The Sword of the Lady

by S. M. Stirling

  Rudi had his sword out now, in the two-handed grip; not what he′d have chosen to fight an animal three times his weight, quick as a cat and stronger than a team of plow oxen, but it was a great deal better than nothing or a knife if you didn′t have a hunting spear to hand. The bruin hesitated only an instant, and then it was on him. Like a wall of dark fur it reared, and the paws swung like living maces fit to snap necks and spatter brains.

  Whippt.

  The claws passed half an inch from his face as he drove in and ducked; some part of him cursed the snow for hampering his feet. He twisted and hewed, and the yard of sharp steel raked a great forearm open to the bone and skidded off that. Blood spattered at him, striking his goggles, blinding him. He threw himself backward frantically, landing on his back in snow that hampered and clung as he tore them off. Only an instant, but the bear was looming over him like the shadow of incarnate Death, ready to fall in an avalanche of teeth and claws. Rudi snarled back at it, coming up to one knee and tensing for the last effort.

  A chain snaked out of the night and whipped around the bear′s forepaw. The sickle-blade at the end sank in as Mary set her feet and pulled. The bear′s stroke was thrown off, but at the end of her fighting iron the hundred and fifty-odd pounds of Dúnedain woman and her gear traced an arc through the gathering darkness almost as spectacular as Garbh′s a moment earlier. She′d wrapped the end around her waist for leverage, and now it worked the other way.

  There was a wail of: ″Oh, rrrrrrhaich!″ and a thump.

  ″Firo, pen ú-celeg!″ Ritva screamed, and loosed an arrow from her recurve. ″Firo, brôg!″

  There was a wet thunk as it hammered into the beast′s hip bone.

  That wasn′t going to fulfill the cry of: ″Die, foul beast! Die, bear!″ But it would help.

  Rudi surged up while it was distracted, his whole body twisting into the two-handed drawing slash across its belly. Impact shocked up his wrists and arms, more like hitting an oak pell than a man. Fur and thick hide and fat and muscle parted under the desperate power of the blow, and intestines spilled out like writhing pink eels as he followed through. Something hit him, stunning-hard, and sent him through the air; he tasted blood and felt his face tingle and stars shoot through his vision.

  Rudi rolled through the snow, blinded by it. Someone landed across him as he did—Ingolf, he realized, as he heard the flat vowels of his curses. They struggled to get up without cutting each other open on longsword or shete, and then an arrow hissed between their heads.

  ″Be sodding careful!″ he bellowed.

  Back on his feet he could barely see the beast through the horizontal wail of the snow, though its moaning bellow was loud. Pierre Walks Quiet had an actual hunting spear with him, lashed to the dogsled. Now he′d gotten it free, and he dashed in and thrust. The long point went home in the bear′s chest, but it charged even with its staggering feet tripping in its own guts. He ran backward through the snow, half falling, until the butt-cap of the spear rang on the side of the buried tractor. The machine rocked backward, but the impact drove the weapon deep into the charging animal as well.

  Rudi and Ingolf hobbled forward. Edain was already there; even Garbh was, limping but game. Her master shot twice, Ritva once, and then Rudi and Ingolf each slammed the edge of their long blades into its spine.

  The bear sank forward; Pete′s thin form wriggled out from beneath it, the arms and chest of his parka wet with its blood and fluids. The animal gave a last whimper, pawed at its neck, and went limp.

  ″Back! Let Brother Bear die!″ Rudi snapped. ″Is everyone all right? Sound off!″

  His folk did. Ritva returned with Mary′s arm over her shoulder; the one-eyed Ranger staggered over to Ingolf.

  ″Are you all right, honey? Bar melindo,″ he added.

  ″I′m . . . just . . . thumped . . .″ she wheezed, half collapsing against him. ″Nothing . . . broken.″

  She grinned, though a little painfully. ″I feel like I′ve been hit by a bear!″

  Rudi wiped the blood from his sword, feeling his pulse slow and the sweat that soaked his underclothing turn gelid. Controlling his breathing turned it deep and slow and took the tremor out of his hands. There were knocks that would be painful bruises, but that was no novelty.

  ″Now, that was more like a matter of excitement, anxiety and dread than I prefer before dinner!″ he said lightly.

  He bent to touch the bear′s blood to his forehead and murmur the rite of passing; it had been a brave beast, and deserved honor.

  ″Why did it go for us?″ Pierre Walks Quiet said. ″They usually don′t, unless they′re real hungry, or you push them into a corner, or it′s a mother with cubs. We hadn′t gone in to its den . . . and it′s early for a bear to den up for the winter, even with the weather like this.″

  Ingolf bent to examine it; snow was collecting on its open eyes and on its mouth and nostrils, which meant it wasn′t going to get up again. He spoke thoughtfully, if you could when you had to shout:

  ″It wasn′t mean-sick either. Big healthy four-year-old male, I′d say. And see, nice und fat for winter. That makes them more peaceable, most times.″

  Mary nodded, shrugged, and then winced a little. ″Bears are unpredictable,″ she said. ″Even black bears.″

  Rudi went on: ″I don′t know. Perhaps we should have a rite for the Father of Bears. I do know one thing, though.″

  ″What?″ Edain said.

  He was looking around for a place to haul the carcass up to drain, and testing the edge of his knife.

  Rudi grinned. ″I know what we′ll be havin′ for dinner!″

  Epona whickered at him, raising her head from a heap of feed pellets made of compressed alfalfa and cracked oats and sugar-beet molasses. Rudi whickered back in the horse-tongue; a sound that meant, Yes, I′m here, relax, as near as he could tell. The smell of bear was not calculated to make horses easy, even one as brave as Epona. Nor that of blood.

  ″Oft evil will will evil mar,″ Mary muttered, leaning back against Ingolf′s chest.

  She was a little tiddly with the applejack they′d brought from Readstown. They had fires down the length of the potato barn, and it had heated up to the point where you were reasonably comfortable without your parka—provided you kept everything else on. The body heat of the people and that from the horses down near the entrance helped, and the quick patches they′d made on holes in the walls, and the way the snow was piling up outside. It made good insulation.

  Bear meat roasted over the coals, sending up little fragrant spurts as drops of fat fell from the richly marbled flesh; a slight blue haze hung under the ceiling, until it drifted out the unblocked ventilators. The air smelled of cooking, and the dryish earth beneath them with its residues of old crops long rotted away to nothing, and less nameable things. They′d found human bones here too, but very old, and much scattered by small scavengers except for the skulls. He′d judged them to be a man, a woman and a young child by the size, and victims of the Change. You still found the like anywhere protected from quick decay, and not near living settlements.

  There had been a message in shaky hand scratched on the wall: Two weeks out of Green Bay. We′re all sick. I think from bad water. Please, God, someone, help us.

  I hope they′ve found peace in the Summerlands, Rudi thought. And better luck next time.

  They′d buried what remained. Father Ignatius had said the words and planted a cross, it being most likely that they were Christians.

  ″I said, oft evil will will evil mar,″ Mary repeated a little louder.

  Her half brother raised a brow, sitting cross-legged with the small of his back against his rolled sleeping bag, gnawing mouthfuls off a rib; it was good if a little strong tasting, and much like pork.

  Much like wild boar, he thought. Gamy but not too much so.

  The rich taste of the meat and crisp fat filled his mouth pleasantly; the bear had been eating beechnuts and roots and berries that gave its flesh an aromatic tang. Garbh w
as lying on her back near Edain in an ecstatic daze, her belly rounded out to tautness and her tongue dangling over her fangs.

  ″And what would you be meanin′ by that cryptic remark?″ he asked Mary, a teasing light in his eyes. ″And yes, I realize it′s from the Histories. You needn′t give chapter and verse.″

  Then he took a bite of roast potato—they′d traded for some spuds several days ago at the last farmstead they passed—and a sip of hot spruce-tip tea.

  ″I mean that loathsome morn-curuní, that black wizard in the red robe,″ she said owlishly. ″Sending us storms like Saruman did to the Fellowship on Caradhras.″

  Ingolf looked over her head—she was leaning back against his chest with his thick arms wrapped around her—and said:

  ″Yah hey, that′s more sensible than I′d like to admit,″ he said reluctantly.

  ″And maybe the bear,″ Ritva said thoughtfully. ″That would be canonical, too. Well, nearly. Sending wargs and crebain was.″

  ″Same thing,″ Mary said.

  ″Is not.″

  ″Is! Well, yes, it was a clean bear. Anyway, the storms made it easier for us to move by ski and sled earlier, and now this bear has helped with our food supplies; so the evil will is marring evil. Pass me another skewer of the liver, would you?″

  ″Bad medicine, either way,″ Pierre Walks Quiet said.

  He took some of the meat between his teeth, sliced it off near his lips with his curved skinning knife, then went on after he′d chewed and swallowed:

  ″I′m not happy about this place.″ Just then the whole metal roof of it, that had survived a quarter-century of winters since the Change, thuttered as if the wind outside would rip it off. The sound had been growing more muffled as the snow built up; now it came louder again, and the south wall creaked a bit as much of the load above fell there with a muffled grumbling like distant thunder. One of the horses threw up its head and tried to pull its tether free. Epona mooched over to the gelding and shoved at it until it subsided, then stood leaning her head on its withers reassuringly.

  Virginia Kane shuddered. ″You mean, that bear was . . . was sent to get us? Like some sort of hex?″

  She made a sign against sorcery that Rudi had seen used among the Lakota. Fred Thurston waited a moment and signed the Hammer with his fist, a bit self-consciously, as if reminding himself.

  ″Father Ignatius?″ Mathilda said from beside Rudi.

  His hand rubbed her back companionably; she was sitting with her sleeping bag around her shoulders like a blanket, and her arms wrapped around her knees.

  ″It′s a matter of dispute how much actual power the Adversary can give those who serve him,″ the monk said soberly. ″And why God permits it.″

  He finished wiping down his sword with an oily rag and sheathed it before winding the belt around the scabbard and setting it aside . . . where he could draw instantly. Then he gazed into the fire for a moment before signing himself and going on:

  ″I think the empirical evidence indicates that the answer to the first question is quite a bit, in this case. As for the other, He moves in mysterious ways, to make even evil serve His plan in the end. We can pray for protection, and the intercession of the Blessed Virgin and the Saints.″

  ″Please do!″ Rudi said, and heaved himself upright. ″The expedition,″ he added to Matti as she looked a question at him.

  That was Portlander dialect for need to piss. He did make use of the area where they′d dug a pit and screened off with sections of board; that privacy was a luxury, of course. They′d put it by the entrance, on the other side of the horses, which meant he had to spend a few minutes with Epona as well, resting his head on her neck while she nibbled at his hair. The strong earthy-grassy smell of her was reassuring; he′d spend a lot of time as a boy with her, just drifting about and thinking in the meadows below Dun Juniper. That had been perfectly safe; for him, at least, if not for anyone or anything that tried to harm him while she was there.

  The doors had been roughly repaired and strongly braced, but they rattled and sent sprays of snow and cold at him through the slits and gaps and the blanket-covered gap where sentries went in and out.

  The sleds were arranged to shelter the ramp and tightly lashed together; the dogs were staked out on a line, sleeping easily beneath the snow but ready to wake at clues a human could never sense. Most of the gear was inside, along with as much firewood as all thirty-odd of them had been able to drag before the weather got too thick. On the other side of the entranceway to the building was a dark nook where they′d put the head of the bear, and buried the rent hide and such of the body as hadn′t gone to feed the folk or the sled dogs. Though Edain had kept the claws, to give to friends of his whose sept totem was Bear, when he got home.

  Rudi paused there on his way back and made reverence, clapping his palms twice and then pressing them together with his thumbs on his chin and fingers touching brow as he bowed from the waist. For a long moment he went down on one knee and stared into the dead eyes; shadows from the fires made them seem almost alive, coals in a mask of snarling ferocity.

  Then he spoke softly: ″Horned Lord of the Beasts, witness that we killed from need, not wantonness; to protect ourselves and for food. This we do knowing that for us also the Hour of the Huntsman will come; for Earth must be fed and our bodies are but borrowed from Her for a little while. Brother Bear, fellow warrior, we praise the brave fight you made, and we thank you for your gift of life. Go in peace to the honey-meads beyond the Western Gate, where no evil comes and all hurts are healed. Speak well of us to the Guardians, and be reborn through Her who is Mother-of-All.″

  He thought for a moment, then drew the Invoking Pentacle and continued: ″And You strong spirit of the forest, Father of Bears, if wrong was done to Your child, know that we are guiltless of it. We have given Your son his honor and seemly rites. My blood father was called the Bear Lord, and though my totem is Raven, we are kin, You and I. Let Your just wrath fall on those who broke the laws laid on humankind in their dealings with the other kindreds. So mote it be!″

  When he came back to the main fire the frozen blueberry turnovers were ready and sending out a toasty-sweet smell. He bit into one, relishing the buttery taste of the envelope and the tang of the filling. It took several before he felt replete, despite pounds of bears′ flesh and potatoes and hard twice-baked rye bread. He′d always been a hearty eater; he was a big man, and his lean height was active beyond the common run even when he didn′t have to be, but this style of winter voyaging and the demands it made were something new to him.

  ″Wendigo weather,″ Pierre Walks Quiet said, after they′d all spent a little time in song and tale-telling. ″The colder it is, the more they walk.″

  Rudi nodded. It made sense that a spirit of hunger would grow stronger in this season when the body′s demands were so great.

  They′d agreed that the ones who′d fought the bear would be spared guard-watch duty for the night; the sled dogs helped with that, too. Sleeping out in the snow was no hardship for them, though they preferred a spot by the fire when they could get it. Matti finished her evening devotions, slipped off her boots and eeled into her sleeping bag. Rudi did the same, making sure his boots and sword belt were ready to hand. She cuddled against his back, a pleasant solidity even through the double thickness of bags and clothes.

  ″Nice,″ she murmured sleepily.

  ″That it is,″ he replied.

  And I′m being entirely truthful the now, which shows just how tired I am, mo chroi!

  The fire died down, skillfully banked. He let himself fall into the soft dark . . .

  . . . and the cave was deep and darker still. Red eyes moved within it, and a gathering wrath that prickled his skin like a summer thunderstorm, and a rank harsh scent and carnivore breath. An earthquake-deep growl spoke to him. A black wet nose explored his face; it was his own height or more, a bear but not quite a bear, longer-limbed and shorter of face and much, much larger than any he knew. The hairy
bulk pushed past him, and he heard its feet falling heavy on the rocky floor . . .

  He woke with a little start. Something told him it was hours later, deep night, the hours when the blood ran sluggish. The dream faded, becoming fragments that spun into drowsy nothingness. Somewhere a little ways away a woman′s voice spoke, gasping softly:

  ″Garo nin, bar melindo, garo nin!″

  Rudi grinned in the dark. Somehow he didn′t think the Histories included quite that use of the Elvish words for have me, darling! but he supposed it marked it as a living language once more. And you couldn′t begrudge newlyweds.

  Let them have what pleasure they can. I suspect this is going to be a grim journey, and no mistake.

  Major Graber looked down grimly at the rent and bloody carcass of the Bekwa sentry. Teeth grinned back at him where the face had been stripped away, and even in the cold there was a slight rusty-iron smell of death, and something musky beneath it.

  ″Tiger or bear,″ he said. ″Possibly a catamount. Not much eaten.″

  Though there was a great deal spattered, bits of flesh and hair up ten or twelve feet on the neighboring red spruces. One of his lieutenants bent over a patch of snow, fingers moving with steady delicacy. More was sifting down, but you could separate layers if you were skillful.

  ″Bear, Major,″ he said.

  ″That′s the third one this week,″ Graber said. ″It′s delaying us. We′re not going to catch them at this rate. Especially if it keeps snowing.″

  He glared at the High Seeker for an instant, before self-control reasserted itself. The Bekwa dogsleds were far faster than he′d thought they would be, but snowshoes just weren′t as good as skis when you tried to make speed, and their scavenged horses were losing what condition they′d had. Soon they′d have to start eating them, which would slow them further.