The Exile

by Jo Sandhu

  Tarin followed him, bracing his body against the cold. He gasped as the freezing water seeped into his boots and through his leggings. A sharp gust of wind drove icy needles into his face, tangling his hair and making his teeth chatter. He waded further, testing each step, feeling the rocks slip treacherously beneath his feet.

  Other crossings had been as cold, but not so deep. Now his whole body was immersed in the glacial water. He felt the pack weigh him down, and for a moment he panicked, but as he moved further out into the channel, the water picked him up and swept him along.

  Tarin soon realised they were going to overshoot the cliff on the other side. The current was stronger than he’d imagined, and unpredictable. Ahead of him, Niko’s dark head bobbed up and down. Tarin kicked his legs and tried to move his arms, but they were growing numb. His legs felt heavy, as though he had rocks tied to them. His arms and shoulders ached, and he shivered uncontrollably.

  White-tipped waves pounded him, filling his mouth with water and stinging his eyes. Branches and debris swirled in the current. A deer carcass, bloated and torn, floated by. Tarin avoided looking at the sightless eyes. He looked instead for Niko, but could no longer see him.

  The river changed course and dark cliffs loomed overhead. Rocks emerged from the water, battering Tarin and sending him spinning. A tree branch speared him in the side and he gasped in pain. Water flooded his mouth and closed over his head.

  He was sinking!

  Tarin opened his eyes, but in the cloudy water he couldn’t see anything. Spots swam before his eyes. The rocks on his arms and legs pulled him further under the water. He thought he should kick, but it seemed too much trouble.

  Then the river picked him up again and smashed him against a broken tree trapped between two rocks. He grasped hold of the branches and, with a final effort, pulled his head up out of the water. He hung there, gasping for breath. He felt so tired. He wished he could close his eyes and sleep. He struggled to think. There was something he had to do first. What was it? It was something to do with the heavy rocks on his back. He wished he could get rid of the rocks. With one hand, he tugged at the leather thongs that held the pack on his back, but they were too wet to untie. His numb fingers fumbled with the knots before giving up.

  If I could just close my eyes for a moment . . .

  Another branch crashed into the tangle of trapped debris, shaking his tree. He blinked in surprise to find himself still in the water.

  The river! He was crossing the river.

  He looked around for Niko, and his heart leapt as he saw another bedraggled figure caught in the twisted branches of the tree. The figure was limp and unmoving.

  ‘Niko,’ he shouted, but the figure didn’t move. Slowly, Tarin pulled himself through the branches. He reached Niko and shook him. ‘Niko, wake up! Niko!’

  With fumbling fingers he tried to feel for a heartbeat, but his hands were too cold. Niko’s face was pale and covered in scratches. He was missing one mitten, and his hand was icy cold.

  ‘Niko! You have to wake up!’ Tarin grabbed a handful of Niko’s beaska and shook him as hard as he could. ‘You have to, you have to, you have to.’ He was screaming so loud, he almost missed the small groan from the half-drowned boy.

  Niko’s eyelids flickered and he licked his lips. ‘S . . . stop shaking me,’ he murmured.

  ‘Niko! You’re alive!’ Tarin shook him again. He looked around frantically. ‘We’re almost there, Niko. One more effort, and we’ve crossed the river.’

  ‘I . . . I don’t think I can, Tarin.’ Niko closed his eyes again. ‘I’m so tired. Just . . . let me . . . sleep . . .’

  ‘No!’ Tarin gripped the beaska and shook again. Niko’s head wobbled, but he opened his eyes. ‘We can do this. We have to.’ Tarin reached up and snapped off part of the broken branch. ‘Lean on this, and I’ll help you.’

  Niko nodded, and draped his arms over the branch.

  ‘I can’t carry you, or we’ll both sink. But I’ll be right behind you.’ Tarin pushed them both back out into the flow of the river and kicked hard. He set his eyes on the bank and clenched his teeth. He had to succeed this time. He knew that. He would be too tired to try again.

  At first he thought the shout was nothing more than a hallucination. But then it was repeated. He lifted his head and cried out. Men were on the far bank, beckoning to them, urging them on.

  ‘Look, Niko! Help!’ He saw Niko raise a weary head before collapsing back over the branch. Tarin forced his arms and legs to keep moving, to keep churning through the water, although they no longer felt a part of him.

  Two of the men entered the water and swam out to meet them. Tarin had a brief glimpse of bearded faces, before a wave smacked him in the face. He coughed the water out of his screaming lungs and noticed Niko’s branch sliding away.

  ‘Kick, Niko,’ he shouted, reaching out to push the branch closer to shore. They were close . . . so close. But Tarin’s strength was failing. He gave Niko’s branch one final push towards the men. He could no longer move his legs and his arms were heavy weights. He felt the water engulf him in a gentle embrace. It lifted him up and away from the bank.

  Somewhere, someone was shouting, but they seemed to be very far away. It was hard to hear them over the roaring in his ears. The water cradled him, sweeping him along, towards a narrow gorge. Tarin no longer felt the cold. He no longer shivered.

  Tall granite cliffs forced the river to narrow. The current surged faster. Sheer rock rose either side, constraining the rushing torrent. Tarin was tumbled around and upside down. He couldn’t see anything but the water and a blur of grey stone. The roar in his ears grew louder. The water turned white. He was through the gorge and falling. Over and over he tumbled. He hit the pool at the base of the waterfall with a suddenness that knocked all the breath from his body. Lights floated above him, sparkling in the green water even as he sank towards the dark depths.

  Is this it? he wondered. Is this how I die?

  He was only vaguely aware of the current once more picking him up and carrying him further downstream. Slowly, the white water calmed. The stark grey cliffs soft­ened, becoming more wooded and gently sloping. An owl soared high above, watching the river carry her prize southwards.

  Tarin drifted in and out of consciousness. He didn’t know when the river finally released her hold on him, tumb­ling him into the shallows. He didn’t know when his feet first scraped against the rocks on the riverbed, or when his spear, still caught in his pack, wedged firmly between two rocks, trapping him there. He didn’t know, because finally he had closed his eyes and slept.

  In his dream, he followed the path downwards . . . always downwards, into chambers so dark he feared he would never see the light again. The air was heavy with the stench of dampness and rot. He felt his way along walls slick with moisture. There was no way out. No escape. The earth pressed against him . . . cold stone. It leeched the warmth from his bones. This is where I shall die. My bones shall lie here forever, never to be warm again.

  But it didn’t make sense. If he were destined to die far underground, he couldn’t die here, by the side of the river. Tarin frowned. He opened his eyes to clear blue sky. He was still alive! For whatever reason, the Earth Mother had spared him.

  Perhaps there is value in my life yet, he thought wearily.

  Tarin had once asked Old Mother why the Earth Mother spared some lives and took others. It was after Ristak was gored by the bison. Tarin saw his body when the hunters carried him home. His wound was black with old blood and his stomach was hard as rock. He was bleeding inside, said Old Mother. She made her medicine, and Old Father sang to the Spirits. Tarin remembered the smell of the burning sage and the heavy smoke that curled around the top of the earth-lodge, seeking escape. Old Father said it was Ristak’s spirit, looking to find its way home. While Taavo ran for Raisa and Erik, Tarin sat with the wounded man. He watched his chest rise painfully with each breath, and the blood bubble at the corners of his mouth.

 
; Finally, he breathed no more.

  ‘Why should Ristak die?’ he asked Asa. ‘The Earth Mother knows he is a great hunter.’

  ‘Perhaps because she wishes him to hunt in the Spirit World,’ said Old Mother. ‘You should never question the Earth Mother’s will, boy. She has a purpose for every one of her children.’

  ‘Even me?’

  Asa looked at him sternly. ‘Even you. Especially you. Sometimes, the Earth Mother will make a choice. She will allow one of her children to live, and take another home to the Spirit World with her.’ Old Mother stirred her pot of simmering herbs and her eyes looked into the shadows. ‘There was another born the same year as you were, Tarin. The Earth Mother allowed you to live, as weak as you were, but in exchange she took the other child with her, to keep her company in the Spirit World. She must have a great purpose in mind for you, little Owl.’

  Or perhaps she made a mistake, Tarin thought. Perhaps I was meant to die, and the other child – Maija’s child, Niko’s brother – was meant to live.

  He closed his eyes and blocked out the sight of the sky and the sun. His lips were cracked and his tongue felt heavy. He couldn’t move. Something pinned him to the rocks. He felt his blood begin to flow once more through his veins, like sharp splinters of flint. He began to shiver . . . and couldn’t stop. Pain stabbed his fingers and toes. His body felt as though it were on fire.

  Please, Earth Mother, take me with you to the Spirit World, Tarin begged.

  A shadow fell across his face and he opened swollen eyes. Through parched lips, he whispered soundlessly . . .

  Thank you.

  For the Earth Mother had heard him, and she had come to take him home.

  At first, she thought it was a dead animal caught in the tangle of branches. Kaija picked her way carefully over the rocky bank. The first few flakes of snow were starting to fall. Driven by a glacial wind, they became icy needles, stinging her face and making her nose run, but curiosity drove her to have a closer look at the bedraggled body.

  Not a dead animal, she decided. A dead boy. She picked up a large stick and poked him with it. He gave a faint moan, and she jumped back in surprise. A loose rock wobbled beneath her feet and Kaija sat down abruptly in an icy pool of water. She cried out in disgust as the water seeped through her leggings, but then the body moved, and she realised the boy was still alive – barely. A pale hand reached out to her, and for one irrational moment Kaija’s heart leapt into her mouth. ‘Retu!’

  Even as the strangled cry left her lips, she knew this boy wasn’t her brother. It may be kinder to let the river have him, she told herself. But she couldn’t do that. Not while he lived. She would give him the chance that Retu never had. She clenched her teeth and waded into the icy water towards the tangled branches.

  The boy was small, but his furs were heavy with water and Kaija struggled to disentangle him with shaking hands. ‘Please be alive,’ she muttered.

  His eyelids fluttered, and for a moment he looked up at her, before his eyes rolled back and his head fell forward.

  ‘No! Stay awake!’ Kaija shook his thin shoulders, but the boy didn’t respond.

  A spear in his backpack wedged him firmly between two rocks and his head was in danger of slipping under the water. Rocks rolled under Kaija’s feet as she tried to dislodge the spear. With a crack, it split in two.

  Kaija hooked her arms around the boy and dragged him clear of the water and onto the rocky shore. She dragged her mitten off and tried to feel for a heartbeat, but her hand was icy cold and numb. The snow was falling faster now, blurring her vision. She looked around for shelter. Small caves littered the cliffs, but how would she get him there?

  She breathed deeply and pushed her hair out of her eyes. Her hand clasped the pendant at her neck and she whispered: ‘Spirit of Horse, help me find the strength.’ She closed her eyes briefly, then hooked her arms around his chest and dragged the unconscious boy towards a small cave above the water line.

  The roof of the cave was low, forcing Kaija to turn and roll the boy into the dry interior. She laid him on his side and tried to feel for his breath. It was shallow, but he was breathing. She removed his backpack, struggling with the swollen knots, and stripped him of his sodden fur beaska. The soft buckskin tunic and fur jerkin underneath were also wet. Kaija rubbed his limbs, willing the warmth to return to him. She avoided touching the slashes on his wrist. They looked like a totem mark, but they were fresh and there was no black ochre that was usually used to make the tattoos. His face was still pale, but the blue tinge had left his lips.

  Kaija shivered as she struggled to light a fire. Her arms felt heavy and her hands were trembling so much the sticks kept slipping. Finally, she threw the sticks down and sat with her head on her knees. Exhaustion overwhelmed her. Her chest and throat ached. She squeezed her eyes shut and dug her palms into them to stop the tears that threatened to fall.

  Less than seven nights ago, she thought, her life had been normal. Retu was alive, she hadn’t lost Luuka, and they had had food to eat and warm dry furs to wear.

  ‘I want to go home.’ The words burst from her lips. She forced herself to take deep breaths, holding each one and trying to calm herself. Slowly, her tears stopped and she considered her situation.

  She couldn’t go home, that was certain. The sickness would still be there. Images of pale, gaunt faces with fever-red eyes washed over her, and her mother’s anguished cry: ‘Not the boy! Don’t take my son from me –’

  ‘No, no . . . don’t think about it . . .’ she muttered, rubbing her forehead.

  And what about Luuka? She couldn’t go home without him and lose another brother. She looked down at the sleeping boy. The resemblance to Retu was still there, but he wasn’t as fair. His long, tangled hair was brown and when he had opened his eyes back in the river, they were grey. It was only his small size that made her think he was her brother.

  Giving into her exhaustion, Kaija lay down next to the boy. She wrapped her arms around him, and slowly her shaking subsided. Some warmth crept into her icy body, and Kaija closed her eyes and slept.

  A frantic cry and thrashing limbs woke Kaija. The boy was unconscious, but he tossed and turned. His eyes were open, but Kaija knew he didn’t see her. His mind was tortured by the fever wracking his body. She touched his forehead, and it felt as though a flame were burning beneath his skin. As the daughter of a healer, Kaija knew the battle his body was waging. She wished she had stopped to cut the willowbark, but it was too late now.

  She spoke in a low, calm voice to the boy, and some of her words must have penetrated his fevered mind, because he stopped fighting her and lay still again, moaning. He sounded just like her brother when the sickness ravaged him, and Kaija felt her heart clench.

  ‘Shh, shh, shh . . .’ she murmured, crooning softly, brushing the damp hair off his forehead.

  ‘M . . . mother?’ The boy’s voice was little more than a tortured whisper.

  ‘Shh, rest now,’ she said, and the boy seemed happy to lie still. But his breathing was laboured and his body shook with fever.

  ‘What do I do? What do I do?’ Kaija tried to think back to the lessons her mother had taught her.

  ‘Kaija, pay attention,’ her mother would say, dragging her through the meadow. ‘This is elecampane. See the yellow flowers? Now dig down to the roots . . .’

  Kaija sat in the dark cave and stared into the shadows. She hadn’t been interested in learning about the herbs. She didn’t want to be a healer. She wanted to hunt or make furs or work the flint . . . She sniffed and rubbed her nose. Well, she may not remember the hundreds of herbs in Senja’s medicine bags, but there was one thing she could do – she could make fire and keep them warm.

  She felt for her fire-sticks – the drill and the softer platform. They were still lying where she had thrown them some hours ago, along with the dried fungus and bulrush fuzz she used as tinder.

  Kaija had been lighting fires since she was a small girl, and she often did so in the mi
ddle of the night, when her mother would be called from their soft, warm sleeping furs to heal a patient – to set a broken bone, or cool a fever, or even birth a baby.

  She knew, just by the feel of the sticks, how to position them, and with a firm downward pressure she started spinning the drill into the platform. Her hands were steadier now, and her muscles rested, and it didn’t take long for her to scent the first faint trace of wood smoke. An ember glowed in the darkness, like a tiny star in the night sky. Kaija leaned close and blew the flame to life, enjoying now, as always, the feeling of creating the flame from nothing.

  She turned her attention to the boy. His face was flushed and sweat beaded his forehead. She moistened his dry lips with the water from her flask and he licked it greedily. His eyes opened once more. Grey as the feathers of the Great Grey Owls that lived in the high reaches of the forest.

  ‘Water,’ he moaned.

  Kaija held his head and dribbled some water into his mouth. The effort exhausted the boy, because his eyes fluttered again and he lay back.

  ‘I wish I could help you,’ Kaija whispered. She was no longer sleepy and sat watching her patient. His backpack lay where she had left it. It was nearly as large as he was and well made. Kaija chewed her fingernail. She didn’t like opening it without the boy’s knowledge, but it might contain something that would help him – food or dry furs. Food would help her, too. Her meagre meal of hazelnuts and berries was a long time ago, and her stomach growled angrily. She clasped her pendant and sent a silent plea to her totem guide to help her do the right thing.

  ‘Forgive me,’ Kaija whispered to the unconscious boy, as she untied the straps holding the pack together. She pulled the aurochs hide tent and reindeer skin from the pack, followed by the fox furs. The boy’s tunic was wet with his sweat, his movements agitated, but as Kaija wrapped the fox furs around him, he calmed and breathed more easily.

  Water had ruined a small birch bark box containing a stone and some soggy bark, but his bone cup was undamaged. In the bottom of his pack, wrapped carefully in a snow leopard fur, was a small bundle. Kaija paused before unwrapping it, her fingers digging deep into the luxurious fur. She glanced at the sleeping boy. In the flickering firelight, he seemed smaller than ever. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes.