The Gathering Night (10 page)

‘And why not?' Basajaun was laughing at me. ‘Don't you want a woman to keep your bed warm, Kemen? You see how easily they give themselves here! You might find the Auk women more particular!'

I'd never been so angry with him before in my life. When I said I'd go on by myself he flew into a rage too. I shouted him down – I'd never done that before. I thought I was the one who should be angry!

But the Lynx spirits didn't want us to quarrel. I made myself calm, and spoke to him quietly. ‘Basajaun,' I said. ‘All we have left is each other. Now my path lies one way, and yours another. I hope we'll meet again in our present lives. When we do, you know what joy that will bring to me, your brother! But if we don't meet again in this life, what will the spirits say to two souls who lost so much, and then threw away the little they had left at the bottom of the basket?'

Basajaun smiled at that. In the end he stretched up his arms to the spirits, and asked them to help me on my way. He asked the spirits to let us meet again before we died. Then he held me to his heart, and I held him to mine.

I walked away from him without looking back. I left Grandmother Mountain behind, and followed the shores of a long loch. I watched fierce tides sweep into the loch and out of it, and I knew I was close to the sea. I climbed a little hill to see where I was. I looked towards the Sunless Sky and saw the far-off hills of a great island. You know what island that was! I looked at the sea that lay between and saw huge tide rips fighting one other. My heart leaped to my throat. That was the sea I had to cross! It was Yellow Leaf Moon already. I didn't have very long.

I found another family of Heron People. They'd heard about me already; they took me to their hearth and gave me food. I used my hands and body to tell them what I meant to do. They watched me and shook their heads. But their spirits were with me, and their kindness didn't run dry: they showed me where they'd coppiced the best silver hazel, and let me take as many wands as I needed to make myself a little boat. They gave me the raw hide of a well-grown hind.

I built myself a shelter above the high-tide line where I could look out towards the Sunless Sky. I gathered sea-roots and shellfish to eat. I slept two nights in my Boat Camp. At night I had strange dreams, sometimes about my old life that had gone for ever, and sometimes about matters I didn't yet recognise. During the day I worked alone on my boat in a quiet place where a little stream flowed out of the forest and stretched itself in glistening folds across the sand. The wands bent themselves willingly to my will. I sang as I bound them into a frame. I sang to the willow withies as I cut and wove them. I sang to the hide as I stretched it and sewed it over the lip with rawhide strips. As I whittled my paddle into shape I sang how we'd cleave a path through the waves towards the Sunless Sky, looking for the Auk People – the only kin I had left in the wide world.

As it was, I had to wait another hand-full of days because I needed a kind wind and tide to take me into the Auk People's hunting lands by daylight. I didn't go looking for food for fear of missing my chance. I bashed limpets off the rocks, and ate them with sea kale and silverweed. But then the wind dropped and the sea went down. A friendly breeze came from the High Sun Sky. It cleared away the mists so I could see the Auk People's Mother Mountain Island across the sea. The Heron People pointed out the headland I must steer for. They made it clear I must leave at first light so as to catch the tide where I needed it most. They gave me a basket of shellfish. Then I pushed my boat off, jumped in and paddled out to sea.

The Heron People had warned me about the terrible currents that sweep through the Straits. I paddled against the ebb as hard as I could. My heart was in my throat as I met the swell. It rolled in on my beam in great sweeps that reminded me of the terrible wave that swept away the whole world of the Lynx People. Each wave lifted my boat and then swept away under me. With every wave I felt I'd fall for ever, but soon I saw that all I had to do was keep paddling, and let the next swell take me. I came to waters so fierce I thought I'd tip over and drown, but the spirits were with me and my arms were strong. I was more than halfway across when I felt the flood tide tugging me towards the Sunless Sky. I did what the Heron People had shown me, and steered a paddle's length to the left of the headland where I wanted to go. White waves washed against fierce cliffs. I couldn't see anywhere to land. The closer I got, the more the sea swept me towards the Sunless Sky. I was going so fast it was all I could do to steer my boat. I can tell you, I began to wonder if I really wanted to belong to you Auk People, if you did this sort of thing every day!

My boat raced round the headland, faster than a man could run, into Long Strait, which the Heron People said would lead me to the Camps of the Auk People. The Heron People hadn't been able to tell me anything about the waters beyond Wide Strait. ‘The Auk People belong to the sea,' they seemed to say. ‘They paddle across open waters where no other People dream of going. They know the currents that sweep between the islands. Once you're across Wide Strait you must find one of their Camps as soon as possible. You don't want to risk the Auk People's seas by yourself a day longer than you must.'

You're all smiling – I know what you're thinking. But I'm of the Lynx People, and I never saw seas like yours before, let alone paddled across them. But I found my way between the skerry and the headland, just as the Heron People said. After that I had no more words to guide me. I was glad to find the tide and I were in agreement: we both wanted to keep close to the shore of the Evening Sun, sheltered from the wind. The shore of the Auk People's Mother Mountain Island looked kinder now. Wintry woods sloped down to rocky shoals. Just as the tide was slackening I saw a stretch of sand where a boat could beach. I paddled cautiously into the bay. The wind didn't follow me into this sheltered place, and everything was quiet. A heron rose from the sea's edge and flapped away across Long Strait. I watched it go – it was a kind spirit from the Heron People leaving me. When the heron was out of sight I looked back at the shore, but the Sun had gone behind the hill and the slopes lay in shadow. My eyes were dazzled with looking at the bright sky. I shaded them with my hand.

When my sight cleared I saw a trickle of smoke rising over the trees, then bending towards the Sunless Sky before the breeze. My heart leaped to my throat. That smoke was telling me that here was a Camp of the Auk People. So now I must take my chance, whether to find kin, or enemies – whether to live at their hands, or die.

When I stepped out of my boat I realised how cold and stiff I was – hungry too. I carried my boat up the beach, and I found two others upturned above the shingle. I laid mine beside them. A path led through the trees. I looked at it warily. When we'd arrived at the Heron People's Camp at Grandmother Mountain there'd been four of us. Now I was only one. Without words I might not be able to explain myself. But I was cold and hungry, and I couldn't make a fire of my own without these strangers noticing. Besides, these were the very People I'd come so far to find. I seized my courage in both hands. I followed the winding path. And the rest you know – because I found myself in the winter Camp of Sendoa's family, and they told me that they were Auk People.

That's how I lost my kin, and my place in the world, and that's how I found it again. If you're not my kin now, then I have none. And if you are – if you say you are – then I've come home.

Alaia said:

Kemen didn't actually tell us his whole story – not on that first evening when we sat round the hearth at White Beach Camp. His tongue was still so strange, even though he'd spent a whole winter learning how to speak properly, that it was hard to listen to him. I think he told us as much as he could, and sometimes he's talked about his old life since. It's hard to remember exactly what anyone said on a particular day, and how much we've heard since, and how much is just the picture we make in our own minds when we listen and remember. But certainly he told us where he'd come from, and what had happened. When we'd been at Salmon Camp last Year these terrible things were happening in the Lynx People's hunting lands, and we knew nothing about them.

I was very troubled by his story. I didn't know then how much it would come to affect us. I was especially worried about the little boy whose body Kemen and Basajaun had dropped into the sea. What would happen to that child's soul now? Kemen seemed to think the Lynx spirits would understand what they'd done. Perhaps the sea didn't give food to the Lynx People in the way it does for us.

Later on, after Gathering Camp, I told Kemen my fears. He didn't know what I was talking about at first. I had to explain how when Auk People are lost at sea we beg the sea spirits to bring the drowned souls back to land. Kemen didn't know that you shouldn't eat anything out of the sea for a full quarter of the next Moon or the sea spirits won't let the lost People come back. I told him he should beg the sea spirits to make sure he'd never taken any sea Animal that had once eaten one of his lost family. Kemen said that everything I said was new to him. But he didn't eat any food from the sea for a quarter of the next Moon – I said I was sure the spirits would understand why he'd been so long about it – and after that I think he felt better. I stopped dreaming about that little Lynx boy too, which was a relief to me.

But I had something else to worry about. Kemen first came to Sendoa's Camp in Yellow Leaf Moon, just a short while before we lost Bakar. His troubles were ending just as ours were beginning. I worked that out in my mind while he was speaking, and the terrible thought occurred to me that perhaps he'd brought bad spirits with him on his journey, and when these spirits reached the Auk People they'd abandoned Kemen and started to feast on us instead. I looked at my mother to see what she was thinking. If I'd thought of this, she most certainly would have done so. And, unlike me, she would probably know what to do about it.

Nekané said:

Next day I was sitting on the hillside opposite the high sea stack that lies under the Evening Sun, exposed to the open seas that come from the edge of the world. The inward side of the stack is sheltered by the island, facing the Morning Sun. That's where the guillemots and kittiwakes nest.

Amets and Sendoa were showing Kemen where to climb. I watched the three of them gathering eggs. Amets and Sendoa moved quickly across the cliff-face, their bare toes feeling for cracks between the narrow shelves where the nests were. They collected the auks' eggs as they went, reaching out with one hand while clinging on with the other, with no more pause than a man makes between one step of a dance and the next. Sometimes they crept along the rock face so stealthily they caught a parent bird unawares. They didn't have snares with them – they'd only come for eggs today – but Amets reached out suddenly and grabbed a guillemot. He leaned into the cliff-face while he wrung its neck, then tucked it into his belt, where it hung limply by its head. I was pleased: it's good to have a taste of roast bird to season a feast of eggs. A few heartbeats later I saw Sendoa catch a razorbill the same way.

All the while the waves surged hungrily against the shore below my nephew and my daughter's husband. White sea-spittle licked round the rock-teeth, then withdrew with empty sucking noises. High on the cliff-face, Amets and Sendoa were well out of reach. They never bothered to look down.

Kemen had a basket strapped to his back just like the others, but his was still empty. He moved very slowly along the cliff-face, feeling for footholds. He trod on a nest. I saw a splash of yellow yolk as the egg smashed against the cliff. Guillemots rose in alarm, screaming. Kemen stood splayed against the cliff, one foot in the broken nest, his cheek against the rock, clinging with both hands. Slowly he twisted his head and looked down. After that he didn't move for so long that I wondered if something was the matter. Then, very gingerly, he brought his right foot across to join his left in the remains of the guillemots' nest. One hand edged along the crack in the rock above him. He took another step. At least he seemed to be trying to avoid the nests now. He reached out carefully with his left hand. A guillemot rose into the air, screaming alarm. Kemen's hand dropped back. Then he reached out again, shifting his balance. He felt along the ledge with his fingers. His hand closed over the egg. I found myself holding my own breath as the hand clutching the egg came slowly back. The egg dropped into the basket. Ten heartbeats passed. Kemen's left foot moved again, feeling for the next crack in the rock.

By now Amets and Sendoa had several birds tucked into their belts, and their baskets were almost full. All the ledges Kemen could reach seemed to be empty. The guillemots knew he was a stranger to the bird cliffs so they refused to give themselves.

Now I knew that at least part of Kemen's story was true. I knew he wouldn't be pretending: very few young men ever pretended to
lack
skill. I knew he'd be trying as hard as he could to keep up with the others, even if he couldn't beat them.

I thought about Kemen. He'd arrived among Sendoa's People early in Yellow Leaf Moon. My son had disappeared at the end of Yellow Leaf Moon. Kemen never encountered Bakar. He'd been with Sendoa all the while at a winter Camp far away from ours. We had Sendoa's word for that as well as Kemen's. We could trust Sendoa. If Kemen had brought evil spirits with him on his journey – and certainly his story showed that he'd come from a place where some spirit must be very angry – then he couldn't have carried them directly to Bakar, because he was never near him. But if Kemen had brought spirits powerful enough to fly through the air from one man to another . . . that was quite possible. He'd told us of spirits powerful enough to drive the sea out of its bed and sweep away the land. Spirits who were able to do that would certainly be strong enough to abandon one young man when they'd done with him, and fly as far as they liked in search of new prey.