The man watched him for a few more moments. A look of profound satisfaction slowly permeated his scarred face, and his lips twisted into the grimace that passed for a smile. Then he turned and headed north.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Pila lingered on the pallet by the fire after Durak had left to check his traps. Not until the baby began to wail with hunger did she stir. As always, she marveled at the perfection of her child as she nursed him. He was so beautiful, with his pale hair and blue-green eyes. Those eyes reminded her of someone, but she could not think who.
When the baby was satisfied and looking sleepy again, she put him in his cradle and went to the door to see if Durak was on his way back.
She could not see him, so she decided to go out and surprise him. Washing herself in the container of warmed water they kept near the fire for that purpose, she put on her clothes and her outer garments. Then she strapped the sleeping baby on her back and walked out into the weak sunshine. Clouds still scudded across the sky, and the wind was cold, but at least the rain had stopped.
Slowly, she climbed the hill towards the lake, knowing that many of Durak’s traps were up there. She hated seeing the animals caught in them, and shrank from their suffering, but she was also sensible and knew they had to eat. Durak was always compassionate with the animals, too, and if they were not dead already, he killed them quickly so they would not suffer any more. Truly, Pila thought, Durak was the kindest, most noble man she had ever met.
She stopped to look up at the lake, still overflowing its banks after the torrential rains that had battered it for so many days. Her eyes roved across the meadows that surrounded it, seeking Durak. Then she saw him, not walking toward her, not walking anywhere, but lying motionless on his back. Shock paralyzed Pila for a moment. Then she broke into a run.
“Durak!” she screamed, unthinking of the need for caution. “Durak! What has happened to you? Durak, I am coming…”
There was no answer, but on the path below the hut Niva, who was on her way to Runor’s village, looked up sharply at the faint sound. That had been a woman crying out; she was sure of it.
Pila came into her mind. She and the others had looked for Pila many times, but they had not thought to look up by the old hut. It was so battered and forlorn that no one could live in it. And then she remembered Runor saying that she and Durak had repaired it so they could stay there with Rofina. Why had she not remembered that before? And Durak too was missing… Was it possible?
A strong sense of foreboding assaulted her. Could Pila be in danger?
She spoke urgently to the young man beside her, whose name was Wulf. “Did you hear that call?”
He nodded. “I see smoke, too. We should go up there and investigate. Perhaps Pila is there and the man Zena and Lief were asking about.”
Niva had already changed direction. “Hurry,” she said to her companion. “I have a strong feeling that something is wrong.”
On the other side of the pass, Pila clambered up the hill to the lake, breathless with terror and unable to contain the shaking of her body. Durak had not answered. Did that mean he was dead? But he could not be dead, not now… But what if the hooded man had come back?
All thoughts went from her mind when she reached Durak and saw the arrow in his chest.
“Durak,” she moaned, taking his head gently in her arms. “Durak…”
Sobbing uncontrollably, she bent over him, her warm tears falling on his chilled face. Then practicality reasserted itself, as it always did in Pila. Her fingers moved of their own accord to Durak’s neck and then his wrist to feel for a pulse, her eyes went to his chest to look for breath. The pulse was weak but steady, so was his breathing. She watched his chest move up and down in quick shallow movements and saw that even the arrow wobbled a little. The sight horrified Pila even as it assured her that Durak was alive. He was hurt, but he was not dead. A fierce determination to keep him alive possessed her. She would take care of Durak as he had taken care of her, and he would get better again.
She must take him back to the hut and get him warm. Then, when she had hot water and a clean knife, she would pull out the arrow very slowly, and then tend to the wound. She dared not do it now, lest it bleed uncontrollably. That would be worse than leaving the arrow where it was.
A list of items she would need ticked through Pila’s mind - hot water to clean the wound, soft strips of cloth for bandaging, a knife purified by fire to cut the arrow out if that was needed, the kind of pressure she should exert to pull at it. She would need herbs against infection and pain, too. Fortunately, she had collected all the herbs she could find during the time she had been here, and had made them into ointments and potions for various ailments. She had no idea how she had learned to do these things, nor did she wonder where she had learned to treat injuries and shock. What mattered to her now was that she knew what must be done, had done it before, and trusted herself to do it well.
That could make the difference between life and death for Durak, she thought with satisfaction. He had saved her with his patience and love; she would save him with her knowledge of healing. That she could give him, and she was glad.
A more difficult problem occurred to her. How was she to get Durak to the cabin? He was too heavy to carry, and dragging him would make the wound bleed.
The sled, she thought. The sled Durak had made to carry the deer he had shot. He had not wanted to butcher them where he had killed them, fearing predators, so he had made a sled pulled by a harness and taken it with him. He had brought the deer back that way. Now it could carry him.
Pila hesitated, wary of leaving Durak alone while she went to fetch it. The person who had shot him could still be lurking. Just as the though came into her mind, a man appeared at the top of the pass above the lake. Pila’s heart seemed to stop. Was it the man who had tried to kill Durak? She looked around for something to defend them with but saw only rocks. She picked one up with each hand and waited, her heart thumping hard now with terror.
Another figure appeared, a woman. Pila was sure it was. Her terror abated a little and then disappeared as the figures came closer and she recognized Niva and one of the young men who lived in her village. Pila’s grip on the stone relaxed.
“Niva,” she screamed. “Niva, you must help! Hurry. Durak has been shot!”
Only when the sound of her voice had died away did Pila remember that it was Niva who had taken her child away and readied it for sacrifice. Eyes wide with horror, she clasped the stones hard again in readiness to throw them.
Another thought stayed her hands. She could move Durak more gently if she had help, and Niva and the young man could provide it. For Durak’s sake, she would let them come. But no one, ever, would take her baby away again. She was stronger now than before, and she would guard Noran with her life if that was necessary.
The young man arrived first. Seeing the stones still clutched in Pila’s hands and her wary face, he reassured her. “You need not fear us,” he told her gently. “We are Mother People now, and Niva is our wise one.”
Before Pila had a chance to digest this startling information, Niva arrived. She was breathless from exertion. “I am glad to find you again, Pila,” she said when she could speak. “All of us looked for you many times after you disappeared.”
Without waiting for an answer, she knelt on the other side of Durak. “Who has done this terrible thing?” she asked, shocked.
“I do not know,” Pila replied, “except that we have seen the man with the hood over his face near here. He is the one who abducted me.”
Niva frowned. Pila must mean the man who made mead for the Leader that no one had ever seen. She had not known that he was violent.
“We must get Durak back to the hut as fast as possible, so I can warm him and treat him,” Pila added quickly. “There is a sled we can use to carry him.”
“I will get it,” the young man offered. Pila told him where it was and he set off at a run for the cabin.
“Hav
e you any furs in the hut that we can wrap around Durak?” Niva asked.
Pila nodded. “Bring furs, any you can find,” she called after the young man. He nodded and ran on. His name was Wulf, Pila thought, and he had always been kind to her. If they really were Mother People, perhaps she need not fear any more. She let the stones drop.
Pila took Durak’s hand and murmured reassurances to him while they waited for Wulf to return. “You will soon be well again, Durak,” she said softly as she felt for his pulse again.. “I do not think the arrow went in very far. We will get you warm…”
Her voice trailed off and worry clouded her eyes. The pulse was not as steady as it had been, and his breathing was even more shallow…
Niva watched Pila’s anxious face and felt a painful wrenching in her heart. It was a familiar feeling, one that came each time she realized how much damage she had done when she had brought Korg and the Leader into their lives. This girl had suffered terribly because of her…
But there was no time for recriminations now, she reproached herself. She must concentrate on caring for Durak and Pila.
“Shall I try to take the arrow out?” she asked.
Pila shook her head. “No. I need to have my provisions nearby when we do that, to keep the wound from bleeding too much and to clean it.”
“That is good,” Niva agreed, and wondered how Pila knew these things. She had seemed not to know anything when she had been with them.
Wulf arrived with the sled and the furs. Lining the sled with one of the coverings, they eased Durak gently onto it and covered him with the other furs, taking care not to disturb the arrow. Since there was no snow they could not pull the sled, so Wulf lifted one end, while Pila and Niva took the other. In a shorter time than Pila had believed possible, Durak was resting on the pallet.
“Now, tell us how we can help,” Niva said.
“Wood for the fire,” Pila instructed, “and water from the stream behind the hut. I will need to heat some for cleaning the wound. I have herbs and ointments already. I have collected them since we came here.”
Wulf ran for the water, Niva for more firewood. Soon the fire was blazing, the water heating. When it was ready, Pila bent to her task. Now, all emotion fled, and some inner knowledge seemed to take over her movements. Her hands closed around the arrow, felt its depth, seemed to sense the best way to get it out with the least damage. Nodding to herself, Pila pulled a little, felt the resistance, pulled from a slightly different angle. Slowly, gently, the arrow came out. Its barbs ripped some flesh from Durak’s chest, but not as much as Pila had feared. Casting the arrow aside, she reached for the cloth warming in the pot and bathed the wound thoroughly, ignoring Durak’s muted groan as her skillful fingers probed at his torn flesh.
Niva and Wulf looked at each other, then back at Pila, the girl who had been so helpless, so unaware all the time she had been with them, and were amazed.
Of course, Niva thought to herself, Pila had been kept well sedated. Again, that agonizing sense of shame filled her. Korg had mixed the potions, but it was she who had brought them to Pila and made sure old Krone gave them to the girl so she would not wake up enough to understand what would happen to her child.
“Good,” Pila said, more to herself than to them. “The arrow did not penetrate much beyond the bone and so it has not hit a vital part. It did not bleed too much, either. A little bleeding is good. It takes infection with it.”
Reaching for her basket of herbs and ointments, she selected a greenish paste made from the bark of willow and various herbs, and slathered it across the puncture in Durak’s chest. Then her fingers reached again for the pulse on his wrist and neck. Faster now, perhaps too fast. She would give him some herbs to sedate him and keep the pain at bay, but only a little lest it overwhelm him.
She pointed at a wooden cup near the fire. “Could you dip that cup in the boiling water to clean it, then I will mix a light sedative to steady him,” she said to Niva.
Niva quickly obeyed. “You are a healer,” she remarked as she handed the warm cup to Pila. It was a statement, not a question.
Pila blinked, as if coming out of a trance. “I did not know… I did not know I was… I do not remember…”
“Later you can tell us what happened to you before you came to us,” Niva said gently. “Now, you must concentrate on Durak.”
“I need clean water again so I can mix these herbs and give the drink to Durak,” Pila requested.
Mixing the drink, she lifted Durak’s head with one hand while she deftly poured a small amount of the liquid into his mouth with the other. Then she lowered his head again and examined it gently, turning it to peer at the back of his skull.
“He must have hit it hard when he fell,” she reported. “That is what made him unconscious, even more than the arrow.”
“Perhaps that is good,” Wulf suggested. “It might have made the man who shot him think he was dead when he was not.”
Pila’s eyes widened. “I had not thought of that,” she said. “Perhaps it is so.” Her lips formed more words, but she did not say them aloud. Or perhaps we should thank the Goddess for finding a way to save him, she had almost said.
Suddenly exhausted, Pila sat back on her heels. “That is all I can do now,” she said wearily. “We must wait and watch, and let Durak’s body do the healing.
“Thank you for helping me,” she added. “To move Durak and care for him by myself would have been hard.”
“I am glad we were passing by,” Niva answered. “We were on our way to the next village to make sure people are all right after the rains and flooding.”
Unexpectedly, Noran, who was still strapped to Pila’s back, gurgled loudly. Niva and Wulf smiled as he waved a fist at them, then stuck it in his mouth.
“The baby is beautiful,” Niva said to Pila. “If you like, I will hold him while you take off some of your outer clothes.”
Pila hesitated, remembering that the last time Niva had taken the baby from her it was for sacrifice. Then, seeing Niva’s stricken face as she too remembered, she lifted Noran off her back and handed him to the older woman.
“Thank you,” she said, and realized for the first time that she was very hot by the fire in her boots and outer clothes. She had forgotten she was still wearing them. She had even forgotten that the baby was still on her back.
“He is a lovely child,” Niva said, holding the baby reverently. “I am so glad, so very glad, he was rescued. Zena was brave to do that. She is a fine woman.”
Pila’s head turned sharply at the name. Durak had mentioned it many times and she had not reacted, but this time she felt something inside her mind click, as if it knew what she herself did not know.
In the days that followed, as they nursed Durak back to health and spoke of what had happened in Niva’s village, of all that Pila could remember of what had happened to her before she came to them, Niva and Wulf, and later Durak, spoke frequently of Zena. Each time she heard the name, Pila experienced that same click of recognition, but even when she did not hear it, the name Zena kept going around and around in her mind. It seemed to insist that she pay attention to it, as if it was determined to bring on the moment when she would understand what it meant to her. After a time, the name become lodged in a kind of shadow person who walked beside her, always present but never clear enough to resolve itself into a woman she could see.
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As soon as they were certain that Durak was out of danger, Wulf went on to the next village to make sure everyone was all right, while Niva stayed to help Pila. He had an astounding tale to tell when he returned. The ice dam that had always held in the water of the lake had burst and flooded down on the village, carrying huge trees and chunks of ice and even rocks, he reported. Korg and the Leader had been killed by the rampaging water, but no one from the village had been hurt since their wise one, Runor, had sent all of them to the circle of stones. Only Runor had stayed in the village, and Zena and Lief had rescued her.
Niva went to see Runor soon after that, anxious to see if her old friend was all right after such a traumatic experience, and reported the story of Runor’s attempt to kill the Leader, how Zena had saved Runor and then Korg had saved Zena. It was an astonishing tale that held Pila and Durak enthralled.
“That is fitting,” Niva said of Korg and the Leader. “The Mother took them in her own way. We are free of them now, and that is a great blessing.”
Pila agreed, and became ever more curious about Zena, who had dared to challenge Korg and the Leader.
“How did Zena save Noran?” she asked Durak. “And what sort of woman is she? What does she look like?”
Durak was happy to answer. There was no doubt in his mind now that Pila was Teran, but he had been hesitant to say this directly, or say too much about Zena because it seemed to confuse Pila. Now at last, he could speak freely.
“Zena has hair the color of a sunset and eyes the color of Noran’s,” he reported. “She is about your size, but thinner, I think. She is a remarkable young woman,” he went on enthusiastically. “She has great imagination and sometimes she just seems to have the Mother inside her. She saved Noran by acting the part of the Great Mother, urging the people to return to Her ways.” He described the costume Zena had made, how the others had helped her set the scene, how mesmerizing her performance had been, but how terrible Zena had felt after the ceremony because she had fooled the people.”
Pila laughed. “That sounds like Zena,” she said, without thinking first. “She is always too hard on herself.” Astonished, she clapped her hand over her mouth. “How did I know to say that?”
“Because underneath, you do know,” Durak replied calmly. “Now it is just a matter of clearing away the fog. So I will tell you everything I can think of.”
First, he repeated the story of how Zena’s twin sister Teran, had disappeared so suddenly, then he spoke of Lief, the man who had recently come to live in their village and was now Zena’s lover. “He has helped Zena enormously,” he told Pila. “They are happy together, just as we are happy together. Lief was with Zena when she performed the ceremony that saved Noran. He steadies her, supports her in all ways. It has not been easy for Zena to face the task of guiding the Mother People alone. Before Teran vanished, they had planned to do it together, since they are the twin daughters of Zena, who was their mother. Zena means Queen of the sky; Teran means Queen of the earth,” he explained, watching Pila’s face carefully for signs that the information had meaning for her.
ICE BURIAL: The Oldest Human Murder Mystery (The Mother People Series Book 3) Page 27
