by Bev Allen
He showed Lucien the tattoo and how enormous it was in comparison to the cat.
“How big are they then?” Lucien demanded.
“Twice the height of a man,” Jon replied.
“Oh, shit,” Lucien whispered awed. “And you’ve touched one?”
Jon nodded. “And a wild wolf and a moose.”
“But moose aren’t all that big, are they?”
“They are huge,” Jon replied. “At least a mature bull is and when they’re really pissed off with you, they seem a whole lot bigger.”
Lucien was inclined to dismissed this truth as mere hyperbole and let his eye be drawn back again to the forest cats.
“I want to see one of these,” he said. “And touch it.”
“Maybe you will one day,” Jon said. “But not in the foreseeable future.”
Lucien face took on the mulish expression it did when he had to listen to an order he was not keen on obeying; it was one Jon was beginning to recognise and one he intended stop.
“You may be starting to think of yourself as a woodsman,” he said sternly. “But you’ve hardly begun. When and if you’re accepted as a member of a tribe, they might invite you to share a totem hunt. But even if it happened tomorrow, you’re under my orders and I won’t allow you anywhere near a forest cat or any other totem animal for a long, long time. Got it?”
Lucien nodded, but his bottom lip was out and Jon felt it was necessary to apply a little more discipline.
“Do you remember what I said about the belt?” he asked.
“Might do.”
“Good, because I haven’t, and you could be remembering it from first-hand experience if you’re not careful.”
Lucien showed him a face suggestive of compliance; one Jon did not entirely believe, but one he felt he had to accept for the present.
To change the subject he showed Lucien where they would sleep and where to bathe.
Alone, soaking in tepid water, Lucien retrieved what he had found in the clam many days before. It was not a good shape and the colour was a bit different. He would have liked to show it to Jon, but he was annoyed with him and his threats and his orders, so he decided it was going to be his secret.
Dinner with Bweriit was as dull as Lucien had feared. His table manners were not quite like tribal ones and he made a couple of mistakes despite watching Jon like a hawk.
For a hungry boy, and Lucien was at the age when he was almost permanently hungry, the delayed formality of getting food down his throat in a slow dignified fashion was purgatory.
The only redeemable feature of the evening was the quality and quantity of the tree syrup, something of which he was inordinately fond. He was allowed to pour it over the small crisp nut cakes with a lavish hand, but Jon would not allow him as much as a sip of the beer brewed from it, and made him drink some sort of cordial, which was pleasant enough, but not the same.
He went to sleep surrounded by the images of the forest cat and, despite all Jon had said, he was planning.
Chapter 10
The following day Lucien found himself on his own. Jon was in deep discussions with the elders and Vlic was catching up with his wife and his bow making lessons.
Bored and with nothing to do, he went looking for company and entertainment. It struck him there were a lot of pretty girls around and he was not unsusceptible to a roguish smile and a rolling hip, so he went in search of closer contact.
He forgot every single one of them was married and while their temporary husbands might not have been overly bothered about them in the normal course of events, the least hint of interest from a foreign party and they became like dogs with a bone.
By mid-morning even Lucien had worked out he was an unwilling pawn in several maiden’s power plays, and decided to seek something where he was not the day’s entertainment.
It took until lunch time to explore the entire village and some of the surrounding woods, but the afternoon stretched before him like a wasteland.
After some thought he decided it might be a good idea to practise canoeing.
He ‘borrowed’ a single from the small flotilla hauled up on the bank and launched it onto the river. All went rather well until he lost his paddle and found himself drifting downstream.
Frantic work with his hands and a lot of yelling finally attracted some attention and he was rescued and taken back to the Men’s House.
Jon was not pleased.
By the time he had finished giving Lucien his unvarnished opinion of his intelligence, manners and sense, the boy was crimson to his ears and fighting a lump in his throat and burning resentment.
Dismissed with orders to find and to offer sincere apologises to a number of people, he stalked out of the building silent and fuming.
Duty reluctantly done, he went to gaze over the edge of the bluff to the forest on the other side, and brood. Eventually Vlic joined him.
He had a face like thunder, his brows drawn together and his lip out.
“What’s up?” Lucien asked.
“I’ve asked for a divorce,” Vlic replied. “I’ve had enough of her and her bloody father.”
“Can you do that?”
“Yes, if I’m unhappy. And I’m sure unhappy!” Vlic snarled. “Ma is making a fuss, of course.”
“Why?”
“The little bitch cost a lot of money,” Vlic replied resentfully. “I only agreed to do it because her mother is Ma’s best friend. I think they’ve got hopes of us making a go of it when we’re older.” He ground his teeth. “It’s never going to happen. I’d rather spend the rest of my life with a dead skunk.”
They considered the river for a while and then Lucien gave Vlic an edited version of his day.
“Then he made me go and say sorry to a load of different people,” he concluded bitterly.
“Bastard!” Vlic said supportively.
Again they fell into silent contemplation.
“Dad says it might be best if I made myself scarce for a couple of days. Give Ma a chance to cool down,” Vlic remarked. “Do you fancy going fishing? Just us two.”
“Yes!” Lucien said eagerly. “When?”
“Now’s as good a time as any,” Vlic replied. “I’ll get my gear.”
Lucien went straight back to the Men’s House to collect his, but on the way it occurred to him it might be a prudent gesture to ask permission and he promptly fell into gloom at the prospect.
“Don’t suppose I’ll be allowed,” he growled to himself as he trudged off in search of Jon.
To his surprise Jon, once he had been asked in a sufficiently respectful tone, agreed to the plan.
“You can learn a lot from Vlic,” he said. “He’s been trained in surviving out here since he could walk. Be sensible and take his advice.”
“I will,” Lucien promised eagerly.
“Leave your rifle,” Jon added as he watched Lucien assemble his pack.
“But …”
“Leave the rifle,” Jon repeated firmly. “There is a reason.”
At first Lucien was inclined to sulk, but suddenly a light dawned.
“I mustn’t become dependent on it,” he concluded.
Jon ruffled his hair. “Good boy! You’re beginning to think like a woodsman.”
Feeling quite proud of himself, Lucien went to find his friend.
Vlic had his own canoe, made for him by his sixth wife’s father, and he began Lucien’s education in the art of paddling. Several hours of hard work took them up to the confluence of a tributary stream and they followed this for several miles.
Eventually they came to a spot Vlic had obviously been making for and hauled out.
Soon they had a fire going and a tent rigged. Lucien realised just how efficiently and quickly he had done it all, and his confidence took another upwards turn.
“I’m starving,” he told Vlic. “What did you bring to eat?”
“Nothing,” he replied with a grin. “I didn’t want to risk meeting Ma again.”
Lucien face fell, it was a bit late in the day to start hunting and his stomach was rumbling.
Vlic grinned. “That’s why we’ve come here,” he said and led Lucien down to where tall reeds grew in the shallow water.
Reaching down to the bottom of the stems he dug into the soft mud and began to pull up white tubers.
“Save the stems and the leaves,” he told Lucien, “We can use them tomorrow.”
“What for?”
“To make a trap,” Vlic replied. “And fishing line.”
The tubers were roasted in the hot embers, together with half a dozen clams and some fungi Lucien would not have touched if Vlic had not promised him faithfully it would not poison him. Stomachs full and nursing cups of leaf tea, they talked until the fire died to glowing embers.
Lucien told Vlic about his frustration with the constraints of town life, the evils of formal education and the problems arising from parents who had no understanding of any of this.
And Vlic began to tell Lucien some of the customs of his people. He spoke of great marriage feasts where the drums beat all day and all night, the simpler child marriages sometimes over and done within an hour; of betrothals and the payment of bride price and of divorce done in the time it took to gut and cook a fish.
He told Lucien of his various brides, most of whom he seemed to regard as good playmates or with indifference. The only one he did not like had been the last- even with a good distance between them his eyes smouldered at the thought of her.
They spoke of the tribal tattoos and what they meant. Lucien realised there were things he was not being told and when he asked, Vlic blushed and said he could not divulge the secrets to someone who was not a member of the tribe, but he did tell of his pride when the women had taken him to one side and put the first mark on his hand.
As he fell asleep listening to the sounds of the forest about him it occurred to Lucien there was a lot more to the tribal people than he had first thought. His face grew warm under cover of darkness as he realised he had not been completely untouched by his father’s continuous assertion they were illiterate savages in need of teaching and guidance.
Some of his notions about Tribal Liaison work had been tinged by ideas of superiority over the ignorant natives. ‘Liaison’ had read as ‘guidance’ somewhere in the back of his head and now he had to do some serious rethinking.
After a breakfast of more roasted roots, Lucien experienced one of the most enjoyable times of his life.
Vlic showed him how to strip the fibres from the reeds and to roll and twist them into a strong, supple cord. A wild rose provided wicked thorns for fish hooks, and digging in the leaf litter yielded them a supply of grubs.
Lucien found a couple of young saplings to provide poles and while he stripped the twigs and leaves, Vlic carved a couple of crude but efficient floats.
They crept upstream to where a great tree leaned out over the water, casting a protective shadow over the surface. Silently Vlic pointed to the bubbles where large bass rose to take fallen insects.
It took Lucien a couple of tries to get the idea of casting, but in the next few hours they landed three good sized fish between them.
That night they ate fresh fish wrapped and stuffed with the same leaves Jon had used and a different type of root, one from a small shrub with long wiry stems. They were smaller and more fibrous, but Vlic showed Lucien how to strip the starch from the fibres with his teeth and discard the stringy parts.
As they sat watching the firelight and talking more about the tribal ways, Vlic wove the stems into a funnel shaped basket. Before they went to sleep he staked it down in the river with the heads and guts of their fish inside.
In the morning it was full of crayfish feasting on the remains. Vlic showed Lucien how to kill them with a knife straight through the back of their heads and they breakfasted on fresh crustacean, sucking the sweet flesh from the claws.
“There’s a clearing inland a ways,” Vlic said. “There should be plenty of berries there this time of year. They’re Ma’s favourite and it might be an idea to take her a small peace offering.”
They took their bows, intending to try for a hare for supper, and fur as a further token of filial affection and apology. As they went, Vlic showed Lucien how to weave strips of bark into serviceable square baskets.
Eventually the trees parted and the sky was visible above them. Beaver had blocked a small stream, but the dam and the lodge had been abandoned and the trees had not yet re-established their dominance over the land.
Berries grew in profusion on the shrubs that had taken advantage of the damp conditions. The boys filled their baskets and ate as many again, before retreating to the edge of the clearing away from the sun.
There they lay in wait for hares or a small water deer to come to the still pool to drink.
Full of crayfish, berries and the remains of the previous night’s roasted fish, they both drifted off to sleep.
When Lucien woke the shadows were spreading over the clearing. Slowly his eyes adjusted to the change in light and he instinctively scanned the surrounding for signs of game. Moving as slowly as he could, he laid a hand on Vlic and squeezed to wake him up.
Vlic was immediately awake, but made no sudden movement or sound; his instincts as a hunter had been bred into him.
Before them in the long grass tentatively making its way to water was a large hare. It was nervous, wary of any sound or movement.
Lucien slowly reached down and picked up his bow, keeping the action low to the ground and Vlic carefully retrieved an arrow from the quiver beside him and passed it over.
Neither of them had made a sound.
Lucien notched the arrow into the string and drew back, rising to his feet in one fluid movement to be finished as he loosed the arrow, but as he did so there was a flash of mottled fur from the undergrowth behind the hare and a forest cat snatched the animal from the water’s edge.
Lucien’s arrow fell several feet from her and she turned to look, the still twitching corpse in her jaws. For an instant her eyes met his, a glowing flash of amber savagery and wild untamed passion.
They both stared at each other, motionless for a second, and then she was gone, taking her prey with her, melting back into the undergrowth as swiftly as she had come.
Lucien sat rapidly. “Did you see?” he breathed. “Did you see her?”
Vlic nodded, his eyes wide with wonder.
“Let’s follow her,” Lucien said, leaping to his feet.
“No!” Vlic replied, dragging him back down.
“For god’s sake! Why not!” Lucien demanded.
Vlic looked pained.
“You’re not Forest Cat,” he growled. “You mustn’t. Besides … we’ve no nets or ropes. We’d never hold her even if we could find her.”
Lucien could have danced with frustration. “Don’t you want to hunt her?”
Vlic looked longingly at his right hand, bare of the totem of his people and at his age likely to remain so for many years to come.
“Of course I do!” he snapped back, his eyes blazing with desire and excitement.
“Then let’s go!”
“We can’t!” Vlic stated. “We can’t do her harm and the only way we could get anywhere near without the right equipment would be to shoot her and I’m not doing that! And I’m definitely not going to let you.”
Lucien swore at him.
The words ‘ignorant savage’ rose to his lips and he only bit them back just in time, but something in his eyes must have altered Vlic, because he drew away.
“This is nothing to do with you, Lucien,” he said. “You’re an outsider and you don’t understand the ways of The People.”
Shaking with frustration Lucien turned from his companion. He did not fully understand why he felt this need to hunt the cat and to overcome her, but deep inside he knew it had a lot to do with envy. She had the freedom of the wild he had always longed for and she had it with no imposed morality. To take her, alive or d
ead, would be to take some of that freedom to himself.
To own her fur, perhaps to hang one of those magnificent canine teeth around his neck, all this would show he was as wild and untamed and as powerful as she was, maybe more so, because he had taken these things from her.
Her very existence was a challenge and Lucien could never resist a challenge.
Despite all this, despite the terrible burning desire, some of the things Jon had begun to teach him had taken root and deep inside he was ashamed. A small voice whispered he was no better than those who wanted to strip this paradise of its riches. No better than the wolf hunter.
Protecting her should have been his first instinct, but he wanted to prove to himself he had the skill and the courage to subdue her more than he wanted to obey the nagging irritation of his conscience.
The discussion went on long into the night and got very acrimonious at times; things were said which would have been far better unsaid on both sides.
For Vlic, the hunting of the forest cat was tied up in custom and ritual and was not for sharing with outsiders.
His understanding of all this was patchy at best, being drawn from unconsidered asides when the older men thought he was not listening and blatant eavesdropping when he could get away with it. He would never have admitted it to Lucien, but he knew he was too young and inexperienced to be allowed to participate in dangerous adult rituals.
This lack of real knowledge made his arguments against tracking the cat weak, based on no more than a deep certainty it would be viewed by his elders with disapproval at best, fury at worst.
The disapproval of his elders was something Lucien considered normal and of little consequence, so they finally went to sleep annoyed with each other.
Things were not much better the next morning. Dreams of savage beauty had kept Lucien restless most of the night and Vlic had obviously done a great deal of thinking as well. He was inclined to be conciliatory.
“Harabin dheillwer will explain why you must not go after her,” he said. “He knows all the traditions.”