The Reindeer People Read online

  ‘Your fever’s broken. That’s all. Sometimes when one goes from fever sleep to dreaming, the dreams are bright and hard. There’s nothing here. Go back to sleep.’

  ‘I …’ Joboam seemed both dazed and exhausted. He looked about her tent in bewilderment. ‘What am I doing here?’

  Tillu hunkered down on her heels beside him. The earth was cold under her bare feet. ‘You came to have me heal your arm, remember? I gave you a tea to relax you, and dug a bone splinter out of your arm, and bandaged it. Your arm bled again, you were sleepy from the tea, and draining the swelling of your arm gave you a fever. That sometimes happens. We healers say the body burns itself clean. So I let the fever burn, but not too high. And now you are better. Remember? You woke twice and I gave you water. Remember?’ She spoke soothingly, as if to a frightened child. After a moment Joboam relaxed.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I remember now. Drink and rest, you told me. But the wolf … I felt his hot breath in my face. His eyes were yellow and he laughed at me …’

  ‘A dream. Only a dream.’ Tillu pushed the sweat-soaked hair from his forehead, checked once more for fever. The man smelled sour with fear. ‘You’ve sweated out the poisons. That’s good. Sleep now, and by morning you’ll be ready to go home.’

  ‘Yes. I’ll sleep.’ His words started to drag, and then suddenly he was up on one elbow again, deep creases furrowed between his brows. ‘A bone fragment? From my arm?’

  ‘Not your own bone. A piece of worked bone or horn.’

  ‘Where is it? Let me see it. I want it.’

  ‘It’s here, it’s right here, just a moment,’ Tillu soothed him. Shadows in the tent were deep. She was tired and sleepy and growing impatient with his dream fears and compulsions. Her fingers trailed along the earth floor, finding first his knife, then a piece of bark, then some bits of the moss she had used to clean his wound. She groped some more, her toes going numb against the cold earth. ‘I’ll find it in the morning,’ she promised, wondering why he was so anxious. She offered him the knife, hilt first, ‘I borrowed your knife to open your arm. My own is old and dull, and a sharp blade is best for such work.’

  He took it from her wordlessly, stared at it in puzzlement, and then let it fall from his fingers back onto the dirt floor. He rolled onto his back and stared into the shadowed point of the ceiling. ‘Wolf. It was Wolf, and he showed me two knives. One was whole, and one was … broken. He showed them to me, and then he laughed. He said … he laughed. That was all.’

  ‘A dream. Just a fever dream.’ She wished he would go back to sleep. She was getting cold, crouched here in just her long shirt. She was taken by surprise when his good arm shot out suddenly and his hand gripped her upper arm hard.

  ‘Tell no one,’ he ordered her fiercely, if you tell anyone you healed me, I’ll kill you.’

  ‘Easy.’ She pulled at his digging fingers, wincing as his grip only tightened. ‘You’re dreaming still. Let go, you’re hurting me. Let go!’

  ‘Tell no one!’ he repeated insistently. His eyes blazed.

  ‘I won’t tell anyone. Why would anyone be interested? Let go.’

  ‘Good. Don’t tell.’ He stared at her. His grip loosened but he did not free her. Instead he pulled her close, until she was leaning over the pallet. His eyes darted to the shadows behind her, then came back and moved slowly down her body, ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Let go of me.’

  ‘Don’t be angry. I was … it was just the dream. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’ His voice was low, soft.

  ‘I know that and I’m not angry. Just let me go.’

  ‘Why?’ His eyes still burned, but with a different fire. He winced slightly as he moved his other hand up to touch her face, ‘I saw you looking at me. Before you healed my arm.’ She pulled back from the caress, baring her teeth.

  ‘Let go of me, or I’ll hurt you.’ She spoke quietly.

  ‘You? You’re no bigger than a child!’ He smiled indulgently. His free hand touched her breast through the thin leather of her shirt, pinching her nipple. Then he gasped as her hand fell on his injured arm and tightened on the bandage.

  ‘I’m not pretending. Let go of me, or I’ll give you pain.’

  His grip dropped from her arm and she sprang back instantly. ‘You leave my tent tomorrow morning.’ She bit the words off. She could feel Kerlew watching, listening. ‘As soon as it’s light. Do not come back.’

  Joboam eased himself back onto the pallet. He stared at her with round eyes. ‘Like a little wolverine. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Tillu. And you shouldn’t try to hurt me. Come here.’ He smiled crookedly, only encouraged by her rebuff.

  She stared at him. He had actually believed she wanted him. Still believed it, still believed her reluctance was a game. Had she wanted him? She turned her back on him and went silently back to her pallet. She could not hide from his eyes; they followed her as she lay down and covered herself again. Her heart beat a little faster and she felt more vulnerable lying down. He was a big man, and strong. She let her arm slip down beside her pallet, to find the short spear. She closed her eyes, but listened for movement. She would not sleep again this night. She opened her eyes slightly, peered through her lashes at the fire as it devoured the sticks and fell into coals again. Beneath her lashes she glanced at Joboam. His face was turned toward her, watching her. Smiling.

  She pulled her eyes away. Had she wanted him? No. A man, yes, her body hungered for a man. She was a woman, she had her needs. Desire swelled and ebbed inside her with the cycle of the moon. Some nights her thoughts were filled with images of men, and her thighs tingled and her nipples grew hard with longing. But not this man. It had been a long time for her, but it would never be so long as to make her want a man like him. Even if he had not been so arrogant and rude, she would have turned him away. He was too large, too daunting. He would make her feel helpless and childish. Again she felt the suffocating weight of a man’s body atop her, pinning her to the earth, smelled the smoke of a burning village.

  Her desires vanished. She shook her head, banishing the old memories. Never again. She wanted nothing of men larger than herself, nothing of dominant, crushing men.

  There had been Raduni, of Benu’s folk. He had been a small, quick man, his smile almost bigger than his face. When she had first joined Benu’s folk, he had smiled at her often. She had admired his litheness. She had marveled at his quickness as he lay on his belly and scooped shining trout from the stream. And offered a share to her, unasked. She had hoped he would approach her. But too soon he had become aware of Kerlew. Strange Kerlew. His strangeness had been enough to make Raduni hesitate and then turn aside from her. Her son tainted her. She wondered what made men behave so. Raduni was not the first. Did men believe all her children must turn out as Kerlew had? Did she believe so herself? She wasn’t sure. She only knew the outcome. She had been left with the attentions of Carp, another man she did not want.

  She shifted in her bedding, sighing. Rolke’s offer came to her mind. She wondered if the offer would be extended again. And if it was? Did she want to travel with these herdfolk? She did not think so. Kerlew was not ready for such a life. Nor was she. Why would she wish to give up her independent life for a place within the herdfolk? With men such as Joboam, so ready to assume control of her household? With men like Heckram, so quick to assume the decision of life and death?

  Something very like betrayal squeezed her heart. She had thought better of the man. Her mind roved back to that night, to chew again at the puzzle bone. She had warned Heckram that too much of the medicine would kill. Why had he given it to Elsa? Because he could not watch her suffer, because he cared for her? Or had it been colder than that? Was that the fate of women among the herdfolk when they became disfigured or useless?

  Neither piece fit. She had seen Heckram when Lasse was injured. He had not tried to hide the sympathy and concern he felt. She had sensed his friendship with the youth. And with Elsa? With Elsa, it had been just the same. A deep
friendship, a loyalty. Not a relationship of the kind that presumed power over life and death. Yet the same friendship was what made her sure that the killing had not been a casual disposal of a useless chattel.

  Only recently had Tillu come to understand the strange status of women among the herdfolk. In no other tribe had she encountered women who not only possessed their own property, but retained their private ownership even after marriage. The meat Leyna had paid her with had been meat from Leyna’s own animal. The women made their trades independently of their men, hunted alongside their men, or alone. Her weaving and sewing had the same value as his carving and building. In a society where a man could not assume possession of his wife’s handiwork, a woman of the herdfolk knew her own worth. For the first time in her life, Tillu had encountered women who took pride in their independence. She envied them.

  But always the speculation took her back to Heckram and Elsa. It could have been no one but him. The women in the tent did not know what the brew was, would not have given it to Elsa without asking. And there had been the way he turned aside from her that next morning. His eyes had been empty when he looked at her, his face held straight. Guilt. Useless to tell herself it did not matter, that Elsa would have died anyway. Sometimes she tried to convince herself that Elsa had simply died, that she had let go instead of lingering in pain. She wanted to believe that, but couldn’t. Even more, she wanted to understand why he had done it, why he felt guilty about doing it. Then perhaps she would know why she thought less of Heckram since then. Perhaps she would even understand why it saddened her that he could no longer meet her eyes.

  What did it matter? She sighed to herself. A glance at Joboam showed that sleep had claimed him again. Good. Tomorrow he would be gone and, soon after that, all the herdfolk. Gone from her life, leaving her to her independence. Alone again. She remembered her terror of being alone when she had first left Benu’s folk. But she had overcome it. A small pride swelled inside her. She could take care of herself and her son. Could hunt for them, sew for them. Could even repulse the advances of someone like Joboam. And Kerlew was doing so well lately … In some ways, she qualified it to herself. He carved now and even tried to hunt, though as of yet he had had no success on his own. He remembered things now, to gather the wood, to watch the fire. And he remembered them on his own. It was good he had not become attached to Heckram, it was good that he was doing things on his own. She felt they were nearing a day when Kerlew would make his own decisions, would see himself as a person independent of her. She waited, watching him silently, conscious of the small changes in him. She smiled to herself and realized she had no regrets. Let the herdfolk go.

  Morning found her none the better for her sleepless night. Her eyes were reddened and itchy as she steeped the inner bark of alder, brewing a reddish tea from it. It was a useful tonic for anyone trying to recover from illness. Or after a sleepless night, she told herself as she poured a cup.

  She drank it standing, staring around the tent. It was not the poor place it had been in midwinter. Everywhere she looked were the signs of her trade with the herdfolk. Their mark on her life could not be denied. She cut up the last of Leyna’s meat and dropped it into the very battered bronze kettle that Bror and Ibba had given her for worming his best harke and mixing a herbal wash to discourage lice. She stirred the simmering meat with a ladle of knurled birch with bright colors carved into the handle. These things were hers, even if the herdfolk left her. She did not need to go with them, for summer was near, the time of plenty. She did not need to go with them.

  She woke Kerlew and he ate. As was usual when they were alone, they spoke very little. Few words were needed. It was only after he had eaten that she had to speak to him. He had finished his bowl of stew and sat crouched on his heels, running his finger around the greasy inside of the bowl and licking it. This Tillu could have ignored. But Kerlew had chosen to perch at the end of the pallet where Joboam still slept. He stared at the sleeping man as he licked his fingers. When he noticed Tillu watching him, he snickered his brittle little laugh.

  She stared at him solemnly, refusing to be baited. He giggled again.

  ‘Leave him alone,’ she told him coldly.

  ‘Wolf!’ he sputtered and trailed off in helpless laughter. Joboam’s eyes flickered. Kerlew leaned forward, heedless of how the man might react. ‘Did Wolf really visit you in the night?’ he asked delightedly. His hazel eyes sparkled.

  ‘Kerlew!’ Tillu exclaimed angrily, even as Joboam growled, ‘Keep that brat away from me!’

  ‘Outside, son,’ Tillu directed calmly. ‘Firewood.’

  ‘I got it yesterday,’ Kerlew complained.

  ‘Then get more. We can always use it.’

  ‘Not if we go with the herdfolk. Comes the herdlord now, to ask you to be healer.’

  ‘Outside!’ Tillu repeated sternly. ‘Take the bowls and clean them with moss and snow. Now!’

  He turned from Joboam, who clutched the sleeping skins about himself as if Kerlew were vermin that might be warded off. Laconically the boy gathered Tillu’s bowl and lifted the door flap. As he lifted the flap, the gray light of morning filtered in. Distant shouting reached their ears, the words indistinct.

  ‘Capiam,’ breathed Joboam. His eyes narrowed with suspicion or fear as he stared after the boy. An instant later, he had flung back the bedskins and was struggling to rise. ‘I will leave,’ he told Tillu tersely as he kicked clear of the skins and groped after his boots. ‘And you will not tell I have been here. Understand?’

  She didn’t understand why he wouldn’t want Capiam to know he had been in her tent. It was pointless, anyway. ‘Capiam knows you are here. Yesterday, his son come. He knows you are here.’

  Joboam dropped the boot he had been pulling on. ‘Rolke? Rolke was here yesterday? What did you tell him?’

  ‘I tell him, Capiam cannot send to me one who is already here.’

  ‘And that was all? You didn’t say you were healing my arm?’

  Tillu cast her mind back to the day before, tried to recall her exact words. ‘No. I just say he could not send someone who was already with me.’

  Joboam sat toying with his boot. Unreadable emotions flickered over his face as he sorted ideas. Tillu heard now the crunch and squeak of the snow as it gave under hoof and sledge. To her surprise, Joboam eased back on the pallet. He dragged the furs across himself and stretched out. ‘Go out!’ He gestured at her authoritatively. ‘Go out and meet him. Say nothing of me, unless he asks. Then say I am here. Go out! Hurry!’

  ‘This is my tent!’ Tillu spoke through clenched teeth.

  ‘Hurry!’ Joboam urged her.

  She went slowly, smoothing her hair back from her face. She gave him a final glance as she went out. He was staring after her, his face set in a grin born of both tension and satisfaction. She couldn’t understand him and didn’t want to.

  Two sledges had pulled up in front of her tent. Rolke was there, as sullen-faced as ever, with his father standing behind him. Capiam’s face was stern. He stood straight and solemn, his black eyes fixed on the healer. Short and stocky he was, as were most of the herdfolk, but his bearing and dress conspired to give an impression of height. His garments were both opulent and severe. His cap was of knotted black wool, his coat and leggings of black wolf. The hem of his coat had been trimmed with the black-tipped tails of weasels. The braid that decorated his cuffs was a stark pattern of black on white. His coat was cinched tightly around his waist by a thick leather belt held with a large bronze clasp. A leather thong about his neck supported another massy piece of bronzework. If he had intended to impress Tillu, he had succeeded.

  She tried not to imagine how she must appear, in her tunic and leggings of worn leather. She stood straight and returned his gaze, trying to ignore her son’s foolishness. Kerlew crouched behind a tree much too slender to hide him, peering around it at them, but not giving any greeting. Tillu pressed her lips together, took a breath, and advanced to meet them. She did not smile as she
spoke, but kept her voice even and her face calm.

  ‘Capiam. Rolke. I am honored that you visit me.’

  Capiam said nothing. Nor did Rolke, until Capiam nudged him violently from behind. The boy’s eyes glittered angrily when he spoke, but his words were courteous.

  ‘I wish you good morning, Healer Tillu. I come bearing a message from my father, Herdlord Capiam of the Herdfolk. May I speak it to you?’ She could nearly hear his teeth grate as he closed his jaws on the last word.

  ‘Certainly,’ she replied serenely, ‘I am always glad to receive a message courteously delivered.’

  He flinched at her words, and she knew she had hit the mark. Capiam had come to be sure that his message was politely delivered.

  ‘The Herdlord Capiam’ - Rolke glanced aside to find Kerlew grinning at him from behind the non-shelter of the tree. He caught his breath in frustration, and jerked his eyes back to Tillu - ‘The Herdlord Capiam invites you to join our people on our spring migration. Long have our folk been without a trained healer. Last year both humans and reindeer suffered injuries that a healer could have eased. A child ate tainted meat and died. A herder’s broken leg healed badly, so now she must limp. Herdlord Capiam is a man who cares for his folk. He would not see them crippled and scarred for lack of a trained healer to tend them. So I am sent to offer you these things, if you will come with us.’ He took a deep breath and began his listing. ‘Hides for a new tent, and the use of a harke to carry your belongings. Meat as you need it, and woven cloth for clothing for you and your son. The herdlord will see that you do not hunger or lack any necessity. And so I ask you: Will you go with our folk, to be our healer?’

  Tillu stood silently, a decision still eluding her. But Kerlew leaped out from behind his tree, crying, ‘Yes, oh, yes, Tillu, say yes! I am sick of eating rabbit, and tired of always staying in one place. Let’s go with them!’

  Rolke’s face flared with hatred as Kerlew capered wildly in the snow before them. Distaste showed an instant in Capiam’s eyes; then he regained his stoic bearing. If she went with them, their feelings for Kerlew wouldn’t change. They would only deepen. Kerlew would be like an annoying scab to Rolke, a thing to be picked at and irritated endlessly. She should stay here, by herself with the boy, and teach him and protect him.