The Exile

by Jo Sandhu

  ‘I can try, but I’m afraid I don’t have the strength,’ said Luuka.

  ‘I can do it,’ Tarin said, and he was surprised that his voice didn’t tremble. He sounded braver than he felt. He wiped his sweaty hands down his leggings and gripped the spear. He pulled slightly, testing it. Kaija groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. She clasped Luuka’s uninjured hand.

  Tarin wet his lips. ‘Luuka, I’ll pull the spear. You be ready to staunch the blood.’ Luuka nodded and looked grim.

  Tarin gripped the spear shaft firmly. And pulled.

  Kaija cried out. With the sound of tearing flesh, the spear shaft came loose. Luuka pressed the furs down over the bleeding wound.

  ‘That’s . . . good.’ Kaija shuddered and then pressed her lips tightly together. Her whole body started to shake. ‘Luuka . . . stop my Spirit from bleeding away.’

  Luuka bunched the furs tighter.

  Tarin stared at the spear still clasped in his hands. It was short, like all the Boar Clan spears, and tipped with bone – a long, thin sliver now stained with Kaija’s blood. He shuddered and dropped the spear.

  The river was becoming more turbulent. White water appeared ahead, foaming around hidden rocks and debris. The boys had no choice but to grab the paddles and try to steer the coracle away from the churning water.

  ‘When we find calmer water we can clean the wound and . . .’ Tarin’s voice trailed away. ‘Spirit of Owl, watch over us.’

  ‘He will,’ said Luuka, and he narrowed his eyes and concentrated on keeping their little craft afloat. Light was fading, and Tarin shook from exhaustion. Luuka’s arm was red and swollen, a sure sign that evil Spirits were infecting the wound. Kaija was pale and slept fitfully.

  Don’t let Ristak sleep . . .

  Tarin’s head snapped up and he realised he had dozed. They were still floating downriver, carried along by the current. He had no idea where the river led, or how far they had travelled. He searched the riverbank, but soon felt his eyes drooping again. He was so tired. All he wanted to do was sleep, just for a little while.

  Kaija moaned. Her lips were dry and her face wet with sweat. Tarin scooped up a handful of water and washed her face. She licked the water and her eyes opened.

  ‘Retu?’ She stared at Tarin, then her eyelids fluttered shut and her breathing deepened.

  Tarin looked up at the sky. They couldn’t stay on the river in the dark – it was too dangerous. They could collide with rocks or logs, or be swept over rapids.

  ‘Luuka? Do you know where we are?’

  Luuka shook his head. He was paddling with his left hand now, holding his right arm stiff to his side. His eyes were dark with pain. Tarin took up the other paddle and helped him coax the boat closer to the riverbank.

  Large, graceful willows trailed their greenery in the water. Broad-leaved reedmace and tall bulrushes edged the bank. The current slowed, and the boys found it easier to manoeuvre the craft. Long shadows rippled in the water as they finally chose a place to dock. A few soft snowflakes fell, promising a heavier fall overnight.

  It was dim under the willow branches, and Tarin felt safe from prying eyes. He slipped over the side of the coracle, landing knee-deep in water and soft mud. Ice crusted around the trailing willow roots, crunching as the boat slid close. One of the pups landed in the water with a splash. Tarin reached for it, but it was already pulling itself up the riverbank. It shook its small body, sending a shower of water over him. In the coracle, its litter mate whimpered and whined, unwilling to brave the cold water.

  ‘You’re the smart one, aren’t you?’ Tarin murmured. ‘Pass it here.’

  ‘Her,’ said Luuka, and passed her over. The pup shook her paws indignantly as Tarin put her down next to her brother, who pounced and wrestled her to the ground. The falling snowflakes distracted him, and he began to chase them in a vain attempt to catch one of the falling flakes. The riverbank was slippery with mud and dirty snow. The snow was falling faster now, covering the ground.

  ‘If we can get the boat out of the water, then tip it over, we could use it as a shelter,’ Luuka said.

  Tarin glanced up at the thickening snow and nodded. Together, they pushed and pulled the coracle up the slippery slope. The jerky movement woke Kaija and they helped her out of the boat. She lay back against a rock, her face white and strained.

  ‘We need a fire,’ said Tarin. ‘I think we’re far enough away from Boar Clan . . .’

  ‘How far do you think we came?’ Kaija murmured.

  Tarin shook his head. He didn’t know. He had tried to keep track of the twists and turns of the river, but the land around here was too unfamiliar. He hoped it was still familiar to Kaija and she still knew the way to the Mother’s Mountain. He gathered dry wood and used the last of his tinder to light the fire. He struck the stones confidently, creating a strong, bright spark.

  ‘What did you do?’ Luuka jumped to his feet.

  Tarin looked at him in surprise. ‘What do you mean? What’s wrong?’

  Brother and sister stared at Tarin with fearful eyes.

  ‘The fire!’ croaked Kaija. ‘How did you do that? Is that . . . magic?’

  Tarin looked down at the rocks in his hands, puzzled. ‘There’s no magic. I just used the firestones.’ A thought came to him. ‘Do you mean you’ve never seen a firestone?’ He held the stones out towards them.

  ‘Do they burn?’ Luuka reached for them. ‘They are cold!’

  ‘Show me.’ Kaija’s voice was weak, but she examined the stones with interest. ‘This is flint.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Tarin nodded. He took the stones back and showed them the striking movement. ‘The flint draws the spark from the firestone.’ Then he scratched his nose and looked carefully at the stones himself. ‘Maybe it is magic. On the steppes, we have little wood to burn. We burn dried dung and shaved mammoth bones. The stones are how we always light our fires.’

  ‘You mean, you have more of these magic stones?’ Luuka asked.

  ‘We find them along the riverbanks,’ said Tarin. ‘Especially after the Spring rains. But usually we never let our fires go out. The stones are used for travelling.’

  ‘River Clan uses a wood platform and birch drill. But it takes a long time,’ murmured Kaija. A shiver shook her body and she held her hands out to the warming flames.

  Tarin opened his pouch and examined the small packet of dried willowbark. There wasn’t much left, but here by the riverbank, willowbark grew in profusion. He reached for the flint knife to strip some bark, then realised he no longer had it. With a groan, he remembered dropping the knife in the river during their escape.

  ‘This is a good fire, Tarin,’ Kaija said, but she sounded weak and tired.

  We all need rest and food and a cup of hot tea, Tarin thought. His leg and shoulders ached. He was covered in blood. In the gathering gloom, each sound seemed louder, and each shadow more foreboding. Tarin found himself jumping at everything. They had hardly any food. There were three strips of dried reindeer meat left from the Offering, and one salmon cake, as well as a handful of dried blueberries and mushrooms. He broke one of the reindeer strips in half and waved it at the wolf pups.

  ‘This is all I have to give you. And I’m not chewing it up for you. You’re going to have to learn to eat it.’ He gave half a strip to each pup and smiled as they sniffed the unfamiliar food.

  ‘Go ahead. It’s tastier than that wolverine.’ He passed the other strips to Luuka and Kaija, as well as a few of the berries and mushrooms, but Kaija passed hers back to him.

  ‘I don’t think I can eat,’ she said. ‘I’m so tired.’

  Tarin didn’t feel like eating either – his stomach was tied in knots of worry. But he sipped some tea and was glad of the warmth.

  The last light dimmed. Somewhere, Tarin thought he heard an owl hoot. He stirred the flames and watched them burn more brilliantly for a moment. They needed to clean their wounds, but a great weariness weighed him down. The wolf pups curled into balls, snuggling next
to him. He could feel their warmth through his leggings and damp beaska. Luuka and Kaija both closed their eyes and fell into uneasy sleeps. Tarin dozed fitfully, his brief snatches of sleep filled with vivid dreams – images of Hela, and the now-familiar dream of the mammoths moving further and further away from him.

  But then the dream changed.

  The herd of mammoths were vague grey shadows, blanketed in thick mist.

  ‘Mother,’ the little one cried out, and the female mammoth stopped and looked back at him.

  ‘Tarin, my son.’ It was his mother’s voice. But he could not reach her over the chasm.

  ‘You must hurry, my son,’ the mammoth said. She raised her trunk to catch the falling snow. ‘The Ice Mother has come to us. She covers our land in snow and ice. Her anger freezes the plains.’

  ‘Mother, help me.’

  But the mammoth shook her shaggy head. ‘I cannot help you, my child. And you cannot help us. Our journeys have parted. The Ice Mother searches for you. She reaches for you. Your time is so short.’

  ‘Then what must I do?’

  ‘You cannot think like Mammoth any more, pushing and fighting against the Ice Mother. The glacier lands are too far away. You will never reach them and you will surely die. Now, you must think like Wolf. See? I have brought Wolf to help you.’ From the mist surrounding her, a large grey wolf appeared. His eyes glowed in the dimming light. The little mammoth knew a moment of fear as the wolf approached him, leaping easily over the chasm. The wolf came close, so close the little mammoth could feel the warmth of its breath and feel the touch of its fur. Its teeth gleamed long and white and it growled low in its throat.

  The rest of the mammoth herd were no longer visible. The She-mammoth turned her head away, as though she were being called.

  ‘Think like Wolf, my son. Find a place of safety. Hide from the Ice Mother. Do not try to fight her for her power is too great.’

  ‘I cannot leave you, Mother!’ Tarin screamed in his dream. ‘I will not.’

  ‘Then you shall die. You shall all die. If the Mother wishes, then we shall walk together once more, but now think only of your new clan, my son. Think now of the wolves. Find your place of safety, and quickly. Quickly, my son.’

  And the She-mammoth turned and disappeared into the mist.

  ‘Mother! Mother!’ Tarin screamed, but the herd was gone, lost in the mist. The wolf lifted his head and howled, a long, mournful sound that tore Tarin’s heart. He wanted to lift his own head and howl for his lost clan.

  The feeling of loss stayed with him even when he woke.

  Luuka was restless. He had a fever, and his arm was inflamed. Tarin bathed it in warm, clean water and helped him sip more willowbark tea. Luuka lay down again and stared at the fire, but Tarin could tell his arm still pained him.

  Kaija also was restless. She would wake and cry out and her eyes were glazed. She cried out to people Tarin didn’t know. He knew in her tortured dreams she was back home with her family.

  ‘You cannot help them. Their Spirits do battle.’ Old Mother’s voice echoed in his head.

  Tarin closed his eyes, and for a moment, he, too, felt as though he were back home – back in Old Mother’s earth-lodge, flickering firelight making the shadows dance, white mammoth bones gleaming, the constant rhythm of the drums, the sickly sweet scent of the burning herbs. And Ristak, his body broken by the horns of the mighty bison.

  ‘The battle is fought, Spirit Protector against Spirit of Evil,’ said Old Mother. ‘The body grows hot. The eyes, they do not see. His Spirit prepares for the journey.’

  ‘Old Mother, is there no hope?’ Raisa raised her tear-stained face to the old healer.

  ‘His totem protector is Spirit of Deer. Deer cannot win against Bison. There is no hope.’

  Tarin remembered Raisa’s wail of anguish. She fell to the floor next to Ristak, her tears falling on his body. Erik, her son, stood rigid in the shadows, unmoving. Old Father’s chanting voice filled the earth-lodge.

  ‘When the Spirits battle, we cannot help.’

  But we can, thought Tarin, shaking his head to dispel the images. We must be able to. Surely the Spirits will listen, if we ask for their help. He clutched his pendant and thought about all the times Spirit of Owl had helped him.

  ‘Spirit of Owl, I ask for your help,’ he said. ‘I ask that you help me to see clearly, to act wisely, to be strong in the face of my fear. With your help, I can face the dark Spirits, the bad Spirits that would harm us. Old Father says a Spirit Keeper must be strong and brave – stronger and braver than I will ever be – but I am alone here, without my clan, and I need your help. Please, Spirit of Owl, give me the courage to face the evil Spirits who would harm Luuka and Kaija. I will fight for them, for they are now my clan . . . my family.’ He dropped his head.

  I will not let the bad Spirits win. Wild Horse will win over savage Boar.

  Two years ago, in late spring . . . Tarin’s thoughts slipped back to that time. It was just before Mammoth Clan moved to their summer grounds. He and Taavo were supposed to be helping Old Mother scrape pettu from the pine trees – the soft layer between the bark and wood that the women would bake into small loaves of bread.

  But Taavo had slipped away. Saiga Clan had joined Mammoth Clan to hunt a large herd of reindeer that were migrating north. Both clans wanted the warm pelts, meat and antlers for trading. Hoofs would be boiled to form thick glue. Stomachs, bladders and intestines washed and filled with water. Bones cracked, and the rich marrow scraped out, and everyone was looking forward to a special stew of fresh reindeer served with sweet lingonberries.

  Jarmo and Markku had tracked the reindeer herd for days, and now all the hunters were in position. A temporary corral, made from twisted branches and old bones, blocked the reindeer’s path, and from behind came a group carrying flaming torches and flapping skins to frighten the animals into a stampede.

  But the hunters didn’t know there was a pride of cave lions stalking the same herd.

  Kalle saw them first – the giant felines, tawny-gold and larger than the fretful reindeer. He had moved away from the main group of hunters to head off an old doe. Her fur was coarse and she had little meat on her bones, but her reluctance to follow her younger sisters threatened to cause a stampede in the wrong direction.

  A hungry lioness was watching the old doe. As Kalle moved forward, the lioness sprang – not at the doe, but at the larger meal, whose attention was distracted. Kalle had no time to raise his spear, but Isto, leader of Saiga Clan, and his son, Tarv, saw the danger and launched their spears. Isto’s spear passed through the ribs of the lioness and she fell. But Tarv was a new hunter, young and inexperienced. His spear caught Kalle in the thigh and the spear head lodged there.

  ‘Did you think this big lump was a bison to spear?’ Isto thumped his son on the back. Tarv looked sick, but Kalle laughed and clasped Tarv by the shoulder.

  ‘You will be a good leader one day, young one. You did not hesitate.’

  I wanted to be on that hunt, Tarin thought. I could have helped herd the reindeer. Instead, he was left at camp and heard the tale from the others.

  But he was there when they carried Kalle to Old Mother. He saw the five strong men it took to lift him, and he saw the worry in Old Mother’s eyes . . . and the way her hand shook as she examined the wound. He heard the promises she made to the Spirits, if only they would let Kalle live.

  ‘Tarin?’ Kaija’s voice was weak and fearful. In the flickering light of the fire, her eyes were sunken pools. She reached for Luuka, who was still tossing fretfully from side to side. ‘He feels so hot.’

  ‘It’s the Spirits, fighting in his body,’ Tarin said.

  ‘Tarin? If the Spirits decide to take Luuka and me . . .’ Kaija’s voice trembled and she closed her eyes. Then she continued. ‘If anything should happen, I want to thank you. For helping me rescue Luuka, and for being my friend.’

  Tarin hesitated. He wanted to speak, to say something comforting to her, but he
didn’t know what.

  ‘And,’ Kaija said, ‘I need to tell you what I have done.’

  ‘Kaija, save your strength. Don’t talk.’ Tarin laid his hand briefly on her arm.

  ‘But I told you things that . . . were not true.’ Her voice was fretful and weak. ‘I need to tell you.’

  Luuka cried out as a dream woke him. He stared at them with wild eyes, still caught in his nightmare.

  Tarin squeezed Kaija’s hand. ‘We can talk when you and Luuka are well.’

  Kaija nodded, but her eyes remained troubled.

  Luuka’s wounds were ugly and red. And it wasn’t just the wounds from the wolf making him sick, Tarin thought, but the wound Boar Clan inflicted on his Spirit. Wounds to the Spirit were always the hardest to heal. Tarin passed him some tea. It was barely warm now but still good to drink.

  ‘Thank you,’ Luuka murmured. He didn’t sleep again, but sat and stared into the flickering flames. His eyes were filled with pain and memories.

  ‘Luuka, we need to clean your wounds,’ Tarin said. As he spoke, he unpacked the rest of the parcels still in his backpack – the parcel of herbs Old Mother had sent for the Offering and the strips of soft buckskin given by Reindeer Hearth. Beneath his breath, he spoke softly to the Spirits.

  ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘Forgive me for what I am doing. Do not punish Mammoth Clan because I have failed. Please, Great Mother, watch over them as they battle your sister, the Ice Mother. Know that I will still journey to your Mountain, and I will make my own Offering. I will offer to you everything I have, if you could please just save my clan, the old and the new.’

  He opened the parcel and touched the small packets reverently. Each was tied differently; each had its own mark. Tarin heated more water and added a handful of dried herbs.

  ‘That smells like bear’s claw.’ Kaija smiled weakly as she sniffed the steam curling upwards into the crisp air.

  ‘And crushed horsetail.’ Tarin watched the herbs steep. ‘To bathe Luuka’s arm and your shoulder.’

  ‘They stop the blood, and clean it,’ murmured Kaija. ‘Tarin? Where did you get horsetail and bear’s claw?’