The Dog Master: A Novel of the First Dog

by W. Bruce Cameron

  “We have something to talk about,” Albi announced quietly. She loved being able to speak in such soft tones and having it silence everyone, as if she were the hunt master speaking to the men.

  “We do,” came a voice from behind her. Albi turned and scowled as Calli strode into the circle, arrogantly standing, as if she were equal to the council mother.

  “Something very important,” Calli affirmed.

  The women were staring in something like shock as the two women, open enemies, stood next to each other.

  “Why not take your place,” Albi suggested evenly. She knew that if she maintained a steady voice and cool temper, the difference between her and the high-strung Calli would be obvious.

  “In the tradition of the Kindred,” Calli continued as if oblivious, “on a day when the council has called a meeting, we may, in first order, discuss replacing the council mother, if there are two women who ask it. And I am asking.”

  “And I ask it as well,” Coco called promptly.

  No one else spoke, and the brief jolt of worry Albi had felt over Calli’s confidence melted away. Calli had no one else but her stupid mother.

  “Then let us get this over with. Who among us would replace the council mother?” Albi asked.

  “But first,” Calli interrupted, “we have a discussion.”

  Albi sighed, giving the assembled circle a “see how patient I am?” look. “All right. Discuss.”

  “Thank you, Council Mother.” Calli turned and faced the women. “You all are concerned about a curse. We have heard much about this. But what is the curse? Since the birth of my son, times have been both lean and fat, the way it has always been. But now we have good hunting, the men returning with as much food as they could carry. Of course, some of us were fat even when the Kindred were starving,” Calli noted slyly. Several women gaped at her boldness.

  “This is off topic,” Albi snarled.

  “Oh, you are right, Council Mother. Forgive me. Because what we need to speak of are the ways of the council—and what is the most important rule, the one thing no woman must do?”

  There actually was no formal ranking of rules or even, really, any promulgation of the “ways of the council”—so most of the women looked mystified.

  “That is right.” Calli nodded, as if someone had called out an answer. “Under no circumstances must one woman ever, ever, interfere with the marriage of another.” Calli let them ponder that for a moment, allowing it to sink in.

  Albi’s lips twisted sourly. Hardy. Had the old fool talked to other men, who then told their wives? The council mother considered her position. Well, widows had always been allowed the latitude to fornicate, and no one thought they restricted their favors only to unmarried men. This was a desperate and doomed attempt, and Albi decided to let it proceed so that no one could later argue she tried to stifle Calli’s challenge.

  “That is right.” Calli smiled at them as if they were children learning the Kindred’s traditions. “So let me answer the question that has been on everyone’s mind for several summers—why is it my husband, Albi’s son, sleeps on the men’s side? Why is my bed cold?”

  No one—not even Albi—had seen this turn coming, and everyone was silent. Calli glanced at Renne, who nodded encouragement.

  “Because,” Calli continued, “Palloc was told by his mother that the reason my children have normal eyes instead of light eyes like his is because they were fathered by someone else. She told him that a son always resembles the father, and she told him that Palloc’s father, Albi’s husband, had light eyes. That this is why Palloc has light eyes. And so my marriage was destroyed. All because of what she said.”

  Albi opened her mouth to speak.

  “It is a lie,” Sopho said, rising creakily to her feet. Everyone turned to look at her. “I remember Palloc’s father very well. His eyes were normal, the same color as everyone in the Kindred.”

  “Albi lied to my husband,” Calli concurred. “And that is why I have no marriage anymore.”

  “Yes,” Sopho affirmed.

  “You are all but blind, old woman,” Albi spat.

  “I remember him, too,” Droi, Hardy’s wife, agreed. She, too, rose to her feet. “His eyes were the same color as everyone else’s.”

  There was a long silence. Albi registered how, one by one, the women were looking away from Droi and toward the council mother.

  “It is not the only time Albi has interfered with a marriage,” Droi continued. “For many years, she has come to my family fire and fornicated with Hardy. My own sister, and she forces me to leave so that she may lie in my bed with my husband.” Droi took a shuddering breath, her face collapsing in tears. “She has ruined my marriage, the way she has ruined Calli’s,” she lamented angrily. “Now, when I try to love my husband, all I can see in my mind is the two of them together.”

  Albi stared at her sister, unable to believe the betrayal.

  Renne rose. “When I was younger, Albi’s son Palloc went to his mother and asked if the council would approve of him marrying me. And she denied his request, which was her right. But then she sought me out, and she beat me with her … her stick. It is why I have this scar on my face, and why I cannot chew food without pain in my jaw. I consider myself lucky to be alive. Everyone knew Albi had done it. Do you remember what I looked like?” Renne sought out their faces, and many women guiltily turned from her glare. “No one stood for me. No one defended me. Albi might have killed me. So I ask this of you now, this one thing. Take away this woman’s power before she uses her club on some other woman, or ruins another marriage, or kills someone’s child.” Renne turned and locked eyes with Calli.

  Albi’s heart was beating loudly, but she was hardly ready to quit. The distress of the women was plain upon their faces—at this juncture, they could be turned in any direction. Mostly they just wanted the conflict to stop. “And what?” Albi demanded derisively, sure of herself, now. “You would have Calli be council mother? Her child is a curse upon the Kindred, and you would elevate her to such a position? You insult the spirits and you will be punished!” Albi thundered.

  “Of course not,” Calli responded calmly.

  “What?” Albi replied suspiciously.

  “Of course I should not be council mother.”

  * * *

  A Wolfen wedding was largely a wordless ceremony. After a man declared he was taking a woman for his wife, the adults of the tribe danced together, the men attempting to put their arms around women from the rear, and the women twisting away, laughing, to face the men, defying their wishes. Wolves mated in a similar fashion, the female flirting but not allowing mounting, touching faces and climbing up on the male’s back, then turning playful, bowing down. When all of the married Wolfen had managed to embrace their wives from behind, the last couple, the one getting married, engaged in their own teasing dance, the rest of the tribe cheering them on. It was a true celebration of marriage, a reminder of how important fidelity was to wolves and man alike.

  Silex went through the motions of his wedding dance with Ovi, his heart heavy. When he and Fia did this dance, there had been only one couple—Brach and his wife Ros—to participate, but the happy thrill of that night had stayed with him ever since. Adding more people to the dance did nothing when one subtracted Fia.

  Ovi, too, seemed unenthusiastic. Was she remembering her wedding to Duro? Had she been joyous on that occasion?

  When finally they were the last couple and Silex had his arms around Ovi, the Wolfen came together and lifted their voices into the night in as close an imitation as they could manage of a wolf’s howl. After each howl, the tribe paused, listening. Tradition had it that an answering call from the wolves meant that the marriage was blessed. Three times, the tribe howled, and three times, the attempt was met with silence.

  Brach clapped Silex on the shoulder. “The wolves did not howl for me, either, Silex, but I have been happy.”

  “All is good,” Silex agreed.

  Stirred by th
e dance, the couples were eagerly leaving to go to their beds. Silex lingered by the fire, not ready.

  “I am very happy for you, Silex,” Denix murmured to him, smiling shyly.

  “Thank you, Denix.”

  Something happened to her smile, a brief tremble in the corners of her mouth, and then she nodded curtly and left the fire. Soon it was just Silex and his new bride.

  “And so finally, Ovi, I have fulfilled the promises I made upon the deaths of my father and my … and of Fia,” Silex told her as they went together to her bed area. The women had decorated Ovi’s animal skins with smooth, shiny pebbles from the river, arranging them around the blanket’s borders.

  “And I promised our father as well, Silex,” Ovi pointed out.

  Silex looked down at the bed. He remembered Fia’s hot skin, how the longing inside him made it impossible to do anything but reach for her when they were together. And he looked at Ovi and felt none of that.

  Sighing, Ovi went to her hands and knees, facing away from him, hiking her skirt. He closed his eyes, imagining Fia, calling to his lust, willing it to come out and help him do his duty. He had made a pledge, and now he needed to fulfill that pledge. They would have a daughter, he and Ovi, and they would name it after his first wife. He would complete the assignment given him at death by his father.

  He opened his eyes.

  Ovi, was watching him blandly over her shoulder, waiting for him to do something. “What makes you happy, Ovi?” he asked compassionately.

  “Why do you always ask that, Silex?”

  “Because you are my sister, now my wife, and I want to see you be happy.”

  Ovi exhaled impatiently. “I do not like the question. Are we going to mate, Silex, or not?”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Albi stood with her mouth open, the black holes where she had lost teeth in plain view. “I could not possibly be council mother,” Calli continued. “With your lies about the curse, you have caused so much doubt and fear, no one would ever feel secure under my guidance. No, obviously the person who is council mother should be of the new generation, should be someone we all like and can support. The new council mother clearly must be Bellu, the hunt master’s wife.”

  The announcement so surprised the women that several laughed and clapped. Bellu, of course, Bellu! She was beloved and beautiful. And she had suffered so with Salu, her ill child—this would give her just the lift she needed! She was not a strong leader, but she was married to one. After years of the autocratic and cruel Albi, she was exactly what the council required.

  “Bellu! Bellu!” they called, and when she stood, giggling, they surrounded her, kissed her hands for luck.

  Calli watched her friend accept the accolades with a sense of detachment. She had long coveted council mother but this was better—Mal was safe. Bellu was beaming, everyone was happy, but all that mattered was her child. Calli turned to see how Albi was taking it.

  But Albi was gone.

  * * *

  The former council mother stalked away from the meeting with her mouth in a sour line. This would not stand, she could not let it stand, but at the moment she was stymied. Her sister! Renne! Her enemies would be made to pay for this. Calli. Albi seethed with hate for the woman who thought in mists and shadows. And her son, who spoke to her of his conspiracies but had thus far been too much the coward to do anything about either Calli or Urs—her son was so weak!

  So intent was she on her rage, Albi did not even see Nix, Renne’s husband, until she had nearly bumped into him. Albi looked up, startled—he was standing by Albi’s family fire. What was he doing here?

  “Hello, Albi. I came to speak to you,” Nix greeted. He was grinning, but it was a strange expression, somehow cold and mirthless.

  “I am not wanting to speak to anyone at the moment,” Albi muttered. She went to push past him, and then gasped when she felt his rough hand on her arm.

  “But I am wanting to speak to you,” Nix replied softly.

  Albi went to pull her arm away, but Nix held it more tightly. She stared at him, alarmed.

  “I am wanting to speak to you about the time you used your stick on my wife,” Nix continued.

  “That is not … she was not your wife … this, you cannot…,” Albi stuttered.

  “I was thinking I might beat you to death with my fists,” Nix said casually. “Do you believe I could do such a thing?”

  Eyes wide, Albi nodded.

  “But my wife asked me not to do so. So, to please her, I will not beat you to death with my fists. What I will do is tell you that if, at any time, you in any way displease my wife, if you insult her, if you take her food, if you treat her children poorly, if you even look at her with an unpleasant expression, I will beat you to death with a rock. See? Not my fists. A different thing. I will still be obeying my wife’s wishes, but your skull will be smashed and your brains will run into the dirt.”

  Albi’s mouth tightened. He would not ever really do this, she realized. It was a threat intended to scare her. Well, he was misjudging her. She drew herself up.

  “I will tell the hunt master of the threats you have made here today,” she hissed. “You have violated the way of the Kindred—”

  She got no further. Nix lifted his hand and slapped her across the face with such force it blinded her. Staggering, Albi fell back. Her ears rang and her jaw felt as if it were broken. Stunned, she stared at him.

  “I do not want you to speak unless I invite you to do so. And I am not wanting you to speak at the moment. Do you understand me?”

  “No man,” Albi gasped, “may touch a woman except her husband or—” That was as far as she got. Nix slapped her again, and Albi cried out.

  “I asked: Do you understand me? Otherwise I am not wanting you to speak at the moment. So, do you understand?” He lifted his hand up as if to deliver a third blow.

  Albi nodded hastily, her eyes tearing from pain.

  “You are correct. Normally a man must not touch another woman, but there is a new rule for when the ugly hyena strikes a man’s wife with a stick. You see, I did not come here without first speaking to Urs. He told me I could beat you, but I was not to kill you. Not today. Not unless you insulted my wife, and then I could crush your head with a rock.” Nix smiled at her pleasantly. “I hope you remember this new rule, but if you forget, I will do you a favor and let you pick the rock I will use to open your skull. See the favor? I will let you pick the rock.”

  * * *

  A ripple of tension went through the pack, passing from wolf to wolf. Instantly, the large she-wolf, old now but still formidable, alerted to the social stress. She eased to her feet.

  They were at the howling site, the place where the wolves gathered when they weren’t out hunting. Some newly weaned cubs were lying at the she-wolf’s feet—the entire pack would take shifts protecting them and ensuring they didn’t wander off until they were old enough. Though their markings were unimportant to the she-wolf, one of the puppies, a female, was significantly larger than her siblings, and had a small white patch on her forehead.

  Mate had died a few winters ago. The she-wolf had therefore stopped reproducing, but could still hunt and was still the largest of her peers, even if she was no longer the dominant female. When she lay curled up at night, memories of running with Mate came to mind, and often during the day she would sniff for his scent, expecting to find it on the air. They had been together for so long she often forgot that he was gone. When no sign of him came to her nose, she would remember why, and sometimes she would whimper almost silently, missing him.

  This spring was unusual because there were two litters in the pack, which had seen its ranks thinned by disease after three cold summers with little to eat. There had been more luck the past winter, and so the dominant male had mated with more than one bitch. One of those mating females was the large she-wolf’s direct descendant, her daughter from a litter five years ago, whose size nearly matched that of the she-wolf.

  The she-wolf had d
iscovered through successive litters that some of her offspring were simply too intimidated to go with her to accept meat from the man, while others accompanied her without concern.

  Something else was unusual this year: her daughter’s litter, when it was escorted to the howling site, was brought by a single parent, the male. The she-wolf’s daughter was not with them. Her offspring smelled like their mother, but something had happened.

  The she-wolf neither dwelled on the loss, nor mourned it. Her instinct, though, was to spend all of her time with her descendants, protecting them and caring for them as if she were their mother.

  And now her inner sense told her something grave was about to occur. The mother of the other litter was a black wolf, not as large as the she-wolf but young and strong. Black Wolf was pacing back and forth nearby, her ears back, her tongue out. The black wolf was eyeing the pile of sleeping puppies at the she-wolf’s feet—three males and the one large female.

  This was why there was suddenly anxiety in the pack. Black Wolf saw this litter as competing with her own. She was the dominant bitch and had come to eliminate the competition.

  The big she-wolf stood her ground and pulled her upper lips, revealing her teeth. Her low growl awoke the pups, who were confused when the old she-wolf, chest stiff and tail high, disciplined them, cowing the pups into shrinking down in humble submission instead of spreading out to play and explore. The she-wolf needed them to remain in a defensible group.

  The black wolf growled, not backing down, circling, calculating.

  Restraint soon broke among the pups. One of the males scampered away and the black wolf instantly streaked after him, head down as if pursuing a rodent. The old she-wolf ran straight at Black Wolf, cutting off the attack and slamming into Black Wolf with brutal impact and the two wolves went up on their back legs, swiping with their paws and slashing with their fangs. It was a vicious and savage fight. Biting and snarling and ripping at each other, they did not give ground.

  The rest of the pack milled in confusion and distress.

  Black Wolf was young and fast, the old she-wolf larger and more experienced. The black wolf yelped as the old she-wolf drew blood from an ear, and then, when the she-wolf managed to gain a crushing grip on the black wolf’s throat, the conflict was suddenly over. The black wolf went limp and compliant.