Wolf Road, page 8
They had ascended to the top of the ridge, and now they were plunging down again, towards the valley floor. But Andar stayed in the woods, away from the river. The sunlight was reddish now, striking through the trees. Tuuli half-closed her eyes. She found her breathing had settled into a steady rhythm, matching his pace. She was still really cold, though, and occasionally did a full-body shiver. She was sleepy, too, but knew she mustn’t give in to the tiredness.
Andar suddenly slowed. Tuuli looked up and over his shoulder, through the trees at what she could glimpse of the wider landscape. It was all very familiar, and she was sure they were getting close to Spring Camp now. He stopped for a moment, turning slightly and feeling for the breeze – it was blowing gently towards them – and sniffing the air. Then he started walking again, but much more slowly, cautiously, and he was taut and alert. He crept through the larches, stopping every now and then. Sniffing through his large nostrils; looking; listening.
Tuuli didn’t know what his plan was, or if he even had one. Was he going to carry her right into the camp, and set her down in front of Jutsa and Remi? Would he ask to join their tribe? Somehow she doubted it. He wouldn’t be able to articulate that, for a start. Andar, or whatever his name actually was, didn’t have the words. And anyway, she was assuming too much.
He’s just taken pity on me, that’s all, she thought. Just like I helped Lupa. She’s probably run off to re-join her own pack now, to tell them the fabulous tale of the human she tamed.
Tuuli shifted her weight. And Andar seemed to take that as a cue to stop and gently let her down. She wished she hadn’t fidgeted; she really didn’t want to have to put weight on her ankle again.
He moved away from her and stood alert, straining with all his senses. Then he walked around, looking at the ground as though searching for something he’d dropped, eventually picking up a long, stout stick. He came back over and offered it to her. Then he pointed away, in the direction of the river, which they could hear quite clearly. He looked at her.
‘Your talo,’ he said.
The words sounded strange, but clear.
Then he turned to her, and stood quite still, reaching his hands out towards her, palms up. He looked strangely sorrowful.
‘Friend,’ he said simply.
There was only one possible reply.
‘Friend,’ she said, pouring her heart into the word as she knew he was about to disappear off.
And then he turned and was gone, running off into the taiga with the speed and agility of a young stag. He didn’t look back, and she was suddenly left on her own again.
Who was he?
Tuuli stood and stared up at the woods for a while. The sun had just set. She shivered, remembering that she was wet and cold still, and needed to get somewhere safe and warm. She needed her family. She turned towards the sound of the river, and, leaning on her new staff to take the weight off her sprained ankle, she started to limp towards what would be home for the next half-moon, or maybe a whole moon if they didn’t get sick of salmon. It wasn’t long before she could smell the smoke from the campfires, hear the laughter of children, and the heavy, resounding thud of trees being chopped up for tent-poles and firewood. She was almost home.
THE RIVER’S TOLL
Tuuli limped down from the edge of the woods towards the wide, flat river plain, where she could see a large camp had been set up. The river was fordable here and other tribes had come down to join them from the north. There were at least twelve tipis already standing, and the smoke of several fires was snaking up into the sky. At least three or four tribes must have coalesced.
As Tuuli got nearer, Jutsa came running out to meet her.
‘Oh no!’ cried Jutsa in alarm, as she reached her daughter – taking the staff from her and circling her arm around Tuuli’s waist to support her.
‘Whatever happened to you?’
‘I… I fell in the river. Back at the gorge. I lost my pulk.’
‘Oh, my poor little hawk. I honestly thought you were fine – just dawdling. We heard your call and you sounded like you weren’t that far behind. I’m sorry.’
‘I got myself out of the river. But I’ve twisted my ankle.’
‘You’ve done a great job of bandaging it,’ Jutsa said. ‘But I’m sorry you had to come all that way – on that bad ankle – on your own. We should have waited for you.’
She stopped and pulled Tuuli to her, sniffing her cheeks.
‘It’s all right, Mama,’ said Tuuli, quietly.
‘Come on, then,’ said Jutsa. ‘Let’s get you down to the camp, and get you warm and dry. And Aski can take a proper look at that ankle.’
They walked haltingly down to the camp, with Jutsa supporting Tuuli’s weight at every other step so her daughter could avoid placing any weight on her right foot. Pulks had been drawn up around the edges of the camp. Kids were running around. Kuba and Numil were dashing among the tipis with cousins from another tribe, joyful at seeing their friends again after the long, cold winter.
And here were Remi and Maatu, just starting to put up a tipi. Having erected a tripod of three long larch poles, they were starting to lay in more to form the framework for the tent. Remi saw Jutsa with Tuuli and stopped what he was doing at once, rushing over to put his arms around his daughter.
‘What in all Hern’s lands happened to you?!’ he asked her. ‘Are you all right?’
Tuuli, still held tightly in his arms, nodded.
‘I’m all right – I twisted my ankle. I fell into the river at the gorge.’
‘She lost her pulk,’ said Jutsa quietly.
Her parents both knew they were lucky to still have her.
‘She needs to get warm and dry,’ said Jutsa.
Remi reluctantly released her from the bear hug. Jutsa helped her over to sit on a larch log near a fire, and laid her walking-staff down next to her. Her aunts, Aski and Garan, had been busy putting up a round-framed tent with bent birch saplings, but they too stopped to come over and check on Tuuli. They sat down beside her. Jutsa was helping her to undo the thongs of her coat and get out of her damp things, and she had their softest, white hare-fur blanket ready to wrap Tuuli up in. Tuuli recounted the tale of her disastrous day – but she left out the part about the mysterious boy. It didn’t seem right to suddenly introduce him into the story now, and she somehow felt she wanted to keep the idea of him to herself.
‘Thank Ama you’re all right,’ said Aski, after hearing the story. But her voice cracked as she said it and she looked at Tuuli with profound sadness in her eyes.
‘What – what’s happened?’ whispered Tuuli, feeling an instant chill. She noticed that Aski’s eyes were red and puffy from crying. She glanced at Garan and then at her own mother and realized they had all been weeping too. Garan stood up and wandered back to the half-erected tipi.
‘Poz,’ said Aski, simply. ‘He’s gone.’
Tuuli was frozen with shock. She knew what Aski meant: not that Poz was simply away somewhere else. He was actually gone. He was dead.
‘How?’ Tuuli breathed.
‘When they crossed the river,’ explained Aski, starting to cry again. ‘The others made it across… but the ice cracked and gave way…’ She couldn’t go on.
Tuuli pressed her hands tightly to her mouth and hot tears pricked her eyes for the second time that day.
Aski put her arm around Tuuli, and they sat together, both of them weeping. Then Wren appeared, and the two girls didn’t even need to exchange words. Wren had heard about Tuuli’s near-drowning and she knew that Tuuli had heard about Poz. Tuuli hauled herself up, leaning on her stick, still swathed in the hare-fur blanket, and they hugged each other. They stood there, rocking a little, sharing their sadness. Tuuli leaned on Wren’s shoulder, and peered through her teardropped eyelashes at the clouds on the horizon, shot through with the bright amber and pink of sunset. It was astonishingly beautiful. The colours sparkled and shattered in her tears. She wondered at being able to feel such beauty and such sadness at the same time.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Tuuli sobbed. ‘I can’t believe he’s gone.’
They sat down near the fire.
‘He was only a winter younger than me,’ whispered Tuuli. ‘He’s been there as long as I can remember. When we were little… he was like my brother…’
It was true. It was only in the last few years that they’d really grown apart. And then she’d started to spend more time with Wren.
‘I nearly drowned today,’ said Tuuli. ‘But then, the river had already taken Poz.’
She buried her face in Wren’s shoulder and wept. They sat like that while the darkness deepened around them.
‘Where’s Lupa?’ asked Wren.
‘She’s gone too,’ said Tuuli. ‘She ran away from me.’
‘Oh, Tuuli,’ said Wren, hugging her some more.
Eventually, Wren gently unwrapped her arms from her cousin.
‘Have you eaten?’ she asked.
‘Not since this morning, but I’m more tired than hungry right now,’ said Tuuli. ‘I don’t think I could eat anything.’ Suddenly, she wanted to tell Wren about the boy in the woods. But she’d have to wait until they were completely alone.
‘You should eat something, though,’ said Wren. ‘At least a little broth.’
She fetched her cousin a cup of steaming broth, and Tuuli sipped it gratefully.
* * *
That night, Tuuli slept wrapped up in the soft hare-fur blanket, immersed in a deep, dreamless sleep. When she awoke the next morning, there was the briefest moment when she felt calm and serene. Then grief and shock returned.
She was first up in their talo. Limping out of the tipi, she leaned on her staff and picked up another stick to stoke the embers of the campfire, waking the glowing coals. She sat down by the fire and pulled the blanket round her.
‘That’s a beautiful fur wrap.’ Wren came up and squeezed her shoulder. ‘But you can’t wear it all day. I’ve got some clothes you can have.’
Tuuli followed Wren over to her tipi. Starra was up, unpacking all their things from the bundles that had come off their pulks.
‘Come here,’ she said to Tuuli as the two girls stooped down to enter. She gave Tuuli a huge hug.
‘I’m so glad you’re safe,’ she said.
Tuuli nearly started crying again.
Starra stepped outside the tipi, leaving the two girls alone.
‘My old summer things are in here,’ said Wren. She was kneeling down and picking at the knotted sinews holding a large bundle of her clothes together. The sinews had dried and hardened and the knot was proving impossible to undo. Eventually she gave up and pulled out her flint knife and cut through the ties. Watching her, Tuuli shivered as she remembered severing the reins of her pulk, as it nearly pulled her into the river flow.
Tuuli helped Wren pull garments out of the package and lay them on the floor of the tipi. Wren pulled out a pair of separate leggings, and a beautiful little tunic made of strips of light and dark reindeer fur, decorated with shells around the neck and the bottom edge.
‘You can have these,’ said Wren kindly.
‘Are you sure?’ said Tuuli.
‘Of course,’ said Wren. ‘I have spare leggings, and I need to make some new summer things anyway. I was already busting out of that tunic last year!’
Tuuli pulled on her new clothes. Wren dug out a couple of light summer moccasins.
‘These should fit you, too.’
Tuuli tied them on to her feet. ‘Thank you, Wren,’ she said, smoothing her hands down the striped tunic, which fitted perfectly.
‘Who else is here at camp?’ she asked.
‘Just three other tribes,’ said Wren. ‘The Eagles, the Snow Geese and the Fulmars.’
‘And what about Kussa, Leon and Skire?’ asked Tuuli.
‘They’re all safe. But Kussa was in pieces when he came over to tell Garan about Poz yesterday. Then he went back to the Fulmars,’ said Wren, speaking in hushed tones. ‘Leon and Skire seem to be staying over there, too.’
‘I can hear you,’ said Starra, poking her head into the tipi. ‘Be careful. We’re not meant to bring our differences to Spring Camp, remember.’
‘Oh, Mama! It’s hardly our differences, is it?’ exclaimed Wren, no longer bothering to whisper. ‘I mean, those uncles have been difficult for years, and it’s their fault…’
‘Shh… You mustn’t talk like that,’ said Starra, suddenly stern. ‘It’s normal to be angry. But we don’t really know what happened. And while we’re all here at Spring Camp, we need to get on with each other. It is a place of peace.’
She stared at Wren to add weight to her words, then left the girls to it.
‘Come on,’ said Wren to Tuuli, crossly. She went out and Tuuli limped after her.
As they walked away from the tipis, Wren exclaimed in an exasperated tone, ‘Mama is so boring! Two men and a woman left our tribe – are we meant not to talk about it? And Poz. It’s totally their fault. If his father and Leon hadn’t dragged him off, across the icy river, he’d still be here! But we’re not allowed to mention it?!’
‘I think she’s just trying to keep everyone calm,’ Tuuli said. ‘And I don’t think Poz would have gone anywhere he didn’t want to go.’
‘But seriously, how can we not be worried about this?’ retorted Wren. ‘Poor Garan. Poor Aski.’
‘Did you see it coming?’ asked Tuuli. ‘I mean, Leon and Kussa didn’t get on with Papa. And they didn’t much like listening to Mama, either. But – leaving?’
‘Who knows what’s been going on,’ said Wren, gritting her teeth. ‘But they can’t just get away with it.’
Tuuli fell quiet, biting her lower lip. She desperately wanted to tell Wren about her encounter with the boy in the woods, but this wasn’t the right time to bring it up. Everything suddenly felt so chaotic and frightening. And inside, she was churned up with emotion. She would have liked a hug from Wren, but the older girl was brittle with anger.
They’d walked around the margins of the camp, and now crossed back through it. Wren was silent and angry for a while, then she thawed and quietly reached for Tuuli’s hand.
Two men and a woman from another tribe were butchering a large red deer near one fire. Their kids were hanging around, getting scraps of meat to roast on sticks over the flames. One of the men had opened the belly of the deer and was pulling out the intestines, and cutting slices of still-warm liver to eat. The woman was hacking hunks of flesh off a thigh-bone, which she laid to one side, before turning to smash at the bone with a half-flaked pebble and scooping the marrow out with a rib. Tuuli stared at them and her mouth watered. She knew the woman – a distant cousin of her mother’s – but she didn’t think she recognized either of the men. Perhaps they’d come in from a more distant tribe.
Closer to the river, they found Garan with Numil and Vinta. Garan was sitting on the rocky shore, with red-rimmed eyes and blotchy, puffy cheeks, watching her two children. They’d already caught a good pile of salmon. Numil was cutting open a fish to gut it, but he stopped and came over to hug Tuuli. Little Vinta joined in the hug.
‘Did you really nearly drown too?’ asked Numil sadly.
‘I did,’ said Tuuli, scruffing up his hair. ‘But I escaped. I’m so sorry about your brother.’
‘Well, I think he might have climbed out and we’ll see him later,’ said Numil.
Tuuli looked at him in surprise then Garan came to stand between them, catching Tuuli’s free hand and squeezing it. They looked into each other’s eyes. Tuuli knew that Garan didn’t want her to press home the hard, cold reality of Poz’s death with Numil and Vinta. Not when it was so raw. Then Garan pulled Tuuli close and gave her a huge hug. She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the river, and the birds.
‘Do you want some fish?’ Numil interrupted. ‘I’ve caught seven this morning. There are so many in the river here. I’m going to be a master fish-man. I’ll catch eight tomorrow and nine the day after…’ And then his numbers ran out.
‘I’d love some fish,’ replied Tuuli. ‘I’m starving.’
‘Me too,’ said Wren.
‘I caught this toothy one,’ said Numil, picking up a pike by its head and demonstrating its formidable fangs.
Wren turned to Garan again. ‘Shall we make a fire here? Or do you want to bring the catch back to the tipis?’
‘We’ll bring them back,’ said Garan. ‘If you help us, we should be able to carry them all.’
Numil picked up the fish he was cutting into, and the toothy pike; little Vinta tried to help him carry it. Garan and Wren each picked up two salmon; Tuuli cradled one large fish in her left arm, leaving her right hand free to hold her stick to help her walk. They made their way back to their own quarter of the camp, to the Swans’ three tents. They had two large tipis – Jutsa’s and Starra’s – and Garan and Aski’s domed yurt.
They dumped the fish next to the fire in the middle of the three tents. Tuuli eased herself down onto the larch log again. She felt her swollen, bandaged ankle. It was very sore now, after walking on it. Wren had taken a little flint knife out and was getting busy with the salmon. She handed Tuuli a large chunk of succulent, pink, raw flesh.
‘Here, eat this,’ she said. ‘And then I’ll roast some for you, too.’
Tuuli devoured the salmon. It was the first decent food she’d eaten since her near-death experience. The river was giving something back to her.
FISH DREAMING
After months and months of meat, meat, meat, salmon was delicious. The taste of spring, firm and sticky between Tuuli’s teeth. It transported her back to childhood – all those spring camps, all those years.
And then of course her thoughts turned to Poz again, and how they fished together when they were little kids. When they were just six or seven winters old, they would splash around in the shallows of the river-bend just here, then get serious and kneel down in the water, waiting to grab the fish, feeling so many slip through their hands. Over days and weeks, they would build walls of stones underwater to trap the fish in artificial pools, and hunt them with their hands and with harpoons. Most would still wriggle away to freedom in the river, but Tuuli and Poz gradually honed their techniques through practice, and by watching their elders.
