Chapter 25 - Sun Magic
Camp of Halko, Wilds of Eagle Owl. SE Britain
Word of the messenger’s arrival spreads fast across the camp of Halko with reference to a bald, skinny cousin named Gabúdan. He calls for Zawalla the Sorceress, acting on behalf of the Ishi of Eskola, a more southerly sister clan of the Eagle Owl. Many cousins there have been struck down by ruinous spirits of the Sun-magic. They’ve been deprived of their own midwife, now they desire the aid of a more powerful healer.
Meanwhile I spy on Su’lan as he idles with other men by their long lodge. Warm sunlight falls upon grateful beards to herald the imminent arrival of springtime. It warms my heart to see him recovered. There is something about my companion, as though he has been changed. The winter snow has cleared to leave damp leaf mould. Soon many songbirds will return to join Robin in song. The women of the nations will then gather fresh greens, making crisp salads before they steal the eggs of those birds. But ugh, I am getting ahead of myself.
Please excuse my excitement. Today is an early taster of more fruitful days to arrive. For now we must continue to watch our caches of nuts diminish while our bands hunt skinny prey for our spits. Today this pleasant weather lifts our savage hearts. Zawalla has sent her girl to summon Su’lan and I to her witch's den. I dare anticipate she'll cast her wise judgement on the resumption of my mission. I meet the Storyteller and we climb into her lodge.
Here we find the sorceress transfixed in meditation. Gently she rocks back and forth, groaning magical phrases. Patiently we wait, fearful of offending spirits. We don’t have to remain silent for a long time, for her consultation is brief. Gyrations cease and she opens her dark eyes as she unclenches a fist.
Zawalla holds out a display of tiny bones meaning nothing to us, but the sorceress gleefully explains,
‘Tashkilla, this is the time to resume searching for the moon-daughter. Today I must trek southwards with the messenger. I will attend the sick in the camp of Eskola, set close to the Serpentine river. You could join me’. She sits up, and furrows her brow, ‘You should beware the malevolent spirits who favour the troubled South’.
I have no hesitation, ‘I accept your offer and I’m happy to brave these dangers in pursuit of my stolen friend’.
Zawalla appears pleased to hear I retain fortitude. She turns to my companion,
‘Su’lan what do you now wish? Following rebirth you have a free choice. You’d be welcome as an adopted son of the Eagle Owl, to settle with this Ishi. Possibly you wish to wander, or to return to your birth folk of the Far North?’ Zawalla raises one side of her brow at him.
Su’lan fakes mischievous indifference, followed by a poorly acted show of being torn between difficult choices. When he spots the genuine distress threatening my own face, he gives up on his game, and chuckles,
‘I’m acquainted with the Serpentine waterways. I know how treacherous its lands have become. I freely wish to continue as Tashkilla’s guide on her noble quest’.
With too much obvious relief I sigh out loud. Without conscious thought I move a hand onto his big paw and squeeze. In genuine gratitude I mutter,
‘Thank you’. I couldn't continue without this man-child.
Zawalla leans towards us, rubs her hands with glee, offers fresh intelligence on matters ahead of us,
‘My cousins of Eskola include youths who exchange for the produce of barbarians. They conduct this business by virtue of orphan bands who move along the Serpentine waterways. The elders of that camp discourage the practice of exchange as dishonourable, but youngsters refuse to hear their wisdom. They hanker all objects of the farmers’. She continues to enlighten us, ‘These youths might be acquainted with the orphans who stole away your friend. I’d urge discretion on your arrival into that troubled camp. Be clever in your game’.
I forward one question, ‘How far away is this camp of Eskola from here?’
‘Gabúdan has a large canoe beached by a south winding stream, a short distance away. He has assured me it's capable of floating the four of us back to his home. This stream we'll take, spills into the Serpentine waters. Eskola is camped close to that confluence. If we pack quickly, we could be there tonight’.
Both I and Su’lan take this hint, whilst beaming, we climb back outside. We pack and say our goodbyes in a hurry, to meet Zawalla with this Gabúdan at the head of a southerly trail. This gloomy messenger is an anxious man. He pessimistically predicts sunset long before we reach his home in the South.
To the Serpentine waterways
More shuffling through dead leaves as we pass through a tall, leafless wildwood. Small clearances form, where clusters of diseased elm rot. We pass high ground alongside districts of depressed clay soils, looking down on waterlogged alders. Zawalla romps well for an ancient witch. At times she paces ahead, eager to reach her patients in need. In fair time we arrive at Gabúdan’s canoe to uncover before floating it in the stream. The two men kindly take to paddles, and we travel on waters carrying us with urgency.
I feel exhilarated to finally resume my search for Ur’salla. Here on this river-boat, I relax watching flocks of wild geese as they fly in arrowhead formations for another world. Nightfall arrives as gloomy Gabúdan predicted. Nonetheless a generous night sky affords sufficient light to continue by. The sounds of honking geese have been replaced by the hoots of wood owls along with howls of wolf packs.
Temperatures fall, prompting Su’lan to feel a chill while he paddles.
Politely he asks, ‘Tashkilla, could you unpack my sealskin parka for me?’
I’m glad to comply, and I unfold the same coat he wore on the eve of the Prairie of Banat. I realise he doesn’t bring with him his skull of the Great Auk. Clearly Su’lan leaves much pain behind in the wilds of Halko, and not only that inflicted by a young bull.
The beaches and marshes of this river widen as our craft moves downstream.
Gabúdan chirps, ‘We're in my wilds and my home isn't far along this tributary, before it joins the Serpentine’.
It’s late when we reach a burning beacon left beckoning for his return with a much needed healer. We beach to heave the canoe free of the waters. I pause to whisper thanks to the spirit of the stream. Friendly faces of strangers greet us. The children of the southern Eagle Owl are relieved to see Zawalla among us and eagerly take us to their nearby campsite.
As a healer, Zawalla does not idle. She attends to those most ill with immediate triage. Death has been busy in Eskola. I accompany her on this night time round, offering words of comfort to the sick together with loved ones. Wiping fevered brows I try to sow hope, by reassuring these folk that Zawalla’s magic is great. Eh, but I am careful to follow the sage counsel of the Sorceress, and I’m cautious as I probe with descriptions of Ur’salla. I turn to hide my despair at their vacant answers.
We’re exhausted. Zawalla has been billetted to the empty lodge of their late midwife. The Sorceress insists,
‘I have no need to fear the company of ghosts’.
I join Su’lan to again share shelter with elders and a smoky hearth. There is much space in the den for only a few elders survive the Sun-magic. They lend me hope by singing to us of their forests.
The camp of Eskola
I find this southern camp contains savages more familiar with the notorious foreigners. The chatty Mothers of Eskola give mention of both sorts of invaders, the conehead Leva, along with the twinehead Sheonni. This afternoon, I sat down with one such knowledgeable local, a young woman with craving eyes and curly dark hair, named Wa’anella. She educates myself on barbarian matters,
‘Those of the east we call the coneheads on account of the tall hats that their men wear. They know themselves as the Leva, forming scattered communities, from where they master over beasts. In gardens they cultivate a variety of foreign, nutritious plants.’
This description leaves me intrigued about their arrival in our world. I ask, ‘Wa’anella, prior to the crossing of seas by the Leva, who did live in the east?’
‘There was a wild nation known as the Children of the Basket Weaver. Their camps are gone, only a few remain as orphans or as the wives of farmers’.
‘Do you not fear that these Leva foreigners could steal the wilds of the Eagle Owl, as they did to those of the Basket Weaver?’
The young mother glances up from her work of grinding powders, and giggles, ‘Ha ha! The Leva wouldn't disturb our wilds for they intrude onto those of the Lynx. No, they are our friends’. She looks back at her work to add, ‘It is the other sort of barbarian who threatens us. Those twinehead Sheonni who invaded south of the Serpentine’.
I encourage her, ‘I’m most curious about the new ways. Tell me Wa’anella, how do the twineheads differ from the Leva?’
‘Other than the customary headwear of rope that the Sheonni men wear, both kinds might appear quite alike. The Sheooni are less sedentary with their encampments, and move with more frequency. They raze the forests of the river valleys where they sow seeds of the einkorn grass. Their men leave the women and children to garden, ranging far and wide with herds of small cattle’.
This tallies well with what I have learned. I fear Ur’salla may be the captive of one of these invader kinds. I hate to think this, but I reflect on what we were told at Banat, of Géza’s band, exchanging gifts with barbarians on the Serpentine. As for Wa’anella’s unfathomable trust of either type, I find it strange she would trust either.
My informant here has completed her grinding of remedies. I pass Zawalla’s cup of a human cranium and meticulously she scrapes her powders into it.
I think carefully about what further questions to ask, ‘I’ve heard of orphan bands who generously exchange gifts between savage and barbarian. Wa’anella, have you ever enjoyed such an opportunity?’
She smiles warmly and confesses, ‘Saabiaske’s river-orphans bring to us the gifts of the Leva. Yes we do like these items and their containers of baked clay. Some here believe these artefacts ward against sickness. The Leva do not sicken as do we, and neither do they suffer from hunger’.
Her faith in these barbarians is strong. I fish for more detail on these river-orphans, ‘Sah-ahbiasker, that is a strange name for a savage?’
Wa’anella grins, ‘Saabiaske was a nameless exile. Leva folk took pity and gave him that new name. His woman Lanella, is my friend.
A nameless exile? I must remain calm. I wonder about this woman of his, ‘Lanella?’ I ask innocently.
‘Yes Lanella formerly of the Basket Weaver. Although her mother was wild-born, Lanella has the appearance of a barbarian woman. She’s small, and her skin is less dark than ours, although she wears red ochre in her hair to make it look…’
I drop all caution and accidentally blurt out, ‘...the colour of flames!’
Immediately I realise my mistake. Wa’anella pauses from her pounding of stones, and stares at me suspiciously, ‘Yes, that is my friend Lanella. Do you know her?’
I conceal my fast beating heart before it betrays my secret. I digest what this local has just told me, A band of orphans visits this camp. They include an exile and a small pale-faced witch with hair the colour of flames!
I answer coolly, ‘Not first hand but your cousins at Halko mentioned these orphans. They told me they give great treasures from the farmers. I think they mentioned a scarred man, and a big giant among their numbers?’
My bait is taken swiftly as Wa’anella scoops more herbal powders into the skull cup, ‘Ah, the giant would be Eino. I don't like that man. The scarred orphan would be Saabiaske himself’.
No doubt that this scarred orphan named Saabiaske was formerly the Exile of the Lynx named Géza. These are the rogues who stole away Ur’salla! Wa’anella passes to myself the now full skull cup. I have to deliver it to the Sorceress.
As I get up to leave, Wa’anella shares just one more item of information, ‘I would expect them to visit us soon, we would benefit from their salt’.
I nod and smile as I leave. Her bizarre loyalty to a culture that brings genocide to our kind is dumbfounding. I no longer need to pursue my enemies because they'll come here to me. I have these kidnappers identified and I'll await them.
With so many of their numbers poorly, this Eagle Owl ishi needs our assistance. Consequently I collect firewood in addition to nursing duties. Meanwhile Su’lan volunteers for the camp watch. Because we both keep busy, it's a few days before I get the chance to talk privately with the Storyteller. Here we sit feasting together out of the earshot of our hosts. I share with him the details of my research,
‘This orphan band hasn’t returned the past two cycles of Moon. The fisher boys told me they saw the orphan’s coracles pass down the smaller river from the north. One lad remembered a coracle low in the water as though heavily laden’.
Su’lan adds his own observations, ‘This Saabiaske, is without doubt the rogue once named Géza of Banat. Did the fisher boys tell you when they saw their coracles?’
‘They told me it was shortly before the big snowfall’.
In response to my answer, Su’lan winces and releases a sigh, ‘That coracle low in the water may well have been laden with your friend. I’m sorry Tashkilla, I should’ve been more careful on the hunt. I…’
‘No Su’lan. It was by the design of the spirit that guides us. You bear no responsibility, it's all okay’. Poor Su'lan, he blames himself too much. I put down my food and put an arm around him as comfort. I tell him all I’ve so far gathered on the barbarians. I tell him about Wa’anella’s strange faith that barbarian gifts bring some sort of salvation to the young people of this camp.
He comments, ‘A folk threatened with ending-times will foster new hope where there is none to be had. It is the desperation of the victim’. More cheerfully he informs me, ‘As a warrior of the camp watch I have been patrolling the watery margins of the Serpentine River. Scanning for signs of Sheonni intrusion from across those waters’.
I respond by expressing my genuine interest in the local flavour of barbarian, ‘I must confess a genuine curiosity to see some of these aliens for myself’.
Hearing this, Su’lan grins like a mischievous boy, ‘I could arrange to show you the Sheonni occupied wilds just south of that river, but both of us need to be excused from camp duties’.
Of course I nod with enthusiasm. Much as I enjoy being helpful to Zawalla, once again my own mission is in danger of being delayed.