Page 130 of Circle of Days

“I don’t care what you think, I’m telling you it’s impossible.”

“Very well.” Bez turned and walked a few steps away. Then he turned back.

“The gods will have a balance,” he said.

He turned again and walked into the ashes of the wood.

Bez walked from Farmplace through the length of what had been West Wood, kicking up the powdery ash, skirting the still-burning logs and the glowing embers, trudging through the sad remains of his home. The scattered tribe joined him in small groups on his pilgrimage. They passed the pond but could see no trace of their village.

They saw the burned corpses of the cows Ani had traded them. That morning, when they had first smelled the smoke of a big fire, the cows had become restive and the woodlanders, fearing they might run away, had tethered them, never imagining that the distant fire would eventually consume their village and the poor tethered cows with it.

Eventually they reached the last remnant of the wood, a small area like a toenail on a foot. It had been spared from the blaze by the change in the wind. Although still green it was devoid of animal life: no birds in the trees, no little creatures in the undergrowth, and probably no deer, which would have found it difficult to hide in such a small area.

The tribe were subdued, grieving, but also fearful for the future. Everything that had made them safe was gone, and they had no idea how they would find their next meal.

They sat down in a clearing, and Bez told them about his conversation with Troon. He also repeated what Pia had said about the farmers taking over the burned area so that the woodland would never come back. The tribespeople were indignant but not surprised.

While they were discussing their plight, some other woodlanders appeared. Bez recognized them as members of the nearest neighboring tribe, from Round Wood. They had seen the smoke and come out of curiosity, to look at the devastation. A woman Bez knew, called Ga, asked how it had happened, speaking the pidgin that woodlanders used on their summer trek.

“The herders lit the fire and the farmers are going to plow the burned land,” Bez said. “They don’t deny what they’ve done but they won’t give us food.”

“That’s wrong,” said Ga. “They should replace what they’ve destroyed.”

“They say they simply don’t have the food,” said Bez.

He was waiting for Ga to ask if there was anything her tribe could do to help, but she did not. In the end he said: “Would you allow some of our women and children to join your tribe?” He knew better than to ask her to accept men. No woodlander tribe would do so willingly: it led to trouble. Women were less quarrelsome.

Ga said: “If any of your women are close relatives of ours—for example, if the woman’s mother is in our tribe—then we willwelcome them, in accordance with the custom. Otherwise, no. We haven’t got enough food for the tribe as it is.”

It was the answer Bez had expected, and he was sure he would get the same response from any tribe on the Great Plain. And as woodlanders did not often couple with those from other tribes, he would not be able to settle many, if any, of his people by appealing to that tradition.

Ga and the Round Wood folk soon left, and Bez resumed speaking to the tribe. “We’re desperate,” he began.

Several people nodded. They had followed the same train of thought. They knew that the tribe might soon be extinct.

He went on: “Here in this little patch, which is all that is left us, there is not enough for more than one family.”

They could all see that.

“Other tribes cannot help us, and why should they? They did not light the fire.”

They all knew that too, and they waited to hear what he would say next.

“So that leaves us with just one possibility.” He paused, looking around, seeing the faint signs of hope in their faces, and he finished: “What they refuse to give us, we must steal.”

“There was a great deal of vegetation to be disposed of,” Scagga told the elders. “We burned it, as the quickest and most efficient way of dealing with it. And we made a fire break two paces wide to prevent the flames spreading. Unfortunately, there was a strong east wind that morning, and the fire break was not sufficiently wide.”

Ani exploded. “You set fire to West Wood?” she said in furious incredulity.

“It was an accident,” Scagga said, in a tone of injured innocence.

“What did you mean by starting a fire at all?”

“I told you, it was the only way to deal with all that vegetation—a huge pile.”

“Nobody told you to burn it. And you never told anyone that was your plan.”

“What else could we do?”