Jutsa tried a question.

  ‘Where are your people?’

  At this, Andar nodded, and replied, ‘Andar.’

  Now it was Jutsa’s turn to frown, and she looked round quizzically at Garan and her sisters.

  ‘It means “Other”,’ said Aski, softly. ‘In the Ancient tongue.’

  ‘Really?’ said Jutsa. ‘You don’t think it’s just his name?’

  ‘I think it’s more than a coincidence,’ replied Aski, slightly mysteriously.

  Remi shook his head disapprovingly. He really didn’t like this mystical nonsense. Tuuli knew what he’d be thinking – that there was enough wonder and mystery in the world and enough that was genuinely intriguing – like the sudden appearance of this boy, in fact – without fabricating layers of hidden meanings.

  Andar was holding a hand to his chest.

  ‘Andar. Friend,’ he said, sounding very serious, looking at Jutsa intently, and then back at Tuuli and Wren.

  * * *

  ‘How do we know we can trust him?’ said Maatu, suddenly rising to his feet.

  ‘We don’t,’ said Jutsa, leaning forward. ‘But he’s young… We should give him a chance.’

  Maatu sighed and shook his head.

  ‘He’s still a lone wolf,’ he muttered under his breath, but sat back down.

  ‘Where have you come from?’ Jutsa asked Andar.

  It seemed that he understood this question, because he suddenly twisted round and pointed up – in the direction of the mountains.

  ‘From the mountains?’ asked Jutsa.

  ‘Yes,’ said Andar, very definitely. Then, forming his mouth around the unfamiliar word as he pointed again, he repeated, ‘Mountains.’

  ‘We never got this far with finding out where he’s from!’ exclaimed Wren.

  ‘He understands more than you thought, perhaps,’ said Jutsa.

  ‘Why doesn’t he know our language? Or – why doesn’t he know more of it?’ Tuuli asked no one and everyone.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Jutsa. ‘I think his people may come from very far away. Maybe even beyond the mountains.’

  * * *

  Three-winter-old Vinta had crept up to Andar, and was now standing right in front of him, looking at him very closely, with a puzzled expression on her face. Andar laughed.

  ‘Hey!’ he said, in a friendly way, and reached out to tickle Vinta, who suddenly took fright, squealed and ran away to sit in Garan’s lap.

  ‘We should sing some songs to welcome Andar,’ Aski said. She went to fetch her shaman drum. Maatu reluctantly dug out a swan-bone flute. Jutsa gave up the questioning for now.

  More sticks were added to the fire. The music and songs started. Aski beat out a skipping rhythm on her drum and Maatu played simple melodies that formed a backdrop to the familiar words and tunes of some of their favourite songs. Aski sang a song about travelling and another about reindeer; one about the salmon run and one about Ama, the earth, and how her body was bountiful and how she fed all her children. They all joined in with the chorus. Tuuli loved this song, and it made her arms feel shivery when all their voices combined in harmony. She looked across at Andar, who was sitting cross-legged with his elbows resting on his knees and his chin on his clasped hands. He was clearly enjoying the music. They sang:

  We are the Children of Ama,

  We were born of the earth.

  In the springtime of the world,

  As life unfurled,

  We were born of her.

  She holds us in her arms.

  Even Remi was singing. He loved a good song, even if it was a hymn to Ama. Then the last notes faded away and there was a pause – but not a long one.

  ‘The mammoth one! The mammoth one!’ Vinta petitioned Maatu.

  ‘Oh, I like that one too!’ shouted Kuba.

  Maatu glanced at Aski, who nodded. She started the slow, heavy beat of the Mammoth Song. Tuuli loved this song too. It started with the men singing and then the women layered their voices on top. Andar had been listening and smiling through all the other songs, but now that everyone was joining in – he did too. Of course he didn’t know the words, though he seemed to pick up a few along the way. But mostly he just sang with his mouth open, just as he’d done in the cave, forming an open ‘ahh’ sound that complemented the melody. Wren and Tuuli grinned at him. The others were smiling too – their frosty suspicion melting a little. Vinta, Numil and Kuba danced around the fire, pretending to be mammoths, stomping up and down and waving their arms like trunks. Lupa sat on the edge of the circle, pushed her nose up to the sky and howled along with the singing.

  Andar had clearly understood some of the words because when the song was over, he held out his arms like two great curving tusks and exclaimed, ‘Mummoth!’

  Vinta giggled.

  * * *

  Andar stayed with the tribe that night. Remi gave him a spare skin and helped him make a small shelter, which obviously puzzled him. Tuuli suspected he’d been planning on simply sleeping out in the open. But it might rain again. The stars were disappearing behind patchy clouds. Remi also gave Andar a couple of reindeer furs to lie on, and to cover him, too.

  ‘A fur beneath you is worth two on top of you,’ he said to Andar. It was an old adage and Tuuli had a well-worn reply ready.

  ‘But three furs under you and another three over you is even better,’ she quipped. ‘And what’s even better than that is if they’re sewn up into a bag.’

  ‘Are you going to give up your sleeping bag, then?’ Remi poked fun at her. Tuuli looked sheepish. ‘It’s not too cold,’ said Remi. ‘Our guest will sleep fine with these furs. Like a fox in his den.’

  ‘I’ll keep watch tonight,’ said Maatu, pointedly, settling down between the fire and Andar’s small shelter. He fixed Andar with a stare. ‘I will keep us all safe.’

  * * *

  And so Andar joined the Swans. The next day, when they embarked on the journey again, he went along with them, making himself useful by carrying a great roll of furs and skins on his back. The rain held off and they made good progress again – reaching one old campsite by midday, but pressing on to another that afternoon. Andar joined in with setting up the camp, with making a fire and then with knapping flints, making his weird knives and points by preparing a core cobble, as he’d shown Tuuli and Wren. Remi was intrigued by his method.

  ‘I’ve never seen anyone do it like that,’ he said, somewhat admiringly. ‘It looks odd, but it works!’

  ‘Show him your dart-thrower, Papa,’ said Tuuli.

  Remi showed Andar the dart-thrower he’d been working on. It still wasn’t quite right – it needed a better hook at the top to hold the dart in place – but Andar seemed to understand the principle of it when Remi attempted a demonstration. The dart fell to the ground too early, but there was clearly potential for this weapon to accelerate a projectile much faster than you could with just your hand and arm. Maatu and Kuba were watching too.

  ‘Make me one of those,’ pleaded Kuba.

  ‘He’s going to make one for me first,’ said Tuuli. ‘You get in line, Kuba-boy!’

  They went on a short hunting expedition that evening – Remi, Maatu, Starra, Wren, Kuba, Tuuli and Andar. A much bigger group than they’d usually hunt in. The small herd of mammoths was gathered by the river, just downstream of their camp. The hunting party gave them a wide berth. Mammoths – just as the old song said – were extremely dangerous animals. More humans were killed by mammoths than by any other animal. If you got too close, they would charge at you. If there was a calf on its own, that was fair prey. But these mammoths were a tight-knit group and the infant was sticking very close to the old female, its mother. Adult mammoths were far too dangerous to approach anything like close enough to throw a spear or a dart.

  Heading up into the taiga as the sun sank low in the sky, the hunting party came across a bachelor herd of roe deer and returned to the camp with two young bucks slung on poles again. They ate well that evening. And even Maatu seemed to be warming to Andar.

  Once again, they camped just on the edge of the taiga, away from the flat banks and stony beaches of the river, where they’d be too vulnerable, but not too deep in the forest, where bears and wolves would likely be lurking. They lit a few small fires and made shelters by slinging hides over ropes tied between trees. They were only a few days away from Summer Camp now.

  They had sped along this section of the valley – which was always easier, as the river widened and its banks flattened. Soon, very soon, they would hit the edge of the dunes. And then they would meet up with the rest of the tribes – and not only the ones they’d seen at Spring Camp, but many, many more – travelling from far and wide to congregate in the rich hunting grounds near the coast, to feast and make merry.

  Tuuli would normally be skipping through these last days of the migration, looking forward to summer fun, late evenings, and catching up with old friends. And to eating cloudberries, of course. She’d become more excited with each passing day, each bend in the river they tracked around. But now she could feel a rising anxiety. Sometimes it made her sick, and she couldn’t even tell Wren. She didn’t want to articulate it, as if that would make it more real. Because this was what preoccupied her; this was the thought that made her stomach leap and contract:

  Things had gone so well with Andar. Better than she could have dreamed. He’d been accepted, welcomed into the talo – even if she had no idea how long he expected to tag along with them.

  But how would all those other tribes react to the stranger in their midst?

  HAND-FASTING

  When they were just a few days away from the estuary and the great congregation that was Summer Camp, Aski and Maatu announced that they wanted to be together. Or rather they were already together, and now they wanted to make it official. And they’d decided it was best to make the pledge before they reached Summer Camp. Jutsa agreed, and by the campfire that evening, she bound their right hands together with a thin strip of beautiful white fox fur.

  ‘You have found each other,’ she said to them, looking from one to the other. ‘Aski of the shining moon and Maatu, strong serpent – as leader of this talo, I, Jutsa, am happy with this match.

  ‘You are in the talo and the talo is in you.

  ‘You will keep each other safe, you will bring each other joy.

  ‘You will both raise Nika to be strong, courageous and beautiful.

  ‘And in time, I hope, you will bring us more little swans!’

  Aski laughed. ‘In time, Jutsa, in time. But not just yet!’

  Maatu laughed too.

  Then Jutsa leaned in and sniffed, first Aski on both cheeks, then Maatu, and placed her own hands over their bound hands. Then she released the hold and stepped back, and Aski and Maatu sniffed each other’s cheeks and embraced.

  Remi slapped his thighs and whooped. Kuba joined in and Lupa howled in delight. Andar looked round at everyone in surprise then let out the loudest whoop of all, which made them all laugh.

  ‘Andar, you’re so embarrassing!’ hissed Wren, but she was laughing.

  Tuuli was glad to see that Garan, though her face was marked with such deep sorrow, was smiling at Aski and Maatu. Vinta and Numil ran up to hug Aski.

  And then there was another evening of song. Andar joined in enthusiastically, singing along with the melodies in his open-mouthed way, and sometimes repeating single words at the ends of phrases. In just a few days, his vocabulary had improved hugely, helped by Kuba constantly pointing things out to him as they walked along the river road.

  ‘That’s a tree. That’s a rock. That’s the river. That’s my mama – Starra. That’s my stupid sister, Wren…’

  ‘Kuba, do you really think Andar needs to learn the word “stupid” as a priority?’ said Wren, sounding annoyed. But then she grabbed Kuba round the neck and said, ‘This, Andar, is a stupid idiot.’

  ‘Stupud idot,’ said Andar.

  ‘Yes!’ exclaimed Wren, as Kuba wrestled out of her grip.

  There was no more heavy interrogation of Andar, as there had been on the first night he’d joined them all. But Jutsa, Remi and the other elders would occasionally try to ask him more about his own tribe, where he’d lived, and why he’d come to them. They did this individually, and only asked him questions in quiet moments, falling in beside him on the daily trek, or at the campfire, or while knapping. Tuuli overheard some of these – very one-sided – conversations. The adults were clearly trying not to put too much pressure on him, Tuuli thought, but it still felt like there was some urgency to the questions.

  Perhaps they, too, were worried about how other people at Summer Camp would respond to this stranger. That’s if he stayed with them that far. No one, not even Tuuli, had any idea what his plans were. It seemed quite easy to reach an understanding about objects and people who were there in the present: trees, rocks, mountains and mammoths; sisters and stupid idiots; and even the idea of “friend”. But trying to get at concepts of the past – where exactly had he come from? – or of the future – did he want to stay with the tribe? – was much more difficult. As for intention – what did he want? – that seemed like an impossibly out-of-reach abstract idea. While the elders seemed obsessed with these difficult questions, Tuuli was just happy that Andar was there. And that her new friend had quickly become part of the tribe.

  ‘It’s a bit like finding an older brother. A brother I never knew I had,’ she said to Wren, as they paddled in the river, soaking up the warm sunshine, half-heartedly stabbing at fish with their harpoons.

  ‘Well, if your long-lost brother looked nothing like you, couldn’t speak your language and had yellow hair and massive brows, I suppose it is!’ laughed Wren.

  ‘Don’t be evil!’ said Tuuli. ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ said Wren, more softly. ‘It is fun having him around. Like having a new toy.’

  ‘You’re so evil!’

  Wren laughed. And then she suddenly grew more serious.

  ‘Oh, Tuuli, you have to be ready for him to go. To disappear.’

  ‘Well, it seems like he wants to stay with us,’ argued Tuuli.

  ‘But none of us really know what he wants, do we? This could be like Summer Camp for him – you meet up with friends for a moon, then you leave and don’t see them again for another year. Or it could be a one-off. Look, he must have a tribe somewhere, and unless he’s been cast out, he’ll most likely go back at some point.’

  Tuuli blew her cheeks out. ‘Why worry about it, then? Why worry about something that might happen, when it also might not?’

  ‘Because then, Toomi-Tuuli,’ said Wren, suddenly hugging her cousin, ‘you won’t be so disappointed when it does.’

  They both walked up onto the bank and sat down, rubbing their ice-cold feet.

  ‘You know, I would rather just live in the moment,’ said Tuuli. ‘I would rather just enjoy this, now.’

  ‘You’ve changed,’ said Wren, lying down with her arms behind her head. ‘You’ve always thought ahead. You’re the one who looks forward to eating reindeer when we’re eating salmon. And salmon when we’re eating reindeer. You’re the one who dreams of cloudberries when there’s still ice on the river.’

  ‘I like to look forward to nice things,’ said Tuuli. ‘And I worry about bad things. But too many bad things have happened this last year. Perhaps I just don’t want any more grief.’

  Wren was silent for a moment.

  ‘I miss my papa,’ said Wren. ‘And Old Tuuli.’

  ‘And Poz,’ Tuuli murmured quietly.

  They both gazed at the sparkling river and were silent for a while. They could see Kuba, Numil and Vinta further down, splashing in the shallows. Andar was with them, laughing and playing.

  ‘Well, I hope he sticks around for a bit,’ she said. ‘He feels like part of our talo already.’

  ‘I’m not sure Garan feels that way,’ said Wren. They watched as their aunt left behind the skins she’d been scraping and waded out into the river. She was talking to Numil and Vinta, and clearly telling them to go with her as she walked back up the bank.

  ‘Has she got a problem with Andar?’ Tuuli sounded worried.

  ‘Maybe,’ replied Wren. ‘Perhaps she’s just being very cautious. It’s understandable.’

  Tuuli fell silent. Lupa came up and sat down, pushing up against Tuuli’s thigh. Tuuli put her arm round Lupa’s neck and hugged the wolf to her. Her fingers pushed deep into the pale grey fur of her wolf’s chest. She could feel Lupa’s heart beating under the ribs.

  * * *

  The river was wide now, and breaking up into meandering skeins around silty sandbanks. They’d left the taiga behind them. There were hardly any trees at all, just banks of bright green grass and sedges, with carpets of creeping willow. They could easily see where marshy ground was – and avoid it – as the white-tufted bog cotton had helpfully marked it out. And here were the stragglers of the great reindeer herd – the old and lame, the last to reach the summer meadows. Perhaps now they never would get further than just this edge of it, as they were such easy prey.

  They saw a fat lioness – full of cub as well as full of food – lying beside a half-eaten reindeer carcass, eyeing them with interest as they passed. She hadn’t the slightest thought of hunting humans today, though, in her contentedly engorged state. There were plenty of deer and horses along the riverbanks, too. The estuary drew animals and humans alike in summertime. There was plenty here for grazers to munch on, and plenty for those who munched on the grazers. It was a place to stuff yourself with plenty before the snows came back and the long winter set in.

  Early one afternoon, the talo came to a halt on a high spot overlooking a great loop of river. Tuuli spotted a large herd of mammoths in the distance. So many that when she tried counting them, she used all the fingers on both hands more than three times. There were some enormous bulls – two of them were fighting, clashing tusks, throwing their huge weight around. There were plenty of new calves too, sticking close to their mothers. And once again, Tuuli was struck by the strangeness of all these mammoths – there, by the estuary, in the summertime. They shouldn’t be here. The world she’d been so familiar with was changing, and it wasn’t just Andar’s presence that was different.