The Reindeer People (33 page)

Something long fastened within her let go. Weariness was a part of it, the sense that she could no longer battle to keep Kerlew safe from the world he had chosen. But there was also a certainty that if she fought Carp for the boy, she would destroy him. The self-confidence that set his shoulders was too new and shining a thing to crush with bitter words. Better that he walked straight without her and failed than that he huddled forever in her shadow, safe but without substance.

'You are going,' she said, looking deep into her son's eyes. Kerlew nodded. 'And so am I,' she said aloud, and the surprise was loud in her voice.

There was too much to read in Tillu's eyes. Heckram pulled his eyes from her face. Rising awkwardly from the low pallet, he found his woolen shirt and pulled it on, holding it away from his face. Next he dragged on his skin tunic, its heaviness suddenly unwelcome in the soft spring air. As he cautiously poked his head out the collar, he found Tillu standing in front of him, looking up at him. Reaching up, she took him firmly by the chin and turned his face to the light again. Her brow furrowed slightly as she studied the gash.

it looks better. It may heal itself now. But' - she paused, a ghost of a smile in her eyes - 'you should come back tomorrow and let me check it.'

He nodded slowly, but she turned aside hastily, leaving him to wonder if he had understood what she hadn't said. 'Come on, come on,' Carp was urging irritably. 'The walk back is long and already I am hungry. And I have yet to see Capiam today. I have important things to tell him.'

'As have I,' agreed Heckram, and followed him out into the early spring evening.

Now that she lay silent and did not distract him, he rose from his bed. He slipped clear of his body and slowly climbed the thin spiral of smoke that drifted up from the banked fire. Up he climbed again, always going up when he should be going down. But he had a feeling someone was waiting above to speak to him.

Outside the worn tent, the wind was rising, swirling snow within its belly, reminding the herdfolk and forest that spring's grip on the land was still a feeble one. Kerlew felt the chilling of night air, saw the snow reclaiming the forest for its own. Briefly he frowned; this was not good for the herdfolk, for his new people. Then he looked farther and felt Carp's hand in the sighing of the wind and the drifting of the white flakes. There was a reason, then, behind this late storm, and all would be well. Carp was shaman of the herdfolk now, their najd. He cupped their fates in his wizened old hands; his clouded eyes would guide them now. Satisfied, Kerlew let go of his worry and climbed higher.

He broke free of the storm suddenly, standing with his bare feet atop the wind and churning clouds. Blackness arched above him; there were not stars or moon, but only the light of his own eyes to see by, yet it was enough. He sat down cross-legged atop the clouds to await the one that must come.

As if from afar, he heard Tillu rise and put more wood on the fire. A part of his mind wondered that she had not asked him to rouse and do it. Another part of him asserted that he was too far away now, too far beyond her, to ever do any task for her again. The pallet and hides beneath his body were more distant to him now than the sky over his head.

She knew he was gone, and it grieved her. She was a narrow, earth-bound person, unable to see the true shapes of the world or how she fitted into them. He pitied her. He could see her grief, like a fine stain running through the thread of her life, bleeding darkness into the color. Tillu, he realized, was but a thread, as was Heckram, yes, and even Carp.

'I am the hands of the weaver,' Kerlew thought to himself, and suddenly the image was real. Here were the lines of their lives, of Heckram and Tillu and Carp, of Lasse and Elsa and Joboam, coming into his fingers like the strands of fiber and root that the herdwomen wove. He it was who plaited them together, who made a pattern of their days. They passed through his fingers and were changed by his touch. He it was who could shape their days to come. He wove them, making power for Carp, and for Elsa, revenge. The thin strands, red and brown, that were Heckram and Tillu were limp in his hands. Idly he twisted them together, marking the contrast of the colors. It pleased his eyes and he left them so. He took up the cold rough cord that was Joboam. It was white against his fingers, biting his skin, scratching as if to escape his will. He twisted it around his fingers, longing to snap it off short. But it was a stout and ugly thread, twisted like badly cured hide. It ruined the pattern of the other threads. It could never be made to blend.

'Little shaman, what do you weave?'

Kerlew looked up from his weaving. Wolf's eyes were on him, yellow against the bright blackness of the world. Kerlew was careful to keep the smile from his lips. He did not answer Wolf with words, but only stretched forth the rough twine of Joboam. Wolf frowned, his lips drooping red all about his white teeth.

'Who has given you that which is mine?' he demanded in a low growl.

'I have taken that which I would shape,' Kerlew replied.

'And that, too, is mine. It is for Wolf to take what he would. Not some shaman's brat.'

'But I have it,' Kerlew challenged and held up the thread.

Wolf stared at it, and Kerlew let himself grin. Come closer, spirit beast, he murmured to himself. Come within the touch of my hand.

Wolf's yellow eyes narrowed. 'Do you remember, little shaman, what I told you the last time we met?'

Kerlew nodded slowly, ' If you would be Wolf's brother, learn to follow the herd. I go, and soon, with the herdfolk, to follow the herd. I will be as you are. Wolf. Following the herd and taking what I want.'

Wolf rose suddenly. His breath was hot and smelled of meat. Kerlew's words had been too bold. But he did not flinch from that hot breath or look away from the shining yellow eyes. Wolf held his tail higher, then shut his jaws with a snap. 'Follow the herds, then. And hold what is Wolf's.' He turned and trotted away. He glanced back at Kerlew over the long fur of his shoulder and grinned. 'But not too tightly, little shaman. For you are not yet Wolf's brother, and may never be. That which you hold will be demanded of you one day. See that you give it then, for I have made a bargain about it.'

Kerlew looked down at the rough strand in his hand, 'I have a Knife,' he said to the night, 'I could cut this off short, at any time I please.' Then he thought of Wolf, leaping from star to star, setting the night sky a thunder with the clattering of panicky hooves.

'I will wait for you to claim what is yours,' he promised. 'But then I will claim you. I will be Wolf's brother.'