Ancient Echoes (29 page)

I prepared for the worst, and when at last the human shape came slowly back to the land, picking up a leather bag and walking cautiously into the ruins, certainly aware of me, I rose defensively to confront the stranger.

By the faint light of the fire, dark eyes in a green face watched me from within the heavy cowl of fur.

She came to the defences and shrugged off the heavy winter skin, shivering as the cold air hit her, but quickly coming to the fire, unafraid of me, her weapons left beyond the fence.

‘You were in my dreams again,’ she whispered. ‘So I’ve been expecting you. But I’m not following him. I’m not coming with you. You’ve found me, we can talk, but I’m not following him. I need to go back.’

‘You’ve been in my dreams too,’ I said. ‘I didn’t expect to find you in this sort of winter, though.’

‘I’ve been here for years. When the winter changes, it’s like cloud shadow running through the valleys. The spring comes faster than a man can run. Everything melts, everything is mud, drowning mud where the valleys are deep and the hills shift or the rivers rise and spread. Then the trees blossom and bloom, and the heat comes and the earth bakes. It will happen at any time. Then you can have your boat and cross the lake again, if that’s what you want. The bitumen caulking can be replaced easily enough, the gaps in the hull patched.’

She cast me a look, a half smile, and I realized that she was telling me she had sabotaged the horsemen’s vessel. I whispered, ‘So that’s why it sank so fast.’

‘I didn’t expect it to sink so close to the shore. If they’d come onto the ice, I’d have killed them. They’ve been hunting me for sport while they’ve been looking for you. They’ve run me
almost
to ground too many times. I simply shortened the odds
against it happening again.’ She smiled, her dark eyes shining. ‘But at least you have a boat.’

And Greenface had food! Earthy flavoured mushrooms, which she had gathered in autumn and carefully dried; highly spiced strips of fowl; dry, hard cakes of unleavened bread; and fat, sharp-tasting olives.

‘You have to know where to look. There are traders everywhere. Gather what you can, where you can – if you have something to trade, this edge of the world is not an unpleasant place to exist.’

This
edge of the world?

‘This is the edge of the world,’ she repeated, when I asked her what she meant. ‘What more can I tell you?’

‘Tell me about your life. Tell me where you come from.’

‘I was born in a valley, below forested hills, in a camp that moved with the seasons between those hills and rivers, between fresh springs and the walls of great sanctuaries. The land was hot and lush; the creatures of the forests were terrifying; the creatures of the river were huge and menacing. As a child, with my brothers and sisters, I swam in dangerous waters. My father took me in his boat, up the river, past many of the wooden and stone figures that protected the land from those who sailed the water. He traded and talked, using words that were meaningless to me, but which he had learned through his life by courage and with dedication. I often dream of him. He was such a tall man, his beard in ringlets, his hair tied around the crown with a circlet of polished blue stones, his hands so strong and dark, each finger with a leather ring, his belly hard and scarred, his legs tattooed to show his knowledge of the lands to north and south.

‘I helped him sail the boat, sitting on the cargo, tugging at the deep sail while he leaned against the tiller, shouting at me, always angry, always making me work a little harder. But when the voyage was finished, the trade completed, he would dress
in his loose tunic, black and yellow, and let his hair free, and open the leather gourd of fragrant wine. We would let the current take us, slipping down the river below the stars, drinking and laughing, eating figs and olives, invoking moon and river to give us safe, sweet passage. I would curl on his belly in the night, wrapped around him, safe in his broad arms, fulfilled by his love, satisfied by his food and kisses. How could I have known what he planned for me? I listened to the strange tongues he spoke, and saw the hungry glances of the men he spoke to, but I never dreamed that he would send me to the sanctuary of beasts. I never dreamed it. He betrayed me. He betrayed us all.’

She caught herself in melancholy reminiscence and straightened up, spitting on the fire, which hissed spectacularly. Her speech had been slow and soft, her gaze all the time upon the flames. Now she reached for an olive and chewed it quickly, silent again.

‘Is that why you’re running? Is that why you’re pursued? Because you disobeyed your father?’

She was quiet for a moment, then said, ‘No. By that time, I was already marked. Only I didn’t know it. And not just me …’

‘Baalgor too?’

‘Baalgor … and others. Seven in all. After the terrible deed we all scattered to the stars, some to the north, some to the south. Baalgor and I stayed close – he was my brother – the others I think running alone. I imagine they perished quickly. The lands we entered were those of demons, put up to snare us. A man alone would have had no chance. The two of us managed to keep the hunters at a distance until we came to the edge of the world, and realized we could run no further. Then we started to look for the Gate, but by the time we had found it …’

She hesitated, and recognizing that I had been that gate, I spoke impatiently. ‘By the time you had found it?’

‘By that time, something had changed. To reach the edge of the world reminded me how far I had come, and I felt called back, called back to make retribution. Baalgor was furious, and
we became great enemies. Eventually he went through the Gate, but I refused to follow. Enough now. I’m weary and cold. No more talking until the spring.’

She put two pieces of wood on the fire and watched the new sparks fly into the winter night. Then she fetched the heavy fur and came close to me, and now for the first time I saw the skins she wore as masks.

She was nervous at first, making me sit away from her in the fireglow. But one by one she peeled three layers of skin from her face, each coloured in different ways, each containing, tattooed, part of the complex pattern of marks that had made her face so fascinating.

I was astonished at the careful revelation. Each layer she handled as if it was a spider’s web, gently folding it, then rolling it, touching the mask to her body as she proceeded, speaking quiet words, and at times lowering her head and kissing the back of each of her hands.

With the removal of the third skin-mask, only half a face, came the sight of Nemet as she truly was, a skin of light hue, full-lipped, wide-eyed, high-boned, a beauty that took my breath away. She quickly applied dabs of an oil to her skin, which was lustrous in the fire, the green lines of her own tattoos glowing. Her hands were shaking slightly. She dragged a thick-toothed comb through her black hair, pulling it to the side and working at the knots and tangles, watching me all the time.

‘You look so different,’ I said helplessly.

‘Different?’

‘Without the skins. There was always something hauntingly beautiful about you, very primitive … but now …’

‘I’m ugly?’

‘Hardly that. Just different. A different person …’

‘But not different at all. Just naked.’

‘And beautiful. Very beautiful.’

‘You sound like my father.’

I felt embarrassed, watching her as she first combed her hair,
then peeled the clinging clothes from her body, massaging her shoulders, breasts and belly with the same sweet-smelling oil. She shuffled closer to the fire, shivering slightly. I wondered if she would invite me to anoint her back – the thought thrilled me, an excitement combined with guilt – but she simply dressed again, then closed her eyes and swayed as she sat, whispering words that had no meaning for me.

At the end of her prayers she became still, staring at the flames, perhaps remembering the past. She seemed melancholy again.

‘Were you praying?’

Nemet glanced up at me, then smiled slightly. ‘Saying goodbye.’

I wanted to know so much about this woman. The last time we had met she had trapped me and tricked me; now she was here, more intimate than I could ever have imagined, confident with me, trusting, sharing a winter’s night and a warming fire. ‘Saying goodbye to … Baalgor?’

‘To my sisters.’

‘Your sisters? How many sisters?’ I felt a chill as she picked up the small pouch of skins and kissed it. ‘Three, of course. Two of them dead, one skinned but quick enough to run! I wonder where she is? I’ve been wearing their faces since I fled the sanctuary. But it’s time I let them go. They’ve helped me enough …

‘Bless them,’ she added as an afterthought.

‘They’ve been eyes for me to look into the shadows, and a sweet tongue with which to talk to strangers, and a sharp-scented warning of the dangers of strange wild beasts in the demon land. But I don’t need them, now, not now that I’m going back. If I’m careful, I can find their broken bones and give them proper burning, a proper earthing before the sanctuary takes me. I owe them that, since my father is dead and my mother buried with him.’

‘What was your sanctuary called? Where in the world can I find it?’ I asked, but Nemet threw cold ashes at me, angrily.

‘Enough of this! I’m tired, I want to sleep. I want to wait for spring. We can talk then. In the meantime, just sleep against me, and hunt ahead of me. It’s too cold to do anything else, and I’m too tired.’

Exactly as Greenface had predicted, spring came in the form of a sudden, warm wind, a passing of brightness on the land. The snows melted, the ice turned to slush, and the forested hill behind the ruined settlement began to colour with a fresh, bright green. I stood among the trees, watched the rapid bursting of the bud, marvelling at a sight which owed no allegiance to nature, only to imagination: my own imagination, my deepest dreams.

Soon the forest was in full leaf and the heat was splendid. Steam rose from my heavy clothes, and the world smelled damp and rank. Wild creatures returned to the land, their movements noisy in the new growth, their shapes bulky, their cries occasionally articulated as they found the old trails, and the paths to the lake.

Two of the four small horses came nosing up to me as I returned to the camp on the shore, a third staying to graze the lush foliage. I tethered the animals and they seemed content. Their companion arrived later, stamping at the ground and backing away from me as I approached with the halter. When I threw aside the rope it became calm and came and grazed about the walls. A strong minded animal, then, and being slightly larger than its mates I marked it as my own steed for the future.

The boat was in deep water, but not yet silted. With Greenface I swam down to its hulk and we pushed it upright, freeing it from the rocks so that it might be dragged more easily. Greenface swam like an eel, a wriggling, slender shape, all legs and arms as she struck for the bright surface then doubled up to dive again, her black hair streaming about her face, her
limbs smooth and silky as they gently kicked to keep her in her place.

She caught me looking at her, seconds before the strictures in my lungs sent me spiralling to the air again, where I gasped for breath then plunged to the wreck, uncomfortably aware that the touch of the water on my naked body, the sense of freedom, the sight of the woman, was giving away my arousal. Greenface teased me with a kiss the fifth time I dived and I almost choked. She was ascending above me in a stream of bubbles and I floated up after her, rising to the surface with my hands gently running up the length of her body, touching her sex, the swell of her buttocks, her belly, the taut flesh of her breasts, and finally the lean, beautiful angles of her face.

She was looking at me with hunger, her hands on my shoulders, treading water slowly. Then again she kissed me on the mouth, a brief contact, her tongue a sensuous touch upon my lips. With a sudden laugh she kicked away, swimming strongly for the shore. ‘We need ropes and horses,’ she shouted, and I followed the lithe, naked woman to the tethered animals.

We had already made lengths of rope from the nets and cables left after the destruction of the fishing village. We swam down with them, securing the small craft on the lake bed, then used the equines to drag the vessel to the shore, diving to the slowly moving hulk, pushing and struggling to help it through the sediment. After several hours its prow was above the water. Later, we dragged it to the shore and hauled and heaved it over to inspect the damage.

‘We can cut new wood to fill the holes,’ she said. ‘And melt old pitch from the broken fishing boats to make it waterproof. The sail is in good condition, but the mast is snapped half way down. So you’ll have to cut a tree to make it good. First, though, go and find the saddles and the harnesses.’

‘Why?’ I asked, interrupting her flow of thought. She seemed expert at everything she suggested, running her hands over the savaged hull, testing the depth of the bitumen waterproofing, examining the rigging-rings and cords on the waterlogged
canvas sail. She seemed the very antithesis of Greyface’s description of her: a woman without determination.

She glanced up and smiled. ‘Horses can swim. We’ll make wooden frames to help them. It’s only half a day’s sail across this lake, and we’ll be dragging them with us. They couldn’t do it in the winter, but in the summer they’ll survive.’

And so I returned to the lake and swam in search of the leather saddles, the primitive trappings. I found two sets only and returned them to the camp, wondering how I might attach stirrups to them, but decided the effort was too much trouble. The horses would be good pack animals if not good mounts.

Two days later we crossed the wide water, beaching several miles away from the earthen and tree-palisaded walls of the stronghold that William had constructed around the tower of ivory and its white stone walls.

We lost the most robust and most independent of the horses on the way, perhaps because of its extra size, perhaps because of its age. I was sad to cut: the creature free, but it was exhausted and in distress and a quick death was assured as it sank below the choppy surface of the lake.