She was pushed roughly through the thicket. The thorns tore at her. They reached the edge of the berry patch, and she was thrown to the ground in the tall meadow grass. She looked up. A large, dirty man was standing over her.
“A bear cub after the berries!” He ran the words together in his deep voice. This was the man who had caught her, Feather realized.
A second man laughed and nodded and pulled a cord from his pouch. He seized her hands and jerked them up in front of her. “Be still!”
As he bound her wrists together, she sneaked a look at the first man. He wore leggings of doeskin and a filthy gray tunic of woven fibers. A short bow and a quiver of arrows were slung over his shoulder, and a metal blade with a handle of horn was thrust through the braided vine circling his waist. Around his neck was a cord that bore gray clay beads painted with white designs. At the front of the necklace snared in a slit in the leather thong hung a tuft of orange fur.
Blens!
Feather was shaking. She had never seen a Blen up close, but the trader who was Friend to all tribes had brought beads like that in his pack last summer and told them he got them from the Blens.
How could she have been so stupid as to stop keeping watch and let the dog wander away? Where was Snap anyway? She pulled in a deep breath. There was no way to reach her small knife now. Could she leap up and run away with her hands tied together so tightly that the cord bit into her skin? Just as she weighed the possibility, the man who had captured her pulled her to her feet. He jerked his head and motioned down the slope, away from the berry patch, toward the bottom of this new valley that had seemed so peaceful an hour ago.
Feather gulped air. She was a prisoner of the Blens, the worst and most feared enemy of the Wobans. They were a wandering tribe, and bands of Blens raided wherever they found opportunity. They didn’t grow their own food; they stole it. But they had never come this close to the Wobans’ village. The Woban elders had chosen the spot carefully for its seclusion, and the trader had given his word that he would tell no one of its location. They had lived here in peace for three years now and had begun to feel secure at last. Jem and the others who were responsible for the tribe’s safety had rejoiced that they hadn’t seen any Blens this year in their wanderings. Everyone hoped the Blens would never discover their new home and attack them.
The tribe would be even more careful, Feather thought, now that they had lost one of their precious youngsters. The Wobans cherished their children.
She wondered what Karsh was doing. Did he even know her plight? At least he hadn’t charged out of the bushes in a misguided attempt to rescue her. She was sure he would be marching along with her now if he had.
There seemed to be only the two men. She wondered if a larger band was camped nearby. As they moved farther from the berry patch, she took one swift look over her shoulder, and her captor cuffed her on the back of the head.
“Where’s my dog?” she gasped.
The other man looked back at her captor and laughed. The man pulling her along beside him touched her shoulder, then jerked his head to one side. Feather twisted her neck and looked. Snap lay motionless in the long grass. One leg was certainly broken, and the dog’s head was bleeding.
She felt sick, and her knees buckled. The smelly man who had captured her seized her before she hit the ground and slung her over his shoulder.
Chapter Two
Karsh huddled behind a clump of blackberry bushes, too terrified to move. Feather had been captured! His first instinct was to stay hidden, but after a few minutes his worry for Feather became stronger than his fear. He ought to do something, anything!
All was silent. Karsh uncurled his body and stood up.
He had climbed out of the cellar hole with agonizing slowness, wondering why Feather didn’t come to help him over the rocky rim. Then he had heard a scuffle and a few words, and he knew they were not alone.
He listened again, then reached out with scratched and bleeding hands to push aside one of the laden branches. He ought to at least be able to learn which direction they had taken her.
He stepped forward cautiously through the bushes, clasping his fingers around each branch between the thorns
and pushing it aside. After every step he stopped and listened, in case an enemy waited to ambush him. At last he reached the edge of the berry patch. Far down the hill, almost to the stream below, he saw three people
walking. The small one was Feather, he was sure. Relief coursed through him. She was alive.
The other two were men, although their bushy hair confused him. They were stouter than any of the Woban men
except perhaps Jem.
Karsh watched as they paused for a moment beside a small dark spot in the grass. What was it? A sick realization came to him. It was Snap!
Karsh felt dizzy, but he made himself watch, taking in every detail he could from such a distance, knowing his report to the elders was crucial. One of the men was lifting Feather. He tossed her over his shoulder and walked on, carrying her. The figures grew smaller as they moved away. Karsh exhaled a long, shaky breath. “At least they didn’t kill her.”
He shouldn’t have gone down into the hole. He shouldn’t have left Feather, even with Snap. And he should have
obeyed her when she first told him not to go into the cellar.
He had been too excited, too intent on making a discovery. He waited until they were completely out of sight, then crept out away from the bushes to a spot where the grass was trampled. A few berries were scattered on the ground, no doubt where Feather had spilled them. They had taken her basket too. Of course. They would take anything they could make use of. He looked all around, then dashed down the hill to where Snap lay.
When he saw the dog’s body lying in the grass, Karsh felt tears coming to his eyes. The Woban men had taught
him not to be sentimental about animals, but Snap had been with the tribe almost as long as Karsh had, and he had served them well.
He knelt beside the dog and reached out slowly to pat Snap’s flank. The dog’s hair was smooth, and his flesh was still warm.
Suddenly the dog sighed. Karsh jumped back, startled, then he laughed. “Good old Snap! You’re not dead, are you?”
He leaned over and shoved his arms under the dog’s limp body. With a grunt, he heaved Snap up into his arms.
The dog moaned. Karsh didn’t think he could carry the heavy animal far in his arms. Maybe he should run for the camp and bring Hunter back. But, no, Hunter and some of the other men were out in search of game today.
He knelt in the grass and put all his strength into lifting the dog onto his shoulders. He balanced himself and stood slowly, then walked up the hillside toward the gap at the top of the ravine. It was a long way back to the village, but he did not stop to rest.
We have to go after Feather!” Karsh had said the words at least five times, but Tansy, the herb woman, shook her head as she bathed Snap’s leg.
“We have only three men in camp. If there are intruders about, we need to stay close, at least until the other men return.”
Snap whined and panted as he lay on his side. “Do you think he’ll be all right?” Karsh asked. He sat down on the mat where Tansy had laid the dog in the sun.
“I don’t know. His skull is fractured, yet he lives. This leg . . .” She shook her head. “It’s bad.”
The children all formed a circle around the mat, staring down at the dog they loved. If anyone could make Snap well, it was Tansy. She knew how to stop bleeding and which plants to grind for a healing poultice.
Rand, a man with graying hair, was seated on a stump, smoothing an arrow shaft. He did not hunt anymore because his joints were stiff and sore, and his arms were too weak to pull the bowstring, but he helped make the arrows the others used to kill their meat and defend the tribe.
“Better put him out of his misery now,” Rand said.
Karsh turned and stared at him. “He’s a good dog. He tried to warn us of the enemy.”
Karsh hung his head. Alomar, with his fluffy white hair and flowing beard, had more knowledge of the past than anyone else in the tribe and was looked up to by all the Wobans. He was right this time, as usual. Karsh’s heart ached with shame. “I should have fought them,” he whispered.
“What good would that have done?” Tansy asked. “Then you’d be dead. You couldn’t have saved Feather, but at least you were able to preserve your own skin.”
“That’s right,” said Rand. “Now we know what happened. When the other men return, we will talk.”
Karsh couldn’t stand waiting around the camp. He kept thinking about Feather and wondering what was happening to her.
Weave came over and handed him a bowl of soup. Her two little children came too and stared at Karsh as they clung to their mother.
“You cannot do anything to help your sister now,” Weave said, “but you can eat and keep your strength, so that you are ready for whatever comes next.”
Karsh took the bowl and sat down. Weave was right, but it was hard for him to accept. He felt powerless, and he hated that. Waiting around with the women and old men was useless. He wanted the men to come back and take action, but he knew it would probably be hours before the hunting party returned. They usually stayed out all day.
Weave’s little girl, Flame, edged over to Tansy and touched her shoulder. Tansy was measuring a dry stick against Snap’s paw. “This will make a splint,” she said to Karsh. She looked up at Flame.
“We wouldn’t eat Snap,” Flame said, staring hard into Tansy’s eyes.
“No, we certainly will not,” Tansy assured her. “He wants to live, and in time he’ll be better. By the time of the fall hunt, he’ll be chasing around with Bobo.” Bobo, the tribe’s other dog, lifted his head when his name was mentioned. He whined and rested his chin on his paws again. “Why don’t you bring a bowl of water and see if Snap will take any?” Tansy said to Flame.
The little girl ran toward the lodge and picked up a water jug, then headed for the stream.
I could have done that, Karsh thought. But he had no task assigned him. He had only to wait and brood over what had happened. Flame’s little brother toddled over to him and reached for Karsh’s spoon. Karsh let him take his bowl and scrape out the few bites of stew left in the bottom.
Rose was cutting up long green bean pods for the evening meal. In summer, she and the other women cooked outside. In bad weather, they used the fire pit inside the big log shelter.
Rose stopped cutting the beans and stood up, looking toward the path that led around the lake.
“The men are back.”
They all looked, and Karsh could see half a dozen men walking swiftly toward them up the valley. Jem, who had been on sentry duty, slipped down to join them, and Hardy, the youngest man in the group of hunters, took his place on the ridge above. This was the custom, so that all who had remained in camp could hear the tales of those returning.
Alomar stood up and waited with the rest of them until the men were close, then he called out, “You return early.”
Hunter stepped toward him unslinging his bow. He dropped it and his quiver gently to the grass. “We saw a Blen camp two hours’ walk from here, and we decided we had better stay close to the village.”
Karsh wanted to run to Hunter and tell him what had happened, but he knew that was the elders’ right, so he waited. Hunter was a leader, although he was younger than the elders. He was strong, and he knew things. Surely he would organize a party to go after Feather at once. Karsh couldn’t help clenching his fists as Alomar told the tale.
“Our little Feather has been taken,” the white-haired man said.
“Taken?” Hunter asked. The other men expressed their alarm, then they quieted to listen.
“She and the boy were picking berries, and two strangers snatched Feather,” Alomar told them. “The boy was hidden. He waited until they left, then came back here toting the dog they had beaten.”
Jem, Hunter, and the other men examined Snap’s wounds. Then Hunter came and stood before Karsh. Standing tall, Karsh blinked back the tears that tried to fill his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Karsh said.
“It’s not your fault,” Hunter said gently.
“I should have helped her, but I was down in a hole. I didn’t know what happened at first, but then . . . then I heard them, and I saw them taking her away. I was afraid.”
“Of course you were.” Hunter touched his shoulder. “You did right not to show yourself.”
“Did they have weapons?” Neal asked.
“Yes, bows anyhow. Knives too, I expect. And Tansy says they hit Snap over the head with something.”
“A war club most likely, if they were Blens,” the herb woman put in.
Karsh gritted his teeth, remembering. “One man had a stick.”
“Did they hurt Feather?” Jem asked.
“I . . . I don’t think so, but they tied her hands, and one of them carried her.”
Hunter sniffed and looked around at the other men. None of them would meet his eyes, and they stood in silence.
“Will we go after her?” Karsh dared to ask at last.
“There are invaders over the next ridge, boy,” Hunter said quietly. “They are more than we, and we think they are Blens. We didn’t get close enough to be certain, but we can’t attack them. We’ve lost Feather, but if we go against them, we will lose many more of our people.”
“But you can’t leave her with them!” Karsh stared at Hunter, unable to believe he would let Feather go so easily. “You can’t!”
“How many of our tribe should be killed in trying to rescue her?” Rand asked.
“But there were only two of them,” Karsh insisted. He turned back to Hunter, the man he felt closest to, the man who had taught him to shoot his bow and build a fire. “Maybe they weren’t part of the camp you saw. If there are two traveling alone, we could overtake them and bring Feather back.”
Shea shook his head. He was an elder, with Rand and Alomar. He stood before Karsh and looked into his eyes. “What you say is not sensible. Blens do not travel in twos. They rely on the strength of numbers. They have camped by the river, and it’s likely they sent out small foraging parties to scrounge up some food. One of those parties stumbled on you and Feather.”
“But Blens don’t take children,” Weave said uneasily, and they all looked at the young mother. She was holding her baby close now, and all could see fear in her face.
Karsh knew what they all knew. The Blens moved fast and hit hard. When they attacked a village, they killed all the children and old people—anyone who would slow them down. Sometimes they captured prisoners to work for them and strengthen their numbers.
Weave’s husband, Neal, one of the younger men, stepped over to her and took the little boy from her arms. “Feather is old enough to keep up and be of use to them,” he said. “She can fetch wood and carry their burdens. She can dry food and cook for them. And if they are clever, they will soon learn that she has other skills.”
Karsh’s heart sank. If the Blens learned that Feather had mastered the art of fletching, they would never let her go. Rand made straight, smooth arrow shafts of young tree shoots, but it was Feather who made them sing as they flew through the air. Her small hands allowed her to glue and bind the feathers to the shafts without marring them. All the elders agreed that Feather was more skillful at the craft than any of them.
“We will post an extra guard,” Jem said. “We must not lose any more of our people.
“I’ll go now,” Hunter offered. “Shea, Neal, you come relieve me and Hardy when the sun meets the western ridge.”
“Please!” Karsh said. The men all stared at him, and he lowered his gaze.
“What would you have us do?” Hunter asked. “The Blens are still about.”
“It is t
oo dangerous to venture outside this valley, boy.” Rand’s voice was much harsher than Hunter’s, and Karsh cringed at his tone and reproachful stare.
“After the evening meal we will talk again,” Alomar said, and the men all nodded. “We must keep sentries posted all night though, as long as the Blens are near.”
“And no cooking fires,” Rand added, looking toward Rose and Tansy.
Rose nodded. She had already let the fire die down under the stew pot as soon as Karsh told her Feather had been captured. She had known to allow no smoke to escape the valley and betray their presence.
The enforced wait made Karsh chafe almost unbearably. It was wrong! They needed to go after Feather now, not wait for the Blens to move away from the village. That might be too late for Feather. He wanted to go after her himself, even if the men would not go, but he knew that would be foolish. Most likely he would be captured himself or killed if he invaded the Blens’ camp. He looked up the hillside, to the meadow where the flock grazed. Maybe he would walk up there and talk to Cricket, the boy who watched the handful of sheep and goats.
But Alomar called to him.
“Keep your hands busy, boy.”
Karsh nodded. “What shall I do?”
“No hammering of metal today. The sound carries. But you can work on the leather or help Weave make thread.”
Karsh sighed. Those were tedious jobs, working hides until they were soft, flexible leather and twisting plant fibers and wool into long, tough threads that Weave could use on her loom to make clothing.
The afternoon dragged. Over and over, Karsh rolled wisps of wool against his thigh, forming a continuous strand of yarn. He tried to make it smooth, all of the same thickness. It took patience and concentration. As he worked, his heart wept for Feather. When the sun was low, Shea and Neal headed for their guard posts, and Karsh put the fleece and ball of yarn away. Hardy and Hunter soon returned to camp, reporting that they had seen no sign of the outlanders.
Feather Page 2