by Lori Holmes
Nen brushed at the baby laid close beside her. “Ninmah will forgive you, too,” she murmured. She then grasped Rebaa’s arm with surprising strength. “Promise me you look after baby,” she beseeched. She reached for the top half of her broken spear and pushed it into Rebaa’s hands. “Let nobody take from you. Teach him good. Keep him safe, even from own people. They seek to kill him. Don’t let them.”
“Never,” Rebaa swore fiercely. She scooped her son from where he lay and clutched him to her. She would never let what had happened to Eldrax happen to her son. “No one will ever hurt him,” she promised. “They will have to kill me first!”
A faint smile touched Nen’s pale lips and a quiet peace fell over her face. “Good. Do what I could not or live with pain all of life. Protect baby…” Her eyes drifted closed.
“No.” Rebaa gripped the slack hand. The flame was now an ember. “Nen.” She shook the hand. “Nen?”
“Shalanaki, Rebaa.” The whisper faded on the breeze.
Rebaa could barely speak the words. “Shalanaki, Nen.”
And she was gone. The ember smouldered and went out.
Rebaa sat there holding her friend’s hand, keeping her company as she passed into the next journey. Rebaa prayed it would be a happier path than the one Nen had travelled in this most cruel and unforgiving world. Rebaa kept her vigil until darkness fell around them.
“Shalanaki, Nen.”
19
Decision
Rebaa did not know how long she crouched over Nen’s body, wailing her grief to the sky. Unheeding of her torment, Ninmah had dipped below the horizon, leaving her alone and in darkness.
Alone. She was very much alone now.
Finally her tears ran out. Her eyes were red and swollen and her throat was raw. There was no more she could do. Nen was gone, brought down by her own son. The cold began to suck at her. Stiffly, she rose to her feet. With deadened eyes, she stared down at the lifeless body of the one who had offered hope and acceptance for her and her Forbidden offspring. Both were stolen from her now. All hope was as dead as the cold form lying before her.
Rebaa did not have the strength to move Nen to a better place. Numbly, she began to gather rocks and pile them over her friend’s body, protecting it from all that would come along. She was tired, in pain, but she did not stop until her task was done. Her frozen fingers were raw by the time she had finished.
It didn’t seem like enough, this faceless grave, to mark the passing of a being like Nen. Casting around, Rebaa picked up a sharp stone and began to etch on the flat /n face of the highest rock, copying the marks of protection carved into Nen’s spear. As a finishing touch, she drew a twisting symbol, one that matched the purple tatoo between her own brows. She hoped the marks of Eron and the symbol of Ninmah would be enough to keep Nen safe and undisturbed as she slept.
The bodies of the Cro she left to rot without mark and kept her back turned on them disdainfully. Wolves howled on the darkening horizon. Their cries held a hungry note as the scent of blood drifted to them on the wind. Rebaa smiled grimly. She gazed down at the pile of rocks that marked her dear friend’s final resting place. Her face was now dry. She had no more tears. Gracing Nen with one last gesture of farewell, Rebaa picked up both halves of her fallen friend’s spear and stumbled away.
The wolves were howling all around her as she made her way back to the cave. She did not hurry. Her face was resolute. She was Ninkuraaja and she did not fear the wolves. All the Children of the Great Spirit would stay away from her tonight. The familiar cave opened up before her in the slope of the hill. This time, however, it offered no welcome. Exhausted, Rebaa stumbled inside. Holding her baby close, she threw herself down on the furs beside the fire and was sucked into unconsciousness.
When she awoke, it was still dark. The cries of her baby had awoken her. He was hungry. She sat up, groaning at her numerous pains, and fed him. While he suckled greedily, Rebaa tried to avoid looking at all the familiar objects in the cave that had become her home. The piled rocks, the furs, the rock drawings. All served only to remind her of Nen and the life that had now been stolen from her. She picked up the halves of Nen’s spear, listlessly pushing them back together and then watching as they tumbled apart, over and over. Broken. Broken.
Broken.
Suddenly she couldn’t stand it. She had to fix it. She had to make it right. The fire was smouldering and she moved on sudden impulse to rebuild it. Stripping bark from the piled firewood, Rebaa recalled the method of making the binding tar and covered the pieces of bark in ash before burning it. Once the bark had been reduced to its bubbling black form, Rebaa dipped the broken ends of the spear into it and fused the jagged edges together. For good measure she wrapped strips of leftover hide around the join and turned it over and over in the tar to coat it.
The spear was mended. But as the tar slowly set into place, Rebaa realised all she had really fixed was a dead piece of wood. There was no Nen there to congratulate her on her achievement. Her promised haven had not been restored. Everything still lay broken around her and no amount of tar could ever fix it.
She swallowed back her tears, casting her eyes down at her sleeping baby, letting him ground her. She had to leave. Nen had told her to get far from here. This was no longer the sanctuary that it had once been. Eldrax was still out there somewhere, hunting her. She knew it for certain in her bones. The half-handed Cro who had saluted her on the day she killed Murzuk, he knew where to find her.
But she did not know where to run to. She closed her eyes. She was confronted with the very same dilemma she had faced before she ever met Nen. She had never really escaped her fate. It had simply been waiting for her in the shadows like one of her nightmares.
She thought again of her own people as she looked down into her son’s green eyes. He had woken and was staring trustingly back at her. Rebaa burst into tears. There was no way she could make them believe he was a Ninkuraaja child. If his size did not betray him, his damning eyes certainly would. No Ninkuraa had eyes of that colour. What will they do to him? She rocked her baby back and forth, despairing and undecided.
She could try to throw herself on the mercy of another Cro clan, one far from this land who had never known Juran or his Black Wolf clan. They might accept the little one but Juran’s fearsome reputation had been far reaching, she did not know how far she would have to go to find such a clan and in these harsh times, they’d as likely kill her as take her in. And the baby… No. She could be less sure of that unpredictable and bloodthirsty race than she could of her own. She remembered the power she had felt while he was still inside her and imagined it being twisted into something dark at the hands of one such as Eldrax. She shuddered. She had felt no trace of the power since her son had been born, but that did not mean it was not there.
At least if she went home, the love of her brother may be enough to protect her. Maybe. It was a faint glimmer in the darkness and she had to cling to that. There was nothing else.
All that was left to do was to prepare for a long journey. She was still many rises and falls of Ninmah away from the borders of her old forest home. Despite her apprehension of facing her people again after so long - facing them with the greatest of sins - the part of her soul that still longed to be surrounded by the protective strength of the trees again, grew in strength. In all the time she had spent away, she had never really gotten used to the feeling of nakedness out on the open plains.
Getting to her feet, Rebaa began to gather what she would need. She picked up one of Nen’s leather carriers and slung it around her body opposite her baby’s sling. Moving to the entrance of the cave, she filled the carrier with the hunks of frozen meat Nen had stored outside in the snow. Next, she picked up the pieces of flint needed to spark a fire and stowed them inside her furs along with the pieces of the snare trap Nen had made for her. Rebaa considered the fur blankets lying on the ground. Taking one with her would offer warmth on shelterless nights. Stooping carefully, she lifted an edge. The
weight of the thick fur strained her arm as she hauled it up. Rebaa let it drop. It would be too heavy for her to carry under ordinary circumstances, she doubted she could make it two strides from the cave with it now. She would have to do without.
Lastly, she collected Nen’s spear. Her beloved friend’s final gift. The tar had now hardened and the haft was whole once more. The weapon would be nothing more than a useless burden in her hands but the thought of leaving it behind was unbearable. She could at least use it as a brace to lean upon on her journey.
The first streaks of dawn were beginning to paint the sky. It was time to leave. Rebaa started forward, then gasped and winced. Her birthing wounds had not yet fully healed. She was not even strong enough to mend herself let alone travel. It was not a promising start but to stay here meant certain death. She had to take her chances and hope her body did not fail before her journey was complete. Her baby was depending on her.
That last thought gave her strength and Rebaa stood straight and fierce, setting her will. She glanced around the cave one last time. A picture on the wall caught her eye and she reached out to trace the etching of a mother and child. It was a gesture of farewell. Swallowing her tears, Rebaa dropped her hand from the stone and strode determinedly out into the open air. She did not look back.
The fire smouldered behind her and died.
* * *
20
Trapped
Trapped.
He was trapped in the dark. Trapped with his own thoughts. Eldrax stared at the wall of snow and rock that cut off his escape as he paced the rocky ground. His men worked feverishly, digging at the drift that was burying them.
He could not be still. A maelstrom of emotions raged inside his chest, keeping him moving, pulling him this way and that. His mother was dead. He had killed her but not before she had taken him by surprise with her ferocity and strength. Twisting away from his initial attack, his mother had managed to regain her spear. Half-frozen and blinded by the blizzard, two of his Cro men had fallen to lucky blows before Eldrax’s hunting party had managed to overcome her. He had landed the mortal blow himself before ripping her hated spear from her hands and snapping it in two.
She had lain, dying at his feet. All that had been left was to end her miserable life. He had been poised to strike when an ominous cracking of rock and rumble of snow had sounded somewhere above. Rannac and several of the men grabbed him and dragged him away as rocks began to fall, pounding to the ground around them. He had been hauled, fighting and screaming across the threshold of a cave. The grumble had become a roar and a mountain’s worth of snow and loose rock had collapsed on their heels, blocking the cave entrance and trapping them within.
It had taken a long while for Eldrax’s blood rage to drain away enough for his men to risk letting him go, fearing he would turn his spear upon them in his madness. His senses had returned long enough for him to find that their way out had been cut off. This time, his men had shrank back into the darkness as his fury descended for a second time. He had attacked the wall of snow and rock in fury and frustration only stopping when his knife shattered in his bloody hands. Defeated, he had ordered his men to search for another way out of the winding cave.
The cragged tunnel had branched several times and on occasion the ceiling had dropped so low it had barely permitted their passage. They had been forced to crawl, squeezing through the damp gaps. As a man of the open Plains, Eldrax would rather have faced one of the monsters from the Mountains than squeeze his bulky frame through those holes, but he had had no choice and he could not show weakness to the men.
A faint breeze had been their first clue. Eldrax had rushed towards the promised escape only to find that the new way out had also been blocked with fallen snow and rocks. Eldrax damned the gods for their cursed storm. He had push against the rock slide, greedily sucking in the fresh breeze whistling in through the gaps. He would not go back and face the confines of the tunnels again. They would dig their way out or die of starvation within the darkness of the cave.
“Get out of the way!” Unable to stand his thoughts any more, Eldrax shoved one of his tiring men to the side. Grabbing the man’s hunting knife, he threw himself at the tightly packed wall of snow, picking away at the icy surface. It was going to take until dawn to dig themselves out of this trap. He needed to get out. The ghosts were staring at him again. Murzuk mocked him, Rikal and his Thal mate glowered at his side but his mother… his mother stared accusingly from every shadow.
The other men fell away from his frenzied efforts, still fearful of the madness that seemed to have overcome him. Fearful… and angry. Two of their clan brothers had been killed by the Thal and they were now trapped in a cave with no food or water.
Eldrax ignored them. It was worth it. They did not see it. The possibilities. One day, one day they would see. But first he needed to get out of this cave! The dying black eyes swam accusingly before his vision and he shook his head, snarling at the ghosts as he struck at the snow.
The pink light of dawn greeted Eldrax’s blinking eyes when he and his men finally dug their way out of the trap and breathed the fresh air. He had been right. It had taken the entire night to get free. He saw that they had emerged into an open expanse of ground. Several paths branched off in different directions, winding away into the surrounding hills.
Eldrax watched as his men leaned upon their spears, their limbs were shaking from the effort of shifting the heavy rocks but he would not allow them rest. He would not lose one more moment. He had to keep moving, he had to keep ahead of the ghosts. He needed a starting point. If they set off in search of the witch without a trail they could be searching these hills until spring arrived before finding so much as a trace.
“Rannac!” He summoned the older warrior. “Return us to the cave where you first saw the witch and that other woman.” He refused to speak her name.
Rannac shook his head. “It is doubtful she would have remained there, my chief. She knows we are hunting her. She would have been foolish to stay-”
Howling out, Eldrax backhanded him across the face. “She would have been more foolish still to try to move through that storm! She would have remained there where she felt safe at least until it passed. If we find that cave then we will find her or we will find her trail. Either way, she is ours.”
Rannac straightened from the blow and faced him. “I cannot take us back for certain. In chasing the Thal through the storm, we are now far from the path I travelled with your father. I do not recognise this terrain and many of the trails will now be impassable. Even if I could find the cave again, it will take days.”
“Then you had better get started.” Eldrax snarled.
“No.” A stifled gasp rippled through the other men. Shocked, Eldrax rounded on the older warrior but Rannac’s face was resolute. “I have taught you since you were a boy. You have always been reckless but now you are slipping into madness.” Soft murmurs broke out and Eldrax saw a few of the other men start to shift to stand behind Rannac. “Eldrax, we are weary, we are exposed and we are now without ration. There is no game left up here. The wisest path would be to follow the Light Bringer south to the Plains. There we will find game to hunt and can make our way back to the clan. There is nothing for us up here.”
Eldrax’s gaze flickered to the men gathered behind Rannac. Reaching out, he gripped his old teacher by the shoulder, bringing his mouth close to his ear. “I warned you, Rannac, I warned you what would happen if you tried to question me again. You should thank the gods that I need you in this moment for that is all that is preventing me from killing you where you stand.” His fingers gripped bone. “I will not return to the clan without my prize.”
“No rival chief’s mate is worth our lives!” Rannac pulled back.
“She is worth all of your miserable lives! Her and the half-breed she carries. You are simply too shortsighted to see it!”
“You don’t even know if she is still alive!”
The red mist was descending agai
n. “Are you refusing to obey me, Rannac?”
Rannac swallowed but held his ground as he lifted his chin. It was the expression he had always worn whenever he had corrected Eldrax as a child. “Yes, Eldrax. I am telling you that you are putting all our lives at risk for one small, sickly woman. There will be other, more worthy women for you to conquer and to bear you children. I advise you, my chief, take us home.”
“Very well.” Eldrax released Rannac’s shoulder. He moved as if to turn away, then, quick as a spitting snake, he lashed out with his fist, striking for Rannac’s jaw.
Had the blow connected, it would have shattered bone but Rannac had lived a life reliant on his reflexes far longer than Eldrax. Until Eldrax had come into his manhood, Rannac had been the clan’s most formidable fighter. What he lacked in strength, he made up for in speed. He dodged the blow and brought up his spear in defence in his good hand.
“I do not want to fight you, my chief, only advise you. Your father was a formidable leader but he always knew when he was beaten and when to preserve his clan. It is something you must learn if you wish to remain chief for as long as he did.”
“My father was a weak fool!” Eldrax swept Murzuk’s old spear forward, making a testing strike which Rannac swept aside. “He let the Black Wolf steal our hunting grounds. He let them claim the prize he risked our clan to gain. Our people went hungry in his cowardice, scratching a living off rabbits and stolen game. I will bow down to no one and I will take whatever I want on this land! No one will ever have power over me again!”
Every word was punctuated by a strike at Rannac. He was no longer a boy to be scolded. He was chief. For a short time, Rannac matched his strikes but the older warrior was no match for Eldrax’s strength and youth and he was still nursing the injuries from the stampede. With one violent strike, Eldrax overcame his defence, knocking Rannac’s spear from his hand. Twisting his own weapon, he drove the butt of the haft into Rannac’s midsection, forcing the air from his lungs and throwing him to the ground. As Rannac lay in the snow, gasping for breath, Eldrax brought his foot down hard on Rannac’s right leg between ankle and knee. The satisfying sound of snapping bone and Rannac’s scream of pain ricocheted off the rocky hills.
