“At least you had the chance to play last night, and beautifully, too. But not dancing with her,” Connor shook his head, “that was poorly done.”
“I know,” Reid said miserably.
“A man takes chances. Show some spine,” Connor said.
“Even if I had, Tarhill will ruin it if he can.”
“Tarhill can’t tell her who to like. Even if he tried, Maura’s stubborn as her father.” Connor took a flint and a small axe from the pack. He grinned wickedly up at Reid. “The good news is: if Tarhill knows, then she surely does. And that’s half the battle.”
“But, as you said, I’m a coward.”
“If you’re lucky, it puzzled her. Curiosity is a man’s friend when it comes to women. Once you get them wondering about you, trying to figure out your secrets,” Connor winked suggestively, “it’s all too easy to get them to give up theirs.”
Reid sighed, Connor would bed any girl who offered and even those who needed convincing. But Reid wasn’t like that, and how he felt about Maura wasn’t either. Although Maura was a beautiful girl, it was her generous nature and blunt surety that intrigued him, and the way he felt at peace around her. He wasn’t looking for stolen kisses in the night.
So, what am I looking for, he wondered.
He had no answer. Not that it mattered, the moment was gone. He pressed his lips together in irritation, remembering her warm brown eyes in the firelight. He sighed, not wanting to think about Maura or Tarhill or missed chances. They worked in silence until Connor kicked at a stone.
“Oy, no more silence, brat. You could at least tell me a story to pass the time.”
Reid almost told his brother where to stick his story, but a tale would lighten his own mood. “Did I ever tell you how Borran created Bear Clan?”
“Not that one,” Connor whispered harshly. “The old man will have your head.”
“You asked for a story.” Rebellion shone in Reid’s eyes. “And he’s not here, is he?”
Connor shook his head with a chuckle, motioning for Reid to begin as they gathered kindling and rocks for the fire pit.
“In the early days of the world, oh brother-of-mine, when herds of ice elk roamed the tundra and more seals than men sunned upon the rocky shores, the world was at peace. The land was fertile. Life was good. However, hidden beyond the top of the world lived a race of warriors, tall as the pines with greedy hearts and axes of iron. These barbarians descended from the Crown Peaks in a great horde, slaughtering man and beast across the northern tundra. They destroyed the great herds along with the nomad families until all that remained was dry, soulless wasteland.”
Connor nodded at how Reid wove Ceru history into the larger tale.
“When they had stripped the tundra bare, their avarice drove them to the forests of the White Mountains. The folk who lived beneath the pines were simple and kind. They freely offered the intruders whatever they desired. But what they didn’t understand, what they couldn’t understand, was that the giants coveted blood and violence. War was the prize they sought.
“In those days, the spirits of nature still lived in the wild places. Akin to gods, they watched over the world they’d helped make, not bothering to hide themselves for they did not fear the eyes of man or beast. There were four powerful spirits, each with a dominion of their own: sea, air, pines, and tundra. The spirit who lorded over the pines and all manner of things that lived beneath them was older than the others, his name was Borran. The destruction wrought by the giants angered him. Determined to drive the invaders out, he looked beneath the towering trees for an ally, a creature worthy of making him an army.
“Of all creatures, only man was as cunning as the fox, loving as the wolf, and had skilled hands that could be turned to war. Borran took the form of a great bear. Dressed in thick, soot-colored fur, he walked among the men seeking out their leaders. He told them he could help them defeat the intruders if they did as he asked. Eager for what help they could get, the clansmen agreed.
“They followed him up into the peaks where he struck the mountainside open with one enormous paw. Within the cleft glittered iron ore. Borran showed the men how to smelt it and shape it, making blades and arrow points and shields. Once they were armed and armored, he led the men against the giants. He played spirit tricks on the invaders, confusing them so the men could slay them. Within three days, Borran and his army of men had killed or driven off all the giants.”
Reid sat back on his heels, his task forgotten as his mind focused only on the story now. “Now you know, brother-of-many-years, that a spirit can only manifest in a body for a short time. After charging the men with the safety of the forest and each other, Borran prepared to bid them goodbye. But they had grown to love him. They wept and begged him to stay and their tears softened his heart. He decided to give them a special gift.
“He went again into the mountains and this time gathered new snow from the peaks. This he shaped with his own hands. He carved out paws and claws and large broad heads. Then, he breathed life into the snow. In a heartbeat, there stood before Borran a herd of large white bears. He led them down the slopes to his waiting clan.
“He told his people these creatures would be their brothers, there to remind men that they were Borran’s own and would be forever protect--”
Reid’s tale was choked off mid-sentence as someone grabbed his hair and yanked him to the ground. The cold itchy line of a blade pressed against his throat. “Telling clan stories now?” Tarhill asked, his voice an angry rasp. “Have you forgotten your own blood?”
Reid gazed up helplessly into his father’s snarling face, wondering if this time the old man would kill him.
“Where is your spirit bear now, eh?” Tarhill asked, his blade scraping Reid’s skin for emphasis.
Reid had no answer. His heart pounded in his chest.
“Remember this,” Tarhill said in a low growl. “There’s no one watching out for you. No god, no spirits. It’s just you against life. You hear me?” He threw Reid to the side and stood, sheathing his knife. He spat on the ground in disgust. “In the end, we are dust. Nothing more. Your precious clan is as lowly as the rest of us.” He glared down at his son. When he turned to survey the camp, he made a contemptuous sound in his throat. “Is this all you’ve gotten done? And no meat either?”
“You’re early,” Connor said, “It’s not dark yet.”
“Lazy bastards, you were distracted…and by what? A bunch of meaningless fairy tales.” He aimed a sharp kick at Reid’s thigh.
“What happened at the falls?” Connor said, trying to distract his father.
Reid took the opportunity to scramble out of the way and get to his feet, refusing to check the stinging line on his neck for blood.
“Avalanche took out part of the hillside. I’ll scout it again tomorrow when the light’s better. Your brother is worse than useless,” Tarhill pointed a blunt finger at Reid, “Connor, go get some dinner.”
Reid took out the flint as Connor wordlessly picked up his bow and headed into the trees. Striking the stone, Reid coddled the spark and coaxed it to angry life, his mind whirling with simmering resentment.
“You think you’re one of them, don’t you?” His father sniffed with disdain. “You’re not, you know.” Taking out a small flask, the older man threw back a hearty swallow. Reid could smell the alcohol on his breath as Tarhill leaned close over his shoulder. “You’re Ceru. You are alone.”
Reid refused to answer, trying to focus on the newborn flames.
His father’s heavy hand grabbed the hair on the back of his head and he turned Reid to look at him. “Don’t be setting your sights on a Bear girl. I’ll not have it.”
Tarhill shoved Reid away. Distracted and angry, Reid put branches that were too green on the fire and it smoked, sputtering weakly, threatening to go out.
Tarhill yanked a dry branch from the stack and tossed it on, sending a shower of sparks up into Reid’s face. “Not even enough brains to make a proper fire,” he said as he stalked
to a patch of moss, sat down, and drank some more.
Grateful for the silence, Reid found the skillet in the packs and set up a spit. He held his tongue and kept his eyes to himself, not wanting to antagonize the old man further. When Connor returned with a small fox over his shoulder. They cooked the meat and ate in silence. At the end of the day, an exhausted Reid was grateful for the dark retreat of sleep.
CHAPTER 3
Reid dreamed that night despite his weariness. There was a bonfire in his dream, and a dance. Maura was there, laughter on her lips and a smile in her eyes. She danced in the thick arms of a large man, a bearish man. Maura didn’t seem to notice the man’s long nose and black lips as he twirled her around the fire. They stopped as if one being and stared at Reid. The bear-man held out a large hand, inviting him to join their dance. Maura smiled with welcome in her honey eyes.
Just as Reid would have stepped into the firelight, Tarhill appeared between Reid and the dancers. His father’s eyes were lit with simmering anger and a rack of antlers sprouted from his head. They stretched to each side, growing like vines until they became a wall between Reid and the bonfire, casting him into shadows.
Tarhill lunged for him. His gnarled fingers reaching for Reid’s throat. Reid stumbled backward and fell into a hole filled with darkness that smelled of earth and pine.
He awoke with a start to Connor packing up their supplies. Tarhill was nowhere to be seen. The dream had left his limbs leaden and slow. Glancing at the sky, he noticed the day matched his mood, gray and heavy. Neither brother spoke. There was nothing to say.
When Tarhill returned, they silently set a rugged course for the next line of traps in the saddle of two peaks. They reached that camp just as the sun ducked behind the snowy mountains, chilling the damp air.
“You two set the traps while I make camp,” Tarhill said. He tossed the iron jaws at Reid who caught most of them, though a few clattered to the ground. Connor gathered up the fallen ones and led the way up the slope to the mountain stream.
The iron jaws were stiff and hard to work with. The brothers opened them, laying them out on familiar lines along the trees. Reid’s fingers cramped in the damp cold. He buried the traps beneath musty frosted leaves that gave off an earthy aroma when disturbed. The smell sent Reid’s mind back to the bearish man and his dreams.
He snorted with humor. Perhaps Tarhill was right; he had been telling too many stories.
Suddenly, his hand slipped on the slick metal and the iron jaws snapped shut.
Shock and fear blotted out any pain as Reid stared down at the fingers caught in the iron teeth.
“Reid!”
Connor’s yell was muffled by the rush of blood pounding in Reid’s ears. He didn’t remember crying out, but Connor sprinted toward him. His brother dropped to his knees, his face a mask of worry. “Reid, are you okay?”
Reid stared blankly at where the two smallest fingers were lodged in the unforgiving teeth.
Those didn’t belong to him, did they? An icy sweat made his head spin.
“Reid! Damn it, say something.” His brother shook Reid’s shoulder roughly. When Reid didn’t respond, Connor grabbed the jaws of the trap and forced them apart. The hand slid free on a limp arm, landing on snow and leaves.
It was then the pain hit Reid with a shock like the blow of a hammer. Unbalanced, he landed on his rear, the dampness seeping into his already quivering body. He held the injured wrist with his good hand. A ghostly throbbing echoed up his arm. The fingers refused to move at his command. Surely that wasn’t his hand.
His mind drifted to firelight and soprano strings with a shiver of regret. What if he’d never play again?
“It’s okay.” Connor’s murmured words drew him back to the present as he watched his brother wrap the hand in a cloth. Connor grabbed Reid’s good arm, hooked it over his own neck and hauled Reid to unsteady feet. Together, they stumbled down the slope in the dark.
Their father lounged against a log in the firelight, flask in hand. “You can’t be done,” he scoffed at their approaching footsteps.
“He’s hurt,” Connor said, lowering Reid to the ground near the fire’s warmth.
“Bah, what fool thing did he do now?” Tarhill’s scorn made Reid shiver harder. He looked up to find the old man regarding them coolly, his face unreadable. He made no move to help.
“Trap snapped shut on his hand,” Connor said, digging in his pack for something.
“Hah.” Tarhill’s laugh was an ugly bark.
Reid saw Connor’s jaw clench in anger.
“That’s funny, is it?” Connor asked, whirling around to face his father, fists clenched at his sides, his chin jutted forward angrily.
The air snapped with the tension as Reid’s heart jarred against his ribs. His head felt lighter, emptier with each thundering beat.
“No trapper worth their pelts has all ten, boy.” Tarhill jeered and held up his own mangled hands. Most fingers were bent with rheumatism, but a fair few were missing the tips beyond the last knuckle. “Nothing wrong with him that a few days and a stiffer spine won’t fix well enough.”
Tarhill stood, dusted himself off and walked over to where Reid huddled around his injured hand with shuddering breaths. His father leaned down with a smile that bordered on cruel. “Afraid she won’t have you now? Without your pretty songs?”
Reid closed his eyes against the remembered feel of his fingers deftly plying the strings and the way she had watched them dance. He felt sick.
“Maybe this is Borran’s way of telling you to leave her be.” Tarhill twisted the spirit bear’s name with derision and poked a toe in Reid’s leg for emphasis. “Suppose I’ll be getting dinner tonight. But tomorrow, whelp, you hunt or go hungry.” He huffed angrily, took up his bow, and headed into the night muttering as he went.
Reid wanted to vomit, but he didn’t have the strength. Something shriveled inside him but refused to die. The small, hopeful spirit that had always burned within him hunkered down to a hard nub of stubborn anger. Tarhill could only do so much. The best revenge was to endure, as he always had, just to spite the bastard.
“Don’t worry.” Connor’s warm voice pulled him to saner ground. “I know a fair bit about wounds. Let me see that.”
Reid barely felt his brother pull the injured hand into the light. He didn’t feel the wrappings unwind and drop away, nor the heat of the fire. He wasn’t even sure he was breathing. The only sensation he was aware of was the throbbing ache that began in his elbow and ended somewhere in the night. He refused to look at the limb that Connor prodded and flexed.
“The bleeding stopped,” Connor murmured. “Try to move it.”
When Reid tried to make a fist, pain shot up into his shoulder and he cried out, jerking his hand from Connor’s grasp.
His brother smiled. “At least it moved. Even if the bone’s broke, it’s pretty straight. You should be fine.” Reid stared at the offending hand as Connor went to retrieve Tarhill’s flask from the other side of the fire.
“What are you doing?” Reid croaked in a voice that seemed to come from somewhere far away.
“If it gets infected, you’ll lose the fingers,” Connor said.
Reid offered his hand to Connor’s ministrations without question at the thought.
“This is going to sting a bit,” his brother said right before he poured the alcohol into the open wounds.
Curses burst from Reid’s mouth at the pain. He bit his lip to stifle them, not wanting Tarhill to hear.
“Stitches next,” Connor said thrusting the flask at Reid.
“I’d almost think you’re enjoying this,” Reid said, taking the flask in his good hand. His hefty swallow burned behind his sternum.
“Don’t listen to Tarhill,” Connor said. “He’s cruel by habit. Maura’s a worthy catch.” He took some sinew and a bone needle from his pack.
“Worthy she may be. But Tarhill is right, beauty is ... impractical.” Reid stared at the mangled fingers. “And temporary.�
�
Connor began to sew and Reid ground his teeth together against the pain.
“Don’t think that way, brother,” Connor whispered. “Beauty is a good thing. A thing that lodges in your heart like a damned burr. Once it’s there, you don’t ever want it to leave.”
The words surprised Reid. Where was his boorish brother? The feckless Connor. The boy who tallied kisses like victories.
“I think you’ve had too much drink,” Reid said.
“Or not nearly enough,” Connor chuckled. “I don’t want you thinking Tarhill has the right of it. There is so much more to life.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You haven’t gone south to trade yet. Just wait. You’ll see how big the world really is. There’s beauty out there you’ve never dreamed of. Not just that violhe Mac brought you, but places you can’t imagine. Wide oceans. Towering woods. And the people...” Connor’s eyes shone with eager delight.
Reid frowned. “You mean the women,” he said in a curt voice.
Connor snorted with self-deprecation. “I can’t pretend I don’t notice them,” he admitted, avoiding Reid’s eyes. “But it’s not just them. I don’t want to stay in Bear Clan my whole life.”
A pang of loss shot through Reid. “You want to leave?”
Connor’s lips thinned angrily. “Don’t look at me like that. Mother won’t be alive forever and what else is there for me here? I don’t want to be a trapper all my life. Do you?”
Reid never thought of it as a choice. An image of his father’s hands, mangled and stunted, crossed his mind. “But what else would you do?”
“There’s work if a man is willing,” Connor hedged. “The point I’m trying to make is that our father can’t see beyond the end of his crooked nose. Maura would be good for you. She’s smart and practical. She even laughs at your jokes, though ancestors know why.”
“Because I’m funny,” Reid said.
“Funny-looking maybe,” Connor shot back.
Reid sighed as Connor tied off the thread. “She is beyond me, Con.”
Connor fixed his brother with a scolding glare. “Don’t you let him sway you from her. One day, he’ll be dead and you’ll be sorry to be saddled with some homely scrub wife.”
Tales of the Archer: A Corthan Companion Page 2
