Allan and the Ice Gods (9 page)

not a man, and hunts with the wolves at night, which is why he is

always so fat in winter when others starve.”

Here Wi laughed incredulously, saying:

“If so, he is a wolf that loves us; I would that we had more such

wolves.”

“Oh! you mock, as all men do. But we women see further, and we are

sure that Pag is a wolf by night, if a dwarf by day. For, if any try

to injure him, are they not taken by wolves? Did not wolves eat his

father, and were not the leaders of those women who caused him to be

driven forth to starve when there was such scarcity that even the

wolves fled far away, afterward taken by wolves, they or their

children?”

Then, as though she thought she had said too much, Aaka added:

“Yet all this may be but a tale spread from mouth to mouth, because we

women hate Pag who mocks us. At least he believes in naught, and would

teach you to do the same, and already you begin to walk in his

footsteps. Yet, if you hold that we live no more after our breath

leaves us, tell me one thing. Why, when you buried Fo-a yonder, did

you set with her in the hole her necklace of shells and the stone ball

that she played with and the tame bird she had, after you killed it,

and her winter cloak, and the doll you made for her of pinewood last

year? Of what good would these things be to her bones? Was it not

because you thought that they and the little stone ax might be of use

to her elsewhere, as the dried fish and the water might serve to feed

her?”

Here she ceased, and stared at him.

“Sorrow makes you mad,” said Wi, very gently, for he was moved by her

words, “as it makes me mad, but in another fashion. For the rest, I do

not know why I did thus; perhaps it was because I wished to see those

things no more, perhaps because it is a custom to bury with the dead

what they loved when they were alive.”

Then he turned and left the hut. Aaka watched him go, muttering to

herself:

“He is right. I am mad with grief for Fo-a and with fear for Foh; for

it is the children that we women love, yes, more than the man who

begat them; and if I thought that I should never find her again, then

I would die at once and have done. Meanwhile, I live on to see Wi dash

out the brains of Henga, or, if he is killed, to help Pag poison him.

They say that Pag is a wolf, but, though I hate him of whom Wi thinks

too much, what care I whether he be wolf or monster? At least he loves

Wi and our children and will help me to be revenged on Henga.”

Presently she heard the wild-bull horn that served the tribe as a

trumpet being blown, and knew that Wini-wini, he who was called the

Shudderer because he shook like a jellyfish even if not frightened,

which was seldom, was summoning the people that they might talk

together or hear news. Guessing what that news would be, Aaka threw

her skin cloak about her and followed the sound of the horn to the

place of assembly.

Here, on a flat piece of ground at a distance from the huts that lay

about two hundred paces from a cliff-like spur of the mountain, all

the people, men, women, and children, except a few who were in

childbed or too sick or old to move, were gathering together. As they

walked or ran, they chattered excitedly, delighted that something was

happening to break the terrible sadness of their lives, now and again

pointing toward the mouth of the great cave that appeared in the stone

cliff opposite to the meeting place. In this cave dwelt Henga, for by

right, from time immemorial, it was the home of the chiefs of the

tribe, which none might enter save by permission, a sacred place like

to the palaces of modern times.

Aaka walked on, feeling that she was being watched by the others but

taking no heed, for she knew the reason. She was Wi’s woman, and the

rumour had run round that Wi the Strong, Wi the Great Hunter, Wi whose

little daughter had been murdered, was about to do something strange,

though what it might be none was sure. All of them longed to ask Aaka,

but there was something in her eye which forbade them, for she was

cold and stately and they feared her a little. So she went on

unmolested, looking for Foh, of whom presently she caught sight

walking in the company of Pag, who still had the reeking wolfskin on

his shoulders, of which, as he was short, the tail dragged along the

ground. She noted that, as he advanced, the people made way for him,

not from reverence or love, but because they feared him and his evil

eye.

“Look,” said one woman to another in hearing, “there goes he who hates

us, the spear-tongued dwarf.”

“Aye,” answered the other. “He is in such haste that he has forgotten

to take off the wolf’s hide he hunted in last night. Have you heard

that Buk’s wife has lost her little child of three? It is said that

the bears took it, but perhaps yonder wolf-man knows better.”

“Yet Foh does not fear him. Look, he holds his hand and laughs.”

“No, because–-” Here suddenly the woman caught sight of Aaka and was

silent.

“I wonder,” reflected Aaka, “whether we women hate Pag because he is

ugly and hates us, or because he is cleverer than we are and pierces

us with his tongue. I wonder also why they all think he is half a

wolf. I suppose it is because he hunts with Wi, for how can he be both

a man and a wolf? At least, I too believe that report speaks truth and

that he and the wolves have dealings together. Or perhaps he puts the

tale about that all may fear him.”

She came to the meeting ground and took her stand near to Foh and Pag

among the crowd which stood or sat in a ring about an open space of

empty ground where sometimes the tribe danced when they had plenty of

food and the weather was warm, or took counsel, or watched the young

men fight and wrestle for the prize of a girl they coveted.

At the head of the ring, which was oblong in shape rather than round,

standing about Wini-wini the Shudderer, who from time to time still

blew blasts upon his horn, were some of the leaders of the tribe,

among them old Turi the Avaricious, the hoarder of food who was always

fat, whoever grew thin; and Pitokiti the Unlucky with whom everything

went wrong, whose fish always turned rotten, whose women deserted him,

whose children died, and whose net was sure to break, so that he must

be supported by others for fear lest he should die and pass on his

ill-luck to them who neglected him; and Whaka the Bird-of-Ill-Omen,

the lean-faced one who was always howling of misfortunes to come; and

Hou the Unstable, a feather blown by the wind, who was never of the

same mind two days together and Rahi the Rich, who traded in stone

axes and fish hooks and thus lived well without work; and Hotoa, the

great-bellied and slow-speeched, who never gave his word as to a

matter until he knew how it was settled, and then shouted it loudly

and looked wise; and Taren, She-Who-hid, with N’gae the priest of the

Ice-gods and the magician who told fortunes with shells, and only came

out when there was evil in the wind.

Lastly there was Moananga, Wi’s younger brother, the brave, the great

fighter who had fought six men to win and keep Tana, the sweet and

loving, the fairest woman of the tribe, and killed two of them who

strove to steal her by force. He was a round-eyed man with a laughing

face, quick to anger but good-tempered, and after Wi the Hunter, he

who stood first among the people. Moreover, he loved Wi and clung to

him, so that the two were as one, for which reason Henga the chief

hated them both and thought that they were too strong for him.

All these were talking with their heads close together, till presently

appeared Wi, straight, strong, and stern, at whose coming they grew

silent. He looked round at them, then said:

“I have words.”

“We are listening,” replied Moananga.

“Hearken,” went on Wi. “Is there not a law that any man of the tribe

may challenge the chief of the tribe to fight, and if he can kill him,

may take his place?”

“There is such a law,” said Urk, the old wizard, he who made charms

for women and brewed love potions, and in winter told stories of what

had happened long ago before his grandfather’s grandfather was born,

very strange stories, some of them. “Twice it has chanced in my day,

the second time when Henga challenged and killed his own father and

took the cave.”

“Yes,” added Whaka the Bird-of-Ill-Omen, “but if he who challenges is

defeated, not only is he killed, his family is killed also”—here he

glanced at Aaka and Foh—“and perhaps his friend or brother”—here he

looked at Moananga. “Yes, without doubt that is the law. The cave only

belongs to the chief while he can defend it with his hands. If another

rises who is stronger than he, he may take the cave, and the women,

also the children if there are any, and kill them or make them slaves,

until his strength begins to fail him and he in turn is killed by some

mightier man.”

“I know it,” said Wi. “Hearken again. Henga has done me wrong; he

stole and murdered my daughter Fo-a. Therefore I would kill him. Also

he rules the tribe cruelly. No man’s wife or daughter or robe or food

is safe from him. His wickedness makes the gods angry. Why is it that

the summers have turned cold and the spring does not come? I say it is

because of the wickedness of Henga. Therefore, I would kill him and

take the cave, and rule well and gently so that every man may have

plenty of food in his hut and sleep safe at night. What say you?”

Now Wini-wini the Shudderer spoke, shaking in all his limbs:

“We say that you must do what you will, Wi, but that we will not mix

with the matter. If we mix, when you are killed, as you will be—for

Henga is mightier than you—yes, he is the tiger, he is the bull of

the woods, he is the roaring bear—then he will kill us also. Do what

you will, but do it alone. We turn our backs on you, we put our hands

before our eyes and see nothing.”

Pag spat upon the ground and said in his low, growling voice that

seemed to come out of his stomach:

“I think that you will see something one night when the stars are

shining. I think, Wini-wini, that one night you will meet that which

will make you shudder yourself to pieces.”

“It is the wolf-man,” exclaimed Wini-wini. “Protect me! Why should the

wolf-man threaten me when we are gathered to talk?”

Nobody answered, because if some were afraid of Pag, all, down to the

most miserable slave-woman, despised Wini-wini.

“Take no heed of his words, Brother,” said Moananga the Happy-faced.

“I will go up with you to the cave-mouth when you challenge Henga, and

so I think will many others to be witnesses of the challenge,

according to the custom of our fathers. Let those stop behind who

will. You will know what to think of them when you are chief and sit

in the cave.”

“It is well,” said Wi. “Let us go at once.”

This matter being settled, there followed a jabber of argument as to

the method of conveying the challenge of Wi to Henga the chief. Urk

the Aged was consulted as to precedents and made a long speech in

which he contradicted himself several times. Hou the Unstable sprang

up at length and said that he was not afraid and would be the leader.

Suddenly, however, he changed his mind, declaring he remembered that

this office by right belonged to Wini-wini the Horn-Blower, who must

sound three blasts at the mouth of the cave to summon the chief. To

this all assented with a shout, perhaps because there was a sense of

humour even in their primitive minds, and protest as he would, Wini-wini was thrust forward with his horn.

Then the procession started, Wini-wini going first, followed close

behind by Pag in the bleeding wolfskin, who, from time to time,

pricked him in the back with his sharp flint knife to keep him

straight. Next came Wi himself with his brother Moananga, and after

these the elders and the rest of the people.

At least, they started thus to cover the three hundred paces or so

which lay between them and the cliff, but before they reached the

cave, most of them lagged behind so that they were dotted in a long

line reaching from the meeting place to its entrance.

Indeed, here remained only Wini-wini, who could not escape from Pag,

Wi, Moananga, and, at a little distance behind, Whaka the Bird-of-Ill-Omen, prophesying evil in a ceaseless stream of words. At his side,

too, was Aaka, walking boldly and looking down at his withered shape

with scorn. Of the remainder, the bravest, drawn by curiosity, kept

within hearing, but the rest stayed at a distance or hid themselves.

“Blow!” growled Pag to Wini-wini and, as he still hesitated, pricked

him in the back with his knife.

Then Wini-wini blew a quavering blast.

“Blow again louder,” said Pag.

Wini-wini set the horn to his lips, but before a sound came out of it,

a large stone hurled from the cave struck him in the middle and down

he went, writhing and gasping.