The Forbidden

by Lori Holmes

  “Come, help,” Nen beckoned with her bloody fingers. The Thal turned and disappeared back into the white landscape beyond without waiting for an answer. Rebaa paused for a moment before deciding to follow. Her leg still hurt; the skin over the burns was stiff and pulled with every motion. She gritted her teeth, promising herself that she would get some more snow on it.

  The sky overhead was clear and as Rebaa stepped out of the dim cave she was blinded by the gleaming light bouncing off the endless white. Rebaa blinked rapidly until her eyes adjusted. The cold, fresh air and the scent of snow was sharp in her nostrils, contrasting against the warm, mustiness of the cave.

  A flash like flame against the snow caught her attention. Nen was walking away down the slope to her right, her bright hair billowing in the breeze as she moved steady and surefooted over the rocks. Rebaa started after her but quickly found it wasn’t as easy as the Thal woman made it look with two good legs. The rocks were treacherous underfoot and progress was slow. Rebaa tested every step. When she finally reached their destination, she took one look and had to brace herself against a wave of nausea.

  Nen was standing beside the body of the massive cave bear. She had quite obviously skinned it and carved great chunks of meat from its bones. The scent of blood and raw flesh overpowered all else. With a sharpened flint knife, Nen began carving out another huge hunk of flesh from the grisly carcass. She glanced up at Rebaa in grim satisfaction.

  “Good kill,” she indicated the stacks of meat cuts and the great, shaggy pelt piled behind her. “Buried body in snow till chance to cut. Some scavengers found but still plenty food.” Nen swiped at a wayward strand of hair, unconsciously smearing more blood across her coarse face.

  Rebaa forced a smile, trying her best to appear pleased when all she really wanted to do was turn away. Nen hefted the heavy pelt.

  “Help?” she asked again.

  Suppressing a shudder, Rebaa moved down to help drag the hideous thing back up the hill to the cave. It was still dripping with sinew and fat and was a dead weight, slimy beneath her fingers. It smelled awful; of sickly sweet death. It was all Rebaa could do to bring herself to even touch it. The only thought that kept her there was the need to repay Nen for coming to her aid and providing her with warmth and safety while she recovered from her wounds. It was the least she could do.

  Even so, she did not feel she was of that much help as they tugged and heaved the bloody hide over the rocks. Nen was a full head and shoulders taller than Rebaa and massively strong.

  Rebaa was panting hard and holding her side when they finally reached the mouth of the cave. She collapsed to the hard floor, her legs refusing to hold her any longer. Her wounds burned. She reached outside and doused them with another handful of snow.

  Nen’s face was alight with amusement. “Dryad not strong.”

  Rebaa chuckled ruefully; the sound was strange to her ears. “I guess Dryads don’t need to be, Nen.” She tapped her temple. “We have different means.”

  Nen frowned then. “Not good for you.” She patted her stomach. “Rest. I carry.” She stooped to pick up a smooth stone that fitted comfortably into her large hand. One curving edge had been knapped into a sharp blade. “You strip.” Nen pointed to the fur.

  She wanted her to prepare and clean the skin. Rebaa wrinkled her nose. As Juran’s mate, she had managed to avoid such mundane chores as much as was allowed. When she had first been adopted into the Black Wolf clan, she had only partaken enough to prevent the other women of the tribe resenting her more than they already did.

  She had soon proven her worth in other ways. Her skills as a Ninkuraaja healer were average to say the least when compared to her brother’s but, to the Cro, they were miraculous. After saving a few infants from illness and hunters from gorings, the other women had cheerfully taken up her workload, finally accepting this outsider in the coveted position as Juran’s mate.

  She would be shown no such favours now. Rebaa clenched her teeth together and braced herself for an unpleasant morning.

  By the time Nen had finished bringing the rest of the bear meat up the hill, Rebaa was covered to her aching elbows in greasy fat, stray hair and stinking bits of flesh. The pelt was finally clean and ready for further preparation, however.

  Nen spied the revulsion that must have been showing on her face for a smile touched her wide lips. She was shoving most of the meat supply into a snow bank outside to keep it fresh. The hunks had been stripped of what little fat had been on the bear, keeping only the lean meat, further lengthening its life. Once she had finished, Nen picked up the cleaned bear-skin and beckoned to Rebaa with one gnarled hand. Her lips were still twitching with suppressed mirth at Rebaa’s disgruntled expression as she walked back out into the snow without a word.

  Rebaa guessed she was supposed to follow. Keeping her stinking arms as far away from her furs as possible, she limped after her companion, wondering what other unpleasantness could possibly lie in wait.

  Nen had set out in the opposite direction from the bear, slinging its skin across her broad shoulders as she trudged through the snow across the wide, shallow gully. The pelt was much lighter now that it had been stripped of its wet, excess flesh and Nen easily managed the load on her own.

  Following along, Rebaa glanced into the crisp blue sky above. The spirit of Ninmah was now at Her zenith. Not that Rebaa would know that from the bitterness of the air. Ninmah’s golden face shone down but Her touch held little warmth. Rebaa frowned worriedly. Ninmah’s power of late had waned, letting Her evil brother’s cold times increase.

  Long ago when she was but a child, Rebaa’s people had started to whisper, whisper that Ninsiku was finally winning the battle for dominance in the heavens. Rebaa shuddered. From the beginning of time, her forefathers had passed down the teaching that if Ninsiku ever grew more powerful than his sister, it would signal the end of the world. The end of the Ninkuraaja and their way of life.

  Feeling the weakness of Ninmah’s light now, Rebaa hoped her ancestors’ teachings were wrong. It wouldn’t have been the first thing her people had been wrong about after all. She tried to ignore the plume of her breath freezing on the midday air. She already had enough to worry about.

  Climbing up the steep slope that marked the edge of the gully in which Nen’s cave resided, Rebaa was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of running water. Nen paused and pointed ahead over the top of an outcropping of rocks. The sound was coming from there. Rebaa joined her new companion and looked down into the adjoining valley. A sparkling mountain stream was rushing before her on its way to the great Plain below. Nen motioned to her, mimicking washing her arms.

  “Ah,” Rebaa said, understanding. “Thank you.” She picked her way over the icy rocks down to the tumbling water. She shuddered at the thought of bathing in the freezing flow but anything was better than putting up with the mess she was in right now. Sinking to her knees, Rebaa dipped her arms into the stream, almost crying out at the shock of it. She washed as quickly as she could, scrubbing away the greasy fat and hairs sticking to her skin.

  Once her hands were clean, Rebaa splashed her face and neck, slicking away the stiff, sweaty traces of her fever. Catching sight of her rippling reflection in the stream’s silky surface, she paused. It had been a while since she had seen her own face and she flinched now at the sight of it. It was not the reflection she remembered. The smooth roundness of her cheeks had been savagely sharpened by hunger and her eyes… her eyes were nothing more than sunken pits, hollowed out by grief and despair. Their deep indigo colouring stood stark against her paled red-gold skin.

  She found that could not maintain her own gaze and she searched desperately for some familiarity, some sign that she was still herself. Her fingers went to her forehead where a deep purple marking curled delicately between her brows. A short vertical line stood at the centre of two tapering coils which branched off in opposite directions, finishing over her eyebrows. It was the symbol of Ninmah, bestowed upon her at birth, claiming
her as part of the Ninkuraaja People.

  She paused, taking comfort from this familiar sign of self, before her fingers travelled hesitantly upwards to brush against other markings standing just below her dark hairline. These marks were red, a dotted pattern proclaiming her as a Cro chief’s mate. Her fingers lingered. She remembered as if it were yesterday the pain she had felt as the old medicine woman of the clan had pierced her skin with the ritual dyes, a pain that had been overshadowed by glowing pride she had seen on Juran’s face as she officially took her place by his side.

  Tears pricked suddenly at her eyes and she dropped her hand, striking out at the water to shatter the image.

  Busy as she had been with her own ministrations, Nen did not seem to notice that Rebaa’s violent shivering was not all to do with the cold. Catching hold of her, Nen rubbed Rebaa’s arms quickly in an attempt to restore warmth. Rebaa was surprised by the physical contact but found she could not protest. Nen’s hands were rough but pleasantly warm, seemingly unaffected by the harsh temperature of the water.

  “What now?” Rebaa asked, eyeing the bear pelt Nen had brought along.

  “Cold water,” Nen pointed to the stream. “Make last.” Rebaa nodded her understanding. The skin needed to be preserved before it started to fester. Nen soaked the hide in the running water, then pulled it out and between them they wrung it dry. This process was repeated again and again. The shadows were lengthening before Nen was finally satisfied.

  As Ninmah set, Rebaa let Nen lead her back to the cave. Her very bones ached from the exertions of the day’s work, still recovering as she was from the effects of her fever. She welcomed the numbing exhaustion the physical work had brought, perhaps tonight she would be spared from dreaming.

  Back inside the cave, she sank wearily onto the furs by the fire and watched distantly as Nen spread the half prepared skin flat on the cold ground before turning to build the flames back up.

  Weary as she was, Rebaa knew she must force her mind to sort through her situation. This respite could not last. Nen had been a blessing she had not foreseen but who knew how long the Thal woman would tolerate the burden of another mouth to feed. As soon as her strength returned, she would have to face the journey she had set for herself again.

  “What think?” Nen asked.

  Rebaa opened her half closed eyes. Her concern must have been showning on her face. “I’m thinking about how I’m going to get back to my people.”

  A flicker of disappointment clouded Nen’s features. “You should not be alone,” she admonished. “Why not stay here until cold time over. After baby born. Then find people. Too danger to travel now.”

  Rebaa blinked in surprise. Her preconceptions about Thals were taking a dramatic shift. She glanced around. The thought of spending the rest of the Fury inside this cosy cave was a serious temptation. And she liked this Thal woman, she decided. Nen had a good spirit. The pending birth of her son, however, made such an agreement impossible. Nen could not see her baby. That was something she knew the Thal woman would not tolerate. She would need to be long gone before then.

  “I’m sorry, Nen,” she said, regretfully. “I must leave. I have to get back.”

  “Father waiting?” Nen guessed.

  No, Rebaa thought, father dead. Instead, she nodded, glad that Nen had jumped to that mistaken conclusion. “Yes, father waiting,” she lied. “I must get back to him.”

  Nen accepted her words sadly. “Stay just bit longer? Until recover? Still tire easily and leg hurt.” Her eyes were hopeful; the longing in them tugged at Rebaa’s heart.

  Rebaa plucked at the soft fur upon which she sat, deciding. Her leg was probably stronger now than Nen could guess. Now that she was better nourished, Rebaa had been directing what extra energy she had at her wounds over the course of the day; encouraging the flesh to knit and become whole.

  She flexed it, feeling the dull ache, and winced. It still wasn’t fully healed and she knew she would always walk with a limp from now on, the bear had done more than tear skin; he had damaged muscle. She reasoned that in it’s current half healed state, the leg would most likely give out again under serious strain.

  That was what she told herself but, deep down, Rebaa knew she was simply clutching at any excuse to put off the impossible danger she faced for a short while more. She scolded herself for such weakness but found she could not resist the temptation of just a few more warm nights.

  “That would be nice.” She gave in to Nen’s offer with a soft smile, then cocked her head. Nen seemed so desperate for company, desperate enough to want to share her scarce food supply with a complete stranger who did not have much to offer in return. Rebaa could not understand why such a compassionate being was living in isolation. “Why are you not with your own people, Nen?” She asked curiously. “Why are you alone?”

  Rebaa watched the glittering light in the deep-set eyes grow dim. The open soul she had been becoming accustomed to closed with a snap. “Not talk.” Nen shook her large head evasively.

  Rebaa guessed her meaning from the reluctance she could feel in the Thal woman’s heart. “You don’t want to talk about it?”

  Nen shook her head again, avoiding her gaze. Rebaa was surprised to see tears forming in the gentle eyes and realised with a sharp pang that she had dug into old wounds. She was surprised at the depth of the guilt she felt. She had only just met Nen and yet somehow she had already come to care for her; she couldn’t help it. She hesitated for a moment, then moved to Nen’s side, brushing away the tears, wanting to offer what comfort she could. She wasn’t the only one battling painful memories, it seemed.

  Nen blinked in surprise at the contact then stifled a sob and leaned against her gratefully. As they drew comfort from one another, Rebaa made her decision. She could not fix whatever Nen had suffered anymore than she could fix her own past but she could do this one thing for the woman who had saved her life.

  “Don’t worry, Nen. I will stay for a little while longer.” She smiled. “I cannot refuse the offer of a friend.” As the word left her mouth, she was flooded by a sense of rightness.

  Nen’s eyes lit up, her pain forgotten. “Friend?”

  Rebaa smiled sadly back at her. “Yes, Nen. Friend.”

  * * *

  11

  Power

  The Great Plains stretched away before Eldrax’s feet. It had taken a day of travel but the rocky foothills of the Mountains had finally been shaken off and his heart sang in response to the open wilderness ahead of him, the lands of his birth.

  The wind was stronger over the open ground. He drew it through his nose as though he might scent his prey on the icy breeze. Out here the witch would have nowhere to hide. If he drove his men hard, he estimated that they would catch her the next time the Light Bringer rose above the horizon. Juran’s mate might have had a few days head start on them but she was small and physically inferior. Eldrax’s men were neither.

  With a brusque order, he set out over the open land in a ground-covering lope. This was a hunt he was impatient to bring to conclusion. The fear that another clan might claim his prize before he could catch up to her was now a constant gnaw in his gut.

  His men kept pace with him easily, their moods had lifted now that they were free of the hills. As they travelled, Eldrax kept a sharp eye on the landscape, searching for any clue of his quarry’s passing but the fresh snowfall from two nights past had obscured all tracks as thoroughly on the plains as it had in the hills. Eldrax tightened his wide lips. The new, soft snow cover also gave the added hindrance of dragging at their feet, making the going hard but Eldrax surmised that anything that slowed them would also slow the witch.

  The day had dawned clear. The Great Light Bringer rose overhead, warming the air as it climbed. Sweat began to drip from Eldrax’s pale brow but he did not slacken the pace he had set. Despite the improved visibility, he could not yet see to the horizon as the Plain undulated gently, always reducing his view to the next approaching rise.

  Eldrax
ran his men until the Light Bringer was high in the sky. He kept his breathing deep and even; he wasn’t winded yet but he was growing hungry. Their rations had ran out two days ago. He did not wish to stop but Eldrax knew they would soon start to weaken if he did not feed his men soon. If his target had been taken by another clan, then he needed his men at full strength. He glanced back at the now distant foothills behind, pleased with the ground he had covered and decided it was time to divert the hunt to a different target.

  “Tanag,” Eldrax summoned the other man forward. Since his insightful suggestion of the witch’s direction, Eldrax had unspokenly made him his second. “Go on ahead and find something suitable to eat.”

  Tanag obeyed without question, peeling away from the main group. Eldrax prayed to the gods that he would not take long. His patience with this delay was thin at best.

  The gods must have been listening because the Light Bringer had not risen much higher when Tanag returned. “There is a herd of gazelle to the east, my chief.”

  My chief. Eldrax felt a shiver of pleasure. The uplift in his men’s mood seemed to have eased their doubt in him remaining as leader. “Good.” Gazelle might not be his favourite meat but he would suffer it this time. He lifted his hand to the wind, assessing its direction. West. The elements were with them.

  The beasts were in a shallow valley, digging in the snow, searching for the meager grazing beneath. Low rocky rises surrounded them on all sides. Eldrax snorted softly from where he lay hidden downwind. In the need for food, the senseless beasts had made themselves ridiculously easy targets. He assessed the situation and then gave his orders, making the sign for his men to fan out. As Murzuk’s second, he had lead many hunts and he knew what to do to catch swift prey such as this. They would surround the small herd on the ridges, blocking escape and ensuring a greater chance of one of their spears striking true.

  As the last of the hunters moved into position, the lead buck caught their scent on the breeze. Too late. Eldrax had enacted his plan to perfection and the herd was trapped. In a panic, they began to run. A smile curled over Eldrax’s lips as he watched their desperate attempt to escape him, waiting for just the right moment…