by Joan Wolf
The list rolled on, with women shrieking with joy as they heard the name of a husband or a son. When the names were finished, a heavy silence fell. Those who had not heard the names they longed for stood like frozen statues.
“Not everyone who is unnamed is dead,” Siguna said into that frozen hush. “Some escaped from the fight, but I do not have those names to give you.”
At that, a woman near Kara began to weep audibly. Someone shushed her, and silence fell once more.
“What is to happen to our men who are still living? What is to happen to us?” It was Teala, Fenris’s wife and Vili’s mother, who called out the questions all were waiting to have answered.
“The leader of the mountainmen will tell you that,” Siguna said, and she motioned to the black-haired man who had been standing near her on the ground, At her signal, he leaped with easy grace to join Fenris’s daughter on the top of the sledge.
“Fenris and I have come to an agreement,” he said in the language of the Kindred. He spoke with an unfamiliar accent, but Kara had no trouble understanding him. Siguna translated what he was saying so the women of the Horsemasters would be able to understand also.
Kara listened to his words with ever-increasing amazement and relief. There would be no massacre. There would be no further enslaving of women. Simply, the whole tribe of invaders would be pushed back to the north and deprived of their horses to ensure that they remained there.
“I know that there are large numbers of captive Kindred women among you,” the black-haired man was saying. “Unfortunately, many of you come from tribes that no longer exist. Those of you who have parents or relatives in other tribes will be free to rejoin them. If there are some of you who wish to take husbands and make your homes with the tribes of these mountains, know you will be welcome.” He paused and his face suddenly became very stern. “Whatever you may decide,” he said, “know this: the women of the Kindred will no longer be forced to serve in the tents of the men who murdered their fathers and their husbands.”
Silence fell. Siguna did not bother to translate the last sentence.
When they realized that the leader was done speaking, feminine voices speaking the language of the Kindred began to be heard.
“I shall return to my parents and the Tribe of the Horse,” the woman behind Kara said excitedly.
“And I to the Tribe of the Marten,” said someone else.
“Both my husband’s and my father’s tribe were destroyed,” said a third woman bitterly. “I suppose I shall stay here in the mountains.”
“What of our children?” a voice called out, “Many of us have had children by the men of this tribe. Will our children be welcome along with us?”
“A child belongs to its mother,” the black-haired man replied in some surprise. “Of course your children will be welcome.”
Kara rested her hand on her slightly rounded belly. She had known for over a moon now that she had a babe on the way.
If she returned to her father, he would marry her off to another man like her first husband. For the first time in many many moons, Kara thought of that husband. He had not been a bad man, she thought, He had never murdered anyone, never knowingly done harm to anyone. He had not been like Fenris.
He had been a better man than Fenris, she told herself. Any of the men of the Kindred were better men than the kain. If the victory had gone to the Horsemasters, there would have been a massacre. I must remember that, Kara thought. She drove her nails into her palms and inhaled unsteadily.
“So you will be leaving us soon.” Kara turned to look into Teala’s face. The kain’s wife did not look as pleased at the prospect as Kara would have expected her to. Teala had never been actively unkind to her husband’s favorite, but Kara knew that the woman resented her as she did not seem to resent the other women who dwelled in the kain’s tent.
Kara said, “Yes. I will be leaving.”
Teala’s blue eyes regarded her bleakly. The breeze from the river blew the short fringe of hair on her forehead. “I had a great fear in my heart, but all will be well for the tribe so long as he is alive.” Her mouth pinched together as if she felt a sudden pain. “It will be hard for him,” she said. “Very hard.”
For the first time, Kara noticed the strands of gray that threaded through Teak’s coronet of blond braids. She noticed also that the kain’s wife’s face was thinner than it had been and sallow. She frowned and asked with quick concern, “Are you well, Teala?”
Teala gave her a narrow, measured look and did not answer. Instead she said, “It was no surprise to me to see Siguna. That is the kind of girl you are never easily rid of.”
Kara said softly, “The kain must have been glad to see her. He always had a fondness for her.”
“She won’t stay with him,” Teala said. “Not that one. He will be left to face this alone…” Abruptly, Fenris’s wife turned and moved off.
Later, as the women gathered their most basic belongings and loaded them onto the handful of sledges they were being allowed, Kara asked one of the steppe women who had been with Fenris for a very long time if Teala was well.
“No,” the brief answer came. “She has been sick for some time. I do not think she will live to see our new home.”
Kara made a sound of sorrow.
“Her son lives,” the other woman said bitterly. “I would give up my life too, if only I could say the same.”
Kara thought of the eager young face of the kain’s second son and felt the weight of his mother’s sorrow.
* * * *
The men harnessed the mares they had ridden to the loaded sledges and set off with the women and children up the River of Gold. It was a slower trip by foot, and two days passed before they reached the meadow where the Federation tribes were camped with their captives.
At Ronan’s signal, the caravan halted along the river. The figure of a man detached itself from the crowded men’s camp and began to approach. Kara’s heart leaped in her breast when she saw it was Fenris. He halted at a little distance from the train of women and waited for the black-haired chief, who was moving to join him.
Kara stared at the kain greedily, reassuring herself that he was indeed alive and well. He seemed to be carrying one arm a little more stiffly than usual, but otherwise he looked perfectly normal. As Kara watched, the two men met and spoke to each other. Then the kain turned and signaled toward the camp he had just left. Immediately men began to stream toward the train of women.
Kara, who had no husband or son to greet and exclaim over, withdrew to the edge of the caravan to be out of the way. Fenris and Ronan stood side by side and watched as husbands and sons and fathers were reunited with wives and mothers and children. Kara did not watch the reunions, however. Instead, she watched Fenris.
He was looking at Teala and Vili, his face a calm, inscrutable mask. She saw when his eyes left his wife and his son and began to search slowly among the crowd of Kindred women. When his eyes found her she was ready.
They looked at each other across the distance. His face never changed. Then, still slowly, his eyes moved on.
It was men of the Kindred who separated out the women of their race, smiling and speaking gently to the pack of former captives whom they were taking in their charge.
“Most of us are from tribes far to the north of these mountains,” one girl said when they were all collected together in a separate camp. “How will we get back to our families?”
A lovely, brown-haired girl with unusual green eyes answered gently, “We will send riders to all of the tribes of the Kindred with the news of your rescue and ask them to send men to the Great Cave to escort you home.”
“Home!” one of the girls said on a heartfelt sigh. “I can scarce believe it has happened at last!”
The day waned, the sun set, and the women and children settled down to sleep. On the morrow, the depleted tribe of Horsemasters would begin its trip north, escorted by an armed and mounted contingent of Federation men, who would make certain
they reached their destination.
Kara did not sleep at all. She was haunted by the face of Fenris as it had been this afternoon. Calm. Resigned. Marked with lines of pain that Kara knew were not set there by physical discomfort. He had lost huge numbers of his men. He had lost two of his own sons. He would lose more of his children, as their mothers chose to leave him to return to their own tribes. For some reason, the picture of Fenris watching a wrestling match with one of his little boys perched on his shoulders kept flashing into her mind.
He will be left to face this alone.
These men who had taken them in charge were very kind, Kara told herself again and again. She must remember that, think of that. They were giving the women their choice, something that was unheard of in Fenris’s world.
Kara arose at dawn and moved through the thin valley mist toward the river’s edge where the caravan of Horsemasters was assembled, ready to depart. Ronan had allowed them the temporary use of horses to pull the sledges, and a few of the smallest children and the more seriously wounded men rode on the sledges with the tents and household belongings. Ten armed and mounted men, led by a huge man Kara heard Ronan address as Bror, prepared to escort the beaten tribe.
Fenris was on foot with the rest of his men. Kara felt a pain in her heart to see him so. Fenris without his horse! How would he bear it?
They were beginning to move forward when Fenris turned and saw her. She stood, not breathing, not thinking, only looking at him. Just then the last of the mist lifted, and the sun rising over the top of the mountain struck bright sparks from his shaggy blond hair. She saw his gray eyes crinkle slowly at the corners in the way she loved. She saw him smile, saw him lift a hand. His lips moved, formed a word. “Come.”
She took one step, and then one more. Then she was running. He had opened his arms and she was in them, held tightly against him, back where she wanted to be.
* * * *
Arika could feel the mood in the Federation camp change almost as soon as the Horsemasters were out of sight around the bend in the river. Things here were finished; it was time to move beyond the battle, time for all the tribes to return home.
However, when she mentioned to Neihle that the Red Deer men ought to begin preparing to leave the valley, her brother gave her a strange look. “The men have been talking, Arika,” he said, “and there is something we would like to discuss with you.”
Arika grew immediately wary. “What is it?”
Neihle lifted both his hands. “Let a few of us go apart from the other tribes. This is something that concerns the Red Deer only.”
“Very well,” Arika said crisply. “Where?”
“This way,” Neihle said, and for the first time Arika saw the group of Red Deer men gathered in the grass near the base of the hill. Slowly she walked beside her brother, and despite her calm face, her heart was filled with apprehension. The apprehension did not lessen when she saw that it was not just the young men who awaited her, but a representative group of older men as well. In fact, and her eyes surveyed the solemn male faces once more, it seemed as if all the age-set leaders were here. Her apprehension deepened.
“Greetings, Mistress,” the men murmured respectfully as she arrived in their midst.
Arika nodded coldly.
“Sit down, please,” Neihle said, and one of the men spread a deerskin robe on the grass for her. They had come prepared, Arika thought grimly. She sat.
The men looked to Neihle. “Mistress,” he said. His face and his voice were grave. He was sitting across the circle from her, and he met her gaze now and held it. “The men of the Red Deer wish to invite Ronan to rejoin the tribe.”
Her thin nostrils quivered faintly. She had known it had to do with Ronan. “Why?” she asked.
“If Ronan returns to us, then Nel will return also, and it is our wish to have Nel as Mistress after you are gone.”
Arika was not fooled by Neihle’s soft, reasonable voice. Her eyes narrowed. Her own voice was icy. “It is not the business of the men of the tribe to name the next Mistress.”
Neihle’s gaze shifted slightly. Arika knew she could control her brother; she always had. She looked to the other men.
Tyr said firmly, “We want Nel to be our Mistress, this is true. But we also want Ronan to be our chief. Thus is it done in all the other tribes who follow the Mother: the husband of the Mistress is the chief. And thus do we desire it to be done in the Tribe of the Red Deer.”
It was her greatest fear, spoken out loud by Ronan’s closest friend. Arika stiffened her back, drew the mantle of her authority about her, and prepared to fight. “Who are you to say what shall or what shall not be done in the Tribe of the Red Deer? I am the Mistress, the voice of the Mother. I am the one to speak for the tribe.”
This time Tyr’s dark blue eyes did not falter. “We are the men of the tribe, Mistress,” he answered. “We are the fighters. We are the hunters. We want one of our own kind to lead us, and the one that we want is Ronan.”
She had always feared that one day the men would try to assert their power. It was why she had put aside her son and why, finally, she had banished him. And she realized now, with bitter despair, that it had all been for nothing.
“Na,” she said nevertheless.
“We let you drive him out once,” Tyr said. “We knew, all of us, that Morna lied.” He leaned a little forward, compelling her attention. “You knew that Morna lied, Mistress. Yet still you drove him out. And to our shame, we let you do it. But no more. Ronan is a man of the Red Deer. He is a man for the tribe to be proud of, and we say that he shall take his rightful place among us.”
There was an acrid taste in Arika’s mouth.
“You are no longer young, Mistress,” Erek said persuasively. “There must be someone to take your place when you are gone, Nel is the great-granddaughter of Elen. Who could be better than she?”
Arika opened her mouth to suggest Siguna and then closed it again. In the mood they were in, the worst thing she could do was to suggest the name of an outsider. “There are many girls of the Red Deer who could take my place,” she said instead.
“There are none like Nel,” said Neihle.
Of course, it was not Nel she was objecting to. They all knew that.
There were geese swimming on the river. Arika watched them, small black dots on the golden water, identifiable to her only by the honking sounds they made. Her eyes were not what once they had been, she thought. It was true. She was growing old.
Ronan had won. The men were trying to distract her with talk of Nel, but Arika knew what would happen. Ronan would take over the tribe, and Nel would let him do it.
“When did you discuss this with Ronan?” she asked bitterly. Implied, even if not said, was the added thought: Behind my back.
Tyr did not look at all ashamed. “We haven’t.”
It was a moment before Arika understood. “You haven’t discussed this with him?”
“We wished to speak with you first, Arika,” Neihle said.
“That is kind of you,” she replied with icy courtesy. Her brother at least had the grace to look ashamed. “When were you planning to speak to Ronan?” she added.
They looked at each other.
“Get him,” she ordered Tyr. Let them do it now, she thought. In my presence. Let it be as difficult for them as it can be.
After a moment’s hesitation, in which he again exchanged glances with the other men, Tyr arose and began to walk in the direction of the main camp.
* * * *
Ronan, too, had been making plans for the future. In fact, he and Unwar were just concluding a discussion when Tyr approached and requested Ronan’s presence.
“Of course,” Ronan agreed courteously if somewhat abstractedly, his mind still on the conversation he had just finished. He nodded to the chief of the Leopard and turned toward Tyr.
“We will need Nel also,” Tyr said.
That caught Ronan’s attention. He looked at Tyr, a line between his slender bla
ck brows. “Do you want to tell me what this is about?” he asked pleasantly.
Tyr shook his head. “You will know very shortly.”
“Nel is with the captive women,” Ronan said.
“Wait here,” Tyr said, “and I will get her.”
Ronan folded his arms across his chest, balanced himself on slightly spread feet, and looked at the flock of geese on the river. His mind turned to his conversation with Unwar. It had gone even better than he had hoped. Then he began to think of his plans for the future.
A dog yipped in pain. Ronan turned to see Sintra looking up indignantly at Nel.
“She walked right under my feet!” Tyr was exclaiming. “I didn’t see her.”
Nel gave the dog’s head a brisk pat and continued to walk on. “She’s always trying to get next to me, Tyr, and she’s slowed down because of the puppies she’s carrying. I’m sorry. I should have told you to look out for her.”
“Those fool dogs,” Ronan said as they all came up to him, Sintra pressed close to Nel’s knees. “Nigak has far too much intelligence, not to mention dignity, to get himself stepped on.”
“That is true,” Nel said fairly. Behind Tyr’s back, she gave Ronan a questioning look. He shrugged to indicate his own ignorance, and the two of them obligingly fell into step with Tyr.
Ronan felt a shock of deep surprise when he saw that Arika was with the men. He glanced quickly at Nel and saw that she was frowning.
What’s afoot here? he thought.
The men of the Red Deer were seated in a circle, and they indicated the place they had made for Ronan and Nel. Mystified as well as faintly uneasy, Ronan sat down and looked at Arika.
But it was Neihle, not Arika, who began to speak. He had to repeat himself twice before Ronan understood.
Dhu, he thought. He stared in stunned amazement at the male faces around him. They were faces he knew well. Faces he had grown up with. His eyes came to Arika and stopped.
She looked back at him, her head held proudly, her eyes glitteringly bright. It was the moment of her defeat, and both of them knew it. She had never looked more like a chief.
