The Dog Master (33 page)

“I am sorry,” Mal said after a moment. It seemed an inadequate sentiment, but what do you say to a girl with a mass of scars where her arm should have been?

They walked with each other in silence, but Mal could feel her next to him, watching his face, and when he glanced her way she gave him that pretty smile.

“I am sorry that you will be leaving in just one or two days,” she said.

“We have to get back to our summer settlement. There is good hunting there, a clean stream, and caves to live in,” Mal replied.

“I would love to see it.”

He looked at her. It was as if she were talking about something else entirely, having a conversation he did not understand.

At the edge of the Blanc settlement, Ema stopped. Mal turned toward her questioningly.

“This has been a wonderful day for me,” she sighed.

Mal nodded, a bit bewildered. “Good,” he finally replied.

“I have a secret, would you let me tell it to you?” she whispered. Mal nodded, and she beckoned for him to lower his head to hers. He bent down, and her breath warmed his ear and sent a tingle down his backbone. Her hand came up and touched the back of his neck, pulling his head down farther, and then her mouth moved from his ear to his lips.

A warm sensation flooded through him like hot water. Shocked and enthralled, he dropped his club and stood with his arms hanging limply, his heart pounding. When she released him he stared at her pale eyes, his mouth open, and then she turned and ran away.

She had kissed him. Kissed him! Elation flowed through him now. He was a man who had been kissed!

He went to find Dog—this was news that had to be shared, and at once.

He had been pretty good at it, he decided. He and Ema had stood, locked together, for a long time. He felt his blood heat up just remembering it. Now that he had kissed a girl he could do it again, and he would, soon.

He would kiss Lyra!

*   *   *

For the only time in anyone's memory, there were still pools of snow in the shadows at the summer settlement. The trees were budding but the leaves were not yet out in the open, and no tender shoots of grass were feeling their way toward the sun. The Kindred regarded each other solemnly. Perhaps this explained why they had not seen any prey in several days—until the grasses rose from the soil, nothing would venture this far north.

The hunt went out and did not come back for two days, and then three, and then four. For them to stay out meant that they were finding nothing.

The women foraged. They found insect larvae and tender roots, and the buds of some flowers, though often bitter, could be eaten. Still, hunger cramps seized the women and their children.

On a day when the rain contained pellets of ice, a scream tore the morning air. The women ran out to find Bellu sobbing, collapsed by the communal fire. “My baby!” she shouted hoarsely, her mouth sagging in horror. And then she began screaming again, holding the limp, lifeless child in her arms.

Tragic though it was, this was not an infrequent situation for the Kindred, and indeed it was the reason why they waited so long to give children their names. Bellu's child was not yet a person in her own right, but was simply of the mother, as a hand, or a leg. There would be no assembly of the Kindred for burial—this was an event that occurred often enough that common practice mandated that the mother take the baby away and bury it a discreet distance from camp. But Bellu had thrown herself into the mud and was inconsolable, unable to communicate with any coherency, and so Albi volunteered to dispose of the tiny corpse. “As a kindness,” she explained in a murmur, gently tugging the baby out of Bellu's reluctant arms. “I will see to it.” The other women gathered around, many of them veterans of the same sort of tragedy, while Albi scooped up the child and left camp.

Calli fell asleep that night holding Bellu cradled in her arms. During the night she awoke, shifting painfully with the weight of Bellu slumped against her. It had stopped raining, the air cold and still. The men, she realized drowsily, must be nearby, because she could smell cooking meat in the night.
Good.
They would be home with food.

They did not come home, however, not that day, nor the next. Bellu remained despondent, sitting listlessly, barely acknowledging when Calli brought her some thin soup—
her
soup, Calli's ration, because Bellu had already consumed her own. Feeling a sharp anger rising within her, Calli bit off what she might say and left camp. She had no direction, she just kept walking, thinking perhaps she would never stop. Just walk out into the plains until exhaustion took her down, then await her fate.

After too many paces to count she was far from camp, though the fires still flavored the air with smoke. Calli felt broken and numb, walking more and more slowly because it seemed less and less important that she keep moving. Then she heard something, a noise that made her head snap up alertly despite her lethargy. She instinctively made her way in a crouch to a large mound of dirt: the noise seemed to come from just the other side.

It was a snuffing sound, slightly wet. Curious, Calli cautiously crawled to the crest of the mound, lifting her head to see.

It was Albi, sitting on a stone next to the blackened remnants of a fire. Her hands were to her mouth.

She was eating.

*   *   *

With the bullying Grat now a member of the hunt—he had been made a stalker the previous summer—Vinco and Mal and Markus were back to being inseparable, a relationship made all the more fraternal by the knowledge that this was the summer they would be made men before the Kindred. Restless with their growing bodies, they threw spears and rocks, they chased younger boys, they told themselves wild tales about the bears and lions they would kill. Theoretically they were also the home guard, and they did carry their spears, but they were too bored to hang around the settlement and were often out in the woods together.

The hunt was back, though—bringing a few rabbits and a vile-tasting badger—so they dared not abandon their posts, and thus they were even more itchy than usual.

“We should go see what Lyra is doing,” Mal suggested.

Vinco and Markus rolled their eyes at each other. This was not the first time Mal had come up with this brilliant idea. Lacking something better to do, though, they struck off toward the family fires to see if they could find her.

As little boys they had had free rein to wander the men's side, but once they were old enough it was explained to them that until they were adults, they were prohibited from going there. This meant that Mal rarely saw his father, so he was surprised to see Palloc striding toward them. Palloc's pale features were scowling and he seemed focused on an internal struggle of some kind and did not notice the boys.

“Father!” Mal called. He left his friends and ran forward with his awkward gait, dragging his bad leg with each step. “Good summer, Father,” Mal greeted as he approached. “I am happy to see you today.”

Palloc stood motionless. Mal politely dropped his spear and raised his hands, palms out, as he had been taught to do when addressing another man. “I am hoping that the hunt will be good when you go out tomorrow.”

“Do not call me that,” Palloc said darkly.

Mal was startled. “What? Call you what?”

Palloc took four steps and knocked Mal to the ground. Mal's head bounced on the hard earth, and odd little dark spots flew around in his vision, like sparks rising from a fire.

“To you I am Spearman. Understand?” Palloc hissed. He turned away.

Mal leaped to his feet. “Why do you hate me?” he pleaded to his father's back. “I am your son.”

Palloc whirled, making a sound deep his throat, and strode back. Mal raised his arms to cover his head and Palloc hit him solidly in the chest, rocking him back so that he had to take his weight on both legs and nearly fell. When Palloc hit him again Mal crumpled.

Markus and Vinco turned to each other in horror. They were children and had no right to interfere, but the savagery of this attack was unlike any family discipline they had ever witnessed.

“We have to get Dog,” Vinco breathed.

Markus nodded and the two boys ran to find Mal's brother.

 

THIRTY-NINE

Calli sent word to Urs through Nix that she urgently needed to speak to him. Urs found her waiting for him upstream, not in their forbidden rendezvous place but well south of the Kindred's self-enforced border.

“Good summer, Calli,” he greeted formally and, to her ears, awkwardly.

“Good summer, Hunt Master,” she replied. Anyone watching would see two people standing two paces apart, not touching, merely talking. Nothing improper. “Thank you for coming to meet with me, Urs. I wanted to speak to you about my son.”

Urs regarded her carefully. “Dog?” he asked, because he did not want it to be the other one.

“No, not Dog,” Calli replied patiently. “Urs, soon we will have our summer gathering and Vinco, Markus, and Mal will receive their assignments.”

Urs was already shaking his head.

“Just listen,” Calli urged. “Please. They will receive their assignments. The boys will join the hunt—”

“I cannot,” Urs interrupted. “Not Mal.”

“But Urs…”

“I am sorry but I have to do what is good for the hunt. A man needs to be able to run.”

“Dog says Mal can throw a spear farther and more accurately than anyone else.”

“I have seen him throw,” Urs grunted. “He uses the wrong hand.”

“What does that matter?”

“Calli!” Urs said sharply. “You are not to question
me
about matters of the hunt.”

She stood there staring fiercely at him for a moment, and then her shoulders slumped. “If he has nothing assigned to him, he will have no purpose. It will kill him.”

Urs watched her, the slight wind blowing her hair. She was not much different than the first time they went upstream together, into forbidden territory, forbidden passion. His own body had changed, marked by scars, his face weathered, but Calli remained a beauty.

She caught the way he was looking at her. She had influence with this man, she realized, and she needed to use it. “Then I have an idea. Something to spare my son the humiliation of living in the Kindred as a permanent child, without a purpose. And you must do this for me, Urs, this one kindness, as amends for vowing to marry me and then abandoning your vow and putting lie to your words. Do this, and I forgive you. Deny me this, and I will never speak to you again.”

Urs was thunderstruck. “But Calli, I told you at the time, I had no choice, it was arranged…” He trailed off, helpless before her hard expression.

“You broke your vow and now you must make amends. Will you do it, or not?”

Urs raised his hands, then let them fall helplessly. “What is it you would have me do?” he asked.

*   *   *

Mal lay in the dirt where his father had knocked him down. The blood in his mouth was thick. He looked up and Palloc was standing there panting, fists clenched.

It did not seem that another kick was coming. Mal pulled himself up, struggling into a standing position. His mouth did not even hurt, he realized. His ribs ached, but his face felt numb.

“Fa—” Mal croaked. The word stuck in his throat, tripped up by his bloody lips.

“What did you say?” Palloc demanded.

Mal spat in the dirt. “Father,” he whispered defiantly.

The moment he said it, he was sorry he did, did not know
why
he did, but the word was out and Palloc's eyes widened and then narrowed. Mal ducked his head and raised his arms as his father hit him savagely in the ribs with his fists.

“Stop!”

It was Dog, marching toward them. Mal was doubled at the waist, dribbling more blood, feeling oddly like crying now that his big brother had arrived.

Palloc watched Dog approach with contempt in his eyes. “This is not your business,” he said. “Go back to kissing your girl.”

Dog did not even slow down. He walked straight up to Palloc and punched him hard on the shoulders with both fists, knocking him back. Palloc was too surprised to do anything but stumble. “What—” he started to say. Dog kept walking and shoved him again and this time Palloc fell, staring up at Dog looming over him.

“There is no fighting among the hunt,” Palloc protested, still lying there.

“Get up, and we will see about that,” Dog replied, his eyes cold.

“This is a family matter. I am applying discipline.”

“This
is
a family matter,” Dog agreed. “And I, too, am applying discipline. If you ever touch my brother again, I will beat you until your broken ribs protrude from your sides. Do you understand the discipline? Unless you want to stand up and finish it now. I am ready
now.
”

“That is against the rules of the hunt,” Palloc insisted.

“Stand up and fight and then let us see what is our punishment,” Dog suggested. “Perhaps I will be forced to stay with the women for the summer, serving you soup while your broken bones heal.”

Palloc did not reply. He looked away. Dog turned to his brother. “Are you badly hurt?”

Mal drew himself up again. This time, when he spat, it was more for dramatic effect. “No. He could not hurt me. He hits like a girl.”

Dog looked at his bleeding brother and a small smile came to his face. “You are a hard stone, Mal.”

Palloc crawled a few feet and then stood and left with a haughty set to his shoulders. Dog put an arm around Mal, and Mal grinned through bloody teeth. Brother to one of the most beloved men in the tribe, Mal felt accepted and normal, a man in all but formal name, soon to join the hunt and contribute to the Kindred.

*   *   *

Three children were in their third summer and were named by the eldest woman in the family—all boys, which was seen by all as a good omen for the tribe. No one mentioned the lone girl, Renne's child, who had come down with a fever and died over the winter, but Coco, who had lost three children in such a fashion in her own life, sat with Renne and squeezed her hand.