ICE BURIAL: The Oldest Human Murder Mystery (The Mother People Series Book 3)

by JOAN DAHR LAMBERT

  Pulling her fur covering over her shoulders, Runor prepared to wait. Slowly, her eyes closed. She forced them open, but they soon closed again. Many times they closed and she opened them again, but then, abruptly, she could not. With a small sigh, she sank limply to the ground.

  Rofina watched her. Now she was frightened. What had she done? What would happen if she wanted more of the potion and her mother did not wake up?

  She must find Korg quickly. Her mother had said they were not far away. Pulling herself up from the fire, Rofina began to walk. Which way should she go? She thought she remembered coming down a steep hill, so that meant she should go up it again. Was that right? They had come over the pass; she remembered Durak talking about that, too, so surely she was right. Soon, she would be there, she reassured herself as she began to climb.

  She wished she had brought another fur, to help with the shivering. It was colder up here, and her feet no longer seemed to belong to her. One of them landed in a hole, and she stumbled. Pulling herself upright again, she trudged on.

  Wind began to blow at her, and she did not like it. She curled herself into a ball on the ground, to get away from it, but it followed her, so she sprang up again. It was trying to hurt her, the wind, making bumps all over her skin as if something was crawling on it. She swiped at them frantically, but they would not leave. One of her feet twisted on a rock, and that hurt her, too. Tears sprang into her eyes, but the wind whipped them away before they could fall. Rofina lowered her head and blundered on. Soon, she would find Korg or the Leader, or maybe Durak would come... He could not be far away...

  It was hard to see now. The sky seemed to be getting darker. Was night coming already? But if night was coming, Runor would give her the sleeping potion, and then she would feel better. Except Runor was not here, Rofina thought in confusion. She had taken the sleeping potion instead. Why had she done that? Durak was not here, either. They were both somewhere else. But that did not matter. It was the Leader she needed to find, the Leader she really wanted. Or was that true? Durak was the one she loved most, not the Leader; she was sure of it. Durak’s hands were so gentle. They would take away the horrible itching that had spread all over her body now, as if the crawling things made by the wind had become larger and stronger. They had even gone inside her, and she did not like them. Durak should be here, to help her. Why did he not come for her as he had before? She wanted him to come, to soothe her with his hands, his voice, to hold her...

  There was something else she needed. The potion. She needed more of the potion. Only that would make her better. Surely the Leader would send someone with it soon. Rofina swallowed convulsively, to get the dryness out of her throat. Someone must come now, or she would not be able to breathe. She rubbed at her throat but that only made the dryness spread, and then it made her gag. There was something wrong in her belly, too, as if the dryness had gone there. Only she was so hot inside, like a fire, except that she was shivering. Everything outside her was shivering but the inside of her was burning... It hurt her terribly, the burning, and she could not stand the things that were crawling around inside her, on top of her. She had to make them go away...

  A blast of wind brought her to her knees. She gasped and fell against the ground, weeping soundlessly. Her fingers groped ahead of her as she tried to rise, and she felt the coldness of water. Maybe there was a stream, and she could wash the crawling things away, cool herself. She was hot now everywhere. Even the shivering felt hot, as if bits of fire were jumping across her skin. To cool her body would feel so fine, so very fine...

  Desperate now for relief, Rofina crawled to the water and slid into its coldness. Immediately, the heat went out of her, the itching. Sighing, she let the coldness embrace her. But then the water felt too cold; it was hurting her as all the other things had hurt her. Her whole body ached, an ache so deep it could not be borne. She struggled against the water, trying to get out, but it would not let her go. It pulled at her limbs, made them too heavy to move, and she gave up trying. She was too tired, and her body ached too badly. Rofina closed her eyes and waited. Perhaps someone would come now to help her.

  Slowly, very slowly, the aching faded and then it too went away. After that, she did not feel anything except the welcoming coldness that made her numb and took all the pain away. There was nothing to feel any more, not the emptiness that had tormented her for so long, not the fear that she would not find anyone or that no one would come to her with the potion. She did not need the potion any more, and so she did not need to be afraid. Even when the water pulled her down and made it hard to breathe, she did not feel afraid. Instead, she felt only peace.

  ********************

  Durak hurried over the pass. He had not meant to be so long, but he had met Zena and the others and had stopped to tell them what had happened since they had left. Frantic now with worry about Rofina, he sprinted ahead of them toward the lake. It glittered in the sun, almost blinding him with its brightness.

  A fragment of pale color floating in the water caught his attention. Shielding his eyes with a hand, he peered down.

  “Rofina!” he screamed. “Rofina!”

  His legs shook under him as he careened down the slope. What he saw could not be Rofina; it could not be, but the light hair floating in the water, the slender arms and legs...

  When he reached the lake he plunged in without stopping to look again. Some part of him knew already, had known all through the night. He had dreamed of Rofina, had heard her calling, and seen her frail figure moving across a darkening field....

  The coldness hit his chest with such force that he could barely breathe. Gasping with the shock, he struggled to wade toward Rofina. He took two steps, then another two, but then his legs would not move any more. They were too heavy, too numbed by the icy water. He forced them ahead anyway but now he could not feel where they landed, only that they ached so intolerably he wanted to scream.

  One of his legs went out from under him; then the other went. He lunged ahead, reaching out with both hands to grasp Rofina. Water poured into his mouth; retching, he tried to stand again, but his feet felt nothing. The feeling had gone from his arms, too. He willed them to reach out, watched as they moved through the water. They had almost reached her fingers, and then they had grasped them, were holding on with a strength he did not know he possessed. He tried to pull her toward him but she would not come. Her fingers were slipping away; they would not come closer and he could not hold on much longer... He was too cold, too numb...

  His head began to sink, and he snapped it up again. He was afraid now, afraid of the icy water that would take him as it had taken Rofina. He tried to go back, to pull her back with him, but his legs were not there at all, he could not find them...

  Shouts penetrated his consciousness, and he turned his head. Behind him, figures were racing toward the water. He looked at them for a moment and then looked away again. He must get Rofina out; that was all that mattered.

  “Durak, come back! Come back!” Hular shouted, racing down the slope. The others sprinted down behind him.

  “He is too cold,” Lief said grimly when they reached the lake. “We must get him out. We will hold onto each other and see if we can reach him. It is the only way.

  “Leave your packs and clothing here,” he added. Throwing them off himself, he waded slowly into the icy water. The others did the same. Hular came behind Lief, holding fast to his hand, after him came Zena and then Mara and Brulet, all holding tightly to each other. Stretching out his free hand, Lief tried to grab Durak but could not. “One more step,” he grunted.

  All of them moved forward a step; Lief lunged toward Durak and managed to grab his pack. “Pull!” he gasped. “Move back and pull.”

  Slowly, the chain of people moved back toward the shore. One after another they tumbled away from the water, gasping with shock from the cold, and hurried to wrap their garments around them. Durak came last, dragged behind Lief and still holding tight to Rofina’s hand. Lief bent to
examine her and knew immediately that they were too late. They must concentrate on Durak. He had collapsed against the ground, too cold to stand. His face was so pale he looked already dead.

  “Fire!” Hular called out, and ran for wood. Brulet had already found some and was yanking it into a pile. Zena pulled out her flint but her hands shook so badly she could not make them work. Mara, less wet, took it from her and after a few moments managed to get a small fire going. The others piled on more wood and the fire began to burn strongly.

  Pulling Durak close to it, they stripped off his wet clothing. “We must warm him with our bodies,” Hular said. “Get dry furs from the packs and we will lie all around him.”

  “Lief, too!” Zena cried out. “He is too cold.” He was shaking so hard that he could not stand, either. She took him into her arms and pulled him down with her against Durak; the others surrounded them and after a time, warmth began to creep back into their bodies.

  Zena peered down at Durak. “He has more color, I think,” she said, and grabbed his wrist to feel for the pulse. “His heart beats,” she added.

  Mara rose abruptly. “Rofina,” she said, and the anguish in her voice brought stillness into all of them.

  “It is too late,” Lief said gently, but Mara did not hear. She walked to the edge of the lake, where Rofina still lay. Her long pale hair hung limp against her cheeks, and her outstretched limbs were as white as newly formed ice. Mara knelt beside her and touched the frozen face as tears poured down her cheeks.

  “I should have,” she screamed suddenly. “Why did I not do it, why did I not! It was in my power to do it, my hands were on the knife and I did not....”

  Slumping down against Rofina’s body, she began to sob, huge, tearing sobs that shook her body in painful spasms. Zena went to her and stroked her back, waiting. What did Mara mean? What was it she should have done?

  A sound made her turn. Runor was calling Rofina’s name from the field below and trying to run toward them. “She has gone,” Runor cried, “Rofina has gone...”

  Her legs would not take her any further and she leaned over, panting. Lief and Hular ran to her. Together, they helped her up the steep hill.

  “She gave me the sleeping potion,” Runor gasped, trying to get her breath. “Rofina did. She took mine and I had hers...”

  Lief stood still. He must tell her before she saw Rofina. Not to speak would be cruel. “She was in the lake,” he said gently. “Durak found her in the lake. The water was too cold.”

  Runor looked up at him, her old eyes searching his face for truth. “Rofina is dead,” she said simply. “She is dead.” Her body sagged for a moment and then she straightened her shoulders determinedly.

  “I must see to Mara,” she said. “I heard her voice.”

  Lief and Hular helped her to Mara, whose head still rested on Rofina’s cold body. Runor knelt beside her. With gentle fingers she pushed aside Rofina’s tangled hair and looked into her face, saw that it was peaceful. “Perhaps it is better this way,” she murmured. “Perhaps, after all, it is better so...”

  “It is not better!” Mara screamed, rising to her knees to face her mother. “They have done this to her, Korg and the Leader. They have killed her as surely as if they had put a knife in her back, as I should have put my knife in theirs...” With a savage gesture, she thrust out with an imaginary knife; then she buried her face in her hands.

  “Look at me!” Runor commanded. Shocked by her mother’s tone, Mara slowly took her hands from her eyes.

  “But you did not,” Runor said, and there was a terrible tension on her face, part fear, part anxiety, part hope.

  “I did not,” Mara said bitterly. “I should have and I did not.” Runor’s eyes closed, and relief flooded her face.

  Mara rose suddenly. “I must go back,” she said, “and this time I will not fail.”

  “No!” Runor’s voice was shockingly loud. “No, you will not. That is not for you to do.”

  “Then who will do it?” Mara stared defiantly at her mother.

  Runor did not answer the question. “Why did you not do it?” she asked instead, watching Mara’s face carefully.

  Mara looked away; then she raised her eyes to Zena. “Because of the Mother,” she said slowly. “I listened to Zena and I thought that Her way is better, to bring the people back to the Mother, to live by Her ways, that if we did that, the Leader would not have power any more…”

  Her voice broke. “But now Rofina is dead; they have killed her and they will kill others the same way.”

  “No,” Runor said again, this time more quietly. “They will not. The Goddess Herself has told me this.” Her eyes widened in shock as she realized what she had said, and knew that it was true. The Goddess had told her. That was why the picture of what she must do had come to her so clearly. The Goddess Herself had given it to her, had chosen her to do Her will.

  “The Goddess Herself has told me they will be stopped,” Runor repeated, to make sure Mara had understood and would no longer seek revenge.

  Mara seemed not to hear. Her eyes were far away, as if she saw something no one else could see. “He was just a man,” she whispered, “a big snoring man who lay there. He did not even know I was standing over him with my knife above his chest. And when I leaned close I knew why, from the smell…”

  She broke off and began to laugh hysterically. “He was drunk!” she said loudly. “The Leader had drunk too much mead! Can you imagine the Leader unable even to speak? The Leader who is so fine and grand?”

  Zena felt as if she had been punched in the belly. For a man such as the Leader to be brought so low seemed unspeakable. And yet she was not surprised. Perhaps the fondness for mead was part of the other reality Lief had seen lurking behind the façade.

  Mara’s laughter stopped and she looked up at the others imploringly. “No one could do that, surely,” she said. “No one could plunge a knife into such a man. And then I heard someone coming and I was afraid, and so I ran and ran...”

  “Through the brambles,” Hular interrupted, grimacing, and Mara nodded. “He chased me, the person who came, but then he stopped and went back.”

  “And Korg?” Zena asked gently. “Did you see Korg?”

  Mara’s lips tightened and she seemed suddenly to snap back to the present. “I wish I had,” she answered angrily. “To kill Korg might have been easier. But I did not. I found the crown in their hut but Korg was not there.”

  Runor reached out and gripped Mara’s hand so hard her knuckles whitened. “You must not say you wish you had,” she said fiercely. “Do you not see? The Goddess Herself was protecting you, so you could not do what you would always regret.”

  “Would I?” Mara asked bitterly. “Or would I be proud?”

  “No! No, you would not be proud.” Runor’s voice was strong and very firm, but her heart thudded with fear lest Mara still resist her message. She must not try again to kill, must not!

  “There is no pride in killing,” she insisted, “only torment in the end, and retribution. That you must never forget. Promise me you will not forget.”

  She stared into Mara’s eyes, demanding a response. Mara returned the stare for a long time without speaking, then her eyes dropped and the defiance slowly left her face. “You may be right,” she conceded finally. “To kill is not as easy as I had imagined. At least for me it is not.”

  “You will leave this, then, to the Goddess?” Runor’s tone was unrelenting. “Look at me and tell me it is so!”

  Mara raised her eyes again, and Runor saw that the anger had gone from them. “Yes,” Mara said wearily. “I will trust the Goddess to do what is best.”

  Runor took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “That is good,” she murmured, and the tension left her face. “May the Goddess keep you always as you are.”

  She was silent then for a long time. No one else spoke or seemed even to move, so awed were they by the scene that had taken place between Mara and her mother.

  Runor herself b
roke the stillness. Bending over Rofina, she straightened the bent limbs and pressed the lids over the staring eyes. “There, my child,” she crooned, “all is well now. You are with the Mother and at peace. Always, there is peace when you are with the Mother.”

  Silence came again as she stared down at her dead daughter, lost in thought. Many secrets would die with Rofina, she mused, secrets she did not mention even to herself. It was just as well.

  Straightening her shoulders, she struggled to pull herself upright. “We must take Rofina back to her village,” she told the others. “That is where she must rest.” Her voice was firm, full of an authority none of them had heard in years.

  Zena went to help Runor rise, wondering at the change that had come over her. Only a few moments ago Runor had seemed old and afraid; now the fear had gone from her and strength had flowed into her. That this should happen so soon after Rofina’s death was puzzling.

  The answer came suddenly. Even more than Rofina, Runor had been afraid for Mara, and she had been right. Rofina’s death was distressing but Runor had known there was little hope for her eldest daughter. For Mara it was different. All that time she had been thinking of revenge, been plotting how she might extract it. Runor had understood, while she herself had not even known, had not guessed. Zena shook her head wearily. She was not much use as a wise one.

  She had also forgotten about Durak, so intent had she been on watching Mara and her mother. She went to him and found him sitting while Brulet held a cup to his lips. Lief was massaging his limbs.

  “He has drunk a little,” Brulet said quietly. “I think he is warmer, too.”

  Zena smiled at her gratefully. “Thank you, Brulet.”

  Durak’s face was flushed now, as if the blood had suddenly come back, and he grimaced in pain as Lief continued his work. “It hurts when the blood first returns,” Lief told him. “But it will soon pass.”

  Durak nodded. “Rofina?” he asked, but there was no hope in his eyes. Zena shook her head gently and he nodded again. His face was bleak, full of anguish. Impulsively, she hugged him, felt how thin he had become, as if his struggle to save Rofina had drained him of flesh as well as happiness.