A wider ring of people stood, shocked, their mouths wide with horror. Ana had her arms around Zesi, who could not look at Shade.
Kirike came forward. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘We’ll clean you up – we’ll take care of your brother, we’ll talk to your priest-’
There was a rumble, like thunder, or an immense drum. It came from out to sea. People turned to the north, to the ocean, distracted, even Kirike, even Shade.
And a single wave, almost stately, anomalously tall, came washing from the sea to break high up the beach.
TWO
28
All across the northern hemisphere tremendous masses were on the move, as ice melted and water flowed. Under this pressure the seabeds suffered their own spasms of compression and release. Huge subsurface salt deposits, relics of previous eras of drying, shifted and cracked – weak points in the rocky substructure, their failure causing uplift and fracturing on the surface.
Far to the north of Etxelur the seabed was particularly unstable. As the ice had receded over Scandinavia, rivers swollen by meltwater had eroded away whole landscapes and deposited the debris in the shallow ocean – the ruins of mountains and valleys dumped in fans and scree slopes and undersea dunes. This gigantic spill was never in equilibrium; it had been deposited too quickly for that.
Huge volumes of mud slid and settled in the deep dark. Strange weather systems gathered over the restless seabed, ocean storms whose rumbling thunder could be heard far away.
Given enough time, a more significant adjustment was inevitable.
29
It was a half-month after the midsummer Giving that the party for the wildwood hunt gathered outside Zesi’s house.
When Zesi emerged, her tied-up pack in her hands, the Pretani were already there, ready to leave. The dozen hunters, bristling with spears, were laden with sacks of salted meat and the fruit of the sea. The food was a gift from Etxelur, from Kirike. The most precious gift of all was a small sack of herbs, unguents and seeds, prepared by the priest, a souvenir of the dreaming house, sophisticated beyond anything the Pretani could produce. On a late summer morning that was already hot, the Root stood outside the house, arms folded, massive in his skins, silent and unmoving as an oak tree. The Root would lead the walk. The Pretani would have it no other way. Kirike stood with him, talking quietly.
Shade stood by his father, face blank, eyes downcast. He wouldn’t look at Zesi.
And now Jurgi the priest walked up to the party, pack on his back. Zesi felt her temper burn.
Zesi, the chosen challenger from Etxelur, was allowed one travelling companion. Her father had brusquely rejected her selection of various hard-bodied, hot-headed young men. To her horror and amazement he chose Jurgi – a priest, who had gone through none of the challenges and rites of manhood, who hunted only for exercise, who had never had a woman.
‘Yet he is the one,’ Kirike had said, stern and unmoving.
‘It’s supposed to be my choice!’
His blue eyes were bright with anger. ‘You’re lucky I’m allowing you to go at all. You have no control. It is said that in my absence it was as if the community was being led by a child. And by lying with the Pretani boy you brought shame on us all, and caused anger and death to be brought into the heart of the Giving – death at the midsummer solstice. You know I’m not one for omens. Pray that the little mothers are more forgiving than I am.’
‘But Jurgi is scarcely a man at all!’
‘He’s a better human being than you’ll ever be. I trust him to keep you safe, and from doing more harm.’ And he had walked away, refusing to discuss it further.
Zesi had seethed. She knew better than to argue when she was beaten. But now that old anger and humiliation returned.
Jurgi wore a simple cloth tunic, leggings and boots of softened deerskin, and as well as his pack he carried a hide cloak, warm and waterproof, tied over one shoulder. He wore none of his priest’s finery, his face was scrubbed clean save for the circle-and-line tattoo on his cheek, and the thick greasy blue dye in his hair had been washed out leaving it a natural brown. He looked normal until he grinned at her, showing his wooden teeth.
‘Just don’t shame me, priest.’
‘I’ll do my very best.’
A few more of the folk of Etxelur were gathering now, to see off the party. Ana came out of the house and took Zesi’s hands. ‘I wish you weren’t doing this.’
Zesi glanced over at Shade. ‘And I wish things were different. I wish Gall still breathed, disgusting fool that he was.’
‘It was all the fault of the Root’s scheming. We shouldn’t let it come between us.’
Zesi looked hard at her sister, for the first time in a long age. Ana had always just been here, in the background of her life, not objectionable, never very interesting. But now she was growing into a woman. She was thinner, paler than Zesi – less beautiful, Zesi knew. But she was more serious, more dependable than Zesi was, probably. A better person. And in the middle of this mess, a better friend than Zesi deserved. Zesi hugged her, impulsively. ‘I’m sorry.’
Ana, hesitant, hugged her back. ‘What for?’
‘I don’t know. For all I’ve done, and for all the horrible things I’ll do in the future, that will hurt you one way or another. For that’s what I’m like, you know.’
‘Well, that’s true,’ Ana said dryly, making Zesi laugh. ‘But we’ll always be sisters. No matter what we do we can’t wipe that away.’
‘I wish I had your wisdom.’
‘And I wish I had your eyebrows. Now go, and keep safe.’
Arga came running up, followed by a bouncing Lightning. Arga was crying. ‘I slept late! I nearly missed you!’ She grabbed Zesi’s waist, and Lightning jumped up at them. ‘If you’d gone before I could say goodbye-’
‘It’s only a couple of months.’ But Arga looked up, her round face streaked with tears, and Zesi saw that two months was a long time in such a young life. ‘I’ll be back before the summer is done.’ Gently she pushed Arga away. ‘I’ll teach you dolphin riding.’
‘Ha! Or I’ll teach you, more like…’
The Root rumbled in his own tongue, ‘Are we done? It would be good to get past those sand dunes yonder before the sun goes down…’
So they set off, the Root and his son leading the hunters, and Zesi and the priest following. The Etxelur folk waved and clapped, and for a while Arga and an excited Lightning ran alongside the little column.
Zesi glanced back at Ana and her father. It struck Zesi that Kirike hadn’t spoken to her all morning, hadn’t embraced or kissed her – hadn’t said goodbye. Even now he didn’t so much as wave.
She turned and walked up towards the dunes. They marched steadily south.
The coastal plain gave way to rolling hills, and for the first few days they followed faintly defined trails through banks of heather and bracken. The high moorland was thick with billows of gorse, prickly green and yellow, and with broom, a subtly gentler shade. The thorn bushes bore white blossom, and buttercups with big heavy bright yellow heads dotted the grasslands. Ground-nesting birds rose at their approach, piping their indignation.
Once, on a ridge, Jurgi pointed out vast herds far away, cattle or deer, like the shadows of clouds on the earth.
