Wolf’s Brother

“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 (#ulink_d4c37b3e-5d60-5c1a-8203-b187a3b18d5c)

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.

“Don’t let him jerk you around,” Joboam commanded her as he moved to her laden animals. He tugged and pushed at the bags and bundles tied to the pack frame, tightening the ties, and once moving a bag from one animal to the other. His competence could not be denied; somehow that annoyed Tillu even more. He was talking, voice and words hard as he readjusted the harnesses. “A harke has to know that you’re in charge. You can’t let it doubt it for one moment. If you’re going to insist on doing something you know nothing about, at least know that. Keep a tight grip and make it obey you.” He shot a venomous glance at Kerlew. “If you can make anything obey you.” Kerlew was trying to smile at Joboam placatingly, but fear distorted the smile until it looked like a sneer. Joboam stared at him, his eyes going blacker.

“I can manage them,” Tillu said, surprised at how calm her voice sounded.

“Can you?” He glared at her. “And that boy? Can you make him obey you, keep him from being a burden to all of us?” She could hear the checked fury in his voice. He’d been saving his anger for days. At the least excuse, he’d show it. She looked at his big hands, the thick muscles in his neck, and felt cold fear. But only the chill was in her voice when she spoke.

“Kerlew is my responsibility. I am sure that if Capiam thought he would be a problem, he would have spoken of it to me.”

“And you are my responsibility! I have told Capiam that I will see to it that you…”

“I am no one’s responsibility!” Tillu’s voice flared out of control. Passing herdfolk were staring at them curiously.

“That is not how the herdlord has ordered it,” he reminded her, an odd note of triumph in his voice. “I am to see that you lack for nothing, that you travel easily with us.” He finished tugging at a final strap. Rising, he pulled the harke forward, to put its rein back into Tillu’s hand and take his own animals. He looked down at her. “I am in charge of you and your boy. To be sure that no one harms the najd’s little apprentice. Now you will follow me. And if…”

“Heckram! And Carp!” Kerlew’s voice split Joboam’s words. The boy dashed past her, running headlong toward the line of folk and beasts. Tillu’s breath caught as she watched, expecting the animals to startle and run. But the harkar only looked up curiously at the boy pelting toward them. A few perked their ears foolishly, but there was no stampede. Heckram saw the boy coming, and pulled his animals from the cavalcade and waited. The folk behind him moved past.

Morning surrounded the man and framed him. He wore summer clothes, a tunic of thin leather stretched over his chest and shoulders, rough trousers of leather and leather boots that tied at the knee. A hat of knotted blue wool could not confine his hair; the breeze lifted bronze glints from it. She dared not believe in the wide smile that welcomed her son. The lead harke nudged Heckram for assurance, and he rested a hand on its shaggy neck, waiting. Kerlew halted inches from Heckram, to tilt back his head and grin up at him. It squeezed her heart to see her strange son so confident of a welcome. Heckram reached out a hand. She saw him tousle the boy’s wild hair, then clasp his thin shoulder in a man’s welcome. Carp’s sharp voice parted them, imperiously summoning the boy to his side.

Heckram led a string of four harkar, with Carp perched atop the first one. Up until now, Tillu had seen only the very young and the very old riding the pack animals. Carp’s legs were sound under him. She wondered why he chose to ride. He leaned down to speak to Kerlew, gesturing to the boy to walk beside the animal, and then to Heckram to move on. Heckram looked a question at her. She lifted a hand in a greeting that was an acknowledgment but not an answer to anything. Behind her Joboam made a sound without syllables, a rasping like a beast’s growl. She was shaken by the black fury in his eyes. His hatred was bottomless; she wondered which of the three was its target.

“Follow!” he snapped and jerked his string of harkar to an ungainly trot. She pulled her unwilling animals to match his pace and ran to keep up. He threaded a trail through the widely spaced trees, paralleling the path of the herdfolk. She had no breath for questions, but could only follow in grudging obedience.

She took deep breaths of the scents of early spring. The aroma rose from the humus and early tufts of sprouting grasses and moss in an almost visible mist. Small yellow leaves and shriveled berries still clung to some of the brambly wild roses, beside the swelling leaf nodes that would soon unfurl into foliage. She saw a circle of new mushrooms but could not stop to investigate them. Joboam swung his animals back toward the cavalcade, motioning to Pirtsi to make a space. She followed him, glad to slow to a walk again.

“Keep up,” was the only thing he said. She fell in behind him. His animals separated them, making talk thankfully impossible. She glanced back at Pirtsi but he seemed immersed in simply walking. She set her eyes forward and followed his example, letting the day fall into easy monotony.

Before her the haunches of Joboam’s last harke swayed, its ridiculous white tail flicking. She glanced at the animal she led, surprised at how easy it was. She held the rein, but her beast simply followed the one in front of them. The strap between them was slack. The reindeer’s head bobbed, its moist breath warming the air by Tillu’s shoulder. Its eyes were huge, dark and liquid beneath the brow ridges. They reminded Tillu of a small child’s frank stare. Boldly she put her free hand out to touch the animal’s shaggy neck. She was pleased with the contented rumble the animal made at her touch. She scratched it gently as she had seen Heckram do, and it leaned into her touch.

There was a strange giddiness to striding along on a spring day, unencumbered by any burden. She remembered her staggering flight from Benu’s folk, the weight of everything she owned heavy on her shoulders as she fled from Carp and his influence over her son. This was better. The animals carried their packs easily, and Tillu matched their pace with a swinging stride. Stranger still was that Kerlew was not at her heels. She was not calling him back from investigating things far off the trail, wasn’t scolding him for dawdling, nor answering his pestering questions. Her life had been so intertwined with her son’s since his birth that she could not become accustomed to surrendering him to Carp. At the thought of the old man, her stomach knotted and she glanced back. But Kerlew and the shaman were far down the line. And Heckram was with them. She thought of the smile he had given her boy today. As if he didn’t resent his presence. His tolerance couldn’t last forever, might well be gone by the end of this day. But let Kerlew enjoy what acceptance he could. Soon enough he would know rejection again; soon he would walk at Tillu’s heels again, asking her the same question ten times and never remembering her answer. She forced herself to believe it would be so.

She gave herself up to the forest around her. Once she heard squirrels chattering overhead, and then the hoarse cries of a raven. The forest of the morning was pine and spruce, with a scattering of birch. By midday they were crossing rivulets, swift and noisy with the melt of winter snow. The first few were narrow streams, easily jumped by the humans as the reindeer stoically waded through the icy waters. Then came a wider one, and Tillu found herself stepping from rock to slippery rock. By now it seemed natural to put a hand on the reindeer’s shoulder to steady herself, and the animal evinced no surprise at her touch. On the far bank she paused to stroke its neck once, pleased with the feel of its living warmth seeping up through the stiff hair of its coat. Behind her, Bror was swinging his young grandson up to a temporary perch on a pack animal for the crossing.

Then they were walking on again. Tillu began to feel the complaints of muscles unused to long walking at such a steady pace. The day had warmed, and her heavy tunic was a burden. She halted to drag it off and sling it across the harke’s other burdens. The cool breeze touched her bare arms. Her sleeveless tunic of thin rabbit leather felt so light she had a sensation of nakedness. She stretched her arms and rolled her shoulders in the pleasant sun. Then Joboam angrily called to her to keep up. She pulled her harke back into motion.

Gradually the forest changed. The cavalcade of reindeer and folk wound through valleys and across streams, leaving the steep hillsides behind and emerging onto soft slopes of Lapp heather, with twisting willow ossier now covered with fuzzy catkins and alders with cracked gray bark. The plant life was lusher here, the hillsides open to the blue sky and the softly pushing wind. She thought that the reindeer would lag and graze, but they moved on with a single-mindedness that made her legs ache.

Great gray rocks pushed up randomly on the hillsides through the yellowed grasses of last summer. The earliest of spring’s flowers opened blooms in their shelter and stored warmth. She saw plants she could not name, and familiar plants shorter than she remembered them. She itched to touch and smell. Had she been alone, she would have gathered willow and alder barks for tonics and medicines, and the tips of the emerging fireweed for a delectable green. She glimpsed a violet’s leaves, but could not leave her animals to investigate. She had to pass a patch of stink-lily with its nourishing starchy roots, for when she knelt to dig her fingers into the turfy soil, Joboam yelled to her to hurry. She hissed in frustration. There were drawbacks to having an animal carry one’s belongings and being part of such a great moving group. She took dried fish from her pocket and nibbled it as she walked. And walked, while the sun slipped slowly across the blue sky and toward its craggy resting place.

She heard and smelled the river long before she saw it. The reindeer picked up the pace as they scented the water. Her hips and lower back complained as she stretched her stride, and her buttocks ached as if she had been kicked. The sinking sun glinted off the wide swatch of moving water, rainbowing over its rocky rapids. Tillu saw the line ahead of her pause and drink, but then rise and follow the noisy river and its trimming of trees. Her heart sank. Surely, they must stop soon! She paused at the river to let her beasts drink and take a long draught of the icy water herself. The cold made her teeth hum. Wiping her mouth, she rose to follow Joboam and his string of harkar. They wended through trees, naked birches and willows and oak hazed with green buds, following the river. Shadows lengthened and the day began to cool as the earth gave up its harvested heat to the naked skies. And then, far down the line of animals and men, she glimpsed a sheen of silver through the screening trees.

Abruptly they emerged on the shore of the lake. With relief Tillu saw the red glow and rising smoke of fires. Hasty shelters went up, a mushroom village sprang up from the warm earth. Unladen animals grazed on the open hillside above the lake. Gray boulders, rounded and bearded with lichen, poked their shaggy heads out of the deep grass of the slope. Children raced and shrieked among them or splashed and threw stones along the water’s edge, enlivened rather than wearied by the day’s travel. Dogs barked and bounded with them. Tillu envied them their energy. She would have liked nothing better than to sink down and rest. She watched Joboam glance about the scene, and then move surely into it, his campsite already selected. A child and a dog playing tug with a leather strap scrabbled hastily from his path. Tillu hesitated, wishing she could settle in a less central area of this hive of activity. But she couldn’t risk offending some custom of theirs. She would camp where Joboam told her. She began to lead her harkar after him.

From the shadow of a boulder, Kari rose, startling Tillu and spooking even the stolid harkar. But as it jerked the rein from Tillu’s hand, Kari caught it and turned to Tillu with her narrow smile. “Come!” she said, and put up a swift hand to cover a giggle. Her eyes were bright. Without another word, she led them off up the hill.

One boulder, larger than a sod hut, jutted from the earth halfway up the hillside. To this Kari led her, and then around and above it. On the high side of the boulder, facing away from the camp by the lake, was a shelter of pegged and propped hides. A small fire already burned and a pot of water was warming. A jumble of hides was spread inside the shelter, and Kari’s harkar grazed outside it. Kari grinned at Tillu. “In the talvsit, I live in my father’s and mother’s hut. But here, in the arrotak, I have my own shelter, and invite my own guests. You will stay with me? You and Kerlew,” she added hastily when Tillu hesitated.

Tillu did not relish the idea of company this weary night. But the fire was bright, the sky already darkening, the shelter welcoming and Kari so pleased with herself that Tillu could not refuse. She nodded. With a glad cry Kari sprang to unloading the harkar. Tillu moved to assist her, her weary fingers fumbling at the unfamiliar harness. Kari’s experience showed as she capably stripped one animal, led it to grass, and hobbled it before Tillu could unload the other. Soon both beasts were grazing. Kari stepped into the shelter, sat down on the hides, and patted the place next to her invitingly. Tillu sank down beside her with a sigh. The new aches of sitting down were a relief from the old ones of walking. Tillu slowly pulled off her boots, pressed her weary feet into the cool new grass.

“I should find Kerlew,” she reminded herself reluctantly. “Heckram must be sick of him by now.”

“He will be here soon,” Kari assured her. She leaned back on the hides and rolled onto her side to watch the hillside above her as the night stole its colors.

“It is kind of you to invite me to stay with you,” Tillu observed belatedly, but Kari only shrugged.

“You are someone to talk to, and as you have shared your tent and tea with me, I would do the same for you. Besides, if you are here it will be less problems.”

The last remark puzzled her until Lasse rounded the boulder and dropped an armload of firewood. “I told you I’d find plenty,” he said, and ducked into the shelter with a pleased smile. It faded abruptly, to be replaced with an abashed grin as he found himself face to face with Tillu. She guessed instantly that he had hoped to find Kari alone. She glanced at Kari, but the girl seemed immune to Lasse’s disappointment.

“I wouldn’t call it plenty, but it’s enough,” Kari observed heartlessly. “Lasse, go and find Tillu’s son now, please. He was walking with Heckram. They should be at the lake by now. Bring them here. We may as well all eat together.” When Lasse hesitated, Tillu saw Kari tip her head back and, after a cool silence, suddenly smile at him with such melting warmth that the boy all but staggered with the impact. He nodded quickly, and left, face flushed, to obey her. As soon as he was gone, Kari’s smile faded, to be replaced with her usual pensive frown. “I want to show you something,” she said suddenly. She swiftly unlaced the leather jerkin she wore. She tugged it open and turned to Tillu, a smile of anticipation on her face.

Tillu recoiled. Kari had a long, lovely neck, and proud young breasts jutted high on her chest. But incised into the soft rise of each breast were Kari’s four-stroked symbols, as if indeed an owl with fiery talons had rested upon them. “Carp told me about the soot,” Kari said proudly. “Now the cuts may heal, but the mark will remain.” She looked up from her handiwork to Tillu’s averted eyes and sickened expression. The girl’s smile vanished. “What’s the matter with you? I thought you’d be happy to see that they didn’t get infected!”

“Carp.” Tillu said the word with loathing. “Yes, he’d be glad to tell you how to scar yourself.” And she had left Kerlew with the old man for the whole day. What had she been thinking of? If this was what Kari had learned from him, what grisly marvels was he teaching Kerlew?