by Jack Lasenby
“‘I said they were wearing out!’ The little girl cried, and the last string went Twung! and broke, too.
“The donkey suggested they sing another song. ‘Since your strings are broken, you can sing, too,’ he told the little girl.
“‘Hee-haw!’ sang the donkey. ‘Howl!’ sang the dog. ‘Yowl!’ sang the cat. ‘Cock-a-doodle-doo!’ sang the rooster. Their voices harmonised. But the little girl sang, ‘Shriek! Shriek! Shriek!’ harsh and out of tune. They would just have to buy new strings, the donkey thought to himself. By the time they went to bed, he had agreed to follow the Blazed Track.
“In the morning, the donkey filled a sack with gold coins from the cave and slung it on his back. At the edge of the Dark Forest, they looked back. The rising sun shone on the window. Dew sparkled on the roof.
“‘Our own place!’ said the donkey and led into the Dark Forest. When they looked back, they could see neither the clearing nor their house. The little girl followed the donkey. Then the dog, the cat, and the rooster.
“They had been walking a long time when the cat said, ‘Where’s the rooster?’
“‘Rooster?’ the donkey called. They all tried calling together, but their voices were muffled. ‘We’d better go back,’ said the donkey. He led the way back, the little girl following him, then the dog, and then the cat.
“‘I’m not sure if this is the way we came,’ said the donkey.
“‘It looks different to me,’ said the little girl.
“‘I don’t remember having to climb over that log,’ said the dog. ‘Hey, where’s the cat!’ he barked.
“By the time they had hunted around for the cat, the dog disappeared. And the little girl. The donkey was left alone.
“‘Last night,’ he said, ‘we had a place of our own. Why did we leave?’ He blew sorrowfully down his nostrils, ‘Hmph!’
“‘We could have pulled hairs from my tail for fiddle strings. We could have turned the old curtains inside out. We could have found the dog some new bones. Dog!’ he called. ‘Cat! Rooster! Little Girl!’ He stumbled on, bumping against the trees, scratching his nose. At last he lay down, said, ‘Hmph!’ and slept.
Chapter 11
Imagining Things
“The donkey woke on the edge of the Dark Forest. The sun was warm on his coat. Before him were the walls of a town. Over them he saw the roofs of houses and shops.
“The donkey trotted through the town asking, ‘Have you seen a dog, a cat, a rooster, and a little girl?’ But people shook their heads.
“He saw a butcher’s shop. The butcher looked at the donkey and sharpened his knife on a steel. He laughed a meaty laugh and slapped a carcass with his hand. Smack! The row of carcasses swayed. For a moment, the donkey thought he saw a skinned cat among them.
“‘Hmph! Just a skinned rabbit. That’s all!’ And he trotted away, saying to himself, ‘You mustn’t go imagining things.’
“That was when he found the market-place. ‘Cheap curtains!’ somebody shouted, and the donkey bought some. Another stall-holder shouted, ‘Fiddle strings!’ The donkey bought enough to last for years.
He bought fresh bones for the dog, a toy mouse for the cat, a trumpet for the rooster. He bought new clothes for everybody, and shiny black button shoes with red heels for the little girl. When he came to the last stall, he had two gold coins left.
“The last stall was a tent. Inside was an iron cage on wheels. And inside the cage were the dog, the cat, the rooster, and the little girl. All crying.
“‘Watch the witch and her wild animals dance!’ shouted the Showman, who wore a black mask. With a long sharp spear he prodded between the iron bars.
“‘Dance, curse you!’ He prodded again. ‘Howl, yowl, screech, and shriek, damn your eyes!
“‘Listen to the wild animals roar!’ the Showman shouted through a speaking-trumpet. ‘Hear the witch shriek!’ And he prodded the little girl till blood dripped off the spear.”
Chak turned his head into my chest. Kimi butted hard against me. I heard somebody draw in her breath and sob – Maka. The fire burned lower.
“‘Ha, ha! Look how the witch jumps!’ A crowd gathered around the cage. ‘Look at the wolf! The tiger! The eagle! Ha, ha!’ they screamed. ‘Look at the witch bleed!’
“The Showman jabbed the donkey’s friends again. ‘Serves them right for living in the Dark Forest,’ said a man.
“‘It’s full of wild animals and witches!’ said a woman. ‘Give it to her again!’
“‘They’re not wild animals and a witch,’ said the donkey. ‘They’re my friends!’
“‘Come to the show tonight,’ shouted the Showman through his speaking-trumpet. Eyes gleamed through slits in his black mask. ‘Watch the witch burn! See the wild animals hanged!’
“‘Hooray!’ cried the crowd.
“‘Only one gold dollar to get in!’ shouted the Showman. ‘Roll up! Roll up!’
“‘I’m going to watch the witch burn!’ people said to each other. ‘And see the wild animals hanged. They’re from the Dark Forest.’
“‘But they’re my friends.’ Tears rolling down his long face, the donkey begged people to listen. They knocked him down and ran over him, scattering to get their money. The donkey limped to the cage.
“‘Clear off!’ shouted the Showman. ‘No talking to the exhibits!’
“‘How much will you sell them for?’
“‘How much have you got?’
The donkey took out his purse. ‘Two gold dollars!’
The Showman sneered. ‘I’ll get five hundred from all the people who come tonight.’ He rubbed his hands together, and the donkey noticed his long, slender fingers.
“‘I’ll pay twice that much!’ cried the donkey. He could gallop home along the Blazed Track, take a bag of gold dollars, and gallop back to the market-place.
“‘When?’
“‘Tomorrow.’
“‘Can’t wait!’
“‘Can I just talk to my friends?’
“‘Talking costs two dollars.’
The donkey gave the Showman all his money.
“‘Listen!’ His friends nodded. He whispered something. They nodded again.
“‘We’ll be ready,’ the little girl whispered back.
“‘You paid to talk only,’ shouted the Showman. ‘Whispering costs another two dollars!’
“‘But I haven’t any more.’
“‘Then clear off, and quick about it or you might find yourself in the cage, too. Roll up! Roll up!’ the Showman shouted through his trumpet. ‘See the witch burn. See the wild animals hang!’
“People paid their gold dollars and fought for front seats.
“‘Be ready!’ said the donkey. ‘Friends must stick together!’ and he disappeared. The Showman tried to hear what he said, but the clink of coins deafened him. His assistants built a bonfire under a hole in the middle of the tent. Others made nooses in ropes.
“‘Everybody ready?’ shouted the Showman.
“‘Ready!’ roared the crowd.
“‘The dog looked at his friends. ‘We’re ready, too,’ he said, and they nodded.
“The Showman cracked his whip. ‘Light the bonfire!’ He cracked his whip again.‘Get the ropes ready!’ Some soldiers played a roll on their drums.
“The assistants dragged the iron cage on its wheels into the middle. The Showman turned a key in the lock. ‘Bang!’ The iron door crashed back.
“The Showman cracked his whip. ‘Come out, curse you!’
“‘Look at the wolf’s teeth!’ cried the crowd. ‘Hang him!’
“‘Look at the tiger’s claws! Hang her!’
“‘Look at the eagle’s beak! Hang him!’
“‘Look at the witch! Burn her!’
The friends looked around for the donkey, but could not see him. He was at the other end of the market-place, trotting downhill towards the tent. Faster and faster. Cantering. Galloping. Bolting. He flapped his long ears like wings and took off.
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sp; “High in the air he flew and came down on top of the tent. His sharp hooves ripped it open. The donkey landed on top of the Showman and knocked off his mask. The Showman hid his face in his hands. Torn canvas fell across the bonfire.
“‘Jump up!’
“The dog jumped on the donkey. The cat on the dog. The rooster on the cat. The little girl jumped on top of the lot.
“‘Sing!’
“The rooster crowed. The cat screeched. The dog howled. The donkey brayed. ‘Hee-haw! Howl! Screech! Cock-a-doodle-doo!’ The little girl shrieked. And the tent caught on fire. Through the smoke and flames towered a monster with five heads braying, howling, screeching, crowing, and shrieking. People panicked and leapt out of the way.
“At the edge of the Dark Forest the dog took the donkey’s tail between his teeth. The cat took the dog’s tail in her mouth. The rooster took the cat’s tail in his beak. And the little girl hung on to the rooster’s tail. Along the Blazed Track through the Dark Forest they ran till they saw their own place.
“They tried on their new clothes and danced in their new shoes. They put up the new curtains. After dinner, the little girl put new strings on her fiddle, and they sang until it was time to go to bed.
“‘I don’t ever want to leave our house again,’ said the cat.
“‘We’ve got everything we need here.’ The little girl stuck out her feet and admired her shiny black button shoes. She looked over her shoulder at their bright red heels.
“The rooster flapped his wings but didn’t crow because it was so late.
“The dog chewed a fresh bone. The donkey looked at him and blew through his nose, ‘Hmph!’
“‘How much did everything cost?’ asked the little girl.
“‘Nothing!’ The donkey tipped up his bag. Out fell the Showman’s sack of gold. ‘I grabbed it as we ran. We’ve got more than we started with! Hmph!’ Everyone agreed he was the cleverest donkey in the whole world. And they all lived happily ever after.”
The Children clustered around me stretched as if waking. Maka sighed and smiled at me. “I wish we had a place of our own,” Chak said. And the rest sighed, “Yes!” and went silent to bed. As I laid Chak and Kimi on the bunk, they both hugged and kissed me.
That night, I woke sweating from a nightmare. I had been telling the story of the five friends again. And, suddenly, I knew what had terrified me. In my dream, as the donkey fell through the tent roof he ripped off the Showman’s mask. The Showman stuck his hands over his face, but I had caught a glimpse. Why hadn’t I seen it then, as I was telling the story to the Children?
I remembered his voice, too. High, eerie, a chattering, gossiping voice. And hands that fluttered and danced over the people standing near them. Dreadful soft white hands. And that face: slobbering mouth, darting eyes. A short beard that jiggled slick under the Showman’s chin, a scattering of oily hairs on the upper lip. A leering, horrid face.
A stench filled my nostrils. I knew that reek. Just as I had seen that face before. I thought of the Showman again, brought his face back to mind: the white lashes that gave his dodging eyes a painful appearance, as if they were raw. The knowing cast to those eyes. The dribbling lip. The way the Showman bobbed his head to the crowd, nodding, whispering, promising to show them torture and death.
I saw his curved wet lips again, heard the ingratiating lisp. In my mind, I heard him laugh, wet-mouthed, flaccid. I wiped my face, as if something wet had landed on it. “Idiot,” I said to myself. “You only saw him in a dream.” But I looked at my hand and saw a fleck of spittle there, as if it had flown off the lips of somebody standing beside me while I slept.
“You’re imagining things! And now you’ve scared yourself with a story!”
Nip stood, front feet on my bunk, whining, licking my hand. She could tell I was scared.
“It was the Carny, Nip! But he couldn’t have been in here or you’d have barked. It was just my mind playing tricks on itself.” Nip whined again, pressed against me as I got off my bunk, opened the door.
“Nobody there,” I said to her, but Nip crouched, whined, and stared. The hairs bristled along her neck as, floating in the dark, I saw the Carny’s face. The wet loose lips. Little beard. The sore-looking eyes that would not look straight at me but dodged, rolled, and slid sideways. The stench again – a swamp reek. And, as I stared at the Carny, his face blurred, merged, changed into the beautiful mask of Kalik smiling on the edge of the darkness. I ran, but he vanished. I listened and heard running feet. So he had been there, watching me: Kalik!
I could never see him again without seeing the Carny, I realised. And I wondered if that unclean spirit had followed me from the Land of the White Bear – disguised as Kalik. Then I must have closed my door, fallen back on my bunk, because it was morning, and I was waking, remembering.
I understood the warning of the dream. I must escape. Take the Salt Children with me. And again I remembered the Shaman warning against superstition yet encouraging me to rely upon intuition.
“Is it superstitious to act upon a dream?” I asked aloud. But the dream had confirmed that Kalik was evil, that in some sense he was the Carny, the servant of the Droll.
Chapter 12
Promise and the Secret of Fire
Contradiction of the dream, Kalik was at my door next morning. Laughing, friendly. How could I confuse this beautiful face with the Carny’s? Or last night’s cruel eyes watching through the dark? I blushed at my silly imaginings.
“Still asleep, Ish! Spent the night with some girl, have you?” His mockery light on the air between us.
“Idiot!” I mumbled at myself.
“Dreamer!” Kalik charmed away my superstitious fears. “Come on! The bears are on the konny berries. They’ll be fat.”
We hunted that day up the valley below Grave Mountain. There was plenty of sign in the konny gullies. Nip picked up several scents, but each one petered out. “As if they disappeared down a hole in the ground,” said Kalik. Rueful, but still amused.
We left the canoe on the beach behind Hekkat’s statue and hunted the south side of the river next morning. Clearings lifting all the way. On one a black bear sat up, a branch of konny berries dropping from its open mouth. It stared at Nip. Something clicked in its mouth, as if it chewed on rocks, and it surged out of sight, as if the earth lifted itself and slid uphill.
Kalik laughed when Nip came back, whining, telling us about it. “We need a pack to stop them,” he said. I thought of his dog I had killed, but Kalik shook his head. “We’ll breed up a pack. Then we’ll stop some bears!”
We separated to hunt our way back. On a clearing under a white bluff, the foot of the mountain, I surprised a young stag, two tines standing straight up from his skull, a spiker. My arrow stood out from his belly, a clumsy shot. He would run for hours, unless the broad head cut into a great vein. I sat, my back against a tall grey rock. If he wasn’t chased, he’d lie and stiffen up, and I’d put another arrow into him.
The rock warm, I drowsed in the sun. I woke and called, “Nip!” No answer. Annoyed, I whistled. A yap, and she came scuttling around the rock, ears and tail down. She leapt on me. “Get down!” I brushed my tunic. Nip ran behind the tall grey rock. Barked. A hollow sound. I followed, found fresh dirt scattered under a flat stone propped like a lid across two others. I got on my knees, looked under as Nip’s bark came again. There was just enough room to crawl in.
The hole slanted down. At its bottom, I stood and felt around. Stone walls, smooth and curved like the tunnels behind the Shaman’s cave. Unlike those, the floor of this tunnel carried a shallow stream of water. When I called, Nip came careering, bumping me, and we climbed back into the sun. I brushed out our sign, dragged a broken branch over the hole, and sent Nip after the wounded spiker.
She found him lying. Struggling to get to his feet. Nip at his throat, I pithed him. Gutted, front hooves thrust behind the tendons of his back hocks, he made a pack that I heaved up. Then, near the beach, Nip caught my eye, and took off. I
just had time to drop the spiker before she brought several goats past. I shot two.
Kalik had shot a deer, too. He gave me a hand with the goats. As we paddled home, he asked, “Did Nip find a warren?”
“An old one. Not a rabbit in it,” I explained. And I imagined a picture of a burrow. Grass growing over its mouth. Myself kneeling to put my arm in to the shoulder. Getting dirt on my tunic.
“Still, you did all right.”
“I like getting something. And Nip worked well. I wish she’d stopped that bear, though.” I pictured it in my mind. For a moment I saw the hole into the tunnel, then the bear disappearing, konny branches springing together.
“We’ll come back and work those gullies again,” said Kalik. “We’ll get one there, sooner or later.”
A day or two and he was at my door. “Come on! We’re going up the lake – to the timber workings!”
The Headland People used timber for almost everything. Spears and bows, huts, palisades, fences. The canoes were hollowed out of whole tote trunks. Some firewood came from drift logs stacked on end, dried, and lugged up to the huts each day by the Salt Children. But most, and the settlement burned a lot, came down the lake in rafts. I had asked Kalik to show me the source of all this timber.
The Salt Men who had not been killed had gone up the lake under guard. I was interested to see the timber workings – to look for a way to escape. Perhaps a valley that would carry us south, one with a pass at its head. Not too high for the Children.
I told them where I was going, made sure they had plenty of food, checked the sick ones. Chak and Kimi wouldn’t look at me. I ran down to the lake with Nip. Lutha was leading her bodyguard towards the Roundhouse, to dance before the Goddess. I stood to one side, hand raised in salute. She swept past unseeing, and I got the usual disdainful stare from the Maidens.
Waiting for them to pass, I smiled at their foolishness. And I thought, too, how foolish I had been, dividing the world between Salt Men and others. Getting to know the Salt Children had taught me something.