TWO DAYS AFTER arriving at the Cataclysm, Tillu was still not accustomed to it. It was, she thought, like camping by river rapids. The flow of people and sound never ceased. The reindeer clustered on the sides and flanks of the vast upheaval of earth and rocks, watched over by the young boys and girls of the herdfolk; it was taken for granted that more than reindeer herding was taking place on the mountainsides. Many a joining and lifelong partnership had begun in such innocent trysts.
Folk were equally busy below. Many a joining ceremony was being prepared. Women were sewing and weaving, comparing garments, and trading bridal trims and gossips, speculating about which couples would be joined next year. Some were assessing animals, their own and others. In a makeshift corral of stone and brush, vajor were separated from their calves. The owner of each calf then moved in, to swiftly notch his mark into the calf’s ear. Each small flap of skin was strung on a tally line to keep the count. Bull calves were bloodlessly castrated. One herdsman would hold the calf down while his partner carefully took the calf’s scrotum into his mouth. Two quick nips of white teeth severed free the testicles inside the pouch without breaking the skin. A brief massage of the pouch, and the calf that had lain down a sarva stood up as a harke, to run back to its frantic mother.
Goods and animals were traded and compared, children fought, screamed, and played, and all folk continually visited one another. Their voices were lifted in a sound as constant as the patter of rain. The whirl of people and activity flowed past Tillu’s awareness, washing from her mind any personal thoughts. A blanket of noise and movement insulated her from her problems.
Of Heckram she had seen little; of Kerlew, even less. She was healer now for all of her day, and Tillu only in odd moments. She felt as if her personal life and problems had been set aside, like a piece of sewing that could be completed later. Dimly she was aware that this was not so; that the lives of Kerlew and Heckram and Kari went on without her intervention. But in the herdlord’s tents the threads of lives lay in her hands. She was all that held them intact, and she could not let them go, no matter what pain goaded her.
Although Ketla was feeling better, she was not well. Even a few steps made her lose her breath, while Rolke did little more than breathe and moan. The fine bones in his hands and feet stood out clearly, and his skin burned under Tillu’s hands. Capiam refused to admit his illness, but Tillu added ground willow bark and birch root to his tea at every opportunity. She stayed in the herdlord’s tent, Rolke’s constant nurse, though there was little she could do for him. She trickled tea and broth into his lax mouth. She rubbed water and oil into his papery skin and endured Ketla’s predictions that any hour now he would be better. Hadn’t the najd said so? All the boy needed was rest.
Rest. She would have liked to take it for herself. But there were always distractions to claim her energy. Capiam’s najd and healer had attracted attention in the summer settlement. Folk from another herdlord brought her a boy with a broken arm. Her setting it unleashed a stream of visitors to Capiam’s tent, most with minor ailments, but some with bad teeth, infected cuts, or injuries from the scuffles in the reindeer pens. The warm weather brought tick bites, many of them infected or abscessed. Some complained of a fever and headache that came and went. The symptoms were too like Rolke’s and Ketla’s for Tillu’s liking. She treated them all, and wondered when she could sleep. Despite his feverish headaches, Capiam seemed to welcome the attention his new healer attracted. Even Ketla sat up in her robes by the fire, and chatted with the folk that came for healing.
Evening brought the najd with his incessant drumming and chanting before the herdlord’s tent. Then folk came in threes and fours, to gawk at Capiam’s najd and whisper of other najds they had known. A fire would be kindled for the najd, and savory offerings set out on wooden platters. There would be a spread of soft hides where he might sit or stand, and a sweep of clean earth where he might dance. At those times Tillu might get a glimpse of Kerlew. He squatted at Carp’s bony knee, swaying with the rhythm of the small drum he patted in time to Carp’s chanting. Carp attired himself in Joboam’s best tunics and his neck and wrists hung heavy with strings of amber and ivory beads. From time to time he drew strange and grisly objects from his pouch and chanted to them softly, or made mysterious passes that brought the flames of his fire leaping at his command or sent gouts of yellow smoke pouring up into the night. Then the gathered folk hummed and muttered to themselves and stared fascinated at the najd who chanted for Capiam’s son.
Tillu watched only Kerlew. The boy would be near naked but for a twist of leather about his loins. His hair was longer and unkempt, hanging about his narrow shoulders. His pale-brown eyes seemed overlarge in his gaunt face. His chest was ribby, his knees and elbows painfully large in his thinness. Only once had Tillu tried to speak to him. During a lull, when Kerlew’s fingers whispered against the drum as Carp muttered to a tangle of teeth and feathers, she had crept closer to him, reached a hand to brush his back. Her fingers had felt the knobs of his spine, the high warmth of his skin. “Kerlew,” she had whispered.
Carp had sprung at her, shaking his talisman at her frantically as his chanting rose to an angry scream. A man from another herd had dragged her roughly back into the crowd, but for long moments Carp had pranced his stamping dance and rattled his talisman angrily at an awe-stricken crowd. Kerlew had given no sign he was aware of her. She had crept back to Capiam’s tent, hiding her thoughts from herself in the chattering of the women who clustered about Ketla’s hearth, drinking tea and sewing. Later Capiam had observed, “A boy of Kerlew’s age is not a child anymore. Parents must know when to let go of their children.” Tillu had only stared at him, hard and silent.
She could have turned his rebuke back upon him. She could have asked why he and Ketla forced Kari to this joining. But she did not. She didn’t want to do anything to make the girl any more miserable. When they had arrived at the Cataclysm, Capiam had ordered his daughter to move back into his tent. Tillu had expected her to protest angrily, but Kari had obeyed with uncharacteristic meekness. The fire had gone out of her eyes since the day Carp had gone with Joboam. Nothing seemed to interest her anymore. Kari spent most of her time staring into her mother’s hearthfire. Tillu’s efforts at rousing her were ignored; she no longer asked questions about healing. She reminded Tillu of a mother who had lost a new-born child. She had that same baffled look of shattered expectancy. Tillu wondered what promises Carp had made her and forgotten. Once she dared to speak to Capiam of his daughter’s withdrawn silence. Puzzled, he had replied, “But Kari has always been that way; quiet, idle, dreaming. It is why Ketla and I have decided that marriage is best for her. With a hearth and a man, she will have to talk, to take care of things. She will be a different woman.”
Tillu wondered. She suspected marriage would not change the girl. When Kari was not staring into the fire, she busied herself with needlework. From somewhere she had acquired baskets of black pinion feathers. Row upon overlapping row she stitched to a cloak of calf-leather. Ketla seemed proud of her new domesticity, but wrinkled her nose at the work, declaring it would smell horrid the first time it was rained on. Kari never replied. She only bent her dark head closer over her work, sealing out their words with her tiny even stitching.
And so the days passed, one after another, as alike as beads carved painstakingly from bone. Rolke was no better, Kerlew seemed only thinner, his eyes more vacant. Of Heckram she had but a few guilty words a day, whispered at the door-flap while Capiam stood watching as if he begrudged every instant Tillu did not give his son. Heckram’s news was sparse and not comforting. Kerlew lived in the najd’s new tent, and should be eating well, for Joboam furnished the najd with fresh meat daily. Heckram and Ristin were fine; they missed Tillu’s company. And sometimes there was the touch of his hand on hers, sending her strength and warmth before she had to return once more to the herdlord’s son.
But the days did pass, with or without Tillu’s cognizance of them. There came an evening when the tent seemed full of women, clustered about Ketla, making merry chatter over their sewing. Rolke was sleeping, and Capiam out. Kari sat apart from the others, her lap cloaked with the black feathers, her shoulders hunched to her endless task. Tillu slipped quietly from her place by Rolke, to hunker down beside Kari. She glanced at the girl’s dull eyes. Their edges had been reddened by the close, meticulous work. Tillu put out a cautious hand to stroke the evenly set feathers. “It’s a lovely piece of work, Kari,” she ventured gently.
Kari lifted her face slowly. Their eyes met. “It’s useless,” Kari said dully. “He’ll refuse. He won’t have me.” Then she abruptly stood, letting her work slide from her lap, and walked over to her bedding. She lay down and pulled the hides up over her head. Tillu was stricken with terror. Death had looked at her from Kari’s eyes.
Ketla had noticed her daughter’s rebuff of the healer. “Don’t mind the girl,” she had called laughingly to Tillu. “She is only nervous and thoughtful, as any girl is the night before her joining. Come and help us with the sewing.”
Tillu felt buffeted by the commiserating laughter that rose from the other women. How could they be so blind? Her own voice sounded thin to her as she answered. “Thank you, but no. I think I shall go outside into the cool for a while. If Rolke awakes, call me.”
“Let him get his rest,” Ketla clucked fondly. “Soon he will be better. The najd has said so.”
Tillu bit her tongue and left the stifling tent. Outside, the soft twilight and the cool air off the Cataclysm soothed her. She would enjoy this quiet time. Soon enough Carp would arrive with his acrid smokes and monotonous noise. She sank slowly down onto the hides and tried to let go of her worries. If Kari worried that Pirtsi would not have her, then surely she had changed her heart about this joining? Why could not Tillu lift her own spirits, be happy that Kari had decided to take a man?
When Heckram stepped out of the darkness to stand over her, her heart leaped with gladness. His quiet strength drew her like the warmth and light of a fire. She reached up easily to seize his hand and draw him down beside her. He smiled at her and kept her hand in his. But his first words were “I cannot stay long.”
“Why not?” Sharp disappointment.
He hesitated. “So much must be done in the next few days. I’ve been at the reindeer pens all day. My calves and Lasse’s are marked now and castrated. But there are still Ristin’s, Missa’s, and Kuoljok’s to do.” He laughed softly, without humor. “Sometimes I feel I am marking half the herd. I don’t know how many calves carry my teeth marks.”
Tillu nodded. “Sometimes I feel I have healed half the people here. And more are coming every day. Ticks. Most of them have infected tick-bites. Or a fever that comes and goes, and then comes again.” Tillu stopped, tried to veer her mind from her own secret fears of plague. “Or a calf’s hoofprint somewhere. Never have I seen such a people for breaking bones and twisting joints.”
With the ghost of a smile, Heckram held up his free hand. Three of his fingers were bound together. “I wasn’t going to mention it, but…”
With an exclamation, Tillu seized his wrist and pulled the hand to her. She unwrapped his crude bandaging and gently felt, then manipulated each finger. “Not broken,” she said as he flinched and pulled his hand away. She recaptured his hand and massaged it softly. “Heat a pot of water tonight, as hot as you can stand, and soak your hand in it. Does Ristin have alder bark or yarrow? If so, grind some and add it to the water. And wrap the fingers again tomorrow, before you try to work.”
Heckram listened gravely, but amusement danced in his eyes. “I came to see Tillu, not the healer,” he observed quietly.
Tillu laughed, but didn’t stop massaging his hand. “I think the healer is all I am these days.” Her smile faded suddenly. “Unless I want to sew on Kari’s wedding clothes. Her joining tomorrow is all they talk of within the tent. No matter how often I tell them they must be quiet, that Rolke must rest and Ketla should lie down, they do not listen. I will almost be glad when it is done. Perhaps then there will be enough quiet for Ketla to get better.”
“And Rolke?” Heckram asked.
Tillu turned worried eyes up to him. “I don’t know. He lives, but seems no better. Whenever Ketla looks at him, she turns pale. Capiam will not talk to me about it. All he says is ‘the najd said he would be better when we reached the Cataclysm. We are here. You are the healer. You know what to do for him. Do it.’ Then Ketla goes back to planning Kari’s joining, and Capiam goes off to count reindeer, or take Carp another gift. No one listens to me.”
“It is the way of the herdfolk. And Capiam most of all. What he cannot fix, he will not worry about. Instead, he does the things he can. He marks calves for himself, and Ketla, and Rolke, and even Kari, who should be doing her own. He increases the stature of his folk by letting all know what a good healer he has. He catches fish to dry for the long winter, and does all a man can do to see that his family is provided for. If death comes, he will mourn. But he will not mourn before then.”
After a moment, Tillu nodded. “I see.” She paused. “Without realizing it, I have been doing the same myself.” She turned beseeching eyes on him. “I haven’t seen Kerlew today. How is he?”
Heckram looked uncomfortable. “I haven’t seen him either. But he seemed fine the last time I did. Thinner, but perhaps he is growing taller.”
“Is he eating well?” Tillu asked anxiously.
“I…I would suppose so. There is never a lack of food in Joboam’s tent.”
Tillu stared at him without speaking. Heckram sighed. “I can do little about it, Tillu. I do not like him to be there, but he stays where the najd stays, and Carp stays with Joboam. Capiam has given hides and paid women to sew him a fine new tent. The tent is up, and the najd likes it, but he also likes to stay in Joboam’s tent. There he does not have to build his own fire or cook for himself. Joboam does it all, but not as willingly as he did at first. Still, in that tent Carp has much to eat, rich furs to sleep on, and many gifts. I wonder at the things Joboam has given him. Yesterday I saw the najd wearing a bronze neckpiece that was Joboam’s favorite. He dressed in Joboam’s best tunics, for all that they hang to the ground on him. Yesterday Pirtsi was butchering one of Joboam’s calves; the najd wished to eat calve’s heart and tongue. I cannot walk into Joboam’s hut and demand the boy; Kerlew would not leave the najd, and Joboam would cause an uproar. But I do not think the najd would allow Joboam to hurt the boy.”
Tillu had listened in silence. “I understand,” she said. “There is little either of us can do right now. When Rolke is better, then I will find a way to speak to Kerlew.” She suddenly looked up at Heckram. “I may have to take him away with me,” she whispered. She fumbled suddenly for words to express her sudden resolution. “I do not want him learning what Carp is teaching him; that a friend is the one who gives you the most. Look at poor Kari, and how he repaid all her care and hospitality. Since the najd tossed her aside, she has grieved like a heart-broken child. She scarcely speaks at all. Tomorrow they will join her to Pirtsi, as if they were giving him a puppy from their best bitch. No one asks her what she would like to wear for her joining, what she would like to eat, let alone if she likes the man. It all goes on without her.” Tillu’s outrage broke into her voice as she asked. “They do not even know who she is. How can they decide what is best for her?”
“They are her parents,” Heckram reminded her gently.
“They do not see her as she is.”
“Perhaps no parent sees when a child is grown. You do not wish to give Kerlew to the najd. You would choose differently for him. But he has chosen for himself that which makes him happiest. I know you do not care for Carp; nor do I. But he is teaching Kerlew what the boy wishes most to learn. There is something I have come to believe. In time, Kerlew will be a powerful najd.”
A coldness came into Tillu’s voice. She released Heckram’s hand. “Powerful, yes. He will excel at taking from folk their food and clothes and shelter, by threatening them with his mystical powers. He will trick the clothes from their backs, threaten the food from their children’s mouths. What do you think Carp does right now? He has found a weakness in Joboam, a way to threaten him. And he will use it, until he has taken from Joboam all he can give. Or until he finds a wealthier victim. Already he drains Capiam. Carp is a sucking tick, Heckram. Do you wonder that I do not wish Kerlew to become one?”
Heckram retreated from the bristle in her voice. “Tillu, I did not mean that…”
“Healer!” One of the women leaned out the tent flap. “Ketla bids you come and see! Kari has tried on her clothes for tomorrow’s joining.”
“Tillu,” Heckram began again, but she cut in, “I have to see to Rolke. Be careful of your fingers. Remember what I told you to do for them.” She rose, and the back she turned to him was stiff and straight.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said to the falling tent-flap.
Within the tent, Kari stood like a stretched hide. She wore a jacket of soft leather with half-length sleeves, trimmed with amber beads and Ketla’s woven work. Her knee-length woolen skirt was decorated with fringe around the hem. Bracelets of bronze wrapped her arms. Carved bone combs restrained her sleek hair. And her face was yellow and stiff as poorly cured leather.
“Have you ever seen her so beautiful?” Ketla demanded.
Tillu couldn’t speak, but her silence wasn’t noticed in the general assent. “I must see to Rolke,” she said, and slipped to the back of the tent where the boy lay. She stooped over him, to trickle willow bark tea into his mouth, while the women clustered about Kari, removing her finery and chattering of tomorrow’s joining. Tillu shut them from her awareness. The boy wasn’t getting better. He clung to life but each day he was weaker. “Rolke?” she called gently. His eyelids twitched, but didn’t open. The fever burned him like a flame consumes oil. He was melting away before her eyes. Her own pallet was not far from his. She lay down on it, wondering if there was any way she could help any one.
The tent had been long dark, the chants and drum stilled for hours when Kari nudged her. “Wake up,” she pleaded, tears in her voice. “Please, Tillu, you have to help me.” No sooner had Tillu sat up than Kari had her by the arm, tugging her to her feet and out of the tent. The flap fell behind them and Tillu rubbed her eyes in the mellow undark of the summer night. The sun hovered still in the sky, making night a pale parody of the day. The camp around them was still.
“Here is the knife,” Kari said, pushing the sheathed blade into Tillu’s sleepy hands. “Do you need a light to do it?”
“What?” Tillu felt trapped in a dream where none of the events were connected.
“My nose. Remember, you said you would help me notch my nose and ears so Pirtsi wouldn’t want me. Hurry.”
“Kari,” Tillu began in confusion. “I can’t. I’m a healer, not one who…”
“No one will help me!” Kari’s whisper screamed. “Not you, not Carp! You will not keep your promise to scar me. He will not say that I am Owl’s, and not to be given to Pirtsi!”
Tillu suddenly realized who had refused Kari. Owl, not Pirtsi. “Is that what Carp promised he would do?” Tillu interrupted. “That he would say you were Owl’s, would give you to Owl?”
“Yes!” Kari sank to her knees on the hides before the tent. Her hands rose to claw at her breasts. “Yes. He said that if I would do favors for him, find secrets for him, he would see that I belonged to Owl alone. He said that when I served him, I served the spirits and they would be pleased with me. He promised that as long as I served him, I would be safe. But then he left with Joboam! That wasn’t my fault! I didn’t leave him, he left me. But when I went to him tonight, to ask him to tell my father that Pirtsi must not have me, he laughed at me. He laughed. He said the spirits cared little about women, that I was not fit to be Owl’s. He told me to go home and do as I was told. And then Joboam came into the tent. He was angry to see me there. He asked, ‘Is this how you keep your promises, Najd?’ And Carp said, ‘Men do not direct me, Joboam, but the spirits. So far they have asked me to be kind to you. Do not risk angering them with wild words.’ Then Joboam got very angry, but Carp only laughed more, and said to me, ‘Run back to your tent, little woman. Sleep well tonight, for tomorrow is your joining day.’ And Joboam looked so angry that I ran back here. Thinking you would help me. But you won’t.”
“Kerlew. Where was Kerlew?” Tillu demanded, grabbing Kari by the shoulders as she knelt down to face her.
“I…he wasn’t there, I didn’t see him. Tillu, you must help me. I cannot be joined with Pirtsi. I will not let him touch me. I can’t.”
“Why?”
Kari only stared at her, her eyes going bigger in her face. Then her mouth crumpled like a little child’s and she pushed into Tillu’s arms. She held the girl, feeling the sobs that shook her. “Why?” Tillu asked again, gently, but Kari shook her head. The words finally came in hesitant gasps. “When I was little. He used to say he’d kill me. So I couldn’t tell. Then, last time, he said. If my father challenged him about it. He’d kill him. It would be my fault. Everyone would say I was a liar and a troublemaker. No one would believe me, ever. No one. Joboam was always bigger, always stronger. Rolke knew, but he wouldn’t tell. Because of the presents. Never again. Never.”
“Hush. Hush.” Tillu rocked her as if she were a small child. It was the only comfort she could give her. Somehow she had known all along and was not surprised. What bandage could be put on an injury like this? What poultice could draw the poison from the past?
“Listen,” she said, whispering over Kari’s sobs. “Listen to me. Tomorrow morning, I will go to the herdlord. I will speak up for you, I will say…”
“No! No, then my father would attack him, and he would kill my father. No. No one must know. And I must not be joined to Pirtsi, either. No. No.”
“All right. All right,” Tillu agreed frantically. “We’ll think of something else, then. We’ll think of something else.” She hugged the girl tightly, then released her. “Kari. Listen to me. I want you to go inside, and lie down and sleep. Get some rest. By tomorrow, I will have an idea, and we will not let them join you to Pirtsi. Will you do as I ask? Will you?”
Tillu leaned closer to peer into her face. Kari had suddenly gone slack in her grip, as if she had lost all life. Slowly the girl lifted her dark head. Her eyes caught the starlight as she asked, “Do you think I am unfit to serve Owl? Or do you think Owl might help me?”
“Of course. Of course Owl will help us,” Tillu lied to ease the girl’s pain. “Go inside. Sleep now. I have much to do before morning. Please.”
“Owl will help me,” Kari said softly. Her voice was suddenly relaxed and trusting. “I should have thought of it before, Tillu. I can go to Owl and ask for help. He came to me first when I was alone, by my father’s fire. Carp was not with me then, yet Owl came to me. And I may yet go to him.”
“Yes, yes. But sleep now, Kari. Sleep.”
Tillu forced herself to be still as Kari rose and lifted the tent-flap. “It’s going to be all right,” she assured Kari once more as she stooped to enter.
“Yes,” Kari agreed, and the tent-flap fell behind her.
In an instant Tillu was on her feet. Kerlew. Where was Kerlew? And what could be done for Kari? The trodden earth was cool beneath her bare feet as she trotted down the path between the tents. She peered at the tents as she passed. There was Ristor’s, that one Acor’s. On. There was Stina’s tent, patched with a new hide sewn pale against the old ones. And Ristin’s. And beside it, a pale new tent she didn’t know. She hesitated.
“Tillu!”
Her name from behind her. She was caught in a fierce embrace. An instant she struggled, until the rasp of his beard against her face and familiar scent calmed her. She clutched back at him, abruptly became aware that she still gripped Kari’s knife. She wriggled from his grasp, thrust Kari’s knife into her belt. At least she wouldn’t cut her own face before morning.
“I was coming to find you,” Heckram was saying. “When I saw you on the path.”
“I was coming to find you, because…”
“Listen to me, first. Kerlew is gone. I hadn’t had a sight of him all day, so I finally made an excuse to call on the najd. I took him a nest of eggs I found this morning. He seemed glad to see me, but Joboam was not. They had words about it, and Carp said he would invite whomever he wished. Joboam became silent, then, but his eyes were full of anger. Carp is not wise to bait him. But Kerlew was nowhere in sight. And when I asked about him, Carp said that he had gone to seek a vision. I asked more questions, but all he would say was that he could not speak of it, but all would soon be clear.”
The words had tumbled from Heckram’s lips without pause. Now he stood before her, his eyes black in the night. He lifted a hand toward her, as if asking forgiveness. She seized it.
“He’s sent Kerlew on a vision-quest. I know that much of the shaman. He spoke of it often when we lived among Benu’s folk. He encouraged the young men to fast for long periods, and then to isolate themselves from the tribe and seek a vision. It was a way of gaining spirit protection.”
“That would be why the boy looked so thin lately,” Heckram said slowly. “A long fast and then…but Kerlew is not old enough to be sent out alone for such a thing. Nor wise enough.”
“It matters little to Carp. Unless the boy comes back with a vision, he cannot be a shaman. If he isn’t a najd, he’s no use to Carp. Kerlew used to mutter about it when he thought I was asleep. Visions and guardian animals. Where would he go?”
Tillu’s question was despairing, not seeking an answer. Silence stretched long and brittle. Then Heckram spoke in unwilling answer. “To the Najd’s Steps.”
“What?”
“I had not thought of it in years. It is a dare game that some boys still play at. There is a part of the Cataclysm that is all buckled stone. Not a grain of soil, not a stem of grass grows there. It is all a tumble of black sharp-edged stones, like a torrent of rock down the Cataclysm’s face, and above it a sheer rise of stone, broken only by narrow ledges. When I was very small and there were summer storms, the old folk used to say the ancient najd was angry. The tale was that he had gone up the steps to speak with the sky spirits and never come back. That he was up there still, and looked down on the herdfolk and would know if one was less than honest or brave.”
He looked down into Tillu’s face. She came into his arms, shivering at his words. “The other boys used to challenge one another, when adults weren’t around. No one was supposed to climb the Najd’s Steps. To do so was…more than unlucky. The najd might send something to steal you from your tent if you dared his steps. So, of course, boys did.” He paused, then added, almost ashamed, “Except for me. I heard about it, but my days were too full of chores to run and play with the others. Then I heard one day that Joboam had gone higher than anyone else had ever gone, to the very top. And to mark the top of his climb, he had left on the highest step a bronze wristband that his father had just given him. All the boys could talk of nothing else, for days. Joboam went about saying that he had proved forever that he was the bravest of us all.”
“It must have chafed you, to hear them brag of what you could not even try.” Despite her worries, Tillu had been caught up in the story.
Heckram choked down a laugh. “It did. It did for days. Until one drizzly morning, I rose before anyone else, and tried myself against the Najd’s Steps. They were slippery in the damp, and once I looked down and all the camp was hidden in mist. As if I climbed through the very clouds. But I was stubborn and pushed on. At first I had had some vague dream that the other boys in the camp would look up and see me high up the Najd’s Steps. Now I knew they couldn’t, that I would be hidden by the mist and the steepness of the climb. But I went on. For myself. And I discovered two things.”
He paused, forcing Tillu to ask, “What?”
“There is a place where the steps narrow and work out across the face of the Cataclysm. Too narrow a place for me to safely go. Or Joboam. A place a smaller boy might walk, but not he or I. And at the narrowing place is where I found his wristband. Not at the top of the Najd’s Steps. So I took it. And then I pressed myself flat against the rock face, and I went beyond it. Five steps beyond it. I counted them. And then I discovered the other thing. At the end of the Najd’s Steps.”
Somewhere a small animal screamed as talons found it. Tillu started as if she felt the claws in her own back. Heckram held her closer.
“The najd is still there,” he whispered. “The steps stop. But beyond them is a tiny niche, less than a cave, in the cliff’s face. And in that place, with his basket and his magic tokens spread before him, is the najd. Crouching and grinning out over the Cataclysm and the herdfolk below.”
Tillu gasped in horror, then asked, “What did you do then?”
“I left it alone. Even I was smart enough to know no good could come of meddling with a najd’s bones. But I scratched my mark there on the wall of the Cataclysm. And I worked my way back off the narrow place and back onto the steps. And I came down. That evening, I went to Joboam’s father’s tent. With his father looking on, I said, ‘I found this today. Isn’t it yours?’ And I gave him back his wristband.”
“And you wonder why he hates you,” Tillu said softly.
“Not really. He had his revenge. He told the herdlord that I had been making mock of the Najd’s Steps, playing there. He was very angry and scolded me before all the elders. Ristin was furious that I had taken such a chance, and made sure my chores kept me too busy to try it again. But I did not mind. For all that, Joboam and I both still know that his wristband was not on the top step. That he was not as brave as he had said he was.”
“And you think Kerlew would go there?”
“I do. Joboam would make sure of it, if he thought of it. It is not an easy place to return from.”
A silence fell, but when Tillu opened her lips to speak, Heckram bent to swiftly kiss her. He held her close as he spoke. “But we will both come down, tomorrow. The night is mild, and the lower steps are easy for a boy Kerlew’s size. I will let him have his night on the Najd’s Steps. He won’t go very high. I know you will worry. But you must understand these dares are important to a boy. And he has his own kind of wisdom. He will be safe. And tomorrow I will bring him down to you.”
“You are sure of this?”
Honesty saddened his eyes. “No. But it is the best I can do. In the dark, a man my size would not get one-third of the way up the Steps.” He could see her thoughts. “And you yourself would not even get that far. One has to have seen it by daylight to climb it. In this false light, it would be suicide. Besides…” He paused. “To bring Kerlew down now would be to take something from him, something he might never find again. He has to have this night alone, on the Najd’s Steps, Tillu.”
She understood, but unwillingly. There was nothing she could do for her son this night. Tillu sighed deeply and leaned into Heckram’s chest. Kari broke suddenly into her thoughts. “Heckram. What do the herdfolk say about a woman being, forced into a joining she does not want?”
His brows knit at the abrupt change of subject. After a moment he replied, “It very seldom happens. Sometimes, a woman desires a man who is already joined to another. So, she takes another man instead. It is sad, but it happens. Sometimes they learn to get along, though. Look at Ibb and Bror. It is gossiped that Ibb took him only because no one else asked her. But they are long and happy years they have shared.”
“But if the woman did not want the joining at all? If she hated the idea, but her parents insisted?”
His mind leaped the gap. “Kari is that unhappy?”
Tillu nodded. “She wanted me to cut her nose off this evening. So Pirtsi wouldn’t take her.”
Heckram’s expression reflected his dismay at the idea. “But she is right,” he conceded. “Pirtsi is too vain to take a disfigured woman. He’d find a way out.”
“Then you think I should do it?” Tillu asked in horror.
“No!” Heckram was vehement. “She should go to Stina or old Natta. One of the older herdwomen. Or several of them. She should say she is being forced, and that she is truly unhappy. They’ll be swift to take her side. They’ve been on their own long enough to know that sometimes a woman is better alone than bedded with someone like Pirtsi. And neither of them like the boy, anyway. Capiam will be very unhappy when they come to him, and greatly embarrassed. But he can’t stand against them, nor can Ketla. If he did, those women would raise such an outcry as would have every woman in the gathered folks angered and impatient with the men. Better embarrassment than the whole folk disturbed. Old women will not be ignored.”
“You mean this? This is true, among the herdfolk?”
“So it has always been. Didn’t you know that? I recall Ristin mentioned some time ago that she thought Kari was unhappy. But no one was sure. Sometimes a woman pretends reluctance to make a man more attentive. Send her to Ristin, if you wish. She’ll know which matriarchs will scare Capiam the most.”
She hugged him suddenly, tightly. With her face pressed against him, she said, “I did not even know why I was running to you tonight. But you had the answers, to all my fears. I think I shall even be able to sleep a little this night.”
He stooped suddenly, lifted her off her feet. The strength of his arms around her, the ease with which he held her made her feel, not weak, but protected by his strength. She put his arms around his neck and hugged him close. He nodded toward the new tent. “Sleep? I have a better idea,” he whispered.
She clung to him, teasing herself with the idea. “I can’t,” she murmured against his neck. His skin was salt against her mouth. “I have to go back to Capiam’s tent. I have to talk to Kari.”
“No,” he chided her. His hands supported her against him, sent warmth flowing across her skin in waves. “Don’t tell Kari now. She’d run right to Stina and Natta, wake them from a sound sleep, and sound like a foolish girl with marriage jitters. Have her go in the cool gray of morning, dressed sensibly and talking calmly. They must see her as a determined woman, not as a willful teasing girl.”
“Mm,” she said into his neck. She could not decide if his reasoning was sound or if she merely wanted it to be so that she could linger here with him. And Kerlew…
“And stop fretting about Kerlew. If you will not believe as I do, that there is something about the boy that brings him through danger unscathed, then have faith in what you yourself have taught him. The boy is cautious to a fault. Let him have this bit of a dare; the other boys will hear of it, and respect him for it. But not if his parents run to fetch him down.”
A great stillness spread through Tillu’s body. He could not have meant what he had so casually implied. He had been speaking in generalities. But never had any man ever spoken so of Kerlew, thoughtfully, as if he were a boy to be raised instead of a problem to be solved. A small part of herself hackled possessively; but within bloomed the perception that Heckram might know more of being a boy than she could.
He took her silence for assent. The top of the tent door brushed her head. He set her gently on her feet and stood in silence. She looked around. It was a man’s tent, sternly practical. The one traveling chest in it was dark and scarred and plain. She wondered what had become of Elsa’s unfinished trunk, then pushed the thought away. There was nothing here that was not Heckram. She saw him in the tidy pallet and the simple implements of his life. Then he touched her, his callused fingers running softly down her bare arm and setting her skin singing. The simple touch, the smell of man in the tent, the gentle glow of the coals on the hearth undid the catches on her self-control. The frustrated imaginings of the last few days rose rampant. Urgency seized her.
There was no time for careful undressing. She sensed his surprise as she tugged his shirt open and ran greedy hands over his chest. Her mouth followed them, and the taste of his skin made her dizzy. His tiny nipples stood up beneath her tongue. She felt him take a sudden breath. His hands ran down her back, slipped up inside her shirt. Callused fingers stroked her breasts. She wondered who this woman was, who did not hesitate under his touch, but only felt her heat rise higher. Fear this man? His body seemed a part of her own already, hers to touch and use. It was natural to show him her wants, to guide one of his big hands down her belly. His hand slipped lower, exploring, and she held suddenly still, her mouth on his skin, her eyes closed. He moved so slowly, so carefully. But she was suddenly ready, more ready than she had ever been and unwilling to wait any longer. So a herdwoman could say who she would join? A woman could decide such things? Then…She fumbled at the fastening of his trousers, dragging them down to expose his readiness. “Tillu,” he murmured in pleased rebuke as she pushed him toward the bedding. She heard herself laugh softly, the sound of a woman who had taken possession of the moment and knew no fear. Her own boldness and his delighted response amazed her, feeding her aggression. She pulled him down onto the bedding, but was astonished when he rolled onto his back, ceding control to her. She hesitated.
“Shy?” Laughter behind his challenge.
She met his eyes frankly, found that she, too, could smile. Mating, she realized, did not have to be so serious a thing. Had only to be whatever they wanted to make it. “No,” she discovered aloud. “But I’m not going to make all the efforts, either.”
“The second time, I’ll do the work,” he promised, and pulled her down laughing atop him.
HE SAT QUITE still, his knees drawn up to his bony chest. Kerlew’s buttocks were cold against the stone, but he didn’t move. Moving didn’t help. He was cold all over, he ached and his head felt light. Even when he sat still, he quivered. The shaking had been worst during the long climb; now it had settled down to a humming, like bees crawling over his skin. The only thing he didn’t feel was hungry. Yesterday he had stopped feeling the pangs and nausea of extreme hunger. That was how Carp had known he was ready. He thought of food, of boiled eggs or meat seared hot. His stomach squeezed with revulsion. No. He wasn’t interested in food anymore.
He braced his feet and pushed his back against the cold stone. He wasn’t going to look down again. In the dimness of night, he hadn’t minded so much. The tiny red fires below had not been, so different from the far stars above. Above. Below. He chuckled foolishly. Here he was, up again when he wanted to go down. Up the stone ridges, to the top of the Najd’s Steps, when he needed to go down, into the caverns of the spirit world. He had tried to ask Carp about that, but the old najd had only flapped his question away with his leathery hand. He had been so impatient with Kerlew lately. Chasing him outside so he could talk alone with Joboam, commanding silence when he asked about Kari or his mother. As if Kerlew didn’t know what Carp and Joboam spoke of when they were alone. He knew. Spirits whispered to him while he slept, secrets crept into his ears. But Carp no longer wanted to hear what the spirits whispered in his dreams. Carp wanted only to eat, to wear fine garments, to chant and dance before all the people. He had no time for Kerlew’s questions or objections.
“Just do,” he had said. “Do what I tell you and do not wonder. You will know the place when you see it. When you get there, do what seems right, and wait for a vision. You may have to wait several days and nights. But do not be discouraged, nor afraid. Stay there, and stay awake until your vision comes. Do not sleep, do not eat, drink nothing. Only wait. Then the vision will come. And you will be a najd.”
Then he had given Kerlew the little yellow root to chew. And sent him across the hummocky meadows to the base of the stone steps. When? A long, long time ago. He tried to put boundaries on the time. It had been morning at first. Then it had been the warm part of a day. He wasn’t sure if there had been evening. But now there was a night. Or was this a morning? He opened his eyes quickly. He had to stay awake. And yes, it was day again, almost. He wondered why this day was still so cold. Down below, gray smoke rose from the domed tents. Tiny reindeer milled around in a pen, chased by a single man. Usually many men chased them. It made no sense to Kerlew, but the herdfolk did it every day, and it was very exciting to watch. The plunging hooves of the animals threw up mud or dust, and the men and women chasing them yelled and fell and wrestled the animals in it. Kerlew wished he could be there now, but Carp had said he must go find a vision. He looked down again at the pen. The man had stopped chasing the reindeer. They churned around in the middle of the pen for a short time, then gathered in a corner. No more excitement. He wasn’t missing anything. So wait for the vision.
How long?
As long as it took. There was no going down until he had the vision. Kerlew settled back with vague resignation. He glanced once more at his companion. Was he still waiting for his vision? He hadn’t spoken to Kerlew. He simply sat, his knees drawn up to his chest. A basket was beside him. Before him were many fine and wondrous things. There was a knife, with a blade of shining black. Some painted bones. A bundle of draggled feathers, tied in a bouquet with faded string and bright beads still. The shriveled talons of a hawk. But the best of all was between his two bony knees. A small round drum, such as Carp drummed upon. But better. Kerlew had never known there could be a drum better than Carp’s. The leather drum head was fuzzed with green mold. But it didn’t hide the faded figures in red and blue. Kerlew stared at it enviously. Reindeer. Those were reindeer, and behind them were men, long men painted in blue and red. The small hammer had fallen from the bony fingers that clutched the drum. It lay on the stony floor of the niche. One end was shaped like the curled foot of a bird, the other like a raven’s head and beak. Kerlew thought of picking it up. No. This bone najd might be angry if he did that. He glanced warily at the najd, but the najd only smiled the wider.
Kerlew lifted a finger to touch his own teeth, to outline the hidden sockets of bone around his eyes. Yes. His face was like that face, but hidden behind flesh. A mask of skin, he was wearing a mask of skin, but that najd had taken his off and greeted Kerlew bare-faced. Kerlew grinned back at him, trying to show his teeth as wide. When he had first crawled in here, the old najd had frightened him. But he had sat very still beside him, all night long, because this was the end of the steps, there was nowhere else to go, but he couldn’t go back without a vision. Maybe this was the vision. Maybe this was what he was supposed to take back with him. No. Carp would have told him more plainly. After a moment, he was sure of it.
“Did you never have your vision?” Kerlew asked the grinning najd. The najd didn’t answer, but Kerlew began to feel friendly toward him. He had such fascinating things. And he asked nothing of Kerlew. He didn’t eat while making Kerlew stay hungry. He didn’t demand he fetch wood or tend a fire. He didn’t send him out of the tent into the cold night. He didn’t tell him to find a vision. No. This was a very kind najd, who shared his niche with Kerlew. Kerlew liked him. He patted him gently on the shoulder. Dust rose from his feathered mantle, skin crackled and bones shifted beneath his hand. Kerlew took his hand away swiftly. He hadn’t liked that sound. Like a bone drum. The old najd was like a hollow bone drum. Bone drum.
He pulled his eyes open again. Had he slept? No. He was sure he hadn’t slept. He had only closed his eyes. He leaned his chest against his knees and looked down at his bare feet squinched against the black stone. They looked very far away, as far as the misty tent village below. He reached out his hand, watched it travel a long way until it was beside his toes. He touched one of his toes, pressing his finger down on it. Nothing. His toes were so far away he couldn’t feel them anymore. “I can’t feel my toes,” he whispered. The bone najd looked at him but said nothing.
Giddiness swept Kerlew. He clutched his knees, fighting it. His toes, the edge of the ledge, and the far misty village rippled like stones in a stream. The village washed up against the ledge. He reached past his toes to touch one of the tiny tents. He put his fingers against it, but couldn’t feel it. Of course. If his toes were too far away to feel, the tents were, too. He giggled, then leaned back suddenly as another wave of dizziness swept him. The world rocked. He pressed his back to the cold hard stone, pushing hard with his feet, trying to make things be still. Then, without warning, the world tilted sideways and he fell backwards into darkness.
He was in a dark place. Water dripped down the cold stone walls, clung to the roots that festooned the ceiling. He tried to stand up, but could not. He couldn’t move at all. He tried to touch his own body, but couldn’t find his hands. He couldn’t find himself at all. He couldn’t even see himself. But he could see the others.
They sat about the small chamber, backs braced against the stone walls. Two were playing tablo. The other had his talismans spread before him.
“Here’s one who hopes to be a najd,” said one of the tablo players. He looked over at Kerlew and smiled. He was very old; his face was like a wrinkled hide and his hair as sparse as a dog’s whiskers. Even his scalp was brown and wrinkled. “Would you care for a game, first?”
Kerlew kept still. These were the ones who would trick him, the ones trapped between. If he spoke to them, he would be trapped with them. He did not even shake his head.
“Ah, he’s too wise to be caught that way,” observed the other tablo player. He was much younger than the first najd. He was dressed in sleek otter skins and his teeth were very white. “Carp warned you not to speak to us, didn’t he? He’s a sly one, Carp is. Did he tell you not to be afraid of anything you meet?”
Just in time he bit down on his tongue and kept it from moving. He wondered how he was going to get out of the chamber. Everywhere was darkness and damp, and all he could see clearly were the three old najds. And he could not find his body to make it walk away. All he could do was keep silent and watch.
“Ah!” muttered the last najd to himself. “This is what was needed. Here he is at last.” This najd was a small man, not much larger than Kerlew. A sleek black cloak wrapped his shoulders. Even in the dim chamber, it had a blue sheen. His hair was black streaked gray, and he wore a necklace of bear’s claws. He had been rummaging in a small basket beside him. Now he took out something small and brown. He held it in his cupped palm, and turned his head sideways to bring one bright eye close to it. His eyes were very black and shining and when he smiled he bobbed his head up and down. He reminded Kerlew of someone. Something. Now he turned his head sideways and smiled. “Come here,” he said. “Don’t speak. But he never told you not to look, did he? Come and see what has been missing?”
Then Kerlew was beside the old najd, looking into his wrinkled hand. The tablo players had receded into darkness. Only this one was left. He patted the soft green moss beside him, and Kerlew found himself. He sat, wondering at possessing a body again. Birds were singing in the willows on the river-bank behind them. The old najd waved them to silence. Eyes shining, the old najd tipped his hand to the boy. His callused palm cupped a tiny wolf of brown bone. Its eyes were black and its tongue was red. As he watched, it sat up on the najd’s hand and looked up at Kerlew.
“Ah! Ah!” The shaman made a laugh of the words. “He knows, you see! He should not be in my basket at all. And you have something of mine, perhaps? No? Look in your pouch, young najd. Something there does not belong. Look in your pouch.”
Kerlew hesitated. But Carp had told him to do what felt right. This felt right. He unslung his new pouch, the one Carp had demanded from Joboam, from his shoulder. He untied the thongs. Slowly he drew the items from his pouch, spreading them in an arc before him. Knife and bloodstone and piece of blade. Amber and bird’s foot and rabbit’s tail. Wolverine’s tooth.
“Aahh!” The old one sighed, impressed. Then he lifted cunning eyes to Kerlew’s face. “You would not trick an old man? The trade must be fair. I have what is yours. But I shall not give it to you until you give the what is mine. These are objects of power, but mine is not among them. Give me what is mine.”
Kerlew’s eyes wandered over his talismans. But everything here was his, gathered fairly. All of these, he knew, were his. But the old najd only smiled me wider, so many teeth, and said, “Give me what is mine.”
Kerlew picked up his shaman’s bag to see if something had rolled under it. No. Nothing. But within the bag, something whispered and rustled. Something light and bony. Trepidation washed through him, but he reached into the pouch. Brittle, it rolled under his fingertips, making his skin crawl. He lifted it into the bright sunlight.
“Mine,” said the old najd, and the little bird skull grinned at him. “It is what I have been needing. Just as you have been needing this.” He extended his hand with the tiny wolf to Kerlew. The wolf sat alertly, his tail swept neatly around his forepaws. His little black eyes were bright as he looked up into Kerlew’s face. Kerlew’s heart howled for the wolf. He did not need to think. He dropped the little owl skull into the old najd’s hand. And was suddenly glad to be rid of it. Then the old najd’s hand tipped. But the tiny wolf scrabbled his claws against the old najd’s hand and would not leap to Kerlew.
The old najd looked suddenly troubled. He righted his hand and the tiny wolf once more sat flat in it. The old najd looked at Kerlew with his round black eyes. “Something is wrong here,” he said gravely. “Something is very wrong.” He tilted his head toward the tiny wolf, listening. Then he straightened to regard Kerlew stonily. “You are not herdfolk.”
A coldness swept Kerlew that made the hot sting of tears a sharp pain. The tiny wolf in the najd’s hand curled up, swept his tail over his nose and closed his eyes. Shut Kerlew out. He would have spoken, forgetting Carp’s warning, if he could have thought of words. He could only stare mutely into the najd’s bottomless eyes.
“Ah.” The old najd nodded somberly. “Well, let us see what is wrong. Let us see why you are not herdfolk.” He closed his hand into a knot around the tiny wolf, and gestured to Kerlew’s spread talismans.
“Ah. See this?” The bony finger that pointed at the blade fragment had a long yellow nail. It swept suddenly across the arc of the power items. “See here?” The wolverine tooth. “And see.” To the Knife. “And at last.” The amber. “It is all very plain.”
Kerlew lifted eyes to the old najd, silently begging him to explain. He put a cautioning finger against his lips. “Listen. It is plain. This,” a finger tapped the knife fragment, “is a debt. This,” the Knife, “will pay it. The one who holds the knife will draw the wolverine’s teeth. The stone is on the blood, and the blood is on the stone. And Wolf will bring it all together.” The old najd nodded with immense satisfaction.
Then he looked very stern. “But you are not herdfolk. You have no Wolf, nor do you belong to Wolf. You know why. When you took on the debt of the Knife, you took on a duty to the herdfolk. You have not kept it. You have let harm walk boldly among them. What he does is wrong. Reindeer, who watches over the herdfolk, who feeds and clothes them, is very angry with him. He will demand an accounting. And you. You must arm the Wolf and destroy the Wolverine. I will free what is mine. But you must do the rest, little najd.” He leaned very close to Kerlew.
“I could whisper a word to my little wolf. I could tell him that to go with you would be to go with me. That you are to be the najd of the herdfolk. That it is right for you to hold the tokens of the herdfolk in your hands. Ah, but then, but then if you did not keep your duty…Wolf would tear your throat out!”
The old najd had leaned ever closer as he spoke, and on the last words his mouth elongated into a snarling muzzle that opened wide and his canines flashed long and white before Kerlew’s face. Kerlew tightened his belly muscles but did not draw back. The old najd sat back suddenly and laughed softly. He pulled his lips down over his teeth and resumed his own face. “Yes, yes. You are the Wolfs, yes. But he will not be yours until you are herdfolk. Will you be herdfolk?”
Kerlew hesitated fractionally before bobbing a nod. He would have offered the blood warm from his body to hold Wolf in his hand. His chest heaved with the depth of his wanting.
“Ah. Then. Keep the bargain of the Knife. That is all. She who you freed left a place empty, a task unfinished. Finish the task and take the place. Free your people of that which plagues them. Will you do this?”
Again Kerlew nodded. The old najd copied him. “Good. They have been alone long, and I have suffered with their pain. You take a burden from me. Here.” He turned slightly aside from Kerlew, lifted the wolf to his lips, and whispered over him. Then he reached suddenly to grip Kerlew’s wrist with fingers as cold and hard as bone. He dragged the boy’s hand toward him, pinched his thin wrist until his coiled fingers opened.
And dropped Wolf into his palm. Kerlew looked down on the coiled figure.
“He sleeps,” the old najd whispered. “But he is with you. Listen. Once you have earned him, he will help you. He will make a proper cover for the drum. Then, when you are alone, you can drum for him and he will dance for you. But, first!” A cautionary finger in Kerlew’s face. “First, you must listen and obey. This is what you must do to earn him.” The old najd paused suddenly, listening. His face became very grave and sad. “To the first who comes, you must say nothing. NOTHING! This will be hard, and your pain will be great. But Wolf will drink the blood of your pain, and be satisfied. It is the beginning of being herdfolk. This you do for Wolf.” He nodded to himself. “To the second one who comes, give this.” The owl’s skull rustled icy against his palm. “Say, ‘Be free!’ Then that debt is paid.” His expression softened. “This you do for me.”
The old najd smiled suddenly, black lips writhing back from white teeth. “Then comes Wolf. Yes, Wolf comes and you place your hand between his eyes. And go with him, to be najd of the herdfolk, and to pay your last debt. That, you do for yourself.” The old najd leaned back with a sigh of deep contentment. “Long have I waited for you. Long and long. Now you are here. And I can rest. Gather your things and come. Take them all, now. All are properly yours.”
Kerlew picked up his power objects, dropping each carefully into his pouch. Then he watched the old najd place each of his in a basket. The bright bundled feathers and the dyed cubes of bone in red and blue; a string of fat ivory teeth; the black-bladed knife and a talley of calf-ear bits. He put the lid on the basket and tucked his drum under his arm. The owl skull Kerlew kept in his hand. “Come now,” the old najd said. He rose with a crackling of knee bones. “We cannot keep her waiting.” Kerlew put his hand in the najd’s bony one and they stepped into darkness. And out again.
The bright light of the day blinded him. Tears ran and rainbow colors washed over the village below. Kerlew swayed on the ledge, feeling the fresh winds of the high place brush past him. He was back. He was back and alive. But what of his spirit guardian? What of a vision? He turned to the old najd at his side.
“Comes the first,” breathed the najd.
Kerlew looked up. Carp stood before him, smiling, showing the familiar blackness between his teeth. Then the blackness went blue as Carp rippled in the wind. Kerlew recoiled in surprise. “Well, apprentice?” Carp demanded in an airy voice. “Have you no word of welcome for me?” He leaned over Kerlew, smiling insubstantially. “Are you not glad to see me? I have decided to come with you, to guide you to the spirit world. There I will show you many wonders and gift you with many powers. Give me greeting, take my hand, and we will go together.”
Kerlew sat still, frozen with fear. Confusion milled through his mind. The bone najd had told him not to speak to the first one. Carp had told him, many times, that he must find his own path to the spirit world, and enter alone. Something was wrong here, something chilling and evil.
“Do not be afraid, little apprentice.” Carp’s words were warm and dripping, rich as fresh liver. They reached inside Kerlew, pulled at him. He bowed over his knees with the pain of resisting them.
The bone najd spoke coldly. “There is no place for you here, forest najd. And Kerlew will not take your place nor give you his. Walk the path you have chosen.”
Carp suddenly went flat and snarling, his back rippling as angrily as his spirit beast. His growl was the growl of Wolverine enraged. His teeth were sharp and white as he leaned forward and sank them into Kerlew’s clenched fist. The blood ran red between his fingers, and the tiny wolf within his fist stirred and growled. Kerlew’s mouth stretched wide in soundless agony. Blackness closed in on him. He felt Wolverine worrying his hand from his wrist, felt the parting snap.
“Go back.” The bone najd lifted his drum-claw. “Go back and finish dying, forest najd.”
There was a sound like an old tent splitting in the wind. The pain stopped. Kerlew opened his eyes. His hand was on the end of his wrist, unmarked. He felt Wolf stir within it. Carp stood just off the edge of the ledge, looking suddenly mournful. “A last word,” he begged, and it was the voice of the tired old man Kerlew knew.
“No.” The bone najd forbade it, and Carp suddenly tattered to pieces and was swept away on the wind. Something ripped out of Kerlew and went with him, like a hook tearing free of his flesh. He hunched over his knees, feeling his pain run hot down his face. He did not know how many lifetimes it lasted. When he could lift his head, the day was blue and clear before him. He looked down on the tiny herdfolk village below him. Below him, their lives went on. Folk clustered and shouted thinly by the reindeer pens, children raced between the tents, the herd gazed on the meadows and flanks of the Cataclysm.
The ledge was suddenly darkened, the opening to the niche blocked by a dark shape. Kerlew breathed in sudden fear, hid his hands from more pain.
“Comes the second,” the bone najd sighed. She filled the opening to the niche, closing the day away from them. Her feathers were sleek and gleaming. She stood, looking down on Kerlew and he almost knew her. But she was not for him. She had come for the bone najd with the bird-bright eyes, and it was for him that Kerlew lifted the tiny skull in his hand. She took the owl talisman into her hand. “Be free,” he told her. She smiled suddenly, eyes as black as Raven’s feathers. She leaned far out, looked down to the village below. Kerlew followed her gaze. The meadow at the foot of the steps teemed with folk, all crying out in thin voices and waving their arms. Owl gazed down on them for a long moment. Then she spread wide her wings and swooped. Kerlew watched her silent flight. Shrill squeals of terror rose as she descended on her prey. She would feed well. The bone najd looked satisfied. Kerlew leaned back once more in his niche, to await the third. The morning passed its peak, and the warm sun of afternoon touched Kerlew’s feet with feeble fingers. And still Kerlew was patient, knowing he would come.
He came as hot panting breath, as the scent of warm life and fresh blood. He felt like a rush of sleek fur under Kerlew’s hands, like a tumble of cubs against his chest. He stood before Kerlew, larger than the moon, and his eyes were green. His narrow black lips writhed in a smile that bared brave white teeth, and Kerlew laughed in joy with him. Tears washed his eyes clean and he saw his brother. The hand he reached was not to claim or to subdue, but to touch with fondness. His brother suffered the touch of his human fingers upon his furred brow. “Wolf,” he whispered. Joy was hot in him. “At last you have come.”
“Kerlew,” whispered Wolf, and his voice was a voice to trust at last.