The Exile

by Jo Sandhu

  ‘We are the Mammutti – hunters of the great mammoths. We are not a pack of cave hyenas that squabble and fight over carrion.’ The clan shuffled their feet and looked down. ‘And yet, we must ask ourselves – have we offended the Earth Mother? Why has she chosen to withhold her bounty from us?’

  ‘We have taken the goodness of the Earth Mother for granted,’ said Old Father. He pounded his heavy bone staff into the ground. An owl feather came loose from its leather tie and floated free. It landed on the ground next to Tarin’s foot. ‘Each season, she fills our bellies with grains from the fields, herbs from the meadows and fish from the rivers. From the plains, she gives to us her mightiest gifts – mammoth, bison and aurochs. She gives these gifts so that we may live. But we have forgotten this. We take, and we do not give.’

  Kalle nodded, his face grim. ‘The boy, Tarin, will stand.’

  Tarin wrenched his eyes away from the owl feather and Old Mother pulled him to his feet. His heart pounded. His legs were made of water. He wanted to cling to Old Mother, to clutch hold of her hand and never let go, but she prised her fingers from his grip. Tarin wiped his hands down his leggings and swallowed hard. He forced himself to lift his chin and stand before the clan. He couldn’t bring himself to look Kalle in the eye. Instead, he focused on his father’s right shoulder.

  ‘Tarin, by your actions, you endangered not only yourself, but also the hunters of your clan.’

  ‘I . . . I know.’ Tarin knew his reply sounded small and weak.

  ‘Hunts have failed before, and will fail again. But to survive, the clan must work together as one.’

  ‘I know . . . and . . . I’m truly sorry.’ Tarin raised his eyes to his father’s, and then quickly dropped them again. Kalle studied his son. The silence stretched. The clan moved restlessly, waiting for their leader to speak. A baby woke, looking for food, and was quickly hushed.

  Kalle sighed. ‘I will speak with the elders of each Hearth family,’ he said. ‘Before making my decision.’ He turned away from Tarin. ‘Tuuli, take the children and give them food. You will be called when a decision is made.’

  A blast of cold air pushed Tarin backwards as he followed his eldest sister from the earth-lodge. He shook her arm urgently.

  ‘Tuuli, what is going to happen?’

  ‘I don’t know, Tarin.’ Tuuli closed her eyes and sighed. Tarin frowned. She looked tired. She and the other young clan women had trekked far that day, digging sedge roots along the riverbank where the soil was still soft, and scraping reindeer moss off the rocks.

  ‘Come on, you lot.’ Tuuli herded the younger children –Saara, Eva, Erik and Niko – towards Reindeer Lodge, where Salla had prepared food for them. ‘I’m going to tell you a story.’

  ‘But it’s warmer in Mammoth Lodge,’ said Niko, looking back. ‘Why can’t we stay there?’

  ‘Because we can’t,’ said Tuuli. She held open the flap of mammoth hide and pushed Niko forward into the lodge. The welcoming smell of simmering stew filled their nostrils.

  ‘Because the grown-ups are talking about Tarin,’ said Saara. ‘Isn’t that right, Tuuli?’ She looked at her older sister for confirmation.

  ‘I’m sure they’re talking about a lot of things . . .’

  ‘I think they should banish Tarin,’ said Erik. ‘He ruined the hunt.’

  Tarin scowled and crouched miserably on the floor.

  ‘Don’t say that about my brother.’ Saara pushed the older boy.

  ‘Stop it, both of you,’ said Tuuli, rubbing her forehead. She added shaved slivers of bone to the fire and Tarin, shivering, held his hands towards it. ‘Saara, pass me those plates. See how they’re made of bone? I’m going to tell you a story of a place where the plates are made from wood. Deep in the forest, the Metsamaa clans live . . .’

  ‘Where’s Taavo?’ Erik asked. ‘And Miika and Pia?’

  ‘They said they didn’t want to eat with a weakling coward,’ said Niko. ‘I wanted to go with them, too . . .’

  ‘I’m not a coward,’ Tarin growled.

  ‘Yes, you are,’ said Niko. ‘Miika says that’s why you don’t hunt. Because you’re scared.’

  ‘I am not!’ Tarin jumped to his feet. His hands clenched into fists.

  ‘Miika says you will never be a hunter like us, and you should just leave.’ Niko shovelled a scoop of stew into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

  ‘Then Tarin will just find another clan to live with.’ Saara scowled at him.

  ‘What other clan? Miika says Tarin is bad luck, and if he can’t hunt, what use is he to anyone?’

  ‘That’s not a nice thing to say, Niko,’ said Tuuli. ‘And if you can’t think of something nice to say, you can just sit there and keep quiet.’

  Niko shrugged and lifted his bowl to his lips, draining the rest of his food. ‘It’s what everyone says,’ he muttered. ‘My mother says if Tarin isn’t banished, maybe we’ll leave and find another clan. Maybe we’ll live with Saiga Clan or Bison Clan.’

  ‘Maija said that?’ Tuuli sounded surprised, then she shook her head. ‘Winter is nearly here. You can’t leave until Summer.’

  Tarin turned his back on Niko and Erik. Tuuli offered him a plate.

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ he mumbled.

  ‘You should eat.’ His sister sat down next to him. She glanced at the other children and lowered her voice. ‘Tarin? Why did you go to the canyon? You know you weren’t ­supposed to be there.’

  ‘I . . . don’t know.’ Tarin’s voice shook and he hunched his shoulders angrily. ‘I just did.’

  ‘Is it . . .’ Tuuli stopped and bit her lip. She laid a hand on Tarin’s shoulder, but he flinched, and she moved it away. ‘Your weaknesses mean nothing to us, Tarin. You are so loved. It doesn’t matter that you can’t hunt.’

  ‘I don’t want to be pitied, Tuuli. I don’t want to be “loved”. I want to be a hunter. I want . . .’ Tarin’s voice stuck in his throat and he jumped to his feet. He had to get out of there, away from Tuuli’s pitying looks and Niko’s contempt. He pushed his way past them and out into the cold night air. It froze his lungs as he drew in a deep breath. The night was clear, and a couple of early stars twinkled above him. A bright full moon hung low over the steppes, turning everything to silver. He heard soft footsteps approach and Tuuli appeared beside him.

  ‘Niko’s right,’ said Tarin. ‘No other clan would have me.’

  ‘You don’t need another clan, Tarin. You belong here.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel like it.’ Tarin shrugged. As though from a great distance, he heard the sound of the drums. A tremor shook his thin body. ‘They’ve made their decision.’

  ‘They won’t banish you, Tarin. They won’t.’ But Tuuli’s voice was fearful. Brother and sister both looked bleakly at Mammoth Lodge. A tall figure stepped from the lodge and the drums became momentarily louder. Jarkko walked towards them with slow, steady steps.

  ‘It is time, little rabbit.’ He squeezed Tarin’s shoulder. Tarin felt the warmth of his grip through his tunic. ‘You need to come with me.’

  Tarin nodded. He felt numb. There was nothing he could do, except turn and follow Jarkko back to Mammoth Lodge.

  Night was drawing in. Kaija cast a quick glance over her shoulder. The noises of the forest unsettled her. Snow was already falling and her breath steamed the chilly air as she placed the bones in the proper position. She struggled to balance the two crossed deer legs, and she pulled her mittens off impatiently with her teeth. The cold seeped into her fingers, numbing them.

  She sat back on her haunches and studied the bones. They gleamed white in the moonlight. The empty eye sockets of the bear’s skull stared sightlessly at her. She shivered and pulled her fur around her shoulders. The bones were a warning to travellers. A warning of sickness . . . of danger. It would have to do.

  She rubbed her face and sighed deeply. She was so tired. A rustle of leaves, the crunch of running feet on newly fallen snow – the sounds echoed loudly in the silent forest. An owl hooted q
uietly and rose into the air like mist.

  ‘Kaija!’

  She rose to her feet at the sound of her brother’s voice. ‘Luuka, what is it?’

  Luuka bent over to catch his breath and grasped her arm. She felt his fingers dig into her.

  ‘You have to come. It’s Retu.’

  Fear gripped her heart. Like the ice of the long, dark winter.

  ‘No . . .’ The word was a moan, captured by the night wind and carried away. ‘Not Retu.’ Her hand brushed her forehead. It felt clammy. She stared at the beads of sweat glistening on her fingertips.

  ‘Kaija? You too?’ Luuka turned her to study her face. He looked at her with anxious eyes.

  ‘No.’ She shook her head and tried to move away from him. ‘I ran to place the bones. That’s all.’

  He nodded, but still the worried look remained.

  They didn’t speak as they ran back to the cave. Their pounding feet and the thudding of their hearts were the only noise in the forest. Kaija paused at the entrance to their cave. The fresh air had given her a reprieve from the stench of sickness and death, but it surrounded her again now. It was suffocating. She put her hand over her nostrils and tried not to breathe in.

  Her eyes adjusted to the flickering firelight, and she hurried to her mother’s side. She lowered her head to avoid the ravaged faces, the red, anguished eyes, the empty stares of those who had already died. Her mother’s back was bowed, her head hidden in her hands.

  ‘Not the boy . . .’ she wailed. ‘Not my son. Don’t take my son from me.’

  Kaija drew in a ragged breath. She knelt by her mother and felt her brother’s brow. It was too late. His thin body gleamed with sweat and weeping sores. His eyes stared sightlessly at the roof of the cave.

  The Spirit Keeper loomed above them like a shadow. His face was covered in ash, his eyes ringed with red ochre. He rattled a staff of bleached bones over Retu and moaned. He brought his face close to Kaija and she smelled the sickness on his breath. His bloodshot eyes stared at her.

  ‘It is a judgement,’ he said, spraying his spittle.

  Kaija recoiled. She grasped Luuka’s hand and glared at the Spirit Keeper. ‘How can a child’s death be a judgement?’

  The Spirit Keeper turned to the woman weeping over her son. ‘It is a judgment against you, Senja. The healer who cannot heal.’

  Kaija’s mother moaned and covered her face. ‘Nothing I do helps. Nothing.’

  Kaija jumped to her feet. ‘That’s unfair. You are the Spirit Keeper. Why don’t you ask the Spirits for help?’

  The Spirit Keeper snarled at her and rattled his bones before melting into the shadows.

  Senja pulled her arm. ‘Do not anger the Spirits further, Kaija. He may be our Spirit Keeper, but he is also a man in pain. He has lost his hearth-mate and his child to this plague.’

  ‘We have all lost loved ones, mother,’ Luuka said. He leant forward and closed Retu’s sightless eyes.

  Senja’s head drooped, as though she would sleep. Kaija hissed and took her mother’s face between her hands, looking deep into her glazed eyes. ‘Mother! You’ve taken the herbs again!’

  Senja sighed deeply and brought her focus back to her daughter. ‘I know you don’t like me to take them, Kaija.’

  ‘It’s so dangerous!’

  ‘But they help me to see things I couldn’t see otherwise. They help me heal people. I see their sickness in my dreams, and I see the bad Spirits around them.’

  ‘What do you see now, mother?’ Kaija replied, her voice low and sad. Senja stared at Retu’s tiny body and shuddered.

  ‘I see a blackness upon this clan,’ she whispered. ‘I see the faceless grey Spirits come to take us all.’

  ‘Mother! Stop it.’ Kaija grabbed her arms and shook her, but her mother didn’t listen to her.

  ‘I cannot fight against these Spirits, Kaija. They are too strong.’ Her eyes were once more unfocused, large and staring. Her hand crept to her throat as though she couldn’t breathe. ‘But in my dreams, I have seen the mammoths . . .’

  Kaija scrubbed at the tears on her cheeks. ‘I don’t understand.’ Her mother’s dreams never made sense.

  ‘I have seen them, moving always northward, towards the place where the Great Mother dances in the sky.’ She closed her eyes and swayed. ‘It must mean something, Kaija. It must. Why else would I dream of them, night after night? And why is there always the one small one, lagging behind? His leg is hurt, and his heart is heavy. He walks in danger . . .’

  Luuka passed her a cup of water. ‘Drink,’ he said firmly. Then he refilled the cup and gave it to Kaija. ‘When is the last time any of us has eaten? It is no wonder our thoughts are strange.’

  Slowly, Senja’s breathing steadied, and the glazed look faded from her eyes.

  Kaija took her mother’s hands in hers. They were cool to touch and soft from the beaver fat ointments she used in her healing. ‘Mother, this sickness, is there no end to it?’ How many days had passed, Kaija wondered, since the first member of her clan had fallen sick. Ten? Twenty? The first to die was old Lia, which surprised no one, but then another fell sick, and another. First, with fever and aching bones. Then the coughing started and their necks hurt to touch. Kaija’s hand rested on her throat and she swallowed hard. She had brewed teas and bathed open wounds. She had held frail bodies when they struggled to breathe, and sung to them as the light left their eyes and their spirits left them. How many more? her heart cried. How many more would die?

  ‘There is no end,’ Senja said, her voice weary. She glanced around the cave and beckoned them closer. ‘That’s why you have to flee, my children.’

  ‘No,’ Kaija said.

  ‘Mother, we can’t just leave you,’ Luuka said. He knelt down beside her and took one of her hands.

  ‘You can. You must.’ Their mother squeezed their hands then pushed them away. ‘But you must be quick. If you stay here . . . If you should get sick . . .’ Her voice failed. ‘Luuka, take your sister. Make her go. Make for Beaver Clan. They will help you. But you have to go now, before anyone sees you. They will try and stop you.’

  ‘I won’t leave you –’ Kaija pulled against Luuka’s hand.

  ‘You must, child. It is dangerous for you here.’

  ‘Then we will all go. You and me and Luuka –’

  ‘Child, it is too late. I already have the sickness in me. I can feel it.’

  ‘No!’ Kaija reached for her mother, but Luuka pulled her to her feet and shook her shoulders.

  ‘Mother is right. This sickness, whatever it is, is killing us all. I don’t mind for me, if it is my time to journey to the Spirit World, but it is not your time, Kaija. I know that.’

  ‘How can you know? I can stay and help nurse them.’

  ‘No.’ Senja bent low over Retu so her face couldn’t be seen. She spoke in a low voice. ‘I’ve seen the men look this way, and whisper amongst themselves. You have to run. Now.’

  ‘At least let us bury Retu first.’ Kaija touched the small boy’s hair. ‘Let us rub the red ochre on him and sing to him, so he can find his way home to the Spirit World.’

  ‘I will do that. Trust me,’ said Senja.

  Kaija couldn’t bring herself to look at her mother. Instead, she stared at the small ring of stones circling their fire pit.

  ‘Luuka, do you remember the day you and Retu collected those stones, down near the river? How proud he was to be out with his big brother.’ Kaija’s voice wavered.

  Luuka smiled sadly. ‘There were so many trout, they were jumping out of the water. I remember. It took us days to dry the fillets.’

  ‘River Clan was happy then.’ Kaija shook her head and dragged her thoughts back to the present. Those days were gone, and Retu would never again fish with his brother and he would never again sit in his sister’s lap and sing with her.

  ‘Kaija, I know you don’t believe in my dreams, but they must have some meaning,’ Senja said. ‘Find the mammoths. They can help us.’ Then she frowned.
‘But they also need your help. I feel that in my bones. The little one especially.’

  ‘Girl!’ A voice called from across the cave. ‘I need water.’

  Kaija wiped her eyes. ‘Mother, we will talk about this further.’

  She grabbed a water flask and hurried to the woman beckoning her.

  ‘Asha, be comfortable. Here is water.’ She held the flask to the sick woman’s lips and helped her to drink. Asha groaned. Her face was flushed and hollow.

  ‘It hurts to breathe,’ she said, her chest labouring to rise and fall. Kaija wet a soft rabbit skin and wiped her face. She murmured soothing words. ‘I want an end to this.’ Asha tried to grip Kaija’s hand, but she had no strength in her wasted muscles. ‘Tell Senja to make the tea. I want to sleep with the Spirits.’

  ‘Asha, do not give in,’ Kaija said.

  ‘Easy for you to say, girl. You are not the one who is in pain. You do not struggle for every breath. You and your brother.’ She lay back in exhaustion and studied Kaija carefully from half-closed eyes. ‘They say you have special ­medicine. That your mother has kept special herbs just for her children.’

  ‘She would never do that.’ Kaija pushed Asha’s hand away. ‘And my little brother has just died. Why would my mother let her son die if she had special herbs?’

  Asha sniffed and struggled with another breath. ‘They say you have bad magic in you. Two born together should not have lived, but your mother used secret ways to keep you alive. Perhaps even now that special magic is still in your bones.’

  ‘You do not know what you are saying, Asha.’ She tried to speak soothingly.

  ‘Kaija.’ Luuka crossed the cave toward her. ‘Mother says she needs more water. We have to go and fill the flasks at the river.’

  ‘Now?’ Kaija stumbled to her feet. She was upset not only by Asha’s pain, but by her words. ‘It is so late.’

  Asha drew a painful breath and snorted. It almost sounded like a laugh. ‘Go with your brother, girl. Run while you can.’

  ‘I don’t understand what you mean –’ Kaija started to say, but Luuka grabbed her wrist so tightly it made her gasp.