Wolf's Brother tak-2 Page 16

  Rest. She would have liked to take it for herself. But there were always distractions to claim her energy. Capiam's najd and healer had attracted attention in the summer settlement. Folk from another herdlord brought her a boy with a broken arm. Her setting it unleashed a stream of visitors to Capiam's tent, most with minor ailments, but some with bad teeth, infected cuts, or injuries from the scuffles in the reindeer pens. The warm weather brought tick bites, many of them infected or abscessed. Some complained of a fever and headache that came and went. The symptoms were too like Rolke's and Ketla's for Tillu's liking. She treated them all, and wondered when she could sleep. Despite his feverish headaches, Capiam seemed to welcome the attention his new healer attracted. Even Ketla sat up in her robes by the fire, and chatted with the folk that came for healing.

  Evening brought the najd with his incessant drumming and chanting before the herdlord's tent. Then folk came in threes and fours, to gawk at Capiam's najd and whisper of other najds they had known. A fire would be kindled for the najd, and savory offerings set out on wooden platters. There would be a spread of soft hides where he might sit or stand, and a sweep of clean earth where he might dance. At those times Tillu might get a glimpse of Kerlew. He squatted at Carp's bony knee, swaying with the rhythm of the small drum he patted in time to Carp's chanting. Carp attired himself in Joboam's best tunics and his neck and wrists hung heavy with strings of amber and ivory beads. From time to time he drew strange and grisly objects from his pouch and chanted to them softly, or made mysterious passes that brought the flames of his fire leaping at his command or sent gouts of yellow smoke pouring up into the night. Then the gathered folk hummed and muttered to themselves and stared fascinated at the najd who chanted for Capiam's son.

  Tillu watched only Kerlew. The boy would be near naked but for a twist of leather about his loins. His hair was longer and unkempt, hanging about his narrow shoulders.

  His pale-brown eyes seemed overlarge in his gaunt face. His chest was ribby, his knees and elbows painfully large in his thinness. Only once had Tillu tried to speak to him.

  During a lull, when Kerlew's fingers whispered against the drum as Carp muttered to a tangle of teeth and feathers, she had crept closer to him, reached a hand to brush his back. Her fingers had felt the knobs of his spine, the high warmth of his skin. 'Kerlew,'

  she had whispered.

  Carp had sprung at her, shaking his talisman at her frantically as his chanting rose to an angry scream. A man from another herd had dragged her roughly back into the crowd, but for long moments Carp had pranced his stamping dance and rattled his talisman angrily at an awe-stricken crowd. Kerlew had given no sign he was aware of her. She had crept back to Capiam's tent, hiding her thoughts from herself in the chattering of the women who clustered about Ketla's hearth, drinking tea and sewing.

  Later Capiam had observed, 'A boy of Kerlew's age is not a child anymore. Parents must know when to let go of their children.' Tillu had only stared at him, hard and silent.

  She could have turned his rebuke back upon him. She could have asked why he and Ketla forced Kari to this joining. But she did not. She didn't want to do anything to make the girl any more miserable. When they had arrived at the Cataclysm, Capiam had ordered his daughter to move back into his tent. Tillu had expected her to protest angrily, but Kari had obeyed with uncharacteristic meekness. The fire had gone out of her eyes since the day Carp had gone with Joboam. Nothing seemed to interest her anymore. Kari spent most of her time staring into her mother's hearthfire. Tillu's efforts at rousing her were ignored; she no longer asked questions about healing. She reminded Tillu of a mother who had lost a new-born child. She had that same baffled look of shattered expectancy. Tillu wondered what promises Carp had made her and forgotten. Once she dared to speak to Capiam of his daughter's withdrawn silence.

  Puzzled, he had replied, 'But Kari has always been that way; quiet, idle, dreaming. It is why Ketla and I have decided that marriage is best for her. With a hearth and a man, she will have to talk, to take care of things. She will be a different woman.'

  Tillu wondered. She suspected marriage would not change the girl. When Kari was not staring into the fire, she busied herself with needlework. From somewhere she had acquired baskets of black pinion feathers. Row upon overlapping row she stitched to a cloak of calf-leather. Ketla seemed proud of her new domesticity, but wrinkled her nose at the work, declaring it would smell horrid the first time it was rained on. Kari never replied. She only bent her dark head closer over her work, sealing out their words with her tiny even stitching.

  And so the days passed, one after another, as alike as beads carved painstakingly from bone. Rolke was no better, Kerlew seemed only thinner, his eyes more vacant. Of Heckram she had but a few guilty words a day, whispered at the door-flap while Capiam stood watching as if he begrudged every instant Tillu did not give his son.

  Heckram's news was sparse and not comforting. Kerlew lived in the najd's new tent, and should be eating well, for Joboam furnished the najd with fresh meat daily.

  Heckram and Ristin were fine; they missed Tillu's company. And sometimes there was the touch of his hand on hers, sending her strength and warmth before she had to return once more to the herdlord's son.

  But the days did pass, with or without Tillu's cognizance of them. There came an evening when the tent seemed full of women, clustered about Ketla, making merry chatter over their sewing. Rolke was sleeping, and Capiam out. Kari sat apart from the others, her lap cloaked with the black feathers, her shoulders hunched to her endless task. Tillu slipped quietly from her place by Rolke, to hunker down beside Kari. She glanced at the girl's dull eyes. Their edges had been reddened by the close, meticulous work. Tillu put out a cautious hand to stroke the evenly set feathers. 'It's a lovely piece of work, Kari,' she ventured gently.

  Kari lifted her face slowly. Their eyes met. 'It's useless,' Kari said dully. 'He'll refuse.

  He won't have me.' Then she abruptly stood, letting her work slide from her lap, and walked over to her bedding. She lay down and pulled the hides up over her head. Tillu was stricken with terror. Death had looked at her from Kari's eyes.

  Ketla had noticed her daughter's rebuff of the healer. 'Don't mind the girl,' she had called laughingly to Tillu. 'She is only nervous and thoughtful, as any girl is the night before her joining. Come and help us with the sewing.'

  Tillu felt buffeted by the commiserating laughter that rose from the other women.

  How could they be so blind? Her own voice sounded thin to her as she answered.

  'Thank you, but no. I think I shall go outside into the cool for a while. If Rolke awakes, call me.'

  'Let him get his rest,' Ketla clucked fondly. 'Soon he will be better. The najd has said so.'

  Tillu bit her tongue and left the stifling tent. Outside, the soft twilight and the cool air off the Cataclysm soothed her. She would enjoy this quiet time. Soon enough Carp would arrive with his acrid smokes and monotonous noise. She sank slowly down onto the hides and tried to let go of her worries. If Kari worried that Pirtsi would not have her, then surely she had changed her heart about this joining? Why could not Tillu lift her own spirits, be happy that Kari had decided to take a man?

  When Heckram stepped out of the darkness to stand over her, her heart leaped with gladness. His quiet strength drew her like the warmth and light of a fire. She reached up easily to seize his hand and draw him down beside her. He smiled at her and kept her hand in his. But his first words were 'I cannot stay long.'

  'Why not?' Sharp disappointment.

  He hesitated. 'So much must be done in the next few days. I've been at the reindeer pens all day. My calves and Lasse's are marked now and castrated. But there are still Ristin's, Missa's, and Kuoljok's to do.' He laughed softly, without humor. 'Sometimes 1

  feel I am marking half the herd. I don't know how many calves carry my teeth marks.'

  Tillu nodded. 'Sometimes I feel I have healed half the people here. And more are coming every day.
Ticks. Most of them have infected tick-bites. Or a fever that comes and goes, and then comes again.' Tillu stopped, tried to veer her mind from her own secret fears of plague. 'Or a calf's hoofprint somewhere. Never have I seen such a people for breaking bones and twisting joints.'

  With the ghost of a smile, Heckram held up his free hand. Three of his fingers were bound together. 'I wasn't going to mention it, but ...'

  With an exclamation, Tillu seized his wrist and pulled the hand to her. She unwrapped his crude bandaging and gently felt, then manipulated each finger. 'Not broken,' she said as he flinched and pulled his hand away. She recaptured his hand and massaged it softly. 'Heat a pot of water tonight, as hot as you can stand, and soak your hand in it. Does Ristin have alder bark or yarrow? If so, grind some and add it to the water. And wrap the fingers again tomorrow, before you try to work.'

  Heckram listened gravely, but amusement danced in his eyes. 'I came to see Tillu, not the healer,' he observed quietly.

  Tillu laughed, but didn't stop massaging his hand. 'I think the healer is all I am these days.' Her smile faded suddenly. 'Unless I want to sew on Kari's wedding clothes. Her joining tomorrow is all they talk of within the tent. No matter how often I tell them they must be quiet, that Rolke must rest and Ketla should lie down, they do not listen. I will almost be glad when it is done. Perhaps then there will be enough quiet for Ketla to get better.'

  'And Rolke?' Heckram asked.

  Tillu turned worried eyes up to him. 'I don't know. He lives, but seems no better.

  Whenever Ketla looks at him, she turns pale. Capiam will not talk to me about it. All he says is 'the najd said he would be better when we reached the Cataclysm. We are here.

  You are the healer. You know what to do for him. Do it.' Then Ketla goes back to planning Kari's joining, and Capiam goes off to count reindeer, or take Carp another gift. No one listens to me.'

  'It is the way of the herdfolk. And Capiam most of all. What he cannot fix, he will not worry about. Instead, he does the things he can. He marks calves for himself, and Ketla, and Rolke, and even Kari, who should be doing her own. He increases the stature of his folk by letting all know what a good healer he has. He catches fish to dry for the long winter, and does all a man can do to see that his family is provided for. If death comes, he will mourn. But he will not mourn before then.'

  After a moment, Tillu nodded. 'I see.' She paused. 'Without realizing it, I have been doing the same myself.' She turned beseeching eyes on him. 'I haven't seen Kerlew today. How is he?'

  Heckram looked uncomfortable. 'I haven't seen him either. But he seemed fine the last time I did. Thinner, but perhaps he is growing taller.'

  'Is he eating well?' Tillu asked anxiously.

  'I ... I would suppose so. There is never a lack of food in Joboam's tent.'

  Tillu stared at him without speaking. Heckram sighed. 'I can do little about it, Tillu. I do not like him to be there, but he stays where the najd stays, and Carp stays with Joboam. Capiam has given hides and paid women to sew him a fine new tent. The tent is up, and the najd likes it, but he also likes to stay in Joboam's tent. There he does not have to build his own fire or cook for himself. Joboam does it all, but not as willingly as he did at first. Still, in that tent Carp has much to eat, rich furs to sleep on, and many gifts. I wonder at the things Joboam has given him. Yesterday I saw the najd wearing a bronze neckpiece that was Joboam's favorite. He dressed in Joboam's best tunics, for all that they hang to the ground on him. Yesterday Pirtsi was butchering one of Joboam's calves; the najd wished to eat calve's heart and tongue. I cannot walk into Joboam's hut and demand the boy; Kerlew would not leave the najd, and Joboam would cause an uproar. But I do not think the najd would allow Joboam to hurt the boy.'

  Tillu had listened in silence. 'I understand,' she said. 'There is little either of us can do right now. When Rolke is better, then I will find a way to speak to Kerlew.' She suddenly looked up at Heckram. 'I may have to take him away with me,' she whispered. She fumbled suddenly for words to express her sudden resolution. 'I do not want him learning what Carp is teaching him; that a friend is the one who gives you the most. Look at poor Kari, and how he repaid all her care and hospitality. Since the najd tossed her aside, she has grieved like a heart-broken child. She scarcely speaks at all.

  Tomorrow they will join her to Pirtsi, as if they were giving him a puppy from their best bitch. No one asks her what she would like to wear for her joining, what she would like to eat, let alone if she likes the man. It all goes on without her.' Tillu's outrage broke into her voice as she asked. 'They do not even know who she is. How can they decide what is best for her?'

  'They are her parents,' Heckram reminded her gently.

  'They do not see her as she is.'

  'Perhaps no parent sees when a child is grown. You do not wish to give Kerlew to the najd. You would choose differently for him. But he has chosen for himself that which makes him happiest. I know you do not care for Carp; nor do I. But he is teaching Kerlew what the boy wishes most to learn. There is something I have come to believe. In time, Kerlew will be a powerful najd.'

  A coldness came into Tillu's voice. She released Heckram's hand. 'Powerful, yes. He will excel at taking from folk their food and clothes and shelter, by threatening them with his mystical powers. He will trick the clothes from their backs, threaten the food from their children's mouths. What do you think Carp does right now? He has found a weakness in Joboam, a way to threaten him. And he will use it, until he has taken from Joboam all he can give. Or until he finds a wealthier victim. Already he drains Capiam.

  Carp is a sucking tick, Heckram. Do you wonder that I do not wish Kerlew to become one?'

  Heckram retreated from the bristle in her voice. 'Tillu, I did not mean that ...'

  'Healer!' One of the women leaned out the tent flap. 'Ketla bids you come and see!

  Kari has tried on her clothes for tomorrow's joining.'

  'Tillu,' Heckram began again, but she cut in, 'I have to see to Rolke. Be careful of your fingers. Remember what I told you to do for them.' She rose, and the back she turned to him was stiff and straight.

  'I'll be back tomorrow,' he said to the falling tent-flap.

  Within the tent, Kari stood like a stretched hide. She wore a jacket of soft leather with half-length sleeves, trimmed with amber beads and Ketla's woven work. Her knee-length woolen skirt was decorated with fringe around the hem. Bracelets of bronze wrapped her arms. Carved bone combs restrained her sleek hair. And her face was yellow and stiff as poorly cured leather.

  'Have you ever seen her so beautiful?' Ketla demanded.

  Tillu couldn't speak, but her silence wasn't noticed in the general assent. 'I must see to Rolke,' she said, and slipped to the back of the tent where the boy lay. She stooped over him, to trickle willow bark tea into his mouth, while the women clustered about Kari, removing her finery and chattering of tomorrow's joining. Tillu shut them from her awareness. The boy wasn't getting better. He clung to life but each day he was weaker. 'Rolke?' she called gently. His eyelids twitched, but didn't open. The fever burned him like a flame consumes oil. He was melting away before her eyes. Her own pallet was not far from his. She lay down on it, wondering if there was any way she could help any one.

  The tent had been long dark, the chants and drum stilled for hours when Kari nudged her. 'Wake up,' she pleaded, tears in her voice. 'Please, Tillu, you have to help me.' No sooner had Tillu sat up than Kari had her by the arm, tugging her to her feet and out of the tent. The flap fell behind them and Tillu rubbed her eyes in the mellow undark of the summer night. The sun hovered still in the sky, making night a pale parody of the day. The camp around them was still.

  'Here is the knife,' Kari said, pushing the sheathed blade into Tillu's sleepy hands.

  'Do you need a light to do it?'

  'What?' Tillu felt trapped in a dream where none of the events were connected.

  'My nose. Remember, you said you would help me notch my nose and ears so Pirts
i wouldn't want me. Hurry.'

  'Kari,' Tillu began in confusion. 'I can't. I'm a healer, not one who ...'

  'No one will help me!' Kari's whisper screamed. 'Not you, not Carp! You will not keep your promise to scar me. He will not say that I am Owl's, and not to be given to Pirtsi!'

  Tillu suddenly realized who had refused Kari. Owl, not Pirtsi. 'Is that what Carp promised he would do?' Tillu interrupted. 'That he would say you were Owl's, would give you to Owl?'

  'Yes!' Kari sank to her knees on the hides before the tent. Her hands rose to claw at her breasts. 'Yes. He said that if I would do favors for him, find secrets for him, he would see that I belonged to Owl alone. He said that when I served him, I served the spirits and they would be pleased with me. He promised that as long as I served him, I would be safe. But then he left with Joboam! That wasn't my fault! I didn't leave him, he left me. But when I went to him tonight, to ask him to tell my father that Pirtsi must not have me, he laughed at me. He laughed. He said the spirits cared little about women, that I was not fit to be Owl's. He told me to go home and do as I was told. And then Joboam came into the tent. He was angry to see me there. He asked, 'Is this how you keep your promises, Najd?' And Carp said, 'Men do not direct me, Joboam, but the spirits. So far they have asked me to be kind to you. Do not risk angering them with wild words.' Then Joboam got very angry, but Carp only laughed more, and said to me,

  'Run back to your tent, little woman. Sleep well tonight, for tomorrow is your joining day.' And Joboam looked so angry that I ran back here. Thinking you would help me.