‘That’s true,’ the priest said. ‘But it’s not the hunting that’s the danger. It’s the Pretani . . .’
‘I will fulfil my promise.’
‘Whale!’
24
The cry had come from a boy standing on the crest of the dunes that stood over the Seven Houses. He waved and pointed east, towards the mouth of the bay.
The Etxelur folk forgot about their visitors and ran that way, scrambling over the dunes.
The Root glanced at Shade and his hunters, and began to stride that way too. The priest walked with them, at times half-trotting to keep up with their long paces, and Zesi and Ana followed.
They soon crossed the dunes and clambered down to the beach, and walked towards the mouth of the bay, opposite Flint Island. The Pretani looked extraordinary as they marched along the strand, Ana thought, their hoof-like feet kicking up brown-yellow sand that clung to their furs and their bare, sweating legs. They were out of place, like aurochs driven along a beach.
And at the neck of the bay she saw the whale, huge and glistening, stranded on the stretch of tidal marsh land opposite the island. It must have lost its way in the open ocean and swum into the bay - or it might have been driven that way by Etxelur fisherfolk.
The whale still lived; its big tail fluke quivered, and its skin glistened wet. But its life was effectively over. Its own weight would crush it, if it wasn’t finished off by spears and knives.
The people ran towards it, shouting their pleasure and excitement. Etxelur folk went whaling, but it was a dangerous venture to chase down such huge, powerful animals in skin boats with bone harpoons. To have such a beast delivered to their own shore without risking any lives was a gift of the little mother of the sea. Soon the process of turning the whale into a mountain of meat, oil, and bones would begin.
But even before she got there Ana heard shouting voices, and saw raised fists and shaken spears.
‘Snailheads,’ Zesi murmured. ‘That’s all we need.’
A group of the strangers were confronting the gathering Etxelur folk. The snailheads, here for the Giving, were led by Knuckle, the man Ana had met at the summer camp, who faced Jaku, uncle of Ana and Zesi. These two were screaming in each other’s faces. Etxelur folk and snailheads, gathered round, were joining in, backing their champions and yelling insults. All this was played out beneath the huge, sad eye of the dying whale.
The priest tried to get between the arguing men. ‘What’s this about?’
The snailhead, Knuckle, roared in his broken traders’ tongue, ‘Our find! Ours! Our fish!’
Jaku laughed. ‘It’s a whale, you fool. A whale, not a fish. Don’t you have whales where you come from? Maybe you don’t. Why don’t you snailheads just go home?’
The Root boomed laughter. ‘Like day-old calves butting heads.’
Knuckle stared at him, and switched to the traders’ tongue. ‘Pretani?’ And he saw Shade behind his father. ‘You.’ He marched towards Shade. The man’s extraordinary elongated skull, painted today with green spirals, had veins that throbbed at each temple. ‘You! Brother of the man who killed my brother. I told you at the camp - stay out of my sight.’
The Root growled, ‘You don’t tell a Pretani what to do.’
‘I see your ugly face. Father of killer?’
Root glared at the priest. ‘What did he say? Tell me, priest.’
Jurgi, exasperated and alarmed, twisted his hands together. ‘He said - it doesn’t matter what he said—’
But then the arguments began again, everybody shouting, Jaku, Knuckle, the Root, Zesi, their followers waving fists and spears and knives, and the priest crying out for order, a three-way fight conducted in four languages, if you counted the traders’ tongue.
Ana pulled out of the angry mass, dismayed. She looked up at the whale’s huge eye. She was so close to it she could smell the sea on it, see the barnacles that peppered its flesh. The eye rolled, and she thought it looked down on her.
And somebody was clapping, above the fighting. Clap, clap, clap, steady as a heartbeat.
‘The priest’s right,’ came a voice in the traders’ tongue. ‘Who said what, it doesn’t matter. You’re all so busy squabbling you forget what’s important - the whale, whose life is being given up for you.’
The clapping was having a quieting effect; the squabbling groups shut up and turned to see. The voice was coming from above her - on top of