Across the Face of the World (7 page)

Leith shook his head, unable to follow the meaning of the old man's words.

* * *

When Kurr handed the sheep over he received a perfunctory thanks and a few sharp glances.

He patted Leith on the head and made his way back down the path towards the road. Leith looked after him until he was out of sight, a pathetic figure, a despised outcast. Perhaps a picture of himself in fifty years.

'Leith! Leith!' came a shout from behind him. The boy turned sharply at the sound of the voice. A group of village elders walked over to where he stood.

'You'll be pleased!' said a smallish, tousle-headed man.

'Congratulations!' another said, and a third slapped him heartily on the back.

'Did you hear who the Falla is?'

'I suppose you know that Lanka from Brookside is the Snaer this year?'

'You'll have to wear stilts to drive that one out!'

'Have you tried the mask on yet?' The questions all came at once.

The confusion on Leith's face made itself obvious to the men. 'Oh!' said Malos, the small man.

'We thought—'

'You'd better go home,' said another kindly. It was Rauth, a member of the Village Council.

'You should make it back home in time. The Haufuth's gone to Brookside to tell Lanka that he's the Snaer tomorrow. You know you have to be home to receive the mask. If you're not there he'll go to the house of the chosen alternate.'

For a moment Leith remained rooted to the spot. He was the Sumar! Marked for life! The prized central character of the Midwinter Play!

'Go home! What are you waiting for? Hurry!'

Leith took to his heels.

'There you are! I was hoping you'd be home soon!' Hal greeted him excitedly as he burst through the door. 'Have you heard? The Haufuth came here soon after dawn, and that can only mean one thing!'

'Oh,' said Leith. So the Haufuth had already called. The disap¬pointment would come later; he could still feel nothing as yet.

Hal could read his brother's face. 'No, no!' he said. 'He'll call back. He was upset that you weren't here - he thinks highly of you, you know - and when Mother told him that you were out working for Kurr, he nodded and walked out. But I've been watching from the window -

here, come and look - see, he's been walking up and down the road waiting for you. There he is, talking with Herza.'

Leith looked. He could see the fat headman leaning over his staff, listening to the old woman.

He imagined he could almost hear her voice.

'Go out the front and stand around. He'll notice you and come over, I'm sure of it.'

Leith went outside. After what seemed a long time, the Haufuth glanced in his direction, struggled to free himself from the garru-lous woman, then began, a slow walk in the general direction of the house. Leith hurried back into the house, relief pumping inside his chest.

'I'm pleased they picked you,' his older brother said. 'Another year and you'll be too old.'

Leith studied his brother's face. There seemed no trace of resent¬ment or animosity. Hal was genuinely happy for his younger brother. Crippled Hal had never been chosen to play the Sumar or the Snaer. What other things would he never do? Leith had not thought about it.

What else would he not be able to partici¬pate in? Would he marry? Would he hunt? How could he work?

A knock came at the door. Leith forgot about his brother.

Midwinter's Day began early throughout the northern lands. Lamp after lamp was lit, child after child climbed sleepily out of bed, family after family rushed about busily dressing, feeding and milking animals, gathering food and donning boots and coats for the journey to the celebrations. The few who lived in the inter¬ior would often travel great distances for Midwinter, and these people were already at the site of the feast, having taken advan¬tage of whatever clear weather their lands had offered over past weeks. No one stayed at home unless they were ill or otherwise incapacitated; northerners took otherwise unconscionable risks with the weather in order to be with their friends for Midwinter. And each year a few never made it back home.

Well before dawn the inhabitants of the Vale began gathering at Falthwaite End. Men and women bustled about under the canvas readying soup while children played, huddling together in little groups or running about between the tent posts. Finally, as the sun came up on another ice-blue morning, children served the nourishing broth to their parents and elders, then took some for themselves. The whole group moved outside and acknowledged the life-giving power of the sun as it began its brief Midwinter journey' through the sky. A cold wind whipped down the valley from the north, its chill making the simple ceremony an act of faith.

For the three hours between the sun's rise and its zenith, the villagers were occupied in preparing the food. Everyone was supposed to be involved in slicing, spicing, stuffing, plucking, stoking, cooking and table-setting. One or two of the younger villagers, of course, managed to find ways of escaping the work and also escaping detection, while others had to be restrained from throwing food or hitting each other with pots and pans. Eventually, but not soon enough for their appetites, midday arrived and everyone was seated under canvas either side of three huge tables, gazing upon a sea of food of every description, waiting with gath¬ering impatience for the headman of Loulea to bid them begin.

The Haufuth stood to speak. The villagers relaxed a little in the knowledge that their leader would give them a head start on most of the other Midwinter gatherings in the north: they could see him trembling with eagerness to do battle at the table, and knew that once again the speech would be mercifully short.

'Thank you all for coming,' he began. 'We stand at the turning of another year, with this feast the evidence of all we have been given, all we have worked for. Let us rise and acknowledge our blessing.' Chairs scraped and feet scuffled as all present rose to their feet. 'We give thanks!' the Haufuth boomed. 'We give thanks,' came the hurriedly intoned echo, then more scraping and shuffling, followed by the earnest clinking of table weapons and muttered requests for food to be passed round. The people were very satisfied. Crazy old Kurr had provided mutton after all, and the speech was the shortest ever.

The villagers sang and danced and ate and drank their way through the afternoon and evening.

It was the time of year when grievances were forgotten and feuds were settled early on, as spending a day in close proximity to an enemy did not make for enjoyment of the celebrations. The festival brought together people who worked side by side every day, as well as farmers from the downs and hunters from the borders of the woods who maybe never saw their fellow northerners from one year to the next. Old friend¬ships were renewed and new friendships were made. There were a few quiet corners in the vast marquee, away from the smell of the food and the noise of the musicians, and small groups of people drifted in and out of them, talking, laughing, planning, bartering or courting. It was a scene of delight to warm the heart, as villagers wearing their brightest festive garments enjoyed themselves together.

A light snow began falling late in the evening. By now things had slowed down, the bulk of the food was eaten and the sides of the tent were littered with the bodies of those sleeping it off. The cooking fires had gone out, but the warmth given off by the people under the canvas was enough to ward off the cold. The musicians now began playing a number of slow, sentimental northern ballads, and people began dancing in the heavy atmosphere. More and more joined in, moving together in time to the gentle blandish¬ments of the balladeers, singing of life and death in the legendary days of the First Men.

Midnight drew near, the zenith of darkness and cold. The Haufuth, now in his ceremonial dark green robe edged in gold, motioned to the minstrels, who laid down their instruments.

The villagers drifted to the sides of the tent, nudging awake those who had fallen asleep.

Tables were shifted away and a space cleared in the centre. The Haufuth waddled forward and raised his hands, making ready to introduce the Play.

To everyone's surprise, the nuggety old farmer Kurr pushed his way into the open space, interrupting the headman as he prepared to speak.

'Are we not forgetting something?' he said in a quiet but pene¬trating voice.

'Sit down, sit down!' the Haufuth wheezed, red-faced. 'What are you doing?'

'It is customary for the oldest man at Midwinter to speak before the Play!' the gaunt farmer announced above the murmurs in the crowd. 'You will recall that Aldha was buried last spring. I am now the oldest here, and I claim the right to honour tradition.'

The Haufuth tried to respond, but had to wait until a woman whose voice sounded remarkably like Herza's was silenced by those around her.

'Very well, but don't take long. Remember, the Play must be over by midnight.' The village headman retired, frowning his anger at the thin old man.

The old farmer cleared his throat, then spoke in a clear voice.

'We've had many good years, here in Loulea. It's been a long time since we had any real problems. Well, there was that boy from Vapnatak lighting fires in our hay barns, but the worst thing that's happened of late was the Black Winter ten years gone. Crops are good, the weather's been - well, we're surviving. More than surviving, by the look of the feast we had today.' He cast his eye over the crowd, daring any of them to disagree.

'But something is wrong,' Kurr growled at them. 'We've grown complacent. Soft. We live here as though our future is assured, as though no evil thing could ever touch us.'

He paused for breath, and everyone present clearly heard a stri¬dent voice at the rear of the group say, 'What's 'e talking about?'

'I don't know if I can tell you what is wrong here, with us,' the old man said earnestly. 'But just think for a moment. For most of the last thousand years people have been at war with each other. The towns of Mjolkbridge and Windrise just up the Westway have been at each other's throats for generations. The Fenni raid the coastlands around Iskelfjorth. Further afield the Lankangas, a loose alliance of ten cities, has ceceded from the King of Firanes. There's a war going on a few hundred leagues away. People are dying. Women. Children. But here all is peace. Do you think the present peace will last? Think about what happened a thousand years ago. Bhrudwo is just a word to frighten infants with, but maybe one day the world will once again be threatened from the east. How will we be prepared for it? I'll tell you how. We won't!

It will catch us unawares, because no one ever listens to crazy old men, no one ever listens to the Watchers. Don't think that we of Loulea will remain untouched by war. War is a devouring animal, demanding your sons and your daughters. I've seen it. I have a feeling I'll see it again. Now I've finished. I've said what I had to say. Let the watchman blow the trumpet when he sees the enemy coming, or the blood of the people will be on his head. You can't say you weren't warned. My conscience is clear.'

The laughter when he sat down was audible above the buzz of puzzled conversation.

'Ah, th-thank you, Kurr,' the Haufuth said. 'It's good to have the Midwinter Speech revived.

But now it is time for the Play.'

Leith took a deep breath. He felt a little sick, probably as a result of eating too much, he told himself. Or perhaps it was that elderberry wine. Time to move. Both he and Lanka, a tall boy whom he vaguely recognised, went to get their masks. There was no sign of the girl playing the Falla.

His nervousness was not about remembering his part in the Play. Any teenager living in the northern lands of Firanes, Plonya, Asgowan or Sna Vaztha would be able to step into Leith's shoes. Each year they watched the Play, knowing that one day they might be asked to perform one of the roles. There were two male char¬acters: the Snaer, the symbol of deep winter snow; and the Sumar of high summer, whose task it was to defeat Snaer and set the third character free. This third character, Falla, the symbol of spring, was the most revered of the three, and was always played by a female. The defeat of Snaer and the freeing of Falla had become an intricate combination of spontaneous acting within the boundaries of a time-hallowed plot, institutionalised by yearly repetition. Leith had watched many portrayals of the Sumar in the past, and he knew what he wanted to do.

He was nervous about how the Play would turn out. It was believed by many of the more superstitious villagers that the success of the Play as a dramatic spectacle would influence the arrival of warmer weather. Some said that a badly acted Play would delay spring by weeks or even months. The Haufuth said that this was a lot of nonsense, but Leith remembered hearing about the year when the Snaer fell over and broke his wrist soon after the start. The thaw didn't arrive for three months after Midwinter that year, the Black Winter of 1016. The boy who had played the Snaer had gone to live in Vapnatak. Leith licked his lips worriedly as he thought about Lanka, who was supposed to be clumsy. He would be absolutely no help in the Play.

The two youths moved to opposite ends of the open space. Leith's Sunmask was made of oak, sanded, finely polished and stained a deep ochre. The large eyes were bright yellow, and the mouth was set in a fierce snarl. The Snowmask at the other side of the tent was black, fashioned from pine and impregnated with pitch, with tiny slits for eyes and mouth. The impression given was one of implacable power and evil. Leith had spent a lot of time wondering what he would do were he to wear one or other of these masks.

The Falla moved into the cleared circle from somewhere near the other end. Her mask was different in kind from the male masks, for, instead of being solid wood, it was made from slender sticks of birch and alder tied together and painted to look as though they were budding. Compared to the heaviness of Snow and Summer, the Springmask was delicate and fragile. It had taken his mother a long time to make. Leith studied the mask; he had to incorporate that fragile character into his own acting if he were to woo her from the Snaer.