The Horsemasters

by Joan Wolf

  PART TWO

  The Tribe of the Wolf

  (Three years later)

  Chapter Eight

  Thorn stood just beyond the shadow of the cliff, enjoying the thin beginning-of-winter sunshine. He and his father should have been at work in the sacred cave hours ago, finishing the new paintings for the Buffalo Tribe’s Winter Ceremony, but Rilik had been called into a meeting with the chief. Haras had summoned the council of nirum to discuss the situation of the three tribal members who had disappeared the night before.

  Fara and Crim were gone, as well as Eken, Fara’s sister. They had taken with them all their clothing, their cooking gear, and their sleeping skins. No one was in any doubt as to why they had gone, or where. The question Haras wished to discuss was should the tribe go after them and force them to return?

  It was the loss of the women that concerned Haras most. Crim was a good man, a good hunter, and well liked by all. The tribe would miss him. But the women were the valuable ones; two young females of child-bearing age were a resource no tribe would want to whistle down the wind.

  “All right, lad.” It was his father’s voice at last, and Thorn turned in time to see Rilik stepping off the cliff path onto the valley floor. “We can go now.”

  “I am ready, Father.” They moved together toward the river, and Thorn asked, “The men are not going after Crim and the women, then?”

  “Na.” Rilik’s voice was clipped. “Haras decided to let them go—”

  Thorn glanced sideways at his father’s face. It was obvious that Rilik did not agree with the chief’s decision.

  “What did Herok say?” Thorn ventured after they had launched the small bark boat into the water and scrambled in. Herok was Thorn’s cousin, whom Eken was to have wed after the Winter Ceremony this year.

  Rilik grunted as he pushed off” with the oars. “He was not pleased.”

  A cold wind was coming down the river, and Thorn pulled up the hood of his reindeer fur tunic. “I can understand why Eken would choose to go with Fara,” he said as he huddled into the warmth of his hood. “They were always close, even for sisters, and Eken would not want Fara to be without a woman of her blood when her time for childbirth comes again.”

  Rilik was propelling them through the water with smooth strong strokes. “Sa,” he said grimly. “I can understand Eken. The one whom I cannot understand is Crim. He is a man. His loyalty to the tribe should prevail over foolish fondness for a woman.”

  “It is not just foolish fondness, Father,” Thorn said, a little defiantly. “Fara swore she would kill herself if she had twins again and the tribe exposed them. She meant it, Father. I saw her face when they took away the last ones…” Thorn stopped talking abruptly, afraid that his voice was going to crack.

  “She probably is going to have twins again,” Rilik said gloomily. “She has done it twice before; why should the third time be different?” He managed to shrug without breaking the smooth rhythm of his strokes. “That is why Haras decided to let them go. He said that the tribe does not need to be cursed with another set of twins.”

  “And they have gone to the Valley of the Wolf?”

  Rifik gave one last shove with his paddle. “It seems likely. Crim was seen talking to the men from Ronan’s new tribe at the Autumn Gathering. Probably that is when he got directions from them.”

  The boat had reached the shore, and both man and boy jumped out to drag it out of the water.

  “Father…” This was said as the two walked across the rocky shore toward the cliff they would have to climb to reach the sacred cave. “If Fara does have twins, do you think Ronan will let her keep them?”

  They had reached the base of the cliff. “That is why Crim has taken her there,” Rilik said. “The shaman says that it is the Way of the Mother to keep one twin. And I am certain Ronan will do what he can to make both Fara and Eken happy. The women will be a valuable addition to that tribe of outlaws he has collected.” Rilik looked upward toward the cave, squinting into the sun. “Just as they are a sore loss to the Tribe of the Buffalo,” he added sourly.

  Rilik had reached for the first hand-grip when he heard Thorn say very softly, “I hope that he will let her keep them both.”

  Rilik dropped his hand and turned. “Why should he do that?”

  Thorn’s fawnlike face looked unusually sober. “Because Ronan is not one to be overly swayed by taboos he does not see the sense of himself.”

  “There is great good sense in the taboo against twins.” Rilik’s tone became distinctly dry. “However, I agree with you that Ronan is not a man with an over-great regard for taboos. That is what got him expelled from the Tribe of the Red Deer in the first place.”

  “You said yourself that you did not think he was guilty, Father,” Thorn said quickly.

  Rilik raised his eyebrows. “Let us say rather that there is some doubt as to his guilt.” He contemplated his son for a long moment in silence before remarking, “I did not know you had such regard for Ronan, Thorn. From whence did this admiration come?”

  Thorn flushed. “I used to bear him company when he was with us recovering from his injury. Don’t you remember, Father?”

  “I remember how badly he was hurt,” Rilik said. “To say true, I have never understood how he managed to make it through the Buffalo Pass on that broken leg. If it had not been for that tame wolf of his, he would most certainly have died before we found him.”

  “I used to bear him company while he was getting better,” Thorn repeated. “I used to draw…for him.”

  The look Rilik gave his son was sharp as a spear point. “Draw for him?”

  “Sa.”

  Silence. Finally Rilik asked grimly, “Did you draw his face, Thorn?”

  Silence again. “Sa.” Thorn’s voice was soft yet subtly defiant. “I did.”

  “Did he know what you were doing?”

  “Sa,” Thorn said again. He met his father’s piercing gaze. “He was not afraid, Father. I told you he does not care about taboos he does not see the sense of.”

  “They do not draw in the Tribe of the Red Deer.” Rilik’s voice grew grimmer with each word he spoke. “They do not make the hunting magic in the way of we who follow Sky God. Ronan would not understand the danger that lies in a likeness. It was wrong of you, Thorn, to take advantage of his ignorance. Very wrong.” Rilik’s eyes bored into his son’s face. “What did you do with the drawings?”

  “I threw them in the river,” Thorn lied.

  Now Rilik let his anger loose. “How many times must you be told? To draw something is to capture its spirit! That is why we draw the animals we hunt, so we can gain power over them. But it is taboo to draw the likeness of a man. That kind of power is dangerous, Thorn! No artist should ever so abuse his gift as to use it in such wise. I have told you and told you and told you…”

  Thorn bowed his head and listened. It was true that he had been told and told and told. He did not understand himself what it was that drove him to draw people’s faces. Drawing animals was enough for his father, had been enough for all the other artists who had gone before him. Why was he alone cursed with this unnatural desire?

  At last Rilik fell silent. Thorn heard his father sigh. “Come,” he said in a quieter voice. “Let us get to our work.”

  It took them twenty minutes of climbing to reach the hole that marked the opening to the tribe’s sacred cave. They retrieved the soapstone lamps filled with animal fat that they kept just inside the entrance, and Rilik lit the wicks with the live coal which he had carried in an antelope horn at his belt. This particular cliffside cave was extremely deep, and the lamps provided only a little light against the gigantic darkness.

  Rilik knew the way so well, however, that he could travel the narrow galleries with astonishing sureness and speed.

  Thorn followed his father along the dark and tortuous underground passages. After about half a mile they passed a black and silent underground lake, and then they were in the first of the cave’s large ha
lls. Rilik turned and followed the walls of the hall, Thorn close on his heels.

  They had gone but a short way when Thorn felt the floor beginning to rise beneath his feet. He lifted his stone lamp higher, the chamber walls widened, and then they were in yet another gallery.

  The thrill of astonishment and awe he felt every time he came into this place jolted through Thorn once again. For here, in this hidden, high-ceilinged rotunda, the Buffalo tribe kept its greatest treasure. Here Rilik had captured for his people the spirits of the animals the tribe hunted in order to live. Upon the smooth and polished wall were painted buffalo and horses and ibexes and red deer. The animals were so vivid with life they seemed almost to leap out from their stone setting.

  Thorn slowly turned his reverent eyes from the paintings and looked at his father. For the vast majority of the paintings in this room were Rilik’s work. Four separate panels of animal pictures had he done, all marked by the same loose and airy style. Only the buffalo looked a little stiff, a little less fluid and airy than the rest of the animal portraits. When Thorn had asked his father about this, Rilik had replied that as the buffalo was the tribe’s totem, and was consequently neither hunted nor eaten by them, it was not proper to call it up in all its naturalistic reality.

  There were no humans at all pictured on the rotunda walls.

  Although Thorn had been learning the skills of painting for a number of winters, it was only this year that he had been allowed into the sacred cave, after his initiation into tribal manhood. At first he had only watched his father work, awed by the sureness and the skill of the older man. Thorn had been taught by the shaman to outline his drawing first, and then to fill in the body of the picture. The contour lines could be erased after, Jessl had said. But Rilik was so sure of himself, was so excellent a draftsman, that he laid the wet pigment directly upon the rock walls without outlining first.

  At present Thorn was working on the picture of an ibex. These mountain goats were an important food source for the Tribe of the Buffalo, and Thorn was concerned to get as accurate a likeness as he possibly could. He was not yet as confident of his technique as Rilik, so he had begun his painting by outlining the picture in black earth pitch, drawing the lines with a finely tipped bird’s feather. The ocher colors with which he was filling in the body were also done with feathers, the delicate lines and gradations of shading evoked by tips of varying thicknesses.

  Thorn enjoyed the work. He was happy and excited to see the ibex taking shape under his skilled hand. So it was with a pang of sorrowful bewilderment that he wondered, as he stepped back from the wall to see what finishing touches were yet needed on his picture, Why is this not enough?

  * * * *

  Winter passed in the territory of the Tribe of the Buffalo, and the first moon of spring rose in the sky. “We will learn if Fara had twins again at the Spring Gathering,” Rilik said to his son one chill afternoon as he sat in the men’s cave engraving the picture of a horse on a reindeer leg bone. “There will probably be someone there from the Tribe of the Wolf to trade reindeer hides.”

  “Ronan himself does not come?” Thorn asked.

  Rilik raised an ironic eyebrow. “I am thinking Ronan would find it somewhat chancy to turn his back upon that bunch of outlaws for any length of time. He sent someone else in the autumn, and he will probably do the same this spring.”

  Silence fell as Rilik continued to draw with a graver. After a while Thorn asked, “How many men do you think have joined with Ronan, Father?”

  Rilik shrugged. “Who knows? That valley of his has become a refuge for every piece of scum who finds himself thrown out of his own tribe.” Rilik looked up from his work, a slight frown puckering his brown-skinned forehead. “My concern is how much success someone as young as Ronan will have controlling them. He is not chief by right of blood, as Haras is. He is only chief because he was the first to find this hidden place of refuge he calls the Valley of the Wolf.”

  Rilik bent once more to his work. Thorn watched the delicate strokes his father was making to indicate the heavy winter coat of the horse. “There are not so many horses in our hunting territory these days,” the boy murmured.

  Rilik grunted in agreement.

  “Father…”—Thorn leaned a little forward—”may I come with you to the Spring Gathering this year?”

  Rilik nodded. “I have been thinking that perhaps I would take you, Thorn. It will be well for you to see some of the work that is offered there. There was a spearthrower up for trade last year that was one of the finest pieces of carving I have ever seen.”

  Thorn’s pointed, fawnlike face lit as if from within. “Is it true?” he said excitedly. “I can go?”

  “If it is all right with your mother.”

  Thorn sighed with sheer pleasure. Both of them knew it would be all right with his mother. It would never occur to Thorn’s mother to gainsay Rilik.

  Thorn propped his chin upon his knees. “What tribes are likely to be there, Father?” he asked eagerly.

  Rilik put down his carving. “Tribes come from all over to the Great Cave for the Spring Gathering,” he answered. “Even more people than you find in the autumn. There are people of the Kindred from the valley of the Snake River and from the valley of the River of Gold. There are always some people from the tribes on the morning side of the mountains, and from the tribes that dwell by the sea. These are like the Tribe of the Red Deer in that they still follow the Way of the Mother.” Rilik solemnly nodded his head. “Truly, you will never see such a number of people from so many different tribes as you will see in the Great Cave in the spring.”

  “And there is trading?” Thorn prompted.

  “There is trading: shells from the shores of the sea, the skins of reindeer and buffalo and white fox, and mammoth ivory and musk ox horn from the north. There are needles to be had, and spears and spearthrowers, beautifully carved. The carvers will even make one especially for you, if you tell them exactly what it is you want. There are all kinds of different burins and gravers to be had, and clay pots for the storing of food. You can get engraved armlets and pendants and headbands and belts.” Rilik smiled at his son’s entranced face. “The commodities of news and gossip are as readily available as goods, and of course one of the main businesses of any gathering is the transacting of marriage contracts.”

  Thorn heaved a great shivery sigh. “What shall our tribe take to trade, Father?”

  “The knapper will take his tools, the hunters will take their skins, and I will take my engravings.” Rilik once more picked up the reindeer bone. “There are not many artists among the Kindred who can draw as well as I,” he said matter-of-factly. “Only those from the Tribe of the Horse can match my work, and most of the time they do not come as far south as the Great Cave.” Rilik picked up his graver and squinted thoughtfully at his bone. He etched a line and regarded it again. After a few minutes, Thorn rose quietly and slipped away.

  * * * *

  It was a blowy, chilly spring morning, when the traders from the Buffalo tribe moved off northward along the Atata River, beginning the two-day journey that would bring them to the gathering at the Great Cave. The Atata was one of the great north-south valleys that cut through the mountains, and centuries of migrating animals had pounded out tracks which subsequent human use had etched even more solidly into the earth and stone of the hills. Steep cliffs lined the Atata valley on either side, but the tracks of passage lay mainly on the low ground along the river.

  “What is the Great Cave like?” Thorn had asked his father weeks before.

  “Wait and see with your own eyes,” Rilik had replied. It was the same reply he had given his son when as a child Thorn had once questioned him about the sacred cave. The wait to see the cave had been excruciating, but in the end Thorn had been forced to admit that he was glad he had not known what to expect. “It will be the same with the Great Cave,” promised his father, “You will see.”

  Thorn’s waiting came to an end late in the second after
noon of their journey. The Buffalo party was following the track along the Pebble River by then, when all of a sudden the steep heights of a cliff rose up before them, seeming to block the road completely. Thorn checked his steps. There must have been a track, however, for the men in the forefront of the party veered abruptly left. Thorn followed, and there before him was the cave.

  It was great indeed, an enormous archway of rosy-colored stone that rose at least a hundred feet above the river. In fact, the Great Cave was more a tunnel than a cave, a huge tunnel cut right through the rock of the cliff from one side to the other. The river roared through it in an uninhibited torrent of white foam. People were encamped all over the gravel before the cave’s mouth, and Thorn saw a group of children shrieking with delight as they kicked around an inflated horse’s stomach. Several of the children were wet from the spray of water that rose up from the racing river.

  In all his life Thorn had met but a handful of people who were not of his own tribe. His eyes widened and his heart began to beat with excitement. The load of engraved bones he carried on his back seemed suddenly lighter. He straightened, looked again at the shrieking children, and smiled.

  Chapter Nine

  The trading party threaded its way in and out among the tents and the people until it had passed under the soaring rocky arch. Thorn stared about in wonder. Never had he thought it possible for a cave to have ceilings as high as this one! Daylight poured in from the large tunnel opening, and further light came from the small scattered fires around which groups of men were sitting, surrounded by their wares. One group immediately caught Thorn’s eye; stacked high against the stone wall behind them was an immense pile of reindeer antlers.

  “What are those men doing with all those antlers, Father?” he asked Rilik in a low voice.

  Rilik glanced at the men. “They make digging sticks with them, Thorn.”