Megan Lindholm - Wolf's Brother

She would have to go alone.

Alone. She and Kerlew. Once that would not have meant 'alone.' Before Heckram.

Her heart gave a sickening lurch. She had to gather her things now and go to find Heckram and Kerlew. She would leave with the boy now, while she had the chance.

Joboam was too adept at stirring the herdfolk against her and her son. She had to leave now. Alone.

Most of what she owned and used day to day were in Capiam's tent. No chance of reclaiming them. Kerlew's things were in the fine new najd's tent, next to Joboam's. She dared not go there, either. The rest of what she had was at Heckram's tent, unloaded from the harkar he had led for her. She listed it to herself; the new tent, unused, that Capiam had given her when she had first joined the herdfolk, her cooking utensils, the extra skins and tools she had earned from her healing. She turned her steps that way, alert for any who might try to stop her. She would gather her things quietly and take them out of the camp. But when she pictured the burden that the tent and utensils would make, her step lagged. There would be no sturdy harke to carry them, no Kari to help her manage the beast. Did she imagine no one would notice a woman going laden as a harke? She would be stopped. It was not the first time she had fled from an angry and suspicious people. She must go lightly and travel fast. She could take only what would fit in a shoulder pouch or two. And she and Kerlew must recross the tundra alone, must get to the safety of the forest before the winter winds blew. Where would she get hides for a tent? What would they eat as she travelled? She pushed the questions from her mind. No use in asking them. She tried to find courage in reminding herself that she had taken care of herself and Kerlew all winter. They would survive again. She could not stay among these people. Joboam would stir them against her and her son, would agitate them until they turned on her. Better the wolves of the tundra and the rigors of privation than the unbridled fear and hatred of the herdfolk. Humans were the cruellest predators.

Heckram's tent was dark and cool inside. The sleeping hides were rumpled as they had left them. She stared at them without comprehension, wondering where the warmth and security of the night had fled. When she moved, she went stiffly, feeling as if she had plundered a stranger's tent.

She found her cooking pots hung alongside his. She selected the smaller, sturdier ones. It was harder to separate her sleeping skins from the tangled pile on the floor. She took up Heckram's one of fox-skins, reds and blacks sewn together in lustrous contrast.

She held it against her face, smelling his smell on it. She wanted it. She hugged it tightly against her, fearing the tears that stung her eyes. It smelled of him and their brief time together. She lifted her eyes, suddenly saw an unspoken assumption in the way he had unloaded her possessions and mingled them with his. It touched her soul and stole her determination. All the other times, when she had run away from people who wished harm on her son, she had taken her world with her. This time she would be leaving a part of herself behind.

Slowly she folded the fox-skins into a careful bundle. She set it down atop the other crumpled bedskins. A dull ache numbed her body, while her temples pounded with the pain of grief and unshed tears. She did not move swiftly as she gathered the few possessions she and Kerlew could easily carry. She paused often, the effort of deciding which item to take overwhelming her. There came a time when both packs were filled and yet she did not have the will to leave the place. She sat down for a moment on the rumpled bedding and took the fox wrap into her lap. She stroked it, feeling its warm weight, cuddling it against her as if it were an infant. Slowly she lay down, her cheek pressed against the soft fur, thinking of all that would not be.

I am like Kerlew, she thought bitterly. Full of wild dreams and foolish fancies. What was I pretending last night? She thought of how she had taken him, in lust and laughter, finding a freedom she had never imagined a woman might know. And Heckram, delightedly encouraging her. Letting her be bold. And after, when she had been sated, on the verge of sleep in his arms. Then it had been his touch on her skin, his fingers trailing her thighs so softly that she shivered in their wake. 'Lie still!' he had commanded her gruffly when she tried to capture his hand. And she had, while with fingers and lips he convinced her that her satiation was an illusion, was only the first quenching of a thirst he understood better than she did. His fingertips had twined gently through the dense curls until with a pleading moan she parted her thighs and pushed up against his hand. He put his hand flat on her belly. 'This time,' he reminded her, 'it's my turn.' She nodded slowly, shivered as he knelt between her knees. Slowly, so slowly he moved, watching her face as he touched her, learning by experience what pleased her most. He was not shy. He smiled as he teased her with his body, until in her eagerness she gripped his buttocks and pulled him into her. 'I thought I was in charge,'

he reminded her. In reply she had bucked beneath him, never releasing her grip, pulling him into her frantic rhythm, thundering him into joining her climax.

A sob shook her, and another. She wept into the furs, mourning him as if dead, while every breath she took brought his smell to her and reminded her of her body's hungers.

She wept with abandon, hiccuping sobs like a small child, until she was exhausted. 'I should never have touched him,' she told herself. She smoothed the fur beneath her cheek. His hair was softer than this. She wished she had never known that. 'All the rest of my life ...' The enormity of the thought was too much for her. 'Heckram,' she said.

She hugged the furs tightly, unable to let go of them, and let the quieter tears come.

She awoke to a touch on her face. A small fire burned in the arran, and Heckram knelt over her, outlined by the flames. On the other side of the fire Kerlew sprawled, his deep eyes full of orange light. She sat up, slamming herself against Heckram and clutched him tightly. He grunted with the impact of her hug, and then held her, muttering softly, 'And I was about to complain that at least you might have made food for us.' For a moment he held her, his breath soft against her hair. Then he moved to gently disentangle himself. Tillu only clutched him more tightly. 'What is it?' he asked through her fierce hug.

'Everything. Everything that has happened. It is too much to tell kindly and slowly.

Carp is dead. He went to the pens and the reindeer trampled him. Or so all others say.

From his final words, I think Joboam had something to do with it. And Kari is dead, from a fall from the Najd's Steps. And Rolke has died, from the sickness, and Capiam now lies ill with it. And Joboam blames me for all of it, and has made the others believe him. I must leave and take Kerlew, I must run away tonight.'

Heckram had gone stiff in her arms as she spoke. Kerlew sat up suddenly, his eyes gone huge. 'NO!' he screamed, his cry sharp in the night. Tillu sprang clear of Heckram, seized the boy before he could flee from the tent. It took all her strength to drag him down and back. He struggled wildly, and only his long fast and the exhaustion of his day let her master him. He was all bones and muscles beneath her hands. For a long moment she struggled with him as Heckram looked on in anguish. Then the boy collapsed and began weeping noisily. 'Carp! Carp!' His wails filled the tent. 'You should have come back with me! Why did you fly away?'

The two adults exchanged puzzled glances. Then Heckram came to kneel beside them and put his arms around Kerlew. He didn't say anything to the boy, made no promises that all would be well tomorrow. He only held the gaunt young frame and let him cry out his anger and grief. Tillu withdrew, feeling strangely unneeded until Heckram looked over the boy's bent head at her and asked, 'Can you fix him something to eat? Some soup or something?'