The Dog Master (11 page)

“Palloc?” A woman's voice.

His vision blurry from staring into the fire, Palloc frowned as he tried to make out who was calling him from the shadows. He grunted when Renne stepped closer.

“Are you well?” Renne whispered. Her slender build appeared so delicate in that moment, as if she and her shadow were one and the same. She politely squatted next to him by the fire.

“I am well,” Palloc replied stonily.

“The hunt made an error. You are spear master. You are a wonderful hunter. It is you who should be hunt master.”

Palloc did not react to the compliment. In his opinion, women knew less than nothing about the hunt.

“Urs and Bellu. Engaged,” Renne continued. “This means you and Bellu will not be … well, I had always heard that the two of you were fated, you and her.” Her hand reached out and softly touched his for just a moment. “With Bellu promised to Urs, the council will need to find someone else to be your wife,” she whispered demurely.

Numbly, Palloc considered this. Did she really suppose Bellu would marry him? And then he considered Renne. She was being very frank and forward with him, but with her parents dead, she had no one to speak on her behalf but the council, which was notoriously scattered when it came to arranging marriages for the orphaned women of the Kindred. A man without parents might prove himself on the hunt, but a woman in a similar position was no asset as a wife.

She came into focus for him then. Her face flickering and her dark eyes glittering in the strengthening light from the fire. She looked very pretty. And she had picked a flowering vine and tied it around her neck, drawing his eyes to the tanned skin below her throat, where a hollow between her breasts showed above the deer hide vest she wore. Alone among the Kindred, she recognized the great injustice that had been done to Palloc. Calli and Bellu tittered at him with great disrespect, but Renne had never treated him with anything but affection.

Wordlessly, Palloc pulled his meat from the fire. The end of the stick was smoking, the fat spitting. He proffered it in Renne's direction: a man offering a woman food. A clear element of courtship.

Renne drew in her breath. Something—perhaps the thin tendril of smoke curling up from the stick—made her eyes bleary and wet. Blowing on the food, she snatched a morsel from the spear and tossed it from hand to hand to cool it before tearing off a tiny bit with her teeth.

Palloc watched her eat. He felt an inexplicable heaviness in his loins, then, something about Renne's wet lips stirring him. When he moved to bring the stick to his mouth, Renne reached out a hand to stop him. Instead, she leaned forward, passing him the rest of the chunk of reindeer she had ripped off for herself.

Palloc ate from her hand, the fat deliciously mingling with the charred flesh on his tongue. The two of them had their eyes fastened on each other, and it was if neither dared to speak.

“What is this?” Albi demanded. She came into the circle of light from the fire like a charging bear. “What are you doing here?” she demanded of Renne.

Renne sprang to her feet. She swallowed. “I was only…”

“This is my home fire and I did not invite you here,” Albi snapped. “Do not come here again.”

Far from jumping to Renne's defense, Palloc lay on the ground helplessly, as if pinned beneath a boulder. He said nothing. Renne gave him a desperate look. “I am sorry,” Renne apologized.

“Go!” Albi shrieked.

Nodding, Renne backed away three steps, then turned and fled. Albi spun on her son. “You,” she hissed.

“We were only—” That was all Palloc managed to say before his mother's foot kicked sharply into his ribs.

“You idiot!
Urs
is hunt master? How does this happen?”

Palloc's lips moved. He massaged the point where his mother's toes had bruised his side. “Well,” he finally managed to say.

“I told you after Hardy's injury to act as if the decision had already been made, to help organize the hunt, to direct the men, to lead. Instead you walked around like a pompous fool, telling Urs what, that you were ‘pleased with him' and that ‘someday he could be spear master'? Do you realize what you have done?”

“It was Bellu, the marriage,” Palloc replied, letting his resentment creep into his words.
Council matters
. The things his mother was supposed to take care of.

“Of course, do you think I do not know that?”

“Well, but can you not fix it?” Palloc reasoned. “Tell them Bellu can only marry me. Then her brothers will shift their allegiance, and I will be hunt master.”

“‘Her brothers will shift their allegiance,'” Albi repeated in a mocking voice. “Do you think I can defy the new hunt master now? The deal is done.”

“But I was supposed to be hunt master,” Palloc whined. It was still difficult to believe the prize was being denied him.

Albi looked as if she wanted to kick him again. “You are stupid,” she pronounced.

Palloc moodily took a bite of food from the end of his now cool stick. Albi snatched it away from him. Staring at him defiantly, she gnawed at the meat. “All right,” she finally pronounced through a mouth full of food. “I have an idea.”

“You do?” Palloc replied hopefully.

“I think I know how to undo the mess you have made,” Albi said, stripping the last of the reindeer from the cook stick.

*   *   *

Silex was aware that other creeds had become less nomadic in recent times. The River Fish Clan inhabited caves to the north and somehow survived the winter there. The Kindred did migrate, but occupied a speluncean area along a stream all summer before trekking south to parts unknown for the winter. The nonhuman Frightened Ones, elusive and timid, wandered the land in small groups, while the Cohort claimed the river valley as theirs and perhaps, during cold weather, followed the waters to the south end of the world—the Wolfen, like everyone else, did their best to avoid contact with the Cohort, so no one knew if they migrated.

Silex did not give much thought to how the other tribes lived. His people followed the wolf, usually at a run, and the wolf led them to food. Often this strategy meant the women and children were left behind, along with a few men to guard against danger, while Silex and his fleet contingent shadowed the hunting canines.

With several reindeer slain, the Wolfen hunting party was headed back to the families. They were a day or two away, so they stopped well before sunset and made a fire and fed on fresh meat, the men smiling their contentment with the feast. The night was deliciously warm for so late in the summer. As the gloom settled, Silex looked over to the other side of the fire and watched Duro's internal struggle, the larger man's face betraying his emotions.

Now would come the challenge.

Duro grunted and everyone turned to him expectantly, sensing something. “A very important decision is upon us,” he announced, sounding nervous.

The men glanced at each other. “About…?” Brach, probably Silex's best friend in the Wolfen, inquired politely.

Duro pursed his thick lips. “Among the wolves, the largest male mates with the largest female,” he declared portentously.

Everyone looked baffled at this pronouncement. Duro was glaring at them, waiting for them to get it.

“That is not actually always true,” Brach ventured. “We have seen times when it is neither the biggest male, nor the biggest female.”

“Still, it is mostly the way,” Duro argued.

“Perhaps mostly,” Brach conceded. “But I do believe that wolves might sometime select the most clever, or use something else to guide them. Remember, Silex, when we saw that female with the white face?”

“We are talking about what wolves do
most of the time
!” Duro barked.

There was a long silence, the men staring at the fire, all of them fairly apathetic despite Duro's apparent passion for the topic. “Perhaps this is often true,” Silex observed. “What Duro has said.”

Everyone nodded, glad to have the issue settled.

“I am the largest man. I am older than Silex. Ovi is a well-rounded woman, very healthy, who will bear many strong children,” Duro asserted.

The men stared at him in noncomprehension.

Silex cleared his throat. “Duro believes that since my father is dead, we need not follow his wishes any longer. There is perhaps some sense to this.”

Everyone except Duro appeared alarmed. “I am the strongest,” Duro stated. His scowl invited physical battle with anyone who disagreed.

The man sitting to Brach's left stirred. “Wolf,” he said softly.

As one, they looked where he was pointing. Standing just at the boundary between the illumination cast from the fire and the remaining daylight, a large female wolf stood rigid, her amber eyes glowing as she stared at them.

Silex abruptly stood, gesturing for everyone else to remain seated. “Be silent,” he urged. He stepped away from the fire. “You are starving,” he called to the huge wolf. Time had not been good to her—he could see her ribs, and her skin hung loosely from them. There was no mistaking the handprint-shaped mark between her eyes, though: this was the same she-wolf who had taken tribute from him earlier that summer. “Where is your pack? You are too young to be on your own.”

Silex looked back to his tribesmen, who were frozen in place, both awed and frightened. “She is not eating. She is too young and inexperienced to hunt successfully,” he told his men. Moving decisively, he bent and picked up the haunch of one of the reindeer. When he glanced at Duro, he saw confusion, though the rest of the Wolfen were gazing at Silex in disbelief.

“Here,” Silex offered. He advanced slowly and the large she-wolf tensed. He was unnerved by the way her eyes locked on his, her ears up inquisitively, but he had gone too far with this to turn around. “All is good. This is for you.”

Her lips drew back from her teeth.
All right, far enough.
Silex halted, still holding eye contact. He swung his arm and the meat arced toward the large female and she recoiled, scrambling backward.

The men behind him all began speaking at once and Silex viciously chopped the air without looking at them, signaling for silence. He got it. Silex waited, now—he could see the female twenty paces away. She was yawning with tension, unsure.

When she started forward again, Silex nodded encouragement. “For you,” he repeated.

The large female managed to close her jaws around the offering without ever breaking eye contact with Silex, appearing ready to flee if he so much as twitched. But when she had it, when she held the meat in her mouth, she gave the Wolfen leader a frank, almost appraising look before turning and dragging the haunch into the darkness.

Silex forced himself to inhale several times, willing his hands to stop trembling. He affected nonchalance as he turned back to the fireside, pretending not to notice the reverential stares from his men. This night would be legend.

“Now, Duro, what were we talking about?” Silex asked lightly.

Assessing Duro's scowl, Silex realized the next challenge would not be verbal.

 

TWELVE

Year Nineteen

The mother-wolf heard the man leaving through the hole that went to the sky. His scent carried with it some of the marmot meat he had recently eaten, and for a moment there was a slight increase in the smoky odors always present in the downdraft—she couldn't know that as he scaled upward, the man was dislodging soot left from his cave fires, sending a fine black powder wafting on the air.

Usually the man's scent faded entirely on days such as these, but she was drowsily aware that he was still up there, somewhere, close enough for his smell to come to her in a steady flow.

She was now so accustomed to his presence that she easily fell back to sleep, but her eyes jerked open when she heard him making noises. “Run! Wolves!
Run!
” There was an alarm in his sounds, and the fur on the back of her neck rose, her body stiffening. Though slumbering, her pups reacted, instinctively moving closer to her with soft peeps.

“No!”

The mother-wolf remained on uneasy alert, tense, wondering what was happening.

Year One

Albi determinedly strode toward Urs, her stick thumping audibly. His stomach felt as if he were digesting bad meat when he saw her. Now what? He had to brace himself against the impulse to flee to the protection of the men's side of camp.

“Hunt Master,” she greeted evenly.

He nodded warily.

“The weather is turning dry and cold. Though it would be somewhat early, I believe it is time to prepare for our move to winter quarters. We do not want to be caught in the snows, and it would seem they want to descend upon the Kindred hastily this year. We should leave in just one handful of days.”

He was surprised. In his opinion, it was really the women who decided when they were to move, as the men instinctively knew that if their wives were not ready to go, the husbands could not make them. The women did all the labor anyway, hauling children and the animal skins, as well as dried berries and roots. The men carried their weapons. But such an important decision was obviously best made with the hunt and the council working together. Hunt master was a job he needed to learn while simultaneously doing it.

“You are right,” he grunted.

She eyed him. “So what are you going to do, Hunt Master?” she asked.

Calli and Bellu, walking together, strode by on the other side of the camp, both of them staring at him. Suddenly the question
What are you going to do
? carried more than one meaning. His whole
life
was teetering on that question. It was too much and he turned away from the two women even as Bellu raised her hand and smiled. “It is time to hunt,” Urs said decisively. “We go tomorrow.”

Out on the hunt, away from Kindred, he could contemplate, figure things out.