In his mind’s eye Kodjeote saw the ancient features that were hidden beneath the blanket: the lined face, the eyes that had remained bright almost until the moment of death and the mane of silver hair that had reached to the old man’s shoulders. Keeping his hand in place above the stilled heart he began to intone softly, “Shoegwaniha karonhyakonh teghsideronh … Our father, who art in heaven …”

Kodjeote closed his eyes.

“… neoni toghsa tagwaghsharinet …”

From the forest there came the skittering sounds of leaves rustling in the wind. Beneath the scaffold, the flames began to gutter and dance.

“… ne-aewese-aghtshera tsiniyeaheawe neoni tsiniyeaheawe.”

As he uttered the final words, Kodjeote began to sense that he was not alone. Someone was standing close by, watching him. The sensation was not unpleasant and he did not feel afraid, yet it was intense enough to make him open his eyes with a gasp.

He looked about him. The trees were still swaying restlessly and the fire was glowing brightly; he could feel its heat upon his legs. Feeling vaguely foolish, he bowed his head in respect, drew the bear skin back over the remains and secured it to the platform with the rawhide strip that had come loose. He was preparing to descend the ladder when he heard his name spoken.

“Kodjeote.”

It had been no more than a whisper. Hardly daring to breathe, he waited for the sound to be repeated but all he could hear was the beating of his own heart.

It was the wind, he told himself. Nothing more than that; his ears playing tricks. He thought of the skin walkers and the noises that his uncle claimed to have heard. His eyes darted about, trying to locate whoever was watching him. He felt a sudden, desperate need to return to the fire.

“Kodjeote.”

His breath caught once more. Swallowing nervously, he stared down at the dark contours of his grandfather’s corpse.

“Tota?” he enquired hesitantly. “Is that you?”

A soft sigh reached his ears. It was hard to tell its origin. Was it the wind … or something else?

“Tota?” he said again; the word came out as a cracked whisper.

His ears picked up what sounded like a low murmur, as if someone was talking softly while holding a hand over their mouth. As Kodjeote’s eyes fell upon the bear hide, the muffled sound came again.

Hesitantly, Kodjeote leaned forward and placed his ear against the contours of his grandfather’s body.

“Tota? It is Kodjeote,” he called softly. “I am here. I hear you.”

There was nothing. For several long seconds he did not move. Then, unsure as to whether to be disappointed or relieved at the silence, he raised his head.

“Tell them.”

He gasped. The words, though spoken quietly, had sounded so clear and so close. He lowered his head. “Tell who, Tota?”

Several more seconds passed.

“Tell them all.”

“What should I tell them?”