The sound of a branch snapping brought his head up. Could someone have come after him because of the two girls? The thought was terrifying. He went up and down the path peering into the trees, but saw no one. Perhaps it had been an animal.
He turned to stare at Zena’s village, as if by looking hard enough he could tell if she was still there, then he strode rapidly in the direction of Runor’s village, where he would find the smaller path that led to the hut he and Mordor had built.
The distraction of the girls did not last as long as Korg had hoped. “Now I must find Rofina,” Mordor announced one morning, rising to his feet.
Alarmed, Korg took his arm. “We must wait until we know where Zena goes,” he said. If you are to be Leader again, she must be stopped. She will leave her village soon, and then we can follow as we did before and warn the people of her coming so they will not listen to her.”
Mordor did not answer, barely noticed Zena’s name. All his thoughts were on Rofina, and he heard only the words that meant Korg still did not want to leave. Rofina needed him, he thought stubbornly. She had always needed him, and he did not want to wait any longer to find her. For him to have some of the restorative was also necessary. Without the mead he felt restless, unable to think, and if he was to be the Leader again, he must be able to think. Korg told him there was none because he did not want him to have it, but Mordor knew that was not true. In the hut they had used near Rofina’s village, there was a supply. Gurd had made it a long time ago when they had spent the winters there.
If Korg would not look for Rofina, he would go by himself, he decided. But how could he go without Korg? They had always traveled together. To leave without him did not seem right. But for him to be without Rofina, without the mead, was not right, either. After all, he was the Leader, was he not? He could do as he wished. Korg did not always understand how forceful were his needs. Only mead had ever dampened the fires that seemed always to burn inside him, and only with Rofina could he be happy, could he truly be the Leader. To deprive him of Rofina, of the restorative when they were so important to him, was wrong.
Mordor made up his mind. He would leave as soon as Korg went off to look for food or herbs. He would find the path, walk all day and night if he had to. The thought was pleasing. He would be with Rofina again, taste the refreshing mead that made him feel so warm, so powerful, even as it dampened the fires. He could take Rofina as his mate, now that he had initiated her, and she would be happy in his arms, listening to his voice as she always had. Together, they would go to all the villages again, and he would tell the people the truth about Zena, that she was a witch...
Mordor frowned. Who had told him that? Not Korg, he was certain, but now that he thought of it, he was sure it was true. Zena must be a witch. How else could she have so much power over the people in the villages? Witches used their lust to draw power from men, and then they used the power to deceive the villagers, tell them falsehoods about the Great Mother and to cast spells over them. Their lust was so great that they would take any man they could find, and then their power grew and grew until it could not be stopped.
Zena would destroy them all, Mordor thought, alarmed. He should have realized long ago that she was a witch. Now that he knew, she must not be permitted to live. That was the task the voices had set him long ago, to rid the villages of witches. He must make certain, too, that Zena did not come near Rofina. Such innocence was easily spoiled. Korg had been right when he had said that they must find out where Zena was going. Perhaps he should wait for Korg after all.
Mordor shook his head forcefully. To wait any longer was not right, when there was so much danger. Besides, Korg might not believe him when he said that Zena was a witch, would try to stop him from acting. He had done that before. Korg did not like him to do what the voices told him to do. He never had.
No, Mordor decided, he must do this by himself. Rofina must be protected, the villages must be protected, and only he, chosen by the Great Spirit and even before that by the voices that told him what must be done to save the people, was equal to the task. The realization buoyed him, made him feel strong and calm.
When Korg returned, he was pleased at the change in Mordor. He would wait for a few days to see if the improvement continued, he decided. If it did, he would take advantage of the peace to spend a whole day replenishing his supply of herbs. He would need a large supply of them when Mordor began to travel to the villages as the Leader once again.
Mordor’s calm mood persisted, and a few days later Korg set off early in the morning to look for herbs. When he returned late that afternoon, his brother was gone.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Durak felt almost happy as he trudged up the path that led to the high pass. Finally, he would be able to do what he had longed to do ever since Rofina had died. Night after night he had dreamed of this moment, when peace would finally come to him. There was no one to watch him, to urge him with well meaning pleas to forget what had happened, to try to cheer him up. Now he could do as he pleased. In a short time, he would go peacefully into death, as Rofina had.
When the first snow came, he decided. That would be the signal that it was time to go into the lake, as Rofina had. The others would understand; he was certain they would, but he had no desire to burden them with his intent. To do so would be cruel.
When he came to the lake, Durak settled down to wait for the snow. The wind at the top was strong, so he decided to go down a short way to the place where he had sheltered with Rofina and wait there. The overhanging rocks had protected them from gusts of wind, he remembered. He built a small fire and made a kind of tent with the extra furs the others had insisted he take. Now, he was glad had them. It would be good to take some time alone up here to remember Rofina, to dream of her waiting for him…
The images came immediately. Gritting his teeth, Durak thrust them away. It was wrong to think of Rofina like that during these last days, terribly wrong. Underneath, Rofina was not as she had been then and he must not sully her memory. He must think of her as he had seen her before that terrible night when she had taken the Leader into her…
But he would not even say those words even in his mind. That too was wrong in these last days. Instead, he must think of Rofina as she would have been if Korg and the Leader had not corrupted her. That would be best. Think of Rofina as she might have been, he told himself over and over each night as he prepared for sleep. Almost to his surprise, he succeeded. Rofina came to him pure and unsullied, night after night, in his dreams. Sometimes, the bad images came, but as soon as he reminded himself how wrong that was, he was able to push them away.
Pleased with this small success, Durak decided to set a few traps in the bushes to see if he could catch rabbits or any other small animal that might live up here while he waited for the snow. By morning, his first trap had yielded a rabbit. He blessed it in the Mother’s name; then he skinned it, cooked it over his fire and ate ravenously. He was amazed. He had not been hungry for a long time. More days passed, and he was content, with his thoughts of Rofina, with the peace that seemed unexpectedly to have filled him.
Two days later, the first snowflakes drifted gently past him and settled on his clothing, then disappeared like phantoms, leaving spots of wetness where they had been. More flakes came, and then more. Durak watched them for a long time, fascinated, before he remembered what they meant. The time had finally come for him to do what he had longed to do…
For a moment he could not move. Then he forced himself to his feet, stamped out his fire and pulled the extra furs down from the tent of long sticks he had built for them. He left them where they lay and started slowly up to the pass again.
The wind was even stronger now, and he wondered if it had been that strong when Rofina had trudged up this slope. Had it stung her face, her eyes, as it stung his? Poor Rofina, she must have been so cold, so frightened and anxious, and he had not been there to help her…
Durak shuddered. He must think about the flowers instead
, the lovely meadow where they had met and spent so many hours together. That would be better. Except it was hard to think of the warm meadow, with snow and wind blasting into his face. There had been no snow when Rofina had come, only the cold and the wind.
The snow was falling thickly now, heavy and persistent, as if it meant to keep snowing for many days. Soon, it would be hard to see, harder to travel. But he did not need to think of that, only of the peace that would soon come to him.
He had almost reached the lake. He looked ahead for a moment at the path that wound between Runor’s village and Niva’s, remembering how he had stared at it when he had been with Rofina and wondered fearfully who was coming. He had been so afraid for her until he recognized Sorlin and Hular. How kind they had been.
Durak frowned. Someone was coming now, too; a figure had just appeared over the crest of the pass above the lake. How strange. It was almost as it had been before except that this time there was only one figure, a woman, huddled over against the cold and snow. She held a small bundle in her arms. Why was she alone? And why was she climbing the high pass at this time of the year? Perhaps he could help.
He took a step forward, meaning to intercept her and then checked himself. That was not his purpose here. But she might need help, another part of him argued. He must offer it at least. Besides, he did not want her to see him go into the lake. That would be unkind, and she might try to save him. That would be worse.
Persuaded by these arguments, Durak began to lope toward her. The woman was bent over against the wind and the snow, and did not see him until he was almost upon her. When she did, she started violently in fright and began to run the other way, clutching the bundle closer.
“It is all right,” Durak called after her. “I will not hurt you. I only wish to help.”
The woman kept running as fast as she could, but within moments she stumbled and fell. Durak went to her and placed a gentle hand on her back.
“I will not harm you,” he repeated. “I am a friend. I would like to help you.”
The woman moaned, seeming unable to move, and Durak realized she was near collapse. “It is all right,” he repeated. “I mean you no harm.”
She turned to peer up at him, her round dark eyes filled with terror but also a kind of desperate determination. Her face was pale and strained.
Durak stared. “Teran,” he breathed. The woman looked at him, perplexed, but some of the terror in her eyes diminished when she saw from his face that he really did not mean to harm her. He did not think she recognized him though, which was strange. They had played together as children, he and Zena and Teran. Perhaps she did not wish to let anyone know who she was and so was concealing any signs of recognition. She might have had terrible, frightening experiences that made her wary of revealing anything about her past. He would not press her.
“I would like to help you,” he repeated. “I had a fire in a place just below, where the wind is not so strong, and some extra furs. I will build the fire up again so you can get warm and then we will see what you wish to do.”
The woman, who was shivering violently now, made no objection or perhaps she could not through her chattering teeth. Durak took her silence for assent and helped her to her feet. “I will carry this for you,” he said, reaching for her bundle. Snatching it back, she clutched it to her chest. Durak wondered what it was to bring such a frightened reaction. He was not long left in doubt. The bundle began to wriggle and a thin wail emerged from it. A baby!
“We must get the baby warm,” Durak said, urging her along. “I am sure both of you must be very cold. I will make a fire for you.”
When they reached the place where he had sheltered, he propped up some of the furs again so the snow and wind could not reach them and wrapped the woman and her child in the others. Then he took a big bundle of wood from the pile he had collected earlier and found some still dry tinder in his pack, which to his surprise, was still on his back. He had forgotten to remove it when he had gone to the lake. Soon, the fire had begun to burn. Carefully, he placed the woman and her baby near it, not too close for the sparks to harm them, but close enough for warmth. She held out her hands, one at a time, to the blaze. With the other, she held on to the child.
“I thank you,” she said, and her voice trembled. She was like a terrified animal, still suspicious of him. Durak was certain that if he made any move to take the baby from her she would fight him with all her strength, despite the fact that she could hardly stand. What had she been forced to endure during her long absence?
“I am called Durak,” he said. “My village is not far from here. Perhaps I could take you there after the snow has stopped, with your child.”
“Or we can stay here for a time until your strength returns,” he added quickly when he saw terror in her eyes. She looked relieved, but still wary. At least, though, her shivering had receded.
“I am called Pila,” she said after a moment, but Durak knew she was not. The thick brown hair, straggling from beneath her head scarf, the round brown eyes… This was Teran, he was sure of it. But was not Pila the name of the young woman whose infant Zena and Lief had saved?
“I come from the same village as the woman, Zena, who saved your child,” Durak told her, hoping that might reassure her enough to give her real name.
“Zena?” The young woman frowned. “I know that name. The others talked about Zena. She came to the village… I seem to know…”
She interrupted herself to ask a question. “Was it she who saved my child?” The round eyes were anxious. “I do not remember. I was not well…”
Durak nodded. “Zena will want to see you,” he said gently, “if you are willing to come to her village with me when you are stronger.”
“Perhaps,” she said, but Durak saw that once again she had withdrawn. He tried to remember what Zena and Lief and Brulet had said about Pila, but he could not, only that Brulet had said Pila did not talk very much. He had been so engrossed in his own misery, he realized, that he had not seen or heard anything else.
Surely, though, if Zena had seen Pila, she would know right away. But she had not seen Pila; he remembered that. The woman called Niva had not permitted Zena to go into Pila’s tent. Had she known or guessed the girl’s true identity and wanted to keep it from Zena? But how could Niva know who Pila really was? He did not think anyone in his tribe had ever been to her village until Zena and Lief had gone there.
Was it Niva Teran feared, or Korg and the Leader? Durak wished he knew but did not ask. If Teran really did not remember who she was, he must go slowly with her, not make her anxious by asking questions. He remembered Sorlin, who knew more than anyone about ailments of the mind as well as the body, saying that some people did not remember who they were if they had been knocked on the head, and that memory must not be forced.
Moving slowly so he would not alarm her, he tucked the furs more firmly around Teran and watched as she suckled her child. Her face was soft now, filled with love. How she must have suffered when the infant had been taken from her! Like Rofina, he thought, and began, almost without thinking, to speak of her.
“Rofina, who lived in the village on the other side of the pass, had her child taken from her as yours was taken, only hers was not returned. It was a cruel act, and she suffered terribly. I wonder at those who can commit such a sin against the Mother.”
“Do they worship the Mother in your village?” she asked, looking up at him. “I heard the old woman, Krone, speaking of the Mother sometimes, and the child Brulet. I would like to live in a place where She is worshipped, not the Great Spirit.”
“Yes, they do. The Mother, the Goddess, is much revered in my village. The woman I spoke of, who is called Zena, will one day be the leader of the Mother People, and that is why she was sent to save the child.”
A flicker of something – was it memory? – came into Pila’s eyes. “Yes,” she said slowly, “I think I know of that name from before, a long time ago, but now I do not remember…” Her voic
e trailed away.
“Do you remember how you came to be in Niva’s village?” Durak kept his voice casual, not wanting to press her.
“Korg brought me. He carried me because I… He found me, you see. He took me away from them and brought me there.”
Durak was startled. How strange that Korg, of all people, had rescued her. But who had he rescued her from? Probably the Leader, he realized, wincing. No doubt the Leader had done to Teran what he had done to Rofina and all the other girls. But Teran had said them. Had another man assaulted her as well?
Teran, or perhaps he should think of her as Pila, did not offer more information. She looked weary beyond endurance. Durak suspected she had not slept much since she had left Niva’s village, and that was two days journey from here at least. He wished now that he had gone there with Zena and Lief and the others. Then he would know more. But of course, he had not wanted to leave Rofina. She had been too ill from the potions.
Had they given Pila the same potion? Was that the reason for her shivering? He hoped not. If they had, it might never leave her.
“If you are tired I will watch while you sleep,” he offered, seeing Pila’s eyes close involuntarily and then snap open again. “I do not think anyone else will come this way.” He wrapped the furs around her more tightly.
“I thank you,” she said again. With a sign of relief, she lay down, the child close against her. Durak built up the fire and settled down to watch over them. How strange this was, he thought. Here was another woman who needed him as Rofina had needed him, and the thought came into his mind that Rofina had sent her to him, that she wanted him to care for this woman as he might have cared for her…
ICE BURIAL: The Oldest Human Murder Mystery (The Mother People Series Book 3) Page 18