Perhaps, though, the Leader was not dead, and she had failed. Maybe, as she had feared, the dart had not penetrated. Or perhaps the sedative that coated it had not been strong enough to keep the Leader asleep until the water took him. That would be worse. Then she would have failed in the task the Goddess had given her.
She must find out, and she must give herself up to the water if she had killed the Leader. That was the pact she had made with the Goddess, and a promise like that could not be broken.
First, though, she must make certain Mara was safe. With an enormous effort of will, Runor made her eyes flutter and then open.
Instantly, Mara’s worried face appeared above her again. She held an infant in one arm. So she had been right about the child. But that was worse. The infant could be killed too. She must tell Mara to leave, to take the infant and leave.
Forcing her stiff lips to do her bidding, Runor pushed out words. “No!” she groaned. “No, you must not be here! The infant must not be here.”
“It is all right,” Mara soothed her. “We are safe now. The danger is gone.”
“Safe?” Runor put a hand to her throat. It was sore, so sore...
Mara slid a few drops of water deftly between her cracked lips, and Runor licked it eagerly. The water tasted fresh and pure, like life itself, she thought. Only she did not have the right to be alive.
“Yes, we are all safe,” Mara repeated, emphasizing each word to be certain her mother understood. “The Leader is dead, and Korg, too. They cannot hurt us any more. And everyone is here with us, in the circle of stones, as you asked.”
Her words did not soothe Runor as Mara had hoped. “No,” Runor muttered, shaking her head over and over again. “No, I have promised...”
She struggled to rise. Now that she knew the Leader was dead, she must go back, must give herself up to the water. Mara had said they were in the circle of stones, too. She could not stay in this sacred place after she had committed such a deed! But how was she to get to the water? She had no strength, no strength at all.
She must do it anyway.
“Lie back and rest,” Mara soothed her again. “Later you can get up.” She pushed her mother gently back against the furs, but Runor would not be still. Over and over, she tried to rise, and she kept muttering words that Mara could barely hear. She bent closer to listen. “Then I too must be dead,” Runor was saying. “I too must die, as I promised the Goddess; for me to live is wrong....”
Frightened now, Mara ran to get Zena. Perhaps she would know what to do. One look at Mara’s distraught face brought Zena quickly to Runor’s side.
They found Hular bending over her anxiously. “Perhaps we should give Runor a sedative,” he suggested.
To their surprise, Runor answered. “Yes,” she said. “A sedative, that was it.”
Mara frowned. Was Runor asking for a sedative? She never had before. Besides, to give her one when she was barely conscious could be dangerous.
Zena bent down beside Runor. “Runor,” she said clearly, “Runor, you must tell us what troubles you so we can help.”
“Promised Goddess,” Runor muttered, shaking her head in agitation. “I have killed....” Her voice trailed off and she sighed, unable to find more words.
Her eyes closed and suddenly opened again in alarm. She stared at Zena. “Zena! No, you must not be here either....”
She frowned, trying to make sense of a memory that was flooding her mind. She had sent Zena away, but then she had heard her voice, not here, but before....
Zena took the old wise woman’s hand and spoke loudly, intent on making her understand. “Yes, it is me, Zena. I too am safe. All of us are safe. They are gone, Korg and the Leader. Korg took the Leader away, and then we saw the water take them both.”
Runor shook her head. “The Leader is dead,” she croaked, and put her hand to her throat again. “The dart, it was the dart.”
“I do not know about a dart,” Zena explained patiently. “The Leader is dead because he drank the mead - not the mead you gave him, which was fresh,” she amended quickly, “but the mead from their old hut. It had been there for many seasons and it was rotten. Korg said that; I heard him.
“The Leader tried to choke me, as he had choked you,” she went on. “He did not succeed because Korg came and pulled him off. He took the Leader away then, and later, we saw him give his brother to the water and leap after him. That is how the Leader died, because of the rotten mead and the water.”
Runor’s eyes opened wide in disbelief; then they closed again as she tried to make sense of her whirling thoughts. Could it be so? Was that why the Leader had seemed so ill when he arrived? Had it been the mead from his old hut?
But if the old mead had killed him, and the water, that meant she had not.
A sudden shock of understanding followed. Her dart could not have pierced his skin. He had attacked Zena later. He could not have done that if the sedative had worked, especially if he was already ill from the mead.
So she had not killed, after all. Runor shook her head weakly, unable to believe. For so long she been sure she must kill and must pay the price; now, suddenly, there was no need.
The Goddess, she thought, and wonder flooded her. The Goddess had prevented her from killing, just as She had prevented Mara. How merciful She was.
Tears gathered in the corners of Runor’s eyes and rolled down her furrowed cheeks. “The Goddess is merciful,” she whispered aloud, and felt the anxiety that had tormented her melt away. Now, after all, she did not have to die. Even better, they were safe. All of them were safe, Mara, and Zena, all of the people she loved. The Goddess had given her this gift.
Runor’s body stiffened again. More than that, she must not die, not yet. First, she must make amends to the Goddess. After all, her intent had been to make certain the Leader died, and that was wrong even if she had not killed him. She must thank the Goddess too, make sure She knew how much Her gift was appreciated.
Another thought came that brought an unexpected spurt of pleasure. All of this would take much time, time she had not expected to have. Since the smell of milk had come from Mara, she might be able to hold the new infant soon. Runor smiled to herself. Now she would be able to watch both Mara-Sun and the little one as they grew. There would be time to train Mara to be the next wise one for the tribe as well. Mara could come here to live here with the children, now that the danger was gone. Perhaps Hular would come too. That would be good indeed.
“Yes,” she whispered again, “the Goddess is indeed merciful.” Opening her eyes for a moment, she regarded the faces around her gravely. She could not see them very well, but she knew they were there. The knowledge was comforting. She sighed again, a deep sigh of contentment and even more of gratitude for the Goddess, the Great Mother who nurtured them all. Then she closed her eyes and slept.
Mara and Zena watched the tension drain out of Runor’s body, saw her face relax into sleep. “She will be all right now,” Zena whispered.
Still struggling to understand the meaning of the words her mother had uttered, Mara did not answer. Sedative, Runor had said, and dart. But of course!
“She meant to sedate the Leader with the dart until the water came and took him away,” Mara exclaimed, looking up at Zena. “She must have known all the time that the Leader was the real threat.”
“But the dart did not penetrate,” Zena replied thoughtfully.
“The Goddess made sure it did not,” Mara replied with a bemused shake of her head, “just as She made certain I did not kill. And so there was no need for Runor to die. As she said, the Goddess is merciful.”
“And wise,” Zena agreed. There was justice in the solution, she mused. In the end, Mordor’s craving had killed him. And without the Leader, Korg knew he had nothing, so he had leaped.
Mara nodded, but her thoughts were still troubled. She could not stop thinking of the Great Spirit, who was neither man nor beast. She thought she understood now who he had been, and she did not like the so
lution. Perhaps, though, she was wrong. She looked into her tiny daughter’s face, saw the dark brown eyes, the soft hair already darker than Mara-Sun’s golden curls, and knew she was not. What else might be different about them?
Zena saw her friend’s mouth tighten in distress and guessed the reason. “It is hard to accept, I know,” she said quietly. “But remember the intelligence that was there, the courage in trying to help his brother, in rescuing me. He told me Teran was alive, too, and that was a gesture of kindness. Korg did not like killing, either, and stopped his brother when he could. He must have hated me because I was destroying everything he had built, but still he saved me from the Leader. That was brave. To give his brother to the water and then leap himself was brave as well. Truly, had he not been born into a village where violence was a way of life, Korg might have been a leader of the people or a healer, with his great knowledge of herbs. Instead, he was forced to use all his skills, his determination and courage to deal with the madness of his brother.”
“So I am right. Korg was the Great Spirit.” Mara’s voice was flat.
“Yes. It must have been Korg. It had to be. The Leader truly believed that the Great Spirit existed, because the Great Spirit came to some of the women, just as Korg said he would. If Korg had allowed the Leader to be the Great Spirit, The Leader would not have believed in its existence as fervently he did. Korg could not take that chance, and so he used the bear skins to become the Great Spirit himself.”
The furs might explain another puzzle, she realized: the identity of the huge creature she and Mara had seen stumbling through the woods. Perhaps the Leader had found the furs that night and draped them around him. Made insensible by mead, he would not have understood what they meant.
“But why did the Great Spirit come to both Rofina and myself?” Mara wailed. “That was so cruel!” The words were full of pain.
“I suspect it was Korg’s way of taking Runor’s power away,” Zena explained grimly. “Korg was afraid of Runor, afraid that the people would continue to listen to her when she spoke of the Goddess. He had to make her stop, had to force her to obey. To have the Great Spirit come to both her daughters was a harsh lesson, one she could not ignore.”
“That is evil!” Mara burst out, almost weeping now. “How can I live knowing that the father of my child was evil?”
“Because your child is not,” Zena answered firmly. “That the father may be evil does not mean the child will be evil. Mara-Sun is one of the happiest and most loving children I have ever known. And I do not believe that any child becomes evil unless he is forced to be. We do not know what happened to Korg to make him that way.”
“I suppose that is true,” Mara conceded. “Still, it is hard. I did not like the Leader, but I hated Korg. Even though he saved your life, I still cannot help but hate him for what he did to my mother, to my people.”
“I am certain something happened to both of them when they were young that made them as they were,” Zena repeated. “That does not excuse Korg’s cruelty, but it may help to explain it. Perhaps that will help you to accept what has happened.”
“I am not sure I will ever accept,” Mara answered bitterly.
Zena took Mara’s hand and forced her to look up. “Mara-Sun is not like Korg at all and never will be,” she insisted. “That is what you must remember. What is in his character is not the same, what has happened to him is not the same.”
“I will try to remember,” Mara agreed with a sigh. “And you are right. Mara-Sun is Mara-Sun and no one else. Perhaps if I think only of that, to accept will be easier.”
Zena hugged her. “Do not rush,” she advised. “Acceptance only comes with time. Soon, you will hardly think of it.”
Mara’s face relaxed a little. “Mara-Sun has certainly shown no ability to dance, that is certain,” she commented wryly. “He is even rather clumsy.”
Zena grinned. “Nor does he show any ability to tell one plant from another,” she rejoined. “All of us watch him constantly because he tries to eat everything he picks up or plucks.”
Reluctantly, Mara smiled. “That is very true. I have found him with stones in his mouth, and mud, as well as strange plants!”
Zena laughed and then her face sobered. “Remember this, too,” she told Mara. “It is because of Mara-Sun that the Mother People can finally return to the Goddess. Had he not been born when he was, I am not sure any of this would have happened. Surely, that is a fine beginning for any child.”
Mara’s face lit up, but tears blurred her eyes. “I thank you,” she whispered. “To think that could be so is the greatest help of all.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Gurd plunged through the woods, all his senses alert. He had been traveling for days, looking for the Leader. The Leader needed him; he was certain of it. There was wrongness around him, and he knew what that meant. It meant the Leader was in trouble. He had felt it many times before and had always managed to make it right. Korg did not matter, only the Leader.
Despite his haste, Gurd’s steps were as unerring as those of an animal, and he knew instinctively which way to go to find their old home. On and on he ran, but when he finally came near his destination he stopped. The sounds were wrong. He listened, trying to understand, but his ears had not heard these noises before.
Cautious now, he crept closer to the sounds. They were loud, terrifying, as if the mountains were falling and all the water with them. And then he saw that they were. Water and ice were raging down from the mountains taking everything with them, the trees, the rocks, the land itself. How was he to get to the hut? The raging water and ice were too ferocious. Until they slowed, he could not go closer.
Frowning in perplexity, he sat down to wait for the torrent to cease. He sat for a long time, as patient and still as a rabbit that sensed danger and knew stillness was its best defense. Finally, when he concluded that the ice and water would not slow down, he clambered further up the hill to find a safer way to get to the hut. When he found a likely place, he made his way across the drenched hillside, one cautious step at a time. Finally he came to an area where the trees were thinner and he could see down the ravine. He knew immediately that the hut was gone. All else was gone, so the hut must be gone too. Where then would the Leader go? He would go up, away from the water. That too Gurd knew without question. He would go up as well.
He wiped the wetness from his face, his fingers lingering on the scarred side. It was no longer painful, but he had grown accustomed to trying to soothe the hurt that way. Then he pulled his hood close around his head again, and started up the hill.
The smell of a fire stopped him again. People were here. They might know where the Leader had gone. He crept close so he could see who they were but took care to stay hidden from them, as he always did. No one ever saw him or knew he was there. He liked it that way.
An old woman lay by the fire, twitching and writhing as if in pain. Her head rolled in his direction and Gurd caught a glimpse of her face. He stiffened. He knew that face well, for it had burned itself into his memory in the same way that the boiling liquid had burned itself into his flesh. She was old now, but still he recognized her. His fingers itched to get at her as they always did, but Korg had forbidden that. He saw, too, that the old woman was well guarded by others and that the younger woman who had once lived in her hut watched her anxiously.
The woman who had stolen the infant meant for the Great Spirit was sleeping nearby, and the man who had helped her slept beside her. Rage came into Gurd’s face. That man had seen him once, and that was wrong. He did not like to be seen. No other man except for Korg and the Leader had ever seen him, not since…
He did not finish the thought.
He surveyed the faces around the fire, looking for the man who had taken the girl who belonged to the Leader. He was not there. Gurd’s face darkened with rage. That was the man he most wanted to find, and when he did, he would kill him.
He knew some of the others by the fire, too, by their faces but
also by the way they moved. Others he did not know; they had no meaning in his mind, and he ignored them.
Yawning, he looked up at the sky. Darkness would come soon, so he settled down where he was to watch and see what he could learn about the Leader. His eyes were intent, as if by staring hard enough he could discern the thoughts of the people on whom he focused. He watched long into the night, unaware of time passing. He would wait as long as necessary to discover what he wanted to know.
*******************************
Lief woke suddenly when Mara came to get Zena, irritated at himself for falling asleep. He had meant to check the flooding every few hours to see if it was easing or getting worse. If the water rose still higher, they might have to leave.
He rose stiffly, rubbing his legs to ease their soreness. His knees had been stiff ever since he had gone into the icy lake to rescue Durak, and his recent immersion in the cold water of the flooding stream had made them stiffer than ever.
When the legs loosened a little, he went to the edge of the clearing to look down at the torrent below. The water was still rising but it was not yet a threat to them. For the moment, they were safe.
As he turned, the back of his neck began to prickle the way it always did when he was being watched. Lief walked casually toward the woods where the watcher must be hiding, so whoever it was would not guess that he was aware of the scrutiny.
He frowned, perplexed. It seemed odd that the person had not come to the fire to greet them, or perhaps to ask for help. Anyone who knew them would certainly come to the fire, and after a disaster like this one even a stranger would feel free to approach them. Who then, could the watcher be, and why was he spying on them?
On the pretext of gathering wood for the fire, Lief stepped into the trees and bent down to pick up some fallen branches. At the same time, he peered intently into the darkness. He saw a dark lump, unmoving, behind a tree. It was a man, not an animal, but it was too dark to see the man’s features. Lief looked away again and stretched casually, as if he had noticed nothing. He would find a place where he could not be seen and watch to see what the lump did.
ICE BURIAL: The Oldest Human Murder Mystery (The Mother People Series Book 3) Page 24
