by Joan Wolf
After he had watched the horse-herd turned out, and assigned the guards, Fenris, with Surtur at his side and his other anda following, headed toward the large tent that housed him and his family. He was hungry. The women had been busy gathering plants and berries and digging up roots along the river, and the hunters had come in with a few antelope they had speared. Supper should be ready.
The smell of cooking greeted the kain as he pushed open the flap of his tent, and Fenris saw the big musk ox skull pot simmering on the cookfire. The other tents of the camp were small, housing only a few people, but the tent of the kain was very large, with many skins sewn together and stretched upon long saplings, which the tribe transported by sledge. This tent was the center of the tribe, the hearthplace not only of Fenris but also of his anda, the chief among his men.
“Teala,” Fenris roared to his wife as he came in the door, “I am hungry!”
“Sit you down, then, and eat.” Teala came forward from the group of household women and gestured him toward the pot. Then she went to collect the bone cups the tribe used to hold their food.
The rest of the anda filed in after Fenris, took their cups from Teala, and dipped them into the pot. Fenris’s two eldest sons came into the tent and joined the men. The dogs milled around the tent door, growling and snapping, waiting for their turn. The women sat in their places at the left side of the fire, waiting also for theirs. The children huddled along the edges of the tent, their big hungry eyes fixed on the men, hoping there would be enough left for them.
The men ate in relative silence, dipping their cups again and again into the pot and slurping out the stew until they were filled. Then they handed the cups to the women, who scooped out what was left and divided it among the children and themselves. The bones were tossed to the dogs.
While the women ate, the men talked. Fenris sat in the midst of them, his sons on one side of him, Surtur on the other, listening to the familiar stories about hunting and horses, and watching Siguna. He knew his men thought he was mad to give the girl so much freedom. Bragi, one of the best of the young warriors, wanted her to wife, and Fenris knew it would be a wise match for him to make. Bragi was worth binding to him by ties of kinship. But still Fenris hesitated. Siguna did not like Bragi.
Even Teala thought the girl was too forward. But then Teala had always been jealous of Siguna’s mother. Fenris suspected his wife had been secretly glad when Embla had died bearing her second babe. Teala had never seemed to mind the other women who entered her husband’s tent; they were captives, after all, and beneath her. But Embla had been one of the tribe…and she had been beautiful, Siguna looked like her.
Fenris had been fond of Embla, but he knew that was not the reason he had such a soft place in his heart for Siguna. Siguna was not like her mother. Siguna was like him. It was a thousand pities she had not been born a boy.
He yawned. Outside the sky was growing dark. This time of year the days were long; by the end of them he was weary.
Surtur saw his kain’s yawn and said, “It is time to be going to our sleeping places.”
Fenris nodded and watched as his anda left to go to their own tents and their own women. His sons left also, going to sleep with the other young men under the stars. Within the kain’s tent, one of the women began to tend to the fire, while the others settled the small children for the night. Idly Fenris let his eye run among his women, thinking of the coming night. His eyes lit on Kara and stopped.
Kara was from one of the tribes he had conquered last autumn. She was very beautiful, with lustrous black hair and huge dark eyes. He had left her alone over the winter, giving her a chance to get over her grieving. Then, one moon ago, he had taken her to his bed.
The kain had never been a man who liked thrusting himself into dry, stiff-bodied women. He liked them warm, and moist, and receptive, and over the years he had learned the skill of making them so. Little Kara had been well worth waiting for.
“Kara,” he said now, and pointed to the place beside him. He saw Teala frown as the black-haired girl rose and slowly crossed the floor. He had chosen Kara too frequently of late to please his wife.
Fenris shrugged. Kara knelt beside him, and he turned to look into the big, dark eyes that were so different from those of his own light-eyed people. He was in a mellow mood, a mood to woo. He grinned at her and said in her ear, “It will be good tonight, little deer. I will make it very good.”
He saw with satisfaction how the color rose in her cheeks. He sat watching calmly as the rest of his household settled down, then lay down himself, his arm reaching out for the girl at his side.
* * * *
Thorn and Mait, together with a small group of men from the Tribe of the Wolf, lay on their stomachs along the rim of trees at the edge of the forest and watched the Horsemasters’ camp. Their own horses were securely tied at a little distance behind them, so as not to be either seen or heard by the men upon whom they were spying.
For the last two days, Thorn’s eye had been trained upon the slim, silver-haired girl who came and went so quietly about the chiefs tent, fetching wood and water and helping to watch over the children. The other women did their work in company with one another, but not this girl. She worked alone. Thorn would have thought she was one of the captive women if she had not been so fair.
She was alone now, heading toward the river with a basket in her hands. As he watched she reached the riverbank, which was steep, climbed down to the water’s edge, and began to search among the grasses growing there for those that were palatable. Next, Thorn saw a figure detach itself from the horses that were picketed near the camp and follow the girl toward the river. The man scrambled down the bank, which hid both him and the girl from the view of the camp although not from the view of Thorn, whose spying post was on higher ground.
The girl whirled around when she heard the man coming; then she tossed her head and once more turned her back. As Thorn watched, the man reached for her arm and pulled her toward him, his other hand grabbing at her breast. He tried to throw her to the ground, but she struck at him with her free hand, raking her nails along his cheek. He let go of her for a moment, to clap his hand to his face, and she was off, scrambling up the bank and running like a deer for the safety of the camp. Her basket lay disregarded by the river’s edge.
“A gentle suitor,” said Kasar disgustedly.
“I am thinking they look to be settling in here for a while,” Heno remarked. “The hunting party has been gone for two days now; they are looking for more meat than just this night’s supper.”
“That is so,” said Mait. “And the women unloaded all the sledges.”
“It galls me to see so many women of the Kindred toiling under the yoke of these murderers,” Kasar said, his young face very grim.
“We should send them Berta,” her husband said gloomily. “She would set them to rights in no time.”
The rest of the men laughed delightedly.
“Heno, you know the greatest pleasure of your life lies in your battles with Berta,” Kasar said.
Heno gave an unwilling grin.
Thorn had not taken his eyes from the silver-haired girl, “Who is she, do you think?” he asked.
“Who is who?”
Thorn glanced at Mait as if he must be mad. “The girl with the hair like moonbeams.”
“Ah…,” said Kasar. “The girl with the hair like moonbeams.” He chuckled. “It sounds to me as if our Thorn is in love.”
The hot color flooded into Thorn’s face. “It is not sol”
“Draw her picture for us, Thorn,” Heno suggested.
“I only wondered who she was!”
“There are many many women in that camp,” Kasar pointed out, “yet she is the one you are interested in.”
“Leave him alone,” Mait said loyally. He turned to Thorn. “She lives in their chief’s tent, Thorn,” he said with regret. “She is probably one of his women.”
“I don’t think so,” Thorn replied. “That wo
uld-be ravisher would never have tried to touch her if she had belonged to the chief.”
“That is true,” Heno said. “It is clear that this chief is not a one that any of them wants to cross.”
Silence fell as the men went back to watching the camp. A group of men came riding in, dragging three dead buffalo on sledges.
“Buffalo!” said Mait with reverence. “I had not realized there were buffalo in this area.”
Under the fascinated eyes of the men of the Wolf, the huge carcasses were dumped in the middle of the camp. Women came running, and after a short period, during which the buffalo were obviously being admired, the men were led with ceremony into their tents and presumably attended to by their wives. Other women took the horses to rub them down and lead them off to water. The rest of the women began to work on the buffalo carcasses.
“The women butcher the meat in this tribe!” said Heno in surprise.
“Now there’s another job for Berta,” Kasar murmured wickedly.
Heno shot him a look from under lowered brows. “Suggest that to her, and she’ll butcher you.”
Mait gave a sharp crack of laughter.
The men of the Wolf went back to their watching. After the carcasses were butchered, a few women took the skins and pegged them out on the ground for scraping. The hides had to be scraped clean of adhering fat and tissue while they were still warm or they became so stiff they were difficult to tan. The scraping of skins was a woman’s job in every tribe the men of the Wolf knew of, and the sight of women on their hands and knees working over a hide was familiar. There had been work on hides going on all during the time the men had watched the camp, and the tools the women worked with had looked familiar also: the scraper, which in this tribe was a sharp flat oval stone used with both hands to clean the inner surface of the hide; the flesher made of antler and flint, which was used to plane the hide to just the right thinness; the bone, to abrade the surface of the skin so it would accept the fat and mixture of brains and liver used to tan it; and the shoulder blade, used to soften the hide when it was finished.
While one group of women worked on the initial scraping of the hides, another group processed the meat, cutting much of it into strips to dry in the sun.
There was no sign of the men, who were presumably napping after their great exertions on the hunting grounds.
“I am beginning to think there are some things about this tribe that I like,” said Heno.
Mait snorted.
Kasar said, “I am thinking we should watch for another day, and then two of us can return to Ronan and make a report. Do you agree, Heno?”
“Sa,” said Heno. “Two to return now and two to return when the Horsemasters begin to move again.”
“I will stay,” said Thorn quickly.
“That is generous of you, Thorn,” Kasar said with a grin.
“I will stay with Thorn,” Mait offered.
Heno shook his head. “I do not think it is a good idea to leave two cubs here alone. Either Kasar or I had better stay with Thorn.”
Mait scowled. “I am not a child anymore, Heno!”
There was a silence as Heno regarded the face of his wife’s brother. “I suppose that is so,” he said at last. “I think always of you as the small boy Berta was so frantic about when first I found you. But you are right. You are not that small boy any longer. All right, Thorn and Mait will stay.”
The two boys grinned at each other.
“Thank you, Heno,” Mait said, and Heno scowled and grunted and fooled no one.
* * * *
“I have permission from my father to take one of the horses to search in the forest for herbs,” Siguna said haughtily to the warrior in charge of the kain’s personal horses, which did not run with the rest of the herd but were kept close to the camp, in a roped-in corral.
The two on horse watch were young, friends of her eldest brother, and they looked at her with open admiration.
“Which horse, Siguna?” the one named Skyr asked.
“Buttercup,” she answered, pointing to a yellowish mare.
“I will catch her for you,” Skyr said.
Siguna watched in silence as Skyr went up to Buttercup with the halter in his hands and slipped it over her nose. He led her out of the corral and asked Siguna, “Shall I put you up?”
Siguna gave him a scornful look, bent her knees, leaped high, and flung her leg over the mare’s back. She picked up the reins, clicked to the horse, and, without a backward look, trotted off.
She went for quite a distance, winding her way along a deer track, feeling happier now that she was away from the camp and Teala’s incessant scolding. At last she dismounted in a clearing, where there was some grass for Buttercup, and resigned herself to looking for herbs, Fenris would be angry when he learned she had lied to the horse guards, and it would go better for her if she actually did come back with some herbs. Siguna picketed Buttercup by means of a large rock and began to move toward the forest.
Close by, a stallion screamed. Siguna’s heart jerked, then began to pound as she whirled to retrace her steps toward Buttercup. There was the sound of crashing branches within the forest, and the stallion screamed again. Then came the sound of hooves.
Siguna reached Buttercup and grabbed her halter. The mare was pulling on her halter and trembling all over.
The drumming hooves were coming closer, and suddenly, to Siguna’s utter astonishment, there erupted into the clearing a dark gray horse with a boy on its back. The stallion came to a sliding halt and stared at the mare; the boy, who looked like a startled fawn, stared at Siguna.
“Dhu,” the boy said.
The stallion snorted and pawed the ground. The boy patted his arched neck and continued to look at Siguna. “Can you understand what I am saying?” he asked her slowly.
Siguna, who had learned more of the language of her father’s captives than anyone else among the Horsemasters, did understand him. She nodded.
“I think, if I let him come up to her and sniff her, it will be all right,” the boy said. “He is still only a colt; he probably won’t try to do anything.”
“I understand you,” Siguna answered carefully, “but get off of him first.”
The boy slid off his horse’s back, murmuring to him all the while. Then, holding the reins tightly, he walked the stallion up to Buttercup, The two began an intensive smelling exchange, accompanied with squeals and little jumps. The boy and girl held their horses’ reins and made their own agile leaps to keep out of the way of the excited equine couple. After a short while, however, both horses decided the patches of grass in the clearing looked inviting and lowered their heads to graze side by side, Siguna turned to the boy.
He was only a little older than she, she saw, with floppy brown hair and long-lashed brown eyes. Once again he gave her the impression of a fawn. “You are riding a horse,” she said flatly, voicing what was to her the most amazing thing about this whole encounter.
His large eyes grew wary. “Sa,” he said. “You speak my language very well.”
“I have known some of your people,” she replied guardedly.
They looked at each other again.
“Do all of the people in these mountains ride horses?” Siguna asked slowly.
The boy’s face was very grave. He did not reply.
“What are you doing here alone?” she asked next.
“I might ask you the same question,” he replied.
“I do not understand.”
“What are you doing here alone?”
“I am gathering herbs,” she said.
“You have come a long way from your camp just to gather herbs.”
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “How do you know where my camp is?”
“I have seen it.”
Suddenly, she understood. “You have been watching us, haven’t you?” she accused him. “Spying on us?”
His narrow nostrils flared. “Your people have scarcely shown themselves to be friends of my
people.”
“Thorn,” called a voice from within the forest.
“Here, Mait!” the boy called back. “Come carefully, there is a mare.”
Siguna and the boy stood in silence and listened to the sound of another horse approaching. Acorn raised his head and neighed shrilly to his friend.
“Is it another stallion?” Siguna asked.
“Sa. Another three-year-old. Perhaps it will be all right.”
A second boy and horse erupted into the clearing, and things went as before. When all three horses had once more settled down to grazing, Siguna surveyed the boy called Mait. He was darker than the one named Thorn, with very dark brown hair and eyes. His olive-toned cheeks were smooth and beardless.
“What are we going to do about her?” Mait was asking Thorn. “If we send her back to her camp, she will tell them that we have horses.”
“I have been thinking of that,” Thorn said.
It was the strangest thing, Siguna thought, but she felt no fear. She should be afraid. Even smooth-skinned boys in her tribe were perfectly capable of murdering a girl who got in the way of their plans. But, for some reason, she did not think these boys would hurt her.
“We have seen you come and go about the chief’s tent,” the one named Thorn said to her. “Who are you?”
“I am his daughter,” she answered proudly. Her chin lifted. “My name is Siguna.”
There was the faintest glimmer of what looked like relief on Thorn’s face. Siguna wondered why.
“I am afraid, Siguna,” he said to her, speaking slowly so she would be sure to understand, “that you are going to have to come with us. We won’t hurt you, but we cannot set you free to warn your people.”
“Perhaps you would promise us to say nothing?” Mait asked hopefully.
Siguna shook her head. “I would never betray my father.”
Mait sighed. “I suppose not.” He pulled at his lower lip and muttered to Thorn, “What is Ronan going to say when we come in with the Horsemaster chief’s daughter?”
“I don’t think he will be happy. But he will be even less happy if we let her give us away.”
