Page 44 of Circle of Days

To Pia’s astonishment, Han returned with Fell. This was the first time Pia had seen him without his brother. However, the dog with the white patch was with him.

Fell was carrying over his left shoulder the carcass of a roe deer, gutted but not skinned. In his belt was a large flint axe with a bloodstained blade, clearly having been used on the deer. He lowered the beast to the ground with a sigh of relief. “For you,” he said.

“This is a wonderful gift!” Pia said. She was not sure how much Fell understood of the herder language. Bez usually did most of the talking.

“Very generous,” Han said. “Thank you.”

“Sit down,” said Pia. “Will you drink some water?”

Fell nodded, and Han brought water in a wooden bowl.

Pia said: “How is Bez, your brother?”

“Bez is well,” he said. “And Bez is happy, for he has Gida and I am gone.” He laughed, as if his remark was not to be taken too seriously.

But Pia was curious. “So you and your brother share Gida?”

He smiled. “She loves us both. We are lucky.”

Clearly Fell was content with the arrangement, but Pia did not think she could ever get used to that kind of thing.

Thunder barked. He was pointing in the same direction, north, but clearly this arrival had him worried.

Han said: “Could this be Bez?”

“No,” said Fell. “He’s in the high hills.” He pointed to the carcass. “Hunting these.”

“Could someone else be following you?”

“I don’t know.”

Pia was suddenly frightened.

Han picked up his bow and arrows and headed for the shore, followed by Thunder.

Pia watched him pass behind a screen of shrubs, then heard a strange noise, a twang and a whistle like an arrow being shot, then a grunt, then a thump as if something had fallen. She said: “What has Han shot?”

Thunder started barking hysterically, then suddenly went silent. Pia got to her feet, still holding Olin, and called: “Han? Are you all right, Han?” Scarily, there was no reply.

Fell drew his axe from his belt and stood with one foot on the deer, as if afraid a thief might try to drag it away.

“Han?” Pia hurried past the shrubbery, her agitation growing. Behind the bushes was a tall elm. In the shadow of the tree she saw Han lying flat on his back. There was an arrow in his neck, and blood poured out of his throat.

For a long moment she was paralyzed. She could not take in the picture she was looking at. It was impossible.

Then Olin started to cry.

Pia wanted to scream, but she feared she would frighten Olin.

She suppressed her terror and knelt beside Han.

He was hardly moving. “Talk to me, Han!” she said in a voice that was half spoken, half screeched.

It seemed he could not speak. She stared at the arrow, feeling helpless.

She thought she would vomit, and swallowed hard.

Then she forced herself to be calm. As gently as she could, she pulled the arrow out of his neck.

The blood flowed faster. “No!” she said. “No, no, no!”

Beside Han, Thunder lay with an arrow in his back. He was alive, breathing, but otherwise motionless. How sad and angry Han would be when he saw that!

She looked up. Through her tears she saw Stam, standing a few yards away, fitting another arrow to his bowstring. “You did this!” she screamed.

She looked at Han again and tried to stanch the blood with her free hand. It made no difference. She knew it was hopeless but she pressed harder. Olin was now crying loudly, a wail of distress. She clung to him as she bent over Han. “Don’t die, my love, don’t die!”

The gush of blood slowed. This was a bad sign.

She had seen animals slaughtered, and she knew that when the blood stopped flowing the beast was dead.

But she could not accept it. “I’ll make you better, I will, I will!

” But a part of her mind that remained rational told her that Han would never get better.

She looked up again and saw Stam taking aim—not at her, but at something behind her. She turned and saw Fell, holding his axe high. He threw it just as Stam shot his arrow. She saw the axe graze Stam’s shoulder, and she turned again to see the arrow pierce Fell’s belly.

Fell screamed in agony and went down on his knees.

His dog ran away.

Stam clapped a hand to his shoulder. With his face screwed up in pain, he strode toward the wounded Fell, dropping his bow and taking a knife from his belt. Pia knew instinctively that he intended to finish Fell off. Still holding Olin, she threw herself at Stam, hitting him with her free hand.

He cursed and slapped her face. He was strong and his hand was hard.

She went dizzy and her eyesight became blurred.

He did it again, and she staggered, her entire head hurting.

The third slap knocked her to the floor, and she lost her grip on Olin.

She snatched him up quickly, holding him tightly to her chest, then looked at the others.

Stam turned on Fell, who—incredibly—had managed to rise to his feet and grapple with his attacker. They swayed to and fro for several moments, but Fell was fatally wounded and it was an uneven contest. Stam threw Fell to the ground, bent down, and cut his throat with the flint knife.

Pia stood up. Olin was yelling but she could tell that he was not in pain, just frightened.

The carnage around was bewildering. Only moments ago Han and she had been talking, making plans, welcoming a guest; how could he be lying there still and silent?

Would he never speak to her again? And kindhearted Fell next to him.

She began to believe that what she was looking at was reality.

Han was gone. Han was dead. The horror of her loss consumed her, and she was possessed by rage.

She snatched up the arrow she had taken from Han’s neck and dashed at Stam, determined to kill him, screaming: “You killed my Han, you monster, you animal, you mad wild boar!” Stam put up a defensive hand and parried the arrow, but its sharp flint head dug a groove in his forearm, and he gave a shout of pain and anger.

She drew her arm back for a fatal blow. But he was too quick. Instead of attacking her, he snatched Olin from her. Holding the baby by one ankle, he lifted his flint knife, still red with Fell’s blood, and held it next to the soft skin of the naked child.

Pia went weak. “No, please, don’t hurt him,” she cried. Her voice had lost all anger and aggression and had nothing in it but desperate supplication. She moved toward him to take Olin back, but he held the flint closer to the baby and said: “Stay where you are or I’ll cut him.”

She went down on her knees. “Give him back to me, please.”

“Understand something,” he said. “I’m taking you back to Farmplace, because that’s what my father wants, but I doubt whether he cares what happens to your baby.

However, I’ll let you keep the brat as long as you behave yourself and do what I say.

Any more trouble and I’ll throw him into the river and watch him drown. ”

The threat made her burst into fresh tears. “I’ll be good, I promise,” she sobbed. “I’ll do anything you ask, please give him to me.”

“And you won’t try to run away from me.”

“No, I swear it.”

Still holding Olin by the ankle, he passed him to Pia. She took him and held him to her body, rocking him, murmuring in his ear: “It’s all right now, it’s all right now.” His crying became less hysterical.

Stam said: “Go and get some big flat leaves and some vines. I’ve got two bleeding wounds, and one of them is your doing. Just put the baby down and leave him here. I’m not giving you the chance to swim the river and escape.”

She hesitated. She could hardly bear to leave Olin.

Stam said: “Just a moment ago you promised to do anything I asked.”

She saw that he would do no harm to Olin, for he could use Olin to control her. She laid the baby down gently and went to get what he needed.

When she came back, Olin was fine.

As she dressed Stam’s wounds she felt the rage rise in her again.

Here she was, bandaging the wounds of the man who had murdered Han.

She had lost everything to Stam. Han was dead and she was going back to Farmplace, back to the harsh farmer society.

Everything she hoped for was dust. Were it not for Olin she would drown herself.

But she had to suppress her rage. It boiled inside her, as if she had eaten foul poison, but she had to hide her feelings.

When she had bound up Stam’s wounds, he said: “Now make me food. I’m hungry.”

She was on the point of saying they should do something about the bodies, but she decided not to argue. She put Olin down while she cut some cold meat from a cooked duck and chopped some meadowsweet she had found by the river. She put the food in a bowl and took it to Stam.

He ate the meal with his fingers.

When he had finished, he said: “It’s not long past midday. We can cover a good distance this afternoon. Let’s get going.”

She screwed up her courage. “Surely we should cremate the dead.”

“No time,” he said.

“Then at least let me put them inside the shelter!”

“Be quick.”

She went to Han’s body. The sight made her sob so hard she had trouble bending down and taking hold of his ankles.

Still weeping, she dragged him across the ground.

It seemed a cruel and disrespectful way to move him, but she knew she could not lift him off the ground.

He was far too heavy, and she could not ask for help from the murderer.

She took Han into the shelter and arranged his body neatly, his legs straight, his feet together, his arms crossed on his chest. He was dressed in his tunic and his big shoes.

Still weeping, she repeated the process with Fell, who was a lot lighter. The two men lay side by side.

Finally she dragged in Thunder, who had bled to death. She put him beside Han.

She picked up Olin and sang the song of the Earth God. It seemed to soothe the baby. She was afraid Stam would interrupt and drag her away, but he did nothing and she was able to finish the song.

It seemed wrong to leave Han and Fell there, but she could do nothing more.

She stepped outside, then looked back at the shelter. It had been her home for more than half a year. It had witnessed the best time of her life, and the worst.

Stam said: “Ready at last.”

She nodded.

“Then let’s go.”

They walked away.