
a nearby hill where the Devaki men held their secret ceremonies. Danlo was not allowed to speak,
so he skied behind Soli in silence.
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As he planted his poles and pushed and glided through the snow, he listened to the sounds of the
forest: the loons warbling with bellies full of yu berries; the clicking of the sleekits halfway out of
their burrows, warning each other that danger was near; the wind keening across the hills, up
through the great yu trees heavy with snow. It was strange the way he could hear the wind far off
before he could feel it stinging his face. He listened for Haidar's rough voice in the wind, and the
voices of his other ancestors, too. But the wind was just the wind; it was only the cold, clean
breath of the world. He hadn't yet entered into the dreamtime, where his mother's dying plaints
and the moaning of the wind would be as one. He smelled sea ice and pine needles in the wind; as
the light failed and the greens and reds bled away from the trees, the whole forest was rich with
the smells of the freezing night and with life.
In silence, they climbed up the gentle slopes of Winter Pock. The hill was treeless and barren at
the top, like an old man whose hair has fallen off the crown of his head. Set into the snow around
a large circle were wooden stakes. Each stake was topped with the skull of a different animal.
There were a hundred different skulls: the great, tusked skull of Tuwa, the mammoth; the skulls of
Nunki and long, pointed skulls of the snow fox and wolf; there were many, many smaller skulls,
those of the birds, Ayeye, the thallow, and Gunda and Rakri, and Ahira, the snowy owl. Danlo had
never seen such a sight in all of his life, for the boys of the tribe were not allowed to approach
Winter Pock. In the twilight, the circle of greyish-white skulls looked ominous and terrifying. Danlo
knew that each man, after his cutting, would look up at the skulls to find his doffel, his other-self,
the one special animal he would never again hunt. His doffel would guide him into the dreamtime,
and later, through all the days of his life. Beyond this bit of common knowledge, Danlo knew almost
nothing of what was to come.
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Soli kicked off his skis and led him inside the circle of skulls. At the circle's centre, oriented east to
west, was a platform of packed snow. 'When we begin,' Soli said, 'you must lie here facing the
stars.' He explained that it was traditional for the initiate boy to lie on the backs of four kneeling
men, but since the men had all gone over, the platform would have to do. Around the platform
were many piles of wood. Soli held a glowing coal to each pile in turn, and soon there were dozens
of fires blazing. The fires would keep Danlo from freezing to death.
'And now we begin,' Soli said. He spread a white shagshay fur over the platform and bade Danlo
to remove his clothes. Night had fallen, and a million stars twinkled against the blackness of the
sky. Danlo lay down on his back, with his head toward the east as in any important ceremony. He
looked up at the stars. The lean muscles of his thighs, belly and chest were hard beneath his ivory
skin. Despite the fires' flickering heat, he was instantly cold.
'You may not move,' Soli said. 'No matter what you hear, you may not turn your head. And you
may not close your eyes. Above all, on pain of death, you may not cry out. On pain of death, Danlo.'
Soli left him alone, then, and Danlo stared up at the deep dome of the sky. The world and the
sky, he thought – two halves of the great circle of halla enfolding all living things. He knew that the
lights in the sky were the eyes of his ancestors, the Old Ones, who had come out this night to
watch him become a man. There were many, many lights; Soli had taught him the art of counting,
but he could not count the number of Old Ones who had lain here before him because it would be
unseemly to count the spirits of dead men as one did pebbles or shells by the sea. He looked up at
the stars, and he saw the eyes of his father, and his father's fathers, and he prayed that he would
not break the great circle with cries of pain.
After a while he began to hear sounds. There came
27
sharp, clacking sounds, as of two rocks being struck together. As the fires burned over him, the
rhythm of the clacking quickened; it grew louder and nearer. The sound split the night. Danlo's right
half knew that it must be Soli making this unnerving sound, but his left half began to wonder. He
could not move his head; it seemed that the eyelight of the Old Ones was streaming out of the
blackness, dazzling him with light. The clacking hurt his ear now and was very close. He could not
move his head to look, and he feared that the Old Ones were coming to test him with terror.
Suddenly, the clacking stopped. Silence fell over him. He waited a long time, and all he could hear
was his deep breathing and the drumbeat of his heart. Then there came a dreadful whirring and
whooshing that he had never experienced before; the air itself seemed to be splitting apart with
the sound. The Old Ones were coming for him, his left side whispered. He dare not move or else
they would know that he was still just a frightened boy. How could Soli be making such a sound,
his right side wanted to know? He dare not move or Soli would have to do a terrible thing.
'Danlo!' a voice screamed out of the darkness. 'Danlo-mi!' It was not Soli who called to him; it was
not the voice of a man. 'Danlo, dorona ti-lot! Danlo, we require your blood, now!'
It was the voice of a terrible animal he had never heard before. It screamed like a thallow and
roared like a bear, all at once. He began to tremble, or perhaps he was just shivering, he couldn't
tell which. Despite the intense cold, drops of sweat burst from his skin all across his forehead,
chest, and belly. The animal screamed again, and Danlo waited motionless for it to tear at the
throbbing arteries of his throat. He held his head rigid, pressing it down into the fur. He wanted to
close his eyes and scream, but he could not. Straight up at the dazzling lights he stared, and