CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Tron crawled toward the bushes. They had left him for dead. That much he knew, for he had heard them talking, but he did not remember the rest. He had let them believe it, had lain perfectly still, hardly breathing. To feign death was not hard. He had done it often when he hunted, so the animals would not know he was near.
Almost, he had been dead. For a long time, he had been unable to move at all. His head still hurt badly. He touched it cautiously, and his fingers came away sticky with blood. It was dark blood, thick and congealed, and there was a lot of it - so he was wounded too. But how had the wound come to him? And how had he come here, to the place where they buried the dead?
He frowned, trying to remember. He had followed Zena and Nevilar to the Ekali and climbed the tree to watch them, but of what had happened after that, he had no memory at all. The events of the past months, though, the hateful lessons, the forbidding of Akat, the humiliating session with the council, flashed through his mind with perfect clarity. He had wanted to leave then, but Menta had refused.
Rage coursed through him. Now, he would leave, and no one would stop him. He never wanted to see any of them, ever again. But before he could travel, he must regain some strength, get food and water, and after that, some tools and furs for the trip. Perhaps he could steal them while the others slept.
Gingerly, he pulled himself to his feet. Dizziness overcame him and he sat abruptly. He would have to get help. But how?
Nevilar. He would make Nevilar bring him what he needed. She would do it if he threatened her. He crawled toward the river, knowing she came there every afternoon to get water for her mother, and concealed himself in the thick bushes.
When Nevilar came down the path and knelt to fill her jugs, he was waiting. She was pale, he saw. He would make her paler.
He called her name. She looked confused, and wary. He called again. This time she rose and came toward the sound. Just before she reached him, Tron dragged himself to his feet. She stared at him and went completely white. Her mouth opened wide to scream. Tron clapped his hand over her lips, so the sound could not emerge. The effort cost him dearly. He almost fell over, but managed to prop himself on her shoulder.
"Do not scream!" he ordered. "Do not scream and I will let you go."
She nodded, her eyes wide with terror, and he released her. He wanted desperately to sink to the ground again, but he knew he would be far more menacing if he stood over her instead.
"You are dead," she whispered. "You are dead."
"I am powerful," he hissed, "too powerful to die."
Whimpering in fear, she shrank away from him.
She believed him, believed he had come back from the dead! Despite his weakness, Tron wanted to laugh. He stopped himself. It was more important to make her do what he wanted. To manage that, he would have to frighten her even more. Arranging his face into a terrifying grimace, he glowered at her fiercely.
"Do not speak of this, that you have seen me. If you speak, you will die.” Now her eyes were so wide with terror he thought they might pop out of her face. A snort of laughter escaped. He disguised it as a growl.
"Bring me food and water, to the place where we meet," he commanded. "Tonight, when the sun goes."
Nevilar's head shook back and forth in frantic denial. He grabbed her face with one hand and put his face close to hers.
"Do this or you will die!"
She nodded dumbly. Slowly, Tron turned away, using every ounce of his strength to stay on his feet.
Nevilar turned and ran back to the river, her face rigid with shock. Tron had come back from the dead. He had come back. Zena had killed him, but he had come back. The image of his grisly face, his skull covered with blood, blood raining down his cheeks, into his fur, was forever stamped on her mind.
Weeping, she sank to the ground. He had said he would kill her if she spoke of seeing him, if she did not bring him what he wanted, but she could not go there, see him again, see the blood. But if she did not, he would kill her. He could kill her easily. If he was powerful enough to come back from the dead, he could kill her wherever she was, anywhere.
Nevilar's hands went to her face in horror, came away again covered in blood. She squealed, a small animal sound of pure panic. His blood, the blood of someone dead, was on her face.
Her mother's footsteps sounded on the path behind her. Quickly, Nevilar washed her face in the river, started to fill one of the jugs. Her hands were shaking, and the water spilled out as fast as it went in.
"You take so long," her mother scolded.
"I had to fix the strap of the jug," Nevilar lied.
"Look! You spill the water as fast as you collect it," her mother said in disgust. "What is the matter with you that you cannot even get water?" Still grumbling, she took the other jug and filled it herself, then trudged back along the path.
For once, Nevilar was unaffected by her mother's harsh words. She crouched where she was, bent double with the horror of her situation. She had to do as Tron said, or he would kill her. But the others always watched her now, especially Menta. How could she find food, sneak away with it?
She made her way slowly back to the clearing, carrying the jug she had filled. Perhaps if she hid it, told her mother she had dropped it in the river...
With a quick gesture, she shoved the water jug into a clump of bushes. Later, when no one was looking, she hid strips of cooked meat and some fruit she had gathered in the same place. But how was she to get it to Tron?
She was lucky. The whole group set off just before sunset to find honey. The bees had a big nest in the field nearby, and if they were approached properly, they were willing to share it. No one was surprised when Nevilar elected to stay behind. She was afraid of bees, and they seemed to sense her fear. They seldom stung anyone else, but they almost always stung her.
As soon as the others had disappeared, Nevilar sped to her small enclosure. Tron was stretched out on the hard ground, and he did not move as she approached.
Perhaps he had died again. Nevilar went closer. Still, he did not move. Relief washed over her, made her dizzy for a moment. He must be dead again, or he would have spoken.
Hastily, she placed the food and water beside him, for she could not think what else to do with it, and crept away. Just as she reached the edge of the glen, a hand grabbed her ankle. She fell headlong into the bushes.
She screamed, a thin shrill scream that stopped abruptly as fear paralyzed her throat. Tron was dragging her backward; he was going to kill her, choke her, as he had choked Conar.
Tron thrust his face close to hers. Blood and grime blackened his heavy features, made them into a terrifying mask. The gritty mixture coated his cheeks, his nose, even the inside of his mouth as he opened it to speak. He reeked of blood, of waste and urine.
"I need more food, tomorrow," he growled. "Furs and flints, too. And much meat."
Bile rose in Nevilar's mouth. She choked, unable to speak. Instead, she nodded frantically, so he would let her go. Tron twitched her ankle hard, then fell back against the ground.
Nevilar ran. Vomit came from her lips, dribbled down her chest. She would not come again, she could not!
All that night, she was tormented by dreams of Tron finding her, putting his hands around her neck, hitting her with rocks until she died. By morning, she was so terrified she knew she had to do as he said. Feigning sickness this time, she stayed in the shelter until the others were busy with their chores. Then she thrust some flints and as much meat as she could find, as well as her extra fur and one that belonged to her brother, into her bag. Just before sunset, she went into the woods on the pretext of finding herbs for her stomach, and made her way to the glen. This time, she did not go into it, but left the bag in the bushes nearby and ran back to the clearing as fast as her shaking legs would allow.
The next day, indecision tormented her almost as badly as the dreams of the night before. Tron had not told her to come again, but that was because she had not
gone near him. Probably he was waiting for her, and if she did not go, he might kill her even if he had not spoken.
Furtively, she stuffed some meat in an old basket and hid it under her bedding. But when she rose later, saying she must find more herbs, Menta placed a restraining hand on her arm and looked closely into her face.
"You are not well, Nevilar," she said gently.
Nevilar nodded, her eyes on the ground.
Menta looked at her for a long moment, then raised Nevilar's chin so she could look into her eyes.
"You are frightened, Nevilar. For two days now you have been frightened. I would like to know what has frightened you."
"Nothing has frightened me," Nevilar muttered, but she could not keep the panic from her eyes. Tron would surely kill her if she spoke, but Menta could see everything. She would not be able to fool the wise woman much longer.
"That is not true," Menta answered calmly. She did not speak further, but waited, and the posture of her waiting spoke of infinite patience. She would wait all day beside Nevilar to learn the truth, if that was necessary.
Nevilar's mouth twisted painfully. Part of her wanted to speak Tron's name, but the other part was terrified to utter it, lest he kill her, right here, as she spoke.
Lune came up beside Menta. She regarded Nevilar gravely, but she, too, kept silent. The pressure of their combined gaze was too much for Nevilar. Her eyes darted frantically from one face to the other, and then her lips began to move.
"Tron," she gasped out. "Tron frightens me." She looked over her shoulder, as if expecting him to leap from the bushes.
Lune's eyes narrowed. "Tron frightens you still, though he is dead?"
"He is not dead. He has come back from the dead." Now that the words had started, Nevilar could not get them out fast enough. She babbled on and on in a steady stream.
"He is not dead; I have seen him. He said he would kill me if I spoke, and he can kill even when he is not here, for he is too powerful to die. He can kill whenever he wants, and I cannot stop him. He has made me bring him food and water, and I am afraid... Tron will kill me... He has come back, back from the dead!"
Menta did not wait to hear more. "Watch her," she said to Bly and Bakan, who were standing nearby. "Keep her close to you, in the shelter."
She thrust Nevilar into Bly's arms and ran toward the place where they buried the dead. That Tron had come back from the dead was impossible. But had he truly been dead? Had any of them looked at him closely, to remember and cherish, as they did with those they had loved?
Lune was already there when she arrived, staring grimly at the empty space where they had left Tron's body.
"He was not dead," she said dully. "It is my fault. I did not go close to him, or I would have known. I am the one who examines those who have died, tries to understand the reasons. But I did not want to see his face, after what he did to Zena, to our tribe."
"None of us wished to," Menta replied. "All were avoiding the task of washing him, preparing him for burial. More than the two days had passed."
The transition from life to death took time, they knew, so they did not bury the newly dead for two days, but left the person in peace to commune with the Mother and adjust to the change. Usually, though, someone stayed nearby to make sure the dead one was safe and comfortable. No one had visited Tron.
Lune and Menta looked at each other, hearing each other's thoughts without speaking. The sadness of being alone as Tron had been alone, in life as well as in the death that had not after all been death, was terrible. But so was the fear, the pain he had brought to them, could bring again. To believe he was dead had been comforting. Now, Tron's violence once again threatened the tribe. Worse, all that the vision had shown could still occur.
"Zena," Lune whispered suddenly, and Menta thought she had never heard such anguish in a voice. "We must find her, before Tron does."
"Let us look for Tron first," Menta urged. "He could not have gone far."
Lune nodded. They sped back to the clearing to question Nevilar and organize a group to search.
"Speak, Nevilar. Tell us where Tron rests. He is not at the place of the dead."
"In my place of mating," Nevilar whispered.
"Take us there," Lune told her in the same uncompromising tone. Menta signaled to Krost and Tragar and some of the others to come as well, to continue the search if necessary.
"Hurry. We must hurry," Lune prodded.
Reluctantly, Nevilar began to run, but when they arrived at her glen, it was empty. The remains of the food Tron had eaten, his sour smell and patches of blood were there, but there was no sign of him, even when they scoured the bushes thoroughly.
"The tracks tell me he left many hours ago," Krost told Menta, following signs that were almost invisible to those not trained in tracking. "We can try to find him, but it will not be easy, after the rains we have had."
He was right. Just before the darkness was complete, he and those who had searched with him returned without Tron.
"We will go again tomorrow," Krost assured Lune, glancing at her agonized face. "We could not find him. His tracks disappear, and we could not find them again. He travels faster than I had expected of one so wounded."
Menta shook her head. "We must look for Zena instead," she told him. "I have spoken with Lune, with Bakan and the others. Now it is most important to find Zena. Conar has followed her, but he alone cannot protect her from Tron if Tron wishes revenge. She must be warned, but she must also be told that she has not killed. This is important for her to know."
"How shall we find her?" It was Katli speaking, and her gruff voice was dubious. She, better than most, knew how vast was the land around them.
"All of us must think hard, of anything Zena has said that might tell us. We must call on the Mother, too, in this time of need, to help us, give us the feeling of where she might be."
A small voice interrupted. "She might go to the mountains, I think. Once, I heard her speak to Conar of her dream."
The voice stopped abruptly as Lilan, Conar's small sister, put a hand over her mouth in consternation. She had followed Zena and Conar that day, hoping they would include her, but they had gone to Zena's special place instead. Soon after, Lilan had left, ashamed to be listening when they did not know she was near.
"I did not mean to follow," she said, her lips trembling. "It was just that I wanted so badly to have them take me to see the animals, so I could draw them as Conar does."
She looked hesitantly at the expectant faces. Lune rose and came to sit beside her.
"Tell us of this dream, Lilan," she said gently. "It is not good to follow without telling others; that is true. But still it is good that you heard of Zena's dream, for you might truly help us to find her."
"It was in the mountains, over there," Lilan responded, pointing to the west. "She said there were caves in the hills, and long tunnels, and that something waited for her there."
Lune frowned. This dream sounded strangely like Menta's vision. Could Lilan have mixed them up? But it also sounded like something Zena would say.
"It is good that you have told us this," she assured Lilan, so she would not be afraid to tell them more.
Menta, too, was surprised to hear of the dream that was so like her vision. Zena had not spoken of it. Perhaps she had been keeping it to herself until she understood it better. Zena always liked to think hard before she spoke. That was good, a sign of wisdom. Still, it was also good that Lilan had heard. Her knowledge might save them much time and worry. Unless, of course, Tron also knew of the dream.
"Did she tell others, do you think?"
Lilan shook her head. "I do not think so," she said slowly, her small face grave with the responsibility of trying to remember. "I think she said it was their secret."
Her lips trembled again. The burden of hearing another's secrets had weighed on her, and she felt better now that she had spoken. Still, it was hard to admit she had listened.
"The Mother Herself put you t
here, I think," Menta told her. "As Lune says, it is not good to listen without others knowing, and you must be careful not to do it again. But in this case, I believe the Mother was helping all of us through you. You should be proud to be so chosen."
Lilan's face lit up with the unexpected honor. "I will be very careful," she promised.
Menta nodded, certain this was true. Lilan was a lovely child, pure and unspoiled. Her drawings were remarkable for one so young.
"Let me hear what each thinks," Menta told the others. "It is very possible that Zena has gone to the mountains. I myself feel that it is so."
"I, too," Lune said, satisfied now that Lilan spoke the truth. The others nodded, agreeing. To go to a place of which she had dreamed, where something waited for her, sounded like Zena.
"Then we will go find her," Menta said simply. "Tomorrow, as soon as the light comes. Tonight, we will get ready."
"That is good," Bakan agreed. "It is time anyway to follow the herds, procure our meat for the winter before the snows are too deep. We can hunt as we travel."
"What of Tron?" Bly's voice was sad as she looked at her daughter, Pila. While Tron was dead, she had ceased to worry. Now, she was frightened again.
"Tron's fate is in the Mother's hands now," Menta replied. "But I do not believe he will linger here. He wishes to be far away from this place. And somehow, I do not think he looks for Zena, either. I have felt Zena struggling, but now I believe she is safe."
"Will we find enough animals for our winter food if we go west?" Katli still was not certain about the new plan. It seemed to her that it would be best to find Tron, make certain he did not harm anyone again. She had admired Zena for killing him. Sometimes, it was necessary to kill for the benefit of all. Still, she trusted Menta's judgment and would do whatever the tribe decided.
"I have seen many animals turn west along the river into the big valley," Tragar volunteered. "Bison are there, and reindeer, though I do not know if there are as many as in the plains to the north."
CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) Page 40