The Uprights, page 24
“If he’s dead, it’s my fault. My fault. His father will blame me.”
“No, he won’t.”
“Wuhn will blame me too. I should have looked after her brother.”
“They can’t blame you, Dhi. You did your duty.”
“I shouldn’t have gone so near the fire.”
“We were two or three days march away. You said that yourself.”
“I did. I remember I said that.”
“Hunters die. Zohka died.”
“But Zohka. He was so strong. Brave. He knew so much. He should have been the leader. Not me. He wouldn’t have taken the pack so near the hills.”
“You were made leader. Tahk and Jehkmin and all the others trusted you.”
“They should have chosen another. I made a bad mistake. I killed Zohka.”
“It wasn’t like that, Dhi. You only did what Tahk told you to do.”
“He’s dead. My orders didn’t mean him to die.”
“You did your best.”
“I did. Yes, I did. What’s happening to me? I still can’t see. Everything is moving. My head hurts. Am I all right, Bohrid? Is my head broken? Am I going to die as well?”
“No. You’re not badly injured. It’s just your hair. It’s blackened. Burned.”
“It’s the far hill.”
“Yes. I think it was.”
“Did some of it go into the sky and then fall down on us?”
“Yes. There was a fire over there. Rumbling. An enormous noise. Wind. Darkness. Then things started crashing around us. I thought we would all be killed.”
“I remember now. We must get away. It might happen again. What’s that smell?”
“I don’t know. Is it that big rock over there? It’s red. Burning. You can feel the heat from here. You can smell it. The smell is terrible. It makes me feel sick.”
“I can see it now. Why is everything shaking? Moving. Splitting into funny lines.”
“I don’t know. You seem all right. You’re standing. Talking.”
“Yes, I am. Good. Leave me now. Go around the camp. See who is alive. Bring them all here. We must go back to the caves.”
“I will do as you say. But first, you must move from here. The grass is burning.”
“Don’t do that, Bohrid. I can manage on my own now.”
“Look. Look. Kahple is coming. He didn’t die either. Can you see him?”
“No. Oh, yes. It’s Kahple. Good. That’s at least three of us. Try and find the others. I’ll talk to Kahple.”
Apart from when they were young and played together so freely, the two males never touch with their hands. But now they reach out and rather awkwardly grip each others’ shoulders. Arms. Backs. And when neither hunter recoils – or even hesitates – they lock their bodies together. In relief. For comfort. To know the other is alive. And for that time, for a breath or two, not for any more, they are able to shut their ears to the noise. That awful screaming. Of the wind, fanning the flames and engulfing the bushes and the trees. And of unseen beasts, trapped by the fire and knowing with a bleating, choking certainty, that they will not be able to escape.
Then the moment passes and they pull apart.
“Dhi, it’s good to see you and Bohrid. I thought everybody had been killed. It was so bad. What made all this heat? All these flames.”
“I don’t understand how the hill caught fire. Why part of it came here. But whatever happened, it’s too dangerous to stay. We must go back to the caves.”
“We don’t do as Tahk ordered?”
“How can we? We will die if go towards the hills.”
“Who’s that over there?”
“Zohka. He saved my life. He threw himself on top of me. That’s what he must have done.”
“That’s just the thing he would do.”
“And now he’s dead.”
“Zohka dead. That’s bad. Really bad.”
“I know.”
“At least you are well, Dhi. Why do you keeping rubbing your eyes?”
“I don’t know. My eyes aren’t normal. My head hurts. It doesn’t matter. We have to leave. While Bohrid is bringing the others here, we must get ready.”
“We must put Zohka in the ground. Save him from the animals.”
“Of course. But first, put the bags of water in a safe place.”
“What about these? The last of the roots we brought with us? They are all black and burnt. They’re no good to us now.”
“Perhaps we can scrape away the burnt bits and eat what’s inside.”
“No. They still won’t be any good. The inside will be the same as the outside. They will taste like Zohka’s back. Like that burning rock. Like death. They will make us sick.”
*****
Since reaching the summit, Tahk has given no more than a passing thought to the stick he pushed into the ground so many days before. But now he is squatting on his haunches, tired and distressed, trying to block out the roar and the smell, it rears up in front of him. It’s still straight, upright and defiant as if to remind him of his foolishness. How could he have put his trust into such an insignificant thing? Why had he been so sure the sun had chosen him and his stick to say so many things? What has he done in sending all those young hunters to their deaths? He will never do that again. Of course, he won’t. He will have to give up the leadership now and accept whoever the elders prefer. It can’t be Ohp – not without his ears. He’s happy about that, at least. Nor Dhi. The one he wanted to take over from him all the time. He’s dead now. And his second son, Dahrun. He’s not strong enough. Even he has to admit that. So it will have to be Bahnor. There’s no-one else. Ohp’s son. Ohp’s line. That’s bad. But now he has failed and Dhi is in the valley, black and burnt, that’s the way it’s going to be. He has talked about many things since becoming leader, but from now on he has nothing more to say.
The sticks have caused all this and he must destroy them. Kick the standing one over, down the hill and into the abyss. Stamp on the others until they smash into fragments, just like his life – and his plans to save the family. There will be no more sticks for him, no more listening to the sun and no more meetings where he pretends to be better than all the others.
But what about Dhi and the stick he gave him? Did his son carry out his instructions properly, put it in the ground when the sun was at its highest point and look along the shortest shadow? He must have done. Dhi’s like that. He always does what he is told. Well if so, he must be dead. Dead because he was so reliable. Dead because he trusted his father.
*****
It’s colder than she expects and shallower, but it’s so good, especially the small waterfall that seems to drop from the sky, make colours in the air and then explode into the pool. If she’s careful, she can stand beneath the countless splashes and let them stream over her face, wash the dirt from her skin, seep into her crevices and remove all traces of that vile runaway from her body. But that’s not enough. Somehow, she must make it wash away the memories of him pressing down on her all over again, winding her, frightening her. She knows it won’t be easy and that it will take time. Ignore time then. Stay in the water for ever. Go under the water. Deep. As deep as she can go. Then it will drown out the images of him trying to stop her wriggling free. Of rushing into the forest, only to change her mind. Making her fight her fear and returning to hit him on the head again before he can give chase. To give her a better chance of getting away. Of running and running until, in a state of exhaustion, she is drawn to the sound of the pool. But time and water aren’t helping her. She can still smell his foul breath, feel his crushing weight, experience his club tearing her apart and putting life into her belly. That’s what really makes her angry. He isn’t here anymore, yet he is still here. Not in front of her, menacing. Nor on top of her, taking away her will. He is inside her. Deep inside, where she can’t wash. Deep, where her infants wait. She can’t bear the thought of him putting life into one of them. Then seeing her belly swell, knowing she’s carrying it through the season of the cold winds and the season of the green grass, only to have it strangled at birth. Which is what the elders will insist. What Dhi will insist.
But can he do that to her when she resisted him with all her strength and when the nature of her mother’s mother – now in her resting place and waiting to come back to the family – would never add to her misery? But she has heard of such things happening in the past and knows it’s possible. Is there another hope for her? Has Dhi already given life to one inside her? She doesn’t feel as if this is so, but how can she be sure, at her age, when she has only just mated? Only – if he has – his infant will fight that of her attacker and just as Dhi could kill the runaway with one blow, so his infant can kill the runaway’s.
Even the notion that Dhi might protect her from afar, doesn’t really help. How can it, when she knows he didn’t come to her aid when she most needed him? No, she isn’t being fair. How can she blame Dhi for what has happened? It’s her fault and nobody else’s. She shouldn’t have disobeyed Luhla and gone into the forest on her own. She has to accept that. She is wilful – at least that is what her mother and father say – and that has led her into trouble again. But she is also determined. Didn’t she hit her attacker with his own cudgel and escape? Not just once, but twice. Nobody helped her do that. Now she has to empty her body of the life she doesn’t want. Nobody will do that for her either. She has to accept that too.
What do the females in her family do at times like this? Not that it happens often, nor is ever spoken about openly in the cave. But she remembers seeing one of her older, mate-sisters – and if she thinks about it, even her mother – weep for no reason. Stop eating. Go off with the others. Come back. Go to bed. Weep some more. Cry with pain and perhaps other things as well. They didn’t say anything to her or tell her what they have done, but she became upset too. Wept at what she didn’t understand. So she went to them for comfort, a touch, a groom, only to discover she isn’t allowed to rest her head on their bellies. That when she tried, they pushed her away. How does she know, when they never told her, that they have been beaten with clubs? Had stones thrown at them. Even jumped from a rock. And that, in spite of the great pain, these are things they want. Bring about themselves. And how does she know, when she sees strange leaves by the side of the bed, they aren’t to be rubbed on the skin or eaten, but pushed into a female’s body? She isn’t told anything, but somehow she knows.
Wuhn moves away from the cascading water, climbs out of the pool and shivers, not just with the cold, but with the knowledge of what she has to do. But what can she do? How can she hit herself with a club or throw stones at her belly? She can’t. Not on her own. Yes. She’s on her own. There is no-one to share her tears, hold her hand, tell her what to do. It doesn’t matter. She knows what to do and that is fall from a high rock. Fall so heavily that the infant inside her belly is killed. And when it is dead, it will drip out of her body until none is left – to grow – to be hated – to be strangled. It will hurt. Hurt a lot. Hurt too much. She cannot bear any more pain. No. That’s not the way she will do it.
Leaves. She will use leaves – that is, if she can find the ones she needs. But where to look? High in the trees or on the ground. Growing on the dry rock or by the water. She has nothing to guide her except distant, unformed memories and an overwhelming desire to do what is beyond the cleansing power of the water. She stumbles around, grabbing at what comes to hand. Is this the same as the one by her mother’s bed? This one. Or this one. Yes, this could be it. Somehow it seems familiar. Perhaps she will recognise the smell if she crushes it between her fingers. Holds it to her face. Tastes the sap.
This must be the one.
But is it? She barely remembers the leaves in the cave and never put one to her nose or on her tongue. And even if it is the right leaf, is this really what she wants to do? The runaway might have given life to an infant, but it is hers. It was in her belly long before she was attacked. It will be hers long after his body has been eaten by the beasts and his nature gone into the blackness. And that’s another thing. She and the runaway might have made a life. But that will give the nature of her mother’s mother, trapped for so long in the hole in the ground, restless to see the light, a chance to live again. And what if it is Dhi’s and not the runaway’s? She cannot know any of these things and hesitates. Walks around. Cries. Wonders what her mother would tell her to do. Cries again, this time so pitifully that the birds, unable to bear her anguish any more, flap their wings and move to another part of the forest.
Weeping helps a bit. But it doesn’t rid her of what she doesn’t want. She has to do something else. What she planned. So she sits down, opens her legs and pushes two tightly folded leaves into her body. However, as soon as they leave her shaking hands, she bursts into tears all over again. And it isn’t just because she is sore and bruised and still bleeding. She can cope with that. It’s more that touching herself there reminds her of everything she has felt since leaving the settlement and never really admitted to herself before. The pang of guilt when she went against Luhla. The shock of discovering she had been followed. The fear of anticipating what might happen to her. The rage that, in the end and in spite of all her determined efforts to escape, the runaway proved himself faster, cleverer and stronger than her. She was brave and knowing, but it didn’t matter: she was overwhelmed in the way that young females fear the most. She had hoped the leaves would help her: but all they are doing is making her howl. With unhappiness. But mostly with anger.
Is this the reason she doesn’t hear the twig snap and the stone grate? Nor the stifled grunt of satisfaction as the runaway again finds what he thought he had lost. There is nothing wrong with her ears, but in her distress she hears none of these things. Even so, she has another sense – or a combination of senses – and they warn her that she is no longer alone. That another is nearby. That she is once again in danger. And without waiting for her name to be called, or for sight of the one she fears and hates in equal measure, she runs. She runs without looking back. She runs for the stream, for that will take her to safety. She runs with no thought except survival. She runs without picking up her beast-skin cover and her precious bag. She runs with nothing except her life and the rest of the leaves in her hand.
*****
As at last he descends onto the ledge, Tahk glances at the sky and judges – he cannot see – that it is nearly sunset. A time when the females with infants are usually chasing, shouting and complaining, but for all that, are happy that another day has past without injury or death. A time for the hunters to sit and talk before the coming darkness – and the eventual quietness – send them to their beds. A time too, for Tahk to explain to those who want know, how the beasts feed the family, the grass feeds the beasts and the rain feeds the grass. At least it would, if the sky was full of clouds – and not black smoke.
That’s how it usually is, but it isn’t like that this time. The ledge – the largest, the most level and best protected sitting area for any family – outside the driest and deepest cave in the whole settlement, is deserted. In spite of all his misfortunes and mistakes, he feels proud. He didn’t fight for it at the beginning – it was handed down to him by his father – but he has since kept it from all those who want it. Even when he is no longer leader, the family will know of his achievements. It’s good to be remembered by the name of the rock – “Tahk’s rock” – overlooking the valley. But so much better if those who are to come, call their cave “Tahk’s cave”. And their ledge, “Tahk’s ledge”.
He will tell the family about the fire on the hill. He will also remind them of these other things. He must be fair to himself. But before he can say anything, a voice calls out.
“Is that you, Dhi? Have you come back? Are you well?”
Tahk knows Luhla’s voice. Stepping – no, almost rushing – into the darkness, he replies with an irritation that surprises him.
“No, it isn’t Dhi. It’s me.”
“Oh, Tahk. You’re here. Did you see Dhi? Is he all right?”
He doesn’t reply to the question that he knew would be put to him. Instead, he asks two of his own.
“Why are you all in the cave? Why is it so quiet?”
“How can you ask such things, Tahk? We are frightened. The sky went black. The sun went to sleep and then woke up. Then asleep again. Bright and dark. Bright and dark. We didn’t know whether it was day or night. We still don’t.”
“I know. I saw everything from the top of the hill.”
“You haven’t told me. Is Dhi dead? Are we all going to die?”
“No. We are safe in the cave. Is everybody in the cave with you?”
“Dhi isn’t.”
“He must still be in the valley. I haven’t seen him since he left.”
“Is he dead?”
“I don’t know. He’s strong. Clever. He will find a way to survive.”
“I will hope for him then.”
“Yes. Do that.”
“At least you are well, Tahk. I’m so pleased you came back when you did.”
“I saw what I had to. Now I have to talk.”
“Before you do. Tell me this. Has the sun died?”
