After three long months of confinement, the people could feel the change in the weather. The days grew longer, and the snow began to shrink. Storms were fewer and weaker when they came, and Karsh knew that spring would soon be upon them when Hunter and Jem organized a hunting trip.
“Take me with you,” Karsh pleaded as usual, and this time Hunter did not refuse him.
Sam and Hardy also joined the party, and Karsh was so thrilled that he would not have been able to hold his bow steady if they had come upon game the first day out.
They camped that night in a cave that was merely an overhang of rock, but the ground below was free from snow now, and a fire made it quite cozy. On the second day Hardy spotted the fresh tracks of a bear.
“Karsh, you stay behind me,” Hunter said, as the men pressed forward, following the tracks toward a patch of thick pine woods.
Karsh was a little put out. Hunter was still treating him like a child, and he was nearly twelve summers old. But another part of him was glad. He did not mind being watched over by Hunter. They came last as the men fanned out into the thicket.
Ahead of them Hardy’s sudden yell was lost in a great roar. Hunter hurried forward, and Karsh stuck to his heels. They pushed through the low branches of the close-growing pines and were suddenly in a small clearing, where Hardy stood face-to-face with an upright bear.
The bear’s fur was dark and matted, and the smell of the animal hit Karsh suddenly, almost nauseating him, but he stood his ground. Hardy was barely ten feet from the bear when he shot his arrow into its heart. The bear grunted, then lunged forward at him, knocking him down. Just before it fell on Hardy, Jem and Hunter ran in from the sides, shoving lances into the bear’s body.
Karsh stood rooted to the ground. It was all finished in less than a minute, but it seemed forever before the bear lay still and the men rolled its carcass off Hardy.
“Are you all right?” Hunter asked, extending his hand to Hardy.
Hardy stood up, gasping. “Mostly.”
They all laughed, then Jem examined the deep claw marks on Hardy’s arm. “You’ll live, but we’d better wrap that.”
Hardy nodded, still pulling in deep breaths. “He’s heavy. I thought he would crush me.”
“Just sit and get some air,” said Sam. “We’ll dress the beast out.”
Karsh was able to move forward then, and Hunter glanced at him.
“Get a fire going, Karsh, and we’ll have roasted bear tonight.”
Karsh was glad to have a chore and also glad that he had thought to bring along his fire-making tools. He gathered some dry pine twigs from the bottoms of the nearby trunks, below the lowest branches. Pine trees always supplied dry kindling. It wasn’t long before he had a blaze going on the shallow snow in the middle of the clearing.
Jem washed Hardy’s wound with snow, then tied it up with a strip of cloth he produced from his pack.
“Now sit near the fire,” Jem instructed Hardy. “You and Karsh will be the cooks tonight.”
Karsh knew Hardy did not like to admit weakness, but he seemed a little wobbly on his feet, and he did not protest Jem’s words, but came meekly to sit on a blanket near the blaze.
“There’s a lot of meat on this bear,” Hunter called. “I think we should head back in the morning. No need to keep hunting now.”
“You don’t want to try for a deer as well?” Hardy asked.
“No, this will keep the people fed for a week, I’d say, and I hate to stay away too long this time of year.”
“It’s the time when wanderers are stirring,” Jem agreed.
“Do you get marauders in the spring?” Sam asked.
Hunter nodded grimly. “Sometimes. We always keep watch. Sometimes they come into this area to hunt or to look for easy plunder.”
“Blens?” Sam asked.
“Not this early. They seem to spend the winter farther south. We won’t see them until later, but there will be others.”
“Not usually as powerful or as well organized as the Blens,” Hardy said, and the other men nodded.
“We stay hidden for the most part,” Hunter said. “Our valley is hard to find if you do not know where to look.”
Sam nodded. “I almost missed it myself.”
“Let’s go back tomorrow,” Jem said, and Hunter grinned at him.
“Already you’re pining for home?”
“Home and those who live there,” said Hardy, and they all laughed. It was no secret that Jem had courted Zee during the winter, and everyone expected the elders to perform the marriage ceremony soon.
Karsh was glad. His young friend Bente would have a mother again. Bente seemed pleased with the arrangement.
Jem was even talking of building another family house this summer. But seeing them unite as a family reopened Karsh’s sorrow for his own loss.
They ate their fill of meat that night and hung the carcass high in a tree. The next morning they slung it from a pole and headed home. They took turns carrying the bear and scouting the trail ahead.
An hour’s walk from the village, Karsh was leading the party. It was an honor to be allowed to go first, watching out for intruders. He had never felt so grown up. He hurried along through the sparse hardwood trees, keeping watch on every side. Movement caught his eye through the bare branches, and he stopped. Yes, he was not mistaken. A man was moving in the same direction they were. He was about to sprint back to tell the others when he noticed the dogs bearing packs.
The trader!
With joy he turned back. Jem was not far behind him, and Karsh ran to tell him the news.
“So, hail him!” Jem cried.
Karsh turned and raced through the trees. “Friend!” he called when he again spotted the cloaked figure.
The man swung around, and his expression went from alarm to pleasure. The two dogs began to bark, but the trader spoke sharply to them, and they sat down whining. “I am just on my way to your village,” Friend said as the men came up to join them. “I see you have had a good hunt.”
“Yes,” said Jem. “We welcome you to feast with the Wobans tonight.”
“With pleasure.”
That evening there was much merriment in the lodge. Alomar announced that Jem and Zee would be married in
seven days’ time, and the trader showed new wares he had accumulated during the winter as he went from tribe to tribe. His dogs lay by the fire with Snap and Bobo, happy to be idle and sheltered.
Karsh and the other boys and girls gathered around as eagerly as the women while Friend unloaded his packs, and the trader suddenly looked at Karsh.
“There is something here that may interest you, my young friend.”
From his pack he drew a stick about eight inches long, broken on one end. At the other end were a notch and three curved feathers.
Karsh felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. He reached out for it, and his hand shook. Hunter and Rand also stepped forward.
“It is Feather’s work,” Karsh breathed.
“May I?” Hunter took the broken arrow from his hand and looked at it closely, then handed it to Rand. “You are the master, sir. Is this our Feather’s fletching?”
Rand took the arrow closer to the lamp and studied the feathers, the glue, and the thread work thoughtfully. “The materials are inferior, but I believe I see her touch. Look here, Hunter. This is the way I taught her to trim the feathers. Anyone could copy that, of course, but the threading is distinctive too.” Rand shook his head with a sigh. “She was so deft at it. She took to it instantly, you remember.”
“Yes,” Hunter said softly. “She is a special child.” Alomar cleared his throat. “We must not give up hope that we will see her again one day.”
“Where did you get this?” Hunter asked the trader. He hesitated. “It grieves me to say that it was at a village where I have traded before, but it is no more. The houses were burned, and I suspect there were corpses inside. I did not stop to dig about, but I found an arrow in the Blen style
. As I left the spot, I spied this shattered arrow in the grass. It was different from their usual design, which is not really a design at all, but a crude, clumsy missile. This, however, is very fine. If they had some spruce and good glue, they would have the best arrows I’ve ever seen. Like yours, that is to say.”
“And where was this village?” Rand asked.
“Far to the south of here.”
Rand nodded grimly. “They kept her alive then and put her to work.”
“That in itself is good news,” Hunter said, putting his arm around Karsh’s shoulders.
Friend smiled. “If you folk would only trade me some of your arrows, I could give you a good exchange. People everywhere would want them.”
Hunter shook his head. “We do not wish to trade our arrows.”
The trader shrugged.
“I was training her, and she surpassed me,” Rand said softly. He turned away abruptly.
“He likes Feather,” Karsh whispered to himself. Hunter squeezed his shoulder. “He took it hard when she was captured. Rand is not unfeeling, you see.”
“It’s only because she is good at making arrows.”
“No. It’s more than that. He admires her spirit and her willingness to learn. You have some of that yourself.” Karsh looked up at him doubtfully, and Hunter smiled.
“You are of the same blood, you and Feather. There is no doubt in my mind.”
“I don’t look like her.”
“Her hair is darker than yours, but your brown eyes are alike. And you have the same small ears.”
Karsh blinked. He’d never thought much about ears before, and he’d never seen his own, but Feather’s were small, it was true. They lay flat against her head and didn’t stick out through her hair like Lil’s did.
“But she is with the Blens now.”
“She is alive and healthy,” Hunter reminded him. “She is working, practicing her craft. And she is very clever.”
“I will find her,” Karsh whispered.
Chapter Thirteen
Lex's people were marching northward.
Feather’s anticipation grew as they traveled along swiftly. Winter was over, and the wounded were stronger now. They marched from sunup to dusk, and little Tarni ran along beside his mother for longer stretches each day. When he tired, Dell scooped him up and sat him on his shoulders.
Cade was healthy now and was counted with the warriors when they raided or hunted. When he and Tag returned from an expedition, Feather did not ask questions. She ate the food that was given her and went on, thinking always of her home.
Patch was the size of a large dog now. His body was long and lithe. When he wrestled with Tag, he kept his claws sheathed, but in hunting he was merciless. He brought down larger game now—a pronghorn, a small deer, and even a half-grown pig. Lex laughingly called him “the meat giver.”
Tag was held in high esteem, and Feather was sure most of the tribe members feared the panther. They thought Patch somehow transferred power to his owner. The cat allowed Feather to stroke him and throw him bits of food, but if anyone else besides Tag came close, Patch snarled and showed his fangs. As a result, everyone kept a respectful distance.
Tag no longer kept him on a rope. He knew Patch would return to him after hunting and roaming the plains.
“Aren’t you afraid he’ll find some other panthers and leave you?” Cade asked.
“No. His heart is mine,” Tag said, but Feather wondered what would happen at the end of summer, when the Blens congregated near the City of Cats once more.
After a nighttime raid, Tag came to her and hurried her away from the others.
“Hide these!”
She felt the hard, flat objects he gave her, and even in the darkness, she knew they were books.
“How will we keep anyone from seeing them?”
“Just keep them in the bottom of your pack. Someday we will find a chance to look at them. One of them has pictures, Feather!”
“Pictures?”
“Yes! Animals wearing clothes. It is very strange.”
It was hard for her to go to sleep that night as she thought about the books in the pack beneath her head.
I t must be meant for children,” she insisted a few days later. The Blens were camped at a river crossing, and Lex had called a day of rest and hunting. Patch was stretched out beside them on the new grass, soaking up the weak sunshine.
Tag frowned, leafing through the slender book once more. “Maybe, but I’ve never heard of such a thing. Books for children?”
“There are lots of things we have never heard of,” Feather pointed out.
Slowly Tag struggled with the words. “The . . . fox . . . tock . . . no, took . . . his . . . sack . . .”
“You see,” Feather whispered in excitement. “It has to be a made up story for children. A fox couldn’t carry a sack like that.” She stared at the drawing of a wily fox, walking upright with a bag slung over his shoulder. “No one would believe this was real.”
Tag sighed. “I wish my old teacher was here. He could tell us what it means.”
“What about this one?” Feather asked. She picked up the second volume. It was even smaller than the one with the pictures of the fox. The cover was soft leather.
Tag opened it, turning the first few pages impatiently. “The say . . . sayings of . . . Hen . . . Henbee.” He grimaced. “It’s too hard.”
Feather blinked at him. “The sayings of Henbee?”
“I think that’s what it says. But what is Henbee?”
Feather looked off toward the river, thinking. “It must be a name.”
“It must be.”
“Perhaps it is full of the things this person Henbee said.”
“Why?”
She shrugged.
A small sound caught her ear, and Feather turned. Denna stood behind the rock they were using to shield them from the camp. She leaned over it and peered down at them.
“What are you two doing?”
“Nothing.” Feather gulped.
“You have books!”
Tag had tried to hide them hastily under his thigh. He made a face at Feather but said nothing.
“Don’t tell!” Feather looked up at Denna, suddenly afraid.
“You aren’t supposed to keep plunder without Lex’s permission. And if you had permission, you wouldn’t look so guilty.”
“It’s nothing,” Tag said. “I can’t even read it very well. It’s just . . .”
“It’s a stupid story about a fox who wears clothes,” Feather said.
“Let me see.”
“No.” Tag didn’t move to show her the books.
Denna’s eyes narrowed. “I can get you in trouble.”
“Why would you want to do that?” Tag asked, but Feather thought she knew. Denna had disliked her since the day she joined the Blens. Maybe it was something about the way she looked or talked, or the attention given to her because of her skill in fletching, but for whatever reason, she had no doubt that Denna would be glad to see her punished.
“Lex wants you,” Denna said to Tag, without answering his question.
“Fine. I’ll be right there.”
Denna turned and walked away.
“Do you think she will tell?” Feather asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe she’ll just wait until she sees a way to use it to get something.” He handed over the books, and Feather shoved them into her pack.
Tag rose and whistled to Patch. The panther stretched and got up. On his glistening sides, the dark spots of the adult were appearing.
“He’s huge,” Feather said.
Tag smiled and stroked the cat’s head. “I’ll come back later. And don’t leave your pack lying around where Denna can snoop in it.”
A fter supper that evening, when Tag met her once more behind the rock, Feather leaned close and said, “Denna says she won’t tell if we let her see the book and you read the story to her.”
“I can’t even read it to myself yet.”
Tag looked over the rock, back toward the camp, then sat down.
“She doesn’t know about the other books,” Feather said. “I didn’t tell her we have three now.”
“Just as well. Although I like the fox one best. We don’t want her to take it away or tell the leaders about it. Then they might take it to trade.”
“Or use for tinder,” Feather agreed.
“I don’t think they’d do that if they saw the pictures. But they might burn the others.” Tag opened the illustrated book and smiled. “I think this is a funny story. See how the fox is after the bird. But over here, the bird is up in the tree. He got away from the fox.”
“See if you can figure out the words,” Feather pleaded. “I’ll keep watch.”
“All right.” He bent over the book.
After several minutes, he said. “Ah! It’s as I thought. The fox thinks he is smart, but the crow outwits him.”
“Should I tell Denna tonight that you’ll read it to her?”
Tag frowned up at her. “What do you think?”
“It might be best. But I know she doesn’t like me. She still might tell on us to harm me.”
“Maybe she’ll like you more if we read together.”
Feather sighed. “If we start getting together too much, other people will be curious.”
T wo nights later Feather took Denna aside when the chores were done. It was still light, and they hurried toward a patch of brush.
“Tag will meet us in the middle of the bushes,” Feather said. She and Denna pushed aside the branches. When they found a sheltered spot they sat down, and Feather took out the fox book.
“Here, you can hold it, but be careful. The pictures tell the story, but Tag can read most of it now. You will see how funny it is.”
Denna’s eyes grew large as she stared at the colorful scene on the cover.
“Can you read too?” she asked.
Feather shook her head. “None of my people can read. We wish we could. Our oldest man remembered books and stories, but the knowledge of reading is lost to our tribe.”
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