by Ruby Dixon
I frown at this thought, even as Ah-nah grabs one of my braids and pulls hard. “This fat man falls into your fire with your gifts? How is that a reward?”
Claire giggles. “If you‘re not good, he brings you coal. Fire fuel.”
“Fire fuel is useful,” I point out. “I shall be bad and someone will do my chores for me. I like this custom.”
All three women laugh again. “That’s not how it works, Asha. You can’t be deliberately naughty,” Stay-see says, grinning. “Though I guess you can if you want to. And I guess fuel isn’t that bad of a gift, all things considered. I guess we’d have to tweak things a bit for Not-Hoth holidays.”
“It’s a work in progress,” Claire agrees with a nod. “I’m going to make a list with some coal and one of the skins and see what I can come up with. Maybe we can come up with one event a day and spread things out.”
“Don’t forget the food. I like the food,” Stay-see tells her.
Ah-nah makes an unhappy noise and then begins to cry. I bounce her, trying to soothe her unhappiness, but then her sister El-sah begins to wail, and then both twins are howling. No-rah grimaces and takes Ah-nah from me, opening her tunic to nurse. “So much for quiet time in the morning.”
“Shall I hold El-sah?” I ask. I itch to hug one of the weeping kits to my breast and soothe it. My heart longs so much for a kit of my own. Oh, my sweet little Hashala. I miss her every day.
“It’s okay. I can nurse them both at once,” No-rah says and expertly juggles her second child to her other breast. “I’m getting to be a pro at this.”
Stay-see serves a pile of eggs to Claire, and the two women continue to talk about the haw-lee-deh and their human customs. I choke down the rest of my food, since times are lean and food is not to be wasted, even if it tastes poor. I feel very alone again, and sad. I finish my plate and get to my feet.
“Leaving, Asha?” No-rah looks up at me. She means well, but she cannot understand how jealous I am of her happiness.
I simply nod. “Tired,” I say, and hate that my voice is flat and angry. I am not truly sleepy, but my furs are a refuge from the world, and right now I just want to crawl into them and forget for a few hours again. I leave the humans’ fire and head back to my howse. A few more people are waking up and moving about their day. Leezh and her mate are walking through the center of the vee-lage, lost in conversation. Raahosh holds their little daughter close and nods at his mate’s words. In the distance, I can hear Cashol and Meh-gann laughing together. So many kits. So many happy families.
I duck into my howse, glad to find it dark and silent. The dvisti is near my side of the howse, and I shoo it away. Stupid animal. I climb into my furs and pull out Hashala’s little tunic. I bring it to my nose and sniff it, but it has lost the kit-scent that perfumes Ah-nah’s mane.
“Back to bed?” Farli asks, sleepy. “Is there food at the fire?”
“Eggs,” I say flatly. “Lots of eggs.”
She makes a noise of dismay.
I remain silent, hoping she will leave and let me be. But Farli sits up in her furs and smacks her lips, yawning, oblivious to my mood. She pets her dvisti for a time and seems to be in no hurry to leave. I roll over in my blankets, presenting her with my back. As I do, I think. Farli is a lot like me. Maylak, Farli and I are the only sa-khui young females in our tribe. There is old Kemli and Sevvah, but neither is close in age to me. Maylak was always my rival…and she now has everything I ever wanted: a happy mate, a secure place in the tribe, and two kits. The male hunters that should have been falling over themselves to court Farli are now mated to humans, and the humans tend to stick together. They keep human customs and talk of human things, and sometimes it makes me feel very isolated in my own tribe. I am not the stranger, and yet…I no longer fit in with my own people.
I roll onto my back and look over at Farli again. She is braiding her long mane in lazy, slow motions, yawning. “Do you ever feel like an outsider, Farli?”
She gives me a puzzled look. “An outsider?”
“Because of the humans?”
Her head tilts. “Should I?”
I sigh. Perhaps it is just me that is discontent. “Never mind. Go and talk to Stay-see and Claire. They are discussing another No Poison Day.”
That gets her attention. She makes an excited sound and bounds out of her furs. I hear the dvisti dancing around her as she dresses, and then a moment later, they are both gone.
Quiet at last. I hug Hashala’s little tunic to my breast and try to go back to sleep.
2
HEMALO
“You have my thanks,” Ereven tells me with a clap on my shoulder. He gazes up at the new cover for his howse, pleased. “I do not want to wake up in the middle of the night with Claire soaking wet again. My mate is far too fragile for that.”
I nod absently. Ereven is a good hunter, but it is clear that his thoughts lately are focused solely on his quiet mate. It is a tricky thing to discuss with a man that has recently parted ways with his own mate, but Ereven has no malice in his words or thoughts. He is just happy and wants to share his happiness. “It is no problem. The fix was an easy one once we pulled the leather cover off the frame.”
“You must let me give you my next set of skins as a show of thanks,” he tells me. “What do you need? Dvisti? Snowcat? Ask and it shall be yours.”
“Save them for your mate and your new kit. I have more skins than hours in the day to work them.”
“Then you must eat with us this day,” he continues. “Though I must warn you that because she is carrying, my mate likes her food charred.” He makes a face but looks pleased at the thought regardless.
I raise a hand in protest. “I have dried food. I am fine.” I would rather eat smoke-dried meat than choke down a mouthful of the hot, burnt flesh the humans are so fond of. “Feed your mate, not me.”
He grins. “All right, but the next fresh kill I have, it shall be yours.”
I nod absently at him, studying my work. I am pleased with how the cover turned out. With each howse, Kashrem and I have gotten better with creating the covers for each one. The seams on this howse are tight and invisible. The edges are pulled taut with the stone, and not even a breeze will be able to make it through to bother Ereven’s fragile human mate. We have done good work this day, and I am proud. It is not necessary for Ereven to repay me, however. I would do the same for any tribesmate. “If you have extra meat, perhaps bring it to Asha,” I tell him, thinking of my glimpse of my once-mate from earlier.
She looks thin, my Asha, her eyes hollow with grief. I still want to comfort her, though I know she will not allow it. She is proud, and she struggles. Our once-mating was not healthy, and I ended it because our misery together felt worse than being apart. I miss her. She is my heart, but on that awful day seasons ago, she lost our daughter.
I lost my mate and kit both.
I know she has never wanted to be mated to me. I am not flashy, like Harrec, or easy with words like Aehako. I am a simple male…but I have always loved Asha, even when she did not know I existed. I will continue to love her, even though we are apart. And I will always care for her.
Thinking of the mate I have lost sours my mood. I nod a goodbye at Ereven and head back toward the howse I share with the other hunters. It is on the far end of the vee-lage, since we are all sa-khui and do not suffer from the cold as the humans do. We keep quarters together to save on resources, and most days the other hunters are out on the trails, which means I am alone in the howse. On bad weather days, when everyone remains in the vee-lage, however, it gets cramped. Today is one of those days. Harrec, Taushen, Bek, and Warrek are in the small hut. Bek is busy carving something, his tools spread out around him. Harrec is lazing in his furs, chatting with Taushen as the other works on sharpening his spears. Warrek works on fishing nets, and between all of them, there is no room for me to spread out hides and work on my own projects. Annoyed at this, I grab a few rolls of hide and my pots and take them across the cobbled r
oad to one of the empty howses with no lid. Here, it is colder, but I can spread out.
And here, I will have no one to disturb my thoughts.
Many of the tribe are not fond of making leather. It is a necessary task, but one that few enjoy. It is messy, hard work that requires scraping the hide over and over again, and even fewer have the patience to make truly soft, supple leather. I enjoy it, though. I like the chance to create soft, beautiful, functional things for my tribe. I can hunt and I can fish, but I am truly good at making leather. I do not mind getting my hands dirty or spending hours rubbing brains and fat onto the leather. It allows me to think.
Lately I have needed to think quite a bit.
I roll out the hides, spreading them on the stone surface. It is hard on the knees but good for making hides, and I set my pots down and remove the lid off of one. The hide I am going to start with today is a snowcat hide. They are smaller than dvisti, but the resulting leather is as soft and delicate as a kit’s backside. This particular piece is flawless, and I have scraped it clean on both sides. If I do this right, it will make a piece of clothing that will be the pride of its owner. I picture my Asha, lovely and proud, in a new hood or perhaps a tunic made of this particular piece. I will cure it and dye it for her and make her something beautiful to wear. Perhaps that would make her smile again. I like the thought and get to work.
My hands smooth over the hide. It is thick right now, and inflexible. It has been de-furred and de-fleshed, but it needs more work before it can be worn. I take out my framing materials and lash the frame together, then stretch the hide over it until it is taut, like a drum. I head to the bathing pool and use the pump that spits out hot water, filling one of my pots before returning to the hut. Once back, I tug another small bone pot over to my side and bring out the frozen brain of the snowcat. It has turned to a block of ice while waiting to be used, and I dunk it in the hot water, waiting for it to thaw. When it does, I break it up in the water and work the mix with my hands until it forms a thick, gooey paste. Then I take a handful of the paste and begin to slowly rub it into one corner of the hide.
Working during the brutal season means that hides take twice as long to cure. In the warmer season, back when we had the cave, I would slather the entire hide with brains, let it sit out until the solution soaked into the leather, and then work on softening it. Because it is so cold, I cannot leave the brain-mash out on the hide or else it will freeze instead of soaking in. So I take small handfuls and rub over a small portion of the hide, moving my hands over it repeatedly to let the warmth of my body keep the solution from freezing. It means I must go that much slower, but that means my thoughts can turn inward, to Asha.
I know she is troubled. I know she hungers for another kit. I have seen the starved, desperate looks she gives the human females, especially No-rah, who has two kits. She will not do anything to harm them, of course, but I know it cannot be easy for her. Back before the humans arrived, it was just Maylak she envied. Now it seems like every female of childbearing age is pregnant or has a kit under her arm, and my poor mate suffers because of it. She was getting better before the humans arrived, I think. But once the first kit was born, she retreated. With every new kit born to a happy couple, she retreats a bit further.
And there is nothing I can do. I would give her anything that would make her smile. Anything that would rid her of her pain. But I can do nothing. She will not accept my love, so I gave up on trying.
I do not resent Asha. I try not to resent the humans, though sometimes it is hard. They are kind females, and they do not mean to harm her. It is just that their presence is a dagger in my mate’s heart…and I will not let anything harm her if I can help it. So I keep to myself and let others fawn over the humans.
Let them be pleased with their pale, strange mates and their flat faces. I have the most beautiful female in the tribe, whose vibrant blue skin and laughing eyes are the most spectacular thing a male could see.
And…I gave her up.
Disgusted and miserable at my own thoughts, I slap another handful of brain-mash onto the leather and rub it even harder, taking my frustrations out on it.
3
CLAIRE
I’m utterly focused on holidays and Christmas all day. Even though I volunteered to organize things, it still feels like a massive undertaking, and I want to make sure everyone enjoys the holiday. It’ll be spread out over several days, of course, because that means we can get a reprieve from the endless snow and boredom of the brutal season.
We’ll need food, because no holiday celebration is complete without a feast, but we’ll have to be mindful of tight supply stores.
We’ll have gifts, because every holiday involves gifts, and we’ll need to make sure everyone is included and feels like they can participate. We’ll have games and decorations so everyone can share in the fun.
And I can’t make things too complicated, because then people will just get confused. So many human customs don’t translate over to sa-khui. I still remember from our last holiday and the fact that the tribe couldn’t figure out what mistletoe was used for. Hunters ended up giving their mates piles of leaves, expecting kisses for gifts of ‘not poison.’ In fact, everyone I’ve chatted with so far has referred to our holiday as ‘No Poison Day’ instead of Unity Day, like had originally been suggested.
I sit by my fire and make notes on a tough, pale hide with a bit of charcoal. I want to make sure I get everything right, and I want to make sure I don’t forget a thing, so I need lists. I wish I had paper, but coal and hide must do. I first make a list of all the ideas from all the holidays I can think of and write them out. Easter egg hunts. Secret Santa. Valentine’s Day and cards for your sweetheart. Heck, New Year’s and kisses. Since No Poison Day is a mashup of everything, as long as we make things fun, it doesn’t matter if it’s a Halloween tradition or a Christmas one, because the sa-khui will be none the wiser and the humans just want to enjoy themselves.
Secret Santa is a good one to start with, I think. We can have everyone in the tribe pull names and be assigned a ‘secret’ person to give gifts to. Everyone will enjoy that, and the act of making gifts as well as giving them should be fun. I pull out a second hide and start writing out names. Someone will have to run things, and I can do it. It means I’ll be in charge of the rules and making sure everyone plays, but if I’m going to have things running smoothly, I need to take control of it myself and I need to make sure no one is forgotten. I still remember last year, when everyone was being showered with gifts and poor Josie only got one from Liz, and how guilty I’d felt that I hadn’t thought to give Josie a gift myself. I won’t let that happen again. Everyone’s going to share in the fun. So I write. I list each person’s house and then everyone living there. I’m going to have to chat with each person individually to make sure everyone’s clear on the rules. It might even take me a few days just to get everyone squared, so some of the other ‘holiday’ fun things will need to be easy. A feast day. A football day. A decorating day. A—
I’m so caught up in my plans for the holiday that I almost miss my baby’s first kick. My stomach flutters, and I think it’s gas, but when something smacks against my insides again, I gasp and sit upright, clutching my stomach.
“What is it? Are you well?” Ereven moves to my side, shoving away the skins I’ve been scribbling notes on. The look on his face is one of concern. “Shall I get the healer?”
“I think the baby kicked!” I beam a smile of wonder at him. “It’s incredible.” My stomach’s been rounding out steadily for the last month, but I haven’t felt more than the occasional flutter that made me wonder if it was a kick or just my imagination. What I just felt? That was most firmly a hello from my insides.
My mate’s face lights up, and he shoves his tangled hair behind his ears, leaning in. His hands reverently touch my stomach, moving over the layers of furs I’m wearing. “You are sure?”
“Positive. Maybe he’ll do it again.” We’ve been calling the bab
y a ‘he’ just to have a gender, but something in my gut tells me I’m not wrong. I think it’s a boy, and I hope he’s as handsome and kind as his daddy.
Ereven waits, crouching low next to me. He keeps his hands on my belly, and he’s so still, his gaze so intent, that I want to laugh partially out of joy and partially out of the absurdity of the moment. But then it happens again, and the sheer happiness and wonder on his face makes me want to weep. I’ve been doing a lot of that lately. “I felt it,” he whispers. “Do you think he is trying to talk to us?”
“I think he’s just restless,” I say softly, sniffing back my emotions.
A slow smile curves Ereven’s mouth. “He is not the only one.” He leans in and speaks to my stomach, as if the baby can hear. “Your father wants to go out and hunt to feed your mother, but the weather does not permit it.”
“Guess you’ll just have to stay in with me,” I tease. Like it’s a chore to be snuggled in our little house together, especially now that the roof has been fixed. I don’t mind the lazy days when the weather is bleak and awful and that means the hunters stay in. I like those, because it means we get to sleep late and cuddle, and it means I get to spend the entire day talking to Ereven about nothing at all and just enjoying his company. It’s certainly not the worst way to spend the time.
He smiles at me, and I feel warm and good inside. My life is so wonderful with Ereven. He’s so perfect for me in every way. His confidence in me makes me stronger, mentally. He gives me courage. I don’t hide away any longer—now I do my best to take part in the tribe and participate every day. I feel like I’m making up for lost time. Heck, sometimes I feel like a different, better person. It’s all thanks to him.
The baby kicks again, and Ereven sucks in a breath.
“You felt it?” I say with a laugh.
“I did.” His voice is soft with awe. “He is strong.”