Page 109 of Circle of Days
“I don’t know.”
Pia was suddenly frightened.
Han picked up his bow and arrows and headed for the shore, followed by Thunder.
Pia watched him pass behind a screen of shrubs, then heard a strange noise, a twang and a whistle like an arrow being shot, then a grunt, then a thump as if something had fallen. She said: “What has Han shot?”
Thunder started barking hysterically, then suddenly went silent. Pia got to her feet, still holding Olin, and called: “Han? Are you all right, Han?” Scarily, there was no reply.
Fell drew his axe from his belt and stood with one foot on the deer, as if afraid a thief might try to drag it away.
“Han?” Pia hurried past the shrubbery, her agitation growing. Behind the bushes was a tall elm. In the shadow of the tree she saw Han lying flat on his back. There was an arrow in his neck, and blood poured out of his throat.
For a long moment she was paralyzed. She could not take in the picture she was looking at. It was impossible.
Then Olin started to cry.
Pia wanted to scream, but she feared she would frighten Olin. She suppressed her terror and knelt beside Han. He was hardly moving. “Talk to me, Han!” she said in a voice that was half spoken, half screeched. It seemed he could not speak. She stared at the arrow, feeling helpless. She thought she would vomit, and swallowed hard. Then she forced herself to be calm. As gently as she could, she pulled the arrow out of his neck. The blood flowed faster. “No!” she said. “No, no, no!”
Beside Han, Thunder lay with an arrow in his back. He was alive, breathing, but otherwise motionless. How sad and angry Han would be when he saw that!
She looked up. Through her tears she saw Stam, standing a few yards away, fitting another arrow to his bowstring. “You did this!” she screamed.
She looked at Han again and tried to stanch the blood with her free hand. It made no difference. She knew it was hopeless but she pressed harder. Olin was now crying loudly, a wail of distress. She clung to him as she bent over Han. “Don’t die, my love, don’t die!”
The gush of blood slowed. This was a bad sign. She had seen animals slaughtered, and she knew that when the blood stopped flowing the beast was dead. But she could not accept it. “I’ll makeyou better, I will, I will!” But a part of her mind that remained rational told her that Han would never get better.
She looked up again and saw Stam taking aim—not at her, but at something behind her. She turned and saw Fell, holding his axe high. He threw it just as Stam shot his arrow. She saw the axe graze Stam’s shoulder, and she turned again to see the arrow pierce Fell’s belly.
Fell screamed in agony and went down on his knees.
His dog ran away.
Stam clapped a hand to his shoulder. With his face screwed up in pain, he strode toward the wounded Fell, dropping his bow and taking a knife from his belt. Pia knew instinctively that he intended to finish Fell off. Still holding Olin, she threw herself at Stam, hitting him with her free hand.
He cursed and slapped her face. He was strong and his hand was hard. She went dizzy and her eyesight became blurred. He did it again, and she staggered, her entire head hurting. The third slap knocked her to the floor, and she lost her grip on Olin. She snatched him up quickly, holding him tightly to her chest, then looked at the others.
Stam turned on Fell, who—incredibly—had managed to rise to his feet and grapple with his attacker. They swayed to and fro for several moments, but Fell was fatally wounded and it was an uneven contest. Stam threw Fell to the ground, bent down, and cut his throat with the flint knife.
Pia stood up. Olin was yelling but she could tell that he was not in pain, just frightened. The carnage around was bewildering. Only moments ago Han and she had been talking, making plans,welcoming a guest; how could he be lying there still and silent? Would he never speak to her again? And kindhearted Fell next to him.
She began to believe that what she was looking at was reality. Han was gone. Han was dead. The horror of her loss consumed her, and she was possessed by rage. She snatched up the arrow she had taken from Han’s neck and dashed at Stam, determined to kill him, screaming: “You killed my Han, you monster, you animal, you mad wild boar!” Stam put up a defensive hand and parried the arrow, but its sharp flint head dug a groove in his forearm, and he gave a shout of pain and anger.
She drew her arm back for a fatal blow. But he was too quick. Instead of attacking her, he snatched Olin from her. Holding the baby by one ankle, he lifted his flint knife, still red with Fell’s blood, and held it next to the soft skin of the naked child.
Pia went weak. “No, please, don’t hurt him,” she cried. Her voice had lost all anger and aggression and had nothing in it but desperate supplication. She moved toward him to take Olin back, but he held the flint closer to the baby and said: “Stay where you are or I’ll cut him.”
She went down on her knees. “Give him back to me, please.”
“Understand something,” he said. “I’m taking you back to Farmplace, because that’s what my father wants, but I doubt whether he cares what happens to your baby. However, I’ll let you keep the brat as long as you behave yourself and do what I say. Any more trouble and I’ll throw him into the river and watch him drown.”
The threat made her burst into fresh tears. “I’ll be good, Ipromise,” she sobbed. “I’ll do anything you ask, please give him to me.”
“And you won’t try to run away from me.”
“No, I swear it.”
Still holding Olin by the ankle, he passed him to Pia. She took him and held him to her body, rocking him, murmuring in his ear: “It’s all right now, it’s all right now.” His crying became less hysterical.
