Raven's Choice (2 page)

Caught unaware, the Longheads ran, spears abandoned along with the butchered kill, but after scrambling a short distance down the riverbed, they rallied. The largest one picked up a big rock and threw it. It hit the ground, tumbling to a stop in front of Leaf—who immediately flew into a rage.

The scout writhed and ranted. Shrill, singsong words poured from him, strange and without meaning, while his arms and hands contorted oddly. At this spectacle, the Longheads started like spooked stags and dashed away, not stopping that time. Raven realized with amazement that they’d been unnerved by hearing their own words pour out of the twitching scout, who sounded like some dying bird. Leaf’s noisy deluge trailed off. She stared at him, pressing her tongue distractedly against the back of her front teeth. The young man intrigued her. She would like to know him better and hear his story.

The group finished what the Longheads had started, bundling the meat into skins before binding leather straps around the packets in preparation for back-hauling and were almost done when Raven took advantage of the others’ preoccupation and sidled over to the lifeless Longhead. The men had already taken a look at him during the time she was bringing their skins, pouches, and other things from the outcrop. After she’d come down from one of her trips, she found Leaf urinating on the prone body’s stomach. When he spotted her, he reddened and quickly adjusted his loincloth before rejoining the other men.

She stopped a few steps away, repulsed but fascinated by the elongated skull top of the dead Longhead and the hue of his deeply muscled chest, which was as pale as birch except for the irritated skin where the bison had hit him. He was young. Bright, reddish-brown hair covered his head and chin, and his skin was clear and unwrinkled.

Her nostrils twitching from the distinct smell of Leaf’s urine, she bent over to get a better look at the upturned face, with its huge, projecting nose and taut cheekbones angling almost to the mouth. His eyes were widely spaced and open, and the thing that surprised her most was that the irises gleaming under the heavy brows were as green as new-growth grass.

She tried to gather the bits and parts of him into an overall impression but was unsuccessful because the eyes kept snaring her attention, disturbing her. It did not seem possible that eyes could be that color. Raven lowered her head even more, looking into the large, sunlit orbs as if trying to find her reflection in a mossy pool. She suddenly felt as if he were looking at her just as she was at him—and then he blinked.

In one swift movement, she leapt up and back. “He is alive!” she shrieked.

The Longhead sat up, and then, with his back flattened against the canyon wall, he pushed himself upright so that he was standing. He felt his right shoulder, left hand probing, grimacing as he bent his elbow out slightly and attempted to raise the arm. He quickly lowered it again, giving a low moan.

Their spears aimed at the Longhead, the men made a semicircle around him as Raven slipped back, out of their way. The Longhead ignored them. His chest heaved, his breathing ragged. He shook his head as if to clear it, then he grasped his upper arm again and worked it back and forth.

Mesmerized, Raven couldn’t look away. He was massive and imposing, even if he was shorter than most of the surrounding men and not much taller than Raven. His legs and arms were a little shorter than a normal man’s, but his core was longer and much larger than any man’s she’d ever seen—except for Bear.

“Here’s your chance, Leaf,” Bear said. “Will you finish him off, or shall I?”

Raven’s head snapped around. Bear, his wolfish smile playing around his mouth, was watching Leaf. Surely he wasn’t going to make the scout kill the Longhead on the spot. For that matter, why kill him at all? He was obviously injured and not a threat. There was no reason for it—other than cruelty. Raven glanced at the unsuspecting Longhead, still working his arm around. Her mouth was as dry as steppe grass in winter, and her heart pounded.

Leaf looked around at the others. He swallowed several times and cleared his throat. His eyes blinking rapidly, he slowly raised his spear over his shoulder.

Raven couldn’t help herself. A small anguished cry, part gasp and part moan, slipped out.

Upon hearing her, the Longhead’s frozen senses thawed, and he returned from wherever he had been. His eyes focused on the men surrounding him, on the threatening spear. For the first time, he seemed to realize his predicament. He pressed back into the rock wall and tried to raise both arms but ended up clutching one arm with the other.

Bear glanced back at Raven, his eyes cold, and she knew he’d heard her also. “Lower your spear, Leaf,” he said. “I was only making certain of your bravery—and having a little fun with you.”

Leaf let the spear roll out of his hand onto the ground. He was breathing heavily, his jaw clenched. Several of the men laughed nervously, and Bear raised a hand, silencing them. “Why risk breaking a spear at this point? We’ll decide what to do with the Longhead later, but right now, I want Leaf to question him. Longheads haven’t been seen around here for some time. Leaf, ask him where they came from and why they’re hunting here.”

Bear was having fun with them all, Raven understood. He obviously had little respect for anyone. Her musing was interrupted by those strange noises falling once again from the scout’s tongue.

Calmer and not as shrill, Leaf sounded like a squabbling crow instead of a wounded one. His hands and arms moved and waved in slower patterns. The men’s spears lowered. They gaped at Leaf, and then all eyes went to the Longhead when he replied in the same fluid, flapping way, using only one arm, his injured arm kept still, his voice more often a deep warble than a hoarse caw.

If the Longhead found it strange that Leaf knew his manner of speech, he didn’t show it by trying to flee the way the others had. Twice, he paused his gesturing and talking in order to rub his right arm, wincing briefly.

Leaf turned to Bear. “They are from over the mountains, several days’ journey from here. He says the hunting is better on this side of the mountains. Their tribe is hungry, and they need meat. They intended to return after they made a kill.”

Raven didn’t know what caused her to look down the canyon. “They’re back!” she shouted.

All the men except Leaf—who snatched up his spear and pointed it toward the captive—spun around to face the five Longheads standing not much farther than a spear-throw away. Every Longhead carried rocks, and their heavy-browed glares were so menacing that Raven wondered if she should perhaps run away down the riverbed.

One of the bloodied ones called out something. Leaf spoke without turning, his eyes never leaving the captive. “He says to take the kill. But when we are gone, they want to take their brother.”

Bear grunted and ran his hand over his face. “They’ll have to do something first before they get their brother. Tell them to go back over the mountains. They should hunt there and never return to this side. When our trackers see they’ve crossed over, we’ll send their brother to them.” He waved at the butchered carcass. “They can scavenge the kill after we leave. But tell them to back off for now.”

Raven was annoyed by Bear’s false largesse. He wasn’t really being generous. His group would carry away the best parts, leaving very little.

With slow and deliberate movements, Leaf laid his spear down, turned, and walked a few steps forward. Several men hurriedly took his place guarding the captive. The largest Longhead’s hands opened, and his rocks tumbled onto the ground. He stepped over them and took several steps toward Leaf.

The odd speech and flapping went back and forth for some time. Then the Longheads suddenly turned and left, walking rapidly. Slow fright crossed the captive’s face—his brow tightened, and his mouth opened and closed. His feet shuffled in the dirt as if to follow his departing brothers.

The hawk screamed again; its cry echoed up Raven’s tensed spine, making her shiver. She watched the Longhead, her fingers helplessly kneading her cape. If he bolted, the men would spear him, and the other Longheads would surely react. She was standing within the captive’s line of sight, so she opened her eyes as wide as she could and shook her head. The movement caught his attention, making him focus on her. Fear emptied from his face, and his brows winged up in surprise before collapsing into wariness, eyes narrowing. His feet stilled.

Raven turned away before someone noticed their converging, intertwined stares. Her thoughts fogged with glee—he had understood her!

Woven leather ropes were pulled from bags for binding the Longhead, but when several men grabbed his arms, he yelped shrilly.

“Stop,” Raven cried and pushed through them. “I am a healer,” she said loudly—as if they hadn’t understood the reason behind her earlier plant-gathering and hadn’t yet noticed the dots of red ochre on forehead and chin. “I will determine what is wrong with him.”

She walked up beside the captive and looked at the way his arm dangled crookedly from the shoulder. “His arm was wrenched out of place by the bison,” she said. “He hasn’t been able to reset it.”

“Then there’s no need to tie that one,” Bear said. “We’ll make a leash by tying the good arm behind him with the rope going up his back and around his neck.” He pointed at two men. “Guard him on either side after you bind him.”

He called out to Leaf, who was vigorously breaking the Longheads’ spears by bashing them against the canyon wall. “Leaf, you walk behind him and hold the trailing rope good and tight. If he tries to escape, choke him. Let one of the guards carry your spear and pouch. The rest of us will haul meat, with the guards taking the smallest loads.”

Raven sputtered. “Surely, we should fix his arm. He must be in great pain.”

“And make it easier for him to cause trouble? I think not. Would you heal a cave lion? Get away from him, or he’ll snatch you with his good paw.” He looked around at the other men—they grinned and snickered. Raven turned away and went over to where the meat sat packed, ready for carrying. So her hair wouldn’t get in the way, she quickly redid her fraying braid before bending and taking hold of a bison-filled pouch.

“We won’t stop often,” Bear told the group after all the meat was loaded onto backs. “Only at the springs to fill water bladders. And we’ll go at a rapid pace. Predators will soon notice the smell. We need to be in the valley before dark.”

What he’d just said was reasonable, but Raven was again discomfited by the way everyone put up with him and his needless, lashing words.

The canyon’s river had long ago taken another route. Only grass, woven through with flowering plants, poured from the mouth by which they returned to the steppe, a flat high plain dotted here and there with random low juniper trees. Horse, bison, and mammoth herds could occasionally be seen moving in the distance. Overhead, the sun was a large, heated pebble moving slowly across the vast blueness. Raven paused and adjusted her load in order to open the front of her cape, glancing back at the roped captive while doing so.

He must have been dauntless, walking with a steady, slightly rolling gait as if not much disturbed by his plight, his awkwardly hanging arm of little consequence. At first, everyone walked behind him, the better to watch him. But eventually they tired of staring at his back. Thereafter, the only ones not in front of him were the two guards and Leaf.

Raven let herself drift back past the uneasy stares of the guards to walk beside Leaf. “Tell me, scout,” she said. “How is it that you know the Longheads’ words?” She thought he might not answer. His face clouded, and he blew out his cheeks several times, loud puffs bursting forth like stormy gusts.

Finally, with a strained voice, he told her how he’d been captured his eleventh summer. He was fishing in a stream when a group of Longheads came upon him during one of their hunting forages. He’d lived with his captors for two turns of the seasons.

“Surely it was difficult to learn their words,” Raven said.

His face twisted in a grimace, and he shook his head. “Not really. A whole turn of the seasons has passed since I escaped, but still I think sometimes in their gabble—and I still can’t eat red deer.” At her puzzled look, the young man gave a bitter laugh. “Let me show you something.”

Leaf passed the leash back and forth between his hands and teeth so he could peel off his fur parka, leaving it hanging by its hood from his head. Black spear tattoos, often worn by those who scouted, pointed down his biceps. He held out both arms. Although his left arm was a normal size, his right arm was huge and layered with muscle. It was a limb that belonged to a more mature man. His right hand was also out of proportion, overly large, as through it were swollen.

“Their words are few enough. Learning them wasn’t hard,” he said. “But they made me work and polish hides with red-deer ribs from dawn to dusk every time there was a kill—with little help. That was hard. Just seeing a red deer makes my stomach ache.”

He spat toward the Longhead’s heels, barely missing them. “And seeing this one makes my head hurt. Bear has no right ordering me to walk behind him as if I’m tending him. He should have let me kill him.” Leaf snatched the rope.

Raven felt a large bubble form in her throat when the captive’s neck and head jerked awkwardly. His shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t try to look back at them.

“I keep wanting to choke him,” Leaf said. The guards glanced over with unfriendly eyes. “Not Bear,” Leaf added hastily, nodding his head at the captive. “That one. He’s from the same tribe that took me. I know because they always hunt large prey using blood.”