The Dog Master

by W. Bruce Cameron

  “Do you not know?” Bellu pressed.

  Well of course she did not know. Calli regarded Bellu, who was hugging herself. It was difficult not to resent the way Bellu was doling out information. “Who?” Calli asked a bit flatly.

  “It is Urs.”

  Calli inhaled sharply.

  “My brothers came together and said he is the best hunter, and my father said so, and Hardy said so.”

  Calli’s pulse was pounding. What did it mean? The hunt master was a man to be reckoned with, even a new one, even someone as young as Urs. If he declared his desire for Calli as his wife, would Albi attempt to block the move? The women’s council held sway over marriages, of course, but there was no real reason to stop Urs and Calli, not really, not now. Now that Urs was hunt master, it would be a political risk for Albi with no possible gain.

  “This,” Calli breathed, “this is wonderful.”

  “Yes!” Bellu spun in a circle. Calli’s heart warmed, watching her celebrate. She never thought of Bellu as being particularly perceptive, but perhaps Calli and Urs were more obvious than they had intended. Bellu must be making the same connection: Albi would have a tough time stopping Calli and Urs now.

  They would be married.

  “And now for the best!” Bellu sang.

  “What?” Calli blinked, pulling herself out of her thoughts.

  “The best news of all, Calli, the most wonderful, most beautiful, most happy news of the … of the sky, of the water, of all the Kindred,” Bellu babbled.

  “What is it?” Calli asked, baffled.

  In the settling gloom, Bellu’s dark eyes glinted with joy. “Urs. It is why my family supported him. It is all worked out.”

  “What is?” Calli asked, her heart suddenly fearful.

  “Urs,” Bellu repeated. “He and I are going to be married!”

  * * *

  The seductive odor of blood dancing on the air captivated the two wolves, consuming them. They had sustained themselves on mice and large insects but this was real prey. Though weak with the hunger carving at them from within, they drove themselves hard toward the scent, not slowing even when a threatening characteristic—the smell of man—lifted into their nostrils.

  Then something else—fire—lent even more danger to their heedless pursuit of food. The large she-wolf felt the resolve of Mate, her male companion, fade. The closer they drew to the scent, the stronger the presence of man and flame tainted the air, and the more tentative Mate’s pace. He whined anxiously.

  When the mix of odors was substantial, when blood and fire and human were right there, the wolves finally halted. Though still out of sight, they could approach no farther without engaging the men—the canids’ noses told them there were several of the humans. Mate touched his snout to the she-wolf for reassurance. They circled each other, sniffing, and finally curled up for the night. The empty pain in their stomachs wouldn’t let them abandon the blood scent, but they were incapable of pressing any kind of raid.

  As she fell asleep, the big female thought of the man who had given her meat once before. She could very definitely find his smell mingled with that of the other humans.

  * * *

  Calli was waiting for Urs at their secret spot, where the rocky boulders provided cover and the long grasses were so soft and inviting. Now yellowed and dry with the changing seasons, the grasses no longer appeared to be a lazy, warm blanket, but Calli could not help but think of Urs as she regarded them from the banks of the stream. She remembered so vividly lying with him on top of her, feeling him move within her, his back hot from the summer sun, his beard touching her face.

  And then there he was, tall, slender, and handsome. Moving, to her eyes, with a newfound confidence. The hunt master.

  “Urs,” she called softly. There was more anguish in her voice than she had intended.

  He looked startled, as if they had not arranged this encounter with whispers exchanged by the cooking fires. No, not startled: more guilty, or something.

  Calli more than anything needed to feel his arms around her. She flew to him, burying her face in his shoulder.

  “Oh Urs,” she whispered. “What are we going to do?”

  He took a deep breath, holding her back so that he could look into her eyes. He saw the tears in them, and bit his lip. “Calli. Do not cry. Please.”

  “How did this happen?”

  He shook his head. “All I have ever thought about was being hunt master, but I had no idea it would happen so quickly,” he murmured.

  “Urs!”

  He focused on Calli.

  “I think that is wonderful,” she told him. “I really do. And when I heard, I was sure that it meant we would be together always, because the women’s council would never go against the wishes of the hunt master. He could pick his wife. You, Urs, you can do so, you can pick your wife.”

  His eyes searched hers.

  “It is true,” she pleaded desperately. “Can you not see? We were afraid that Albi would turn the council against us, but now you are hunt master. When we return to winter camp, we can have our wedding, you and I. Just as we promised.”

  “But,” Urs responded slowly. “What about Bellu’s brothers?”

  “Listen to me now,” Calli said urgently. “Everyone says this is the best choice. You are the one who killed the lion that attacked Hardy. You are the man everyone looks to. Who do you think they would pick? Palloc? You lead the hunt. If you say that your heart belongs to me, they will all listen to that. Even the brothers.”

  Her face was beaming and hopeful now.

  “What of the women?” he asked after a moment.

  Calli shook her head. “Albi is furious that she had no say in this matter! If you declare your choice now, today, I will go to Albi and suggest to her that this is how she might regain control over what has become a near rebellion. When the council does meet, there will be confusion, but with my mother, and Albi, and me all standing together, we will have no trouble with the women. Believe me, they love to meddle—for them to step in now will give a lot of them something to chatter about all winter long. This will work, Urs! We will be together!”

  Urs stared at her. “You think everything through to the end.”

  It was far from an endorsement of her plan. “You do love me?” Her voice quavered, dreading his answer.

  “Yes,” he answered firmly. “I love you, Calli. I could never love anyone else.”

  She gasped her relief into his chest, taking in a shuddering breath, then raised her lips to his. Within seconds their breathing tightened, their hands stroked each other, and an urgency stormed into their blood. They had not managed to find their way together to this spot for many, many days.

  When his hands worked their way under her tunic and touched her breasts, she moaned, feeling herself moisten, feeling the tingle start. Her need was wanton and certain and without caution. She tore at his skirt, yanking at it with shaking fingers. She gasped when she finally freed him and saw how ready he was to take her. She fell back, pulling him with her, unable to think, already throbbing. It was fast and hot and urgent. Calli felt the pleasure seize control and peak within her, and then clutched Urs and smiled when he called out and shuddered. This was how it should be. Urs, her love. Husband and wife.

  She stroked his hard muscles, his long lean back, gloriously relaxed, now. It was, she decided, as if their passion was lightning and their mating was the thunder—the brighter the flash the more quick and loud the noise that came after, shaking bones, driving out the very breath of a person.

  After several moments of just lying there panting, she kissed his face. He seemed dazed. “We will do this again and again,” she promised him. “Just like that. As … powerful as that, as wonderful as that.”

  “Yes,” he grunted.

  “I have never felt this way, Urs.”

  “I felt weak and strong at the same time.”

  “Yes! That is it exactly. I love you, Urs. You are the only one for me. I love you and
want nothing more than to be married to you.”

  “I love you and want to marry you, too.”

  “Then we will do as I have planned.”

  “All is good. I will tell the council I have changed my mind, that I want to marry you.”

  “You may be hunt master to the Kindred, but for me, you will always be my master spearman,” she said.

  They laughed together, pulling their clothing together as the wind licked the sweat from their skin and made them cold.

  ELEVEN

  Though it had been many days since the hunt had been successful, Palloc still retained some reindeer meat, which he held over his fire on a stick. As food ran low among the Kindred and the families turned to Coco’s communal stews and soups, it was considered ill manners to create such succulent odors at one’s own home fire, but he was in a foul mood and did not care what anyone thought. With his other hand he stroked his beard, which was a normal dark color and had not paled in the summer sun like the rest of his hair.

  “Palloc?” A woman’s voice.

  His vision blurry from staring into the fire, Palloc frowned as he tried to make out who was calling him from the shadows. He grunted when Renne stepped closer.

  “Are you well?” Renne whispered. Her slender build appeared so delicate in that moment, as if she and her shadow were one and the same. She politely squatted next to him by the fire.

  “I am well,” Palloc replied stonily.

  “The hunt made an error. You are spear master. You are a wonderful hunter. It is you who should be hunt master.”

  Palloc did not react to the compliment. In his opinion, women knew less than nothing about the hunt.

  “Urs and Bellu. Engaged,” Renne continued. “This means you and Bellu will not be … well, I had always heard that the two of you were fated, you and her.” Her hand reached out and softly touched his for just a moment. “With Bellu promised to Urs, the council will need to find someone else to be your wife,” she whispered demurely.

  Numbly, Palloc considered this. Did she really suppose Bellu would marry him? And then he considered Renne. She was being very frank and forward with him, but with her parents dead, she had no one to speak on her behalf but the council, which was notoriously scattered when it came to arranging marriages for the orphaned women of the Kindred. A man without parents might prove himself on the hunt, but a woman in a similar position was no asset as a wife.

  She came into focus for him then. Her face flickering and her dark eyes glittering in the strengthening light from the fire. She looked very pretty. And she had picked a flowering vine and tied it around her neck, drawing his eyes to the tanned skin below her throat, where a hollow between her breasts showed above the deer hide vest she wore. Alone among the Kindred, she recognized the great injustice that had been done to Palloc. Calli and Bellu tittered at him with great disrespect, but Renne had never treated him with anything but affection.

  Wordlessly, Palloc pulled his meat from the fire. The end of the stick was smoking, the fat spitting. He proffered it in Renne’s direction: a man offering a woman food. A clear element of courtship.

  Renne drew in her breath. Something—perhaps the thin tendril of smoke curling up from the stick—made her eyes bleary and wet. Blowing on the food, she snatched a morsel from the spear and tossed it from hand to hand to cool it before tearing off a tiny bit with her teeth.

  Palloc watched her eat. He felt an inexplicable heaviness in his loins, then, something about Renne’s wet lips stirring him. When he moved to bring the stick to his mouth, Renne reached out a hand to stop him. Instead, she leaned forward, passing him the rest of the chunk of reindeer she had ripped off for herself.

  Palloc ate from her hand, the fat deliciously mingling with the charred flesh on his tongue. The two of them had their eyes fastened on each other, and it was if neither dared to speak.

  “What is this?” Albi demanded. She came into the circle of light from the fire like a charging bear. “What are you doing here?” she demanded of Renne.

  Renne sprang to her feet. She swallowed. “I was only…”

  “This is my home fire and I did not invite you here,” Albi snapped. “Do not come here again.”

  Far from jumping to Renne’s defense, Palloc lay on the ground helplessly, as if pinned beneath a boulder. He said nothing. Renne gave him a desperate look. “I am sorry,” Renne apologized.

  “Go!” Albi shrieked.

  Nodding, Renne backed away three steps, then turned and fled. Albi spun on her son. “You,” she hissed.

  “We were only—” That was all Palloc managed to say before his mother’s foot kicked sharply into his ribs.

  “You idiot! Urs is hunt master? How does this happen?”

  Palloc’s lips moved. He massaged the point where his mother’s toes had bruised his side. “Well,” he finally managed to say.

  “I told you after Hardy’s injury to act as if the decision had already been made, to help organize the hunt, to direct the men, to lead. Instead you walked around like a pompous fool, telling Urs what, that you were ‘pleased with him’ and that ‘someday he could be spear master’? Do you realize what you have done?”

  “It was Bellu, the marriage,” Palloc replied, letting his resentment creep into his words. Council matters. The things his mother was supposed to take care of.

  “Of course, do you think I do not know that?”

  “Well, but can you not fix it?” Palloc reasoned. “Tell them Bellu can only marry me. Then her brothers will shift their allegiance, and I will be hunt master.”

  “‘Her brothers will shift their allegiance,’” Albi repeated in a mocking voice. “Do you think I can defy the new hunt master now? The deal is done.”

  “But I was supposed to be hunt master,” Palloc whined. It was still difficult to believe the prize was being denied him.

  Albi looked as if she wanted to kick him again. “You are stupid,” she pronounced.

  Palloc moodily took a bite of food from the end of his now cool stick. Albi snatched it away from him. Staring at him defiantly, she gnawed at the meat. “All right,” she finally pronounced through a mouth full of food. “I have an idea.”

  “You do?” Palloc replied hopefully.

  “I think I know how to undo the mess you have made,” Albi said, stripping the last of the reindeer from the cook stick.

  * * *

  Silex was aware that other creeds had become less nomadic in recent times. The River Fish Clan inhabited caves to the north and somehow survived the winter there. The Kindred did migrate, but occupied a speluncean area along a stream all summer before trekking south to parts unknown for the winter. The nonhuman Frightened Ones, elusive and timid, wandered the land in small groups, while the Cohort claimed the river valley as theirs and perhaps, during cold weather, followed the waters to the south end of the world—the Wolfen, like everyone else, did their best to avoid contact with the Cohort, so no one knew if they migrated.

  Silex did not give much thought to how the other tribes lived. His people followed the wolf, usually at a run, and the wolf led them to food. Often this strategy meant the women and children were left behind, along with a few men to guard against danger, while Silex and his fleet contingent shadowed the hunting canines.

  With several reindeer slain, the Wolfen hunting party was headed back to the families. They were a day or two away, so they stopped well before sunset and made a fire and fed on fresh meat, the men smiling their contentment with the feast. The night was deliciously warm for so late in the summer. As the gloom settled, Silex looked over to the other side of the fire and watched Duro’s internal struggle, the larger man’s face betraying his emotions.

  Now would come the challenge.

  Duro grunted and everyone turned to him expectantly, sensing something. “A very important decision is upon us,” he announced, sounding nervous.

  The men glanced at each other. “About…?” Brach, probably Silex’s best friend in the Wolfen, inquired politel
y.

  Duro pursed his thick lips. “Among the wolves, the largest male mates with the largest female,” he declared portentously.

  Everyone looked baffled at this pronouncement. Duro was glaring at them, waiting for them to get it.

  “That is not actually always true,” Brach ventured. “We have seen times when it is neither the biggest male, nor the biggest female.”

  “Still, it is mostly the way,” Duro argued.

  “Perhaps mostly,” Brach conceded. “But I do believe that wolves might sometime select the most clever, or use something else to guide them. Remember, Silex, when we saw that female with the white face?”

  “We are talking about what wolves do most of the time!” Duro barked.

  There was a long silence, the men staring at the fire, all of them fairly apathetic despite Duro’s apparent passion for the topic. “Perhaps this is often true,” Silex observed. “What Duro has said.”

  Everyone nodded, glad to have the issue settled.

  “I am the largest man. I am older than Silex. Ovi is a well-rounded woman, very healthy, who will bear many strong children,” Duro asserted.

  The men stared at him in noncomprehension.

  Silex cleared his throat. “Duro believes that since my father is dead, we need not follow his wishes any longer. There is perhaps some sense to this.”

  Everyone except Duro appeared alarmed. “I am the strongest,” Duro stated. His scowl invited physical battle with anyone who disagreed.

  The man sitting to Brach’s left stirred. “Wolf,” he said softly.

  As one, they looked where he was pointing. Standing just at the boundary between the illumination cast from the fire and the remaining daylight, a large female wolf stood rigid, her amber eyes glowing as she stared at them.

  Silex abruptly stood, gesturing for everyone else to remain seated. “Be silent,” he urged. He stepped away from the fire. “You are starving,” he called to the huge wolf. Time had not been good to her—he could see her ribs, and her skin hung loosely from them. There was no mistaking the handprint-shaped mark between her eyes, though: this was the same she-wolf who had taken tribute from him earlier that summer. “Where is your pack? You are too young to be on your own.”