by Lori Holmes
A deathly silence fell over the clan. Rannac’s face was carefully composed as he spoke but Eldrax could not keep the shock from showing on his own features. Murzuk had named him as his successor. An array of emotions coiled in his chest, freezing him in place as he stared down at his father’s spear resting in Rannac’s hand. The decaying finger bones of Juran still dangled from below the tip.
Then the maelstrom of confused feelings passed and Eldrax grunted dismissively. Of course Murzuk would have given his blessing to Eldrax’s leadership after he was gone. It did not mean the brute had actually cared for him in any way. Nobody else was worthy of the title.
Still, he hesitated to take up the spear. “Are you sure?” Eldrax demanded. He had made the mistake of thinking Murzuk dead once, he was not about to be made a fool of again. “Did you look down upon Murzuk’s lifeless corpse with your own eyes and make certain that he is gone?”
“I did,” Rannac confirmed, stiffly. “There was no way he could survive such injuries. I took the chief’s totem from around his throat myself.”
Rannac did not tell blind stories. This time, his father was truly dead. At last! The man who had treated him more harshly than he would an enemy was gone. Eldrax felt nothing but a fierce burning pleasure as he reached out and seized the spear from Rannac’s hand. The grizzled warrior sank back to his knees before him as Eldrax turned to the waiting clan.
“Chief Murzuk is dead!” He announced. “I hold the totem of chief and take my rightful position as leader of this clan!” He smiled wickedly as his eyes settled on Hanak. “As my first act, I offer this one chance to any man who thinks me unfit to Challenge me for the honour of leadership. If he be successful, I will, of course, step aside.” His lips twitched.
Hanak glowered but bowed his head submissively and stepped back. Eldrax revelled in the sight. The wind whistled over the rest of silent camp. No one stepped forward to try to claim the totem and spear from Eldrax, for all knew the act would be futile. Whatever else they might think, they knew he was the strongest of them all. For better or worse, Murzuk had passed on the right and now he would lead the clan until his death. One by one, the Hunting Bear clan dropped to its knees. No one spoke or dared to meet Eldrax’s inviting gaze lest it be taken in challenge.
Rannac’s voice cut through the silence. “Before you stands a new chief! May his strength lead us true and shelter us from our enemies. Pledge yourselves to his protection from now until the day he can protect us no more!”
There was a rustle of movement as all those gathered drew blades. The men drew their hunting knives while the women pulled forth the tools they used in their day to day chores. One by one the clan approached, sliced the tip of a finger and reached up to touch the bleeding digit to Eldrax’s forehead. The hush was broken only by the cries of children and the wail of babies as their mothers sliced their skin and made the vow for them. Rikal’s sandy-haired Thal half-breed had to be forcibly brought forward to touch him.
Eldrax’s high forehead dripped red as the last members made their vow. He carried the weight of their blood, their very lives. Every single one of them belonged to Eldrax. At last, after a lifetime of sacrifice and struggle, he stood as the greatest chief in these god forsaken lands. His fingers almost trembled as Eldrax untied the spearhead necklace from around Murzuk’s weapon and placed it around his own neck, letting the carved totem of the Hunting Bear Clan dangle against his heart.
There was only one thing now that would make his victory complete.
“Where did you find the witch?” he asked Rannac.
The older warrior lifted his head, startled. “My chief?”
“Speak.” The rumble of Eldrax’s command brooked no argument.
Rannac hesitated. “East of here, roughly six days travel as the crow flies. You intend to go back for her?” His dark face was askance.
“There is nothing I desire more, Rannac. I will have her.”
“I caution you to leave her be.” Rannac spoke hastily “You cannot underestimate this woman. Such a mistake cost Murzuk his life.”
“I am not my father!” Eldrax snapped. Murzuk had been nothing but a fool. “I will have her. The other clans will see Juran’s mate in my grasp and know that I am now the greatest chief in these lands. If she is able to bear me children, so much the better. I’ll at least have fun trying to find out.” He sneered.
“The question of that has already been answered.” There was another momentary pause as Rannac seemed to wrestle with himself. “The witch was… pregnant. I can only assume Juran is the father of her unborn.”
Eldrax had to work to keep the surprise off his face. So… Juran had proved it could be done. The witch carried his spawn. It was now clear to him why she had remained in the hills and had not attempted to return to her own people. He gripped his spear while his other hand rubbed restlessly at his chest. He had to have her.
“You!” He jabbed a finger at the tribe’s crooked old medicine woman as she began to shuffle away. “See to his injury. I want him fit to travel in two days. You will lead me to her, Rannac. You say she wasn’t alone?” His voice turned to a growl. “Which clan has dared to claim her?”
Rannac shifted more uncomfortably than ever. “She wasn’t accompanied by another clan, my chief. There was only one other with her. I… I almost didn’t believe it-” Rannac floundered.
“In all the gods!” Eldrax barked, feeling his patience break at last. He did not care who the witch had latched on to. They were a dead man walking. “Tell me who has her!”
Rannac lifted his grizzled chin and let the final blow land. “Your mother.”
* * *
16
Birth
Rebaa’s dreams were easier following her outpouring of grief to Nen; the nights that followed had been filled with restful slumber. Having shared her story, Rebaa somehow felt lighter. She had taken the first step on her path to recovery. Maybe one day she would indeed be able to make peace with Juran.
After she had accepted Nen’s promise of sanctuary, Rebaa had felt the closest to being complete since the massacre of the Black Wolf. Trembling with relief and gratitude, she had healed Nen’s head wound. She had been amazed to find that there was nothing broken. The blow her friend had received would have caved a Cro’s skull in. Thal durability had saved her friend’s life. Rebaa had been glad of the simple flesh wound, Nen’s body proved even less responsive to the energies of the Great Spirit than a Cro’s.
When Ninmah had dawned on the morning following Murzuk’s attack, Nen and Rebaa had moved the bodies of the Cro men that had been crushed by the stampede. It wasn’t pleasant work and it had taken Nen a great deal of effort to even come near the corpse of her former captor, but they could not leave the bodies in the open to attract unwanted attention. They pulled them into a shallow ravine as far away from the cave as they could get them and then piled rocks on top of the bloody remains. Rebaa had to wash in the stream for a long time after that.
Since then, time had begun to slide by in a contented haze. By day Rebaa helped Nen with the everyday chores of keeping the cave clean and habitable and stocked with anything they may need. Nen repaired her broken spear. Rebaa watched as she bundled bits of tree bark under a pile of ash before setting light to them. It was a complex process with Nen paying close attention to the temperatures being produced. Her patient dedication paid off and the resulting black, sticky substance fused a freshly knapped spearhead firmly to the haft.
“Did you learn that from the Cro?” Rebaa asked. She had seen the men and women of Juran’s clan perform this miracle many times.
Nen looked up, jaw working as though Rebaa had offered a grave insult. “Ngathe! Thal discover! Cro steal. Killers and takers!” She spat on the ground.
“I’m sorry,” Rebaa placated hastily.
Rebaa’s tuition in the art of hunting small game continued. Her skills improved slowly though it still felt like a betrayal of everything that the Ninkuraaja stood for when she used her tal
ents to her advantage. She closed her mind against it. She was never going home, she had to forget what she had been. She was an outcast now without a People.
Nen made Rebaa new, warmer clothes and also wrappings for the baby ready for when he arrived. Rebaa was very touched by this. To complete her work and using the last of the bear skin, Nen fashioned a warm sling that would enable Rebaa to carry the baby next to her heart while still being able to move unhindered. All this waited in a warm corner of the cave ready for when it would be called for.
This life Rebaa had found with Nen might not be what she had imagined her life to be; so far from her people and their forests, living inside a cave with a Thal woman, but she was as happy as she could be. Accepted. She and her unborn. They were safe. She could not ask for more than that, especially when she had not really expected to live at all.
But some fears could not be escaped so easily. Now that her main concern of survival had been taken from her shoulders, the concern for what her baby might turn out to be had moved to the forefront. Nen’s reassurances had not completely set her at ease.
She had felt no more stirrings of power beside her own since the attack but she could not so easily forget the wild energy that had rushed through her veins like fire when their lives had been in the balance. Often, she found herself throwing herself into the daily tasks with Nen simply for distraction from her growing anxiety. The nights were a different story and the darkness would find her lying awake in the stillness of the night when all fears seemed to grow greater in the shadows.
Her time was almost upon her. She knew her baby could make his way into the world at any day now and she had no idea of what to expect. She wanted to turn to someone for wisdom, for reassurance but, in this one respect, she was still completely alone.
Nen might have borne a Forbidden baby but no one had ever conceived a half Ninkuraaja child before. Rebaa’s throat had closed at the thought. Ninmah must have had a reason to forbid the mixing of Ninkuraaja blood with that of other Peoples. Nen had been convinced that such a thing was not a curse but Nen had loved her Forbidden baby as powerfully as any mother. Had that love blinded her? In the shadows of Rebaa’s mind, the fear grew.
Rebaa waddled uncomfortably behind Nen in the pale morning light of a new day as they walked to the mountain stream to drink. She had slept poorly and her back was aching. The uncertainty of her baby’s belonging in the world was not her only concern. Juran’s child was big. Larger than the average Ninkuraaja child, Rebaa would like to guess, and it was putting extra strains upon her small body. Today, the ache was almost unbearable.
She gasped suddenly and had to sit down on a rock as the baby gave a particularly strong kick. It felt like he was straining, fighting to be free of his bonds. So close. The familiar shiver of apprehension curled down her back. She hoped everything went smoothly with the birth. She had no Ninkuraaja healers, not even old Cro medicine women to help her if things went wrong.
Nen paused when she realised Rebaa was no longer following. Her concern was evident on her face. Rebaa tried to muster a reassuring smile as she rubbed her sore side. She felt so cumbersome. “It’s ok, Nen. He’s just kicking like a horse.”
“Ah,” the shadows in the Thal’s eyes eased. She smiled. “Little juaan.”
“What does that mean?” Rebaa was curious. The word sounded almost Ninkuraaja.
“It mean ‘strong one’ to my people.”
“Strong one,” Rebaa repeated, rubbing her belly ruefully. “He certainly is.” In more ways than one…
“What name him?”
The question startled Rebaa. Name? She realised she hadn’t given the issue any thought. She had no idea what name the Black Wolf elders would have bestowed upon Juran’s son. A Cro name might no longer be appropriate. “I haven’t decided yet.”
They drank their fill and started to make their way back to the cave. The birds were singing in the air as they soared above. Rebaa recognised them all. All except one. There was a distant repeated chirrup that she just couldn’t place. It was answered by another strange call coming from further away. Rebaa listened intently but the unfamiliar bird fell silent. She shrugged it off. All manner of creatures were being displaced by the increasing cold and the ever encroaching Fury Wastes. She had better get used to seeing and hearing new things.
By the time they reached the cave, the wind was gathering in power, collecting loose snow on its icy breath and swirling it into their faces. Rebaa shivered. Another storm was coming. Squinting, she saw heavy clouds glowering on the horizon. Nen sniffed the air. “Bad.”
Rebaa agreed. She could feel the changes in the air pressure. “We better gather more firewood before it hits. If it lingers, we’ll need it.” They could not afford to let that fire go out.
Nen pointed further down the slope. “Wood not far. Plenty of branches.”
Rebaa pressed her hands into her aching back and groaned. All she wanted was to get back to the cave and gather a nest of furs around her heavy belly but that would have to wait; continued heat was vital to their survival. “Lead the way,” she told Nen.
The wood turned out to be a sparse copse tucked away in a shallow dell. Together, they collected as many fallen twigs and branches as they could carry and climbed back up to the cave to deposit their loads beside their idling fire to dry. Rebaa assessed the wood piles with a sinking heart. It would take a couple more trips to build up a satisfactory supply.
They were traveling down the slope for a third time when Rebaa heard the strange bird call again. “Do you know what bird that is?” she asked Nen out of mild interest as she struggled down the bank.
Nen listened with an intent frown. “No,” she said finally. “Never heard before.”
“Nor have I,” Rebaa said. “I wonder-”
All thought of further words scattered as the base of her back contracted in sudden pain.
“Ah!” she gasped, stumbling and catching herself on her hands.
Nen was there in an instant. “What wrong?”
“I don’t know,” Rebaa panted, wild eyed. Her dirty hands went to her belly. Fear that was not her own flooded her veins with adrenalin and an echo of the raw energy that she had felt during the Cro attack crackled invisibly across her skin, making her hairs stand on end. No! Concentrating hard, she tempered the building power.
She was barely aware of Nen’s hands fluttering over her. “Get back home. Get rest.”
“Yes,” Rebaa agreed, struggling to her feet, only to sink back down when another wave of pain hit home and the sense of panic rolled through her again.
And then her waters broke and it was her own panic Rebaa choked upon this time. She grabbed Nen’s arm.
“Nen, he’s coming! The baby is coming now!” She wasn’t ready. She had not yet resolved any of her fears. But nature had no patience for her foolish second thoughts. She had no more time to think, no more time to fear.
“Quick!” Nen stooped and threw Rebaa’s arm over her thick shoulders, helping to keep her steady. She half carried Rebaa back up the slope. Her friend was more than a little anxious.
Rebaa’s heart was beating quickly. She had witnessed many births and none of them had looked exactly pleasant. She was more frightened by the coming ordeal than she was willing to admit. She clutched on to Nen with all her strength as the first contraction rippled through her. It seemed to take forever to get back to the cave. Rebaa heard the bird cry again, closer this time. She wished it would shut up, its strangeness was more an irritation now than a curiosity.
At last they reached the shelter of the cave. Nen piled up some furs and laid Rebaa down upon them. She stoked and refueled the fire then looked for other things to fuss with. Failing that, she fidgeted where she stood. “What now?” she asked.
“We just have to wait, I suppose,” Rebaa said shakily. “Just talk to me. I’m… scared.”
Nen offered her hand as another contraction convulsed through Rebaa’s small frame, tearing a cry from her lips. The pain w
as moving around to the front. Nen stroked back her hair and murmured comfortingly to her; her voice flowed out in a steady stream. She lapsed into her own tongue for ease and Rebaa could not understand her words. It did not matter, just the rhythm of the Thal woman’s husky voice was enough to sooth her and give her something solid to cling to.
The day grew late. The blizzard that had been promised swept in, paling its predecessors into insignificance with its ferocity. Rebaa could not see very far out of the cave. The gales of falling snow obscured everything beyond the first few rocks. The bitter wind came rushing through the cave mouth to find them, threatening to extinguish their fire. It bit at Rebaa’s fevered brow and she shivered violently before breaking off into another keening wail of pain, her belly drawing tight. Would this never end?
Nen left her side briefly. Rebaa reached after her in desperation, not wanting to be left alone. Nen quieted her and then began piling rocks in the cave’s entrance. She had a sufficient amount to block the opening. She left holes at the top to permit just enough air flow for the fire. The wind whined through the gaps, furious at being thwarted. They paid it no mind.
Night had fallen completely when Rebaa’s contractions reached fever pitch. She could hardly regain her breath between one and the next. She was screaming, begging for it to end. Nen was beside herself.
“Make it stop!” Rebaa felt sure she was going to die. “Nen, make-” Her pleas were cut off when a familiar howl of challenge split the air outside. Rebaa’s blood turned to ice at the sound of it.
That was not the voice of the wind.
Rebaa’s wild, rolling eyes turned towards the blocked entrance. “Oh no,” she whimpered through her tears and struggles. “No, not now!” Senses heightened in this most vulnerable of moments, Rebaa felt them approach. She felt clearly every single thought and intent.
“Nen!” she grabbed the Thal woman’s arm, fighting through yet another wave of pain. “They’re back. The Cro. They’ve come for us!” She fell back on her elbows, crying out.
