Calling the Gods

by Jack Lasenby

  “For Hornish,” Kelak shouted, and we dropped our loads, drew our knives, and stabbed.

  The children copied us, shouting and turning our terrible rehearsals into their curious games.

  We planted our seeds the following spring, and some wept at the thought of it being the last crop in the fertile soil our people had built up over many generations. When the mercy trees flowered red I sang the gods home, but they sent only a few of their children to the sacrifice. We rendered down the blubber, even the bones, to get as much oil as possible. There had been smaller sacrifices before, but this time somebody spread the story that it was my fault.

  “My mother says it’s a bad omen,” I heard young Lorne say in the Great House.

  That summer was cooler, wetter, the crops smaller. At the fishing camp, the herrings did not crowd the bay in their usual shoals. The same disgruntled few, especially the disturbed old Telak, his wife Tilsa, and their daughter Ulseb, complained it was the Selene’s fault.

  “We must do nothing to offend the gods,” Ulseb quoted, and I remembered Palik’s warning about being a leader.

  The elders replied that we had known much worse seasons.

  “Thanks to Palik hiding the oil and food last autumn,” said Kelak, “we’ll have more than double last year’s tribute ready. The arrogant soldiers will think we’re afraid; they’ll be off their guard.”

  Most of the villagers agreed; a few sat silent.

  The black-sailed tribute boat came at the end of summer, after our return from the fishing camp. Palik had just rehearsed the village again.

  “When Kelak cries ‘For Hornish’, draw your knife and kill the closest soldier. Take his spear and finish off any who are left. Help each other, and do not get hurt yourself. We do not want to lose a single person.”

  It was like all the other times: a red-cloaked captain swaggered ashore and ordered us to carry the tribute aboard. We were sullen, not too sullen; we grumbled, not too loudly. Reluctant, we rolled barrels of oil from the stores, carried baskets, sacks, and kits of barley and oats, of dried whale meat, smoked sausages, and fish. We acted it out exactly as we had rehearsed; there was tension in the air, but the soldiers had expected that.

  Confident bullies, they bunched at the storehouses, the jetty, and the boat, clouting and kicking our men, fumbling and insulting the women. Back and forth we went. Over half the tribute was loaded when an old man threw down a rustling basket of dried herrings at the captain’s feet.

  “He’s going to kill you,” old Telak screamed, dribble frothing at the corners of his mouth. His eyes rolled until the whites flashed, and he pointed at Palik. “He has a knife hidden.”

  “For Hornish. Now!”

  Even as Kelak shouted, several soldiers seized Palik. The rest hefted spears, nocked arrows on bowstrings.

  “Look.” A soldier pulled a knife from beneath Palik’s tunic and held it up. The captain drew his sword, jerked it at my father, and I heard a cough, saw Palik fall, blood hissing and puddling beneath him.

  Telak’s deranged scream continued, and the captain turned, chopped casually, and the screaming changed to a dreadful bubble and whistle. Another soldier speared Kelak as he shouted his signal again.

  “Kill them,” my mother screeched, but our people froze. Hulsa seized the captain’s sword and, while he stared amazed, struck him down so he fell across my father’s body. She was still hacking when several soldiers slew her. A few other villagers drew knives and attacked, but all surprise was gone; they were slaughtered, and it was over.

  Everyone was confused except the trained soldiers who grouped and backed to the jetty, a fence of spears facing us, bowmen covering them from behind. Somebody shouted orders, and the spearmen leapt aboard and cast off the ropes. The bowmen joined them and, as the boat rowed through the narrow passage, their bows were raised to shoot anyone on the cliffs. The last shout we heard was a promise.

  “We will come back, take your women and children, and kill you, every one.”

  People panicked. I knew only that I must find Peck, Patch, and Tobik. The elders tried to get control, but there were fights.

  “Hornish is doomed,” old Tilsa screamed, and set others screaming with her.

  Some stared blank-faced. I saw a few people run off unprepared into the hills, but beyond them were only mountains piled behind mountains. Nobody had ever found a way through them.

  As others moaned over their dead, Ennish and the boys helped me tie nets of stones to the feet of our mother and father. We rowed out between the Horns to the deep hole, slid them over, and began to tell them their story so they might tell it to the gods beneath the sea.

  As we rowed in, something swirled on the surface and dragged down from sight, a red cloak slipping out on the tide.

  The confusion worsened. I was busy with Ennish and Tobik, comforting the twins, trying to make sense of what had happened, mourning our mother and father, telling their story. That night, the elders sent for me. I stepped inside the Great House, and Pokai’s old mother threw herself at me, scratching at my eyes, spitting.

  “The whore lay with Ennish and offended the gods.”

  Her daughter Ulseb joined Tilsa. “The gods are angry because of the harlot’s sinning with Ennish. That is why they did not send their usual sacrifice.” She struck me across the face.

  I looked from one to the other and realised too late what I had always half-known, that they hated me for being the Selene. Ulseb had wanted it for her daughter Larish.

  “That is why the tribute boat came,” she shrieked, “why my brother is dead, and my father. Because the slut sinned with Ennish. Don’t look at her face. Don’t listen to her lies. Below the waist, she is all the devil’s.”

  I looked to the elders, who dropped their eyes or looked away. One by one, other women joined in the shrieks and accusations. I was too proud; Palik had tried to be too clever; we should have paid the tribute; the soldiers would have done nothing to us. Hulsa was no better than Palik, and I was just like her all over again. Our family had brought bad luck to Hornish. I had sinned and offended the gods.

  Their rage fed on itself and grew. Pinioned helpless, aching from beatings, I saw Ennish held by a couple of men and attacked by Tilsa and her grand-daughter Larish. Ulseb was hustling Peck and Patch outside. Somebody struck Tobik, and he hit back, but several women swarmed over him, knocked him down, and dragged him away.

  As the first light came up cold, some of the elders joined in throwing stones at me all the way from the Great House and down to the jetty, where pinching, scratching, tearing hands lifted and flung me into the boat, and the howl of banishment rose: “Out. Out.”

  Led on by Ulseb, Larish cast her filth on me. And suddenly there was Ennish acting a part, shouting with the others: “Go. Out to sea. Never return.” And risking his life mouthing, “Lay off.” Screaming “Slut” and “Whore” with the others. And forming the silent words with his lips again: “Wait there.”

  Cloaks flapping, Tilsa, Ulseb, and Larish lifted their skirts, exposing themselves, dancing hysterical and naked, a black frieze against the red sun. Some villagers stood back; none dared help me. Of Tobik, Peck, and Patch, there was no sign.

  All that day beside the boat on the beach at Rabbit Island, I told Ennish what had happened so he might tell the gods the story of Hornish. And when the telling was finished, I thought of Larish and her family and remembered Palik’s words.

  “They are stronger than me.” I tried to smile. “But I will be cleverer; I will find my brothers and rescue them.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Survivors of Hornish

  From well out, I put the tiller over and closed with what I hoped was the coast. A peak menaced black through cloud and disappeared before I could name it. Had I come too far south? So long as I was not seen from the Horns again …

  A long reef lifted and spilled water off its sides, sank as the swell covered it again, and a hillside emerged through swarming mist, a huddled shape I recognised
— the headland south of Hornish’s fishing camp. I stroked the side of the boat and thanked it.

  “You brought me here. And you,” I cried to the gods.

  Four days out of sight of land, and the first part of my plan successful.

  “You can be as clever as you like,” I told myself, “but you must have luck as well.”

  Feel my way around the reef into protected water, take down the mast, lay driftwood on the sand for rollers, anchor the block and tackle to a mercy tree, and pull up the boat. Tired but excited, thinking of the boys, I heaped more driftwood to hide the hull’s shape from the sea. Above the high water mark, there were blurred footprints and, half-filled by wind-blown sand, the deep groove of a keel.

  The boat that hunted me had not just checked the fishing camp, they had burned our old hut. That is what they would have done in Hornish, too, destroyed our house because of my banishment. My father always described the practice as superstitious.

  “It’s not the house’s fault,” he said and laughed at people’s stupidity. Perhaps that is why Telak and his family hated Palik, I thought.

  On a bunk in one of the other huts, I lay and dreamt my mother and father were alive again. I woke and made a swag of a sack, putting another inside it, and some of Ennish’s dried herrings and whale meat, and by evening was halfway up the first spur towards a clouded ridge parallel to the coast. I knew the ridge was there because of an old story about the time a fishing boat was lost, and the survivors made their way to Hornish overland.

  Several days later, I dropped through bushed hills. Our golden bay spread calm on my right, the wild west ocean left. Hornish must lie on its isthmus somewhere below. Next morning I crawled out under ground-hugging mist, heard voices, and spotted two figures scratching for leftover potatoes in the gardens. Luck was with me once more.

  They screamed, dropped a flax kit and ran when I called their names. I called again, and they ran a few more steps before Peck turned back and flung himself upon me: “Selene. Selene.” Then Tobik, too. I felt them all over. Scratched, bruised, beaten, skinny. One side of Tobik’s neck was red, the ear swollen, the other side of his head cut.

  “Where is Patch?”

  “Dead.”

  I gasped.

  “They killed him,” Tobik nodded, and Peck stared as I gulped and held my breath.

  “I thought you were a ghost,” he said. “Where’ve you been?”

  “I will tell you. Bring your kit.” With the light growing, there would be others coming up to the gardens. “Brush over your tracks as you come.” Bending low, I scuttled through the thinning mist and dived under the scrub.

  We crawled through its spiky tangle, got on our feet, and ran deeper into the bush, Tobik limping.

  “Does anyone know where you are?” Tobik shook his head. Peck just stared. “Good.”

  They crushed handfuls of dried herrings into their mouths, chewing, swallowing while I looked at Tobik’s leg, the cut on his head.

  “It’s all right,” he said, being Tobik.

  “I will rub oil on them when we get back to the boat. What did they do to Patch?”

  Tobik looked at Peck. “You know how he wouldn’t ever shut up? He said something, and they went mad, Tilsa, Ulseb, and Larish. They beat and beat him. It must have been a couple of days after they dragged us out of the Great House, the last time we saw you. Patch kept answering back. In the end, he just lay there silent, but they went on kicking his head, then they looked at us — we were tied up, so I couldn’t do anything — and disappeared.”

  “Let us get away from here.”

  I gave them some dried whale meat to gnaw on as we went, added their potatoes to my swag, and led them uphill. Where I’d turned down fern fronds as markers, I bent them back into place. The silver back of the last frond blazed against a dark trunk. I bent it so the green side showed again. It would be hard to track us. We went straight up a steep face on to a spur that climbed to the ridge. Tobik let me help him up the worst bit.

  That night, surrounded by leaning trees in a blind gully down the back of the ridge, I got a fire going with flint and steel, cooked potatoes in the embers, and gave the boys more herrings and whale meat. I cuddled Peck and rubbed Tobik’s leg as they bolted the food, looked at their sunken eyes, dirty faces, Tobik’s blood-encrusted. Although they wanted to talk, I pressed more food on them until they were full, and slid them into the two sacks, where mumbling questions they fell asleep, Peck with a baked potato half-eaten in one hand, Tobik looking like our father.

  I built up the fire. Several times in the cold night, I threw on more wood and lay hugging them, thanking the gods for helping, grateful for luck. Peck twitched in his sleep, whimpered, and called out, but I said, “It is all right. Selene is here.” Tobik slept heavy.

  We ate, drank from a trickle, and put out the fire before dawn. Following between ferns and trees along the ridge, Tobik and Peck told me again how Patch had died.

  “We wriggled over and tried to keep him warm, but he got cold and stiff, and he wouldn’t wake up after they kicked his head. That’s how we knew he was dead,” Peck said. “Blood came out his nose and ears and dried.”

  “After dark that night somebody undid our ropes, threw some bread on the floor, and left the door unbarred,” said Tobik. “We ate as we sneaked through the village, up the orchard into the scrub, and drank out of a stream. We lived there several days, digging with sticks for potatoes, and eating them raw.

  “One morning, we saw Ennish in the gardens, but heard voices shouting at him. He dropped on his knees, as if he was scratching for potatoes. We didn’t see any more because we hid in the scrub.”

  “He would have been looking for you,” I said. “We were going to meet out at sea.”

  Towards evening of the next day, we were about to drop down the back of the ridge for water and another campsite, when Tobik pointed through a gap between trees. Well out to sea, a black sail was pressing north up the coast. The three of us crouched.

  “They will reach Hornish long before we could get back and warn anyone,” I said. “Let us just hope the lookouts see them coming.”

  We stared at each other. “Do you think they saw us?” asked Peck.

  The thought of them seeing us at that distance was so ridiculous, the three of us laughed until both boys burst into tears, and I held them gulping, trembling, as the boat from Lador drew north.

  “Will they kill everyone?” Peck whispered.

  “They said they would.”

  “I’m glad I’m here with you, Selene, but I wish Patch was here, too.”

  Over the back of the ridge, on a tiny flat by a seep of water, we lit a fire, cut ferns with my knife, and made a huge heap into which the boys crawled in their sacks. I sat staring into the flames, telling Patch his story, waiting for the potatoes to roast.

  Wherever he was, I told Peck and Tobik, he would hear us and tell his story to the gods. After we ate, we talked about our mother and father till the boys fell asleep. I rolled them together, heaped ferns over them, and kept the fire going again.

  We dropped down on the fishing camp two days later. Tobik had not complained but was dragging his sore leg. I lifted him onto a bunk in the same hut, rubbed his leg with whale oil from a barrel kept there, washed the clotted blood out of his hair, and he fell asleep with Peck. I built the boat’s driftwood screen higher, and thought they had kept up well.

  “You have been lucky,” I told myself. “But you must be clever also.”

  After dark, I stewed dried whale meat, oats, and barley in a cooking pot left in the hut, went down the beach to make sure no light showed, brought two pots from other huts, stood one beside the fire, and filled it with water. There were sacks and old clothes in several huts, and after I woke and fed Peck and Tobik they fell back into the same deep sleep, well-covered.

  Before dawn, I bathed both boys in the warm water, and spread oil over their cuts and bruises again. The swelling on Tobik’s neck and ear had gone down, the cut o
n the other side of his head was clean and healing, and his leg was a little better. Long before the light came up, we ate and put out the fire.

  Peck talked all morning, Tobik joining in from time to time. What they described was a village insane with panic. They slept in the afternoon after another meal of stew and the fleshy-leaved spinach and soft thistle that grew wild behind the beach.

  That night, I told them how I was banished without trial, without a vote, and how I found Rabbit Island. When I told them how Ennish died, Peck asked if I buried him at sea. Tobik nodded, and Peck said, “That’s all right then.”

  Peck screamed about noon the following day. We crouched and peered through the driftwood screen till the black sail sank south, and we all slept with relief.

  In the early morning, we filled our three breakers with fresh water, took the flints and steel and the boxes of tinder left in the huts, the cooking pot half-filled with stew, the two others, the barrel of whale oil and another net Tobik found, all the sacks and old clothes, tools, everything that might be useful. We picked a kitful of the wild spinach and soft thistle, climbed the hill behind the beach to make sure the sea was empty, and sailed north. I thought of heading straight for Rabbit Island, but wondered if we should look at Hornish first.

  Towards evening, from where he had shinned up the mast, Tobik spotted something closer in. I clutched the tiller, ready to put about, but it was a boat in trouble under the cliffs, sails in disarray, somebody sprawled in the stern. A boy was trying to straighten out the sails and get the boat moving before it was thrown upon the rocks. A smaller boy stood and shrieked my name. A little girl sat unmoving. Tobik dropped our sails as I came alongside, jumped aboard and scrambled astern. The man was dead, his body still warm.

  Jenek and Ruka were the same ages as Tobik and Peck. Even when I cuddled their little sister Gulse, she did not respond. I lifted her across to Peck and Tobik, and her head drooped like a baby’s so I had to slip my hand under and tell Tobik to support it as he took her.