Glade and Ivory Ch. 23

"What shall we do?" she asked Ptarmigan, as they cuddled together at night in their shelter, noses hidden under the furs from the icy cold outside. "I can't entertain the tribe as well as Glade could do. I'm not like her."

"In the village where I lived before I married Chief Cave Lion," said Ptarmigan, "the shaman was a man of great age and antiquity. He was severe and strict. He also couldn't tell many jokes and stories, but every night we were entertained around the flames of the fire."

"How was that?"

"The woman you call Glade is a clever and gifted shaman," said Ptarmigan slowly and carefully, aware as she was of Ivory's love. "There are few as wise or as entertaining or as skilled as she. That is why she is a shaman when so few other women are. You are only the second female shaman I have ever heard of. She has come from a distant land where the tribes have brown skin. She speaks many different tongues and knows many different things. She is such a good shaman that she dominates the tribe's evening entertainment. She sings beautiful songs. She tells stories and poems that mesmerise and entertain. She can make people weep, laugh, sigh and yearn. Few shamans can do that. In my village, the stories and the songs came not from the shaman but from the other villagers. Each villager took turns to sing a song or tell a tale."

Ivory could see the wisdom of Ptarmigan's words. So the following day when she and the Chief's wife visited the sick and wounded of the village and spoke to those who were gathering what food they could in the thick snow, they spread the word that from now on the prayers and chants to the spirits, necessary as they were, should be interspersed by members of the village telling a story, recounting a joke or singing a song.

That night, despite the initial nervousness and the polite applause that greeted the yearning song of sorrow that Ptarmigan sang after the first prayer to the spirits, the atmosphere lightened as one after another the villagers contributed to the evening's entertainment. This wasn't just by word and song alone. There was a drumming session from Falcon and Cave Hyena on some hollowed logs that accompanied a hunting song they'd learnt from the Reindeer Herders. There was a story about a lost mouse and a greedy wild cat that one of the women remembered from her childhood. One of the River People juggled with three and even four snowballs that he managed to keep aloft to everyone's astonishment.

Interspersed though it was by prayer and chant that became steadily briefer as the night continued, the entertainment caused much laughter, jollity, tears and applause however much it fell short of the high standards Glade had set. When it was over the villagers were in good humour and both Ptarmigan and Ivory judged that the spirits' wrath was assuaged.

And so a new routine was set in the village for the next few days as they huddled together in their shelters surrounded by the snowy acres. They ventured out only to gather food, sometimes by unearthing it from under the deep snow or by grabbing it from the branches of trees they'd clambered up. When the day was closing and the Sun began to sink behind the Mountain Valley walls, the villagers piled high the branches and logs that made the fire roar with fresh vigour and roasted whatever deer, hare, goat, bird or squirrel that had been caught or trapped, however meagre the day's catch might be, mixed with boiled or baked vegetables, nuts or roots. After and during the feast, the Mountain Valley echoed with cheerful song and music-making, solemn chants or prayer, sorrowful songs and laments, or raucous laughter from jokes that seemed somehow just as funny even when recounted with rather less of the comic timing or outrageousness than Glade could manage.

How could the spirits not reward Ptarmigan and Ivory now? the shaman's apprentice wondered. The couple had worked hard. They cared for Chief Cave Lion's children, addressed the villagers' spiritual and health needs, and kept everyone in good humour. Ivory was proud of her achievements and occasionally wished that Glade was there to appreciate what she had accomplished.

But she also feared whether this might also sunder apart the love she and Ptarmigan now had for each other.

But inevitably, the long wait came to an end.

It was Falcon who first saw the Chief's return. He raced back from the wood where he'd been preparing traps to tell the rest of the village. Figures were descending the valley-side and leading the procession was definitely Chief Cave Lion and behind him the shaman.

Amidst great cheering and applause, Glade and the Chief trudged through the snow towards the settlement. Behind them was a small body of men which included some, but not all the hunters who'd earlier ascended the valley slopes. Both Grey Wolf and Cave Bear were in the company.

All the hunters and even Glade were fatigued. Their furs were torn and patched. Glade's bare bosom kept sliding free of a gash in her furs that had been crudely stitched together in obvious haste. Chief Cave Lion had one arm in a bandage that Glade had improvised from deer-hide.

With the company of Mammoth Hunters was another stranger. He was tall, slender and wore thick furs that were quite simply the best tailored and best stitched furs that Ivory had ever seen. These furs were snug against his skin and made him look even more slender as he wasn't weighed down by thick loose clothing. He carried a flint-tipped spear of unsurpassed sophistication and carried a belt around his shoulder from which hung various small deer-hide bags, a bow and a sheath of arrows. He had high cheeks, a prominent chin and very pale, slightly freckled skin.

"Good news!" announced Chief Cave Lion as soon as he was close enough to be heard. "We've found a place in the hills where we can stay. There is a great bounty of game and a stream that runs so fast it never freezes. We're saved!"

Ivory smiled with delight and joined everyone else in congratulating the Chief and the hunters on their victorious return. But although the Chief's face was bursting with pride and happiness, the same couldn't be said for Glade as she stood by his side weighed down by the bag of provisions she carried.

Indeed, Glade betrayed very little enthusiasm at all.

And the stranger in the well-stitched furs showed even less.