Wolf Road, page 12
Andar said nothing, but rose to his feet in one swift, graceful move, picking up his lamp at the same time. Wren scooped up her lamp and stood up; Tuuli sighed, this time in wonder, and got to her feet as well.
Andar was already stepping over the ring of broken stalagmites and leading them even deeper into the cave. The girls had almost forgotten that they should have been heading home. They followed the strange boy as if under a spell.
Making their way into a passage, they soon emerged into another chamber, smaller than the first, with smooth, sloping sides. Andar held his light up to the cave wall, and Tuuli gasped in astonishment.
The smooth rock surface was covered in black- and red-outlined silhouettes of hands. There were red spots as well, dancing around the stencilled hands. It was such a vibrant image – full of life, full of people. Wren reached out and very carefully touched one of the ghostly hands.
‘These… these are your people?’ she asked.
‘Andar,’ said Andar, enigmatically, but nodding, seemingly in agreement.
‘So many people!’ breathed Tuuli. There were lots of different hands here – some of them really small, and close to the floor of the cave.
‘Look, little children!’ said Tuuli to Wren.
‘And someone who’s had an accident,’ observed Wren, pointing to a stencil where one finger was missing.
‘Friends,’ interjected Andar, gesturing at the rock-canvas of silhouetted hands.
He gave his lamp to Tuuli then stood back and let the girls explore the panel. They moved the lights around to illuminate the images. As well as coloured hand stencils and spots, there were some more subtle and faded engravings on the surface of the rock, around the hands. These were sinuous tracks and looked as though they’d been traced out with fingertips, firmly pressed against the slightly friable stone. They looked like ripples in sand on a beach, and yet they were clearly the work of humans, not nature.
Andar was rummaging in his bag again, pulling out yet another pouch. He opened it and ate the contents. Tuuli looked at him, surprised. He’d been so keen to share the dried reindeer meat with them – what had he just eaten up without handing around? Whatever it was, he was holding it in his mouth, crunching it up, and puffing his cheeks in and out, while keeping his lips firmly sealed. He took a swig from his water pouch and swooshed it around in his mouth. It sounded like he was getting ready to spit. And he was.
He placed his left hand flat on the wall of the cave, in a space between two hand stencils. And then, leaning towards his hand, he started spitting – a fine spray of wet, black pigment landed on his hand and the rock around it. Tuuli held up the lamp to help him see what he was doing. Andar spat quickly – ‘pup pup pup pup pup’ went his lips. Before long there was a black misting of pigment over and around his hand. Then it was done; he took his hand away carefully, leaving a clear impression of his hand: fingers, thumb and palm outlined by a dense black fog. Tuuli and Wren held their lamps up to inspect the new stencil.
‘Can I try?’ asked Tuuli, placing her hand in another bare patch on the wall, so it was clear what she wanted. Andar nodded enthusiastically, and crunched up some more charcoal in his mouth ready to paint the wall. ‘Pup pup pup pup pup’ went his lips again, and soon the ghost of Tuuli’s hand was there alongside all the others.
‘You’ve joined the tribe, then, whoever they are!’ Wren whispered to Tuuli. But then Andar had consumed another mouthful of black pigment and it was clear that he wanted to stencil Wren’s hand, too. Wren placed her left hand flat against the rock and Andar proceeded to cover it in black spit, just as he had his own and Tuuli’s. When he was finished, Wren took her hand away to reveal the latest addition to the frieze.
Andar, standing between them, made a wide circular gesture towards the frieze of stencilled hands.
‘Friends,’ he said again.
‘Yes. Friends,’ said Wren. ‘We’ve made it official now, haven’t we?’
The lamps were running low, and they’d been away in this mysterious, magical underground world for too long. With Andar leading the way once again, the three friends made their way back out, through the enormous, stone-curtained cavern, where their guttering lamps threw strange shapes onto the walls. Andar had taken his lamp back from Tuuli and now he paused to lower his light – and they saw an almost complete skeleton of a cave bear. It was white with age, lying in a depression on the cave floor, at the side of the cavern. The poor animal must have died in its winter sleep, thought Tuuli. But at the same time, she was glad it was long gone. Out in the open, a hunter had the advantage, and bears could be relatively easy prey. In a cave – on the bear’s own territory – it would always have the upper hand.
Dying in here, the bear had become transformed into the guardian of the cave. Tuuli touched the skull, tracing the edge of its eye socket with her fingers. A rustle high up in the cave startled her, and she whisked her hand away. Just a bat, she reassured herself.
On they went, back through the narrow tunnel, first on their knees and then on their feet, but still stooping, into the taller passage – where Lupa was waiting for them. She darted in and licked Tuuli’s face before she had a chance to stand up. Then, finally, the three humans had to drop to hands and knees again to squeeze out of the entrance tunnel and emerge into the outside world. Darkness had fallen, though it was nothing like the thick, enveloping blackness inside the cave.
They put out the small lamps, scraping up a little earth to sprinkle on them and quench the flame, and Andar carefully replaced them just inside the mouth of the cave. Lupa was still whining with delight and relief at being reunited, jumping up at Tuuli and pushing against her legs.
‘Will you come back with us?’ Tuuli asked Andar. And then, more simply, ‘Come?’
She was kneeling down, rubbing Lupa’s neck and reassuring her.
‘No,’ he said, quite definitely. There was clearly no room for negotiation.
‘Will we see you again?’ she followed up, rising to her feet.
‘Yes,’ he said, just as firmly. But had he understood? Tuuli wondered.
He reached into his bag and took something out, pressing it into her hand. It was a small, flat, sharp-edged shell that fitted into her palm. Tuuli held it up and tried to look at it in the moonlight, and saw that it was pierced with a hole.
‘What is it?’ she asked him.
But Andar just smiled enigmatically. Tuuli put the shell in a pouch at her waist. She’d get a better look at it later, in firelight or daylight.
‘Goodbye, Andar,’ said Tuuli, quietly.
Andar smiled at them both.
‘Friend,’ he said simply, once again.
‘Friends,’ said the girls together.
And then Andar turned away and headed off, up the rocky side of the gully, towards the hills. And Tuuli, Wren and Lupa set off in the other direction, hurrying for home.
Tuuli and Wren climbed out of the gully where the cave was and onto the top of the moor. Despite a few scudding clouds, the moon was bright enough for them to see the lie of the land clearly. Neither of them needed to stop and get their bearings – they were so used to remembering the way home, however far they wandered from a camp. They learned that skill at an early age; now it was just second nature. They moved fast, breaking into a gentle run when the vegetation let them.
‘What a day,’ said Wren, breathlessly, as she slowed down to pick her way over a boggy bit of ground. ‘It feels like a dream.’
‘I can’t believe we found him,’ said Tuuli, equally short of breath.
‘He found us, really!’
They both fell silent for a while, concentrating on making good progress over the moor and then dropping down into the taiga, where the darkness meant they had to slow down a little.
Tuuli’s world had expanded again. The very existence of Andar made her think about what lay beyond the horizon. But now she felt less unsettled by that idea, and more excited. Life wasn’t just about repeating a journey, year after year. It was an adventure.
‘I don’t think we should tell anyone, do you?’ said Tuuli.
‘Not unless you want them to think you’ve gone mad!’ replied Wren. ‘I don’t think he’s a threat, but they might not see it like that.’
‘No. He clearly wants to be friends,’ said Tuuli.
‘Well, that is practically the only word he knows!’ laughed Wren. But then she turned more serious. She’d clearly been thinking things over. ‘But I still think we need to be careful,’ she said.
‘All right, Mama,’ replied Tuuli. ‘It’s not like I went to find him on my own.’
‘No,’ said Wren. ‘I know. And I don’t think you should.’
They were in the larch forest, trying to move as fast as possible, while not walking straight into low branches and smacking themselves in the face. Which always hurt. Then Tuuli spoke again.
‘I don’t feel threatened by him,’ she said simply. ‘I think he means well. I don’t think he was trying to draw us in, to keep us there this afternoon – or whatever you’re thinking now.’
‘I don’t think that,’ replied Wren. ‘But we don’t know why he’s here, or what he really wants, do we?’
‘I think he’s just trying to communicate with us. He doesn’t know many words, or at least, many of our words. So he’s trying to connect in other ways – with art and music.’
‘But we don’t actually know what his intentions are,’ remarked Wren. ‘We can’t ask him that, can we? Or at least, he wouldn’t answer.’
They were close to the camp now. They could see the fires flickering, like beacons guiding them home, smelling the woodsmoke.
‘Didn’t you think it was amazing, though?’ urged Tuuli. ‘I mean – he’s not like anyone else. And you liked the song in the cavern. You let him make a print of your hand, too.’
‘I did, I did,’ Wren agreed. ‘But I just don’t know what it all means.’
‘Neither do I. But I don’t see any reason to suddenly be so suspicious,’ said Tuuli, bristling.
‘You let me worry, then,’ said Wren, not unkindly.
‘We’ll go back again to see him, won’t we?’
‘Yes, I think so. But for now, we’ve got some serious explaining to do.’
‘What are we going to say?’
‘Ah – we’ll blame Lupa!’ laughed Wren. ‘We’ll say she ran after a deer and we chased her.’
‘That’s half true,’ replied Tuuli. ‘Poor Lupa. But I’m sure she won’t mind taking the blame.’
They were emerging out of the taiga now. They could smell roasting salmon – and they could hear drums. They looked at each other – that low, rhythmic drumming could mean only one thing.
‘Aski’s doing a spirit flight!’ said Tuuli.
SPIRIT FLIGHT
The camp was buzzing with activity, and a real festival feel. Tuuli was starving, having barely eaten all day, and there were delicious smells floating from campfires.
‘Not just salmon – someone’s roasting meat,’ she commented, and Wren tipped her head back, breathing in the mouth-watering scent carried to them on the breeze.
As they entered the camp, Lupa slunk off to go and scavenge some food of her own.
Lots of families had their drums out, but the drumming was concentrated in the centre of the camp, where a large fire had been built. This was where Aski would be performing her spirit flight. But not for a while – the drumming was gentle and rhythmic, and it would become fiercer and louder when she was ready to fly.
They bumped into Petrel, her younger brother, Cev, and some of the other Fulmar kids.
‘Where’ve you been?’ asked Petrel. ‘I was trying to find you to go fishing this afternoon.’
‘Ah, we’ve been on a really hopeless hunt,’ replied Wren. ‘I mean, we saw an elk and a lovely deer, but we’ve come back empty-handed.’
‘Well, we’ve got a pit roast on the go,’ said Cev. ‘Because me and my papa got a bison this morning. It was over the hill and we spent ages taking it apart to bring it back in pieces.’
‘It was a lame bison,’ Petrel pointed out.
‘Why do you have to do that?’ Cev snapped. ‘Do you want any roast meat or not?’
‘I’m not criticizing you. I’m just saying. It was lame. You said it had been bitten by a lion a while ago. And that’s how you could spear it.’
Cev shook his head in annoyance and ignored his sister.
‘Anyway,’ he said, turning to Tuuli, ‘there’s loads. Would you like some?’
It was much easier for Tuuli and Wren to accept this invitation than go looking for their families and face questions about where they’d been all day. They followed Petrel and Cev behind the Fulmars’ tipis and yurts, to where a large cooking pit had been dug. Petrel’s family had already begun to open up the pit. They’d pulled away the basketwork cover with all the soil on it, and they were just digging into the pit, gingerly lifting out the warm stones, and pulling handfuls of roasted and steamed stalks and leaves out. More stones came out, and then the head and, separately, two huge legs of the unfortunate bison emerged. It smelt mouth-watering, and right on cue, Lupa appeared back at Tuuli’s side, having done a tour of various campfires and obviously decided that this pit roast represented her best chance of scavenging a meal.
The bison’s head and legs were lifted out onto hides which had been laid ready on the ground. A couple of small children dived straight in, burning their fingers and licking them gleefully as they went to rip off pieces of meat and stuff them into their mouths. Petrel’s father was carefully excavating the rest of the food from the pit onto the hides, and there was plenty more – great chunks of the underground parts of roseroot and springbeauty, and piles of tiny bistort roots, each one just the size of a fingernail. Petrel was already tucking in to the nutty, roasted roots. Petrel’s father had finished clearing the cooked food out of the pit and he glanced up at Tuuli and Wren.
‘Do join us,’ he invited them. They didn’t need asking again.
They sat down by Petrel and Cev, next to the feast on the hides. Tuuli reached in and tore a large piece of meat off the bison thigh. It was cooked perfectly. Bison meat – especially from an old beast like this – could be tough and stringy, but after an afternoon of roasting and steaming in the pit, it had turned soft and delicious. The roots were tasty too. She picked the ashy outer skin off a piece of roseroot and savoured its nutty flavour. The tender leaves and stalks – of roseroot but also wild celery – added other flavours, and another texture. There were fresh leaves of sorrel and dandelion too. They tasted green.
Petrel’s father was eyeing Lupa with suspicion, and Tuuli knew not to offer any meat to the wolf in front of him. Lupa whined a little but waited patiently.
‘I can’t believe you didn’t catch anything today,’ remarked Petrel. ‘That’s not like you,’ she said, elbowing Tuuli.
‘I just wasn’t feeling it,’ said Tuuli, though a mouthful of bison meat.
‘Well, you can thank me for the bistort,’ replied Petrel. ‘That’s what I’ve spent most of my day doing, with my trusty digging stick. It’s boring, but it’s worth it!’
‘This is a very good meal,’ Petrel’s mother remarked. ‘We are grateful to the gatherers,’ she said kindly, nodding towards Petrel and the other children. ‘And I am very proud of my man and my son today, bringing down a mighty bison and feeding the whole camp.’ She gestured, arms wide open.
The drums rose and fell, and the campfires seemed to burn brighter against the black sky. Tuuli was full of food, warm – and tired, she realized, shutting her eyes for a moment. The hand stencils from the cave floated in her vision. Now it was Wren’s turn to nudge her, and she grunted.
‘Don’t fall asleep,’ said Wren. ‘There’s a flight to see.’
Cev, who had been rubbing Lupa’s ears, reached for the back leg of the bison – almost stripped bare now – and twisted off the foot with its hoof, offering it to the wolf. Lupa took it cautiously then slunk away to chew on it.
‘That wolf is competing with my family for food,’ muttered Petrel’s father.
Tuuli sprang to Lupa’s defence.
‘She’s not taken anything. She’s been so good. She’s only got that hoof that Cev gave her.’
‘Well, I don’t think it’s a great idea to invite a wolf into the camp,’ Petrel’s father replied. ‘She should be off with her own kind. She’s only going to get bigger and hungrier.’
‘She was abandoned,’ Wren chipped in. ‘She’d be dead if Tuuli hadn’t saved her.’
Petrel’s father chewed on a piece of bison and looked like he thought the alternative might have been a better outcome, but he didn’t articulate that thought.
‘I think she’s great,’ said Cev. And his father frowned at him, stroking his beard. But Cev went on, ‘I’d like to have her as a hunting companion.’
‘Would you?’ said his father, somewhat unkindly. ‘I think she’s more likely to scare away prey than help catch it. And I just think she should be with her kind. She’d be happier. It’s not natural to keep her here.’
‘I’m not stopping her leaving,’ said Tuuli. ‘It’s her choice to stay with me.’
‘But is it a wise choice?’ said Petrel’s father. It was more of a statement than a question.
Wren changed the subject.
‘Who got the rumen?’ she asked. The stomach of a ruminant, full of fermented herbs, was a much sought-after delicacy.
‘Aski and your mother,’ replied Petrel. ‘They might have some left!’
But Wren and Tuuli were stuffed with meat and herbs and roasted roots, and the drumming was just starting to sound more urgent.
‘It’s happening,’ said Tuuli. ‘Thank you for the food,’ she said, directing this to Petrel and Cev, who grinned broadly.
Tuuli called Lupa to her – she didn’t want to leave her there, in case she tried to steal any meat. In case something bad happened.
Wren and Tuuli left the remains of the pit-roast feast and wandered through the tents to the central space, where more people had congregated. Over the days they’d been at Spring Camp, people had brought more round stones from the river, adding to the cobbled surface. A large fire was lit in the centre of the space, with a stack of fresh larch and old driftwood nearby to keep it blazing. The smoke from the fire was fragrant with herbs.
