by Lori Holmes
Nen rocked back at the confession. “Love? Then why you leave? Baby not accepted anywhere else.”
Rebaa clenched her fists to stop them from trembling. She drew a deep breath. “As the Fury set in, the clan found new territory at the base of those distant mountains to the west,” she said. “The ones the Cro call the Mountains of the Nine Gods. There was plenty to hunt through the cold time. The territory would have sustained us. Juran saw it as a blessing.”
Her voice grew soft as she got lost in the memories, seeing it all again behind her closed lids. “But the blessing turned out to be nothing more than a curse. Our hunters started disappearing in the woods around the mountains. They would go in to find game and not return. Those few who did lost their wits, raving that the woods were haunted by monsters that feasted on the flesh of men.” Rebaa opened her eyes to stare starkly at the fire. “Juran did not believe them. He assumed another clan was ambushing his hunters in the forest and that was something he could not tolerate. With the Furies getting longer and harder, hunting territories are not something to be shared. Juran decided to go into the woods to flush out the enemy.” Rebaa picked up a stray twig and threw it sharply into the fire, watching it sizzle and spit. “It was a mistake. The stories were not the ravings of mad men. The clan was destroyed by the enemy that came from the woods.”
Nen blanched. “What could kill Cro?”
Rebaa fixed her with a dark gaze. “Creatures from the blackest nightmare, Nen. I cannot speak of them. Not even now lest I rouse their spirits. I pray to Ninmah that you never see such things.”
Nen shivered visibly and busied herself by refueling the fire, brightening the cave and driving back the sudden chill.
“Your Juran not survive,” she guessed.
Rebaa’s eyes burned. “No. He got me away from the killing, hid me in the foothills and told me to go, to get as far away as I could.” She could still see his grey eyes as he beseeched her to leave him and run. “He promised me he would not leave me. He promised. But he betrayed me. He went back to his people and was slaughtered with them. He left me alone with the curse of his Forbidden child.” She realised she was crying now, in grief, in anger. Her carefully built walls were crumbling around her, too weak to contain what was inside.
Nen was thoughtful. “He clan chief?”
Rebaa nodded once through her tears, not trusting her voice as she fought to regain control.
“Then he could not leave people. Dishonor to soul in Cro lore.”
“I don’t care about honour!” Rebaa burst out. “I want him with me! Why did he have to go back? Why did he leave me to face this alone?” She swept her arms out to emphasise her pregnant belly.
Nen was silent. After a moment she simply reached out and pulled Rebaa to her, holding her close against the thick brown furs. At first, Rebaa fought to pull away. She could not give in! She had to stay strong! But Nen held her firm and as the Thal woman began to stroke her hair, Rebaa could fight no longer. With a wail, she succumbed to the grief she had been holding so tightly in check and poured out her loss and pain in the comfort and safety of Nen’s arms. She did not know if she would ever stop.
“Maybe only way to save you and child,” Nen murmured quietly to her. “Maybe had to go so you could live.” She continued to stroke Rebaa’s dark hair. “Must forgive. He save you. Must find shalanaki.”
“I don’t know if I can,” Rebaa choked. “Not yet. Maybe someday I might. If we survive. I-I’m so frightened, Nen. I have no idea what he is going to turn out to be.” She looked down at the swell below her breasts.
“No fear!” Nen lifted her chin with a finger. “Baby no curse.”
Rebaa smiled but it was without conviction. She remembered the raw power that had come from within her, the sacking of the Great Spirit without a care for the Balance. She shuddered.
“You say must go back to people?” Nen questioned, breaking into her thoughts. “No go. Bad mistake. They hate you. They kill you. Will not accept. I try. Got stoned.”
“He left me with no choice, Nen!” Rebaa flared. “I need a people. I have to go back. I have nowhere else to go.”
“Do,” Nen said, voice firm. She pushed Rebaa away from her and held her out at arm’s length. “Can stay. I look after. We look after. You outcast, I outcast. I hunt, you protect us with knowledge of Great Spirit. We take care of baby.”
Rebaa blinked as her thoughts buzzed stupidly for a moment. She stared into Nen’s determined eyes. The black gaze did not waver and as her shock subsided, a new hope began to stir. She chewed her lip, thinking. If she stayed, she would never see her brother again. She longed to see him. She missed her people and her home with all her heart. But Nen was right. They would never accept her back. She had known it from the start. She had only set out to find them because she had had no other hope. Now she did have another hope. The fear that Nen would kill her if she ever discovered her baby’s heritage was no longer valid. Nen had shared in her plight. Indeed, they were outcasts together.
At that precise moment the baby kicked fervently.
“Ah!” Rebaa protested at the abuse. He was so strong.
In a swift motion, Nen placed a warm hand on her belly, feeling the kicks under her large palm. Her dark eyes melted into a loving reverence. “No fear, little juaan,” she whispered. “I be your tarhe.” The baby quieted under her touch.
“Tarhe?”
“Protector Mother,” Nen answered solemnly. “Sacred vow. You kill Murzuk for me. I pledge my life to baby. Mark of family in Thal tribe.”
Fresh tears began to slide down Rebaa’s cheeks but, this time, she did not taste the bitterness of grief. “Oh, Nen.”
“Stay?”
Rebaa sobbed as she threw her arms around Nen’s neck. “Yes, yes, I’ll stay with you. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
The carved image of Nen holding her baby stood out brightly on the cave wall before her as she rested her chin on her friend’s shoulder. It occurred to Rebaa that she did not know the boy’s name. Nen was her family now and it suddenly seemed important to know. “What did you call him, Nen, your boy? What was his name?”
Nen hesitated for a moment as though deciding how much uttering the name would injure her. She drew a breath and spoke.
“Name him for bear strength. I name him Eldrax.”
* * *
15
Rise
Eldrax’s red hair flamed in the morning light. Twelve days had passed since he had returned to the Hunting Bear clan’s main camp. Amusing himself with the spoils of Rikal’s defeat had done little to bank the flames of his temper. He had taken all of the Eagle women that the men had deigned to take prisoner for himself.
Nobody had dared challenge him for them, not that they were really worth it. None had any desirable features to pass on to future offspring, none were tall or brave, none were strong. He would not have wasted his own time on them had he not needed to try and slake his frustrations. The men could fight over rights to them when he was done if they wished.
Rikal’s mate had been of value but he had killed her as soon as he had finished with her. A Thal woman. His hate had outweighed her possible uses. Thals were nothing but cowards, good for nothing except passing on their strength and that was of no great consequence, he had enough strength to pass on when provided with a worthy Cro female. There would be no place for Thals in the clan he hoped to build when he was chief.
When he was chief…
He glared bitterly over the top of the shelters and smouldering campfires, back towards the distant mountains to the west. If his… chief had been successful, then Murzuk should soon return with Juran’s mate. Eldrax’s lips parted. That was a female who would be worth his time. The train of thought was distracting and had him swiftly returning to the cowering creature currently occupying his tent.
A soft snowfall had begun when he finally re-emerged. He sniffed the air hopefully. He was hungry. He and the hunters had managed to bring down an adult bull ox the night
before. Taking out his frustrations on the Eagle women had quickly grown tiresome and he had set out with the hunting group in the hopes of a good fight. The sight of the immense bull had made his blood sing. Oxen were difficult and dangerous to hunt. If they banded together as a herd, the fight to separate out a target made for an interesting challenge. But, to Eldrax’s disappointment, this great bull had been nursing a deep spear wound to the shoulder. Another hunter had got to it first. The rest of its herd had given up on waiting for it and it had been disappointingly easy to bring down.
At least the clan would eat well for the next few days. The women had rejoiced at the sight of it. Oxen were a luxury not often found in this fringe territory. Something must have driven it off its usual migration route.
Eldrax sniffed again. The scent of cooking meat floated to him on the soft breeze. One of the camp fires had been awoken in preparation for an evening feast. Eldrax set out in the direction of the mouthwatering smell, weaving through the erected bone and skin shelters. He took small pleasure in seeing women and children scuttling out of his sight as he passed, hoping to escape notice.
Crack! “Ooph!”
Eldrax’s head snapped around. The sound of spears smashing together and a body hitting the snow instantly drove the hunger from his mind. Some of the men were sparring. He smiled. Good. Time for a real diversion. Stepping around a shelter he came upon the scene he had been hoping for. Tanag was in mock battle with his brother, Hanak. It was obvious Tanag had just scored a strike and thrown his brother to the ground. Hanak had always been the swiftest hunter but his brother was the better warrior.
A group of small boys had joined the usual gathering of adolescent females who had crowded around to watch the young hunters spar. The girls giggled, their interest clear on their faces. The boys murmured in admiration of Tanag’s skill. All except one. Eldrax recognised the sandy haired half-breed son of Rikal.
The child could not have been much older than four turns of the seasons but he was sitting with his arms crossed, sullenly watching the two warriors play at combat. As Eldrax came into view, the boy’s pale eyes widened in horror.
Eldrax grinned. Here was a boy who would grow knowing his authority. But, instead of fleeing from him as he expected, the infant remained. His face was filled with fear but he refused to give ground to the man who had killed his mother and father before him. Eldrax felt a grudging flicker of respect. He could see why Rannac had chosen to keep him. It was time for the boy to witness true skill.
A collection of spears and other weapons were leaning against the nearest shelter. Eldrax selected a spear and whirled it about him, swinging it around his body as he familiarised himself with the weapon’s balance. Though only for sparring, spear tips and knives were not blunted. Hunting Bear warriors learned fast or died. He saw Tanag and Hanak pause in their battle to exchange a nervous glance.
Only Rannac would willingly agree to spar with him these days. Eldrax’s lips twisted. These softer men had not suffered the upbringing he had endured. He looked into their faces and beneath the hardened charade of their warriors’ eyes, he could still see their weakness. They still knew compassion. They still knew love. And that was their downfall. He had stripped such things from his soul long ago. Now he was without mercy, without weakness.
“You,” he jabbed a finger in the direction of the two warriors. “Here.” He had been been awaiting an opportunity to take revenge upon Hanak for days, now it was here. Hanak seemed to guess this for he hung back behind his brother, his eyes wary and sullen.
“W-which one of us?” Tanag made a poor effort to keep his voice even as his blue eyes flickered to the young women who were still watching. He knew he was about to be beaten and beaten badly.
Eldrax smiled. “Both of you.”
His fellow warriors’ backs straightened as they regained some of their confidence, misplaced though it was. Eldrax strolled to the centre of the open space and waited as they flanked him, preparing to attack from either side. He slowed his breathing as he adjusted his stance accordingly, feeling the ground beneath his feet, the direction of the wind in the air. He did not make any outward sign that he was watching them but he was listening, attuning himself to his opponents’ footfalls, the hitch of their breath, the rustle of their furs as they shifted their weight. He waited.
Hanak was the first to attack. He did so silently and without drama. Rannac had taught them all that it was foolish to announce one’s attack with pointless shouting. Eldrax was ready for him, blocking the strike with the haft of his spear. A whistle of the air was his only warning. Tanag had launched himself at his back, spear scything towards him, aiming to pierce his right arm.
Continuing to hold Hanak’s weapon at bay, Eldrax rebalanced himself and rolled his shoulder back. Tanag’s spear brushed harmlessly past the edge of his upper arm. Taking advantage of the other warrior’s momentary unbalance, Eldrax drove the butt of his spear into Tanag’s ribcage as he stumbled, knocking him to the ground before using the momentum of his twisting motion to swing forward and smash his balled fist into Hanak’s nose. Blood spurted as Hanak fell away with a low moan. The whole fight had lasted a mere moment.
Eldrax looked sourly at the two fallen warriors. “The women could have fought better,” he muttered as he turned his back on them and began to walk away.
This time Hanak did shout when he attacked. Blood maddened, the young warrior flew at Eldrax, his brother close at his side. Eldrax barely got his spear into position to block the blow that had come for his skull. It had been meant as a killing blow. His eyes sparked. This was more like it!
Heart singing, Eldrax struck and parried, countering the furious blows of his opponents as they came at him from both sides. He bellowed a laugh as Tanag got lucky and separated him from his spear. Weaponless, Eldrax danced between their jabs and strikes, twisting and ducking, often avoiding a blow by a mere breath.
Eventually, he got tired of playing with them. Grabbing Tanag’s spear as it made another pass, he yanked the other warrior off his feet, flinging him around until he smashed into his brother, sending them both against the unforgiving bone support of a hide shelter.
“Much better,” he grinned down at them as they both struggled to untangle themselves. The young girls watching upon the periphery now had eyes only for him, watching with a mix of fear and hope. Eldrax assessed them appreciatively deciding if any would make a worthy mate to him.
“Eldrax!” A voice shouted across the camp. The tone was urgent. “Where is the Red Bear?”
Something was wrong, Eldrax swiped his fallen spear from the ground and ran in the direction of the voice. “Tanag, Hanak! Gather the rest of the men!” He did not pause to see if they questioned his orders.
A crowd was gathering on the edges of the camp. An elder came hobbling towards him as he neared. He appeared to be the source of the summons.
“What is it?” Eldrax’s black eyes flicked to the gathering.
Losing nerve, the elder did not answer, he stepped back and indicated that Eldrax should see for himself. Shoving the man impatiently aside, Eldrax moved towards the disturbance, spear ready in hand. The rest of the clan parted as they watched him approach, revealing the source of the commotion.
Rannac was half collapsed upon the ground. His knees had buckled from under him and he was clinging one-handed to a spear braced into the ground to prevent himself from falling entirely. His other arm appeared to be broken in several places.
Rannac’s eyes lifted as Eldrax came to stand before him and he heaved himself back to his feet, locking his knees as he leaned all the more heavily on the spear.
“Where is the witch?” Eldrax demanded. He scanned the horizon over Rannac’s shoulder but there was no sign of the rest of Murzuk’s hunting party.
Rannac pressed cracked lips together before speaking. “We found her in the foothills, your father-” Eldrax’s gaze hardened and Rannac quickly corrected himself. The other man knew very well he did not recognise Murzuk a
s his father. He was his chief and that was all he needed to know. “Murzuk ambushed her. She - she wasn’t alone but but Murzuk managed to bring down her defence and she was captured.”
“So where is she?” Eldrax was rapidly losing patience.
“She used her witch magic.” Rannac’s eyes still held the vestiges of terror… or was it awe? “Galib was holding her while Murzuk dealt with the other threat then Galib was dead upon the ground and she was free. She had… no weapons. Eldrax… she is a very dangerous creature.”
Eldrax paid him little heed to the stark warning in the other man’s eyes. He straighted to his full height. The witch was far more powerful than he had suspected. “And?”
“Then she unleashed her full power, bringing a herd of oxen stampeding down the gully straight into us. I- I’ve never seen anything like it. I was the only one to survive her attack. I return bearing the heavy news that Chief Murzuk, the Great Bear, is dead.” Bowing his head, Rannac lifted the spear he carried and swung it round until it rested across his one good palm, presenting it ceremoniously to Eldrax. The carved spearhead of the Hunting Bear chief was tied to the haft. Rannac spoke in a loud clear voice. “I greet you as our new leader. Chief Eldrax.”
Eldrax blinked in surprise. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a voice crying out in protest.
“He has not earned the right to be chief!” Hanak called out over the murmurings of the clan. “It is up to the elders to decide now.” A few voices raised up in agreement.
Eldrax glared at Hanak, his hand twitching upon his spear. Rannac cut calmly across him.
“But he has earned the right, Hanak. With his last breath, Murzuk blessed Eldrax as his successor. By our lore, he is the new leader of the Hunting Bear clan.”
