Free The Days of the Deer by Liliana Bodoc Page A

stretched out the palm of her hand to tell the boy not to go on. Instead, she was the one who spoke:
    ‘Dulkancellin, don’t take the Zitzahay to the forest. Let him live, and go with him on your journey to the north. You will meet Kupuka before you have left the paths you know. Let
Kupuka decide the fate of this person who says he is called Cucub!’
    ‘You know I cannot do that,’ replied Dulkancellin, failing to realize his mother was not begging a favour from him.
    ‘I am exercising my right,’ the old woman said gently. ‘I still hear the rain coming before you do. And I say, regretfully, that the moment has come for me to go against your
decision.’
    ‘You are going against our laws,’ murmured her son.
    ‘But it is our laws which also give me the power I am calling upon. I was the first person in this house to hear the rain on the leaves.’
    Every season since Dulkancellin could remember, Old Mother Kush had won this right. Yet never before had she used it. The warrior was confused. Why did his mother want to get mixed up in such
serious matters?
    ‘Old woman, you are also going against justice.’
    ‘Has this old woman said you should not make sure justice is done?’ Kush responded sharply. ‘I did not say that, simply that you should wait until Kupuka learns what has
happened and approves the sentence. Our justice is not in the hands of any one person. And the person who has decreed Cucub’s death is not the Council, although he has acted as if he
were.’
    ‘I can think of no better way to act,’ said Dulkancellin.
    ‘Do as you say: observe the laws,’ his mother replied. ‘For once, I am imposing my will on yours. I have this right. Do you understand how rarely we Husihuilkes use it? Do you
understand that I have never done so? Yet I am doing so now, because that is what the voice inside me is telling me.’
    Dulkancellin still hesitated between his own sense of right and his mother’s.
    ‘Be careful, my son. It is not good that a man and his laws are at odds with each other.’
    ‘I will respect your right,’ said the warrior.
    All this time the Zitzahay had been standing with his eyes closed, and seemed to have distanced himself from the discussion. So much so that Dulkancellin now shook him roughly.
    ‘Listen to me! I don’t know what charms you used to cloud this woman’s understanding. But neither they nor any others will succeed in fooling Kupuka. You will leave here as my
prisoner.’
    Dulkancellin took some of the clothes Cucub was wearing from him, as well as most of his possessions.
    ‘Sit over there!’ he ordered. ‘We will leave when the sun has risen three times. And remember, you may still be alive, but you are not free.’
    The Zitzahay’s expression at his reprieve was far from joyful. He walked slowly over to the corner where Dulkancellin had pointed, and slumped down.
    ‘Come on, daughters!’ said Old Mother Kush. ‘We have a journey to prepare for.’
    The old woman was beginning to feel the pangs of doubt. She realized her decision had changed the course of great events, and was afraid she might be wrong. For his part, Dulkancellin hardly
dared ask himself whether the need he felt to take a deep breath of the damp night into his lungs was due to a sense of relief.

8
THE PRISONER’S SONG

    The following day was spent in preparations for their imminent departure.
The whole family took part, so that by nightfall nearly everything was complete. Dulkancellin
and the three boys were polishing the last arrow-heads. Old Mother Kush, Kuy-Kuyen and Wilkilén were smearing grease onto all the leather gear. The quiver, cape and boots had all to be
carefully polished so that they would not let in water or split.
    ‘Tomorrow the Zitzahay can gather together his things,’ said Dulkancellin to no one in particular.
    Still sitting there, hands tied, Cucub watched them hard at work. The previous night he had been given a good meal and a bed close to where