The Reindeer People

by Megan Lindholm

  ‘Do you think so?’ asked the old man. ‘I don’t.’ He cackled short and sudden, then grinned at Heckram around the jerky in his mouth, ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if it was infected. Wolf claws can leave a nasty scar. The sooner we go to the healer and her son, the better.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The cavalcade of reindeer crunched their slow way down the hillside. Their toe bones clicked as their wide cloven hooves spread their weight out on the frozen crust of the snow. Their heads bobbed, their white tails flicked in an endless pattern too complex to be deciphered. Somewhere, at the head of the line, Jakke guided the herd’s lead animal down through the dark pine fells. They returned to their talvsit now, traveling by night under white stars in a black sky. Usually he was sensitive to the stark beauty of these nights, but tonight Heckram felt irritable, and deadened to such things.Jakke was an experienced herder, and he set an easy pace that would still have them back at the talvsit by morning. The vajor were heavy with their calves now, their sides bulging out like misshapen packsaddles. They minced awkwardly down the trail, their swollen bellies swaying gently from side to side as they felt for the best footing. Heckram guarded them jealously, seeing the doubling of the herd in their bulging sides.

  He had another reason to travel slowly. While Lasse skied ahead of him through the darkness, alongside their animals, Heckram came at the rear of the herd, leading a harke with Carp perched atop it. The old man had attached himself to Heckram; Heckram did not enjoy the role. Heckram made enough sense of his strangely accented words to know that a shaman was a najd, a wizard, one who crossed ceaselessly between the day world and that other world of which no man spoke lightly. Heckram knew enough of that world to know that Carp was not a man it would be wise to offend. Yet he did not want to know more of the man or be drawn into his confidences. Just being physically close to Carp made Heckram nervous. It was hard to ignore his endless bragging stories and impossible to avoid his nagging questions. But while Heckram patiently led the harke with Carp clinging and swaying on its packsaddle, he made no effort to befriend the old man or to ask any questions of him. He deliberately kept his eyes fixed on the rump of the animal in front of him, ignoring the shaman at his side. It didn’t discourage the najd.

  Carp nattered on, unashamed of riding a harke like a child while Heckram plodded beside him in the dark. His words rattled off Heckram’s bent shoulders like flung pebbles.’… and in that hunt, three men were able to bring down the bear that had been raiding our food stores. Enu fell to the bear, but that was as the spirits decreed and not a thing to mourn. Enu had offended Bear in the first place, by letting his woman eat of the heart of the first he-bear killed that season, or none of that bad luck would have found us. Then, after we had skinned the bear and taken the meat, I put the skull in the hollow of a burned birch stump, and within its jaws I placed the bear’s heart and Enu’s heart, joined together by a pine stake thrust through both of them. Thus was Bear satisfied, and we lost no more meat caches that year. And four moons later, Enu’s woman birthed a man-child, and on his skull and on the back of his shoulders was coarse black hair, just like Bear’s. Such a hunter as that boy grew to be! What furies could take him! Sometimes in the heat of a hunt, he would fling his weapon down and leap at the beast, his teeth flashing whiter than a wolf’s. He would grab the deer by its antlers and force its nose to the earth, and then …’

  Heckram plodded on, letting the old man’s voice blend with the clicking of the reindeer’s hooves and the crunch of snow under them. By morning they would reach the talvsit, he told himself. And then … Images of a sod hut, its hearth cold, of old Kuoljok’s empty eyes, of Ristin’s careful smile. The unfinished traveling chest crouched in his hut like a reproached dog. In the gray light of dawn, he’d have to face it.

  Each thought dragged at him, pulling his spirit down deeper into a cold, numb place. He pushed his mind on. After a few days of rest, the real spring migration would begin. All the herdfolk, all the animals, moving from the foothills and forest out onto the open tundra. Sweet spring grasses springing up as soon as the snow bared the ground, the vajor dropping their gangly calves, the gentle wind smelling of tundra flowers as it wandered in and out of the scattered tents. The wide places under the unsetting sun.

  It was no good. None of it would be any good, until this thing with Elsa was finished. It was like a task that would give him no peace until it was accomplished. The rest of his life would have to be put off until it was solved. He would take no joy in spring, would not find satisfaction in the new calves, would not relish the fresh greens, until he had made some sense of Elsa’s death. Like a terrible debt he must pay. He scratched at the cut down his face, distracting himself. It was healing well, despite Carp’s prediction.

  ‘… but that is the value of a shaman. We are the go-betweens, who stitch the worlds together like sinews joining hides into garments. People without a shaman are people alone and half blind. Their lives can make no sense, for they are only living half of it. Things happen to them, and they cannot understand why, or what they can do about it. Some lose their spirit guides, and sicken and die without knowing why. Children are born and grow and go blindly through their lives, sometimes offending the very spirits that would shelter and guide them. Their days are long and sad and filled with misfortune. Life becomes a burden to them, and they are vulnerable to any who wish to work harm upon them.’

  Heckram found himself nodding to the najd’s words. Long, sad days, filled with misfortune.

  ‘Don’t you want to ask what I can do for such a one?’ Carp’s words hung black in the night. Heckram turned to him slowly.

  The old man’s pale eyes showed almost white in the night, gripping him with their strangeness. He stared into them, unable to reply. Carp answered his own question.

  ‘Such a one can be put on a pathway, and ushered into a journey back to his spirit beast. The journey is dangerous and only the strong return. No one can go with a man on that journey; he must undertake it alone. Along the way, he may meet spirits. If he has wisdom, when he meets his spirit guide he will know him, and he will know how to bind his spirit guide to himself. Then, when the man returns from his journey, his spirit guide comes back with him. If he is very wise, he listens to his spirit beast and accepts his aid. Wisest of all is the one who seeks the guidance of a shaman to find what his spirit beast desires, and what he must do to restore balance to his life.’

  Heckram realized with a start that he was standing still, his feet numb in the snow as he stared into Carp’s clouded eyes. He no longer heard the click and crunch of the moving herd. He was alone in the blackness of night with the peculiar old man crouched on the back of the harke like some predator ready to sink its claws. A wind slipped past them and wandered off through the trees. An unworldly silence followed it, quenching all familiar night sounds. No branch sighed in the wind, no twigs rustled to a lemming’s passage. The stillness was complete.

  ‘Look!’ The shaman’s shrill whisper cracked the silence. ‘Look who follows!’

  Heckram turned wide eyes back the way they had come. There was nothing there, only the trail wending off into darkness. He held his breath, listening, as his eyes scanned for any shift of shadow. There was none.

  ‘Nothing follows us, old man,’ he rumbled softly.

  ‘Not us!’ hissed Carp, a note of laughter in his whisper. ‘Not us. You!’

  Unwillingly Heckram looked back once more. He stiffened. His grip tightened on the harke’s lead rope. Something large and shaggy slipped across the trail behind them and merged with the trees on the other side. He did not breathe as he eased the reindeer into movement. The harke’s eyes shone round and black, his nostrils flaring as he snorted out his fear. When Heckram tried to breathe, the air jammed in his throat and he wheezed. He stumbled off the hard crust of the trail and plunged knee-deep into softer snow. Frantically he dragged himself up and tried to increase his pace. On the harke’s back, Carp rocked back and forth in silent paroxysms
of laughter. Heckram longed to strike him and knew he did not dare. Only a fool offended a najd. His movement made the panicky animal stagger. It jerked against the halter and tried to rear despite the shaman’s weight on its back. Heckram dragged it on, taking long swift strides.

  A part of him knew what followed. Another part of him refused the possibility of such a thing. Glancing back did no good. The treacherous moonlight showed a flash of fang, a glint of silver guard hairs, a gleam of lambent eyes, but never betrayed the follower entire.

  Sweat broke out over his whole body, trickling down his back and ribs. ‘Grip to the pack frame,’ he croaked to Carp. ‘Hold tight so that if we have to run, you won’t be thrown.’

  ‘There’s no outrunning him!’ Carp cackled, spraying spittle. The old man rocked in the packsaddle.

  ‘Maybe not,’ Heckram muttered. ‘But we’ll try. I’m not going to try to stand and face that.’

  ‘Run, then!’ cackled the old man. ‘I’m sure he won’t mind! The faster you run, the sooner we’ll get there.’

  Heckram burst suddenly into motion. The reindeer beside him sprang forward gladly, stretching and straining to put distance between itself and that which followed. The najd clung to the lurching packsaddle. Heckram gave the harke the best part of the trail, so that at every fifth or ninth step he plunged through the snow crust and had to wallow up again. Twice he dared to look back, and each time found his pursuer no farther behind. The whisk of grayish shape, the flash of glowing eye, haunted him.

  He lifted his eyes to glance down the trail before him, hoping to see the other reindeer and herders. Wolves did not attack groups of men and animals. In numbers there would be safety. His feet pounded on. Any moment he expected to see the gray shape slip past him, to head the reindeer off and turn them back into the pack that certainly followed. He ran until the reindeer was staggering and a lancing pain stabbed up through his ribs. Sweat stung his eyes, the najd stoically bounced on the packsaddle, the reindeer made a bad step, and, as the snow gave way beneath its hooves, it went to its knees.

  Heckram turned, pulling his knife, to face their pursuer. He caught a glimpse of something blending suddenly into the gray shadows and trunks of the surrounding forest. It should have been pressing its advantage, rushing forward to harry the exhausted man and animal. Nothing. The blowing reindeer shuddered its way back onto the path and stood with its head drooping. Terror had wearied it as much as exertion; the old shaman was no heavier than its normal workload. The harke had run as only wolves make a reindeer run.

  ‘It was real!’ Heckram turned defiant eyes to the old man.

  Carp no longer smiled. ‘Real. That’s what I’ve been telling you. But you did not seem to be listening.’ He leaned so close that Heckram saw the tiny bubbles in the spittle on his lips. ‘You insult him,’ the old man whispered harshly. ‘Was not the bargain made last night, and sealed with blood? Trust him. Give over your vengeance to him, and let your own mind be emptied, ready for what he will ask of you.’ Slowly Carp straightened on the reindeer. ‘Let us go now.’ Despite the jostling ride, Carp sat calmly. His fogged eyes looked deep into Heckram’s eyes, but barred all entry to themselves. Heckram turned aside from him, shaking his head wearily, baffled and somehow angry with him.

  He looked back again. Nothing. Just white snow. He realized abruptly that dawn was well begun. Looking about himself again, he recognized the trees and the lay of the hills. The village was not far now.

  As if to prove him correct, he heard a glad call from down the trail and turned to find Ristin hastening toward them. Welcoming words spilled from her.

  ‘I was worried when you did not come in with the rest. Lasse said you were right behind them, but did not know why you were coming so slowly. He offered to look for you, but he was nearly asleep on his feet, so I told him not to bother.’ Her words were nearly apologetic, but her eyes roamed over her son in obvious relief. Heckram’s glance was equally piercing. Was the dawn light that harsh, or had she aged in the days he had been gone? There was strain in the lines about her eyes and mouth, but also relief and gladness as she looked on him. Then, as she noticed the man with him, she became more formal.

  ‘You must be Carp, of whom Lasse spoke. Welcome to the talvsit of Capiam’s herdfolk.’ She glanced quickly at Heckram. ‘When Lasse said you were bringing a guest, I took it upon myself to kindle a fire on your hearth and prepare food for you both.’

  ‘It will never be said that Capiam’s herdfolk were inhospitable to a stranger,’ Heckram said to Carp, but he wondered for whom she had really kindled the fire. Had she known how much he had dreaded coming home to a hut with a cold arran and the musty smell of emptiness throughout?

  He smiled his thanks at his mother, and she met his eyes with warmth and sympathy. Then she frowned. ‘What have you done to your cheek?’ she asked, reaching to touch his face.

  ‘Scratched it on a branch. It looks much worse than it is.’ He pulled away from her touch.

  ‘Let’s hope so. Still, I think you should see the healer as soon as you can.’

  Heckram frowned. ‘Can’t you make me a poultice for it, Ristin? We used to manage without a healer.’

  Ristin moved her head, studying the slash. ‘Yes, we managed well enough, if you don’t count the people scarred and dead that didn’t have to be. If that gash were on your arm, I might try to treat it myself. But not that close to your eye. It’s for a trained healer, and as soon as possible. Eat first, and get a bit of sleep, but then go to her. An infection like that is nothing to trifle with.’

  Heckram reached to pat at his face. It was swollen stiff, and throbbing pain echoed through it. He glanced with narrowed eyes at Carp, but the old man said nothing.

  He made no move to dismount from the harke either. With a sigh, Heckram tugged at the weary beast’s halter. They started down the path to the talvsit. His mother gossiped as they went. Heckram listened numbly, letting the words slide by him, responding to her questions by rote as his tired brain chewed at other mysteries. He thanked her for unloading his gear and putting it in his hut. Yes, he knew they’d have to break a few more harke to pack this year; no, he hadn’t decided which ones yet. No, he hadn’t had any problems with the reindeer on the grazing grounds; yes, it might very well be an early spring. He nodded as he heard that two of Bror’s vajor had already calved. It was early, but calves born now would keep up with the herd better on the migration. He was rather hoping his own vajor would calve soon. It never hurt a calf to have a few days to find its legs before having to follow the herd.

  Then Ristin was saying that Capiam had decided they would leave ten days from now. Everyone was in the usual spring uproar, putting winter equipment up on the racks, taking down summer gear, mending the worn or making new harness.

  Heckram nodded to her endless commentary as they walked through the talvsit. He noted with detached humor that many folk were turning to stare at his companion. Carp’s outlandish garments marked him a foreigner, and Heckram noted how quickly the eyes of the villagers turned aside and down when they met his gray-filmed gaze. Carp was enjoying his grand entrance. He sat up straight on the harke and nodded down on the herdfolk they passed. His mouth hung slightly agape with pleasure. Heckram was torn between being annoyed at Carp and enjoying the stir he caused. Pirtsi watched them with gaping mouth; then the youth whirled and ran up the path. Well, the herdlord would soon know there was a stranger in the village, staying at Heckram’s hut. He wondered if he would send Joboam to investigate, or come himself. The old herdlord would have come himself to welcome any stranger, no matter how humble, and to ask news of the far places. That had been in better times, though. Heckram was willing to wager that Capiam would send Joboam.

  ‘Heckram?’

  He paused at the questioning note in Ristin’s voice, and, as he halted, he realized that he had unthinkingly been making for her hut. His own was off to the left, past Stina’s. His tragedy, forgotten for a moment, weighed on his heart again.

 
‘Let me take the harke for you,’ Ristin said. ‘You must be tired. I’ll peg him out near good feed. You take care of your guest and settle down for some rest. I’ll come by later this afternoon.’

  Heckram felt the sudden weight of Carp’s hand on his shoulder. The old man leaned on him as he clambered heavily down. He smiled at Ristin, dismissing her with a benign wave. ‘Don’t come back this afternoon,’ he instructed her grandly. ‘Heckram will be taking me to the healer Tillu.’

  Ristin’s back stiffened at Carp’s condescending tone. Heckram didn’t blame her. But she turned graciously, seeming to remember that the old man was a stranger to their talvsit. She would tolerate his foreign rudeness and attribute it to ignorance. She looked straight into Heckram’s eyes as she spoke her next words. ‘The meat on your rack is thawing. Best use it up soon, perhaps to pay Tillu. Though she may have no need of meat.’ She paused for half a breath, touched her son’s hand. ‘Joboam may be at Tillu’s. He has been finding out for Capiam what the healer will need for the journey. So, if you do go that way …’ She let the sentence dangle, but her meaning was clear. Avoid trouble. She tugged at the weary harke’s bridle.

  Heckram felt his mind whirl and questions filled him. ‘Joboam is bringing the healer on the migration with us?’ he muttered bewilderedly, but Ristin was out of earshot. Carp grinned his gap-toothed smile and tugged at Heckram’s sleeve.

  ‘First, eat. Carp is very hungry. Then, sleep, and then we will go find Tillu the healer. Yes, and Kerlew, my apprentice. You are surprised that Tillu is going with the herdfolk? Before the day is over, others will be much more surprised than that. Much, much more surprised!’ Carp laughed sprayingly and dragged him toward his own hut.

  The hot throbbing of his face woke him. Dim afternoon light seeped in through the smoke hole of the hut. Carp snored noisily on the hides Ristin had placed by the hearth. She had prepared all for them. Soup had been simmering in a pot near the hearth stones, dry firewood piled neatly by the door, the sleeping hides aired and spread smooth. He wondered briefly how it would have been to have come home with Elsa. For a moment he imagined how he might have unloaded the harke as she gathered dry wood and rekindled the fire on their hearth. He stared at the unfinished chest in the corner and then pulled his eyes away from it. Why couldn’t he just say to himself, ‘That’s done,’ and let it go? Let it all go and get on with his own life. He tried to roll over and find sleep again, but the press of his swollen cheek against the skins was a throbbing agony. He touched the pulsing swelling with careful fingertips. Last night, he had thought he was healing well. Today, this ugly festering demanded attention.