The Great Alta Saga Omnibus

by Jane Yolen

  “This was not like hunting rabbit or squirrel,” Jenna whispered. “I do not think I can bear to look at him.”

  Pynt nodded, stood up, and went over to the creature’s body. She thought to roll it over in order to hide the hideous brown snout and bulging eyes. But as she tugged at Jenna’s sword, the edge of the blade slipped up through the brown flesh, severing the chin. Only then did she see that the leathery brown face was no face at all but a mask. Slowly she peeled the mask back, revealing the face beneath. It was an ordinary face, the beard red and gray, the teeth broken and yellow, the right cheek crisscrossed with old scars. Pynt ripped the mask away completely and the horns, part of an elaborate helmet, came off in her hand.

  “Jenna, look!”

  “I cannot.”

  “It is not a demon, Jenna. It is a man.”

  “I know that,” Jenna whispered. “Why do you think I cannot look? Looking at a dead demon’s face would be easy.”

  “His name,” said a voice behind them, “is Barnoo.” It was the boy, who had returned silently. “He was known as the Hound. Hell hunt no more.” He knelt by the dead man but did not touch him. “Strange … even dead he frightens me.” Shivering, the boy reached out a tentative finger and poked at Barnoo’s hand. “Cold,” he said. “So cold, so soon. I thought it would take longer. But then, the Hound was always cold. Cold-blooded, he and his brothers, and the master they serve.” He stood up. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  Jenna stood up as well and shrugged meaningfully at Pynt. They listened while the boy was noisily but efficiently sick somewhere in the bushes behind them.

  At last the noises from the bushes ceased and the boy found them again, looking somewhat drained but calm.

  “I never thought it would be the Hound who would die. I assumed it would be me,” he said. “My only hope, in fact, was to lose him in the fog, a small hope at best. He was known throughout the land as a great tracker.”

  “The Hound,” said Pynt, nodding.

  “How did you know about the fog?” asked Jenna.

  “Everyone knows fogs are frequent around the Sea of Bells. So when I found out he was on my trail, I headed straight here.”

  “We knew nothing about the fogs.”

  “And we know nothing about the Hound. Or about you,” said Jenna pointedly. “Why was he hunting you? Are you a thief? You do not look like one. Or a cutthroat?”

  “He looks even less like that,” said Pynt.

  “I’m …” He hesitated. “I’m Carum. I am—or was, at least, before I had to run for my life—a scholar. Alive I’m a threat to Lord Kalas of the Northern Holdings. Lord Kalas … who wants to be king!” There was unhappiness in the boy’s voice, and bitterness he tried to disguise. “I have been running all spring.”

  Pynt reached out to touch his arm. At the last moment, they both drew back.

  “We’d best bury him,” the boy said. “Else his brothers will find him when the fog lifts and they’ll make further black marks on my long tally sheet.”

  “Are his brothers as big?” Pynt asked.

  The boy nodded. “And as ugly.”

  “And—they are very much alive,” Jenna muttered to herself.

  They began to dig a grave using their knives carefully, a long, time-consuming task. Carum stripped the dead man of a dirk at the belt and another in his boot. He also found a small spadelike ax in a throwing sheaf under the Hound’s arm and they used it as well. When the digging was done, they rolled the Hound’s body into the hole. The hole would have been too small for the carcass had not Barnoo curled up in his death throes and stiffened that way. He landed facedown in the hole.

  Jenna breathed a sigh of relief at that, and tossed the mask after him. Then they threw in handfuls of dirt, aware of the heavy breathing and frequent huffing and stamping of the steed somewhere out of sight in the fog.

  As the last clod of dirt was tamped down, Jenna whispered, “Is there something we should say to speed him on his way?”

  “On his way where?” asked Carum.

  “To wherever you believe he goes after death,” said Jenna.

  “I believe there’s only Here,” said Carum. “Nothing after.”

  “Is that what all men believe?” asked Pynt, astonished.

  “That’s what I believe,” said Carum. “And all my reading has not changed my mind. But I can say a few words about what the Hound and his brothers believe, if you’d like.”

  “Do,” Jenna said, “for I cannot wish him a place in Alta’s cave or at her breast, which is where I expect to go when I die.”

  Carum’s mouth twisted a bit, almost as if he were trying not to smile. Then he took a deep breath and looked down at the gravemound. “May the God of Fine Battles, Lord Cres, welcome you to his side in the great halls of ValHale. May you drink his strong wines and eat his meat forever, and throw the bones over your shoulder for the Dogs of War.”

  “What an awful prayer,” said Pynt. “Who would want to go to such an unpeaceful place after death?”

  “Who indeed,” said Carum, shrugging. “Is it any wonder I don’t believe it?”

  Just then the steed gave a strange, low sound and marched over to them.

  “What is that?” whispered Pynt.

  “Never seen a horse before?” Carum asked.

  “Of course.” Pynt’s answer came so quickly, Carum smiled.

  “Of course,” he said, his voice full of mockery.

  “Well, once anyway,” said Pynt. “And they were much shorter. What would we do with such a large beast on our small mountain trails?”

  Jenna turned away from their argument and stared out into the impenetrable fog, remembering the two little foals they had helped rescue from the flooded Selden barn while the body of the mare had floated by, knocking against the pilings. She turned back suddenly. “Is it all right? The horse. Is it hurt? Can it be ridden?”

  Carum’s voice came to her from the fog. “If it’s on its feet, it can be ridden. Kalas’ horses are always strong and solid. He knows flesh, my uncle does.” This time the bitterness in his voice could not be disguised.

  “Can you catch it?” Jenna asked.

  “Just grab its halter and it’ll come. It’s well trained, you know. All of Kalas’ battle horses are.”

  “Well, you grab the halter, whatever that is, and then we can start off again,” Jenna said, picking up her sword and pack.

  “Which way?”

  Jenna turned around several times, trying to pierce the fog.

  Pynt, on her hands and knees, was too busy looking for the contents of her pack to offer a suggestion. When she found everything she could, she jammed it in and looked around again for her sword. Then she joined the other two, who were still trying to figure out the direction.

  They huddled together, a small island in the midst of a sea of fog, arguing over the way. At last Carum sat down in disgust. Only the horse, its gray nose moist and its dark eyes unfathomable, seemed unworried.

  “Shall we camp here until morning?” asked Jenna.

  “Without food?” Carum’s voice threaded up to them.

  “And do you want to go off on your own in that fog in the hopes of a handful of mushrooms?” asked Pynt.

  “What about a fire, then?”

  “We’ll go hand in hand to look for wood,” Jenna said.

  They found only a few dry bushes and made a small brushy fire, as far from Barnoo’s grave as possible. The horse stood, silently, all night over the fresh gravemound, its only marker.

  The three were asleep long before the fire went out. The horse, in its silent vigil, stayed awake much of the night.

  THE BALLAD:

  Lord Gorum

  Oh, where have ye been all day, Gorum, my son?

  The bull, the bear, the cat, and the hound,

  Where have ye been all day, my pretty one?

  And the brothers have pulled me down.

  I’ve been far afoot, with my staff in my hand,

  The bull,
the bear, the cat, and the hound,

  I have been out walking my dead father’s land,

  And the brothers have pulled me down.

  I looked in the mountains, I looked in the sea,

  The bull, the bear, the cat, and the hound,

  A-looking for someone a-looking for me,

  And the brothers have pulléd me down.

  What have ye for supper, Lord Gorum, my son?

  The bull, the bear, the cat, and the hound,

  What have ye for supper, my pretty young one?

  And the brothers have pulléd me down.

  I’ve nothing for supper, and nothing to rise,

  The bull, the bear, the cat, and the hound,

  But fed on the look in my own true love’s eyes,

  And the brothers have pulléd me down.

  What will ye leave to that true love, my son?

  The bull, the bear, the cat, and the hound,

  What will she leave you, my handsome young one?

  And the brothers have pulléd me down.

  My kingdom, my crown, my name, and my grave,

  The bull, the bear, the cat, and the hound,

  Her hair, her heart, her place in the cave,

  And the brothers have pulléd me down.

  THE STORY:

  They awoke to birdsong and a sky the color of old pearl. Pynt laughed aloud on rising but Jenna cast a suddenly shy glance at Carum, who had rolled into a ball at her feet and looked at once young and grownup in the lambent morning. He had long dark lashes that seemed to fan and shadow his cheeks, and his right hand lay across his nose, the long, shapely fingers hanging limp. Jenna was careful not to disturb him by stretching.

  Pynt came over and stared down at him. “I thought …” she began, but Jenna shushed her with a finger to her lips. Then Pynt whispered, “I thought that men were all hairy and lumpy.”

  Jenna turned away, whispering over her shoulder, “That is because he is still a boy.” But her heart sent a different message as she walked into the woods, casting about until she came upon some of the wild mushrooms that Pynt loved best. She was especially glad she found Pynt’s favorites, the fleshy ones that were as good raw as cooked.

  A twig snapped behind her, and Jenna turned. “See,” she said to Pynt, “here are the ones you like.”

  “I found some ferns,” Pynt said. “If we only had water, we could cook them up.”

  Jenna shook her head. “No fires and no time,” she said. “Without the fog to mask it, we cannot chance a fire and if the Hound’s brothers are, indeed, on his trail, we need to leave this place and its ghosts, quickly.”

  Pynt nodded her agreement, and they bent to the gathering of mushrooms. When their hands and their leather pockets were full, they stood and headed back to the camp.

  Carum was gone.

  The ground was scuffed, but just a little. It could have meant a fight.

  “What is it?” Pynt whispered. “The other brothers? Or Lord Kalas? Not many, I would say.”

  “We should never have left him alone,” Jenna said fiercely. She clenched her hands, crushing the mushrooms. They dropped the food on the grass by the fire. “He cannot have gotten far. Surely we have enough woodsense to trail a scholar. And look, they have not taken the horse.” She bent over, casting about for his track, and discovered a place where he seemed to have staggered off into the undergrowth, for the branches were broken and the trillium trampled underfoot.

  They had not gone far when they heard a noise; both dropped to the ground as one. Inching forward, they saw the back of Carum’s head, his light brown hair tangled. With one hand he was scratching his head and with the other …

  “Alta’s Hairs!” said Jenna disgustedly.

  Pynt sat up and laughed.

  Carum’s head snapped around and he spotted them, his cheeks a bright flush. “Haven’t you ever seen a man relieving himself?” Then he laughed, too. “No, I suppose not.” He turned his head away again.

  “We thought …” Pynt began.

  “Explain nothing,” said Jenna in a tight voice. She stood, stared at Carum’s back with hooded eyes, then turned and stalked back to camp. “Come, Marga,” she called.

  Pynt scrambled to her feet and followed.

  After their meager breakfast, they headed along the wood’s edge toward the end of the lily meadows, taking turns on the horse. Its broad back stretched their muscles painfully and the heavy leather saddle rubbed sores on their thighs. After a try or two, both Jenna and Pynt decided to walk. But Carum chose to ride as if he were born to horseback, or as if the added height lent him courage in the girls’ company.

  “Tell me about the Brothers,” said Jenna, one time that Pynt was astride the horse and she and Carum walked along together companionably. Carum was leading the horse by its halter. “So that I do not come upon them unaware.” She had forgiven him the morning’s scare and embarrassment—as long as he did not mention it.

  “They really are brothers, of a single mother, though it’s said they each had a different sire. One can readily believe that, seeing them together, for in all things but one they’re as unalike as strangers. But in their devotion to Lord Kalas, they’re as one. The Bull, the Bear, the Cat, and the Hound.”

  “The Hound I have met,” said Jenna, keeping her voice calm and the memory of the dead man’s back hunched over in his grave out of her mind. “What of the others?”

  “The Bull is ox-strong and as stupid. He tries to do with his arms what his head cannot. He can work all day and not tire. I’ve seen him turn a mill wheel when the ox falters.”

  “And the Bear?”

  “A hairy man, as large as the Bull, but smarter. A little smarter. His hair falls down to his shoulders, and his chest and back are likewise covered as if with a hair shirt.”

  “Attractive,” said Jenna, half smiling.

  “But the Cat, he’s the one to be wary of. He’s small and light on his feet. Once he leaped across a chasm, from rock to rock, with a pack of the king’s hounds after him. The pack fell to its death. They cried all the way down. I heard them in my sleep for weeks.” Carum’s eyes squinted in the sun and Jenna could not read them.

  “But though he’s half the size of the others, he’s the one I fear the most.”

  “More than Lord Kalas?” asked Jenna.

  Carum shrugged as if to say they were to be equally feared.

  “Then tell me about him, this dread Lord Kalas, so that I will know him if I meet him.”

  “You wouldn’t want to meet him,” Carum said. “He’s tall and so thin they say he must stand twice to cast a shadow. His breath smells the sweet rot of piji.”

  “Piji?” Jenna asked.

  “It is an addiction the poor know nothing of,” said Carum.

  “We are not poor,” said Jenna.

  “You don’t know piji,” Carum replied. “Therefore you are poor!”

  “If that is a scholar’s argument, then I am glad I know only the one book!” She laughed lightly and punched Carum on the arm. “What more of Kalas?”

  “Lord Kalas,” reminded Carum, ignoring the touch, though his cheeks seemed to grow pinker. “If you leave off his title, he’d as soon have you leave off your head.”

  “A pleasant man,” said Jenna. “What more?”

  “He has red hair and a red beard.”

  “The Hound had a red beard,” mused Jenna. “Does red run in your family of villains?”

  “No more than white runs free through the Alta Hames, I imagine,” replied Carum.

  Jenna nodded. “You are right. I alone have white hair. And I have always hated being so different. I longed to be just like the others and instead I have been called a tree overshading the little plants below.”

  “You are tall,” said Carum. “But I like that. And your hair is … is marvelous. Promise me you’ll never cut it.”

  “I will cut it when I take my vows,” said Jenna. “A warrior cannot chance long hair in battle.”

  It was Car
um’s turn to muse and he was silent for a long while. Then he spoke in a strange, faraway voice. “There was a tribe of warriors—men, not women—in the East across the sea about …” He seemed to be calculating, bit his lip, then smiled. “About seven centuries ago. They wore their hair in long, single braids. They tied the scalp locks of their defeated enemies into the braids. Sometimes they used their hair to throttle their foes, when silence was the key. That’s what the historian Locutus wrote. He added, And in that way they were never weaponless. They were called …” He hesitated again. “No, I’ve lost their names. But it’ll come to me.”

  “You carry a great deal in your head, packed tight for travel,” said Jenna, smiling.

  “That, my lady,” Carum answered, sweeping his arm in front of his body in an elaborate bow, “is a fine definition of a scholar: a bag of information packed tight for the road.”

  They laughed loudly and Pynt, from her high seat on the horse’s back, called down, “What is so funny?”

  “It is nothing, Pynt,” said Jenna. When she turned back to Carum to smile again at him, she missed the look that passed over Pynt’s face.

  Pynt dismounted. “I do not want to ride anymore.”

  “Then I shall,” said Carum, putting his hands on the horn of the saddle and swinging himself easily into the seat.

  “How does he do that?” asked Jenna, her voice filled with admiration.

  “Why does he do that?” muttered Pynt.

  They reached the meadow’s end by the time the sun stood straight overhead. Casting a glance backward at the great sweep of the Sea of Bells, Jenna sighed.

  “Before we go farther, we need to take stock,” she said.

  “And find something to eat,” reminded Pynt.

  “And explain to my stomach that my throat hasn’t been slit,” said Carum. He slid off the horse’s back and led it to the meadow’s edge to graze. When he wandered back, Pynt and Jenna were in the middle of an argument, and Pynt was saying, “And I say we should leave him.”

  Carum pulled a smile across his face and said cheerily, “You don’t want to leave me, because I know a shortcut to Nill’s Hame.”

  “How did you know we were going there?” asked Pynt.

  “Do not be stupid, Pynt. What other Hames are along this route?” said Jenna. She turned to Carum, all the while pulling on her braid. “Thank you, Carum, but we know the way. The map is up here.” She pointed to her head. “And besides, you cannot come into the Hame. No men are allowed.”