Kalik (14 page)

“I couldn’t find a crossing anywhere downstream,” said Paku. “But there’s a waterfall one day upstream. Too steep to climb, but it looked as if the valley opened up above it.” He had worked back and found a deer lead climbing through a low gap in the cliff. “I think there’s a crossing,” was all he would say.

“If there’s a chance of getting across the river now….” I said. “Build our winter camp on the other side….” I didn’t look at Maka.

It took us several days working through thick-growing trees and ferns. “All the harder for anyone trying to find us,” I said. We followed Paku’s deer lead above the waterfall, and the valley opened up as he had said. Wide enough for two islands to split the river. Gravel banks rather than islands, a scatter of summer’s grass bleaching upon the stones. No bushes or saplings. So they must be submerged by winter floods. Upstream, the river hammered in yet another gorge. We had the axes to make a raft now, but it would be impossible to swing it across because of rocks and broken water. Below was all rocks and dangerous water again to the top of the waterfall. If we were going to cross, it must be at the islands.

I could see why Paku hadn’t tried it on his own. We crossed now with Tepulka and Maka. The bottom as far as the first island was rocky. The middle channel was a chute, deep and fast. We would have to take across the others, and the animals, one at a time. From the second island to the far side, the third channel was shallow. An easy shingle bottom.

“What do you think?” asked Paku.

“You did well,” I told him. “Found the only crossing by the look of it. Let’s try that middle one again.”

We tried it several times. I let myself go down its chute and swam back in below the foot of the second island.

“Have a go. Let the current take you, then go on a slant for the foot of the island. You’ll feel sand under your feet.”

They came ashore easily. Laughing. “Remember,” I said, “don’t fight it. Just make sure whoever you’re helping is all right.”

“If we cross now,” Tepulka said, “some of us will have to come back over to trade with the Iron People. And cross back again.”

“The four of us and Tulu can get the donkeys and their loads across in spring,” I said. “Two of us to do the trading. Then meet the rest of you here and cross back again.

“Cross now, and the little ones won’t need to come near the river again. And Kitimah and Sheenah will be near their time in spring.” I drove in a stake at the water’s edge.

We discussed it around the fire that night. Make a winter camp this side? Or cross now? Nobody mentioned Kalik, but I knew he was in the back of everyone’s mind. The Children all turned and looked at me.

“I’ll make up my mind in the morning.” At first light, the stake showed the river had dropped.

Kitimah floundered and needed all four of us to get her across. By late afternoon Sheenah, Tama, Puli, were safe with her on the far bank. Tulu was there, directing them to put up a camp for the night. Nearly all our gear was across. Most of the sheep. And four donkeys. The Animals gathered around Tama as they got across.

Then Tepulka and I lost one of the rams in the centre channel. It whirled and sank – probably the weight of its fleece. At the same time, Paku lost a lamb in the last, the shallowest channel. He and Maka swam after, dragged it out dead. Tepulka and I were unable to feel or find any sign of the ram. It might have gone over the waterfall.

“We’re too tired. Bleed the lamb and cook it for your meal, Paku,” I said. “Tepulka and I’ll go back across the other side for the night.”

We had the four little ones to get across tomorrow. One
donkey, Hika. And a bit of gear.

Chak was crying for the lost lamb. The other three were long-faced. But the person most upset would be Tama.

I woke in the night. A different sound to the river. I got the fire going and saw our footprints on its sandy bank were already covered. Tepulka woke. “Rain,” I whispered, “back in the hills.”

Across the far side next morning, I saw Paku go off with Tulu, exploring. Tama led the sheep to graze. The four donkeys lifted their heads, watched a moment, and followed him, too.

On our side the four little ones were busy with Hika. Tethering. Feeding. Shifting him on to better grass. Tepulka and I thatched a thicker shelter, in case the rain spread down the valley. That first day went fast enough. The second was slow. The third, the river dropped and cleared. Still, I put off crossing until the next morning.

We got Kimi, Tupu, Chak, and Hurk to the first island. Paku helped us get them over the dangerous channel to the second island. As we handed Hurk up to Maka, I realised the river was rising again. I swam back to the first island, and waded for Hika who waited, loaded. We got to the first island. On the far side, Tama waited with the other donkeys.

Maka got Kimi on to the far bank. Paku was piggybacking Tupu. Tepulka waited with Chak and Hurk on the second island while I led Hika into the middle channel. The water was faster. When Hika stumbled, I pulled his head up with the rope. I was not going to lose him now.

Hika turned. I dragged to keep his head upstream. He turned again, kicked out. I swam past, got hold of the rope, kept away from the flailing hoofs, felt sand under my feet and, suddenly, Tama was there, helping me pull Hika in. Laughing. “I’ve got him, Ish!” Taking the rope. Hika shook himself, long ears flopping, scattering drops as he followed Tama up to the head of the island and across the last channel.

Tepulka had just got Hurk across, handed him to Maka who was dropping him on his feet on the beach the far side.
Maka screamed. Tepulka turned, dived at something that rose, rolled, disappeared. Paku dropped Tupu off his back and raced down the far bank.

I flung myself into the chute. Below the foot of the island, I touched a hand. Lost it. My feet brushed something soft on the riverbed. Fleece. I swam on, feeling with hands and feet. Desperate. Swept towards the waterfall’s lip, into dead water behind a boulder, I lunged between rocks for the bank, helped Paku out. Then Tepulka, gasping. Upstream, Tama was galloping Hika along the bank, water streaming off his sides. And Maka was screaming. Throwing herself in the third channel. We caught her, dragged her ashore as the others came running.

Paku and I climbed out on the lip of the waterfall, but there was no sign. The islands had almost disappeared. The water brown now. I waded out, swam down the middle channel again, could not feel the ram’s carcass this time. When they went to swim down the inside channel, I ordered Paku and Tepulka out.

We found Chak next morning snagged on a log above the waterfall. Mouth packed with mud and sand. Tunic gone. And the knife he was so proud to wear. Drowned because he tried to cross the last channel on his own.

We cut a pole for a handle, jammed it into the shovel head. Buried him above the level of winter floods. I remembered the Traveller’s ancient song beside the river crossings. In memory of all our people who died there. We huddled together as I sang. The Children’s voices joined and sang it through again as drizzle came down the river, hid its other side.

I woke that night and thought of my vow to save all twelve
children. “It was my fault,” I heard a broken whisper. “We could have stayed on the other side. But I wanted to cross, to get away from Kalik.”

I put my arm around Maka. “Not your fault! It was my decision. We had to cross – either now or at the end of winter.” And I remembered Hagar’s words when I lost my first sheep in the Onger River: “The river charges a toll,” I said.

Maka cried into my shoulder. I stared into the darkness, seeing Chak’s face. His tricks. The knife he had worn a few days.

When I woke, Maka was still beside me. I tried to draw my arm from beneath her head. Half-asleep, she turned and held me. And I stiffened against her softness. Wanted her. Knew she would let me.

And something stopped me. Part of me said I was being a fool. Part said, “You are their leader.”

“Sleep now.” I disengaged my arm, kissed Maka, and rolled away. And knew Tepulka had been awake, listening.

Next morning, Maka accused herself again. I held her, let her sob until exhausted. I said she must not think it was her fault, told everyone it was my responsibility. “I knew the risk, but thought it was worth it to get the river between us and Kalik.”

Without my telling him, Paku kept everyone busy. Throwing up a better shelter. Getting firewood. Feeding the Animals. Making handles for the axes. Tepulka split a log into a thick post, flattened one side, sharpened the end. I wrote, “Chak” on it with charcoal. Tepulka followed the letters with his knife, carving them deep. We stood the log upright at the head of Chak’s grave, and drove it in.

That night when the Children wanted a story, I took out the book I had carried all this way from the Shaman’s cave.

“The Old Man and the Priest,” I read aloud. The Children huddled around me. A wind wailed along the ridge above.

“What’s a priest?” asked Paku.

“Like a priestess. You know, like Lutha,” Tepulka told him.

“Shh!” said Kimi. “I want to hear the story.”

“Once upon a time there was an old man and his wife. Snow was deep outside their hut. The old woman was sick. The old man burned the last of their firewood, trying to keep her warm. But she died.”

“Is that reading?” asked Paku.

“Shh!” said Kimi. She snuggled against me. “Go on!”

I nodded to Paku. “The old man pulled his thin coat around him and went through the village, asking for someone to help him dig a grave. He had nothing to give them, so people slammed their doors.”

“That’s not fair,” said Hurk.

“Shh!”

“Still, they should have helped him.”

“Be quiet! Go on, Ish!”

“The old man went to the priest’s house near the church and asked for help to bury his wife.

“‘I will bury her. But you must pay me now,’ said the priest.

“‘I have nothing,’ said the old man. ‘But when spring comes, I will earn some money and pay you then.’

“‘Bury your wife yourself,’ said the priest and slammed the door.

“The old man took his axe and spade to the churchyard and chopped the frozen ground. He was digging out the ironhard clods when his spade clinked on a chest full of gold coins.

“He carried the heavy chest to his hut, and took one gold coin to the priest’s house.

“‘Go away!’ the priest shouted. ‘I’ll put the dogs on you. Stop! What’s that?’

“The old man held it up. The priest snatched the gold coin and bit it, to see it was real. ‘Of course I will bury your old wife!’ His hand closed over the gold coin.

“After the funeral, the old man bought food and wine and gave a feast in his wife’s memory. The same people who had refused to help him dig a grave were now happy to eat and drink at his expense. And, eating and drinking more than
anyone else, the priest grasped and gobbled. He grabbed and gulped. He ate and drank enough for three. When everyone else had finished and gone home, he was still there, gobbling meat, gulping wine.

“‘Old man,’ gasped the priest. He swallowed a glass of wine and took another breath. ‘Yesterday you were poor. Today you are rich. Who did you murder? Confess or be damned in hell!’

“‘I am not a murderer.’

“‘Then you robbed somebody. Confess or be damned in hell!’

“‘I am not a robber. I tried to dig a grave in the churchyard and found a chest of gold.’ And because he was an honest old man, he dragged out the chest. The priest’s eyes gleamed.

“Home he staggered, told his wife of the gold, and went to bed to sleep off the food and wine. Next morning he killed his goat and skinned it, even the head. His wife threaded a needle and sewed his feet inside the goat’s back feet. She sewed his hands inside the goat’s front feet. She sewed its belly tight over her husband’s fat belly.

“The priest’s eyes glared between the goat’s eyelids. On top of his head, the goat’s ears stuck out, and the goat’s horns stood up. Between his legs hung the goat’s tail. ‘Aaargh!’ the priest shouted, and even his wife was scared.

“‘You look like the devil!’

“‘Good!’

“‘And you sound like him, too!’

“At midnight, the priest danced on his hind legs to the old man’s hut and butted the door.

“‘Who’s there?”

“‘The Devil! Give back my gold that you stole from the churchyard. Or I will carry you down to hell!’

“The old man picked up the chest of gold and thrust it into the Devil’s arms. He bolted his door, pulled the blanket over his head, and tried not to hear the Devil’s laughter.

“The priest pranced home clutching the chest of gold. ‘We
are rich! Quick, cut the stitches! I am burning inside this skin. It itches all over.’

“His wife took her sharpest knife and cut the skin along the seam of stitches. The priest screamed and grasped his belly. ‘You fool!’ Blood spurted between his fingers. ‘Cut the stitches. Not me!’

“His wife cut another place she had stitched. Again, the priest bled. ‘I am burning!’ he screamed. His wife tried again and again, but now there were no stitches. She could not cut the goatskin off without cutting her husband. It had grown and become the priest’s own skin.

“He carried the chest of gold and gave it back to the old man. ‘Now cut off this skin!’ shrieked the priest. But, when the old man tried to cut the goatskin, he too cut the priest.

“And the priest ran away screaming, itching, in agony. Trapped, burning inside the goatskin, he died. But, with the gold, the old man bought himself a warm house, firewood, and plenty of food.”

I put down the book. The Children stared at me. “Poor goat,” said Tama. Everyone turned and looked at him, and he hid his face.

“The priest,” said Kimi, “he was nasty to the old man.”

“It served him right,” said Hurk. “What happened to him?”

“And is that story in there? In your book?” asked Paku.