Wordsmiths enjoyed a special status both inside and outside their clan. They were regarded as being above the fray in which ordinary Mute warriors were embroiled. As a result, their lives were rarely threatened by rival clansmen – not even by those disrespecters of tradition, the D’Troit. They did not have to ‘chew bone’ – to kill, or be blooded in battle – they were regarded as having ‘standing’ from simply being a wordsmith. This, of course, had not been enough for Cadillac. Raised in Mr Snow’s shadow, he was so hungry for recognition, he had sought every opportunity to prove his worth as a warrior and had finally succeeded due to the timely intervention of Clearwater – a fact he had conveniently overlooked.
The first priority, however, was the horses. On his return to the M’Call settlement in the spring, in the company of Brickman, Malone and his band of renegades, Cadillac had brought a number of Iron Master horses. Malone’s men had appropriated most of them, but they had been recovered following the midnight massacre in which Malone and every single one of his men had been killed. Some had been used by Brickman’s group in the attack on The Lady, but six or seven had been left in the care of the den-mothers and She-Wolves who had stayed to guard the settlement.
Searching the immediate surroundings of the burnt-out settlement in the first few days after his return, Cadillac discovered two bullet-ridden carcasses that were already being pulled apart by a jostling crowd of death-birds. A week later, on lower ground some two miles northeast of the settlement, he and Roz came across the body of another horse. From the relatively intact state of the carcass, it had died from wounds some days after the first pair. That left at least three unaccounted for.
Despite the miles he had travelled on their backs, Cadillac’s knowledge of horses was still rudimentary, but he knew about herd animals. He reckoned the third, wounded horse had fled at the first fusillade, following its more-fortunate companions. They had moved on when he finally succumbed, but given the point where his body lay they had not travelled very far in that seven-day period. This seemed to indicate they had resumed their normal grazing pattern once the initial panic had died down.
Cadillac surmised that horses, in their natural state, behaved like buffalo, who only ran when alerted to danger by the scout bulls on the fringes of the herd. If the horses had enjoyed a relatively peaceful life since and with bears, jackals and mountain lions in abundance that was certainly not guaranteed – they might still be within reach.
There was only one way to find out, and that fitted in with another requirement; the need for Roz to learn how to run. If she was a full-blooded Mute, the ability to lope effortlessly mile after mile for hours on end would be lying dormant within her, but it could not be awakened at the snap of a finger. After his broken leg had mended, Brickman had trained himself back to peak fitness, but it had taken him time to reach the combination of speed and endurance required to keep up with a M’Call hunting posse.
Roz, like most Trackers, had followed a daily exercise regime since early childhood, but swimming came higher on the list than running. During her first five-mile jog with Cadillac along mountain trails she thought she would die, but at the end of three weeks she was still on her feet after ten, but distinctly wobbly when Cadillac stretched it to fifteen. Five weeks into her overground existence she was able to overcome that pain-barrier and start pushing herself towards the target distance of twenty-five miles.
It took a lot of perseverance on both their parts, and the fact they were still speaking at the end of it testified to the closeness of their relationship. That perseverance finally paid off: the daily runs took them further and further afield, and finally, as they crested a rise, they saw below them a loose cluster of larches grouped around a stream sparkling with sunlight as it rippled over a pebble bed. Drinking from the stream were two horses, one a dappled grey, the other a golden brown with a flowing oatmeal-coloured mane and tail – one of several mounts Cadillac had ridden during the long journey from Lake Michigan to Wyoming.
Cadillac led the way down the slope towards the stream, moving with the same stealth the Mutes employed when hunting game. As they entered the stand of trees, the two horses turned their heads towards them several times to assess the danger then continued to eat their way across the carpet of sweet fat grass, flicking their tails to express their annoyance at being interrupted.
Squatting down by the edge of the stream, Cadillac fished out the two bridles he’d been carrying around in a sling pouch for the last few days. ‘Let’s have a couple of those yellow-fists.’
Roz produced two yellow-skinned apples from her bag. Cadillac sliced them in half, releasing a sharp tangy smell from the firm white flesh inside that made Roz’s jaws tingle.
The dappled grey mare pricked up her ears.
Cadillac laid two pieces into the palm of Roz’s hand. ‘I’m hoping the roan will recognise my voice, but if he doesn’t, you know what to do.’
‘Wait a minute. I know what you told me, but –’ Roz looked down at the apple halves. ‘You don’t seriously expect me to put these in their mouths, do you? With teeth like they’ve got?!’
‘Relax! It’s not dangerous. Look – keep your palm flat, with your fingers turned down, and offer it up at an angle – like that.’ Cadillac arranged her left hand in the correct position. ‘The flesh on the muzzle is quite loose, and the front lips are soft and sort of leathery.’
‘Err-ugghhh!’ The thought made Roz shiver.
‘Don’t be stupid. They can’t eat you, they’re not carnivores. And they’re not going to slobber all over you. Their mouths should be quite dry. Just keep your thumb tucked well in.’
‘Why?’
‘So as not to get it bitten off.’
‘That’s it. That does it. You do it, I’ll watch.’
Cadillac rose and stepped back out of reach as she tried to give back the sliced apple. ‘I was only joking, Roz. How can you possibly be scared? I’m sure you can do anything if you put your mind to it.’
‘Ho, ho, very funny.’ She snatched the bridle from his outstretched hand. ‘It doesn’t work with animals. I know, because I’ve tried.’
‘You didn’t tell me.’
‘Why should I? You’d have only made fun of me – like you’re doing now.’
‘Clearwater didn’t have any problems. She even knew how to talk to them. Right from the word go. They were drawn to her like bees to honey.’
‘Yes, well, I’m not her, and she’s not here, so there’s no point in talking about it, is there?’
‘You’re right.’ Cadillac turned away.
‘Where are you going?!’
‘To the other side of the stream. I’m going to try and work round behind the roan.’
‘But what do I do if they both come towards me?’
‘You’ve got a bag full of apples. Keep feeding ‘em until I get there.’
The prospect of being run down by two large horses provoked a squeal of dismay. ‘Don’t go so fast!’
But Cadillac was already over the stream and striding away through the trees in an attempt to head off the roan which had kicked up its heels and trotted away from its companion. Cupping his hands around his mouth, Cadillac called to the horse with the same shrill voice he had heard the Thai stable-boys using when rounding up horses in Ne-Issan.
Reacting to the voice, the roan halted obediently and allowed Cadillac to get closer. Then, catching the scent of the proffered apple, it trotted towards him. Cadillac readied the bridle.
Roz, on the other side of the stream, forced herself to walk towards the dappled grey. The closer she got, the bigger it became. It was absolutely enormous! Gritting her teeth, she stretched out her right hand and offered it half an apple. ‘Come on, take it! You great stupid thing!’
The dappled grey sniffed the air then started to walk forward. In the last few weeks, Roz had discovered both the attractions and dangers of living with wild animals, but as the horse broke into a trot, all her lofty theories about the precious nature
of lower life forms and their rights to co-exist with Man evaporated. All she could feel now was the ground shaking beneath her, and to her ears, the booming thump of the four trotting hoofs sounded like a roll of thunder.
Oh, Sweet Mother! It weighs a ton and it’s not going to stop!
Gripped by an unreasoning fear, Roz turned sideways, right arm still outstretched, ready to flee. She held her ground until the mare was some two yards away then dropped the apple, leapt across the stream and hid behind the nearest tree with Cadillac’s laughter ringing in her ears.
The mare snaffled the fallen fruit with bared teeth, cleared the stream with one stride and headed towards Roz.
‘Help! It’s following me!’
‘Exactly! That’s the whole idea!’ cried Cadillac. He led the roan downstream. ‘Get your bridle ready then give her the other piece!’
‘Oww-err! Can’t you help? I’m not used to this!’
‘Steve brought a horse onto Red River, didn’t he?’
‘Yes – but I didn’t have to feed it!’ Keeping the tree between them, Roz offered the grey another piece of apple. The horse caught it between its teeth just as Roz jerked her hand away.
‘Now the bridle!’ called Cadillac. ‘Quick! Grab hold of her mane!’
‘I can’t reach!’ said Roz. ‘You’ll have to do it.’ She threw the bridle towards him.
Cadillac caught it against his chest and led the roan over. ‘Think you can manage to hold onto this one?’
‘I’ll try…’
‘Give me another of those apples.’ Cadillac turned and addressed the dappled grey mare soothingly, stroking its neck as it ate out of his hand. When the horse had quietened down, he gently eased the bridle over its muzzle, slipped the metal bit between its teeth, and hooked the head strap over its ears.
Roz watched him buckle the straps tight. ‘You make it all look so easy…’
‘That’s because this is the easy bit,’ said Cadillac. He handed her the reins of the grey and took control of the roan. ‘Sitting on top of them and staying there is where it gets difficult.’
‘But at least you know how.’
‘Yes. And by the time we get to where we’re going so will you.’
For Roz, who was almost a head shorter than Cadillac, the first major problem was learning how to get onto the horse. Without the aid of stirrups and a saddle to hang onto, it demanded a fairly high degree of physical agility and – for absolute beginners – a good deal of determination. Roz had plenty of that and she needed every ounce of it. Cadillac gave her a leg up until she had mastered the basics of riding bareback, then left her to struggle on her own. After countless attempts and a great deal of cursing, she finally worked out how to haul herself onto the horse’s back, but not before she had suffered the ignominy of overdoing the first leap up and tumbling nose-first off the far side.
To her credit, she bore the knocks and the inevitable soreness without complaint and eventually her persistence paid off. Six days after running away in panic from the dappled grey, she was able to catch, bridle and control both horses well enough for them to begin the first stage of their long journey.
Using strips of buffalo hide cut from salvaged hut panels, Cadillac fashioned two wide girths to hold a part of a bearskin in place as a saddle, and he made horizontal chest and rump straps for them to provide an anchor point for the trucking poles.
These were long larch saplings, lashed together in parallel, just far enough apart for the horse’s hindquarters to fit between. The top ends were lashed to the leather harness, the strain being taken by a back strap behind the saddle and the horse’s chest; the bottom ends trailed at a shallow angle along the ground, well clear of its rear legs.
What possessions they had, including the constituent parts of their hut, were tied onto the light latticework platform that helped to keep the trucking poles parallel to one another. Roz helped Cadillac with the construction by cutting up thin strips of hide and binding everything together, firmly and neatly, with the same care she used when stitching up a wound.
When all was ready, they led the horses down the only suitable trail from the bluff to the undulating plain below. As they were about to enter a thick stand of pines that lay across their path, Cadillac reined in the roan and cast a long backward glance at the slim, graceful plume of water that fell from the tongue-stone: the landmark which, for so many years, had served to guide hunting posses back to the settlement.
‘Are you sorry to leave?’ asked Roz.
‘I’m not leaving anything. What’s left of the past we’re taking with us. But I was born up there. Even though it is heavy with death this place will always be special to me.’
‘It’s special to me too,’ said Roz. ‘This is where I came to life. Don’t grieve. We’ll come back one day.’
Cadillac clasped her outstretched hand and felt her fingers close reassuringly around his. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘Isn’t this where you would like our child to be born?’
The question came as a total surprise. ‘Why, yes, but – surely you don’t mean –?!’
‘No,’ laughed Roz. ‘Not yet. But when it’s time, I want you to bring me here. Promise?’
‘Yes, I promise.…’
On their second day out, they encountered a hunting posse from the Clan K’Vanna, another branch of the She-Kargo bloodline. Not having a crossbow with which to send up a smoking arrow – the signal used by rival groups of Plainfolk when they wished to parley – Cadillac and Roz had to ride towards the posse, coming much closer than was usual at the preliminary stages of a parley, and running the risk of an itchy trigger finger sending a bolt through their chests.
When Cadillac was able to see they were facing warriors from a She-Kargo clan he motioned Roz to halt beside him. Placing his hand across his heart he raised it above his head to display the empty palm. The leader of the posse laid down his crossbow and returned the gesture. Cadillac dismounted, passed the reins of his horse to Roz and walked forward. He had prepared a big speech, but to his surprise, neither his eloquence nor Roz’s power were required to get them over the next hurdle.
It soon became clear that all the clans who had sent delegations to the trading post at Du-Aruta had heard about the power and triumphal progress of The Chosen from Carnegie-Hall and the wordsmiths of the clans that he, Steve and Clearwater had encountered on their journey westwards to the point where they had run into Malone’s renegades. The fact that he and Roz were on horseback, flying the green and gold banner of Talisman, was proof of their identity and their ticket to ride – wherever they wished – across territory held by the She-Kargo and M’Waukee.
It was almost too good to be true.
Introducing Roz as Rain-Dancer, Cadillac asked the warriors how he could reach the turf of the M’Kenzi. The leader of the posse offered to put him on the right path – but not until he and his companion had paid a courtesy visit to their settlement. Cadillac agreed, whereupon two of the K’Vanna warriors raced off to alert the elders.
When Cadillac and Roz arrived with the posse, they were received with some ceremony. The death-defying act that he, Steve and Clearwater had performed with the aid of rolled straw mats and a samurai sword had left a deep impression on everyone who had seen it, and the K’Vanna elders, led by their wordsmith Dow-Jones-Index, were clearly hoping for a repeat performance.
Cadillac, who had met Dow-Jones on previous visits to the trading post, made a great play of taking the elders into his confidence. In a hushed voice which drew the circle of heads towards his, Cadillac announced that he and Rain-Dancer were preparing themselves for an encounter of earth-shaking importance with the Iron Masters. If brought to a successful conclusion, it would secure the future of the Plainfolk. It was, therefore, absolutely vital that he and his companion preserved their magical energies until that fateful moment. Did they not agree?
Of course they did.
But Cadillac had another more important reason for not turning Roz lo
ose. She was a key part of the presentation he intended to make to the forthcoming Plainfolk Council and he did not want to lose the element of surprise by giving sneak-previews to all and sundry.
Assuaging his disappointed hosts with the promise of further secret revelations at Sioux Falls, Cadillac and Roz resumed their journey and were passed on by the K’Vanna to the O’Shay. Once again their arrival created a wave of excitement followed by a sense of anti-climax which Cadillac quickly smoothed away with more artful diplomacy. Roz, who shadowed him throughout, watched and listened with growing admiration as he won over yet another audience.
Five days into their journey, they finally made contact with the Clan M’Kenzi and their wordsmith, Magnum-Force, a tough-minded, hard-bodied, handsome woman with over fifty life-beads on her necklace. She and Cadillac were well acquainted through her friendship with Mr Snow – a friendship that was something more than the professional link all wordsmiths shared.
Some years back, in a rare moment when one too many lungfuls of rainbow-grass had got the better of his discretion, Mr Snow had hinted at a deeper relationship dating back to the time when he and Magnum had first come to the trading-post as young pupils of their predecessors. A mutual attraction which he claimed had never been requited because of the strict taboo on sexual relationships between members of different clans.
Having recently discovered more about Mr Snow’s early life, including the hidden cave which he allegedly used for illicit amorous liaisons, Cadillac was no longer sure that the old fox was any great respecter of tradition.
Magnum had survived the Battle of the Trading-Post and had seen Mr Snow lying grey-faced and totally exhausted on what many of his entourage said was his death-bed. Magnum had spent many hours by his side and had been close at hand when the young man she knew as Cloud-Warrior had had several whispered conversations with him. Later, when the first Plainfolk Council ended, she saw the Old One rally, and what remained of their two delegations had journeyed side by side towards Wyoming.
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