Wolf’s Brother. Megan Lindholm

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СКАЧАТЬ the old snow with it. Icicles on the thatching of the huts dripped away. Earth and moss and the rotting leaves of last autumn were bared by the retreating snow. As the day grew older, and the herdfolk sought out their reindeer in the shelter of the trees, the retreating snow bared the small still forms of hapless calves born during the late storm. Vajor with swollen udders nudged at little bodies, nuzzled and licked questioningly at the small ears and cold muzzles.

      Silent folk moved in the forest, leading vajor away to be milked, leaving the dead calves to the relentless beetles that already crept over them. During the storm, the tale of the najd’s words had crept from hut to hut until all the talvsit knew. Carp sat outside Heckram’s door, stretching his limbs to the warmth of the sun as he fondled something small and brown in his knuckly hands. Those who passed looked aside in fear and wonder, and some felt a hidden anger. Heckram was one of them. What demon had guided this old man to him, and what foolishness had ever prompted him to bring Carp back to the talvsit?

      “I lost two calves,” he said coldly, standing over the old man. “And my best vaja, who sometimes bore twins, cannot be found at all. I think wolves got her as she gave birth.”

      “A terrible piece of luck,” Carp observed demurely.

      “One of Ristin’s vajor died giving birth.”

      Carp nodded. “A terrible storm.” He tilted his filmed eyes up to Heckram. “I will be leaving in a few moments. I wish to spend the day with my apprentice.”

      Heckram was silent, conflicting urges stirring in him. “I can’t take you today,” he said at last. “The bodies of the calves must be collected, skinned, and the meat burned. It is already spoiled. Otherwise the stench of it will draw wolves and foxes and ravens to prey on the new-born ones as well.”

      Carp looked at him coldly. “I do not need you to take me. That is not what I said. As for you, you have no reason to see Tillu. Your face is healed. You have tasks to do. To visit the healer would be a waste of your time.” His tone forbade Heckram.

      “The healer and her son are my friends,” Heckram countered. “And sometimes a man goes visiting for no more reason than that.”

      “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 СКАЧАТЬ