Page 112 of Circle of Days

As it burned, they sat together beside the pyre and talked about Fell. Gida recalled Fell making the necklace, painstakingly drilling the holes for the string with a narrow flint bradawl. “And when it was finished he was so proud! He walked around with it on, waiting for people to notice and comment.”

Bez remembered when he was born. His mother had said: “A little brother for you—you must look after him.” Now Bez said to Gida: “I tried, I really did, but I failed.”

As the bodies turned to ashes, Bez said: “We both loved him.”

Gida nodded. “Yes, we both loved him.”

Leaving the smoldering remains behind, they left the island.

The dog was waiting patiently outside the derelict house. Bez said: “I suppose you’ll be my dog now.” As they set off, heading back to the camp, the dog walked close to Bez’s heels.

They arrived back as people were finishing the evening meal. The woodlanders all stopped what they were doing and gathered around Bez and Gida to find out what had happened. Gida told the story while Bez showed Fell’s necklace and Han’s shoes.

They were angry. Fell had been born into the tribe and Han was an honorary member. Two of their own had been murdered. “And we know who did it!” said one of the men, Omun, an accomplished hunter. “We know that Stam was looking for Pia and Han, and we heard him say he would kill anyone who hid them. It’s obvious. He came to kidnap Pia and now he’s taken her home.”

Bez was not so sure. He would have liked proof. But this was not the moment to say so.

Bez said to Gida: “Would you wear Fell’s necklace?”

“No,” she said. “You must wear it.”

Bez hesitated. Then he realized he would always have a part of his brother with him. “Yes,” he said. “I want to wear it.”

She stood behind him and put the necklace over his head. The bear’s teeth felt cold against his skin. Gida stroked them with her fingertips, and a tear ran down her cheek.

Bez turned to the crowd. “We will always remember Fell. Always.”

Several people repeated the word: “Always!”

Omun shouted: “There must be a balance!”

There were shouts of agreement.

“Oh, yes,” said Bez. “The gods demand a balance. A blow must be returned. That which is stolen must be replaced. A lie demands a truth. And a murder requires a death. There will be a balance. There will.”

Pia was back at Farmplace, on her mother’s farm, carrying water from the river to the fields all day, every day, just as she had done before, only now she had Olin on her hip all the time. Her back ached and her shoulder hurt and she was utterly miserable.

She felt she could not put Olin down while she worked. It was too dangerous. The creatures of the wild were hungry. A farmer baby had been attacked by a boar only days ago, and much of the poor mite’s thigh had been eaten before its mother came running in response to its screams.

Olin was the bright spot in her life. He was a quarter of a year old now. He smiled a lot and even laughed sometimes. He would turn his head to look at the source of a new voice. He grabbed at everything in reach: a spoon, a flower, his mother’s hair—although he often missed. She wished she had more time to simply play with him, sing to him, and kiss his soft skin.

Yana was thrilled with her first grandchild. She held him everychance she got. She pulled funny faces that made him chuckle. She, too, wished she could spend more time with him.

But the drought continued. Since the winter snow there had been nothing more than a few brief showers. Green shoots were appearing in the fields, but only because the farmers irrigated the land with river water. So they had to continue.

One evening after supper, when Stam had gone out and Yana and Pia were playing with Olin, they were visited by Katch, Stam’s mother. Pia was never sure how to react to her. Her man, Troon, was evil, and her son, Stam, was a monster. But that might not be her fault. And Katch was also Pia’s aunt, so perhaps she had some loyalty to her niece.

Yana offered water from the jar, and Katch accepted it and sat down. She always seemed timid, but Yana said there was strength behind that. Perhaps she had to be strong, to endure life with Troon.

Olin was on the mat, lying on his tummy, waving his arms and legs. He lifted his head and looked uncertainly at Katch, knowing she was unfamiliar. She leaned forward and stroked him under his chin. She said: “You know I’m a stranger, don’t you? But I’m a nice stranger, so don’t worry.” He was not much reassured.

She sat back, sipped her water, and said: “You must have noticed that Stam is spending more nights at my house.”

“Yes,” said Yana. “He says it’s because Olin’s crying wakes him in the night.”

Katch shook her head. “That’s not the reason. He sleeps through anything. A baby’s crying wouldn’t wake him.”

“What, then?”