Wolf’s Brother

“Not when he has work. You have calves to skin and bury. Don’t waste your time visiting Tillu.”

Capiam approached as they were speaking. Acor and Ristor hung at his heels like well-trained dogs. Heckram glanced at them in annoyance, wondering where Joboam was. Carp showed them his remaining teeth in a grin, and went on speaking to Heckram.

“Hides from just-born calves make a soft leather. Very fine and soft, wonderful for shirts. It has been a long time since I had a shirt of fine soft leather. But such luxuries are not for a wandering najd.” He moved his head in a slow sweep over the gathered men. Then, with elaborate casualness, he opened his hand. One finger stroked the carved figure of a reindeer calf curled in sleep. Or death. Acor retreated a step.

“You might have a shirt of calf leather, and leggings as well,” Capiam said in a falsely bright voice. “My folk have urged me to invite you to join us on our migration. We will provide for your needs.”

“I myself will give you three calf hides this very day!” Acor proclaimed nervously.

Carp closed his hand over the figurine. “A kind man. A kind man,” he observed, to no one in particular. “An old man should be grateful. But it would be a waste of hides. My teeth are worn, my eyes are dim, my hands ache when the winds blow chill. An old man like me cannot work hides into shirts.”

“There are folk willing to turn the hides into shirts for you. And your other needs will be seen to as well.”

“Kind. Kind, generous men. Well, we shall see. I must go to visit my apprentice today. Kerlew, the healer’s son. I am sure you know of him. He has told me he might not be happy among your folk. Some might be unkind to him. I would not stay among folk who mistreat my apprentice.”

A puzzled Capiam conferred with Acor and Ristor, but both looked as mystified as he did. He turned back to Carp. “If anyone offers harm to your apprentice, you have only to tell me about it. I will see that the ill-doer pays a penalty.”

“Um.” Carp sat nodding to himself for a long moment. Then, “We will see,” he said, and got creakily to his feet. “And you, Heckram. Do not waste your time today. Get your work done, and be ready to travel. The journey begins the day after tomorrow.”

The men looked to Capiam in confusion. “We do not go that soon,” Capiam corrected him gently. “In four or five days, perhaps, when…”

“No? Well, no doubt you know more of such things than I. I had thought that a wise man would leave by the day after tomorrow. But I suppose I am wrong again. What an old man sees in his dreams has little to do with day-to-day life. I must be going, now.”

Carp set off at a shambling walk, leaving Capiam and his men muttering in a knot. Heckram called after him, “Be sure to tell Tillu that I will come to see her soon.” The old man gave no sign of hearing. With deep annoyance, Heckram knew that his message would not be delivered.

“Here he comes! I told you he would come as soon as the storm died!” Without waiting for an answer, Kerlew raced out to meet Carp.

“I told you that he would come as soon as the storm was over.” Tillu offered the truth to the empty air. Kerlew had been frantic when Carp had not returned. He had spent a miserable two days. Kerlew had paced and worried, nagged her for her opinion as to why Carp hadn’t returned, and ignored it when she told him. So now the old shaman was here, and her son would stop pestering her. Instead of relief, her tension tightened. She stood in the door, watched her son run away from her.

She watched the old man greet the boy, their affection obvious. In an instant, they were in deep conversation, the boy’s long hands fluttered wildly in description. They turned and walked into the woods. Tillu sighed.

Then she glimpsed another figure moving down the path through the trees. Despite her resolve, her belly tightened in anticipation. The long chill days of the storm had given her time to cool her ardor and reflect upon what had nearly happened the last time she had seen Heckram. It would have been a grave mistake. She was glad it had not happened, glad she had not made herself so vulnerable to Heckram. The trees alternately hid and revealed the figure coming down the path. He was wearing a new coat. She dreaded his coming, she told herself. That was what sent her heart hammering into her throat. She would not become involved with a man whose woman had been beaten, and then slipped into death by too large a dosage of pain tea. She would not become close to a man that large, so large he made her feel like a helpless child. She would be calm when he arrived. She would treat his face, if that was what he came for. And if it was not, she would…do something. Something to make it clear she would not have him.

He paused at the edge of the clearing, shifting nervously from foot to foot. It wasn’t him. Recognition of the fact sank her stomach and left her trembling. He hadn’t come. Why hadn’t he come? Had he had second thoughts about a woman who had birthed a strange child like Kerlew? Kerlew, with his deep-set pale eyes and prognathous jaw, Kerlew, who dreamed with his eyes wide open. But Heckram had seemed to like her son, had responded to him as no other adult male ever had. So if it was not Kerlew that had kept Heckram from coming to see her, it was something else. Something that was wrong with her.

Whoever it was who had come hesitated at the edge of the clearing. Tillu watched as her visitor rocked back and forth in an agony of indecision. Then suddenly the figure lifted its arms wide, and rushed toward her hut in a swooping run. The girl’s black hair lifted as she ran, catching blue glints of light like a raven’s spread wings. The wind of her passage pressed her garments against her thin body.

A few feet from the hut, she skittered to a halt. She dropped her arms abruptly and folded her thin hands in front of her high breasts. Her fluttering garments of loose white furs settled around her. She stood perfectly still and silent, regarding Tillu with brightly curious eyes. She did not make any greeting sign, not even a nod. She waited.

“Hello there,” Tillu said at last. She found herself speaking as to a very shy child. The same calm voice and lack of aggressive movements. It seemed to Tillu that if she put out a hand, the girl would take flight. “Have you come to see me? Tillu the Healer?”

The girl bobbed a quick agreement and came two short steps closer. She looked at Tillu as if she had never seen a human before, with a flat, wide curiosity, taking in not the details of Tillu’s face and garments, but the general shape of the woman. It was the way Kerlew looked at strangers, and Tillu felt a sudden uneasiness. “What’s your name?” she asked carefully. “What do you need from me?”

The girl froze. Tillu expected her next motion to carry her away. But instead she said in a whisper-light voice, “Kari. My name is Kari.” She bobbed a step closer and craned her neck to peer into the tent. “You’re alone.” She swiveled her head about quickly to see if there were anyone about. Tillu didn’t move. The girl leaned closer, reached out a thin hand but didn’t quite touch her. “I want you to mark me.”

“What?”

“Listen!” The girl seemed impatient. “I want you to mark me. My face and breasts, I think that should be enough. Maybe my hands. If it isn’t, I’ll come back and have you take out an eye. But this first time, I think if you cut off part of one nostril, and perhaps notched my ears. Yes. Notch my ears, with my own reindeer mark. To show that I belong to myself.”

Tillu felt strangely calm. She was talking to a mad woman. The last snow was melting, leaf buds were swelling on twigs, and the trunks of birches and willows were flushed pink with sap. And this girl wanted Tillu to cut off pieces of her face.

“And there is a mark I want you to make on each of my breasts. We will have to cut it deep enough to scar. Look Here it is. Can you tell what I meant it to be?”

From within her fluttering garments, the girl produced a small scrap of bleached hide. She unrolled it carefully, glanced warily about, and then thrust it into Tillu’s face. She was breathing quickly, panting in her excitement.

Tillu looked at the scrap of hide, making no movement to take it. A black mark had been made with soot in the center of the hide. Four lines meeting at a junction. “It looks like the tracks shore birds leave in the mud,” Tillu observed carefully.

“Yes!” Kari’s voice hissed with satisfaction. “Almost. Only it’s the mark of an Owl. A great white owl with golden eyes. I want you to put one on each of my breasts, above the nipples. Mark me as the Owl’s. Then Pirtsi will know I am not for him. My ears will show me as mine, my breasts will show me as Owl’s. Must it hurt very much?”

The pang of fear in the last question wrung Tillu’s heart. It was a child’s voice, not questioning that it must be done, but only how much it would hurt.

“Yes.” Tillu spoke simply and truthfully. “Such a thing would hurt a great deal. Your ears, not so much after it was done. But your nose would hurt a great deal, every time you moved your face to speak or smile or frown. The nose is very sensitive. As would your breasts be. There would be a great deal of blood and pain.”

She peered deeply into the girl’s eyes as she spoke, hoping to see some wavering in her determination. There was none. Tillu felt a tightening within her belly. This girl would do this maiming, with her help or without it. She must find a way to deter her. Slowly she gestured toward her tent. “Would you care to come inside? I made a tea this morning, of sorrel and raspberry roots, with a little alder bark. As a tonic for the spring, but also because it tastes good. Will you try some?”

Kari opened and closed her arms several times rapidly, making her white garments flap around her. Tillu thought she had lost her, that the girl would flee back into the woods. But suddenly she swooped into the tent. She fluttered about, looking at everything, and then alighted on a roll of hides near the hearth. She cocked her head to peer into the earthenware pot of tea steeping on the coals. “I’d like some,” she said decisively.

Tillu moved slowly past her, to reach for carved wooden cups. “What made you decide to mark your body?” she asked casually.

Kari didn’t speak. Tillu sat on the other side of the hearth, facing her. She dipped up two cups of the tea, and offered one dripping mug to Kari. She took it, looked into it, sniffed it, sipped it, and then looked up at Tillu and spoke. “The night the najd came to my father’s tent and spoke, I felt the truth of his words. And more. He spoke of how many of us had no spirit guardian to protect us. I had heard my grandmother speak of such guardians, a long time ago, before she died. Her spirit beast was Hare. He does not seem like much of a guardian, does he? But he was good to my grandmother.

“So that night, I stared into the fire as the najd had and opened myself and went looking for a spirit beast. But I saw nothing in the flames, though I watched until long after all the others slept. So, I gave up and went to my skins and slept. And in the night I felt cold, heavy claws sink into my beast.”

She lifted her thin hands, her narrow fingers curved like talons, and pressed them against her breasts. Then she looked up at Tillu. The girl’s eyes were a wide blackness. She smiled at Tillu, a strange and wondering smile. Tillu held her breath. “The weight of his claws pressed me down, crushing my chest until I could not breathe. The sharp cold claws sank into me. I struggled but could not escape. It grew dark. But when I was too tired to fight anymore, the darkness gave way to a soft gray light. I felt moss beneath my back, and the night wind of the forest blew across my naked body. And atop my chest, near tall as a man, was Owl, perched with his claws sunk into my breasts!”

Her nostrils flared as she breathed, and Tillu could see the whites all around her eyes. The hands that held the wooden mug trembled as she raised it to her lips. Tillu was silent, waiting. Kari drank. When she took the mug from her mouth, her eyes were calm. She smiled at Tillu, a tight-lipped smile without the showing of teeth. “Then I knew,” she said softly.

Tillu leaned forward. “Knew what?”

“That I belonged to Owl. That I didn’t have to let Pirtsi join with me by the Cataclysm this summer. I am Owl’s. When I awoke, I told my dream to my mother, and asked her to explain to my father why I cannot be joined to Pirtsi. It was always his idea, never mine. I never wanted to be joined to any man at all, let alone a man with dog’s eyes. But my mother grew angry, and said that a man was what I needed to be settled, for nothing else had worked. So I have come to you. Mark my face and body, so all will know to whom I belong. Pirtsi will not take me if I am scarred. He would not take me at all, except that he thinks Capiam’s daughter is a way to Capiam’s favor.”

Tillu sipped at her tea, watching Kari over her mug. The girl was determined. In her mind, it was already done. She spoke carefully. “Kari, I am a healer, not one who damages bodies.”

“Damage? No, this would not be damage. Only a marking, like a notch in a calf’s ear, or a woman’s mark carved into her pulkor. Not damage.”

Tillu chewed at her lower lip. “I do not think we should do this thing,” she said softly, and as anger flared on Kari’s face she added, “If Owl had wanted you so marked on your flesh, he would have marked you himself. Is this not so?”

For an instant, Kari looked uncertain. Tillu pressed on, glad for once that Kerlew had nattered on so much about Carp’s teaching. She wanted her words to sound convincing.

“Owl has marked your spirit as his. That is all he requires. You need not mark your face to deny Pirtsi. Or so I understood during the time I spent with the herdfolk, when Elsa…”

“Elsa died.” Kari finished in an awed whisper.

“I understood then that the women of your folk can choose their mates. You have a reindeer of your own, do you not? Are not the things you make yours to keep or trade as you wish?” At each of the girl’s nods, Tillu’s spirits lifted. “Then say that Pirtsi isn’t what you want. Cannot you do that?”

Kari had begun to writhe. Her fingers clawed at her arms as she hugged herself. “I should be able to do that. But no one listens. I say I won’t have him. They pay no attention. Everyone is so certain that we will be joined at the Cataclysm. It is as if I cried out that the sun would shine at night. They would think it some childish game. They cannot understand that I do not want him; that I cannot let him touch me.”

“Why?” Tillu spoke very, very softly.

Kari’s eyes grew larger and larger in her face. She touched the tip of her tongue to the center of her upper lip. She trembled on the edge of speaking. Then, the tension left her abruptly, her shoulders slumped, and she said, “Because I belong to Owl now, and he tells me not to. Why won’t you mark me?”

“Because I do not believe Owl wants me to,” Tillu excused herself smoothly. “Who am I to make Owl’s mark for him? If he wishes you marked, he will do it himself.”

Kari once more lifted her hands, sank taloned fingers against her breasts. “And if I do it myself?” she asked.

“Then I would try to see that you did not become infected. A healer is what I am, Kari. I cannot change that. Let me offer you another idea. Wait. There is much time between spring and high summer. Tell everyone that you will not have Pirtsi. Say it again and again. They will come to believe you. Tell Pirtsi himself. Tell him you will not be a good wife to him.”

“And if they do not believe me, when the day comes, I will show them that I am Owl’s. By the Cataclysm.”

Tillu sighed. “If you must.”

The girl sipped at her tea, suddenly calmed. “I will wait.” Her eyes roved about the tent interior. “You should be spreading your hides and bedding in the sun to air, before you pack it for the trip. Where are your pack saddles?”

Tillu shrugged. “I have never traveled with an animal to carry my things. I have always dragged my possessions behind me. This migration will be a new experience for Kerlew and me.” Tillu spoke the words carefully, tried to sound sure that her son would travel with her. The old shaman had said he would take Kerlew from her. Kerlew himself had said that he was near a man now, and had chosen to go with Carp. But perhaps he would change his mind. Perhaps he would stay with his mother and be her son a while yet, would not slip into the strange ways of the peculiar old man and his nasty magics. With an effort she dragged her attention back to what Kari was saying.

“You know nothing of reindeer then? You do not know how to harness and load them?”

Tillu shrugged her shoulders, looked closely at the girl who now spoke so maturely and asked such practical questions. “There are two animals hobbled behind my tent. The herdlord provided them for me. I suppose he will send Joboam to help me when the time comes.” Tillu could not keep the dismay from her voice.

“That one?” Kari gave a hard laugh. “I was glad when he wouldn’t have me. I knew why. He made many fines excuses to my father, saying I was so young, so small yet. As if that…” She paused and stared into her mug for a breath or two. “I didn’t know my father would find Pirtsi instead,” she finished suddenly. She cocked her head, gave Tillu a shrewd look. “I could show you. Now, today. Then, when the time came, you wouldn’t need help. You could send a message that you didn’t need Joboam.” Kari smiled a small smile. “And I could tell my father that I had already taught you, that he need not spare so important a man as Joboam for such a simple task.” There was frank pleasure in the girl’s voice as she spoke of spiting Joboam’s plans.

Tillu lifted her eyes from her own slow appraisal of the flames. She was beginning to have suspicions of Joboam that made her dislike him even more. She was also beginning to have a different opinion of Kari. The girl was shrewd. As oddly as she might behave, she had wits. And how old was she? Sixteen? “When I was her age, I had Kerlew in my arms,” Tillu thought to herself. “And I thought my life belonged to him as surely as Kari believes hers belongs to Owl. We are not so different.” Kari smiled her tight-lipped smile again, a smile of conspiracy that Tillu returned.

Chapter Three

REINDEER. THE HERD came first, flowing through the trees like water flowing through a bed of reeds. The males led, most with antlers missing or stubby in velvet. Their shedding coats were patchy but they stepped proudly, eyes alert, moving down the hillside and past her with slow grace. At first the sheer number of the animals cresting the hill and pouring down into her little valley had frightened Tillu. It was her first glimpse of the wealth of the herdfolk. Up until now, she had lived apart from them in her own dell, tending to their hurts but not sharing their lives. Now she was to be swept into it as surely as the moving herd of beasts swept past her. She trembled at their numbers. But the flood of beasts paid her and Kerlew and the two laden harkar no mind.

She gripped the damp rein tighter. Either one of the laden animals could have dragged her off her feet. The second beast was tethered to the first one’s harness, as Kari had taught her. If they decided to follow the herd, there would be nothing she could do about it. She glanced at them, felt sweat break out anew. They carried the new tent Capiam had sent, and all her supplies. If they bolted, she would lose all her herbs and household implements, everything. But the two animals stood placidly, regarding the passing reindeer with calm brown eyes.

She had spent the last two days packing her possessions and learning to manage the animals. Kari had been a good teacher, matter-of-fact and tolerant of Tillu’s nervousness. But Tillu was still not comfortable. It was one thing to watch wild reindeer from a distance, or crouch over a dead one to butcher. It was another thing entirely to stand close to a living animal, to hold a strap fastened to it. The harke whose lead she held shifted its weight. Its large, deeply cloven hooves spread atop the ground. It sneezed, spraying her with warm drops and then shook its head to free the long whiskers on its muzzle from the clinging moisture. Tillu forced herself to stand still as the new antlers, encased in pulpy velvet, swept close to her. When they were grown they would be solid hard brown bone. A brow antler would extend forward and downward over its muzzle to protect the animal’s face; the rest of the antlers would be swept back. She had already known that both females and males grew and shed antlers. But Kari had given her the casual knowledge of one whose life had always interlocked with the herd.

The vajor were coming now, mistrustful of everything as they shepherded their gangly calves along. The calves were an unlikely assembly of knobby joints and long bones, of pinkish muzzles and wide, awe-stricken eyes. One calf halted, to regard Tillu with amazement. “Stand still, Kerlew,” she breathed to her son as the mother watched them with hard eyes. She snorted to her calf, and then nudged it along. They merged back into the flow of grayish-brown animals and Tillu breathed again. She glanced up at the crest of the hill, and felt her trepidation rise. Why did she feel more threatened by the people than she did by the passing animals?

“See, Kerlew, there is Capiam the herdlord, leading the others. Soon we shall join them.” Kari had delivered her message that she needed no help to prepare for the journey. Tillu wondered if it had caused any upset in the village. She had seen nothing of Joboam or Heckram since Carp’s arrival.

“If Capiam is the leader,” Kerlew asked, his piping voice carrying clearly, “why didn’t he come first, leading that big reindeer? A different man is leading the herd.”

“Hush. There is more than one kind of leading. The first man was leading the guide animal. Capiam is leading the people.”

Kerlew fixed her with an unreadable look. “I would rather be lord of the herd than herdlord,” he said. “And someday I shall.” There was no doubt in his voice nor sense in his words. Tillu sighed. She put her arm across his shoulders, but he bucked free of her irritably. She sighed again.

Capiam’s shirt was bright red wool and his cap was gay with tassels. His reindeer wore harness bedecked with colors and metal. He led a string of seven harkar, each heavily burdened. He waved a greeting and gestured to her to join them. She nodded her agreement but stood still, watching the parade of people and laden animals. Behind Capiam came a stout woman, leading a string of five harkar. Behind her came Rolke with a string of seven harkar, and then Kari leading two. Kari waved gaily and called something to her. The reindeer made their own sounds of passage; the clicking of their hooves, the creak and slap of branches as they pushed through the woods, their coughing grunts as they called to their fellows.

Next came men and women Tillu didn’t know, their wealth apparent in their woolen garments and bronze ornaments. Each person led a string of animals, usually six or seven to the adults, and two or three for each child. Tillu smiled at a fat babe atop a lurching harke. The infant’s cheeks were very red, her face grave as she held to the wooden pack frame and rode tall. Tillu’s smile faded as her eyes met the next walker.

Joboam led a string of nine harkar. He met her eyes deliberately, and veered out of the caravan line. Tillu kept her face impassive, but her heartbeat quickened. Kerlew took a quick breath and stepped behind her. Joboam gave no greeting until he was a few steps away. His dark eyes flicked from Tillu to Kerlew.

“Here, boy. Hold the lead while I check those pack animals. The loads look uneven to me. And don’t startle them.”

Kerlew didn’t move. Joboam’s eyes narrowed and his color came up slowly. “Boy…,” he began in a savagely low voice.

“I’ll hold your animals if you must check my work. But Kari showed me how to lead, and was satisfied I could do it.”

“Kari!” The word was full of contempt. He glared at Kerlew. Then, he jerked the harke’s head around and slapped the rein into Tillu’s outstretched hand. The animal shied from Joboam’s sudden movement, nearly dragging Tillu off her feet, but she kept hold of the rein.