“They’re going to get wet,” I said. “Look at the rain coming down the valley under Grave Mountain.” Kalik lost interest – as always when there was no response to his cruelty.
I had been counting on Wirrem’s knowledge of gardening, but there was no way of rescuing him. He would live out his life in the logging camp until some day when he was too slow getting out of the way of a falling tree, a skidding log.
The other children were upset. That night, I lay awake and went over those left.
The four little ones. Two boys, two girls. Chak, always in trouble, wanting to do the things the older ones were doing. Hurk, another boy, a little taller. Lively, curly-haired Kimi, and another little girl, Tupu. She tired easily, was often feverish, high-coloured, and coughed. Her breathing was uneasy and, when I tappped her chest and back, I could hear damp spots. Tuberculosis. All four were young enough to adapt – if I could only help Tupu shake off the wasting disease.
Pretty Maka, of course, and her friend, Tulu, the two oldest girls. Tulu laughed often, was strong in mind and body. Maka was sweet-natured, but I noticed how she hid behind the others when Kalik appeared, how she was sometimes withdrawn. She and Tulu were always helping the little ones. Finding them treats. Good-tempered, intelligent, reliable, both.
Tama and Puli – boy and girl – recovering, but slowly, illness of mind reflected in weak bodies. I worked at cheering them, made sure they ate well, encouraged the others to help them.
Kitimah and Sheenah, two more older girls, both pregnant from rape.
Paku and his mate, Tepulka, older boys still unsure about me. Cruelty had made both suspicious, but they were beginning to give me their confidence. Tepulka, good with his hands, carved the posts for the graves of the Salt Children who died. Paku, I hoped, would make a leader.
Twelve left out of over thirty. Wirrem and the other older boys would have given us strength. “Limit your plans to the possible,” I told myself. “Do the best you can with what you’ve got.” I tried to see them separately, their faces, voices. I must get to know each one.
Chak was one of the most cheerful not just because he was so young. He had it in him to survive. How could Tama and Puli learn that? Kimi, the youngest girl, was another with the will to live. And Kitimah and Sheenah, concerning themselves now with the babies they were going to have.
How to escape? When? And to where? What would we take? How would I feed the Children, keep them warm, keep them going long enough? Was it actually better to live as a slave? Had I the right to risk their lives?
Then things began to change as Kalik had warned me. The Maidens set aside their usual long robes and wore short tunics, hunting costume, their hair plaited. Each day, their sacred rituals and praise of Hekkat began earlier and finished later.
The ordinary people only saw Lutha in the distance. Kalik was everywhere, joking, helping, encouraging. While Lutha and the Maidens chanted, he organised the hunting parties that acted as patrols. He led the daily bow and spear exercises, making sure everyone took part – everyone but Lutha and the Maidens.
I enjoyed the exercises, Kalik beside me. He was a fine shot with a bow. We tumbled and thrust in mock knife and spear fights. And Kalik laughed – he was always laughing. He used praise, was quick to honour a good shot. He was patient with the youngsters, showing them how to release the bowstring without losing aim, how to trim the flights to send the arrow straighter.
One moment dancing in a spear practice, the next he would remind everyone who he was. Standing like stone. Thinking. People were impressed.
While Lutha and the Maidens were so busy, everybody still needed to be fed. “We really need more hunters,” Kalik said, “at this time of year.”
“Use the Salt Children,” I suggested.
“Beasts of burden. Only good for carrying home the meat.” I grimaced at Kalik, so he tossed his curly head and laughed. Trying to hide my feelings for the Salt Children was pointless. What I could conceal was how strongly I felt the Children were the family I had always wanted.
My deception only worked because Kalik saw the Salt People as animals which could perform a few useful tricks. Kalik had no idea of them as being like himself, no sense of morality towards them. Lutha had accepted my argument about the Salt Children’s usefulness. And since that was her attitude, and Kalik’s, the rest of the Headland People adopted it, too.
One day Maka appeared wearing another tunic, still shabby but warmer than her old one. A gift for looking after a sick baby. I had recognised the symptoms Maka described, made up a simple herbal remedy, and she gave it to the child. Perhaps some people were beginning to realise the Salt Children were human after all.
Then Kalik warned me the time was coming when men must keep out of sight. “It is part of the moon-worship,” he said. “The Headland People’s worship of the Triple-Hekkat.”
“Avoid the Roundhouse, do you mean?”
“More than that!” Kalik was amused, then the usual bland poise descended upon him. He stretched. I noticed again his litheness, the muscles of his legs and arms moving clear-cut and distinct. He slumped back down beside me.
Beneath, the Salt Children were filing across the causeway carrying baskets of vegetables. The goats followed Chak and Kimi. I averted my gaze as I felt Kalik’s look.
“During the Festival of the Moon, Lutha and the Maidens will drink the wine, and neither men nor wild animals will be safe. On the third night, the moon will be at its fullest, and the Maidens will kill any man they come across – with their bare hands. Eating his flesh, drinking his blood. After that we’ll be safe for another year.”
“What about Lutha?”
“She will lead the madness. On the night of the full moon.”
“What about children, boys?”
“There is an old story of a priestess tearing her own son to pieces.”
“Then how does any boy live to be a man?”
“They are put in a safe place. The goddess makes sure the Maidens respect her buildings. Keep inside, you’ll be quite all right.”
“I can’t believe it!”
“It has always been done.”
I wondered at Kalik’s serenity. So often he spoke of some terrible thing as if it were quite usual. Behind his smooth face there was some twist of thinking. I sometimes wondered if he was sane. Like the way he had sent Wirrem and the older boys to the timber workings – apparently to try me since he could not understand my thinking. His response to uncertainty was to hurt someone. Kalik was a natural torturer.
“What about the rest of the men?”
“They know it is necessary to placate the Goddess.”
“But your people – before you joined Lutha?”
Kalik laughed. “We worshipped Hekkat, too. The men keep out of the way, inside the buildings. Only three nights, and it’s over for another year. Hekkat is satisfied.”
“By what?”
“The flesh and blood of the man killed for her.” Kalik smiled. “Hekkat lives in Lutha and the Maidens those three days, eats and drinks through them.”
“Why don’t the men don’t fight back?”
“They have been brought up to it. Besides, the food for certain men is already being drugged. That is why one of them will lose his wits, wander outside, and get caught.
“Until the night after the full moon, Ish, eat nothing offered you. Cook your own food. Draw your own water. But Lutha will have taken steps to protect you. She can never repay you for bringing back her father.
“Your first arrival at the lake was the signal for Lutha to overthrow the old priestesses, on the Floating Village. You were seen as the Stranger in the story I told you. You are under the protection of the Moon Goddess herself. Still, the wine makes the Maidens mad. Keep inside.”
“But why are those men picked out? What have they done wrong?”
“Nothing!” Kalik doubled up as if at a great joke. “Sometimes it’s a man with a crooked eye, a weak arm, lame.” He glanced at me and smiled. I tried always to hide my limp, but knew Kalik would have noticed. “A coward who ran away in a bear hunt. Somebody with a stammer. Or cross eyes. That’s all it takes.
“You’ll be surprised,” Kalik smiled. “Everyone will feel better afterwards. You, too.”
“Me! Why?”
“Because it works. With the death of the scapegoat, the sins of the old year are driven out. We feel clean. Ready to start the new year!”
“It’s murder!”
“It works!” That was always Kalik’s test, no matter how wrong something was. Face alight, he drew me up.
“Come on, we’ll see how the canoe’s going!” And we walked down, talking about the tote log. But in the back of my mind I was thinking about the killing of the scapegoat, Kalik’s cold judgement. Calculation.
The great tote was being hollowed out. It rang with the blows of the metal adzes. The carvers were intent. Satisfying work, I thought, then found myself remembering two Salt Men who died to launch it.
I came to myself like waking from a dream. Their work finished for the day, the carvers were looking at me curiously. Several Maidens were collecting the chips of red wood in baskets to be taken to the Roundhouse.
I heard Kalik say, “We’d better go hunting again. We still haven’t got that bear. Besides, you can keep some of the meat for yourself.” And he reminded me: “Don’t take food from anyone else’s hand until after the full moon.”
My face gave me away. “Ish,” said Kalik and he smiled, “my people used to tell a very old story about a time when the priestess was a priest. When we worshipped a god instead of a goddess. When the sacred wine was drunk, and the priest led a maddened pack of men. When they sacrificed a woman. And everyone felt better afterwards. Ready to face another year. It’s what works.”
“It still doesn’t make sense.”
“It works!” Kalik smiled his remote smile. Distant, objective, amused.
Would my own idea work?