Firesong (25 page)

‘Slowly, girls. Slow and even.’

Mrs Chirish stumped along, breathing heavily, with Scooch to one side, and Lunki and Sisi to the other. The girls who had come so close after their capture by the Barra klin stayed together on the ice, all holding hands: Red Mimilith and Sarel Amos, Seer Such and little Ashar Warmish. Creoth waited by his cows, and Seldom Erth waited by his horses, on the snowy shore.

On they went, feeling the soft crunch of the snow beneath their feet, and the slight skid that was the ice, as they took the next step. Little by little, the shore receded behind them. The girls who were holding hands gripped each other more tightly. Miller Marish raised his arms, as if to lessen his daughters’ weight on the ice. Mrs Chirish swung each foot down more carefully than before, rolling her weight forward, fearing the first protest from the frozen lake. Now that they were out of reach of land the expanse of ice seemed much bigger than before, and they were all only too aware that if it broke, they would stand no chance.

Ahead, the leaders, Tanner Amos and Bek Shim, passed the halfway point. Hanno called to them.

‘All well still?’

‘All well.’

Hardly had Tanner Amos spoken the words, when he felt a shudder beneath his feet. He stopped, and braced himself. He spoke softly.

‘Bek? Did you feel that?’

‘Yes.’ Bek Shim was a hundred yards to his right. The ice was bouncing.

Tanner took a few steps forward. The shudder came again. He looked back. The others were spread out all across the lake, black forms moving slowly over the white surface.

‘Do we warn them?’ said Bek Shim.

‘Not yet,’ said Tanner. ‘It may be nothing.’

Hanno, watching them from behind, saw their nervousness, but said nothing to the others. One way or another, they must cross the lake before nightfall.

Creoth watched from the shore. He saw no reason for alarm.

‘The ice’ll bear the beasts.’

‘So long as they go quietly,’ said Seldom Erth.

‘They’ll be quiet enough. It’s been a long climb.’

But as he spoke, one of his cows jerked up her head and shifted nervously from foot to foot.

‘There, Dreamer, there! Nothing to worry about.’

Seldom Erth saw that his horses’ ears were twitching.

‘Don’t be too sure of that.’

He looked round. The light was beginning to fade, and it was hard to make out anything in the deep shadows between the trees, but he thought he saw something moving.

‘What is it?’ said Creoth, now picking up more nervousness among his cows.

‘I don’t know. But I say we start moving.’

The nearest of the people ahead were almost at the mid-point. The others would be safe enough even if the ice did break here by the south shore.

‘Come on, then. You go first.’

So Seldom Erth led his two horses onto the ice, one on a short rein, the other on a long rein, to keep them apart. The ice groaned under the horses’ hooves, but it held.

‘Off you go,’ said Creoth. ‘I’ll follow in a while.’

Hanno Hath looked back and saw to his surprise that the horses were already on the lake. He frowned, asking himself why they hadn’t waited as they had agreed. He looked ahead, and saw how slowly and cautiously Tanner Amos and Bek Shim were proceeding. Then there came a sound from the distant trees: a long, low howl.

Mumpo’s head swung round at once.

‘Wolves!’

The cows heard the wolf cry and started forward onto the ice before Creoth could stop them. He followed at once, doing his best to calm them with his voice.

‘Now, Tawny! Now, Stumper! Easy, easy.’

The long howl sounded again. Mumpo looked back towards the shore, and caught sight of movement between the trees.

‘They’ll stampede the cattle,’ Hanno said.

Then the ice would break. He didn’t need to say that.

‘They were our friends once,’ said Mumpo.

Hanno understood him.

‘Could they be again?’

‘Maybe. I can try.’

Without another word, Mumpo unbuckled the harness that drew the litter, and Hanno took it from him. Mumpo then turned and began to slide slowly and carefully back across the lake towards Creoth and the cows.

‘What is it?’ called the others. ‘What’s happening?’

‘Keep moving!’ cried Hanno. ‘Keep on to the far shore!’

Bek Shim, who had stopped to look, turned back on hearing this. His first onward step was a little too eager. Even as his foot landed on the ice, he knew he had applied too much pressure. The ice shivered at the impact, and let out a single sharp report, like the crack of a whip.

‘Bek!’

‘I’m alright.’

He could feel the crack, could sense its weakness, but already he was sliding away from it, away from Tanner Amos, the other leader.

‘Ice crack!’ Tanner called back. ‘It’s holding. Keep away. Follow me.’

Mumpo paid no attention to the ice crack. He forged on, back across the lake, until he came up with Seldom Erth and Creoth. The horses were jittery, but under control. The cows looked anxious.

‘Alright so far,’ said Creoth. ‘I think it’s a wolf.’

‘I’ve seen it,’ said Mumpo.

As he spoke, the first great grey wolf stepped out of the trees, and stood on the shore, watching them. It held its head high, its great thick-pelted body tensed and alert.

‘Keep the beasts moving.’

‘Look at the size of the animal!’ exclaimed Creoth.

‘They were good to us once. They may not harm us.’

‘They’re wolves,’ said Seldom Erth. ‘Wolves must eat.’

Two more wolves now came out of the trees, and stood looking over the lake.

‘Keep the beasts moving,’ said Mumpo again. ‘I’ll wait here.’

Creoth and Seldom Erth set off again, urging their nervous beasts over the ice. Now the rest of the Manth people became very afraid. They could see the wolves behind them, and they could feel the cracked ice ahead. In their fear they stopped moving, and stood still. Hanno Hath called to them, his voice carrying clearly through the twilight air.

‘Keep moving! Think of nothing but your next step! One step at a time. Every step brings you nearer the shore. Don’t stop moving! Not too fast, not too slow. One step at a time.’

This simple instruction steadied their nerves, and they set off again, over the bouncing ice. Only Pinto disobeyed her father. She was small and light, she knew the ice would hold her. She turned back, towards Mumpo.

Mumpo was watching the wolves. Still they stood, sniffing the air, not venturing onto the ice. Did wolves hunt on ice? The cows and the horses were making steady progress away from him across the lake. That was good. Beyond them, Bek Shim, the leader, was close to the far shore, despite the cracked ice. That was good.

Then one of the wolves stepped out onto the ice.

That was not good.

The wolf stood for a moment, perfectly at ease, on the snow-blanketed lake. Then it started loping forward, towards Mumpo.

Pinto increased her pace. She still had fifty yards of slithering ice to cover.

Mumpo heard the cows bellow with fear behind him, but he did not turn. He heard Creoth’s urgent efforts to calm them.

‘So, so, so! Easy, easy!’

He kept his eyes on the wolf. What was it Bowman had done? He had met the wolf’s eyes. He had let it touch him. He had shown no fear.

The wolf kept coming towards him. Mumpo shivered, but did not look away. He felt a sudden stab of pain in his wounded stomach.

I must be very afraid, he thought; as if his fear was a separate part of himself.

Behind him, unknown to him, Pinto was running now, running and sliding, propelling herself back over the ice.

Now the wolf was close to Mumpo, within easy leaping distance. Now it was stopping and crouching, its yellow eyes fixed on him, its jaws a little open, showing its white teeth.

‘I’m your friend,’ said Mumpo. The words sounded meaningless in the icy air. Why should the wolf understand him? Wolves can’t talk.

Two more wolves came loping up behind. Mumpo reached out a hand, meaning to show friendship. His wound throbbed. The lead wolf’s claws dug into the ice, its muscles tensed, its ears flattened. It let out a low snarl.

Pinto raced towards Mumpo as fast as she could. She had no idea what to do, she was driven solely by the need to protect him. She heard the snarl, saw the look in the wolf’s eyes, and knew that it was about to attack. She drove herself faster –

‘Pinto! No!’

– faster and faster, straight at the wolf as it made its spring, and she too jumped, sprang like a wolf, hurling herself off the ice and into the air. In that flashing moment, as she jumped, there in mid-air, a hot light exploded within her, and she cried out – she thought aloud, but no sound came – cried out to the wolf –
Friend of my friend! Enemy of my enemy!
– collided with the wolf in mid-air – and was knocked, sprawling, breathless, to the ice.

The wolf landed on its great paws, half-stunned, confused.

‘Pinto!’

Mumpo was coming for her.

‘I’m alright.’

The wolf swung round its great shaggy head, glared at Mumpo, then turned on Pinto, its mouth leering open.

‘No! –’

There was nothing to fear. Pinto reached out one hand. The wolf lowered its head and licked her hand with its rasping tongue, and nuzzled her neck, and licked her face.

You heard me, wolf! You felt me!

Mumpo came to a stop, watching, silent with astonishment. The other wolves were clustering round Pinto now, three of them, then four and five. He had seen it happen before, long ago, only this time it was little Pinto who was talking with wolves.

‘You too!’ he said.

She turned to look at him: a seven-year-old child with eyes that were suddenly so much older. This was how Kestrel had looked at him, before she had gone away.

‘They won’t hurt you,’ she said. ‘They’re our friends.’

She stroked the wolves’ shaggy necks, and rose to her feet. She waved to the others, who stood looking back over the ice, fearful in the twilight.

‘I’m alright! Go on!’

The people and the cows and the horses turned and continued on their slow way over the creaking ice. Pinto left the wolves, and joined Mumpo.

‘Come on, Mumpo.’

The wolves stood still, in a guardian line, watching her go.

Goodbye, my friends.

Seek shelter, little one
, came the reply.
The storm is coming.

Pinto took Mumpo’s hand, and they set off after the others, Mumpo no longer sure if he was supporting Pinto or she was supporting him.

‘I didn’t know,’ he said.

‘Nor did I. Not until now.’

‘What does it mean?’

‘I’m growing up,’ she said. ‘Do you mind?’

‘No. Of course not.’

They walked fast over the lake, both for different reasons unafraid of the bouncing ice. Pinto was filled with the sensation she had had before when the passion fly had made her drunk: she felt she could do anything, that nothing could withstand her will. Let the ice crack! What did she care? She would command the ice to carry her, and it would obey. Only this time she was not drunk, her mind was sharp and clear, she understood many things. She saw her father ahead, pulling the litter that carried her mother, and she felt how much they needed her, and how strong she would now be for them.

I’ll look after you
, she called to them without sound.
I’ll look after you all.

She wasn’t drunk, but the sensation was intoxicating. She saw her people reach the far shore, she saw them gather on the lakeside, dark figures in the growing darkness, she saw the horses and the cows stumble up onto the frozen ground, and it felt to her as if it was she, Pinto, almost the youngest of them all, who had delivered them safely to the other side.

I can do anything!

Mumpo held her eager hand in his and followed the others, his mind full of wonder at the change in her. Mumpo’s nature was such that he only ever thought of one thing at a time, and thinking of Pinto left him no room to be afraid of the groans and shudders of the ice. How had she changed? She looked the same. Why then did he feel a new timidity in her presence, a sensation of unworthiness? He clasped her hand more tightly, not thinking what he was doing, and then felt ashamed, and let it go.

‘It’s alright, Mumpo,’ she said. ‘I won’t leave you.’

He blushed in the dusk, glad she couldn’t see.

‘I’m the one who’s meant to look after you.’

‘We’ll look after each other.’

They reached the lake shore. Hanno Hath gave his daughter one keen look, then he turned to the mountain peaks ahead.

‘We’ll make a fire here for tonight. The way ahead’s too steep to climb by moonlight.’

Ira Hath reached up her hand and Pinto took it and clasped it tight. Her mother said nothing aloud, but Pinto felt her meaning clearly.

It’s not fair
, her mother was telling her.
It’s too soon.

‘How old were you when it happened, ma?’

‘Me?’ Her mother smiled on her, and whispered soft words. ‘I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know it. Before I could talk, or walk. I just lay in my crib, knowing.’

Pinto laughed.

‘So you see. It’s about time I knew, too.’

15

Bowman flies

M
ist the cat lay on the deck of the barge, concealed beneath a fold of canvas, listening to the voices rising from the cabin below. In the normal run of things, Mist paid little attention to human voices. Chatter chatter chatter: so much talk, so little sense. Long ago the cat had concluded that men and women talked to ease some pressing internal need, like letting air out of an over-inflated balloon. The words themselves were of little consequence. These voices, however, were different. The loud one, the contemptuous booming voice, impressed Mist as being full of wisdom; though it would be fair to say that in the cat’s world-weary eyes any strong expression of contempt sounded wise. The other voice was Bowman’s. He said little, and in low tones which were sometimes hard to hear, but Mist liked the boy. He was soft, and he’d turned out to be a disappointment in many ways; but still he liked him.