The Days of the Deer (35 page)

‘Spirit of the Wind is not Dusky One,’ Cucub warned Dulkancellin. ‘Try to understand him. For my part, I’ll make use of the journey to find a name for this one I have
chosen.’

Kupuka, Hoh-Quiú and Dulkancellin rode out in front. Thungür and Cucub made sure they stayed close to them, as if they thought that by keeping their eyes fixed on Dulkancellin they
helped him stay upright. The warrior’s condition was worsening. In spite of all Kupuka’s care, the infection of the wounds was spreading, and the fever hardly ever left him. But
Dulkancellin rode at the head of the warriors, and there was no force on earth or in heaven that could have persuaded him otherwise. Dulkancellin was someone born worth ten men. They all knew as
much, and made no attempt to dissuade him. No one except Kupuka, who had to be content with riding alongside him and easing his pain. To make matters worse, the Husihuilke had not slept all night.
The lack of sleep made the night seem endless, and it was filled with Kume’s absence. Where could he be? Why had he disappeared? The father could never have imagined that while he lay awake,
Kume was performing such a noble deed. Afterwards, he had no wish to know whether his son had acted out of pride, bravery, or sadness.

The time Kupuka had estimated that it would take to reach the fortress was much shorter now they were riding. There were still hours of daylight left when Dulkancellin ordered his men to halt.
From that distance, they could see the signs that the fortress had been abandoned. It was no more than a desolate, burning shell. Seeing this, the warriors rode on. As the silence had indicated, no
one tried to stop them.

The wooden wall was breached in several places, and one side was still in flames. Dulkancellin and Hoh-Quiú went in first: the ground was strewn with rocks, fires, all kinds of objects
left behind in a recent flight. In the midst of all this desolation, they saw Kume’s body thrust through with a stake.

After Kume, after the pride, bravery and sadness of Kume, everything had changed for the Sideresians.

The certainty of victory, the joy at savouring their revenge, the pleasure at being able to offer Misáianes a handful of his new lands, had gone up in flames. Without the protection of
their powder, Leogrós’s plans came to nothing, and his army was shown for what it really was: a miserable, fearful rabble whose only wish was to flee. It was true that Kume’s
torture had for a moment concealed their true natures. Thanks to its ferocity, they had once more seemed terrifying. But that appearance did not last long. They soon returned to making their pleas
to leave – pleas which would become demands if their leaders would not listen. Leogrós knew there was nothing to do but comply. It was impossible to win this war with the few weapons
they had been able to save; nor could they attempt to resist until the arrival of a new fleet. No promise of riches or power was enough to buy off the dread the Sideresian army felt.

‘But I cannot go back after a defeat like this,’ murmured Leogrós.

Drimus listened to him with drooping mouth and eyes wide open.

‘What shall we do then?’ asked the Doctrinator. ‘What shall we do?’

‘To begin with, we must leave here,’ Leogrós replied. ‘But not as far as they expect. Not so far, and not for so long.’

Leogrós gave the order to prepare to abandon the fortress towards the end of the morning after the battle. The Sideresians hastened to carry out all the necessary tasks: to recover and
take to the beach anything that might be useful, destroy what they could not take with them, and supply the ships with enough drinking water. Drimus personally kissed the forehead of the wounded,
whispering to each of them that there was no other way, that they should die praising the Master. By the time everything was ready, it was mid-afternoon.

So the Sideresians headed down to their ships. The Creatures who saw them leave spoke of how they constantly looked back behind them.

Kume’s dark body was contorted in agony. His naked form still showed traces of its former beauty. The men from the Fertile Lands could not bear to look at the way he had died; still less
the warriors from the Ends of the Earth. When a warrior killed another warrior, it honoured them both. What Kume had suffered was not death. It brought with it shame that no one wanted to take with
him to eternity.

Kupuka went to investigate the area where the fire had started. He found traces that helped him work out something close to the truth of what had happened. When he returned, he spoke briefly to
Dulkancellin. The Husihuilke listened to him, then spoke to all the men.

‘This warrior died in battle, and no one will say otherwise. This man called Kume, son of Dulkancellin, died fighting. And nobody will ever say anything different.’

Turning towards the coast, Dulkancellin urged Spirit of the Wind on. The animal galloped off, leapt over the remains of the wall, and headed for the Yentru.

The others quickly followed. Although many of them got close to him, Dulkancellin was the first to reach the shore. Here too he saw fires, as if these were Kume’s last signal guiding his
father to the exact spot where the Sideresians were putting to sea.

They had set fire to the ships they could not use, and it was this that led Dulkancellin to the point on the coast where they were embarking. Spirit of the Wind rushed across the sands like the
shadow of a bird to catch them before they could escape. Dulkancellin no longer felt any fever or wounds: no longer a man but fury in person. By the time he reached the sea, the black ships were
too far away for any archer. Dulkancellin shouted incomprehensible curses as he rode into the water, desperate for there to be no distance between them and his revenge.

One man responded to his challenge. Leogrós started back towards the shore in a small boat. His face wore the same expression as it had throughout the battle.

Everything that happened next was closely observed by Drimus. The hunchback thrust his head and eyes forward. The rest – his panting laugh, his hunched body and his skip of joy –
were hidden behind one of the ship’s masts.

The Husihuilke warrior waited, Spirit of the Wind’s front legs pawing at the waves. The leader of the Sideresian army was drawing closer. The man who must have given the order for
Kume’s torture was right there, with the wind blowing his cloak around his body. When he reached a certain distance from the shore, Leogrós opened the cloak. He was carrying a weapon
in his hands. Dulkancellin drew back his bow. The arrow and the fire crossed. The fire took the warrior’s life with it; the arrow dropped into the sea. Dulkancellin felt an intense pain in
the chest, and knew then he was already in the land of death. The figure of Leogrós wavered and went dark before his eyes. Was that Shampalwe husking corn? Yes, it was Shampalwe dancing with
her hair gathered up under a crown of shells, the day their love began. Still, before death closed the door, the greatest warrior of the Ends of the Earth had time to stare at the sea and imagine
it was the Lalafke. Time to stare at the sky and confuse it with his forest in winter. And at the last moment of his life, he imitated his brother Cucub, and began to dream.

Those who in later years sang of these events said that his arrow had crossed the Yentru Sea and buried itself in Misáianes’ laugh. But the men who saw it said the arrow had simply
fallen into the sea. They also spoke of how little Cucub sobbed, still clinging to a brother who was no longer there. Of Thungür’s silence, and Kupuka’s prayer.

28

Cucub stuck his fingers in the pot, then put them, sticky with honey, into his mouth.

‘Well ...?’ asked Kuy-Kuyen. ‘Is it back?’

The Zitzahay frowned. No, the old taste of cane-sugar honey was not there. Of course, the honey in the pot had tasted good. It was good, but different.

‘We have to accept it,’ said Cucub. ‘Nothing will ever be the same as before. I can remember Dulkancellin’s words: ‘“The Time we knew and loved has gone for
ever.”’

Hearing her father’s name made Kuy-Kuyen sad, but although Cucub saw this, he continued on the same theme.

‘This market is a good example. It might look the same. But those of us who grew up among these stalls know it has changed.’

Little by little, Beleram was returning to normal. People gathered in groups and began to make their way back to the villages, talking once again of crops and harvests. And the market, even if
it had different produce, opened as usual.

The House of the Stars was also emptying of people. The first order Bor gave to the servants was to restore to the empty chambers the splendour that had been neglected in the time of war. He
busied himself not only with the rooms but the courtyards and the observatories.
As if he were trying to get rid of all traces
, thought Kupuka as he saw him scurrying around tapestries and
statues.

The Earth Wizard had other priorities, which seemed to him far more important. The war had greatly diminished the number of young men, and to him this was something that needed restoring. Kupuka
did not let any family leave without pressing them with recommendations.

‘Go back to your village. Plant your corn, get used to the animals with manes. And above all, remember that we need births.’

We need births! Wherever he could, and at every moment, Kupuka stressed the message. Not content with that, he would introduce young warriors to recent widows:

‘Look how beautiful she is! Ask what her name is. Take her with you into the jungle! And remember, the shade of the copal tree is good for conceiving boy children.’

The Lords of the Sun did not take women from other races. Hoh-Quiú reiterated the prohibition, and was implacable in punishing any transgression. Bor seemed to agree with the prince in
this matter.

‘What will those children be?’ he lamented. ‘Zitzahay or Husihuilkes?’

‘They will be men,’ retorted Zabralkán.

The Zitzahay people gradually left the House of the Stars. The others stayed on for the space of several moons.

The cacao festivities were approaching. Before this, it was the last day of a Council that had started out by asking: Who are these strangers arriving on our shores? and was finishing with the
question: How are we to prepare for their return?

‘I will tell them what they should do,’ said Kupuka, taking Kuy-Kuyen by a tress of her hair, and Cucub by the hand. ‘And whilst we are busy with times to come, you concern
yourselves with your wedding day. Now that Thungür has agreed, you, little one, must put on all your best arm-bands and your sandals. And you, Cucub, make sure there is enough to eat and
drink, because no one else will do it for you.’

Then, understanding what they were thinking, he added:

‘Don’t think that by getting married you will be betraying the dead or abandoning the living.’ Kupuka took Kuy-Kuyen’s face in his hands. ‘This smile of yours comes
from the sun. Keep smiling, Kuy-Kuyen. Smile against the darkness that is still all around us.’

That day, shortly after the three friends had left the great courtyard, Molitzmós appeared. During his recovery, he often continued to suddenly wake up and then equally suddenly fall back
into a stupor. He walked slowly around the pond. He still occasionally shook from head to foot, and felt a great desire to sleep. Sometimes, in his lucid moments, he had feared that the plant he
had taken was stronger than he had thought, and that it would carry him off into a sleep from which there was no return. Fortunately, the mixture of flowers and roots was exact. He had swallowed
the concoction shortly before the start of the battle, to produce the lethargy that had so puzzled Kupuka. And if it had sedated him more than expected, it made the pain of stabbing himself with
his own knife more bearable.

The drink and the wound. Molitzmós had done both things in order to avoid having to fight the Sideresians. And now, had it been possible, he would have done the same, to postpone the
moment when he had to meet and salute Hoh-Quiú. Yet he knew that this humiliating duty could not be delayed. To find the strength to bear it, he reflected that possibly everything that had
happened could be turned in his favour. Now that the Sideresians had left, he was in a good position. Molitzmós of the Sun had become Misáianes’ vanguard. He was sure he would
soon hear from the Master of the Ancient Lands. While he waited, Molitzmós would continue with what was most important: deepening an irreparable wound. That was where he should persist.

And the best place for him to do that was in the person of Bor. The Supreme Astronomer’s spirit was fertile ground for sowing the evil that Misáianes had called for. The daily
visits Bor had paid Molitzmós during his recovery, looking for someone who would support his claims, showed Molitzmós he was not mistaken. The Supreme Astronomers were at odds with
each other, and there could be no better beginning.

Separating Magic from the Creatures was the start of the new mandate in which Molitzmós and his House would be great again.

Zabralkán and Bor stared at each other. Bor had called for this urgent meeting. ‘Just the two of us,’ he had insisted.