The End of a World

ONE

Chapter 1

Amid a jumbled mass of hills running back between shallow valleys to the horizon, the curves of a deep depression in the ground were to be distinguished. In some places these curves were gradual; in others they were looped back upon themselves, to form a kind of circus surrounded by cliffs. The depression denoted the bed of a river, which, in spite of the caprices of its course, flowed more or less regularly from north to south. Several little valleys, with streams in them, debouched on to one bank of the river or the other. Their sides rose up, here in gentle slopes, there, in contrast, steeply, in rocky walls, worn away and polished by the glacial waters of thousands of centuries, and hollowed out into wide shelters under the overhanging layers.

Bushes clung between the stones. A forest, with pines and birches in abundance, covered most of the landscape, but gave way to marshes in the low-lying parts and to prairie-land higher up. In the forest there were as many fallen trees as upright ones. Near the swamps the trunks of some were rotting and those of others were being gradually engulfed. A few oaks, with one foot still in the ground, as it were, preserved some foliage at their tops. Half-dead pines and maple-trees were leaning against their healthy brethren in the positions in which they had fallen when struck down by lightning, by storm, or simply by old age.

Mosses and grey lichen, impregnated with damp, covered the ground, on which rock often cropped out. A few sparse tufts of grass appeared in places. There were patches of snow still clinging to the northward sides of the hills.

The sun was sinking in a pale sky. It was cold and would freeze as soon as night came. Yet there was just enough balm in the air to make one feel that winter was nearing its end and that the buds would soon be swelling on the slender tips of the branches.

No human being was visible in all this landscape. It belonged, apparently, to the wind—which was from the west—and to the animals, who showed themselves every now and then. A musk-rat made a spring and disappeared. A silver-fox slipped along the edge of a wood, without hurrying, as though nothing interested him and as though there was no one to threaten him. A fishing-eagle was wheeling in great circles above the river. An owl hooted from the top of a larch and then, as though ashamed of having done so while it was still daylight, stopped abruptly. As far as the eye could reach, there was no sign of a field, or a road, or a steeple. There were not even any ruins to be seen. The country-side appeared to be just as it was when it had issued from the casual hands of nature and before man had set his mark upon it.

But as the horizontal rays of the sun touched the hill-tops, a bluish mist mingled with the golden mists of the sunset. It climbed the height of one of the cliffs by the river, was broken up amongst the bushes, and then, reaching the top of the escarpment, moved away in little clouds which were toyed with by the wind.

Rather farther away a thin column of smoke quivered in the blue before it was dispersed by the breeze.

Man was present, hidden, in this far-stretching country-side.

Chapter 2

When dusk came, a human form detached itself from the trunk of a larch-tree on the edge of a ravine. It was as though this form belonged to the tree itself, and the trunk had suddenly separated into two parts. The form advanced upwind with stealthy steps, and then bent down to examine the faint tracks made by some animal. The footprints led to a small hole, near which the hunter lay down. He was a beardless young man, wearing a short jacket of reindeer hide over his shoulders and chest, breeches of the same material, reaching to his calves, and sandals of plaited leather on his feet. The hide, pliant and well worked, with its hairy side turned inwards, was of subdued shades, passing from grey to beige and from beige to pale pink, like the lichens on which Nô, son of Timaki, of the tribe of the Bear, had just lain down. But for the darker tone of his chestnut hair he would have been indistinguishable, in the fading light, from the uneven ground on which he was lying motionless, face downwards and resting on his elbows. He had a small head, with regular features, a thin nose, and clear, deep-sunk eyes. His dull complexion was tanned by exposure to sun and wind. He remained in this position, as still as a stone, for a long time. The stars—the same stars which shine above our heads today—came out, first one by one and then by thousands in the sky. The air became icy, but Nô did not seem to notice it. Was he asleep? A mouse, deceived by his stillness, ran across him and stopped for a second to play with a tuft of moss. A moment or two afterwards Nô heard a slight noise in the ground. He held his breath. A muzzle peeped out. Reassured by the silence, the whole head appeared, and a pair of keen little eyes searched the darkness. But they had barely time to search it for more than a second, for instantly Nô’s right hand, which grasped a sharp flint, came down on the pointed head, and with a sharp, but carefully restrained blow, fractured the creature’s skull, whilst at the same time his left hand, with a movement no less swift, checked its fall and prevented it from dropping back into its hole at the moment of death.

He sprang lightly up and smiled with pleasure as he examined his prey. It was a superb sable, carrying its winter coat of thick, soft fur and a long, flexible tail, as bushy as though it were still alive. He gently caressed the head and then held the dead beast tenderly against his cheek.

It was not I who took your life, little one, he said. It was the stone. And that was necessary, you understand. But see how I treat you! And tell your friends about it, so that they will not run away from me.

He was nursing the beast in his arms as though it were an angry child whom he wanted to sooth.

Then he strode away towards the bottom of the valley. For an instant his tall silhouette stood out on the hill-top against a star-strewn sky. It was that of a young man of more than six feet, with broad shoulders, a slim figure, and long legs. His gait was easy and collected, like that of an animal. On reaching a cross valley which led to the river, he stopped. Facing him was a cliff, coming down as a mass of rocks to a stream which formed the boundary of the sacred ground where nobody dared penetrate except on religious feast-days. Nô could have followed the left bank of this stream, but he was still young—just eighteen—and his mind was filled with mysterious dread. How was he to know—child that he still was—how to deal with the invisible powers which prowl around? He had not yet been led as one of a procession to the depths of the grotto which had its opening in the rocks nearby. He was not yet initiated. The evil spirits which haunted the country alarmed him more than did the savage beasts which he ventured to encounter. Wherefore, springing from stone to stone and taking care to avoid certain bushes which were haunted, he ran along the side of the slope.

He came out at last into the valley, went five hundred yards or so up the river, reached a small boat tied to a tree, crossed over with a few strokes of his paddle, and landed under a shelter which faced east. Climbing up amongst the stones, he set foot on a wide terrace.

It was darker up there under the overhanging rocks. At a little distance from each other six fires were burning slowly, and in the flickering light of the flames or embers a hut, with walls painted in vertical stripes of vivid colours, could be seen behind each of them. The rest was lost in darkness. Everything was peaceful. Occasionally the sounds of a child’s cry or the sonorous snore of some sleeper could be heard. This particular shelter contained six families, and the fact that there was no one on guard over it testified to the security in which the People of the River had lived for centuries. Hyenas would come boldly up to man’s habitations, but the carefully tended fires served to ward them off, though the noise of their strong jaws cracking the bones which had been thrown out of the shelters during the day was evidence of their nocturnal visits.

Without delay Nô slipped into one of the central huts. Though he made very little noise, a man lying near the entrance raised himself and asked in a low voice: What’s the news?

None, answered Nô. But I have been a long way and I have questioned everyone I met. People are uneasy all along the river.

In a different tone he added: I’ve killed this, and brought the sable out of his jacket to show to his father.

The latter examined it and then said: It’s fine.

Then he threw it to the back of the hut, spread himself out, and went to sleep again.

But Nô, crouching near the fire, pulled a bit of meat from under a hot stone and began to eat it. When he had finished, he walked a few steps to a stream which flowed between two huts and lay flat while he quenched his thirst in great gulps. Then he scattered water on his face and hands. For a moment he stood looking at the crescent moon, which seemed as if resting on the summit of the hill he had just left. He heard the thousand whispers of the night—and every one of them had a meaning for him. Far away a great horn-owl was hunting. Some animal, going down to the river, brushed against the branches of a shrub a hundred paces upstream. A boar, muttered Nô.

He went back into the hut, slipped into a fur-lined sack by his father’s side, and was asleep almost at once.

It was already beginning to grow light in the east and there was a hard frost. Nô woke with a start and exclaimed: I’ve found them during the night. I’ve found them! I ran on their tracks till I was out of breath.

He was still panting.

They were moving upstream towards the source of the river in this direction, he went on, pointing with his arm towards the north-east.

I’ll tell the Chief, presently, answered Timaki, who was busy making up the fire.

At the sound of their voices two women lying at the far end of the hut stood up and came across to Nô. One of them was a full-bosomed matron, with a wrinkled face and kindly eyes. Bahili approached her son and looked at him admiringly. In the tribe of the Bear, which was renowned for its beauty, where would one find a young man who was better built, stronger, or more supple? His mother had indeed cause to be proud of him. But already her heart shrank at the thought that they were now enjoying their last few months together, for with the summer would come the initiation, which would separate them.

Behind her was her daughter, stretching herself, her arms outspread. She was three years younger than Nô, slim as a reed, but well-formed nevertheless, with gently curving hips. Her little head, with its delicate features, was poised on a long, graceful neck. She was called Mah and would take part in the nuptial games in the following year. She yawned, showing a row of healthy teeth, as white as the narcissus in the meadow, and her yawn ended in a smile that was meant for her brother. For so long as the customs of the tribe allowed—and they were strict in the matter—she sought Nô’s company and followed him when he sauntered round the shelters. They were, indeed, very like each other—she making good in charm what he had in strength—in their effortless gait, astonishing even to this hunting people, which excelled in walking and running. Sometimes, towards the end of the afternoon, when Nô was at leisure and the weather was suitable, they would take their spears and go down to the river. They would return at dusk, their eyes sparkling with joy, carrying at arm’s length a catch of beautiful fish, with scales like mother of pearl. The women whom they met would look at Nô and sigh. But the men, seeing Mah pass, would say to each other: It will be a lucky man who carries her off and takes her as his wife.

Timaki and some of the inhabitants of the shelter, crouching at the edge of the terrace, were watching the pale sun climbing a sky that was still wintry. Nô joined them, for the hut had to be left so that his mother and sister could dress in peace. First of all, Bahili roused a six-year-old child and packed him off to play round the fires with other children of the same age. These three were the only children left to her. Babies died in large numbers and she was considered lucky to have kept three out of seven. The women proceeded to remove their clothes and rub themselves all over with fine grass which had been well steeped in aromatic herbs. Bahili wore her hair held up with pins of bone. Mah generally had hers loose over her shoulders, though sometimes she would plait it.

When Mah came out of the hut, she was dressed like her brother, except that her jacket, which was fuller than his, was trimmed round the neck with blue-fox fur. Neat little bone pins passed through a leather edging and held the garment close to her girlish figure. She came and sat down beside her mother, to whom Nô had already handed the sable brought in the night before.

Nô joined them.

When the merchants come this summer, he said, we will certainly get two necklaces in exchange for our skins. I shall wear one of them on the day when I enter the Place Which One Does Not Name. And the other will be for you, Mah.

Mah clapped her hands joyfully and began to skin the animal. For this purpose she had a selection of sharp flint instruments. Nô, eating a bit of fish, watched her working. Having killed the sable, he had carried out the man’s share of the work. It was for the women to prepare the skin—work in which Bahili and Mah excelled. They took immense pains to keep the pelts pliant, and, thanks to their skill—which everyone envied—none of