Hardy’s wife, Droi, knelt by her husband and examined the wound across his chest. She had ministered to it constantly since the injury, applying the special healing mud as directed by Sopho, the Kindred healer. Droi kept the gash clean, turning the hunt master so that the raw scrape from the lion’s claws was always facing the sun.
His head injuries, too, she tended, but there was no denying something had happened to her husband. His eyes were wet and rheumy when they regarded her, and he seemed to prefer lying with them closed most of the time. A thin line of drool could often be seen weeping from the corner of his mouth, and when he spoke, his voice sounded strange, as if he were holding his tongue with his fingers. His old wound, the gouge beneath his woman’s side eye, had always bothered her, but now seemed laughably trivial in comparison to the obscene sea of slashes in his face.
“Are you sleeping now, husband?” Droi asked. Her formal name called out her long, straight hair, which she wore pulled back from her face and tied with a leather cord like the rest of the Kindred women her age.
Hardy’s left eye swam in his head. “Yes,” he grunted.
“Do you hurt?” Droi pressed.
The hunt master sighed. That question, every day, often asked once for every finger on his wife’s hands. What was he supposed to say? He hurt. He had been bitten in the head by a lion. What did she think, that he liked it?
“I will be fine,” he said flatly. “Leave me alone.”
Droi turned as a shadow fell across her. She turned and her expression turned unhappy when she saw who it was.
“Leave us,” Albi ordered Droi curtly.
Droi inhaled sharply, then stood, raised her head defiantly, and walked away without giving Albi a glance.
Albi watched her departure, then squatted next to Hardy. “You will never return to the hunt,” Albi stated matter-of-factly. “You cannot see at any distance, nor can you do good with a spear.”
“My vision is improving,” Hardy slurred.
“What did you say?”
“I said, my vision is improving.”
“You talk like a man who has been eating snow. No one can understand you.”
Hardy said nothing.
“So you see pretty well? Your vision is improving?” Albi flicked a hand at him as if to strike his face, and the older man flinched as the open palm suddenly appeared in his field of vision. “No,” she said coldly, “it is not. You cannot see. We have not many more days until the cold season. If we depart to the winter settlement without a hunt master, we will starve along the way.”
Hardy grunted. His eyes slid away.
“You must make my son hunt master,” Albi continued. “He went out with the hunt and they brought back reindeer.”
“Palloc.” Hardy’s gaze turned wetly upon Albi.
“He is the one,” Albi told him. “You owe it to me.”
Hardy did not respond, his ruined face infuriatingly blank.
“Who do you come to when the nights are cold and your wife’s bed is colder? Who will have you now, with the mark of the lion stabbed into your chest, and your face squashed, your eyes bleary? You men think the widows are there for you to use at will, but you will be turned away now. Only I will take you into me.”
Hardy inhaled slowly, then exhaled in a long, low sigh.
“Then it is settled,” Albi declared. She reached for the wolf pelts that were thrown across Hardy’s waist, pulling them away. His slack face regarded her, eyes unfocused. He was hideous, but Albi did not care. So much the better—she really was his only option, now. She seized him with one rough hand, smiling triumphantly. “I see that all of your injuries are above the waist,” she noted.
Year Nineteen
The mother-wolf opened her eyes. Her three cubs were in a pile near her—they had just nursed not long ago, and had fallen asleep under the gentle ministrations of her tongue cleaning them after they’d made waste.
The man was coming. She could hear him grunting as he descended from the crack that ran up to the sky, and then there was a louder noise when his feet hit the dirt.
The mother-wolf sighed heavily. The pain in her hips had dulled, but was always present. When she moved, which was seldom, it caused her agony deep inside, but she ignored it because of the pups. She needed to care for her young.
The man brought food and water. She accepted this, and felt affection toward him when he was in her den. Her pups could feel his presence as well—she could sense their awareness—but they took their lead from their mother, and remained content. And, while she was unable to prevent herself from tensing at the fire he brought into the den, she had come to accept this, too. The man was feeding her, and she could not feed herself. These things she did understand.
The instinct-strong love she felt for her young as they nursed also flowed through to feelings for this man feeding her. Because of him, her puppies lived.
Fire licked a yellow light onto the walls, and the man’s head appeared. She flapped her tail on the ground, already salivating over the meat she could smell.
“Hey wolf, want some food?” the man called quietly.
The sounds were meaningless to the wolf, but she heard no threat in them, and as the man approached, she wagged harder, then lifted her head. “Here,” he offered. His hand was flat, a succulent piece of meat lying there. She licked it off his palm and chewed quickly, watching eagerly as he reached into the fragrant animal skin at his feet and pulled out more chunks. For several moments the only sound was her crunching and the tiny peeps of her cubs reacting to her movements. Finally his hand was empty, though she licked the residual oils from his fingers and then, when he gently touched her forehead, she thumped her tail and licked him again, the same way she groomed her young, feeling the same sort of affection.
From that day on, he stroked her head, and she licked his palm. The first time he reached to pick up one of her puppies she watched alertly, but his hand was coated with her scent and they felt no threat, not even when he lifted them to his face and touched them with his lips.
“You are all such wonderful little babies,” he whispered. “I do not know how I am going to do what I need to do, when you get older.” His eyes looked into those of the mother-wolf, and she felt no hostility in the gaze. “You will not let yourself die as long as your pups need you. It is the most courageous act I have ever witnessed. I will not kill them until you perish. I could not allow you to see that.”
Later, when he set her young back down, they smelled like the man and she did not lick it off. The scent comforted her and, because of that, it comforted her puppies.
They were alive. Her young would grow up healthy and add to the strength of the pack.
All due to the man.
Year One
Calli sat with her feet in the Kindred stream. With the days growing ever more dry, the stream had lost its depth, but also its bracing cold.
Bellu joined her, slipping her own feet in the water and sighing with the pleasure of it. “Soon we leave for the winter settlement,” she remarked.
Calli considered this, looking at the cloudless sky and taking a sniff of air, smelling summer smells of warmed grasses and flowers. “Maybe not soon, but before too much longer,” she agreed.
“Winter quarters. Weddings,” Bellu continued, naming the best part of the Kindred’s home during the cold season. Calli raised her eyes speculatively, and Bellu nodded knowingly.
Calli blushed. She still had not told Bellu about Urs.
“Why do you suppose Albi has waited so long to have weddings? It has been several winters gone by. Is she jealous of us because we are young?” Bellu gave her pretty hair an unconscious flip with her hand as she said “jealous.”
“No. Albi just holds it back, the way my mother sometimes keeps the fat out of the stew, only to add it when needed.”
Bellu’s face was completely blank. Calli sighed. “What I am meaning to say is that Albi knows every woman of fifteen summers longs for a wedding, but she has delayed having one as a way to control our behavior. No single woman will do anything to earn her disfavor.”
“So another winter might pass without me getting married?” Bellu demanded, distressed.
“No, I am sure that you and I and Renne, at least, will have the topic of our weddings discussed at council. Watch Albi closely and see if she has private conversations with your mother. Though, to be truthful, I am not sure there is a man I would want,” Calli bluffed haughtily. Bellu laughed, seeing right through her. Every young woman their age wanted to get away from their mothers and start their own families.
“Bellu!”
The two young women turned, startled. Ador, Bellu’s mother, whose legend said her heart was full of love, was striding toward them, her face tight. “Bellu. Come here right now. It is important!”
* * *
Silex glanced at his five companions, sharing a fierce grin with his friend Brach. The reindeer twenty paces away knew of the Wolfen hunters and were lifting their heads and closing ranks, some stamping their hooves.
Silex stood. Now. The hunters sprinted toward the herd, spears in each hand, taking aim on the run and letting loose with their throwing arms. One reindeer fell instantly, while two others fled in terror, dragging spears in their haunches.
Silex nodded and two groups of Wolfen split off to follow the wounded animals, one hunter from each group running hard and one moving much more slowly, tracking instead of chasing, conserving energy for when the prey circled back so that the fresh man could finish the kill with his remaining spear.
That left Silex alone with Duro, who had been frowning, even scowling, at Silex for several days, almost childish in his silent dissatisfaction. Silex kept his eyes on the dying reindeer at his feet, feeling Duro next to him. This close, Duro’s superior size felt oppressive and threatening, his thick brow turning his whole face into an angry grimace. Silex used his spear against the prey’s throat, dispatching the animal while he suppressed a sigh, feeling the other man’s eyes burning him. “You wish to say something to me, Duro?” Silex asked quietly.
“We must finish this,” Duro stated gruffly. “Ovi will be my mate and I will lead the Wolfen. Your father’s authority ceased when his fever turned him into a babbling fool.”
Silex turned and looked up at his brutish nemesis, whose face was twitching with strong emotions. The insult about Silex’s father was deliberate provocation.
“You are challenging me, then, Duro, my friend?” Silex responded.
“Yes.”
Silex, like Duro, was standing with his spear held loosely in his hand. Now Silex turned as if to fully face his adversary, and in doing so smoothly raised his spear tip up until it was just touching Duro’s stomach. The taller man paled, turning rigid.
“I am sure you have seen that when the dominant wolf is challenged by other males, punishment is often swift and bloody.”
Duro took in a shaky breath, staring at the spear.
“My father always said that among the wolves it is not always the strongest, but rather the most clever, who is the one who mates,” Silex continued. “But you would rather fight me now, spear-to-flesh, and decide who is best to lead the Wolfen on that basis?”
Duro looked unhappy with the spear-to-flesh part. “I did not think…,” he began in a hoarse whisper, stopping when the point of Silex’s spear pressed forward.
“I do agree that you did not think, Duro. Do we want the Wolfen led by a man who does not always think?”
Duro licked his lips. Silex lowered his spear, shrugging. “If you wish to challenge me, let us simply ask what the tribe wants. I will not stand in your way.”
“But what of Ovi?” Duro asked when he found his voice. “It is not enough for me to lead. I still want to marry your sister, regardless of what your father said.”
“I must honor my father’s wishes.”
“But I want her!” Duro protested.
Silex glanced at him. “Yes, well, that is a problem,” he agreed.