by R. Lee Smith
Vorgullum tracked her gaze, smiled faintly. “The more I see him, the more I see your shadow,” he said. “He is looking at me now with your eyes.”
She felt her lips form a smile in spite of the terrible cold weight in her chest. “He has your wings.”
“Let us hope he has my claws as well,” he said. “I can see him in twenty years, climbing the walls with iron spikes. Somurg Softpaws.” He stood up and took a step towards his son, then stopped and looked back down at Olivia. “I think in many ways that I am better for having known you,” he said gravely. “And there are changes I will make for you that I would not make for any other, but that goes only so far, my mate. No further. We are dying here.”
And this was true and had not changed since the day she had stood in the commons at Hollow Mountain and told all the other enslaved women that she was not going to spend her life hating people, that every species had a right to continuation, that she could forgive them.
Forty more women. And after that, perhaps forty more. Or eighty. Or however many it took to give one terrified, panicked captive to each and every man in this mountain.
“Do you hate me?” Vorgullum asked softly.
Olivia shook her head, and that was true too.
“Will you come to my lair tonight?”
“Soon.”
He nodded, and if he was disappointed, he kept it carefully hidden. With some small gesture, Vorgullum summoned Kodjunn and took Somurg back into his arms. He glanced once more at Olivia, a long and thoughtful sideways stare, then turned his back on her and went off towards their chambers, hooting softly at his son while the baby struggled and began his usual angry cries.
Kodjunn eyed his retreating back cautiously. “I think you’re crazy,” he said in a low voice.
“For going against the will of the leader?” she asked.
He gazed at her solemnly. “If I were you, I would want him to take care of as many problems as he could before he left me. Because when he is gone, I have a strong suspicion that those problems will fall to you. And Olivia, if I’m right, you will have troubles enough.”
A clawed tap on her shoulder interrupted her before she could even begin to question that. She turned and saw Crugunn behind her, showing her upraised hand in a perfunctory salute.
“Cheyenne again?” she asked wearily.
“No, for a pleasant change. Carla is in the women’s tunnels, asking specifically for you. But I think once you see her,” she added cryptically, examining her blunt claws, “you’ll wish it had been the Beast after all.”
4
Carla was waiting, not in the cavern Tina called the ‘clinic’, but in the generous room that had been set aside for Olivia’s use when she came to the women’s tunnels. Ignoring the examining benches, Carla paced from wall to rounded wall, pale and shaky on her feet.
“Well,” Olivia said slowly. “You have my attention. What’s wrong?”
Carla made one final circuit of the room and then sat, gripping the stone bench at either side of her with white knuckles. “I need a potion.”
“What potion?” Olivia asked, already reaching for a clean bottle to pour it into. She didn’t have much, certainly didn’t have the extensive stock that Murgull used to have, but she tried to have a ready supply of the more complicated or most-used potions.
“I don’t know what it’s called. Murgull always gave it to me. It’s black and tastes like turpentine smells.”
Olivia, picking through powdered roots and dried herbs, looked up with a frown.
“Yes, I’m pregnant,” Carla said testily. “I need to get rid of it.”
“Get rid of it,” echoed Olivia. She put the empty bottle down and turned around. “Why?”
“Because I have no clue who the father is.” Carla was flushing, but met Olivia’s startled expression resolutely. “It could be any of maybe fifty of them, so give me the potion, please.”
Olivia stared. “I don’t have any made up,” she managed. “I’ll have to brew it.”
“How long will that take?” Carla asked, rubbing restlessly at her stomach as if to loosen the forming life through her touch alone.
“Two days. Maybe three. I don’t even know if I have all the things I need…Jesus, Carla!” she exploded suddenly. “What were you thinking?”
Carla only shrugged, still rubbing herself and looking edgy. “Oh what, I’m supposed to be faithful? Sutung knows about me. I think he knows. Hell, I don’t care if he does or not. He broke me in, he doesn’t get to care what I do after that.”
“Yes, but…but…Damn it, Carla! Just get out! I’ll tell you when it’s ready.” She swung back to her worktable and began to rattle bottles angrily. She heard a low rustle of leather and receding footsteps. “Damn it,” she snarled, breathing hard. “Stupid, stupid woman!”
“That one again.”
Olivia spun to see old Horumn standing in the doorway, looking back over her wings down the tunnel.
“Same trouble with her?” Horumn glanced at Olivia’s face and nodded as if the human had answered aloud. “So. She came to see old Murgull often enough,” she mused, hooking Murgull’s name out of the air as she spoke. “My cousin cursed her also, but always gave her the black drink. Do you know it?”
“I know it all right, but I’ll be damned if I can make it. I need black bitterwort…and wormwood…damn it!” She ran her hands tightly through her hair, snagging on the tangles with little flares of good, grounding pain. “Maybe if I asked…Jesus, no, he’d know immediately why I wanted it.”
Horumn nodded. “Perhaps there is a small bottle hoarded away here, some cheerless female’s poison-treasure. And then perhaps you should give to that one a more lasting cure for her burning loins.” Horumn shook out her wings distastefully, gestured for Olivia to remain, then limped away.
Olivia sat in her pit and stared down at Somurg, still seething. She didn’t know how long she waited; time blurred together in a kind of hopeless, helpless anger. At last, she heard the dry shuffle of Horumn’s footsteps as the older gulla returned and fastened the flap against intruders.
“Here,” she said curtly, giving an old 7-Up bottle a shake. The liquid within looked thick and evil, staining the green bottle almost as black as the gulla shook it. “She will know how to take it. And here.” From her belt pouch, Horumn withdrew what Olivia at first thought was a large carrot, only a dark brown in color, and considerably thicker. She didn’t recognize it, and after so many months studying under Murgull, there wasn’t much she didn’t recognize.
“What is that?” she asked apprehensively.
“Barrenroot. It will do exactly as its name suggests. Blood will come. Seasons come. No sparks. An evil thing to use, perhaps, when we have so few young, but how much more evil to bring forth new life that does not know a father? How easy it would be to keep silent, to set brother on sister unknowingly in ages hence, because that rutting beast cannot keep her legs together.”
“What…Oh God, how do you prepare it?”
Horumn studied the root in her hands with a tired expression of disgust, then scraped her claws along one side of it, exposing a white, oily meat. “It must be peeled, all along the length of it, and then swiftly used.”
Olivia made a gagging noise as she realized where the root was intended to go. “I thought she would eat it.”
Horumn eyed her coolly. “She can, if you believe that best. It is deadly poison.” She turned the root in her aged hand and thrust it through the air crudely. “But this way works just as well, and will quiet a womb forever while permitting your little human to fuck her way through the males of the mountain. Perhaps when she has had them all, she will be more at ease. Eventually, of course, Vorgullum will have her declared a safe female, and she will come under my keeping on her little naked back. And perhaps that will not displease her.”
Horumn shuffled forward and placed the root firmly in Olivia’s hand, then closed Olivia’s fingers around it. “First the potion. Then tell your human to kee
p her silly vessel dry for three days at least. If she cannot manage three, tell her you will tie her down, like that beast Kodjunn keeps. Then give her the barrenroot. I think she will accept it. I think she will not even argue.”
“How could she do it?” Olivia asked gloomily. “How could she be so careless?”
Horumn snorted. “Easy for you to say. You will not spark again for years yet. You may couple without fear.”
Olivia stared at her, openly astonished. “What the hell does that mean?”
The older gulla looked back, just as surprised by the shocked venom in Olivia’s voice. “What do I mean? Just what I say! You have a newborn in your arms. You will not spark again for—”
“What makes you think so? Just because I nurse a baby is no guarantee of anything! I could catch pregnant again this month!”
Horumn could not have looked more stunned than if Olivia had sprouted wings and flown across the room at her. “Again? But no! You will be many, many years yet!”
“Humans don’t have many, many years to wait between…between babies before…”
Comprehension dawned on both races at the same time.
“Merciful Urga, your mate does not know this,” Horumn breathed. Her face hardened. “There are women I know, women I can trust. They will sneak away from the mountain and find as many of Murgull’s black potion herbs as they can carry. You will have much use of it, I think.”
“Okay,” Olivia said, gripping the bedding as if she feared falling out of the pit. “Okay, just what does that mean?”
“It means,” Horumn said grimly, “that your mate believes a human breeds much the same as gullan do, and if you do not have much of this potion ready when he leaves, he will return to a mountain full of many-fathered young.”
“What are you talking about?” Olivia demanded. “Just because my mate leaves me for a few days doesn’t mean that I intend to try out as many males as I can while he’s gone!”
“What does your intention matter?” Horumn asked. “He is leaving and he will take many of your humans’ mates with him. When they go, they will give your keeping over to another.”
“What?” Olivia gasped. No, tell the truth. She shouted it.
Horumn recoiled slightly. After a moment, she said, “Females die. That is sad truth, but it is truth. Males must protect them, provide for them. And your mate is taking many males away on a dangerous journey from which it is possible none of them will return. You must see that. Tribe law is clear. Those with mates must find new mates to care for them in their absence.”
“He didn’t tell me any of this!”
“Nor would he, I think,” Horumn said with a shrug. “Until he knows who will have you. The man who possesses the leader’s mate grows tall. It is a difficult decision for him, to choose a man strong enough to defend you, yet loyal enough to stand quietly down upon his return.”
“Does he honestly think I’m going to agree to this?” Olivia demanded.
Horumn looked at her for a long time before shrugging again. “If you do not, you may always come to the women’s tunnels, but as a woman without a mate, you will not be permitted to leave again.”
“Oh for—And we’ll all be expected to obey this stupid law? Even Beth? Even Amy? I thought Kurlun loved Amy! Does he really think he can just toss her at someone else and walk away and that’s not going to hurt her?”
“Human ways are very different,” Horumn said after another pause. “You concern yourself with feelings and with hurting. Your mate, he is concerned with death, with starving humans and starving young. You are brave, I think, and very clever…but you are selfish also. Still, you may tell your mate about humans and their breeding times. It may make a difference. But I will tell you this, little human.” Horumn’s voice grew hard and cold as steel. “I would not tell him, if I were Olivia. I would let him go, believing what he does. And I would go to the mate he chose for me. I would do this if I cared for him, because in his eyes are fears enough without thoughts of Olivia’s hurt and Olivia’s feelings.” With that, she turned and stumped away again.
Olivia sat down on the bench Carla had vacated, feeling sorry for herself and now ashamed that she did so. After an indeterminable time spent in silence, she had decided only that she couldn’t accept the responsibility for this decision all by herself. She went out into the tunnels, heading for the baths.
There were no hot springs in Dark Mountain, but that did not mean the tribe did not bathe. In the time since their arrival, one of the larger caverns at the end of a less-traveled tunnel had been set aside for bathing. It had been a kitchen of some sort when the previous tribe had used it, and still had both a channel of clean running water and a large firepit which (once the smoke hole had been cleared) could comfortably heat the contents of a huge cauldron and keep it boiling. Sudjummar had fashioned several large bathtubs and arranged them around the room. When one wished to bathe, one had only to pick a bathtub and fill it with a combination of boiling water and freezing mountain run-off. As long as one remembered to refill the cauldron for the next person, the system worked rather well.
Olivia did not particularly want a bath, but the room was usually quiet and a good place to think, just as the hot springs in Hollow Mountain had been. At the same time, she didn’t particularly want to be alone, so when she heard low voices among the endless splashing of falling water, she did not turn back.
She saw Kurlun first, lounging in a bathtub while Amy nursed Smugg from a nearby bench. When the graying gulla saw her, he lifted one hand in a lazy salute and greeted her by name. Then he took another look at her, frowned and heaved himself out of the bath in a spray of water and steam.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, drying himself briskly, as if he expected to be ordered into battle.
“Something…oh God, I don’t know how to say it. Is anyone else here?”
“No,” Amy answered, looking thoughtful, but puzzled. “What’s on your mind, hon?”
“Kurlun, are you going with Vorgullum when he…when he leaves?”
Amy and Kurlun exchanged a glance.
“Yes, I am,” he said calmly.
Just as calmly, Amy added, “I’m going to stay with Damark.”
Olivia stared at them both. “But what if—” she began, and broke off as Amy very minutely shook her head.
“It’s only temporary,” Kurlun was saying. “Damark is a good man. He has most of his years behind him, but he’s still a fair hunter on his good days.” He put on a brave smile and added, “More shame to me if I let such a talented female languish untended. I mean to return and find her in good practice when she comes again to my pit.”
Amy nuzzled at his chest and cast Olivia a warning glance.
Softly, Kurlun said, “You fear you will not like the man your Vorgullum chooses for you, but I’m certain he would take your preference into consideration. You must know you have your pick of good, strong hunters.”
When she did not move or speak, Kurlun gently disengaged from Amy and came to put his hands on Olivia’s shoulders. “And you, Olivia, you will be cared for no matter where you live—in Vorgullum’s lair, or that of his replacement, or your own in the women’s tunnels. You give us much; you will always be provided for.”
And because she couldn’t ask what her heart ached to ask, she cried, “Why doesn’t he ever tell me these things?”
Kurlun chuckled. “Because he is a leader, and as my own father used to tell me, being a leader is all about stalling for time while you grow some guts. I suppose he thinks he’ll cause you less pain if he has only a little time to tell you before he flees into the night.” He offered her a lop-sided smile. “Of course, I call that being a stag-headed fool, but then, I’m not leader, am I?”
Olivia giggled a little, made herself hold onto her smile.
Kurlun looked from her, back to Amy, and then released her and said, too heartily, “This gulla is as clean as he is going to get, I think. Time to take myself back to the hunt. Amy, my little m
ink, I will keep you with me until we meet again.” He bound on a loincloth, chucked Smugg under the chin, and strode from the baths.
Amy looked at Olivia for a long time as steam rose from the water. “You’ll live, you know,” she said at last.
Olivia sat down beside her. “How can this not bother you?”
Amy sighed, dropped her hand to her lap and massaged at her belly restlessly, cutting an eerie parallel to Carla. The only difference was the baby nursing contentedly at her breast. “So, in comes Kurlun one night,” she said, just as if she were continuing a conversation and not beginning one. Her tone was light; her face, difficult to read. “And he sat me down and told me that Vorgullum is getting ready for Round Two of the Rape of the Sabine Women, and he’s been invited along to carry one. Then he looks me in the eye with that same look you’ve got on right now and tells me I’ll need a mate while he’s away. ‘A female might be permitted to await her mate’s return,’ he says, ‘but a female with a baby must be cared for.’ And while I’m being cared for, I’m expected to be as enthusiastic, or at least as willing, as I am for my Kurlun.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. I was getting ready to ask him just what the hell was the point of getting all these humans if they’re going to play musical mates every time they leave overnight when he dropped that bomb about ‘no young can come of it.’ Well, I snuck in a couple questions and found out he thought I was going to be barren for about six years! So I shut up, and he must have thought I was considering the issue because he started recommending this male or that male to look after me while he was gone.
“We settled on Damark. He’s even older than Kurlun, if you can dig that, but he’s got the use of both wings and he’s been bred before, so he’s no small shakes at changing wrappings or walking them in the middle of the night. Kurlun brought him down to meet me face to face, kind of get to know each other, you know. He seems like a nice guy. He told me I wouldn’t have to couple with him until I was ready, and didn’t suppose I’d be ready for some time on account of I just had a damn baby, but the expectation is still there. And while it is allegedly my right to refuse any male, if I do refuse, I go straight to the women’s tunnels. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.”