Megan Lindholm - Wolf's Brother

She nodded uncertainly, and then found her practicality again. She took down a cooking pot and went outside for meat from Heckram's supply. The familiar task calmed her. She moved efficiently, cooking enough for all three of them. When had she last eaten? Yesterday? They should all eat, and then they could talk. Cutting the meat into pieces and adding it to the heating water brought a strange relief to her. The simple routine of making soup pushed the day's tragedies back. Here, in the close circle of the firelight, she could pretend for this moment that they were a family, and that tomorrow would be another day for them. There was a strange comfort in how easily Kerlew accepted Heckram's touch. He wept himself out, and then sat, pale and hunched, leaning against Heckram's comforting arm. His pale eyes were deeper than Tillu had ever seen them, but his mouth had lost its slackness. Some childish determination set it, driving the foolishness from his face. He said nothing, only stared at the fire. Each shuddering breath lifted his narrow shoulders. As Tillu set a steaming bowl of food before him he fixed her accusingly with his amber eyes. 'Where is Carp?' he demanded.

'Carp is dead.' She said it gently but firmly. The boy would have to accept it.

He shook his head, impatient with her. 'Where?' he demanded again, exhaustion now plain in his voice.

Tillu paused. The impact of the day's deaths settled on her again. 'I don't know,' she admitted. 'I don't know what they did with any of them.'

'I'm going to his tent,' Kerlew announced, and began to rise. Heckram's hand on his shoulder pressed him down again. 'Eat first,' he ordered him gently. 'And rest. You can do nothing for Carp, whether you go to him soon or later. And he is probably not in his tent. Probably the elders have taken him, to do what is correct for the body of a najd.'

Kerlew subsided suddenly, the life gone out of him. He accepted the bowl of food Tillu pushed at him, and sat staring into the fire. 'Eat something,' Tillu urged him gently. Her words broke him free of his preoccupation, for he looked up at her. His face had a self-possession she had never seen in it before. 'I know things.' His same slow, hesitant diction, but there was a sureness to his words that made his pauses seem deliberate. He said the words quietly, daring her to challenge them. When she didn't, he took up the spoon in the bowl. He ate without interest or pause. When he was finished, he retreated from the firelight, to roll himself up in a sleeping hide.

Tillu and Heckram ate together in silence. She did not taste the food. She watched him, saw how weariness rode him, saw his silence absorbing the shock of her blunt news. She wanted to cling to the strength he represented, but she held herself tight and apart. She would not deepen the bond, would not make the parting any harder.

He set his bowl atop hers, and then pushed both aside with a sigh. She poured warm water into a bowl and took his hand in hers to soak his hand. The damaged fingers were puffy, the shale dust ingrained into his skin. He did not mention the pain, and she wondered if he was aware of it. He used his body as another man might use a tool, pushing it to its maximum without regard for tomorrow. She wanted to scold him for it, but could not find the heart. Could she say such words of caring, and then leave tomorrow? She put his hand into the water, massaged his fingers lightly. Her throat closed, nearly choking her. She bent her head over his hand so he couldn't see her face.

But with his free hand he lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. 'Tell me everything,' he said. She shook her head, but his eyes held hers. She had not realized the pressure the events had built up inside her until she released it as words. She told him the suspicions she had not been able to confide to anyone else: that Carp had been beaten before someone stampeded the reindeer over him; that Kari's leap from the Cataclysm had been the final step in her flight from Joboam; and her conviction that Joboam would take advantage of Capiam's illness to assume his position. She finished by saying, 'He takes such a joy in Rolke's and Kari's deaths, and Ketla's and Capiam's illness. No. Not joy. Satisfaction. As if it were a task he had accomplished, a fine bit of carving, a tanned skin others would envy.'

'You can't blame him for everything, Tillu.' Heckram's voice indicated he would like to.

'I know things!' Kerlew's voice rang out clearly, startling them both. He sat bolt upright in his skins, staring at them.

'It's all right, Kerlew,' Heckram said soothingly. 'It was a dream. Go back to sleep.'

'I know things,' he repeated sullenly. 'I know about the rabbit.' He swayed slightly, his face going gray. Slowly he eased back into his bedding. The tent was long still again.

'It's hard on him.' Heckram scarcely breathed the words. The deep timbre of his voice sometimes made him hard to hear. Tillu leaned closer to him, 'He isn't going to accept it easily. His whole world, all his prospects have been taken from him, just when he succeeded in his task. Carp protected him more than I realized. Joboam is a danger to him now. And to you.'

Tillu found herself nodding unwillingly. He was saying the things she had been putting off saying. These words could only lead to the same conclusion she had already reached.

'The herdfolk will be eager to find someone to blame. It is the way of folk, to want someone to be guilty when misfortune befalls them. You must leave the herdfolk.'

Coming from him, the words held a chilling note of finality. Tillu bowed her head in agreement, both relieved and saddened that he accepted it so easily.

'It has to be tomorrow. So little time. I need to speak to Lasse; we have become close, close as brothers. I cannot leave him, grieving, without a word. And Ristin. Somehow I think she will be expecting it.' He smiled, one of his wolf-grins. 'The good part will be in the giving. There is so much I cannot take; it will be good to see Stina's eyes bright and angry, as she tries to refuse it and knows I will insist.'

'I don't understand you.' Tillu's words came out flatly.

'Three harkar, at most four. I don't think we shall want both tents, shall we? Kerlew may have to ride at first; the last few days have not been easy ones for him. But the rest of what I have shall go to those who will use it best. Lasse and Stina, Ristin. And Elsa's parents.'

'You want to go with us?'

'I am not welcome?' He responded to her disbelief.

She let herself go to him, knocking him off balance with her embrace so that they fell and rolled on the hide-carpeted earth. His embrace held her tightly, but she felt freed by it. No words came to her mind. There was only holding onto the man who would not be left behind.

There was A disturbing pattern to the spread arc of items; a message that eluded Tillu, yet shrilled alarmingly at the edge of her awareness. Like a cry of warning in another tongue. She could recognize the urgency, but not the meaning. She reached a hand to touch them; drew it sharply back.

'What is that?' Sleep and bafflement in Heckram's voice. The dawn was young, and yesterday's weariness clung to him still. His hair was tousled boyishly, but the disarray exposed the gray scattered through it, making him look both older and younger in the thin light. It made her want to touch him, but she did not.

'Kerlew's things,' she admitted, embarrassed. She dropped to her knees, feeling an urge to bundle them up, out of his sight. She couldn't touch them. She stared at them.

Uneasiness ran over her with ants' feet. A red stone, a bit of amber, trinkets, and oddments that had caught the boy's fancy. Some bones, stained red and blue. It meant nothing to her. Nothing, she told herself. But she stood slowly, a terrible dread squeezing her heart. 'He's gone to kill Joboam.' The words came out so simply. Once she had uttered them, she could not disbelieve them. Yet she could find no source for her terrible knowledge.