Saturday, November 6, 2010

The First Ghost Story

Long ago in a cave far away a man, his son and daughter wrapped themselves in bear skins and looked out at the land as the sun disappeared beyond the mountains. A small fire burned briskly nearby.
“I think the sun will shine brightly tomorrow, a real hot day is coming,” said the son in a slow, uncertain voice as if expecting confirmation of this forecast from his father.
“It is hard to say,” said his father. “There is a wind blowing in from the north and east.” The older man paused and exhaled a long thoughtful sigh as he gently scratched his bristled chin.
“No,” he said at last. “It will rain. Not a heavy rain but it will last most of the day. The wind will die out before the dawn though.”
That was that. The daughter, who was younger than her brother, pointed out at a tall rock some distance away.
“Dad,” she laughed. “Do you see the man’s face?”
“What’s that my girl?” he asked leaning his head her direction in order to better hear her soft voice.
“The stone!” she said stabbing her finger towards it. “Does it not look like a man’s head?”
“Where is it?” asked her father.
“There! It sits before the tree on the hillside!” she said excitedly.
Her father narrowed his eyes.
“Ah! Yes I see it, Haha! Very cleaver of you my girl.”
His daughter smiled at his praise.
“Looks like a big rock to me,” said her brother glumly.
“No, my son,” said his father. “You can see many things if you care to look more closely. Why, just the other day on the hunt I was watching from a tree. I so happened to look up at the blue sky when I saw a mammoth!”
“A mammoth Dad?” asked the girl, wide-eyed.
“Aye, a mammoth!” laughed the father.
“Did it have wings Dad? Was it flying?” asked the boy with sudden interest.
“No, no, it had no wings,” answered the man.
“How then?” asked the children together.
The father paused a few moments to add to their mood of expectation.
“What I saw was a cloud that resembled a mammoth; tusks and all. Haha!”
The children laughed.
“That’s not the same thing as a real one Dad,” said the boy.
“It is, it is!” insisted his sister.
“What else have you seen Dad”? asked the boy.
“Oh, over time I’ve seen many things. Don’t forget that I’m an old man, I’m thirty-eight winters!”
“Please do tell us Dad,” implored his daughter.
“Yes, come on Dad,” said the boy.
“Very well then I will,” said their father. “I will tell you this story. It begins some twenty-seven winters past before both of you were here. Try and picture me as I was in those days. I was shorter, thinner and there was no hair upon my face!”
The children giggled.
“Now the men-folk were all gearing to go forth for the great late-summer hunt. I was to go with them as was Uncle. He and I had been out on many hunts with the other men-folk so we were confident and set off in good cheer! Our quarry were the deer of the forest plains to the west of here. In the winter season they lurk in the woods to escape the cold but when the weather grows warmer and the sun shines stronger they come forth to mate in the spring then will linger in the plains until the autumn before retreating back into the trees when the snows come once again. My father was to lead us as was his honour for he was the chief and in his crafty eyes you could almost see all the skills of hunting and the memories of every kill he’d made for he was an old man, very old, fifty winters at the least and his hairs were turning white with age. I can remember him as clearly as I see the two of you now. He was tall and broad with a beard longer than mine. On his head he wore attire of sorts. Ages before he had hollowed a piece of wood to fit upon his head and on it he had fixed two mighty Oxen horns! His spear was streamed with peacock feathers in order to give it greater flight. With such a countenance and his mighty visage I am glad I was his son and not his enemy! Can you imagine him chasing after you with one of his savage roars?”
The children listened wide eyed at this thought. They edged back slightly. The father paused; his smile indicated a contented memory lingered in his mind.
“Well, the hunt started well. We were two days from home when we chanced upon wild swine. Info the forest they fled as we fell upon them from the higher ground. I recall my father bolting after them down the slope and into the mirk of the wood, his loud voice bouncing off every tree and branch. In the darkness of the forest I lost sight of him but I could hear him from far off. His voice trailed away into the depths as myself and Uncle and the other men killed swine in the woods. The day waned and we had slain many as the sun disappeared, casting its amber sheen through the darkening wood. As we worked one of the solemn elders emerged from the forest and beckoned Uncle and me towards him. He led us silently back the way he had come, into the depths of the trees. After much walking we come to a large rocky pool at the bottom of a slope. There were a group of our clansmen already there, huddled together. Beside them was the carcass of a mighty bull Oxen. They stopped speaking when we appeared with the elder. We looked at him.
“Thy father is slain,” he said gravely. He gestured to the men who parted ways to let us see our father’s body.
“The bull took him,” said the elder. “But your father impaled the beast. He died with great honour.”
Uncle and I stepped over to our father. He had two large wounds; one his chest and shoulder where the Ox had skewered him but he now seemed to lie in peace. To his side lay his helm while half of his spear hung from the neck of the beast. His blue eyes shone even in death. My brother and I grieved in silence. It was hard to believe we had seen him alive that very morning as he stormed through the wood after his prey. Now he was as dead as a stone. But such is the way of things. We are born, we live and we die. It will happen to us all. My father always carried his ornately carved spear decorated with its peacock feathers. We set it atop his burial cairn which we made on a rocky hillside high above overlooking the lake.

Uncle became the chief and after that we had many good years. However the Winter’s were crueller then and seemed to last for eternities yet in the merciful respite of Summer we hunted long and hard. Thus when the snows came we had plenty to eat and could horde our meats in the ice even as we do so today. Over time I learnt all the tricks of the hunt; stalking, ambush, methods of attack. It was a good time for us. Year after year the tribe prospered under Uncle and in our summer hunts the men ventured further and further from our territory.”
The father stopped and sighed. His children leaned in closer again, intrigued at this sudden change.
“Now there came the time of year when summer was ending. The sun went to bed more quickly and the days grew shorter. Already I could feel the first traces of the cold whenever the wind blew strongly. During that summer I surpassed myself. I led the hunts along with Uncle and we brought back more food than we could carry on our tired backs. After each hunt I grew bolder and more confident. I felt I knew everything there was to know about hunting and that no beast, however cunning, could elude me. Then came the final hunt of the summer. It reminded me of ten summers before on that fateful hunt on which my father died. This time we were to venture south into lands we did not know. There lay the mountains. Neither of you have seen them but they are so high the snow never leaves their summits. We started well, catching deer and oxen and even a prideful bull mammoth. Some of our men took these spoils home however the rest of us continued south. We were eager to explore this new territory and gain knowledge of it for it bounty had persuaded us to return the following summer. On our tenth day out they attacked us. The mountain tribe must have known of our approach and made good their ambush. Fortunately for us we fought them back with little injury for we were always prepared for a fight. After the battle Uncle, yearnful for home, turned us round. However the venture had certainly been worth it. We had explored a strange new land and tested the strength of its inhabitants but the mountain men would know to expect us the next summer. Uncle led us into a fresh pine wood and it was there we camped. We slept above a deep ravine with trees on either side and at its very bottom. In the morning I was the first to wake. I wiped the sleep from my eyes and looked to the edge of the campsite. The Doe was as startled to see me as I was to see her. Leaping to my feet I grabbed my spear. As soon as I moved she bolted away on her four nimble legs! I followed her, bounding over the rocks in her wake. I unleashed a cry, the type of cry my father once used when he bore down on his prey long ago. Still the graceful doe ran on, using every muscle in its strong hind legs to maintain the distance between us. But I had the advantage; I had my spear and I never missed. I ran faster over the rocks with it gripped firmly in my right hand. Checking my aim, I retracted my arm and readied myself to hurl it. Then everything turned upside down. My left shin seemed to burn in fury. I fell into the air and spun. The spear rattled onto the rocks. My body landed on the cold stone and I rolled. As I did I caught sight of what had caused this disaster; a protruding rock, taller than the others which had caught my left leg at the moment of the kill. I had moved at such speed that I continued to roll, then fell faster as the rocks came to a sudden incline. Down I went head first; the friction ate into my hands and legs as I tried to stop my inevitable fall into the ravine! It was to no avail. The rocks disappeared and I was in the open air; falling and falling. My life was saved by a tree. Its canopy broke my fall. I had enough of my strength and senses left to snatch a great pine branch. My weight caused it to drop and I heard it snap at the trunk but it did not come apart entirely! It jolted me and the force caused me to let go and I was falling yet again! My sight became a darkened blur. Around me came the confused, violent sounds of breaking wood as my body struck the tree’s lower boughs. It was painful but enduring that was better than dying. Then I cleared the trees branches and finally dropped right into the middle of a jagged hedge!”
The children erupted in laughter. They had been listening solemnly to their father’s tale but the description of his plummet down the ravine caused them great amusement.
“Oh Dad, if only you’d had wings,” teased his son.
The man allowed himself a chuckle then beckoned them to listen again.
“Well there I lay; battered, bruised and thoroughly miserable! Above me my kinsmen had become sensible to the disturbance on hearing my cry. However I later learned that although they had not seen me fall off the cliff they had guessed that this had been my untimely fate. As I lay I could hear them calling my name but so shaken was I by my fall that I could neither move nor speak a word in answer to their cries. Nor could they get to me! The ravine went on at great distances in either direction meaning it could take them days to find me; days they did not have. Their rations were declining, the hostile mountain men were nearby and the weather was turning cold. As that miserable day ended my brother called out my name one last time. Then they departed into the night for home. I was alone; alone in the vast expanse of the wild with no food, no cloak, no weapon and no friends! What would you have done?”
The children sat up straight and hugged their lower legs at this uncomfortable thought.
“I lay in that dark ditch a whole day and night. On the following dawn I had recovered enough to venture to move and stand up. I felt no better from having to move yet it was vital that I did so. If I moved onwards now I could perhaps catch up with my companions. So with careful, ginger steps I set off northward up the small valley. It was the start of a grim adventure.

The ravine ran north the same way my friends had gone but before long it bent eastwards. It lapsed into so many twists and turns that I soon could not tell one direction from another. On top of that the day was grey with no light of the sun to give me any help. My heart was heavy with weariness and disappointment. I had naively thought I would be reunited with the others by the day’s end but now I spent a second night huddled in a clump of trees. On the next day I fared little better. The ravine turned south again and seemed to run in a straight line back towards the mountains. I was starved. The meagre berries that grew thereabouts did nothing to satisfy the fire in my belly. Lack of proper food rendered me weak but I had no alternative but to press on and hope to see the warmth of home again. As the third day of my trek ended I came at last to a gradual incline that led out of that accursed ravine. This, at least, gave me some encouragement but I had no idea where I was. When it felt as if my plight could not get grow more ill I noticed the surrounding rocks were covered with white dust. Then an icy wind greeted me at the top of the slope as the first specks of snow descended slowly from above.
“Oh, help me!” I said aloud. There was no one to hear me say these words but I spoke them nonetheless then spent another night in misery. ‘This would be the day’, I thought as dawn broke. I had to get back to familiar terrain. If not I was as good as dead. But I was back on roughly the same level of ground from which I had become separated from my friends and this gave me some chink of hope. It was still early morning and already I was weary. My stomach panged for nourishment but all I could feed it were those awful, bitter berries. Now the cold joined it allies of hunger and fatigue in assailing me. The snow strengthened throughout that miserable day as I trudged along with my arms folded to store my body’s heat. It made little difference for the snow is cunning; it fell onto my head then slid down my neck and back! The resulting discomfort caused me to run but the effort added to my weariness and soon the snow was trickling down my back again. This frustrating cycle was repeated countless times until I came to a thick pine wood. It was a grateful sight and with renewed hope I jogged into the wood as the snow died down. Some time later, in the warm centre of the wood, I lay my sore back again a tree and fell to sleep. The outline of a tall bearded warrior conquered my dreams. Somehow it was comforting. Voices woke me however and I instantly forgot about it. My first thought was that it was my friends. They had come back for me! But then I listened. I could not understand their tongue though it was heavily familiar to me. Indeed I had heard it not more than five days past when the tribe of the mountains had waylaid us. Then it had been their curses and war cries which caused our younger huntsmen much dismay! Now they spoke softly and were in merry cheer but I was in their very midst and dreaded to think what they would do if they found me hiding in their woods so near their camp! I crawled forward into the undergrowth to better assess my predicament. They had gathered in a small hollow surrounded by fern barely twenty paces from me. In the centre of the circle burned a camp fire that cooked a wild boar! How my belly leapt when I smelt the scent of roasted meat on the bone! My senses were overcome by a strange mixture of hunger and fear as I watched the pig glisten appetisingly on the spit. I observed my enemies from close range. They were a wild, hairy bunch made all the more alien to me by the language they spoke. I began to think that I had strayed too close to them and felt they would snatch me from the fern at a moment’s notice but they were all relaxed and no doubt looking forward to their well-earned feast at the waning of the day. In this regard they were not so different from my own people. Their leader, a huge dark beast of a man, stepped forth and cut a prized piece from the boar. His men followed suit and before long I was watching enviously as they ate the meat from sticks that they had broken off from the trees. As I lay face down in the dirt, feeling sorry for myself, from deep in the woods came a noise, the unmistakable sound of a hunting horn! Some of the men dropped their sticks and looked around with fear ridden looks. Their chief arose and pointed into the darkening forest. He gave a command and all of them stood up and set down their food. Each of them collected their spears and with their chief leading them they went off into the trees opposite leaving me alone. Evidently they had another enemy lurking in the forest and in whispers I thanked the man who had blown the horn. I waited until they were at a safe distance then I ventured into their camp. What would I take? First I gathered up the chief’s fur cloak and threw it over my back then I picked up a large empty sack close at hand. Using the iron cooking tongs I gingerly lifted the boar from the spit. Its weight almost overpowered me. Indeed it proved too much for my weak arms and despite my determination my stolen dinner crashed onto the dry ground. I wasted no time stuffing it into the sack. Then I hastily gathered as many of the meat laden sticks the mountain men had discarded and threw them in with the roasted boar. I was so hungry I kept hold of one of them and sunk my teeth into the sweet flesh. So delicious was it that I took a second large bite but in doing so almost proved my downfall. In their haste my enemies had not left a sentry to guard their camp and when one of the younger men came back we were both alramed to see each other. Before he could shout out for help I threw the stick at him. He turned and fled screaming to his comrades. I picked up the sack, flung it over my shoulders and legged it back the way I had come!

Luckily for me his comrades were scattered as they sought the blower of the horn and I made sure I put a great distance between myself and them before stopping for a rest. The heavy contents of the sack impeded my progress but I put up with the hardship as my life was at stake. As I ran it pressed against my rear end and the heat from the red hot boar smote through my new cloak onto my backside! But on and on I went through the forest. Night drew down and still I heard of sign of pursuit from my enemies. At last I came to stop on top of a secluded rise. Before I even lay down I wretched open the sack, took out a large piece of meat and gorged myself on it. When my hunger was quenched I happily realised that I still had enough of the meat to last me at least a full seven days. Only a few hours previously I had been ready to die in the snow. Now with my stomach feeling pleasantly full I felt anything was possible. Good food can cure anything, even despair.

I slept lightly that night with one arm around the warm sack. At dawn I woke and treated myself to another lump of boar meat. There was no rumour of the mountain men. Had they given up their pursuit? I resolved to remain cautious in case they hadn’t and continue on my journey immediately. Although the snow had stopped when I entered the wood on the previous day it now began to fall again. This time I was protected by the warm fur cloak I had acquired from the chief of the mountain men. His pride must have been greatly wounded upon learning of its theft and once again I blessed whoever had blown the horn that caused such chaos for my foes and rendered me a life-saving bounty. By morning’s end the snow relapsed and that day saw me travel a great distance through the woods though I would have gone further had I not made my every step a cautious one. As the sun sank beyond the trees I took another mouthful of meat. It had now gone cold but the flavour was still wholesome and because it had been well cooked I could eat it without fear of falling sick. Yet my food would not last forever so I decided to ration it as best I could. So ended another day.

The dawn was quiet. All throughout the labyrinth of the forest there was no sound as if the trees were waiting for something. I had eluded my foes and could go forth with lesser fear. My route led northward back to my home land which was somewhere past this mass of green. I set off and had not walked very far when yet again the snow puffs fell; much heavier than in days past. This was what the trees had been waiting for. Still I could only go on so I continued my trek joylessly. In union with the snow the air became colder. To this my cloak offered great respite but I had still to fasten it tightly. After much walking it made me uncomfortably warm and while it was tempting to open it and expose myself to the crisp air to do so would risk exposure to the cold sickness. That had been one of the first things my father had taught me; always stay warm in the snow. As I went on my pace slackened. My shoulders grew sore from carrying the sack and the snow was growing thicker on the forest floor. The sun was gone. It was up there somewhere but the low clouds were unloading so much snow it was obscured to me. I had now lost my only way of navigating. I slept that night under a thick thorn bush and hoped that the morning would see an end to the snow. It did not. The sun was still invisible so with a weary heart I plodded on through fields of white in the direction I guessed to be north. Underfoot the snow was so deep that walking was now a sapping chore. Due to this I did not travel far that day. My one solace was the food I had and I looked forward to every meal with relish but whenever I stopped to rest and shelter the cold discomfort I felt made me more miserable than when I had fallen off the cliff at the start of my adventure. This was the most awful day of my journey but it was about to get worse. It was approaching nightfall and with heavy breathes I stopped at the top of a small hill. As I rested my arms on my knees the dull silence of the forest was riven by a deadly howl. Hearing it made me feel colder than I already was for I knew of only one creature that made such a sound. It was the baying of a snow-wolf! Of that there could be no doubt. Its cries were legendary amongst my people and a cry like this meant only one thing; it was on the hunt. And it was not alone. A second wail sounded through the woods in response to the first. Then came another. And Another. There was a whole pack of the fiends at hand! They must have scented the meat inside my sack and tracked me like when we send out their brothers the hounds to sniff out smaller game. But on that dreary evening it was no mere hare that was their prey! It was me! I backed off, not daring take my eyes off the route I had come. Then I saw them. They slinked into view from nowhere; scarcely indistinguishable as they were from the whiteness around them. In the parched light their eyes twinkled with cunning malevolence as they scanned the terrain before them. One of them was larger than the others. No doubt it was the leader of the pack, the alpha-male, who was the strongest and fiercest of them all. He swaggered forward toward the base of the slope and stopped. Our eyes met. Was it my mind, deceived by a trick of the light, or did he grin? I did not wait to look again to see for I spun away and stumbled through the snow. It was almost up to my knees yet somehow I made headway as my survival instinct took over. Behind me I heard the barking of the wolf chieftain. Like a man he gave orders with his mouth; orders to catch and kill me! I can’t tell you the alarm this thought gave me; to have been killed by the mountain men would have been evil enough but to become supper for a pack of hungry dogs galled my pride as I surged through the deep snow. If I was to be captured so be it but I promised myself that I would give them a fight of it. Even now they were running over the snow as if it were not even there, making ground on me. It was inevitable that they would catch me. Or was it? For at that moment I was seized with an idea. It was risky but to keep running and be taken from behind was riskier still! I came to a tree, stopped running and put my back against it to face my pursuers. There was nothing to see at first. After a moment I saw what looked to be large clumps of snow hurtle in my direction! The snow wolves cried out together in cheerful yelps for they believed their quarry was cornered and as good as finished. I took the sack containing my food from my shoulder and opened it. Reaching in I took a handful of meat and threw it back the way I had come. Then I threw another and another until some twenty or more generous pieces of boar meat lay between me and the fast approaching snow wolves. I took one of the sticks which the mountain tribe used to skewer and eat the flesh hoping my plan would work. The nearest wolf, a lean young thing, had its eyes fixed upon me. Its nose twitched suddenly. His head darted from side to side. Then, will alarming force, it sunk its heels into the snow and halted barely ten paces from me; as close as I am to you right now. Its head and nose went downwards and swept the ground before it. His jaws then opened and he bit something before his hungry mouth opened and closed in rapid succession as he devoured the food I had thrown. To my immense relief its fellows, some five of them, also halted alongside him. They looked at him with surprised curiosity then, realising there was ready food at hand, began searching the ground for the rest of it. Now was the time for me to sneak away. Keeping my back to the tree, I side-stepped to the left onto the open ground. Each of the wolves was happily munching away. I threw them another piece of meat for the more time they spent eating the more time I had to escape. I got to about thirty paces from them and still they ate but there then came another howl! From the gloom beyond them came their mighty leader! Why he had remained behind I did not know but he snapped at his docile minions as he charged towards me. This one was a true hunter who could not be bought with meat or semi-tamed by man. With unrelenting fury he bore down on me with grimacing fangs and eyes bleeding with hate. I put the sack between us to act as a shield and as he leapt upon me I lunged forward with my spear-like stick. It was an awful fight. He snapped and snarled and clawed and bit but I kicked, stabbed and punched in reply. Eventually, in sheer fury, he dug his teeth into the sack with such force that he tore it open and took away a whole hind leg of the boar within! As he savoured his prize I walloped him across the face with my stick and swore at the beast at the top of my lungs! Leaving him to eat and lick his gashes I limped off into the night. He had given me cuts upon my arms and legs which stung me profusely but there was nothing I could do to treat them. The snow continued to fall and after some I collapsed into a dry, leaf-strewn hollow where I slept.
‘Let the wolves and the hairy men and all the terrible creatures of the night come and test me if they want’. Those were my thoughts as I dropped into a strangely comfortable slumber.

All that joined me in that warm hollow was nothing more than a sparrow looking for his breakfast. When I stirred it hopped out and flew away. My whole body ached from the wolf’s attack and I did my best to treat my cuts but thankfully they were not serious. Most of my food was also gone as I had sacrificed it to the wolves in exchange for my life; a fair trade but one that did not guarantee my survival. After eating a meagre portion of the boar I set off. At least the snow had stopped however it remained thick on the ground. The next four days were quiet and uneventful. I saw neither sight nor sound of bird, beast or man as I continued north through the forest. Surely now I must be in the same region from where I had been separated from my brother and companions. I judged that I was. Perhaps I merely sought to boost my morale at the knowledge of being closer to home and while I could not be certain there was a familiarity about the land I had now entered. The trees became less concentrated and in parts there were wide open spaces between them therefore I was nearing the fringe of the forest. Soon after I emerged into lands of undulating hills. Patches of woodland lingered in places but the worst of the forest was behind me.

This stage of my journey would perhaps prove the most testing. I had come far and suffered much but I knew that if I kept a steady course north I would be home within ten days. Fortune though had its own agenda and it was contrary to mine. Having been out in the elements for so long had attuned me to their temperaments. Clearly snow was nature’s favourite son at present and by its colour the sky gave notice of its intent to lavish more of it upon me. My judgement told me that I could expect a downpour in the near future but the air tasted mild to give me enough heart to continue. To my frustration I went little distance. Here the snow was thicker underfoot than amidst the forest where the tree branches caught it and gave protection to the ground. Thus I sought routes through the clusters of trees thereabouts both in order to progress and guard myself from the eyes of spies for I was still in the realm of the mountain men and by straying within the woodlands I would be less visible to anyone who cared to look for me. Indeed I guessed that I was not far from where they had ambushed my party some days before so I had extra reason to remain on my guard ere any of their kinsmen lurked nearby. In this uneventful manner I continued for three days; striding slowly through the woods, up and down endless hills all the while remaining vigilant. My sack of food grew lighter with each passing day forcing me to ration it further. This meant I would once again go hungry but what else could I do? To my relief it did not snow again but the air was so bitterly cold that even my thick cloak was becoming of little value. My only respites came when I stopped to rest and eat in dry sheltered places; under hedges or trees or any dry spot I was lucky to find as I went trudged onward. I took to speaking to the birds for I had no one else to talk to. It even helped pass the time.”
“Hello good Robin, how are you?”
“I have a burning chest man of the Earth. That’s why I linger in the snow, to cool it down.”
“Very wise of you, little bird though I am famished with cold and long for some heat!”
“I cannot help you and now I must fly home to my nesting where it is warm.”
“Can I follow you there?”
“No, you are too big. Farewell!”

“My head was hot and filled with a horde of wild, nonsensical ideas that caused my belly to quake. Birds, trees and beasts all spoke to me, mocked me and made me feel sick. I don’t know for how long the ravages of my journey unhinged my mind so but thankfully these absurd notions passed only to be replaced by a tangible concern. I came to the top of a hill the summit of which gave me a wide view of the surrounding lands. Was I lost? The snow made it all look different and if it had been summer I could well have reckoned exactly where I was in proportion to home. But the very act of looking vexed my weakened body and I fell onto my knees, put my head into the snow and was sick upon the ground. Dispensing of those bodily waters appeared to revitalise me somewhat but for a while I lay there happy to die. My bones would lie in that lonely place forever, forgotten and unadorned but I would be asleep in peace.

Something rugged struck my face. It had the same clammy feel of a hand like when your mother slaps me awake in the morning. I opened my eyes but there was no one about me so I guessed it to be another delusion. Far away, in the middle of the valley I had ascended some hours before, appeared a sight that brought me to my feet! My eyes had followed the trail I had left in the snow the night before and half way up the valley stood the figure of a man! Even at this range I could see that he was a tall warrior armed with a great spear. He stooped to the ground then tilted his head up in my direction. I was surely at too great a distance for him to construe me, concealed as I was by a ring of trees, yet I felt very afraid. Rising, he put a hand to his mouth, whistled, then bounded up the slope! With no hesitation I gathered my pack and ran! It was foolish of me to run in the snow for I made less ground than I would when walking. I had also churned up so much snow in my wake that my pursuer could easily track my course hence I slowed down when I reached the bottom of the hill. Attempting to hide here would have been impossible. When he came to the point where I had first seen him the man could espy me so with the fastest walk I could muster I bore towards another patch of trees not far away. It would soon be dark and if this wood was large enough I could hide therein for the night. I entered it and fled to the darkest part of it. This wood was denser than the larger one I had recently traversed so the snow was lighter on the ground giving me leave to move faster from the wild man behind me. The light waned but I continued on and only when it was fully dark did I stop and spend an uncomfortable night in the boughs of a tree.

I had no time to rest further and the first light saw me rise and continue. A pitiful handful of meat was my breakfast; it was scarcely enough but was all I could afford to eat. All that day my instinct told me I was completely alone; no one was nearby and I was just beginning to relax and had even allowed myself a more generous supper when I heard a sound that made me feel as if I had been thrown into icy water. The wailing of the wind carried it from afar right to my frozen ears; an animal’s howl. It was unlike any sound I’d ever heard an animal unleash. To add to my distress it was accompanied by the wild entreaties of a voice; a human voice that seemed to be urging on whatever snarling beast it was! In his pursuit this hunter had a deadly ally. My pursuers could not be far and seemed to show no slack in their determination. With a weary exhale I went on into the night.

I cannot tell you how time passed after that. It could have been a day or a week or more. What I can tell you is that it was an ordeal that was almost beyond endurance. Day and night became the same. When I did get an hour’s sleep its worth was lost as I went on running as soon as I opened my eyes. Long ago I had become oblivious to the cold and used to traversing the snow but my enemies were too for hardly a moment passed when their battle cries and howls terrorised my mind and lashed my back like the strokes of a whip. I had to keep going! I was veering north and already the land looked more familiar but it did not comfort me much. An unsettling nausea flared up in my belly causing my pace to slacken. My vision faltered. Everything was submerged with a sickly haze and with each step this gloom intensified. My head was aflame inside and my back and legs ached. The noises behind me grew louder. They were indomitable and such was their force that the temptation to give up was strong. ‘Why not halt, take a rest, let them get you’, said a traitor’s voice in my thoughts. It was countermanded, not so much by another thought, but by the intensity of my physical momentum coupled with the overriding survival instinct that had overall authority of my being.

This unconscionable period of agony for me receded when I found myself somewhere in the rocky hills. Thankfully the snow had not yet come to those parts and a change in the air brought me into calmer thoughts. I was still alive, still had my warm cloak and sack of food but I was still being chased. My pursuer and his beast were nearing me, their crises resounding off the flat, grey rocks. I was not as afraid as I had been on my delirious sprint to this place yet I was more alert and despite my ordeal felt fresh and eager. Still I could not survive a fight with such a determined foe so I made my way through the corridors of jagged stone hoping to elude them in this barren maze. The ground was coarse underfoot after the familiar softness of the snow. I tried to keep my feet on the flat stones as much as possible but after only a few steps they were bruised and sore. It made me winch and I had to fight the temptation to stop and try to soothe them as the echoes of an enraged snarl reverberated amidst the rocks. Clearly my demented pursuers had no such qualms over brittle rocks pressing hard upon soft flesh. Maybe they felt no pain, no compassion, no remorse. This made them all the more terrifying and at this realisation the sweat upon my back froze to chill my very spine. Surely my fate was inevitable. They would kill me! They would kill me and leave my bones to rot forever in this dismal, lonely place with no one to remember my story. Tales may be told by my friends of how I had vanished in the wild, taken by something worse than the men and beasts of that desolate region. And so my own tribe would become more fearful of the outside world, more insular, more vulnerable to their enemies. Thus I had to reach home for their sake more than mine! I had to assuage them not only of the world’s worth but their own.

First I had to face an evil in the dark. The labyrinth of ashen stone led to a clearing in the hills, a large hollow with steep ranks of rock on every side. When I came to the wall of stone I stopped and set my weary head against it in a breathless state. This was it. I could go no further. With no way out but the way I had come I turned, threw down my sack, put my back against the rock face and sunk to the cold ground. From the entrance to the hollow the clamour behind me was extinguished. Then, after a dreadful pause, there entered a man and a beast. Even now I cannot say which was worst. The man’s height seemed almost unnatural. I am sure he could have leapt out from that pit of stone if he had the inclination. His visage though was more beast than man. Pitch was his hair and his deformed teeth protruded outward from his rough face while his eyes exuded a smug blood lust. Yet I had seen that face before. I had seen it when hiding in the fern from the mountain men. It was unmistakably their leader, their chief who had caught up with me at last. But it was not so much the man that added to my despair but the creature he had leashed. It was a sabre tooth; a giant cat of the plains, the breed which no one could tame yet here it was, thirsting for my flesh at the command of a wild man whose prize cloak now draped around me. Both grimaced with a prideful rage as they beheld me, their prey, exhausted and with all hope gone. The chief licked his lips as he produced a cruel-looking spear bedecked with the bones and hairs of its past victims. He rattled its base against the rock making a noise which was an agony to hear. Then he eased his grip upon his pet’s leash and the pair advanced slowly towards me.

How does one face their end? It surely depends on where we are, how we feel, what we are faced with. I had been a coward too long on this chase. Now I could run no more and if they thought I would fall easy they were mistaken. When they were half way across the hollow I lifted my sack and hurled it at them. It barely brushed the cat’s face and hit the ground. With a swing of his left leg the chief kicked it away. His laugh seemed to say how pathetic my effort to stop them was. Next I lifted a fist-sized rock and threw it. I missed. The chief’s mocking laugh would have infuriated me if I had the strength to be angry. His sabre-tooth, yearning for the kill, pulled him as he held fast its leash.
“You thief and coward!” he scoffed.
The cat’s hiss was like a poisonous vapour. It clawed at me but the chief was determined to make my suffering last longer.
“It was a long chase,” he said. “I will have my sport!”
He relaxed his grip on the leash. It was enough for the sabre-tooth to lunge forward and gash my right arm. Before it could maul me the chief grasped the beast’s tether tightly once again. My defiance was over. I pressed my left hand against my wound and sunk against the wall behind me. The chief raised his spear, pointing its tip toward my neck.
“Farewell thief,” he said with an evil smile. I closed my eyes. Moments later that lonely hollow in the hills was riven by the singing of a horn. Its melody was accentuated by the roundness of the place and its loudness revitalised me whilst dismaying my would-be murderers. I opened my eyes to see them changed. Fear had supplanted their hate as they raised their heads in search of its source. I saw it before they did. There on the crest of the hollow, silhouetted by a partial moon, stood a tall broad warrior. His blaring horn rested in his mouth and his spear-hand was poised with a long, keen blade. When he saw the figure the chief went numb. Perhaps his keen hunter instinct sensed something other-worldly about it. The cat too had undergone a change. Its head turned every direction and when it saw the warrior it was ready to bolt to oblivion. The chief dug his feet into the earth and pulled at the leash in an effort to stop the animal’s flight. This task was made harder when the figure put away its horn and leapt down into the hollow. It paused. In the profound silence which followed even I felt unnerved but for some reason I felt no threat from the mysterious man whose face I could not see. At last the chief could restrain the beast no longer. The figure’s descent into the pit was now too much for the sabre-tooth to endure and with one last effort it extricated itself from its master’s hands and fled. As it passed the warrior there was a flash of movement and I saw the glitter of metal as the cat gave a howl before limping away into the night. The chief stood there trembling as the newcomer turned to see face him. Then he slowly advanced toward the mountain man. To see such a mighty person turn and run amused me despite my condition. He jumped up the wall and clung to the side of the pit with both hands at the top, trying to dig himself out. The stranger showed no urgency as he moved over and grabbed the chief by the cloak. With an effortless flick of the wrist he sent the chief hurtling backwards to land with a crash right in the centre of the hollow. The chief groaned and tried to cover his face when the warrior approached him. He raised his spear and set it to the chief’s heart.
“No,” I whispered. I had no desire to see him die. To my relief the warrior did not skewer him. Instead he raised his spear and pointed it to the entrance of the hollow; an invitation for the mountain chief to join his cat and flee. But the chief was too terrified to move and after a dreadful moment the warrior once again put his horn to his lips and unleashed a long blast. Overwhelmed though he was, the chief managed to crawl to his feet and sprint away in sobs.

Now I was left alone with the stranger. I did not feel afraid, merely apprehensive. With a tilt of his head the warrior looked towards me with his unseen eyes. There followed a long silence. A fog began to spill into the hollow. As it began the warrior gently walked towards me. He reached out his hand and helped me to my feet. Though it was too dark to see his face I caught the outline of a silver beard sparkle in the faint moonlight. Then he stepped back and held out his spear. He wanted me to take it. I did so and after another long look at me he turned and walked into the mist without a word. With unusual quickness the fog relented and I found myself alone. Dawn arrived and I dozed for a while. When it was fully light I noticed to my delight that the chief had discarded a plentiful sack of food at the entrance to the hollow so I enjoyed a hearty breakfast, the nicest I had had in ages. Then I tore a piece of sack and tied it around the wound on my right arm as best I could. It was now time to press on so I gathered my sacks and spear and set off. Thanks to the daylight it did not take me long to escape the confines of the rocky hills and at around noon I came to a smooth expanse of rock that led down into the snow-strewn plains. Despite the cold this vista warmed my heart to see it for this land was the domain of my own people whom I would soon be among once again. The low winter sun shone warmly as I walked down the mountain. In the distance, on the cliff side I spotted what looked like a large solitary boulder. As I drew nearer it was apparent that it was not a boulder. Instead it was a cluster of small grey rocks all stacked on top of one another to form a mound, or rather a cairn; a cairn of burial. A latent memory arose in my mind for I now remembered that I had stood there, on that very spot, once before. Under this very cairn lay the bones of my father! It was there, on that mountain side, that we had buried him on that fateful day long ago. It was only then that I recalled the spear. With trepidation I took a long, careful look at it. It too I had seen before. Strewn with peacock feathers and richly carved, it was as fresh as the day we had left it atop the cairn when we laid its owner to rest there in time past. This knowledge served to make my heavy cloak useless for the cold sensation I then experienced felt as if I was standing naked in the frosty air! There was no mistaking it; this very spear was the one that had belonged to my father! My father, whose spirit had saved me in the night, had bequeathed it to me to keep safe for the rest of my life. That same noble spirit, whose horn waylaid the mountain men in the woods and defeated their chief and his sabre-tooth, watches over us even now. And to prove it, here is the spear!”
From behind him the father unfurled the same weapon he had described. The children shrieked!
“Here it is,” he laughed. “Thy grandsire’s lance; given to me on that dark night in a dreary hollow of the hills! I lingered on the mountainside for most of the day contemplating the night before and the day of my father’s death. Now I was no longer afraid, I was grateful and blessed that I had passed his grave. Such are the pleasant intricacies of fortune.

The next few days passed easily. I was well warmed and had plenty of food but most of all I was nearing my homeland. One mid morning I walked out into a snow-drenched field and halted. Amidst some trees not far away I saw some people move. There were three of them. They emerged and saw me. One of them cried out in alarm and they all reached for their weapons. Their leader led them towards me but when he drew nearer he stopped and looked closely at me. I called out in greeting and he threw his blade upon the ground and laughed. Then Uncle, for it was he, lunged his arms around me and held me in a long embrace. I had been given up for dead he said. While he had wanted to continue the search for me on the day I toppled off the cliff the threat of the mountain men and the coming snows had forced him to lead his men back to our own country. He had feared the worst but a faint sliver of hope deep in his heart made him feel I was still alive out there in the wild. We went home to our shelter as the east wind began to blow just as it is tonight.”
The man took in a deep breath at the completion of his story.
“So there you have it. I was going to wait until you were older to tell you that tale but with age our minds become less inviting and such stories may be wasted on the old.”
“What else did you do when you were young Dad?” asked his son.
“Yes! Did you have any more adventures?” added his daughter excitedly.
“Did I have any more adventures? Does Winter turn to Spring? Of course I did! I could tell you of how I once crossed the frozen sea to the island of the north!”
The children leaned in expectantly to hear this new tale.
“But I won’t,” laughed their father.
“Dad!” implored his daughter.
“Sorry my dears. One story is enough for tonight. Now you must sleep but perhaps one day I will tell it to you.”
The boy and girl groaned and departed to the place where they slept. Then the mother of his children appeared.
“Was that story true?” asked the mother with mirthful suspicion. She didn’t believe it for an instance but it had amused her.
Her man grinned.
“No,” he said at last. “At least not all of it. For a start I may have exaggerated about how I was chased by the wolves but as for the rest, believe it or not, it did happen.”
His spouse looked at him closely.
“Even if it wasn’t true, I enjoyed hearing it,” she said.
“Thank you.” said the storyteller solemnly. “I wonder….”
“Yes?”
“I wonder if their Grandsire still walks abroad on nights like this. Do all such noble spirits linger? Do they watch us even now? Perhaps many winters from now when our bones and those of our children have turned to dust and world has changed beyond our recognition men will know the answers to such questions.”
“Or maybe they won’t,” said the woman. “If we knew the answer to every mystery beneath the sun then life would be dull. Would it not?”
“That it would,” said the man holding her closely while he took one last look out at the nightscape before both turned and went to sleep as the first shards of a light rain began to fall.



© Ciaran McVeigh 2010

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