ICE BURIAL: The Oldest Human Murder Mystery (The Mother People Series Book 3)

by JOAN DAHR LAMBERT

  The name Teran did have meaning for Pila, just not as much meaning as she would have liked. It seemed to her that she must be Teran - she looked and acted like her, Durak said, and she had been abducted when Teran had disappeared, and she seemed to be familiar with things about Zena that she did not know she knew. But she still didn’t recognize herself as Teran in the way that most people recognized themselves. At least, though, the name Teran felt comfortable, and she supposed that was a start. She knew it well even as she did not identify with it.

  Pila sighed. The sensation of knowing and not knowing at the same time was frustrating, and sometimes she wished she could just go back to the way she had been before, when she had waited patiently for the fog still stubbornly lodged in her mind to clear. But she could not.

  What she needed most, Pila thought, was to see the woman called Zena, not just the shadow that walked beside her, but the real woman. Then, surely, the haze that still clouded her mind might finally clear so that memory could return.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Lief followed Zena across the meadow. He preferred to stay behind her so she would not notice that the stiffness in his joints was worse. He would be glad to get home and go to the healer again. She had inserted thin wooden needles purified by fire in certain spots along his legs and back and twisted them gently. The treatment had helped and it would again. In the meantime it was best to pay no attention to the pain, Lief told himself firmly. He quickened his pace.

  Zena looked back at him anxiously. Despite Lief’s stoic efforts to hide his pain, she was fully aware of the discomfort he suffered. She wished now that they had taken the shorter route home from Runor’s village with the others. Wanting some time alone, she and Lief had decided to go north and make a circle over the mountain beyond her Kyrie and return to the village on the mountain path she had looked at so often from her high outpost. It was a route they had always wanted to explore. The trek would take an extra day or two, but the weather was fine, with summer on the way, and the temptation to have time alone in the high peaks they so loved had been strong. Besides, it was such a glorious feeling to be safe, to know they were not being followed. Korg and the Leader were dead and could not harm them any longer.

  Zena glanced back again at Lief. How fine he was, she thought, how fine and brave and strong. He tried so hard to spare her any sorrow or distress because of his stiffness. That was good in one way but hard in another since there was little she could do to help him except slow down and rest more often.

  “Let us stop here for a time,” she told him with a smile when they came to a sunny spot by a stream. Lief sat down gratefully and put his arms around her.

  “You are my joy,” he told her, smiling with pleasure. He too was glad that they were alone. For the first time in many weeks, he could speak and act without the restraint of others nearby.

  “And you are mine,” Zena answered. Sinking down on the dry grasses, they lay close together. For a long time they did not move, only felt the lengths of their bodies touching. Warmth sprang up between them, from their bodies but also from the heat of their passion, yet to be expressed but growing ever more intense. They waited, and waited some more, and then they could be still no longer. Lief’s hands moved first, caressing Zena’s arms, her belly and thighs. Her hands rose toward his body and she sighed, a long, wondrous sigh of ecstasy at what was to come. First the delicate, sensuous touching and then the hands that stroked harder, the lips that could not seem to come close enough and the tongues that pushed and explored, and with them the intensity that built and built until it exploded. And then, finally, to fly, to soar like birds and plunge to the earth and soar again.

  And so it always was with Lief. For her, there was no other. Nor was there for him. He remembered the way he had once been, eager for women, never caring for one alone. He had changed. Truly, when men and women could choose freely, one beloved mate was best of all.

  The sun was dropping to the far side of the horizon before they stirred again. They went on for a few more hours and then stopped for the night. In two days, Zena mused as she fell asleep, they would be back in their special hut and could settle in together for the summer. The thought was wonderful.

  Lief’s sleep was less peaceful. Twice, he woke with the tingling sensation that told him he was being watched. He rose to look, but the night was dark and he could not see into the trees. He remembered the man who had been watching them after the flood. It seemed to him that he could feel the same sense of overwhelming anger coming toward him now. Was it possible the man was following them?

  The next morning his anxiety was alleviated when they unexpectedly passed near a village. Probably the watchers had just been children who seldom saw strangers, he realized with a sense of relief. The village was remote, so they would be curious about anyone they had not seen before.

  When they came closer to the mountain, they stopped to examine the route ahead. The terrain on this side was steeper than the side she had seen so often from her Kyrie, Zena realized. The mountain rose up in a series of ridges, and loose rock left by avalanches made many slopes too unstable to climb. Still, the hunters often climbed over the pass and came down this way as they searched for game; so did the herders when they took the animals to and from high summer pastures, so it should not be too difficult. The pass should be a one day climb, she thought, and once they got over that, she knew the route well.

  She looked at Lief and mentally added another day. His legs stiffened even more in the cold, and the high mountains were always colder. A sickness in his belly that sometimes made him bend over in pain had also plagued him recently. They had gathered a supply of fungus from the bark of birch trees that eased the problem, and it seemed to be helping, but he was still slower than usual.

  They would spend one night on the mountain, Zena decided, build a fire and cook deer meat and bread, and other food they found along the way. She had seen berries on some bushes, and wild plums. That would be very pleasant.

  They climbed slowly but steadily, enjoying the fine day and pausing often to rest and admire the sweep of land below, the brilliant blue of the sky above. The air itself seemed to sparkle in the sunlight, and they were content.

  When the light began to fade, they stopped on the sheltered side of a deep ravine. They made a small fire and sat quietly looking out at the views and working on projects they had brought with them. Lief had left his bow and some arrows with the men in Runor’s village as a parting gift and was making a new one, as well as some new arrows, while Zena repaired their clothing. Since she had no sinew, she used thread made from long grasses twisted together. Then they shared a fine meal of meat, bread they had made from grains, and fruit.

  When it was too dark to see, they snuggled close inside their furs and watched the stars slowly appear. They were so brilliant, Zena thought with wonder. Even without the moon, they gave enough light so she could see Lief’s face, close to her own. What made them so bright, and why were they always in the same places? Some moved, but always along predictable paths, so that she could tell the seasons from their position. Others were always in exactly the same place, providing a welcome sense of direction.

  “To fly up among the stars would be fine,” Lief murmured sleepily, picking up her thoughts as he so often did. “When I return one day to the Mother I will go up and see them, I think.”

  Zena shivered in his embrace, horrified at the thought. “You must not do that for a long time,” she answered. “How would I live without you?”

  Lief stroked her face gently. “You would live,” he said confidently. “You must live. You are Zena.”

  She sighed. “Sometimes to be Zena makes me weary.”

  “Then let us pretend we are two other people for a time,” Lief answered. “We can make up stories as we travel.”

  Zena brightened. “That is a good idea! Perhaps we could be lovers fleeing our village because I am being forced to take a horrible old man as mate, and you are the one I love above a
ll others.”

  “And the leader of the village is chasing after me, seeking revenge,” Lief added, holding her closer. They traded ideas until they fell asleep.

  They woke to clouds and intermittent rain, but the day was windless, and they trudged on, making up more stories to pass the time. Zena suspected Lief suffered more than he allowed her to see from his ailments, but she also felt a deep happiness in him, especially now that they were alone again and able to come together in Akat whenever they liked, and that gave her great pleasure.

  By the time they reached the slopes that led to the final pass, Zena felt as if she could almost smell home. Sorlin and Hular knew the route they were taking and would be watching for them, might even come up part way to greet them, and the village would be waiting...

  Lief’s expression dampened her optimism. “I do not like the look of that sky,” he said uneasily. He felt the tingling again, too, and knew they were being watched, but he did not tell Zena that.

  Zena looked up and saw that he was right. A filmy haze covered the sky, not obliterating it completely, but causing it to give off a strange purplish light. That could mean a storm was coming, but sometimes the haze, and the threat, moved on to the next valley, leaving only a sprinkle behind. If the westerly winds held, that would probably happen.

  The air turned damp and cold as they climbed higher, and a thin fog spread across the slopes. Shivering, they stuffed their boots with soft grasses to make them warmer and pulled on leggings and fur capes and caps, glad now to have them. In the mountains, to be prepared for any kind of weather was wise.

  The way quickly became steeper, and almost all the slopes were covered with the loose rock they had seen from below. They decided to climb in a ravine that seemed to lead to the pass, though it was hard to be sure in the fog. If they could get over the top before a storm came - if one came - they would be all right, Zena reassured herself.

  They did not speak but saved their energy for climbing. They must be very high, Zena thought, because her breath came in gasps. She had not realized how high the pass above her Kyrie was. Lief was gasping too, but whether it was from the effort of climbing with his stiff legs or the thin air she could not tell. He kept going anyway.

  Half way up the wind hit them. It came from all sides, making everything around them, leaves and twigs and even branches, swirl through the air. They lowered their heads and forced their way through it.

  Then, unexpectedly, another danger came blasting through the wind. Arrows, Lief realized, and felt his body recoil with shock. Men were shooting arrows at them! One flew past his head; another thunked into the rocky slope beside him.

  He spotted one of the attackers behind a rock. Pulling a newly finished arrow out of his quiver, he shot it at the man, grateful that he had strung his bow. He did not wait to see if the arrow found its quarry. Instead, he reached urgently for Zena and pulled her down to the ground. As he did, he felt a sickening thump in the back of his shoulder. Piercing pain followed. He cried out, and Zena turned her face up to him, alarmed.

  He must not let her know the arrow had hit him, Lief thought frantically. If she knew she would try to defend him, and then she might be killed. He must get rid of the arrow, too, so she would not see it protruding from his back. He could not do it now, though. Zena would see what he was doing, and so would the attackers. Later, when it was safe to walk again, he would pull the arrow out.

  He lay perfectly still for a long time, holding Zena under him. To stay where they were was dangerous, but he did not think their attackers could see them well in the swirling fog and wind as long as they did not move. And if they did shoot, Zena was safe beneath him.

  “Who was it?” Zena’s voice was muffled.

  “A hunter perhaps, who saw our movements and thought we were game,” Lief replied, trying to make his voice sound normal despite the waves of pain stabbing relentlessly at his shoulder and the faintness that assaulted him.

  He hoped Zena would believe the explanation, though he did not himself. No hunter would come into the mountains when a storm threatened. But if not hunters, who were they? If there had been only one man, he would have suspected that the mysterious watcher really was following them, intent on revenge for some reason he did not understand. But many men made even less sense. Why would they attack at a time like this, when they were in the mountains in fog and wind and a bigger storm seemed imminent?

  Zena did not believe the explanation either, but she had no other ideas, so she focused on Lief. She did not like the sound of his breathing. It was still labored from the climb, but also shallow. She must get him home quickly, she thought. He was not as well as he pretended to be.

  No more arrows came, and Lief decided the attackers must have left, deterred by the fog and the relentless winds. Creeping away from Zena on hands and knees, he stood up slowly, keeping his back turned so she would not see the arrow stuck in his shoulder. Dizziness threatened to swamp him but he managed to fight it back.

  Zena peered into the wind and fog behind them. “I think they have gone,” she murmured.

  “Yes,” he agreed, still keeping his back carefully turned away from her. She nodded and began to climb again, her head lowered against the wind.

  Lief waited until she was a short distance ahead, then he reached back with his right hand and pulled with all his strength at the arrow, grunting with the effort. The shaft broke off so suddenly that he lost his balance and fell back against a boulder, his arm still twisted behind him. As he hit the rock, the sharp point of the broken shaft plunged deeply into his palm. Wincing, Lief hauled himself upright and pulled the shaft out again. Nausea rose in his throat; he swallowed it, paying no attention to the pain that caused it. All he could think of was the need to protect Zena, to keep her from knowing if he could.

  Hardly aware of the movement, he thrust the broken shaft into his quiver and peered at his palm. There was blood all over it, and the wound looked deep. More blood oozed slowly out, and his hand throbbed with a dull, aching pain. He flexed his fingers; they felt stiff, unyielding. He wondered vaguely if the arrow in his back had penetrated as deeply. That wound throbbed, too, but mostly it burned as if a fire had been lit inside him.

  He ought to have a knife ready, he realized with an effort, in case the attackers came back. He pulled it out but his hand could hardly grasp it. He was about to put it away when the man struck. Leaping out from behind another boulder, he wrestled Lief to the ground. The attacker’s beard was encrusted with snow and ice, and his head and body were so swaddled in coverings that Lief could not tell who he was. All he knew was that the man had inhuman strength. Panic poured through him as the massive arms encircled him. How could he break such a savage grip? But he had to, had to get back to Zena…

  Grunting with the effort, Lief struck out with his knife. His hand seemed not to work, and the blow was weak. He tried with his other hand but that was no better. He felt the man’s huge hands move up his body to his neck and close around it, begin to squeeze…

  With strength born of sheer desperation, Lief twisted away from his assailant’s heavy body and struggled to his feet. The man rose to face him. He was as wide as he was tall, with limbs as thick as trees, and Lief could feel the hatred emanating from him. He caught a glimpse of the man’s eyes as he pulled out a long knife, and saw confidence in them, and triumph. This time, his assailant expected to kill him. He raised an enormous arm, ready to drive the blade home.

  Petrified, Lief thrust out with his own knife and at the same time gave the man’s body a heavy shove with his good shoulder. Taken by surprise, his opponent stumbled and the knife dropped from his hand. Lief shoved again, harder, propelling his whole body into the man with the frantic energy of terror. His adversary lunged, hands upraised as if to clasp Lief around the neck again. It was a savage lunge, and it made him careless. He was standing below Lief, and when his foot slipped on the icy rocks, he fell heavily, rolled and fell again; then he tumbled out of control down the steep side o
f the mountain.

  Breathing hard, trying not to faint, Lief stood still, waiting to see if the man would return. The sound of his falling body had stopped but the swirling fog made it impossible to see where he had landed or if he was still moving. No further noise came, no sign of movement.

  Slowly, haltingly, Lief climbed toward Zena again. He did not try to overtake her but stayed behind so she would not see his unsteady steps or the blood on his back or hand, or know that he had fought with one of the attackers.

  Suddenly, without warning, snow was all around them, hard and heavy. No light flurries or tentative flakes came first as they usually did, giving mountain travelers a chance to go down before the storm worsened. The stinging onslaught flew straight into their eyes, making it even harder to see through the whirling debris and hazy air.

  “To have snow so late in the season is strange,” Zena said when he came close enough to hear. “Perhaps we should go down the mountain and find shelter.”

  While they stood uncertainly, the wind shifted again. Now it was blowing straight up the ravine, and there was no longer any possibility of going down. It would be too hard to see. Wearily, they began to climb again, the wind shrieking at their backs.

  “It might be calmer at the summit,” Zena shouted, “if we can crest it.”