The Reindeer People Read online

  The reindeer lowered her head, and Tillu fixed her eyes on the scene. She wondered if they would carry it off whole. She decided to wait. She was not too proud to take whatever they might leave.

  The bow sang just as the youth reared up to swing the rope over his head. Tillu cried aloud in horror, a warning that was too late. Swifter than sight, the black arrow ripped the air, snatching itself in and out of the boy’s upraised upper arm, to go wobbling off, its flight spoiled by this unexpected obstacle. It buried itself in snow.

  Reindeer and calf bounded away, crashing awkwardly through the snow that would not support them. Tillu clung to the tree trunk that had hidden her, feeling giddy. The tall man who had signaled the boy sprang out from his hiding place to dash to his side. The boy wallowed in the snow, his bright blood staining it. Of the other bowman, Tillu saw no sign.

  She would be wisest to flee. She was a woman alone, and she knew nothing of the men below her. Perhaps the wound was but a scrape; perhaps they didn’t need her skills. If she went down there, she could be putting herself in their power, men she knew nothing of. Foolishness. They could kill her or drag her away, and Kerlew would never know what had become of her. She stepped deeper into the cover of her tree, watching.

  The big man pulled the youth’s tunic off over his head, more swift than gentle. He seemed smaller without his coat, younger than Tillu had first estimated. The boy wore a shift of some woven work beneath it. Tillu was startled. How long had it been since she had seen folk who wore woven cloth? The shirt was the color of ripe grain, save for the one sleeve that was brilliant red and dripping. The youth gripped his arm, his gasps of pain audible even to Tillu. He sank suddenly to his knees, his companion following him down. Shock and pain were overpowering him. The big man supported his body, speaking hoarsely to the boy who wasn’t listening. His ignorance was obvious. Bleeding like that had to be stopped right away, or the boy would not live. Tillu began a stumbling run down the hillside.

  Heckram knelt in the snow, Lasse half in his lap. He could hear nothing but the thunder of his own heart and rasp of breathing, and Lasse’s thin cries as he squirmed and clutched at his arm. It was a nightmare. Soon he would awake, sweating in his bedskins. He tried once more to see the damage to Lasse’s arm, but the boy only gripped his own arm the tighter, his eyes squeezed shut against the pain. Heckram had seen the black flash of the arrow that had ripped from nowhere to slide through Lasse’s arm. He held Lasse tighter.

  ‘Calm down. Please, Lasse, calm down. Lasse! Let me see your arm. We have to stop the blood.’

  Lasse gave a sudden whimper and went limp in his grip. The boy’s head rolled back, and for an instant Heckram’s soul froze. Then he saw the wildly jumping pulse in the boy’s neck. He was alive still, just unconscious. Perhaps for the best. He pulled at the stubbornly yielding weave of Lasse’s wool shirt, trying to expose the wound. He had nothing to bandage it with, nothing, and the talvsit was a day’s hike from here. He could carry the boy that far, but if this wound didn’t stop bleeding, he would soon he carrying a corpse. Lasse had no flesh to spare, and his face was now near white as the snow he lay in. The arrow had pierced the heavy leather of Lasse’s tunic, opened a deep gash in his arm, and ripped out the other side of the sleeve. The wound was a gaping, ragged thing. Heckram thought he caught a gleam of white bone deep inside it and felt dizzy.

  Someone dropped into the snow on the opposite side of Lasse. The stranger was dressed in an oddly cut coat and leggings, hood pulled forward as if against a snowstorm. A bow was slung on his back. Sudden fury rose in Heckram, and when the bowman reached for Lasse, he pushed him roughly back. ‘Did you come down to see what meat you had taken?’ he demanded angrily. The man was even slighter than he looked, for Heckram’s push sent him sprawling in the snow. He sat up, spitting snow, his hood fallen back to his shoulders. The small man yelled something angrily at Heckram and in that instant was revealed as a woman, not a man at all. She tore her bow from her back and flung it down into the snow, followed by a stiff hare on a string. Lifting the skirt of her tunic, her hands worked at something at her waist. Heckram could only stare at her. Was she going to disrobe here in the snow? Why?

  Then she was dragging out a pouch of soft leather and opening it. Taking out a roll of very fine, thin bird skin, she shook it in his face. She knelt again in the snow on the other side of Lasse’s body. Her black eyes flashed at him as if challenging him to push her away again. He didn’t. But he kept his grip on Lasse, holding the youth close, trying to put his own warmth into the boy’s body.

  Her skill was apparent as she eased the torn fabric back from the gaping wound. She was talking fast, in what sounded like a strange parody of his own language. She said words he could almost understand, then shook her head angrily at him. In sudden silence, she firmly gripped Lasse’s arm above the wound, nodded violently at her own hands, then released Lasse’s arm and grabbed one of Heckram’s hands. She set it where hers had been and told him something commandingly. He stared at her in puzzlement, then gripped the boy’s arm as she had. She nodded her violent agreement, and turned aside from Lasse to scoop up a double handful of clean snow.

  The boy jerked slightly as she applied it directly to the wound. Heckram kept his grip. The snow reddened in her hands, but the bleeding slowed. She bent her head over his arm, studying the wound, then applied more snow. This second treatment seemed to satisfy her, for after examining the wound a second time, she spoke softly in reassurance.

  ‘It’s not that bad?’ he asked and she seemed to understand, for she nodded, but again patted his hand and told him, ‘Grip!’ The word was strangely accented, but he understood. She rummaged again in the leather bag and brought out a container made of a deer’s hollow leg bone. She pulled a wooden stopper from it and shook a grayish-brown powder into her hand. ‘Willow bark.’ She spoke very slowly and clearly. She trickled a pinch from her fingers into the open wound. The bleeding almost stopped. Gently pinching the wound closed, she wrapped the soft skin bandage over the wound. He watched the practiced way she slipped a finger under the binding to be sure it wasn’t too tight. Lasse began to stir, and she spoke to him as she worked. The boy’s eyes were huge in a face gone sallow.

  ‘Who is she? What happened? How bad is my arm?’ The rising urgency in Lasse’s voice reached the woman, who knotted the bandage gently and patted his shoulder. She motioned to Heckram to loosen his grip. Lasse hissed in pain as he removed his hands. The woman spoke again, more slowly this time, and Heckram understood enough to tell Lasse, ‘You’re to rest and not try to move your arm for a while. And eat or drink something.’

  ‘Of course,’ Lasse agreed calmly. ‘Before or after I pass out again?’

  ‘I don’t blame you.’ Heckram pulled his eyes from the reddened patch of snow. His face was so pale. He kept his hand companionably on the youth’s shoulder, but suspected that if he moved it Lasse would topple over.

  The woman was already gathering her things. ‘You! Healer!’ Heckram called to her. She looked around at the familiar word. ‘Are your people close by? Is there any kind of a shelter close by? A kator? Talvsit?’ At first he thought she couldn’t understand what he was asking, but then he caught the wariness in her eyes. ‘It’s the least you can do after you shot him! All we ask is shelter for a night. Look at him! I can’t drag him home this way. If he doesn’t bleed to death on the way, the cold would get him. After all, you’re the one who shot him!’

  He gestured angrily at her bow. She seemed to finally catch the idea, for she shook the bow at him and flooded him with words. He caught ‘hunter’ and ‘accident’ and watched her gesture vehemently at a fallen snag uphill of them.

  With a wave of his hand, he accepted her story. ‘Seems to have been an accident, though she doesn’t seem too apologetic. I suppose she feels we’re the ones who carelessly got between her and her prey. Lasse, if I can get her to take us to her shelter for the night, is that all right with you?’

  ‘You mean because sh
e shot me? It was an accident, Heckram. And she could have just run away and left me to bleed in the snow. No. There’s no sense in holding a grudge, my friend. Besides, I don’t think I have the strength if I wanted to. Has it gotten colder?’

  ‘Yes. Night’s coming on,’ Heckram lied easily. He picked up the boy’s coat to shake the loose snow from it. He couldn’t pull it on over his head, so Heckram wrapped it around his shoulders. Lasse rose slowly.

  ‘I could carry you,’ Heckram offered softly. Lasse shot him an offended look that rapidly became abashed. He gave him a grin that was part grimace. ‘Not yet, anyway,’ Lasse told him, but he put his good hand on Heckram’s shoulder, and with it a part of his weight, ‘I wish we had brought a pack-harke. I’d ride him like a child.’

  Heckram looked at the woman. She had retrieved her bow and hare. Hesitation was still evident in her eyes, but Heckram stared at her coldly. She owed them shelter for the night, and she knew it. For Lasse’s sake, he wasn’t going to let her out of it. At last she nodded curtly.

  ‘Tent,’ she said, and, with a beckoning gesture, she started off slowly through the snow.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Tillu’s mind seethed with plans. She set a pace through the snow that kept her well in front of the two hunters. As soon as they sighted her tent, she raced ahead. The glow of the fire showed through the worn seams and the ventilation flap of the tent. She pushed hastily inside, scarcely noticing the wealth of firewood Kerlew had stacked by the entrance. Inside the tent, she dropped her bow and hare on the floor and looked about frantically. How to give the impression that men shared her tent and were expected to return soon? Quickly she snatched half the hides from her pallet and heaped them on the floor to make them look like a third bed. No, that wasn’t right. She should have spread them out to make it look like two persons slept in her bed. She snatched them up again.‘There is blood on your hands. But the blood on mine will be darker.’

  Kerlew’s words jerked her attention to him. He hadn’t moved since she came in, but remained sprawled on his pallet, staring into the fire. His arms dangled over the edges of the rough bed, his hands resting palm up on the floor. His eyes were unblinking and unfocused, his voice deep and dreaming.

  ‘Kerlew! Wake up and help me!’ she snapped irritably.

  The boy took a deep breath and rolled over. He looked up at her. ‘You were gone so long. Was the hunting good?’ His voice was his normal halting speech and she breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Help me get ready. Two men are coming. One of them is hurt. Don’t talk to them, for they can understand some of what we say, and you might say the wrong things. I want them to think that someone else lives with us, a man who may come back -‘

  ‘I found my rock.’ Kerlew grinned uncertainly as he interrupted her, holding up the polished red stone for her inspection. She glared at him.

  ‘A lot of good that will do us! Get busy!’

  Kerlew was still gawking in confusion as the man pushed the tent flap open. The youth staggered in before him, dropping instantly to his knees before the fire. He swayed in place, and the big man steadied him as he glanced about. He scuffed his foot against the scraped earth floor of the tent and asked something.

  ‘Birch?’ Kerlew guessed, his tongue slow but his face eager. Tillu frowned, but the big man nodded. The boy shrugged his lack of comprehension, and the big man hissed in exasperation. Tillu spread out a hide on the floor beside the youth and eased him down onto it. The big man made a gesture for waiting and disappeared from the tent. The youth closed his eyes. Tillu watched him breathing. He was too pale. He had bled more than such a wound should, and he seemed more exhausted than should a boy of his years. She narrowed her eyes, looking at him shrewdly. He was not as robust as the man he hunted with. She would guess that he had not been eating well recently, perhaps not for a long time. And she surmised from his growth that he had never been a sturdy child. But, for all that, he was healthy enough. He’d live to hunt again.

  She knelt and checked the bandage on his arm. He opened his eyes to watch her, but tolerated her touch. The bandage was damp, but the blood had not soaked through it. Better to leave it alone than to open the wound trying to change it. Food and warmth and rest were what he needed now. She scowled at the stiffened hare that would have to feed four instead of two. Nothing to be done about it except to do it. She took the pot outside to pack it with snow, leaving Kerlew to stare curiously at the injured stranger.

  The big man made a strange profile in the dark as he returned. She held the tent flap open for him. He unslung a huge bundle of birch twigs from his shoulder and pushed them in before him. Tillu followed, setting the pot of snow by the fire to melt, then watching him curiously. As he began to spread the birch twigs in a layer over the earth floor, she wondered if this were some healing ritual of his people. She had been taught the uses of the birch tree: Oil from its bark soothed skin disorders, and syrup from the tender roots pleasantly eased a cough. One could steep its tiny cones for tea to ease a mother’s body after a difficult childbirth, or toast the same cones over coals, that the fumes might clear a stuffy head. She watched carefully to see how he would use such a quantity of twigs on a bleeding wound. But then he boldly took another hide from her bed and spread it over the twigs. Careful as a mother, he helped the injured boy move on to this softer resting place. Then he straightened and looked around her small tent curiously. She could not tell what he was thinking.

  Abruptly he placed a hand on his own chest and announced, ‘Heckram.’ A gesture toward the youth. ‘Lasse.’

  ‘Tillu,’ she replied and, pointing to her son, added, ‘Kerlew.’

  ‘Tillu,’ he muttered and, turning, left the tent again.

  ‘What happened to him?’ Kerlew demanded, pointing at Lasse as she knelt to open up the hare.

  ‘Some fool shot him instead of a reindeer,’ she told him tersely.

  ‘The big man?’ he asked with interest.

  ‘No. Someone else, someone who ran away instead of staying to help as he should have. So I had to help them instead.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because they needed help. Isn’t that a good enough reason?’

  ‘I guess,’ he subsided. He watched her with interest. ‘Is that all you killed today?’

  ‘Yes. And we’re going to have to share it.’

  ‘Sharing makes less,’ he observed without rancor, returning to staring at Lasse. The youth opened his eyes and at first looked confused. Then he smiled weakly at Kerlew and made a vague effort to sit up. ‘Better lie still,’ Kerlew advised him. ‘Or you’ll be bleeding all over. Bleed too much and you die.’

  ‘Kerlew!’ Tillu chided him, for the youth had understood enough of his words to look stricken. ‘Be quiet, as I told you. The less you speak, the less chance of making a fool of yourself. Besides, you say things I don’t want said. So, be quiet.’

  Kerlew went into a sulk, poking angrily at the fire and nearly upsetting the pot of warming water. Tillu turned back to Lasse. She spoke slowly and carefully. ‘Don’t try to move right now. I’m fixing something to eat. Your friend will be back soon. Your arm. Does it hurt much? Much pain?’

  ‘Yes, pain. Sick.’ He made a vague gesture with his good hand at his head and stomach. Tillu understood. The shock of the wound, the long cold hike, and the unrelenting pain of the jagged gash made him feel weak and ill. She wasn’t surprised. She moved to her healer’s pouch and began to sort through it. ‘Heckram?’ he asked anxiously as he watched her.

  ‘Yes. He’ll be back very soon.’

  As if in answer to her words, the flap was pushed open once more. Heckram and more birch twigs came in. He spoke reassuringly to Lasse, and the youth visibly relaxed. He spoke to Tillu over his shoulder as he spread the second bundle of twigs over the floor and blithely covered them with hides from her bed. The gist of his words seemed to be that this was warmer and better than the bare earth floor. Tillu nodded curtly and went on with her work. Anything that occupied h
im without bothering her was fine.

  She poured a small measure of the snow water into a cup. From her healing supplies she took several small packets made of gut and an assortment of bone vials. Inside each were herbs or ground roots or bark. She opened several, frowning at those that had not kept as fresh as she might have wished. She chose carefully from among them, taking a pinch of willow bark and crumbling it finely into the water, adding a thumbnail-size piece of sorrel root and letting it steep. She added a small portion of dried anemone flower. It was a potent sedative, one that would cause collapse in a patient if too much were taken. In the boy’s weakened condition, she would use too little rather than too much. After a few moments of steeping, she dipped her little finger into the mixture and touched it to her tongue. Heckram unnerved her by squatting down on his heels by her fire and watching her with friendly interest. He nodded in turn to Kerlew, who sulkily turned aside from him. The big man did not seem offended, but rose and moved casually around the tent, pausing to rearrange some of the hides on the birch twigs. He spoke softly to Lasse as he crouched by the boy and then returned, sighing softly as he seated himself on a layer of birch twigs and hides near the fire. Tillu rose as he sat, to take the cup of amber liquid to Lasse.

  ‘For pain,’ she said, searching his face for understanding. He looked to Heckram, who nodded to him slowly. The boy drank. Tillu took back the empty cup, ignoring the wry face Lasse made at the unfamiliar taste. She knew his pain would ebb now. And he would probably just have time to eat before sleep descended. The willow bark should keep fever away as well. She nodded in satisfaction and crouched again by her fire to carefully rinse the dregs from the cup with more of the snow water. Heckram watched her intently, apparently curious about the herbs and roots she so carefully repacked. She paused a moment, thinking. Then, hoping her face didn’t show how reluctantly she parted with her precious store, she mixed more of the herbs and root in the now dry cup. With mortar and pestle of calf’s bone she ground them to a powder and rolled the mixture carefully in a tiny square of skin. ‘For tomorrow,’ she told Heckram as she offered it. ‘Only if pain.’