The Exile

by Jo Sandhu

  Her feet led her back into the forest, away from the small clearing. The movement warmed her blood, but already her fingers and toes were numb. Salty tears stung her scratched face. She was thirsty, but she knew she only had a small amount of water left in her water flask. Instead, she scooped a handful of snow and let it melt in her mouth.

  Only if you must . . .

  Kaija gasped as her mother’s voice spoke to her.

  Only if you must . . . and beware . . . the snow will take the fire from your blood and make it cold. Sister Snow is jealous of our life-fire . . .

  ‘Mother?’ Kaija cried aloud. She turned, searching the shadows, but there was nothing there. She forced her cold, aching feet to move. Time lost all meaning and the sky darkened.

  ‘Shelter . . . I have to find . . .’ She paused and squinted into the shadows. A darker shadow loomed before her. Eager, she stumbled forward, falling on hands and knees in her haste. She reached the rocky outcrop and cried aloud in relief. It wasn’t a cave, but sometime in the past a landslide had sent large granite boulders crashing down the mountainside. A cavity had formed where they had come to rest, big enough to provide shelter from the snow and icy wind.

  Kaija huddled thankfully against the rocks. No snow could fall here, and she was happy to burrow her frozen feet into the soft ground cover of fallen leaves. She cleared a small circle of debris and ringed it in stones. From a pouch inside her furs, she drew her fire-sticks and the leaf litter provided perfect tinder. Kaija placed one pointed fire-stick into a depression in the other and started to twirl.

  It was difficult by herself – usually she and Luuka would take turns twirling the fire-stick downwards, alternating in rhythm so the stick was always spinning. By the time a wisp of smoke rose from the tinder beneath, Kaija felt warm. She leaned close and blew gently on the smouldering ember, carefully feeding the infant flame. To her relief, the flame grew. A tree, shattered by the falling boulders, provided plenty of fuel for her fire.

  Kaija sipped carefully from her water flask and considered her situation.

  She didn’t think Luuka was dead – not yet. Boar Clan wouldn’t bother carrying a dead body back to their camp. That meant he must be a prisoner. The snow would destroy their tracks, but she knew what direction they were heading. Tomorrow, she would follow.

  For how long? The question flashed through her mind unbidden.

  ‘For as long as it takes.’ She said the words fiercely, and felt better to hear them spoken aloud.

  But still, that inner voice needled her.

  You’re not prepared for a long journey. You were supposed to be at Beaver camp by now, asking for help.

  ‘I have my knife, my sling . . .’ Kaija countered, eyeing the darkness as she made her plans. ‘I don’t have enough water. I don’t have a spear. My clothes need drying. I have no idea where I am . . .’ Her foot moved and kicked the rabbit carcasses. A small smile twisted her lips. ‘I have two fine rabbits, which I will skin in the morning.’ She shivered as she felt the wind change direction. ‘And I’m alive.’ Two days ago, she hadn’t expected to be.

  Her hand crept to the leather thong around her neck. She clutched the pendant of carved bone.

  Her mother’s totem was Spirit of Snow Leopard. It was a strong totem, yet even Snow Leopard hadn’t protected them. Could Spirit of Horse help her?

  Kaija felt her eyes droop. She was so tired. She had been running forever . . .

  She stared into the dancing flames, letting images flicker through her mind. She was scratched and bleeding, cold and thirsty. Misery overwhelmed her and tears flowed unchecked down her cheeks. She cried for her mother, and her home – for everything she had lost. And she cried for herself, alone in the forest.

  Finally, exhausted, Kaija slept.

  The light was almost gone from the sky and the first few stars were appearing overhead when Tarin decided to make camp. He had walked steadily all day, over rolling hills and across the plains, but the mountains never seemed to grow closer. The last hill he had climbed had been steep, the rocks uneven beneath his feet, and now he stood on the ridge top and looked towards the horizon, breathing hard.

  ‘Keep the rising sun before you, and you should reach the big river in two days,’ his father had said. Tarin squinted in the fading light, but all he could see were more hills and more waving grass. Below him, a herd of saiga antelope paused to graze. They lifted long noses towards him and sniffed the air, wary of his human scent. Nervously they moved on, the clatter of their hoofs startling a ptarmigan to flight. Tarin watched the bird, its mottled feathers turning from summer brown to winter white, as it flew away.

  ‘Then I turn north,’ he whispered to himself, echoing his father’s words. He pictured Kalle sitting on a rock before the cooking pit, scratching shapes in the dirt with a long deer bone.

  ‘After Bison Clan, follow the river until you reach the place where it flows into the ground. For one day’s journey, the river flows beneath the earth, hidden from sight. It is one of the wonders of the Earth Mother.’

  ‘Why can’t I just give the Offering to the river then?’ Tarin had asked, but his father shook his head.

  ‘Old Father has asked the Spirits, and he says you have to take the Offering to Great Mother’s Mountain, to the cave called the Mother’s Heart. It is there you will give the Offering to the Earth Mother, and she will give you a token in return.’

  The evening breeze lifted Tarin’s sweaty hair off his face and he shivered. The light had dimmed further as he stood lost in thought, and his stomach growled. He decided not to set up his tent. Instead, he would make a fire and sleep rolled in his sleeping furs, gazing at the stars above.

  A thrill of excitement warmed his blood. It would be his first night spent alone, away from the earth-lodge, and away from his family.

  He stood at the top of the ridge and opened his arms wide, as though to embrace the endless steppes before him. He drew in a large breath of cold air, lifted his face to the sky, and yelled. ‘Hei . . . yo!’

  His cry sounded louder in the quiet of early evening.

  ‘Hei! Hei! Hei!’ he shouted again, listening to the way his voice carried across the plains.

  There was no answering cry. He was completely alone.

  Tarin drew his breath in sharply. At Mammoth Camp, there was always someone close by, especially in summer when the whole clan would travel to forage and hunt. Then, they would all sleep in the one large tent, and often there were other tents and other clans joining them. Furs and bone would be traded for dried fish and shells. Or simply for good company and stories and songs long into the summer night, when the sun barely left the sky.

  But out here on the steppes, on the edge of winter, there were no people snoring or talking quietly to each other. There were no soft baby cries, or the sounds and smells of cooking and sharing a meal. A lump rose in Tarin’s throat as he waited in vain for an answer to his call. The smile left his face and his shoulders sagged. In that moment, he understood what exile truly meant.

  Then, from far away, came the call of a wolf. The familiar sound cheered Tarin, but it also reminded him of the many predators that lived on the steppes. Wolves, hyenas, wolverines, dholes, and the giant cave lions. A young boy alone would be an easy target. His gaze darted to the darker shadows cast by a small copse of stunted trees, almost expecting to see shining eyes and the gleam of white teeth. But there was nothing there.

  Tarin fumbled in his pack for his fire-lighting kit, and quickly made a circle of stones. He dug a small depression in the middle and filled it with tinder – dried fungus and the fuzz of old bulrush stalks. The trees yielded a pile of larger twigs and branches, which Tarin placed next to his fireplace.

  Out of a leather pouch, he took his fire-lighting stones. He weighed them in his hands. He had never actually lit a fire from the stones before, although he had seen it done many times. No one had thought it important for Tarin to learn. Mammoth Camp always had fires going, and it was easier to borrow a co
al from another fire than to light a new one. But he knew the hunters and traders all carried firestones to light their fires when they were away from home.

  Tarin closed his eyes, picturing his mother striking the stones together . . . drawing the spark . . . and blowing gently until the flame grew strong. For a moment, he was back in the earth-lodge with her, the familiar sights and smells filling his mind. He saw his mother raise her head and smile at him. The lump in his throat throbbed painfully.

  Tarin opened his eyes.

  He wasn’t in his earth-lodge, and his mother wasn’t there to soothe his fears. He was alone, in the middle of the plains, and night was falling.

  With shaking hands, he struck the stones together.

  The first time, nothing happened.

  He struck a second time, adjusting the angle, and this time a spark flew. It fell onto the dried fungus, and Tarin quickly bent to blow the spark. A wisp of smoke rose, followed by the glow of a flame.

  He felt warmth against his face and smelled the scent of burning bark. A small red tongue flickered in the nest, eagerly devouring the dry tinder. Carefully, he fed the larger pieces of wood, watching as the flame grew bigger.

  Tarin’s mouth stretched into a wide smile. He could almost imagine the countless predators of the plains retreating in the face of such a bright, burning light.

  He held his hands out towards the flame and watched a spiral of grey smoke rise upwards to the stars. He rummaged once more in his pack, and brought out a grass-wrapped packet of dried meat and currants.

  Tarin recalled the worried look on his father’s face. ‘We can’t spare you much food,’ said Kalle. ‘We have little in store. But this will see you to Bison Camp, and they will provide more for you.’

  Tarin looked down at the packet in his hands and swallowed hard. He thought of the hunger his clan would feel that winter, and coldness settled again in the pit of his stomach. Once more he heard Valo’s voice.

  Mammoth Clan is doomed. The Spirits have spoken.

  ‘I won’t let that happen,’ Tarin said. ‘Somehow . . . I will find Great Mother’s Mountain and Mother’s Heart.’

  The wind dropped, and even the crackling fire quietened, as though to hear his words. He took a small bite of the dried reindeer meat and chewed, but he was no longer hungry. The meat was tough and Tarin sipped water from his flask to help him swallow. He nibbled at the currants, then wrapped the rest up and stowed it away in his pack.

  ‘I cannot fail,’ Tarin murmured. He wrapped his sleeping furs around himself and thought about his journey. All the way to the mountains – it seemed so far. But surely Old Father wouldn’t have let him go if he had no chance of succeeding? Would he?

  Tarin wasn’t sure. If he failed, then Mammoth Clan would have one less mouth to feed. The thought didn’t comfort him. He lay back and stared up at the inky sky studded with bright points of light.

  He remembered a story his mother once told him, about how the stars were the hearth fires of all those who had gone to the next world. There were so many of them. He wondered if any of them had belonged to Mammoth Clan. Maybe Ristak’s hearth fire was there somewhere. And all the other members of Mammoth Clan that had died. And then he couldn’t help thinking – If I die, out here, away from my home, how will my mother know? Will she look up into the sky and see my fire? How will she know which fire is mine?

  Tears welled in Tarin’s eyes and he brushed them away. Another wolf howl echoed across the steppes, closer this time.

  Tarin shivered and added more wood to his fire. Sparks rose skywards, then settled. His body was exhausted, but his eyes wouldn’t close. They stared at the dancing flames, seeing images and pictures there.

  The night would be long, he thought, and the days short. In just over two cycles of the moon, the sun would barely rise over the edge of the earth.

  ‘You must be with Musk Ox Clan or Bison Clan by then,’ he murmured to himself. ‘You won’t survive the Winter alone.’ A branch cracked and shifted in the fire, but by that time the tension in his body was easing and his eyes were closing. Sleep finally overtook him.

  ‘Where are you?’ Tarin was standing in the middle of an endless plain, surrounded by head-high feather grass. ‘I can’t find you!’

  A wolf was running – a wolf with a dark band of fur around one ankle. He knew her fear. It was like a bitter taste in his mouth. A bright light hurt his eyes, and he snarled and snapped at it. Was he the wolf? He growled deep in his throat. He was afraid not only for himself, but for the two small pups cowering in their den. The light came closer. Voices shouted. Hands reached for him.

  Tarin woke with a start, bathed in sweat. First light was just breaking.

  Morning dawned grey and cold. Fitful clouds scudded across a leaden sky. Kaija rose unrefreshed. Nightmare images had filled her dreams. Fierce faces streaked with red ochre and grey ash. Dead rabbits, flies clustered around their sightless eyes, pus-filled boils covering their bodies. And in the moments before waking, there had been a wolf running . . .

  Kaija rubbed her eyes and stared in distaste at the rabbit carcasses still waiting to be skinned and cooked. Luuka had risked his life for those rabbits. She swallowed her nausea and forced herself to clean and spit the scrawny animals. There was little meat left on them, and she picked what she could off the bones. At least it was some food in her belly, she told herself, but when she tried to swallow, her stomach heaved and the stringy meat stuck in her throat. With a great effort, she forced a small mouthful down, followed by a sip of water. Then she cracked the bones and sucked the rich marrow.

  Kaija sat back on her haunches and held her aching head. How did the sickness start, she wondered? Head­ache . . . aching limbs . . . chills . . . vomiting . . .

  ‘If I have the sickness, there’s nothing I can do about it,’ she muttered to herself, repacking her fire-sticks and checking over her small campsite. It just means I have to find Luuka fast . . . before it gets worse . . . before . . .

  She swung the bag over her shoulder and scrambled onto the rocks, following their destructive path uphill to the top of the ridge. From there she had a good view over the surrounding forest. Deep shades of pine and spruce mixed with silver fir trees. Splashes of scarlet rowan and golden birch glowed in patches of pale sunshine. To the west, a line of granite cliffs split the forest like an angry scar. The river would be somewhere near the cliffs, she thought. The river, Boar Clan, Luuka. Her plans made, her direction set, she left the ridge and re-entered the dim forest.

  The morning was well advanced by the time Kaija came to a small rivulet. It ran between mossy rocks to pool in the shade of over-hanging willows and ferns. With a thankful cry, she fell to her knees and cupped refreshing drafts of the cool, clear water. Her thirst quenched, she filled her water flask, then sat back against a rock.

  She remembered the day she had made the flask. The hunt had been good, and as Clan Healer, Senja was entitled to a share of the kill. A young deer carcass was their portion, and Kaija had sat with her mother down by the river while they cut the tender meat into thin strips for drying and carefully washed the intestines, stomach and bladder. They would use these to store rendered fat and liquids. Nearby, a pot of succulent stew simmered in a leather cooking pot, rich with wood mushrooms and sorrel.

  ‘Take the stomach as yours, Kaija,’ her mother had said, handing it to the girl. ‘And here is a leather thong to tie around the top. Now you have your own flask.’

  Kaija ran her fingers over the rough leather thong and remembered how pleased she had been. It was quiet and still under the canopy of graceful willows and she closed her eyes, savouring the moment of peace and rest. Willowbark is good for fevers and headaches, she thought, intending to strip some of the fresh bark, but as she opened her eyes, her breath caught in her throat.

  Crouched amongst the rocks and ferns was a lynx, and it was watching every move she made.

  It was difficult to see the lynx in the dappled light. A prickle of fear crept down Kaija
’s spine and she sat, frozen, unsure what to do. She couldn’t outrun it. If she moved suddenly, it would spring. But how long could she stay here? Already her legs were cramping under her. She moved one foot experimentally and the lynx bared its teeth, a snarl vibrating deep within its throat. Its tufted ears lay flat on its head and it lashed its tail from side to side.

  So beautiful, Kaija thought. So deadly.

  Without taking her eyes off the large cat, she felt behind her for a rock. Her other hand reached slowly for the leather sling tucked into her belt. She was accurate with her sling and often brought down squirrels or stoats or even a plump spotted woodcock, but she had never hunted anything as big as the lynx.

  Her hands closed on a small, mossy rock, just as the cat bunched its muscles and leapt towards her. Kaija had no time for the sling. She flung her rock and dived to the side. It flew wide and the angry cat landed lightly on its feet, ready to attack again, but, before it could, a short spear flew through the air and lanced the cat in the neck. It collapsed at her feet with a final snarl.

  Kaija stared at the bloodied corpse and realised she was shaking. She had come so close to having her own throat ripped out. Her head was spinning and she tried to slow her breathing. She was vaguely aware of the sound of branches pushed aside, and shuffling footsteps, as the owner of the spear approached. She raised her eyes and stared at two feet wrapped in muddy leather wrappings, then higher, past short, bowed legs, a stocky torso, and upwards to a face dominated by heavy brow ridges, a large nose, and two gentle brown eyes that looked at her in concern. She caught her breath in surprise.

  ‘Esi?’ she murmured. ‘You’re one of the Esi?’

  The boy nodded. He seemed unsure what to do, and shuffled back and forth. Finally, he pointed at the dead lynx and then at her. Kaija shook her head and frowned, not sure what he wanted. He shuffled forward and pushed the carcass towards her.