Kalik by Jack Lasenby Page B

remember an apple tree on an island. Getting enough to eat was always a problem.
    “In the Land of the White Bear, there was meat. A few green leaves in spring. Berries in autumn. Then just meat again all winter. Meat and fish.” I thought of the feasts. The rare meats we ate, frozen, boiled, raw. The sweetness of seal liver hot and running blood. There was no point in telling Kalik about it. I wanted him to believe me when I said Lake Ka was a place of rich abundance, that I was happy there.
    And paddling down it that day, light meshing the ripples in a shimmering net, it looked a paradise. Kalik laughed and sang old songs of war and love. Killing and betrayal. Life around the charmed lake.
    “That old story,” he said, “about a southern lake, it says the track to it goes through the hills there.” He raised his paddle and pointed. A trickle ran down the handle, down his arm, shoulder, back. He wriggled at its touch, and his muscles separated from each other a moment, then relaxed smooth. His body was beautiful, like the lake. And, like the lake, there was a darker Kalik below the skin.
    “I thought that was the way your track goes, to the Cold Hills and the Iron People?”
    “It swings more that way,” he pointed again. “South then east. But, if there was a track to a southern lake, somebody would have seen it. Somebody hunting. You can be sure of that!”
    “Look at the smoke! It’s coming up thick now!” I drew Kalik’s attention away. “I noticed while we were up at the timber workings, there’s another range higher than the one where the smoke’s rising. Further back again. Where the black cloud rises.”
    “Yes?”
    “Well, from the other side, from the Land of the White Bear, I saw range after range of mountain tops like that. We can only see the first from here. Just Grave Mountain and that bit of the range behind. There must be rows and rows of mountains you’d have to cross.”
    “I’ve thought about that,” said Kalik. “How to carry enough food and keep warm. You’d have to take enough slaves. Kill and eat them as you go. Meat on the hoof!” He chuckled.
    Nothing was beyond Kalik’s idea of the possible. Not even using people as pack animals, the way the Salt Men of the North Land used their slaves. But even they did not use them as food for the journey.
    Back at the Headland, the basket of red tote chips we carried was taken by the Maidens who sang, danced, and carried them up to the Roundhouse. Lutha just nodded at sight of us. We were in the way. Kalik grinned, amused, but I remembered what Lutha had done to Raka.
    When at last Lutha sent for me, Kalik was already with her beside the Roundhouse. The Maidens glowering.
    “What did you think of the timber workings?” Lutha was brisk.
    “I was surprised to see the hills cleared.”
    “We use much timber.”
    “Shouldn’t you replant?”
    “Why?”
    “For the future.”
    Lutha laughed scornfully. “There will always be more trees than we need.”
    “Think of another generation,” I said. “How about planting some of the hills nearer the Headland. Where the trees can be slid down into the lake. Easier and handier. And trees are your best protection if the sun gets hotter here.”
    Kalik smiled. “You’re obsessed with deserts, Ish,” Lutha said. She signalled. Two of the Maidens led Kalik and me away.
    “Don’t look back,” Kalik said. “Best avoid the Roundhousethe next few days.”
    I wanted to ask why, but he was busy examining the work done in his absence. Alterations to the fighting platforms over the gates. Rebuilding of a collapsed hut. The daily bow and spear practice. Kalik was everywhere, praising, encouraging. A sense of vigour went with him. Just his presence made difficult jobs seem easier. People worked harder, joined in his gay laughter.
    The Children welcomed, drew me inside their hut. Excited, several stood by the walls with bits of charcoal. “Are you watching? Watch me? Look, Ish!” And they wrote