The Days of the Deer (22 page)

‘I see I was the only one to arrive here without a guide,’ Nakín said with a smile.

‘Why was that?’ asked Dulkancellin, who knew very little about the Owl Clan.

‘Because there is no path between the Magic Time and Solar Time. There is no track to follow, or river to canoe down. There is only a gateway somewhere in the world.’

The three men liked to hear her warm voice, and the childish way she chose and ordered her words. They asked more questions, simply so that she would go on talking.

‘Tell me, Nakín, how you cross through that gateway,’ asked Cucub, although he knew the answer from memory.

‘Oh, it’s hard work,’ she said, raising both hands to her forehead. ‘You have to perform a lengthy ritual. One day you drink the juice from a mushroom, which puts you to
sleep. The next you chew some seeds, and dance. And so on, and so on ... And when the person watching over you says you have reached the end, you sit and wait. Then slowly, very slowly, you leave
one Time and reach the other.’

‘What do you mean when you say “slowly, very slowly”?’ asked Dulkancellin.

‘The first thing that happens is that you turn very pale. Then you hear the others as if they were talking to you from a long way off, and it is the same for them. Everything is still
where it should be, but gradually loses its colour. Little by little you slip out of one Time, and reappear in the other one. There the same thing happens, but in reverse. And it takes a long time
for you to recover the colour in your cheeks.’

‘Well, you have now.’

The voice was that of Molitzmós, who had crept up on them without anyone hearing him.

‘Come and sit with us, brother,’ Elek invited him.

Molitzmós accepted the invitation and sat on the rough edge of the pond, ignoring any damage the gold adornments on his cape might suffer.

‘I wonder if any of you have seen Illán-che-ñe,’ he said.

They all shook their heads. All except Cucub, who had never even heard of him.

‘His wish to be alone is typical of his people,’ said Molitzmós. ‘That is how the Pastors of the Desert are.’

Terrified at hearing that name again, Cucub shuddered from head to toe. This confirmed Molitzmós’s suspicions. He must be the messenger who had accompanied Dulkancellin from the
Ends of the Earth. And if Molitzmós’s memory served him right, his name was ...

‘Brother Cucub, perhaps you can confirm what I have said,’ Molitzmós continued, with a mocking smile.

‘I believe I can.’ Cucub felt as humiliated as he did when he lost at the ball game.

Dulkancellin was the only one who understood what had just happened, and he thought the Zitzahay deserved it.

A horn sounded from one of the towers of the House of the Stars, announcing that the Council was to reassemble.

‘How quickly this time in the sun has passed,’ sighed Nakín.

The representatives all stood up, said farewell to Cucub, and left him.

The Zitzahay was alone once more. He would have liked to ask his friend not to leave him. Instead, he leant over the pond and began to pull faces at his own reflection. Whenever he had done this
in the past he always ended up laughing out loud. But his easy laughter had disappeared as surely as the cane-sugar honey.

‘Where can it have gone?’ Cucub asked himself.

After the Astronomers, Illán-che-ñe was the first person to reach the Council chamber. The others quickly followed. As soon as they came into the room, they all
understood that something had changed, and that to judge by Zabralkán’s face, the change was for the better.

‘Good news, brothers! Good news for the Fertile Lands!’ His enthusiasm led him to lose his usual reticence. ‘There are three . . . only three of them!’

None of them understood what the Supreme Astronomer meant.

‘Each of us,’ Bor continued, ‘had begun to accept the idea that we should mount a surprise attack on the foreign fleet. We were resigned to accepting this as a first line of
defence for our peoples, even if it turned out to be a terrible mistake. What we have learnt will lead us to take a step back from a course of action about which we all had grave doubts.’

‘We will take a step back if everyone here agrees that is what we should do,’ Zabralkán reprimanded him, although making it sound as if he were not doing so. ‘You must
listen to our news, and then we will decide. The gulls have flown in from the sea. The Yentru’s Boatman sent them to us with a message: the foreign ships have been sighted.’

A murmur ran round the room. Everyone sat up straight, their eyes fixed on Zabralkán.

‘They are still on the high seas, several days from our coasts. It’s true that they reached here far more quickly than we were expecting. But the number of their ships is much
smaller. The Boatman tells us there are only three of them. Only three small ships are headed our way!’

Now they could understand why Zabralkán was so elated. It was unlikely that Misáianes would think of invading the Fertile Lands with such a tiny fleet: how many warriors could
there be in three ships? How many spears and axes? How much pain?

Illán-che-ñe, Elek and Nakín were of the opinion that the idea of attacking should be abandoned, at least as it had originally been conceived.

‘It is the Fathers!’ Elek asserted. ‘There can be no greater proof than the number of ships in their fleet.’

‘Three ships cannot declare war on an entire continent,’ said Illán-che-ñe.

‘Those are good seagulls to bring us the news we wanted to hear,’ said Nakín of the Owl Clan.

Dulkancellin did not seem to completely share his companions’ optimism.

‘I would like to remind you of what Zabralkán said on the first day of this Council,’ said the Husihuilke. ‘He told us: “Our decision must have the feet of a deer
so that it can leap from side to side, causing the least possible damage.” It appears as though our visitors are the Northmen; and if that is so, I am as glad as the rest of you. But I say we
should also take steps to protect ourselves. Let’s not remove the deer’s ability to leap, if it should come to that. A deer with injured feet is a dead animal.’

The Husihuilke warrior again! Bor found it hard to contain his exasperation. His eyes met those of Molitzmós, who was staring at him. The Supreme Astronomer felt ashamed that someone had
been able to read his innermost thoughts.

The session lasted until the end of the night. The debate was long and tough. By the time day dawned over Beleram, the Council had decided unanimously on what actions should be taken.

Dulkancellin and Molitzmós would head for the Yentru Sea coast. Molitzmós would command a hundred and twenty archers and guard the northern approaches to Beleram. Dulkancellin
would lead a much smaller force that was to hide among the rocks of the coast and keep a close watch on the strangers’ movements. The others were to remain in the House of the Stars.

The Zitzahay people knew little of war. The last battles they had fought were in the distant, almost forgotten past. Even so, the House of the Stars maintained a legion of warriors who should be
sufficient if necessary to confront the crews of three small ships.

The arrival of the foreign fleet could no longer be kept a secret. In a few days’ time, the ships would be visible from the beach. Before this happened, the inhabitants of Beleram ought to
be warned. What should they be told? Once more, the Council found it hard to reach a decision. As had so often happened, it was the arguments of Molitzmós, backed up by Bor and with
Zabralkán’s tacit approval, that won the day. The Council resolved not to tell everyone the whole truth. With the foreign ships so close to shore, this would only spread panic. And
fear could cause irreparable harm. If the fleet were friendly, or so few in number it could easily be defeated, then there was no need to run the risk of revealing everything so suddenly and in
such an alarming way.

The Council decided that the truth should be told only to those who needed to know. The villages, the people in the market, the artisans, would hear only a part of it: ‘Visitors are coming
from the Ancient Lands ... Let the women and children braid flowers for them. And let all the people of Beleram make ready to receive and honour them in our best manner.’

20

The Earth Wizard paused to observe things from afar. As he feared, the disasters
he had seen throughout the Husihuilke territory were to be found here too. Evidence of
how poor their people had become could be seen from Whirlwind Pass all the way down to Old Mother Kush’s house. Kupuka had not been absent for long, which meant that these evils travelled
more quickly than him ... and he could not remember the last time he had got any sleep!

No sooner had he entered the Ends of the Earth and reached the first villages than many people came up and told him what was happening. ‘Our squashes rot before they become ripe... our
goats die as they give birth. Our eggs become as wrinkled as nuts ... Our hunters return empty-handed, and our women wake crying in the middle of the night.’ Some of them showed him proof of
their misfortunes, but their haggard features spoke even more clearly than the rotten fruit they displayed. And everyone who talked to Kupuka, without exception, said that things were worse in
neighbouring villages.

The laments Kupuka heard in Sweet Herbs were the same he heard later in The Partridges. And in Wilú-Wilú and The Corals. The Earth Wizard had swept like a whirlwind through the
most important villages: from the seashore to the Maduinas Mountains, from the Marshy River to Kush’s hut. That was where he was now, staring sadly at the vegetable garden which was no longer
Kush’s pride and joy: gone were all its abundant crops of squash, potatoes, or maize.
I have been away too long!
thought Kupuka.

He walked across to the dwelling and halted at the front door. He was about to announce his arrival with the loud sharp knock he always used. In that way things would return to what they had
once been, if only for a moment. But even that proved impossible, because before he could do so, Thungür pulled open the door. His hostile attitude soon disappeared when he recognized the old
man’s beloved face.
The son is the same now as his father
, thought Kupuka. The moment for the greeting ceremony had arrived: at last they could recover something from the good old
times.

‘Greetings to you, brother Thungür, and I ask your leave to stay in this, your land.’

‘Greetings to you, brother Kupuka. I give you my permission. We are happy to see you well. We thank the path that brought you here.’

‘Wisdom and strength be with you all.’

‘May the same be with you, and more.’

All the family except Piukemán was there to receive him. Old Mother Kush was the first to come up. She took Kupuka’s hands and held them firmly in hers. ‘Tell us, tell
us,’ were the only words she managed to say. After her, it was Kume’s turn. To the Earth Wizard it looked as if instead of growing up, he had grown old.

The length of time that had passed since the day he left seemed longer or shorter depending on which of the warrior’s daughters he was gazing at. Little Wilkilén appeared almost
exactly the same as the image he had in his mind. Kuy-Kuyen on the other hand had become a young woman.

‘The moon has entered Kuy-Kuyen’s body, and look how beautiful she is!’ Kush said by way of explanation. ‘When I see her around the house I think it’s her
mother.’

‘They will soon be asking you for her hand in marriage,’ said Kupuka.

‘They already have!’ replied the old woman. ‘A few suns ago some of Shampalwe’s family came to see us to ask on behalf of one of their sons.’

‘And what reply did they receive?’ Kupuka asked.

‘None as yet,’ said Kush, hugging her granddaughter, who was already taller than she was. ‘She has not finished protesting about it.’

‘But she ought to accept the offer.’ Thungür had obviously learnt to take command. ‘She is old enough. And possibly in Wilú-Wilú she will receive the
nourishment we are increasingly unable to provide here.’

‘Don’t be so sure,’ replied Kupuka. ‘I have visited many villages on my return journey, including Wilú-Wilú, and they are all suffering the same
hardships.’

The Earth Wizard wished to complete the plan that had been taking shape in his mind as he progressed through the Ends of the Earth, as quickly as possible. But he noticed Piukemán was not
there, and so asked after him.

Old Mother Kush glanced at her eldest grandson. He nodded his approval. Taking Kupuka by the hand, she led him into the next room. Piukemán was there, curled up by the fire where Kush did
the cooking. He was scratching at his own eyes, and had wounds on his arms. Kupuka immediately identified the look of terror on his face.

‘It’s the torment of the Ministering Falcon,’ he whispered.

‘It’s the torment of the Ministering Falcon,’ the old woman confirmed.

‘Leave us, Old Mother Kush. Leave me with him.’

Kupuka recalled the young boy he had left. He gazed again at the youngster opposite him, destroyed for ever by the curse of the Ministering Falcon. He cried the bitterest tears he had ever shed.
Fortunately, there was no one to witness this: Kush had left the room, and Piukemán could not see him. When he was sure his voice would not betray his grief, the Earth Wizard spoke.