Page 17

A s the sun dipped towards the horizon, long shadows stretched across the steppe. Jai stood among the gathered tribe members, his head bowed in respect. In the centre of the camp, a pyre had been stacked from the bamboo stakes used during the hunt, their splintered ends pointing like so many accusing fingers.

Upon the pyre, laid out on a soft bed of dried grasses, the bodies were wrapped side by side in simple linens, with the belongings most precious to them there beside. Beads, a wooden doll, even an old flute laid out beside their respective owners.

The funeral had been thrown in haste, for the tribe raced against the setting of the sun. In the Great Steppe, a fire of that size often meant only one thing – the burning of the dead. At night, it would be a beacon of weakness to any tribe that hunted others.

A Steppewoman knelt nearby, her face marred by tear streaks and self-inflicted scratches, her eyes red-rimmed as she clutched a pot of embers. In a sudden, anguished jerk, she cast them into the pyre, releasing a heart-rending wail.

One of many in the circle around the pyre, Jai watched his neighbour, Kiran, keen to follow tradition. Catching his gaze, Kiran silently handed him a corded bundle of wet herbs. One by one, the watchers threw the bundles onto the fire, tendrils of fragrant smoke coiling before they were hidden by the rising flames. Jai could feel the heat from the fire, sweat beading on his brow, but he did not step back.

The air was heavy with the scent, a smoky, herbaceous aroma that tickled Jai’s nostrils and seemed to cling to the inside of his mouth. He felt himself growing lightheaded. The world’s edges seemed to shudder, the flames hypnotic as they stretched ever higher, bright cinders like fireflies fading into the sky.

The mournful tones of a flute drifted through the encampment, echoing the sorrow that weighed down Valor hearts. And then... singing.

It started by the broken voice of the grieving mother, her voice faltering, cracked, until it was joined by the clear tones of the men and women around her, lifting her words higher and louder.

It was a song of heartbreak, of loss, of hope, willing the departed into the embrace of the Mother. Jai tried to join in, to lend his voice to the chorus, but his throat was tight, and the words were slow to come. How could they not, when he did not know if he believed?

And then the solos. Men and women, breaking through the chorus. Friends of the fallen, telling of the lives of those they had lost. Of the joys they had shared, and of kindnesses shown.

The flames rose higher and higher, engulfing the pyre in a fiery embrace. Jai found himself lost in the light and the melodies, joining where he could, careless of their meaning.

It was only when the heat subsided and the sun had travelled well below the horizon that the voices fell silent.

A hush descended upon the gathered mourners as a large, elderly khiro was led by halter into the circle, stopping beside the fire’s remains. Its eyes were clouded with age, and it moved ponderously, as if burdened by a lifetime of memories. With gentle ministrations, the man who led the beast lay it down, scratching and tickling the khiro’s belly. When it collapsed upon its side with a groan, he tied its legs together, earning a hoot of complaint.

Jai saw a tear on the man’s face, and only now did he recognise it as the khiro Navi spent the most time with, one used to pull the smallest of the sledges. Now he felt his heart rise to his throat. For Sindri had stepped forward, clutching a curved ceremonial dagger.

‘We call upon the spirits of ancestors past, begging your guidance and protection. Watch over us, and guide us, as your lineage did before you. Commend us to the Mother, and grant us her favour. Take this gift of blood, to sustain you into the ever after.’

With a swift, decisive movement, she slit the khiro’s throat, allowing its lifeblood to spill into the embers, sizzling and spitting.

Even as she did so, tribe members held out their hands, and still more outstretched bowls, catching the blood as it spilled and spilled, the beast twitching as its owner clutched its head, whispering.

As the khiro’s life drained away, the bowls were passed among the tribe members. Each person took a sip of the still-warm blood, paying their respects to the dead. When a bowl was handed to Jai, he hesitated, his stomach churning, though he had drunk it mixed with milk before. Kiran placed a reassuring hand on his arm, and with a deep breath, he tipped the bowl to his lips, the metallic taste of the blood filling his mouth.

Jai could not believe how much blood there was. It came in great, spouting gushes, until the bowls were overflowing, and the Valor’s bellies were stretched. Still more was captured in cauldrons, saved for cooking later into the black, tangy balls that Jai had gotten a taste for. Now... he felt a little sick.

Once the blood-drinking ritual was over, the tribe members turned their sights to the fallen khiro. Men and women forced the beast onto its back, even as the move spurted the last remnants of its blood still sizzling in the embers.

Now they swarmed it, like whalers upon a humpback. Men, women and children alike, slicing it open to spill its yellow entrails into the flattened grass. These the children dragged away upon a skin-covered sled, running clenched fists along the entrails to push out fermented green paste. They ate it gleefully and by the handful, even as they hung the long guts out to dry, and began butchering the great, shaking slabs of organ meat.

Sindri motioned for Jai to join her, and he approached hesitantly, unsure of what was expected of him.

She, along with several other skilled tribe members, had already begun the process of skinning the khiro. They worked methodically, their movements precise, ensuring that each cut was clean and efficient. As they worked, they murmured prayers of gratitude to the khiro for its sacrifice, thanking it for the life it had given for the sake of the tribe.

Jai watched, fascinated by the skill and reverence with which the tribe members performed their task. Noticing his interest, Sindri beckoned him closer and handed him a smaller knife.

‘Here, Jai,’ she said softly, ‘try. Split the skin from the meat.’

One slip, and the entire pelt could be ruined. Sindri had trusted him, and now he dared not betray it with failure. His hands trembled, and he took a deep breath, steadying himself.

Sindri pulled back the fur, and Jai slipped in the blade. It was like peeling the rind from the fruit of a mango, but far more delicate and bloody. The fat, just beneath the thick, white skin, was a gelatinous yellow, which the Valor elders were already trimming away and rendering down in their large terracotta cauldrons.

They continued their work, Sindri guiding Jai’s hand as they made further cuts along the animal’s body. The other tribe members worked alongside them, each focused on a different part of the khiro, their hands moving with confidence as they deftly separated muscle from bone, tendon from ligament.

The children began gathering the largest hunks of meat, first hanging them from a wooden frame, letting the blood drain from them fully, before carefully placing each on sheets of clean waxed cloth laid out on the ground, and wrapping them tight. These were buried in the cool ground, and travelled by day in an insulated box. In time, it would be dried into the jerky Winter loved so much.

Torches were lit, for by now the sun was set. Jai looked down at the ground where the khiro had once lain. All that remained was a bloodied depression. Nothing had been left to waste – even the bones broken open for their marrow, and their remains pounded to dust for eating.

Sindri smiled at him as she took in his bloodied arms and the satisfied expression on his face. ‘You did well, Jai,’ she said.

Jai turned, only to see Winter the centre of attention among the children behind her, their work finished. Her red-tinged snout told him what her distended belly had already, as she scarfed up another offcut, dangled from the hand of a cooing child.

‘Come here, you greedy thing,’ Jai chuckled.

He could feel her discomfort, for she had eaten more food than ever in her entire life. Jai scratched her belly as she flopped onto her back, letting out a mewl of discomfort.

‘A fine beast,’ Sindri said.

‘Thank you,’ Jai said. ‘For letting her stay with me.’

For a moment, he wanted to raise the issue of Kiran, sent home from the hunt to watch over him. Perhaps, if Kiran had stayed with the others, the young girl might have lived.

But the diplomatic side of Feng was rubbing off on him. He held his tongue, and bowed his head as Sindri patted Jai’s shoulder.

‘We’ll make a Valor of you yet, my boy.’