The Exile

by Jo Sandhu

  ‘It means, girl, you should leave, before they take you and grind your bones to get that special magic.’

  ‘They wouldn’t!’ Kaija went pale.

  ‘They would.’ Asha coughed and sputtered. The foam around her mouth was tinted red. ‘Run while you can.’

  Kaija stared at her in horror. ‘I can’t just leave. I have to help my mother.’ She tried to move away, but Luuka stopped her. He brought his mouth close to her ear.

  ‘We are in danger, Kaija. Do what our mother asks. She will follow us to Beaver Clan.’

  Kaija strained against his hold.

  ‘No, don’t go to her. Don’t argue. Just this once,’ he pleaded.

  Kaija shivered. From the corner of her eye, she was suddenly aware of the men casting glances their way. They had been surly and unhelpful all day – first, when she asked them to give water to the sick, and again when she needed them to help lift the bodies. Now they stood in a group at the mouth of the cave, muttering together.

  She rubbed her arms, suddenly cold. ‘They may not let us past.’ She wet her lips. They felt dry and cracked.

  ‘Water!’ Asha called out suddenly. ‘Stupid, useless girl! You have spilled all the water!’

  ‘Kaija! Luuka! I need you to get more water,’ their mother called from the other side of the cave.

  With fumbling hands, Kaija grabbed the water bag. She dared not look at her mother. She dared not look at Retu’s tiny body lying cold and alone in their corner of the cave. She made herself move slowly towards the cave entrance on legs that felt weak and unfamiliar.

  Behind her, Luuka’s voice was firm as he spoke to the men. ‘We are filling the flasks. We need more water.’

  A man grunted and let them pass, out into the cold darkness. Kaija drew in a sharp breath and the frosty air pierced her chest. She started to shake, but Luuka put an arm around her and urged her onwards. Tears flowed down her cheeks, but there was no time to mourn now. Silently, brother and sister disappeared into the shadowy forest, and away from their home.

  At first they kept to the river. The paths here were familiar to them both, leading to all their favourite fishing holes. They ran silently, fearfully. Luuka led the way, threading amongst the rocks and needing very little light to find his way. Behind him, Kaija stumbled, and he slowed his pace. A turned ankle or broken bone now would be a disaster.

  ‘Can you go on?’ Luuka asked.

  She nodded. She knew she must look frightened and pale in the moonlight, but she tried to be brave. ‘We brought nothing with us. How will we survive until Beaver Clan?’

  Luuka rubbed his face. ‘Up ahead there is a small cave I use when fishing. I leave supplies there.’

  ‘So you don’t have to answer questions when you slip out at night-time?’

  ‘Mother worries too much,’ he said, and shrugged. Then his eyes gleamed. ‘The best fishing is at night.’

  ‘The best sleeping is at night,’ Kaija said, and pushed him onwards.

  Minutes later they found the cave and Luuka’s small bundle of supplies.

  ‘I once caught a trout here, as big as that new baby of Mara’s,’ he said, smiling at the memory, but then his smile dimmed and the light left his eyes. Mara and her baby had died only yesterday. He rubbed his nose and sounded gruff. ‘It broke my best gorge.’ He unwound the leather tie from his bag and tipped it out.

  ‘There’s not much here.’ Kaija chewed her lip. A flint blade; some fire-making tools – a small wooden platform and a stick; an assortment of bone and wooden gorges attached to thin ropes of braided willow; a few strips of dried fish and elm seeds.

  ‘It’s all we have,’ said Luuka. ‘If we had stopped to pack anything else, we would have been caught.’

  ‘I haven’t eaten today,’ Kaija said, her voice wobbling. ‘I was looking after Retu, and everyone kept calling me.’ She scrubbed at her face to stop the tears from falling. ‘He was so small.'

  ‘Don’t think of him.’ Luuka’s voice was sharp. ‘We can think of Retu and Mother later. When we’re safe.’

  He passed her a strip of fish and took one himself, but then he hesitated. ‘Kaija?’ When he didn’t continue, Kaija turned to look at him. He was turning the fish over in his hands and frowning. ‘Do you think it was my fish that made the clan sick?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Kaija said. ‘Why would you think that?’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s just that . . . the first one to fall ill was that trader from upriver. You remember? He traded us the reindeer meat for our salmon. I added in some grayling because he showed me how to carve a gorge from the reindeer antler.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So . . . what if it was the grayling? We all ate it that night, and the next day he was sick.’

  Kaija sat on her haunches and stared at her brother. His eyes were shadowed with tiredness. ‘But it was the bad Spirits that made us sick,’ she said. ‘The Spirit Keeper said so.’

  ‘But what if he is wrong?’ Luuka jumped up. ‘We were all fine, until that night.’

  Kaija frowned. ‘We ate the fish, and the reindeer, and some of those little burdock roots we had in storage. And late hazelnuts. But if it was the food, Mother would have known. She tried everything – yarrow and horsetail and even wolf moss.’ She shook her head. ‘No, it wasn’t the food. I still think it was the Spirits.’

  ‘But why would the Spirits want to do that to us?’ Luuka said. ‘So many have died. So many good people . . . and the children . . .’

  ‘I know, but what else could it be?’ Kaija stared at the strip of fish. ‘A moment ago you told me not to think of Retu. Now, I’m telling you. Don’t think of any of them. We can’t help them anymore, and I’m too hungry to argue with you.’ She stuffed the dried fish into her mouth and chewed.

  Luuka shrugged and copied her. ‘This is trout, anyway.’ He packed the rest of the supplies back into the bag. ‘We leave the river here. The path is too dangerous in the dark. A little further then we can sleep until first light.’ He paused and looked around the familiar surroundings. ‘I shall miss this river,’ he said. He kicked at some old dry fish scales that glowed silver in the moonlight. ‘There’s the rock I used to scrape the scales off my catch. And I still have willow traps floating somewhere out there in the darkness.’ He picked up a smooth, grey stone and tossed it into the water. ‘It was a good fishing hole.’ He reached his hand down to his sister and pulled her to her feet.

  ‘Farewell, Retu. Walk brave with the Spirits, little brother,’ he whispered, and they turned and left the camp.

  Tarin forced himself to keep walking, one step after another, with feet as heavy as rocks.

  ‘Stand tall, Tarin,’ Jarkko said. ‘Show them that you are a man.’

  ‘But I’m not.’ Tarin’s voice was a broken whisper.

  They had come to the entrance of the earth-lodge and Tarin stopped. The sound of voices filtered out. He wished he could hear what they were saying, but the bone and earth walls were too thick. The mammoth tusks framing the entrance were white in the moonlight and a stiff breeze shook the heavy mammoth hide door. Jarkko stamped his feet and blew on his hands while Tarin stood motionless.

  ‘We have to go in, Tarin.’ Jarkko grasped Tarin’s shoulders and squatted down, so they were looking straight at one another. Tarin saw sorrow and determination in the man’s warm hazel eyes. He wondered what Jarkko saw in his eyes. Probably fear, he thought. Grey fear, like the mist that creeps across the landscape and freezes everything in its path.

  Jarkko shook him gently and smiled. ‘I saw the She-mammoth. I saw her choose you. You are a man, but you have to believe that yourself. Don’t believe what others say.’

  Tarin opened his mouth to speak, but Jarkko was already pushing aside the door and stepping down into the earth-lodge. Tarin felt a wave of warm air beckon him inside, and he moved forward. He stumbled slightly on the step down into the rounded chamber and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the firelight. Sombre faces circled the fire. All the elders
of the Hearths were here.

  Helvi moved forward and took Tarin by the hands. ‘Your hands are like ice, child.’ She rubbed his frozen skin and drew him towards the fire.

  Tarin searched the shadows for his mother. His eyes passed over gruff Matti, stroking his long beard, and tiny Ilmi with her wrinkled face and toothless smile. Ilmi’s black eyes twinkled in the firelight and Tarin thought she winked at him. He glanced quickly to her left. Scowling, hard-faced Maija. Tarin dropped his eyes and studied the floor. He felt it was safer. The owl feather was still there, caught on a rock that circled the fire pit.

  A cold breeze entered the lodge and all eyes turned towards the door. Miika and Taavo stepped through, then Pia and Erik. Tuuli and the younger children followed after them. Tarin’s heart sank. If he were to be banished, he would prefer to hear it without the laughing jeers of the other children. He swallowed hard and turned to face his father.

  Kalle frowned at the clan’s younger members as they pushed into the circle around the fire, but he waited until they were settled before raising his hands for silence.

  ‘Boy, go forward.’ Old Mother poked Tarin in the back. He shuffled forward a step, noticing as he did that the owl feather had now attached itself to his boot. It was caught in a long strand of mammoth wool. ‘Head up,’ Old Mother hissed, but Tarin felt as though his head was a lump of rock that wouldn’t move.

  Kalle raised his voice and spoke to the clan. ‘The leaders of each Hearth have offered their advice and I have listened.’ His eyes rested thoughtfully on Maija. ‘I have listened to all who chose to voice their opinions.’ He reached for the ceremonial mammoth staff and banged it three times into the ground. ‘And I have made my decision. We have a hard season ahead of us . . .’ He paused and waited for stray whispers to cease and every member of Mammoth Clan to turn their eyes towards him. Every member except Tarin, who stood with his head down and his eyes focused on his boots. ‘Tarin, son of Mammoth Clan, we will not banish you, for to do so would surely mean your death . . .’

  He wasn’t banished . . . Tarin’s knees wobbled.

  ‘But we declare you Haamu.’ Kalle held his staff over his head and drove it into the earthen floor. ‘You shall speak to no one . . .’ Again the staff shook the lodge. ‘And take only what food and water is left when we have eaten, until three times the full moon lights the night sky. In this way, you shall be exiled from your Hearth and from your Clan, but you will live. So have I, Kalle of Mammoth Hearth, Leader of Mammoth Clan, spoken.’

  Haamu! Tarin drew a deep breath and sank to the floor as his legs collapsed beneath him. He pressed his palms to his eyes before the clan could see the tears threatening to run down his cheeks. He heard Maija’s snort of disgust, voices muttering, angry and unsettled. Matti cleared his throat and spat, the wad of phlegm landing close to Tarin’s boot. Tuuli clasped Tarin’s wrists and sat down next to him, colour returning to her pale face.

  ‘Haamu,’ she whispered. ‘It is not so bad.’

  I’m not banished. I’m not banished! For three Moons he would live as an Exile amongst his clan, but he would survive. He raised his eyes to his father’s face, and the relief that filled his heart faltered. His father’s eyes were filled with so much pain . . . so much shame. Tarin hung his head.

  ‘But taking food from one skinny child will not feed us all Winter,’ Markku said with a growl. He put one arm around Sanna-Leena and the other rested on their baby.

  Voices filled with anger and fear lapped one over the other, talking, crying, shouting. Kalle raised his hands for quiet, and slowly the mutter of voices subsided.

  It’s only my father that stops us from tearing at each other’s throats like a pack of wolves, Tarin thought, and he shuddered, suddenly afraid for Mammoth Clan.

  Kalle raised his voice so all would hear. ‘That is why you will all be quiet and listen to Valo, Spirit Keeper.’

  Valo stood and raised his hands in the air. He flung another handful of herbs into the fire and flames flared upwards to touch the bones above.

  ‘What the Mother has given us, she can also withhold,’ said Old Father. ‘We have forgotten this. I have talked with the Spirits. With Spirit of Mammoth, our clan totem, and with Spirit of Bear, my own totem.’ He looked around the circle of faces with hooded eyes and his gaze rested longest on Tarin. His lips thinned. His nostrils flared. ‘They have told me that the great Earth Mother has not forsaken her children, but She is afraid we have forgotten her . . .’

  ‘But that’s not true,’ Salla gasped. ‘I thank Her every day!’

  ‘It is not enough!’ Old Father’s voice rose. He shook his staff fiercely. ‘If we do not want the Great Mother to forsake us – we must act now! The Spirits have told me we must send an Offering to the Earth Mother, to show Her the People of the Mammoth have not forgotten Her!’

  The clan stared at each other, their minds slowly turning from fear to hope. If there was a way to speak to the Earth Mother. If they could send her a gift . . .

  ‘Yes!’ Salla’s eyes grew round. ‘Then She would see . . . She would know . . .’

  ‘She would help us.’ Sanna-Leena pressed her face against her baby’s cheek. ‘The Earth Mother can save us.’

  The clan started talking all at once, excited, hopeful.

  ‘I think an Offering is a good idea,’ said Helvi quietly. ‘I have received many blessings from the Mother. Aurochs Hearth will pledge a gift for the Offering.’

  ‘So will Elk Hearth,’ said Jarkko.

  ‘And Reindeer Hearth,’ Salla said quickly.

  The clan’s voices rose again as each Hearth pledged a gift. Tarin reached for the owl feather that still clung desperately to his boot and blew it gently before tucking it into his tunic.

  ‘But how will we give Her the gift?’ Saara shook Old Father’s arm. ‘In the stories you tell, She lives so far away.’

  Valo held his hands up for silence once again. ‘It will be a long and perilous journey,’ he said. Tarin’s attention returned to the Spirit Keeper, and his scalp prickled. ‘Across the frozen tundar, across many rivers, through forests and over mountains – the one chosen to carry the Offering must find the Great Mother’s Mountain, Her sacred place.’

  ‘But that is so far,’ said Raisa. Her face was pale and she placed her hand on her son’s shoulder, drawing him close. ‘Whoever is chosen to carry the Offering may never come back.’

  ‘And . . . is that the only way?’ Aila asked, her voice soft in the shadows.

  ‘It is the only way,’ Valo said. ‘The Spirits have said if we do not take this Offering to the Earth Mother, Mammoth Clan is doomed.’

  In the stunned silence that followed, the only sound was the moan of the wind through the bones. The cry of the Spirits, the angry, hungry Spirits who covered the earth in ice and brought misfortune to the living.

  Tarin’s mouth turned dry. The only way . . . the only way to save his clan . . . his family. He tried to speak, but no sound came out.

  ‘But . . . who will take the Offering?’ Helvi looked around. ‘Each morning, I break the ice on the river to gather water. The days are growing short.’

  ‘We cannot spare one person,’ growled Matti. ‘If we are to survive the Long Dark, we must hunt every day.’

  His voice lowered even further. ‘And if any member of the clan thinks to avoid work, then they should not expect a share of the food.’

  ‘And how can you expect the children to hunt.’ Aila glared at him. She hugged Saara to her chest.

  ‘I’m not talking about the youngest,’ Matti said. Tarin lifted his chin as he felt the man’s gaze rest on him.

  ‘I will take the Offering,’ said Eero. He stood proudly before the camp and thumped his heavy walking stick into the ground. ‘I have made many journeys in my lifetime. I have seen mountains that touch the sky, and glaciers so wide you cannot cross them. I will take one more journey before the Spirits call me.’

  ‘Father, you cannot,’ said Jarmo.

  ‘And why not?�
�� The old man glared at his son.

  ‘Because . . .’ Jarmo paused and scratched his long beard, unsure what to say.

  Silence fell over the camp. Tarin looked around the ring of faces, no longer angry, but filled now with fear. Like the brittle cold of the frozen tundar, Tarin could see the fear seeping into their hearts and their bones.

  This is all because of me, Tarin thought, and the fear crept into his heart as well. His gaze rested on Saara and Tuuli, and he felt as though his heart would break.

  Someone must take the Offering. Tarin’s palms felt sweaty and he rubbed them down the sides of his leggings. His scalp prickled and he felt his mind drifting. It was the feeling he got when he was about to have one of his dreams.

  But I’m not sleeping, Tarin thought. This shouldn’t be happening. Normally his dreams only came to him when he was alone and snuggled in his furs to sleep, or when Old Mother gave him the strong medicine for his pain. Then he would feel himself lifting up out of his body and floating free, or flying across the frozen landscape on the wings of Spirit of Owl. But not here! Not now!

  Tarin forced his eyes open and the strange feeling left him, but not before, for a fleeting moment, he was once again back in the canyon, feeling the touch of the old She-mammoth.

  I could take the Offering. The thought came to him suddenly. I am the one who ruined the hunt. If the camp starves this winter, it is because of me.

  But . . . I cannot. I cannot!

  His fears threatened to tear him to pieces with claws as sharp as a cave bear’s. From across the fire, Tarin felt Valo’s cold, hard stare. He knows about my dreams. He knows how weak I am. And he despises me for it.

  Tarin blinked and looked away, unable to return the Spirit Keeper’s gaze. A small movement drew his attention to his mother, a pale flutter as her hand touched her throat.

  But I am the son of Kalle and Aila, leaders of Mammoth Clan. And I am protected by Spirit of Owl.

  The thought gave him strength. Perhaps Jarkko was right. He was a man – if he could just believe in himself.