In the flurrying snow they could see little of the place but a shadow, so they worked their way around its curving wall until they found the three layers of hung skins that were keeping the weather out. Inside it was absurdly warm, the heat of a central fire combining with the bodies of almost twenty people to make the air thick and heavy with the reek of sweat. There was barely room there for two more, even a skinny girl and a skinnier old man, but with a little shoving and some half-hearted curses they managed to get themselves inside with the furs falling closed behind them.
Most of the press were outsiders, here for the last few days of the trading season. She saw plenty more Coyotes, short, thickset men and women who could have passed for Wolf if only they’d strutted more. Most of them had peeled back their clothes and were sitting relishing the fire, with sweat glistening on their skin. Maniye saw a couple playing a game she knew, bones balanced on the backs of their hands and then flipped up for catching – or perhaps to seek a glimpse of the future in the way they fell. One pair, a man and a woman, were entwined in an embrace, fumbling ardently despite the spectators.
She saw a couple of Crows down from the Eyrie: small wiry men who were the only friendly ambassadors those heights produced. Each had half his face painted or tattooed with intricate curling patterns of black, and they stared at the newcomers using one eye at a time, tilting their heads to either side just like birds.
There was a raised platform at the far end of the hut, and it was there that the Horse were conducting their business. There was a man up there who seemed to be in charge, broad-shouldered and broader-waisted, and yet probably as tall as Hesprec if he stood. He wore a thin beige robe of some material she didn’t know – certainly not the wool she was used to. It was richly ornamented at the hems with stitching of many colours, and she thought it was one of the finest garments she had ever laid eyes on. Above it, around his neck, was a torc of copper, polished to gleam in the firelight. The sight of it made her uncomfortable – too much like the halters that thralls wore to prevent them Stepping. The metal did not meet at the front, and was presumably a symbol of rank and importance, but she could not shake the feeling that there was a touch of servitude there, even so.
There was a Horse woman sitting up there behind him, dressed more plainly in a long woollen shirt, and she was making marks in a clay tablet to tally whatever the man was bargaining for, and occasionally interrupting to give her opinion. She had the same coppery skin as all the Horse people, with a pointed face and a curved nose, and Maniye thought she looked very exotic and elegant. She had heard the Winter Runner men talk often enough about the grace and beauty of Horse women.
Another of the Horse had hopped down from the platform as soon as they came in, and he kicked and pushed his way through the gathered throng to speak to them. He was long-boned and much younger than the Hetman doing the bargaining – enough to be the wide man’s son – and he wore a jerkin of hard leather scales over a wool robe that fell to his knees. Like all the Horse she had ever seen, he had a calm strength to him that went beyond merely his strong frame. His eyes were flecked and tawny, like polished stones.
His attention skipped from one to the other, resting mostly on Hesprec and plainly not sure what to make of him. ‘You come to trade?’ he asked, a flick of his gaze taking in their other visitors. ‘What goods have you?’ It was only through hearing his voice, and the strangeness of the way he spoke, that Maniye noticed the absence of anything similar in Hesprec. For all his odd choices of words, the Snake spoke as though he had been born to the Crown of the World. Except now, when he matched the Horse man’s accent perfectly.
‘Special goods for those heading south before the ice comes. A trade that comes along once in two span of years.’ Hesprec’s smile was broad, but without teeth it could never quite aspire to looking friendly. Still, he did his best.
The tall Horse man gave him a doubting look. ‘You may be best to come next morning with your special trading, white one. There are many here to barter before you.’ His eyes moved to Maniye again, and he surprised her with a smile. ‘But our fire is warm. I offer that to you at least,’ and then he was striding and shoving his way to return to the platform.
Up there, their chief was just concluding a trade, finishing with some grinning remark that had the Coyote woman opposite laughing – evidently a good deal for all concerned. As she hopped down and began to make her way towards the door, the tall man clambered up and had a murmured word with his superior.
The man in the torc seemed to doubt him, but then looked over and caught sight of Hesprec with almost exaggerated surprise. Maniye felt his eyes as they shifted to her and stayed there longer than she was happy with. With a few words and a gesture, the Hetman had sent his man back down to Hesprec and Maniye.
‘It seems you’re more special than you think,’ he explained, a little exasperated by this turn of events. ‘Come . . . come with me.’ He reached upwards, and Maniye saw that there were struts overhead that projected out from where the walls met the eaves, sloping up along the line of the roof but leaving a gap where various bundles had been stowed. From there, the tall Horse dragged down a heavy leather coat trimmed with fur and pulled it about himself. ‘The Trading Master wants to speak about this special trade of yours, but somewhere better fit for it. Come with me.’
They struggled out into the snow again, which was now settling steadily. Hurrying almost on the heels of their guide, neither Maniye nor Hesprec were in any position to watch out around them, nor did they have any animal senses to call on.
From between two of the Horses’ round huts, a wolf watched them, pale enough to be almost invisible in the snow, save for the darker fur about his shoulders. Narrowing his eyes against the thickening flakes, Broken Axe considered his next move.
10
The hut they were led to was smaller, and empty, with the embers of a central fire retaining just enough warmth for comfort. A raised platform furthest from the door bore a mess of furs and woollen blankets for sleeping on.
The tall young Horse man clasped his hands together before him. It meant nothing to her, but Hesprec echoed the gesture.
‘I am Alladei, hand-son of the Trading Master Ganris, who directs all you see,’ the Horse announced, although he wore a slightly complicit expression, as if to say, Yes, grand words for so little. Maniye found herself warming to him, perhaps just because he was the first person to show them some kindness.
‘I am Hesprec Essen Skese, priest of the Serpent and one who has travelled far. Perhaps too far.’ The old man spoke with a careful dignity that Maniye knew was to hide his ravaged gums. Again, his accent matched that of the man he was speaking to.
‘My hand-father wishes to speak with you without many ears to hear. I shall find you food and drink and all else you might require.’ Again he brought his hands together, and then he was backing out of the hut. All that time his attention had been only on Hesprec, but his eyes sought out Maniye just as he was leaving, and she thought she caught a smile in them.
‘What is a “hand-son”?’ she wondered aloud. She had almost thought he’d said ‘handsome’ at first.
‘He will not be of this Ganris’s blood, but adopted into his family. In the Horse, they do all things their own way.’ Hesprec was sending birdlike glances about the interior of the hut, and now he hobbled over and sat on the platform, drawing one of the furs about him.
Maniye frowned. ‘They take care of the orphaned – who does not?’
‘No, no, they buy them.’ Seeing her expression the old man cackled. ‘The Horse buy children – some say steal them, but this I do not believe. It can be a good life, to be of the Horse. When there is no food, where a child might die otherwise, sometimes it is done to sell them to the Horse.’
‘But . . . when they learn to Step . . . ?’
Hesprec shook his head. ‘There are ways, rituals . . . you know this, surely? They sever them from their totems, then find them new Horse souls, so that they become Horse
tribe in truth.’ He said it very matter-of-factly, but Maniye cringed at the thought.
‘That’s horrible! How can they . . . ?’
‘What is in here that makes us us, it survives the loss of the soul. It is only if no new soul comes that there is danger. The Horse is generous, it has many souls to spare, no doubt.’ The old man stared at her pensively. ‘Wolf girl, Tiger girl, you must know that you too will have to wield that knife.’
For a terrible moment she thought he meant he would sell her to the Horse. Then – more terrible still – she understood. She had two warring souls within her. One day soon she would have to sever one and cast it away. Tiger or Wolf: it was the choice that had lurked in ambush for her since the day she was born.
‘I don’t want to . . .’ she began stubbornly, hopelessly.
Hesprec opened his mouth to say something, whether reassuring or prescriptive she did not know, but the words failed him and he said nothing. Pity looked wholly out of place on his pallid countenance.
Then Alladei was back, ducking into the hut to spread out another skin by the fire. On it he placed leather bowls: berries, dried meat, quamash meal. His big, long-fingered hands worked with exaggerated delicacy.
‘Please, eat,’ he invited them. ‘My hand-father is coming.’ Maniye had hoped he himself would stay, but he was already on his way out, backwards again with his hands clasped together. This time she mimicked the gesture.
She had a berry halfway to her mouth when the broad man, Ganris, arrived. ‘Welcome to my home!’ he boomed. ‘Greetings, strange travellers with special trades to make.’ He was so loud he seemed to fill the whole hut. ‘You, old grandfather, may the sun warm your bones! And you, little daughter, swift be your hunting and let the winter smile on you!’ His congratulatory smile was more for himself, Maniye felt, for so thoroughly putting his guests in their place.
He wasted no time in sitting down by the food, one hand already reaching for it without the need to look. From somewhere he produced a skin of something, and he unlaced it and took an ostentatious sniff at the contents.
It turned out to be goat milk, when it reached Maniye, although warmed and spiced with something. Once she had tried it she was highly reluctant to surrender it back to Ganris. Hesprec, for his part, had taken the tiniest sip, just enough to be a good guest, before passing it on.
‘Now, speak of your special trading,’ Ganris invited them. ‘Out of the great respect I have for the Sun River Nation and its revered priesthood, I will listen.’
‘Out of the respect I have for the Horse Society and its traditions, which is no less, I shall speak,’ Hesprec agreed, twisting his thin lips to get the words right. ‘Winter has come to the Crown of the World, as all can see. This is no time for the civilized and the sensible to let themselves freeze here. You must be ready to travel south for the Plains, and two such as we would hardly slow you, on land or water. It would be a grand honour to travel with the Horse.’
Ganris nodded self-importantly, his manner indicating that such would indeed be a grand honour for them. ‘I would hesitate to inflict the hardship of our travels on two so distinguished travellers. No doubt you would find our ways coarse, our hospitality mean, compared to what you are used to.’ He took in Hesprec’s mismatched clothing, and the general feel of dirt and weariness that hung over the pair of them.
‘We are hardy, we will endure,’ Hesprec replied unflappably.
‘And this is not all, surely?’ Ganris prompted. ‘Two such as you would not trouble yourselves for such a meagre matter.’
The old man took a deep breath, and in it Maniye saw just how tired he was. Her feet had carried them here from the Winter Runners, but the sheer effort of talking was wearing him down.
‘We would impose on your hospitality for new clothing, perhaps, and I am sure the matter of provisions need not even be discussed, so sumptuous are your riches.’
‘Sumptuous.’ Ganris rolled the word over his tongue, plainly pleased with a new acquisition. ‘But the gratitude of the priesthood of the Sun River Nation would no doubt put what little aid we can render into shadow.’
Maniye felt a tightness within her. Now they were talking about what Hesprec had to bargain with. That had always been the hole in their plan. If the old man was as ragged and wretched as he looked, then they might as well barter for the sun and the moon as for some new clothes and passage south.
‘Opulence,’ Hesprec said precisely, ‘shall be yours when you return this son of the south to the Serpent’s coils.’
‘And the girl, too?’ Abruptly the florid-speaking Ganris was gone, and someone shrewd and calculating was in his place.
Does he think I’m a slave? Maniye thought, tense and growing tenser, tiger and wolf both clamouring to rise up and reshape her. Will he offer to buy me? And then: Would Hesprec sell me? After all, she had travelled with the old man for just a few days. She did not know him. She could not trust him.
‘The girl, too,’ Hesprec agreed firmly.
‘She is not of the south,’ Ganris observed.
‘Her soul has flown far from its last resting place,’ the old man revealed. ‘Why else would one such as I travel so, save to return to my home a soul dear to the Serpent that has been born into the cold jaws of the Wolf?’ He said it with utter assurance.
Ganris, finding the skin back in his hands, took a deep draught from it. ‘Remarkable,’ he gasped, at the end.
‘Such are the ways of souls. Even a priest such as I cannot be said to understand all things.’ Hesprec managed his thin smile. ‘Can we be said to have a bargain?’
Ganris’s mouth twisted. ‘The gratitude of priests . . .’ he prompted.
‘Gold, jade, obsidian, greater than all of these is the gratitude of Serpent for those that restore one of his own.’
‘And the girl . . . ?’
‘We are inseparable,’ Hesprec confirmed politely.
Ganris nodded, then stood up smoothly, rising from crossed legs despite the bulk of him. ‘Well, I am only a humble Trading Master, barely Hetman in anything but name. I must speak to my people and plead your case, to persuade them that our journey south shall be observed by strangers.’
‘The Serpent’s eyes are hooded. He sees only that which is wise,’ Hesprec pronounced – overly mystically in Maniye’s opinion.
‘Even so.’ Ganris did the same thing with his hands as Alladei had, and then he backed out.
Maniye locked eyes with Hesprec, studying him just as he was studying her.
***
Amiyen Shatters Oak was one of the Winter Runners’ greatest hunters, and for that, she was bitter. Though Smiles Without Teeth might be stronger, and Hare Killer might be fleeter, there were few who could so claim to have all the gifts of a hunter in one body. Perhaps there was none.
In her human form she was stocky and powerful, her bristling dark hair cut close to her scalp to afford no purchase for grasping fingers. As a wolf she was the equal of any of them in size and ferocity. Stepping could be a great equalizer.
Yet she would never be chief of the Winter Runners. She could prove herself as good as any man, or twice as good, and the honour would still be barred her. That was what made her grind her teeth.
She had sons, though. The honours denied to her, she could still secure for them. She had taught them ambition and patience, how to stalk with care, then to seize the prize in their jaws and not let go.
And sons were something Akrit did not have, take as many wives as he liked. Only one woman had borne his get, and he’d had her killed the moment the squalling creature was pulled from her womb. Amiyen was willing to wager he was regretting that now.
She had two sons – two more than Stone River would ever have. Rubrey was the elder, not the best of hunters and yet to earn a name for himself, but he was blessed with a dogged determination to see things through, and already had a following of young hunters. Her younger son, Iramey Arrow Taker, had earned his name after he had gone off into the highlands to take a
tiger skin, and come back with a shaft in his leg to mark his recklessness. He had learned little from the experience, to Amiyen’s frustration, least of all that enthusiasm was no substitute for planning and forethought. It was to cure him of his foolishness that she had brought him here with her.
Rumour amongst the traders placed the girl here – or at least identified the old Snake, who was more easily spotted. She could not have said what prompted her to take Iramey and run swift-pawed all the way to the trading post: one of those decisions she made mid-hunt, little hunches and suspicions leading her to an elusive quarry.
And now the quarry was Akrit’s own daughter. Now there was a hunt worth exerting herself for.
If only the girl could be mated to one of Amiyen’s sons, that would solve so many problems. Akrit had scoffed at the idea when she had brought it up, though. He had other plans, it seemed. Any man who became Maniye’s mate would be in a strong place to become chief after Stone River. Amiyen had no interest in anyone gaining such an advantage over her own brood when the time came.
The Horse Trading Master was all polite niceties, at first committing himself to nothing, asking for a more detailed description of the girl, Maniye. Then at last the fat man was admitting to having heard some rumour, perhaps seen some glimpse . . . ? Yes, they had been here. Yes, perhaps they were still here – he did not know. Except that he did know. He was just trying to find a way to betray a guest without sullying Horse honour. In the end he had said nothing, yet at the same time told her everything. Amiyen stood up and stretched, tugging at the collar of her hide jerkin to show she was too hot, and ducked outside with Iramey padding at her heels.
***
‘Did you mean what you said?’ Maniye asked, after letting the silence between them stretch out as long as it could without snapping.
Hesprec cocked an eye at her and said nothing.
The Tiger and the Wolf (Echoes of the Fall Book 1) Page 12
