Firesong

by William Nicholson

  ‘What nonsense!’ cried Mrs Chirish. ‘Why ever would he do that?’

  ‘Mouths coming out of mouths,’ said Bowman. ‘He thinks too many mouths will eat up his paradise.’

  ‘Look at him!’ said Branco Such. ‘He’s eating it himself! How can it be poisoned?’

  They all watched the fat man as he scooped up another ladleful of the stew. But then, as he ate, he began to weep. The tears streamed down his fat cheeks. He ate another ladleful of the stew. The Manth people looked on in consternation.

  ‘Can it be true?’

  Those nearest to the pot stepped back, suddenly afraid.

  ‘If this is true,’ said Branco Such, his anger mounting, ‘then he deserves to die!’

  In silent answer, Canobius ate more of the stew, sobbing as he ate.

  ‘He’ll die,’ said Bowman.

  The Manth people watched him with a horrified fascination. Only good Mrs Chirish was moved to pity him.

  ‘The poor man!’ she cried. ‘Can nothing be done?’

  Her warm heart roused the fat man from his sobs.

  ‘Good lady,’ he said. ‘It will be an act of mercy. I’ve been so afraid, for so long.’

  As he spoke, a peculiar smile began to crease his plump cheeks. Then he gave a rich chuckle. The tears still rolled down his face. If anything this smile and this chuckle were even more unnerving that the earlier mute grief.

  ‘But Captain,’ said Mrs Chirish, ‘how could you do it?’

  ‘They would have died anyway, dear lady.’ With that, he burst into outright laughter. ‘What is life but one long agony, ended by death?’ He roared with laughter, rocking from side to side. ‘At least I spare them that. Those that I kill die happy.’

  ‘They die of happiness,’ said Bowman.

  ‘Yes! He’s so right! They die of happiness!’ He laughed and laughed, and wept and wept.

  ‘It’s the poison,’ said Bowman to the others. ‘Whatever it is, it makes you so happy you die.’

  ‘He’s right! He’s the clever one! Look at me – doomed, but happy! Give me a bowlful! Best stew I ever made in my life! Just a few leaves from one special little plant to give it that extra something. Who is as happy as me, eh? Eat it myself? Makes me happy to do so!’

  He rocked with laughter.

  ‘All I ever wanted was my own chance of happiness.’ He reached out one hand towards Mrs Chirish. ‘You, good lady, would have made me happy. Fatness is happiness! Hurrah!’

  His great body shuddered as if he had been hit. Then he recovered, and his rich laugh boomed out once more.

  Who is as happy as me-ee-ee? he sang.

  Who is as happy as I?

  Happy as happy can be-ee-ee

  Hippy-de . . . happy-de . . . hi . . .

  His voice trailed away into silence. His eyes closed. The smile on his face spread wider and wider. He drew a long last breath of deep contentment, and fell into a profound sleep.

  An hour later, he was dead.

  It took nine of them to lift that great body, and lay it out on the deck of his ship. They covered him with sail-cloths, and weighed the cloths down with stones. They could do no more.

  When the air grew cold, and the first flakes of snow could be felt on the wind, the Manth marchers drew to a stop and put on their warmest clothing. The lush valley lay below them now. None had wanted to stay behind after the shock of Canobius’s death. The fertility and plenty that had so entranced them now terrified them: the ripe fruits, the seething water, the very air itself, seeming to their fearful senses to be heavy with hidden poisons. All thirty-one men, women and children, together with the two horses, three cows and a cat, had left together. None spoke of the disagreement that had divided them. Those that had wanted to stay felt ashamed, and those that had determined to go were happy that their little band was together again.

  The wagon was packed tight with food and firewood. Bek Shim and Lolo Mimilith dragged behind them an improvised sled that carried a second load of supplies. They had enough food and water and firewood to last them several days, long enough, surely, to reach the river; so long as they were able to keep moving.

  When they reached the valley’s mouth, and emerged onto snowy ground, they stopped again, and eased the runners beneath the wagon’s wheels. They locked the wheels and pegged the runners in place with wooden pegs and hammered them until they were secure. After that, when they set off again, the wagon rode on the surface of the snow, and the horses were able to make steady progress.

  Little by little the mist cleared, and the snow fell more heavily, obscuring their view.

  ‘Well?’ said Hanno Hath to his wife.

  ‘Well enough,’ she replied.

  ‘You feel it?’

  ‘I feel it, Hannoka.’

  She felt the distant warmth of the homeland on her face once more. They were getting nearer with each step.

  Around noon the snow clouds broke. All at once, they could see for miles. The white land undulated away on either side, glinting in the pale sun. And there ahead, beyond the snow-clad plains, lay the dark belt of the forest. Above the forest rose the mountains.

  11

  Winter dawn

  Kestrel trudged along over the white land, following in the footsteps of the leaders, Bowman and Mumpo. She walked alone. Behind her, marching for the most part in silence, came the rest of the Manth people, their steady tread crunching in the crisp snow. She could hear the plod of the horses’ hooves, and the grind and hiss of the wagon’s runners, and the occasional shout of a child. But none wasted precious strength on talk. The cold was bitter, and they all knew they must cover as much ground as possible, in the hope of reaching the shelter of the distant forest before the next snowfall.

  Ira Hath rode in the wagon now. She had protested that she was strong enough to march with the rest, but Hanno had ordered her to ride. All of them could see how thin she was getting, though none spoke of it aloud. When Kestrel thought of her mother becoming weaker by the day, it gave her a feeling of such desolation that she couldn’t bear it. At such times she felt for the silver voice hanging on its string round her neck, next to her skin. She had no superstition that this simple pendant, made so long ago by Singer people, possessed any power that could help her. It was more a reminder that somehow, hard though it was to believe, she and her brother were part of a greater plan, and her mother had foreseen it, and her weakness was necessary.

  Her eyes were on Bowman as she walked: on that slight figure, so familiar to her, with whom she had shared everything. He was striding along ahead of her now, quite a long way ahead. Despite the physical distance between them, she could sense his mood. He had said nothing to her, but she knew, as directly as if he had told her, that a change had taken place in him, and that it was to do with Sisi. Kestrel had half-expected it for some time, had even half-wanted it, but now that it was come she felt afraid.

  We go together, my brother. Always together.

  Even as she framed the words, she knew the time was coming when they would part. When that time came, it would be good for Bowman to have a friend.

  Kestrel looked away, and drew in a long breath of the icy air. These were not good thoughts. Better to feel the chill on her cheeks and the weariness in her legs. Follow those thoughts and at the far end lay the aloneness that was waiting for her, the aloneness that could not be endured.

  Suddenly she was seized with fear, and with the fear came an overpowering desire to speak to him, to feel his familiar voice warm in her mind.

  Bo! she called. Need you.

  Here I am, he answered. Always here.

  The terrors receded. Kestrel felt ashamed of herself, and full of love and gratitude to her brother.

  Love you, she said.

  Love you, Kess, he replied.

  They tramped on past a marker post. These posts had been placed along the road in years gone by, to guide winter travellers when all the land was under snow. Only the road was safe. On either side there were cracks in the la
nd, of varying depths, into which the snow had drifted, and now lay level with the surface. A traveller who strayed too far could find the snow give way beneath his feet, and within moments he would disappear into a white tomb.

  For Creoth, leading his cows, this was a constant worry. At present the beasts were calm, and plodded along after the wagon in single file, keeping to the safety of the road. But any loud noise or sudden movement could startle them, and send them careering off into the open spaces on either side, towards the treacherous hidden pitfalls. He considered roping them, but to what? He couldn’t tie them to the wagon, for fear they might drag it too off the road. And he himself was not strong enough to restrain a panicking cow.

  So he walked quietly behind them, speaking to them, hoping to keep them calm.

  ‘On and on, my Dreamer. Not long till we reach the trees. Then we’ll rest, won’t we? On and on, my Tawny. On the far side of the mountains, that’s where the sweet grass grows and the days roll by, one just like the last. On and on, my Stumper. On and on.’

  As he walked, talking aloud, Mrs Chirish came up alongside him, and matched her pace to his. For a while he gave no sign that he had noticed her, keeping all his attention for the cows. So at last she spoke to him herself.

  ‘How you do drone! On and on, indeed! If your cows had any sense at all, they’d stand stock still just to spite you.’

  ‘My cows have more sense than some,’ said Creoth.

  They tramped on in a silence of mutual irritation, each determined not to be the first to give ground. In the end it was Creoth who could contain his feelings no longer.

  ‘The fellow was so fat!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘I am on the larger side myself,’ said Mrs Chirish coldly.

  ‘No, ma’am. Allow me to disagree. You I would describe as comfortable. He was fat.’

  ‘Comfortable, is it?’

  ‘You have the look about you of a woman who has a tendency towards comfort.’

  ‘I believe I do,’ said Mrs Chirish, her voice softening. ‘A tendency towards comfort and foolishness. I’ve been a foolish woman since I grew too big to be a foolish girl, and one day I’ll be a foolish old biddy. And that’s all there is to be said about that.’

  After this they were friends again, and Mrs Chirish helped Creoth watch over the cows with as much care as if they had been her own.

  Snow clouds threatened overhead, but the snow did not fall, and the Manth people made good progress. The road ahead was clear to see, trampled by other travellers since the last snowfall; and now, as they came closer to the forest, they could make out the white stripe of the road where it plunged into the dark trees.

  Hanno Hath walked beside the wagon, where his wife could see him.

  ‘We’ll be at the river by nightfall,’ he told her.

  ‘Not long now.’

  ‘You feel it still?’

  ‘Stronger than ever.’

  The closer they came to the homeland, and the warmer she felt its air on her face, the weaker Ira Hath grew. For hours at a time now, she lay still in her wagon bed, neither moving nor speaking, letting her mind drift back over her life. She was remembering the births of her children, and their babyhood; and before that, her time of betrothal to Hanno, when she had been a young woman; and before that, her own childhood, in the handsome old house in Scarlet District, in Aramanth. All that was gone now. Aramanth was destroyed. The time of cruelty was come. Now she, like her father before her, must prophesy for her people.

  In the late afternoon the snow that had threatened all day began to fall. The Manth people plodded on, feeling the heavy flakes settling on their hoods and arms, and drifting onto their cheeks. They had been through far harder times than these, and the forest was not far off now, so they followed the road in good spirits.

  The short winter day was ending when at last they reached the trees. The snow did not let up, but as they followed the road into the forest, a strange peace descended. The high dark branches formed a sheltering roof over their head. The whiteness that had enveloped them for so long gave way to shadows, and the crunch-crunch of the horses’ hooves, and their own boots, sounded closer and clearer, as did the hiss of the wagon’s runners. They could hear their own breathing, and the rustling of their garments as they strode along. But beyond their little realm of movement, just a few yards away on either side, where the darkness was gathering between the trees, they could hear nothing.

  From the plains, the forest had appeared as a narrow strip lying at the feet of the mountains. Now that they were in it, they found that it was far bigger than they had supposed. They would not reach the river by nightfall.

  Dusk was advancing rapidly, here where so little light penetrated, even at noon. Hanno Hath decided to call a halt.

  ‘Let’s make camp before we lose light altogether.’

  So they stopped on the forest road where they were, and built a fire, and stretched out the wagon canopy for a night shelter. As soon as the fire began to blaze, its brilliant orange glare chased away the last of the twilight, and all around them was utter darkness. Hanno charged the young men with keeping watch in turns through the night, for who knew what bandits or beasts might come creeping out of the trees while they slept? There was no shortage of firewood now, and the watchers’ task was to keep the fire burning brightly till the dawn.

  Under the canopy, where the Manth people huddled together to sleep, the light of the fire outside made glowing patterns on the stretched canvas, but left the interior space in deepest shadow. Here Ira Hath slept, her hands enclosed in her husband’s hands; and Pinto slept by her mother, with one foot thrown out where it nudged gently against Mumpo’s sleeping back.

  When it was Bowman’s turn to wake and watch, he took up his place by the glowing fire, sitting cross-legged on a ground-blanket, a second blanket over his shoulders. He watched the red crumbling tunnels in the fire, and felt the stirring of his mind’s power within him. To pass the time, he picked on a burning fragment of wood, and holding it with his mind, pulled it into the heart of the fire. Amused by the trick, he found another fragment, and nudged and pushed it down a little fiery ravine between two red-hot logs, until it caught fire itself, all of a sudden, and exploded in a puff of blue flame.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  It was Sisi, standing between the tented wagon and the fire, watching him. How long had she been watching?

  ‘Looking at the fire.’

  She came to him and sat down beside him. He opened the blanket so that it covered her as well.

  ‘I don’t want to know any more than you want to tell me,’ she said.

  So he showed her his little tricks. He picked up a pine cone that lay on the snow-flecked roadway, and using only his mind, he carried it into her open hand. She took the pine cone, closed her slender fingers over it.

  ‘How do you do that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What else can you do?’

  ‘I can tell what you’re thinking. At least, I can feel it.’

  ‘I don’t mind if you know what I’m thinking. I have no secrets from you.’

  ‘I can only feel it when I go looking. Most of the time I’ve no idea. It’s quite hard work.’

  ‘Look now.’

  She closed her eyes to show she was thinking a special thought, and he was to discover it. He looked at her, sitting so close to him in the firelight, and thought how beautiful she was, and how much more beautiful because of her scars. He leaned his face close to hers, kissed her scarred cheek with gentle lips, and slipped into her mind.

  When he found it he laughed: quietly, so as not to wake the others.

  ‘You’re thinking of you and me dressed up like your mother and father.’

  The picture he had found was comical: the ornate gold crown and stiff jewelled robes of the Johanna and Johdi of Gang, arranged like outsize fancy dress around the forms of himself and Sisi, sitting side by side on gilded thrones.

  ‘We look ridiculous. We’re not
emperors.’

  ‘You see emperors. I see a husband and wife. A father and mother. The only kind I’ve ever known.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sisi. I shouldn’t laugh.’

  ‘Even ridiculous people can love each other.’

  ‘Of course they can.’

  ‘I pray they’re both safe.’

  ‘I think so. I think they’ve been banished from the city, and they’re living very quietly, in a small house far away, with no servants. But my mother will have my father, and my father will have his dogs.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘I don’t know it. I hope it. I did a terrible thing when I chose you, and left my family. I tell myself, one day I’ll go back and find them, and ask their forgiveness. So you see, they must be alive, and well. So I can find them again.’

  ‘So they are, I’m sure.’

  ‘Perhaps you’ll come with me.’ Then she remembered, or pretended to remember. ‘Oh, no. You have to go away. You’re the chosen one. Will you be going soon?’

  ‘I think so, yes.’

  ‘I wish you would go, Bowman. It’s hard, waiting for you to go.’

  ‘It’s hard for me, too.’

  Sisi was sleepy, and shortly she laid herself down beside Bowman, with her head in his lap, and he stroked her to sleep. He himself must wake and watch.

  A little before sunrise, the sleepers beneath the canopy began to stir. Bowman wondered whether he should wake Sisi and send her away, but decided against it. These things couldn’t be hidden for ever.

  Little Scooch emerged from beneath the canvas, and nodded his greeting to Bowman, before setting about his morning business. Bowman watched him putting a pot of water on the fire, and he heard the sounds of other sleepers waking, and the swishing back and forth of the canvas flaps.

  He looked round, and there was Kestrel staring at him, blinking. She looked at him sleepily for a moment longer, and saw Sisi on his lap. Then she smiled, and turned and padded away through the trees.