A Solitary Journey (20 page)

For Meg, the return walk to Chi-hway’s house was spent trying to unravel the strange truth that she confronted. A Ahmud Ki told her time stood still in Se’Treya, but he lied. Almost three days had unravelled, which explained her thirst and hunger when she returned through the portal, so why had the glyph prisoner lied?
To make me stay to set him free,
she reasoned. He was a cunning being then, and she would have to be wary of him.

S
he knew the hunters had returned because she heard cheering and shouting in the village, so she put down the fire-blackened cook pot and went to the kitchen door. The afternoon had darkened, the air was bitterly cold, and faint, misty rain drifted across the green forest and hills. She grabbed a grey hide coat hanging beside the door, put it on even though it was too large for her, and ventured out to welcome the returning men because she was keen to see Magpie and learn what he’d done.

A host of villagers carried torches that guttered and sputtered in the damp air as they surrounded the knot of nine men and two boys who’d hunted the wildcat. Draped over the stooped shoulders of the tallest man at the front of the hunters, Chi-hway, was a tawny beast with bloodied paws and head and the villagers were pointing with curious pride at their ahtim’s trophy. Meg searched for Magpie in the crowd and found the dark-haired boy walking a step behind Chi-hway, proudly carrying his spears. She smiled at his earnest face, until she saw the rough bandaging around his leg. What had happened? She glanced at the shelter at the side of the house where A Ahmud Ki was soundly sleeping before she walked towards the gathering. Ah-tee-wana-see
stood with three other white-haired women, waiting for the crowd to follow Chi-hway to the centre of the village, and the old woman looked directly at Meg before returning her attention to her grandson.

The procession ended at the village centre where Chi-hway dramatically hoisted the wildcat overhead, his arm, back and leg muscles straining under the dead weight. ‘To my people I bring strength!’ he announced, before he dumped his prize on the ground. ‘Let the preparations begin!’ The villagers cheered and scattered, deliberately heading to places as if the event was meticulously rehearsed. When Chi-hway spied Meg he grinned and grabbed Magpie’s shoulder, spinning the boy, and with a gentle push he steered Magpie towards her while he turned to his fellow warriors.

Magpie was grinning, limping slightly, still carrying Chi-hway’s spears. ‘What happened to you?’ Meg asked.

His grin faded. ‘I fell over a log,’ he explained. ‘It’s nothing—a scratch. Did you see the wildcat?’

‘I saw it,’ she answered.

‘Chi-hway killed it single-handedly, Meg! He stood up when it charged and got it right here,’ he said, pointing at his chest. ‘Then he wrestled it down until the others could finish it off. He’s—he’s amazing!’

She remembered their encounter with the wildcat in the mountains and how the animal nearly killed Wombat. It nearly killed her. ‘That is amazing,’ she said quietly.

‘I learned so much!’ Magpie continued. ‘He showed me how to hunt by looking for prints and droppings and even how to smell where animals leave their marks.’

‘So you want to become a hunter?’

‘Absolutely!’ the boy answered.

The soft rain drifted through the fading light, but it didn’t dampen the villagers’ mood as they set up a
bonfire and seats around it, and the warriors were feted by having chairs and drinks brought directly to them. Chi-hway beckoned to Magpie. ‘I have to go,’ Magpie told Meg, and he went to sit beside the man who’d become his surrogate father. Meg watched with a strange mixture of satisfaction for the boy and sadness that he could so quickly forget the world from which he’d run.
But what has he left there?
she asked herself silently.

‘You would do well to help,’ a voice said, and Ah- tee-wana-see stood beside Meg, holding a jug of warm liquid and three mugs. ‘Take this to my grandson and your boy. They will appreciate it.’

Meg took the offering. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

Ah-tee-wana-see allowed a faint smile to crease her cheeks. ‘You have spirit, Sha-emen-sa-char. That is what my grandson likes about you. He thinks also that you will learn to be more than just a serving woman.’ The old woman’s stare hardened. ‘We will see.’ She walked away.

Meg took the jug and mugs to Chi-hway. The wah ahtim looked up at her arrival and nodded as if he was pleased that she had brought the drink. He indicated for her to serve Magpie first. ‘What is it?’ Magpie asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Meg replied. ‘It smells a little like mead.’ She gave Magpie his mug and poured a measure before she gave a mug to Chi-hway and poured.

He met her gaze, his dark eyes sparkling in the torchlight held by people igniting the bonfire. ‘I am happy to be home,’ he said. ‘There are things that I missed.’ Startled by his candour she blushed and tried to hide her embarrassment by smiling as she straightened, while he stood and took the jug and the third mug from her. ‘This is for you, Sha-emen-sa-char. You have done enough. Sit with your son and we will
celebrate together.’ He poured her a measure and handed her the mug, as he repeated, ‘Sit.’

She sat as directed, unwilling to meet the man’s eyes and conscious that many other eyes were watching her. She wondered if Ah-tee-wana-see was also watching the unfolding event. Shyly, she buried her face over the rim of the warm drink and sipped as the flames burst to life in the bonfire, grateful for the inner and outer sources of warmth.

The celebration began. Knowing that she understood the language but not the events, Chi-hway explained what he could, although he was integral to the ceremonies, being the one who’d killed the wildcat. ‘When we are at the turning point in the cold months—we call it I-achin—we celebrate the coming of the promised sun. The village ahtim is expected to go to the mountains to bring back a wildcat to show the strength of our people to the elements,’ he explained as villagers joined the warriors at the bonfire to eat and drink. He nodded to two young men who immediately drew their hunting knives and began gutting and skinning the wildcat, while the watchers started singing in steady rhythm.

‘We are the dark people, children of the Jaru, Children of the Shess chieftains, children of the Old Ones—

To us is given the strength to overcome, The strength to survive, the strength renewed.’

‘What is the song about?’ Magpie asked. Meg translated his question to Chi-hway.

Intently watching the preparation of the wildcat, he replied, ‘We sing our history and our purpose so that we know who we are and why we are here.’

‘Do you believe in Jarudha?’ Meg asked in Chi- hway’s tongue.

The ahtim looked at her. ‘By this Jarudha I presume you mean a god of some kind?’ She nodded and he shook his head. ‘The Shesskar have no gods. We see the world as it is and ourselves as we are. Gods make no sense to us. Do you believe in this Jarudha you name?’

‘I—I don’t know,’ she replied and looked down at her feet. When she looked up to say that she had no proof of Jarudha’s existence Chi-hway was rising to join the two men who’d finished their work on the wildcat’s corpse and the tall, muscular ahtim accepted the gift of the wildcat’s pelt. Around the circle of people and in the fire-lit wall of faces Meg saw familiar light-skinned features—Glitter, Ochre—and Wombat’s face towering in the shadows behind them—and she was filled with happiness to see her companions. Glitter waved surreptitiously, as if she didn’t want to make the acknowledgement obvious, while the others were watching Chi-hway, who crossed the circle to place the pelt in the arms of an older man. The villagers applauded the action. ‘Why did he do that?’ Magpie asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Meg replied. ‘We’ll ask afterwards.’

Chi-hway returned to the two men who were busily charring parts of the wildcat’s insides on sticks over the fire, selected a stick with a black glob and held it aloft in the evening air for everyone to see. The crowd cheered again. ‘What’s that?’ Magpie asked. ‘It looks like the wildcat’s heart.’

‘I think it is,’ said Meg.

Chi-hway lowered the stick and bit into the skewered charred object and as blood oozed down his chin the people cheered and applauded again. Then Chi-hway beckoned to Magpie to join him so the boy rose from his seat, saying to Meg, ‘I hope he doesn’t expect me to eat that too.’

As he stood beside the tall warrior, Chi-hway announced, ‘I, Chi-hway, wah ahtim, slayer of the
wildcat, protector of my people, give to you Efa-chi-hway, who from this night on will be called my son!’ The villagers were caught between surprise and joy as they applauded the announcement. Chi-hway offered the heart to Magpie. The boy hesitated, looking at Meg, but then he grinned and bit into the offering and let the juices run down his chin.

Meg was paralysed by the news. Did Magpie understand what had happened? She doubted it. She looked into the crowd for her companions, but could only see Glitter who didn’t understand what had happened either judging by her bemused expression. The scene exploded into dance as men started beating on drums and the warriors writhed and jumped around the bonfire. Stringed instruments and voices joined the cacophony, filling the air with vibrant music, and the crowd was drawn into the circle of warriors until everyone was dancing. Magpie appeared out of the whirling bodies with his face beaming and his neck smeared with blood. ‘Did you see that?’ he asked excitedly. ‘Did you see?’

‘I saw,’ she yelled over the music.

‘What did it mean?’ he asked. ‘Am I a man?’

‘You’ll have to ask Chi-hway,’ she lied.

‘Come on!’ he yelled, pulling on her arm. ‘Let’s dance with everyone!’

‘No,’ she said, pulling free. ‘You go! I’ll watch!’

The drums resounded with pulsing energy and the stringed instruments shifted key to a higher pitch and faster rhythm to match them. People jumped and spun, shouting in unison, whooping in isolation, and their leaping shadows stretched and contorted across the ground and up the side of the closest buildings. Magpie disappeared into the throng, reappearing as the warriors circled, his face bright with joy.

Meg moved away from the dancing. Although her spirit was tempted to leap into the whirlpool of
celebration she was held back by the thought that A Ahmud Ki was alone and in need of her, and she had to find a way to quietly withdraw to check how he was progressing.

‘You show appropriate wisdom.’

She recognised Ah-tee-wana-see’s voice this time and faced the old woman. ‘I know this is not a place for me.’

‘No. It’s enough that my grandson should announce that he has adopted the boy.’

‘Magpie isn’t my son,’ Meg confessed.

‘I know. So does Chi-hway. That’s why he’s adopted the boy. In our village, no child goes without a mother or a father. It’s law. Orphans are adopted. The boy is very lucky to have my grandson adopt him. He will be raised as a strong man and a wise one.’

‘Why doesn’t Chi-hway have a wife?’ The glare Meg received from the old woman made her cringe and wish she hadn’t asked the question.

‘Walk with me,’ Ah-tee-wana-see ordered, and Meg obediently followed. The rain had stopped, but the air was chillier than ever and even within the hide coat Meg couldn’t control her shivering. ‘Go home and get in the warmth, child,’ the old woman told her. Realising she had been dismissed, Meg nodded and went to take her leave. ‘As to your other question,’ Ah-tee-wana-see added, ‘my grandson cannot have children. He was not lucky in that regard. He has had three wives.’ She walked into the darkness.

The old woman’s confession haunted Meg as she crept into the shelter. Why couldn’t Chi-hway have a child? What went wrong with three wives? Was he married to them at the same time? Questions circled like the dancers as she closed the door and listened. The noise of the celebration was dulled by distance, but it was still the dominant sound outside. She shivered and
created a tiny light sphere. The straw bed was empty. Meg checked the space in case A Ahmud Ki had crawled to a corner, but the shelter was empty. Whisper’s black head appeared in a gap in the wall. Confused, Meg projected
Where is he?
at the rat. Whisper sat up on her haunches as if trying to decipher the thought. Meg calmed her panic and projected an image of A Ahmud Ki and imagined him gone.

Away,
the rat replied.

Where?
Meg asked.

Follow,
Whisper urged, and vanished out of the gap.

Meg extinguished her light sphere and scrambled outside to the rear of the shelter, but in the darkness she couldn’t see the black bush rat.
Where are you?
she desperately asked.

Here,
the rat answered ambiguously. Meg frantically checked that no one was nearby before she conjured a light sphere and as the white light spread Whisper appeared, blinking.
Bright.

Show me A Ahmud Ki,
Meg instructed. Whisper scampered into the night with Meg pursuing.

Following the rat through the undergrowth at night wasn’t easy and she lost Whisper several times, saved only by the rat backtracking to retrieve her human companion. The noise of the village celebration faded as she wound through the bushes and between trees up a steepening slope. Her feet slipped on loose rocks and she fell several times, grazing her palms and knees. Why had A Ahmud Ki run away? She thought he’d be grateful to her for releasing him from the horror of his imprisonment. As she climbed she noticed white flakes spinning and rolling through her light. She stopped and caught one in her palm. It dissolved into a wet spot. Snow—like the snow she’d first encountered in the mountains. Snow on the mountains was a strange new experience when she and her companions crossed into
Shesskar-sharel, but she thought snow only fell on the mountaintops.

Come,
the rat insisted as she reappeared at the light’s edge.

Far?
Meg asked.

Up. Little,
the rat told her.
Hurry.

Meg clambered after the rat, pulling on branches and roots to climb the steeper sections, the light sphere floating above her, the snowflakes drifting down and melting on the earth.
How far is a little to a rat?
she wondered as she felt the cold numbing her. She knew spells to warm herself. If it got too cold she would conjure one.

Here,
the rat told her. Her light spilled across A Ahmud Ki’s pale figure huddled between a large cream rock and the twisted roots of an old tree clinging perilously to a small cliff. He was shaking with cold and his lips were blue, and he could barely open his eyes.