“Garta is right-you can’t be up close where you might get hurt.”
“Well, at least let me come to the hilltop,” pleaded the youth, his black hair hanging almost in his dark eyes. “I can keep a lookout behind you-and I’d be just as safe there as hiding back in this stupid ravine.”
Garta looked at Moreen, and again the cheiftain’s daughter made the decision. “All right, you can come that far with us. No closer, and don’t you dare get in the way.”
“I promise!” agreed Mouse.
“I’ll keep an eye on the boy,” Dinekki said curtly. “Now, aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Yes, Grandmother,” Moreen said gratefully. “Will you ask for the blessing of Chislev Wilder upon our endeavor?”
“That is the purpose of the paint,” explained the shaman, who by now had daubed each of the women with a band of red coloring under each eye and across the forehead. “Now, take each other’s hand in a circle, all of you- and let me in, too!” she snapped.
Moreen felt a buzzing in her arms, a lightness in her feet, an energizing power. Chislev was all around them, their goddess was smiling up at them from the green grass, could be heard in the buzz of the hive-bound bees, the splashing of the fish in the nearby stream. For Chislev Wilder was a deity of nature, and her power and beauty lay in all of nature’s aspects, including blood and death.
“The goddess will steady your aim and lend strength to your blows. Now, go and do battle in her name.”
With Moreen and Tildey in the lead, the Arktos she-warriors filed up the steep chute and, staying low, emerged onto the crest of the coastal hill. The blessing of Chislev felt like a warm blanket around them. With the sun still visible, low in the northwest, the women, in their brown leather vests and tan leggings crouched and did a reasonable job of blending into the brush-covered ground. As they came over the hilltop, Moreen motioned to them to get down, and as a band they dropped to their hands and knees and began creeping forward.
“See that rocky outcrop?” the chieftain’s daughter whispered, pointing. The promontory jutted above the beach, looming over the tuskers and the carcass of the whale. “We’ve got to crawl out there without being seen.”
The others nodded grimly. Moreen saw the fire of determination in Tildey’s expression as the archer bent and strung her bow, the scowl of anger that burned across Bruni’s brow, the tremulous fear blinking in Garta’s eyes, and the faces of Nangrid and Hilgrid and Darna and so many others. They all looked to her with hope and at least a show of confidence, and she was determined not to let them down.
She had gone over the plan in detail, and there was no need for further discussion. Pointing to Little Mouse, she held up her hand in silent command for him to stay, then started along the narrow ridge of land. Crawling, staying low, she was able to remain out of the line of sight. Soon she had reached the shelter of the rocks and looked to see that the women of the band were following, one after another, along the elevation. Little Mouse was a small blur against the hilltop a long stone’s throw away.
Moreen herself carried three harpoons. Her sinewy cord was looped around her wrist, ready if she needed it, but for now she would not tie it to any of the weapons. She laid two of the harpoons behind a rock and hefted the third, as Tildey leaned forward and nocked an arrow into the string of her bow. On the other side of the archer Bruni crouched expectantly, the heavy, stone-headed club balanced in her hands. The rest of the warriors crowded around them, all of them keeping low and out of sight of the thanoi.
Moreen saw that the tuskers seemed to be finishing up their labors with the whale carcass, at least for the night. A few of them had flopped onto the ground to rest, while others were seated up the beach, busily gnawing on great, crimson strips of raw meat.
Tildey looked at Moreen, who nodded and pulled back until she could barely see their enemies through a crack between two boulders. The others remained still and hidden.
Standing up, drawing the butt of an arrow back to her cheek, Tildey took careful aim. She released the string with a soft
The nearest thanoi, a great brute sitting with its back toward the humans, lurched forward with a grunt, dropped the piece of meat it had been holding, and sprawled onto the ground. The shaft of Tildey’s arrow jutted squarely from its broad back, right at the base of the neck.
“Nice shot,” whispered Moreen, impressed. Her hand closed tightly around the haft of her harpoon as she watched the nearby thanoi leap to their feet with a chorus of barking and growling.
The archer was already preparing a second arrow, drawing a careful bead and shooting in one smooth motion. This missile punctured the thigh of a standing tusker, spinning the creature fully around before it dropped to the ground with a howl of outrage.
Now Tildey had been seen, and the thanoi rushed toward the base of the rocky knob where she was positioned, snatching up stout spears, heavy clubs, and wicked bone knives lying on the beach.
Moreen saw Garta and Nangrid look at her, wide-eyed and tense, but she shook her head vehemently, pleading for them to remain hidden. Obviously nervous, they nevertheless stayed low, fingers clenched around their unfamiliar weapons. With another glance through the crack in the rocks, the chieftain’s daughter saw that the tuskers had started up the hill, though-as she had planned-they found the going tough on the steep and boulder- strewn slope.
A third walrus-man grunted in pain as Tildey shot again. This tusker was caught full in the chest and rolled backward to lie still at the bottom of the hill.
“Here they are,” Tildey said coolly as she set another arrow against her string. Moreen saw a brutal face looming just on the other side of her rock, dull eyes glaring balefully, wicked tusks swaying back and forth.
“Now!” she cried, leaping to her feet, the harpoon steady in her hand as she drew back for a throw.
The barbed head of the harpoon pierced the thanoi right in the throat and its wide jaws gaped soundlessly as the brute dropped its spear to claw desperately at the weapon. With a frantic, lashing twist the tusker spun around and tumbled away, knocking down one of its still-climbing fellows from the force of its fall.
Moreen heard whoops and screams as the other women also rose and launched their attack, bashing and poking and shouting in the face of the stunned tuskers. Bruni smashed her stone hammer hard into the broad snout of a walrus-man, and the beast fell, clasping both hands to its bleeding maw. The big woman smashed downward again, killing the creature. Nangrid also pierced one, driving the metal point of her spear clear through its sinewy torso, then shaking her weapon free. The tusker, groaning and bleeding, flopped helplessly on the ground at her feet.
Other women hurled rocks. Several good-sized boulders clattered down among the thanoi, knocking them backward or bouncing down the slope, forcing the other thanoi to dodge out of the way. The sudden onslaught caught the monsters by surprise, and those that weren’t struck down immediately hesitated in their ascent, piglike eyes flashing as they confronted this horde of screaming, wild-looking attackers. Moreen had encouraged the Arktos to make a lot of noise, and-whether because of her instructions, or the fierce, panicked energy that seized them at the moment of battle-the tribeswomen were whooping it up like a crazed band of berserk warriors.
One of the walrus-men, a huge beast with long, curling tusks and an ornately feathered spear, shouted something Moreen could not understand. It was obviously a command, and the surviving tuskers wasted no time in scrambling back down the hillside, slipping and stumbling in their haste.
“After them!” cried the chieftain’s daughter, snatching up her second harpoon. Tildey’s bowstring twanged again, as Moreen cast her weapon, and the twin missiles took the tusker leader through the belly and shoulder.
Garta was shouting something unintelligible as she lunged after a particularly slow thanoi, snapping off one of its tusks with a wild sweep of her club. The creature jabbed back with its spear and the Arktos woman cried out, falling backward, blood running from her stomach. The walrus-man lunged, jabbing a tusk toward her heart-but Garta, kicking frantically, managed to hold the monster at bay until Bruni kicked it away, then crushed its skull with a hard blow of her club.
Moreen hefted her last harpoon and started picking her way down the steep slope.
“Remember-none can escape!” she shouted, as the other tribeswomen, too, started in pursuit. Spears flew, most of the weapons clattering harmlessly across the rocks, though at least one other tusker fell, pierced through the leg. Nangrid stepped on the squirming thanoi and, with a quick flick of her skinning knife plunged deftly between
