She remembered the stone’s flight. ‘Yes. Yes, it was. Who?’
‘It was their priest. He hasn’t been seen since – I suspect he won’t be back until we’re safely gone. It was a trap, you see – a trap for you. To get you isolated in a tree, in the Leafy Boys’ domain, and then to draw them to you. Ingenious in a way. And, with luck, it could be made to look like an accident. But their priest was seen.’
‘Who by?’
‘Me.’ He grinned fiercely. ‘I did promise your father I wouldn’t let you come to any harm. From the beginning of that hunt, something didn’t feel right. I spoke to Alder. He took my tree and I took his, which was close enough to yours for me to see. And another saw too, another who stayed close to you.’
‘Shade?’
He nodded.
She said, ‘That runt of a priest wouldn’t do anything without the Root’s say-so.’
‘Exactly. Which is what tonight’s drama is all about. Look, it’s starting…’ As they watched from their log the Pretani emerged from their houses, the Root first, then his son Shade, and then the hunters. The Root and Shade were both naked, but each carried a single blade in his right hand. There was still no sign of the priest, Zesi noticed.
Last of all to emerge was the Root’s wife. Aside from Zesi she was the only woman here. She stood and watched as the men walked through the ring of posts towards the sacred tree. It occurred to Zesi that she didn’t even know the mother’s name. And yet Zesi sensed she was the most important person here.
Shade and the Root faced each other. The hunters stood around them, reflecting the circle of the silent, watchful posts. Zesi thought it was like the stand-off between Gall and Shade.
‘I speak first,’ the Root said. ‘It is the custom.’ He spoke in his coarse Pretani tongue, and Zesi struggled to follow.
‘Then speak,’ Shade said, his tone dripping with contempt.
‘Why are we here, son?’
‘Because I challenged you, father.’
‘Why did you challenge me?’
‘Because you tried to kill Zesi of Etxelur. Tried in a way that lacked honour.’
‘The Leafy Boys attacked her.’
‘They were drawn by her wound. The cast stone caused the wound.’
‘I did not cast the stone.’
‘The priest is your creature. It is as if you cast the stone yourself. You shame yourself if you deny it.’
The Root shrugged. ‘I do not deny it. Why do you care if the Etxelur woman lives or dies?’
‘Because I lay with her. Because she carries my baby.’
The hunters gasped. Zesi saw the mother cast her a look of pure hatred.
‘And why,’ Shade asked now, ‘do you want to see Zesi dead?’
‘The same reason.’ It was the mother who answered, her voice shrill. She pointed at Zesi. ‘Because she carries your baby!’
The Root rumbled, ‘Be silent!’
But she would not. ‘I regret the day I told you to find brides for the boys in Etxelur! One son dead already. The seed of the other wasted in the belly of an Etxelur woman. Now she has Shade’s baby. She is here, stirring up trouble. Shade will leave me and go to her. It’s as clear as night follows day-’
‘I challenge you,’ Shade said to his father, ‘because you are less than a man. You tried to kill a woman. You tried to kill my child, your own unborn grandchild. Your clumsy meddling in our lives… You compound mistake after mistake. You have destroyed your family, and you keep destroying it, even to the next generation. And you did all this because of her,’ and he pointed to his mother. ‘I challenge you because I cannot challenge her.’
Jurgi murmured to Zesi, ‘He either loves you as no man loved a woman before. Or he’s gone insane. Or both…’
Alder stepped forward. ‘The priest is not here. I will say his words. The challenge has been issued. Yet neither need die. Agree a price. A finger from each man, an eye. Make your blows, your cuts. Then turn your backs and walk away.’
The Root shook his huge head. ‘It has gone too far. Blood has already been spilled. It must end here.’
Shade said, ‘And I-’
The Root moved with blinding speed. He grabbed his son’s hand, the hand holding the blade – and he drove it deep into his own belly. The Root groaned, and his eyes rolled. Yet he held onto Shade’s shoulder with his other hand, dropping his own knife.
Shade, his arm already soaked in blood, was shocked. He tried to step back. ‘Father-’
The Root wouldn’t let him go. He gasped, ‘I will not live to see two sons die. Now, son. As it was with your brother. You did it well for him. I saw you. Up and to the heart.’ Father and son were locked in a ghastly, struggling embrace. ‘The heart! The heart!’
Weeping, Shade braced, obeyed his father, and thrust deep.
The mother screamed and fell to the ground. The hunters rushed forward towards their leader.
The priest put his arm around Zesi. ‘Into the house. Come, quickly.’ The following morning Alder, grim-faced, summoned Zesi and the priest from their house. They were to watch the last of it.
Zesi saw that a pit had been dug into the ground, in a gap in the outer circle of young trees. An oak sapling lay on the ground, neatly uprooted; dirt still clung to its roots. Shade stood over the pit, naked, his father’s blood still staining his belly and legs. His men stood behind him.
Nobody else was here; the women and children and slaves stayed in their houses as the men pursued their drama of blood and death.
Shade raised a hand to beckon Zesi forward.
With the priest, she came to the edge of the pit. The Root’s heavy corpse lay in the pit, on his back. He was naked, unadorned, with pink-grey guts spilling from the huge, ragged wound in his belly. He looked as if he had been thrown in there, without ceremony.
Shade glared at Zesi, his eyes bright, his face unreadable. That new wound over his forehead seemed to be seeping blood – and she wondered if it would soon be joined by a second kill scar. There was little left of the Shade she had known, the boy who had come to Etxelur just months ago.
‘I wanted you to see this,’ he said to Zesi. He spoke in the Etxelur tongue, his accent thick. ‘To see what you have done. Because of you my brother is dead, my father is dead – both dead at my own hand – and my mother is gone, off into the forest, insane with her grief.’ He glanced down at the corpse. ‘We did this to ourselves. But we broke ourselves on you, Zesi, like a dog dashing out its brains against a tree. When this is done, go from here. Go to your home.’
She said hotly, hand on belly, ‘I carry your baby.’
‘Pray to your little mothers that you never see my face again.’
Then he bent, picked up the young tree, and rammed it upside down into his father’s pit, branches in the ground, the roots in the air, a grotesque mockery of life.
36
Off the Scandinavian shore, deep under the sea, huge mounds of silt were in motion. The undersea landslip would not be a large event, on a planetary scale. Only a volume the size of a small country, a mass of mud entirely submerged, sliding deeper into the abyss.
But an equivalent volume of water, pushed aside by the silt, would have to find somewhere to go.
37
Ana led the way along the track across the Flint Island marsh, with Novu following, Dreamer with her baby in a sling on her back, and then Arga. Arga, at least, was singing the ancient song of the trail, which she was trying to learn. Nobody else seemed happy.
The track felt solid underfoot to Ana. But then, earlier in the year, she herself had helped set down a new layer of logs on this very track, cut and shaped, to press down on the old. Sometimes she wondered how long this had been going on, how many generations had worn away while the rows of logs, one on top of the other, had been pushed down ever deeper into the soft mud, the soaked and rotten wood of the lowest at last dissolving away.
The four of them had crossed the causeway and come to this marsh on the north side of the island to show Novu and Dreamer a new place, a new kind of landscape for them, and maybe to trap some birds or an otter or two. It had been her father’s idea, a way for them all to get to know each other better, his daughter and the two newcomers. So Kirike had pronounced, before he had got into his boat and paddled away over the horizon with Heni, once again leaving Ana to work it all out.