Wolf's Brother tak-2 Page 22

  She nodded uncertainly, and then found her practicality again. She took down a cooking pot and went outside for meat from Heckram's supply. The familiar task calmed her. She moved efficiently, cooking enough for all three of them. When had she last eaten? Yesterday? They should all eat, and then they could talk. Cutting the meat into pieces and adding it to the heating water brought a strange relief to her. The simple routine of making soup pushed the day's tragedies back. Here, in the close circle of the firelight, she could pretend for this moment that they were a family, and that tomorrow would be another day for them. There was a strange comfort in how easily Kerlew accepted Heckram's touch. He wept himself out, and then sat, pale and hunched, leaning against Heckram's comforting arm. His pale eyes were deeper than Tillu had ever seen them, but his mouth had lost its slackness. Some childish determination set it, driving the foolishness from his face. He said nothing, only stared at the fire. Each shuddering breath lifted his narrow shoulders. As Tillu set a steaming bowl of food before him he fixed her accusingly with his amber eyes. 'Where is Carp?' he demanded.

  'Carp is dead.' She said it gently but firmly. The boy would have to accept it.

  He shook his head, impatient with her. 'Where?' he demanded again, exhaustion now plain in his voice.

  Tillu paused. The impact of the day's deaths settled on her again. 'I don't know,' she admitted. 'I don't know what they did with any of them.'

  'I'm going to his tent,' Kerlew announced, and began to rise. Heckram's hand on his shoulder pressed him down again. 'Eat first,' he ordered him gently. 'And rest. You can do nothing for Carp, whether you go to him soon or later. And he is probably not in his tent. Probably the elders have taken him, to do what is correct for the body of a najd.'

  Kerlew subsided suddenly, the life gone out of him. He accepted the bowl of food Tillu pushed at him, and sat staring into the fire. 'Eat something,' Tillu urged him gently. Her words broke him free of his preoccupation, for he looked up at her. His face had a self-possession she had never seen in it before. 'I know things.' His same slow, hesitant diction, but there was a sureness to his words that made his pauses seem deliberate. He said the words quietly, daring her to challenge them. When she didn't, he took up the spoon in the bowl. He ate without interest or pause. When he was finished, he retreated from the firelight, to roll himself up in a sleeping hide.

  Tillu and Heckram ate together in silence. She did not taste the food. She watched him, saw how weariness rode him, saw his silence absorbing the shock of her blunt news. She wanted to cling to the strength he represented, but she held herself tight and apart. She would not deepen the bond, would not make the parting any harder.

  He set his bowl atop hers, and then pushed both aside with a sigh. She poured warm water into a bowl and took his hand in hers to soak his hand. The damaged fingers were puffy, the shale dust ingrained into his skin. He did not mention the pain, and she wondered if he was aware of it. He used his body as another man might use a tool, pushing it to its maximum without regard for tomorrow. She wanted to scold him for it, but could not find the heart. Could she say such words of caring, and then leave tomorrow? She put his hand into the water, massaged his fingers lightly. Her throat closed, nearly choking her. She bent her head over his hand so he couldn't see her face.

  But with his free hand he lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. 'Tell me everything,' he said. She shook her head, but his eyes held hers. She had not realized the pressure the events had built up inside her until she released it as words. She told him the suspicions she had not been able to confide to anyone else: that Carp had been beaten before someone stampeded the reindeer over him; that Kari's leap from the Cataclysm had been the final step in her flight from Joboam; and her conviction that Joboam would take advantage of Capiam's illness to assume his position. She finished by saying, 'He takes such a joy in Rolke's and Kari's deaths, and Ketla's and Capiam's illness. No. Not joy. Satisfaction. As if it were a task he had accomplished, a fine bit of carving, a tanned skin others would envy.'

  'You can't blame him for everything, Tillu.' Heckram's voice indicated he would like to.

  'I know things!' Kerlew's voice rang out clearly, startling them both. He sat bolt upright in his skins, staring at them.

  'It's all right, Kerlew,' Heckram said soothingly. 'It was a dream. Go back to sleep.'

  'I know things,' he repeated sullenly. 'I know about the rabbit.' He swayed slightly, his face going gray. Slowly he eased back into his bedding. The tent was long still again.

  'It's hard on him.' Heckram scarcely breathed the words. The deep timbre of his voice sometimes made him hard to hear. Tillu leaned closer to him, 'He isn't going to accept it easily. His whole world, all his prospects have been taken from him, just when he succeeded in his task. Carp protected him more than I realized. Joboam is a danger to him now. And to you.'

  Tillu found herself nodding unwillingly. He was saying the things she had been putting off saying. These words could only lead to the same conclusion she had already reached.

  'The herdfolk will be eager to find someone to blame. It is the way of folk, to want someone to be guilty when misfortune befalls them. You must leave the herdfolk.'

  Coming from him, the words held a chilling note of finality. Tillu bowed her head in agreement, both relieved and saddened that he accepted it so easily.

  'It has to be tomorrow. So little time. I need to speak to Lasse; we have become close, close as brothers. I cannot leave him, grieving, without a word. And Ristin. Somehow I think she will be expecting it.' He smiled, one of his wolf-grins. 'The good part will be in the giving. There is so much I cannot take; it will be good to see Stina's eyes bright and angry, as she tries to refuse it and knows I will insist.'

  'I don't understand you.' Tillu's words came out flatly.

  'Three harkar, at most four. I don't think we shall want both tents, shall we? Kerlew may have to ride at first; the last few days have not been easy ones for him. But the rest of what I have shall go to those who will use it best. Lasse and Stina, Ristin. And Elsa's parents.'

  'You want to go with us?'

  'I am not welcome?' He responded to her disbelief.

  She let herself go to him, knocking him off balance with her embrace so that they fell and rolled on the hide-carpeted earth. His embrace held her tightly, but she felt freed by it. No words came to her mind. There was only holding onto the man who would not be left behind.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  There was A disturbing pattern to the spread arc of items; a message that eluded Tillu, yet shrilled alarmingly at the edge of her awareness. Like a cry of warning in another tongue. She could recognize the urgency, but not the meaning. She reached a hand to touch them; drew it sharply back.

  'What is that?' Sleep and bafflement in Heckram's voice. The dawn was young, and yesterday's weariness clung to him still. His hair was tousled boyishly, but the disarray exposed the gray scattered through it, making him look both older and younger in the thin light. It made her want to touch him, but she did not.

  'Kerlew's things,' she admitted, embarrassed. She dropped to her knees, feeling an urge to bundle them up, out of his sight. She couldn't touch them. She stared at them.

  Uneasiness ran over her with ants' feet. A red stone, a bit of amber, trinkets, and oddments that had caught the boy's fancy. Some bones, stained red and blue. It meant nothing to her. Nothing, she told herself. But she stood slowly, a terrible dread squeezing her heart. 'He's gone to kill Joboam.' The words came out so simply. Once she had uttered them, she could not disbelieve them. Yet she could find no source for her terrible knowledge.

  Heckram said nothing. He glanced at the boy's empty blankets, then dressed in silence. He held his sprained fingers out from the rest of his hand, fastened his clothing awkwardly. He opened the travelling chest, rummaged inside it for a moment. He settled a knife in his belt, a knife she had never seen before. Bronze gleamed in the dim light. 'How long has he been gone?' he asked in the awful stillness. Till
u shrugged helplessly.

  'Then ... where would he go?'

  Tillu shrugged again, hating the gesture. 'With Carp dead, he has nowhere to go.'

  Heckram considered what he knew of the boy. 'I think he would still go to Carp first.

  Would death stop him?'

  It took Tillu a moment to gather his meaning. 'No. No, it wouldn't have stopped him last night. He'll go seeking Carp.'

  Heckram nodded. 'But he won't have an easy time finding him. It's the worst kind of luck to look on a najd's grave. The Elders know that. They'd put Carp in a secret place, a place herdfolk never venture, not even by accident.'

  'There cannot be many such places.' Tillu frowned to herself, trying to think of even one.

  'You'd be surprised. It needn't be close by. And someone could be found to take him there. But Kerlew wouldn't know about that. He'd go to where he last saw Carp.'

  'His tent.'

  Heckram shook his head slowly. 'Joboam's tent.'

  Tillu's breath caught. Her first premonition came back, gaining strength. 'He'll kill him. Kerlew will challenge him and Joboam will kill him.'

  Heckram's face set suddenly. 'Only after he kills me. I don't plan on that. Stay here.

  I'll be back,' Heckram promised as he left the tent. She ignored his command, stretching her legs to keep up with his stride. He glanced at her and saw the uselessness of objecting. Together they hurried through the just-stirring village. For the first time, Tillu wondered why Joboam had pitched his tent so far from Capiam's, instead of claiming his usual place of honor beside it. And why had Carp, so conscious of status, been content to camp on the edge of the village instead of in its center?

  Tillu's heart was thundering as they drew near the two large tents, but Heckram didn't hesitate. He pushed his way boldly into Carp's tent. She followed more cautiously.

  His wealth staggered her. The tent was not floored with bear or reindeer hides, but with soft lush pelts of fox and wolf. Not one, but two travelling chests stood casually open. Garments of wool and soft leather hung over their edges, draped with strings of amber and ivory beads. A tumble of garments and jewelry and tools surrounded the chests. She wondered what use Carp would have had for the large bronze cook pots that sprawled by the hearth. A fine bow and a quiver of black arrows were strewn across the furs. Many of the shafts had been snapped, the broken pieces flung wide. Her fingers stole out to run along one black arrow. A memory stirred. 'Black arrow ... like that one that hit Lasse that day ...'

  Heckram rounded on her. 'I thought you had shot Lasse.'

  'Me?' Outrage touched her face. 'I told you that day, there was another hunter on the hillside, shooting from the cover of a fallen tree.'

  For a long instant they stared at each other, remembering that day and the difficulty of speaking then. Heckram gave a snort of disgust. 'Then add another stroke to the tally of what I owe Joboam. For that is his bow and his quiver. And these chests belonged to his parents. I remember his mother wearing those ivory beads when I was very small.'

  Panic squeezed Tillu's heart. 'Are we in the wrong tent?'

  'No. This was Carp's place. Though why Joboam would have given him all these things I do not know. There are things here I would have sworn he would never part with.'

  'Unless forced.' Tillu finished the thought. 'And he wouldn't long tolerate being forced to give up such things.'

  'Kerlew isn't here. But he's been here. I wonder what he was looking for?'

  Tillu shook her head helplessly. 'There is no sense to what Kerlew does. He has no reasons, no logic ...'

  Heckram shook his head in disagreement. 'More and more, I believe he has reasons and logic of his own, ones we would find as strange as he finds ours. He is like a foreigner from a far land. Just because we cannot understand his words does not mean he speaks nonsense.'

  'Kerlew has been a foreigner to this world since he was born,' Tillu said, between bitterness and pain.

  'Come.' Heckram drew her close for a minute and then took her hand. 'We do no good lingering here. Let's find him.'

  'Joboam's tent,' Tillu whispered.

  Heckram nodded solemnly, and then flashed an incongruous grin, white teeth in his bronze beard. 'Joboam's tent.'

  She followed him out of the tent, stepping softly. The morning was brighter, more and more folk emerging to greet the day. As they drew closer to Joboam's tent, her feet dragged. She could not forget the way the man towered over her, the coldness in his eyes. But Heckram stepped forward easily, not bothering to announce himself but pushing his way into Joboam's silent tent. Tillu seized her courage and followed him.

  'Where's Kerlew?' Heckram demanded.

  Joboam came to his feet in a frantic movement that spilled the pot of water before him. He was dressed only in a loin wrap and his hair was tousled from sleep. His hands were dripping and for an instant his eyes were empty. Then fury filled them. 'What do you mean by entering my tent this way?' he roared.

  'I'm looking for Kerlew. I believe he's been here.' Heckram's voice was tight, demanding.

  Joboam laughed. 'The najd's little demon spawn isn't here. No one's seen him since the day before yesterday. Better luck to us!' he added challengingly.

  'You're lying.' Heckram spoke with certainty that Tillu didn't share.

  Joboam shook the water from his hands, wincing as he did so. 'I'm not. But it doesn't matter,' he said quietly. 'Even if the boy comes back, it doesn't matter. Things are changing. The healer and her son won't be tolerated any longer. Folks have been asking where all this bad luck comes from. They think they know. And Capiam's herdfolk are tired of a leader who doesn't keep them from harm. They look to me now. Even if I killed you, no one would say it was without cause. You are part of the ill luck that has befallen us. It was you who first met the healer and her demon son, you were joined to Elsa when she died. You found the najd and brought him to our village, you brought Kerlew back just when we were well rid of him. I could strike you down now and no one would mourn you.'

  'Try it,' Heckram invited. He drew his knife.

  'No!'' Tillu cried, but he stepped clear of her. Joboam wavered an instant before Heckram's rigid grin. Then he snatched up his own knife and came forward, hunched like a bear, snarling like a wolverine.

  'Ketla wants you, Joboam. The healer's son, mad Kerlew, threatens Capiam!' The words tumbled from Pirtsi as he pushed in the door. Heckram and Joboam both turned to him while Tillu stood frozen. 'You? Here?' He exclaimed in wonder as his eyes darted from Tillu to Heckram. In an instant more, his eyes had taken in the drawn blade, the attitudes of the two men. He backed hastily, his eyes darting from one to the other. In the entry he hesitated. 'The boy holds a knife to Capiam's throat!' He flung the words as he fled.

  'Good!' Joboam breathed recklessly.

  Tillu ran from the hut. Heckram looked from her to the waiting Joboam. 'Soon!' he promised him, and spun to follow her.

  'Coward!' He heard Joboam's roar of frustration behind him, heard something flung to strike the tent's inner walls. The name burned, but he knew well that if Kerlew killed Capiam, Joboam would be pleased. Nothing could save the boy then. Or Tillu or himself. He stretched his long legs, caught up and passed Tillu, and then Pirtsi. Thin hysterical screams guided him to the herdlord's tent. He pushed through the folk that ringed it, ignored his name called out with distaste and anger. He burst into the tent, crashed against men who gripped him and held him back. He didn't struggle against them, but stared in disbelief.

  Ketla crouched wailing. Her hair was tangled, her night garment wadded around her. Sickness and grief had wasted her, so that her skin hung in folds from her arms and cheeks. Her weakness was evident as she backed feebly against a travelling chest that blocked her escape. Her wailing was like a babe's thin cry.

  Between her and the tent entry, straddling her husband's chest, was Kerlew. The change in the boy was startling. He wore only a twist of whitened leather around his loins and Carp's najd's pouch around his neck. His long fast had wo
rn his body to bones and muscles. Thin as death he crouched over the herdlord, and his long bony hand held a white knife before Capiam's fever-sunken eyes. The boy's eyes burned.

  'Kerlew!' Heckram cried, but the boy paid no heed. He let the bone knife droop until its point rested against the pulse in Capiam's throat. The gathered folk sighed fearfully.

  He looked up, his pale brown eyes roving across them.

  'I said,' he announced in a strangely calm voice, 'that I want all the tent walls slashed, and the sides thrown open to the wind. I want all the herdfolk gathered.' He tapped the point of the knife against Capiam's throat. 'Can no one hear me?'

  'Do it!' Capiam wheezed. His voice was hoarse with fear and sickness, but it still carried command. Heckram felt more than saw Tillu's barreling charge into the tent.

  She wormed in beside him, ignoring the clutching hands that would have held her back. 'The healer!' someone gasped, and someone else filled in angrily, 'She heals with death!' A rake of Kerlew's eyes silenced them, and men moved to the tent walls.

  The long ripping sounds of knives against thick leather, and then the sides of the tent were peeled back, letting light into the dimness. Ketla blinked helplessly in the brightness, and then cried out in relief as someone helped her gently out of Kerlew's reach. He didn't care. He continued to crouch, straddling the herdlord and watching the people as they gathered in a great circle around the opened tent. He whispered something, and the muttering of the folk instantly died.

  His hazel eyes scanned the crowd again; his head turning slowly, meeting every glance unflinchingly. He smiled a pleased smile. He spoke so softly that all strained to hear. 'If you wish to live, you must listen.'

  'Kill him now!' It was Joboam, striding up to take command: He was dressed finely, a snug vest of bleached leather making him seem even huskier than he was. His hair was carefully smoothed and his eyes clear. His open confidence put him in charge and men turned to him.