Fargoer (4 page)

Before she could decide what to do, she heard another sound and realized why the man had tried to run through the bushes wounded and exhausted. An older man followed, one who moved with a light step. This one was cast from a different mold than the man he was following: short, black-haired, and of good strength. When he saw the man he was pursuing, he drew from his waist a sharp-looking blade, as long as an arm. The blade was black and ended in a hook-like, nail-sharp point. Only a few steps separated him from his prey, and all signs were promising the yellow-haired man a quick trip to the fires of the underworld.

Why Vierra then took part in the showdown between these two unknown men completely escaped her. She would ponder that very thing during the following days, but at that moment, she did not hesitate. She pulled an arrow and armed her bow in one smooth, fast movement. In the blink of an eye, she let go the beak of death and it struck the pursuing man in the shoulder. It stuck out grotesquely, and the blade slipped from the man’s grip. His face was distorted by pain and amazement, and he fell on his knees to the damp heather.

“One more step, and the next will go through your heart,” yelled Vierra, as if her opponent could have continued the battle. Vierra was dazzled with the surprising situation as much as her own, explosive actions. The dark-haired man started a flood of foreign words, which Vierra knew to be Turyan.

Turyans lived in the north, even though sometimes they wandered in the forests close to the Kainu’s heartlands. Every Kainu knew stories of the Turyan people. Most of them painted the picture of feared Turyan witches and their grudges and blood feuds that lasted for generations. True to their image, this wounded Turyan gathered strength from somewhere. He got up, took the blade from the ground, and turned away. As he left and slowly vanished into the forest, his voice could still be heard, swearing and cursing in a multitude of languages. The yells echoed in Vierra’s ears long after he had disappeared among the trees.

Vierra was snapped out of her thoughts when she realized the light-haired man was trying to get up. She approached him cautiously, her hand ready to grasp a knife or a bow if the situation demanded. His pale blue eyes were filled with pain and fatigue, and it helped Vierra put her mind at ease.

“I am Vierra, known as the Fargoer. Hunter and of the chieftain’s blood. I walk my mothers’ paths as my own. Who are you and why are you pursued by the Turyans? Are you banished or a slayer of innocents?”

The man managed to crawl up slowly, leaning himself on a small tree. He listened to Vierra’s introduction attentively, and then let out a flood of words in a language totally unknown to her. The note and sound of the speech was the same as her own language, but the sentences were strange and didn’t make any sense. Here and there, Vierra could pick up a familiar word, but she couldn’t build any meaning to them in her mind. The words “slave,” “Turyan,” and “Bjarm” were familiar. He continued, and turned to spit angry word after word towards the forest where the black-haired man had retreated. The effort caused the man to stagger and nearly fall over. Vierra quickly offered her arm and supported him to keep him on his feet. Only then did she remember that he was badly injured.

“Come, I have a shelter where we can have a look at your leg.”

He did not say anything. Vierra led him through the forest towards the nearby creek where the lean-to was waiting. When they arrived at the shelter, they were both dripping with water and cold. The makeshift building could accommodate only one person, and they had to be very close to each other in order to fit in. The fire had almost run out, but Vierra got it to burn again soon enough, despite the rain. The smoking fire wasn’t much, but it warmed their limbs nicely and dried the rain.

The man touched his chest and said plainly, “Vaaja.”

She nodded plainly before continuing. “Now, let me see about that arrow,” Vierra replied and ripped the hem from the man’s worn pants, which was covering the wound. He held his eyes closed tight and ground his teeth as Vierra examined the injury.

“No bones have been broken, but it has come all the way through. I will cut the arrow and pull the shaft out.”

Cutting the shaft was a painful ordeal for Vaaja, as it was sturdy and well made. Vierra used her knife and sawed the arrow gently from the edge of the point until she could finally break it. Sweat was beading on the man’s forehead, even though the weather was rainy and cool.

Pulling the shaft away was too much for the man, and he gave out a sharp yell of pain. Blood spewed immediately from where the arrow came out, and Vierra hurried to extinguish the bleeding. Pressing the wound strongly with the hem of his pants, she finally managed to quench the flow.

“Now it doesn’t bleed as much. Lay here and stay still, I will be right back.” Vierra spoke to the man even though she knew that he had no idea what she was saying. She pressed the man down to the underlay of the lean-to and hoped that he would understand what she meant. Then she disappeared into the rainy forest.

After a moment that felt like an hour, Vierra came back with a multitude of different herbs. She ground them in the rain between two rocks until the plants turned into an even, green paste. She spread the paste carefully into the wound and tightened a wide leather strap over it and around the leg as a bandage.

“There. Nothing more can I do. Now you must rest.”

Vaaja spoke in his own tongue, and only then did Vierra notice that he was clothed in rags and very thin, patched clothes. The autumn weather was cool and damp, he wouldn’t last long in clothes like that.

“I must get you some decent clothes from our camp. Otherwise, you will freeze and die here, even before the rotting wound would take you.”

The man was silent, and took her hand in his own. The grip was strong, and in his pale eyes was a questioning stare, one filled with wariness.

“Do not worry, I will return soon.” Vierra squeezed his arm soothingly and looked at him with her deep green eyes. Her reassuring gaze made him smile, and he released his grip.

Vierra traveled through the rainy forest, fast like a fox. In her mind were a plethora of questions: Why was he here? Where did he come from? What was she going to do? For a moment, she considered taking him to the tribe’s camp to recover. They would be safe there in a warm hut if the black-haired man decided to come back. He couldn’t walk when injured this badly, she argued against herself, but inside her there lived a doubt about whether this truly was the reason for her decision.

The drum was pounding in the camp, just as it had been when she left. Her comings and goings were rarely noticed or interfered with. Fellow tribe members were scattered here and there, doing their little, often made-up chores. Vierra gathered some deerskin clothes and dried fish. She stepped hesitantly towards the dying chieftain’s hut. For a moment, she just stood in front of it, gathering courage as she considered her options. Finally, she opened the entrance hide.

From the dark hut, three faces turned to gaze at her: the old and curious witch Eera, the surprised Rika, and the tired and annoyed Aure. The chieftain’s withered, wax-like face was still, she could no longer raise her head properly from the pillow. The elder’s breath ran raspy and intermittent, filling the hut with a distressing, uneven rhythm.

“I am sorry to disturb your peace,” Vierra said and bent her head down courteously. “I have wounded my leg and need medicine. Can you help me, Eera?”

“The chieftain’s last journey is a sacred act, my child. I do not have time to help you now. Is the wound bad? Show it to me,” said Eera. She was an old woman, as old as the chieftain who was slowly withering away on the floor. Eera’s long, thin hair was gray, as were her eyes. She was like a skinny and resilient stump that was more tightly attached to life than anyone could imagine.

“I do not want to disturb the ceremony,” answered Vierra, trying to hide the insecurity from her voice. “I could get the medicine from your hut, if you tell me where to look. I already treated the wound with grasses and tied it, like you have taught me.”

Eera sank to her thoughts. She had not stopped the drumming, not even for a moment. The salmon bone fell on the drum skin again and again, almost as if by itself. Aure was annoyed, her brown eyes sparked in the dark of the hut.

“If the wound is not bad, why do you disturb our peace? Go away!”

Vierra felt a bitter anger boil to the surface. How often had she been driven away in this same fashion? But this time Aure would not get in her way. An angry answer rose to Vierra’s lips.

“Soon you will know, too, what it is when the spirits take your mother away.”

Vierra had greatly missed her mother’s support, guidance, safety, and comfort over the past years. Aure’s mother, who was also Vierra’s aunt, had taken her into her family, but her real mother was impossible to replace. And a chieftain who was making her own daughter her successor was not the best of foster mothers for a young girl.

Aure took a vehement breath. It had been quite a long time since her last quarrel with Vierra, but now it looked like a storm was brewing again. Tiredness and fear glared from under Aure’s growing anger. Mother had been everything to her, as much the subject of her admiration as a reflection of her own future. Eera intervened.

“Do not argue in the hut of death!”

But it wasn’t Eera who disrupted their starting argument. The chieftain who lay on the ground yelled. Truly it was a yell, but it was not a sound that any human could produce. Her feverish, yellow eyes burned like coals for a moment, and the girls instinctively bowed toward her. Wax-like, skinny, and bony hands grabbed both girls’ hands, and as if she were summoning her last strength, she guided them shakily together. Soon the girls noticed that they were holding each other tightly. It was as if all strength at that moment escaped from the old woman, and her limp hands fell to the floor. Only a cackling, abrupt breath told them that the spirit had not yet fully escaped the body.

The girls stood frozen, but Eera did not stay idle.

“Listen carefully, Vierra, and then get out of here and do not come back until the drum stops. Rika will go to my dwelling to fetch you an otter-skin bag. Then you must go to the spring, circle it three times and soothe the sprite, as I have told you. Take water to the pot and boil it by a fire. After that, put a pinch from the bag into the water, and when it has cooled off, drink it. Then your wound will not rot and will be healed fast. Now, be gone!”

The witch’s tone did not approve of any argument, and broke the moment between Vierra and Aure. Vierra loosened her grip from Aure’s hand and left for the errand swiftly, Rika following close behind her.

Rika quickly stepped into the witch’s hut and returned almost immediately, carrying an otter-skin bag. She was a plump, red-haired, and baby-faced young woman, who wasn’t much of a hunter. Her wits were about her, though, so she had become the witch’s apprentice. In time, when Eera passed away, she would inherit the witch’s position, and with it the powers and responsibilities of the spirit world.

“Aure just seems to keep nagging me, even at her mother’s deathbed,” Vierra stated briefly, almost as if to herself.

“She’s afraid, we’re all afraid. What happens when the chieftain dies?” Rika had compassion on her face. This would have irritated Vierra had it come from anyone else but Rika.

“Why do you not limp if there’s a bad wound on your leg? I cannot see a bandage, either.” Rika changed the subject smoothly.

“I promise I’ll tell you later, but now I have no time. It is an important matter, and your herbs will fulfill a great purpose. I did not want to argue and explain in the hut of death.”

“Very well,” Rika sighed. She was used to Vierra’s stubbornness and often gave up easily. There was only one other unmarried woman in the tribe besides her and Vierra, and for this reason, they spent a lot of time together. Vierra never mocked her for her lack of hunting skills, like so many other tribe members did. “I hope I don’t get into trouble because of you,” she added.

“You will not, I promise,” Vierra replied and left with the bag.

When going to the spring, Vierra felt a sting of conscience. She had lied to the witch and to her cousin Aure in the hut where the chieftain was approaching death. Hopefully, the spring sprite would not be angry because of her lie. The man really needed the help of the medicine. She hadn’t had time to explain the truth, she reasoned to herself. And the cause was good, and neither the witch nor the chieftain - not even Aure, who was so annoyed - could deny that.

The rain drummed the spring’s iron-gray surface. Even the nearby grass had withered, and the seeds in the ground were waiting for new summer. Autumn made all places dreary, even the spring in which the water was considered holy, used only for the most important of purposes. Vierra circled around the spring like the witch had ordered, and sang.

Spring, you beauty, do your duty
Water spirit clear
Give me now your holy water
Power I revere

After she had collected the water, Vierra hurried to her secret lean-to with all her carryings. She was drenched in rainwater and sweat when she arrived, but she wouldn’t go to rest. Instead, she offered the thickest leather clothes for Vaaja to wear, and warmed dry fish in the fire for him to eat. He went for the food greedily and silently. When he had eaten, Vierra started to heat up the spring water in the fire with the clay pot she had brought with her. She gestured for the man to lie down when he tried to get up and help. After the water was heated, she mixed the powder into it as Eera had ordered. When the mixture cooled, Vierra offered it to the man. He drank it, grimacing at the taste, and lay down again.

“I will get more wood so it will not run out during the night,” said Vierra before leaving again, like a restless autumn wind.

The day was turning slowly to a dusky evening when Vierra returned to the lean-to, dragging a large, dead tree. The rain that had been going on for days ceased finally, and the cold northern wind started to drive the rainy clouds south. The temperature dropped severely as the darkness sneaked over their campsite.