CONTENTS

Introduction, by Stephen JayGould

A Challenge to the Reader

PART ONE: VEYDE

PART TWO: SHELK

PART THREE:TIGER

Author's Note

Introduction

by Stephen Jay Gould

This book is, first andforemost, just what a finenovel should be—a goodstory filled with insight intohuman character and theways of nature. However, itcontains another dimensionthat may not be detected byreaders unfamiliar with the

professional literature ofanthropology and humanpaleontology. (But fear not;no one will miss the powerand appeal of Kurten's bookin the absence of suchknowledge. I merely arguethat even a passingacquaintance with it willenhance enjoyment—hencethe rationale for thisintroduction.) For Kurten'snovel is set in the midst ofone of the most momentous

and mysterious events ofhuman prehistory, an eventthat has sparked debateamong scientists for acentury: the rapidreplacement of Neandertalman in Western Europe byhumans of modern aspect(often called Cro-Magnon,after the site of firstdiscovery) about 35,000

years ago during a temporarythaw in the great glacial age.

When Darwin published theOrigin of Species in 1859, hebreathed scarcely a wordabout human evolution,limiting himself to a simpleprediction based upon histheory of natural selection:"light will be thrown on theorigin of man and hishistory" (in subsequenteditions, he became a bitmore courageous and wrote"much light"). Darwin'scircumspect silence made

sense, for in 1859 the fossilrecord of human evolutionwas virtually blank.

The first decent humanfossils had been unearthed in1856, and the dust hadn'teven settled over thisdiscovery and its meaningwhen Darwin wrote.

These first fossils were foundin a cave of the NeanderValley ( Tal means "valley"

in German) east ofDusseldorf in Germany.Twelve years later, anotherfossil skull was discovered inthe rock shelter of Cro-Magnon in southwesternFrance. It cannot be distin-guished from a modernhuman skull (in fact itsbearer, at five feet, eleveninches, was a bit taller thanthe average for Americanmales today), and it isclassified as belonging to our

s p e c i e s , Homo sapiens.Neandertals, on the otherhand, had heavy brow ridges,a face that jutted fartherforward than our own, andgenerally thicker and heavierbones (hence the squatappearance of Kurten'sWhites). What, if anything,had Neandertal man to dowith our evolution?

This question touched off,and still inspires, one of the

great debates about humanprehistory. As evidenceaccumulated, it became clearthat the Neandertal peopleshad been the sole humaninhabitants of Europe from atleast 100,000 years ago untilabout 35,000

years ago. (Piltdown manonce posed a challenge, butthis curious creature with thehuman skull and the apishjaw proved to be just that: a

fraud concocted from the jawof an orangutan and the skullof a modern man.)Neandertals manufactured adistinctive kit of tools—the"Mousterian" culture—andpracticed ritualized burial ofthe dead complete withflowers in the grave, as fossilpollen in burial sites at theShanidar Cave indicates.Then, about 35,000 yearsago, the Neandertal peoplesdisappeared—how rapidly we

do not know; indeed, this isthe essence of the debate.They surely did not pass byimperceptible stages intomodern humans, but theymay not have been abruptlydispatched either. In anycase, European fossils afterthis Rubicon belong to ourspecies: Cro-Magnon, orHomo sapiens.

The Cro-Magnon peoplesmanufactured different tools,

often considered morecomplex and advanced—the"Aurignacian" culture. Theyalso introduced such artifactsas statuary—the

"Venus" figurines—and thesublime and mysterious cavepaintings of France andSpain.

What happened? DidNeandertal evolve rapidlyinto Cro-Magnon on the

spot? Did the Cro-Magnonsmigrate into Europe fromelsewhere and simply murdertheir indigenouscompetitors? Did the twocooperate and interbreed,with Cro-Magnon traitseventually prevailing bynatural selection? Kurtenpresents a hypothesis, framedas a mystery of sorts, thatcombines at least two ofthese traditional arguments.

Before we can reach anydecisions about this troublingissue, we must resolve onefundamental question: whowere the Neandertal peoples,and what was theirgenealogical relationship tous? And here we run intoimpediments imposed bysome traditional prejudicesof Western thought,particularly the false imageof evolution as a ladder (thescala naturae of the ancients)

stretching from primitiveincompetence to advancedcomplexity. Theconventional image—indeedthe caricature—of Neandertalman developed from thisnotion that anything beforeus, and replaced by us, mustbe primitive and inferior.

Marcellin Boule of Paris(1861-1942), the leadinghuman paleontologist of hisday, created this caricature

with his famousreconstruction of theNeandertal skeleton from LaChapelle-aux-Saintes,discovered in 1908 and by farthe finest specimen thenavailable. Boule depictedNeandertal man as a stoop-shouldered brute with alumbering body and a heavyhead slung forward in thestyle of King Kong. HisNeandertal lived in caves andwalked on the outer edge of

his foot, while his big toejutted out in the almostprehensile (branch-grasping)posture of his arborealforebears. In short, Boule'sNeandertal quickly passedinto folklore as something weall recognize only too well:the "cave man'' type of AlleyOop.

This idee fixe of Neandertalsas brutish and primitive laybehind both contradictory

ideas that dominatedtraditional interpretations oftheir relationship to us. Theymight be viewed—as Boulechose to see them—as anirrelevant side branch ofsurviving relics, onlydistantly related to us andjust as well departed. Or forthose truly wedded to theladder and uncomfortablewith the very concept of sidebranches, Neandertal becamea primitive, and thankfully

superseded, stage in humanprogress. From Boule'snotion, we have the image ofCro-Magnon victorious,sweeping into Europe andexterminating the brutishaboriginal; from the laddernotion, we derive the idea ofa primitive Neandertaloidstage giving way, by gradualevolutionary perfection, tothe modern sapient.

But Boule was dead wrong—

so wrong that we mustattribute his error to an apriori conviction rooted inthe venerable metaphor ofthe ladder and its equation:old and replaced equalsprimitive and incompetent.Boule's specimen hadarthritis; hence its slightstoop. Actually, Neandertalswalked just like us, erect andfull-footed. Their brainexceeded ours slightly insize, probably a correlate of

the heavier body it served,not a mark of superiorintelligence. Most Neandertalfossils do come from caves,but this is an artifact ofpreservation: bones fromopen sites rarely survive.Neandertal man was beetle-browed and did have a largeface, but shall we in ourhubris equate a personalaesthetic of appearance withintellectual and moral worth?

In short, mostanthropologists now view theNeandertal peoples asmembers of our species: as adistinctive European varietyusually designated as aseparate subspecies, Homosapiens neandertalensis,while we are Homo sapienssapiens. Very few expertstoday—though I can think ofone or two—hold thatNeandertal simply evolvedinto modern man in Europe.

Most agree that the Cro-Magnon peoples migratedinto Europe, ultimately, in allprobability, from Africa,where the earliest fossils ofHomo sapiens sapiens havebeen found. But they did notarrive as godlike moderns,meeting and quicklydispatching semi-gorillas.The encounter betweenNeandertal and Cro-Magnon—and this is the key point ofmy introduction—was a

meeting between equals, aconfrontation between twogroups of human beings. Andyet it was unlike anythingthat has happened since,unlike even the moststereotyped and racist imageof white explorers meetingbackward natives in junglesof the Dark Continent. For allmodern human groups arerecent and only slightlydifferentiated products of acommon ancestry as Homo

sapiens sapiens. TheNeandertal peoples werehuman beings, but the gapbetween them and us(genealogically, at least) wasfar greater than thatseparating any two humangroups today. We are now allbrothers; this is biology, notpolitical rhetoric.Neandertals were human, butdifferent. Herein lies thefascination of that Europeanencounter some 35,000 years

ago—and herein the urge tonovelize. For a meeting oftwo truly different humangroups is more wonderfulthan all science fiction.

Dance of the Tiger is set inScandinavia, as the Cro-Magnon peoples enterNeandertal territory during athaw in the great Ice Age.Kurten's account of thiscontact transcends mere goodstorytelling and character

development. For this novel,written by one of the world'spremier professionalpaleontologists, is filled withscrupulously accurate scienceand the kind of intuitive feelfor natural history that nocommentator or "sciencereporter"

can attain, as it requires alifetime of devotion anddaily doing.

Kurten has managed toinsinuate into his story—in away so subtle and natural thatwe can scarcely recognize heis teaching as well asnovelizing—every fact andtheory that I know (andseveral, undoubtedly, that Idon't) about Neandertals,Cro-Magnons, humanevolution during the Ice Age,glacial geology, and ecologyand behavior of the great IceAge mammals, including

mammoths and saber-toothedtigers. Many deal with highlytheoretical and speculativeissues. Kurten's Neandertalsuse only two vowels in theirspeech, in con-formity withPhilip Liebermann's claimbased on a reconstruction ofthe Neandertal vocal tract (ahypothesis that I do notmyself accept). They alsohave a strange fascinationwith and liking for the facialfeatures of their Cro-Magnon

invaders. Here Kurten hasjoined an anatomical fact toan ethological theory. Cro-Magnons were relativelyneotenized with respect toNeandertals, which is jargonfor the fact that they retained,as adults, many facialfeatures reminiscent ofchildren. Neandertal childrendid not have the beetle browand projecting face that theadults attained, whereas Cro-Magnon children a n d adults

had smooth brows and smallfaces. Konrad Lorenz hasargued that the characteristicfeatures of childhood act as"innate releasingmechanisms" for feelings ofaffection—an obviousadaptation, since we mustnurture our infants. ButLorenz also points out thatwe can be fooled into likingother creatures that happen toretain juvenile features, notbecause they are really sweet

and cuddly, but forevolutionary reasons of theirown. Human commerce hascapitalized on this bit ofbiology; researchers for thedoll industry determine whathumans regard as cute, andthe Disney artists have madeMickey Mouse progressivelymore juvenile in appearanceto match his transition,during fifty years, from anasty, ram-bunctious fellowto the inoffensive creature

whose name has become asynonym for insipidity. DidCro-Magnons "fool"Neandertals in the same way—not by being really

"nice," but by evolving, forother reasons, features thatelicited this impression? Idon't think I'm giving awaytoo much in stating that thisreasonable speculationprovides one piece to thesolution of Kurten's mystery.

But for the height of creativeamalgamation of science andstory, read Kurten's masterfulaccount of the fight betweensaber-tooth and mammoth. Itis virtually a treatise onethology and anatomy, butyou'd never know it whileheld by the power of hisprose.

Let me, as a scientist, make aclaim that may seem curious.I believe the Kurten's novel

is a more appropriate placethan the professionalliterature itself for discussingmany of the truly scientificissues that swirl about theNeandertal-Cro-Magnondebate. Evolutionary biologyhas been severely hamperedby a speculative style ofargument that recordsanatomy and ecology andthen tries to constructhistorical or adaptiveexplanations for why this

bone looked like that or whythis creature lived here.These speculations have beencharitably called "scenarios";they are often morecontemptuously, and rightly,labeled

"stories" (or "just-so stories"if they rely on the fallaciousassumption that everythingexists for a purpose).Scientists know that thesetales are stories;

unfortunately, they arepresented in the professionalliterature where they aretaken too seriously andliterally. Then they become"facts" and enter the popularliterature, often in suchsocially dubious form as theancestral killer ape whoabsolves us fromresponsibility for our currentnastiness, or as the

"innate" male dominance that

justifies cultural sexism asthe mark of nature.

Yet these stories have a rolein science. They probe therange of alternatives; theychannel thought into theconstruction of testablehypotheses; they serve astentative frameworks for theordering of observations. Butthey are stories. So why nottreat them as such, get all thebenefits and pleasures, and

avoid the wrangles that arisefrom their usual,inappropriate placement?

Kurten, for example, probesthe results of different socialsystems by depictingNeandertals as matriarchaland Cro-Magnons aspatriarchal. No evidencesupports this assignment;each group could have beeneither or neither. But thespeculative exploration of

consequences, in this literarysetting, is scientificallyprovocative as well. Inanother case, I feltenlightened—andembarrassed. Kurten depictsNeandertals as white-skinned, Cro-Magnons asdark. Until reading this, I hadnever realized that myunquestioned picture ofNeandertals as dark arosefrom standardreconstructions, Boule's trap

of seeing everything ancientas primitive, and from theracism that sadly afflicts usall and leads white people toassociate inferiority anddarkness. Kurten'sreconstruction makes muchmore sense, sinceNeandertals lived in glacialenvironments and light skinmay be an adaptation to lifein middle to high latitudes.Yet any scientist would berightly dubbed a fool if he

published a professionalpaper on "the skin color ofNeandertal deduced fromgeneral evolutionaryprinciples."

But the greatest appeal ofKurten's novel arises fromhis proper treatment of bothNeandertal and Cro-Magnonas people of fully humanintelligence and feeling.They, in other words, are we—as we might have been in a

world unfamiliar and soimpossible to re-create.Scientists study structure byexamining its behavior at, orbeyond, the limits of its usualfunctioning. We seek oddadaptations—tiny shrews,gigantic whales, swimmingseals, flying bats, thinkinghumans—in order tounderstand mammaliandesign (10,000 rats get usnowhere). We studydeformed embryos, not from

morbid fascination, butbecause they help us to inferthe rules of normaldevelopment. May we nothope to understand ourselvesbetter through a literalinsertion into prehistory? Iknow, as abstract intellectualpropositions, the theories thatKurten discusses. But Kurtenhas taught me something bygiving them a human face.How would it feel to meet analien being whose speech

included beautiful sounds Icouldn't make, who coulddraw the likeness of ananimal on a rock? Howwould I respond toimpending extinction, to aworld where such pedestrianfacts as twinning andpoisonous mushroomsbecame aspects of magic andsources of power?

Bjorn Kurten, who teaches atthe University of Helsinki, is

unquestionably Europe'sfinest evolutionarypaleontologist. He is, withGeorge Gaylord Simpson inAmerica, the founding fatherof an important scientificmovement that unitedDarwinian theory withempirical studies of fossilvertebrates. He is an experton the mathematics ofpopulation structure,demography, and the growthand form of organisms. He is

a leading student of fossilbears—amusing, since Bjornmeans "bear" in his nativeSwedish (no inconsistency:many Finns are ethnicSwedes). He has writtenseveral books on mammalianlife during the Ice Ages. Hehas now proved on papersomething else I alwaysknew about him, that he isalso a man of rare insight andcompassion. It is alwaysheartening—and not so rare

as some people think—tofind such an exemplarycombination of human andintellectual qualities in oneperson.

A Challenge to the Reader

About 35,000 years ago,during the Ice Age, men ofour own species—whichbears the proud name Homosapiens, Man the Wise—entered Europe. Presumably

they came from thesoutheast, for we know thattypical sapients lived in EastAfrica almost 100,000 yearsearlier. It was in themillenniums between 50,000and 30,000 years ago thatmen of modern type spreadinto all the habitable cornersof the Old World.

Until then, Europe was thehome of another type of man,the Neandertal. (The spelling

"Neanderthal," besidessuggesting an incorrectpronunciation, is obsoletesince the German spellingreform of 1905.) With theadvent of sapient man, hevanishes from sight. Younever find them together. Soit looks as if Homo sapiensreplaced Neandertal man.

What does "replaced" mean?What happened when and ifthey met? A great War of

Races?

general jollification? orsomething in between?

In William Golding'sadmirable book TheInheritors, the Neandertalsare inarticulate but charmingchildren of nature, who aredestroyed ruthlessly by thebrutal invaders. In otherstories they appear as terriblesavages, also destroyed

ruthlessly by the noblesapients.

Relentless enmity is thecommon denominator.

On the other hand, there aresome finds—in Israel, forinstance—which suggesthybridization betweensapient and Neandertal men.If this is correct, which is byno means certain, at leastsome sapients and

Neandertals regarded eachother as human beings. Asshown by Ralph Solecki inh i s Shanidar: The FirstFlower People, Neandertalman sometimes did behave inan engagingly humanmanner. He took good care ofhis aged and incapacitated,and there is evidence, fromfossil pollen grains, that thedead were honored withflowers. To be sure, therewere grislier ways of

honoring the dead—eatingtheir brains, for example. AsProfessor Alberto C. Blanchas pointed out, though, thestep from the ritualcannibalism of Peking andSteinheim man and theMonte Circeo Neandertals tothe Holy Communion ofChristianity is not all thatlong.

So perhaps the two kinds ofmen did not always confront

each other as enemies. Thenwhy did Neandertal man,who had evolved and lived inEurope for perhaps half amillion years (actually, thefirst evidence of man inEurope, at Chilhac in France,dates back 1,800,000

years), vanish so quickly? Inperhaps as little as a fewthousand years?

The main theme in Dance of

the Tiger is a model thatcould account for thisdisappearance.

One among many possiblemodels. As it can be neitherproved nor disproved atpresent, it does not attain thedignity of a theory, nor eventhe slightly shakier status ofa hypothesis, but remainssimply a model. It is notscience; you may call itpaleo-fiction if you like. And

I challenge you to discoverthe model, which is acombination of threedifferent factors.

Taken together, they wouldensure the speedy extinctionof Neandertal man even inthe most peacefulcoexistence. Like everyhonest detective story thisone is full of clues, and somered herrings. You can reachthe answer from them. So go

ahead—puzzle it out. I'llreturn to it at the end of thebook.

Apart from this, why write anovel about prehistoric man?

In the last three decades, ithas been my privilege to beimmersed in the life of theIce Age.

More and more, I have feltthere is much to be told that

simply cannot be formulatedin scientific reports. How didit feel to live then? How didthe world look to you? Whatwere your beliefs? Above all,what was it like to meethumans not of your ownspecies? That is anexperience denied to us, forwe are all Homo sapiens.

Are these people interestingto modern, civilized man?Most of us probably regard

prehistoric men asuncivilized savages not worthour notice. But this isfallacious.

Humanity is old, very old.Even in protohumans threemillion years ago, theanthropologist findssomething that looks verymuch like Broca's area in thebrain, the center of speech.

Our ancestors of 30,000 years

ago were of our own speciesand blood. They were superbartists and artisans, daringhunters, and skillful sailors.(They got to Australia!) Thenotion that "primitive men"are some kind of inferior racehas been shown to benonsense by students fromCharles Darwin on. So manyof our behavior patterns areinnate and immediatelyunderstandable by anybody,regardless of race, culture,

and language: the smile, thefrown, the kiss, the embrace,the eye-greeting. More thanthat, the love of our fellowman, the sense of pride andof humor, the joy of creation,the urge to solidarity.

They are all universals. Wemay have original sin, butassuredly we also haveoriginal virtue.

So how these people, our own

forebears, might have livedabout 30,000 years ago isalso one of the themes of thisbook. It is based on facts, asmuch as they exist. Thewriter of a historical novelhas his troubles with theZeitgeist, the spirit of thetime. Still, the ambitiousauthor may draw uponthousands of documents. Themanner of speech, theclothes, the main events, theexpressions of the day, can

be rendered with convincingauthenticity even if youchoose to put yourself in theCarthaginian suburb ofSalammbo.

In a prehistoric novel youmust use more variedingredients. A cave paintinghere, some footprints there,perhaps a population ofskulls (which shows that theaged were well cared for).The material for Dance of the

Ti g e r was collected in ageographic range fromShanidar Cave in Iraq toKent's Cavern in southernEngland and spans at least30,000 years.

Admittedly, this is mildlyanachronistic, like showingTheodore Roosevelt inanimated conversation withthe Great Mogul Akbar. Butthere are limits, so theNeandertals of Veyde's

Island are nicer than thecannibalistic Neandertals ofKrapina, Yugoslavia, wholived about 50,000 yearsearlier.

Most students now agree thatPaleolithic man possessedthe faculty of speech. Facedwith the problem ofrendering those long-deadwords in my story, I see onlyone solution: to use modernlanguage throughout. These

men spoke the modernlanguage of their time. Itshould be dated only by itssubstance of culture andreligious belief, not byspurious archaisms.

Again, there is more to it. Isuspect that our view of menwho live in close contactwith nature is colored by theromantic image of thetaciturn Red Indian, theepitome of the Noble Savage.

In contrast, my experience ofthe men of forests and lakesis that they are loquacious toa degree, with a great fund ofsmall talk; they carry theirhearts on their sleeves.Aloofness is simply a maskput on before a stranger. Alarge vocabulary ischaracteristic of the so-calledprimitive languages of today,and probably has been so formillenniums. To find a reallyprimitive language I suspect

you would have to journeyback in time to the beginningof the Ice Age.

A note at the end of the book

will detail some of thefactual basis for the story.

PART ONE:

VEYDE

THE HUNT BEGINS

And I saw the beast. —Revelation 19:19

The mammoths broke cover,soundlessly, at the placeforeseen by the human mind.One by one they emerged

from the forest, big animalsat the head of the line,smaller ones next, and animmense bull bringing up therear. As if under orders,adults and young alikepointed the tips of their shorttrunks upward, suspiciouslysniffing the lazy airs thatwafted across the bog. Butthe wind brought no messageto them other than the headyscent of labrador tea andripening cloudberries.

Nothing was heard except thefaint whirring of countlessdragonflies, intent on theirrounds over the surface of thebog, a mist of glitteringspecks under the hot sun. Adozen gazes focused on thecolumn.

The mammoths started toskirt the bog, cleanlyoutlined now against the sky.The silhouettes of lowhindquarters, humped

shoulders, and peaked headsgave an impression of top-heavy power and might. Thegreat curved tusks gleamed,bright white against the blackfur. A stomach rumbled; anda curt command was heard.

In seconds, fires crackledinto life. After weeks of fairweather the land was dry astinder, and the bracken andsedge burned with a roar.Yelling figures threw spears.

The terrified animalssquealed. Shying away fromthe fire, they stumbledtoward the bog.

This was the climax of daysof planning and tracking,from the moment the smallband of hunters had known ofthe mammoth herd. It wasearly in the year formammoth, and the Chief wasskeptical when the breathlessscout panted out his news.

Shelk, moose, deer, evenbison could be expected. Butmammoth?

"Chief, there's no doubt aboutit," said the man. "I saw thefresh tracks and dung. Thereare seven or eight animals,moving east."

"Where are they now?"

The scout pointed to thenorthwest. "Less than half a

day away, Chief. We couldbag them, couldn't we?"

"We will be a long way fromhome before we find a goodplace to strike," said theChief.

"We're not properly equippedfor mammoth. And to get themeat home! Still..."

An eager group had nowgathered around the Chief,

and the excitement wasunmistakable.

A mammoth hunt during thesummer was unusual.Mammoth and caribou leftthese parts in the springtimefor the unknown northlands,where people said there wereno trees and no men. OnlyTrolls and worse. The firstmammoth appeared in earlyautumn, but the real seasonwas later, when the herds

came thick, just before thefreezing of the bogs where itwas best to trap them. But bythen it was often too wet forfires. Without fire to drivethe quarry, a mammoth huntcould be very risky indeed.Now, in late summer, after along dry spell, the chanceswere good for a successfulhunt. The Chief reminisced.

"It's true we've had a fewmammoth hunts in the

summer, usually when it'sbeen dry for long times. Thelast one was many wintersago. Perhaps they can't findenough to eat up north. Still,we don't have mammothspears."

The only arms the partycarried were light atlatljavelins. Much heavierequipment was needed formammoth. These men werenot a hunting party but a

trading group, on their wayback from the Summer Meet.There, under the first fullmoon of late summer,northern hunters exchangedfurs, ivory, and castoreum forprecious flint and amberfrom the south.

Neighboring tribes met andshared news and gossip.Rituals and dances wereperformed, and marriagecontracts made between

heads of families. Thesuccessful conclusion of anybusiness was celebrated by adrop or two of black wine outof great bison horns.

Back home, the women andchildren of the clans, notpermitted to take part in theMeet, went out to gather therich harvest of berries in thebogs and forest.

So this group was trekking

homeward, laden with richesacquired by successful barter,including some excellentflint work, hard to come byin this land of granite andquartzite.

For a few days they hadjourneyed with a neighboringclan, amiable people wholived on the northern shore ofBig Lake. Now they wereheading south. The going wasslow, for their goods were

heavy. Four days, at thispace, separated them fromtheir home at Trout Lake.They would meet theirwomenfolk on the way.

The Trout Lake Chief wastall and lean. He had blackhair, bronzed skin, and asharp-featured, lined, butgood-natured face. He hadlost count of his years, butwas in his early forties. Hetrimmed his beard short. His

real name, Ferret, was longforgotten, much to his relief.His renown was associatedwith a very different animal.As a young man, he hadkilled a black tiger, a featunknown in the memory ofhis tribe. True, this particulartiger was old, had broken oneof its teeth, and had lost itsmate. Nonetheless, it was areal black tiger, the onlycreature besides man with thecourage and cunning to

destroy the mightymammoth. So the black tigerbecame the totem of theTrout Lake clan, and theChief's eldest son, who wasin the trading party, wascalled Tiger.

The Chief fingered the tigertooth which hung on hisbreast. That and the tatteredblack loincloth, his onlygarment in the summer heat,were tokens of his

unforgettable hunt. The storywas often told—too often, inthe view of some of theyounger men.

"We can't carry all thesegoods on a mammoth hunt,"he said.

"Let's cache it and mark theplace," suggested youngTiger, his black eyes shining."We can pick it up when wecome back." The others

agreed, and the Chief gaveway, as they knew he would.

The party began makingpreparation for the hunt,hafting the heavy spearheads,collecting all the hand-axesfor dressing the meat, andmaking sure there wereenough fire-balls—the clayballs filled with glowingembers, which kept the firesalive.

"We must split into twoparties," said the Chief. "Oneto track the mammoths, andone to go ahead and mark theplace."

Everyone knew which taskwas more important.Tracking mammoths withoutfrightening them into a runwas not always easy. But toanticipate where they weregoing to go, to be therebefore them, was a challenge

they relied on their Chief tomeet.

If the party had been larger,they could have raisedenough fires to drive themammoths into the nearestbog. In this weather, withonly a dozen men, the firesmight get out of hand and themammoths panic. For thishunt, the strategy must bedifferent. They would have tofollow the mammoths until

they came to a manageablespot. Then all the men woulddraw together for the attack.

"To the east, where themammoths are heading, isunknown country, all the wayto the Great Water," said theChief. "We must take thembefore that, or they mightswim away."

"The land to the east is Trollcountry, isn't it?" asked

Tiger.

The Chief nodded. As far ashe knew, there were no menin that land, only Trolls.Years ago, from the top of ahill, he had seen the GreatWater to the east and south,where the world ended. Whathe had to do now was form apicture of this unknown landin his mind, predict whichway the mammoth herdwould travel, and decide

exactly where to strike.

There was no time to lose.

"You, Dhole, will track themammoths. I'll give you twomen. Two others will beliaisons.

The rest will come with me."

Orders given, the mendispersed to their tasks.There was a general feeling

of exhilaration.

Somebody was alreadytalking about mammothtongue with cranberry sauce.

Tiger was the youngest of theparty, sixteen winters old, or"three hands and a finger," ashe would have put it. He hadbeen initiated into manhoodin the spring, had stood upwell, and was proud of it.Nobody knew he had seen the

place before. It was wintersago. He had gone out to pickberries for his brotherMarten, who was ill. Half aday from home, he had comeupon the boulder by the rockface. It was in a small gladeat the edge of the wood,hidden by juniper and rosethickets. He had not knownthen what it was, andsomething had told him he'dbetter keep silent about it.But he did investigate the

traces of charcoal on theboulder before leaving theplace.

When they took the blindfoldfrom his eyes, he recognizedthe place at once. Now theboulder had turned into ablack tiger, with patches offur and a scimitar tooth putcunningly in place. Anotherblack tiger was drawn on therock wall. Tiger had stoodwith his back to the wall,

facing the hail of clay pelletswithout flinching. Afterwardshe drank the pungent berrypotion, sweetened andstrengthened with honey,sweet gale, and yarrow;wonderful dreams came tohim. He was a man now, ahunter, an artist, one of thebest marksmen with theatlatl. He was the fastestrunner, too, and on this hunt,his first for the greatmammoth, he would use his

speed, for the Chief hadmade him one of the twoliaisons between the mappersand the trackers.

The mammoth hunt went onfor days, while the Chief,wily and versed in themammoth's ways, worked outhis plan. The herd wasmoving slowly, and waslocated without muchtrouble. Deciding where tostrike was a more difficult

matter, but at last the Chiefwas satisfied. He found awide bog, hemmed in on thewestern side by a stretch oflow hills with a single narrowpass. Here, all the marksshowed that mammoth herdshad traveled through before.Here, along the flank of thebog, he would deploy hisforces.

So intent were the men ontheir task that they spared

little time to take heed ofother activities in the forest.Not one of them knew thatthey, the mammoth-watchers,were also being watched, thata second, more cunning huntwas about to take place.

Tiger, running along on hisbusiness, practiced throwinghis spear at likely targets,thick pine-trunks, make-believe mammoths.Otherwise he concentrated

only on the mammoth tracksand the urgent messages hewas carrying. He did notnotice the occasional shapefreezing into immobilitybehind a bush or a tree, or thewatchful eyes registering hismovements.

THE LAKE AND THECAIRN

A shadow is the thing whichis generated when you posit

yourself between it and thesun.

— Anonymous

Years later, at the age whenmen turn to survey their owntracks, and in the far distancesee the landscape of theiryouth as illuminated by asetting sun, Tiger wouldspeak of the memoriescrowding his brain. He wouldrelive his boyhood at Trout

Lake, remembering it as anundisturbed procession ofsummer days, winter days,glittering and sparkling.

Foremost in his mind wasalways his brother Marten,one year younger and hiscompanion as far back as hecould remember. Togetherthey had roamed the lake andthe forest, every day bringingnew discoveries, newexperiences, new excitement.

His earliest memories wereof the house, sturdily built,with walls made of woodenposts and mammoth bones,lined with moss and coveredwith mammoth skin. It lay agood distance from the shore,sheltered from the north windby a long wooded drumlinridge.

There were six or seven ofthese buildings clusteredtogether, but the Chief's was

the biggest. Inside was onegreat room with a fireplace.A small window to the south,overlooking the lake, wascovered in cold weather by apane made from mammothgut.

There were two gables, eachwith a lean-to; one forhunting and fishing utensils,the other for stores. Theformer was the Chief'sresponsibility. Tiger and

Marten loved to creep into it,fingering the spears andjavelins with their beautifullyworked points and admiringthe fishing harpoons madefrom bone, with small stonebarbs.

The larder belonged to theirmother, Oriole, for as soon asgame or fish was broughthome, it became theresponsibility of the women.On long hunting expeditions

the men would butcher theirquarry and prepare the meatthemselves, but anythingfelled near Trout Lake washauled back entire and turnedover to the women.

When the hunt was takencare of, men were free to dowhat they liked. Many didwork in stone, ivory, orantler, making weapons andornaments. On fine daysthere were often exhilarating

games: racing, fencing, orfield games using a footballmade out of a horse'sstomach. Then there wasmusic—tomtoms, a flute ortwo—and men began to swayor dance as the rhythmswelled. All the animals wereevoked. The drums imitatedthe stately movements ofmammoth and elk or theswift rush of the horse. Thechildren weaved like fishesbetween the dancing men.

Sooner or later even thebusiest women gathered towatch, sometimes taking partthemselves.

In general, though, thewomen knew few idle hours.There were always skins tobe scraped and chewed,tanned, and sewn intogarments. There was hair tobe spun into thread; sinew tobe made into twine. Theharvesting of berries, fruits,

roots, leaves, and edibleseeds was women's work too.In this they were supposed tobe helped by the children, butthe boys often played truant,going out in small bands tofish and hunt for themselves.Early on, the boys also beganto share the artistic interestsof the men. They learned theart of stonework, of shapingbone and ivory, and learnedto record the shapes of thewild beasts in tracings and

engravings.

The lake was the center oftheir world. Like everythingelse, it had its spirit, andTiger knew that spirit.Perhaps it was in a dream,but he had seen it, rising likea frozen mist out of the lakeand collecting itself into ashape greater, more awe-inspiring, than anything hehad imagined. Then he knewthat the spirit of the lake

must be the Guardian of themammoth. Immense andpowerful, white like thehoarfrost, the spirit carriedspear-points on his tusks.Tiger saw that he was alsothe Guardian of the blacktiger, for the two were one.Tiger and mammoth formedthe upper and the nethershape of the mist. To Tiger, itseemed right that Trout Lakewas the abode of this spirit. Itmeant that the Guardian was

a friend to the Trout Lakepeople and would permitthem, like the tiger, to huntthe mammoth and eat itsflesh.

The lake was for fishing.There were crayfish, easy tocatch, but not much to eat,except for the tails and claws.Small trout could be takenbarehanded in the becks thatfed the lake. In early winter,when the ice was still thin,

pike could be stunned with ablow as they glidedunderneath. But the ice wasoften treacherous. One of theolder boys fell through, andthe lake never gave him back.They knew then that thespirit of Trout Lake wasangry. The Chief offered hisfinest mammoth tusk, and thelake received it and wasappeased.

The great time for fishing

was early summer, when thenights were short and light.That was when the salmoncame up the river to spawn,fighting their way up therock-filled cataracts TroutLake spilled into. They camein vast numbers, as theirGuardian decreed, and verylittle sleep was had byanybody for a whole moonwhile the tribe caught andstored the fish. Early summerwas the best hunting season.

Bears, wolves, lynxes, andfoxes were also keen on thesalmon, and with eyes fornothing but the bounty of theriver, they were easilybagged. This was a time forfeasting and for filling thelarders, which had beendepleted during the latewinter and spring. The spiritof the lake was in his bestmood, and the villagersresponded with theirtraditional rituals of love and

gratitude.

The lake was for rafting andswimming, too. Tiger taughtMarten to swim, and theyboth taught their little sister,Godwit. These three were theonly surviving children in theChief's family; several othershad died in infancy. Yet therewere always many childrenin the village by Trout Lake,for men and women tookpride in their families, and

the grief of frequent deathwas fought by bringing forthnew life.

The lake was a mile long, andhalf as wide. By day it wasdeep blue, a festive mirrorfor the sun. By night it wasdark and dim, reflecting themoon and the stars. WhenTiger walked along the shore,the moon would follow himabove the trees on the otherside of the lake, always at the

same place by his shoulder.He told Marten about hisdiscovery, and they walkedtogether, watching the moonand its obedient reflection,while owl-calls broke thestillness, and distant snortsrevealed the presence of elkin the gathering dusk. Alwaysfull of mischief, Marten ranin the other direction,shouting, "The moon is goingwith me! The moon is goingwith me!" Tiger, much

offended, ran after him andgave him a buffeting. Butsure enough, there was themoon in its proper place, andthe two boys could not agreeabout whose moon it was.

Then a light breezewhispered in the trees andrippled the surface of thelake, breaking the moon'sreflection into a long path ofdancing light fragments. Theboys stood still, experiencing

the wind. They knew that thegreat trees, tired of their longstillness, had started to wavetheir branches. The breath ofthe forest walked the lake."Now the animals willcome," whispered Tiger.

They lay in wait behind aboulder, but the only animalthey saw was a lynx, movinglike a shadow through thealders. For a moment itsround, unblinking eyes stared

at them. Then it was gone, assilently as it had come.

After a snowstorm, the lakewas a virginal white sheet.Soon, though, it wascrisscrossed by animaltracks, and Tiger and Martenwould read the story of whathad happened in the night.Once they found the carcassof an elk that had been killedby a wolf pack. The boysscared off the wolves and

worked hard to drag the half-eaten animal back home.

As they grew bigger, the boystook longer excursions.Exploring new parts of theforest, they looked aroundwarily. They did not fearwolves or hyenas, though itwas true that the Guardian ofthe hyenas was reputed to bewicked. Perhaps he was just aghost pretending to be ahyena, not the real Guardian

at all. In the stories, healways came out badly in theend.

Trying to trick others, he gottricked himself. So maybe hewas not really dangerous.

The spirits of the trees androcks were always kind. Ifyou broke a branch orchipped a stone, all you hadto do was tell them you weresorry. They would calm down

right away.

The boys were a little afraidof Trolls and ghosts, eventhough the Chief assuredthem there were none around.It was always comforting tocome up on a ridge and see,far away, the blue sheet ofthe lake.

There was a cairn on the crestof one ridge, and theydecided to make this their

house. They would movehere and live as huntersforever. Perhaps someday,when they bagged a bison ora mammoth, they wouldinvite the tribe to a feast.

Among the boulders Martenpicked up a broken spearwith a curious stone point.He knew it must be very old,for the shaft came apart inhis hands and the point felloff the moldering wood.

"Look, Tiger!" he said. "If wemake a new shaft, we'll havea real heavy spear. I bet youcould kill a mammoth withit."

Tiger ran up to him. "That'streasure," he said, for heremembered stories aboutburied Troll treasure. "Let'sroll the boulders to the sideand see if there are more."

The two boys heaved

mightily, sweat breaking outon their foreheads. Finally,the boulder rolled away.There was somethingunderneath, and Tiger startedscraping at the soil.

Suddenly he stopped, interror and disgust. It was theskull of a man, yet not quite aman.

He had a bony face with twoowl-like, round eye-sockets

staring blindly beneath theheavy ridge of his brows. Afew teeth were left, and theskull seemed to grin at themwith a wide-open gape, as ifready to devour them.

Tiger and Marten ran away ina panic, and stopped onlywhen they had reached theforest.

Trembling, they looked backto find out if the terror was

stalking them, but there wasnothing to be seen.

"It was a Troll," said Tiger.

"He was lying down underthe rock," said Marten. "Doyou think he was waiting forus? Do you think he willcome after us now that we'vetaken away his rock?"

This possibility had struckTiger at once. "Maybe not

now while it's light," he said.

"But tonight when it getsdark?"

"Yes, then he may come." Itwas a dreadful prospect.

"We'll be safe in the house,"said Marten.

But Tiger had already cometo a decision. "No," he said,"We'd never be safe. There's

only one thing to do. Wemust go back and put therock on top of him again, sohe can't get out."

Tiger turned to go back.Marten hesitated, but whenhis brother had walked a fewsteps, he caught up with him.In silence they climbed to thecrest again, watching for theTroll, but when they came tothe cairn, the skull was in thesame place.

"He's just dead," said Tiger."He's not going to harm us.That's what the Chief wouldsay.

He only wants us to put backhis rock, so he can sleepagain.''

The boulder slid back easily.

"I'll make a new shaft for hisspear, and we can give itback to him," said Marten.

"That's a good idea. Thenhe'll know we're friends,"

They made the new shaft asfine as possible, using twineto fasten it to the point.Proud of the result, they slidthe spear under the rock andcovered the place with stonesso nothing could be seen.

"Now he'll be friendly," saidTiger.

"Poor old Troll," saidMarten. "Think of him lyingthere, never having any fun."

"I know," said Tiger. "Let'scome here every day andplay. And let's keep it asecret. Then he'll know weare watching and won't letanyone disturb him."

So the shadow passed fromTroll Cairn. They came back,not every day, but often.

They went to Troll Cairn bydevious routes, intent onkeeping their secret. Once aterror, the Troll became afriendly spirit. In this place,Tiger was Chief and Martenhenchman. They hunted,bringing their catch ofsquirrels, hares, birds, andonce a fox to the cairn fordressing and cooking. Andthey always slipped a fewpieces of meat, or berries inseason, into the cairn for the

Troll.

It became a place ofbenevolent magic. OftenTiger felt that the Troll wassomewhere about, restingcomfortably on his newspear, enjoying their play,but always ready to turn aterrifying face toward anydanger that might threatenthem. So it was that TrollCairn, and the image of theTroll who had lived at Trout

Lake in ancient times,became associated withTiger's happiest memories.Yet when older men talkedabout the Trolls, their storieswere far from reassuring.Tiger and Marten wouldprick up their ears, butthough the men were alwaysready to bandy the mostblood-curdling tales, only afew had actually seen livingTrolls, for most of them hadcome from the far south with

the Chief a few wintersbefore Tiger was born.

The boys' father, Chief of thetribe, never said much aboutTrolls, and only smiled at thestories. In his presence, theirterror was quickly dispelled.He was an unbeliever, or atleast that was the image hepresented. Of course, hewould spit three times if ahoodie crow flew across hispath. If a cuckoo was heard

from the south, he wouldrefrain from hunting until thespell had been broken byanother calling from thenorth. His automaticresponse to a thunderstorm,or some other display of theforces of nature, was aquickly mumbled incantationto the Black Tiger. But ifasked about this, he woulddoubtless have answered thatthey were nothing butsensible precautions, like

refraining from sitting downupon an anthill or standing infront of a chargingrhinoceros.

He distrusted what he calledsorcery, and that was whythere had never been ashaman at Trout Lake. In hisyouth he had had a violentquarrel with the shaman ofhis clan. It had happenedafter the killing of the blacktiger. Arriving home with the

trophies of the hunt—

the tiger skin and the singlescimitar tooth—he had beendismayed by the shaman'sinsistence upon ownership ofthe tooth. This would havebeen right and proper if therehad been two tusks; for thecustom of the clan was thatthe hunter took one and theshaman the other, inacknowledgment of hisspiritual help. But this tiger

had only one tooth, and theChief was outraged at theidea of giving it away.

He had been a very stubbornyoung man, and had voicedhis rage before the wholeclan.

The memory still aroused theChief's wrath. "I soon told offthat old good-for-nothing,"he would say, getting up andstriding back and forth under

his own roof, his head bent tokeep clear of it: the Chiefwas a tall man. "He couldn'tcure the old Chief who brokehis leg in two places when wewent on that mammoth huntwith the Falcon Hill boys,and he died within a moon.When we ran the rapids ofLittle River, he was so drunkwith black wine that he losthis hat and his spear. Somemedicine man!" The businesshad ended with the Chief and

a party of friends going northto start a new settlement."The Shaman cursed us whenwe went off, and said wewould all be dead in a winterand a summer. That wasfifteen winters ago, and lookat us now! No good toanybody, he was, and thenext summer at the Meet Iheard he was dead. So thereyou are. No curses or spellsfor us, thank you!"

That was how the clan ofTrout Lake came into being.Trolls had lived there before,but they were long gone, andthe new settlers soon madefriends with the Biglakers,their neighbors to the north,intermarrying to further thefriendship.

THE HUNT ENDS

A icel jor que la dolor fugrans

Et la bataille orible enAliscans — Chanson deGuillaume d'Orange The onlytime Tiger actually heard hisfather talk at any lengthabout Trolls was near the endof the mammoth hunt, whenthey were far away from theirusual hunting grounds. Theland was new to the Chief,and on that last eveningbefore the strike he hadbetrayed some uneasiness.

"We may be in Troll countryalready," he had said. "Weare getting close to the coastwhere they live."

"There are some bad storiesabout them," murmured oneof his men.

"Mostly old wives' tales,"said the Chief. "I believe theTrolls are more afraid of usthan we of them. Still, intheir own land, you never

know. Of course, they shouldbe easy to spot.

They are white, you know."

"You've seen them, then?"

"I have," said the Chief.

"You never told us, Father,"said Tiger, and everybodyturned to listen. The Chiefpulled his beard, his facewry.

"Well, you remember wemoved into this land wintersago. Back south there are noTrolls any more, though theremay have been in the days ofmy grandfather—but he toohad moved in from muchfarther south, maybe evenfrom the Land of Flints.

"Long ago, just after we'dsettled at Trout Lake, I wentout to scout some of the landto the east, and met a party of

Trolls. There were just threeof them, one ox and twobitches. You might havethought they would resent mefor being in their land, butthey didn't show any fight.They were trying to talk tome. Of course they can'tmake the sounds of Men.And they were grinning allthe time, flinging their handsabout their faces. Theylooked funny, but they werearmed, all carrying big spears

with very crude points madeout of this kind of rock." Andhe pointed to the elephantinegranite hogback beside whichthey had put up their camp.Tiger nodded knowingly.

"You don't mean the bitchescarried spears?" interruptedone of the men.

"They did indeed. And veryhefty they were, too,broadbodied and almost as

tall as the ox, though muchshorter than we. But therewas certainly no fight inthem—rather the other wayaround." The Chief smiled alittle. "I tried to talk to them—civilly, as we talk tostrangers to show we meanno harm—and gave them theopen-hand sign. But theyonly grinned more, and all ofa sudden ran off.

"I've thought many times

about what happened next,and I still don't know forsure. It could be that they putsome spell on me after all.Thinking they might gathermore Trolls, I went theopposite way. But it was latein the evening and I didn't gofar before lying down tosleep.

"That night I dreamed thatone of the Troll bitchesfollowed me and came down

on top of me to make love.And as if I had been hard at itall night, I didn't wake upuntil the sun was high in thesky. So it may be true thatTroll bitches can cast a spelland make a man tired fromlove's labor without him evenknowing what he's done."

"Maybe it wasn't a dream,"said one of the men, smiling.

"Whatever it was, I was none

the worse for it," observedthe Chief. "But strange itwas, and I put it down tosorcery. That's why I've keptout of Troll country eversince."

"She came down on top ofyou?" asked one of the men.

"Yes, she rode me—in mydream," added the Chiefhastily. "I once heard thatTroll bitches are keen on

men, but that they have wolfteeth in their vaginas, andwhen you're through they biteoff your cock to keep youfrom giving pleasure to otherwomen; but that's all rub-bish. Neither is it true thatthey suck you dry and neverlet go until you're dead. I wasnone the worse afterwards."

"Well, I heard some Trollstories at the Meet," saidanother man. "Do you

remember the people from upnorth? They seemed to knowa lot about Trolls."

"Ye-es," said the Chief withsome hesitation. "Theyhaven't been at the Meetbefore—must have moved infrom somewhere else. Theykept rather to themselves,didn't they?"

"I talked to one of them. Hedidn't say much at first, but

we had a hornful of wine, andhe became quite genial.Lynx, he was called, andShelk was the name of hischief."

"Oh, Shelk!" cried Tiger.Everything at the Meet hadbeen new to him, but thatman had made an impression."He had that amber necklace... and a bracelet of bearteeth. He did look high-and-mighty."

"If Lynx was right," said thefirst man, "Shelk must bequite a wizard. He told methat Shelk could be in twoplaces at the same time andoften was."

"That's foolish talk," declaredthe Chief.

"Yes, but I wasn't going tosay so. That fellow lookedlike one who takes offenseeasily.

You're right, though, aboutthem being newcomers. Hetold me they'd moved in fromthe southwest and didn'tknow much about thiscountry. In fact, he asked alot of questions and wasgrateful for the information Igave him. He told me theydidn't want to trespass on ourhunting grounds or those ofthe Biglakers, so I told himour landmarks."

"So they have moved in upnorth?" asked the Chief.

"That's right. He said it wasgetting crowded where theycame from. To the norththere are only Trolls, so theythought it would be a goodplace."

"And what are they proposingto do about the Trolls?"

"He said they are vermin and

should be killed off. In fact,they had already cleaned upsome Troll settlements."

"I don't like that," said theChief decisively. "The Trollsare bound to make trouble iftheir territory is invaded. Sofar we've had no trouble. Letthem alone is what I say."

The Chief shook his headgravely. But Tiger wasthinking about something

else. Abruptly he said, "Therewas something about theShelk. He looked a little bitlike a Troll himself."

The Chief laughed. "Don't beridiculous, Tiger. The Trollsare short and white, andbeardless. Shelk was tall andblack like us, with a bigbeard."

"But there was somethingabout his eyes," said Tiger,

and he cast back his mind,trying to remember what hadsuddenly made him think ofTroll Cairn and that long-dead face which had lookedup at him from the ground.The eyes ... But the deadTroll had no eyes, only theempty sockets beneath ascowling brow. That was it!Shelk had a brow like that.Tiger shuddered a little at thememory of that imperiousfrown.

The remarkable stranger hadnot been Tiger's foremostinterest at the Meet. He was aman now, and it was time tofind a woman. He knew thathis parents had beendiscussing it, and he hadguessed whom they had inmind. The Big Lake Chief,Wolf, had a daughter namedHind. He had seen her oncebefore, two summers ago,when he was in a gatheringparty with his mother and

some other women andchildren from Trout Lake.They had met up withgatherers from Big Lake.Though Hind was shy andtimid, their eyes had oftenmet.

Now he was older. Whenthey stopped in at the BigLake settlement on their wayto the Meet, there was music-making and dancing, andmany girls had their eyes on

him. But Tiger saw onlyHind. She, too, was grownup, and strikingly beautiful,with large brown eyes and aslim, high-breasted figure.She was very provocative,dancing past Tiger, turningher back to him, smiling withmischievous eyes over hershoulder, and with a quickbend forward baring for amoment her trim brownbuttocks. They had stolenaway briefly and kissed,

pressing their eager bodies toeach other.

Yes, it would be Hind, Tigerthought, when he saw hisfather in grave discussionwith Wolf. He watched themlaugh and clasp each other'shands, and knew there wouldbe a wedding later in thesummer. He would go to BigLake with his parents andMarten and little Godwit.There would be a great

celebration, with flutes,tomtoms, dancing, eating,and drinking. Hind would behis woman, to take back toTrout Lake, where he wouldbuild a house for her.

At the thought of it, he hadtaken off into the woods torun a race by himself, to feelthe air rushing by and thepower of his own body. Heswam in a small stream tocool off, then lay on the bank

to dry, until the stings of themyrmicids drove him away.

Now the campfire was dying,and Tiger's thoughts werecalled back to the mammothhunt by a dispute betweentwo of the men. One hadinsisted that he, too, could bein two places at the sametime. When he was asleep, hecould go to places that mightbe days and days away fromwhere he was.

"So that's what you do," saidthe neighbor. "That's justwhat I thought. You'll sleepthrough the mammoth hunttoo, unless we do somethingabout it—dreaming aboutmammoth tongue withcranberry sauce."

The man blushed—it was hewho had talked about thatparticular delicacy—butpersisted.

"I believe there's a part of methat travels about when Isleep, though nobody elsecan see it."

The Chief realized that theconversation had beeninconclusive and that his menwere anxious. He chose hiswords carefully.

"One Shelk is quite enough,"he said. "If he comes in twoparts, I want neither. But he's

far away now. As for you, Iwant you all in one placetomorrow; no wandering indreamland.

Tomorrow's the day to strike,Trolls or no Trolls. But theyhave done us no harm allthese years, and if we leavethem alone they are notlikely to start now. To besafe, though, everyone keepon the lookout for Whites inthe forest. And if you're

going to sleep on sentinelduty"—he smiled at thedreamer—"be sure to wakesomeone else first."

The man grinned and went totend the fire. "You won'tcatch me asleep, Chief," hesaid confidently. "And I hopeyou're right about tomorrow.The fare has not been toogood these days."

The Chief also rose, and

raised his arms high, utteringthe ancient prayer to thegame:

"O great Guardian of themammoth! If it is your wishto deliver your cattle into ourhands, give us the sign, keepthe tryst. For what we mustdo, we ask your forgiveness,with all our heart.

"And now some sleep," headded, looking around.

All the men except thesentry, who walked theperimeters of the camp, weresoon dozing.

The moon was down and theforest very dark. The sentrytook the little moon-stickcarried by the party, andmade a mark for the night.The stick would tell them thephases of the moon, by whichthey lived as much as by thechanging seasons.

Among those sleepingsoundly was Tiger, whowould return to the trackersat dawn with plans for theassault. He was no longerafraid of Trolls. No, the onlydanger was losing themammoths; and the Chiefwould take care of that.

Indeed, everything wasworking out according toplan. The mammoths werejust where the Chief's craft

and experience had told himthey would be. His men hadreached their stations in time,the trackers being summonedby Tiger at the last moment.The fires had blazed upsimultaneously all along theline, and now the mammothswere swerving toward thebog.

The spears had found theirtargets, and though none ofthe mammoths had been

mortally wounded, they wereall in a panic to escape.Already one or two animalswere knee-deep in the bog,sinking helplessly. A coupleof young clung to them, stillable to move but afraid ofleaving their mothers, andshrieking incessantly. Othersretreated more slowly,squelching at the edge of thebog.

Only the big bull in the rear

refused to budge. Hootingand blowing blasts of airthrough its trunk, stirring upa cloud of dust and dryleaves, it was working itselfinto a fury.

Some of the hunters werealready in the bog, closing infor the slaughter. Everybodywas intent on the prey,utterly unaware of the longline of men now emergingfrom the edge of the forest.

Crouching, silent, they tookup their positions and chosetheir targets.

Suddenly the bull seemedtransformed into a giganticincarnation of rage anddestruction.

Its black hair rose all over itsbody, making it look twiceits size. Ears flapping out,tail swinging high, trunkabove its head, tusks forward,

it charged through the flamesand towered in front of Tiger.

The boy flung himself to theside, seeking the shelter of ayoung pine tree. But nothingstopped the momentum ofthe mammoth; its seven tonsof bone, muscle, and ivorysnapped off the brittle pinelike a reed, and it thunderedinto the forest, plowing atrail of broken bushes andsmall trees. Tiger was pinned

beneath the fallen tree.

Sensing disaster, the Chiefturned around and racedback. "Tiger, Tiger! Are youhurt?" His eyes were seekingthe spot where the tree hadfallen. At the edge of theforest, the men in line hadalready risen to launch theirmissiles. They were in fullview, but the Chief never sawthem.

Tiger tried to answer hisfather, and found that he hadno voice. He could not move,but felt nothing, for the shockhad numbed all sensation. Hewatched the long, agonizedrun of the Chief, the whitetiger tooth on his breastdangling with each bound.Suddenly something like astick was standing straightthrough the running body,which lost its life in mid-air.

The body swung with theimpact and its own speed,and vanished from his sightwith a thud reverberatingthrough the noise of theslaughter. The boy closed hiseyes, and at last the physicalpain overwhelmed him.

THE LAND

Now I see for a second time

Earth in fresh green rise from

the sea;

The cataracts fall, the eagleflies. — Voluspa

The land had only emerged inthe last few thousand years.Obeying the commands ofsun, wind, and water, thegreat ice that had oncecovered it had retreated tothe fells of the far north.There it was collecting itsstrength to reconquer its

empire. For now, everysummer was warm enough todivest the ice of its power. Itwas holding its own, but itcould not advance; and itsstrength was spent in greatrivers coursing south,bountiful and awesome,cascading through narrowgaps, broadening into lakesand estuaries.

Relieved from the weight ofthe ice, the land was rising

from the sea, and plants,animals, and men invaded it.It was now a land of forests,bogs, and lakes, richlystocked with game.

To the north it was borderedfirst by a belt of dwarf birchand bogs, then by the tundra,and finally by the ice. To thesoutheast lay the sea, whichhad once been a giganticfreshwater lake and was nowa brackish water body, linked

to the oceans by narrowstraits. Its contours shaped bythe ice, the land graduallydipped into the sea, in a fleetof thousands of islands largeand small, down to singleice-polished rocks among theseaward skerries. And faraway to the west lay the realsalt sea.

To the sparse groups of menentering this land, it was aworld of wealth and beauty

beyond measure. The pineforest, gay with the softbrowns of its rough-scaledtrunks and the persistinggreen of its crowns, stretchedendlessly. It was a forest ofinfinite variety, from thewindswept, stunted firs of theouter islands and the sharpdry woods of esker andgranite hills to the mightypillars of the lowland grandforest, secure in their massedstrength. There were also the

wetlands, where the pinebecame scrawny and dwarfedonce more, fighting for itslife amid willow, alder, andbirch, and the bogs, wherethe pine died.

But the somber spruce hadnot yet invaded the land, andperhaps would not do so atall, in this age; its domainwas half a world away to theeast.

In early summer, the pinesblossomed into the lightgreen of their new shoots, asif dressing for a festival.Mammoth and caribou hadleft the country much earlierand the great bird migrationwas at its peak. But it hadstarted long before, perhapswhen the silent woods awokewith the chirping ofinnumerable chaffinches,whirring in myriad flocksclose above the treetops,

which still carried a meltingmantle of snow; or with theaugust spectacle of hundredsof cranes in sleek formationsflying in from the south at adizzying height.

Serenely they flew in searchof the wetlands and lakeswhere the excitement ofcourtship and nesting awaitedthem. Then came theexplosive awakening ofspring: now the hepaticas in

timid stands amidst patchesof melting snow; soon thewhite carpet of woodanemones covering the floorof the forest.

Bison, elk, and thetremendous shelk, its palmedantlers up to a fathom inlength, could be hunted whenthe mammoth was gone; andthe sturdy little horse, andthe stag with its many-tinedantlers too. But the sweetness

and variety of the berries offorest and glade, beach andbog, made them the mostcoveted food. And to thoseversed in their lore, themushrooms of late summeroffered excellent fare.

In the autumn, bird-songdied, and the skies weredarkened by the southwardflights. With the first snow,herds of mammoth andcaribou reappeared. After the

darkness, rain, and sleet ofautumn came the silveryluminescence of winternights and the crisp, clearcold of winter days. And so,following the rhythm of theseasons, the men who livedoff the land measured theirpast in winters and theirfuture in summers.

Into this land came a peopleraven-haired and dark ofcomplexion, carrying the

inheritance of a long line ofancestors from sun-scorchedsteppes far away. They calledthemselves Men; otherscalled them Black. Theirmarks of dominance were aproud stature, jutting chins,high foreheads, manes ofswept-back hair, longexquisite necks, a breadth ofshoulder and a narrowness ofhip. The flowing beard of theadult male was a wondroussign of his rank. The women

were smaller, and graceful inyouth; in maturity they, too,developed the tokens of theirstation, in splendid volumesof breast and haunch, bellyand buttock. The man's rolewas to hunt, fight, beget sons,and seek the mystery ofcommunion with the powersof the unknown; thewoman's, to bear and rearchildren, gather the harvestof forest and meadow, andobey the man who chose her

to be the mother of his sons.

These men brought withthem their new, full-tonedspeech, elastic andexpressive beyond compare.They also brought theirinventive technology,symbolized by the atlatl, orthrowing-stick, which couldcatapult a javelin withsuperior speed andpenetration. They broughttheir dreams and hopes and

their passionate affinity withthe beasts of game, whichthey sought to record with alltheir skill and love.

They strove to catch andrender in undying imagesthose transient animal shapesthat burn into the retina andare seen again in exquisitedetail and precision when theeyes are closed: animals inrepose, in action; the sightsbefore the hunter in that

fleeting moment at the pointof the kill, when endurance,skill, and cunning are to berewarded. In that moment,javelin poised, muscles andsinews already explodinginto the throw, the strengthand beauty of the beast areforever impressed upon thehunter. By recording thisimage, he pays off his debtand receives absolution, forthe taking of a life is a crime,which must be atoned for.

So the hunters flockedaround the master draftsman,who swiftly conjured up thesought image with unerringlines. They traced the patternlaboriously, again and again,sharing in the mystery andatonement. Just as the atlatland the spear were the toolsof the hunter, so the charcoalstick, the engraving point,and the dye became those ofthe artist. The tribesmensought fulfillment in animal

portraiture as a complementto the hunt and took thenames of four-footed orwinged beasts, exulting in thesplendor of their totems.

The mystery of fertility wasequally significant. A manmust be not only a hunter andan artist but a father of sons.Here the women participatedin like degree. Man's pride inhis phallus and his sperm wasequaled by his pride in his

fertile woman, who receivedhis sperm and gave him sonsin return. A man without sonswas no man. So his art, too,encompassed that reveredsymbol, the Mother of Sons,and the tokens of fertility, thephallus and the cleft fruit.

A thousand years earlier, themen of the past had madethis place their home. Twentythousand generations in thesnowbound lands of long

winters and brief summershad bleached their skin andhair to a light fairness. Theequality of men and womenwas reflected in similarity ofstature and body build. Themark of dominance in thefull-grown man or womanwas a wonderful pair of eyes,shaded by the perpetuallyfrowning superstructure oftheir jutting brows. In theirmyriad tales and stories,remembered from generation

to generation, the boldnessand power of their eyes werelikened to those of the eagle.Birds were deities in theirmyths. They revered thebirds' song with its glissandoof vowels and tones,hopelessly beyond their owntongues. They themselves,humble earthlings, took thenames of flowers and trees.But each flower and each treehad its own bird in the Landof Dead Men, and the belief

that transformation awaitedthem when they died wascentral to their lives.

So awesome were the eyes ofthe Whites that it hadbecome a token of deferencefor them to pass their handsover their faces, hiding for amoment the brilliance of theeyes and the somber menaceof the brow. Partly incompensation for that trait,the White society had

become ritualized throughand through, with tact andpoliteness as the prime codeof behavior. They called eachother "Miss" and "Mister";they used politecircumlocutions when givingorders, and were ready withprofuse apologies at theslightest suggestion ofwrongdoing. So their greatstrength was balanced bytheir habits of deference andpoliteness.

Among the Whites, womenchose their mates and descentwas reckoned along thematernal line. They gloriedin their ancestors, whoseexploits and adventures theywere ready to tell and retell.Story and myth were theirart. Women and men foundaffinity not only with theliving members of their clanbut with those of earliergenerations who walkedunseen by their side,

throughout their lives. Tothese women and men of thepast, they could turn foradvice, encouragement, andprecedent.

The Whites were the oldestsettlers of the land.Millenniums ago the entirecontinent to the south hadbeen in their hands. Nowonly a small remnant of theirrace lived here, on thenorthern outskirts. The

Blacks had settled the greatinterior, where the forestabounded in game and thelakes and streams in fish.They had spread along thecoast of the Salt Sea in thewest, where they found theinexhaustible riches of theocean. The Whites still livedin the frontier lands of thenorth and along the brackish-water seaboard.

The Blacks had known of the

Whites for a long time, andcalled them Trolls.Concerned with their ownlives and passions, they tooklittle heed of the older race.In broad daylight the Trollsseemed to be inferior beings,comical sometimes, orfaintly sinister, making oddgestures with their handsabout their faces andjabbering in a weird tongueutterly unlike human speech.Yet at night, the sight of

these stumpy figures withtheir large pale faces andhooded eyes seemed to touchsomething buried deep in theBlack man's being, as ifrecalling an age-oldexperience of unreasoningterror. Somehow the Trollswere like the ghosts thatmight haunt a man in anightmare. They seemed tobear a menace of secretwitchcraft, of deep cunning,perhaps even wisdom, of a

kind denied to Men. Theyevoked unspeakablemysteries older than time.

To the Whites, the Blackswere godlike, tall andeloquent, with a speech asvaried and flexible as that ofthe birds. And there wassomething else. No Whitecould look at the clear browof a Black without feeling amysterious tenderness, suchas a child might evoke in the

heart of his parents.

While there was much todifferentiate them, there wasmore that the two races hadin common. They lived offthe same land. They lived bythe same laws, whichgoverned rigidly the patternsof their thoughts andemotions, their actions, andtheir reverence for thenuminous things in theirworld. Everything was alive

to them, not only trees andbushes, birds and four-footedbeasts, but the flying clouds,the moving streams, thecaressing or whipping winds,the lakes and the seas in theirplacidity or foaming anger.Forever mutable, these musthave life and sentience. Evenstones and rocks possessed amysterious life, whichsometimes seemed to gatherand become transfigured intostrange formations where

their spirits took shape—anaugust profile, a pair ofshadowed eyes, a hand, apaw, a sexual organ, a restingbody, the whorled gut of aripped-up animal. Thestillness and permanence ofthese forms, the assurancethat they would always bethere, enduring beyond thetransmutations of things thatgrow and fade, invested themwith a sublimity of their own.Men and women found

security in them. An ageingman could return to thesanctuary of his youth andsay: Here I am, changed, old,marked by my years; thereyou stand, indestructible,eternal; it is good to be nearyou again.

Man had to live in concertwith all things. Every animal,bird, and plant had its ownGuardian, big or small,against whose will there

could be no appeal.Guardians spoke to men inthe whisper of the rain, thevoice of the thunderclap, therush of the rapids, the nightlycall of the owl. The eyes ofthe Guardians watched menwith intense concentration ina glittering star, with suddenwrath in a flash of lightning,with veiled, inscrutablewatchfulness out of thedepths of a hollow on theface of a cliff.

But the rule of the Guardianswas essentially benevolent,and the animate world wasgood.

It gave men the things theyneeded; and in return, theyoffered ritual and prayer tocomplete their compact withthe powers. Nor did theGuardians lack humor. Theywould stand for chaffing andimpertinence with a glint intheir eyes. But the sins of

gluttony and extravagancethey did not excuse. If a mantook more than he needed,robbed others of thenecessities of life, or killedindiscriminately, he brokehis compact with the powers,and no ingenuity could helphim escape their retaliation.

So the Whites and theBlacks, the men of the pastand the men of the future,lived in a compact with the

same powers, though theyoften interpreted themysteries, of which the worldwas so full, in different ways.One might see the Star-Hunters' bridge of ice andsnow in the wintry night sky;the other might see thepathway of the birds of thesoul, soaring toward eternity.One might hear the voice ofthe mammoth's Guardian inthe thunderstorm; the othermight hear the boom of the

Great Swan's flapping wings.Yet that is the world ofappearances; the centralcompact is the same.

MISS SUNDEW'S CLOUD-BERRIES

Lotte ist todt, Lotte ist todt,Julie nah' am Sterben—

Schwere Noth, schwere Noth,da ist nichts zu erben! —Viennese street song

(eighteenth century)

"Mother!" called the girl."Here is another God. And heis alive."

The girl's full name was MissWoad daughter of AngelicaParnassia-granddaughterTorchflower-great-granddaughter, and so on, butshe was called Miss Woadfor short.

Tiger, using his ownlanguage, would soon call herVeyde; and that name, whichshe could hardly pronounce,was later adopted by others.She knew the life stories ofher mother, grandmother,great-grandmother, and soon, through ten or moregenerations; she also knewthose of her father, maternalgrandfather, and maternalgreat-grandfather; she did notknow her own age, which was

about seventeen. One yearago she had had a child, agirl, who died a few weeksold. Since then she had beenbarren, and last winter herman had been lost on the ice.

Her blond head was barelyvisible above a tall clump ofscorched juniper. One nighthad passed since theslaughter at the bog, and thereek of smoke hung in theair, blending with the intense

fragrance of the bog and thestench of death. The fires hadburned themselves out in thestillness without touching thewoods. The remains ofslaughtered mammoths andmen seemed to beeverywhere.

Miss Woad's people calledthe bog "Miss Sundew'sCloudberries," after a femaleancestor (Woad could haverecited her life story if asked

to), and they had harvested itevery summer for untoldgenerations. The place, whichthe day before had beenaglitter with the luminouswings of myriad dragonflies,was darkened now, not bysoot but by ravens. Theyfeasted in hordes, and somewere so full they couldhardly fly. Two golden eagleswere intent on a mammothcadaver which had beenneatly skinned and flesh'ed

on one side, then flipped overto expose the other, but leftwith most of the meat.Several other eagles circledabove, majestic in flight,their straight broad wingsdark against the blue sky.Winged scavengers arrivedfrom ever farther away, andnow there were even gulls allthe way from the coast in thesoutheast.

Woad's party had been drawn

to the place by the noise ofthe hyenas, who were unableto keep a secret. Theirhysterical laughter, rangingin pitch from the self-confident boom of theleaders to the shrill falsettoof the underdogs, could beheard in the far distance.They had retreated to thepines now, and were slinkingabout, betraying their anxietywith occasional twitterings.

As usual, Woad's call led tothe appearance of her mother,Miss Angelica daughter ofParnassia, and several others:old Mister Silverbirch son ofTansy, Miss Silverweeddaughter of Buttercup, MisterMarestail son of Tormentil,and young Mister Baywillowson of Angelica. Theyhovered in the backgroundwhile Miss Angelica bustledin, composed andauthoritative.

Some thought her firmnessbordered on acerbity andmumbled that she ought to becalled Miss Cowbane, afterthe poisonous herb akin tothe benevolent angelica. Toher people, her authority wasvested in every feature of herface and body: in her large,vivid blue eyes,overshadowed by proud eaglebrows—the "brows ofcommand"; in her full, roundface; in her broad chest with

its firm, big-nippled breasts;in her flame of pubic hair,disclosing good-sized labia;and in her strong arms withbroad yet sensitive hands.She carried a big sealskin bagacross her shoulder, and worea seashell bracelet. Like herpeople, she was naked. Tothem her beauty had notfaded, and her currenthusband, Mister Marestail,loved her dearly. He was afew years younger than she.

Saddened by the scene ofhavoc, she looked down atthe boy, who was lyingunconscious, pinned by afallen pine tree.

"Are you sure this is not oneof the Devils, Miss Woad?"she asked.

"Of course I am, Mother. Justlook at him!"

Clearly the boy was young,

still beardless. He was talland dark like the Gods, but sowere the Devils. His youngface, now helpless andcovered with grime, struckthem with a sudden wistfulfeeling of unattainablebeauty. His eyes, with longlashes, were closed. Theyknew that if he opened them,they would be dark like themoonless night.

"I think you are right, Miss

Woad," said Miss Angelica."If he were one of the Devils,they would have carried himaway."

"I wonder why they left himalive?"

"They probably thought himdead—or thought he woulddie anyway. And so he will,if we leave him here."

The girl and her mother

exchanged glances. ThenMiss Angelica smiled. "Wewill try.

"There is no question thatthis is the work of theDevils," she said, indicatingthe scene of the tragedy. "Wefirst heard of them earlierthis summer, when theykilled some Whites in thenorth and took many othersprisoner. But this slaughter isworse than any I have heard

of. Those murderers areenemies of the Gods, just asthey are our enemies, so wemust save this boy and buryhis people with honor. Wemust also take care of themeat they have left.

But first we have to know ifthe Devils have gone awayfor good; we cannot risk theirreturning. Mister Baywillow,would you have the kindnessto check their trail?"

The young man passed hishand deferentially over hisface. He did not look like theothers: he was a full headtaller, with chestnut hair andbrown eyes. His skin, too,was darker, and became richwith the sun. His shy bearingcontrasted with the eaglelikeridge of his brow, whichsuggested latent strength.Now he set off at an easy run,vanishing soundlessly intothe forest. To his trained eye,

there was no difficulty infollowing the tracks of theDevils.

Miss Angelica watched himfondly, then turned to oldMister Silverbirch. Hermanner un-derwent a distinctchange, and she passed herhand over her face.

"Would you be gracious,Mister Silverbirch, and lookat the young God? Can you

tell us how badly he is hurt?"

The old man was alreadybeside the boy. "We must getthe tree off him, MissAngelica," he said.

"Please, Miss Woad, wouldyou ask some of the men hereto assist?"

"With pleasure, Mother."

Gently they lifted the tree

and flung it aside, muttering,"Excuse me, Miss Woad,""Please, Mister Silverbirch,"and other civilities. The treehad fallen on the boy's legs,which were badly bruised andbleeding; the left leg had anugly twist.

"He is alive, Miss Angelica,"said the old man. "His legmust be straightened out. Ishould like to have someplantain for the wounds, but

we have to go back to thecoast for that. I will need astrong stick and some straps.Then we must make a litter."

"We will do this first," saidMiss Angelica. "We mustcare for the living before thedead.

Mister Marestail, I wonder ifyou and Mister Alder wouldbe kind enough to see to thelitter. Miss Rosebay and

Miss Silverweed can take aparty to start working on themeat.

Miss Woad and I will see tothe dead."

Much to the annoyance of theravens, who took wing in anoisy black cloud, the meat-collectors went to work onthe fallen mammoths, mostof which had been verysketchily dressed. The real

delicacies—tongue, brain,and liver—were gone, butmuch of the red meat wasleft, and would keepperfectly well if smokedwithout delay. "They musthave departed in a hurry,Miss Silverweed," said MissRosebay. Miss Silverweed,wielding a big hand-axe andsplattered with blood fromhead to foot, agreed.

Meanwhile, Miss Angelica

and Miss Woad looked forthe corpses of the Gods. Theystarted at the far end of thebog to head off the hyenas,who promptly vanished intothe forest.

Some of the dead had alreadybeen attacked, and one or twomostly eaten. A number ofthem still carried ornaments,mostly necklaces made ofteeth, which did not lookparticularly valuable. "The

Devils probably carried offthe best pieces," said MissAngelica.

The two women carried thecorpses to the edge of thebog, where they meant tobury them.

Though they did not knowthe dead men, it was sadwork for both women.

Untouched by scavengers, the

last corpse lay on its face,quite close to the woundedboy. Its wounds showed thatit had been killed instantly bya light javelin.

"That is one of the Devils'weapons," said MissAngelica. "They fly fasterand farther than ours, with amagic which makes the armlonger and stronger." Turningthe body over, she gazed withwonder at the great tiger

tooth that had been concealedbeneath it.

"Look, Mother! I never sawsuch a thing before," criedMiss Woad.

Miss Angelica's lips movedthough she made no sound.She stared at the dead God,looking from his face to thetooth and back again."Mother?" repeated MissWoad, and finally Miss

Angelica became aware ofher again.

"It is a tiger tooth," she said."There have been no tigershere for a long time. I saw apair a very long time ago,when I was younger than youare now, Miss Woad. Andonce, also long ago, I saw atooth like this." Again, shesearched the face of the deadGod.

"We will take the tooth," shesaid, "and give it to theyoung God." Very gently shelifted the head of the deadGod and took off the tooth,which hung on a simplenecklace of twined mammothhair. "Now, please, go andsee how old MisterSilverbirch is getting on, andbring the men to help withthe grave. I will keep watch."The girl strode offobediently, with a glance

over her shoulder at MissAngelica, who knelt by thebodies. But she could not seeher mother's face.

Mister Baywillow returned,saying that the Devil partyhad left for good. The deadGods were then buried, eachwith a generous piece ofsmoked meat to sustain himon his journey to the Land ofDead Gods. For surely theremust be such a place, just as

there was a land for DeadMen. Big boulders wererolled down from the eskeroverlooking the bog andplaced upon the graves tokeep their contents safe.Finally, yellow loosestrife,red campion, and otherflowers in season werescattered over the graves, andthe dead were honored in anepic song by MisterSilverbirch, who made up aremarkable catalogue of their

feats. His tales astonished allwho listened, and would haveastonished the principalcharacters even more.

Woad's people had cut themammoth meat into strips,treated it with fragrantjuniper smoke, and piled iton runners. It was late in theafternoon before the party setout, heading due southeastand pulling their runnerseasily through the low

bilberry bushes that coveredthe floor of the forest. Two ofthe men carried the litterwith the young God'sunconscious body.

Tiger awoke and felt he wasleaving one nightmare toenter another. He shiveredwith cold and a dull pain ranthrough his body, graduallycollecting itself in his leftshin. He tried to fight it, butthe pain barricaded itself like

a patient enemy, preparing tostrike again. Tiger realizedthat he was being carried, andlooked up to see stars in thegathering dusk, visible in theopenings between the pinecrowns.

Why was he being carried?Something had happened:that he knew with a terrifyingcertainty, but he could notremember what it was. Hemust be hurt. Were they

carrying him home? Tigerlooked for his friends, butcould not see them clearly inthe dark. There were shapesaround him, but they seemedodd, uncouth, hardly human.

The odd sensations waned,and Tiger fell unconsciousonce more. Time passed. Theshooting pain came back. Hegroaned and looked up.

He was staring into a big,

hideous face, which grinneddown at him like a madman.A Troll, thought Tiger, tooweak to be surprised.

It was dark, but there was afire near by. He felt itswarmth on one side. On theother, the cold of the nightassailed him. The swayinghad stopped. He felt his bodycovered by something furry—a bearskin.

Again he stared into the largepale face, still showing itsteeth in a fearsome grin. He'sgoing to kill me, thoughtTiger. And with that idea,memory returned, with aviolence which drove out hisphysical suffering. Theimage of his father,transfixed by an atlatl spear,stood before him. Thatpicture would be with Tigerfor the rest of his life.

They killed him, he thought.Now they are going to killme. And the idea camealmost as a consolation. Yetthere was still fight in him.Closing his eyes, he raisedhis voice in an incantation:

"O Black Tiger, Mammoth-Killer, stand by! I need yourhelp!" He was surprised athis own rasping, unsteadyvoice.

Nothing happened. The Trollchuckled, and Tiger openedhis eyes again, to find thestrange figure bending overhim still. It was a Troll oxwith a broad nose, anenormous mouth, and lightgrey eyes under heavy brow-ridges. There were deepwrinkles around the eyes, andthe head was completelybald. The Troll passed itshand over its face, and thegesture was oddly reassuring

to Tiger.

Then the Troll turned anduttered something in asurprisingly high-pitchedvoice. In a moment severalmore of the big pale faceswere looking down at Tiger.The Trolls were all talking,gesturing, passing their handsover their faces. The baldTroll raised his hands andstarted talking slowly.

Tiger stared at him withoutunderstanding, and the Trollpassed his hand over his facemany times before tryingagain. Suddenly Tigerrealized that he was hearingsomething like his ownlanguage, only so distortedthat he could hardlyrecognize the words.

"Ah spahk Man talk," theTroll was repeating. "Ahspahk Man talk."

"You..." mumbled Tiger,"you speak my language!"With the image still torturinghim, he had a readyaccusation. And yet,something made him turn itinto a question: "Did you killmy father?"

He had to repeat it twicebefore the Troll understood.Finally, he shook his headvigorously.

"Na kail, na kail," he said."Troll na kail. Black mankail."

Tiger tried to understand. "Idon't believe you," he said ina whisper. He looked around."I saw the javelin hit him..."Then his eye was caught bythe Troll spears stacked closeto the fire, and heremembered an echo of theChief's voice—yesterday? aweek ago?—"Big spears with

crude points..." He sawMarten with the spear-shaftcoming apart in his hands;himself, making a new shaft.

With a sudden exertion,Tiger rose up on his elbow,ignoring the spasm of painthat immediately shotthrough his body. He lookedaround the camp, barelyvisible in the flickering lightof the fire, and a curiousgleam came into his eyes.

Yes, there was the fire, thestacked spears, the packs ofmeat, and other supplies onthe runners. The Chief hadbeen right. His ownrecollection was right. TheTrolls had no atlatl javelins.

Tiger tried hard to rememberthe day of the hunt. He feltthat he had forgottensomething important.Suddenly, he was reminded.Among the Troll oxen and

bitches, all short and sturdy,with large pale faces andalmost white hair, he nowsaw someone different—onedark face among the Whites.As if drawn by Tiger's gaze,the face moved closer.

"Shelk," said Tiger.

The tall dark Troll respondedat once. "Shelk?" he repeated.

And at that single word the

other Trolls looked at himwith awe. Already, Tigerperceived his mistake.

"No, you're not Shelk," hesaid. "You're much younger.But there is something..."

"Shelk?" said the young managain, as if trying out thesound of the word on histongue.

Weary, Tiger returned to his

own problem. Shelk! Heremembered the stranger'sarrogant face and bearing, hisrich amber ornaments, hisretinue of hardened hunters,and his eagle brows,shadowing dark andpenetrating eyes. Yes, theshape of the face and thebrows were the same, but inthe eyes of this young Trollthere was only innocence andwonder.

Tiger's people had knownviolence, but in a restrainedform. They dealt deathswiftly and competently tothe animals of the hunt, andin this act they felt that theyfulfilled the demands of themystical bond between manand beast. No hunt wasconsummated without aritual of participation andlove, without celebrating thequarry as a chosen animaland honoring its life, which

sustained the men whosetryst it had kept. Buildingtheir houses from mammothbones, men talked proudly ofthe splendor and might ofthat animal, thus ensuringlong life and prosperity to thestructure.

Clashes with their fellowmen occurred too, but theywere always conducted in away that combined aminimum of bloodshed with

a maximum of excitement.Each warring group choseone man, and the outcome ofa single combat decided theissue. In early summer, soonafter Tiger's initiation, theright of his people to thehunting grounds west ofTrout Lake had beenchallenged. The question hadbeen settled by a man-to-manfight, without arms. TheTrout Lake Chief emergedvictorious against the

champion of the other party,and that settled it. No onewas seriously hurt, andreconciliation followed at theSummer Meet.

The image hovering beforeTiger's eyes was utterlydifferent, beyond theexperience of his people, justas it was beyond theexperience of the Troll tribe.One thing could never bejustified: that was the

deliberate shooting of anatlatl spear into the body of afellow man.

Yet the image of his father'sdeath rose to his mind's eyeagain and again.

The atlatl was a sacredhunting weapon, usedsparingly, and with thegreatest compassion for thesuffering of the animalpursured. Who had heard of

manhunts except perhaps instories of the distant past andfar-off lands?

With swift certainty, Tigerdecided that this was Shelk'sdoing. That proud strangerand his followers were newto these parts. Who could tellfrom what land of terror theyhad come?

Tiger sank back, oblivious tothe rising excitement in the

camp.

"I knew it!" said MissAngelica. "You can speak thebirdtalk, Mister Baywillow!My son, you are a child ofthe Gods!"

"What is Shelk?" askedBaywillow. "Do you think hemeant me?"

"Shalk," repeated Silverbirch,unable to pronounce the

correct vowel. "It is the nameof an animal in bird-talk, butI do not understand why heshould call you that."

"Please do ask him, MisterSilverbirch," begged MissWoad. "He understands you."

"Yes," said Silverbirch, withpride. "He understands me,though I do not speak the realbird-talk." He turned toTiger, who lay with half-

closed eyes. "Shalk?" heasked, pointing toBaywillow.

Tiger shook his head. "No, heisn't Shelk. I thought he was,but Shelk is older."

"A Black man?" askedSilverbirch.

"Yes, a bad Black man. Hekilled my father."

Silverbirch nodded. Heunderstood.

"Yar nahm?" he asked.

Tiger smiled at the oldTroll's strange rendering ofhis language, and told himhis name.

Suddenly it was repeatedalmost perfectly by the darkyoung Troll: "Tiger!"

The two young men's glancesmet, and something passedbetween them.

"He is not Shelk," repeatedTiger. "Shelk is the man whokilled my father."

Again Silverbirch nodded,then turned away to searchfor something among thesupplies stacked on therunners. When he returned,he closed Tiger's hand around

the great tooth of the blacktiger.

"Fatha?" he asked.

Tears came to Tiger's eyes,and the Trolls gathered closerto comfort him, stroking hischeeks, his forehead, hisbody, with their strong hands,until Tiger fell intoexhausted sleep.

That was the last he

remembered for a long time.He was unconscious thatnight, all through theremainder of the journey, andfor days afterward.

VEYDE'S ISLAND

So enamored is the travelingwind of the tree that standswith its root in the earth andgrows. — Johannes V.Jensen, Myter

Where the land dipped intothe sea, the eskers and ice-worn knolls, all striking tothe southeast, jutted out aspoints and islands—a once-drowned landscape nowemerging from the deep. Theinner skerries, sheltered fromthe onslaught of the sea, weredensely wooded, much likethe mainland. Farther out thetrees were wind-beaten andstunted. And beyond theseislands were hundreds of

islets fringing great waterbodies where rocks nowawash were slowly emerging.

Miss Angelica's party walkeda well-beaten path to the farshore of one of these pointsof land, from which theyrafted themselves to thenearest island, their home.They had chosen the islandbecause it had a good spring;fresh water was often hard toget on the islands.

The nearest point of theisland was not far from themainland promontory, as ifthe long ridge of hills hadmade a small dive into thewater, then emerged again inanother headland.

Though short, the crossingcould be dangerous enough ina strong southwestern wind.In that direction lay an openbay, on which heavy seasbuilt up easily. Then the

waves would crash throughthe narrow channel, toweringand breaking as they met thedrag of the shoaling bottom.But on this day the weatherheld, and the waterglimmered in drowsystillness, broken only by longlines of ripples whereindolent cat's-paws ruffledthe surface.

Great flocks of scoters withtheir young dotted the bay,

and white-fowl still patrolledthe sky, though it would soonbe time for their departure.

The Troll's island, irregularlyshaped and at most a coupleof miles long, waswonderfully varied. Forestscovered much of the land, butthey were interrupted byrocky hills shelteringwetlands which supportedpatches of crowberry,labrador tea, and cotton

grass. Coves dissected thecoastline, in some placesalmost cutting the island intwo. Water shallow enoughto be waded separated it fromneighboring islands, so thatone could easily tread formiles from one island to thenext, never having to swim.To the south, the island drewout into a long, narrowmoraine. West of this,commanding a view of thesea, was the bluff where Miss

Angelica's people hadpitched their tents.

Much later, Tiger himselfwould navigate the raft, madeof pine logs of varyinglength, tied together withleather thongs and supportedby crossbars. Of that firstvoyage he had no memory.His first hazy impression wasof waking up inside a smallconical tent, made from skinsstretched over poles that

leaned together, leaving asmoke-hole on top. A smallseal-fat lamp burned in themiddle of the tent, and theopen door-flap admitted themurky light of an overcastlate-summer day. A Troll girlsat beside him, her palefeatures and white-blond hairshimmering in the dusk.When she saw that he wasawake, she smiled, scoopedup something in her hand,and held it before him.

Berries—bilberries andcloudberries. He managed toswallow the handful, thendropped back into a doze.

For days, he was alternatelychilled and feverish, faintlyaware of the Troll girlwaiting upon him andfeeding him, first onlyberries, then pieces of fishand meat. When he shiveredwith cold, she lay downbeside him, sharing her own

warmth; when he was hot andthirsty, she offered him waterout of a skin.

When he tried to ask hername, she did not understand,but went at once to fetch theold Troll who spoke such apeculiar version of Tiger'sown language. Silverbirchdid not know how to renderthe girl's name, but shesuddenly pointed to the roof,where he saw a dried woad

plant, its trusses of seed-podshanging like pendants. Tigerunderstood, and spoke hername in his own language:"Veyde!"

That plant was man's friend.Soaked in water, it gave offthe deep blue of a summer'slake.

In many pictures had Tigercontrasted the ochre-red oflife with the blueness of the

woad.

When you scattered the seedsover fertile ground, newplants would sprout. If theTrolls had the woad, perhapsthey were human.

For a long time Tiger was tooill and weak to move, but hebecame used to seeing Veydeat his side, and took comfortin her presence. Gradually hebegan to recognize the other

Trolls. There was the oldinterpreter, whose name, helearned, was Silverbirch.There were curious, blue-eyed children who could onlypeep in through the flap-doorand grin at him becauseVeyde would not allow themin. And there was the tall,dark young Troll calledBaywillow.

Tiger soon came to beespecially glad of

Baywillow's visits. Only afew years older than Tiger,he listened intently as Tigerspoke to him in the Blacktongue and skillfully imitatedhis words, which none of theother Trolls could do. Veydelearned to pronounce Tiger'sname and her own after afashion, but Baywillow tookto the new language as if itwere a dormant skill, needingonly the catalyst of Tiger'spresence to return it to

memory. Smiling his shysmile and often passing hispalm over his face, the youngman sat on the floor atTiger's side, cross-legged andhunched as if to hide hisheight. He repeated Tiger'swords carefully, making surehe got them right andunderstood their meaning.Sometimes he stood up andraised his arms, as if givingthanks.

But there were times whenBaywillow was away,sometimes for several days.To ease the tedium, Tigertried to understand and repeatthe words of Veyde andSilverbirch, but the languagewas difficult, full of queerand uncouth sounds that werehard on Tiger's tongue.

He soon found that it was nota language you could whisperin. The pitch of the voice was

an integral part of thelanguage, and the variedmodulation compensated forthe monotony of the vowels—just ah and oh. Indeed, theWhites seemed to have aperfect ear for music, andwere able to discern verysubtle variations in pitch.The language was necessarilyspoken with greatdeliberation, quite unlike thesophisticated patter of theBlacks. It seemed full of the

mammoth's bones. Tigercame to learn it well, but theroad was full of pitfalls, andhe seemed to stumble into allof them, much to Veyde'samusement. Old Silverbirch,shocked by her rudeness,admonished her with a sternbrow, gesturing to Tiger toapologize for the insult.Tiger loved these exchanges,which made him laugh andforget the pain in his leg.

Occasionally the other Trolloxen and bitches (Tiger stillthought of them more asanimals than as humans)would look in. At first hefound it hard to tell themapart. The only exceptionwas the authoritative MissAngelica, who always lookedlong and hard at Tiger, thenheld a low-toned consultationwith Veyde, and left asabruptly as she came in. Oneday, feeling more sure of

himself, Tiger forestalledher.

"See you tomorrow, MissAngelica," he ventured,carefully patterning hiswords after Veyde's. MissAngelica smiled.

"It will be a pleasure, MisterTiger," she answeredgraciously.

Then came the day when

Tiger first crawled to theentrance and looked out. Thesight overwhelmed him. Thetent was pitched high on abluff overlooking the sea tothe south.

(In winter, they would moveto houses in the shelter of thewoods.) Never before hadTiger seen the sea, and itsimmensity came as arevelation to him. Theperfect straightness of its far

edge was a mystery beyondall others. For the first timein his life, Tiger saw astraight line. He had climbedhills as a boy and looked outover the endless panorama offorest, but always there wasthe undulating line of hill andvale, the tussocky contours ofdistant trees.

Here was the sea, barelyruffled by a gentle breezethat built a lane of glittering

sunshine to the end of theworld. Here he looked intoeternity.

Later he came to know thesea in its varied moods andseasons, but he never forgotthe exhilaration of this firstview. There were rocks andislands in the sea; there weredistant flocks of ducks andmergansers, and white-winged seagulls. Earlyautumn had already turned

the occasional rowan trees arusty red, but the alders stillformed a belt of light greenagainst the background ofdark pine woods on the largerislands hemming in his viewto the right. Here and there abirch gleamed yellow. Tigerlay motionless in the openingof his little tent,remembering the story of hisfather's first view of the sea.So this was it!

When his legs healed, Tigerwould even walk on the sea, afrozen waste. He would trekfor days from island toisland, or just walk straightout into the whiteness, withnothing but sky and ice forcompany. Then he wouldlook back to his landmarks,watching them shift with theincreasing distance until atlast, afraid of getting lost, heturned homeward again.

During the spring thaw thesea was treacherous. The icebroke into great sheets thatchurned against each otherand built strange jaggedstructures that froze againovernight.

Then black cracks widenedbetween the floes and thespring storms broke up theremaining ice, grinding itinto round patches thatformed an intricate pattern

on the endless surface.

And finally the blue summersea returned, warm enoughfor swimming and fornavigating the raft and thelittle coracle that Silverbirchhad built.

That coracle, made fromsealskin stretched over aframe of pliant branches,became Tiger's favoriteplaything. It was very small,

and folded flat; distended, itwas not even big enough fortwo grown people. It wasalmost as wide as it was long,and Tiger's first attempts tonavigate it began with himand the coracle spinninground and round. But helearned to propel it in onedirection, using a leafy boughfor a paddle. When the windwas in his favor, he wouldstick the bough in the prowof his skiff and drift along,

shouting excitedly to theonlookers.

Running along the shore, thechildren begged to be takenaboard, and Tiger carefullyhoisted the smallest girl intothe skiff, paddling aroundwith hardly any freeboard.These excursions usuallyended with a swampedcoracle, and Tiger returningto shore with a very wet butdelighted child.

The coracle gave Tiger oneunforgettable memory. It wasearly in the spring, and theice had melted enough forhim to paddle around.Looking to the northeast, hesaw a mirage such as hewould never see again. It wasas if the surface of the earthhad buckled up into atowering, distant mountain,on which were dark outlinesof faraway islands against thewhite of the surrounding ice.

It was like a bird's-eye view,and the map was inscribedinto his visual memory forthe rest of his life.

Tiger continued to gaze at theimage, but it became hazyand finally vanished. He triedto explain it to Veyde andBaywillow, but they hadnever seen such a thing. Theytold him about the ordinarymirages, which lift rocks andislands over the horizon.

Soon they would be familiarto Tiger too.

Tiger became an establishedmember of the little clan onVeyde's Island. He spoke theWhite language tolerablywell (he had long sinceceased to think of them asTrolls), and his friendBaywillow spoke his ownlanguage far better now thanold Silverbirch. Tiger walkedwith a limp, for his leg had

not set quite straight, but heran as fast as before. He hadregained his old skill with thethrowing-stick, andSilverbirch had taught himthe sling. This came naturallyto him, and he bagged manya hare and bird. He had takenpart in many sealingexpeditions, had taught hisnew friends what he knewabout fishing, and was nowone of the best providers onthe island. He was also going

to be a father.

It was when he learned thisthat he ceased to look uponVeyde's people as Trolls andsaw them instead as humanbeings. He was well on hisway to recovery the dayVeyde straddled him for thefirst time, seeking thatfulfillment for which she hadyearned since the momentshe saw him pinned by thetree at Miss Sundew's

Cloudberries. Using artfulfellatio to rouse him, sherode him, body erect, headback, her eyes fixed on thesoot-black roof of the winterhouse, as if she could seeright through it into that skyof birds where she wouldultimately go.

Tiger needed coaxing, forVeyde was so utterly unlikeanything he had experiencedthat he had found it hard to

think of her as a woman. Heclosed his eyes until thepleasure grew unbearable.Then he opened them, takingin forever the sight of thiswoman who was straddlinghim, her fair hair, her greatsmiling mouth, the swollentits over her barrel chest.

Then the sensation was gone,and new emotions swoopeddown on him like a flock ofravens. Veyde took him in

her arms, and his wentaround her too in anautomatic response.

But the only thing in hismind was a terrifyingquestion: What animal is thisI am holding in my arms?And for a second he felt thathe had made love to a bisoncow or a wolf bitch.

This image struck so deepthat Tiger lay still, in a

struggle with this feeling,while Veyde, oblivious,fondled him withimmeasurable gratitude anduttered endearments in heroutlandish tongue.

Tiger never told anyone ofhis terror and soon forgot ithimself. The two of them hadmoved into Veyde's winterhouse, clustered with theothers in the shelter of thewoods. The houses were built

on a small eminence, withgood drainage so that theystayed dry. They were dugdown into the earth, and thewalls were made of rocks,lined with earth and moss.

The wood-beamed roof wascovered with pine and juniperbranches and animal skins.The entrance was a shortunderground tunnel. Butwhen they moved into theirsummer tents in the spring, a

few blocks of stone wereremoved from the wall and athorough spring cleaning wasdone.

When he had mastered theWhite language, Tiger got toknow the other members ofMiss Angelica's tribe. Thenew couple's closest friendswere Baywillow andSilverweed, who lived in thehouse next to theirs. MissSilverweed was a genial but

singularly absent-mindedyoung woman who often lostherself in meditation,becoming oblivious to theevents around her. Despiteher fits of abstraction, shewas an excellent hunter. Butshe was not much good athousework, and Tiger wasamazed to see Baywillowbusy with such chores astanning hides and sewingclothes. At Trout Lake, andamong the Blacks generally,

this was women's work.Nonetheless, Tiger was anadaptable and impressionableyouth, and he grewaccustomed to seeing thewomen join the men onfishing and huntingexpeditions. He even tried hishand at domestic work, andcame to enjoy the sessions ofhide-scraping, when storieswere exchanged all around.

Storytelling was the favorite

pastime of Miss Angelica'speople, and some of thestories were terribly lurid andfrightening. But Tiger soonnoticed that these tales,which sent the audience intotittering hysterics, seemedalways to be about distantrelations or other clans.

They were usually followedby a more decorous narrativeabout the tribe's ownancestors, as if the clan

needed to return to safetyafter a brief trip into awonderland of terror.

Tiger found the tanningbusiness far less pleasant,because the Whites usedrancid urine instead of wood-ashes and water to cure theleather. As a tailor, he was nosuccess at all.

The clothes he wore—sealskin boots and breeches,

a blouse made from caribouskin, and a lynx-fur beret—were the handiwork ofBaywillow and Veyde.

Old Mister Silverbirch wasthe local sage and doctor, andlived with Miss Angelica andMister Marestail. He couldhave moved in with one ofthe women, for there weremore women than men on theisland, but he did not wish to.He still mourned his own

woman, who had been lostalmost ten years ago.Silverbirch's polite andcircumstantial manner set thetone for the community, buthe never succeeded inquieting Veyde's gaiety andher unorthodox behavior.Once she told Tiger, "Do youknow, I was almost killed bya falling tree one day becauseMister Silverbirch was toopolite to shout at me! He justsaid courteously, 'Would you

be so kind as to step out ofthe way, Miss Veyde,because Mister Marestail isfelling a tree and it is aboutto fall on top of you.' I said'What?' and he started sayingthe whole thing all overagain, when Miss Rosebayrushed up and pushed me tothe side. Whoosh, bang! andthere was the tree. MisterSilverbirch clicked histongue at us and saidsomething about 'young

people nowadays.' "

Poor Mister Silverbirch hadbeen having great troublewith his teeth of late. He hadpulled out the worst one, buthe could not eat tough foodunless he was mouth-fed, sohe preferred fish, which hecould chew himself.

He doctored everyone else inthe tribe too. When Tiger'scondition improved and he

was able to walk again,Mister Silverbirch oftenlooked at him with aproprietary air: here wasliving evidence of his skill asa healer.

Unlike the other Whites ofVeyde's Island, MisterSilverbirch was a well-traveled man, born and raisedon the shores of the Salt Seain the far west. He wasorphaned when he was very

young and was taken care ofby a Black girl. So he grewup among Blacks, learningmany of the crafts and a littleof their language. As heconceded sadly, his tonguewas too stiff for the bird-talk,and he never learned itproperly.

"The Black people lived in abig camp not far from thecoast. They had come upfrom the south that spring,"

he said. "When the girlbrought me to the camp,there was much excitement.All the people came to lookat me and touch me. I hadnever seen a Black before,and was all in a whirl. Someof them looked angry, otherslaughed. But the girl spokefor me, and I was allowed tostay.

"I played with the Blackchildren. Some of them were

friendly, but many of theboys took a dislike to me andhurt me whenever they could.They called me a Troll imp,taunting me for not speakingtheir language properly. Thegirl who saved me—hername was Squirrel—

often had to save me again,from those boys. I was luckyto be a good shot with thesling. I taught the Blackchildren to use it, and for that

they respected me. They triedto teach me the use of thethrowing-stick, but I neverwas much good at it.

"Among the Blacks,everybody has the name of ananimal or a bird, like you,Mister Tiger.

They used to draw a pictureof their animal in the sand—"

"Yes," said Tiger, "I can do

that."

"Please do, Tiger," saidBaywillow. They were sittingnear a cove where there was asmall patch of sand. Tigerfound a stick and began todraw. First he drew the long,undulating line of the headand back. Quickly hesketched in the face, the ears,and the great scimitar teeth.

He made the eyes brood

under heavy brows. Finallyhe drew the long front legs,the shorter hind legs, and thestubby tail. "My father taughtme that," he said. "I havenever seen the black tigermyself."

"There is magic in your hand,Mister Tiger," saidSilverbirch. "I have seen theblack tiger.

That is how it looks. And that

is how the boys drew theirnames—every one a differentcreature. The best of all wasStag. He drew it very big,with great antlers growinglike bushes from its head. Icould not draw anything butjust this—"

And Silverbirch, with Tiger'sstick, laboriously produced asmall crescent. "The boysused to laugh at me for that.Stag laughed hardest and said

that it was a grub. So theycalled me Grub. I tried to tellthem my real name andshowed them the birch, butthis made them laugh again.Nobody could be named for atree, they said. When my feetturned to roots and myfingers to leaves, theypromised to call meSilverbirch. Until then I wasGrub, except to Squirrel. Shecalled me by my real name.

"Could you draw a picture ofthe birch?" he asked Tiger.

Tiger looked around. Theidea was new to him, but hewas a good draftsman, and hefelt challenged. There werefew birches on the island, buta small one was in sight. Helooked at it long and hard tolet the picture sink into hiseye. Then he closed his eyes,trying to remember. Aftermany false starts he finally

produced a likeness of thetree. Old Silverbirch lookedat it with great admiration."There it grows, just like thereal tree," he said. "Trulythere is magic in your hand,Mister Tiger. Thank you."

But Tiger had already begunto draw something else.Suddenly Veyde raised herarms in delight: it was thewoad plant with its manyseed-pods. "There you are,

my dear," said Tiger andthrew away his stick. "Finishyour story, please, MisterSilverbirch. What happenednext?"

Silverbirch resumed his tale."Now, Miss Squirrel marrieda man, and he was one ofthose who disliked me. Nordid she like him—"

"Then why did she marryhim?" interrupted Veyde.

"Because she had to. Here, agirl chooses her man, butamong the Blacks—at leastamong those Blacks—theparents decide who is tomarry whom. The manpresents the woman's parentswith a gift, and she moves inwith him, becoming hisproperty."

"That is true," said Tiger,who had never thought aboutit that way.

"So it was with Squirrel. I didnot see her often any more,but I heard that her man wasbad to her. He wanted a son,but she did not give him one.After a time he began to beather, calling her a Troll bitchand making her cry. Then hetook another wife.Meanwhile, I had grown tomanhood. So had the otherboys, and they began to playwith the girls. I would havedone the same, but the old

folks would not permit it. Icould see that some of thegirls liked me, but they darednot defy their elders.

"But Miss Squirrel still sawme in secret. I told her howsorry I was for her, and thatmaybe it was all my fault.Then she put her arms aroundme to comfort me. So it cameabout that I loved her, andsoon she was in a blessedstate, her belly growing big.

"At this her man became veryproud, for he thought it hisown doing. He sent hissecond wife away andstopped beating MissSquirrel. For a whileeverything was fine. Thencame the disaster. MissSquirrel had not one child buttwo—twin boys. They weredark like their mother, butthey had the marks of ourpeople in their faces. Herman was in a rage. He went

to look for me and kill me,but I was a strong young mannow. He found me in thewoods, and thinking I wasunarmed, came at me withhis spear. But I had my slingand was quicker than he. Mystone hit him in the forehead,and he never rose again.

"Now I had to flee for mylife, for even my friends wereagainst me. I hid in a tree andwatched them hunt for me,

listening to Stag boast aboutwhat he would do when hefound me. They never did.

"During the night I creptback to the camp to seeSquirrel and the two boys.She told me I had to go—quickly and far away. Iwanted to take her and theboys with me, but she saidno. 'They will only track usdown and kill us all. I muststay. I will move back to my

parents' house where nobodywill harm me.' I left, and Inever saw Miss Squirrel normy two boys again. Theymust be grown men now, ifthey were allowed to live.And now you must see that itwas not a happy thing, inMiss Squirrel's tribe, to mixthe Black and the White."

They thought in silence aboutSilverbirch's tale. ThenVeyde suddenly noticed

Baywillow, who had beencrouching in the sands."Look!" she cried.

Baywillow looked up,somewhat bashfully. He haddrawn a branch of the littletree for which he was named,showing a catkin and severalelliptical, pointed leaves.

"It is very good," Tiger said,and Baywillow smiled.Veyde was thrilled. "Tiger,

our child will be an artist too—she will draw the trees, andthe animals, and the birds..."

Tiger slipped his arm aroundher waist. "What did you dothen, Mister Silverbirch?"

"I ran east—into the forest. Itwas late summer, the berrieswere ripe, and there wasplenty of game. I found myold home farther north, butthere was nobody there, only

some bleached bones. Then Icame upon another Blacksettlement, but dared notshow myself, in case theyhad heard something. Finally,I decided to leave the coastaltogether, and struck out forthe forest in earnest.

"I traveled for a long timewithout seeing anyone, Blackor White. Autumn came, andI found a small White campwhere I could spend the

winter. By then I craved awoman, and when I did notfind one there, I set out againin the spring, always headingeast. I could tell you of manyadventures, but I am growingtired of speaking and willkeep my tale short.

"That was how I came uponthe White camp up at BlueLake, and found the womanwho wanted me. Speedwellshe was called, and her eyes

were as deep a blue as theflower for which she wasnamed. We lived at BlueLake for many years, hadchildren, and were happy.Then one day she did notreturn from the hunt. I spentthat whole summer lookingfor her, but never found her,dead or alive. I knew she hadto be dead. Otherwise shewould have come back to me.

"The children were grown up

by then, and there wasnothing to hold me at BlueLake.

Everything that had beensweet like the wildstrawberry when we shared itturned sour like thewolfsbane now that she wasgone. I remembered the seawhere I had grown up, and Iknew there was another seanot far from Blue Lake. So ithappened that I took up with

Miss Angelica's people. Istill remembered how to fish,to hunt the seal, and to builda coracle, which was new tothe people here, who untilthen had used only rafts.That," Silverbirch concluded,"is my story," and Tigerheard it without anypremonition of itsimportance in his own life.

Miss Angelica's mate, thedependable and silent Mister

Marestail, was master stone-knapper for the tribe. Hemade most of the spears andharpoons, and his tremendousstrength was called uponwhenever there was aparticularly heavy job to bedone.

Otherwise he was content tobe Angelica's shadow,following her everywhere,whistling soft tunes, hisheavy brows wrinkled as if

he were concentrating hardon finding a way to lay downhis life for her. Standingbehind her, feeling the needfor a moment's attention, hesometimes smacked hergently on the behind. Shewould then turn to give him asmile, and he would standwith cleared brows, a sparklein his eyes.

Though Tiger did notarticulate it, he certainly got

the impression that in thiscommunity the women weremore forceful and interestingthan the men, Silverbirch andBaywillow being the onlyexceptions. It was customaryfor a woman to share herhouse with her man andchildren, but as there was asurplus of women on theisland, two women oftenlived with the same man.Such was the case with MissRosebay, who lived in an

apparently happy relationshipwith Mister Alder, a muchyounger girl namedMarigold, and four children.But Miss Rosebay, well overthe mature age of twenty, hadstarted to eye one of the boysin the camp, young Campionson of Angelica, who wouldsoon become a man.

The possibility of this affairwas the subject of manygood-natured jokes.

These were the people amongwhom Tiger now lived. Manyof their ways seemed strangeto him, but he was impressedby their gentleness andgenerosity, and knew that heowed them his life. He wasashamed now to rememberthat his own people used totalk about Troll oxen andbitches, as if they were nothuman. Yet sometimes hecould not help thinking ofHind, her graceful figure

becoming more and moreethereal as the months wentby. Then he would look atVeyde, robust, intensely aliveand spirited, and his affectionfor her surged up.

So the winter passed onVeyde's Island. The last ofthe ice was melting, and theair became filled with aglorious harmony of birdvoices new to Tiger. Thelong-tailed ducks passed by

in endless flocks, headingnortheast along the coast. Inthe brilliant mornings ofearly spring, triumphantcadences were heard from athousand throats. Crawlingout of their tent to watch,Tiger and Veyde saw theentire bay dotted with restingbirds. These were holy birds;nobody harmed them. And inthe vigorous triad of theirsong, Tiger thought he heardsomething of Veyde's own

nature. As if she had guessedhis thoughts, she suddenlyturned to him and said, "Thelong-tailed duck is my bird,the bird of the woad plant."

So it was that the spirit of theisland, in Tiger's mind, tookthe shape of the long-tailedduck.

He, and later others as well,called it Veyde's Island.

GOSHAWK

Et si destoupe mes oreilles

Quant j'oc vin verser desbouteilles. — Froissart

To all appearances Tiger hadsettled down as a happymember of Angelica's clan,but he had bouts ofrestlessness, and as heregained his physicalstrength, they began to worry

him more. The image of hisfather transfixed by Shelk'sjavelin haunted him.Sometimes he tried to freehimself by drawing theimage in the sand, thensmoothing it out. One dayVeyde found him at this, andunderstood at once what wasin his thoughts.

"Do you want to go back toyour people, Tiger?"

"I think I would like to goback to Trout Lake, to seewhat happened to them," hesaid.

"They have lost all their men.Only the women and childrenare left, and the winter musthave been hard on them.Perhaps they got help fromthe Biglakers."

"Still, there is your mother,and your sister, and your

brother."

"Marten—yes," said Tiger. "Iwould like to find out whathappened to them."

They talked it over. Veydesuggested that she comealong too. "I want to see yourfamily, Tiger. And we wouldbe going soon anyway, togather berries at MissSundew's Cloudberries andthe other moors. Why not go

to Trout Lake at the sametime?''

"I wonder if there is anynews of Shelk and his gang,"said Tiger.

"We could visit Blue Lake,Mister Silverbirch's oldcamp. His children still livethere and may have somenews."

So it was resolved, and on a

clear, still day the islandersferried themselves to themainland.

Blue Lake was two days fromthe coast. With oldSilverbirch as a guide, thetrip was easy.

They found good game andthe bilberries were ripe.

Silverbirch took no chances.When they drew near Blue

Lake, he sent Baywillow andSilverweed as scouts. Whenthey returned saying that allwas in order, the rest of theislanders followed.

The tents of Blue Lake wereset up along the shore. Thistribe was more prosperousthan Angelica's, and aboutthirty people of all ages wereout basking in the afternoonsun, their labor's done for theday. Among them were

Silverbirch's two sons and hisdaughter, who wereoverjoyed to see their father.They embraced him fondlyand hurried to show him theirchildren, whom Silverbirchadmired one after another.Tiger looked around, andsoon noticed several childrenwith brown eyes and darkcomplexions. Baywillow, itseemed, was far from uniqueamong the Whites.

Tiger soon had anexplanation. The flap of atent was thrown open, andout peered a somewhatbleary-eyed Black man,squinting in the strongafternoon sun. Seeing Tiger,he shouted a word of greetingand crawled out.

Tiger gave a start of surprise.He had never seen a fat manbefore. His own tribe hadbeen lean; so were the people

at the Meet. This man wasobese. Tiger mechanicallyoffered his hand in greeting;the man did the same, lettingout an enormous fart. Thisseemed to be acceptedbehavior, for he continued tointersperse his talk withoccasional discharges.

"Well, well, well," he said."Here we have another Troll-lover. Are these yourbitches? It's not a bad life, as

I daresay you've discovered.All the bitches vie for myattention and call me a God.True, they're not what youwould call really enticing. Infact, I sometimes find it hardto tell their faces from theirbottoms. But you know allabout this, of course. By theGreat Mammoth, it's a goodthing to have someonearound who talks a civilizedlanguage.

You are a very welcomeguest, I'm sure, and I hopeyou will stay for some time."

Tiger managed to say that hewould be off soon, but the fatman waved the news aside.

"You must stay with us for awhile," he said. "Leave thehunting and berry-gatheringto the Trolls. They are onlytoo grateful to serve us. But Ihaven't told you my name.

I'm Goshawk the Divine, Godof the Blue Lake Trolls formany winters. I bid youwelcome."

Tiger found it hard tosuppress a laugh, foranything less like a goshawkwould be difficult toimagine. But he had beenwell brought up and knew theimportance of civility. Hepolitely mentioned his ownname and bowed. Goshawk,

undeterred by Tiger'sreticence, rambled on,delighted with this rareopportunity to speak in hisown tongue.

"Yes, it's a good life," hesaid. "I get anything I want,from the first strawberry ofthe season to the favors ofthe most buxom female.Speaking of that, let's havesomething to eat and drink.Hey, you!" he yelled,

snapping his fingers atrandom to the nearest groupof Whites. He fell into Whitetalk, and even Tiger couldhear how atrociously hehandled it.

"Wine! Venison! Berries!"He turned back to Tiger. "Mydear fellow, you shall have areal meal in no time. Youlook starved. No flesh onyour bones, young man.Don't your Troll bitches feed

you properly?"

"I'm fine, really," said Tiger,still at a loss about what tomake of this fantastic figure."But I'll be honored to eatand drink with you, sir," headded quickly, rememberinghis manners.

Goshawk produced anotherthundering fart and sat downon a boulder with somedifficulty, hoisting one of his

fat legs over the other. "I wasjust about to send my peopleout for the berry harvest," heannounced. "And we'rerunning a little short onvenison. There should be elkat hand—I really don't taketo horseflesh, do you?Sometimes in the morningthere are several hands of elkon the other shore. I'll seethat my people get one or twofor you tomorrow. Why,here's the wine," he went on,

as a young White girl cameup with a wine-skin. "Dohave some. Don't stint, now.This is made from sap, andsoon we'll have berries tomake a new brew. They don'tdrink it, of course. Strictlyfor Divine purposes. They'dgo stark mad. But I'm glad toshare it with you. Would youcare for a bitch in your tent?

There's quite a selectionhere," and he pointed at the

group of people chatting withSilverbirch.

Tiger sampled the wine,which seemed quite a potentbrew, and handed the skin toGoshawk, who drank moredeeply. "What I'd like issome information aboutShelk and his gang," he said."Do you know anything aboutthem?"

Goshawk wrinkled his brow

at this distasteful topic. "Youmust mean those people whosacked a Troll village upnorth last winter. I reallydon't know much aboutthem," he confessed, wipinghis beard, "but I know myresponsibility. We havescouts out most of the time,and we're not going to betaken by surprise. I'll givethat Elk or Shelk somethingto think about if he makes themistake of coming our way.

But let's see now. I seem toremember hearing about himyears ago. I believe they saidhe was a bastard—half man,half Troll. Is that so?"

"I think so," said Tiger. "Isaw him once. He looks alittle like my friend overthere," he added, noddingtoward Baywillow. "Heavybrows like the Whites but talland dark like the Blacks."

"Yes, that must be the man, abastard gone bad," saidGoshawk. "There you are,don't you see? Myresponsibility, I mean—orours, to be sure," with aconfidential nod to Tiger."But we can cope with Shelk.The people under mycommand are strong andcapable. They will do as I bidthem. We're not going tostand for any nonsense."Then Goshawk relaxed. "But

really, I'm sure it wasnothing but a temporaryoutbreak. Probably they haveleft for good now."

"Do you know where theymight have gone?" pressedTiger. "I want to find Shelk."

"You want nothing to do withhim," said Goshawk,shocked. "And besides,nobody knows where he is.Always flitting about, you

know. Now here, now there,sometimes in two or threeplaces at once. That 's whatI've heard." And Goshawkturned his attention to thewine-skin.

Tiger tried to find out how hehad come by this meagerinformation, but Goshawkseemed reluctant to revealanything of his past. Still,Tiger persisted. "But wheredo you come from, sir? You

speak like the people fromthe southwest at the SummerMeet."

For a moment Goshawk wassilent, casting an anxiousglance at Tiger. "As a matterof fact, that's right," heconfided. "However, it's beena long time since I saw thegreat Salt Sea. I have come along way," he continued,relapsing into his grandmanner, "and I was hailed as

a divine being by the Trollsin every village. Troll bitchesall over the world are nowblessed with children of theGods, thanks to my generousefforts. Just think of it, Ishall have hundreds ofgrandchildren. The line ofGoshawk will surely rule theworld. But of course," headded graciously, "that ofTiger will prosper, too. Infuture generations, our bloodwill blend. By means of our

divine sperm we will raisethese backward Trolls to newheights, and the world will bea better place. I've thought itall out."

He took another swig, just asa smiling girl appeared withtwo chunks of grilled elk.

Goshawk started to grab one,then remembered he was thehost, and politely asked Tigerto take his choice. While they

ate, Goshawk continued hisdiscourse, now on hisfavorite topic.

"I know most men despiseand even fear the Trolls.That's where they are wrong.The Trolls really know howto revere a man. I see a greatfuture for the children of theGods, the union of man andTroll. There is a divinepurpose behind it, and youand I are its vessels.

I know this because I haveseen the token."

"What do you mean?" askedTiger.

Goshawk lowered his voice."There is something aboutthe children of the Gods. I'vefound this out by thinking.As I told you, I'm a thinker!"He tapped his forehead. "Forseven or eight winters I havelived in this village. I've seen

many children born andmany children die. And doyou know what? The lives ofthe children of the Gods arecharmed! Charmed,"

he repeated. "In all thesewinters, not a single one hasdied. See for yourself. Lookaround.

There are fewer White bratsthan children of the Gods.That's because the Troll imps

die like flies, but nothingharms the children of theGods. Surely you must agreethat this is a token. They aredivine. A great new race ofmen is growing up before ourvery eyes.

"But you're not drinking," hesaid. "Do have some wine.There will be a good berry-brew in half a moon. Tell me,though, am I not right?"

"There is certainly somethingin what you say," concededTiger, though his inheriteddislike of sorcery made himguarded.

"Good man!" said Goshawk."And now, cast your mindback. You grew up amongBlacks, just as I did. Did youever see anything like this? Ibet not. I bet my finest bitchyou've seen brothers andsisters die, and playmates

too."

"That's quite true," said Tigersadly.

"You see! Now, I don't saythese children of the Godsare immortal, but I do saythey are of sterner stuff thanMan or Troll. Clever littlebeggars, too. Do you knowthat many of them alreadyspeak our language? That,I've found, is simply beyond

the Trolls. So you see ourresponsibility. They must bekept on the Right Way. Theymust learn from theirmothers to revere their divinefathers, and from us, theways and language of Men. Imean to share with them allthe wisdom in my mind andheart. Remember this, myfriend!

"But now, I feel it's time fora little nap. Won't do them

any good if I exert myself.I'm responsible for this flock,you know. I keep watch overthem day and night. Nothingescapes me, I tell you!However, do feel free tochoose a bitch for the night. Ishan't mind. I might try oneof yours, later on, if you likethe idea. Even reckoning,eh?" Goshawk was suddenlyseized by a fit of hiccoughs,followed by other, moreunpleasant eruptions. When

he was able to speak again,he rose unsteadily. "Yes, yes,thank you, I feel fine. Seeyou later. Make yourself athome.''

He crept back into his tent.With a shudder of distaste ashe glanced at the soiled spotwhere the divine Goshawkhad been sitting, Tiger alsorose, and walked over to hisfriends. "Any news?" heasked.

There was indeed news.Silverbirch had found ayoung woman named Sorrel,who had been a member ofthe White clan attacked bythe Devils last summer. Shehad striking, greenish-greyeyes and a vivacious manner.She held a baby, one of God'schildren, to her breast.According to her, the tragedyhad taken place in highsummer, well before theberry season. The camp was

attacked at sunrise and takencompletely by surprise. Mostof the men and many of thewomen were killed, but somemanaged to escape, and shewas among them. Yes, shehad seen some of theattackers. They all wore aheaddress with a single greateagle feather. Yes, she hadnoticed the leader. He was atall Black man with a longbeard, but he had the brow ofa White.

"Shelk," whispered Tiger toBaywillow. "So it's true?"

Miss Sorrel went on: "Wewaited a day or two after theDevils left before we daredreturn to the camp. There wasnobody alive, and the deadhad been left for the ravensand hyenas.

We buried them, but manypeople were missing. Ibelieve the Devils rounded

them up and took them along,for nobody ever came back."

"Did anybody try to trackthem?" asked Tiger.

"Two of our men went afterthe party," she said, "but theynever came back either."

"Which way were theygoing?"

"To the west, toward the hill

country from which the GreatRiver flows. We call it theLand of the Osprey. I havenever been there, but they saythe Great River comes out ofa gap in the earth, raging likethunder, and there is arainbow all day long."

There was a flash in Tiger'seyes. He had heard about thegreat rapids. Veyde glancedat him, and he could seerecognition in her eyes too.

"None of the survivors caredto stay at the camp," saidSorrel. "They wanted to gonorth and start a newsettlement far away. But myman was one of those killed.I had relatives at Blue Lake,and decided to come here. Ihaven't seen the otherssince."

Tiger was silent. He alreadyknew the Whites'superstitious awe of the

Blacks. How could he get anyhelp from them? And yetsomething had to be done.His was not a vengefulnature. A happy boyhood andthe friendly camaraderieamong the Chief's men hadmade him an outgoing,pleasant young man. Untilnow, the image of his fatherrun through by the javelinhad been a nightmare.Sorrel's tale made it real tohim, and he realized that he

must do something. Hewanted redress, retribution.But the most important thingwas to rid the land of thismenace. He wanted to livewithout terror. What could hedo, though, alone, with only ahandful of Whites who wouldnot dare to raise their handsagainst a Black man?

Veyde interrupted histhoughts with a shout oflaughter. He looked up in

surprise. "What is all thisabout?" he asked.

"Oh, they were telling methat they built a new winterhouse for Goshawk theDivine last winter," Veydeexplained between peals oflaughter. "It was a beautifulhouse, very strong, but theymade the entrance too small.He is so fat that he got stuck.They had to dig him out, andit took a long time because

they had made the tunnelsolid with stone facings.

Goshawk was veryimpatient." This Tiger couldimagine.

"This is by no means alaughing matter," saidSilverbirch sternly. "Yourbehavior is most unseemly,Miss Veyde." He shook hishead, but the corners of hislips were twitching.

"Tiger, Mister Silverbirchsays I am wanton and mostunseemly," said Veydegleefully, flinging her armsaround his neck.

"I like you that way," Tigerassured her. "But what shouldwe do now? I would reallylike to go on."

"Of course," said Veydesoberly. "Do you want tostart right away?"

"If you feel like it—yes,"said Tiger, who was now wellversed in White etiquette.

So they set out, and as theytrudged along, keeping to theeskers to avoid the boggycountry, a thin veil of cloudsspread over the western sky.

TROUT LAKE

Facilis descensus Averni. —Virgil, Aeneid

The summer days slipped byas Tiger and Veydejourneyed to Trout Lake. Fortwo days there was a steadydrizzle, then came days withshowers and sunshine inrapid succession.

Their first stop was MissSundew's Cloudberries, thescene of the tragic mammothhunt a year earlier. Tigerperformed belated rites at thegraves of his father and

friends. On the bouldercovering the Chief's grave, hedrew a picture of a proudferret, his father's totem, andlabored hard to engrave itinto the rock. Veyde,following the custom of hertribe, gathered rosebay, nowin bloom all over the gladesof the esker, and scattered itover the mounds. Then theypressed on.

Tiger led the way, retracing

the route along which he hadtracked the mammoths. Asthey passed one familiarlandmark after another, hisanxiety grew. Veyde tried todivert him with stories, but itwas only when she began totalk about the Land of theOsprey that she wassuccessful. Tiger listenedwith grim interest as she toldhim the tale of MisterCornel, her distant ancestor,who grew up by the Great

River in the days, long ago,when it flowed in anotherbed.

"Now," she said, "the riverruns through a narrow gorge,a whole day in length, and itsraging water is white. No onecan enter it and live. It willbreak every bone in a man'sbody and carry him outthrough the Gap a mangledcorpse. Such is the terriblestrength of the Gorge rapids,

far greater than that of thebreakers against the shores ofour island in a southern gale.Yet from the end of theGorge it is only a shortjourney, overland, to itsbeginning; for the Gorgebends back upon itself. Andonce through the Gap, theriver becomes serene, a broadsheet of water flowingquietly east to the lake whichyou call Big Lake and we callDiver Lake."

"I have heard about theGorge," said Tiger. "Some ofthe Biglakers have beenthere. They say you can hearthe roar of the rapids one dayaway. As you come to theGap, there is a rainbow like abridge across it—a bridge noman can walk. But the sunnever reaches the Gorgeitself, so steep and high areits banks."

"In those days long ago, the

Gorge was dry," said Veyde,"and trees grew on its floor.Each spring and autumn thecaribou passed through inimmense herds. MisterCornel and his people livedby a lake just above theGorge. From that lake, theriver flowed to the east. Itwas a good place to hunt thecaribou. You could lie inambush in the Gorge and takethe stragglers—not theleaders, for that would have

scared the herd away.

"Now it happened that MisterCornel's brother, MisterRowan, who was very dear tohim, got sick and died in theautumn when the skies weregrey and dark and the rainfell. It was hard to find gamein such weather. Everybodywas hoping that the caribouwould come.

Each day Cornel patrolled the

Gorge, looking for game.Often he thought of his deadbrother and wished for a signfrom him. The rowan is thetree of the osprey, and heknew that his brother wasnow an osprey, soaring onlong wings in the skies ofDead Men.

"One day, as he walked theGorge, he felt a shock in theground under his feet. It wasas if the land itself had

shuddered under that never-ceasing rain. He had apeculiar feeling thatsomething was watching him,and turning around, he saw aterrible black shape, withglowing eyes and greatgleaming teeth. A blacktiger!

"Cornel the hunter becamethe hunted, just like thecaribou. The walls of theGorge were sheer cliffs, and

the trees were too stunted andweak to support his weight.Running was his only escape.And he ran!

"The tiger must have beenhungry and searching forfood too. It pursured Cornel,and was soon close on hisheels.

"Suddenly the clouds parted,and a single shaft of sunlightfell on the wall of the Gorge.

At the same time Cornel sawa great osprey swoop up theGorge. Afterwards he said hecould not understand why itwas there, unless it came as aportent, for ospreys stay bythe water.

"The clouds closed again, butin that one moment of lightCornel had seen a narrowfissure in the wall. Halfwayup, a little rowan tree grew,as if by a miracle. Cornel ran

to the spot and managed toclamber up where he couldhold on to the rowan. Thetiger tried to reach him, butits claws slipped on the wall.

"For the moment, Cornel wassafe. He looked at the tiger,snarling and growling below,and in his heart he thankedhis brother for coming to hisaid.

"But now Cornel heard a

terrible roar such as he hadnever heard in his life. Eventhe voice of the tiger was lostin that incredible din. A greatwall of water, the height ofthree men, came stormingdown the Gorge, carryinglogs and trees in its wake. Ina flash it swallowed the tiger,too, and halfway up the cliffCornel hung on to the rowantree for dear life. He wastrapped, for there was no wayup, and to go down into the

raging cataract would bedeath just as certain as in thetiger's teeth. The only thinghe could do was hold on andshout for help.

"Finally help came, forCornel's friends knew he hadgone to the Gorge, and wentlooking for him. They helpedhim up the cliff, but Cornelknew it was his brother whoreally saved his life—bymeans of the ray of sunlight

from the sky, the osprey, andthe rowan tree. In a way thetiger had helped save his life,too.

"The river, which had flowedto the east, had suddenlybroken south into the Gorge.It happened when the earthshook. The level of the lakesank a couple of feet, and theold river bed dried out. Butsouth of the Gorge the forestwas devastated by the Great

River; and that is how itcame into being."

"It sounds like a fitting placefor Shelk," said Tiger.

They were now in country heknew well, heading straightfor Trout Lake. As they wenton, new thoughts troubledhim. Would there be anybodyin his village? He wonderedif they would recognize him.When he left, he was a

beardless youngster. Now hewas growing a beard. Andwhat would they say of him,coming home with a Trollwoman? Surely, they wouldbe grateful to Veyde. Had shenot saved his life?

At the thought of Veyde, hesmiled at her and said, "It isnot long now. We just haveto cross that ridge ahead.From up there we can see thelake, and we should be able

to hear the voices of children.They would be out playing ona day like this."

Veyde hesitated. "What doyou think they will say aboutme? I am afraid. Maybe Ishould stop here and let yougo first."

The temptation was strong,but Tiger forced it back. "No,I want you to come with me.I want to tell everybody what

you have done for me. Thereis nothing to be afraid of."

So they climbed the ridge.The pines thinned out, andthere, just as Tigerremembered it, the water ofTrout Lake sparkled in thesun. There was the shorewhere he had played withMarten and Godwit. Reedsfringed the lake, and therewas the patch of sandy beachthey had often covered with

pictures. Quackingindignantly, a few startledducks took off. Why had theybeen so close to the houses?Tiger's uneasiness rose.There was no sign of life. Hestarted to run, and saw a jet-black raven fly up from thehouses.

"Maybe they are out forberries?" said Veyde.

But the houses were in

disrepair. There were holes insome of the roofs, and onehouse had collapsed,probably under the weight ofthe winter snow.

"They must have left lastsummer," said Tiger. "Thevillage has been deserted fora long time—"

Suddenly Tiger stopped. Oneof the posts, leaning crazilyaskew, was crowned by

something round and white—a skull. The empty eye-sockets were turned towardthem.

Tiger walked to the post,took the skull, and sank to hisknees. He stroked theforehead, the cheekbones, thecrown.

"So you tried to fight them,"he muttered. "They attackedand you fought back, alone.

There was no one to helpyou. Oh, why was I not here?You put up a show, at least.You fought back. I didnothing but sleep under atree."

Tiger pressed his cheekagainst the bony temple.

"These are your teeth. Haveyou not smiled at me athousand times? Now theyhave taken your head and put

it on a stake for the ravens.They have left your body tothe hyenas."

Then he turned to Veyde."Veyde, now I have tworeasons for revenge. This ismy brother Marten, only awinter younger than I. Hewould have been a man thissummer. The Devils musthave come here after theyattacked us at the bog. Hefought them, trying to defend

the women and children.They killed him, and theymust have taken away theothers—just as they didSorrel's people."

"But how did they knowabout this place?" Veydeasked.

The question brought thetruth home to Tiger. "TheSummer Meet. That's wherethey spied out the land. They

talked to one of our men,asking where he lived, howmany we were.

There was a whole gang ofthem, and Shelk, in all hisglory."

"What is the meaning of itall?" cried Veyde. "Why arethey doing these things? Whydo they not leave people inpeace? What is all thiskilling, and taking

prisoners?"

"I do not understand iteither," Tiger said. "Butwhatever it is, it must bestopped, or no one will besafe any more. We must fightthem, kill them, wipe themout!"

"But we are so few and theyare so many," said Veyde."What can we do to them?They are Blacks. They have

the arms and the skill. Weare just Whites. Except you,of course. And Goshawk,"she added.

Tiger laughed. "Goshawk!What a thought! But there arestrong men and women in hiscamp, and in ours. YouWhites are different. Withus, and with Shelk, only themen fight and hunt. Withyou, women do as well."

"How about your friends—the Biglakers?"

"I doubt that they are thereany more," said Tiger. "Theylived much closer to Shelk. Isuspect that they have beenwiped out too."

They buried Marten's skullhigh up on Troll Ridge,beside the cairn. When Tigertold the story of the place,Veyde was sure that it must

be the grave of MisterCornel. After his adventurewith the tiger, he had left theGorge and settled by a lakejust like this. They paidhomage in the ways of theirown people, Tiger engravingthe likeness of a rampantmarten on the boulder withwhich they covered Marten'sgrave. "Though I cannot do itas well as my brother," hesaid sadly.

Finally they decided to returnto the cloudberry bog to findtheir friends from Veyde'sIsland. The time for harvestwas drawing near. There theycould decide whether to go toBlue Lake to engage theWhites for an attack onShelk.

"We cached a lot of thingsbefore we started themammoth hunt last summer,"Tiger said. "I do not think

Shelk can have found them.There were fine spearheadsand other weapons which willcome in handy."

On the way back Tiger foundthe cache, untouched. Hemade two shafts and haftedthe finest points to them.Then they added the arms totheir burdens and continuedtheir journey.

That same evening the new

weapons came in handy.Veyde and Tiger were sittingby the campfire when theyheard the sound of heavysnorting. A great grey shelkappeared in the firelight, itseyes glowing with thereflections of the flames andits immense antlers luminousagainst the dark background.It seemed to be irresistiblydrawn to the fire and hardlynoticed Tiger, who grippedhis spear and drew to the

side, ready to attack. Veyde,with her spear, took the otherside of the advancing animal,who came forward, inhalingthe wood-smoke in long,luxurious breaths. Tiger andVeyde lunged with theirspears, and the shelk fell,struck through the heart.

While they butchered theanimal, Veyde and Tigertalked about its behavior.Tiger felt that it was an

omen, that they wouldslaughter Shelk himself inthe same way.

They stripped the head andfound maggots in the nasalcavity. The animal, plaguedby its parasites, had soughtrelief in the tang of thesmoke. "I hope Shelk will beeaten by maggots, too," Tigermuttered, and he started todress the sheik's tongue forsmoking.

After the rains, the weatherturned warm and sunny.Mushrooms were sprouting.Used to Veyde's foraging ashe was, Tiger was stillgetting surprises, and one ofthem came when they wereclose to Miss Sundew'sCloudberries. With a hoot ofdelight, Veyde threw downher burden and kneeled topick a colony of smallmushrooms growinginconspicuously in the moss.

At first sight, they lookedlike autumn leaves scatteredover the forest floor.

"Do you really mean thatthese can be eaten?" askedTiger.

"Yes, of course," said Veyde."They are chanterelles. Haveyou never eatenmushrooms?"

"Never," said Tiger. To him

and his people mushroomswere uncanny things,sprouting silently overnightlike little ghosts, then rottinginto slimy corruption. TheBlacks were afraid of them.

"Well, these are among thebest, but there are manyothers. Look at this." And shepicked a big one with a richbrown cap, a green underside,and a fat stalk. She bit off apiece and munched

contentedly. Tiger took anibble. The taste was faintbut pleasant, and soon he waseating with relish. They wenton, looking for more.

Tiger found some odd whiteones with a heavy, long stalkand a very small cap. Thebase was enclosed in a kindof sheath. Before he had achance to taste this newdelicacy, Veyde gripped hisarms. Her grip was so

powerful that Tiger flinchedand cried out, "Easy, Veyde!

You are hurting me!"

"Do not touch those, Tiger!They are death! They killedone of my ancestors!"

"What happened?" askedTiger.

"It was Mister Coltsfoot,"Veyde began. "He begat Miss

Cowslip, who bore MissTorchflower, who bore MissParnassia, who bore mymother. Coltsfoot was MissMayweed's man. They hadlived together for threewinters, yet they werechildless. Both wanted achild and they begged MissCrowberry, an old woman, tohelp them. She sang magicsongs and incantations, andthey prayed to the birds ofthe north and the south, but it

was to no avail. Anothersummer went by, and stillthey were barren.

"Coltsfoot was in despair. Nomatter what they did, hisseed did not take root inMayweed.

Late in the summer, theywent out to gathermushrooms, and he saw thisone we now call the death-cap. You see its shape? It is

the shape of your own cockwhen it rises to do its work.Coltsfoot secretly gatheredthe mushrooms, and ate themfar away in the wood. Rightaway, he felt his cock riseand knew that he would beable to beget a child at last.He and Mayweed were intheir tent all that day, and hecame into her many times.When she marveled at hispower, he told her what hehad done, and she was

pleased and happy, as sure ashe that now they would beblessed.

"He never ate anything elsethat day, and made love lateinto the night. When thewaning moon rose he fellsick, and soon was mortallyill. All that he had inside wasflowing out of him, and atlast his guts came out too. Hedied in agony.

"Mayweed was indeedblessed, and next spring shebore Cowslip. Cowslip neversaw her father, who died forher sake. We do not know ifit was the death-caps thatkilled him or the exertions ofhis lovemaking, but sincethen no one has touchedthem. And you must nottouch them, Tiger, for we arealready blessed."

Tiger let the mushrooms fall

from his hands and smiled ather. "No, we have no need forthem," he said. "And arethere other deadly ones, too?"

"Yes," said Veyde. "There isthe fleabane, the red one withwhite spots. They say it isdangerous, though I neverheard of anybody who ateone. You must stick to thesafe kinds—the chanterelles,which are like autumn leaves,and these big brown cepes. I

will show you."

She jumped up, relieved nowthat the danger was over.Later on, she taught him torecognize the good kinds: thestately parasol mushroomswith their tall, ringed stalksand a disk two hands across;the small brown ones with apeppery taste; the moistyellow-skinned boletes,which melt in the mouth; andthe honey-mushrooms

growing in bunches on tree-stumps.

Veyde was interrupted by ashout, and out of the forestran Baywillow.

"I was lucky to find you," hesaid. "I came upon yourtracks and followed you asquickly as I could. You mustnot go to the cloudberry bog.The Devils are ahead of us.They have taken Blue Lake."

"When? "cried Tiger.

"Three days ago. Just afterwe left for Miss Sundew'sCloudberries."

Baywillow told his story."The day after you left BlueLake, Silverbirch and hisparty went on to the bog.They spent a couple of daysthere, harvesting thecloudberries. Sorrel came,carrying her baby, and told us

that the Blue Lake villagehad been attacked by a groupof Blacks. She managed toescape because she was outpicking berries and spent thenight in the wood. Returning,she heard voices speaking inthe Black tongue and knewsomething was wrong. Shecrept away quickly and ran toMiss Sundew's Cloudberries,where she knew she wouldfind us.

"Sorrel thinks the camp wasattacked at sunrise, for sheremembers waking andhearing distant noises, whichmade her wary. And a goodthing it was. She went to theisland with Silverbirch andthe others. I stayed behind tomake sure you did not walkinto the trap. I also scoutedaround Blue Lake, and theDevils are still there. Theyare behaving differently now.Last year they took their

prisoners and vanished. Thistime they are staying longer."

"What happened to thepeople at Blue Lake?" askedVeyde.

"I believe most of them arestill there. I saw women andchildren, and one of the men.I thought I might get achance to talk to somebody,but there are many sentriesand they will not let anyone

out. I do not know how manythey may have killed."

Tiger was thunderstruck bythe enemy's new move. Hismind was racing, but only ina circle. He had counted onthe help of the Blue LakeWhites. Now they too hadbeen overpowered. Was thereno end to Shelk's resourcesand power? The little groupof Whites at Veyde's Islandwas alone, without friends on

the mainland. His chance tofight the terrible Shelk wasgone.

Baywillow was grave too, buthe never lost his air of politecalmness. "What should wedo now, Tiger?" he asked.

Tiger shook his head. In adull voice he told Baywillowabout their journey to TroutLake, and what they hadfound there. The tall young

man's face showed littleemotion, but he grippedTiger's hand.

"I think we had better goback to the island," saidVeyde. "There at least weshall be safe."

"I agree," said Baywillow."Miss Silverweed will bewaiting for us with the raft,and once we take it, Shelkwill find it hard to get across

the channel."

"He can build another raft,"said Tiger.

"We will keep watch," saidVeyde. "In that way we willknow if they are coming.''

"Why should they come atall?" said Baywillow. "Theydon't know where we are."

"Shelk seems to know

everything," muttered Tiger,"but I hope you are right."

"We had better move fast,"said Baywillow. "Let me helpyou with your burdens. Thatis a beautiful shelk's tongue.What a good thing you arenot pulling runners—theymake too big a track. I toldMister Silverbirch to be sureeveryone carries his gear onhis back to make it harder forthe Devils to follow them."

Tiger nodded, but the nextday he realized that theprecaution had been useless.There was a beaten trackleading down to the shore,and nothing could be done tohide it.

THE TRAP

Darnach sluoch er schiereeinen wisent und einen elch,

Starcher uore viere und einen

grimmen schelch. —Nibelungenlied Silverweedwas waiting for them withthe raft, and they paddledacross to the island withsome difficulty in the freshsouthern breeze. "If thisweather keeps up, they willhave a hard time crossing,"said Veyde.

From that day on, in fairweather or foul, the crossingwas constantly surveilled by

one or two of Veyde's people,from the hill opposite themainland promontory. Tigercalled the place LookoutPoint. Summer slowly turnedinto autumn, and still nothinghappened. There were manydays of storms and heavyrains, and most peoplemoved to their winter houses.

But Tiger pitched a tent onLookout Point and spentmost of his time there. He

seemed to live in a darkdream in which the mainland,glimpsed through the mistand driving rain, became aworld of malevolence, an evilshadow at the edge of hisown world. He felt betterwhen another squall blotted itout of his sight. He practicedshooting with his throwing-stick and his sling, and all thetime his thoughts oscillatedbetween his own losses andmisery on one side and the

enemy's invincible power onthe other.

Veyde spent much of hertime with him, though shewas now heavy with childand tired easily. Her presencewas comforting. So was thatof Baywillow, who cameoften. Veyde told stories, ofwhich she had aninexhaustible fund.Baywillow brought sketchingmaterials, pieces of birch-

bark and charcoal, andprevailed upon Tiger to makedrawings, which he wouldthen copy with growing skill.Some of Tiger's own miseryfound expression in theimages taking shape underhis hand. He had always beena skillful artist.

Now the lines of backs andlegs, antlers and muzzles,took on a sensitive andspiritual quality new to his

work.

For a day or two, Tiger toiledto reproduce the shelk he andVeyde had felled on theirway back from Trout Lake.He showed the animal head-on, with its muzzle raised todisplay the majestic slopingcrowns of its antlers. Then,with a savage stab, he thrusta spearpoint into its forehead.

The others lost interest in the

Devils as the menace fadedwith the passing days. Nowthe weather changed. Theyhad a late taste of summer,with clear skies and greatswarms of migrating birds.One evening just after sunset,the sky lit up with the mosttremendous auroral lightTiger had ever seen. He satwith Veyde on LookoutPoint, gazing with wonderand awe at the great shafts oflight across the sky. They

radiated out from a point,their ghostly colors changingall the time from blue andgreen to red. Not a sound washeard.

"It is the Great Swan shakingher feathers," said Veyde. "Ihave never seen her soexcited.

She is calling her cygnets.They are coming from the farnorth to tell us—"

"We always said it was theStar-Hunters shooting theirjavelins," said Tiger.

Veyde shuddered. "Tiger! Iknow her message. She istelling us they are on theway. She is warning us,Tiger! They are coming."

Tiger was seized by hermood at once. He, too, feltthat something extraordinarywas astir.

He had never seen the auroraso early in the autumn. Thenorthern lights belonged tothe winter sky. Now, whenthe leaves were barelyturning, they must be anomen.

"Go back, Veyde, and tell theothers," he said. "I will keepwatch. If they come, theywill come in the night."

She left quickly, and Tiger

looked out across the waterto the mainland. Was theresomething moving? A blackspeck, far off, against thedull sheen of the water? Herubbed his eyes. Now, whenit was too late, he realizedthat he had made no plans.What would they do when theenemy came? Run away? Orfight? He knew he couldfight. But the others? Hethought of Veyde's gentlepeople, so polite, so

compliant. What would theydo?

What could they do?

In sudden agony he realizedthat he should have preparedlong ago. What had he donethis year? Nothing. He oughtto have been planning rightfrom the start. Then he mighthave had a chance—theymight all have had a chance.But he had just drifted along

with the stream of events.Still a boy, Tiger blamedhimself for not having theforesight and experience ofan old man. Now it was toolate. He would have to fightalone, like Marten.

He would be killed likeMarten, too, and his head puton a stake.

What could he have done? Hecould have rallied the Whites

and the Biglakers into afighting troop. Wolf, hisfather's friend, would havehelped. They could haveresisted, even attacked. Heused to have friends, butShelk had conquered themall. None were left except thelittle tribe on Veyde's Island.And Shelk was coming tofinish them. There wassomebody out on the water.

For a year Tiger had lived in

a dream. Now he was awake,and shame of his neglectburned into him. He could donothing now. They wouldhave to flee, but where wouldthey go? In his mind's eyeTiger saw the map of theislands as he had seen it inthe mirage. The Devils wouldtrack them: Tiger knew theywere good at that. If he andVeyde's people fled north orsouth along the fringe ofislands, they would be caught

in the end. The childrenwould make their progressslow. Their only raft washere. Using it would takethem straight into theenemy's hands. Besides, theraft was too small to carryeverybody.

Could they swim back to themainland from anotherisland, and escape in theforest?

Perhaps, but for how long?Tiger thought of Veyde, soclose to childbirth, and of thechildren. They could notswim so far. The water wasalready too cold. He could doit alone, save his own skin,but he would never abandonthe others.

The raft was close enoughnow for him to see it clearly.It was big, and there were atleast two hands of men on it.

No one spoke, but he couldhear the faint sound of thepaddling.

Somebody on board knew thesea. The flickering light stilldanced overhead. "O BlackTiger!" he murmured, but therest of his tormented prayerwas silent.

A hand gripped his shoulder,and he looked around to seeBaywillow in the faint light.

"Are they coming?"Baywillow whispered in theBlack tongue, which healways used when they werealone.

Tiger pointed at theadvancing raft.

"We're ready for them," saidBaywillow. "Come with me."

"Ready?" said Tiger eagerly."Will you fight?" It was

beyond his expectations.

Baywillow smiled. "Ifnecessary, but it may not benecessary. Come."

Tiger followed him, his mindfull of questions. Baywillowstarted to go along the path tothe winter houses, thenstepped to the side. "Uphere," he said, and led Tigerup a steep incline. This wasthe highest hill on the island,

flat-topped, with sheer sides.There were only a couple ofplaces where it could bescaled. "They'll never take usup there," said Baywillow. "Ihave stocked the place withspears and rocks."

Hope! Tiger brightened. Thegreat hill was indeed difficultto climb, especially in thedark.

At the top he saw Veyde. The

burning shafts of the aurorawere still shooting across thesky, and for a moment theyseemed to crown her headlike a halo.

She was shaking. "Are theycoming, Tiger?"

"Yes, they are almost ashorenow."

Tiger realized that theplateau was full of people.

"This is a good place," hesaid. "We can keep them outof here." There were boulderswhich would give shelterfrom the enemy's javelins.Yet Tiger felt there wassomething they hadforgotten. "Yes, we can keepthem out of here," herepeated, "but for how long?"

"As long as we like," saidVeyde. "If they try to climbup, we shall heave spears and

rocks at them."

"There are only two paths tothe top," said Baywillow."We can cover both."

But Tiger was thinkingfurther ahead. "When all therocks and spears are gone—what happens then?"

Veyde scratched her head.The idea was new to her."You are right, Tiger," she

admitted. "I thought wewould send a hail of spearsand rocks at them, but I seewe can't do that."

Tiger looked around. Heremembered how his fatherhad seemed to know exactlywhat the mammoths weregoing to do, and he began tosee the first step of strategicthinking: putting yourself inthe enemy's position. Hetried to imagine what Shelk

might be planning. Shelkwould try to rush them.When he found that it wasimpossible, he would dosomething else.

What?

Slowly the sickening answercame to Tiger. Shelk woulddo nothing. He would simplywait.

What if Shelk waited for

days? For a whole moon?What would happen then?

"Veyde, have we gotanything to eat and drink?"

"Of course," said Veyde."Are you hungry, Tiger?"

"Not now! But we shall bevery hungry if we have tostay here for a long time."

"We cannot stay long," said

Veyde. "There is no springhere. You know that, Tiger.The only spring on the islandis down near the winterhouses."

Tiger turned to Baywillow."This is a death-trap," Tigermoaned. "Shelk will just waituntil we die from lack offood and water, or until wegive up. He has all the storesfrom our houses and he hasthe spring. He can afford to

wait. We cannot."

An odd smile appeared onVeyde's face. "I am not sosure Shelk can wait," shesaid. "I know what the GreatSwan told me. We are hercygnets, and she will save us.I know that you are trying tothink for us and help us,Tiger, but you are not toworry."

"Worry!" cried Tiger in a

rage. "Save us! Who? TheSwan? The birds? Nothingcan save us! Not if we stayhere! The only thing to do isto go down! Then at least wecan attack."

"Shh," whispered Baywillow."I think it is already too latefor that. They must havefound the houses empty andcome looking for us. Ibelieve they heard you,Tiger."

In the distance, someonesaid, "They must be close by.I heard a shout."

"Keep still, everybody. We'llhear them if they move."There was no mistaking theauthority in that voice. Itcould only be Shelk.

There was absolute silence,which seemed to last for aneternity. Then one of thechildren whimpered.

"They're up there, on thathill."

"More fools they," saidSheik. "Sentries up. Make aring around that hill. Ifanyone moves, give the war-yell." Tiger heard peoplemoving about: Shelk'sfighters taking their station.

Then Shelk raised his voice,speaking the language of theWhites to perfection.

"Come down, everyone. Giveup your leader, the Blackman you call Tiger, and Iswear by the birds and by theSun God that nobody will behurt. I am the Guardian of thebirds and the son of the SunGod, and you must obey me.Only then will your lives besaved, and those of yourchildren too."

Veyde made an impulsivemove for her spear, but

Angelica gripped her arm andshouted,

"Go away from our island.Do not show yourselves hereany more. Go in peace."

Shelk laughed. Somebodykindled a fire. Angelica bentdown and hurled a spear. Anagonized cry came from thedarkness, and the fire washastily stamped out.

"For that, you shall bepunished, Mister Tiger," saidShelk. Then he spoke in hisown language: "All right,we'll starve them out. Here,you, are you badly hurt? Onlya scratch?

Good. Now we're all hungry,and these people owe ussome refreshments. Go to thecamp, Weasel, and see whatthey have. Get the best."

The trapped men and womenon the hill listened in silence.The children slept. Graduallythe sounds from below diedaway, and Tiger realized thatShelk's men were sleepingtoo.

But he knew there weresentries around the hill, readyto cry out at any movement.

Time passed, the aurora diedaway, and slowly the first

light of dawn appeared. Tigercould see Veyde's face,drawn and grey.

"Tiger, I feel it will be mytime soon."

Tiger could say nothing. Heput his arm around her, andVeyde rested her fair-hairedhead on his shoulder.Baywillow lay beside them,but did not sleep. His gazenever left the wood.

Marestail kept watch on theother side. Old Silverbirchrested, with his back againsta boulder. Angelica slept, herhand closed around the shaftof a spear.

When the first sun rays stunghis eyes, Tiger realized thathe too had slept. In his dreamhe had been back at TroutLake, hunting a fox withMarten. With a shudder heremembered where he was.

Around him all was silent.He looked down at thelandscape he had learned toknow and love. This was thehighest point on the island,and the view wasmagnificent.

Everywhere there was theflash of water, glimpsedbetween the trees and therounded hills.

To the south the sea was a

smooth mirror in which theouter rocks lay like greyspecks. The sun rose, greatand red, in a mist thickenough for Tiger to lookstraight at the mighty disk oflight. To his amazement, hesaw black specks, likebeetles, on the face of thesun.

There was a whizzing sound,and Tiger started as a javelinpassed close by his head, hit

a boulder, and fell back intothe wood. He had venturedtoo far, and quicklywithdrew. A voice came frombelow: "Don't bother withthat. We'll get them all in duetime."

"I just—just thought I'd getthe Black one. Then theothers would come down."This voice was slurred, as ifsleepy.

"Well, you should haveaimed better."

"Master, I don't know what itis, but I can't see well."

"Go to the shore and washyour eyes. Hey, Cook! We'llneed something to eat anddrink.

It's morning!"

"I don't feel well myself,"

said someone else. "I thinkthose berries were overripe.I'll have to take a crap."

Tiger returned to hismournful meditations. If he'donly done something in time,they wouldn't be in this hole.He should have known thatthe enemy would never giveup. What Shelk's ultimateobjective might be he did notknow. Something about a SunGod. More damn sorcery.

Veyde stretched. "What isgoing on?" she asked.

"Nothing much. They are justwaiting. They know that weare going to starveeventually."

"Well, we are not starvingnow. I am going to havesome food. See? I broughtthe berries Mister Silverbirchgathered."

"You seem to have left somebehind, though," said Tiger."I heard Shelk's mencomplain that they wereoverripe."

Veyde looked at him, openedher mouth, and then shut itagain. It was Baywillow whospoke, in Tiger's language:"Finicky devils, aren't they?"Was there a hint of a snickerin his voice?

Veyde rummaged among thebags stacked in the middle ofthe plateau. The childrenwoke up and wereadmonished not to go nearthe edge. And soon Veyde'speople were eating withrelish.

"Master, I can't see! I'mgoing blind! blind!" someonescreamed below.

"What is happening?" asked

Tiger. To his surprise he sawthat Veyde's cheeks wereaflame.

There were tears in her eyes."What are they saying,Tiger?"

"Somebody is complainingthat he cannot see."

Tiger started moving towardthe edge of the cliff. Veydetook his arm. "No, Tiger!

Wait!"

Again someone screamed,"Master, I'm dying!" hiswords lost in the sound offurious retching. Soonanother man screamed, andanother. Shelk's men cursedand prayed, and retched.

"I told you they would nothave time to wait," saidVeyde. "They will all die.They will die as Coltsfoot

died. I have killed them.They were going to kill you,maybe all of us. They killedyour father and brother. Nowthey are getting what theydeserve."

"She's right, Tiger," saidBaywillow. "I didn't know ifit would work, but it has."

The frightful noisescontinued. Tiger wasstunned. Yes, he had wanted

Shelk and his gang wipedout. But he had dreamed of afight, where he himself put ajavelin through Shelk's body.Finally he managed to ask,"How did you do it, Veyde?"

"The death-caps. They growon the island too. I thought itout as soon as we came backhere. I picked a lot of themand shredded them into smallbits, which I mixed with onebag of the cloudberries. I hid

the bag, so nobody wouldfind it and get killed, butyesterday I put it in ourlarder with the othersupplies. I was sure Shelk'smen would eat the berriessooner or later, but I was notsure they would work on theDevils. I am glad they did.Because of this, we live, andare out of danger. We arefree of the Devils, Tiger."

Tiger went to the edge of the

cliff and looked down. Whathe saw made him sick withhorror and pity. Shelk's men,invincible fighters the nightbefore, were now crawling onthe ground, retching andscreaming in anguish. Acouple of them, still on theirfeet, stumbled blindly intotrees and rocks, falling andtrying to get up again.

"Let us go down," said Tiger."This is too terrible. Is there

nothing we can do?"

"They are already dead," saidBaywillow. "But let's go."

They found Shelk lying onhis back, his face grey, hiseyes closed. Tiger spokeShelk's name several times,and finally Shelk opened hiseyes, staring blankly intospace.

"Shelk, I have revenge upon

you," said Tiger.

The dying man seemed toregain a little of his strengthand sneered, "You think youcan kill me. You are wrong.I'll come back. I won't forget,and you'll never forget,either. I'll come back! Youcan expect me at any time.There will be no peace foryou."

"I did not do this to you,"

said Tiger. "Of all my people,I was the only one who didnot know. I wanted to meetyou in a fight. Still, I haverevenge upon you. You killedmy father and my brother,and I am the eldest son. Therevenge is mine."

Tiger lifted his spear, butBaywillow checked hismovement and spoke: "No,Tiger, you're wrong." Heturned to Shelk: "You killed

my father and my brother, andI am the eldest son.

The revenge is mine.''

With his hand-axe, he brokeShelk's head.

PART TWO:

SHELK

THE SACRIFICE

Ure aeghwylc sceal endegebidan worolde lifes. —Beowulf The man calledShelk walked slowly up thepath which only three menwere allowed to tread. Hishead was bent, his hands

behind him. His mood was inkeeping with the day, for agreat wind soughed in thepines and spatters of rain fellfrom time to time. He waskeeping a tryst; one which hehad kept, without fulfillment,for as many days as he hadfingers on both hands.

He was well dressed, inclothes of caribou skin and aclose-fitting cap of wolverinefur; his boots were

waterproof sealskin. His darkbeard, already turning grey atthe roots, hung down over hischest. His eyes were fixed onthe ground in front of him.Shaded by a heavy brow, theyformed the most impressivefeature of his brown,weatherbeaten face with itsbroad, high-bridged nose.

He reached the little hut onthe crest of the hill andstopped outside for a moment

to look around. The hillcommanded a great view ofthe lands to the north, whereendless vistas of forest fadedinto the distance, obscured bysheets of rain. In front of himwas Caribou Lake, where thewaters of the Great Rivercollected before theirtempestuous run through theGorge. The Gorge itself washidden by the trees, but thesound of the cataract in thedistance hung in the air.

Autumn was here. He steppedinto the empty hut andkindled a fire.

When the fire began to blaze,he dropped a few rocks intoit. He took a big woodenvessel and poured it half-fullof water from a containerthat had once been a horse'sstomach. He put honey and abunch of dried meadowsweet,of which a stock hung fromthe roof, into the water.

When the rocks were heatedthrough he dropped them intothe water to make a hot brew,which he stirred vigorouslywith a stick before taking thefirst draught.

"Ah," he said involuntarily,putting down the pot. Hewiped his beard and lookedout: he had heard somethingmoving. For a moment hebrightened, but the gloomreturned to his face as he saw

who was approaching.

It was a Black man, not astall as Shelk, but broad-shouldered and lean, with anarrow face and a hawklikenose. He was moving rapidly,and the expression on hisface drew Shelk out of thehut. The newcomer stuck hisspear into the ground andrested on it for a moment,regaining his breath. Shelksaw his eyes fill with tears.

"What is it, Fox?" he asked."I have been expecting badnews for days."

Fox sank to his knees. "Mysons are your sons, LeftHand," he whispered.

"Yes," said Shelk, "you havebeen as a brother to mealways—to us. And now..."He paused. "I think I knew itdays ago when the Sun Godrose so red and terrible and

the beetles crawled on hisface. I looked at him boldly.He was shrouded in mist andthe deviltry was eating him.What have I done? Where arewe at fault, Fox?"

"I don't understand it, LeftHand. All I know is thatRight Hand is no more. He isdead, killed by black sorcery,by a Black man whose magicis greater than ours."

Shelk laid his hand on Fox'sshoulder. "Come in. Youneed a hot drink. Then youcan tell me."

Inside the hut, Fox took agrateful draught of themeadowsweet tea.

"A Black man. Do you meanthe leader of the islandpeople? The man Goshawktold us about?" asked Shelk.

"I don't trust that fat man!"cried Fox. "When themessenger brought him hereafter the victory of RightHand at Blue Lake, I wantedhim killed. But you wouldn'thave it."

Shelk nodded. His gazewandered idly, withoutemotion, over the fewfurnishings of the hut."Goshawk took the vow," heremarked.

"He speaks withoutreverence," said Fox.

"Dear Fox, it's just hismanner of speaking. I believehe's sincere. But now, Fox,tell me. I know the plan.Viper was to be put incommand of Blue Lake.Goshawk told us of a Whitevillage out in the islands, ledby a Black man..."

"A Black man called Tiger,"

said Fox. "Goshawk told usthat he was young but carrieda tiger tooth on his chest, andso must be a great hunter andleader, perhaps from thatclan at Trout Lake. WhatGoshawk didn't tell us is thathe's a great shaman too, andthat his magic would strikeRight Hand and all his men!"

"All his men, too?" echoedShelk faintly, rocking to andfro.

"He should have told us, LeftHand. I think he's a traitor."

"Come, come," said Shelk."As I remember his tale, hesaw Tiger only once, anddescribed him as a civil andpersonable young man. Howcould he guess that such aman was a great sorcerer?And when this dreadful thinghappened, Goshawk washere."

That was indeed true. Thelast two moons had been atrying time for Goshawk. Hiswine-cellar empty, he hadretreated to his winter housethe day after Tiger's visit (theentrance having beenwidened to allow him towriggle through), and hadpromptly gone to sleep. Hestubbornly slept off theremarkable after-effects ofhis long bout, getting upoccasionally to drink water

and eat a little. He sleptthrough the uproar of theattack on the summer camp,and two more days went bybefore he felt able to face theworld again. Finally hecrawled out, blinked soberlyat the overcast sky, andstarted to walk down to thelake, of which he intended todrink a fair portion, as wellas taking a refreshing swim.

He never got that far. When

he emerged on the beach, hewas startled to see twostrange Black menconverging upon him. Inspite of his voluble protests,he was held in an iron gripand immediately brought tothe terrible Shelk. That sternwarrior was found back at thesummer camp inconversation with hislieutenant, Viper, a young butbalding Black man ofenormous stature, with a full

beard. Even though he over-topped the tall Shelk, theauthority of the older manwas evident. Both were fullyarmed. At the appearance ofGoshawk and his captors,Viper looked amazed, butShelk merely glanced atGoshawk in a nonchalantway.

To be apprehended in thisfashion was not quite new tothe divine Goshawk, whose

earlier career had beenchequered. Sober, he was adifferent man from theexpansive, condescendinglord of Blue Lake who hadhailed Tiger as a guest a fewdays before. He had figuredout what had happened, andnow intended to marshal allhis shrewdness to save hisskin. The fact that one of hiscaptors was prodding hisback with a spear was nodoubt unpleasant, and the

austere bearing of Shelk didnot bode well, but after all,he had been in trouble beforeand had always managed toscrape through. So he bowedcivilly to the conqueror andexpressed his regret that hehad not been present towelcome him upon hisarrival.

"Welcome!" barked Shelk."Are you responsible forthese people here? They tried

to fight us."

"No doubt they were verystartled, sir," said Goshawk."Of course, if I had been herenothing like this would havehappened. We are pleasedand honored to see you."

The shadow of a grin passedacross Shelk's face. He wasnow aware that he wasdealing with an unmitigatedrascal, and the idea amused

him. Most of the people hemet he regarded as uttersimpletons. This one mightturn out to be a simpletontoo, but at any rate one of adifferent breed. The man'sbrazenness took his fancy.

Shelk felt bored, as he alwaysdid after making an elaborateplan and reaping successwithout even having to test it.Fighting Whites was tooeasy. It had been different

planning and executing thestrike against thosemammoth-hunters lastsummer. The brilliant resulthad been a reward in itself.Now there were no enemiesleft worthy of his steel. Butthe very outlandishness ofGoshawk's appearanceintrigued Shelk. Let him goon.

"Where have you beenhiding?" asked Shelk.

Goshawk, grateful for theopportunity to speak,embarked upon a long taleabout having been ill andspending days in his winterhouse fighting death. Hewent on to remonstrate aboutthe practice of pricking sickmen's backs with spears, atwhich Shelk made a movewith his hand and thepricking ceased. Shelklistened gravely, with anoccasional nod, and kept his

imperturbable look allthrough, a look which hadgiven Goshawk qualms atfirst, but now encouragedhim.

Then Goshawk was seized byan inspiration. He rapidlypassed on to his favoritetopic, which was thesingularity of the children ofthe Gods. It was a luckymove. Shelk was nowlistening to him with evident

interest. Sweating withearnestness, Goshawk toldhim about his experience."The children of the Gods areinviolable, sir," he finished.

Shelk remained silent andthoughtful for a while. Theidea was new to him. "Yousay the Troll imps die and thechildren of the Godssurvive," he said finally."Show me!"

"If it please you, sir, so Iwill," said Goshawk, andproceeded to facts. Theywere fortunately at hand.Shelk had, of course, noticedthe large number of brownchildren, and had madeinquiries about their origin;but all the Whites could tellhim was that their God hadvanished, and they seemed tothink this was the reason fortheir defeat.

For the first time inGoshawk's life, the facts ofthe world were in his favor.Shelk still thought of him asa rascal, but an interestingand potentially useful one.His original idea of havingGoshawk executed wasforgotten. Instead he askedfor details of Tiger's visit andthe islanders, topics on whichthe Whites feigned ignoranceand stupidity. Goshawk wasquite ready to talk. His

recollections were somewhatdim, however; he describedTiger as a charming youngman, polite and intelligent. Itwas Tiger's good luck thatGoshawk had not noticed hislimp; nor had the Whitesvolunteered this information.

His story told, Goshawk wassent to headquarters atCaribou Lake in the companyof a messenger who had strictorders not to lose the

prisoner. It was not apleasant journey.

Goshawk was out of shape,and in the beginning he felthe would probably drop deadsoon.

In addition he had to spendthe nights bound hand andfoot, which really wassuperfluous, as he would nothave had the strength to flee.But he had a healthy

constitution, and his strengthreturned gradually. When hearrived at the Caribou Lakecamp, he had lost a great dealof weight, and was in bettershape than he couldremember being for a longtime.

Here he was amazed to findhimself in front of Shelkagain, and it took him sometime to realize that it was notthe same man. They looked

alike, dressed alike; eventheir ornaments wereidentical. Each man wore thesame magnificent ambernecklace. In spite of thesimilarity, though, Goshawkfound that this was a verydifferent man indeed. Theirinterview was long, and heleft it with many things tothink about. He told no onewhat had been said untilmuch later, when he sharedhis story with Tiger.

After a day's rest, themessenger was dispatchedback to Blue Lake; but henever got there, and no newscame back to Caribou Lake.After a long wait, anothermessenger was sent.

He, too, was never heard ofagain.

Then, at last, news camethrough. The runner had beenattacked and wounded on his

way.

His story was that Shelk(Right Hand) had beenmaking ready to set out forthe island, when the camp atBlue Lake was suddenlyattacked by a strong group ofBlacks. It was thought thatthey were led by Wolf, theformer chief of Big Lake,who had managed to escapewith some of his men whentheir settlement was taken.

The attack had been repulsedeasily enough, because theenemy, thoughunquestionably brave, wasbadly organized. Still, theexpedition had to bepostponed for a while. Now itwas to set out. Viper wouldbe in charge at Blue Lake,while Right Hand went to theisland with Lynx and hiscompany.

The story gave Left Hand a

clue to the fate of the otherrunners. They had probablybeen intercepted by Wolf andhis gang. The route wouldhave to be changed.

That was the last Left Handhad heard until Fox camewith his bad news.

"Everything has gone wrongsince Goshawk came here,"Fox cried. "Enemiesattacking, messengers

intercepted in the woods, andnow this disaster!"

"Tell me more about it, Fox."

"The last message—as youremember, Left Hand—wasthat Right Hand was takingLynx and his company to theisland, leaving Viper incharge. Since then—nothing.But now Viper is here!"

"Viper!" said Shelk startled.

"He is here with all his menand the village people, too.After hearing Lynx's tale, hethought it necessary. BlueLake has been abandoned."

"Temporarily," interposedShelk sternly.

"As you say, Left Hand. ButLynx was the only man whocame back from the island;and he is dead, too, these fivedays. He was found by

Viper's scouts near the shore.They had to carry him backto Blue Lake, for he couldnot walk. He cried for waterall the time, and his thirstcould never be quenched. Hepointed right and left in histerror, and said that therewere mammoths and tigerscoming at him, and that themoon was pursuing him inthe daytime, and that thelight was that of the northernlights—red, green, blue—not

the light of our father the Sun—"

"Yes," murmured Shelk, "Isaw it, too. I should havetaken heed."

"Lynx told his story to Viper,but sometimes he had to stopand cover his eyes, for theghosts were crowding in onhim all the time—so terribleis the magic of Tiger! Hesaid that the Trolls had taken

refuge on a hill with theirleader. Lynx actually sawhim. He threw a javelin atTiger, but the magic wasworking already, dimminghis sight, and he failed tostrike his target. He felthimself going blind, and hecrawled away and hid in thethicket.

There his sight came back,and he could see the Blacksorcerer standing over Right

Hand's prostrate body, hisspear raised. That was all hecould remember. After thathe must have escaped in acoracle, which the scoutsfound by the shore.

"He told us this. Then hecould speak no more, anddied at sunrise. After hearingLynx's tale, Viper decided toabandon the camp at BlueLake and come back toCaribou Lake, for he did not

feel safe so close to thatterrible shaman."

There was a long silencewhile Shelk gazed into thedying fire. Then he rose andsaid, "It must be done now."

Fox burst into tears. "Please,Left Hand," he begged, "letme do it. You said just nowthat I have been as a brotherto you both."

Shelk smiled at him sadly."You know better," he said."This belongs to me, and tome only. And I have no sons,Fox. I absolve your sons."

"If you would only let me—"

"No, Fox. I must do what hasto be done, and I must do italone." Shelk threw a handfulof sticks on the fire andwatched it blaze up merrily."Your place is down with the

men."

Fox sighed, then got up andwent out. Shelk watched himgo down the path and vanishout of sight.

When he was gone, Shelkstarted to work. He did itmethodically, but with anabstracted air; his thoughtswere far afield. He searchedthe ground for some time,until he found a boulder that

suited him. It was easyenough for a man of hisstrength to lift it, and it hadone sharp edge, which hestudied carefully. Then henodded, almost as ifperforming to an audience.But there was no one to seehim, not even the sun, for thesky was still grey with heavyclouds. He looked up as ifwaiting for a sign, but nosign came, and Shelk, with apowerful heave, lifted the

rock and carried it to the doorof the hut.

Inside, he placed it with thesharp edge facing upward,and moved it several timesbefore he was satisfied. Witha stick he raked some of theembers from the fire and leftthem glowing on the floor.Then he went out again, tostart on a new search. Thistook longer, and he hesitatedoften. At last he held a big,

smooth stone in his hand. Helifted it and swung it easily.Again, he nodded.

Shelk went back to the hutwith the stone in his lefthand. In the open doorway hestopped and stood for awhile, looking down at bothhis hands: the left, with thebig, smooth stone; the right,empty. Somehow the emptyhand seemed to be no longera part of him. He moved his

fingers. They obeyed his will.He looked at the fingers, oneby one, stretching and flexingthem.

"Right Hand," he said aloud,marveling at it. It was suppleand firm. It looked just likethe other. He dropped thestone from his left hand andheld both hands out in frontof him. So similar. Yet hisleft hand was his work hand.But the right! It was the hand

of pleasure, the hand thatknew the softness of awoman's body, the luxurianceof a sable's skin, theroughness of the pine's bark,the smoothness of a stag-antler's velvet.

For a long time, he collectedhimself. He had decided, buthis hands were unwilling. Yetthey would obey. He flexedhis fingers once more, thenbent down to retrieve the

stone.

He stepped firmly into thehut, dropped on his kneesbefore the boulder, andcarefully positioned his rightindex finger across the sharpedge. His left hand rose withthe stone and came down in agigantic blow. Reeling withthe shock, he pushed thefinger-stump against theglowing embers on the floor,and the reek of burned flesh

filled the hut. Then his strongbody jerked back, and he fellon the floor.

Outside, there was a blackflutter in the wind. A ravenalighted, took a few stepstoward the door, turned itsgreat beak to the side, andcocked an eye into the hut.

"Son of the Sun, Guardian ofbirds," said the ravenchattily.

GREYLAG

Each day they walk the sky

And measure time for man.— Vaftrudnesmal

Once more he was lookinginto the eyes of the old man.The intensity of their gazewas heightened by the halo ofwhite hair around the thin,wrinkled face.

"Uncle Greylag! UncleGreylag!" he said. As alwaysin his hour of need, theapparition had come tocomfort him. There were nofurther words, and theapparition faded away, but asense of Tightness, of anordeal passed, slowly filledhim, as if everything wasfitting into place. Thatshadow from the past hadbeen with him before.

The man who called himselfShelk had grown upnameless. His mother, whohad lost her husband,returned to her father's housewith her two newbornchildren. There sherenounced her old name.

"Under that name I wasmarried to the hateful manyou chose as my husband,"she said.

"Now I am free, and I am themother of two sons. I choosemy own name, and so shallthey when they become men.From now on you shall callme Skylark, for I feel as if Ihave wings and could risestraight into the sky,singing." But she never toldanyone the real reason for hernew name.

Her parents were astonishedat the change in her. From a

submissive girl, she hadturned into a proud, self-willed woman. She soon tookcommand of the house, forher mother was ailing; andfour years passed by in thisway. She refused to givenames to the two boys, butthey came to be called LeftHand and Right Hand,because they were mirrorimages of each other, and thefirstborn was left-handed.The boys grew up with the

marks of their father's race intheir faces, and Skylark knewwell what was said aboutthem behind her back; but noone dared say anything to herface, for her anger was quick.She chose her lovers nowamong the young men, whostood in awe of her becauseof her beauty and strength ofwill.

Only one of the young menshe spurned, and he hated her

for that, for the ridicule itbrought on him; his namewas Stag.

In the boys' fifth year, theGreat Illness swept throughthe little community on thecoast of the Salt Sea andkilled more than half of itsmembers. No one knewwhence it came or why, butsome of the older peoplemuttered that it was thedoing of Trolls, and that

nothing good ever came ofbringing up Troll impsamong men. Whatever thecause, the twin boys nevercaught the disease, but theirmother and grandparents diedfrom it.

The two orphans were thentaken care of by their great-uncle, old Greylag theShaman, a brother ofSkylark's mother. He livedwell away from the village

with his wife, Hobby, and asmall adopted boy calledFox. The parentage of littleFox was unknown, but it wassaid that he was a foundling.

The Shaman was a learnedman, who had spent manyyears of his youth wanderingand picking up the secrets ofhis trade. It was said that hehad lived with the Trolls andspoke thier language. Hetaught the boys a strange and

secret tongue, which he latertold them was indeed that ofthe White people. His powerswere great: he could staredown an aggressive strangerand bend him to his will; heknew all about healing herbsand berries; he could cast aspell and send sickness ordeath to his enemies. As henoticed the quick intelligenceof his two wards, he waspleased, and they soonbecame his disciples. Fox,

one winter younger, was onlyable to learn the simplertricks of the shaman's trade,but Left Hand made greatprogress and became oldGreylag's favorite. RightHand, though full of promise,was too often torn away byhis passion for hunting andtrapping.

Shelk's earliest memorieswere of the Shaman's wife.Her own children had long

ago grown up and left theirhome, and the loss of themhad affected Hobby's reason.She spent most of her wakinglife talking, as if everyimpression she receivedthrough her senses mustimmediately pass out againbetween her lips. Sometimesit was a monotonousmumbling, sometimes aseries of interjections. Shekept up a tirelesscommentary on every aspect

of her daily life; everymoment, every detail, dulyregistered.

"Oh! Oh! Oh! the firewood'sgone, now I have to get somemore, and the boys are away,skylarking like their mother,would they had beensquirrels instead, bringingthings home, and Oh! but wasthat a thunderclap, and Oh!Oh! Oh! the good old sun iscoming out, yes he comes

out, our good old Father theSun, and just feel now howhe warms me up, good andwarm all into my bones, andlook there, the tree pipit, hesoars upward, there will be asong right away, yes there heis singing and coming downjust like a falling leaf, andperches in the top of thatpine, just think of sitting upthere and seeing everything,bless his little heart, he seesall but he tells nothing, he

just goes on singing, and Oh!that tern, she took her fish,what a splash she made, andnow she flies back to herrock, what a swift!

swift! thing she is, and Oh!the cloud is before the sunagain, and the chill comesinto my bones, but no matter,our Father the Sun will be outagain soon, he comes backevery day, and blessed are weto have him, Ouch! that was a

sharp rock, should lookwhere I am going, and now Imust have a pee, seems I donothing else all day longthese days, sssss: many antsflooded I'm sure, and yes thatwas thunder that was, we'llhave a storm soon, it's thatway these hot summer days,our Father Sun knows we allneed the water before thechives go all woody, here's abunch and now let me try it,mmmm ... yes I can still feel

the taste, there's life in thisold body still, good thing Ikeep spry, that's needed withthese wild young thingshaving to be looked after, andold Father Greylag just asbad as they with his spellsand sorcery, but Oh! Oh! Oh!look at the buzzard and allthe small birds mobbing it,you'd think they'd be afraidbut no, plucky little thingsthey are Oh! you startled metaking off like that, don't fret,

little eider duck, I'm not outfor your eggs today, andthere's the redshank whistlingand whistling, round andround he goes, legs trailing,I'm not out for your eggseither so calm yourself, nowhere is a good piece ofdriftwood: my, my, that willburn merrily, I wonder how itgets so smooth and beautiful,maybe the fish nibble off thebark, and Yes! here is oldFather Sun again, welcome to

you, and here are some goodsticks, yes lovely sticks theyare, Oh! there goes the treepipit again, bless his littleheart for that song, and keephim safe from the hawk,funny thing he's been backevery summer and alwayssits in that tree, but Oh! Iwonder if young Falcon willbring us some game soon,you'd think Father Greylagmight do some trapping buthe leaves that to Right Hand

and Fox, well they are goodat it bless them, and thatcapercaillie yesterday waswonderful, fowl and fish andoysters are the best for mewith my poor teeth, here'sanother good piece of wood, Ithink I have all I can carrynow, so back home it is, Oh!how fine the house looksfrom here, I have to hand itto Greylag he keeps it up, andthat Sun Pillar is a noblething, well I remember him

carving away at it, yes wewere younger then, Oh! thatwas a flash of lightning, we'llhave rain soon, better gethome while the wood is dry,now they'll be back soon andwant a dry shelter..." And sothe old woman would hobbleback toward the house, wordspouring from her mouth.

All was well as long as shetalked; she was then in asunny mood, open to the

world and reflecting its everyfacet, like a tranquil sheet ofwater. Sometimes she grewsilent, and then nothing couldreach her. She would sitcross-legged on the floor, anunusual position among theBlacks, rocking slowly fromside to side and cryingquietly. At these times, thehousehold chores fell toGreylag. He would handle thenecessities, such as tendingthe fire and cooking the food.

Passing her by, he oftenstopped to stroke her tear-stained cheek.

When he was unable to standthe dreadful silence, hewould retreat out of doors,for a lesson with the boysperhaps, while Hobbywrestled with her demons insolitude.

In a somber mood, Greylagwould sit down beside the

great Sun Pillar, one of thewonders of the boys' world. Itrose to the height of twomen, its top crowned with theochre-red Sun Globe, and itssides carved into animaldesigns.

"Those who have littlewisdom follow the Moon," heexplained, "but the wise manfollows the Sun, who is ourfather, and takes little heedof the Moon, who is only his

woman. This was known tothe sages of the old times,but their teachings wereforgotten until I called themback to life. For I havedivined the ways of the Sun."

Greylag had devoted mucheffort toward understandingthe sun. The crude astronomyof the moon-stick was forhim a thing of the past. Basedon observations throughouthis long life, he could predict

the days of summer andwinter solstice. When he andhis tribe moved to their newvillage, more than fivewinters before the orphanscame into his care, he hadcarefully chosen the site ofhis house according to thesun's decrees.

As befitted the secrecy andpower of his calling, hesettled well outside thevillage. There he erected his

first sundial, a long stick thathe drove into the ground,using a plumb line to makesure it was perpendicular.The length and direction ofits shadow told him wheretrue north was and the day ofthe solstice.

On that midsummer evening,he looked forward to thesetting of the sun in thenorthwest.

Days before he had workedup to the right position, sothat he could watch the sunset right behind the smallisland he called SummerIsland, on the horizon. Thisgave him one of hissightings. For the other, hehad to wait till midwinter,when the sun set behindWinter Island. Where the twolines crossed, he erected themighty pillar on which hehad worked so long.

"The animals come and go asthe Sun bids them, and theflowers bloom as he decrees.But the Sun's own cattle arethe mammoth, the caribou,and the shelk. In the summer,the Sun goes north; you cansee his glow up there atmidnight, when he is beneaththe land, and that is wherethe mammoth and thecaribou are. You may see themajesty and power of the Sunin the mammoth, but do not

forget that you see hisgentleness and love in thecaribou. In the winter, whenthe Sun comes south and thenorth is cold and dark, theyfollow him into our lands.Thus you see them at thebase of the pillar, holding itup. Carried by them you seethe hunters of mammoth andcaribou with their gear: themammoth-hunter with hisfire and heavy spear; thecaribou-hunter with his

disguise and antlers.

"Above them you see theshelk, for he is still closer tothe Sun, and he shares themajesty of the mammoth andthe gentleness of the caribou.He is the summer animalhere, the mightiest andproudest of the antlered tribe.But in the winter he drawssouth like the Sun.

Above him, you see the

shelk-hunter with his atlatl."

Many other animals climbedthe pillar in an intricatepattern, and near the top asnake wound around it;because snakes are onlyabroad in the summer, whenthe sun is closest to the earth.Higher still was the flamingglobe of the sun itself, red asthe blood of life, red with thetrue color of the sun when itenters and leaves the world.

The boys looked up in awe atthe magnificent structure.

Greylag and his family livedin temporary dwellings for awhole year, until the secondMidsummer Day gave himhis final directions. Hemarked the spot where theSun Globe's shadow fell: thatwould be the entrance to hishouse. By the time he built it,his youngest son, Falcon, theonly one of his children who

had accompanied him andHobby to the new village,had already left them tomake his own home with thetribe.

"By rights we ought to movewith the Sun's cattle,"Greylag said. "I did in myyoung days, but now I'm tooold."

"Did you follow the caribou,Uncle Greylag?" asked Right

Hand.

"I went north with thecaribou one spring, when thesnow melted. It was a longtrek, and I saw how the smallgroups of animals united intoever greater herds, until therewas a sea of animalsstreaming north and the clickof their hoofs grew intothunder. Then I lost them! Itwas in the land of the Whites,whom foolish people call

Trolls. Instead of tracking thecaribou, I stayed with theWhites for a summer and awinter, learning their waysand language."

Left Hand interrupted himeagerly: "Is it true that ourfather was White?"

Greylag smiled. "Your fatherwas White, and a better manthan those who drove himaway.

He was just a boy when hecame to us, but when he grewto man's estate, he struckdown the wrongdoer whoabused your mother. Then heleft us as mysteriously as hehad come.

Truly he was a denizen of thenorthlands, and he came andwent like the caribou."

"When I grow to man'sestate," said Left Hand,

fiercely, "I shall seek him outand honor him. I wish to seemy father before I die."

"That is right," said Greylag."You should honor yourfather above all others exceptour Father the Sun."

Left Hand was silent. In hismind he saw his unknownfather, a strange andwondrous figure, silverywhite like the foam-topped

waves in a westerly gale. Hewas faceless and radiant, amoving light in the night, orgreat and shining like the sunitself! He sighed. "I wish—"he began, but he wasinterrupted by Right Hand.

"Have you been in the southtoo, Uncle Greylag?"

"Yes. I have seen the world. Ihave followed the shelk, thenoblest of the Sun's cattle, to

the Land of Flints, which istheir winter abode."

"What sort of people livethere, Uncle Greylag?"

"The people are like us, andspeak our tongue, but therewas an old shaman who knewthe High Language and thewisdom of the old times. Ilearned much from him.

"They also have an animal

that is unknown here. It iscalled the boar, and its meatis sweeter than that of anyother four-footed beast,sweet as the white meat ofthe wood pigeon, sweet as thered meat of the salmon in thesea. Ah!" He smiled,reminiscing.

As he regaled the boys withsuch stories, Greylag's goodhumor returned. With atwinkle in his eye, he leaned

forward. "You will turn into agoosefoot bush if you sitrooted to the ground likethat," he told Left Hand."Look!" and he pulled onorache stalk out of LeftHand's hair and held it atarm's length. The oracheimmediately sprang into lifeand shrilled at him in angrytones, "Not so! Not so! Givea poor fellow a chance, willyou?"

The boys grinned. They knewthese tricks almost as well asGreylag himself, but this washis signal for them to get upand leave him to histhoughts.

The great Shaman's fame hadspread far. Many journeymensought him out and stayed ashis apprentices for a moon, awinter, or even longer. Theywere always welcome, forGreylag loved to teach, and

the strangers brought newsand stories as well as ahumble trick or two of theirown.

Skua was one of them, ayoung man with a pair ofshrewd eyes in an ugly face,which he could contort intoincredible grimaces; but hisvoice was more beautifulthan that of anybody else. Hestayed longer than any other,made friends in the village,

and settled down as amember of the tribe. Heattached himself to one of themost respected hunters, Stag,and divided his time betweenStag's retinue and oldGreylag's classes. His songsbrought tears to every eye,and his stories of great hunts,of ghosts and Trolls, and ofthe mysteries of the Sun andMoon moving in majestyacross the skies were madedoubly thrilling by the

measured swell and surge ofhis delivery. Skua's showswere rare events. Heperformed only seldom,knowing that this heightenedthe demand, and so he cameto be the highlight of thefestivals, especially thegreatest festival of them all,the Midsummer Feast.

Colorful and gay as a wreathof midsummer flowers, thecelebration focused on a

moment of stillness and highsolemnity. This was when theChief of the tribe took theoath of leadership anddevotion for the year tocome. Year after year, oldLion the Chief had stood up,flanked by two immenseshelk antlers forming agrandiose triumphal arch, torepeat the ancient formulaadministered by the Shamanone step behind him, whilethe sun dropped behind

Summer Island.

The sign for the revelry tostart again was given whenGreylag fitted the lion-skinrobe over the Chief'sshoulders. With a shout ofjoy the people throngedaround their chosen leader,and great bonfires blazed up.Now the merrymaking wouldgo on through the brief, twilitnight and peter out slowly inthe morning. For once, Skua

did not stint. He performedover and over again, greetedwith roars of applause, untilfinally, exhausted but stillcheerful, he had no strengthto continue.

For all his majestic presenceat the Midsummer Feast,Lion was now an old manwho had survived his ownsons. For a long time it hadbeen tacitly assumed thatStag would eventually

succeed him as Chief. Stagwas a big man, in his mid-thirties by the time the twinsapproached the age ofinitiation. Taciturn andunsmiling, he had an angular,clamp-jawed face thatseemed somehow larger thanlife; his gaze was steady andcold.

The boys feared him withoutknowing why. He neverspoke to them for good or ill,

but it was whispered that hehad been an enemy of theirmother's, and they did notrelish the thought of hiscoming chiefdom.

In recent times, though,another man with themakings of a chief had cometo the fore. This was Falcon,Greylag's son and a greatfriend of the boys. He lackedthe impressive stature ofStag, being short and spare,

but he was keen and sharp-witted, and more than oncehad shown such superiorprowess as a hunter thatmany a provider wanted to beled by him.

Now the time had come. Inthe fifteenth summer of theboys' life a great changecame over Sun Village. Theold Chief died. It was saidthat he suddenly sank to theground, and when the

tribesmen tried to raise him,half of his face was dead,while the other half remainedalive. He did not speak aword, and next morning hisbreath was gone, despite allGreylag's administrations.The Chief's people buriedhim in state on a high ridgeoverlooking the Salt Sea, andturned to look for asuccessor.

What deliberations were held

in the Council of the Men,the boys never knew, but theysaw Stag stomp off to hishouse with jaws clampedtight and a smoldering angerin his eyes; and they knewthe outcome of the electioneven before Falcon came tothem, smiling, the nextmorning. He carried twojavelins.

"You are now coming ofage," he said and embraced

them both. "So I thought youcould use these. As the futureChief of Sun Village, itbehooves me to see that youhave the best, for I look uponyou as my young brothers."

The spears were of beautifulworkmanship, with thin,deadly flint tips. "See to itthat you make a straightthrow. Their place is betweenthe ribs of the caribou, or youwill break the point."

Right Hand laughed happily,weighing the spear in hishand. "This is a great gift,Falcon.

Its place will be between theribs of the caribou, as yousay. But if ever an enemyrises up against Falcon, itwill find its way between hisribs, too."

"There are no enemies in SunVillage," said Falcon.

Right Hand lookedthoughtfully at him. "Don'tbe too sure, Falcon. There isone who is not happy aboutyour chiefdom."

"You mean Stag? I knew hewanted to be Chief. But heheld his peace and bowed tothe decision of the Council."

"That is what makes mesuspicious," murmured RightHand. But Falcon, in his

happiness, took little heed ofthe boy's words.

Everybody now turned to thepreparations for theMidsummer Feast. Huntersbrought in two bisoncarcasses, to say nothing ofsmaller game. Additionalfare was provided by thewomen, who also gatheredsalt and herbs to spice themeat. The salt was scrapedfrom the drying rockpools

and rubbed into the meat,together with sweet gale andtansy. Stocks of angelica,sorrel, chives, chickweed,and silverweed roots werelaid up, and perhaps mostimportant of all, hoards ofberries and wine werebrought out from secrethiding places. The berrieswere lingonberries andcranberries, their taste nowsweetened by the frost ofwinter.

There was still a skin or twoof the autumn's black wine,which was now judiciouslyblended with the birch-syrupwine of the spring.

Evening after evening, thethrilled boys watched the sunset ever closer to SummerIsland.

Greylag smiled indulgently.His reckoning would not failhim. He knew the day.

On Midsummer Eve, the twoshelk antlers were paintedwith ochre and planted besidethe Sun Pillar in front ofGreylag's house. The housewas decorated with garlandsof green leaves and the small,tinted wild flowers of earlysummer: red campion,speedwell, and heartsease. Inthe evening, the people ofSun Village gathered on thebeach, smiling withanticipation and admiring the

decorations. In the warmlight of the evening sun, thered-painted, many-tinedshelk antlers seemedincandescent, like two greattongues of fire rising out ofthe ground. There wereappetizing smells too,infused with the aroma of thesea.

Beside a blazing fire thebisons were being butchered,and some pieces were already

on the roast.

Nobody could say how muchHobby understood of whatwas going on, but she wasclearly in a happy mood,moving about in theexpectant throng and talkingdeliriously about the beautyof it all. The childrenwhistled through blades ofgrass, making sounds thatwere interspersed with thesonorous tapping of

tomtoms, as the drummerstried out their instruments.One of them had his drumupside down and was using itfor a wine-barrel. All wereamused by this new trick, andfortifying sips were quicklydistributed from thesomewhat leaky vessel.

Right Hand stole into thelean-to to gloat once moreover Falcon's marvelous gift.On Midsummer Day no

weapons were allowed on thebeach, and the boys hadreluctantly stowed away theirnew javelins. A moment laterRight Hand ran out,consternation in his face. Hewriggled through the millingcrowd and caught up withLeft Hand.

"Left Hand," he asked softly,"did you take the javelins?"

"Of course not. Are they

gone?"

"Come and see," said RightHand, and tugged him along.

Inside, the boys rummagedaround. Then they looked atone another, dismayed. Thejavelins were indeed gone,and as far as they could see,nothing else was missing.

"Someone's taken them," saidLeft Hand.

"A thief! But who wouldsteal them? Everyone in thevillage knows them. Why,we've been showing them tolots of people."

"And there are no strangershere," said Left Hand."Everybody says the peoplein Moon Village are thieves,but I haven't seen—"

Right Hand gripped his arm."Wait! I'm beginning to

understand," he said slowly."Yes.

Let's go out and look."

As soon as they were outside,Right Hand ran up to theedge of the forest, where hecould survey the mass ofpeople. "Almost everybodyseems to be here ... UncleGreylag and Falcon, ofcourse, are not..."

They knew that these two, theprincipal characters of thefestivities, would not maketheir appearance beforesundown, when Falcon was totake his oath and beproclaimed Chief.

Until then, they would besecreted somewhere inpreparation for the greatmoment.

"They're either in Falcon's

house or in the cave. That'smy guess," said Right Hand."But do you see Staganywhere?"

"No," said Left Hand. "No, Ican't see him, can you?"

"Just as I thought," said RightHand grimly. "And if I'm notmistaken, one or two of hishenchmen are missing also;and so is our moon-prophet,Skua. There is deviltry afoot,

Left Hand. We must findFalcon and Greylag and warnthem. I see now what's beingplanned."

"You mean—with ourjavelins?" asked Left Hand,suddenly alarmed.

"Yes. The javelins of theTroll imps, brother mine.You know what they call us."

Left Hand nodded. "I'll run to

the cave, and you go toFalcon's house. There isn't amoment to lose."

No more words were needed;they separated and ran,telling nobody of theirsuspicions.

And that was their firstmistake.

Left Hand made his secondmistake almost immediately.

The cave was in the wood. Itwas not a real cave but awide crack between two greatrocks, covered by animmense boulder.

Here, Greylag and his familyhad spent their first year withthe tribe. Now Left Handsped headlong down thenarrow path, too filled by theurgency of his mission totake precautions. Suddenlysomebody tackled him, and

Left Hand went down, all butstunned by the fall. Lying onhis face, he was pinned byseveral men, and one of themclamped a hand over hismouth to keep him fromscreaming out.

"Keep him down," somebodyhissed. "Here, give me arope. Stuff something intohis mouth. Ough! He's bitingme!"

The boy's hands and feetwere tied. He tried to cry out,but the sound was muffled bythe gag. "We'd better killhim," said a low voice hecould not mistake: it wasSkua.

The next speaker was Stag:"Good thing we heard himcoming. That was quickwork."

"Better kill him right away,"

said Skua again.

"No. Not now. That's badluck. The others first."

"Oh, Stag," pleaded Skua."It's dangerous to leave himalive. If it's all right to killGreylag and Falcon, why notthe Troll imp? Nobody willsuspect us. They'll think he'sfled—after murdering hisbenefactors."

"You don't understand,Skua." Stag was still holdingLeft Hand's arm in an irongrip, and Left Hand couldfeel the man shake withanger. "I'll kill Falconmyself. To put thatundersized squirt before meis an insult. I'm more of aman than he'll ever be. Andyou shall be a shaman if youkill Greylag. But they comefirst. It's bad luck to start bykilling someone else."

"In that case"—and there wasan undertone of laughter inSkua's beautiful voice—"inthat case we'll let him killhimself."

"How do you mean?"

Skua did not answer, but LeftHand felt a noose beingslipped around his neck. Hislegs were forced backward,and he could feel the ropetied about his feet. Suddenly

the men let go of him, but ashe stretched out, he felt aterrible pressure around hisneck. He labored desperatelyfor breath. All his veinsseemed to swell up, and hismanhood rose in a futileerection. He dimly heard themocking laughter of the men.Then they were gone. All heknew now was an incredibleagony. He tried to force hislegs and feet back to ease thepressure around his neck, yet

every muscle in hisprotesting body was trying tostraighten him out. He wasblind, his mind filled by asingle unceasing scream in araging blackness.

That was how Right Handfound him, half strangled butnot dead. He cut the bondsand, sobbing with fury,carried his unconsciousbrother into the wood tosafety.

STAG

Mine eye hath seen his desireupon mine enemies. —Psalms 54:7

I have no sons.

The words brought anotherimage, of a tall youngwoman, laughing, standingbroad-legged in a landscapeof silver-stemmed birches.Her chestnut-brown hair

hung down to her hips.

Her arms were stretched outto a caribou cow and her calf,who advanced shyly towardher.

She was talking softly tothem. He himself wasstanding behind her, hardlydaring to breathe. Thesweetness of the image hurthim inexpressibly moredeeply than the memory of

the agony he had suffered inSkua's noose. That agony hadbeen avenged.

I have no sons, I have nofather.

I have a brother.

He had come to life in hisbrother's arms, but it was notuntil the next evening thatthey heard the full story ofwhat had happened on that

fateful Midsummer Eve. Itwas Fox who told them, attheir old hiding-place byWatersmeet. His storyconfirmed all theirsuspicions.

At the moment when oldGreylag was to have robedhis son Falcon with theChief's mantle, both theirdead bodies were carried in.It was Skua who stood up andtold the people how he and

Stag had found themmurdered. Never had Skuabeen more eloquent; neverhad he swayed his audienceas he did with this tale. Therewas terror in every heart, andall those who heard the storydissolved in sobs. At theclimax of his speech, Skuapulled the murder weaponsout of the two bodies andheld them high for all to seein the last slanting rays of thesetting sun. They were the

javelins of the two Trollimps.

"Thus the Troll folk repay allthe kindnesses that our dearShaman and Chief-elect haveheaped upon them for somany summers and winters,"said Skua in his vibratingvoice, while tears started intohis eyes.

After recounting theseevents, Fox paused. Then he

said simply, "Both pointswere broken.

That's how I knew youcouldn't have done it. Soforgive me, but that manSkua could talk water out ofa rock. I'm ashamed I everdoubted you, but when I sawthose points, I knew."

Fox had no opportunity toprotest his friends' innocenceat the gathering of the tribes.

A motherly woman took himin her arms, crying over thepoor orphaned youth—orphaned for the second time—and practically smotheredhim at her ample breast. Foxsaw Stag stand up. He spokebriefly, but to the point. Ifthe tribe elected him Chief,he swore to hunt down thetreacherous Troll imps andbring them to justice. If itwas the people's wish, hewould lead Sun Village,

faithfully and devotedly, everafter.

At this a cry went up: "Stagfor Chief! Stag for Chief!Death to the Troll imps!"

Then there was a hush.Hobby had worked her waythrough the crowd up to thebodies, and now stood silent,looking down at them. Thenshe raised her head, and heronce-vacant eyes were bright

and intelligent. She turnedtoward Stag, and he backedaway from the burningcontempt in her gaze.

"You fool and coward!" shesaid.

Stag smiled, not a veryconvincing smile, andshrugged his shoulders. "Thepoor old woman is raving,"he said.

"Very natural," interposedSkua sympathetically. "Thepoor bereaved one. She hasbeen deprived of her reasonby this terrible loss."

Hobby took no notice of him."Carry the dead into thehouse," she commanded.

It was done in silence. Thesun set behind SummerIsland, but nobody paid anyheed.

"Take down the Sun Pillar!"Hobby said. "Yes, you!" Shelooked at Stag. He glanced athis followers, then shruggedhis shoulders once more.They all helped to tip downthe pillar, and Hobby orderedthat too to be put into thehouse. It was so long that thebase stuck out of thedoorway.

"And now," she said, whenall was done, "my last words

to you. You are all eitherfools or scoundrels, but Iforgive the fools. You willnever catch the boys. Andyou, Stag, will live to rue thisday. Now go away, all ofyou! All but Fox."

Silently, and somewhatsheepishly, the peoplewithdrew in the gatheringdusk. At last only Foxremained, and Hobby strokedhis cheek.

"You and the twins are all Ihave left now. I shan't staywith you; there is only onething for me to do now, andyou must help me. Then youmust go and seek out thetwins. You know where tofind them, but beware thatnobody tracks you there. Youare big enough to fend foryourselves now, the three ofyou, and I think I know whatyou are going to do. Myblessing will be with you.

Embrace me, Fox!"

In the twilight ofMidsummer Night, Foxhelped Hobby carry out herfinal preparations.

When all was ready, she toldhim too to go. Once on thebeach, he turned his head.The house was dark andsilent, and the beach lookedstrangely empty with the SunPillar gone.

Later, from afar, he saw theblaze of the pyre, risinghigher and more resplendenteven than the Sun Pillaritself. For a long time helooked at it, towering in thestill air of the night, until itspread in a burst as the rooffell in, and dwindled to aflickering glow. Then heturned away for the last time.

"And I mean to stay with youtwo, if you will have me," he

finished.

"We will, but not yet," saidRight Hand, who was now onhis feet, striding impatientlyback and forth on the riverbank. "You must go back tothe village. We need youthere, as a spy.

There is much to be avenged.I have grieved, but I'mfinished with that. Themurderers will pay dearly for

their deed."

Left Hand nodded. "Themurderers were four," hesaid. "Skua, Stag, and two ofStag's henchmen. You mustbe our eyes and ears in thevillage, Fox. Stag will boastof what he's going to do, andyou must come here toWatersmeet to tell us."

So Fox made his home withthe motherly woman who had

taken pity on him, andnobody suspected that he wasin league with the fugitives,for he renounced them, asthey had told him to do, andmade everybody believe thathe trusted Stag and Skua'sstory. "Besides"—

he grinned—"nobody bothersabout what I think. I haven'treached man's estate yet, asyou have done thisMidsummer, and they don't

think twice about a boy likeme."

Stag made no secret of hisplans. He meant to make agood show of his efforts tobring the murderers tojustice, although he wassecretly convinced that theyhad fled for good and that hewould not be bothered bythem in future. Skua thoughtso too, and Fox overheardhim saying as much in a

secret confabulation with hisChief.

"All you have to do is tospread your net wide for afew days," he said. "Send themen out in twos to track theTroll imps. A moon fromnow, everybody will haveforgotten the whole thing,and we'll be quite safe."

Fox brought this piece ofnews to his foster-brothers at

Watersmeet, and they smiledgrimly.

"He has no idea what he's upagainst," commented RightHand. "Yes, it's more or lesswhat I thought he'd do, and itsuits us perfectly."

"The Sun will lend us hislight to strike down Stag,"said Left Hand. "You'regoing to help us, Fox. Here'swhat you have to do." And he

started to detail their plan.

That night Fox returned toSun Village in an exaltedmood. He had alwaysadmired his foster-brothers.Now his feelings were thoseof hero-worship, and the partthey entrusted to him filledhim with pride.

Right Hand felt that arehearsal was necessary, andwhen Fox came to them next

morning with the news thatStag had issued orders for ageneral search, the three boyswent through the motions.Then Left Hand disappearedinto the woods.

So it happened that Stag,together with one of his men,ran straight upon a trail thatseemed almost too good to betrue. Crossing a smallstream, hardly more than aditch, he was thrilled to see a

series of freshly madefootprints along its muddybank. Both men examined theprints carefully and noddedto each other. It could onlybe one of the Troll imps.

"What a dunderheaded fool,"said Stag contemptuously."He's still hanging abouthere, and on top of it all heleaves a clear track.''

"Well, it's the best way to get

through there," remarked theother man, nodding towardthe dense wood.

"Yes, but to leave footprintslike a mammoth! Comealong. He'll lead us straightto their hiding-place, and wecan take care of both ofthem.''

They hurried along the littlestream, which wound throughdense forest where it did

indeed serve as a useful lane.The track was amusinglyeasy to follow. It was clearthat the Troll imp had beenstriding along at a leisurelypace, apparently without acare in the world. The twopursuers kept shooting sharpglances right and left, butthere was no sign of humanlife apart from the footprints.

Presently they came to aplace where the wood

receded on both sides of thestream. They stepped into aclearing with moss-coveredbedrock and stopped for amoment to look aroundwarily. There might bedanger here. But what didhappen to them was utterlyunexpected and sofrightening and amazing thatthey stood still as if rooted tothe ground.

A blinding light stabbed

them in the eyes. It was as ifthe sun had suddenly winkedat them from straight ahead.But that was impossible, forthe sun was shining all thetime to their right. Oncemore that powerful beam oflight flashed into their eyes.It seemed to come from thetree-tops in front of them.Then suddenly the man atStag's side sank to theground, a javelin between hisribs. He died without a

sound.

Stag snapped into action.Roaring like a wounded bull,he charged into the wood inthe direction from which themissile had come. But beforehe had time to go very far, avoice called out from behindhim, "The Sun is striking youdown, Stag!"

He recognized the voice ofone of his quarries, and spun

around to run back to theglade.

But as he did so, the samewords, in the same voice,echoed from behind him.Realizing his dangerousposition, Stag was nowshouting at the top of hisvoice, and finally he wasanswered by another partyfrom the village. They foundhim beside the body of hiscompanion. Rattled and

incoherent, Stag tried to tellhis story, pointing excitedlyin the direction from whichhe thought the sun hadwinked at him. The hunterslistened with amazement.One of them, kneeling by thebody, cast a curious glance atStag. "It's your own javelin,"he said. "Look, here's yourmark on it."

"But it was the Troll imp whokilled him!" roared Stag.

"Are you quite sure youdidn't—" began one of thenewcomers. But he fell silentwhen he read the fury inStag's face. "We'd bettercarry him home," he said. "Itwill be a sad day at SunVillage."

"But the Troll! Themurderer!" cried Stag.

"Well, he seems to be gone,"said the man almost

apologetically. "We'd bettergo back.

Don't you think so?"

Still arguing in a loud voice,Stag followed the men whocarried their slain comradeinto the forest.

Shortly afterward, Left Hand,Right Hand, and Fox met atWatersmeet. Right Hand wasexultant.

"Good work, Fox," he said."You handled the sun-poolperfectly. I knew it wouldstop them. That thug byStag's side was like a sittingbird."

Fox handed over the greatmica crystal with which hehad dazzled Stag, and smileda little wanly. "You know, Iwas shaky all over," headmitted. "I wasn't sure I hadit right, even after we tried it

out and you signaled to me."

Fox had indeed had somedifficulty learning to handlethe cat's-gold mirror. Whenthey first told him to throw abeam of light at a target, hehad made as if to throw ajavelin with the atlatl. Theyhad to spend the better partof the day coaching him.

The twins had kept the micacrystal as a secret and sacred

thing ever since Left Handfound it the summer beforeand took it out of the rock.He had always beenfascinated by the pinpointflashes of light given out bycrystals in the veins thatcoursed across the rocksurfaces like frozen streams.He used to think that the sunwas hidden in the living rock,peeping out at him. Then thediscovery of a loose feldsparcrystal taught him that he

could hold this miraculouslight-generator in his handsand direct the beam of lightwhere he wanted it to go. Thetwins soon had a hoard ofsuch crystals at one of theirhiding-places.

They called them sun-pools,for they gave back thesunlight just like a rockpool.

The great piece of mica, aslarge as Left Hand's palm,

was vastly superior toanything he had foundbefore. From painfulexperience he knew thebrittleness of the stuff. Ittook him days of patientwork to prise it out,undamaged, from its place inthe rock. Pointing the beamat the shadow side of a cliffwhere the spot of light wasclearly visible, he learned tohandle the crystal withprecision. It was an object to

be revered; somehow, it wasrelated in his mind not onlywith the Sun but with hisunknown White father. Thetwo sometimes mingled inhis dreams. He shared histreasure with no one but histwin brother.

Now it was different. Fortheir plan to work, the crystalhad to be entrusted to Fox.

Fortunately, practice made

him ready. Then Left Hand,the decoy, located Stag andleft the trail which led the ill-starred Chief straight intoRight Hand's ambush.

"We're indebted to you, Fox,"said Right Hand. "You did agood job sneaking thatjavelin out of Stag's store.He's going to find that veryhard to explain to the tribe,even though he gave us theidea when he took our

javelins."

"I don't think he ever thoughtthat out himself," said LeftHand. "That was Skua."

"Yes, it does have the Skuasmell," agreed Right Hand."Well, we'll deal with himtoo, all in its own time."

"What beats me is why youdidn't kill Stag," said Fox.

"We have other plans forhim," answered Right Hand."The man I killed was one ofthe murderers. Now, for thenext strike, we really oughtto have another of Stag'sjavelins.''

"I can get one for you,"offered Fox promptly.

"Impossible, I'm afraid.Stag's going to check hisspears every day. He's not a

complete fool."

"Not far from it, though,"remarked Left Hand, gingerlytouching his neck. "To let meget away was a thunderingmistake."

"Even so, we mustn'tunderestimate him, nor thatmoon-prophet of his. We'lljust have to make anotherjavelin ourselves, and put hismark on it. What are you

doing, Fox?"

Fox, looking slightlyuncomfortable, handed overthe piece of bark with whichhe had been occupied. "Wekilled a man," he saidhesitantly. "Don't you thinkwe ought to—?"

Right Hand raised hiseyebrows. On the smoothpiece of pine-bark, Fox hadengraved the crude likeness

of a man. "That's for givinghim an afterlife, Fox," hesaid, "but the man was amurderer, evil, and it wasright to kill him. It isn't likekilling an innocent animal."

"Still," Fox persisted, "I'dfeel better."

With a kind glance at Fox,Left Hand took the piece ofbark, and with his fingertraced the outlines of the

picture. "You're right, Fox,"he said, while Right Handlooked on and frowned. "Butyou're not much of adraftsman, are you?"

At this, Right Hand laughed."Neither are we. Well, Isuppose the fellow only didwhat he was told to do. Giveme the picture."

Before they parted, Fox wasgiven new instructions. No

doubt the story of Stag'shapless manhunt was alreadybeing told all over SunVillage, and the trust of thepeople in their new Chiefwould be seriously shaken.Fox could help by starting arumor or two. Above all, hemust try to listen again toStag's talks with Skua.

These talks were held in thenight, when Sun Village wasasleep, which was a great

help to Fox. He found it easyto hide by the wall of Stag'shouse and overhear thediscussion. Skua wasobviously puzzled by Stag'sstory. The mystery of thejavelin was simple, he said.One of the Troll imps musthave stolen into the village atnight and taken it. "There'sno danger of that now, withBadger sleeping in the store."Skua pointed out.

The sun shining from twoplaces, though, wassomething Skua could notexplain, and it made himuneasy. "Whatever happens,you've got to catch the Trollsas soon as possible,"

he said. "Otherwise we'llhave no peace."

"I'd like to lay my hands onthem," said Stag reluctantly,"but I don't want to fall foul

of the Sun, if that's theconsequence."

Skua drew an exasperatedbreath. "Never mind the Sun.I'll take care of that. I'm yourshaman, see? It wasn't theSun you saw, it was a trick. Ijust can't think how it wasplayed.

You go out tomorrow, anddon't walk into a trap again."

"Hm," mumbled Stag. "Idon't much like that."

"And you call yourself achief!" Skua chided. "Takefour or five men with you.That should be enough tohandle those Troll imps.You're not afraid of them, areyou?"

"Of the imps? Never!" Stagfumed. "But the Sun sorcery... If they have some kind of

power..."

"The man was killed by ajavelin, not by the Sun,"stormed Skua. "You have toput a stop to all thisnonsense, Stag."

The rumors started by Foxsoon took effect. Manypeople were reminding eachother of Hobby's words toStag, and the mystery of thejavelin remained a matter of

curiosity and suspicion inspite of Skua's explanations.Above all, the story of theflame of the Sun, whichforeboded the death of Stag'scompanion, loomed everlarger in everybody's mind.

What had they done to incurthe wrath of the Sun? Was itpossible that there had been adifferent kind of foul playfrom what they had beentold, when Greylag, their

beloved Shaman, and Falcon,their Chief-elect, had died?

These developments werefaithfully reported by Fox.Right Hand listened. Then hesaid,

"The thing works so well Ithink we'd better go on in thesame way. As long as theweather stays fair, the Sun ison our side." So they laidtheir plans.

The weather held, and thenext morning Fox wasperched in a tree high up on ahillside, eagerly scanning thelandscape in front of him. Heknew that the twins weretracking Stag's party, but hedid not know where. Then,somewhere in the land offorest and glades in front ofhim, he saw the minute sparkof reflected sunlight fromLeft Hand's crystal. He knewnow where they were, and

from time to time anotherflash told him of theirprogress. At last he saw agroup of men step out into anopen field, where a forest firehad raged two summers ago.He carefully aimed thepowerful beam of his sunpoolstraight at them.

They were too far away forhim to see their faces, but hesaw them stop for a moment;then a ripple seemed to pass

through the line. He gavethem another flash, and to hisamazement he saw themthrow down their weaponsand run, vanishing into thewood. Fox lookedrespectfully at themiraculous object in hishand. Then he climbed downand set out for Watersmeet.

Later, in the village, he heardof the party's undignifiedreturn. The hubbub brought

Skua out of Stag's house."What's happened?" heasked.

"We're doomed," panted oneof the men. "We're doomed!The Sun struck at us, just asStag described it!"

Scornfully, Skua said, "So?You're hale and hearty as faras I can see. What do youmean, doomed?"

The men looked sheepish,and Skua went on,elaborating his point: "you'relike a woman, frightened byyour own shadow. Where'syour atlatl? Here you are,scared out of your wits by acouple of impudent Trollimps, and the only scratcheson you are from the rose-bushes you tore through inyour panic."

In his anger, Skua had

forgotten that this descriptionapplied equally to Stag. Thepeople of Sun Village,gathering around, observedtheir Chief's confusion andstarted whispering amongthemselves.

"Then where is Badger?"someone asked.

It was true Badger wasmissing. He had beenstanding at Stag's side when

the light struck.

For a moment Skua wasspeechless. Then he collectedhimself. "He probably felland hurt himself trying to runaway," he said. "Is no oneman enough to go back andfind him?"

Stag's men looked at theirChief and at one another."Why don't you go yourself,Skua?"

asked one of them.

"Me?" Skua was shocked."I'm your Shaman. I havebetter things to do than lookfor a panic-stricken coward.Watch your tongue!"

A young hunter steppedforth. He had been one ofFalcon's men, and his levelgaze swept the agitatedcrowd. "I'll go," he said. "Ihave no reason to fear the

Sun, as some others seem todo. I'll go alone andunarmed."

Fox was back in the villageby the time the hunterreturned, carrying Badger. Hewas dead, and the javelinbetween his ribs bore Stag'smark.

After this, events developedquickly. At midnight Fox wasback at Watersmeet with his

report. "Badger's dead," hebegan. "He was brought backby Stoat."

"I know," said Right Hand. "Igot him with a slingshot. Ihad my eye on him the wholetime. He was one of themurderers.''

"But he had Stag's javelinbetween his ribs," said Fox,perplexed.

Right Hand grinned. "I put itthere. Stag dropped his arms,like the others, when the lightstruck him. I bet that javelinmade a sensation."

"And how!" said Fox. "Acouncil was calledimmediately. Everybody wasthere—men, women, andchildren—everybody butStag and Skua. They startedby deposing Stag fromchiefdom and electing Stoat

in his place."

"They did well," said LeftHand. "Stoat's a good man.He was a friend of Falcon's."

"Then they decided to call inStag and Skua. Stag washauled from his house andcharged with killing both ofthe hunters who were foundwith his javelins in theirbodies. He swore by the Sunhe had nothing to do with it.

He said the javelins had beenstolen. I'm sure he'd beencoached by Skua. Then theyasked him about Greylag andFalcon, and he swore he hadnothing to do with that either.He kept asking that Skua bebrought in to testify. So theystarted a search for him, buthe's disappeared."

"He probably ran away assoon as they found Badger'sbody," said Right Hand.

"Most likely he'll go backsouth where he came from.No matter, I'll find him."

"When he knew Skua wasgone, Stag broke down andblamed him for everything.He said Skua wanted to beShaman and had enticed theothers to help him. Staghimself had nothing to dowith it. He swore again bythe Sun and everythingsacred that he was innocent.

They took him back to hishouse and put two men onguard. Then they decidedwhat to do with him."

"And what was that?"

"Send him away," said Fox."They're just kicking himout. They don't want him inSun Village any more.Everybody is against him,even his own woman. Shesays she hates him.

The whole tribe is talking ofleaving and starting afreshsomewhere else. They saythere's a curse on the place."

It was Left Hand who foundStag the next day. He wasunarmed, and seemed to havebeen wandering aimlessly allnight. He looked shrunken,with red-rimmed, unseeingeyes. When Left Handappeared before him, hestopped. Left Hand's eyes

bored into him, and althoughthe Troll's lips did not move,Stag heard voices. Theyseemed to come from a bushhere, a rock there. Theyaccused him of murderingGreylag, murdering Falcon.

"I didn't do it!" screamedStag, suddenly defiant. "Ididn't! I didn't! I swear by theSun..."

At that, there was a

tremendous flash of light.

Left Hand watched as Stagraised a hand to his lips, thenfell to the ground. He couldhardly believe what he hadseen. A murderer andblasphemer had been struckdown by the Sun, and laydead without a wound on hisbody. He felt his own bodyshake like a tree in a storm."I'm glad, I'm glad," hewhispered to himself, trying

to overcome the terribleemptiness and fatigue thatsuddenly overwhelmed him.

The words died on his lips,and the great crystal fellfrom his hand. His heart wastelling him a truth asblinding as the flash of lighthe had wielded.

He was at the point ofconfession and repentance. Ifyou had given him the time,

he would not have died. Youhad no right.

Left Hand closed his eyes.His lips formed new words:"Father, great White father..."

The piece of mica lay in themoss at his feet. There was arustle in the wood, and RightHand appeared.

"Thought I heard someonecall out," he said. Then his

eye fell on the dead man. "Soyou got him?" he said, withcold satisfaction. "Serveshim right. Now we'll settlewith Skua."

BLACK CLOUD

—a 1'horreur, qui m'obsede

quelle tranquillite succede—

Oui, le calme rentre dansmon coeur— Nicolas-

Francois Guillard,Iphigenieen Tauride AfterStag's death the brothersseparated. Right Hand wasgrimly determined to takevengeance on Skua. Untilthat had been done, he wouldknow no rest, and he swore tohunt the murderer downbefore next summer. But LeftHand was still overwhelmedby the emotions that filledhim when he witnessed Stag'sdeath, and he wanted, above

all, to find his White father.So they agreed to meet nextmidsummer at Watersmeet.Yet more than ten summerswere to pass before thebrothers saw each otheragain.

The first stop on Left Hand'snorthward journey was thelast outpost of the advancingBlacks on the Salt Sea coast.The place was called MoonVillage. To him it came as a

great surprise, for that namehad always figured in hispeople's traditions in a mostunflattering way. Perhapsthat was a different MoonVillage, somewhere else andin some other time.

Like Greylag, many of theSun Villagers believed thatthe Moon was an inferiordeity. Its connection withwoman was evident from itsphases, which governed her

bleeding time.

The Moon Village of theirfancy was populated byblunderheads and simpletonswho had a woman for chiefand a new-born babe forshaman. Everything foolishand crooked could be foundin that imaginary MoonVillage. In the first place,everybody knew that theMoon Villagers wereinveterate thieves. In Sun

Village you could leave yourgear anywhere and find itundisturbed when youreturned the next day, eventhe next summer. In MoonVillage you hardly had timeto belch before somebodyhad sneaked it away. A MoonVillager could do nothingright. If he went to hunt themammoth, the mammothinvariably ended up huntinghim. Nor did he know how toimpregnate a woman. He

chose the wrong orifice, sothe children were born withfeet in place of hands, or withheads between their legs, andhad to be left out for thehyenas. Here, a sensible andhelpful man could come totheir aid and have his ownpleasure out of it, as long ashe took care to hide histhings out of reach of thevillagers' sticky fingers.When a Moon Villager cameto a stream, he would stop

and wait for the water to flowby so he could cross. Hewould die of starvationunless somebody happened tocome by and help him. Hehunted the caribou in thesummer, and went fishing fortrout in the frozen rapids ofmidwinter. Building a house,he started with the roof andended up with the cellar. Heused the throwing-stick as ajavelin, and the javelin as athrowing-stick. In early

summer every Moon Villagerwent out to pick cranberries.

The foolishness andincompetence of the MoonVillagers was due to theirdescent from the Moon ratherthan the Sun. To them, daywas night and night was day.One had to pity them, andwhen an ordinary person didsomething silly, he had toswallow his vexation at beingcalled a Moon Villager.

Probably no one really tookall this very seriously, andLeft Hand in fact found thatthe people of this MoonVillage were no differentfrom his own. The childrenwere perfectly normal, theChief a skillful hunter, thehouses well built. As forthieving, he had to admit thatthe only time anything hadbeen stolen from him was inSun Village when Skua andStag took his javelin. Left

Hand told people he was anitinerant shaman, and he waswelcomed warmly. MoonVillage had lost its Shaman awinter ago, and they wantedhim to stay. He foundhimself in possession of ahouse, a woman, and also aname. The name came to himunexpectedly when he wasasked about it. He wasreluctant to let them knowhis true identity. There mightbe stories abroad, false

stories about the Troll twins,arising from Stag and Skua'sbrief reign in Sun Village. Atthe time he was standing atthe center of the village. Infront of him was its noblestornament, two great shelkantlers painted with ochre.They reminded him of thetriumphal arch at SunVillage, and withouthesitation, he told them hisname was Shelk. The namestuck.

So it happened that youngLeft Hand, now Shelk,became the Shaman of MoonVillage for two winters and asummer. He got on well atfirst. He had been oldGreylag's most brilliantpupil, and was really good athis work. The people ofMoon Village congratulatedthemselves on having foundsuch an excellent shaman. Hehad a profound knowledge ofmedicinal herbs and was a

great healer. Sometimes themasterful gaze of his eyes,beneath their broodingbrows, was enough to scareaway the evil spirits. To seehim speak to the spirits of therocks and trees and receivetheir answers was a new andunforgettable experience forthe villagers.

The woman they gave himwas the widow of the formerShaman, a few years older

than he, yet healthy and able.There was one thing wrongwith her, though: she did notgive him a son, and thisbegan to prey on his mind.As time passed, he got thefeeling that people looked athim with pity and tactfullyavoided the subject. He toldhimself that he wasimagining things, but thewoman, too, was unhappy atbeing barren. In the endShelk decided to leave Moon

Village.

The Chief accepted hisdecision with sorrow. Theycould not wish for a bettershaman, he said. If Shelkwished, they would give himanother woman. Yet Shelkhad made his resolve.Perhaps, secretly, he fearedthat another Moon Villagewoman would be no better.

When his plans became

known, many Moon Villagerswhom he had nursed tohealth came to him, weepingand bringing small farewellgifts. Shelk was moved andgrateful, but nothing couldshake his resolve. In the timeof the melting snow hestarted out, going north.

Again he felt that he washunting for his White father.Once he found him, perhapseverything would be all right.

He was no man unless he hada son. Satisfying a womanwas not enough. Anyblackcock in the woods wasmore of a man than he, butthe White One far awaywould surely know what todo.

Shelk now came to the landof the Trolls, the world of theWhites. He already knewtheir language, so ponderousand circumstantial, so slow-

spoken and ritualisticcompared with that of theBlacks. His first encounterwas disappointing. Couldthese short, clumsy peoplewith their pink skins andstrange, large faces haveanything to do with the whiteshape in his dream? Hetowered over them, and theyregarded him with awe as oneof the children of the Gods.Did they know anythingabout his father? They told

him long stories of theirancestors, but he could get noclues from them. Could oneof the White women givehim a son? He stayed withthe Trolls in their wintervillage and found that thewomen desired nothing morethan to be embraced by achild of the Gods. He learnedthe art of love White fashion,the woman astride her man.Hope revived, but once moreit was killed by time.

When the sun rose high in thesky, the Whites broke camp.They migrated with theseasons, pitching theirsummer tents in distant landsto the north. He traveled withthem, and when they stopped,he pressed on alone.Everything White came fromthe north: ice, snow, and inhis mind now his fatherbecame a luminous, icyfigure beneath the polestar.

After years of travel, LeftHand found himself in theLand of Birches. Here, forthe first time, he heard of thewoman who was to changehis life. Many stories weretold about her among theWhites. She came and wentlike a cloud, so she wasnamed for neither plant norbird, but was called BlackCloud. The Whites looked atShelk and nodded at eachother.

"Is she your sister?" theyasked.

Sister? Yes, they explained,she, too, was a child of theGods, and she had wondrouspower over all living things.She had been seen travelingwith the caribou, her handson their antlers. She had beenseen playing with wolf cubslike children in the snow.When she raised her hand,the birds of the sky alighted

on it, and she spoke to themin their own language. Shewas a Guardian of birds andbeasts.

Where to find her? No, theycould not say.

Thus Black Cloud becamethe object of Left Hand'ssearch, the destination of hisjourney.

He moved from village to

village, always asking forher. She was knowneverywhere. Yes, she hadwalked by, it might havebeen last winter; she wasmoving north—no, east, orperhaps south. No one couldbe sure. She came and went,like a cloud.

Winters and summersalternated in the Land ofBirches just as they did in theLand of Pines and on the

coast of the Salt Sea. Here,though, the winter was longerand the snow was heavier.Living among the Whites inthis country, Shelk learnedmore words for snow than hethought possible. There was aword for the kind of snowthat formed a hard crust;another for the soft kind thattook faithful footimpressions; yet another forthe light powdery snow of thecold weather and for the big

sticky flakes of the warm.There was one for snow withalternating layers of soft andhard. For the large-grainedsnow at the bottom of such adeposit, which was meltedfor drinking-water. The snowthat blew into fine-grainedand tightly packed drifts. Thetreacherous snow that fell onyour neck from the branch ofa tree or hid a pothole underyour feet. The snow thatfilled the air, like a white

darkness, in a snowstorm.The snow that swept thinveils across the open countryunder a clear light-blue sky.The snow that rolled down aslope in a growing ball, andthe snow that slid down in asingle massive sheet. All hadtheir own names and theirown spirits, as did the blackand grey clouds, heavy withunshed snow. The Guardianof the snow was powerful,and you had better keep on

good terms with him, just asyou did with the Guardians ofbeasts and birds.

Mammoths paraded acrossthe snowbound plains ontheir migrations between thenorthlands and the forest inthe south. There were solitaryrhinos, short-sighted andsurly in their woolly browncoats. The musk oxen formeda living wall at the sight ofmen; they would snort and

stamp and refuse to break; nospear could penetrate theirbony foreheads, but a skillfulthrow at the body mightbring one of them to itsknees.

Roving lion prides camefrom the plains to the north.One grey autumn morningShelk, almost dumbstruck,heard for the first time in hislife the roar of a male lion.He watched the great

predators hunt down a youngrhino; they moved in tacticalconcert, and the confusedwoolly pachyderm wasfinally brought down by theonslaught of two lissomlionesses. The first to fall,though, was the great grey,black-maned lion whose deepvoice he had heard thatmorning.

There were creatures evenstranger and more foreboding

than lion or wolf, bear orhyena.

Two black tigers crossed LeftHand's path. They patteredon, tall and silent, without alook at him. Carrying theirheads proudly, they spied asfrom a tower for bigger,worthier prey; and theyvanished in the snow and thetwilight like incarnations ofthe powers of the night.

Once more spring came, andthe birches, which had beenstanding bare and dead for solong, lit up with the tenderestof green. Still Left Handasked for Black Cloud.

By then word had reachedher, too, of the stranger whohad been looking for her sointently.

The winds are generated bythe clouds, the Whites used

to say; now Black Cloudasked her wind to carry her tohim. The leaves of thebirches had just come outwhen they met.

Left Hand saw a woman talland brown like himself. Herhair was plaited and artfullycoiled around her head, witha raven feather in it. She wasyounger than he hadexpected.

Under her heavy brows solike his own, her eyes weremerry and brown. Her broadnose bore witness to herancestry, as did her full face,but her mouth had thesensitive lines of a Blackwoman's, and her body,scarcely concealed by theshort caribou-skin frock, waslonger and more slender-waisted than the bodies ofWhite women. Her feet werebare; her long legs, like those

of the Blacks, were straight.Yet her skin was a lightbrown. He raised his ownarm and saw the same color.Captivated, he looked at her.

Black Cloud saw a manunlike all the Whites: taller,darker, broader-shoulderedand narrower-hipped, withmore masterful eyes than anyWhite man. He too wasdressed in caribou skin. Hestood with his arms stretched

out to her. His bundle andweapons had fallen to theground. Every lineament ofhis face was familiar to her,incredibly andincomprehensibly. In all herlife she had been the only oneof her kind. Her eyes filledwith tears.

She went up to him, laid herarm around his shoulders,and said, "Come!" She pulledhim to the nearby tarn.

Together they leaned over itssurface. There, side by side,were both their faces, eachwith the same increduloussmile.

"You are me," she said. Shespoke in the tongue of theWhites.

"I am you," he agreed.

Their eyes were reflectedradiantly in the water.

"Are you my sister? Am Iyour brother?" asked Shelk.

"No, it is more than that,"said Black Cloud. "We weredestined for each other whentime began. There are noneof us except you and me.''

They looked at theirreflections in silence. Thenshe said, dreamily, "Onlynow I know that she downthere is I."

"She is you. Why should shenot be?"

"To me, she was always thewater spirit. How could shebe I? There are no humanslike that. People are White orBlack, but she who looked atme out of the tarn wasneither. Yes, she did all thethings that I did: plaited herhair, put the feather in it,laughed and wept; never didshe make a mistake. Yet if

she really was I, then I couldnot be one of our people.

So I went away, leaving myhuman name behind. Nowyou are here, and you are justlike me. Now I know that Iexist."

She pushed her nose flat withone finger, and the girl in thetarn did the same. BlackCloud laughed.

"There you are: she is I. Upto now I have not even daredbelieve that it is my real face.

Perhaps I had no face at all.Perhaps my hand deceivedme when it felt it, perhaps Isaw without eyes, ate withouta mouth, heard without ears.Perhaps I and all the worldexisted only in my dream, orin the dream of the waterspirit. But you," and herfingers moved over his face,

"you have eyebrows likemine, cheeks like mine."

"A beard, too," said Shelk,smiling.

She hardly heard him. Herhand caressed his forehead,nose, and mouth; then herown.

"Who are you?" he asked."They say you are Guardianof birds and beasts.''

"What does it matter whatthey say? To us they do notexist any more. We are theDifferent Ones. And nowthere is no one else but youand me."

So it was, and so they wantedit to be, this summer andevery summer to come.

"My mother was White andmy father Black," said BlackCloud, "but I only saw him as

a child, or in my dream, I donot know which. I havealways been Different, andalways wanted to be Similar.They called me a child of theGods, but I did not want to bea child of the Gods. I wantedto be an ordinary humanchild, and I wanted to growup into an ordinary humanwoman. That could not be, soI left it all: my tribe, mymother, my name. I told thewater spirit, 'Go!' and I could

see that she told me thesame."

"And where did you go?"

"I went to the animals. If Iwas not human, then perhapsI was one of them. I huntedwith the wolves and traveledwith the caribou. Wait!"

She brought a skin and gaveit to him. "Drink!" she said.He put it to his mouth and

drank while she watched him,smiling. A strange, sweetliquid flowed into his mouth,and he looked with wonder atthe white drops that fell onhis hand.

"This is a magic potion andyou are the greatest ofshamans," he said. "How didyou brew it?"

She looked at the sun. "It istime," she said. "Come with

me, but take care and movesilently."

He followed her through thewood to a rocky hill wherethe moss had been scrapedfrom a shallow crevice. HereBlack Cloud stopped, raisedher arms, and began to talk.This was no longer the talk ofthe Whites. New soundscame from her lips, soundslike the calls of birds andbeasts, tender and

irresistible; and out of thewood came a caribou cowwith her calf.

The cow had only one antler,but the one she had shed wasin her mouth, and her jawswere slowly grinding away atit. Black Cloud, who had letdown her hair, lifted hershort frock.

Standing broad-legged like aman, she made water on the

rock, and the frothing liquidcollected in the crevice.Slowly the cow came closer,until it was right in front ofher. Then it spat out theantler, dipped its muzzle, andstarted to drink. BlackCloud's fingers closed softlyon the antler.

Shelk dared not move. Intruth, this woman must be theGuardian of the caribou. Nowshe was at the animal's side,

her hand on its back. In thenext moment she was on herknees and had started to milkit.

Black Cloud used theexcretion of her own body towin the affection of thecaribou. This was the sameneed that made the animalschew their own antlers tostumps, in a saltless andchalkless land. Sometimesthree or more caribou would

compete for the delicacy. Inexchange they gave her theirmilk, and meat whennecessary. OccasionallyBlack Cloud chose a bull tobe butchered.

"But never a cow or a calf,"she said. "They are too closeto me."

The cows and calves werequite tame, and showedevident delight at being

caressed by the children ofthe Gods. "Now you knowwhy I follow the caribou,"said Black Cloud. "Had youdone the same, we could havefound each other muchearlier. Alas, we have lostmany summers."

"I could see myself in mybrother," Shelk told her,"while you had no one but thewater spirit. Perhaps that iswhy I never doubted like

you."

He told her his story, andhow he had started out to findhis father. He described theshape he had seen in hisdreams, and Black Cloudsaid, "Then perhaps he reallyis the Sun, whom you revereas the Supreme Being.Perhaps you are the son ofthe Sun."

"If that is so, I shall never

find him here on earth."

"And what did you want withhim?"

"I have no son. Perhaps hecould have helped me. Butnow I have you, Black Cloud,and you shall give me a son."

"You shall give me adaughter," she added. "Weare the chosen ones. From usthe Different Ones will come.

They will guard the cattle ofthe Sun and the birds.''

Shelk nodded. Half-forgottenstories emerged from hismind. "We, 'the children ofthe Gods,' as the Whites callus, have brought forth muchof what is wise and good inthe world of men. OldGreylag once told me it wasone of us who built the firstcoracle, and one of us whoused the first atlatl. Here you

stand, and you have madeyourself the Guardian of thecaribou."

"I shall make you theGuardian of birds," saidBlack Cloud, laughing.

She kept her word. One dayshe put a newly hatchedraven in his lap.

"It is yours," she said. "Feedit, care for it like your own

child, and it will become atrue friend. I had a ravenonce; he died. This one youmust attach to yourself."

He did so, and the ravenbecame his.

Once, to amuse Black Cloud,he made one of the cariboucows answer her call. In thelanguage of the Whites, thecaribou said, "May you flyhigh, Guardian of the

caribou!"

Black Cloud laughed. "I mustremember this."

She bided her time, and tookher opportunity when he wasout of the way. One day,when the raven alighted onShelk's raised hand, it utteredin the language of theWhites:

"Son of the Sun! Guardian of

birds!"

THE EAGLE FEATHER

The black flints, which arecommon here, give thestrongest fire. — Linnaeus,Scanian Voyage

One summer day, many yearslater, Shelk returned toWatersmeet, his dreams andhopes far behind him. BlackCloud had given him no son;

he had given her no daughter.He trudged along, numbed byhis long, solitary journey.Now his steps led him,without any conscious effort,toward his and his brother'sold hideout. The raven washis only companion.

Back in the country of hischildhood, somethingrekindled his spirits. Hebegan to think of those hehad left behind so long ago,

and to wonder what hadbecome of them. He met astranger, and was going topass him with only a briefgreeting. Yet something inthe man's face made himstop. The stranger bowedrespectfully.

"You are early, Shelk," hesaid.

"You know my name, but Idon't know yours. To me it is

late," said Shelk.

"You are joking, Master,"said the man, smiling.

Shelk took a closer look athim. He was a fine figure of ayoung man, very tall andslim, but broad-shoulderedand athletic. His face seemedto radiate hardness andresolution. A very tough-looking fellow indeed,thought Shelk. He wore a

headband with a single eaglefeather; his hair was thin.

"As if you don't know Viper,who's been at your side in somany fights," he said. "Areyou going back to the camp?"

Shelk was filled with asudden suspicion. Once morehe was Left Hand. "Comewith me, Viper," he said,keeping a wooden face."Take me to the camp. I have

been thinking deeply andhave forgotten everythingelse for my thoughts."

"That's good," said Viper,looking pleased. "We are allwaiting for your decision."

The raven swooped down tosettle on Shelk's shoulder,uttering its usual greeting,"Son of the Sun! Guardian ofbirds!" in the White tongue.Shelk smiled at Viper's

surprise. "Is that yourguiding spirit, O Master?"asked Viper in the samelanguage. Shelk only smiledambiguously and hastenedhis steps. The young giant,silent and respectful, walkedby his side.

They arrived at Watersmeet,and Shelk found it changedbeyond recognition. Therewas now a big camp there,with many tents and large

numbers of men, women, andchildren. He was met byawed glances. The womenbowed low; the men let go ofwhatever they had in handand came smartly toattention. He found it all verystrange, but his face gaveaway nothing.

"You will find your womanin your tent, Master," saidViper politely. Shelk,following his gaze, noted a

tent that was larger than theothers and stood by itself.Without hesitation, he wentover and walked in.

The tent was indeed a chief'sdwelling-place, richlyfurnished and with acomfortable bed, from whicha girl flew up at his entrance.She went down on her knees,saying, "You're back soonerthan expected, Master. Doyou wish for anything?"

He searched her face. Shewas beautiful, according tothe standards of the Blacks,but for him no woman couldcompare with Black Cloud,who had left him andreturned to her own people.He said curtly, "Nothing justnow. You may go."

The girl went out obediently,and Shelk threw himself onthe bed, so tired that even hiscuriosity was forgotten for

the moment. No doubteverything was most strange,but he knew now that RightHand was alive and wouldprobably be there soon.Somebody touched the door-flap, and into the tent cameFox, older and more linedthan the boy Left Handremembered, yet still thesame.

"Is there anything wrong,Right Hand?" asked Fox.

"You came back sooner thanwe thought."

Shelk rose. They looked ateach other, and Fox's eyeswidened. Then his face lit upin an expression ofincredulous surprise andhappiness.

"Left Hand! You're back!"

They embraced, laughing andweeping, both talking at the

same time. Then they weresilent, gazing fondly at eachother.

"You're just as like RightHand as you used to be," saidFox. "But I recognized you."

"And you're the same, just asyou were the day you usedthe sun-pool."

"I've got it still," said Fox,rummaging in his pouch.

"You left it behind when youwent away."

He pulled out the great micacrystal, and Shelk looked at itthoughtfully. Once the sightof it had filled him withtriumph, then with horror.Now he saw it withoutemotion. It was a thing of thepast. He gave it back to Fox."Keep it. I don't need it. Butwhere is Right Hand?"

"He went to Sun Village,"Fox told him. "He wanted tosee if anybody lives therenow. We came here onlyyesterday."

"Then you'd better go and tellhim," said Left Hand."Everybody thinks I am he. Ifhe should come back openly,they will be confused."

So Right Hand, notified byFox of his brother's return,

crept into the camp in thedark, and the three of themwere reunited in the Chief'stent, under the pale light ofthe oil lamp. At first LeftHand did not say much abouthis travels to the north, butRight Hand and Fox hadmuch to relate of theiradventures in the southernlands. They had tracked Skuaall the way to the Land ofFlints. When they found him,he had established himself as

a powerful and fearedshaman. So great had hispower waxed that it tookRight Hand two winters tooutwit him. He collectedaround him a group ofwarriors who swore himblind allegiance, but the onewho finally helped him bringSkua to his doom was a boywhose voice had barelystarted to break. It was Skua'spartiality to beautiful youngboys that became his

undoing.

He died the death that he haddesigned for Left Hand andthat he had meted out tomany others in the days ofhis power. He suffered manydeaths, for they called himback to life as many times asthey could. When all wasfinished, they gave him to thehyenas.

Right Hand's task was done.

He wanted to disperse hisband immediately and returnto Sun Village, but hiswarriors protested. They hadbecome used to being led byan invincible hero and totaking what they wantedfrom peaceful villagers—food, weapons, ornaments,and women—rather thantoiling themselves. ThusRight Hand settled down as arobber baron in the Land ofFlints. By then he was

already known under thename of Shelk. Like hisbrother, he had taken thatname in memory of thetriumphal arch of SunVillage; also because he hadnow followed the shelk to itswinter country just as oldGreylag had done long ago.

Right Hand's decision wasdue in part to the youth whohad helped him break Skua'spower. The boy, called Viper,

was the son of the shamanwhom Skua had succeededafter cleverly bringing abouthis death. Right Handhimself had no son, althoughthere was no dearth ofwomen. He came to think ofViper as his own son, findingin him a willing andambitious disciple, andteaching him the secretWhite language as well as theprinciples and practice ofwar. For Right Hand's

intelligence and imaginationwere now firmly turnedtoward this new concern, theart of war; herein he becamea great creator of new ideas.

Soon he was renowned andfeared far and wide. Menfound him utterly invincible.From the start he realizedthat war required the samesort of organization as amammoth hunt, only morehighly developed. His men

were now a well-drilledarmy. He demanded absoluteobedience, but also boldnessand initiative. No slacknessor insubordination wastolerated; the punishmentwas flogging and expulsion,and the punishment forcowardice in the face of theenemy was death. Yet moreand more warriors flocked tohim, for the rewards of goodconduct were great. All thegood things of life were

within the grasp of a bravewarrior. Those who wore theeagle feather in theirheadband thought themselvesthe betters of all other men.

The peaceful villagerscomplained bitterly, butnobody took heed of them.As time passed, however,Right Hand found that therewas less and less to be gotfrom them. The years ofplundering had taken their

toll, and the once opulentpeople in the Land of Flintswere now poor anddevastated. So Right Handbroke camp and marched offto the north with his warriorsand their women andchildren, looking for a newcountry to ravage. In thecourse of the years theymoved ever farther north, andnow they were in the oldterritory of Sun Village. Butthe village was gone; the

people had moved away longago.

"These days, we're notenjoying the same success aswe used to," said Right Hand."The people here are poorerthan the villagers in the Landof Flints. Too often we haveto hunt and work likeordinary villagers. This doesnot suit my warriors, who areused to taking what they wantby force."

Left Hand stood deep inthought.

"I may be able to give youwhat you need," he saidfinally. "I now have powerover the cattle of the Sun,like that of nobody else inthis land, and this power cangive us all a good life."

Left Hand described BlackCloud, how she had tamedthe caribou so that they gave

her milk and meat. RightHand listened with interestand growing enthusiasm.Then they laid their plans asin the old days, with Fox asan admiring witness.

It was Right Hand's idea tokeep his twin brother'sidentity a secret.

"The men will fear andrevere us the more if theythink we're the same man,

who can be in two places atthe same time," he pointedout. "They must never see ustogether. No one knows butFox; no one else must betold. From now on, I'll pitchmy tent well away from theothers. Then we can gettogether without anybodyknowing."

"But your woman?" askedLeft Hand.

Right Hand shrugged hisshoulders. "She's of noaccount," he said. "She is oneamong many; you'rewelcome to see if your luckwith her is better than mine.We must share all things: theleadership, the tent, thewoman. From now on we'reShelk, the one and only."

He hung an amber necklace,the double of the one he worehimself, around his brother's

neck. "I've kept it for youever since I took the two ofthem from a chief in theLand of Flints. He'd madesome funny remark about myhaving no sons, and that wasthe end of him. His privateparts were taken off andstuffed down his throat. Now,with our dress, our headband,and the eagle feather, youwill look exactly like me.

"But now I'll go," he went on.

"Rest from your journeys,speak with Fox, call in thewoman. Tomorrow we startfor the Land of the Caribou;there's nothing here for us.Truly you came at the rightmoment, my brother."

PART THREE:

TIGER

THE REDS

Demuth des Menschen gegenden Menschen, sie schmerztmich. — Beethoven'sconversations

"I don't like the look of theweather," said Baywillow.

He and Tiger were alone onan immense expanse of ice.Baywillow had stopped tolook around. The sun was low

in the sky, right ahead ofthem, and the reflections ofits slanting rays from therippled surface weredazzling. A thin line, faraway at the horizon, showedthem the land. Behind them,clouds rose rapidly. Theycould no longer see thedistant speck ofMorningland, but the deadseals they had in tow wereevidence enough of wherethey had been.

Morningland, where the greyseals gathered in late winterto bear their young, was askerry far out in the sea. Itcould barely be glimpsed onthe northeastern horizon on aclear summer day, but inwinter, when the sea frozeover, it became accessible,and the tribe of Veyde'sIsland had known it as asealing place for manygenerations. The grey sealswere shy, but at pupping time

they were easy enough toclub. The hunters did theirbusiness swiftly andcompetently, killed as manyseals as they could pull backto the camp, and tried not todisturb the others. Now Tigerand Baywillow pulled threeseals each in a single linebehind them. One walked inthe other's tracks to takeadvantage of the trail brokenin the snow, and they tookturns in the lead.

"No, it doesn't look good,"Baywillow went on. "I smellsnow in the air."

"Do you think we'll get asnowstorm?" asked Tiger.

"I wouldn't be surprised. Theweather is unusual. You canfeel the wind coming fromthe northeast." Baywillowwas speaking fromexperience, as a nativeislander and seal-hunter.

"We'll get a strong northerlywith dry snow; then it's goingto veer to the west with lotsof wet snow. Question is,how soon? What we have todo now is to strike straighttoward land.

That way," and he pointed tothe distant dark line in thenorthwest. "There's DeadmanIsland, where MisterBuckthorn son of Clover wasfound dead many winters

ago. It reaches farther outthan the other skerries. Idon't trust the ice on a daylike this."

He stood listening for amoment. "Yes, you can hearit," he added, pointing to theopen sea.

There had been a greatsilence all around them eversince they traveled out ofearshot of the noisy seals of

Morningland. The soft snowmuffled their footfalls, andthe only sound was therustling of the seal bodiessliding along. Now theyheard a new noise.

"It's the swell of a storm atsea," observed Baywillow. "Itprobably started as aneasterly, then ripped up aheavy sea where the water'sopen. That's how it goes.We'd better start moving,

Tiger." He turned and startedpulling.

Distant cracks reverberatedthrough the ice under theirfeet. Tiger hitched histowline over his shoulder andfollowed in Baywillow'ssteps. Only a thin layer ofsnow covered the ice, and thepath made by Baywillow'sseals made pulling easy.

Suddenly the air was full of

snow, and everything aroundthem vanished. Baywillow,hardly visible through thedriving snow, called out,"Just follow me, Tiger. We'llkeep the wind on our right."The wind suddenly increased,almost blowing them over,and the snow stung Tiger'scheek. He pulled at his hood.There was a louder crack inthe ice. He steadied himselfand caught up with the last ofthe seal bodies trailing

behind Baywillow. He caughtan occasional glimpse of hisbrother in the thick snow. Hefelt his heart warming withtrust and love.

His brother! Pulling throughthe snow, he fell to musingonce more on this incrediblefact.

He, who had lost all of hisfamily, had found a brotheron Veyde's Island, and an

older brother at that! MissAngelica had told him howshe had met the Chief,Tiger's father, many wintersago. Realizing heropportunity to become themother of a child of theGods, she had followed himinto the wood. Why had shenot told him this before? Atthe question, even themasterful Miss Angelica hadbeen silent for a moment,arranging her thoughts. Then

she said:

"I did not know how youwere going to take it, MisterTiger. What I regarded as anhonor and a privilege mightperhaps, in your eyes, be adisgrace. I did not wish foryour memory of your fatherto be stained. We Whites donot know how the Gods thinkabout these things. But," sheadded, with a smile, "I didnot know you then as well as

I do now."

"I can only thank you, MissAngelica," said Tiger. "I haveregained a brother, in placeof the one I lost."

"And I," said Miss Angelica,"am now not only the mother,but also the grandmother, ofa child of the Gods."

Veyde's child was born theday after the Battle of

Platform Hill, as they calledit. Contrary to herexpectations, it was a boy. Hewas well-shaped and strong,and came into the world witha lusty yell. Old MisterSilverbirch, who assisted atthe birth, had never seen astronger and healthier baby.His skin was brown. Veydelooked into his dark eyes, andproudly counted his fingersand toes. Her happiness wascomplete. She now was the

mother of a child of theGods.

Contrary to the custom of theWhites, Veyde asked Tiger toname the boy. A child of theGods was special, and oldcustoms were overruled.Tiger, who was now a man inthe most important respect—he was the father of a son—called the child Marten, inmemory of his brother. Onthe wall of their winter house

he engraved the symbols ofman and woman, and beneaththem the likeness of amarten. Veyde also wantedthe boy to have a White namesignifying the bird guise inwhich he would enjoy hisafterlife. She called himDock, and his bird was thecrossbill.

Afterwards, Tiger wasapproached by Baywillowand Silverweed, who had a

proposal to make. They werestill childless. Among theWhites, it was the duty of abrother to step in, so withVeyde and Baywillow aswitnesses, Tiger impregnatedMiss Silverweed. Nextsummer, the happy result wasa daughter born to the proudparents.

It had been a happy anduntroubled year. The shadowof Shelk and his Devils had

been lifted from the island.At first Tiger was uneasybecause the coracle wasgone, which suggested thatone of the attackers hadescaped. As time passed,though, the menace fadedfrom their memory, and thepresent filled their life withits unceasing demands ontheir thought and energy.And Tiger, together withSilverbirch, built a new andbigger boat.

They lived from season toseason, often wandering farfrom their island base. Earlysummer always found astrong party on the mainland,where salmon was taken ingreat numbers in the riverwinding down from BlueLake. Later on came the timeof the great berry harvest;then the mushroom season.Elk was an important gamethroughout the year, butespecially in winter when

tracking was easy. Wintermeant the coming of thecaribou, and when the seafroze over, the seal skerriescould also be visited. Ringedseal could be had close toVeyde's Island. To hunt thelarge grey seal, they had tojourney all the way out toMorningland. It wasworthwhile, though. Tigerand Baywillow's present trip,two moons after midwinter,was in the nature of a

reconnaissance. They werereturning with the good newsthat the seals were there.

Moving numbly inBaywillow's wake, Tigeralmost stumbled over theseal that had been draggingalong in front of him.Baywillow had stopped, andTiger ran up to his side. Itwas getting dark.

"Listen," said Baywillow

anxiously. "The ice isbreaking up."

The ominous cracking wasrepeated.

"The snow is wet now," hesaid. "I think the wind hasbeen veering. We have tokeep it more in our faces,Tiger."

"Do you want me to lead,Baywillow?"

"No, I'd better go first. I'vebeen out in this kind ofweather before. Just keepclose behind us."

They moved slowly againstthe wind, which hurtledmasses of wet snow in theirfaces.

Breastplates of snow formedconstantly on their bodies,then fell off. Again and againcame the cracking sound, and

Tiger felt the shocks in thesea-ice under his feet. As iffrom a great distance, hecould hear Baywillow callout encouragingly, "Not farnow ... Soon there ...

Deadman ... right in front..."

Suddenly there was a cry anda splash. Tiger left his sealsand started to run.

"Stop! Don't come closer!"

''But I can help you up!"cried Tiger.

"No! I can get up! You'll justfall in too!"

Tiger peered into the snow."Can I throw you a rope?"

"No, I'm getting up," saidBaywillow. Tiger could hearhim splashing around, andknew he was using his javelinas an ice-prod to pull himself

out of the water. He heard theice breaking, then renewedsplashing, then a breathlessshout:

"Tiger! I'm up on the ice!Don't come this way. Try tothe left!"

"I will," shouted Tiger. Hecaught up his rope andstarted pulling, the snowplastering his side. A distantvoice reached him:

"Remember ... prod ... ice..."

Tiger took his javelin andstruck it into the ice ahead ofhim. Aghast, he felt the pointgo through. He turned leftagain and walked a few steps,trying the ice each time. Itseemed thicker here. Againhe faced the wind and snow.After two steps the javelinwent through once more.

He stopped, called out, and

listened. He thought he hearda shout, but was not sure.Again he turned his back tothe wind, walked ten steps,and turned right. The ice wasgood here, but whenever hefaced the wind, a few pacestook him back to thin ice.

"Baywillow!" he shouted.There was a splinteringsound in front of him, and hecould feel the tremor in theice, stronger than before.

Then the wind carried faintwords to him, Baywillowcalling out at the top of hisvoice: "South ... Go south..."

Which way was south? Therewas nothing to guide Tigerexcept the raging wind. Thesnowfall was turning intotorrents of rain. The darknesswas complete. For the lasttime, the voice came to himthrough the darkness, a worldof love and anxiety in it:

"Careful ...

Careful..." From his leftcame a curious grindingnoise, and a series of newshocks passed through theice. He realized that he wasstanding on an ice-floe andthat it had collided withsomething. South! Could hereach the fast ice that way?He started walking with thewind on his right cheek. Hemust be going south now, if

the wind had veered to thewest as Baywillow thought.Careful! He made himselfthrust the javelin into the iceat every step, but it alwaysrebounded on hard ice.

The grinding had ceased andthere was nothing now exceptthe sound of rain and wind.He stopped suddenly. Therewas a different note in therain: it was splashing. Yes,there was open water in front

of him. He stumbled forward,trying to see in the darkness.It seemed blacker in thedistance; there was no way tosafety here. A tremendousgust of wind and rain madehim stagger. He could not goon.

Tiger stood motionless,almost overwhelmed bypanic. For a moment heconsidered running forward,jumping into the water,

swimming to safety. But heknew that only death awaitedhim in that cold black water.Slowly his reason returned.He was still holding the ropeattached to the seals. It feltvaguely reassuring. Whatwould Baywillow have done?

Probably he would go awayfrom the open water. Tigerwent back to the first seal,then walked slowly awayfrom the wind. Better not go

very far. There was nothingto do now.

He would have to wait, waitfor daybreak, wait for therain to stop, wait until hecould see.

And all the time his icefloewould be drifting out to sea.

The thoughts were milling inhis head as he stood with hisback to the wind and rain. He

stared into the darkness.Time passed, and passed, andpassed. Much later—or just amoment later?—he wassitting on the body of a seal.The rain poured down. Thewind was on his cheek. Had itchanged direction, or was ithis ice-floe that was turningaround?

More time passed. He hadforgotten where he was. No,he is back on the island. It is

summer and little Marten-Dock-Crossbill is at Veyde'sbreast. Tiger is smiling andjoking about all the names ofhis son. There is sun andwind, and the eider and tuftedducks are out with theiryoung in the bay. A fewgoldeneyes fly overhead. Thesmooth rocks feel warm tothe touch. The dryingrockpools are bordered byyellow pollen, but one ofthem has red water in it and

Veyde avoids it. There is anevil spirit in it, she says. Asmall patch of earth in asheltered spot by the shore isa wilderness of floweringmayweed and stands oforpine, their stiff meatyleaves turning red in the dryweather. Behind them, asthey sit on the beach, thepines stand gnarled anddefiant, their new shoots agolden brown or light green.

A couple of oystercatchersfly by swiftly, their callsringing out. In a grassy coveto the right, buttercup andsilverweed flower in brightyellow patches. A cuckoocalls, and a tree pipit sinksdown with stiff wings, thelast languishing note of itssong drawing out intoinfinite, caressing sweetness.

Still later, the sun is low andthe wind is gone. The

reflections from the waterweave a billowing network oflight over the pines. Martenis sleeping in his arms. OldMister Silverbirch rakes afew goosander eggs out ofthe dying fire. Someone tellsa story, and everybodylaughs.

With a start, Tigerremembered where he was,still on the ice-floe, sitting onthe seal. The rain had

stopped, and suddenly twostars shone out overhead. Itwas clearing up. Again helooked around. He seemed tobe on a gigantic ice-floe. Nowater was in sight beforehim, but from the other sidehe could hear the lapping ofsmall waves. The wind haddied down, and through thestillness came a sound as ofdistant voices, repeated timeand again. He strained to hearthe words, but they were

unintelligible: hah-iyeh, hah,ho. Suddenly he understood:it was the barking of seals.He must be nearMorningland.

He tried to recapture hisdream, but it was gone. Hefelt weak and suddenlyhungry, and he cursedhimself for finishing hisprovisions before startingback from Morningland.

More stars came out, and hecould now see the polestar,though it wasn't much use;there was nowhere to go. Butwait—he had heard the sealsin the east. That meant hewas still to landward ofMorningland. Maybe hewould drift ashore. Then atleast he would have solidground under his feet, and hecould hunt the seals for food.

Seals! Fool that he was! Here

he was sitting on his food!He came to life and carefullypenetrated the neck of thedead seal with his javelin.Soon he was sucking theblood, still lukewarm. A newglow filled him. He stretchedhis numbed body, hopped upand down, waved his arms.Yes, he was still alive.

The seals had fallen silent,but now there was a slightbreath of wind in his face.

Where did it come from? Helooked to the stars: southeast.He jumped a few more times,and his hopes rose. With thewind from that direction hewould drift back toward land.Again the wind picked up,and a blackness in the eastblotted out the stars. Hecould hear the surge of thesea against the outer borderof the ice, and suddenly hefelt a tremor under his feet.

Panic gripped him. Thewaves were beginning tobreak up his ice-floe, thestars were gone, and oncemore blackness engulfedhim. Yet a picture wasforming in Tiger's mind, thebird's-eye view he had seentwo winters ago from thecoracle. He saw it now asclearly as he had then, andhis mind's eye traced theoutlines of the skerries,identifying them all:

Deadman Island,Morningland, and the others.Now he knew where he was,and he could tell,approximately, where he wasgoing—if only the windwould hold.

The long night finallycoming to an end, Tigerrealized that he could seeagain. Eagerly he looked tolandward, and saw thecontours of an island, not far

away, outlined in the murkylight. Then he looked back tothe sea and saw that a largepart of his floating island hadbeen lost: the waves werebreaking only a few fathomsaway.

Suddenly there was a terrificsnorting, and a huge whitehead rose out of the water.Two gigantic paws with longclaws gripped the edge of theice. An enormous bear turned

its wedge-shaped headtoward Tiger, staring at himwith small, piercing eyes.The animal looked as if hewere about to clamber up onthe ice.

"No!" Tiger cried out,terrified. The ice-floecracked straight across, andTiger got himself onto thebigger piece with a desperatejump. Two of the seals'bodies slid into the water.

The bear, diving andsurfacing in a single fluidmovement, caught one ofthem in his jaws and madeoff with it. Before Tiger hadtime to catch on to the rope,the last seal was pulled down,and the bear swam towardland, one seal grippedbetween his teeth, twotrailing behind him.

Utterly shaken by thisencounter, Tiger sat down

gingerly in the middle of hisice-floe, and watched thewaves lapping at its borders,constantly threatening toswamp it. In front of himthere was open water, butcloser to the island he couldsee ice.

The island was wooded, witha high, sloping, rocky beachon which he recognized theimmense, polishedexcavation of a giant's kettle

just by the shore. The steepslope of the beach probablymeant deep water outside.There was a lot of floatingice. Nearer the shore he couldmake out a dark shape, lyingmotionless on the fast ice. Aseal? Could the bear have leftone of the dead seals on theice?

Tiger's ice-floe groundagainst the floating ice nearthe shore and gently came to

a stop.

There was nothing to do nowbut jump, and probablyswim. His first jumps werelucky.

The small floes sank underhis weight, but not before hehad time to jump to the next.He was closing in to landrapidly, lurching this wayand that, his arms flailing.Then he made a false step

and fell through. He surfacedand struck the point of hisjavelin into the ice, tryingdesperately to pull himselfout and to work his waylandward. The ice gave way;he tried, and finally wriggledhimself out of the water.

Shivering all over from coldand exhaustion, Tiger got upand ran toward the shore,nearly tripping over the darkshape he had seen at a

distance. Now he realizedthat it was a man.

For a moment he thought itwas Baywillow, but this manwas differently dressed,wearing sealskins from headto foot. Tiger turned himover, and looked into aforeign face. The man was aWhite, but different from allthe Whites Tiger had met. Hewas deathly pale, and his facewas peppered with reddish

spots which stood out againstthe pallor. Tiger had neverseen a freckled face before;his first impression was thatthe man was touched bysome strange disease. Hiseyebrows were a russet color,and a wisp of red hair showedunder his hood.

Tiger longed above all to getto drier land and to make afire, but he could not leavethe stranger here. Two years

before he might haveregarded this creature as aTroll ox; he might haveturned his back. Now heknew better. Tiger lifted theman in his arms andstaggered up the steep beachuntil he reached a large rock,partly covered by the crownof a pine. There he put theman down and ran off to getfuel. Everything was soppingwet, but he found some smalldead pines that were easy to

snap off, and dry andpowdery within.

Tiger now took out thepossession he prized almostas much as his father's tigertooth. It was a lump of pyriteand a piece of flint which hehad received from the Chiefat his initiation, and which hecarried in a pouch in his belt.After a few tries the fireblazed up, and he tossedmore wood on it. Now he

would have to make a shelter.Mumbling apologies to thespirits of the trees, Tigerbroke one branch afteranother and built a hut, whichhe made waterproof withmoss and juniper twigs.When this was done, he putthe stranger, stillunconscious, in the hut, andstayed by the fire for a while,warming himself.

Now only one thing was

missing: food. Warmed andgreatly cheered, Tiger walkedto the place where he hadseen the bear go ashore. Thesteep, rocky slope was bareof snow, but the bear'sfootprints on the ice led himto the right place. He foundtracks in the wood andfollowed them cautiously. Hehad reckoned right: the bearhad eaten one of the seals butleft the others untouched.Even the rope was still there.

Tiger hitched it over hisshoulder and pulled off hisbooty. Suddenly he laughed,for a strange thoughtoccurred to him: the sealshad saved his life. Therecould be no doubt that thepolar bear had originallyintended to attack him, notthe seals. And now the bearhad saved his life by pullingthe seals ashore.

Tiger would never have been

able to handle them whilejumping across the ice-floes.

The smell of food arousedthe stranger. He staredvacantly, then focused onTiger. To his surprise, Tigersaw fear and dismay in theman's face.

"May you soar high, Mister,"said Tiger, using thetraditional greeting of theWhites and smiling

reassuringly. The manuttered a few words in astrange language, and Tigerrepeated his greeting. Thestranger seemed stunned, butfinally spoke a few words inthe White tongue, brokenlyand with difficulty:

"You Black. I Red. Youspeak White. Why?"

"I live with the Whites,"explained Tiger. He gestured

invitingly with the spit. "Dohave some food."

"Black—Red," said the manand drew his finger across histhroat. "No good. Dead Black—

good." He grimacedhideously. His face hadflushed a dull red whichobliterated the freckles, andhe was crouching, as if toattack.

By the Great Mammoth,Tiger thought, that's a funnyway to show your gratitude.Out loud he said, "I am afriend. I found you on the ice.I carried you here." Hewondered how much the manunderstood, but the sight ofthe grilled meat seemed tohelp. The Red man acceptedit after some hesitation, andstarted to eat. Whilechewing, he pulled togetherhis mighty eyebrows, as if

struggling for words. Hepatted his chest and said,"Red—beautiful—good."

He paused. "Black—nobeautiful—no good." Then heraised his eyes to Tiger, andhis features softened: "YouBlack. You good."

Tiger stifled an impulse tolaugh. Maybe I'll be beautifultoo, in a little while, hethought.

But he nodded kindly andstarted to eat. They ate insilence, and Tiger put morewood on the fire. The shortday was coming to an end; hesuddenly felt very tired.

In the morning, Tiger wokeup, warm and dry, and lookedout at a world with travelingskies, rosy from the risingsun. The Red man made itclear to him that he livednear by, and they set out

together, Tiger supporting hiscompanion, who had aninjured foot. They workedtheir way slowly across thefast ice to the inner skerries,and entered the Red villagewhen the sun was in thesouth. The village lay in asheltered harbor on the southside of an island and differedfrom the settlements of theWhites in that it had simplehuts made out of branchesand lined with moss. The

beach was littered withbutchering refuse and animalbodies, and a great bonfirewas blazing. Many peoplewere at work, but at the sightof the ill-matched pair theyleft everything and ran tomeet them.

Tiger's comrade now pouredforth a torrent of words.When he was through, ayoung woman stepped up andgreeted Tiger with a hug. She

was pale-faced, freckled, andred-haired like the others.Otherwise she resembled theWhites, though Tiger notedthat her eyebrows did notmeet above her nose, butwere curved, giving her facean expression of permanentsurprise. Her eyes wereflashing green and had thesame air of quiet assuranceas those of Miss Angelica.

"May you soar high, dear

Mister," she said, revealingto Tiger's relief that shespoke the White languagefluently. "Thank you forrescuing poor Goosander. Ihave to apologize to you onhis behalf. He is not verybright, as you may havenoticed, but he is a good seal-hunter. My own name isSwallow. The Whites call meButtercup, for among them ahuman receives his bird-name only after death. We

have different name-traditions: we are the Reds. Ibid you welcome to ourvillage. I hope you will stayfor many days, so that we canthank you."

Tiger was impressed. "Myname is Tiger," he said, "andI come from Trout Lake, farinland. I have lost my familyand my tribe, and for twowinters I have lived with theWhites on Veyde's Island."

"Then you have much totell," said Miss Swallow,"and you must stay with uslong enough to share yourstory. Now, though, we mustlook after poor Goosander."

Goosander had sufferednothing worse than a badsprain, but he had endured alot. He had been seal-huntingon a group of islets northeastof Morningland and hadfallen on the slippery rocks.

Crawling back, he got caughtin the storm, which utterlyconfused him.

Tiger described how he hadfound Goosander on the ice.

That day Tiger also told MissSwallow the story of his life,and she translated it to herpeople, who listened withgreat interest. The first starswere coming out in the eastbefore he finished. "But now,

Miss Swallow, I want to hearabout you. I never heardabout the Reds: you must bestrangers from far away."

"It is getting cold," said MissSwallow. "Let us go into myhut, and I will tell you aboutmy people."

Tiger followed her into thehut, where a seal-fat lampwas burning. He recoiledslightly at the sight of two

death's-heads, piebald withochre, on a stone slab. MissSwallow bowed to them andpassed her hand over herface. Tiger shuddered. Hecertainly would not care for acouple of dead people in hishouse.

"My parents," announcedMiss Swallow. "This is Tiger,an honored guest."

Tiger imitated Miss

Swallow's bow and passedhis hand over his face. Shesmiled and sat down, cross-legged.

"I can understand that youare curious about us, and Iwant to tell you our story asfrankly as you have toldyours. But before I start,there is one thing I must sayto you. You yourself, yourbehavior, and yes, your storytoo, have taught me a lot.

You have turned my thoughtsand emotions in a newdirection, as if a river werechanging its bed. But youshall judge for yourself.

"We come from the east. Wehave walked across the ice,winter after winter, to get asfar away as possible from theBlacks who took our country.You heard what Goosandersaid,

'The only good Black is adead Black.' I was the first tosay that, and it was I, too,who first said, 'Red isbeautiful!' Without the prideand will to endure whichthese words have given us,we should have perishedmany winters ago.

"But alas, not all of the Redsrealized it. Many of ourpeople just stood open-mouthed from wonder and

admiration when the Blackscame. The Blacks, they speaka tongue which seems tosparkle and sing like that ofthe birds, and when we hearit we feel that we bleat andbellow like the ox and theibex. The Black men are talland proud, and they regard usas the soil under their feet.They loom up like visions,with their dark eyes and longbeards, and our women liedown on their backs for

them. But the Blacks onlyuse them for pleasure; theylaugh at the foolish Trollbitches.

"Our customs are nothing tothem. When we show ourcourtesy in our own way,with our hands before oureyes, they make fun of us,flinging their hands aboutand laughing. If a Red or aWhite is in a Black man'spath, he pushes them aside,

for he regards himself, withhis throwing-stick and hiselegant weapons, as ourbetter. We have only oursimple handiwork, which wehave learned from ourancestors since the beginningof time. The Black men killour holy birds—the whiteswan, from whom everythingemanates, and the gaudylong-tailed duck, who bringsus the lovely summer—andtake the eggs.

"To our village came two ofthese Black men, tall andbearded. We fell down andworshipped them like gods.They spoke in their fluidtongue, laughing at us assoon as we opened ourmouths. They took our foodand drink; we waited on themand obeyed their orders.From our berries they createdmagic potions which madethem laugh still more andwhetted their appetite for our

women.

"I was hardly more than achild. I was afraid of theirloud voices and laughter, so Ikept away. But one of themtricked me into drinking themagic potion, which mademe sleepy and confused.They took me, first one, thenthe other. That night I, whohad never known a man,became a woman, and whenthey slept I killed them both.

"All the people in our villagewere bewildered and afraid.What was going to happen tous?

They talked of a neighboringvillage in which the peoplehad risen against the Blacks—

killed one and chased theothers away. These peoplethought themselves rid of theBlacks, but one night they

returned with many men andkilled everybody they couldfind—women, men, andchildren. They razed the hutsto the ground, made a bonfireof them, and threw on theliving and dead. Would thishappen to us, too?

"Then I spoke to them,inspiring them with courageand defiance. I pointed to thedead Blacks and said, 'Theonly good Black is a dead

Black.' Most of them agreedto come with me, and I ledthem away from the village.The only things we took withus were our weapons and ourdead, whom you see here.That was the beginning ofour long march west acrossthe sea, for the Blacks in ourcountry came from the east."

"I always thought the worldcame to an end at the sea,"said Tiger. "Now you tell me

there is another country onthe other side; that there areBlacks and Reds in it, just asthere are Blacks and Whitesin this country. Howstrange!"

"Yes, but it is very far away.We have journeyed manywinters. Once we stopped,after going from island toisland. We had reached anice-field that seemed to haveno end, but a clear day

showed us land far away, andwe went there. Then wecrossed more land, arrivingat a sea that looked endless;no land could be seen on theother side. That autumn wesaw long-tailed ducks andswans flying west, and whenthe ice came we followedthem. After a long, longmarch across endless ice-fields we saw land in thedistance and knew that thebirds had not led us astray.

Here, we thought, is our newcountry; here we can live inpeace from the Blacks.

"I am not saying this toaccuse you, Tiger. On thecontrary: you have taught methat there are also goodBlacks, Blacks who give theirhand to help, Blacks who donot despise our language andcustoms. From your story Irealize that there are goodand bad people among you,

just as there are amongourselves. Still, I have to tellyou what we have gonethrough, so that you canunderstand why Goosanderfeared you.

"On this side of the sea wemet the Whites for the firsttime. They received uskindly, and we lived withthem for two winters. Manyof us learned a little of theirlanguage, but I had to learn it

fully, for I am the leader ofmy people and I had to leadthem farther. We could notstay and abuse the hospitalityof the Whites. Each autumnwe saw the birds flysouthwest, and we were fullof unrest. I had to speak withthe Whites, to find a placewhere we could stay withoutencroaching on anybody'shunting grounds. So I livedwith a White family, andspoke their language every

day.

"This winter we started outonce more, and from whatyou tell me, we can go nofarther.

The Blacks are now in frontof us. So I ask you, Tiger: Doyou think we can stay here,on this island, and live inpeace? To us it is good.There are plenty of fish,seals, and other game, and

the berries ripen everysummer. The nearest Whitevillage, in the direction wecame from, is three daysaway. We do not wish tointrude on your territoryeither, Tiger, so I ask you foradvice."

Miss Swallow fell silent andlooked expectantly at herguest. She had been sittingquite still while she told herstory; now she unconsciously

raised her hands to her redhair. Behind her the two deadgazed with empty eye-sockets into the dim light, asif echoing her question.

Tiger, too, was silent for amoment.

"Miss Swallow," he said, "thesea is great and the islandsare many. Of seals and othergame there is enough for allof us, and the bilberries rot

away each autumn for thelack of women and childrento pick them. Nothing couldmake me happier than tohave you as our neighbors,and nothing is better than agood neighbor. Thus I say,and thus my people will say:Stay here."

He stretched out his hands,and Miss Swallow took themin hers.

THE BIRDS OF THESOUL

Here comes a candle to lightyou to bed,

And here comes a chopper tochop off your head. —Nursery rhyme Tiger stayedwith the Reds for a few days,resting after his terribleexperience on the ice. Incompany with Miss Swallowhe visited the injured seal-

hunter, Goosander. He waslying in his hut, his footwatched over by two skulls,one human, the other a bird's.

"He will be all right," saidMiss Swallow. "I havesucked the evil from his foot,and now his departed onesare watching over it. For sucha slight illness there was noneed for me to send out thebird of my soul. Twice I havesent her all the way to the

Land of the Dead. It is a longand terrible journey, andonce I did not get there intime. After such an ordealmy poor body lies as if deadfor a day and a night.''

"But that one," remarkedTiger, nodding toward thebird skull, "is not human."

"You have seen that we donot bury our dead the way theWhites do, or cover our

graves with flowers. Wemove from place to place,and we need the aid of ourdead. We also strive to beunited with those whom wecherish. When one of ourpeople leaves us to go intothe Land of the Birds, hegives us that which is mostprecious—his brain, with itsliving thoughts, emotions,and knowledge. Thisbecomes our holycommunion; with it, part of

his soul enters us.

"Sometimes, though, one ofour people gets lost and isnever found again. That iswhat happened toGoosander's father. Then weseek the bird whose name thedeparted bears. We treat it aswe would a human skull, forwe have been taught that inthe moment that thesacrament touches our lips, itis changed into the flesh and

blood of the departed."

Tiger was thoughtful. Herealized that Miss Swallowwas a powerful shaman, andthough his father, the Chief,had been no friend ofshamans, the composed andkindly Miss Swallow wascertainly very different fromthe shamans the Chief hadspoken about.

Perhaps the Red and White

shamans were better than theBlack.

Well-fed, with a supply ofmeat for his journey, Tigerset out across the fast ice,following the chain ofislands. There had been alight snowfall a few daysbefore, but now the sun wasout, and by midday it feltdistinctly warm. Towardevening, when the glarediminished and the sun was

red on the horizon, he passedfamiliar landmarks, andfinally arrived at the twoskerries closest to Veyde'sIsland: the Old Man, longand meager, and the OldWoman, who turned herround buttocks to the sky.There they rested forever, incompany, and seemed toagree. Perhaps their spiritssought each other in thenight. They were good-natured and friendly, two

silent but nice neighbors.

Dusk was falling when Tigerreached Veyde's Island andwent up on the long morainespit pointing south. In thesummer, terns and turnstoneswould nest here; now it wasicy and barren, he ran alongthe path through the wood tothe winter village.

"Veyde! Veyde!" he calledout.

There was no answer. Therewas no fire. Nobody was insight.

He called out again, and ranto the house he shared withVeyde. It was empty andcold. The small lamp, whichalways burned day and night,had gone out.

With mounting terror Tigerstepped outside again.Suddenly he was running

about in a panic, shouting,listening, shouting again.Now he was in the wood,stumbling over stumps andfallen trees, now on the ice,now on the bluffs where thesummer tents used to stand.

Much later he was back inthe house. He had filled thelamp and lighted it withshaking hands. He lookedaround in a daze. There wasnothing to show what had

happened to Veyde andMarten. It was as if they hadgone out for a moment,planning to come backdirectly. On the floor he sawa half-made fur blouse andsome sticks that Marten usedto play with, squeezing themin his small hands, strikingthem together and listeningintently to the sound. NowMarten was gone, but thesticks were here.

Tiger went from house tohouse, carrying the lamp. Allwere empty like his own.

He stood outdoors. The airwas still and cold. The wholeisland was frozen in animmense silence, and abovehim were the stars.Everything had passed awayas in a dream. The world wasempty, and he alone was leftin it.

Tiger looked up at the silverystar-dust bridge that archedabove him. The stars hung instill clusters. Only the Star-Hunters, the roving ones,moved each night. The WolfStar was red in the west: wasthere a message for Tiger inits hot gaze? To the south hesaw the calm eye of the SlowOne. But the Hunter of theEvening, the sun's fiercewarrior with his changeablemoods, could not be seen. He

had gone to rest for the night.Tiger knew that the Whitesthought of the great bridge asthe path of the birds, alongwhich they would make theirlast journey. In the icystillness a falling star crossedthe sky, and Tiger flinched asif he had been struck. Wasthat a soul-bird flying away?

Finally quieted after hispanic, Tiger spent the nightbetween sleep and waking,

dozing, then starting up. Heheard a voice; somebodycalled his name: hopereturned, time and again. Butno one came; nobody wasthere; all was silent.

At dawn he was outsideagain, looking at the whitesheet of snow. The only signsof life were his ownfootprints, a confusedpattern, recalling to his mindthe awful night and the

hopeless search.

The sun rose higher, its raysfalling on the snow and thetracks between the tree-trunks.

Now Tiger saw what heshould have seen from thestart. His footprints were red,as if his own blood had beenpouring out of him at everystep. He scratched the snowaway with his foot.

Underneath, the rock wascovered with frozen blood.

The certainty hit him like afierce blow in the stomach,and he sank down on hisknees.

Shelk had returned. He hadpromised to do so, and he hadkept his promise.

Yet Tiger had seen him die;he had buried him. It was

true, then: Shelk wasimmortal. He had risen fromhis grave and returned,bringing vengeance with him.So it must be. Shelk wasmightier than anyone else;mightier than the shamans,mightier than the Guardians.He had traveled to the Landof the Dead and he had comeback. What was it he hadsaid? "I am the Son of theSun; I am the Guardian ofbirds." To such a man even

the spirits who keep watchover the gate to the Land ofDead Men must defer.

In these moments Tigerexperienced the mostextreme terror of his life.Alone in front of his andVeyde's house, in the clearsunshine of the wintermorning, he stood stupefied,blindly accepting his fate,balancing on the verge of anabyss of witlessness and self-

destruction.

Finally he became aware ofmovements somewhere in thedistance, and he looked up. Itwas a bevy of crossbillsfluttering eagerly among thepines. At the unexpectedsight of the small birds,which brought Marten andVeyde back to him, it seemedthat a cool and fresh windblew through his mind. "No!"he cried out. He felt a surge

of defiance. Yes, he wasalone; but he was still alive.Shelk had not killed him yet,so he was not omnipotentafter all.

"Shelk, you shall die for thesecond time," he said.

Why not? What was it theyhad said about him? That hecould be in two places at thesame time? Then he had twolives. Baywillow had taken

one; Tiger would take theother. He stood up decisively."O Black Tiger, make mecunning and deathly likeyourself," he prayed. In hismind's eye he saw the shapeof the great Guardian rise outof Trout Lake.

"You must teach me," hewhispered. He was going tothe Land of the Osprey, tochallenge the Great Devil!

But first there was anothertruth to find out.

Tiger found them withoutdifficulty. A mound ofbranches had been throwntogether in the wood, andlater covered by the new-fallen snow. With loving carehe removed the branches, andthe first thing he saw was thepale face of Miss Angelica.For a long time Tiger lookedat her. Even in death she

retained her proud,authoritative mien, butsomebody had closed hereyes, had laid her to rest.

Beside her was MisterMarestail, wounded by manyspears. In his icy face therewas wrath but also triumph.You avenged her, thoughtTiger. More corpses came tosight. There were MisterAlder, young Campion, MissSilverweed—at the sight of

her Tiger was filled with aneven greater bitterness. Shewho had lived so often in herown mysterious world; shewhose body he hadpenetrated while it was stillliving and warm; she whomhe had given a child forBaywillow. They were allcold and their faces stonyunder his caress. Carefully hecovered them up again.

Now he knew that Veyde was

alive, that Marten was alive,that many of the others werealive. He also knew thatsomebody had been hereafter Shelk. Loving handshad laid the dead to rest. YetTiger felt that it had to bedone better. For two days hecarried rocks to make a greatcairn to cover them all andkeep them safe from wolvesand hyenas. "The others Ishall see in the Land of theOsprey," he told himself. "I

am going to kill Shelk; but inthe summer we'll come backhere to scatter flowers overthe grave."

Once again he was traveling.

THE DANCE OF THETIGER

If, as claimed, the largesabers made it very difficultto eat, the animals took 40million years to starve to

death. — G. G. Simpson,Major Features of EvolutionThe sun rose in a high arc,and a noonday thaw filled theair with the moist fragranceof melting snow and thescent of the pines. Freezingand thawing built strangelyinclined fences of brittle ice,which glittered in thesunlight, along the edges ofthe glades. In the openspaces, a carrying crust hadformed upon the snow, so

Tiger avoided the densewoods and walked along theeskers. Because they ledconsistently aslant of hiscourse, he had to shift nowand then from one ridge tothe next, always moving in azigzag trail.

One evening a light snowfallcovered the crust, and in themorning the surface carriedinnumerable footprints of theforest's wildlife. Tiger passed

along quickly, but noted withrapid glances what animalshad been afield. He wasbeginning to feel hungry, andhis pack of food was growinglight. He marked thetrackways of hare and fox,horse and hyena. He lingeredfor a while over thefootprints of an elk, butfinally went on; the trail wascold.

Suddenly he stopped and bent

down, a puzzled frown on hisface. Here was somethingnew.

Never before had he seen anyfootprints like these; fresh,too. They looked a bit likelynx tracks, but much bigger.And there was somethingelse, something eerie aboutthat pawmark. There weretoo many toes. Tiger shookhis head, grunted, and lookedaround.

There was nothing in sight.Too many toes! That was themark of a hind foot. Hewhistled.

Here was another hind foot,this one just a bit smaller,with four clearly outlinedtoes; like the lynx, but stilltoo large. So there were twoanimals.

"Here are the front feet,"Tiger murmured. Again like

the lynx, again impossiblylarge. Yet the lynx was a big-footed beast. And what wasthis? It must be a front footof the other one, of the onewho had six toes on his hindfoot. Tiger could not make itout. There were four toes andthen something which lookedlike a blurred bunch insteadof the inner toe. He staredincredulously, trying torecollect all the footprint lorehis long experience had

taught him, but never beforehad he seen these prints.What strange beasts wereloose in the forest?

Then, in a flash, he realizedthe truth. Two great catshunting together, male andfemale, could mean only onething. With shining eyes heturned away from his routeand started tracking. Thefootprints were fresh. Theanimals must have passed

through just a short whilebefore. And he had alwaysthought that the black tigerswere gone forever! Wildplans and schemes throngedin his brain; foremost was hisyearning to see the tigers. Inthe grip of a wildexhilaration, he ran on, hishunger forgotten.

Tiger crested another ridgeand skidded to a stop. Look!Coming in from the west, not

just a trackway, but a greatfurrow in the snow, with bigcakes of crust thrown aside;and within the furrow, theimmense circular imprints ofmammoth feet. Tiger readthe story easily. It was asmall family: a bull, a cow,and a calf. The bull hadwalked in front, plowing hisway through the snow, thecalf behind him, the cow inthe rear. They would be tiredsoon, walking at that pace,

breaking through the crust.The tigers had followed themammoths.

He could guess how eagerlythey were bounding from thelonger spaces between theirtracks. He ran on after themammoths.

It was a long run. He waspuffing and winded when hesuddenly saw that the tigershad left the mammoth

trackway and drawn off tothe right. He sensed theimportance of this; themammoths had moveddownwind and the tigers,closing in, were making adetour to prevent their scentfrom betraying them. He hadbetter do the same. For amoment he consideredfollowing the tigers, butprudence won, and he tookoff to the left. Flushed, tired,and cautious he made his way

up the little ridge ahead.There were the mammoths,clearly visible in the glade onthe other side, where theyhad stopped. There was nosign of the tigers.

Tiger froze in his tracks andstudied the mammothsintently. Apparently they hadnot noticed him, or were notconcerned. They were at thesouthern edge of the gladewhere the shade had

protected the snow from theglare of the noonday sun andno crust had formed.

The big bull was using hisgreat curved tusks to sweepoff the snow. In the patch hehad cleared, the cow and calfwere at work pulling up bigbunches of grass and chewingvoraciously.

Tiger moved back behind abig pine tree. He hoisted

himself up to the lowermostbranch and scaled the tree,still staying behind it.Halfway up, he found a goodplace to sit. Here he couldsurvey the scene withoutbeing noticed. The wind wasbearing crosswise betweenhim and the mammoths. Headmired their great, shaggyblack shapes, and marveledat the power and speed withwhich the bull had clearedaway the snow.

Now the bull fell to, and allthree animals ate, movingtheir trunks dexterously andrapidly from the ground totheir mouths.

Suddenly the mammothsstopped foraging andsimultaneously lifted the tipsof their trunks.

They had smelled something.It could not be his scent, forthe wind was steady from his

right. Both the bull and thecow stared upwind. Tigercraned his neck and saw hisliving totem.

The tiger was a big animal,yet it looked ridiculouslysmall compared with thesemighty mammoths. It hademerged from the wood onTiger's right, directly in themammoths' line of wind. Themammoths now stood stockstill, facing the tiger. Trying

to control his excitement,Tiger devoured the great catwith his eyes. The tiger—itmust be a male, he was so big—also stood still, facing themammoths. He had an air ofthe utmost innocence. Heseemed to be surveying themammoths with a look ofbenevolent apology, as if hehad appeared on the scene bysheer accident and wouldbow out presently.

This animal was the mostremarkable and unforgettableTiger had ever seen. He stoodvery high in front, on longforelegs, his back sloping tolow hindquarters, his headerect. It was the stance of aplayful puppy, and the tiger'seyes seemed to radiateinnocent wonder. A small V-shaped white throat patch onthe black skin enhanced theclownish appearance of thecreature. The only feature

marring his amiableexpression was the whiteglint of the left scimitar-tooth, clearly visible againstthe black chin. The tigerstretched his neck, as ifmeasuring his height againstthe mammoths. Then he rosefor a moment on his hindlegs, lifting his forelegs withhanging paws, more like aplayful puppy than ever. Themammoths, on whom theseantics made no impression,

continued to stare.

The tiger, still a picture offaultless good will, sankdown on all fours andsauntered forward at aleisurely pace. On this side ofthe glade the crust was firmunderfoot. There came awarning rumble from themammoth bull. His trunkmoved restlessly and his earsflapped out. The cow and calfclosed in beside him, the calf

sheltered between its parents.

The tiger, whose high stanceand proudly carried headgave him an air of superioritydespite his smaller size,continued to amble forward.

This was too much for thebull mammoth. His trunkflew high, and with a screamof rage he rushed at the tiger.

With a single pained glance,

which seemed to deploresuch a misconstruction of hisintentions, the tiger veeredaround and gracefully evadedthe onslaught. The bull, afterdriving him away, turnedaround to rejoin his family.

The tiger sat down andyawned, baring his greatcurved scimitars, and closedhis jaws with an audibleclick. Tiger could not helpgrinning. His heart was going

out to that fearless, cunning,clown of an animal, a midgetfighting a giant.

Then in one quick, flowingmovement, the tiger rushedthe mammoths.

He never reached them. Thegreat bull whirled around tocounterattack, and the tigerdashed away. He movedwithout effort on the snowcrust, which the mammoth

broke through at every step.The bull returned to his mate.

Ears cocked, the tiger satdown and meditativelywatched the mammoths. Hehad lost nothing of his lookof innocence. Then cameanother rush, anotherresponse, and the tiger sprangback, only to make a dashtoward the cow while the bullwas retreating.

The snow was flying; thedance continued. The tigermade his rushes from a newangle every time, forcing themammoth to plow unbrokencrust in his defense. As thetiger circled the mammoths,the cow became more andmore flustered and wasoccasionally drawn to try anattack. Another dash; anotheronslaught by bothmammoths, and suddenlythere was a flash of black in

the dense alders at the otheredge of the glade.

The calf, unprotected for amoment, had eyes fornothing but its parents andtheir fight. The tigress,meanwhile, had been lying inambush in the woods behindhim. Now she was out in theopen, unnoticed by anybodybut Tiger, who saw herswollen belly and knew thatshe was pregnant. In her

desperate rush, she rose veryhigh up on the side of thecalf. There was a momentaryembrace; her scimitarsflicked as she thrust theminto the calf's neck. Then,with a jerk, she broke awayand dashed back to cover.

The calf gave a squeal ofpain as blood gushed from itsneck where the tiger'sscimitars had ripped twogreat wounds. The bull,

trumpeting with rage,crashed into the wood afterthe she-tiger, but washopelessly impeded by thealder thicket. The cow triedto keep between the calf andthe male tiger, who was stillmaneuvering in a half-circle,making a sally from time totime. The baffled bullemerged from the wood andimmediately charged at thetiger, who evaded him aseasily as before. Now the bull

was implacable. Hecontinued to pursue the tiger,who led him a long danceover the glade. Themammoth sank into the snowand became more and morewinded. Traces of bloodshowed that even his toughskin was getting frayed bythe ice.

At last he could do no more.He stopped in his tracks justbelow Tiger, and looked at

his tormentor withsmoldering eyes. The tigersat down and started gravelyto lick his paw.

After its first fright themammoth calf went into astate of complete shock. Thesingle attack of the tigresshad severed the artery in theanimal's neck, at the sametime mercifully robbing it ofits senses. The blood spurtingfrom the wounds made great

red patches in the snow. Thecalf sank down to its knees,then fell over, its life flowingout in a final burst of blood.The male tiger stoppedlicking himself and lookedon tranquilly as the bullmammoth slowly walkedback to his calf.

The mammoths stayed withthe dead, and when Tigerlooked back, the male tigerhad vanished. Rejoining his

mate, thought Tiger. Therewas nothing to do now butwait. Tiger climbed downand found a place where hecould make himself a den.There he slept, after finishingthe last of his food.

When Tiger returned in themorning, the mammothparents were gone, and thetigers were feasting. Theyhad already eaten the trunkand much of the meat; the

entrails lay in the snow. Theenormous meal had alreadysatisfied the female tiger,who was now lying at rest,while the male continued toeat half-heartedly. Heappeared to be sated too, andfinally joined his mate.Rolling over on his back, hisfour paws in the air, hestarted to lick himself, allover his magnificent blackbreast with the shining whitepatch.

Tiger was drawn irresistiblyto the great cats. Slowly hemoved toward them, talkingsoftly to them all the time;afterwards he could notremember a word of what hehad said. The sated tigerslooked at him briefly butwithout interest, until he wasonly a few feet away.

Now the male tiger looked athim attentively, craning hisneck to do so while lying on

his back. He did not stir.Brimming with awe and love,Tiger studied the great beast.His big paws wereremarkable, and the hind feetdid indeed have six toes. Thefront paws were peculiar;instead of the normal innertoe, which he could see in thefemale, there was a bunchingof three vestigial toes whichhung limply and flappedabout as the tiger moved hispaws. He understood now

why the tracks were so queer;yet the tiger did not seem tobe bothered by his abnormalcondition.

The male rolled softly to hisside, and Tiger admired hissilky black fur and brilliantthroat patch. His head waslong and narrow; his eyes hadgreenish irises. The tigeryawned, displaying hisfearsome teeth; then his eyesclosed. His whiskers bunched

forward. Most were black,but a few hairs were totallywhite.

Following an impulse, Tigerdrew his hand-axe and cut afew strips of meat from thedead mammoth. The tigressopened her eyes, big andround, to look at him, but shedid not move. Tiger stuffedthe meat into his pack andbid the animals aceremonious farewell.

Then he slowly retraced hissteps, under the gaze of bothtigers.

The tigers spent the next fewdays by their kill, and Tigerrejoined them several times.

Hyenas and wolves showedup; Tiger chased them away.Then one morning the tigerswere gone. Their tracksshowed that they wereheading north. Tiger was

tempted to follow them, buthe kept his head. He knewthat he had things to do, andnow he thought he knew howto do them. He would appeargentle and innocent, butbehind that mask he would beas swift and deadly as thetigress.

There was one thing he hadto do before he went on. Notfar away, he found what hewas looking for: a great

granite hogback with asmooth, ice-polished surface,where the wind had sweptaway much of the snow andthe sun had melted the rest.Tiger built a great fire and,armed with charcoal andmammoth fat, went to work.

He sketched out a greatpicture of the scene he hadwitnessed. The immenseblack mammoths took shapeunder his hand. Then came

the tigers. He worked inecstasy to reproduce insensitive lines the flow ofpower, the clownishinsolence, the mastery of themale tiger; to catch theurgency and precision of thefemale, her single, high-rising attack, the oneunerring stroke of violence inthe whole combat. There wasno hate or anger in her, onlythe rapture of fulfillment. Hetoo knew that sudden flood of

peace from a task well done.He worked as in a trance.

Still he was not finished;there was one area of therock-face that he had notfilled with pictures. There hedrew a different image,which came from anothersecret place in his mind.There were only two figureshere: one, a majestic shelk;the other, a black tigermoving in to attack. The

shelk, for all its glory, wastouched by the premonitionof death, while every line inthe tiger was alive withimplacable anger.

After days of toil, all wasfinished. Exhausted, yet witha consciousness of purposeand resolution that was newto him, Tiger contemplatedhis work.

"That is the way it will be

done," he said. The picturessealed his compact with thegreat Guardian. He slung hispack over his shoulder andwalked away. The sun feltwarm. His eye fell on anosegay of hepaticas, deepblue against a background ofmelting snow. He smiled. Hewas hungry. There were greatthings to be done.

THE WASP

And you could be stung by awasp. There are those whohave died of that, too. —Lars Hulden, Heim

Soon Tiger came to a well-trodden path. It was coveredby new snow but formed awell-defined furrow, and hewas glad to see that it wouldlead him in the rightdirection. He was now wellprovided for, and since he didnot have to stop and hunt for

food, his progress was rapid.There was still light in theevening sky when he stoppedto spend the night under thebranches of a fallen tree.

Tiger had been thinking ofhis plans all day. This timehe was going to be prepared.Like his father he tried tolook forward, to gauge theenemy's moves and to choosehis own. The Chief had pittedhis cunning against that of

the mammoths; Tiger had afar more terrible adversary. Itwas Shelk, once killed, yetstill alive, unique in power,with a hundred warriors toobey his call. Surely, then,Shelk could use anotherwarrior, and he, Tiger, wouldapply to become one ofShelk's gang. He wouldprobably have to pass a test,but he was a good atlatl shot,and a good artist besides.

A new idea struck Tiger. Hespoke the language of theWhites, which very fewothers did, apart from Shelkhimself. There must be manyWhite prisoners. WhateverShelk's purpose with them,he would find a good linguistuseful. Once a member of theband, he would bide his timeas cunningly as the blacktigress. Sooner or later themoment would come, whenhe was alone with Shelk.

Then he would strike.

But wait! He must have astory to tell. Shelk wouldcertainly ask him about hispast. It would not do to sayhe came from Trout Lake.No, he knew what to say: hewas an itinerant artist. Theywere not uncommon.Sometimes they wereapprentice shamans whotraveled from village tovillage. His home was—by

the Salt Sea? No, he did notspeak like the Salt Seapeople. You knew them fromtheir speech, as he himselfhad known Goshawk. Hewould say he came fromFalcon Hill. His father hadtold him about the place. Itwas far to the south. Wherehad he learned the languageof the Whites? That waseasy. He had been in thenorth, in the land of theWhites.

He lay awake that evening,perfecting his plan. At last hewent to sleep, but he wasrudely awakened in the greydawn by somebody pinninghim to the ground. Sleepyand terrified, he saw a manbending over him, and felt aspearpoint at his neck.

"One move and you're dead,"the stranger tittered. Tigertried to break loose, but thespearpoint pressed into his

neck. A second man brutallyturned Tiger over and boundhis hands behind his back.Then he kicked him and saidin a deep, mournful voice,"Get up!"

Both men were Blacks. "Whoare you? Are you Shelk'smen? I—" started Tiger, butthe man with the titteringvoice cried fiercely, "Shutup! Time enough to talkwhen you meet our Chief—

talk, or hang."

He was a heavy, squat fellow.He stood broad-legged andkept his spearpoint at Tiger'sneck.

"Get up," commanded theother man, who was tall andthin. Tiger shrugged androse, and the menimmediately stepped to hissides, gripping both his arms."Come along, and mind you,

no funny business," said thetall man.

"But—" Tiger began, and gota smart blow over his facewith the shaft of a spear.

"Shut up," ordered the shortman. "Not a word before youstand before the Chief."

During the walk, the mentalked to each other, payingno heed to the prisoner.

"He'll hang like the others,Glutton, old man," said themerry one. "The Witch'll bepleased to cut out his liver.*'

"Take it easy," murmured thegloomy Glutton. "Maybe theChief will let him live. Youshouldn't be such an alarmist,Beaver. If you cut out histongue and take off his lefthand, he can still be useful.You see everything in black.''

"Yes," said Beaver, laughing,"that's what I'm like. It's toobad that such a nice-lookingman will have his gutsrunning out of him while hehangs in the tree with theother one, but that's how youhave to deal with his sort, mydear Glutton."

"I wouldn't lose hope in hisplace," said Gluttonlugubriously. "If he speaksfast and plenty when the

Chief interrogates him..."

"You always try to put falsehopes into the poor things'heads," said Beaverreproachfully.

"While there's life, there'shope," mumbled Glutton.

Tiger listened to the talk insilence. He thought he couldmanage that chief of theirs.But who was it? Shelk? If so,

he was close to his goal. Inhis mind he started to reviewhis plan.

Meanwhile the conversationabout his probable fatecontinued. Soon, though,Beaver hit upon a new topic.

"I told you he was limping,"he said contentedly. "Nowyou see, I was right. Theymust be sorely pressed tosend a lame fellow on such a

trip."

Glutton did not condescendto answer, and Beaver put hisface in front of Tiger's. "Isaw it from his footprints,that he was lame, but youdidn't believe me. You saidhe was carrying a heavypack. Ha ha!"

Glutton looked displeased."So what? You don't have tokill a man because he's lame.

Enough to break both hislegs. Then he can limpevenly in future. I don't likeall this hanging."

"The Witch likes it," saidBeaver with an attack oflaughter which almost madehim lose grip of Tiger's arm."In the night she sneaks outand cuts the tongue off thehanged. Then she serves it ascaribou tongue. You've eatenmany of those without

knowing it, Glutton."

"It's the Chief who gives theorders, not the Witch,"grumbled Glutton. "Andspeaking of tongues, youhave borrowed yours fromthe hyena."

Beaver was amused by thisscandalous charge, but beforehe had time to answer,Glutton said, "We're there."

"Yes!" cried Beaver happily,and for the first time heturned to Tiger: "Look,there's your comrade! We'regoing to hoist you besidehim. Then you'll both be ripeand good when your friendsfind you."

With a shudder Tiger lookedup at the hanged man. Thenhe heard a fierce scream, anda very small, old, andwrinkled White woman came

rushing toward him. Shewielded a sharp stone andbabbled excitedly throughtoothless gums. Beaverraised his hand and checkedher. "Chief!" he said.

"Chief!" said Glutton as adistant echo.

"Chief!" roared Beaver.

There was a rustle in thebushes, and out stepped

Wolf, the man who once wasthe Chief of Big Lake, theman who had promised Tigerhis beautiful daughter Hind.Tiger recognized Wolf atonce, though his hair andbeard were now white.

"Wolf!" he cried. "Don't youknow me?"

The former Chief of BigLake walked toward Tigerwith a puzzled frown. His left

arm swung energetically, buthis right dangled.

"The voice sounds familiar,"he said. "Familiar, it sounds."Almost it is as if Ferret ofTrout Lake were talking tome. Yet he is dead these twowinters. By the GreatMammoth, what's this? Isn'tthat you, Tiger, Ferret's son?Bound? Cut the ropes atonce, Beaver! I'd embraceyou if I could, Tiger, so

happy am I to see you; yes,happy to see you. My rightarm doesn't obey me anymore—a scratch from thefight against that monsterShelk, a trifle ... But this isincredible! Tiger! Tiger,Ferret's son! I've mournedyou as dead."

Before long, Tiger, now anhonored guest, was sitting bythe fire with Wolf, the chiefwho was to have been his

father-in-law. His gaze tookin the simple camp, only afew hastily made huts.

"Not like Big Lake, you'rethinking?" said Wolf. "No,you're right. But we neverstay long.

We've learned a thing or twothese winters, a thing or two.And we're on our way, Tiger,we're on our way. I haven'tsaid my last word to Shelk.

My spear-arm is no good, butI have many brave men. Withyou I have one more."

"Beaver and Glutton thoughtI was one of Shelk's warriors,didn't they?" asked Tiger.

"So they did. They didn'tknow you; they come fromthe west, from Swidden Moorwhere that big fire was, manywinters ago. Shelk took theirvillage, but they escaped.

They took you for one of hismessengers. We got anothera few days ago; he's hangingin the tree over there."

"Have you been here long?"asked Tiger, and Wolfchuckled.

"Does it look like it?" and hedescribed the situation. Shelkhad put in garrisons at BigLake, Blue Lake, SwiddenMoor, and doubtless other

places too. Wolf had escapedfrom the fight at Big Lakewith a handful of his men,and spent some time as afugitive. Other fugitivesflocked to him, until finallyhe felt strong enough toattack Shelk's garrison atBlue Lake.

"That was a mistake," Wolfadmitted. "We were repulsed,and my spear-arm destroyed.We use another tactic now.

We have divided into threegroups, and we harass Shelk'slines of communication. Wedon't stay more than a fewdays in any one place, so wekeep him on the run. He'ssent many troops against us,but we always avoid them.Meanwhile, we're gatheringstrength to assault hisheadquarters at CaribouLake. This is the road fromBig Lake to Caribou Lake,and it's time for us to

decamp. There will be anenemy patrol before long."

"How many men have yougot?"

Wolf had some thirtywarriors all told. "And theWitch, of course," he addedwith a grin.

"She comes from one of theTroll villages, and she hatesShelk's gang worse than

anyone else does. Nobodycan make out what she says,but she's learned tounderstand a few words ofour language, and now she'sour cook."

To her surprise and pleasure,Tiger greeted her in theWhite language andexchanged a few words withher while Wolf listened,intrigued.

"Well, well, well," he said."He speaks the tongue of theTrolls, too. You have muchto tell us, Tiger. All we knewwas what one of Shelk'smessengers told us before wehanged him, that you andevery other male from TroutLake had been killed. Ferretand Ferret's son Tiger, hesaid. But you seem to havemore lives than Shelkhimself, since you are sittinghere by my fire. I couldn't

wish for a better man."

So Shelk knew his name,Tiger mused, while Wolfwent on talking and outlininghis plans, which were simpleenough. He intended tocontinue his war of attrition,to sting and escape.

"I'm a wasp, Tiger," he said."I fight like the wasp. Icollect a swarm. One daythere will be enough of us to

sting Shelk to death. Lookhere!"

From under his neckband hepulled out a piece of amber.It was as long as his finger,flat, and polished by wear.Inside it was a wasp,motionless in a goldenprison, as if time hadstopped. Tiger admired thepowerful talisman, in whichthe sunshine seemed togather. For a moment, he

wavered in his decision.Maybe with such a protectorWolf could win. When thelittle troup set out, Tigerwent with them.

The calls of migrating cranesfilled the air. Tiger walkedfor a while with the oldWhite woman whom theBlacks called the Witch, andshe told him her story. Shecame from the Land of theOsprey, from a White village

at Caribou Lake. That waswhere the Devils had strucktheir first blow, four wintersago. Some of the Whites hadbeen killed, her daughteramong them. The others weretaken to the vicinity of theGorge, where they lived withthe roar of the rapids in theirears, day and night. All thepeople had prostratedthemselves to the SupremeDevil, for they saw that hewas the Guardian of the

birds. His guiding spirit, inthe body of a raven, alightedon his outstretched hand andspoke to him in the words ofmen. Later, the Blacksbrought the caribou andtaught the prisoners how totend them. The Great Onemust be the Guardian of thecaribou, too. He made themso fond of human piss thatthey became quite tame. Butthis woman had wanted herfreedom, and in the end she

managed to get away. No onetook any heed of what an oldwoman did. Now she livedfor the day when the Devilswould be chased away, wheneverything would be as it wasin the old days.

Tiger also talked to the twomen who had taken himprisoner, and found that theyquarreled about the futurejust as they did about anyother topic. The solemn

Glutton was fanaticallyconvinced that Wolf wouldlead them to eventualvictory, while Beaver scoffedat his hopes. "You'redreaming, Glutton," he said."For every one of our men,Shelk can raise a hundred.What can we do but make asnap at his back and run? It'sfun while it lasts, but it won'tlast long."

"The Shelk can't live

forever," Glutton muttered.

"I know what I would do inhis place," said Beaver. "I'dsend a hundred womenagainst us instead of all thesefighters. Then we'd give in atonce. By the GreatMammoth, sometimes I getso keen on a woman I almostwant to try it with theWitch." And he doubled upwith laughter.

Tiger saw that Beaver wasright, and when they stoppedfor the night, he told Wolfabout his decision and hisplan. Wolf tried to talk Tigerinto staying, but gradually hecame around, admitting thatit might be useful to have afriend in the enemy'sheadquarters. Next morning,when Tiger bade himfarewell, Wolf embraced theyounger man.

"I wish you luck," he said."You're following a moredangerous road than we.areand you need all the help voucan get. Take my wasp; it'llhelp you to sting the Shelk todeath. Send it back as a tokenwhen you have carried outyour plan. I'm lending it toyou, mind, but it was to havebeen your own when youmarried Hind. Perhaps thattoo will happen, one day."

THE OVERSEER

Our county sheriff is really abrute;

Broad as a bull, andshameless to boot.

Join him for ale and a fewhands of poker,

But don't call his bluff, oryou'll be the joker. —Swedish lampoon The calls of

the cranes followed Tiger onhis journey as the birds camein endless arrays.

Watching their slow,purposeful wingbeats, Tigerfelt uplifted. If Shelk hadpower over caribou andravens, as the Witch had said,the cranes at any rate wereflying as they did in the olddays.

Then Tiger became conscious

of a new sound in the forest.It was a strange, deepmurmur that seemed to rollat him from a great distance.He stopped and listened. Infront of him was a clay slope,bare of snow but full ofmeltwater puddles forming apattern which reminded himof the islands he had seen inthat strange vision long ago.When he put his heel into therim of the biggest puddle, thewater broke through, and

started to run down the slopein a widening stream. Thenhe realized what he washearing. It was the roar of theGorge. He must be almostthere.

A bit farther on, beside abirch, he saw a Black woman.She was cutting into thetrunk of the tree with a stoneknife, and on the groundthere were several vesselsmade out of birchbark. Tiger

approached her and greetedher courteously. She spunaround, frightened and wide-eyed. She was a young girl.

"Oh, you scared me!" shecried. Then she looked closerat him, and her fright gaveway to a coquettish smile.She saw a tall young hunter,and the great tooth on hisbreast was more impressivethan any trophy she had seenbefore.

"Isn't it lovely," she said,fingering it. "You must be agreat hunter. What's yourname?"

"Wildcat," said Tiger, whohad decided on that namebecause it was close enoughto his real one. "And yours?"

"I'm Tern," she said, lookingup at him with her big eyes,which were beautiful in spiteof a slight squint. Actually

that only enhanced thepiquancy of her appearance.Then her expression changed,and she took a step back.

"You haven't got a feather,"she said accusingly andpointed to his head.

"Feather?"

"Yes, the eagle feather. Allthe warriors have them."

"Of course." Tiger smiled."I'm a stranger. But I'vecome here to become awarrior. Whom should I talkto?"

"Oh," she said, "is that so? Isuppose you'd better talk tothe Overseer. He's cominghere today, so you can stayawhile with me."

"Who's the Overseer? What'shis name?"

"Ooh, I've forgotten. He'snew, but he's nice. Muchnicer than the old one. Not asgood-looking as you, though,Wildcat."

"What's wrong with the oldone?" inquired Tiger,amused.

"Oh, he was terrible. OldCrow. Crowshit, we calledhim. You wouldn't believe it,but he promised to make an

extra cut in my work-stick ifI slept with him! But nothingdoing,"

said Tern primly, whereuponshe spoiled the effect bycontinuing chattily, "He wasno good anyway. He'd justpant and paw at me, and Ididn't get a rise out of him,though I tried to help.''

"So the new one is better?"

"Well, I mean he seems to benice. I've just met him once."By now, she had moved soclose that her body touchedTiger's, and he observed,"But I'm keeping you fromyour work."

"Ooh!" cried Tern. "I musthurry."

"I can help you."

"You can't do that. You're a

warrior."

"Where I come from warriorscan do anything," said Tiger."Here's your knife."

They worked side by side,cutting the bark, thrustingsticks into the wood to leadthe trickle of the sap, andfastening the birch-barkvessels. Tern had made themherself, she said, and caulkedthem with resin.

"You really are nice to me,Wildcat," said Tern, wigglingher hips. "A great warrior andhunter like you has nevercared to help me."

When all was done, Tern satdown on the ground. "I haveto wait for the Overseerbefore I go to camp," sheinformed him. "He's going tocheck what I've done. Ooh,I'm hungry!"

Tiger brought his bundle. Hehad a great deal of meat left,and Tern accepted the foodgratefully. They had barelyfinished their meal when shelooked up. "The Overseer,"she said.

Tiger rose in surprise. Theman who approached them,with an eagle feather stuckjauntily into his headband,was none other thanGoshawk, the fat God from

Blue Lake, somewhat lessobese than Tigerremembered, but stillexceptionally fullbodied.Goshawk smiled radiantlyand embraced Tiger as if hehad been a boyhood friend.

"Tiger, my dear fellow, whata surprise! What brings youhere?"

"Ooh," said Tern, "is hecalled Tiger, too? You told

me your name was Wildcat."

Goshawk paid no attention toher. He was busy pattingTiger's shoulder.

"I've come here to joinShelk's warriors."

"Ah," said Goshawk, "you'rewell advised to do so. It's agood life. Our Master islucky in everything; and we,his men, are the bravest

warriors in the world." Thenhe struck his forehead. "Butby the Mammoth, Tiger, youcan't!" he cried.

"Listen, Tigercat, what's yourreal name?" asked Tern. "Notthat it matters. You're nice,and good-looking too."

"Why can't I?" asked Tiger.

"Why, don't you know, Tiger... Ahem, you aren't exactly

... I mean ... Well, to put itbriefly, I'm afraid the Masterwill have you hanged in thetallest pine tree at CaribouLake, if you show up there."

"He can't do that," cried Ternagitatedly. "Such a nice man.Say something, Wildcat!"

"Why should he do that?"

"Why? Well, you are ... Imean, everybody knows

you're a tremendous shaman,the enemy of the Sun, theman who killed Shelk or atleast his shade, or the otherShelk ... Forgive me, I'm a bitconfused."

"Ooh!" cried Tern. "Are youa great shaman, Tiger-cat?Please show me what you cando.

Look here, I've got such afunny spot on my breast,

couldn't you..."

"By the Great Mammoth,"Goshawk exclaimed,annoyed, "who are you?"

"I'm Tern, don't youremember? You said I waspretty, too," said the girlreproachfully.

"But Shelk never met me,"said Tiger.

"No, that's true, but he'sheard about Tiger, the greatshaman..."

Tern, who had nowuncovered her chest, jumpedup and down in herexcitement. "Look here,Wildcat, look here, Tiger!I'm sure it is an evil spirit,and you can blow him away.I always wanted to meet agreat shaman. Old Crowshitsaid he could..."

"My name isn't Tiger now,"Tiger explained, "it'sWildcat."

Goshawk held his foreheadwith one hand and pointed atthe tiger tooth with the other.

"Your name may be Wildcator Mole, but if you appear atCaribou Lake with that thingon your chest, I swear you'llhang before sundown."

Tiger slipped the tooth insidehis neckband. "You're right,Goshawk, I didn't think ofthat.

Many thanks. Do you think Ican have this one instead?"

He pulled out the goldenwasp. Tern's eyes widenedmore than ever, and forgetfulof everything else she beganto finger it, sighingecstatically. Goshawk

seemed to become aware ofher presence for the firsttime.

"By the Guardian of allhyenas," he said, "why areyou standing there half-nakedlike a Troll bitch? Tiger—Wildcat, I mean—you'relost! She knows who you are!She can't hold her tongue anylonger than you can belch!"

"Don't think I don't

understand what you'retalking about," said Ternangrily. "I'm not such a foolas you think. He's my shamanand he's nice to me. He'spromised to blow away theevil spirit. And you're mean,mean, to call me a Trollbitch. I'm much prettier thanany Troll bitch. They're pale-skinned and have crookedlegs and no waist at all, andtheir tits are like flaps ofskin, and they have big jaws

like a bear—but I—I—I wasthe Master's woman for twomoons—and you promisedlast time that you'd cut themarks without caring toomuch about what I had doneif I only—just like Crowshit—"

Groaning, Goshawk sat downon a treetrunk, waving hishands in an attempt to stopher.

"There you are, Tiger," hesaid. "She's the worst talkerthis side of the Salt Sea.She'll bring us both to ruin."

Tern looked at him critically."You look poorly, Overseer,"she said. "Do you feel ill?

Please give me my dailymarks before you drop dead."She pulled a small woodenstick out of her bundle. It wasscored with a row of notches.

She waved it in front ofGoshawk's nose.

"You'd better give her whatshe wants, Goshawk," saidTiger.

"Goshawk, why, that's hisname," said Tern delightedly."I knew there was somethingfunny about it."

Tiger patted her cheek."Tern, you're a clever girl,

aren't you? As clever asyou're pretty.

And you want to help me,don't you?"

"Of course I want to helpyou, Ti—Wildcat. Yourname is Wildcat. May theGuardian of the cariboustrike me dead if I forget it. Idon't want you hanged in apine tree, no, I don't."

Goshawk rummaged feeblyin his bundle and brought outa sheaf of sticks, which helooked at in a forlorn way."Which is your mark? Whatdid you say your name was?"

"Tern, I've told you. Thatone's mine."

Goshawk placed the twosticks side by side. Thenotches matched. Each notchsignified one day's work, and

beside one of them the markof the full moon was carved.Sighing, he got out a flintknife and started to cut newmarks across the sticks.

"And you haven't evenlooked at my work," saidTern approvingly. "Thatshows you trust me, Gos—ha-ha—Goshawk. You'renice after all. Three marks,thank you! Now I have threedays off. I'll come with you

to Caribou Lake."

While they walked, Tigerasked about Caribou Lakeand what was going on there.

Goshawk was eager to tellhim, but as usual he wasfilled with his ownimportance and spent sometime pointing out the greatresponsibility of his positionand how the Overseers were avery select group.

"I was entrusted with the postof Overseer because I knowthe language of the Whites.Now I'm responsible for thegirls' camp in the Forest,Blacks and Whites alike.Perhaps you too couldbecome an overseer, Tiger."

"His name is Wildcat," Terncorrected. "Wildcat, I mean. Iknow you speak the Trolllanguage too. Before this, Iused to be Overseer in

Sunwood—"

"Sunwood, what's that?"

"Oh, that's where the caribouare—the cattle of the Sun.It's the big wood in the bendof the Gorge. It's surroundedon three sides by the Gorgeand by Caribou Lake. TheWar Camp is on the fourthside. So the caribou are safethere, and their keepers too.Most of the keepers are

Trolls, both oxen and bitches,but there is a Black women'scamp too, and nobody can getout of there. Every spring andautumn, when the cariboupass by, we drive newanimals into Sunwood toreplace those that are killedfor meat."

"I've been there too," saidTern, "but then I became theMaster's woman—"

"I was Overseer in Sunwoodfor two winters," interruptedGoshawk, "but it gets tediousafter a while, what with thenoise from the Gorge; andthe Troll oxen make a lot oftrouble.

Recently a new warrior cameto Caribou Lake who speaksthe Troll language. He's abastard, by the way. In fact,sometimes I feel there'ssomething familiar about

him."

Tiger felt suddenly excited."Do you know his name,Goshawk?"

"His name? Let me see, Ithink it's Buzzard. Anywayhe took over my old job inSunwood, and I moved hereto succeed old Crow..."

"Crowshit," corrected Tern.

"Crowshit, I mean," repeatedGoshawk mechanically, butchecked himself: "Shut up,girl!

Crow, I mean."

Tiger kept his eyes down soas not to give away hisexcitement. The buzzard wasBaywillow's bird. Could itreally be...?

"Crow is getting old and he

can't see very well anymore," Goshawk explained."But the Master takes care ofthe old, showing hisbenevolence to those whohave served him well.

Crow doesn't have to workany more. For myself, I waspleased to move here. It'scalm and peaceful, and thereare no bothersome Trolloxen. The girls are good,Black or White. Only the safe

ones are put to work here."

"What do you do with thesticks?"

"The Master thought that out.Everyone, except thewarriors, of course, has towork six days. I see to it thatthey really do their work..."

"I know what you see to,"said Tern in such a low voicethat Goshawk did not hear

her.

"Everybody has her work-stick, and I have its double inmy pack. After six workingdays each girl gets three daysoff and can do what she likes.You'll understand in amoment. As you see, I haveto keep track of a lot ofthings, but I know myresponsibility. Nothingescapes me. Now we'recoming to the gate."

The gate was formed by twobig pines. On each sidestretched a stockade, sodense that there was hardlyroom for a hand between thelogs. Two sentries, armedwith spears, were guardingthe gate. Like Goshawk, eachhad an eagle feather in hisheadband.

"You see the gate is verywide," said Goshawk. "Thisis where we take in the

caribou for Sunwood. Theyusually pass by just outside,and we take out ten or twentyanimals at a time, to bringthem in here."

Tern had gone to one of thesentries and had given himher stick. He looked at it, putit into his bag, which wasbeside him on the ground,and nodded at her to pass.

"Now she is off duty," said

Goshawk. "After three daysshe's got to fetch her stickand go back to work. Yousaw the mark for the fullmoon. You can't fool theMaster. I only hope,"

he added nervously, "that shewon't talk too much. Butcome along, Ti—Wildcat,and leave the talking to me."

The sentries raised theirspears and looked

suspiciously at Tiger.Goshawk said in his grandestmanner, "A new warrior. I'mtaking him to the Master."

"Do you vouch for him?"

"Of course I do. Have I notbrought him here myself?"

The sentries exchanged grins."Well, in that case," said oneof them with mock humility,and Goshawk strutted

through the gate, followed byTiger.

A succession of strangesights met Tiger's eyes as heentered the camp. To his left,in a valley where a smallstream flowed, was a largevillage of solidly builthouses. In front of him and tohis right rose a forestedslope. The Gorge was not insight, but the din from therapids filled the air, seeming

to well out of the forestitself. Tiger was even moreintrigued by what was goingon down by the stream. Atleast thirty men, all witheagle feathers, were behavingin the oddest manner. Theywalked to and fro, always ina straight line. Beside themwalked another warrior, whogave a shout. Suddenly theythrew themselves on theground with a collectivethump, clearly audible

through the noise of therapids. Another shout, andthey were up again, throwingtheir spears. With wild criesthey rushed ahead, each witha knife in his raised hand.They seemed to attack aninvisible enemy, stickingtheir knives into him andpounding him to death. Yetanother shout, and everyonerose and stood at attention.

"By all the spirits of the

forest," said Tiger, amazed,"have they gone utterly mad?What do they think they'redoing?"

"Curb your tongue," saidGoshawk. "It's war-practice.What do you think thewarriors do all day—liearound in the sunshine? Soonyou'll be there too, if all goeswell. Come along with me."

He took Tiger up a winding

path where a well-timberedhouse came into sight. If thewar-practice had seemednightmarish to Tiger, a morepleasant view presented itselfhere.

Children were playing; arotund and motherly womanwas tending them; and a thinBlack man watched andsmiled. He turnedexpectantly to Goshawk.

"Fox, I've brought you a newrecruit," said Goshawkponderously. "Wildcat is hisname."

The man looked searchinglyat Tiger. "We'll put him tothe test, if the Masterpleases. What can you do,Wildcat?"

"I'm a hunter and an artist,"said Tiger. "The renown ofthe Master has reached far

and wide, and I should like toenroll with you, if you haveany use for me."

"I vouch for him," saidGoshawk.

Fox smiled, and Tiger notedwith surprise that he foundthe man attractive. "Thankyou, Goshawk. I'll take himto the Master. You can go."

Fox's smile grew more

cynical when Goshawk hadleft. "The fat fool'srecommendation isn't reallyworth much," he observed."But we need an artist. Areyou any good?"

"Put me to the test, Fox," saidTiger. "Also, I speak theWhite language.''

Fox looked at him, hisinterest heightened. "TheMaster will put you to the

test," he said in the Whitelanguage. "Do youunderstand what I amsaying?"

"I do, Mister Fox," answeredTiger in the same tongue,"and if you permit me to sayso, you speak the language aswell as a White."

Fox gave a delighted chuckle."You'll do. Come."

A few moments later Tigerwas standing in front ofShelk.

THE RECRUIT

CUNNING.—N. Cunning,craft, subtlety, maneuvering,temporization,circumvention, chicane,sharp practice, knavery,jugglery, concealment, guile,duplicity, foul play. —

Roget's Thesaurus

Shelk's house was the biggestTiger had ever seen. Like thestockade, it was built ofstanding logs, but here thechinks were carefully linedwith earth and moss. In frontof it was a great pillar, madefrom an enormous tree-trunk.It was crowned by a redglobe, which Tiger thoughtmust represent the Sun. Fromthe house the ground sloped

down to the valley and thevillage, but when they camecloser the wide panorama ofthe ice-bound Caribou Lakecame into view.

Fox asked Tiger to wait whilehe went in, and as Tigerstood there alone, stillbewildered by all the strangethings he had heard and seen,a new idea struck him with aflash of terror.

What if Shelk recognizedhim? Then everything wouldhave been in vain, and deathwas certain. Twice they hadmet. The first time, at theSummer Meet, Tiger was abeardless youngster andShelk had hardly noticedhim. But the second time!Then Shelk was dying.

Baywillow had killed him,yet he had promised to comeback. Was it the same man,

or was the one who had diedon Veyde's Island only hisshade? How could he know?

Whatever happened, it wastoo late to get away. Tigercollected his wits, stoppedtrembling, and moved withfirm steps when Fox gavehim the sign to come in. Heentered a room greater thanany he had even dreamed of.It must have been the lengthof five men and the breadth

of four. The ceiling was sohigh that even the tallest mancould stand erect. Tigerremembered how the Chiefhis father had had to bend hishead in his own house. Thewalls were decorated withskins of caribou, bear, elk,wolf, and other animals.Daylight streamed in throughfour windows. Never hadTiger seen anything soimpressive. His eyes went tothe far wall, on which a shelk

antler was hung. The mansitting under it must be theGreat One himself. Tiger hadexpected the lord of CaribouLake to transfix himimmediately with an all-seeing stare, but instead hewas talking to another manwhose back was turned toTiger. Fox told Tiger to waitby the door while he joinedthe others.

Only then did Tiger notice

that there was yet anotherperson in the room. A younggirl was sitting on a pile ofskins by the side wall. Shewas sewing, her head bentover her work, her black hairhiding her face. The sunlightfrom the door fell across herbare knees. Tern's successoras the Master's woman,thought Tiger. He probablychanged them often. ForTern, two moons had beenenough, but maybe that was

because she talked so much.In the next moment Tigerforgot his cynical thoughts,for the girl, suddenly awareof his gaze, looked up. Hereeled as if struck blind,whether out of terror ordespair he did not know.

The girl who war sitting inShelk's house was Hind,Wolf's daughter, the girl whowas to have been his bride.

He imagined that he hadcried out; in fact he wasstruck dumb. He was certainthat she would cry his name,but she did not recognize himat first. She looked at himlistlessly.

Then recognition dawned,and with it dismay and fearin her eyes. She drew in herbreath, and the blood left herdark face, which became greyand lifeless. Her lips opened.

Tiger gave her a rapid wink,and to his relief she closedher mouth. A deep flushcolored her face.

Tiger cast a glance at themen. No one appeared tohave noticed anything. Whenhe looked at Hind again, shehad returned to her sewing,but her hands were shaking,and she bit her lip. Shebreathed quickly.

Apparently the conversationhad come to an end, for theman who had been standingwith his back to Tiger turnedaround and went out. It wasBaywillow. Tiger registeredthis new shock dully. He hadactually expected to seeBaywillow ever sinceGoshawk mentioned thename Buzzard. Still he feltgrateful to Baywillow for hishabitual self-command,which was probably never

put to a harder test. His eyesmet Tiger's without a show ofinterest, but just as he passed,he let his eyelid flutter. Foxbeckoned to Tiger, and theman who was sitting underthe great antler raised hiseyes. When Tiger met Shelk'sgaze he felt that the man wasable to read every thoughtand every plan in his brain,every feeling and hope in hisbreast.

As he walked those fewsteps, it seemed that all hehad felt and thought ran awaylike meltwater, leaving himempty and helpless.

"You wish to join mywarriors, Mister Wildcat?"said Shelk in the language ofthe Whites.

"Mister Fox tells me youspeak this language."

Tiger realized, with somesurprise, that Shelk had notedhis confusion, that his kindwords were designed to helphim over it. The courtesy,and the polite address of theWhites, which seemed toraise him to the rank of theMaster, brought him to hissenses again. This was thebeginning of a conversationthat Tiger could never lookback on without a feeling ofextreme terror. He felt he

was balancing on the edge ofthe Gorge, in danger offalling.

The rush of the water seemedto engulf him here in Shelk'sroom.

Was this the same man? Theface, the figure, the ambernecklace—all were the sameas at the Summer Meet. Yethe was different, and whilethe talk proceeded, Tiger felt

sure that he was not the sameman. The other had beenaloof, stern, forbidding. Inthe searching eyes of thisman, he sensed a thoughtfulsadness that was utterlyunexpected.

Shelk went on askingquestions with unwaveringpoliteness. Tiger tried tokeep his voice steady and toanswer with apparentfrankness. Once he thought,

Now Hind will cry out andsay that it's not true, what I'msaying. But she made nosound. Tiger heard himselfdescribe journeys he hadnever made, adventures thathad happened only in hisimagination. It was all part ofhis carefully rehearsed story.No, he'd never seen the SaltSea. Yes, his father, Badger,was dead, killed by awounded wisent. Yes, he'dseen the Great Water and had

lived there for a winter and asummer, with the Whites.Where? Far to the northeast,in a place called OuterIsland. (That was in fact theplace where Miss Swallowhad learned the Whitelanguage.) Shelk noddedthoughtfully. He had neverbeen that far east himself, hesaid. Did they get plenty ofcaribou there? No, notparticularly. The main wintergame was seal.

The questioning seemed togo on forever, but finally thecommanding gaze waslowered.

Shelk rummaged in a pile ofskins and turned up the insideof a caribou skin. Tigernoticed that his right handlacked the index finger. "Ihave been told that you arean artist, Mister Wildcat. Letme see if you can draw acaribou here; a cow that has

lost one of its antlers, and ischewing it."

Obediently, Tiger kneeleddown, took the charcoal Foxgave him, and started towork. Soon he forgoteverything else. His hand wassteady: this was his properwork. A great pride andpleasure filled him. Neverwas his hand surer than whensomething big was at stake.

Suddenly he noticed thatShelk and Fox, who had beentalking, were now silent andattentive. Hind, too, hadcome forward to look.

There was the caribou cow,the antler in her mouth. Tigerheard Shelk's voice, almostchoking: "Mister Wildcat,can you draw a calf besideit?"

Tiger went to work again.

The calf emerged under hishand, as lifelike as the cow.

"There you are, MisterShelk," he said at last, andput down the charcoal."Anything more?"

Shelk did not seem to hearhim. Unconsciously, he madethe habitual gesture of theWhites, briefly covering hiseyes with his hand. Helooked steadily at the picture,

his face inscrutable. His eyesshining, Fox looked fromShelk to Tiger, sayingnothing. It was Hind whospoke at last.

"It's a very good picture,stranger," she said in a lowvoice. "What's your name?Mine's Hind."

"My name, Hind, is Wildcat."

"I see," she said tonelessly.

Shelk came out of his tranceand spoke in the Blacktongue, like Hind: "Thankyou, Wildcat. This picturehas penetrated my heart."

Only now Tiger realized thathis fear of Hind had beenunfounded. Of course she didnot understand the Whitelanguage; the entireconversation must have beenunintelligible to her. Yet hefelt that she would not have

betrayed him anyway.

"Your pleasure is myreward," said Tiger.

"And you want to become awarrior here. Very well, youshall take the oath. Butwarriors grow like grass outof the earth. An artist likeyou one finds only once in alifetime. I may have otherplans for you in future."

Shelk administered the oath,and Tiger repeated the words.He swore allegiance to theSun, to Shelk, and to hisleaders. He swore to defendthem with all his power andto reveal any plot of which hebecame aware. It all seemedunreal to him. Here he wastaking oath to Shelk, the manhe had sworn to kill.

They left, Fox with his handon Tiger's shoulder in a

friendly manner. "I'm gladyou're here, Wildcat," hesaid. "Did you see how yourpicture pleased the Master?Never have I seen him sosurprised and captivated. Ittouched something he hidesdeep within himself. There ismagic in your hand,Wildcat."

Tiger, exhausted, moved as ifin a dream. "What do youwish me to do now, Fox?" he

asked.

"You will join Diver'sCompany. He lost a manrecently, a messenger whonever came back. We thinkhe was taken by Wolf, abandit who operates in theforest east of here.''

Tiger nodded. He thought heknew the fate of the man.

"This Wolf, he may think

himself a wasp, like the oneyou carry," and Fox pointedwith a smile to Tiger'stalisman. "But in truth he'snothing but a mosquito, andwe'll squash him like one."

Tiger checked the words thatrose to his lips, and saidinstead, "But after that? TheMaster told me he had otherplans for me."

"That's true, and I think you

have a great future here. Butfirst you have to be broken inas a warrior."

So Tiger became a recruit inDiver's Company, knowingthat he replaced the manwhom he had seen hanged inWolf's camp. He lived witheight others in a house muchsmaller than Shelk's, andevery day they were trainedin the art of war. The actualhandling of weapons was

somewhat less importantthan he had expected. Thatwas already second nature toevery hunter. The mostimportant thing was to obeyorders. The commands weregiven orally at first, then bysigns. He learned to keep hiseyes always on the man nextto him and on hiscommander. He learned howto attack and retreat. Helearned to wait, silent andmotionless, from midday to

dusk if need be, withoutletting his attention wander.After a moon of this heunderstood only too well whyWolf's brave men had beendefeated at Blue Lake. Nopersonal bravery, no feats ofarms, would avail against themurderous discipline andcooperation that Shelk's coldbrain had instilled into theMen of the Eagle Feather,and which they retainedunder Viper's harsh rule.

For Viper, the commander ofthe army, was indeed a sternand demanding leader. Hehad a heart of stone, the mensaid. He had not always beenlike that. After hishumiliating retreat from BlueLake, every human feelingseemed to have frozen withinhim. His cold eye missednothing, and woe to thosewho made a mistake. Incomparison with Viper,Tiger's immediate superior,

Diver, was a cheerful andeasygoing person. Though hecould flare up in anger, italways passed quickly. Vipernever forgot anything.

Many of Tiger's fellows inthe company were veteransfrom the times in the Land ofFlints, and they had manystories to tell. Some of themtalked nostalgically of thegood old times.

"Then, you simply took whatyou wanted," said one ofthem, a man named Owl. "Nofooling about with caribouand such things; rich chiefsto rob; pretty women to win.Ah well, that's life. We'rebecoming ordinary caribou-keepers in our old age."

"So we always have food,"remarked another. "Manytimes you had to go hungryin the old days, don't you

remember?"

"Food, yes; everything is sowell-ordered and dull thatyou get bored to death. Allour fighting is just play.Shelk doesn't lead us anymore. Instead, that Viper issnapping at us with his fangs.Sometimes he takes us for apromenade in the woods—we're supposed to catch thosebandits, Wolf and his gang,but they're too smart for

Viper. Then, of course, wetook the Troll island. Thatwas meant to be a war, but itwasn't really."

Tiger pricked up his ears."What happened?"

Owl, the veteran, told of theirassault on Veyde's Island. Itwas a big operation.Everyone knew who wasthere! The great BlackShaman, the one who killed

the Master's shade, said Owlin lowered tones. The Masterhimself came with them; andViper, of course, as armycommander. He was probablyashamed about the time whenhe came back from BlueLake with his tail betweenhis legs. But was the Shamanthere? No! From what theTrolls said, he'd been lost onthe ice! Hah! Not much of ashaman, hey? Everybodylaughed.

No, Owl went on, it turnedout to be as easy as anything,after all those preparationsand all that practice. Theyhad waited for the winter andthe ice, to get a big troopacross to the island. Ho! Tenwarriors would have beenplenty. Of course, youcouldn't guess thatbeforehand, and it was truethat everyone felt his earstingle when he thought aboutthat dreadful Shaman.

They crossed the ice in thedark of night and stole up tothe village. At dawn they hadit completely surrounded,before the Trolls were evenawake. Then a Troll bitchcame out of her house,carrying a spear. Behind hercame a Troll ox, unarmed. Hewas the biggest Troll ox theyhad ever seen, like a greatboulder, yes indeed! Someother Trolls came out too, butthese two were the leaders.

Viper spoke to them. Now he,Owl, didn't understand aword of the Troll lingo—justbah-bah-bah—but he heardafterwards that Viper hadordered them to surrender theShaman.

The bitch told Viper that theShaman was dead, that theyhad better get out of there. Atthat Viper started to laugh,and the bitch raised herspear.

"She shouldn't have donethat," said Owl seriously."Bunting, who was standingbeside me, thought she wasgoing to throw it at Viper. Itdidn't look like that to me,but he let fly with his spear,catching her right in thechest. And you know, that bigTroll ox just sprang into life.He came straight at Buntingwith his bare handsoutstretched. Right away tenspears were launched at him.

He had more spears in hisbody than a hedgehog hasspines, but that didn't stophim. I never saw such a toughTroll ox. He put out a hand asbig as a bear's, got Buntingaround the neck, and pulledthe head off him, just likethat, like a child picking aflower! By the Mammoth, Inever saw such a surprised-looking head as Bunting's.

"Then, of course, the ox died.

We might have butchered allthe Trolls—a few more gotspears in them—if theMaster had not intervened.He called a halt, raised hishand, and suddenly hisguiding spirit was there, highabove us, calling out hismagic words. That did it; theTrolls fell to the ground.After that they came alongwithout trouble, and nowthey are in there"—hepointed to Sunwood—"with

the other caribou-keepers."

Owl shook his head. "No," hesaid, "it wasn't much of awar. There's nothing to tellabout it; nothing, except forone thing—that Troll ox.Such another Troll ox I neversaw."

Tiger nodded. It was not abad obituary for MisterMarestail, he thought. And herejoiced at the confirmation

of what he had read in thefrozen face of his deadfriend.

After one moon in Diver'sCompany, Tiger looked backat his earlier ideas ofdefeating Shelk with anarmed force and smiledpityingly. What kind ofchance would he, or evenWolf, stand of defeating theMen of the Eagle Feather?Caribou Lake was an

impregnable fortress. It wasguarded by the Gorge, byCaribou Lake, by thepalisades, and above all, bythe invincible warriors whomanned it. Fox was right:Wolf was but a mosquito. Hecould do mischief for a time,but no real harm. There was anew power in the land, onethat had never been seenbefore.

The defenses had a dual

purpose. They kept humanenemies away; they also keptaway the carnivores thatmight be dangerous to thecaribou. In the early days,before all was ready, theyhad made a lot of trouble,especially the hyenas. Butbeing intelligent animals,they had now learned theirplace and wisely kept away.

The only animals that madetrouble these days were the

itinerants, those who did nothave a permanent territorylike the hyenas. It might be awolf pack coming across theice of Caribou Lake, in whichcase there was a great hunt.The greylegs were driveninto the bend of the Gorgeand killed off. Bears wereanother menace, but theywere abroad mostly in thesummer, when the lake wasopen. It sometimes happenedthat a drowsy and hungry

bear managed to get acrossthe ice in the spring, and healways ended up on the spit.As for the occasional solitaryhyenas, they weredemoralized from thebeginning and easily dealtwith.

Few cared to eat their meat.

By far the most troublesomeanimal was the glutton, anelusive beast. Free from their

greatest rivals, the wolves,the gluttons were having agood time in Sunwood. Nomatter how many werekilled, new ones seemedalways to crop up. Manytimes the warriors were sentinto Sunwood to hunt outpredators, but Tiger had tostay at home. He was not yetfully trained.

And the caribou, the cattle ofthe Sun? They were causing

trouble too. The warmsummers were hard on them,and many died, especially thecalves. Fortunately, thelosses could be made upwhen the migrating herdspassed by. The warriorslearned to cut off groups ofanimals from the main herdand drive them intoSunwood. They needed food,though.

Caribou don't live on Troll

piss alone, as Owl put it. Bigas it was, Sunwood wasgetting short of caribou food.So were large areas of theland around Caribou Lake.Lichens were collected bywomen in camps likeGoshawk's, and the burdenswere carried to Sunwood byTroll oxen, long lines ofthem, toiling under the escortof warrior patrols. The othergarrisons at Blue Lake, BigLake, and Swidden Moor had

to contribute by hunting. Sothe Men of the Eagle Featherwere gradually turning intoordinary villagers again, whomust hunt to keep alive, eventhough they now had slavesto do the more tiresometasks.

There were always manywomen in the camp. Whetherthey worked in Sunwood orin the surrounding forest,they usually came to the

camp for their days off.When a warrior had hiswoman in the camp, heworked half-time, unless hehad had the misfortune tobring down Viper's ire uponhis head. The half-time ruledid not apply to Tiger, whowas still a recruit, but he didhave some time off, and Ternhad appropriated himimmediately, by the simpledevice of announcing toDiver that she was Wildcat's

woman.

At such times they had theuse of one of the family hutswhich had been built close tothe place where the littlestream joined the GreatRiver. This was close to theGap, where the river wastransformed from athundering cataract into aserene sheet of flowingwater. The Gap itself washidden by a spur of rock, but

flying spray rose in the air,and at sunrise the foot of arainbow could be seen. Theroar of the rapids drownedmost sounds exceptoccasional piercing screamsfrom the huts where men andwomen gave vent to thedesire accumulated duringtheir six days of abstinence.Above all, however, thefamily village was an idyll,separated from the WarCamp and its harsh regime.

Children played under theproud eyes of their parents,fathers coached their youngsons in the skills of thehunter, and young loverswent around hugging eachother tenderly. Most of thewomen who spent their freetime in the family villagewere Black, but there werealso a few White girls, andTiger sometimes had to actas interpreter between aBlack warrior and his White

woman.

Tiger was grateful to haveTern's favor, and not onlybecause she was pretty,cheerful, and affectionate. Itwas more than that. She wasthe only one for whom hepermitted himself toentertain friendly feelings.True to the task he had takenupon himself, he refused tosee the warriors as anythingbut cold-blooded murderers.

Mentally he had armoredhimself against them,although he was careful tokeep up a friendlyappearance. To a young manof Tiger's frank and opennature, this situation wouldhave become unbearable if hehad not found an outlet forhis emotions in the companyand embraces of Tern.

There was another reason,too, which he admitted to

himself. As long as he was"nice" to Tern, as she herselfput it, he could at any rate besure that she was not going tobetray him.

So it happened that he wasloath to let her out of hissight. Tern attributed this tojealousy and was flattered.She had a flighty nature, andin the normal order of thingswould probably have turnedher interest in other

directions soon enough. Butthere was so much to keepher curiosity alive. Why hadGoshawk called him a greatshaman? Why did he havetwo names? Why did he hidehis greatest treasure, the bigtiger fang? To her he becamea figure ranking almost withthe Master. None of Tern'squestions was answered, butTiger's untold secret boundher to him as much as hisobvious, passionate need of

her presence.

And now, after one moon inDiver's Company, whenCaribou Lake was ice-free atlast, Tiger was called toShelk once more.

THE ARTIST

Eagles and lions can never beso plentiful as pigeons andantelopes. — A. R. Wallace,On the tendency of varieties

to depart indefinitely fromthe original type Tiger andBaywillow were togetheragain.

Unknown to him, Shelk hadarranged this when he tookTiger out of Diver'sCompany, after one moon oftraining, and made him theartist of Caribou Lake. Thedecoration of the Sun Pillarwas Tiger's first commission,and Shelk wanted it ready for

the Midsummer celebration.

Tiger's second interview withShelk was less trying than thefirst. No questions, nowandering in a nightmare oflies. The conversation was inthe Black language, and Hindsat listening in her usualplace. During the pauses,Tiger saw Shelk's eyes strayto the picture of the cariboucow and calf, which nowhung on the wall beside him.

Shelk described the animalshe wanted on the pillar.Three were important, theSun's cattle: the mammoth,the caribou, and above themboth the shelk. As for theothers, he gave Tiger freerein. The commissionpleased Tiger, because itmeant that he was now freedfrom Diver's Company; andthe work was challenging. Heand Shelk spoke for a whileabout the composition and

the animals to be rendered.Already Tiger saw pictures inhis mind, and he offeredseveral suggestions, to whichShelk readily assented.

"Then we're agreed," saidShelk. "You will move awayfrom the company today,Wildcat.

You have learned enough tobe a good warrior, should theneed arise; but in peacetime

you are now free of service. Iwant a pillar to delight theSun and the Guardians of theanimals.

You must devote all of yourtime to it. A house has beenbuilt for you in the village ofthe Overseers, and I trustyou'll find what you need init. If there is anything youwish, speak to Buzzard, oneof the Overseers of Sunwood;he'll arrange things for you. I

must tell you in confidencethat he's the best of all theOverseers and speaks bothlanguages perfectly. I haveinstructed him to give you allthe help you need."

Tiger's eyes were shining,and Shelk smiled. "I can seeyou're glad to get work thatsuits you better than thedrudgery of the company," heobserved.

So Tiger moved into his newhouse at the far end of theOverseer's village. Inaccordance with Shelk'swish, he went to seeBaywillow as soon as theOverseer returned from hisusual round in Sunwood. Thebrothers had much to telleach other of their adventuressince they had been separatedon the ice at Deadman Island,but Tiger's first question was:

"Veyde? Marten?"

"Alive and well. Veyde'staking care of Marten and ofCentaury, my daughter. Sheknows you're here, and she isready to do anything to helpyou. She has talked withthose of the Whites whomshe can trust, but there aremany who are awed by Shelk.They think he's the Guardianof birds, because he has araven that goes everywhere

with him and speaks to himin the language of man."

"He may be that," said Tiger,"but we'll find a way. We arehere now, and we must go on.

Do you know anything aboutmy family from Trout Lake?"

"Yes. Your mother, Oriole,died last summer, but yoursister—our sister—Godwit,is alive.

She lives with anotherwoman from Trout Lake inthe village of the Blackwomen in Sunwood. Thereare many women andchildren from Trout Lake."Baywillow, who as Overseerhad all the names in his head,reeled them off. Tigerlistened, deeply moved. Oncemore he was in the country ofhis childhood, with hismother whom he had lostforever. But Godwit was

alive. How had she fared?

"She is a grown womannow," said Baywillow,"intelligent and beautiful. I'mproud of my sister, but Ihaven't made myself knownto her. I'll do it if you wish,Tiger, and I'll tell her aboutyou."

"Do, Baywillow, if you cando so in secret. But don't tellanybody else; we don't know

whom we can trust. Many ofthose women live withShelk's warriors. We are inconstant danger as it is; toomany people know mysecret." Tiger told him aboutGoshawk, Tern, and Hind.Baywillow shook his head."From what you say, we cantrust the girls. Goshawk maybetray you from sheerfoolishness. We'll have tokeep an eye on him."

Then Baywillow told Tigerabout the storm. He hadmanaged to get ashore onDeadman Island, and hadbuilt a hut where he stayeduntil the weather cleared.After that, he spent a coupleof days searching for Tiger.In the end he gave up andreturned to Veyde's Island.

Tiger already knew whatBaywillow had found there.Like Tiger he had resolved to

join Shelk's army in the hopeof avenging himself.

"Tell me, Baywillow, howdid you get to be anOverseer?"

Baywillow had been lucky.Close to Caribou Lake he meta warrior who turned out tobe a messenger on his wayhome. They made the journeytogether, and the warriorrecommended Baywillow to

Fox. Baywillow was put in acompany—Horned Owl's, notDiver's—but he had to stayfor only half a moon. Crow,one of the Overseers, hadfallen ill and was unable todo his job. Goshawk, who upto then had worked inSunwood, was transferred toCrow's job; and Baywillowgot Goshawk's vacant post inSunwood.

"That nitwit Goshawk boasts

that he knows our language,"said Baywillow. "In realityhe speaks such a queer lingoyou don't understand half ofit. He was having trouble inSunwood, because that'swhere most of the Whitesare, and Shelk was pleased tofind a good linguist for theplace. So that's how I gothere, and now you're heretoo. If Shelk only knew!''

"He'll know one day," Tiger

answered. "But if theGuardian of the tiger andmammoth wills, it's going tobe on our terms. Have yougot a plan?"

Baywillow shook his head."I've seen one thing: nohuman power can break thepower of Shelk. The onlypeople on our side are Veydeand her Whites. What canthey do?"

"We could arm them and takeover Sunwood," suggestedTiger.

"Shelk's fighters would killthem like so many caribou.You've seen them yourself:do you think we could standup against them? Even withthe help of your friend Wolf?No, Tiger, it has to be doneanother way. But how?"

They had reached the beach

at Caribou Lake, shelving atthis place; to the east it rosesteeply. Tiger looked out atthe great sheet of water, nowcalm and like a mirror in thelight of the setting sun. It wasbigger than any other lake hehad seen, bigger than TroutLake. It reminded him of thesea. Its spirit must be themost powerful of them all.Perhaps it was he who roaredin anger when his waterswere compressed and forced

through the Gorge.

Baywillow spoke of hisoriginal plan: to kill Shelksuddenly and unexpectedlywhen alone with him. Tigerhad had the same idea; butafterwards? Viper and hismen were sure to kill them.

"Besides, Baywillow," saidTiger, "I don't know if Icould do it. When I'm alonewith Shelk, my blood

becomes cold and thin likethe water in Caribou Lake.He frightens me."

"I, too, feel frightened by thepresence of a man who is sopowerful and evil."

"He doesn't frighten mebecause he's evil," said Tiger."He frightens me becausehe's good."

Baywillow looked at him in

wonder, and Tiger went on:"There's something wrong,Baywillow. I've heard a greatdeal about how it all started.The Men of the Eagle Featherare robbers and murderers.They have lived by killingtheir fellow men and takingtheir goods. Perhaps it wasthe other Shelk, the man youkilled, who was their leaderthen. This Shelk is different.He talks about how thecaribou can help us live a

good life under the Sun. Allthe things he said when hespoke of the pictures on theSun Pillar were true andgood. I just don't understandit. But one thing I do know.With cold blood like this"—and he bent down and dippedhis hand in Caribou Lake—"Ican't kill him."

"Yet we must strike himdown," said Baywillow.

"I know, but the only way wecan do it is with the help ofsomething greater and morepowerful than ourselves."

Later still, Baywillow andTiger stood on a hill. Thesetting sun and the edge ofthe distant forest weremirrored in the water. Abuzzard flew overhead,mewing piteously;Baywillow looked up with afleeting smile. To the west

was Sunwood, high and dark;to the south, the little streamand the valley with the WarCamp. Baywillow pointed toa higher hill in the east. "Upthere is a place where Shelksometimes goes to be alone.No one else is allowed there,except Fox."

Tiger hardly heard him. Oncemore the picture of theislands in the sea rose to hisinner eye.

Then it changed into themeltwater pools in the forest.Unconsciously he dug afurrow in the ground with hisheel. The cataract growled inthe distance, and he heard anote of eager-ness in itsvoice, as if it had somethingto tell him. The sceneryseemed to darken, and he feltthe presence of the giantspirit who rose out of TroutLake. The image of MissSwallow came to him, with

her eyebrows arched overgreen eyes. Again she raisedher hands to her red hair, andhe heard her voice. What wasit she was saying? How shehad felt about the Blacks, andhow her emotions hadchanged when she met Tiger?

All these visions faded, andagain Tiger was standing atBaywillow's side, consciousof his brother's searchingglance.

"You have a plan, Tiger?"said Baywillow.

Tiger shook his head inbewilderment. "It is as if thespirit of the lake wants to tellme something," he said. "YetI don't know what it is."

Tiger slept badly that night,alone in his new house. Ternwas in the forest camp. Manytimes he woke from astrangely foreboding dream,

feeling that he was close to arevelation.

Somewhere in the vicinity,the Powers were active, butthey were keeping theirsecret. In the morning, hewent to work, chilled andthoughtful.

The Sun Pillar was a pine-trunk, the height of two men,stripped of its bark. Tigerwalked around it, searching

the white wood for patterns,leading lines, knots, andother things that might revealto him what the Powerswanted him to do.Somewhere in the wood therewere already the images thatit was his task to call forthand make visible, with hisengraving tool, with ochre,charcoal, and woad. He madea scaffold to climb up andscrutinize the upper part ofthe bole. Yes, it was speaking

to him; here—here—andhere! He caught a glimpse ofan eye, a line that might bethe hump of a mammoth, thearc of a horn. The wood wasalive. He saw it and felt it.Now the Powers were on hisside. He stood three fathomsfrom the pillar and walkedaround it several times.Already he saw it fill up withpictures.

Shelk stood at his door, tense

and expectant. He kept still,so as not to disturb the artist.

There was the mammoth.Tiger studied the invisiblepicture from various angles.Yes, it was there. Withcomplete assurance he seizedhis engraving tool and wentup to the pillar.

Silent and impressed, Shelklooked on as the young artiststarted his work.

The Powers were on his side!The days passed, and the SunPillar became covered withanimal shapes. Theinspiration never left him.

The southern face of thepillar was the place for thecattle of the Sun. At the basewas the mammoth, tall andhumped, a fusion of bold,interlacing curves; the tusks,the trunk, the lines of headand back, all massive and

black, a vision of unbridledstrength. This was thefoundation of thecomposition, as if the greatanimal were carrying thepillar on its back.

Above the mammoth thecaribou emerged, drawn withaffecting mildness. Theangular antlers, branchingbeautifully, spoke of theanimal's fragility andvulnerability. In its eye there

was an appeal, but the bodyrevealed a tough will to live,to endure long migrations,snow and ice. Behind thecaribou, an approaching herdwas suggested, a forest ofantlers on the march; youcould almost hear thecracking of the hoofs.

The place for the shelkremained empty. Instead,Tiger worked on the otheranimals, which were grouped

around the central figures inan intricate composition.Though they were smaller,all of them were as alive andexpressive. The carnivoreswere there too, but not bigenough to threaten the cattleof the Sun.

On the northern face was thebison, black and russet, asecond center of power in thehierarchy. Its body patternsignaled far and wide across

the plains: Here am I, thesteppe wisent! Its weight wasconcentrated in the withers;the hindquarters were slim,almost delicate. The blackdouble mane on neck andback; the long horns, theirpoints deflected backward.

There were two horses, eachwith raised head, hangingbelly, and straggling mane.Ears cocked: Where is theenemy? A play of muscles

under the skin, the momentbefore exploding into agallop.

The great bear with itsrolling gait, heavy andungainly, yet a great stridingshape still, with toe-in feetand long black claws,clicking against the rocks. Awolf seemed to threaten themammoth—vain hopes! Greyand angry, with a longmuzzle and greedy eyes, but

its tail crept down betweenits legs.

The figure on the base of thenorthern face was the woollyrhinoceros, alone andunconcerned, its headhanging almost to theground, and its long hornpointing forward.

Here I go and nothing scaresme; step aside, please, I don'tsee you, I don't hear you; my

world is mine and I am alonein it.

Hyenas, two; one hyena isnothing, but two are a pack,ready for anything. Theysmiled at each other; youcould hear their twitteringlaughter. The lynx with itsround face, pennants on itsears, legs like pillars, big softpaws, and its tail-stumpraised: the spirit of the tree.

The Powers were on Tiger'sside. He did not know howand when they had answeredhis questions, but onemorning he woke at Tern'sside, and everything wasclear to him, everything thathe had searched for;everything the Powerswanted to tell him throughhis visions and through MissSwallow's voice. When hetold his plan to Baywillow,and when Baywillow passed

it on to Veyde, it was out ofTiger's hands. There wasnothing he could do himself;Sunwood was out of boundsto him.

So he continued to bringforth the pictures that werealready visible to him on theflanks of the pillar. Theglutton, the seal, the polarbear, and the salmon foundtheir places. A knotholebecame the eye of a squirrel;

the line from a glancing axe,the plume of its tail.

Here the elk waded as if in atarn, long-legged, its muzzlehanging. A butterflyfluttered; it was themourning-cloak. Agrasshopper chirped itsmonotonous song. Even thewasp had found its place.

Then birds invaded thepicture, connecting its many

parts in a rhythmic whole.There was the eagle with itscommanding eyes, thehorned owl in rocklikestillness, swifts and terns,their wings clipping.

Still the place of the shelkwas empty, and time wasrunning out. A moon and ahalf had passed. Now it wasin its last quarter and theshadow of the Sun Pillaralmost reached the door of

Shelk's house. Tiger couldsee where the shelk was inthe wood, and he knew itwanted to come alive. Itfrightened him, but there wasnothing he could do. Hefought against it, and triedstarting anew, but the lines inthe wood, the lines his owneye recognized, were toostrong. At last the shelk wasthere, as magnificent andproud as the one he haddrawn after his adventure

with the black tigers. Thiswas its twin in majesty, but italso had the same mark ofdeath upon it.

Shelk saw it. He hadfollowed Tiger's work withthrilled admiration. Facedwith the new picture, hestood motionless, staringwith a wooden expression.Then he passed his hand overhis eyes and sighed. "Yes,we're all mortal, Wildcat. Is

that what you wanted to tellme? You are right."

Tiger came down from hisscaffold, stood beside Shelk,and studied the picture. "Myhand isn't as sure as it used tobe," he said.

"To me it seems surer thanever. But I seem to misssome animals. Where is theblack tiger?"

"I can only draw the animalsI've seen," said Tigerreturning to his jungle of lies.For him, the tiger was therealready. He saw it clearly inthe empty space beside theshelk, and he knew that italone would be theconsummation. It was thefinishing link. With it thewhole picture would springto life. The tension built upby the other animals wouldculminate and be discharged

through the shelk and thetiger. Yet here Tiger had tobetray his inspiration.

Shelk must never see thatpicture.

"I understand," said Shelk."The musk ox, the lion—Ihave seen them and you not."

"That is so, Master."

In the empty place of the

tiger, he drew a wildcat. Itwas ugly. The face, with itslow-lying ears, seemed tosneer, and the animalappeared to be sneaking off,stiff-legged, as if ashamed.

"You're not as good at theanimal for which you arenamed, Wildcat," Shelkobserved.

"I've always had trouble withit," Tiger improvised. "I've

been wondering why. It's inthe wrong place: too close tothe shelk and to the Sun."

"But you are in your rightfulplace there," said Shelkwarmly. "You are thegreatest artist in the land, andit was indeed a lucky day thatbrought you here. The SunPillar is finished now, andeven more noble than the oneI remember. Tomorrow is theday of the Sun celebration;

tomorrow we'll pay you thehomage you deserve."

Tiger nodded dully. He hadfinished his work, but he hadplayed it false at the end, andhe could not look at itwithout meeting the leeringeye of the wildcat in theplace where he knew thedeadly tiger was rising in afurious assault against theshelk.

Slowly Tiger walked to hishouse. He knew that his workhad been easy, a pleasurecompared with Veyde's.While he had been workingin the sunshine, in compactwith the Powers andencouraged by the Master,she had been toiling intwilight and darkness,constantly afraid ofdetection. However muchBaywillow had tried to spareher and her friends, they had

been forced to do theirregular work as well. All hadgone well so far, but howlong could they trust theirluck?

THE SPIRIT OFCARIBOU LAKE

Da sprach sie schnell: Seibald bereit,

ich wasche dir deinTotenkleid! — Heine, Buch

derLieder

The good wine comes beforethe poor. Thus theMidsummer Feast startedwith the broaching of theblack wine of the autumn,with its deep bilberry andwhortleberry tint.

Later it would be succeededby the raw-sap wine of thespring. Tiger drank little, forhe was waiting to see Veyde

and Marten, who wouldarrive when everyone's eyeswere fixed on the setting sun.With amazement and secretderision, he watched thepeculiar rites performed bythe Men of the Eagle Feather,rites drawn from variousparts of the land.

Here were warriors, smearedbeyond recognition withblood and filth, stinking toheaven; they came in fours,

carrying their leaders on theirbacks. A knowledgeable manat Tiger's side told him thatthey came from the Land ofFlints, where the horse andits Guardian were highlyhonored, and that the menwere eight-footed horses,carrying their chiefs to thegrave. In the Land of Flints,he said, men spoke of a chiefwho vaulted onto the back ofa horse and rode away intothe forest; but sensible

people did not believe insuch tales.

Presently, the men threwthemselves into the lake andreturned cleansed. In thisway, the man continued, theybelieve that they wash offtheir ill deeds and escapetheir fates; they think theycan cheat death. He smiled attheir superstition.

But later Tiger saw the same

man and several othersclimbing the Sun Pillar andlaying their hands on the redglobe. They uttered cries ofblissful pain and said thattheir hands were badlyburned.

Tiger thought this silly andchildish. The artful animaldances did arouse hisadmiration, though. Many ofShelk's people came to himto praise his work on the

pillar. Diver, clean andproper after his dip in thelake, was as proud as hewould have been if he hadpainted the pictures himself."You are an honor to thecompany," he said. Tigerflinched, feeling the scornfullook of the wildcat in hisback.

Later, with Hind, he walkeddown to the valley.

"I have wanted to talk to you,Wildcat, ever since you camehere," she said. "Now, whileeverybody is busy, I have achance. Why did you comehere, Wildcat? I know whoyou are.

You're the one they hate andfear more than anybody else.Yet you dare to come here.You must be a great chiefwith invisible powers. Didyou come to strike down the

Master?"

"What does Shelk mean toyou, Hind?"

"What he means to medoesn't matter. What I meanto him can be said in oneword: nothing. Nothing,Wildcat, as you call yourselfnow." She stopped andlooked down. "I was meantfor other things. I was meantto be the woman of a chief, a

chief called Tiger. Instead Ibecame the Master's woman—for today. Tomorrow I'll benothing at all.

"To him I'm just a womanwho might possibly give himwhat he wants—a son. I'm ontrial, and it isn't going towork. He pours his seed intome, but it doesn't take root.He doesn't even know that it'sme. His eyes are closed, andhe remembers another

woman. I'm nothing to him.Soon he will send me awayjust as he's sent the othersaway. And what's going tohappen to me then? I whowas to have been the womanof a chief? What's going tohappen, Wildcat? Soon I'll benothing to the others either.I'll go from one warrior tothe next; I'll be worthless.They'll take their pleasurefrom me and then kick meout the moment they get tired

of me. That's what willhappen to me, who wasmeant to be Tiger's bride."

"All isn't lost yet, Hind."

"Oh yes, to me it is. I hidmyself among the otherwomen in Sunwood. TheOverseers wanted me, butevery day I waited for Tigerto come. Now he is here, andit's too late. The Master tookme for his woman, and he

changed me from a chief'sbride into nothing."

"In a moon or two, Hind,you'll remember this only asa bad dream. I promise you."

"What can you do, Tiger?"

"I cannot tell you now, butI'll get you back to yourfather."

Hind lifted his hand to her

lips. "That's all I ask."

Later, when the disk of theSun touched the edge of theforest, Tiger was united withVeyde and Marten. The boy,who had not seen his fatherfor so long, cried out whenthe bearded stranger tookhim in his arms. The red rimsof Veyde's eyes told of hardwork and little sleep, but sheshrugged and laughed: "Nomatter! We will soon be free.

Two, three days!

But oh, Tiger, old MisterSilverbirch is not well."

The old man smiled happily,but he did look haggard andweak. "Dear MisterSilverbirch,"

said Tiger, embracing him,"are you ill?"

Mister Silverbirch denied

this emphatically. He washaving trouble with his food,however.

He had only one or two teethleft, and the caribou meatwas too tough for him.Sometimes Baywillow wasable to get some fish for him.The rest of the time, hisfriends kept him alive bymouth-feeding, but this washard on his stomach.

Just then Baywillow camealong carrying a heavy load.That day, a gigantic belugasturgeon had been caught inthe Great River. It was thelength of three men, and sixmen had been needed to pullit out of the water. Now itwas part of the feast.Silverbirch sat down,smacked his lips, and beganto munch caviar and sturgeonmeat.

"The spirit of the lake iswaiting for her liberation,"said Veyde. "Let us knowwhen it should be."

"Baywillow will give you thesign," said Tiger.

The sun set. The time for thepoorer wine had arrived. Terncame to Tiger with a skin,but when she saw him with aTroll bitch and a smallbastard child, she stopped.

She stared incredulously,then ran away in a pet.

Suddenly there was a greatcommotion near the SunPillar. One of Shelk'swarriors, reeling andbleeding, was brought to theMaster, supported by asentry. "Wolf! Wolf and hisgang!"

he gasped.

Before the short night wasover, Shelk went out withDiver's Company. Thus thefeast ended. The next daydawned under cloudy skies,and soon the rain beat down.

Several days passed in sullensuspense. Tiger could hearViper's angry commandsdown by the War Camp.Viper had tried to catch Wolfmany times, but always invain. This time he was not

entrusted with the task.

In Sunwood the caribou weredying on their feet.

Sick people gathered aroundShelk's house. The lowershamans did their best, butonly the Master could heal,and he was gone.

Tern had vanished, andamong the warriorsfrightening rumors were told

about the artist, who kept tohis house.

"We're ready, Tiger," saidBaywillow, but Tiger couldonly say, "Wait! We mustwait for Shelk."

But Shelk was far away. Hewas standing with Diver'sCompany at the edge of theforest near a low, roundgranite hill, which had beenpolished by ice. The rain had

stopped and the air washeavy with the fragrance ofsummer flowers. Threeprisoners were led to him,their hands bound, ropesaround their necks: Wolf,overcome at last, with two ofhis men.

"You've won, Shelk," saidWolf. "Make it fast, now."

The man at his side laughed."Yes, Shelk. Hoist us into the

heaven of the Trolls."

"Don't listen to him,"murmured the third. "He'salways in a hurry."

Shelk looked at them longand hard, and they weresilent. Then he turned andwalked slowly up the hill.His struggle was finished, thelast enemy beaten. Now,nothing could threaten thepower of the Sun, and his

own power would beundisputed. There was a newwarmth in his body.Everything would be allright. Perhaps at last his mostardent wish would also befulfilled.

Shelk looked down at therock, and it was full ofpictures. In a great bound theblack tiger rose toward theshelk!

Then Shelk knew. He criedout in pain and horror, as ifthe fangs of the tiger werealready in his breast.

With Diver's Company andtheir prisoners, Shelkreturned by forced marchesto Caribou Lake. It took himtwo days and two nights, andthe men were ready to dropdead when they finallyarrived. They had marchedthrough scented summer

woods, with myriad singingbirds, but Shelk had relivedthe darkest hours of his life:the time he spent in Skua'snoose, the sacrifice of hisfinger, and above all, the daywhen Black Cloud left him.Just before, their happinesshad been complete: her bellyhad grown big, and they weresure she was with child. Thenthe swelling went down, andBlack Cloud lost all hope.Now, once more, Shelk had

been betrayed by someonewho had been close to him.

The four-footed beasts boltedin terror before them as theycrashed through the forest.

So the story ends with Tiger'strial and judgment. For thethird time he was summonedto Shelk. The first time, hecame to take his oath; thesecond, to receive a sacredcommision.

Now he came as anunmasked traitor andperjurer. When he saw all thepeople who had gathered atthe Sun Pillar, he knew whatawaited him.

There were Shelk and Fox,Viper, and all of Diver'sCompany. There, too, wereall those who knew hissecret: Hind, Tern, his sisterGodwit; Wolf, Beaver, andGlutton, with ropes around

their necks; even Goshawk,gibbering with terror.Baywillow had been orderedto bring two witnesses fromVeyde's Island: Veyde andSilverbirch. Tiger met theireyes and nodded. He took offthe golden wasp, stepped upto Wolf, and hung it aroundhis neck.

"You know its meaning,Wolf," he said, "and I havenot failed you, however bad

things may look now."

Wolf frowned, obviouslydistrustful, and Tiger cast aquestioning glance atBaywillow.

"The sign has been given,"said Baywillow cryptically,looking at nobody inparticular.

Tiger smiled. He pulled outthe tiger tooth, which he had

kept hidden under his shirtfor so long, and let it dangleon his breast. There was ageneral movement, andsomething like a sigh.Everybody's eyes were fixedon the white crescent.

Tiger crossed his arms andlooked directly into Shelk'sface. Shelk raised his hand,pointing to the Sun Pillar."Finish it," he ordered.

Obediently Tiger went to thepillar, raised his scaffold, andstarted to work. Under hisknife the false wildcatvanished. In its place theshape that really lived in thewood began to emerge.Everybody seemed to holdhis breath, hour after hour,while the sun rose higher,and Tiger worked.

Once more there was acollective sigh, as Tiger

stepped down. The pillar wasfinished.

Now it was clear thateverything else formed onlya background, a garlandaround the two animals at thetop: the shelk, in the shadowof death; the tiger, rising to itin ultimate fury.

The whole pillar wastransfigured by the revelationof this center of power, so

that even the Sun Globeseemed eclipsed by thesuspense between the twofigures.

"You can kill me, Shelk,"said Tiger, "but there I havewon."

Shelk passed both hands overhis face in the gesture of theWhites, yet he still spoke inthe Black language.

"The magic still lives in yourhand," he said, "but now Iknow what it's worth. Yourfather was a notoriousunbeliever whom we had tostrike down, yet he at leastwas honest. You have fallenlower. With perfidiouscunning you insinuatedyourself among us. With afalse heart you took yourvow. You came to kill me,did you not?"

Tiger nodded. "Cunning andperfidy are the weapons ofthe black tiger," he replied.

"So you have a compact withthe Powers of evil. They'vegiven you the art ofconfusing the minds of menwith beautiful pictures andpretty speech. All the whileyou plot to destroy us all, asyou destroyed our emissaries,with your unspeakablewitchcraft. But it won't

happen.

You have judged yourselfwith your pictures and yourwords, and now you shall die.Seize him, Viper!"

Shelk was close to Tiger, andhis eyes flashed in anger.Veyde, who had notunderstood much of theforeign tongue, was waitingcalmly, but Silverbirchtrotted up timidly and pulled

at Shelk's sleeve. He began tospeak, faltering, in hiscurious rendering of theBlack tongue.

"It isn't like that, O Shelk andMaster," he said. "No, whatreally happened..."

Angrily, Shelk threw himaside, and Silverbirch fell.His back hit a rock, and therewas a dreadful rattle in histhroat as his face went blue

and he fought for breath.

"The Troll ox has broken hisback," said Beaver withinterest. "Too bad. By theMammoth, he was a braveox."

Veyde threw herself downnext to Silverbirch and puther arms around him. "DearMister Silverbirch, are youall right?"

In the White tongueBaywillow said, "What hewas trying to tell you, MisterShelk, was that Tiger did notkill your brother. I did. I hadrevenge for my father, MisterFerret."

"You, Buzzard?" cried Shelk,almost choking with rage."Are you one of them, too?"

"My name is Baywillow. Iam Tiger's brother."

Veyde, meanwhile, waslooking fearfully atSilverbirch, who wasstruggling for air. "Oh MisterSkylark," she cried, "comeback! Come back!"

The shadow of a smile passedover the old man's face.

"He'll come round," saidGlutton. "You see, he's notdead yet."

"Skylark?" repeated Tiger,surprised.

"Yes, that is his soul-bird,"said Veyde. "Did you notknow, Tiger?"

"Skylark?" Shelk's voice wasfilled with incredulity andhorror. "Skylark was thename my mother took."

"Yes," said Veyde. "I haveknown it for a long time. But

I did not want him to know.The grief would have beentoo much for him."

"I'd say he's as dead as a lastyear's grasshopper," saidBeaver critically.

"That's what you say, but youdon't know how tough theseTroll oxen are," Gluttonargued.

"I've seen—"

"No!" cried Shelk in despair."He cannot be my Whitefather."

"He is," said Veyde, now onher feet and facing himsternly. "You have bungledeverything, Mister Shelk.You may even have killedyour own father. What doyou think you are? TheGuardian of birds? Ha! Apoor raven is the onlyguardianship you have. The

Guardian of the caribou? Justcome to Sunwood and watchthem die. They are starving.

The wood is ravaged and thecaribou have nothing to eat.They die from heat. Whyhave you locked them inSunwood? Why have you notleft them free to migrate tothe north and south? If theyare the Sun's cattle, as yousay they are, then you are theSun's enemy, Mister Shelk.

And why have you shut us upthere, when all we ask is tolive in freedom on ourisland? You have given usnothing but sorrow andmisery. What are yourwarriors but murderers andbandits? They kill ordinarydecent villagers, take ourproperty, and make us slaves.We have to toil and sweatand starve so that they canfool about with theirridiculous feathers, thinking

they are our betters. You arethe one who allows all this tohappen, Mister Shelk. Youwho call yourself the Son ofthe Sun! But your power iscoming to an end. You do notknow it yet, but so it is. Withthese hands we havedestroyed it!"

And Veyde thrust her hornyhands in Shelk's face.

"By the Mammoth, that's a

Troll bitch for me," saidBeaver admiringly. "I don'tunderstand a word, but she'stalked herself into the heavenof the Trolls for sure."

"Shut up," said Glutton."Don't you see?"

Shelk dropped to his knees atSilverbirch's side, took bothhis hands, and studied the oldman's face intently.Silverbirch lay with his eyes

closed, breathingstertorously.

Viper, who had been lookingfrom one to the other, nowstrode forth and lifted hisspear.

"Shelk, as you call yourself,"he said angrily, "you are aliar and a traitor. You're notthe real Shelk, you're hisshade, risen from a stinkingpuddle. You've fooled us all

long enough.

You're not the man who waslike a father to me, who wasmy Master and sharedeverything with me. You sentthat man to his death so thatyou could grasp the poweryourself, so that you couldfool about with the caribou—the caribou you can't evenkeep alive!"

Shelk looked up and said in a

low voice, "Black Cloud wasright, She moved with thecaribou. I've shut them up. Afool I've been."

"And now you're a deadman," said Viper. "The poweris mine. Tiger shall be myshaman.

He's greater than you are, butI'm the greatest of all!"

Fox attacked him, but for a

man of Viper's strength ittook only a moment to strikeFox down.

"Why did I not find you intime?" asked Shelk, revertingto the White language, andstill staring at theunconscious Silverbirch."Perhaps you could havetaught me..."

"He was the gentlest, mostconsiderate man in the

world," said Veyde. "Perhapshe could have taught youthat. Do you think so?"

"Perhaps," said Shelk.

"Enough talk," said Viper,also in the language of theWhites. "You are finished.Viper is the Chief of CaribouLake, and Tiger is Shaman.From now on I give theorders here."

Veyde looked at him with agrin. "No, Mister Viper, youare mistaken. It is the spiritof Caribou Lake who givesthe orders, and now she isfree at last. Listen!"

Viper started. There was achange in the din from therapids; suddenly it seemedcloser, and in the earth beforethem, there was a tremendousrumbling. The sparse birchwood shuddered as if from

sudden terror. Then it startedto move. The roaring of thewater increased to adeafening thunder. Beforetheir eyes the entire birchgrove was snatched away,and an immense sheet offalling water came into sight.Shelk sprang up.

"The Sun Pillar!" he cried,and ran toward it.

"You won't escape me!"

roared Viper, running afterShelk with his spear raised.

The moment Shelk reachedthe pillar, it tottered, as therushing waters dug inbeneath it. It fell and wasswept away, along with Shelkand Viper.

"Go back!" cried Tiger,stooping to lift upSilverbirch, who was stillunconscious. He started to

run, and the others followed,in a panic. Wolf, with therope still around his neck,with only one serviceablearm, carried Fox. Hindtripped and fell, butBaywillow saved her, andthey all managed to worktheir way up to Shelk'ssolitary eyrie on the top ofthe hill.

Behind them the Master'shouse was swept away by the

flood. The entire lake seemedto tumble in a tumultuouswhite chaos down the littlevalley. Not a trace of the WarCamp was to be seen. Thespirit of Caribou Lake wasfree at last, and its wrathdwarfed everything around it.

THE GUARDIAN OF THETIGER

And all those who sleep,sleep, sleep under the hills

are annihilated; Death itselfis annihilated. — GertBonnier, Del Oforklarliga Itwas Tiger who had conceivedthe idea of digging a newoutlet for Caribou Lake,allowing it to flow down intothe valley, but Baywillowand Veyde had decided onthe place. Veyde, with herWhites and with MissRosebay as second incommand, did the work. Itwas a huge undertaking. They

had nothing but sticks,caribou antlers, and theirbare hands for digging. Thework had to be done inabsolute secrecy, so the ditchwas covered with branchesand moss to escape detection.Fortunately, all traffic to andfrom Sunwood followed asingle path, which wasuntouched until Baywillowbrought news of Shelk'sreturn. At that momentVeyde gave Miss Rosebay

the order to break through.Then she and MisterSilverbirch went to thegathering at the Sun Pillar.

The results exceeded theirwildest expectations. Therewas only a small trickle ofwater at first, but as they dugdeeper the water began todetach clay and earth. Atwhirling speed, the tricklegrew into a great waterfall,and Miss Rosebay and her

people were barely able toescape it.

In the Gorge the flow ofwater subsided, and thefollowing day it was as dry asit had been when MisterCornel lived there, bare androcky. Thus the caribou wereable to use their oldmigration route again.

Of Shelk, Viper, and the SunPillar, no trace was ever

found, though it was rumoredthat some of Shelk's warriorsfound his body and divided itinto four parts. When they setout in different directions toreach their old homes, eachwarrior took one part withhim.

Wolf returned to Big Lakewith Beaver, Glutton, and themen of Diver's Company,who swore allegiance to him.He also took Tern, who was

perhaps more enamored ofthe golden wasp than of Wolfhimself. Thus she became achief's woman. For a shorttime Fox, too, lived at BigLake with his family; later,they set out for the Salt Sea.

Wolf gave his daughter Hindto Baywillow, who had savedher life. Everybody thought itfitting that Hind shouldmarry Ferret's eldest sonafter all, though he happened

to be Baywillow, not Tiger.She too became a chief'swoman, for Baywillow wentback to reign with Veyde onVeyde's Island. ThroughTiger's brotherly assistance,Hind and Baywillow wereblessed with many sons anddaughters, all of them Black.

Silverbirch recovered, andfor years afterward hecontinued to set the standardsof behavior on Veyde's

Island. He died in peace,without ever learning thesecret of Shelk's parentage.

Veyde was grateful thatMister Silverbirch had beenunconscious during her talkwith Shelk. Not only becauseof the secret, but because shehad been intolerably rude toShelk.

"Silverbirch would neverhave let me forget that day,"

she said.

Tiger and Veyde had manychildren, who grew up talland beautiful, star-eyed,indestructible, and strangelygifted. All survived to oldage, but none had a child.

Late each winter, when thesun rose high and spring wasin the air, Tiger went awayfor a moon or more, nobodyknew where. Veyde may have

guessed. With a knowingsmile she would look up atthe Sun Pillar that Tiger haderected on the very platformwhere the first Shelk hadonce besieged them. Thepillar was covered with everyanimal imaginable.

Above them all were a shelkand a black tiger, in happy,tranquil amity.

One day a Black hunter came

to Blue Lake, which was nowa White village as of old. Hewas frightened and confusedby a mysterious vision he hadseen in the forest. The blackGod of the village receivedhim kindly, listening to hisstory with interest. It wasindeed an arresting tale. Theman had seen a monstrousshaman—it must have beenthe Guardian of the tigerhimself—hunting with aretinue of young black tigers.

The eyes of the fat God litup.

"That shaman is my oldestguest-friend," he said. "Youcame at a happy moment, myfriend. I still have a skin ofblack wine, and I can lendyou a bitch for the night.Don't thank me, the gratitudeis all on my side. You'vebrought me news of a dearfriend."

A thousand years later the icereturned to engulf theirworld, and the crust of theearth sagged under itsweight. Even today, Veyde'sIsland lies at the bottom ofthe sea.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I have promised a solution,but before I come to that, afew words about the settingof the story. In the time

between 70,000 and 10,000years ago, much of Europewas covered by a great inlandice-sheet, radiating from theScandinavian mountains. Butthere was a warmer spell,between about 40,000 and25,000 years ago, when theice retreated to the north,leaving much of Scandinaviauncovered; and the storytakes place in this interval.The Salt Sea is the NorthSea; the Great Water, or the

brackish sea, is the Baltic;and the Land of Flints issouthernmost Sweden, withits flint-bearing chalk. Weknow that mammoth andreindeer lived in Scandinaviaat the time, so I feel justifiedin populating the landscapeof Nordic forests and skerrieswith an Ice Age fauna. (Thereindeer is called "caribou"because the Ice Age reindeerin Europe resembled theliving North American form.)

The animals are described asthey may have appeared tocontemporary humans. Morescientific descriptions can befound in other books. Butthere are three animals thatplay a major part in the story,and I'd like to say a fewwords about them.

You may be surprised to seethe mammoth described asblack. It is usually brown inlife reconstructions, for that

is the color of the fur onmammoth skins preserved inthe frozen ground of Siberiaand Alaska. But KennethOakley thinks the brown tintresults from de-gradation ofthe pigment, and that themammoth was black in life—which, I think, makes it evenmore impressive. (On theother hand, these mammothsof the late Ice Age were notparticularly large, aselephants go.)

Then the strange "blacktiger." It was not related tothe living tiger, but belongedto the extinct saber-toothedcats. The scientist knows itunder the nameHomotherium, meaning

"similar beast," and a moreinept name would be hard tofind, for apparently it lookedlike nothing else on earth. Itsshape is described in thestory. Of course, we know

nothing about its color, so Iwas free to make it black likeits favorite prey, themammoth. (How do I knowabout its favorite prey? Avery proper question. In acave in Texas, manyskeletons of Homotheriumwere found together withhundreds of mammoth milkteeth, so we deduce thatmammoth calves formed itsstaple diet. One of theskeletons, by the way, had

polydactylous feet.)

The "shelk," finally, is the"Irish elk," yet the animalwas neither an elk norexclusively Irish. It wasprobably the mostmagnificent deer that everlived, and deserves a bettername.

This one is taken from theNibelungenlied, whereSiegfried kills a mythical

"schelch." I hope the namewill stick.

Wherever possible I havetried to base descriptivedetails on scientific fact orreasonable inference. As anexample, Tiger, when firstviewing the sea, observesgulls with white wings. Ithink the species in thatparticular setting would infact have been the commongull, or Larus canus. The

black-winged Larus marinusmay have been present too,but would have been muchrarer and generally fartherout to sea. At the presenttime there are threeadditional species of gulls inthe Baltic, but I have reasons,different in each case, forsuspecting they were notpresent then.

The story of Cornel and theflooding of the Gorge is

puzzling enough to demandan explanation, the more soas Veyde's recounting of it ishearsay and containselements of myth. These areincluded to show that thestory was a traditionembellished in its passagefrom generation togeneration. (One detail,which I am not going todivulge, is a direct giveawayto an ornithologist.) But themain events are credible

enough. The earth's crust,relieved from the weight ofthe inland ice, was rising.This rebound was in generala gradual process butoccasionally occurred as aminor earth tremor. Therebound was also unequal,depending on differences inthe thickness of the erstwhileice-sheet. As a result, lakebasins were gradually cantedand tended to find newdrainages, in this case farther

south. Thus, the originaleastern drainage of CaribouLake was abandoned, and thewater broke south into theGorge and passed through it,then resumed its easterndirection. At the end of thestory, Veyde digs a newchannel that allows the waterto bypass the long loop of theGorge.

The bones of Neandertal mangive no clues as to the color

of his skin. As a rule,however, people living athigh latitudes have lighterpigmentation than theinhabitants of tropical andsubtropical regions. This isthought to be an adaptation todifferences in the exposure tosolar radiation. As theNeandertals had lived inEurope for a very long time,the inference that they werelight-skinned is obvious.They could also have

differentiated into local raceswith varied pigmentationtraits, for instance blond andred-haired. The facialpeculiarities of the "Reds,"however, are modeled uponthe eastern Neandertals of theLevant.

If the sapients emigratedfrom the south, they wouldbe likely to be darker-skinned, and we mightpicture them as rather like

the present-day inhabitants ofIndia. In the story, a southernheritage is suggested by thename of Tiger's mother,Oriole; this bird would not befound in the pine-cladcountry of the north.

Many of the ritualsdescribed, especially in thecase of the "Blacks," aredocumented in thePaleolithic material.Alexander Marshack says

that the thinking of earlyHomo sapiens was verycomplex and surprisinglymodern. There are, forinstance, sequentialengravings that can beinterpreted as mooncalendars. He also found thatmany animal pictures werereused: repeated engravingswere made in the samecontour. In the story Isuggest that this was a ritualto appease the Guardian, or

supernatural owner, of thegame—who, as AkeHultkrantz has shown, is animportant figure in thereligion of many huntingsocieties. Of course, otherinterpretations are possible.

Tiger's initiation is based ondiscoveries in the BasuaCave in Savona, Italy, andthe strangulation torturesuffered by Left Hand wasdepicted at Addaura, Sicily;

both were described byAlberto C. Blanc. Ochre handimpressions can be seen inmany caves, and often afinger or a finger-joint ismissing. Perhaps sacrificed?

As an artist, Tiger is shownto rely on eidetic imageswhich are fixed in the brainwith total recall, rather thanon conscious memorizing. Heuses ochre and charcoal forpainting, but I may be guilty

of an anachronism in havinghim use the indigo dyeextracted from the woadplant. In spite of the richarchaeological material athand, it is not easy to frame areally credible picture of thesociety in which Ice Agesapients lived. When wecome to the Neandertals, theproblems, and the call forempathy, are much greater.

The "White" society is here

described as highly ritualizedand mild-mannered, probablya startling notion to anyonewho has seen a lifereconstruction of Neandertalman with his seeminglybrutish features. A keycharacter in the physicalmake-up of these men wasthe beetle brow. It creates animpression of ferocity, and Isuspect that that was one ofits main functions. A biggorilla, its eyes hooded by

mighty, bony brows, looksmost intimidating.

This, as Dale Guthrie says,"has made it easy for writersto portray it as a dangerousbeast, even though it is avegetarian and rather shy." Innature, aggression by displayis often a sham. If anintimidation stare suffices tofrighten away an enemy, whyengage in costly fighting?Behind his menacing mask,

primitive man may well havebeen rather peaceable.

From this it is only a briefstep to envisage a system ofappeasing ritual to offset theeffects of the built-in threatdisplay. Given sufficienttime, and the inventivenessof the human brain, it couldeven develop to seeminglyabsurd degrees. I do not sayit did, but at any rate there iscompelling evidence for the

complexity and humanity ofNeandertal society to supportthe idea of ritualization.

The demography, forinstance, is surprisinglyfavorable. Marie-Antoinettede Lumley, studyingNeandertal remains from theCave of Hortus in southernFrance, noted the highincidence of old people. Thefact that every fifthindividual was o v e r fifty

years old is truly amazing ina primitive hunting society.Ralph Solecki showed thattwo of the old Neandertalsfrom Shanidar Cave in Iraqwere so severely crippledthat they must have beencompletely dependent ontheir fellow men for a longtime. No killing of the "oldand useless" here. And ErikTrinkaus and WilliamHowells, marshaling the totalevidence, point out that the

longevity of Neandertal manwas markedly greater thanthat of the succeedingsapients. It would seem thatold people were held in highrespect. Probably, sages likeSilverbirch were notuncommon.

Of course, many elements inthe story are whollyfictitious. There is certainlyno evidence for militaryorganizations like that of

Shelk, or for such early, ifabortive, attempts atdomestication. The firstdomesticated animal seemsto have been the dog, but thatcame later, perhaps some15,000 years before thepresent. And finally, there isno certain proof thatNeandertals and sapients evermet, though it appears likely.

In this story they do meet,and so I come to the model

for the extinction of theNeandertals (Whites). I'msure you have it by now, buthere it is anyway. It comes inthree parts.

First: The species hybrids areassumed to be sterile.Baywillow, Black Cloud, theShelks, all are childless. Atthe same time, they areaffected by hybrid vigor,giving them unusualresistibility, intelligence, and

so on, but that doesn't affectthe outcome. Even amoderate reduction offertility would have the sameeffect in the long run.

Second: Both Whites andBlacks regard the Blacks assuperior beings. With theirless advanced technology andpoorer articulation (PhilipLiebermann has shown thatNeandertal vocal organsprobably could produce no

other vowel than "ah"), theNeandertals in fact sufferfrom an inferiority complex.In addition, the "childlike"features of the sapient faceappeal to the tender emotionsof the Neandertals.

Third: The Whites in thisstory are matriarchal, theBlacks patriarchal. Thiscannot be proved, but myimpression—which may befalse—is that among early

sapients male and femalediffered more in size thanamong the Neandertals.Could this also mean agreater difference in the sexroles—or am I poking ahornets' nest? In any case,here is the core of the model.It would lead to the offspringbetween White males andBlack females becomingoutcasts in the Black society(as happens to the Shelks),whereas the offspring of a

Black male—White femalemating would be honored inthe White society(Baywillow).

And so the great majority ofthe hybrids would be of thesecond kind: children ofWhite mothers.

There it is. Many more Whitemothers than Black motherswill have hybrid children, orin other words, sterile

offspring. As a result, thenumber of Whites willdwindle continuously even ifthe two kinds of humans livetogether in perfect amity.

The model might becompared to the use ofsterilizing radiation incertain methods of biologicalpest control. It is, of course,an unpleasant analogy, andyet I feel tempted to stress it.Too often we have regarded

groups of our fellow men aspests, thereby justifyingbrutal and irresponsible useof technology against them.This seems, unfortunately, tobe a characteristic of thespecies which in its hubriscalls itself Homo sapiens.

But I repeat, this is only onemodel out of many possibleones, and I don't t h i nk ithappened just this way. Dixiet salvavi animam meam.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Bjorn Kurten was born inFinland in 1924. A professorat the University of Helsinkiand one of the world'sleading paleontologists, hehas worked extensively inEurope, Africa, and NorthAmerica. Professor Kurtenhas published several novelsin Swedish and numerousbooks in English onmammals and the ice ages.

He is a fellow of theExplorers Club and has helda lectureship in zoology atHarvard University.

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Table ofContents

PART THREE: TIGERPART ONE:PART TWO:PART THREE: