He could not seize the boy and drag him down the narrow path. It would be all both of them could do to get down safely. 'Only if you want to.'
'And if I don't?'
Heckram pressed his sweating forehead against the cold stone. 'Then I'll wait for you until you're ready.'
Kerlew smiled suddenly. 'Did you think I would be afraid of you? You are already mine, for I've held you in the palm of my hand. I will come. Let me gather the things.'
Heckram watched but saw little. Most of the tiny cave was out of reach of his eyes.
He heard a rustling, and muttering. A shiver ran up Heckram's back and he edged himself down the trail. There. There was room for the boy now. In a few seconds he heard the rasp of his shirt against the stone, and Kerlew edged into view. His bundled shirt bumped against his back. His bared arms were thin and pale. He spidered over the rock until he was beside Heckram. His eyes were boyishly bright and alive as he said, 'I see it is not the first time you have come this way.'
Heckram grinned at the humanness of his words. He felt dizzy with relief, and warm with sudden comradeship. 'Shall we make your mark beside it, to show you that you, too, have come this way?' he suggested.
Kerlew grinned with mischief. 'Are you trying to trick me? Do you think I don't know we are of one and the same? One mark is enough for us both.' He lifted his hand free of the wall, and pointed a thin finger. Blazoned slightly above Heckram's eye level, it glowed red against the black stone. The five spots of Wolfs track.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
'Where is Kari?'
Joboam's demand boomed across the distance between them. Tillu felt her body wince, but refused to let it cow her soul. She continued walking doggedly toward Capiam's tent. Busy folk paused, their eyes darting curiously from Joboam to the healer.
She ignored them, her deep pain and anger driving her to the confrontation.
She had left Lasse sitting in Stina's hut. The boy was in shock, shaking and pale. But Stina had understood Tillu's brief explanation, and had immediately begun to warm tea for him and make up a soft bed. Tears had run down the old woman's seamed face. 'If only she had come to me,' she said once, brokenly, and then turned aside to her grandson. 'To think that herdfolk could come to this. What is Capiam thinking of?'
There was anger in her voice then, and it ignited the anger in Tillu's soul. She had left then, knowing Lasse would be all right again, given time and Stina's care. Tillu was not sure about herself. She wished she could slip into that distancing trance, could stare sightless until her soul had absorbed the impact of Kari's death. Instead her pain was a wound gushing blood, a thing she must cauterize. She went straight to Capiam's tent.
She would be heard.
But Joboam guarded the tent, arms crossed on his chest. His flung question had drawn eyes. Folk were already beginning to gather. Tillu didn't care. She lifted her voice, careless of the shrill, hysterical note that rang through it. 'Kari is dead, Joboam!
Dead at the base of the Cataclysm, as you have probably guessed. Didn't you find her this morning and chase her up the Najd's Steps? Aren't you the one who taught a little girl that death was preferable to the touch of a man?'
Joboam stood still. Women spilled from Capiam's tent and milled behind him, anxious to witness this confrontation but not to become part of it. Other folk, attracted by the raised voices, drew closer. Tillu ignored them. She saw only the fury in Joboam's eyes, and the careful way he cloaked it.
'Healer, you rave!' he observed calmly. 'I have not seen Kari today. I have just come from Ketla's side. She weeps, for you have hidden her daughter away on what should be a joyous day for her whole family. She asks why you have done this, when the herdlord's family has shown you only kindness?'
Tillu knew that she should meet his calmness with cold composure. But her outrage gushed hot words, an unquellable flood of grief and anger. 'NO! I did not take Kari away! She took herself away from a joining she did not want, and then took herself out of a life she could not face. She is dead, Joboam! She leaped from the Najd's Steps. Can you look shocked? How safe you must feel now, knowing she can never speak of the things you did to her when she was a little child trusted to your safekeeping!' Tillu's voice broke on a sob. She clutched at her throat, forced the weeping away.
Joboam turned calmly to the women behind him. 'Telna and Kaarta. Please go to the base of the Najd's Steps and see if there is truth to this tale.' He let his eyes roam over the assembled folk. 'I fear it may be true. For since this 'healer' and her son joined our herdfolk, we have seen nothing but death and misfortune. Elsa died under her care, a death that so outraged the forest spirits that they sent a killing storm upon our new calves. The najd that sought to intervene for us lies trampled to death by our own reindeer. And the family of our herdlord is sickened to death, or driven to madness. It is no secret that Kerlew hated Rolke and was jealous of the najd's attention to Kari.
Everyone has seen his strange tempers, felt his cold stares. There is no najd now to control him. Poor Kari. Her dreams of a joining poisoned by the wild words of a stranger. Ah, Capiam, Capiam! You were a good herdlord in your time, but too trusting. I wish you had listened to me. I marked her and her boy as demon spawn the first time I saw them.'
Tillu could not find words to reply. She saw the people drawn to his steady words and calm manner, listening to his solemn tale, and murmuring agreement. Surely, Capiam's folk were sorely afflicted with troubles and woes. For a herdfolk's najd to die was the worst of bad luck. And where was their najd's apprentice, this woman's strange child? Where had he been when his master died? Tillu took a deep breath.
'No healer can cure everything. We can but help the body find time and strength to heal itself. Elsa's body was too broken. Her head was ... damaged. Inside. Do not blame me for her death, but blame the one who beat her. ...'
'And where is Heckram?' Joboam broke into her words. The deep timbre of his voice, his proud stance as the wind ruffled his soft hair drew the people to him. Tillu was the stranger, wild haired and dirty, blood upon her clothes. Joboam they had known since he was a boy, a sturdy, charming boy. Words were futile. They could only be turned against her.
'I asked you, where is Heckram?' Joboam's voice had taken on a note of menace.
Tillu lifted her chin. She spoke softly, and the crowd hushed to hear her. 'I am the herdlord's healer, Joboam. I answer to him, not you. Or do you already claim his position?'
His silence was a moment too long. A subtle change of feeling washed through the gathered folk. 'I but speak for the herdlord, doing as he bids me!' Joboam cried out too loudly.
Tillu laughed a short, ugly laugh. 'I came to speak to Capiam, not to you,' she said, and walked boldly forward. Herders edged away, making a wide path. Joboam alone blocked her way. 'Do you dare to keep the herdlord's healer from his tent when his family is ill?' she asked in a deadly voice.
'Rolke!' The scream ripped the tense moment. Tillu dove for the tent-flap, but Joboam blocked her, thrusting her to the ground with his casual push. Ketla stumbled from the tent. Her black hair was wildly bedraggled, her eyes red and swollen in a face pale and sagging with illness. She took two steps before sinking into a shaking heap. 'Rolke is dead!' she moaned. 'Dead and stiff in his blankets. His skin was cold when I touched him. Cold! Ah! Rolke. My own little boy, my Rolke.' Ketla's eyes suddenly found Tillu.
'Where were you, Healer?' she demanded. 'Why weren't you here to save him? And where is my Kari?'
'Oh, Ketla,' Tillu began in shared grief, but Joboam's hand descended on her shoulder, gripping her with stony fingers.
'Do not listen to her, Ketla! She has just come with a wild tale that Kari is dead, fallen to her death from the Najd's Steps. What have you known but sickness and bad fortune since she came to your tent? Cast her out before she can do more harm to you! And throw away the herbs she has been feeding your family, lest you and Capiam be poisoned also!'
Joboam pushed her suddenly, contemptuously. 'Relna! Keep this woman aw
ay from Capiam and Ketla. Do not let her add to their grief.''
'Ketla!' Tillu cried out, but the woman was dazed. The deaths of her children were too great a shock. A sturdy woman seized Tillu's arm. Her eyes were full of disgust as she pulled Tillu away from the crowd. Tillu had a glimpse of Joboam kneeling by Ketla, talking to her gently while a sympathetic crowd murmured to itself. Tillu's mind reeled.
For a short ways she stepped along blindly at the herdwoman's heels. Then she set her feet suddenly and jerked her arm free of the woman's grip.
'Where are you taking me?' she demanded.
Relna spun to face her, and then looked startled. 'I don't know. I certainly don't want you in my tent. What would my own herdlord say to me if I brought upon us the same misfortune that Capiam's folk have found?'
'It was none of my doing!' Tillu hissed angrily. 'It was Joboam, if it was anyone. He killed Elsa. If you do not believe me, ask Ristin. Ask Stina, or Elsa's parents what they suspect. And he drove Kari to kill herself with what he forced upon her. Do not tell me you remember Kari as a merry girl excited about her joining, for I shall know you lie!
And Rolke and Ketla and Capiam suffer from an illness I do not know. But taking my herbs and care from them cannot make them better. Nor anyone else. Haven't you wondered about those with infected tick bites, those who have a fever this day, and are fine the next? Will you say I have brought this sickness on all of you?'
Sudden alarm wiped the anger from Relna's face. 'My husband has a tick bite on his foot.' She stepped hastily back from Tillu. She was not a member of a crowd now, to be swayed to Joboam's words. Alone, she had to listen to Tillu. And she feared what she heard. 'I am not Joboam's to command,' Relna suddenly exclaimed. 'If he wants you kept away from Capiam and Ketla, let him see to it, or one of Capiam's herdfolk. Let Capiam's folk live under their own misfortune. If you are their bad luck, then let them cleanse themselves. Stay away from my folk!' The last was a low growl. Relna strode away from Tillu.
Tillu sighed in a mixture of relief and frustration as she watched her stomp away.
She did not need to fear her or her folk anymore. But by sundown all of Relna's herdfolk would know that Capiam's healer was bad luck, a woman to be avoided. She would have no chance of leaving Capiam's folk by becoming healer to another herd.
She would have to go alone.
Alone. She and Kerlew. Once that would not have meant 'alone.' Before Heckram.
Her heart gave a sickening lurch. She had to gather her things now and go to find Heckram and Kerlew. She would leave with the boy now, while she had the chance.
Joboam was too adept at stirring the herdfolk against her and her son. She had to leave now. Alone.
Most of what she owned and used day to day were in Capiam's tent. No chance of reclaiming them. Kerlew's things were in the fine new najd's tent, next to Joboam's. She dared not go there, either. The rest of what she had was at Heckram's tent, unloaded from the harkar he had led for her. She listed it to herself; the new tent, unused, that Capiam had given her when she had first joined the herdfolk, her cooking utensils, the extra skins and tools she had earned from her healing. She turned her steps that way, alert for any who might try to stop her. She would gather her things quietly and take them out of the camp. But when she pictured the burden that the tent and utensils would make, her step lagged. There would be no sturdy harke to carry them, no Kari to help her manage the beast. Did she imagine no one would notice a woman going laden as a harke? She would be stopped. It was not the first time she had fled from an angry and suspicious people. She must go lightly and travel fast. She could take only what would fit in a shoulder pouch or two. And she and Kerlew must recross the tundra alone, must get to the safety of the forest before the winter winds blew. Where would she get hides for a tent? What would they eat as she travelled? She pushed the questions from her mind. No use in asking them. She tried to find courage in reminding herself that she had taken care of herself and Kerlew all winter. They would survive again. She could not stay among these people. Joboam would stir them against her and her son, would agitate them until they turned on her. Better the wolves of the tundra and the rigors of privation than the unbridled fear and hatred of the herdfolk. Humans were the cruellest predators.
Heckram's tent was dark and cool inside. The sleeping hides were rumpled as they had left them. She stared at them without comprehension, wondering where the warmth and security of the night had fled. When she moved, she went stiffly, feeling as if she had plundered a stranger's tent.
She found her cooking pots hung alongside his. She selected the smaller, sturdier ones. It was harder to separate her sleeping skins from the tangled pile on the floor. She took up Heckram's one of fox-skins, reds and blacks sewn together in lustrous contrast.
She held it against her face, smelling his smell on it. She wanted it. She hugged it tightly against her, fearing the tears that stung her eyes. It smelled of him and their brief time together. She lifted her eyes, suddenly saw an unspoken assumption in the way he had unloaded her possessions and mingled them with his. It touched her soul and stole her determination. All the other times, when she had run away from people who wished harm on her son, she had taken her world with her. This time she would be leaving a part of herself behind.
Slowly she folded the fox-skins into a careful bundle. She set it down atop the other crumpled bedskins. A dull ache numbed her body, while her temples pounded with the pain of grief and unshed tears. She did not move swiftly as she gathered the few possessions she and Kerlew could easily carry. She paused often, the effort of deciding which item to take overwhelming her. There came a time when both packs were filled and yet she did not have the will to leave the place. She sat down for a moment on the rumpled bedding and took the fox wrap into her lap. She stroked it, feeling its warm weight, cuddling it against her as if it were an infant. Slowly she lay down, her cheek pressed against the soft fur, thinking of all that would not be.
I am like Kerlew, she thought bitterly. Full of wild dreams and foolish fancies. What was I pretending last night? She thought of how she had taken him, in lust and laughter, finding a freedom she had never imagined a woman might know. And Heckram, delightedly encouraging her. Letting her be bold. And after, when she had been sated, on the verge of sleep in his arms. Then it had been his touch on her skin, his fingers trailing her thighs so softly that she shivered in their wake. 'Lie still!' he had commanded her gruffly when she tried to capture his hand. And she had, while with fingers and lips he convinced her that her satiation was an illusion, was only the first quenching of a thirst he understood better than she did. His fingertips had twined gently through the dense curls until with a pleading moan she parted her thighs and pushed up against his hand. He put his hand flat on her belly. 'This time,' he reminded her, 'it's my turn.' She nodded slowly, shivered as he knelt between her knees. Slowly, so slowly he moved, watching her face as he touched her, learning by experience what pleased her most. He was not shy. He smiled as he teased her with his body, until in her eagerness she gripped his buttocks and pulled him into her. 'I thought I was in charge,'
he reminded her. In reply she had bucked beneath him, never releasing her grip, pulling him into her frantic rhythm, thundering him into joining her climax.
A sob shook her, and another. She wept into the furs, mourning him as if dead, while every breath she took brought his smell to her and reminded her of her body's hungers.
She wept with abandon, hiccuping sobs like a small child, until she was exhausted. 'I should never have touched him,' she told herself. She smoothed the fur beneath her cheek. His hair was softer than this. She wished she had never known that. 'All the rest of my life ...' The enormity of the thought was too much for her. 'Heckram,' she said.
She hugged the furs tightly, unable to let go of them, and let the quieter tears come.
She awoke to a touch on her face. A small fire burned in the arran, and Heckram knelt over her, outlined by the flames. On the other side of the
fire Kerlew sprawled, his deep eyes full of orange light. She sat up, slamming herself against Heckram and clutched him tightly. He grunted with the impact of her hug, and then held her, muttering softly, 'And I was about to complain that at least you might have made food for us.' For a moment he held her, his breath soft against her hair. Then he moved to gently disentangle himself. Tillu only clutched him more tightly. 'What is it?' he asked through her fierce hug.
'Everything. Everything that has happened. It is too much to tell kindly and slowly.
Carp is dead. He went to the pens and the reindeer trampled him. Or so all others say.
From his final words, I think Joboam had something to do with it. And Kari is dead, from a fall from the Najd's Steps. And Rolke has died, from the sickness, and Capiam now lies ill with it. And Joboam blames me for all of it, and has made the others believe him. I must leave and take Kerlew, I must run away tonight.'
Heckram had gone stiff in her arms as she spoke. Kerlew sat up suddenly, his eyes gone huge. 'NO!' he screamed, his cry sharp in the night. Tillu sprang clear of Heckram, seized the boy before he could flee from the tent. It took all her strength to drag him down and back. He struggled wildly, and only his long fast and the exhaustion of his day let her master him. He was all bones and muscles beneath her hands. For a long moment she struggled with him as Heckram looked on in anguish. Then the boy collapsed and began weeping noisily. 'Carp! Carp!' His wails filled the tent. 'You should have come back with me! Why did you fly away?'
The two adults exchanged puzzled glances. Then Heckram came to kneel beside them and put his arms around Kerlew. He didn't say anything to the boy, made no promises that all would be well tomorrow. He only held the gaunt young frame and let him cry out his anger and grief. Tillu withdrew, feeling strangely unneeded until Heckram looked over the boy's bent head at her and asked, 'Can you fix him something to eat? Some soup or something?'
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