Page 47 of Circle of Days

Neen took the shoes from Ani and pressed them to her chest. “Oh, poor Han, our Han, our great big little brother.”

Denno, the older girl, said: “Mamma, why are you crying?”

“Because Uncle Han has died.”

Denno was uncomprehending. “Why? Why did he die?”

“A bad man shot him with an arrow.”

Denno said: “That must have hurt!” and she began to cry.

Joia was overwhelmed by a wave of grief. She had lost her brother. So had Neen. Ani had lost her only son, Denno had lost her uncle, and Pia had lost her man. She cried harder. She felt that she would never stop crying, a rainstorm of tears would never be enough.

Bez waited awhile, then said: “Fortunately, Pia is all right. And the baby.”

“The baby!” Ani said. “Of course—it must have been born this spring.”

“A little boy,” said Bez.

“A grandson for me,” she said. “Do you know what they named him?”

“He is called Olin.”

“My late man’s name.” She looked thoughtful. “Olin fathered Han, then Olin died; and Han fathered Olin, and Han died.” Her voice became bitter. “Is this the way the gods toy with us?”

Bez said nothing to that.

“Olin,” said Ani. “Olin.”

She was quiet for a while, and then she said: “I wonder if I’ll ever see him.”

Bez waited until the rest of the woodlanders returned from the hills, then he put his plan into motion. It was a good plan, though not without risks.

First he had to capture the guilty man.

Three evenings running, he left West Wood and went to East Wood.

It was occupied by a different tribe, but woodland tribes living on the Great Plain were not hostile to one another.

They had different languages, but managed to communicate—especially when they all went to the hills—in a pidgin that included words from the herder tongue.

The East Wood tribes knew he was on their territory, but they left him alone.

He sat behind the shelter of the greenery and patiently watched.

Farmers worked even more than herders, he noted.

They plowed the fields and sowed seeds, carried water and pulled weeds, yet in the end they were no better off, in good times or bad.

What possessed these people to waste their lives in toil?

Mostly he concentrated on the house where Pia lived with her mother, the baby, and Stam.

The three adults labored all day, Pia carrying the baby.

Each evening they ate supper together, then—to judge by the sounds coming from the house—Stam had sex with Yana.

Soon afterward, by which time it was dark or nearly so, Stam left the house and did not return until daylight.

It seemed to be a regular pattern. That was very useful.

On the fourth evening, Bez returned with three strong woodlander men.

The four had smeared wood ash on their faces, hands, legs, and feet, so that they would be hard to see in the dark.

Bez carried some lengths of strong cord made from the sinews of slaughtered deer, and a small piece of thin leather that bundled up to about the size of his fist. They waited in the wood, watching the house as the evening darkened.

They were silent and still whenever anyone walked near their hiding place.

When they heard the sound of sex, it was time to move.

Bez scanned the darkening landscape. There was no one in the fields, down by the river, or on the far side of the water. “Let us go,” he said.

They came out of the wood, walking softly. As quickly as they could, they crossed the field to a point where there was a slight dip, just deep enough to hide a man lying flat. Then they spread out across the route Stam usually took.

Soon he emerged, and this was the moment of highest risk. Would he spot them in the starlight, as they lay motionless on the dark field? If he fled, would they be able to catch him? Would the four woodlanders be able to overpower a young man so big and strong?

Stam came closer. He seemed all unsuspecting. If he saw them early enough, he might be able to run to the nearest house and shout for help, then they would have to abandon their plan and bolt.

Bez would have to think of another plan, and a second kidnap attempt would be more difficult because Stam would be on his guard.

A moment before Bez was ready to jump, Stam stopped and grunted an exclamation.

Bez leaped to his feet, and the other three did the same.

Stam turned to run, but he was a moment too late, and they were on him.

Bez quickly stuffed the leather bundle into Stam’s mouth to stop him crying out. Then they threw him to the ground and held him down. He grunted, but not loud enough; and he struggled, but he could not escape.

Bez lifted his gaze and looked at Pia’s house. There was no movement. Pia and Yana had not heard anything. That was good. Tomorrow they would be questioned about Stam’s disappearance, but they would know nothing.

Bez tied a cord around Stam’s neck that went into his mouth and secured the gag.

They took off his shoes, then—with some difficulty—wrestled him out of his tunic. They tied his hands behind his back and stood him up.

The plan was working, so far.

They marched him naked into the wood, one man on either side of him holding his arms tightly, one man in front, and Bez behind. Stam did not try to escape.

They paused there, at the edge of the wood.

Looking back, Bez scanned the fields. No one was about.

No one had witnessed the kidnap. He took Stam’s tunic and his shoes and walked quickly back across the fields and down to the river.

He folded the tunic, set it on the ground near the water, and placed the shoes neatly on top. Then he returned to the wood.

They took Stam through the wood. Then they had to cross the Break, where there was a clear view across the fields; but no one was up. Farmers slept heavily.

At last they reached West Wood, and gratefully entered the concealing vegetation.

There, close to the village, they had dug a hole about as long and wide as Stam.

Now, watched by woodlanders who had awakened and emerged from their huts, they tied his feet and made sure the cords on his wrists were secured. Bez decided to retie the gag to ensure Stam’s silence. He untied the cord and pulled the gag out of Stam’s mouth.

Stam gasped: “Water, please.”

Bez said: “Did you give my brother water when he was bleeding to death?” Then he stuffed the leather back into Stam’s mouth and tied the gag again.

Finally they lowered Stam into the hole in the ground.

He strained against his bonds and grunted through his gag. Bez guessed he was terrified that he would be buried alive. In fact the death Bez had planned for him was worse than that.

They piled branches on top of him. A heavy one landed on his chest, making him grunt again. He probably had a broken rib. The branches left space for air, ensuring that Stam could breathe.

Over the branches they laid leaves and ferns, so that he could not be seen. His grunts were now inaudible. They raised the heap above the ground and made a roughly circular mound, so that the result looked just like a random pile of foliage.

Bez noticed that people looked at him strangely and quickly averted their gaze. He knew that his face was as rigid as stone. He was doing something terribly cruel but he was determined to go through with it. He would not show emotion, and he would not back down.

He lay down beside the pile to guard it, and the others went to their houses.

Then they all slept.

Troon came to Pia and Yana’s house early in the morning. Looking in, he said: “I see that Stam isn’t here.”

Yana said: “Isn’t he at your house?”

“If he was, I wouldn’t be looking for him, would I?”

“Well, he left here at the normal time, and I don’t see how he could have got lost between here and there.”

Pia wondered what was going on. Had someone killed Stam? If so, they had not forewarned her or Yana. Which was probably wise.

Troon said: “Did he tell you where he was going?”

“He said good night as usual, and headed off in the direction of your place.”

Troon looked at Pia. “If I find that your herder friends have killed him…”

She was scared. Was she going to be blamed for something she had not done? But she would not show fear to Troon. “I hope someone has killed him,” she said spiritedly. “He murdered two people—he deserves to die.”

Troon did not argue with that—he was focused on his questions. “Have you spoken to any herders lately?”

“No.”

“Or even seen any?”

“No.”

He shrugged. “Anyway, it’s unlikely. Those people haven’t got the guts for revenge.”

Troon’s minion, Shen, appeared behind him. “We’ve found something,” he said. “Some clothes near the river. A tunic and a pair of shoes. The right size for Stam.”

“By the river?”

“On the edge.”

“Right,” said Troon. “Search the banks on both sides, upriver and down. And remember, he might not be alive. So look for a body.”

Troon arrived at Bez’s village that evening.

The woodlanders were eating supper. Every one of them knew where Stam was, but they managed to look normal, sharing their food with their children, throwing scraps to the dogs.

Behind Troon emerged a handful of young men, all armed with bows. The woodlanders got up from their supper and picked up their own weapons. But Bez felt sure the farmers would not attack, being outnumbered several times over.

Troon said: “Where is he?”

Bez was the only one who had more than a smattering of the herder language. He said: “Who have you lost?”

Troon gritted his teeth. He hated to admit weakness. He said: “My son, Stam.”

“Stam the murderer,” Bez replied. “We are the ones who should be looking for him. He killed our fellow tribesmen.”

“If you’ve killed him in revenge…”

Troon’s men hefted their bows, and the woodlanders tensed.

Bez said: “No, we have not killed him.” That was true, although it was only a matter of time. “And if we did kill him, it would restore the balance.”

“We’re going to search for him.”

The woodlanders bristled, but Bez said: “Let them search. It’s the quickest way to get rid of them.”

The farmers looked in all the houses and the surrounding wood. One of them poked the foliage pile with an arrow, and Bez tensed; but the man moved on.

Troon said to Bez: “I’m going to search the entire wood. If he’s here, I’ll hold you responsible.”

“Go ahead, waste your time.”

As they left, Bez pointed to Omun and Arav, two light-footed hunters. “Follow them. Let us know when they give up and leave the wood.”

The two went after the farmers, who would never know how closely they had been watched.

Those remaining finished their suppers and cleared up, then gathered around for the balance ceremony. Bez had already selected a suitable tree, and a coil of rope lay at the foot of its trunk.

The woodlanders were quiet, awestruck, and Bez realized that most of them had never witnessed an execution. Such things were rare on the Great Plain.

It was getting dark when Omun and Arav returned and reported that the farmers had gone home.

Bez nodded. “Get him out of the ground.”

The vegetation was removed and Stam was brought out. His eyes were red with crying and he shook with fear. Bez removed his gag.

Stam began to beg. “Spare me, please,” he said. “I don’t want to die, I’m too young. Have some mercy.”

Bez pointed to the tree he had picked out. “Tie him to that branch,” he said. “Upside down.”

Stam wriggled desperately, but he could not resist, and soon his ankles were tied to the branch, leaving his head above ground by the length of a person’s arm.

Bez began to sing a song of mourning, and the tribe joined in, the massed voices sounding through the wood.

He collected some dry leaves and dead twigs and made a little pile under Stam. Then he took a brand from one of the cooking fires.

Stam saw what was going to happen. “No!” he screamed. “No, please, no!”

Bez set light to the tinder. It caught quickly, and he added dry wood. The fire blazed up.

Bez spoke loudly, for the whole tribe to hear. “Fell’s ashes are far away, but we mourn him here in his home.”

Stam cried out as the fire began to scorch his head and his naked shoulders. Desperately, he began to swing from side to side. Every time he took himself out of the heat, he swung back in, but it gave him some moments of relief. Bez watched patiently, knowing Stam could not keep it up for long.

At last he stopped, exhausted. The fire was blazing high now, and he began to cry out. Fat under the skin of his head liquefied and came out like sweat. The same happened to his face. Drops fell on the fire and blazed briefly.

Bez put more wood on.

Stam’s hair caught fire, and he began to scream. The flames surrounded his head and face, burning his skin off, turning his face black. When the flames receded, his eyes were visible and his teeth showed where his lips had gone. But he was still breathing.

The mourning song continued, soft and low, the sound of sadness and loss.

The screaming stopped but Stam did not die. There came from his awful mouth a low groaning, the sound of a soul in hell.

At last his brain cooked and his body became completely limp.

Bez checked and found that he was no longer breathing.

He built up the fire again, and some of the men untied the rope so that the entire corpse collapsed into the flames. Stam turned to ash.

Bez spoke to the watching tribe. “We can sleep now,” he said. “The balance has been restored.”