The Uprights, page 25
“No. It’s not the sun. Something happened to the far hills. One of them caught fire. It made a big noise. Part of it went up into the air. Then there was a lot of dust.”
“The same dust as we have here?”
“Yes. It’s come all this way. Is anybody else missing?”
“I don’t know where Wuhn is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t get upset, Tahk. She’ll be all right.”
“How do you know? Where is she?”
“I don’t know. I gave her work to do. She never finished it. She just left. She didn’t tell me where she was going.”
“I don’t understand. Did you get angry with her?”
”No. Nothing like that. I told her to stay and help with the infants. She did some things and then left.”
“Why?”
“You know how she is, Tahk.”
“Did anyone see where she went?”
“Some of the workers said they saw her at the lake. You went there yourself, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You could have seen her then. She was in the same place as you. Did you see her? Have you told me everything?”
*****
In the dark, in the forest and quite alone, Wuhn awakes. For a breath, she doesn’t know where she is or what she is doing, or even, in a way, who she is. All she knows is that she has never slept under the trees before – Jehkmin told her about snakes when she was very young and her fear, stronger than her curiosity, kept her safe and secure in the cave. Nor has she ever known the sky to be so black. If it is the sky, because the blackness is not just far above – it is also on the ground, around her body, by her side, between her eyes and her hands. Everywhere. She awakes, not because of the darkness, but because she is cold, with neither a beast-skin nor a cape to protect her. And the fronds she has pulled over her, rather than keeping her warm, are only making her feel damp.
*****
In the dark, a hand reaches out and clamps itself to his mouth. At the same time, it jerks his head round, savagely pulling the muscles of his neck and twisting his wind-pipe so tightly, the air in his throat is trapped. He was asleep, but now he is awake – heart-thumpingly, body-shakingly, disbelievingly – awake. He wants to scream. The pain – the excruciating pain – makes him want to scream. But he can’t. He can’t make any sound. He is about to die, silently, like a beast. This isn’t how he imagined his life would end. He has to shout. Not for help. Nor for mercy. But for the right to die like an upright. Protesting. Cursing. Fighting. But it isn’t to be. He knows that. For instead of his attacker relenting, a knee – such a heavy knee – presses down on his chest, cracking his ribs, forcing another yell of defiance into a sealed and soundless passageway. Another knee – or is it the whole body of his assailant – pushes down on his lower parts. His legs. Weighs him down. Prevents all movement. Makes him more helpless than he has ever been. But he isn’t dead yet. He has been taken by surprise in his sleep. Whoever’s doing this to him is breaking all the rules of the family. No fighting. No arguments inside the cave. But he’s strong. More than a match for any male. There must be two of them. That’s why he strains so much and with so little effect. Well two against one. That’s all right. He has fought against worse odds in the past and won.
They have forgotten his arm. His hand. His cudgel. If only he can reach it, he still has a chance. One arm. That’s all he needs. Then he will swing his club onto the head of the one who is stopping him breath. He has to do that quickly. Knock him off before he passes out. As it is, he’s going dizzy. Faint. Is it already too late?
It isn’t fair. He’s not allowed to make a sound, but his killers – he’s sure there are two of them – are puffing, groaning, encouraging each other. His body, their hands, their limbs are now wet. Slippery. Wet? Is it sweat? Is it blood? How can he tell in the dark? If he arches his back, they might lose their grip. Push up as far as he can go. His back and shoulders are powerful. Heave with all his strength. He can even bend his legs a little now. He is going to buck. And twist. Force himself against their weight. This might be his last chance to get away.
To begin with, the stone feels unexpectedly cold and he shudders with surprise more than pain. But it’s also sharp and cuts deeply into his skin, in a long line between jaw and chest, through muscle, severing deeper vessels. The blood wells up and that makes the blade warmer. That’s better, having a little warmth and not just the feel of cold, lifeless rock at death – that would be so much worse. But it’s too late now. His struggles are at an end. Pointless. Just lie still. Wait for the blackness. Think of Luhla. Dhi. Wuhn. His family. The sun, his sticks and the shadow. They even relax their grip. That feels good. Let his head return to the comfort of his rolled-up cape. Perhaps he can breathe a little now. He would like to do that. Except he can’t. The blade has slashed his wind-pipe in two, and it’s his own tissues and not air that his heaving, desperate lungs suck in. He starts to drown and that makes him scream without a sound. No noise. Just a final few jerks and kicks of his legs. They still hold him down, but he is already dead.
*****
It’s not so dark when she wakes again and this time, she feels colder than ever. Perhaps if she buries herself in the ground like the animal she has become, she will feel better. But to do that, she has to get up, turn over, drop to her knees, clear the bracken and scrabble in the earth. She hasn’t the energy to do that. Not as she is now. Not before she has eaten something. She doesn’t feel hungry, but she knows she must eat. She hasn’t eaten since leaving the cave and that was so long ago. Eat and drink. Water before food. Water before digging a hole in the ground. Where is the stream? She doesn’t know, because in escaping from the runaway a second time, she bolted into the thickest part of the forest and left the stream behind. The stream was her way back to the lake and her family. But also the route of her attacker, the way he found her.
So she cannot eat or drink, but nor can she stay where she is, shivering and fearful.
But where should she go? She has no knowledge of the forest and now she has left the stream behind, no sense of direction.
It’s too dense. Everything looks the same. Trees this way. Trees that way. Even Tahk would have difficulty in working things out. What would Tahk do if he was with her? Well he wouldn’t give up. He would look and think. Try and understand. Yes. That’s what he would do. He would climb to high ground above the trees and then see if he could recognise anything. Well she doesn’t know much, but she has seen their lake many times. Even their hill with the caves. If she could see either of these, she would know her way back to the family.
Before she moves off she licks the moisture from the widest leaves. Rubs her face to waken herself up. Listens carefully for the runaway. It isn’t much of preparation for what is the most important journey of her short life, but it is the best she can do.
Apart from the path she forged the day before, there’s no easy way out and obviously she won’t retrace her steps. So once again, she will have to bend over double, duck down, cover her eyes and be prepared to have her hair pulled out, her skin scratched and her feet bruised and cut. At least, she has a sense of what is up and what is down. She has to go up. Up until she breaks through the trees and can see everything.
What’s happening? The gradient’s getting steeper. Her legs tell her that. Yet her progress seems to be less difficult, her breathing less laboured. She drops her hands from her face and has a look. No wonder she’s finding the going easier. She has walked around in a circle and is now back on her original path. Or is she? She can’t really remember what it was like before. Has she climbed here before? Was the ground so rocky? Was the bark on the trees white and black and peeling? She doesn’t think so. Maybe this is a different track after all.
She has no option but to stay on the path and be grateful she can at least see where she is going. If she walks lightly and stops to listen from time to time, she can hear if anyone – or anything – is coming her way. This is good. She’s surprised by her strength. Then a thought comes to her and lifts her spirits further. She’s climbing now. If she was merely retracing her footsteps, she would be going downhill and she definitely isn’t doing that. How clever of her to work that out. What do the males brag about? Knowing how to find their way. Well she can do that. She could be a hunter too if she wanted.
Now the forest seems to be thinning out and her path broadens into a wide swathe of rubble and stone, flanked with many low rising bushes instead of the usual packed ranks of trees. Is she nearly at the top? It’s getting harder for her. The ground is sharper underfoot. The way forward steeper. Now, instead of walking, she has to scramble. Even climb, using all her limbs. But it doesn’t matter. She’s going home. When she can see where her home is.
Then she’s there, on what she knows is the summit. This is the first time she has ever climbed a hill and looked down from a height. So this is what it’s like. It feels good. The air is fresh and soon dries the sweat on her body. Fills her lungs with strength and hope. But the same wind gets into her eyes and stops her seeing clearly. How can she work out where to go if she can’t make out the detail? And why is it still dark? She’s so much nearer the sun now, it should be bright and clear. Yet it isn’t. The sky’s brooding and angry. Streaked with grey and black. And if she turns to face the wind, she’s sure she can smell burning. Why is that? Nothing is on fire. There are no juveniles here to play with stones and dry grass.
Now she is thinking of it, where is the sun? She knows Tahk always looks towards the sun because that tells him where he is. Is that part of the sky over there, brighter? It must be the sun. But why is it hiding from her? Does that make any difference? Probably not, because she really has no idea where the sun should be. Or how she could use its position to find their lake. If only Tahk was here to show her what to do.
So she will have to manage without. What can she see instead? Not very much to begin with, but then she discovers if she wipes her eyes and blinks, tears roll down her cheeks and make her vision so much clearer. So that’s what she has to do. Wipe and blink and she will see as much as any hunter. It’s good. There are trees everywhere. And many high, rocky areas like the one she’s standing on. How can there be more than one summit? She doesn’t know. And would it matter if she’s on the wrong one? There is so much she wants to learn from Tahk.
The more she wipes and blinks, the more she sees. Large areas of green. Patches of white and brown too. But over there, is another colour. The same colour as the sky. But it’s low down. Not high up. What is it?
11
The Unexpected
The figure walks slowly towards the entrance of the cave, stops, turns and then stares into the impenetrable darkness he has just left behind. It’s dawn and behind him the sky is starting to brighten. Become streaked. Colour. It’s just enough to silhouette the outline of a fully grown hunter. Fleck his hair with ember reds and purples. Show he is gripping a throwing stone in his hand. All these things, but not enough to light up the faces of those cowering on the rocky floor in front of him. But he isn’t alone. By his side stands another male, shorter and more stooped, continually touching the side of his head. The side of his head? That must be Ohp. But who is the other? It isn’t immediately apparent to those who strain to see.
The taller, more powerfully-built male begins to speak. Tries to explain. Makes an effort to reassure. But what he says only adds dread to the uncertainty.
“You – all of you – must stay where you are. I have things to tell you. You must listen to me.”
Why is his face in the shadows? His eyes – his mouth – unknown to them.
“Everything is all right. There is no danger. You are safe if you do what I say.”
The voice is strong and controlled. Even so it betrays the last sighs of breathlessness. More than a tremor of excitement. And that curious lift at the end of each sentence. The long drop and then the sharp rise. It’s Bahnor. The miserable Bahnor. What is he telling them? What is he saying?
“One of the hunters is dead. But there is no need for anybody else to die. If you obey me now, there’ll be no more killing.”
A dead hunter. What does he mean? There has been no fighting.
“One dead hunter is enough. I don’t want anymore to die.”
Where is Tahk? Why is he allowing Bahnor to speak like this? It’s not for Bahnor to stand in front of them like this.
“Tahk is no more. I am your new leader.”
Tahk dead. Dead. It can’t be. Not Tahk. How did it happen? Why didn’t they hear? Why didn’t they know? Why is it Bahnor who is telling them?
“Tahk wouldn’t give way. Tahk had to be killed.”
The words, most in the family hoped they would never hear – and their terrible implications for the future – are clear. Leave no room for any other explanation. Tahk is dead. And Bahnor intends to take his place. Those who have so far been quiet, now feel their hopes and their thoughts dry up altogether. How can they cry out or say anything when the one who talks to the sun – in a way, has become their sun – has been taken from them? They slump to the ground even more helpless than before.
The lack of weeping, the lack of anger, indeed the lack of any response from those he wishes to rule gives Bahnor confidence to continue. The belief that he can frighten into submission all who oppose him. But the thought passes in a breath. He understands he doesn’t yet command the allegiance of the hunters loyal to Tahk. Nor have the elders offered their approval. And without those things, Tahk’s death might also be his death. Yet he is sure that what he is about to say will bring him all the support he needs. Wasn’t it what he always planned? Kill first. Talk later.
“Under Tahk’s leadership, we starved. Many of the older ones died before their time. Young ones didn’t grow. Fewer infants were born. Hunters became weak. He failed us all. He should have gone long ago.”
Luhla has been as stricken as all the others, but now, for reasons she cannot understand, feels life beginning to return to her body. What Bahnor says isn’t true. Tahk cared greatly for the family. He certainly cared for her. In spite of a lingering and numbing disbelief she jumps up. Stands up. Shouts out loudly. Is prepared to defend her mate. And her voice, wavering and uncertain, rises like a thin mist from the swamp of despondency all around her.
“No. No. What -- you -- say is -- untrue, Bahnor.”
The hunter in front of her smiles in amusement. One female. Just one female. Is she the only one prepared to argue with him? Contest his claim. If so, he has won. He certainly doesn’t have to answer one such as her.
But his disdain doesn’t stop her continuing to speak. Her frame, her feelings, her tongue are almost hers again. They are coming back.
“Am I alone? Won’t any of you stand up for Tahk?”
Luhla regrets saying this as soon as the words, given invisible wings in her throat, take flight. In her distress, she forgets her oldest sons are no more and Dhi isn’t in the cave – and judging by Tahk’s mood last night – not likely ever to return.
“I will mother. I will fight Bahnor.”
“No. No. I didn’t mean you, Dahrun. You aren’t old enough. Strong enough. Get back on the floor.”
This is terrible. Tahk has been killed, Dhi might be dead, Wuhn has gone missing and now Dahrun is going to risk – and perhaps lose – his life. Not because of what he wants to do, or is capable of doing, but because of what she said. Well, if that is what is going to happen, she doesn’t want to live either. So she stretches her aching legs, straightens her body and moves defiantly towards the shoulder of her son. And within a breath, an old female and a young hunter find themselves facing two males so much larger than themselves.
“Sit down, Luhla. I have no quarrel with you. Nor you, Dahrun. Return to your beds.”
But it’s too late. Dahrun has been shamed into action and now pride prevents him backing down. In any case, how can he retreat when his mother is gripping his arm?
“Luhla. Females … don’t … fight hunters. Do as … B-Bahnor says. We don’t want to … harm you.”
Ohp’s stutter is very noticeable. Bahnor said nothing to him about killing females.
Luhla does her best not to tremble as she and Dahrun advance – one halting step at a time – but she is pleased when other voices ring out in support.
“I stand for Tahk as well.”
“What you two did was bad. Very bad. I’m behind you, Luhla.”
“So am I.”
“Me too.”
In the space of no more than five breaths, all of Tahk’s females, those of his brothers not too old to stand and many of his young ones rise up and press towards the looming figures in front of them.
Bahnor and Ohp watch formless shadows rising. Become more solid. Move towards them. This isn’t what they talked about and the sight unsettles them: almost without thinking, they retreat from that which they despise and at the same time are starting to fear. Pass through the entrance to the cave. Move on to the wide ledge outside. Into the open. Exposing their faces – and their eyes, now watering and blinking in the unaccustomed half-light of the day-to-be. It’s a mistake. They don’t seem so intimidating now.
Bahnor is indeed taken aback and is not sure what to say or to do. But in situations like this, he can always trust his instincts and they tell him to throw his stone at Dahrun. Kill his pathetic rival there and then. It’s a good idea. Only. Only, Dahrun isn’t alone. He has many by his side. If he is struck down, there will be a battle and many more will die. And that is not what he wants.
