It was an uncomfortable arrangement for Heckram. He had no place to put his eyes and he didn't know what to do with his hands. He folded his arms across his chest, then, feeling foolish, let them fall to his sides. Her face was close to his as she examined the cut. Her mouth was impassive, and when he did look into her eyes, she didn't notice. The injury had all her attention. He started slightly when she took his chin in a firm, cool grip and turned his face toward the light. Her fingertips rasped lightly against his chin. She kept her hand there, holding him steady, as she moved her head to study the injury. He stared at her frankly, noting the fineness of her hair, the way it pulled free of its binding and strayed around her cheeks. Her nose was narrow and more prominent than was thought attractive among the herdfolk. Much like his own.
Her cheeks were not broad and flat, but were molded back over high cheekbones. Her dark eyes were sharp and bright as they peered at him. Like a vixen, turning her head and cocking her ears as she watched and waited at a vole's burrow.
'What happened?' she demanded suddenly.
It took him a moment to reply, 'I scratched my face on a tree branch.'
'Oh?' She turned his chin again. 'It looks like an animal scratch. Not as bad as a bear swipe, not as big, but similar.'
'I stood up inside a branch shelter that Lasse and I had built, and scratched my face on a snag.'
She didn't agree with him. 'Then it shouldn't have become infected like this. But even a mild swipe from a predator usually becomes infected. Like this.'
'It was a branch,' Heckram repeated irritably.
'Mmm. It's close to the eye. You should have come sooner. Now it's going to hurt.'
With no more warning than that, she scooped a handful of moss from the warmed water and held it firmly against his face. The heat accented the pulsing pain of the wound. He set his teeth and held himself still. Sweat sprang out all over him.
'I can hold it there,' he offered after a moment.
'I've got it,' she replied, it will take a little while. It has to open. Sit still.'
It was unnerving to sit so close to a woman, face to face, being touched by her. There was the hot pain of the wet moss and its pressure against the swollen slash. But the smell of her hair and skin was another pressure against him, as warm as the poultice, and stirring. Her touch on his face, the brush of her warm breath, the points of her breasts so close to him, and the serious eyes that stared at him but didn't meet his gaze were all combining to disturb him.
His face flushed suddenly and he looked away from her. His sudden arousal surprised and shamed him. He expected better control of himself. He hoped she wasn't aware of it. A drop of sweat tracked a line down his face.
Why, she wondered idly, would a man lie about being clawed by an animal? Most hunters bragged of their struggles with beasts, as if being maimed were a feat to be proud of. She saw the pinch lines around his mouth go deeper and white. 'I know it's uncomfortable,' she said quietly. 'But in a few moments we'll ease the pressure.'
She lifted the spongy moss away to inspect the swollen gash, then dipped it again into the warm water. 'Here. Hold it against your face while I make a poultice to draw out the infection. It may not be as bad as it first looked.' He put his hand against the moss as she lifted hers away. Their fingers brushed in passing.
She stepped clear of him, glad to put a cooling distance between them. I should be thinking of Kerlew, she told herself sternly. I should be worrying about what nonsense Carp is telling Kerlew, and how to get rid of that horrid old man. Instead, she had been lost in Heckram. She had meant to examine the gash. But when she had touched his chin to turn his face, she had become aware of the rasp of his unshaven skin. With a sudden ache, she had remembered the brush of her father's whiskers against her cheek when he hugged her. He had been a big man, strong, like this Heckram. When he carried her on his shoulder, she had been safe. If he had been home the day the raiders came ... but he hadn't, and she had never felt safe since then. She swallowed against a rising lump in her throat and half angrily pulled her thoughts away from those lost days. She should be concentrating on her work. On Heckram.
Like an intruder breeching a broken wall, he had made her aware of the man behind the injury. There was his smell again, as she remembered it, the smell of live reindeer and behind it the subtler musk of his own maleness. She had felt his eyes trying to meet hers and resisted them. Bad enough that she could not bring herself to take her hand from his face. His body warmth had crossed the small space between them, touching her and making her blood quicken. She quenched her rising warmth firmly. It had nothing to do with the man, she told herself. It was only that she was at that time of her days when her body ached for a man's touch, warmed and quickened at the thought of one. Another hand of days and her blood time would come, and this foolishness be forgotten. Was she a girl to be ruled by such urges?
Going to her herb box, she began to sort through it. The sorrel leaves were shriveled brown, nearly too dry to use. Put them in anyway, it couldn't hurt. Yarrow. Willow leaves. Goldenrod root? Well, it worked on burns and scalds. She added a little. She'd be glad of the fresh green herbs of spring. These old gatherings had nearly lost their potency. She began to pound them together on a slab of wood. She could mix them with lichen, cook it with a little water into a soggy paste, and -
'You're angry at me, aren't you?'
Tillu turned in surprise to his question. 'What?'
'You're angry at me. For helping the najd to find you and Kerlew. And for threatening Joboam.'
For a long moment she did not reply. Then she gave a great sigh. She rocked back on her heels, her pestle forgotten in the hand she raised to prop her chin, 'I'm not angry,'
she decided. 'You couldn't have known that he wasn't what I would choose for Kerlew.
And even if you had ... it wouldn't have mattered. I believe that he still would have found us. Sooner or later.'
'And Joboam?' he pressed. She wondered why it was important to him.
'Joboam is a ... problem,' she admitted grudgingly. 'But it is a problem I have had before. There are always men who like to control things. Men who believe they should rule anyone weaker than they. I wasn't protecting him when I interfered between you.
What I said was true. A healer sees so many injuries that could not be avoided. We get weary of treating the ones deliberately caused. And soon he will be gone. Soon you will all be gone.'
She heard the dilemma in his voice as he pushed on. 'Why do you let him ... treat Kerlew like that?'
'Let him?' She let her bitterness bloom in her voice. 'What am I to do? He doesn't strike the boy when I am here. And I try always to be here when Joboam is. But sometimes he comes when the boy is here alone, and then ... but I have told Kerlew not to be alone with him. To come and find me as soon as Joboam arrives, not give him a chance to be angry.'
'And Kerlew forgets.' The understanding in his voice surprised her.
'And Kerlew forgets,' she agreed, it is hard to explain to someone who doesn't know him. The thoughts of this moment drive from his mind the instructions of a moment ago. It is not as if he were stupid. He is always thinking, but of something else. He has his own ideas of what is important and what is not. Two days ago I saw a bruise on his arm, and asked him about it. Three days ago, Joboam grabbed him there. Why didn't he tell me? Because he forgot, because that was the day he found the patch of frozen berries and dug them up and ate them, and I asked him what the red on his mouth was, so he told me about the berries instead. And, to him, that makes sense!'
She heard her own voice shaking. She turned abruptly to Heckram. He was sitting quietly, the dripping moss still cupped against his face. His eyes were brown, she realized suddenly, not black. And there was no pity in them. What she saw in them startled her. It didn't seem possible that he was sharing the pain she felt for her boy.
'The sleeve of your tunic is soaking wet,' she said with a calmness she didn't feel. 'Take it off and hang it by the fire. You'll want it
dry to go home in.'
She became aware again of the pestle in her hand and used it with a vigor the dry herbs didn't require. She heard him ease out of his shirt. She mashed the herbs with some lichen in the bottom of a small pot, added water, and put the poultice to heat. She turned to find him naked from the waist up, wringing water out of the sleeve of his woolen undershirt. There was a tracing of hair on his chest, starting just below his throat, widening slightly on his breast, and stretching in a line past his navel.
'The men of my grandfathers' blood,' he said, a husky embarrassment in his voice,
'are hairy, like this. On the face and chest.' She had been caught staring.
She lifted her eyes, tried to meet his gaze nonchalantly. it is so with my people, also,'
she admitted.
'The women also?' he asked incredulously.
She laughed aloud, caught the look in his eyes, and wanted to stop, but couldn't. He was blushing, embarrassed by his ignorance. She caught her breath, found a solemn expression, but lost it again. Perhaps it didn't matter. He was starting a smile now, rueful and shy, but a smile.
'That was stupid, wasn't it?' he admitted, chuckling.
'Not really.' She got her face under control. 'You have probably always been with your own people. How are you to know the ways of other folk?'
'I haven't always been among the herdfolk,' he defended. 'When I was very small, I once made a trading journey with my father. It was when he was wealthy, before the plague. I saw the village of the traders, like, like ...' He groped for words. 'Like two great square huts, made into many little huts.'
'Rooms,' she suggested.
He paused, shrugged his shoulders, and gave a tentative nod. 'Two of them, with many families living there, each family with a "room." And the wide path between the two great huts. The men had beards that billowed over their chests. And the women had hair like different shades of wood. Some of the children were my cousins, but we could not talk well together. Still, we played.'
'Was it far from here?' Tillu found herself asking.
Heckram frowned to himself, 'It didn't seem so at the time. But I was small, riding in my father's pulkor, so the distance meant little to me. Still, it couldn't be that far. Some years the traders come from that village to trade. Not as often as they used to, but then, we used to have more to trade. Now it is more common for the herdfolk to go to their village. The year my father took me, it was an unusual thing. All the folk in the village were surprised to see us and marveled over our harke and pulkor. Do I have to put this back on my face?'
He had caught her dreaming, her thoughts riding on his tale. She looked at the handful of moss he held out.
'Wet it again and put it back. It will soften that gash.'
He made a sound between a sigh and a growl and sat down again. She heard him slosh the moss in the pot. She bent to study her own pot of lichen and herbs. She poked at it with the pestle, decided it had softened enough, and removed it from the heat. The white lichen was very useful as a binder. It could be used to thicken a stew, or to make a poultice, or even to be cooked into a sort of bread. She touched a finger to it, flinched, and set it aside to cool a bit. She felt both reluctance and anticipation as she walked over to Heckram.
He took the moss away from his face as she knelt before him. A few strands of the white moss clung to the edges of the slash. She picked them off carefully with her fingernails, then touched the injury. The soaking had taken down most of the swelling.
It was red and warm about the edges, with a yellowish crust down the middle. The herbal soak had softened the scab so it would slough away easily. 'This doesn't look near as bad as it did.' She picked cautiously at the edge of it and felt him wince. 'We'll try the poultice now.'
'What do you say to him, afterward?'
'Who after what?' she asked absently, poking at the mass in the pot. It was a little too runny.
'Joboam. After he's been rough on Kerlew.'
'Very little. It does no good. He denied it the first time I accused him, and the next time he said he had been wrestling playfully with the boy and the boy misunderstood.
I've told him to keep his hands off my son. Then he said something about Capiam making him responsible for us, so he must make the boy understand your rules before we go with you. Then I said if it involved beating the rules into Kerlew, I'd as soon not go. After that, he left Kerlew alone. Until today.'
'Have you ever spoken to Capiam about it?' Heckram asked.
Tillu shook her head silently. She brought the poultice pot over beside him, took up a handful of white moss, and mixed it into it. The result was a warm fibrous mass that would cling together when she smoothed it onto his face.
'Do you want me to speak to Capiam about it?' Heckram offered softly.
'Would he listen to you?'
Heckram hesitated fractionally. 'The herdlord is supposed to listen to all of his folk.
But Capiam has not been herdlord long. Nor did he have the benefit of a father's long experience. Relf, who was herdlord when I was a boy, died about five years after the plague, leaving no children. Capiam's father had been one of his most trusted men, and he assumed the leadership. Some were not happy about it. Several spoke up in favor of Eike, who was Joboam's father and another of Relf's men. But Eike's father was not of the herdfolk, but was a trader, like my grandfather. A friend of his, in fact. So many said the herdfolk needed a leader with the blood of herdfolk strong in him. So, Capiam's father was chosen, despite his great age. He died three years ago, and Capiam became herdlord.'
'Was Eike bitter?' Tillu asked thoughtfully.
'No. Eike was a good man, big in both size and heart. He supported Capiam's father right up until his own death. But I know what you are thinking. Yes, Joboam resented it. We were only boys at the time, but I remember it still. When no grown folk were around, he often said that the leadership should go to a man strong enough to lead.
Then, if any disagreed, he would wrestle them and hold them down until they were shamed. And say that good men take pride in a strong leader. Meaning Eike; he was large, like Joboam.'
'And you,' Tillu added.
Heckram bobbed a nod of agreement. 'Same blood. But we were seen differently.
Joboam was strong, and his family had plenty, even in the worst times. No matter how angry the other children got with him, it was easy to forgive him, because in his tent there were cheeses and suet puddings for his friends.'
'And what about you?' she pressed curiously, even though she sensed he remembered pain.
He smiled ruefully, 'I was a bit of the fool. Then, and some still think now. Clumsy, always too big for my clothes. And Joboam disliked me.' Heckram gave a deprecating laugh. 'He could wrestle me down, but I was never smart enough to admit he had won.
I'd always keep struggling until he had to let me up or until one of the adults came to end it. So I was never welcome in his tent with the other children. Most of the other children avoided me, for Joboam was unfriendly to any who befriended me.' He shook his head suddenly. it wasn't a good time. I was glad to grow up, glad when the wrestling and struggling stopped.'
'So glad that you nearly started it up again today,' Tillu observed wryly. 'But I think I understand now. Enough to know that your speaking to Capiam would not make any difference. I will have to think, and decide. It may be that the only way to spare Kerlew from him will be for us to go our own way. Lie back on the pallet while I put this on, or it will drip off your chin. It's not as thick as it could be. Close your eye, too.'
He eased back on her pallet, feeling the soft prickle of the furs beneath his bare back.
Her smell was on the furs, rising to make him aware of her closeness. She knelt beside the pallet, scooped some of the poultice up on her fingertips, and then leaned over him to pat it softly onto his face. She was very close, her face intent. The poultice was runny.
Some of it trickled down by his ear, tickling unbearably. She scooped it back with a finger. Her ha
nds were warm, her breath sweet. Her small face was so solemn. He could reach up and pull her down on top of himself. She probably weighed nothing at all. He gave his head a slight shake to rid it of the impulse, and Tillu exclaimed in annoyance. 'Be still!' she chided and steadied his face with her free hand. It made it worse. The throbbing of his face under the poultice wasn't painful enough to distract him from the sudden throbbing in his loins. He tried talking.
'It would be a sorry thing for the herdfolk if you did not go with us. Long have we needed a healer -'
A glob of the poultice slipped into his mouth, flooding it with bitterness. He made a move to sit up, but Tillu held him down, exclaiming with annoyance, 'Be still, or it will go all over!'
He reached to claw the glob from his mouth with his fingers and more slid in. He nearly choked on it. Her free hand was on his forehead now, trying to hold him flat while her other hand was laden with more poultice. He managed to turn his head slightly under her grip and scoop the offending gunk out of his mouth. That left him with a handful of it and no place to put it. Embarrassed, he glanced up at Tillu who chose that moment to burst out laughing.
The transformation was remarkable. The years dropped from her face, her cheeks dimpled in, and her eyes shone. Kerlew's resemblance to her became obvious when her white, even teeth flashed in her smile. Without her habitual small frown, she seemed young, almost girlish. Her laughter was good, low pitched and earthy. Their eyes met, and he found himself grinning in response as the poultice slid down the side of his face.
'It's too runny,' she apologized. Still smiling, she shook the poultice from her fingers back into the pot. Her hand had not left his face. 'Here,' she said and took the gloppy poultice from his hand and flicked it into the fire. She reached over him toward a worn square of hide on the other side of the pallet, could not quite reach it, leaned further, slipped, and was suddenly sprawled across him. Under her, his chest shook with laughter. Her cheeks burned. She snatched up the square of hide, wiped her fingers and handed it to him as she rocked hack onto her heels. He took it from her, still grinning, and wiped his fingers clean. He could feel the poultice dripping down the side of his face and neck.
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