by Joan Wolf
He smiled. “The moon blood comes when the Mother wills it, Nel. You will have no say in the matter.”
Nel’s response to this apparent rejection was to fling her arms around Nigak’s neck and bury her face in the fur of his ruff. Ronan reached over and rested his hand on her back. She was such a skinny little thing, he thought, feeling the sharp shoulder blade under his palm. He wanted to murder Olma. He felt Nel quiver, and he frowned in concern. She was not crying?
“Nel?” he said.
“Are you going to marry Cala?” she gulped.
He did not even have to consider his reply. “Na. I am not going to marry Cala.” Then he added slowly, “Did you really ask the Old Woman if we would be allowed to marry?”
Nel finally lifted her face from Nigak’s fur. “She said the blood tie is not within the forbidden closeness, but then she said something else that was very strange, Ronan. She said that, even so, the Mistress would never allow us to wed.”
“Did she?”
Nel watched his expression. “I don’t understand,” she said. “If the blood tie is acceptable, why should Fali think the Mistress would be opposed to a marriage between you and me?”
“Didn’t Fali tell you?”
“She said that I am the one next in line to follow Morna, that it would be dangerous because of that. But I still do not understand.”
His dark eyes glittered. “Did she say ‘dangerous’?”
“Sa.” Nel’s eyes were huge. “What can she mean, Ronan?”
Ronan scooped up a handful of the small stones upon which they were sitting and began to toss them, one after the other, into the water. “Neihle thinks the Mistress is afraid that I will prove a threat to Morna’s leadership of the tribe,” he told her as he tossed the rocks.
Nel scowled and chewed worriedly on the end of her braid. At last she said, “The Mistress is afraid the men of the tribe may desert Morna and follow you?”
A small silvery stone arched high, then fell into the water with a splash. “So Neihle seems to think.”
Nel continued to chew on her braid. “When I asked Fali what we had done to make a marriage between us impossible, she said, ‘It is not what you have done. It is what you are.’“
“Stop that,” Ronan said crossly. “I have told you over and over not to chew on your hair.”
Nel dropped her braid. “You are Arika’s son,” she said. And she fell silent as she contemplated her words.
“Sa,” Ronan replied at last. “Much as she would like to forget it, I am Arika’s son. And you, Nel, are the granddaughter of Arika’s elder sister. If your mother had not been just a babe when Meli died, your mother would have become the Mistress, not Arika.” Nel began once more to chew worriedly on her braid. “There are some who might say you have more right to be Mistress than Morna, minnow.” He reached out and forcibly removed the hair from her mouth. “I am thinking that is why Arika would consider a marriage between us dangerous.”
“But I would never want to be Mistress, Ronan!” Nel cried passionately. “It is much too lonely! I want to have a family.” Her face was fierce; her long green eyes glittered. “And I would never never give away my children!” she said. “Not even a boy, not even a twin. Never!”
Ronan said, his faint amusement tinged with respect, “Dhu, you can look as dangerous as a cave lioness sometimes, Nel.”
She flashed him a look, but did not reply. They sat in silence for some minutes, each thinking their own thoughts. Then Ronan reached out and gently touched the bruise on her cheek. “I will speak to your father,” he said. “He should be ashamed to allow his wife to so mistreat his daughter.”
Nel did not agree, “Ronan, you know how afraid Father is of Olma. You will only make him feel bad, and you will accomplish nothing. I can handle my stepmother far better than he can. You are making a fuss over nothing.”
“That bruise is not ‘nothing.’“
Nel shrugged. “She didn’t hit me that hard. It is just that my skin marks so easily.”
He said wearily, “We neither of us have had much luck in our families, have we, Nel?”
In answer, she leaned her bruised cheek against his shoulder and closed her eyes. His arm slid around her in an accustomed, protective gesture, gathering her to his side. Linked thus, they sat in silence while the sun went down behind their backs.
* * * *
This was the first year Ronan would be allowed to take part in one of the most important of the men’s springtime rites, the Slaying of the Bear. One of the ways of Sky God that had seeped into the Red Deer tribe over the years was a great reverence for the mighty cave bear, and each spring, as the bears returned to the earth from their winter’s hibernation, one particular bear was chosen to be a ritual sacrifice.
Only the initiated men of the tribe were allowed to partake in this sacred hunting ceremonial. Although Ronan and his agemates had not yet participated in the rite, they were well versed in its laws. At his initiation, every boy of the Red Deer was taught the secret language of the hunt, the ritual songs, and the great apology.
Lying with girls was all very well, but all boys of the Red Deer knew that the surest sign that one was a man was to be in at the death of the sacred bear.
The Slaying of the Bear was always performed at the dark between Ibex and Salmon Moons, and this year was no different. On the morning they were to make the sacred hunt, Ronan and Tyr and several other initiates clustered together before the river and watched the first light of dawn begin to turn the sky from black to gray.
“Elder Brother,” Tyr said exultantly, pumping his fist in the air, “I am hoping you are waiting for us this day.”
One of the tribal beliefs about the cave bear was that he could hear everything one said, even from a great distance. He heard, he remembered, and he took revenge. Consequently, it was forbidden to call the bear by his name, lest he divine the tribe’s plans and avenge himself for their trying to kill him. “Elder Brother” was the secret phrase used by the men of the Red Deer to denote the prey they would be stalking.
Ronan smiled faintly at the look on Tyr’s face; then he once more inspected the tip of his javelin. The bear was supposed to be killed by one single thrust to its heart, so it was vital that one’s flint points be strong and sharp.
The men had already spied out the cave in which a particularly big male cave bear had made its home, and their aim was to get there before the bear had left on its daily search for sustenance. Cave bears were almost pure vegetarians, and to maintain their immense size and weight, they had to consume vast amounts of food.
“Are the boys ready?” It was Erek, the tribe’s chief hunter, speaking. Two dogs trailed at his heels as he walked around the group of men, checking to see that all were in place.
Ronan answered for the initiates, “We are ready.”
“There must be no talking,” Erek warned.
Ronan scowled. “Sa,” he said shortly. “We know.”
Erek glared at this upstart youngster who dared to speak to him with an edge to his voice. The chief hunter was a big, burly man who looked somewhat like a bear himself. He had been the one to slay the bear for the last several years. There were some who said that his glare alone was enough to cow Elder Brother into submission. It did not cow Ronan, however, who lifted his arrogant nose and stared back.
Erek muttered something that sounded like “insolent puppy,” before he turned away to signal that the line of men was to move forward.
That was foolish, Ronan thought with irritation as he fell into his place in the hunter’s line. Why antagonize Erek?
He answered himself immediately: Because he is stupid, and I don’t like taking orders from stupid people.
The path widened and Tyr came up to walk beside Ronan. Neither boy looked at each other.
Well, the other half of Ronan’s mind queried ironically, from whom wouldn’t you mind taking orders?
Ronan’s mouth curled in rueful self-knowledge, and this time he made hims
elf no answer.
It took the hunters almost two hours to reach the cave in the hills where Elder Brother had made his den. The cave had been tunneled into the stone by a stream many years before, but the stream had dried up since and the cave now looked out upon a meadow that would soon be filled with grass and wildflowers. The cave entrance was partially blocked by a boulder, and Ronan stared at it, wondering if the cave bear was still within.
Erek gestured and the men spread out into a large circle in front of the den. Erek, who as last year’s bear slayer was to have the honor of making the attempt again, took up his position a few yards in front of the cave entrance. Then he signaled to the dogs.
Both dogs immediately advanced to the opening beside the fallen boulder and began to bark. Minutes passed. What would they do, Ronan wondered, if the bear had already left the cave. Would they go in search of it?
A sharper note came into the dogs’ voices, and the men in front of the cave entrance tensed. Coming out of the darkness of the cave, advancing slowly on all four of its feet, was the bear.
Ronan’s heart accelerated. It looked big.
The dogs were in a frenzy, growling and making a high whining kind of noise. The bear halted, looked at the dogs, then looked at the men. One of the dogs jumped up to snap at the bear’s nose. The bear swatted at it with his paw. The dogs barked and snarled and approached the bear from two different sides. With a roar of fury, the bear rose up on his hind legs.
Dhu! It was enormous. It was more enormous than Ronan had ever imagined a bear could be. Its deafening roars reverberated around the empty meadow. The rank smell of bear filled Ronan’s nostrils. A few of the men stepped backward.
Now! Ronan thought. Now was the time for Erek to make his move. The tradition was for the bear slayer to rush forward while the bear was upright and at bay and drive his spear directly into the bear’s heart.
Erek was lifting his spear. The watching men ceased to breathe as their leader rushed forward into that terrible embrace. If the spear found the right place, the bear would die immediately. If the bear slayer missed, he would be mauled to death.
The bear moved just before Erek’s thrust. There was a deafening roar of anguished fury. Then the horrified men of the Red Deer saw Erek’s spear fall to the ground as the wounded and infuriated bear grabbed the man with its immense and deadly claws.
He hit a rib, Ronan thought in horror. He missed the heart and hit a rib.
The next cry of anguish came from Erek.
Dhu, Ronan thought, looking around wildly, were they all to stand here like stones and watch their leader being mauled to death? He looked around again. No one was moving. Then Ronan understood.
They could not attack in a group. Only one man could slay the sacred bear. If they swarmed over Elder Brother in a group, terrible luck would fall upon the tribe. Understandably, considering what was happening to Erek, no one seemed prepared to jump in alone.
A blood-curdling scream came from Erek. Before Ronan realized himself what he was going to do, he had lifted his spear and run forward.
“Ronan!” It was Neihle’s voice. “You cannot do anything alone! Come back or he’ll kill you too!”
It was much later that Neihle told Ronan he had called him back. At the moment, Ronan was aware of nothing but the immense animal before him. He reached out and pricked the infuriated bear on the chest with his spear. “So, Elder Brother,” he said. “Here is another come to slay you.”
The bear let Erek slip from his claws and turned to Ronan. Erek moaned and moved feebly.
The bear came for Ronan.
It all happened very quickly. There was the smell, the heavy, pungent, choking smell. There was the sting of claws raking along his back, the feel of thick rough fur against his face. Then Ronan’s left arm moved, jabbed, and drove the heavy spear home. He felt the bear sag against him, felt the moment the breath fled from its body. Slowly, inexorably, it toppled over, almost dragging Ronan down with it. It was only at the last moment that Ronan managed to disentangle himself and pull back, breathing hard.
“Good lad.” Neihle was beside him, gripping his arm. “Good lad.”
“How is Erek?” Ronan panted, looking beyond his uncle to the man lying on the ground.
The man who was bending over Erek looked up. “He is badly hurt, but he lives. We must carry him home so the Old Woman can see to him.”
Silence fell. Everyone was looking at Ronan.
“Go ahead, lad,” Neihle said into his ear. “You are the slayer. It is for you to make the apology, for you to chant the sacred song.”
Ronan swallowed hard, forcibly controlled his breathing, and moved forward until he was standing over the bear. Even fallen, it was a fearsome sight. Ronan stared as if mesmerized at the large barrel-like body, the big head with its prominently domed forehead, the enormous feet, the claws…
“Elder Brother,” Ronan said, and was thankful to hear that his voice was clear and steady, “I am sorry to have slain you, but I need your skin for my coat and your flesh for my food. Elder Brother, the Tribe of the Red Deer loves you. Do not be angry that we have slain you out of our great need.”
A sigh ran around the listening men. The apology had been made; the spirit of the bear would be appeased.
Next Ronan raised his voice in the sacred chant:
XXX
O most splendid of animals
Man among beasts.
Now my Elder Brother
You lie dead.
May your plight make the other animals
Be like women when I hunt them!
May they follow your way
And Fall to me
Easy prey!
It was vital to inject real emotion into the voice when making the sacred chant for the death of the bear, and Ronan did that. It was not difficult; all he had to do was to allow a small amount of what he was really feeling to creep into his voice. When he had finished, he was amazed to see that many of the men behind him were weeping.
“Well done, sister’s son,” said Neihle. “Very well done.” He turned to the other men. “Now we must bring Elder Brother home.”
Chapter Four
Arika was furious when she heard that Ronan had been the one to slay the bear. “What were the men thinking of,” she fumed to Pier, the hunter who had brought her the news, “to allow a boy not yet one full year initiated to be the Bear Slayer?”
“Perhaps you did not hear me, Mistress,” Pier answered patiently. “The bear had knocked Erek’s spear away and was mauling him to death. Erek would be dead now if it were not for Ronan. Give the boy his due, Mistress. He was the only one of us willing to grapple with that bear.” Pier’s nostrils flared. “Wait until you see it! Never have I seen a cave bear so large.”
Arika made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a hiss.
Pier looked faintly disapproving. “Erek is sore wounded. The Old Woman is seeing to him now.”
“Erek should have killed the bear,” Arika said. “If a boy like Ronan could kill him, there is no excuse for Erek’s failing.”
Pier said slowly, “Ronan made the prettiest slaying I have ever seen, Mistress, and I have seen many. Do not belittle his accomplishment. All the men who were there know what it was that he did.”
Arika turned her face away. “Very well,” she said abruptly. “You may go now, Pier.”
“I will go to see how Erek is faring,” the man said, with the faintest of emphasis on the word I, and he turned toward the hut door.
As soon as the hides had swung shut behind him, Arika began to pace restlessly up and down the small section of floor space that was not cluttered with her belongings. She was still pacing when the Old Woman appeared.
“I have tended to Erek,” Fali said. “If the wounds do not become poisoned, he will live.”
“Good,” Arika snapped. Erek had been her lover for the past two years, but she had no sympathy to waste upon him now. He had failed her.
Fali said into the silenc
e, “The men can talk of nothing but Ronan.”
Arika swung around and glared.
Fali did not flinch, “He is like you, Mistress,” she said. “Fearless. And he is also a leader.”
Something besides anger flickered in Arika’s face. She raised her hand, as if to rub it away. “Sa,” she said then, very low. She dropped to sit on one of the deerskin rugs that lay on the floor of the hut and gestured to Fali to join her. Moving much more slowly than Arika, the Old Woman seated herself.
“He has my strength of will and Iun’s charm,” Arika said when at last Fali was settled. Then, in a very low voice, she added, “He frightens me.” She picked up a stick in her left hand and poked cautiously at the ashes of the dead fire. “He has always frightened me.”
Fali was watching Arika’s hand on the stick. “He reminds me of Mar,” she said.
At that, Arika looked up from her absorbed poking of the ashes. “Mar? The man of the Horse who kidnapped you?”
“Sa. He and Ronan do not look alike, but in other ways they are very much the same.”
“He was a chief, this Mar, was he not?”
“Sa.”
Arika returned to poking at the fire, “I have never told this to anyone before,” she said, “but the night before Ronan was born, I had a dream.” A pile of ash collapsed and dust rose into the air over the hearthplace. Arika put down her stick and looked at Fali. “In this dream I saw a herd of red deer browsing peacefully in the forest. A cave panther was stalking them. I saw the sun shining in the sky, reflecting off the panther’s black coat…burnishing it, making it shine. It shone until its blackness was almost as bright as the sun itself. It was as if the sun caressed it, loved it…” Arika’s mouth was thin with pain. “I knew as soon as I saw the boy, saw that black hair, those dark eyes, that he was the panther. And I knew I should have him exposed.” Her eyes were somber. “It is my weakness that I did not.”
“So that is why you turned your back on him,” Fali said slowly.
Arika nodded. “I knew it was dangerous to let him think of me as his mother, to let him think he might have any authority at all in this tribe.”
