The Paradise War (44 page)

I saw the enormous beast reach the curving slope of the mound and start around the base. As the aurochs turned, Simon, who was slightly ahead of me, saw his chance for a clean throw. I saw the spear streak to its mark, burying itself deep in the upper chest behind the foreleg, very near the heart.

Then the animal disappeared behind the rocks littering the slope of the mound. Simon and I, with two others close behind, pursued the animal around the far side of the mound. We could not have been more than fifty paces behind. Yet, when we came around the rocks, we could not see the aurochs.

Thinking it had climbed the mound, Simon urged his mount up the slope between the rocks. I reined in and wheeled my horse to scan the short distance between the mound and the thick-wooded ridge beyond. But the beast was nowhere to be seen.

“Where did it go?” yelled Simon, lashing his horse back down the slope. “Did anyone see it?”

“It must have run ahead of us,” said one of the other hunters. From the odd expression on his face, I could see that was not what he thought at all. Then again, where else could such a large creature go?

We each gazed this way and that for a moment but caught no sign of the huge animal—no hoofprints, no trail of blood in the snow. Simon turned his horse and lashed it to speed. We three followed and proceeded the rest of the way around the mound to meet the prince and the others waiting on the other side.

They had not seen the aurochs, either.

“It must have escaped into the forest,” observed Paladyr.

“Then it cannot have gone far,” Simon told the prince. “I had a clean throw. I know I wounded it.”

“Aye,” agreed one who had ridden with us. “I saw it. A clean throw into the shoulder.”

Some of the hunters urged giving chase and prepared to do so right away. But the prince cast an eye to the darkening sky and said, “No, it is growing late. A wounded aurochs is too dangerous, and we could not hope to attack it in the forest. We will have enough to do, getting the calf back to camp before dark.”

The hunters did not enjoy letting their prey escape but could not gainsay the prince. So we returned to where the man whose horse the prince had taken was already hard at work. The wounded dog had been lifted from the horn that impaled it, and the poor hound’s agony ended swiftly and mercifully. The same had been done for the prince’s horse.

At our approach, the hunter took his knife and slit the aurochs’ throat, to let the meat bleed. He caught some of the blood in a small wooden cup, and the cup was passed from one hunter to the next. I tasted the thick, hot, salty blood, and gave the cup quickly to the next hand.

This ritual observed, the hunters, with a wild whoop of jubilation, fell upon the aurochs with their knives. One began opening the belly to gut the carcass. Another made an incision around the neck, while two more made similar cuts around the lower legs so that the fine black Sollen-thick hide could be stripped from the body in one piece.

Two other hunters hastened to the nearby forest to cut birch poles on which to drag the quartered carcass back to camp. They worked deftly and efficiently, each hand busy. I remarked at the speed with which the men set about their tasks. The prince nodded. “They have good reason,” he said meaningfully.

“Darkness?” I wondered, for the sky was now the color of iron and the light was failing fast.

“Wolves.”

I looked at the spilled blood, crimson upon the snow. The scent was even now spreading on the wind and soon—if not already— every wolf within reach of the gusting wind would be hastening to the place of slaughter.

“I have lost one horse today; I would rather not lose another to wolves,” remarked Meldron. He turned to me. “You saved me from injury or worse. I will not forget you. When we come to Findargad you will have your reward.”

“A portion of that haunch would be reward enough,” I answered, watching the dog greedily gulping down a bit of liver while the hunters set about cutting up the carcass.

“Well said!” Prince Meldron laughed, slapping me on the back. “Tonight you will receive the hero’s portion from my hand.”

The flesh-side of the hide was scrubbed with snow and the skin rolled up, bound, and placed on the back of a horse. The carcass was cut into four pieces and the quarters washed with snow to remove as much blood as possible. Then each quarter was lashed to birch poles and the poles tied to ropes and hauled away behind the horses.

When we turned our horses toward camp, all that remained of our exploit was a mound of offal amidst a faded red patch in the well-trampled snow. Ordinarily, the two dead dogs and the prince’s horse would have been removed from the hunting run, but these were left where they lay. “For the wolves,” the hunter who rode beside me explained. “Perhaps they will content themselves with that.”

The way back to the camp proved much longer than I remembered. It was fully dark by the time we reached the river, and we crossed the last expanse of snow guided by the fireglow from the numerous campfires. Word of our success went before us, and within moments of our arrival, throngs of people gathered to view the kill—and to claim a portion of the meat.

Speaking solely through Tegid, the king gave instructions for the meat to be divided equally among the various family clans. And though it was a massive amount of meat, it disappeared at once. True to his word, Prince Meldron rewarded me with the hero’s portion, though it meant that he himself received less than anyone else. I would have shared it with him gladly, but to do so would have shamed him.

The meat had scarcely been shared out among the clans when the ghostly howl of wolves came snaking down the wind. Twrch, who had been prancing playfully around the fire, scuttled back to sit between my feet. Frightened by the strange sound, the pup peered warily from side to side and shivered nervously. I had on several occasions heard the cry of wolves, but it had always seemed mournful to me, rather than fearful—a sound full of longing and lament, a sad, lonely sound. I said as much to Tegid.

“That is because you have never been chased by wolves,” Tegid replied when I offered my observation. We were sitting before the fire, watching the meat roast on spits of forked alder. “They are only gathering. Wait until they catch scent of the trail and raise the hunting cry, and tell me then if you think it a lonely sound.”

“Will they come here?”

Tegid pinched a bit of meat, tasted it, and turned the spit. “Yes.”

“Soon?”

“When they have finished with the horse you left them.”

“Is there anything to be done?”

“Move the horses nearer to the fires, and keep your spear close to hand.”

As if in fulfillment of Tegid’s words, there came a long, feral, full-blooded howl. It made my skin prick up in gooseflesh and raised the hackles on Twrch’s back. I knew at once that no one would sleep this night.

29
N
IGHTKILL

K
ing Meldryn appeared from out of the gloom and approached the fire; he had been walking alone through the many camps of his people. He stood a little apart and gestured for Tegid to join him, and they conferred for a moment. I did not hear what passed between them; but I watched the king. This journey was clearly changing him.

The man I saw before me was not the man I had seen in Sycharth. Meldryn appeared drawn, haggard, and drained. He was tired, yes; we were all tired. But it was more than fatigue. It was as if the journey itself, or the bitter Sollen wind, was bleeding him of his spirit and strength. His eyes no longer held their spark; he no longer held his head erect, nor his shoulders square. The Great King Meldryn was like a mighty tower beginning to crumble inward upon itself, and it was a distressing thing to see.

When they had finished their talk, Tegid returned. I rose to offer the king my place at the fire, but Meldryn motioned me to remain seated. He walked away once more, continuing his restless circuit of the camps.

So far as I knew, Meldryn Mawr had not uttered a word to anyone save Tegid since turning his back on Sycharth. All that he wished known, he told his bard. Tegid then acted or instructed others in the king’s command.

“Why does the king not speak?” I asked, handing a spit of roasted meat to Tegid.

“He has taken a
geas
upon himself,” he explained simply. “The voices of his dead kinsmen are silent. Therefore will the king remain silent until he either joins them or until the voices of the people are heard in Sycharth once more.”

I remembered Meldryn Mawr saying as much the night we left Sycharth, though I had not realized he meant it literally. “The king speaks to you,” I pointed out.

“Kingship comes to the lord through the Chief Bard, who holds the power to grant or withhold sovereignty. It is the bard alone who approaches the king without bending the knee. Therefore may Meldryn speak to his bard without violating the geas.”

I had heard of these strange taboos. But I had never seen one in action, and I wanted to know more. “I do not understand,” I said, stripping meat from the alder spit and sucking the hot and savory juices. I pulled off a strip of meat and gave it to Twrch—still huddled between my feet, though the cries of the wolves had ceased for the time being. “You make it sound as if the bard is greater than the king.”

Tegid lifted some meat to his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Finally, he swallowed and said, “It is not a question of who is greater. The bard is the voice of all the people—the living, the dead, and those yet to be. It is through the bard that the king receives wisdom; and through the bard the king’s judgments are dispensed. The king’s word is law to his people, who must submit to him, but the king must also submit to a higher authority—that of the sovereignty itself. It is the bard’s duty to hold the law of kingship for the people, lest the king become haughty and forget his place.”

“So talking to a bard is not like talking to an ordinary clansman,” I said. “It is more like talking to yourself—is that what you mean?”

Tegid smiled, and it was good to see him smile. “The things you say, brother.”

“Well, is it?”

“For a king, talking to his bard is like talking to the source of his kingship. It is like taking counsel from his soul and from the soul of his people. The bond between a king and his bard is not like any other.”

“I see,” I said casually. “Well, if I were king, I would want a bard just like you, Tegid.”

I meant it as a compliment, but Tegid lowered the meat from his mouth and stared at me.

“What have I said now?”

He did not reply, but his gaze took on a disturbing aspect—as if he were seeing through me, or seeing me differently somehow. His scrutiny made me uncomfortable. “Listen, Tegid, I meant nothing. If I have spoken amiss, forgive me.”

“You may have cause to regret those words,” he replied slowly.

“I am sorry,” I told him. “I tell you I meant nothing by them.”

Tegid relaxed and began eating again. I was itching to know what I had said to upset him, but I did not like to probe the wound again so soon. We finished our meal in a somewhat strained silence, and I reflected on another lord who had gone down into death without a sound: the aurochs we had killed that day. Even as its life spilled out upon the snow, the young bull did not bellow or cry out. The beast went silent to its death. Now its flesh nourished us and kept us alive.

This meditation brought to mind the other aurochs—the one that had disappeared, almost before our eyes. Where had it gone?

I wondered about this as I gnawed at the last of the meat. And the more I thought about it, the more certain I became that I knew where it had gone. This conviction induced a queer feeling in the pit of my stomach, and a tremor of excitement like that which I had experienced at the first mention of the aurochs. I told myself that it was preposterous, that I could not know, that there had to be another explanation.

Still the odd feeling and the bewildering certainty persisted. I heard a voice—my own voice, maybe, but coming from a faraway place—as if whispering down a distant corridor, saying,
It is true, Lewis. You know it is true. You know where the aurochs has gone. Say it! Speak the words!

I pushed the uncomfortable thought aside and lay down upon my calfskin before the fire. Tegid had strewn armfuls of pine needles over the snow for us to sleep on. I stretched out before the fire with my cloak over me. Taking Tegid’s advice, I had my spear ready to hand and my sword was at my side. Twrch curled beside me, his nose resting on my arm. It was a chilly bed, but more or less dry.

I closed my eyes, but sleep remained far off. I knew I would find no rest until I admitted to myself that what I had imagined might actually be true.

But how to acknowledge such a thing? It was ridiculous. Absurd. And yet . . . what if ? I rolled over and pulled my cloak more tightly around me.

Say it!

I sat upright, throwing my cloak aside. The mound, the spear— Simon’s spear, in fact—and the wounded aurochs itself . . . It all made sense, and none of it made sense. Yet, what if ? What if ?

Stumbling to my feet, I left the campfire, snatching up my cloak as I strode away. Tegid called after me, but I did not answer him. Instead I walked out along the perimeter of the camp, my head throbbing with the question: How could this be? The thing I was thinking was impossible. How could it be?