One day he wept in front of Niisa. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry.” Over and over. “I don’t know why … I know you could never have done … you loved your sister. We all did.”
One day his mother looked at him and collapsed weeping. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled between sobs, turning into the wall of the hut and clutching herself. The next day there was suspicion in her eyes again. She seemed mad, crazed by grief. She did not believe or trust any of her thoughts. The next day she accused him again.
******
He continued as part of the hunt. They did not know what to do with him. When he first appeared they had looked at one another, none volunteering to be his teacher, his guide, until his uncle Nuru stepped forward.
“You will come with me,” he said, firmly placing a hand on his shoulder. He looked a challenge back at everyone who shuffled their feet and looked away, though there were one or two that met his gaze. “Come with me every day from now on.”
His father missed a week’s hunt, but then he returned to it, trying vainly to make some case for normality, to make some light of small things, that left those nearby forcing guilty grins onto their faces.
As the weeks passed by, the village returned to some form of normality, yet suspicion of Niisa seemed to grow. Eventually, his uncle made the suggestion that he should withdraw from the hunt.
“Perhaps some time to grieve … is what is right for you.” Niisa looked him in the eye, but he knew that any further distance between them would only further their suspicion, and the priest had not yet arrived.
“No,” he said firmly. “I want to hunt.”
His uncle opened his mouth but then nodded resignation. “Of course.”
Still, there were fewer smiles, less laughter, less happiness amongst them.
******
Time on his own was no longer hard to achieve. No longer did people come looking for him. However, when he did wake in the morning, he found himself waiting outside the hut for Chiko to follow him out, to touch his hand and signal the start of a routine that he had known all his life. He missed that routine, but what he had learned was more valuable. He had to relearn how to stretch and open himself up without Chiko’s aid. He saw it as a new skill that he could hone.
But he also saw something of what grief was; it was missing, lacking, what had been known and familiar, those things that brought joy. But life was movement, it forever changed. To grieve for change was ludicrous, change was all that they were, and yet all humans he had ever met did so.
His mother carried on gathering in the forest, though she came back with small amounts. She did not rise early in the mornings, she did not lay out food for them to eat. On those first two mornings, he left early to forage his own breakfast. But his father put a hand on him as he tried to leave the third morning. He shook his head silently and filled two bowls with what his mother had collected the day before. They sat at the front of their hut eating it in silence, as they had done since. Of all of them, only his father never shunned his company. There were fewer words between them, fewer attempts at humour from him, but sometimes he placed a hand on his shoulder when there was no need.
******
One day, as Niisa sat in the forest, he overheard Abioye and Kaapo, two young men of the tribe, both only recently married in the past five gatherings. They seemed to be walking aimlessly, as though, like him, they were only in the forest to escape the confines of the village. Where Niisa sat, he was invisible to them, so they continued their conversation as though he were not there.
“His sister? How could he have done it? It must have been … must have been some stranger,” said Abioye.
“Who? What stranger? Who’s a stranger? Have you ever seen one?”
“But, Kaapo, it’s his sister. They used to stretch together every morning. They were as close as anyone, as strange as he is.”
“Who is more likely?”
“That doesn’t mean …”
“What does it mean? Has he even denied it yet? Has anyone actually even asked him?”
“He just gives that … dead stare.”
Niisa might as well have heard them shiver in revulsion.
******
Nearly two months after Chiko’s death, he sat dissecting a squirrel, its squeals muffled by the weedgrass binding and filling its mouth. A small girl from the tribe burst through the bush and stopped in front of him. Her eyes went wide as she saw the struggling squirrel in his hands. She froze. Niisa looked her in the eye. He was consumed with calm.
“You will be next if you tell anyone.” She started to cry in front of him. “Don’t ever tell.” She turned and ran back towards the village. Niisa picked up the squirrel and took it further into the forest.
******
Two months after Chiko had been killed, the priest came to the village. One of the Walolang de Kgotia. He had seen one three times before in his memory, though the earliest was very hazy. The man arrived, as had the others, wearing a black leather coat that hung from his shoulders all the way to just above his ankles. He was of average height, his hair was black. He had a curved piece of wood hanging from a hole in the skin between his nostrils and similar U-shaped wooden ear piercings hanging from his empty earlobes.
As always, the chief greeted his arrival warmly, and they had a feast to celebrate. The priest led them through a small meditative dance once their food was digested. That night they offered each other stories, and the chief offered his own hut for the man to spend the night in.
On the following morning, the testing began. There were only ten children in the tribe of testing age, so the priest took them in two lots, as he had only two ferrets captured when he arrived in the village.
Niisa was in the second testing. They wandered into the woods, away from the village. The priest took a seat between them as they sat in half a circle around and in front of him. He placed the bound ferret in front of him. Niisa studied it; it seemed placid, almost tame.
“How come it does not struggle?” he asked the priest. The priest glanced at him and then back down to the ferret. He reached a hand and traced a thumb slowly across its stomach. The ferret hardly moved to its touch.
“I have kept it fed with ashwag berry since its capture. It is necessary to have it here, but undue suffering is never necessary, and is never our intention.” Niisa slowly nodded. He had never thought of sedating any of the animals that he had taken, except Chiko, who had sedated herself before his arrival.
Niisa sat cross-legged with his palms facing upwards in his lap while the rest fidgeted nervously. The priest looked at them all, one by one, frowning as he did, until his eyes came to rest on Niisa.
“Try to find calm,” he said to them all, while looking at Niisa. Niisa gave the barest of nods, and the priest echoed it.
It went as Niisa knew it would. He had performed the procedure enough during the preceding months to know what to expect and what to see. Even if he did not feel the change, he knew enough to be able to answer any of the priest’s questions.
When the priest asked each of them individually if they had sensed the change, he looked them deeply in the eyes as they answered, and watched them for some time before he asked the next one. The first two said ‘no’. Third in line, Niisa, said ‘yes’. The priest watched him only as long as the others. The remaining two said ‘no’. He seemed satisfied with all of their answers.
“You may return,” he said to the others, indicating to Niisa to stay.
For a half hour the priest questioned him. Niisa answered each question with as much detail as he could. For the most part the priest stayed expressionless, but on occasion he frowned and showed some indication of surprise.
When he was finished, he simply sat in silence, leaving Niisa to guess that the last question had been asked. They sat watching each other for some time.
“You have the sense,” he said, finally breaking the silence.
“Yes.”
“You knew this already?”
<
br /> “Yes.”
“Have you done the test before?”
“Not with you.”
The priest smiled. “With whom, then?”
“Just on my own.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Why?”
“I want to be chosen. I belong with the Walolang de Kgotia.”
“That is an unusual adherence,” said the priest. “Why do you feel like that?”
Niisa frowned at him. “I … I can commune. I can sense life itself. Why would I not want to learn more about what I can do? More about Daygo. Do you not?”
“At your age, when I was chosen, no.” Niisa had nothing to say to that. “Will you not miss your family?”
Niisa paused before he answered, and then he decided not to answer at all. He could not trust this man, he did not know him. What if he chose not to take him, even after he had passed the test? “Whatever I have to do, to be chosen, I will do.”
The priest tilted his head as he looked at Niisa, and tapped the tips of his fingers on his knee as he did. Finally, he said, “Once I know that you can commune, it would be a crime against my creed not to select you, to accept you into our order. There is nothing more that you need to do. You will be coming back with me.”
Niisa heard the words, though he could hardly believe them. Three short months ago he was facing the possibility of living out the rest of his life amongst his tribe, amongst those he shared nothing with, ignorant of Daygo’s touch. As well to live with the monkeys, with no place to learn but from within. Now he would be among his own kind, fellow humans that knew the touch of Daygo. Three months ago, Niisa did not know what that was. He offered up a silent prayer of thanks that Emeka had come into his life.
They walked back into the village together. Many of the villagers stood around, waiting for their return. They walked straight to the chief, who stood at the edge of his cabin.
The priest nodded. “He can commune,” he said simply to the chief. The chief nodded slowly. He looked at Niisa for a long time. Niisa looked back. Without saying a word, he turned, his face flat, and addressed the rest of the tribe, who had begun to gather around them.
“He has been chosen,” said the Chief. “Niisa will travel with the priest and return to their temple.”
Dikeledi shook his head. He worked his mouth. Then his mouth firmed and he stepped forward.
“No!” Fumnaya screamed at him and slapped him across the chest. “No.” She hit him again. At the third strike, Dikeledi caught her wrist. He looked at her, his eyes pleading. She shook her head furiously but would not meet his eyes. He let go of her wrist and looked at Niisa. He looked desperate, lost. Tears were in his eyes, they looked deep into his, imploring him to do something or to say something, but Niisa did not know what it was. He said nothing. He watched his father.
“It is better that you leave straight away,” said the chief. His father seemed to collapse somehow, like his chest gave in while he stood watching helplessly, his mouth open and moving slightly, like the bare traces of words were struggling in there to get out, to be heard.
Niisa looked at the priest in time to see him glance quizzically at the chief, then at Niisa and then across the tribe and finally on his parents. He turned his head once more and looked down at Niisa for a long moment. Niisa held his gaze.
“Okay,” he said simply. He nodded towards the chief and then the tribe and then he turned to Niisa. “Gather your things.”
“I have nothing. Nothing that I need. I am ready to go.”
The priest nodded slowly. “Okay. Then we are ready.” With a final glance over the tribe, he strode away. “Follow me,” he mumbled as he passed by Niisa. Niisa took a final glance over his tribe. His father stepped forward, but his mother’s hand snaked out and grasped his arm. His father stopped as Niisa turned, looking as though he might fall to the ground as Niisa stepped forward to follow the priest, walking until his tribe, his parents, were out of his sight, out of his mind.
5. What’s worth living for?
It was pitch black inside the door of the flat. Liam climbed the stairs slowly, his head muddled and sore, his body stiff. He heard Racquel stumble behind him and looked back.
“Watch the gaps,” he said too late, “there’re a few steps missing.” His head appeared over the floor and he looked about briefly, wondering what to say. Cid lay on the ground to the right, his brother Bradan sitting up beside him. The two girls sat in the far corner, chatting together.
Cool air breathed through the room from the half-shuttered windows. It was hard to see in the dark, everything was gloomy. Flickers of moonlight shone through the front windows as the clouds floated across the sky. The candle was out, only being used when they were all standing around playing a late night game, which was rare.
Liam directed Racquel to Calum’s bed. She lay down immediately, wrapping the blanket around herself and crunching up into a ball. Liam thought back to what he had been like when Calum had died. He watched her for a moment, pity in his heart.
He turned and walked across to Cid and Bradan. Cid barely moved from where he lay; he had been sick for the last two days and seemed to be getting worse. He gave a bare grunt after Liam told them that Racquel would be staying with them for a while. Bradan gave a nod. He looked scared, sitting vigil for his brother. Liam looked back to Cid. He didn’t know if it was due to the light or not but he looked deathly pale. He offered a silent prayer to Levitas for his recovery.
He walked over to the girls. They stopped their whispered chattering as he approached. He became aware once more of how dangerously thin they appeared and felt a familiar trace of guilt that he could do nothing for them.
“Racquel’s going to be stayin’ with us for a while,” he whispered.
“What’s wrong with her?” Rai asked quietly, looking over at Racquel. Liam followed her gaze, giving himself a moment.
“Her mother died and she’s tired.” Both girls looked at her for a while.
“She can play with us, if she wants,” whispered Aibreann.
“Okay,” said Liam and he walked away, sitting down beside Racquel. He looked across at her from time to time but couldn’t tell if she was sleeping. Darren returned first. He looked once at Racquel and then nodded to Liam, walking over to his pallet. Liam nodded in return, relieved that no words were necessary. A quiet scraping came from Darren’s position. He was working something with his knife, but Liam couldn’t see what.
A gust of wind blew from outside, rattling the wooden slates in the window and bringing more cool air into the room. There was an autumnal chill to it. Liam liked the autumn. It offered a little bit of everything. There was more balance to it.
The next gust brought with it the sound of a voice. Liam recognised it. He waited, his muscles tensing, his pulse quickening. The door below scraped open. Conversation wafted up to his ears. His eyes stared into the space where Deaglan’s head would appear. Instead, it was Ultan’s.
“ … tits hanging out.”
“ … got what was coming to her.”
“Lucky she didn’t get more!” the high-pitched whine of Deaglan’s laughter rang out.
“Maybe I’ll give her more the next time!”
“If we could get rid of that fucking farm boy!”
“Ya …” Ultan’s voice trailed off as he appeared above the stairs and saw Liam’s eyes staring back at him. He stopped in his tracks, then got a shove from behind and continued up.
“What ye waitin’ for?” said Deaglan, following him up the stairs. He took a few steps before he noticed Liam. Erinin followed. Liam stood up slowly, his arms by his sides. Deaglan frowned as the three walked up onto the landing, then he noticed the sleeping form at his feet. He stopped for a moment, looking down. A slow smile spread across his face. The sneer that Liam detested.
“Have a little friend here?” he asked, his voice quiet. Liam’s eyes never left Deaglan. The other two boys seemed to be waiting for Deaglan’s reaction, gauging their response on his. Faithful, stupi
d fucking dogs!
“She’ll be staying with us for a while.” His voice was stony. He contained his anger.
“Will she now?” Deaglan looked up, turning his gaze from Liam to the two boys at his sides.
“Who decided this?” Erinin grinned, turning to Liam.
Liam looked his way, his expression dead of emotion, his eyes unblinking. “I did.”
The grin left Erinin’s face. He took a step back.
“You can’t just—”
“I vouch for her,” said Liam. “Same as Cid did for Bradan. There’s a spare space. She’s stayin.”
Deaglan gave a half laugh and turned away.
“No problem here,” he said.
******
Liam couldn’t sleep. He didn’t know if Racquel slept either. She was turned from him, her breath quiet. Sometimes she started sobbing. Liam watched as her chest shook. She was rolled up tight in a ball.
His head throbbed and his mouth was dry with thirst. It tormented him all night. Twice he thought about going down to the well but he didn’t want to leave Racquel on her own. He spared a glance in Deaglan’s direction every now and again, sleeping beside the two faithful hounds. He seemed to be halfway between reality and dreams. He heard Racquel sobbing, then turned and looked over, only to see her still. He was drinking from a mug of water, more and more and more, but his thirst was never filled. He groaned and reached for it beside him, but it wasn’t there.
Deaglan was standing over him. He could feel him, hear him from behind. Should he turn his head? Should he get up? He was so tired. Deaglan leaned forward and stabbed him in the side. He shocked awake with a cry of panic and pain. He turned around quickly but there was no one there. He could have sworn … The pain had felt so real. He lay back down. Racquel was gone, she was there. Calum slept beside him …
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