Chapter 21 - Dancer
Earlier the same day: Wilds of Eagle Owl. SE Britain
It was on that same frosty morning in the camp of Halko that Su’lan had deserted me with my aching feet, to join hunters in ceremonial garb all eager to commune with the spirit. Zawalla the sorceress had been in attendance, to administer the purge of evil spirits. There she divined the legendary bull was ready to play their game. The hunters tried to tease out of her whether the pursuit would be successful or not.
Zawalla had to remind them, ‘Some futures are best not prophesied for fear of prejudicing the result’. Nevertheless she did share,
‘Old Bull has returned to these wilds not only to play this game, but with another task to undertake. If you act well, the sons of the Eagle Owl will return’. Many a bull has survived a hunt, and in its turn, many spirits of hunters have passed in its place. The aurochs are huge and dangerous.
A dozen of the strongest and most agile men from several Ishi of the Eagle Owl were gathered to form the band. Su’lan felt honoured to be included. Garbs of beaten leathers and crowns of horns were discarded. Next the men ritually washed scent from their naked bodies before rubbing the ground powders of dung and clay all over their goose pimpled skins. They are robed with freshly cleaned and more functional jackets and breeches of deerhide. Some tucked lucky talismans beneath scarfs of marten fur. Bowmen picked up their quivers. Spearmen collected light wooden javelins along with heavier flint tipped thrusting spears. The captain of dog-kind stood proudly next to the two best bull dogs of the Eagle Owl. These hounds howled in anticipation of the sport. They were permitted to do so in camp, but stealth would be required in the field.
Young apprentice scouts with tired eyes, clad in winter furs had silently monitored the aurochsen for the past few nights. One of their numbers approached the hunters and offered to lead them to the herd. Su’lan set off with the band as they proceeded to follow a series of winding animal trails through the wildwoods.
These trails brought them to a high ridge of pine, before crossing the dry stream of a valley. At its bottom, the leaffall was deeply littered on top of mosses. The bulldogs were forced to leap in bounds as the band of merry hunters crunched forward.
Beyond the dry valley, with a wave of his hand, the scout captain signalled for silence. Some hunters removed moccasins to leave suspended in a hawthorn tree. They tipped forward towards the margins of a plain, where carefully concealed scouts beckoned. Peering across a plain of tall deadened grasses faded to winter beige, scouts used crafty hand signals to point out the location and mood of the herd.
Su’lan could see the aurochsen grazing out on their small prairie. This herd was large for their wild kind. Perhaps twenty or more bovines, mainly cows or juveniles in their coats of dun or tan. A few young bulls present, sporting longer horns and coats of black and tan. Their old bull was exceptionally huge. A colossal, magnificent black bull, calmly chewing cud as he sat near to his cows. Even the tallest of grasses couldn't hide his figure. The goliath of our wild world.
Scouts guided the hunters back through the woods until they reached the edge of the plain downwind. Here they’d approach their quarry. Between themselves and Old Bull stood swathes of the tall winter dead grasses not yet flattened by snow nor storm. Stands of gorse scrub punctuate this plain. On hands and knees the hunters began to slowly crawl closer. They were eager to avoid alerting Old Bull of their presence on his prairie. Every now and then hunters would peek from behind the prickles of gorse to assess progress. On Su’lan’s own turn he was amazed by the stature of Old Bull. If raised on his hooves, this giant would tower above the tallest of savages, his wide span of longhorns promised death.
Scouts and dogs entered the playing field under the cover of the scrub. They crawled along the same tramped down corridors left in the wake of the hunters. Paths divided as each dancer took his position for the game. Old Bull the patriarch remained oblivious to the presence of the clever Eagle Owl hunters and scouts.
The dance> commenced when the first dancer leapt up from cover, screaming insults and waving his javelin at nearby calves. Old Bull accepted his invitation, rising to his full height before he launched his heavy charge of death at the puny human. Nearby, Su’lan heard the insults, then felt the thundering vibrations as the hooves of the enormous bull struck at the ground beneath. With diligence he peeked over his cover and took aim with his spear.
Old Bull remained unconscious to their devious game of luring him away from his herd. His rage was such he didn’t even feel the first few arrows piercing his thick hide. At last moment the insolent, skinny little human leapt and rolled to avoid both the horn and hoof of Old Bull. An agile, skilled dancer, this hunter managed to leave a javelin dangling in Old Bull’s flank as he charged by.
Injury across his back, now pained the bull. This served to further enrage his mood. He’d come to a dusty halt, and turned to survey his prairie for the pesky human. The coward hid from his sight. But another dancer jumped up further from the herd to invite his charge of violence. Old Bull was happy to oblige. This dance continued until through injury and blood loss, Old Bull was broken, and his herd had been driven further away and into the forest. Each dance, more projectiles would protrude from his hedgehog body, washing his black coat red.
The gigantic beast was almost done. He’d passed the point where instinct demanded he should withdraw, and escort his herd into the forest sanctuary. This he could no longer do. These wiley hunters had played their game with skill and they had him encircled. This circle of Eagle Owl hunters and their dog-kind, revealed themselves. Dogs snarled as hunters clutched tightly to their thrusting spears. Su’lan stood among them. The circle gradually closed up like a noose around Old Bull. His legs trembled with exhaustion as he eyed up each human and dog, searching for any weakness in this trap.
A weakness was to be found outside of the circle with an inexperienced scout. The youth had watched the herd all night and was now tired. Yet he was excited to take part in this hunt of a legendary bull. His task during the hunt had been to drive the cows and juveniles further away from their patriarch. Foolishly this youth thought his task completed, and he turned to watch the sport in the killing field. This scout had misunderstood the nature of a younger bull.
Such a beast already longhorn and dressed in a hide of black and tan, charged out from the woods and into the field of play. Not out of any sense of solidarity with his dominant old father. This young bull sensed the imminent fall of the old rule, and charged out only to impress the herd with a courage to befit succession. This ambitious young bull charged past the sleepy headed scout. Only following this breach, did the dopey youth scream out a warning to the circle of hunters exposed on the plain.
Su’lan had heard the cry of alarm to his rear but dared not immediately turn away from the direct stare of Old Bull. Alerted by the thundering of hooves, he turned too late to leap out of the way. Thick skull bone and bullhorn impacted Su’lan’s vulnerable torso as he twisted around. His feet were lifted clear of the ground, fracturing bones as the interloper to the game tossed a storyteller into the air. Young Bull then swung his horns side to side, but he failed to cause further damage. Rather, the interloper felt a few missiles strike at his body and it did not matter to he, whether Su’lan lived or not. Young Bull’s work here had been done and the bovine turned to charge back to his herd in the woods to claim glory and crown.
Fractured ribs, with lungs that refused to inflate, threatened to end the life of Su’lan. He laid here broken not able to breathe yet still conscious. His eyes were drawn back to the stare of the Old Bull who sized up this new gap within the circle of death. Old Bull lowered his crown of horns, and summoned up the last of his life-force to charge at the crumpled storyteller. More projectiles rained down onto the leviathan until finally at mid charge, his front legs collapsed to bring his heavy sternum to earth. The heavy chest ploughed a furrow into the dirt. When Old Bull came to a halt his massive face and horns were an arms length from the face of a fallen storyteller. Bull, and Bullhunter locked their eyes for an encounter.
Still, Su’lan could not breathe. His wide open eyes were fixed into the massive dark orbs of the fallen king of the wilds. Su’lan sensed the approach of death. His essence felt fluid as it was ripped out of his own mortal body, and into the eyes of the bull.
Time stopped.
In the darkness of a new cosmos, Su’lan’s spirit became aware of another reality. He understood. Just as Time had halted, suddenly it restarted. Su’lan’s spirit was pulled back into his own body. His lungs painfully expanded. He witnessed a light fade from Old Bull’s own eyes as its spirit vacated the medium. Old Bull was no longer a thou, but a carcass to be butchered.
Hunters rushed in to aid Su’lan. They saw he wept but felt no need to shame him for it. They sensed here, he wept as a newborn at his rebirth.
The message
Scouts run into the campsite to inform the sorceress that others follow, carrying the broken body of a storyteller. They rush to inform elders of an otherwise successful bull hunt.
Zawalla requests, ‘Bring the injured man to my lodge’.
I overhear this commotion and my heart leaps. I don’t understand why, but I am flooded with emotion. Why should my own heart ache? Why do I shed tears at this news of a fulfilled prophecy? I’ve known the storyteller only a short time during which he has shown me disrespect. Nevertheless I’ve seen how not one but three savage nations have welcomed him to the hearths. I'll admit I have been mesmerised by his fine poetry, and intelligent mastery of languages. I understand why Jamilan had suggested I should trust this man. It was because, and despite my vain denials, Su’lan has a kind spirit to match that gentle face of his.
The prophecy is transparent. The spirit of Bull has chosen Su’lan to be my companion and to act as his next messenger. Zawalla promised he’d return with his heart still beating. Yet I fear that it might stop. You see Freya, I need him to survive. Don’t you see that he just mustn't leave me? Elsewise I fear that this hurting heart of mine shall be broken.
I fight back tears as the mothers of Halko restrain me from bursting into Zawalla’s lodge. I fret when I hear his cries of pain. The women assure me that he too will be shamed by my cries out here. So I pull away and permit the sorceress to do her best work.
It’s nightfall before the sorceress summons me to visit her patient. Zawalla has set his broken bones although by his grey features I see he suffers much pain, and his bloodshot eyes dilate with her magical potions. Zawalla shoots me a knowing smile as though my thoughts are visible.
She offers me the reassurance that I desire, ‘My spells will ward off mean spirits’. Then she coolly makes a proposal, ‘This is our opportunity to reach for that message Su’lan has been tasked to deliver to you’.
I myself don’t feel sure but I don't attempt to intervene. The magic woman runs her bony hands through the weaves of Su’lan’s wild hair. With a gentle tone, she whispers her question into his ear,
‘Su’lan of the Arpon, did you gaze into the eye of the Bull?’.
His eyes remain unfocused and he mumbles his answer, ‘The Bull… His eyes were so very large, so dark and deep. They pulled me inside…’
'Tell us, what did you experience within the darkness of his eyes?’
His answer grows clearer and intense. Su’lan needs little interrogation nor prompting. I think he wants to share the message,
‘I felt my life-force pulled into an empty space. I was dead and passed to a place where time stands still’. He pauses to catch his rasped breath, ‘There I sensed the spirit of Utaria. I felt the love she had for me, and her forgiveness’. Despite being entranced, he smiles warmly.
I think this Utaria must be the woman he lost. He carries on, ‘I saw Tashkilla at some merry feast of the Goshawk. Time paused, she stopped her dancing and glanced up at me and I could see Utaria’s love shine out from within’.
Zawalla whispers another question into his ear once more, ‘Su’lan, did the Bull disclose the future to you?’,
‘I saw the ghost of the ancient one, beneath the glow of a full moon, where he charges his way through a smoky and storm wet rainforest. It’s there we will find the daughter of the Moon’. Sweat breaks across Su’lan’s forehead and his smile has been replaced by a frown. I can no longer bear to watch him suffer, and I ask the sorceress,
‘Please, no more, for I see this tires him’.
Zawalla leans back from her lean over Su’lan, and nods, ‘The message has been delivered. Su’lan I release you. You must rest’.
With this latest revelation I know for sure it was Bull who brought the storyteller to myself. When I think about it, did he not first show up by the carcass of a murdered bull on the Prairie of Banat? Su’lan has some part to play in my plight to rescue Ur’salla. I cannot leave these wilds without my companion. I have to stall my search and wait for him to heal from his injuries. Why? I don’t fully comprehend. Perhaps these two spiritual forces Zawalla speaks of, first have to realign. I need this damaged man to lead me to the smoky and storm wet rainforest shown to him by my guardian spirit.
I’m allowed to wet Su’lan’s lips with some sweet water. Without intent, I wipe his brow and kiss it.
Snow is falling as I step back out of the witch’s den and heavy snow clouds shroud the night sky. This isn't the weather for me to travel alone. My reunion with Ur’salla has been prophesied and I take great heart in that. I smell the cooking of the bull’s offal. I should go honour his sacrifice and I must keep strong.