Mistress of Animals

by Myers, Karen

  She had spread the word that the nearest of the winter camp’s outriders was less than a mile away, and she kept her attention on him, noting the exact moment when he must have heard the noise of the animals behind them.

  “He’s coming to check out what we are,” she told her companions.

  Umzakhilin pushed his horse to the fore, as zarawinnaj. Penrys could feel him ignoring the ache of his muscles, still unaccustomed to exercise.

  When the approaching rider cleared a little ridge in front of them and halted to stare, visible to Penrys only as a turbaned silhouette, Umzakhilin raised an arm in greeting, and the rider kicked up his horse and thundered in, circling around the four of them before pulling back to match Umzakhilin’s steady walk. They would talk on the move, rather than stop the herd on this last stretch short of the winter camp.

  “Where did you come from? What happened?” The rider openly looked over the two strangers as he spoke.

  “It’s good to see you, Hubrahi. Have any of the taridaj returned to the zudiqazd ahead of us?” Umzakhilin’s voice was calm.

  “You don’t know!” Hubrahi’s voice rose. “The zudiqazd has been attacked.”

  Penrys could feel the effort it cost Umzakhilin not to slump. “When?” he asked. “Is anyone left?”

  Hubrahi’s mouth worked for a moment. “Three are dead. The rest are gone.” He stared at Umzakhilin. “You’re not surprised!”

  “Food taken?”

  Hubrahi nodded. “Some of it. Not the first cut of hay, though, which is the only cut they made. How did you know?”

  “We have a long, sad story to tell,” Umzakhilin said. “Who’s with you?”

  “You remember I spent the year with my sister, meeting her Winnajjinza clan-kin. I invited some of my new friends back to spend the start of the winter with me. We just rode in two days ago.”

  “How many of you?”

  “We are seven, men and women,” Hubrahi said.

  “The clan calls on you,” Umzakhilin said. “We have half the clan herds with us, and only five herdsmen. Ride back to your friends and summon them all. Once we have the herds settled in their winter pastures, and we’ve told you our tale, I’ll need a messenger to each of the other clans, calling the visiting Kurighdunaq home for winter from the other clans, with anyone they can bring.”

  He leaned forward on his horse and put the full weight of his authority into his voice. “We have much to do and a trail to find, before the snow falls.”

  Penrys stood in the center of the winter camp with Najud after a tedious day of spreading cut grass out to dry, amazed at how much had been accomplished in just two days.

  Coming into the zudiqazd had been almost a repeat of their visit to the summer encampment—the same collection of kazrab beginning to sag and the same scattered goods—but this time a bier of three cloth-wound bodies was included, courtesy of Hubrahi and his companions, who had found them first.

  Umzakhilin took the place of the missing clan leader Warzah, and by the time the first riders arrived, an hour ago, from the winter camps of the two clans on either side, the dead had been buried with the proper rites, and the herds settled near their winter pastures, temporarily, held away from the just-cut grasses where everyone who could help was laying out the gatherings to dry, hoping that the good weather would hold long enough to let them bring in this second crop of vital winter hay. It was very late in the year, and some of the nourishment had already retreated into the roots of the grasses, but it was the best they could manage and, with the diminished herds, they hoped it would be enough.

  The delayed harvest of the root crops and the other cultivated foods was next in priority but, like the autumn slaughter, it required more people, and Umzakhilin wanted to to start on it tomorrow, with parties from both the other clans to augment their numbers. There were questions about how many animals to slaughter—the end-of-the-year economics were out of balance, measuring available animal fodder versus human needs for meat. The more of their herds they could keep alive, the faster they could rebuild them the following year, and if their missing clan-kin returned, they could always kill some of the secondary animals then. Everything depended on their estimates of what the pastures and hay could support over the winter, and whether or not they needed help from other clans in the tribe, whom they would be expected to feed.

  Umzakhilin had prepared for the arrival of an unknown number of visitors. The largest kazrab had been set aside for the personal possessions of all the absent clansmen, including everything non-edible rescued from the summer encampment. They would be stored there throughout the winter, waiting for the fate of the missing to be determined. If they were dead, their goods—their kazrab and the furnishings, and their herds—would be distributed to the heirs. In the meantime, the camp was a mix of kazrab turned into storage, and others, empty except for furniture, available for some number of anticipated guests.

  There were fewer kazrab than at the summer encampment, reflecting the smaller numbers who lived throughout the year at the zudiqazd. Of the eighteen in the camp, the twelve smallest stood ready for occupants, and one large one was reserved for group assemblies. Umzakhilin’s companions stayed in their traveling kazrab, and Penrys and Najud in their kamah, reluctant to disturb the haunted camp, and Hubrahi and his companions did the same while waiting for the others to arrive..

  Riders from the Winnajjinza clan came first, late in the afternoon—twelve of them, and Hubrahi took them around the empty camp and explained to them what he’d heard from Umzakhilin and the others. They nodded their heads to Najud as they passed him in camp and stared at Penrys, beside him, stretching to work out the kinks in her back from the hay gathering.

  *Thing they’ve been hearing stories of flying wizards?*

  With sufficient herdsmen to hold the animals away from the hay cutting, Penrys was no longer needed to help with the herds. She’d been breaking her back for a couple of days, first with the mowing, and then with the drying of the hay, abusing different muscles than flying, and she was surprised how much she missed her new-found freedom in the air.

  Najud muttered, for her ear only. “You didn’t really expect that to stay a secret, did you?”

  “I could hope,” she said, with a sour grimace.

  She lifted her head as her mind-scan alerted her to new arrivals. “More riders coming in, from the east this time.”

  “That would be clan Akshullah,” Najud said. “Good. With the gharqa here, the tribal leader, decisions will get made.”

  “That chained wizard’s weeks ahead of us. We’ve got to get going or we’ll never catch her.”

  Najud shook his head at her. “You can’t just rush out in the teeth of a Zannib winter like that. She won’t be able to travel, and neither will you. It’s only a bit more than two weeks to the solstice, the durmiqa bul—we’re lucky it hasn’t snowed yet, nor the ground frozen.”

  Umzakhilin walked slowly out of Hadishti’s kazr to welcome the men from clan Akshullah. Penrys and Najud watched the first man lean down and clasp his arm below the elbow.

  “And besides,” Najud said, “we’re going to need help tracking them, and companions on the trail.” He cocked his head at the riders.

  “We’ll settle a lot of this tonight, in the assembly.”

  CHAPTER 16

  After the evening meal, Penrys and Najud entered the one large kazr left standing but empty and found a spot near Umzakhilin. Everyone sat on the rugs that covered the ground, several layers deep in spots.

  *This could go on most of the night. It’s a complicated situation.*

  She thought Najud’s warning was well-founded. The people in the kazr were settling by clan, the Kurighdunaq’s eleven beefed up by another eight called home from the other two clans. That nineteen was about the size of each of the two small detachments sent by the other clans to help.

  Hadishti sat next to Penrys, with her children behind her, wide-eyed at the sight of all the new faces and the strange gathering.


  She whispered to Penrys, “He went and found his own kazr, among the ones we brought back—the one he shared with his sister’s family. We’ll set it up tomorrow, but meanwhile he rescued a few things.”

  She cocked her head behind them at the north side of the circle, where a space had been left vacant and a small shrine stood. It reminded Penrys of a larger version of the little leather rolled-up pack that Najud carried in his belongings, the one that unrolled to display his special stones, and the iron thunderbolt he’d found, his personal reminders of something beyond his daily reality. Not gods, exactly, nor charms. Like everything associated with the lud, it was ambiguous.

  Umzakhilin sat in front of the cluster of Kurighdunaq clansmen, near the center of the kazr and its central fire. Several pots of bunnas were keeping warm there, and a constant traffic of passed cups from the edges kept the women seated nearest busy pouring.

  The leader of clan Winnajjinza sat in the front of his wedge, chatting quietly with his own folk. The third wedge held the tribal leader himself, instead of the clan Akshullah leader, that being the clan he himself belonged to. He took his place in the center, with the rest of his clan.

  Umzakhilin stood up stiffly, but without assistance. When he stood, all voices stopped, and only the small crackles of the fire and the chink of bunnas cups rose above the quiet rustle of fabric as people adjusted their positions to accommodate the crowd.

  He walked into the vacant space before his personal shrine, and picked up a length of antler, padded at the tip with leather. With that he struck a hanging ram’s bell three times, and a soft, penetrating note filled the kazr. He bowed once to the shrine and said, “May we all find wisdom in our thoughts this night, and make the best choices for the good of the people.”

  Penrys was startled by the wordless hum that rose from the assembly, in the same note as the bell.

  Umzakhilin returned to his spot near the center of the kazr but remained standing and spoke to everyone. “Many of you know me. I am Umzakhilin, zarawinnaj of the Kurighdunaq for the last eight years. Our ujarqa, the clan leader Warzah, is among the missing of our clan, some two hundred people from the taridiqa, and another sixty-seven from our zudiqazd. Three we know to be dead, and these we have buried. We, here,”—he waved his hand at the people sitting with him—“are what remain.”

  He paused for breath, and no one spoke.

  “I will begin by telling you what happened, and those with me will tell their own tales.”

  It took more than an hour to tell the full story, beginning with each of the separate travelers—Jirkat’s fish caravan, Hadishti and her children, and Winnajhubr and Yuknaj, visiting clan Akshullah and returning.

  Najud told his tale again, and Penrys added what she could.

  This was followed by Zabrash and Birssahr, abashed before such an audience, but supported by Umzakhilin, who ended with his story of what had happened to him in the summer encampment. When he described the chain around the girl’s neck, the girl with the wolves who had made a horse trample him and buried his mind, all eyes turned to Penrys, and she felt her skin creep.

  “Tell us, bikrajti,” Umzakhilin said then, “about these chained wizards, so that all can know.”

  She wiped her hands on the legs of her breeches, and stood up to do as he bid her.

  Silence greeted her story of her own origins, and the chained wizard that overran Rasesdad before she killed him. She sat down again, trying not to feel intimidated. Najud and she were the only wizards in the kazr, and there would be little she could do against sixty people if they should decide she was somehow responsible or a similar threat to them now.

  “And so, we are here,” Umzakhilin said. “I have made Najud clan-kin to the Kurighdunaq, for his services as zarawinnaj in gathering the herds and bringing all our goods home. His companion has helped us, too, and brought me out of nightmare. I vouch for them both, friends of the Kurighdunaq.

  “Tonight we must decide several things. The easiest, perhaps, is the pursuit of the qahulaj who assaulted us in the summer encampment and presumably came here, afterward. Both of these bikrajab are eager to pursue her, and there are others who want to join the expedition and rescue family and friends.”

  He waved his hand at the camp outside the walls. “We must also complete the late harvest as quickly as possible and do as much of the autumn slaughter as we think wise, and then ensure that we have sufficient of both food and people to winter over in the zudiqazd.

  “And then, we must decide the future, after the winter. If our people are found, and can return, then we will heal. If not…”

  Penrys heard the intake of breath throughout the kazr at that possibility.

  “If not, then we will rebuild our clan, hoping that our cousins within the tribe can help.”

  With care, Umzakhilin lowered himself down and yielded his place.

  Sahrzay stood up then. “We mourn this tragedy with our cousins and bring them help. With me are men and women of Winnajjinza, planning to stay the winter season and to help you prepare. I’ve also brought Inghiti, a dirum-malb, in place of your own dirum, to direct the care of your herds.”

  Penrys wondered how many apprentice herd-mistresses he had that he could spare one.

  When he sat down, again, Zamharshat rose up and looked around until all was silent. “I left the ujarqa of Akshullah clan behind in the zudiqazd to finish supervising winter preparation, because I had an alternative to propose. With me are the men and women you asked for, Umzakhilin.”

  He paused, and Penrys could feel Najud beside her tense up. He must suspect what’s coming.

  “Would it not be more sensible, zarawinnaj, for the remnant of Kurighdunaq to divide and visit its relatives in the other clans for the winter? It would be no burden to the others, few as they are.”

  When he sat down, Penrys could feel the dismay arising from her travel companions, though they held themselves still.

  With great dignity, Umzakhilin stood up again. He nodded his head to both Sahrzay and Zamharshat. “We thank our cousins for their generous assistance—the Kurighdunaq will not forget.

  “As to the other suggestion, we remain a clan of significant wealth in herds and goods, thanks to the hard work of our kinsmen and friends. We will find our clan-kin, and we will bring them home.”

  Najud commented privately. *Those that survive. There were babies here, in the zudiqazd. There will be deaths, in the best possible outcome.*

  Penrys nodded silently.

  Umzakhilin gestured to Hadishti who rose and joined him. “I will stay, as the anchor for my clan, come what may. My clan-kin will make their own decisions, but Hadishti has agreed to stay with me. We, at least, will be here when the rest of my clan returns, to welcome them home.”

  Behind him, every member of the Kurighdunaq stood up in support.

  Penrys looked at Najud to see if they should join them, and he shook his head slightly. “Not truly clan,” he whispered. “This is not for outsiders.”

  Zamharshat rose to his feet, and nodded. “We will talk again when their fate is known.”

  He glanced over at Hadishti. “If you wish to invite others, for the winter, it will be allowed.”

  *She must have married out-clan originally. I think widower will marry widow.*

  Najud’s comment made sense to Penrys.

  *Why only Hadishti? Wouldn’t some of the others have, oh, aunts they could invite?*

  *Hadishti will be in a different position. Clan leaders are married, or they aren’t clan leaders. Umzakhilin has declared his intentions, subtly, and the wife of a clan leader has her own authority. Zamharshat is also indicating his acceptance of Umzakhilin as clan leader, perhaps permanently, if the old one doesn’t return.*

  Penrys shook her head. *Zannib clan politics. I don’t suppose there are any books?*

  By her side Najud suppressed a snort of amusement. *I wonder what clan Hadishti comes from, originally?*

  Zamharshat, still standing, led his clan members fr
om the kazr and Sahrzay followed, once the doorway had been cleared.

  The Kurighdunaq who remained gradually began to filter out, tired from their day working in the fields or managing the herds, but Najud put a hand to Penrys’s shoulder and held her back until only Umzakhilin was left.

  The three of them seemed to rattle in the kazr into which sixty people had been recently crammed, but Umzakhilin sat down next to the central fire as though he were in a small, intimate space, to give them a formal audience, and they all gathered closely together.

  “You wish to speak of the search for the qahulaj and our people?” he asked.

  “Yes, and then one other matter,” Najud said.

  Umzakhilin nodded his approval. “I’ve spoken with Jirkat, and especially Ilzay who had much to say about the trail.”

  He leaned forward. “They are on foot. If they were free and alive, they would have returned by now. If they are too far away, they would be wintering already with someone else, and we would have received word. Therefore, I believe they are either alive and with the qahulajti, or dead. Certainly many must be dead.”

  He lowered his head for a moment. “My son Najjilah among them. And his wife, who should have born their first child by now, in the zudiqazd. And the rest of my children.”

  He wiped a hand over his face. “Everyone has a tale like this to tell. I am not unique.”

  He looked Najud sternly in the face. “This qahulajti spoke of the people as if they were a herd, and I can’t get that word out of my mind. I fear she won’t let them shelter properly for the winter. If any are still alive, they must be freed, as soon as possible, before it is too late and they simply die from neglect.”

  Najud said, “We could leave tomorrow. We must. You don’t need our labor any more.”