by Gabi Moore
This was not necessary in her dream. The way was clear; it lay before her feet, closer than ever before. Laova took step after step, looking up at the shimmer of the god lights over the crags of Star-Reach. The sheets of snow at the summit were pristine and blank, untouched by mortals. Untouched, perhaps, by anyone.
Laova trudged onward. The snow was still thin and put up no resistance to her boots, but it was growing deeper. It had swelled gently around her ankles before. Now, it was midway up her calf. If there was one thing Laova understood, it was snow; before long, it would be up to her knees, and further still.
Was it cold? Laova couldn’t feel it, although she was certain it should be. She was far from the peak, but the mountain stretched downward behind her to the shapeless valley far below. So high, and she could feel only a breeze, a hint of a chill. It was odd; in her waking hours, Laova would fear she’d taken a nasty frost, perhaps bad enough to lose fingers. Perhaps bad enough to die from.
If she’d taken a frost, she’d feel tired and warm. Laova felt neither of these. She was energized, or at least moving on momentum. As for warm… Laova felt nothing. No cold, no heat. Nothing.
Upward, ever upward. The cut path in the snow before her grew fresher, as if she were drawing near to the feet that made it. The thought was a little daunting, but not enough to slow her. After all, this was the way she was meant to go. Fear or hesitation could not stop her now. Guilt could not stop her now. Rell could not stop her now.
The night seemed to grow brighter the higher she climbed, and Laova knew why. The trees were thinning, leaving greater spaces of white snow to bounce back the colorful, wheeling lights overhead. The air should have felt thinner, as well, but of course in her dream Laova felt no different. She didn’t gasp for breath. She didn’t struggle.
And finally, when she chanced to throw her eyes forward farther up the slope, her persistence was rewarded. It took her by surprise. Obviously someone had to have been ahead leaving the footprints for her to follow, but it was jarring for Laova to finally look up and see the tiny, moving figure of another climber, ascending Star-Reach just barely within her sight.
And like a passed message, a voice carried back to her in the shifting mountain wind. It spoke one word, and one word only, just barely audible.
Laova.
***
Rell crawled out of her tent the next morning, or what passed for morning. The sky was clear today, a brilliant black-blue speckled with glittering stars. It peered down through the tree branches, through needle and bough that were quite used to the dark.
The fire was still burning, tended now by Nemlach, who was turning a series of meat chunks on a spit over the fire. The traps that Khara had set the night before must have been successful.
“Morning.”
Nemlach glanced at her with his eyes only. He mumbled something that might have been a greeting without moving even one muscle more than necessary.
Rell sighed and let him be. She wandered out for a moment into the forest to attend nature’s calling, came back to find Nemlach still intently cooking the rabbit, or fox, or whatever had stumbled across the trap. After washing briefly with a cup of melted snow, and checking over her gear, Nemlach was no more talkative. Not that she expected him to be; with another low, slow sigh, Rell sat beside him at the fire and watched breakfast as it sizzled and browned.
Nemlach waited with patience. Not many men were as patient, as gentle, as he. Even fewer could balance that gentle nature with an ability to be fierce, to answer the call for action when it came. He was unique in that. Rell’s well-missed husband had been no such creature. He had died three winters ago when he was injured on a hunt and froze before she could find him; Rell often wondered if he’d made a mistake, just a foolish mistake, on account of his sometimes foolish nature. Sometimes foolish, and childish. But she missed him still.
Not Nemlach. Rell knew he’d never die of a silly error, nor let anyone else perish of needless or negligent cause. He was protective towards those he cared for, even more for those he loved, which was probably the reason that he was giving her the cold shoulder this morning.
She was a little jealous, she had to admit.
“You know I had to do it,” Rell said eventually.
Nemlach’s mouth twisted. “Do what?”
Rell frowned. “Don’t play that game with me. You know exactly what I mean.”
Nemlach gave the spit a quarter turn and shrugged. “You do many things. You’ll have to give me more of a hint.”
It would be undignified and inappropriate for her to grab him by the hair and shake him until he cried for mercy, but Rell imagined it for a moment. She rested her arms safely on her knees and clicked her tongue.
“You’re angry that I did it, but you also are well aware that I had to impress upon Laova how serious a wrong she committed, and how dire the results could have been. She could have killed us all. I didn’t even mention the most frightening truth of it—most of the hunters are here with us.
“You know it’s true, Nemlach. If we all died, there are only three other hunters left in the village. They would survive this winter, and might scrape by the next. But we are few,” Rell tried to catch his eye, but Nemlach ignored her attempts. “We are very few. By leading us all to our deaths on this mountain, Laova could have ended the village.”
“I know that,” Nemlach murmured.
Relieved that he’d at least spoken, Rell continued. “She had to learn, without a shadow of a doubt, what could happen. She’s to be a hunter with us. We must be able to trust her. When we hunt together, there is no time to wonder if someone will do what they must. There is no room to think about what to do if someone fails to play the part they were given.”
“I know that, as well,” Nemlach agreed softly.
“More than that,” Rell pressed on, leaning forward. “I won’t live forever, Nemlach. When I am gone, someone must be the next Hunt Leader. Perhaps it will be a youngling that has not chosen our path yet. Perhaps it will be Taren. But if it is Laova, she must be a Hunt Leader who respects and values her hunters.”
Rell’s voice had dropped to nearly a whisper. “What she did yesterday terrified me. I saw it clearly; her becoming Hunt Leader one day, and leading her group into danger again and again. Losing men and women. Killing us off with her recklessness.”
Shocked out of his sulking mood, Nemlach turned to her. “You really think Laova could be Hunt Leader someday?”
Jealous she might be, Rell still smiled wryly. “Does it make you want her more?”
Nemlach’s surprise melted into embarrassment. “That isn’t why I disapprove your methods.”
Rell chuckled, although it hurt. “Yes it is. If it were the other way around, and Taren had gotten Laova injured with his idiocy, you would have thrown him off the mountain.”
“He’d throw himself off the mountain,” Nemlach replied softly. They were the only two awake, as far as they knew, but it wasn’t difficult to eavesdrop. “He cares for her, at least as much as I do. In a way, I think more so.”
Rell looked at Nemlach, deeply, directly. “You could reconsider my offer, you know. Laova would probably be happy with Taren if you were no longer available.”
Nemlach’s embarrassment took a sharp spike, and his dusky face reddened. “I… you already have my answer to that, Rell.”
“I thought we had fun together,” Rell whispered. She glanced back the tents; there didn’t seem to be movement or sound, but the last thing she wanted was for Laova to overhear this.
Nemlach opened his mouth, left it hanging uselessly open for several seconds, then closed it again. Rell laughed; it had been a while since she had, and it felt nice to relax a little.
“We wouldn’t be good together,” Nemlach protested finally. “You are too wise, and I am too wise. Between us, there isn’t any innocence or newness left.” He looked at her and grinned a little. “I already bore myself to death. I’d hate to bore you to death, too.”
R
ell shoved him lightly. In her heart, she agreed. Nemlach was not thirty, and she’d left thirty behind a year or two ago. He was still old beyond his years, which was, maybe, the source of his serenity. It was said the Elder Men had lived to be a hundred or more winters old; Rell didn’t care to consider the Elder Men much, but she did know that she was only human, and thirty-something was too old for a soul like Nemlach’s.
The soul maybe. His body, however, still had her wishing he’d reconsider.
And in his tent, beside a sleeping Ghal and a sleeping Laova, Taren heard this and prayed silently. Rell was beautiful, too; there was no reason, in Taren’s understanding, why Nemlach couldn’t chase after her instead.
Surely, if Nemlach were taken, Laova would see how mistaken she’d been. She’d choose Taren. Surely, she would.
***
Laova opened her eyes.
Immediately, she groaned and closed them again.
She’d been dreaming of the mountain again. From the moment she slept to the moment she woke, she dreamt of it, now. They were pleasant and invigorating dreams, but waking from them today put her back into the real world, a world where Taren still fought to win her over and Rell was still furious with her.
Yesterday, she’d spent hours fantasizing about finally having Nemlach to herself. She wished it were still possible, but even though she was alone in her tent, there was no way to summon Nemlach inside with Taren noticing.
Laova sat up to check anyway.
Outside the tent flap, Ghal and Khara were huddled near the fire. Rell was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Taren. Perhaps Bamet was still sleeping, because he was missing, too, but across the fire, clear within sight, sat Nemlach.
Laova couldn’t believe her luck; her stomach cramped with nerves, as suddenly she realized she had every opportunity to do what she wanted.
Should she beckon him over? Laova’s mouth went dry thinking of it.
It seemed she thought too loudly, because at that moment Nemlach looked up and caught her eye.
Her heart thudded into her throat, but Laova smiled. She felt that her eyes were too wide, and maybe her face was pale with indecision. But when his eyes were on her, she couldn’t help but smile, and her heart spluttered into frenzy as Nemlach smiled back.
He was getting to his feet; Laova watched in horror and excitement, dread and desire. He was approaching, and Khara and Ghal pretended not to notice in good-natured conspiracy. Laova silently thanked them; if they’d teased or even sent a scandalous wink in her direction, she wouldn’t have the stomach to move aside and let Nemlach slip into the tent with her, which is exactly what he did.
He helped her fasten the flap shut against the cold. Laova’s fingers were shaking visibly. When he removed his gloves, Nemlach’s were still and sure, and Laova couldn’t stop watching them.
The moment the flap was shut, Nemlach pulled her to him. Laova went without protest; without the thickest outer layer of her cold-weather hides, it was a little easier to meld into his arms.
“Laova,” he murmured into her ear. His voice was thick and gravelly, and it was fire. Laova’s body was shot through with heat, and she clutched at his coats almost desperately. He cradled her face as they kissed, wove his fingers through her long, dark hair at the back of her skull.
Laova pulled at the ties of his clothes, and this time Nemlach did not attempt to stop her. Quite the opposite, he helped her. In seconds his outer coat was off, and Laova was able to draw her lips over the corded muscles of his neck, over the bones of his collar and dip where neck and shoulder meet. She could feel his heart beating against her tongue, his rasping breath through her hair, and she ached for more.
Another layer of her clothes went, as the temperature in the tent rose. She saw the need in Nemlach’s eyes as she came closer to bare skin, and a fluttering thrill of partial fear and partial joy made resistance or even rational thought impossible.
A breathy gasp escaped her as Nemlach laid her back on the tent floor. He pulled off the last of the clothing on his upper body; maybe being horizontal was a disadvantage, because her blood flowed blindly into her head and made Laova dizzy. But then, he was close to her again, kissing her, and Laova was finally able to examine and explore every dip and ridge of muscle on his torso with her fingertips. Her hands looked very white against his dark skin, and small.
Nemlach’s hands were larger, and currently sliding under her innermost shirt. The skin of her stomach and waist prickled; his fingers wrapped around her ribcage and back. A man had never touched her this way, and Laova wanted more of it, and dreaded more of it, and wanted more…
His thumbs were rubbing upwards, massaging the softness of her breasts, teasing closer…
Laova gasped in delight as Nemlach finally found the points of her nipples, circling and teasing, leaving her gripping his arms and back without realizing her fingers had turned to claws, digging into his skin. He chuckled against her throat as his lips caressed her.
“Hey,” Khara whispered through the closed tent flap. “I’d get a move on. Taren’s coming back.”
Nemlach started to draw away. Laova took his hands and placed them back under her shirt.
“Rell’s coming back, too.”
The color drained out of Laova’s face and she sat up.
Nemlach kissed her lightly and began to draw his clothes back on; he understood, and Laova loved him more every day for that understanding. “Later.”
Laova nodded and searched for her layers. Later. They would finish this later. Come rain or snow or storm or Taren physically refusing to leave the tent. She’d mate with Nemlach right in front of him, if it came to that.
As she pulled her cold-weather clothes back on and tied them tightly, Laova sincerely hoped it would not come to that.
She and Nemlach climbed out of the tent together; of course, Rell and Taren were both already back, but at least neither had let themselves into the tent during Nemlach and Laova’s intimate and badly needed few moments together. Taren gave Nemlach a simmering, dirty glare, and Rell raised her red eyebrows, but no one commented.
Snow was flurrying downward as they broke camp. Out of guilt, Laova tried to do everything; every time she looked into Khara or Bamet or Ghal’s faces, she was forced to see Khara’s husband, Bamet’s brothers, Ghal’s children. The words she’d be forced to say circled madly in her head. I’m sorry. They died for the clan. It was a wolf. A mountain wolf. I led them there.
She felt half-crazy with the burden of what had almost happened by the time they were packed. The fire was the last piece to be smothered, and Rell stood beside it.
“Laova.”
Dread choked her; Laova turned to face Rell, afraid and feeling cowardly for being afraid, but afraid nonetheless. Rell beckoned her closer.
“Come here.”
There was no refusing, so Laova advanced, standing beside the fire, beside Rell. It was hard to read Rell; her face gave little indication to her mood, one way or the other. Maybe it was because her wild red hair was so distracting; it was difficult to stop looking at it long enough to gauge the expression of the face beneath it.
“Laova, you haven’t told us where we’re going today,” Rell said softly.
Laova stared at her in disbelief.
The tiniest smile curled up the corner of Rell’s lips. “This is still your hunt. You made a terrible mistake. Correct it now—where are we going? What are we hunting?”
Laova looked around at the others. Khara and Bamet were both grinning. Ghal seemed determined, and perhaps a little excited. Even barely healed, Taren was brimming with energy, practically beaming at her. Nemlach met her eyes evenly, without a hint of fear or accusation.
She turned back to Rell, questioning.
Rell rested a hand on the hilt of the Scim. “You’re joining the hunters, Laova, and you should know that we can’t hunt without knowing what we’re hunting. But before it’s too late, we should probably tell you our secret, as well: we all like a challenge from tim
e to time.”
Laova’s disbelief dissolved into understanding, then relief, then anticipation.
“All right, then,” she nodded. “All right.” Laova smiled up at them all over the fire. “We’re headed farther up the mountain. We’re going after a mountain wolf.”
Chapter 7
By their best estimation, it was afternoon when the snow flurries grew heavy. It was deep winter and always cold; still, Laova felt like the temperature was dropping. Young as she was, she didn’t need experience to realize she didn’t like the look of this new development.
The wolf’s tracks meandered over the slopes, inching higher and higher, never in a straight line. Around the same time Laova noticed the snow coming faster, she beckoned the others, partially to confer, partially because she had to rest. The thinning air was becoming difficult to breathe. The rest of the hunting party seemed to gasp as well, taking longer than usual to settle their breath into a normal rhythm.
“The wolf is heading up the mountain,” Laova told them. “It won’t go much higher. The beast is looking for food, not its pack; I don’t believe it has one.”
“Why wouldn’t a wolf have a pack?” Khara asked.
“Eventually, I think this one means to find a nice she-wolf and starts his own pack,” Laova answered. Khara already knew this; it was part of the ritual hunt to ask scores of redundant questions, to keep the initiate on his or her toes. Laova had gotten quite used to it, even between the more dramatic aspects of her first hunt. “He’s mature, but not very old. He probably just outgrew his old pack and is looking to find a better fit.”
Bamet snickered. Ghal frowned at him.
“How far ahead is he?” Taren asked. Laova actually wasn’t sure if this was a redundant question; it was hard to read the wolf’s tracks in the snow, as they didn’t show some common patterns of wolf behavior. He tended to go in a mostly-straight line more often than not, only veering this way or that when an obstacle popped up in his path.
