The Exile

by Jo Sandhu

  Tarin cleared his throat and stepped forward. He tried to stand tall and unafraid, when inside, his stomach had shrivelled to a hard, cold lump. But he knew he had to do this – for his family, and for his clan.

  ‘I . . .’

  All faces turned to look at him. He knew what they saw. A weak, undersized, scared boy, standing apart and alone.

  ‘I will take the Offering.’ His voice cracked. ‘I will take the Offering to Great Mother’s Mountain. At least . . .’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘At least, I will try.’

  ‘No!’ The word burst from Aila’s lips. ‘No, Tarin must not go.’

  ‘My mother is right.’ Taavo shouted to be heard as everyone started to talk at once. ‘Why should Tarin have that honour? I am the Firstborn son of the leader of Mammoth Clan. I should be the one to go!’

  ‘The boy will fail . . . again,’ said Maija.

  ‘He is weak.’

  ‘But someone must take the Offering.’

  The sea of squabbling voices rose around Tarin. His chest felt tight, like it did sometimes when the cold, dry wind blew down from the great ice river in the north. When that happened, Old Mother would brew him a special tea. But there was no comfort for him now. He had to stand in front of his clan and listen to their cruel words.

  ‘Why do you hesitate, Kalle?’ Maija asked, her voice as smooth as the sticky sap that flowed from the pine trees, catching unsuspecting insects in its wake. ‘Do you doubt the boy can do it? Send your other son, then. Send Taavo.’ Her smile widened as still Kalle hesitated.

  ‘Yes, I will go,’ said Taavo.

  ‘No!’ Tarin spoke firmly, but he was pushed aside as everyone started shouting at once.

  ‘Hear me!’ Tarin tried again. Someone’s elbow caught him in the chest and he grunted in pain. His hands curled into fists. Why wouldn’t they stop and listen to him? And Old Father – he clenched his teeth – why wasn’t Old Father doing something, before someone was hurt?

  Tarin glared at the old man, sitting back in the shadows, laughing, as the clan’s fears built around them. Matti pushed Jarmo in the chest, and the men raised their fists.

  Tarin lunged forward and grabbed a handful of Valo’s powdered wormwood. He tossed it into the flames and the fire roared towards the roof. The clan screamed and stepped back from the fire.

  ‘No!’ Tarin shouted again.

  All faces turned towards him. Never before had they heard him shout, and now their shock and surprise showed clearly in the sudden silence.

  ‘Listen to me!’ Tarin’s voice cut the silence like a spear and he spoke quickly, before he could change his mind, before his fear smothered his anger. ‘I will take the Offering. I ruined the mammoth hunt. I have brought shame to my family, and that will never leave me, but . . .’ He took a deep breath and as he did, he felt the presence of Owl, clever and wise, watching over him, and he felt the comforting touch of the old She-mammoth, mighty and strong. He no longer felt weak and uncertain. He no longer hung his head in shame.

  ‘I can do this. You think I’ll fail, but I won’t. I will take the Offering. I will find the Mountain.’ He was breathing faster now. ‘I am Haamu anyway.’ He looked at Taavo and Miika, and anger surged through him, hot and wild as a flame. ‘And I will return here, to show you all that I made the Offering, and the Earth Mother heard our plea and has forgiven us.’

  A strong hand gripped his shoulder.

  ‘Your words are brave, little rabbit,’ said Jarkko. ‘You have the heart of a hunter, if not the strength.’

  ‘But if he hasn’t the strength of a hunter, how can he travel so far?’ Taavo muttered. ‘It should be me.’

  ‘There is one thing everyone is forgetting.’ Jarkko held up his hand before anyone else could speak. ‘Tarin was chosen by the Great Mammoth herself.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Jarmo. ‘I saw Spirit of Mammoth spare him. He should have been crushed.’

  ‘But that wasn’t a spirit,’ Miika said. ‘That was an old mammoth, who was probably blind –’

  ‘Just because someone is old and blind doesn’t mean they are mistaken,’ said Ilmi, poking Miika in the back with the long deer bone she used as a walking stick. ‘If Mammoth has chosen the boy, then let him be the one to take the Offering.’

  Voices rose in argument again.

  ‘Enough!’ Kalle’s giant voice once more demanded silence. He glared at the circle of faces. ‘Enough,’ he said again, quieter this time. His face looked grey in the firelight. ‘This meeting is finished.’ Kalle reached out for the mammoth-­bone staff. Three times, he pounded it into the ground. Tarin felt the resounding thud beneath his feet.

  ‘It is decided,’ said Old Father, stepping out of the shadows.

  The words echoed through Tarin’s head, weaving a dance with the hollow sound of bone on bone. The huge mammoth skull drums glowed white in the firelight, shadows flickering, empty eyes staring into the past.

  ‘It is decided,’ sang Old Father, drumming the beat with his staff. Sweat ran down his face and he rolled his eyes until all that showed was cloudy white. ‘In two days time, at First Light, Tarin of Mammoth Hearth, Son of Kalle, Protected by Spirit of Owl and Chosen by Spirit of Mammoth, shall take the Offering to the Great Mother.’

  His eyes returned to normal and he looked at Tarin. ‘May the Spirits guide and protect you on your way.’

  The pendant was made of finely carved bone and strung on a long, leather thong.

  ‘It was my father’s.’ Aila’s voice was soft and low as her hands stroked the smooth bone, tracing the shape of the carving etched deep into the surface. ‘See? It has his mark on it.’ She placed it gently into Tarin’s hand, and he touched the two curved lines meeting in a downwards point – the totem sign of Owl. ‘He was a great Spirit Keeper,’ Aila said. ‘You remind me of him, Tarin. So much.’

  ‘He was lame?’ Tarin asked, rolling his eyes. They had had this conversation before.

  Aila looked at her son sadly. ‘He was kind, and gentle, and brave. Just like you. He cared deeply for his people. You would be a good Spirit Keeper, Tarin. Better than Valo. He knows that, and that’s why he fears you.’

  Tarin made a surprised sound. ‘Valo fears me? How does he fear anything when he faces the bad Spirits every day? How could he fear me?’ Tarin shook his head. He didn’t understand what his mother meant. He closed his hand around the pendant. ‘I’m not brave enough to be a Spirit Keeper,’ he said finally.

  Aila sighed. ‘There are different kinds of bravery.’ She rested her hand on one of the large mammoth bones that formed the wall of the lodge and stroked it. ‘Twelve summers ago, you were born here, Tarin. Here in this lodge. Barely a year after Taavo.’

  Tarin nodded. He had heard the story before. How his life had started too soon within his mother.

  ‘They said I couldn’t care for two babies. Old Mother gave me the secret herbs to stop your life, but still you lived. Then when you were born they said you were weak and would never survive.’ Aila paused and closed her eyes, breathing deeply. ‘I fought them when they took you, Tarin. I fought them so hard. I screamed and kicked and tore at their flesh with my bare hands.’ She opened her eyes and stared at her hands, now curled into clawed talons. ‘Valo picked me up and carried me away. I had to leave you there, on the rocks at the top of the canyon. You were supposed to die. But still, you lived!’ She gripped Tarin’s shoulders and shook him. ‘You know this.’

  Tarin nodded, but the words wouldn’t come. He had heard his tale so many times.

  Asa had stayed, to bear witness to his fate. She saw the wolverine come sniffing around the tiny, twisted body, scenting blood and weakness. She saw its strong jaws reach out to clamp around his throat, to silence his cry, and she called to the Spirits to take the baby quickly. Then Owl came plummeting down from the sky, claws outstretched to strike Wolverine across the face.

  It was the will of the Spirits, Asa said, and she had gathered him up and rushed back to the clan. Valo had decreed h
er Haamu for a full moon cycle.

  ‘You should have died, Tarin. Three times over. But still you lived. Owl is your totem, your protector, brave and strong, silent and wise. Just like you.’

  Tarin shook his head. ‘I’m not wise. I’m not brave or strong.’ His voice wavered and he dropped his head.

  ‘Sometimes,’ Aila said, ‘strength can be found in the smallest creatures. A wolverine can bring down a musk ox. A fox can take a baby. A man can fell a mammoth. And you, Tarin, my son . . .’ She paused and brushed his hair from his face. Tarin shook his head until it once more covered his eyes. Aila smiled. ‘You, my son, are strong in ways we have yet to see.’ She tilted Tarin’s face up to hers, to look deep into his eyes. Tarin saw the sparkle of unshed tears. ‘My father also went on a long journey when he was a young man. He was gone for many years . . .’ Her voice wavered and faded away. Her hands dropped and she turned away.

  Sadness stuck in Tarin’s throat like a lump of ice. He was about to undertake a great journey, and perhaps he would never again see his mother, or his father, or any of his family. Perhaps he would never return to Mammoth Clan. The thought made his chest hurt and his eyes sting.

  Tarin reached his hand towards his mother, sitting so still.

  ‘Return to me, Tarin. Let me look on your face one more time,’ she pleaded softly.

  Tarin put the leather thong about his neck and felt the weight of the Owl pendant against his chest. It was warm to touch, warmed by his mother’s hand.

  ‘I will see you again, Mother.’ Tarin felt the weight of the promise in his words and his hand trembled as he reached to grasp her shoulder, in the way of their clan.

  A sob escaped Aila. She pulled Tarin to her and hugged him to her chest. Tarin knew that as a man he should stand tall and brave. Not cry. Not show weakness. But he felt his own arms returning her embrace, and he buried his head in her hair, breathing in her scent. Then, with a shuddering sigh, Aila pushed him gently away, and Tarin’s arms felt suddenly empty and bereft.

  ‘I will see you again, Tarin,’ she whispered.

  ‘I will see you again, Mother,’ Tarin replied, and he turned and left the earth-lodge.

  The Offering was wrapped in a thick snow leopard fur given by Mammoth Hearth.

  Soft leathers from Reindeer Hearth.

  A grass-wrapped parcel of food from Aurochs Hearth.

  Two carved ivory beads from Fox Hearth.

  A cave bear tooth from Bear Hearth.

  A flint blade from Elk Hearth.

  Herbs from Old Mother.

  From Ilmi, who knew her time on this earth was short, a small piece of amber, a tiny ant trapped inside. Her special gift to the Earth Mother, to ask protection for the family she would leave behind.

  And in his hand, Tarin carried a tall, straight spear, carved by his father and tipped with the special bone spear point that Taavo had made Tarin for his first hunt.

  It was the hour before dawn when Tarin climbed to the granite rocks that jutted out over the river. Taavo sat with his back against a rock, looking out at the windswept steppes beyond. Below them, the five rounded earth-lodges huddled forlornly on a wide terrace above the river.

  Tarin stood and watched the first rays of light turn the grasslands from grey to palest pink. He didn’t know what to say to his brother, who sat so silently.

  ‘Taavo . . .’ Tarin waited until his brother looked at him. Taavo’s eyes were red, but the wind was blowing the loess dust from the edge of the glacier, and Tarin knew his eyes were raw as well.

  ‘Everything is different now, Tarin.’ Taavo’s voice cracked and he turned once more to look out at the horizon. ‘We were supposed to hunt together, you and I . . .’ He picked up a stone and threw it angrily. Both boys watched it arc in the air before falling towards the rushing river.

  Soon, the water would slow to a trickle, then stop al­together, as the Ice Mother tightened her grip on the land. Tarin brushed tangled hair out of his eyes and looked down at the earth-lodges. In the grey light of dawn, figures appeared, some to carry water, some to gather bone and dung to fuel the fires. Some started to climb the hill towards them. They moved easily, striding over the rocky ground in a way Tarin never could. He recognised Miika, and his heart sank. Today, he didn’t need to see his sneering face, or hear the contempt in his voice. He didn’t need Miika to remind him he was tall and strong and Tarin was . . . not.

  Three smaller figures followed him – Pia, Erik and Niko. All younger than Tarin, yet they would be hunters soon, leaving him to dig his plants and gather grains with his sisters. Taavo watched them, too, the angry scowl on his face deepening. He rose to his feet and dusted off his leggings.

  ‘It should be my journey.’ His voice was a growl. ‘I am the son of Kalle. And one day, it will be my turn to be leader. I should be the one to take the Offering, not you.’ He glared at Tarin. The anger in his eyes made him a stranger to his brother.

  ‘I am Kalle’s son as well,’ Tarin said, but the wind swept his voice away. He held his hand out to his brother, longing to be children again, tumbling through the grass in search of birds to scare and sweet berries to eat. But Taavo pushed it away.

  ‘You’ve changed everything, Tarin. It should be me saving the clan. Instead, you are going and I am staying here to dig marmots and stoats out of holes in the ground, and with luck, I might be able to spear a baybaka through its ugly head and claim my right to be a hunter of Mammoth Clan.’ Taavo’s voice rose angrily. He waved his hands in the air. ‘Can you imagine the songs that will be sung for me? The great hunter who single-handedly brought down the mighty lemming or the savage hamster?’

  Tarin shook his head, unsure what to say.

  ‘Taavo!’ Miika called as he approached. He shouldered Tarin aside without a glance, and placed a hand around Taavo’s shoulder. ‘I am planning a hunt. They say reindeer are still in the valley past the bend in the river. Do you come?’

  ‘I . . . I must farewell my brother,’ said Taavo.

  ‘Why waste your time?’ Miika’s gaze flicked over Tarin’s face.

  Taavo scowled and rubbed his nose. ‘I must. My father expects me to.’

  ‘Of course we must see Tarin off.’ Pia pushed her brother playfully and laughed when Miika frowned. Tarin was glad Pia hadn’t forgotten their old friendship, and he opened his mouth to thank her, when she continued. ‘We can all laugh when he starts crying.’ She turned her pale blue eyes on him and they were like shards of ice from the great glacier. ‘You are scared, aren’t you, Tarin? I’ve heard you cry out sometimes, during the night. You cry like one of the babies. Like Maikki, or Niko here.’ She ruffled the hair of the younger boy standing next to her. Niko frowned and tried to stand taller. Erik and Miika laughed.

  Tarin clenched his teeth and felt his hands curl into fists. How could he tell her he cried out when the dreams came to him – the dreams of darkness and falling and cold earth pressing down, squeezing the breath from his body? How could he tell her he cried out when Old Mother pulled his leg to straighten it and make it strong? How, even with the special herbs to dull the pain and take his spirit from his body, he could still feel his bones grate against each other and his muscles tear and twist.

  ‘I’m not a baby,’ cried Niko. ‘I can count ten summers now, and Miika is going to teach me how to hunt. I can already use a sling better than you.’

  ‘Ha!’ said Pia with a snort. ‘A sling is a baby’s weapon. To be a hunter, you have to use a spear.’ She hefted her spear in her hand. ‘But you can’t even use a sling, can you, Tarin? How do you think you are going to survive by yourself?’

  ‘He won’t,’ Miika snarled. ‘He will die, and our Offering will be lost. Because of him, our clan will perish . . .’

  Without warning, he pushed Tarin backwards.

  Rocks shifted beneath Tarin’s feet and he sat down abruptly, jarring every bone in his body.

  ‘That’s enough,’ said Taavo. He tried to hold Miika back, but the older boy was stronger and he
avier, and for a moment it looked as though he would push Taavo to the ground as well. ‘You have no right to criticise my brother.’

  ‘This is my right.’ Miika spat the words. His eyes blazed and he ripped his tunic down over his left shoulder, exposing his hunter’s tattoo – three parallel lines, as though a great bear had ripped his flesh. ‘This is my right. I am a hunter of Mammoth Clan. Miika of Aurochs Hearth, protected by Bear.’ He turned his eyes on Tarin and Tarin felt the hate blazing out of them. ‘That . . . that . . . weakling . . . will never be a man. He will never be a hunter of Mammoth Clan. And if you, or your father, think otherwise, then perhaps it is time Mammoth Clan had a new leader.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Taavo pushed his chin out and glared at Miika. The older boy looked him up and down.

  ‘I thought you were different, Taavo. I thought you had what it takes to be a man. But I was mistaken.’ Miika shook his head and turned away. He flicked his hand and Pia, Erik and Niko followed him.

  ‘What do you mean by that!’ Taavo screamed after him, his face red and his fists clenched.

  ‘Taavo . . .’ Tarin’s voice was hoarse. ‘Let him go.’ He grabbed his brother’s shoulder, but Taavo shook him off.

  ‘This is all your fault!’ he shouted into Tarin’s face. Tarin felt a warm spray of spittle as Taavo tried desperately to control his rage. ‘And Miika is right. You are going to fail. We will all die here, this Winter, and it’s all because of you.’

  His words were like a physical blow and Tarin stepped back.

  ‘Taavo, you are my brother. We can’t part like this . . .’

  ‘Just go, Tarin. Go on your great journey, and . . . and . . .’ He stopped speaking and dropped his head, his shoulders shaking as he drew in large gulps of air.

  Tarin stared helplessly at him. ‘I . . . I will see you again.’ He reached out again to grip Taavo’s shoulder.

  ‘No!’ Taavo stepped back, his hand raised. His mouth twisted and he dashed a hand across his eyes. ‘No, Tarin. Go! I do not wish to see you again.’ And then he turned and ran, back towards the granite rocks that sat silent and brooding above the camp.