Allan and the Ice Gods (36 page)

human sacrifice and that this sacrifice must be given to them. O That

which Laleela worships, tell me what I must do!”

Thus he prayed in rough and simple words, with his heart rather than

with his lips, and having prayed, fell into thought, communing with

his own soul.

The place was very silent. The frozen air hung heavily; on either side

rose the black rock walls of the gulf; in front was the blue ice full

of reflected lights, and above to the left of him were the grim

figures of the dead man of long ago being hunted from age to age by

the enormous, shadowy, unknown beast. In this dread house of the gods

of his people, Wi bowed his head and communed with his soul, and not

only with his own soul, but, as it seemed to him, with the souls of

all who had begotten him. For he sought not his own wisdom only, but

that of his race.

What now should he do? The tribe believed in the Ice-gods, as their

forefathers had done, back and back forever, and though he had come to

reject those gods as gods, still he also believed in them as devils,

the bearers of misery. The tribe believed that, if the sacrifice in

which ran the blood of man were made to the gods, these would cease

from tormenting them and that once more they would have plenty and

live as their ancestors had lived.

It might be so. It might be that devils could only be made kind by

blood offerings, and that the devils were near while the real gods

were far away. At least, so held the people, who were starving and

desperate, and whose soothsayers had declared that one of his own

household must be offered up to these, their gods from generation to

generation, as legend told had been done in the past by chiefs who

ruled before him. Moreover, if that offering were not made, they would

make it for themselves by murder. Therefore, an offering must be made,

and on him was laid the burden of this dreadful choice.

Who, then, should he give up to be butchered? Aaka, the wife of his

youth, whom he still loved, although she treated him so unkindly?

Never! The very thought of such a deed made him burn with shame, even

in that cold. Laleela, the sweet one from the south, whose beauty was

that of a star and whose breath was as the balm from fir trees, she

whose wisdom had given him peace, she who had offered her life for

his? Never! Then who remained? Only Foh his son, the one child that

was left to him, the bright, brave lad of promise who, as Laleela had

prophesied, might live on to become a better and more famous man than

he had been, and to beget children to succeed him. Should he stand by

and see the throat of Foh cut before the Ice-gods that the smoke of

his blood might rise to their nostrils and give them pleasure? Never!

Who then remained of his household to satisfy the hunger of the gods

and to take away the fear of the people? One only. He, Wi himself,

whom they dared not touch because he was chief and too strong for

them.

A while ago, in his wretchedness, he had gone up to fight the great

bull in the woods, half hoping that the bull would prevail against

him, who had no more desire to live. Afterward Laleela had taught him

certain lessons, amongst others, that it was wrong to die thus to

please himself, and to cast the burdens from his back upon the backs

of those who came after him. But Laleela had never taught him that it

was wrong to die for others; indeed, she herself had shown that she

was ready to do this very thing when she leapt in the path of the

little spear, and when she rowed out to sea to perish there in her

hollow log, that he might be no more reproached or mocked. Perchance,

if he died, the devils whom once he thought to be gods would be

appeased and the sun would shine again as it used to do, and the snows

and ice would melt, and the beasts and the birds would return and give

the people food. Was it not well that one should die for the sake of

many? Should he hold back his own life, if by the giving of it many

might be helped, or even believe that they would be helped? Surely

this must be given, nor should he grieve overmuch to whom Laleela had

taught certain lessons, except that, for a little while, he would be

called upon to leave Foh and her behind him.

Such were the lessons that the soul of Wi taught to Wi there in the

icy silence of the glacier.

Wi rose up and laughed aloud. He stood upon the pile of ice-borne

stones, a tiny form in that tremendous place, and shook his ax at the

Sleeper, and at him whom the Sleeper hunted, and at the shadowy shapes

that seemed to crowd about these in the moonlight, the towering,

changeful shapes that the people held to be those of gods.

“I defy you,” he cried, his voice echoing strangely from the mighty

ice cliffs and the wall of rock. “Ye shall have your sacrifice. My

blood shall steam before you. Ye shall feed on death. Then, being

full, ye and those that worship you, those from whom ye draw your

strength, shall come face to face with That which is greater than ye

are. Yes, ye, the Demanders of sacrifice, shall yourselves be

sacrificed to That which is greater than ye are!”

Thus cried Wi in his madness, scarce knowing what it was he said, or

why such words broke from him.

But from the Ice-gods there came no answer; still the hunter and the

hunted stared at him; still the frost bit and the deep silence

reigned, and the moon shone on above, as he, a defeated, desperate

man, crept, half-frozen, back to whence he came.

When Wi reached the cave, he saw crouched in front of it a single

figure wrapped up in furs. It was Pag who awaited him.

“What counsel from the Ice-dwellers?” asked Pag, eyeing him strangely.

“Out of nothing comes nothing,” answered Wi. “What do you here?”

“There are three within whom I watch,” said Pag. “Hearken, I know all

as do the others, and if the Ice-dwellers are dumb, I have counsel. It

is that we three—you, Moananga, and I—fall upon certain ones whom

you know, those who spoke with you to-day, now in the night, and slay

them. Then, lacking leaders, the rest will scatter and hide their

heads, for they are cowards.”

“I will shed no blood,” said Wi, “not even that of those who hate me,

for misery makes them mad.”

“Then other blood will be shed, that of those who love you.”

“I think not,” said Wi. “Still, watch them well who walk in the midst

of hungry wolves.” Then he entered the cave and laid himself down

between Foh and Aaka. For he had sent command to Aaka that she must no

more sleep alone in her hut.

Next day at the hour of noon Wini-wini came and, as before, blew three

blasts upon his horn. Wi went to the mouth of the cave, and there

without stood old Urk and the messengers; they who spoke as the tongue

of the people.

“What of the sacrifice?” asked Urk. “Chief, we await your word.”

“It seems that one has been offered, yonder among the huts, and that

the bellies of some of you are full of strange meat,” answered Wi

sternly.

They cowered before him and muttered together. Then Hotoa the Slow-speeched spoke, and the words fell from his lips heavily, like stones

thrown into water one by one.

“Chief, we starve and must have food. The old gods, whom you deny,

starve also and must have blood. Name the sacrifice from among the

chosen three, or we will kill them all and thus be sure that the

appointed one has died.”

“Am I not also of the household of the chief, Hotoa?” asked Wi. “And

if you would make sure, should I not be killed with them? See, I am

but one while you are many. Come, kill me that your gods may have

their sacrifice.”

One leapt out of the darkness of the cave and stood at his side. It

was Aaka.

“Kill me also,” said Aaka, “for I would go with my man. Shall we who

have slept together for so many years lie in different beds at last?”

The messengers shrank back before him. Indeed, Hou and Whaka ran away,

for they were cowards.

“Hearken, Dogs, who like dogs devour the flesh of men,” said Wi in a

great voice. “Get you back to the people and say to them that, since

they will have it so, I will meet them at sunset in the Home of the

gods. There we will stand together before your gods; I and my

household upon the one side and you and the people upon the other.

There, too, perchance shall the sacrifice be named and made. Till then

I am silent. Dogs, begone!”

For a moment they stood staring at him and he stared back at them,

with flashing eyes. A mighty man he was in his robe of tigerskin and

gripping the heavy ax—so mighty that their hearts turned to water and

their knees shook. Then they slunk away like foxes before a wolf.

Aaka looked at him, and there was pride in her face.

“Tell me, Wi,” she said, “are you born of the same blood as these two-legged beasts, or did some god beget you? Tell me also, what is your

plan?”

“I tell you nothing, Wife,” he answered sternly.

“Is it so, Wi? Then perchance the Sea-witch has your counsel?—for, as

we all know, she is wiser than I am?”

“Upon this matter, I take no counsel from Laleela, Wife.”

“Then perchance it is Pag who whispers in your ear, Pag the Wolf-man,

who is my enemy and your friend, who teaches to your heart the craft

of wolves?”

“That stone was ill aimed,” said Pag who stood by. “Last night I

whispered such counsel as I think would have pleased you, but Wi would

have none of it, Aaka.”

“What counsel?” she asked.

“The counsel of ax and spear; the counsel of dogs left dead before

their own doors as a warning to the pack. Wolf’s counsel, Aaka.”

“Here is wisdom where I little thought to find it,” she said. Then,

before Pag could answer, Wi stamped his foot, crying:

“Have done! Before the moon rides high to-night all shall learn who is

wise and who is foolish. Till then, give me peace.”

Wi went into the cave and ate, talking with Foh as he ate and telling

him tales of wild beasts and how he had slain them, such as the lad

loved to hear. But to Aaka and Laleela he spoke no word, nor to Pag

either, for, spear in hand, Pag kept guard at the mouth of the cave,

and Moananga with him. Yet Laleela, watching him from far off,

wondered what his soul had said to Wi yonder in the Home of the gods.

Or perhaps she did not wonder. Perhaps his soul had told her soul and

she knew.

After he had eaten, Wi lay down and slept awhile. When it drew toward

sunset, he rose and called to Aaka and Laleela, to Foh and to Pag;

also to Moananga and his wife Tana, to cover themselves with their fur

cloaks, for the air was cold, and to accompany him to the Home of the

gods. Then he wrapped himself in his tigerskin robe, took his ax,

Pag’s gift, and two spears, and led the way past the white hills that

rose above the beach, to the gulf in the mountain where the blue ice

shone and the Sleeper slept. As he passed from the cave, he noted that

the most of those who were left of the people were come together on

the Gathering-ground where he had fought Henga, and watched him, a

strange and silent company. Presently, looking back, he saw that they

were following him, still silent, much as a pack of hungry wolves

follows a little herd of deer. Yes, that was what they looked like

upon the white snow which this season would not melt, a pack of wolves

creeping after a little herd of deer.

Wi came to the glacier gulf and climbed up it, followed by his

household, till he reached the foot of the ice. Then he bade them

stand on the right of the little ridge of stones that the ice had

pushed before it, where there was a narrow strip or bay of ground

between these stones and the rock wall of the cleft which was not

overhung by the ice. For here the rocky gulf bulged outward, so that

on it no ice could lie, the mighty glacier being to the west on the

left of the stones.

“This is a strait place, Husband,” said Aaka, “which gives us but

little standing room.”

“We are few, Wife,” he answered, “and those who come are many.

Moreover, standing here where the rock slopes outward, we can be seen

and heard of all who gather before the face of the ice.”

Led by the elders the people came, and as they came, Wi pointed with

his spear, showing them that they should take their place to the left

of the stones where the valley was broad and in summer a stream ran

from the ice, which stream was now frozen. So there they gathered on

the bed of that stream, family by family, for all the tribe that could

walk had come to see this sacrifice to the ancient gods.

At length, all were there and stood still. Wi climbed upon a rock in

the little bay of the eastern cliff over against them, and stood

there, a figure of fire, for the light from the sinking sun struck

full upon him, while the great company of the people were in shadow.

“I, Wi the Chief, am here, and my household with me,” he cried, and in

that great cold silence his voice echoed from the walls of ice and