need to stir themselves: they knew I could handle Arantxa on my own. No sooner did I call out than she threw herself on the ground, hands over her head, sobbing for mercy. I stepped over her, lifted the tent flap and went in.
It was hot and smelly inside. At first I couldn’t see where Osané was. Empty shells and chewed bones were heaped over the cold ashes in the hearth. The sleeping platform was piled with moth-eaten furs. I stooped closer and smelt stale urine. There was a bigger pile at the back of the platform. I pulled away an oxskin. Underneath was a tangle of light-brown hair. I tugged away the skins; startled lice scuttled into the folds. She’d wrapped herself up so tightly it was like skinning a seal.
When I’d last seen Osané she was red-cheeked and laughing, on her way home with a basket of hazelnuts. That was three days ago. Now, when I held her under her chin and forced her head round to look at me, I was horrified. Her cheeks were grey and hollow as if she were dead. I saw no sense in her eye, only blind terror. The other eye was buried in a purple bruise. The string of her tunic was undone. I pulled the deerskin back. There were bruises on her swollen neck – I read in them the shape of fingers, four on each side – and a scarlet mark in the hollow of her neck in which I read two thumbs.
When I came out I found Itsaso and Haizea guarding the tent door. That woman who called herself a mother was sobbing by the hearth. The children grizzled beside her, chewing their knuckles. If she couldn’t face her daughter she could at least have fed the little ones. Zorioné had gone.
‘Haizea,’ I said. ‘Go to Zigor at once, and tell him we need fire in the Go-Betweens’ hearths, and the shelter ready!’
She gaped at me.
‘Quickly!’ I gave her a small smile. ‘Have faith, little daughter! It’ll be all right! Now go!’ I turned to my niece. ‘Itsaso, run round the Camp. Use that voice of yours! Summon everyone to the healing! But first go to your mother. Tell her to bring clean skins to wrap Osané in, and to come here at once. And tell her . . .’ – Itsaso stopped in her tracks – she was already on her way – ‘Bring Hilargi as well: we’ll have to carry Osané. Off you go!’
As I sat holding Osané’s hands in that miserable tent I heard Itsaso’s voice ringing round the Camp. ‘Come quickly! Come quickly! The Go-Between is waiting! Come for the healing! Come for the healing! Come! Come! Come!’
I was too taken up with Osané to think that when Itsaso cried ‘Go-Between’ she meant me. I heard startled voices chattering like so many starlings – shouts – questions – then the quick patter of many footsteps.
Haizea called to me through the tent flap. ‘Mother! I told him! He didn’t say anything. But he’s gone up the mound and pulled back the turfs himself, and laid kindling on the fire. He’s doing it himself! But he didn’t answer me – didn’t take any notice of me at all! And they’re coming – everyone who’s here is coming!’
‘Well done! Now go and spread the word: Osané’s soul is already far away. Tell them we must get ready to call her back at once, or it’ll be too late.’
And so my first audience was made of women, children, old men – and Zigor. Nearly everyone was on my side. If the men had been there it would have been different. To this day I don’t know what was in Zigor’s mind. I’m sure he didn’t want to make it easy. Perhaps he simply did what his Helpers told him: it was right for Osané. Whether Zigor could see far enough to know where the healing of Osané would lead I don’t know. All I can say is that Zigor was a powerful Go-Between, and in those days he didn’t like me. It’s also true that he never failed our People.
I’d never stood on the Go-Betweens’ mound before. I’d never yet felt the heat of the spirit-fires. Now I came close I saw how the three rings of hearthstones overlapped, joining the Go-Betweens’ hearths together like the segments of a caterpillar.
We carried Osané to the Healing Place halfway up the mound, just below the Go-Betweens’ fires. Fresh pine branches crackled and smoked in two of the hearths already, billowing round us so that People could only see us through thick smoke. The sky was low over our heads, heavy with unshed water. Some People carried pine tapers to keep the mosquitoes off – I could see little dots of fitful light through the pall of smoke. Even the little children kept still. My family sat at one end, where they could see more clearly. I could feel their support rising up to me, and the coldness of Zigor at my left hand.
The air felt tight. When I took out my knife to carve a space round Osané and me I felt it pushing against the blades. I used all my strength to cut through the fear in the air. Then I went up the mound, behind the three fires and into the shelter. Three Drums hung from a withy screen. I swallowed, and summoned up my courage. I lifted the first Drum. I’d never touched a Go-Between’s Drum before. It was very light. Faded red spirals were written on the hide. I read strength in them, but no harm. I turned the Drum over. The hide was stretched over hazel wands bound in a circle, and pulled tight with strings of sinew. I took down the second Drum, and studied the pattern on the hide. I couldn’t read it. I picked up the hazel drumming sticks that hung beside the drums, and went outside.
I felt the gasp from the crowd. Without looking at Zigor I held out the Drum I hadn’t been able to read, and the stick that went with it. The spirits had told me right: Zigor let me give him his Drum. Later I found out that the Drum I’d taken for myself was Aitor’s. If I hadn’t succeeded, Aitor would have seen me die. I’d never handled Drum or drumming stick before. I held the Drum in my left hand, the way I’d always seen it done. As soon as I touched the stick to the hide I was filled with power. Softly at first, then gradually more firmly, I began to drum.
I drummed alone. For long heartbeats I drummed alone. Fear touched
my back with his cold finger. Then I was angry. Osané lay in the Healing Place at my feet. Would Zigor let her die? My head grew hot. I ceased to care. I stood up straight and drummed with all the fire I possessed, my head held high.
I remembered what to ask. At once I saw – even though we were far from the Open Sea – I saw to the very edge of the world where the water meets the sky. I saw my Dolphin leap through the waves towards me. I saw his painted side. His mouth was open, laughing. I drummed as loud as I could to show him where to come.
My drumming came winging back to me, stronger than it went away. The strength was coming from my left – from Zigor. As my Dolphin leaped through the water Osprey swooped over his head. She plunged into the sea as Dolphin leaped into the air. I saw a twin trail of white spray. Osprey surfaced, and soared into the sky.
I threw back my head and called my Helpers with all the sound my lungs could hold. I drummed and I sang, and the People chanted too, echoing the words we gave them. I heard my own voice, and the voices of my Helpers were inside it, making it strong. We began to sing for Osané, calling on her soul to come back.
I laid down my drumming stick but it was still drumming. The drumming was on my left. The singing filled the air. I jumped down to the Healing Place and put my arm over Osané, my Swan’s wing to protect her.
I fell into darkness. This was where she’d wandered. I followed her down and down. The spirits mocked me. I wouldn’t look into their eyes. I kept going down into the pit where her soul had gone before me.
I heard a short rasping bark. I flew to find my enemy. Then I smelt him:
Lynx!
The Moon ducked from under a cloud and gleamed in his yellow eyes. By her light I saw the broad cat-face – tufted ears – painted hunting-stripes – body tense as a hazel-whip, crouched to strike – all the pent power of the Hunt. I froze.
But now I had his name. I used it. I used all the powers I had and wrestled with him. I smelt raw meat in his hot breath. His teeth flashed in the Moonlight. But now I knew my enemy, and that gave me strength. Lynx shook Osané’s soul between his teeth. With wings and beak and webbed claws I fought him for her. My strength was running out.
The Gathering Night Page 13