Wolf road, p.3
Wolf Road, page 3
They all stayed up late that night, preferring to linger in the safety of firelight, even if their backs and backsides were cold. But eventually they crawled into their tents – except two – Skire and her man, Maatu. Those two would do the first shift: keeping the fire going and watching over the camp, with spears in hand. Then Kussa and Leon would take over for the second half of the night.
The eerie howling continued intermittently through the night. Tuuli woke a few times to hear the wolves, sometimes far away, sometimes much nearer. And she heard something else too: Skire and Maatu arguing. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it sounded angry. It made Tuuli sad. Maatu and Skire had only been together for two winters, and always seemed besotted with each other. Sometimes Tuuli found it embarrassing to be near them, the young lovers were so wrapped up in themselves. And she’d never heard them exchange a cross word, until now. What could it be about? The wolves, the arguing, it was all unsettling.
Taking the second shift, Kussa and Leon would breathe a sigh of relief when the sky began to lighten and a new dawn spread across the still-icy land.
CRACKS APPEAR
Tuuli woke up and pulled her boots on. She emerged from the tent into bright sunshine. Something was different today. Alongside the murmur of the waking camp, babies crying, the noise of someone already breaking branches for the fire, there was another sound – dripping. The larches were shrugging off their winter cloaks. The first day of spring had arrived.
She walked down to the edge of the river, where the ice had pulled away from the bank. Kneeling down and plunging her hands into the cold water, she scooped some up to drink and splashed her face, gasping with the cold. No more drilling through the ice or melting ice and snow in leather bags by the fire to drink! Crossing the river would be more dangerous, though. Last year, they’d walked right across the valley, crossing the ice-bound river twice to short-cut its meandering path. That might not be an option today.
The tents were being dismantled. Jutsa was packing up hides and poles from their family tent, with Ketki tied to her chest in a hide sling. She was wearing her fur leggings and boots, but her back and arms were bare.
‘You’ll be warm in that coat today!’ she called to Tuuli, as her daughter approached.
‘Spring is here! The river is running. We’ll be swimming soon. I can’t wait!’ replied Tuuli, excitedly.
‘Will you take Ketki this morning?’ asked Jutsa. ‘He’s not enjoying travelling on the sled much.’
‘Really?!’ objected Tuuli. ‘But I was going to go hunting this morning.’
‘I don’t think we’ve got enough time. If we’re to have any chance of catching up with the herd beyond the meander, we really need to get going. We’ve been going a bit slow.’
‘Not my fault,’ responded Tuuli. ‘It’s the kids. We’re only as fast as the shortest legs, and Vinta’s legs are pretty short.’
‘Ah, he’s only three winters old – he’s doing really well,’ admonished Jutsa gently.
Tuuli ran over to Remi, who was helping Starra, Wren and Kuba take down their tent.
‘Papa! Can I go hunting? Just quickly?’
‘I thought Jutsa wanted you to take Ketki?’ he said quizzically. ‘Has she asked you?’
Tuuli looked down at the trampled, wet snow beneath her feet. ‘Well, she did,’ she admitted. ‘When we set off, though. I just thought there might be time to hunt before we go.’
‘No. No, there’s not,’ Remi said emphatically. ‘Now go and help your mother.’
Tuuli stuck her chin out and sighed, glanced at Wren who was making a sympathetic face at her, and trudged unwillingly back over to the dismantled remains of her own tent and started to pull bits and pieces onto her pulk. In the distance, a wolf howled again.
‘Go on, Tuuli,’ said Jutsa, kindly but firmly. ‘He’d love a cuddle with you.’
Tuuli took little Ketki in her arms and Jutsa arranged the wide part of the sling around him, then tied the ends round Tuuli’s neck and under one arm.
‘He’s just been fed so he should go to sleep now,’ said Jutsa.
‘He’s getting heavier,’ commented Tuuli.
‘Babies tend to do that!’ Jutsa smiled.
Tuuli adjusted the sling to make it comfortable and settled Ketki into place.
‘Mama,’ she said quietly.
‘Yes?’
‘What’s going on with Kussa and Leon? They seem… really grumpy.’
Jutsa sighed. She looked into her daughter’s eyes.
‘Yes. They are.’
‘What’s it about?’
‘It’s about change. It’s about me taking the reins, I suppose.’
‘But you’ve been leading us for ages, really,’ said Tuuli. ‘Even when Grandmama was here. You were making the decisions.’
‘Well, they didn’t like that. Remember, they were the sons of the Tribe-Mother in their old talo. They had more status there, more say in how things were done.’
Jutsa was staring into the distance, down the river. ‘And now I’m on my own.’
‘You’re not, though, are you? You have your sisters. You have Papa.’
Tuuli’s grandmother had died one night last summer. She left them peacefully. Tuuli had always slept next to her grandmama – whose name she shared – in the family tent. And that morning, she’d awoken to see the still face near hers, and knew immediately that Old Tuuli had gone. She’d reached out and touched her grandmama’s cheek, knowing that its warmth would have withdrawn, but she’d still been shocked by just how cold and unyielding the skin felt. And of course she had cried, and so had Jutsa. But this was part of the circle of life and Tuuli’s own mother then became their Tribe-Mother and Wayfinder. That hadn’t seemed to cause problems back in the sun-drenched days of late summer, at the camp along the dunes. At least, Tuuli hadn’t noticed any issues. Perhaps these new frictions were temporary, Tuuli thought hopefully, biting her lip.
Jutsa seemed to wake from her reverie. She gave Tuuli a hug.
‘You’re squeezing Ketki!’ Tuuli exclaimed.
Jutsa laughed.
‘Things will be all right. Don’t worry about it.’ She tried to reassure Tuuli, as though she’d suddenly decided that she’d shared too much with her daughter. ‘Soon we’ll be at Spring Camp, and all will be well.’
Tuuli smiled. ‘Now you sound like Aski!’
Jutsa turned away to finish tying the last few things onto her pulk.
Tuuli peered down at the top of Ketki’s head inside the sling, reaching in with her left hand to rub his furry black hair. ‘You are quite cute,’ she whispered, ‘which is lucky! But you are very, very spoilt! I’m sure I just had to put up with being pulled around on a sled rather than getting to be carried on a trek, little Ketki Jutsa-panda.’
The camp was quickly stripped down and bundled up. People ate as they got on with packing rather than stopping to sit down for a meal. Maatu had made a basic broth in a skin, with river water and dried reindeer meat and fat, heated with a few hot stones from the fire. He opened up a hide parcel of willow leaves and twigs, collected back in leaf-fall; they’d gone soft and sour, pickling themselves in their own juices. The willow went into the broth too.
Maatu had made a few birch bark cups for people to dip in and drink from. Tuuli loved these cups – they were simple and easy to make, but perfect for the job. You took a strip of flexible birch bark, and cut a circle out of it, the size of two hands. Then you made a fold in it to turn the flat circle into a cone, and used a split stick to hold the folded bark in place, and double up as a handle. She took one of the cups and ladled out some steaming broth, leaning over to bring it to her lips so as not to drip any on Ketki’s head. It was delicious. The sharp sourness of the fermented willow tingled on her tongue, dancing with the darker, warmer taste of the meat. After she’d enjoyed a few refills, she put the cup back near the fire for someone else to use.
She saw Skire was keeping her distance from Maatu this morning. Instead, she was helping Kussa and Leon pack their pulks. Poz came over to the tripod where the bag of warm broth hung. He looked around for birch-bark cups and collected four, filling them up one by one. He ended up holding three steaming cups in one hand and one in the other.
‘All for you?’ asked Tuuli. ‘That’s a bit greedy.’
Poz scowled at her.
‘You think you’re funny,’ he said. ‘But you’re not.’
What’s wrong with him? thought Tuuli, shaking her head.
Poz turned on his heel and headed over to Kussa, Leon and Skire to hand out the cups of broth. Tuuli stroked Ketki’s warm little head. He was fast asleep.
Soon they were all ready to get going. Remi pulled the thongs tightly over the large bundle on his pulk and secured the loose end, winding it around his new antler buckle. If they were quick today, as Jutsa had said, they’d have a chance of catching up with the reindeer. This was the stretch of the journey where, after following a wide curve in the river, they could strike off in the direction of the setting sun and catch the river coming back down to meet them again on the other side. And if they were lucky, the reindeer herd may have paused there.
Tuuli stayed near Jutsa in case Ketki woke up for a feed. This time, Wren pushed ahead to catch up with Tuuli. They walked side by side, dragging their pulks behind them.
‘The wolves are still around, then,’ remarked Wren, as they heard more howling. It seemed closer again. ‘At least we don’t need to worry about them during the day,’ she continued. ‘And by this evening, we should be at the rock-shelter camp.’
‘Good,’ said Tuuli. ‘I’ll feel much safer there.’
‘And it’s a good way-marker,’ said Wren. ‘We’ll be halfway to the Spring Camp.’
Everyone loved the Spring Camp. They would stay for a whole moon, put up proper, big tipis, go swimming in the river – and best of all, catch trout and salmon. But that was still days away, and today was all about getting up and over that escarpment.
They’d started by heading sunwards, tracking the left bank of the river. Then they would be wedged in, caught in the cleft as the river pushed itself hard against the steeply rising bank. And although the river was still mostly bound in ice and snow it was free at this side, the dark water tumbling over stones.
Jutsa turned to the group.
‘We won’t cross the water. It’s too dangerous now. We’ll go up the hill,’ she said, gesturing at the riverbank. Tuuli looked around the group; was anyone going to argue with her mother this time? It seemed not. She was quietly relieved, but then, perhaps it was just that there was nowhere else to go: no other choice. None of them, not even the grumpy uncles, were foolish enough to try to cross melting ice. But it was going to be difficult. Although pulks worked well on flat ground, over snow, even when it was turning to slush, on the riverbank short, stubby willow twigs stuck up through the melting drifts, and they’d have to drag their pulks over them to get up on the ridge.
They all attacked the bank, some more enthusiastically than others. Tuuli and Wren were the last to set off. Tuuli found the ascent really difficult, especially with her baby brother tied to her chest. At one point, as she stepped forward and her foot plunged down into the deep snow, up to her thigh, she almost fell on top of him. She was clambering more than walking, grabbing the reins to pull the pulk up behind her as it snagged on twigs. She felt hot with the effort; now she regretted keeping her reindeer coat on. She sat on the snow to catch her breath. Wren slumped down beside her. She’d stowed her winter coat and was wearing a tunic; her brown arms and face were shining with the exertion.
‘This. Is. Not. Fun!’ she exclaimed.
‘You should try it with a ten-moon baby strapped to you!’ answered Tuuli.
‘Well, you are wearing your big winter coat!’ said Wren. ‘Anyway, do you want me to take the baby for a bit?’ Wren offered.
Wren shuffled closer on the snow and Tuuli bent her head forward so that it would be easier to untie the sling. She cradled Ketki in her arms as the sling came loose. He opened his eyes and babbled a bit. They both looked at him. He smiled and chuckled at them.
‘I wonder what he’s trying to say,’ said Wren. ‘I wonder what he thinks.’
‘Do you think he can think?’ said Tuuli. ‘I mean, if he doesn’t have words at all, how can he think things?’
Wren put her face close to Ketki’s and looked into his deep brown eyes. ‘I think there’s lots going on in there,’ she said. ‘Words are just the ripples on the surface of the water. There are thoughts playing in there like deep currents.’
Ketki smiled up at her and broke wind.
‘That’s the most sensible thing I’ve ever heard him say!’ laughed Tuuli.
Wren bundled the baby up again and Tuuli tied the sling in place.
‘Come on,’ said Wren decisively. ‘We’re almost there. We’re almost into the forest.’
Wren was right. They continued up the bank, lurching through the snowdrifts and clambering over the uncooperative willows, and then they were in among the spruce and larches. There was little undergrowth here; the snow lay smoothly under the trees, apart from where their companions had churned it up with boots and pulks. But it was so much easier now.
It was also very quiet; among the trees, sounds were muffled. Around them, the snow was melting and dripping from branches. The wood was full of the smell of spring, damp and earthy. It was as though the trees were holding their breath, waiting. And then they heard the wolves again.
‘I think we’ve fallen quite a long way behind,’ said Wren. ‘I hope they’ll stop and wait for us before they go down the other side.’
There was tension in her voice.
Tuuli called out – keyyyk! keyyyk! – her loud, clear kestrel-call. Silence. She tried again. Then a fox-call came back. Two barks, in response to her double call. It was Remi. The others were closer than they’d thought. They hurried on through the woods in the direction of the fox-call.
Eventually, the trees thinned out and Wren and Tuuli emerged on the flank of the long hill that was bounded on three sides by the river. Most of the others were there, waiting for them. But as they got closer, Tuuli noticed that Leon, Kussa and Poz were missing from the group. Wren handed the grizzling Ketki over to Jutsa, who unwrapped him and changed the moss inside his wrapping before settling down to feed him. Parcels of dried meat and fish had been opened to snack on. Remi was sitting some way from the rest of the group, elbows resting on his knees, staring off into the distance. A drifting arc of snow geese passed above them, coming back from the southern lands where they’d overwintered. (Though Aski said the geese flew to the moon for the winter, Tuuli had always been sceptical. ‘They just go south,’ her father had told her, ‘to the land beyond the mountains, where the sun lives.’)
* * *
They were looking down on the crook, the armpit, of the river. From this vantage point they could see the darkness of the water at the riverbanks, and the uneven thinness of the ice in the middle. Spring was moving swiftly this year. This hook of land fell steeply down to the river’s edge, but the valley was wide and flat on the other side, bordered by a low cliff with overhanging rock-shelters – perfect for a campsite. There were some people over there already. It looked like they’d been there a while – a scatter of tipis were set up and a few thin skeins of smoke twisted into the air.
‘Who are they?’ Tuuli asked Jutsa, who was peering out with narrowed eyes.
‘I’m not sure,’ Jutsa confessed. ‘They must have come down from the north, so maybe the Fulmars or the Snow Geese.’ These two other tribes spent the winter along another river valley, and often met up with Jutsa’s people – the Swans – at Spring or Summer Camp. Those tribes were tied to them through kinship: the Snow Geese were Skire’s people, while Kussa and Leon came from the Fulmars. Remi and Maatu had grown up in another tribe that came from even further north: the Eagles. Tribes would naturally expand and contract through time, with births, deaths and the exchange of marriage partners.
‘And where’s Poz? And Kussa and Leon?’ asked Tuuli.
Her mother sighed. ‘They’ve gone ahead. They didn’t want to wait.’
She paused and looked troubled.
‘Skire’s gone with them, too. I think they might try to cross the river.’
That was madness. It made Tuuli feel deeply unsettled. The close-knit talo really did seem to be pulling apart. It must all weigh heavily on her mother. Tuuli knew the paths that they must follow well enough – they were walked back into memory every year. Negotiating those ancient ways, fitting their pace with the changing seasons, following the reindeer to the calving grounds and then back up to the sheltered, cave-full valleys – that was the easy part. Much harder for the new Wayfinder was keeping everyone together, on the path. Tradition bound the tribe to Jutsa, but there were tensions developing that threatened to tear those ties. Today’s trek was not going well. And while there were other people on that flat bank beyond the loop of the river, the reindeer herd was nowhere to be seen. Had the others scared them off?
Jutsa rose to her feet. ‘Time to move,’ she said simply, and they all pressed on again. Tuuli went plunging down the hillside, sometimes into wet snow up to her waist, her legs entangled in stumpy willows. They were now low down, close to the river. Here, there were hollows in the limestone cliff that they could build their shelters against tonight, even if they didn’t have anywhere near as much space as the other tribe on the opposite bank. They could see those others more clearly now. Tuuli squinted across, trying to spot Poz, Leon, Kussa or Skire among them.
She went down to the water’s edge and drank the clear, ice-cold water from cupped hands. Then she stood up and called her kestrel-cry twice, and twice again – listening hard for Skire’s magpie in reply, or even Poz’s broken-voiced bellowing reindeer. But nothing. They surely wouldn’t ignore the calls, so that suggested they weren’t here, on this side of the river. They must have crossed over. She hoped they’d made it across the water safely. The river was gathering pace, starting to flow more strongly now, as it broke free of the ice. In a day or two, it would be in full spate with the meltwater from the mountains.
