The Days of the Deer (13 page)

They walked and walked. Many days went by in which the wind never stopped shaking the trees for a single moment. High above their heads, the branches groaned and bent in a threatening fashion.
Frequently the threat was real enough, and enormous boughs came crashing down, far too close for Cucub’s comfort.

Every so often, above the noise of the storm, they could hear the Earth Wizards’ drums. The two men would pause and raise their heads, trying to determine exactly which direction the sound
was coming from.

‘It sounds as if they are following our footsteps,’ Cucub would say.

Wherever the sound came from, and whatever it might mean, the beating drums kept the men company. The Husihuilke and the Zitzahay were comforted to know that Kupuka could not be far away. They
renewed their march with a spring in their step.

Then one night, just after they had finished eating a hare Dulkancellin had succeeded in catching, something unexpected happened. They had found nowhere better to spend the night than a hollow
trunk, where they were preparing to get some rest. Curled up at the back, Cucub was already almost asleep. Dulkancellin was trying to squeeze into a space that was too small for his big frame. All
of a sudden, the warrior saw something that made him leap out of their den without bothering to protect himself from the rain. His sudden movement woke the Zitzahay.

‘What is going on?’ he asked, poking his tousled head out of the trunk.

‘Come quickly!’ shouted Dulkancellin. ‘You have to see this.’

Cucub picked up the warrior’s cloak and his own, then struggled outside.

‘What is happening?’ he asked again, throwing Dulkancellin’s cloak round his shoulders as he did so.

Dulkancellin pointed towards the sea. A stream of lights like will-o’-the-wisps could be seen against the black night. Heading north just as they were.

‘Lukus!’ muttered the Husihuilke warrior. ‘I wonder what made them leave their islands to travel in this rain.’

‘There’s an easy answer to that,’ said Cucub. ‘The lukus have also been called to the Great Council. The ones we can see are probably going to the House of the Stars. But
there seem to be lots of them, and as far as I know, there should be no more of them than of us.’

‘There certainly are many there,’ said Dulkancellin.

‘As you can see, most have reddish tails.’

‘That means they are young, of fighting age.’

While Dulkancellin and Cucub were speaking, the lukus disappeared. They must have gone back into the thick forest.

‘Let’s go home,’ the Zitzahay suggested, meaning the hollow trunk. ‘We’ll be able to think it over better there.’

They returned to the tree, where they spent most of the night searching for an explanation of what they had seen. Shortly before the dawn, none the wiser, they both fell asleep. They awoke stiff
and sore, chafing in their damp clothes, and still thinking about what they had seen the previous night. Outside their shelter, the morning was the same as ever: cold and rainy. In order to save
provisions, they set off once more without eating anything.

Over the next few days, they often saw the lukus again. Always after nightfall, and always heading north.

Almost a hundred of the creatures had left their islands and taken the western path, which for most of the way bordered the coastline of the Lalafke Sea. This was a great number, as the
population of lukus was not large. If a hundred young lukus had left their islands to travel up a continent they hardly knew, then these were strange times indeed.

Men and lukus continued in the same direction, but by different paths. Several days went by with no contact between them. Some nights Dulkancellin awoke with a start, thinking he could hear the
breathy whistling the creatures of the islands used to communicate with each other. He thought the lukus could be watching them, but knew he would not be able to see them until the lukus chose to
show themselves.

Nothing else relieved the monotony of those days of their march. The northern limit of the Ends of the Earth was close. The climate was finally growing less harsh: the rain was easing off, and
occasionally stopped altogether. The wind from the sea that had been constantly lashing them was now a plaintive moan.

It was on one of those nights without rain that the lukus showed themselves. Dulkancellin and Cucub saw them draw near: two red tails and a white one, and prepared to receive them.

The old luku was a few paces behind his young escorts. Men and lukus stared at each other without surprise.

The meeting took place in a clearing where Dulkancellin had succeeded in lighting a fire, which Cucub had managed to keep alight. The white-tailed luku spoke in the Natural Language so that the
two human beings could understand him.

‘Like you, we are going to the city of Beleram. We are to take part in the Great Council being held in the House of the Stars.’

The Husihuilke and the Zitzahay realized there was no point denying what the luku already appeared to know for certain, and so decided not to say anything.

‘I was chosen to represent my people,’ the luku went on. ‘And I was told to travel along the coast of the Lalafke until I reached Umag of the Great Spring. There a guide from
the race of human beings will be waiting to lead me for the rest of my journey.’

‘But you are accompanied by many others,’ Dulkancellin said.

‘I am travelling with those who are most skilled in the art of war. Only a few others have remained on the islands to protect the weak.’

‘Can you tell us why you disobeyed the orders and decided to send an army?’ asked Cucub.

‘Of course I can. That is the only reason for this visit.’

A star appeared in the sky. A glimmer of light that none of them saw.

‘We do not think it should remain a secret that strangers are arriving in their ships,’ said the luku. ‘That is neither necessary nor acceptable for the inhabitants of the
Fertile Lands. On the contrary, we are sure that these events should be proclaimed, because only an army of all our peoples will be able to face this new enemy.’ As he spoke, the luku’s
appearance changed. A frown spread over his harsh features, and his words were mixed with strange whistles. ‘We should not give these intruders any time. If we let them land, we will be lost.
If they so much as leave the mark of their footsteps on our earth, then many generations will reap poison.’

‘You say that the men arriving from across the sea will be our enemies. How can you be sure of that, when the Magic itself is not certain of it?’ asked Cucub.

‘Do not be so impertinent!’

The luku’s neck stiffened. His two escorts looked to him for an order, but none came. Dulkancellin, who knew the inhabitants of the islands well, prepared to defend the Zitzahay. But the
luku’s neck gradually sank back into its shoulders, and so he relaxed his grip on his axe. When the luku spoke again a few moments later, it was in a less hostile manner.

‘For many generations, my people have had the White Stone in our possession. It came from the depths of the sea, and was in the islands long before we inhabited them. But the White Stone
was put in our charge, and with it we received a prophecy: “When the White Stone changes colour, and turns from light to dark, this will mean the power of Life over Death has been vanquished.
It will be because the reign of sorrow is commencing . . .”’

The Husihuilke warrior nodded. He had heard of the existence of the White Stone from the elders.

The luku searched for something under the long, flowing beard that hung from his chin. The lukus’ hands were very useful to them when they ran, because they were short and strong, but they
were not very agile. This meant it cost the old luku a great effort to pull out the small leather pouch hidden there. And an even greater one to remove the White Stone from the pouch and show it to
the two men on his callused palm. The Stone was perfectly cylindrical, and was a translucent white colour. Deep within it was an irregularly shaped dark stain.

‘Here it is!’ said the luku. ‘This Stone has always been pure white, without any kind of colour to it. Last summer, deep in its heart, a shadow started to appear. So tiny that
many preferred not to see it. Now that winter has begun, nobody can claim the stain does not exist. The Stone is turning dark! The prophecy is being fulfilled! As you can see, Zitzahay, the magic
of the lukus is also speaking: and it has no doubts.’

‘But the Astronomers—’ Cucub protested.

‘The Astronomers are wasting their time debating contradictions,’ the luku cut in sharply. ‘We have no such doubts. We are going to the Great Council to show them the White
Stone. We trust this will be enough for the peoples of the Fertile Lands to understand that the war has already begun. And above all, that Magic should take up arms without delay. If they do not,
then we will deserve our defeat.’

‘What will the lukus do if the Council does not support them?’ asked Dulkancellin.

The luku shook his bushy white tail before replying:

‘In that case, we will fight and die alone. You can be assured that the enemy will not find the lukus making garlands in their honour.’

‘If you decide to go against the Council’s decision you will be seen as traitors,’ said Cucub.

Something flashed through the luku’s mind. Something that he refused to express out loud.

‘Whatever happens, we must now continue our journey northwards. We will only halt to talk to the Pastors of the Desert,’ was his sole answer.

‘Remember this is not the time to reveal any secrets!’ Cucub warned him.

‘But bear in mind we do not think as you do!’

The luku thrust himself forward defiantly, and raised himself to his full height. He tucked the stone back beneath his beard, turned on his heels, and left without a goodbye. The two young lukus
did the same, following him at a short distance.

Dulkancellin and Cucub were alone again. Wrapped in their own thoughts, they sat in silence as the fire died out. After a while, the Zitzahay lay back with his hands behind his head.

‘Look, Dulkancellin!’ he said, sitting up and pointing to the sky.

He was staring up at the stars, the few stars twinkling high above the forest.

‘We can sleep in peace, brother. Tomorrow we will be woken by the sun.’

13

The luku army sped onwards, soon leaving the two men behind.

Standing on its hind legs, an adult luku came up to the waist of a Husihuilke warrior. When erect, they advanced only awkwardly, yet if they used their paws, they could bound along tirelessly.
Their shiny tails, which rose high above their heads, were lashes for any foe. Wherever they struck, they left a bloody wound. Then, thanks to the confusion this caused, the luku would return to
the attack. If a luku succeeded in wrapping his tail round his adversary, the result was horrific. To emerge alive from a combat against a group of enraged lukus was rare, even for the warriors of
the Ends of the Earth. But the lukus had enormous eyes, through which their souls were visible.

When the lukus crossed the Marshy Bridge, the same one Cucub had taken in the opposite direction on his way to Dulkancellin’s village, the sky was blue; the sun was warming the sand.
Unlike the Zitzahay messenger, the lukus did not try to avoid the Pastors. On the contrary, they deliberately sought them out. They had travelled for a day when in the middle of the desert they saw
a line of high dunes. This seemed to them like a good place from which to reconnoitre the land. And so it proved. As night fell, the group of luku scouts who had climbed the dunes spied campfires
in the distance. At first light, the luku army headed for them.

A few tents spread in a semicircle, an adobe hut used to store grain and other things, animal pens, a water hole . . . and scattered all around, pots, tools, piles of wood, men and beasts. The
camp was a temporary one, which the Pastors would soon abandon, leaving only traces that the wind would soon erase.

The island creatures were warmly received by the Pastors. The main part of their army stayed on the outskirts of the camp, while the old luku was immediately taken, as he had requested, into the
presence of the leader.

Their conversation was brief, and took place inside a tent similar to all the others in the camp. The Pastor chief was sitting on a pile of llamel skins. He listened to everything the luku had
to say, which was almost the same as what Cucub and Dulkancellin had heard when they met in the forest. As he had done then, the luku was about to show the White Stone as proof of his words, but
something stopped him. A vague feeling made him change his mind and tell the Pastor he had nothing more to add. The Pastor chief realized it was his turn to respond. The luku had to struggle to
understand him, because not only did he speak the Natural Language badly, but he had the rough accent of those living in the desert.

‘Not everything you have said is new to us. Some days ago, our Head Herdsman met a Zitzahay who brought a message with him. He spoke of a Council to be held in Beleram. He explained why it
was being held, and said he wanted to take the man’s first-born son with him. The Zitzahay said he would take him to the House of the Stars to represent the Pastors there. The herdsman
watched his son leave with the Zitzahay, but was troubled by the news and did not delay in reporting it to the chiefs in the camps. Now you have arrived and shown that he was right to be concerned.
I will have to find him quickly so that we can act! I will set out this very day. I will need to visit our camps to ask where he is, because at the moment I do not know. When I find him I will tell
him the decision the luku people has come to. You go on ahead with your army. We will join you in the Remote Realm.’