‘Am I?’
‘That’s what my brother says about you. The priests back home say there’s one kind of truth – their truth. If you disagree you get punished. Gall says you’re a genius, or mad, or a fool.’
Jurgi laughed out loud. ‘Or all three.’ Tentatively, he touched Ana’s shoulder. ‘And how are you?’
Caught between light and dark, she thought. ‘I don’t know. I wish I was a sand martin.’
‘Even sand martins have work to do,’ the priest said. ‘Digging holes to build nests. Flying far to their winter homes.’
‘A tadpole then. Swimming mindlessly.’
‘How do you know they are mindless? Never mind.’ He glanced around, at the people playing in the water, or working at the settlement. ‘It was a good idea to come here. Etxelur has not been a happy place this winter.’
‘It’s because of us, isn’t it?’
‘Ever since the Pretani boys showed up. Brother against brother, sister against sister.’ He sighed. ‘Frankly, I think most people wish your father would return, Ana. It is as if we are led by wilful children.’
‘It’s my fault,’ Ana said dismally. ‘My Other. I’m bad luck.’
‘You’ve had no control over any of this,’ the priest said.
‘None of us have,’ said Shade heavily.
‘If only you’d just go home!’ Ana flared at him, her anger surprising herself.
‘Oh, that’s not going to happen,’ said the priest. ‘Not until this little game of yours is played out, one way or another. Let’s hope that these days in the valley will soothe our spirits’
There was a piercing yell. They all looked to the cleared area before the forest. A tall figure emerged, a deer slung over his neck, hand cupped to his mouth.
‘Gall’s back,’ said the priest.
‘No.’ Ana stood up. ‘That’s not Gall. That’s a snailhead!’
18
That first night they had nothing to do with the snailheads, though they could see the smoke of their fires around the curve of the river.
Gall’s red deer, when he returned with it, was set aside for the morning. That night they fed on birds’ eggs and young chicks and smaller game flushed out by the dogs, pine martens and a young beaver. The meat was roasted on a fire of fallen branches collected from the forest, the eggs splashed onto hot rocks to be fried and scraped up with wooden spatulas.
The small children, worn out by the walk and the excitement, started to grow sleepy as soon as the sun had gone down and there was food in their bellies. They were put down in the one surviving house; for tonight the adults would make do with lean-tos. It was still early enough in the year for the night to be cold, and Ana took it on herself to check on the children, making sure they were covered with skins and heaps of leaves. Lightning, meanwhile, curled up close to the fire.
The adults and older children got to work at simple jobs, knapping fresh stone blades, repairing rips in house covers with thread made of plaited, greased bark. They had found antlers, dropped by the deer the previous autumn; now they sat around the fire working at the antlers with flint chisels, making awls and scrapers and fish hooks and harpoons with fine, multiple barbs. It was steady, patient, satisfying work, and the priest led them in murmured songs.
They carefully ignored the snailheads.
In the morning, the day began with the butchery of Gall’s deer. It was a big beast, a handsome male. Gall had already removed its antlers. The women took the lead in the butchery, picking up tools from a shared heap as they needed them. But Gall looked faintly disgusted when some of the men of Etxelur joined in – and even more so when Shade picked up a stone blade. Ana knew that in Gall’s culture the women did such work, with the hunter sitting around and lapping up the praise for his kill. Maybe Shade was curious about learning a new skill. Or maybe he was just trying to irritate his brother.
The animal’s head was removed first, and this was the job of the priest, who used an ancient, lustrous flint tool from his charm bag. He apologised to the deer, closing its lifeless eyes and kissing the lids. Then he cut through the animal’s cheek and briskly removed its tongue, severing it at the root; this juicy treat would be his reward.
Then came the skinning. The women made cuts around the hooves and along the inside of the legs; the torso was sliced from throat to crotch. Then the animal was turned over and the skin peeled back, the men hauling, the women crawling around with their blades to chop away sinews and clinging tissue. The skin came away almost intact, and was folded and set aside.
The animal was cut open with heavy blades, and its stomach wall and ribs pulled back. The lungs were torn out and discarded, the guts spilled to the ground. The liver was dug out of the pile of offal and handed to Gall, the hunter, as his prize; he bit into it raw. Then the butchers moved around the carcass, working steadily. The legs were removed and broken at the joints, the ribs put aside, meat sliced from the body. As the animal disintegrated neat piles grew up around it, of meat fillets, big bones to be sucked clean of their marrow, sinews and useful bits of smaller bones, heaps of gut to be chopped up and mixed with blood, salted, fried. Some of the more bitter internal organs would be thrown into the waste pit, which had been placed close to the forest’s edge to lure pigs. Only a few scattered fragments were thrown aside, chopped vertebrae, bone fragments.
Before the butchery was finished, Ana went to work with her sister on the skin. They scraped it clean of the last of the blood and fat and sinews, using tools of small stone blades stuck into a bit of bone with resin. It was fine, careful work; you had to get rid of all the waste while not cutting the skin. After they were done here, the skin would be rinsed in the river water and then soaked in the urine pit for a couple of days, after which the hide would be taken out, washed, and put through a process of stretching, rubbing, folding, soaking, until it was quite soft. Meanwhile there were the deer’s sinews to work on. These would be scraped with even finer tools. Back at the coast they would be washed in sea water, hung up to dry, and split into fine threads. These would be made soft by working over with scrapers, as Ana preferred, or working through your teeth, as others chose.
In this way virtually none of the deer was wasted, and a proper price paid for taking its life.
Glancing up, wiping a bloody hand across her forehead, Ana saw that four young buzzards were circling overhead, their round wings and tail easily visible. When the people had gone and the birds and worms were done with their feeding, nothing would be left of the deer but a few fragments of bone and broken flint. And perhaps when the river shifted its course again, even those traces would be washed out to sea, leaving the land as clean as if humans had never come here at all.
This was what was best about life, she thought, a little wistfully. Useful labour hard enough to make your muscles ache and your skin glow with sweat. People building their lives together through one small task after another, while respecting the world and the endless gifts the mother gods provided for them.
It was while she was in this pleasant, dreamy, late-morning mood that the party from the snailhead camp approached. Three came, two men and a woman. None of them looked much older than Zesi. They had no weapons. One man carried something wrapped in a bit of skin that dripped with blood, and a sack heavy with some liquid. The woman carried a bundle that squirmed, feebly – a baby, Ana saw. One man had blond hair; the other man and woman had brown hair, darker eyes.
They looked ordinary, Ana thought, just like the folk of Etxelur. Ordinary save for their elongated skulls, which stuck out behind their heads, and the bone plugs in their tongues that showed when they opened their mouths. Beyond them, the smoke from their camp beyond the river’s bend snaked into the sky.
Gall dumped his bit of liver and marched up to the newcomers, fists clenched. ‘What do you want?’ He spoke in the tongue of Etxelur.
The man holding the bloody parcel faced him. ‘Trader tongue,’ he said bluntly.
Zesi, followed by Jurgi, came bustling past Gall. ‘Trader tongue,’ she agreed. ‘I speak for these people, not this man.’
‘We have gifts,’ the man said. He held out his bloody bundle. It was the heart of a deer.
Gall laughed at it. ‘What did that come from, an unborn? My left bollock is bigger.’
The snailheads evidently didn’t understand all his words, but they caught his tone. The blond man’s expression
