He had whispered the words softly, their heads close together as he supported Rolke and Tillu spooned willow bark tea between his shiny lips.
'Where is Capiam?' Tillu had asked.
'There, at Kari's fire, as are most of the herdfolk. Those who do not sit about the fire to watch find an excuse to walk past and stare. Capiam sits across the fire from Carp, and watches him silently. I believe it is what Carp told him he must do, if Carp is to present his requests to the spirit world.'
'Spirit world!' Tillu had spat out the words and Heckram had looked at her with surprise. Her anger had risen as she met his stare. 'The 'spirit world' to Carp is an excuse to take what he wants. He will drum and chant and demand the best food and drink and soft hides to sleep on. Then, if Ketla and Rolke live, he will say it was his doing, and demand gifts of thanks. And if they die, he will say it was Capiam's fault, that he was not generous enough to satisfy the spirits. He lives like a great black tick fat with blood.' Her voice had dropped as she added, 'And that is what he will teach my son.'
Heckram had reached across Rolke, to grip her shoulder for an instant. She had felt her eyes drawn to his. His voice was grave as he asked, 'And you have no belief in the spirits at all? I know you have no faith in Carp. But what of your son? You do not think that Kerlew can be a true najd, one who honestly helps the herdfolk to honor the spirits of the earth?'
She answered unwillingly. 'Kerlew believes what Carp tells him. He honestly thinks his chantings and dreams can change the world he lives in.' She shut her eyes tightly for an instant. 'Carp could not ask for a better tool. Take a boy who has never been accepted, and tell him it is because he is special, that he is destined to be a shaman, that magical powers will be his. ...' Her voice trailed off in helplessness. 'What can I offer him that is better than that? I tell him that he must work harder, try harder. And no matter how he works, he will always be different. There will always be those who taunt him, shame him.'
'Not if he were najd,' Heckram had said softly. 'None would dare!'
'But that isn't what I want for him!' Tillu had insisted.
'But it may be what Kerlew wants for himself,' Heckram had reminded her.
That must have been when he decided to go to Kari's fire himself, to watch the boy.
Not that it could have done much good, Tillu told herself. She straightened slowly, feeling her vision darken and then clear. Never had she felt so drained by one night's vigil.
Ketla was breathing well. When Tillu offered her water, she opened her eyes briefly and even murmured thanks. Tillu covered her again. With time and rest, Ketla would recover. Her knees creaked as she rose again. Rolke was next. She stooped over him, feeling the grim fear rise in her. But his chest still rose and fell in brief breaths. She lifted him easily from his nest of blankets and held the dipper of willow-bark tea against his lips. A little trickled into his mouth. He swallowed once, twice, and then the rest trickled out the corner of his mouth. Tillu sighed and eased him into his bedding. She damped her hands in cool water and sprinkled it over his face and chest. His skin was hot and dry, and the lumps inside his elbow joints were now painfully obvious. She covered him again.
Suddenly the tent stifled her, the smells of her own herbs and roots rose to choke her.
She stumbled to the door and pushed her way out into the cool morning air. Already the rest of the camp was wakeful. A considerate quiet was kept outside the herdlord's tent, but elsewhere folk were taking down their tents and loading up their harkar. The thought of travel made her feel queasy. She sank onto the thick hides on the doorstep and breathed in the cool morning air. There was a full bucket of cold water outside the tent door. Tillu plunged her hands and face into it, feeling the icy contact as a painful pleasure. She drank from her cupped hands, washing away the clotted taste of the night. She sleeked her hair back and lifted wakeful eyes.
The Cataclysm leaped up before her. She gasped in the impact of its presence. No description could have prepared her for it. After the long trek across the tundra, the upthrust of the Cataclysm was startling. The clear light of morning brought it closer to the cluster of tents and animals. Her eyes traced the ragged edges of rock, schist, and soil. Layer upon layer of the earth's skin had crashed together in mammoth confrontation, had pushed each other into vertical ramparts of stone. Bluish white slabs of ice and snow were trapped in pockets of the Cataclysm, contrasting with the stark gray and black of rock and the verdant greens of plant life. She guessed that the moving dots on the high ice fields were the wild herd.
'By tonight, we'll camp in the shadow of the Cataclysm.'
There was smug satisfaction in Joboam's voice. Tillu turned to him, trying not to show her uneasiness. This jovial greeting from the man Heckram had knocked down last night? She held her body in alertness, ready to leap away in an instant.
He looked down on her and smiled. It was not the easy smile of friendship, but the smile of one who knows he has another at his mercy. The smile made Tillu feel both ill and angry. She made no reply to his comment, but only looked up at him warily.
He stepped to the door of the tent and thrust his head inside. 'Capiam! Shall I bring your rajd up for you?'
'Shush!' Tillu hissed angrily, but Capiam was already stirring. In a moment the herdlord was swaying in the entrance of the tent. One hand gripped the door-flap; the other rubbed wearily at his blood-streaked eyes. Tillu saw the fever's track in his shiny lips and grayish skin. His years sagged upon his body like ill-fitting clothing. He reeked of sweat and sickness. And Joboam, flushed with life and health, smiled down upon him and said, 'All the herdfolk are ready to leave, Herdlord. I thought that with Ketla and Rolke sick, you might need help to take down your tent and load it.'
Capiam stared past him, fixing his eyes on the Cataclysm. After a long moment, he nodded jerkily. 'Yes ...' His voice was thick. 'Take it down and load it up. I will take Ketla and Rolke to the coolness of the Cataclysm. We will all feel better in the cool winds off the ice-packs.' He turned bleary eyes on Tillu. 'All the herdfolks come together at the Cataclysm. Did you know that?'
Tillu shook her head numbly. Joboam's voice was gay as he picked up the tale. 'Yes, Healer. They all come, following their herds. At the Cataclysm, there will be dancing, and many weddings to celebrate. How Ketla does love to dance for a joining! And perhaps this year there will be a girl to catch Rolke's young heart. One with long black braids and a merry hat atop them. Calves will have their ears notched, sarva will be nipped into harkar, and boys and girls from all the herds will smile at one another. It is a good time, Tillu. You will enjoy it.' His smile was cold.
'Rolke needs rest.' She focused her words on Capiam. 'And Ketla, too. Let me stay here with them, bring them later.'
Capiam turned from her plea, to stagger back into his tent. Tears of frustration stung Tillu's eyes. He would kill his son. When she felt fingers on her arm, she whirled angrily, ready to claw Joboam's face. But he jerked himself back from her touch and stood grinning down on her.
'I wanted to ask you if you had heard what the najd said? Surely you should be interested in the doings of the najd and his boy?'
'His ... boy.' The words hit her like a blow. She stepped away from the man who hurled them. 'Leave me alone.'
'But, Healer, wait! Just let me tell what the spirits told the najd last night. They were not pleased with Capiam's gift. The harke was too old, the meat tough. But still Carp chanted and drummed. Then the spirits told that in the shadow of the Cataclysm, Ketla and Rolke will be freed from their sickness. Why else would Capiam be so anxious to press on?'
She turned her eyes from him in disgust, sickened by Carp's remorseless greed, shamed that her son was connected with it. 'I suppose he told Capiam that he must make a larger, better offering to the spirits tonight?'
'Of course. The spirits ask Capiam to give his best. Tonight Carp will come to Capiam's tent, to drum and chant and drive away whatever evil sucks the life from his wife and son.'
'Where is the
najd?' Tillu kept her voice level, but fury seeped into it.
'At Kari's tent, of course. Though that will not be so for long. The spirits would like the najd to have a tent of his own, a large one, where he can chant and drum and make sweet smells for them away from the eyes of ordinary men.'
Tillu did not wait to hear more. She spun away from him, hastening through the disappearing village. She wished she knew where Kari had pitched her tent last night.
She hurried on, head pounding and eyes stinging in the bright morning light. All around her, folk were dismantling tents and loading their harkar. Children finished hasty breakfasts while adults folded tent hides and strapped loads on patient harkar.
Bror stopped Tillu to show her an infected blister on his thumb. She lanced it hastily and recommended he wash more often. The old man's grumblings and his wife's triumphant cackle followed her.
But Kari was not to be found, nor Carp nor Kerlew. Angry and frustrated, Tillu hurried back to Capiam's tent. She'd see Ketla and Rolke were handled gently, if nothing else.
But when she reached the place where Capiam's tent had stood, she found his rajd loaded. A bleary-eyed Capiam knelt by a drag fashioned of tent-poles and hides. He was talking softly with Ketla as he held her hand. A few paces away a very still Rolke rested on a similar drag. A short distance away, Kari stood, wearing a face both sullen and worried. Carp was already astride her lead harke, Kerlew at his knee. No time to have words with him now. Tillu gave her son a sharp look. His eyes were blank, almost dazed, and his face pale. Up half the night, drumming and chanting when he should be sleeping. She hoped he was not sick. Heckram stood some distance behind them, watching the goings-on quietly. And standing over Capiam, as if supervising him, was Joboam. His affable manner irritated Tillu.
Tillu saw Ketla nod carefully. Capiam stood with a sigh and, glancing around, suddenly gestured to Tillu. 'There you are, Healer. You always seem to be gone when I need you. Do you think you can lead the harke that draws Ketla? She says she would not mind. I myself will lead Rolke's. And Kari,' he lifted his voice, commanding, not asking, 'will lead my rajd.'
Kari's eyes blazed. Evidently she had already had words with her father. But she led her own two harkar forward, and took up the rope of her father's lead harke to fasten it to the harness of her second harke. But her father's gray-muzzled harke objected.
Accustomed to leading, he refused to be tied behind another harke. He shook his head vigorously, brandishing his short velvet-covered stubs. The more insistent Kari became, the more the old animal objected, resisting so vigorously that her harke danced away from him, unwilling to have his rump so near the horns of the incensed lead harke.
Stifled laughter greeted her efforts, and Kari's face flushed with anger. Joboam stepped into the middle of it.
'Lead your father's rajd, Kari,' he suggested smoothly. 'My lead harke will not mind following your rajd. And it will give me pleasure to care for the najd for a day.'
Tillu's mouth gaped at his offer. For a moment Kari stared incredulous. Then outrage filled her face and voice as she replied, 'But I think the najd would take more pleasure in my company, Joboam. I have been the one who has ...'
'But Joboam is most kind,' Carp cut in sharply. 'And I would be pleased to go with him. It is time we knew one another better, Joboam. My ears have grown weary of chattering women.'
If he had struck Kari publicly, the impact could not have been greater. The gathered herdfolk were too shocked to murmur or take sides. Kari dropped the lead rope of the najd's harke as if it were hot. For an instant she stood stock still, staring with anguished eyes at the najd. Carp sat impassively, as if unaware of the insult he had given her.
Kerlew stood at his knee, blinking. Even Capiam stood with his eyes cast down, unwilling to witness his daughter's humiliation. Kari's eyes roamed slowly over the crowd. Then suddenly she lowered her eyes and silently moved to her second harke.
Swift and silent, her fingers freed his rope. She left the harke that carried the najd standing unattended and moved to add the harke that carried her belongings to the end of her father's rajd. There was resignation to her gesture, but also dignity, and Tillu heard murmurs of approval. She watched Kari fasten her harke into the rajd and then come to the head of the line. Tillu tried to catch her eye, but the girl was studiously looking at no one. Tillu turned her head just in time to see Joboam lead away the najd's harke. Kerlew followed at his heels.
'Kerlew!' she called. Surely her son would not follow the najd now, would not put himself under Joboam's control. The boy glanced at her, but Carp turned and said something over his shoulder. For an instant longer Kerlew looked at his mother; then he turned and trotted hastily after the najd's harke. Tillu was transfixed. He had looked at her as if she were a stranger; or a tree, perhaps. She took a step after him.
'Tillu!' Capiam reminded her. Kari had started the rajd, Capiam had fallen in behind it, and the gap between her harke and Rolke's drag was widening. She stared in agony after Kerlew. And saw Heckram, drifting silent as a ghost as he shadowed the boy.
Their eyes met and his reassurance was silent but unmistakable. Tillu breathed out in relief. She pulled gently at her harke's rope, and it stepped out, dragging Ketla easily. In a moment she was where she was supposed to be. She glanced over her shoulder, saw the caravan forming behind her. Families and reindeer drifted into place, took up the steady pace that Capiam had set. She stumbled, and turned her eyes forward again.
The Cataclysm rose before them, impossibly huge. Far ahead of them, the domestic herd was moving steadily toward the upthrust of earth and rock. In the distance, Tillu glimpsed other moving shapes. She counted three other herds and two other caravan lines. All seemed to be converging at the Cataclysm. She tried to imagine all those people and animals gathered in one place, and couldn't.
Yet as the day advanced, both the Cataclysm and the other caravans drew nearer.
Several times Ketla lifted her head, to smile weakly at Tillu. Each time Tillu gave her water. And each time, she afterward edged her harke forward, to look down on Rolke's grayed face. Rolke did not refuse water; he was impassive to it. Tillu smoothed it over his face and lips. His breathing had a hoarse, wet sound.
'Tonight,' Tillu said softly to Capiam, 'I will make a steam of pine needles and birch cones. It may clear his breathing.'
Capiam nodded wearily. His own breathing was raspy, and his face too flushed for the coolness of the day. Tillu folded her lips and said nothing. Useless to argue with this man. He would not rest until he had reached the Cataclysm. Perhaps then he would behave sensibly. She flicked a tick off her arm, and let her harke ease back into line. She, too, was looking forward to the cool of the Cataclysm and the easing of the insect problem. She stared forward, to Kari's straight little back as she led the herdfolk onward. The thought crossed Tillu's mind, that in the final assessment, Kari was Capiam's daughter. Leading her folk onward, finding the courage to keep her dignity in the face of Carp's insult. Tillu wondered if Capiam could see that. Probably not. He was probably too caught up in the illness plaguing his family to notice the one who carried on. But Tillu did. Maybe tonight she would have time to speak to Kari. And Kerlew.
And Heckram.
'Heckram.' She murmured his name like a charm, let her strange feelings for him rise unchecked. For an instant she saw him again, naked in the sun. She stumbled slightly and the harke snorted rebukingly. She patted his neck and walked on. For many years, it had been others who needed her and took comfort in her skills. She had not known that needing could throb unremitting as pain. A pain to savor.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Two days after arriving at the Cataclysm, Tillu was still not accustomed to it. It was, she thought, like camping by river rapids. The flow of people and sound never ceased.
The reindeer clustered on the sides and flanks of the vast upheaval of earth and rocks, watched over by the young boys and girls of the herdfolk; it was taken for granted that more than reindeer herding was
taking place on the mountainsides. Many a joining and lifelong partnership had begun in such innocent trysts.
Folk were equally busy below. Many a joining ceremony was being prepared.
Women were sewing and weaving, comparing garments, and trading bridal trims and gossips, speculating about which couples would be joined next year. Some were assessing animals, their own and others. In a makeshift corral of stone and brush, vajor were separated from their calves. The owner of each calf then moved in, to swiftly notch his mark into the calf's ear. Each small flap of skin was strung on. a tally line to keep the count. Bull calves were bloodlessly castrated. One herdsman would hold the calf down while his partner carefully took the calf's scrotum into his mouth. Two quick nips of white teeth severed free the testicles inside the pouch without breaking the skin.
A brief massage of the pouch, and the calf that had lain down a sarva stood up as a harke, to run back to its frantic mother.
Goods and animals were traded and compared, children fought, screamed, and played, and all folk continually visited one another. Their voices were lifted in a sound as constant as the patter of rain. The whirl of people and activity flowed past Tillu's awareness, washing from her mind any personal thoughts. A blanket of noise and movement insulated her from her problems.
Of Heckram she had seen little; of Kerlew, even less. She was healer now for all of her day, and Tillu only in odd moments. She felt as if her personal life and problems had been set aside, like a piece of sewing that could be completed later. Dimly she was aware that this was not so; that the lives of Kerlew and Heckram and Kari went on without her intervention. But in the herdlord's tents the threads of lives lay in her hands. She was all that held them intact, and she could not let them go, no matter what pain goaded her.
Although Ketla was feeling better, she was not well. Even a few steps made her lose her breath, while Rolke did little more than breathe and moan. The fine bones in his hands and feet stood out clearly, and his skin burned under Tillu's hands. Capiam refused to admit his illness, but Tillu added ground willow bark and birch root to his tea at every opportunity. She stayed in the herdlord's tent, Rolke's constant nurse, though there was little she could do for him. She trickled tea and broth into his lax mouth. She rubbed water and oil into his papery skin and endured Ketla's predictions that any hour now he would be better. Hadn't the najd said so? All the boy needed was rest.
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