will sizzle over the fire, and all will smell its richness.'
A portion of his earlier triumph came back to the boy's face. He lifted the rabbits slowly, hefted them in his arms. 'Come into our tent,' he told Heckram grandly. 'My mother will cook my kill, and we two hunters will eat well tonight.'
Kerlew led the way to the tent and Heckram followed. He had to stoop to enter, and the light from the lamp struck a bronze sheen in his dark hair. The flap fell behind them, and Tillu stood alone in the dark. Had that been her son, speaking so well, standing almost straight? Had he really killed those rabbits, or had he only shared Heckram's hunt? She shook her head, and the question suddenly seemed to matter less than the question of why Heckram would take her son hunting. And then defend the boy from her own hasty judgment. And salvage the boy's triumph from her thoughtless humiliation of him.
Their voices reached her from within the tent, Kerlew's higher as he replied to something the man had said, and then their voices merging in a shout of laughter. I could walk away into the night, she thought. I would walk away and leave my son with him, and he would do well by the boy. I could not let Carp take my son. But I could give Kerlew to this Heckram and not regret it.
The tent flap lifted again, light spilling out. 'Come inside,' Kerlew called impatiently.
'Share my meat and Heckram's news. He is taking a woman soon, that Elsa. Is he not a lucky man?' He darted back inside without awaiting her reply.
'Is she not a lucky woman?' Tillu asked softly, then frowned over her words. She walked back to the tent she shared with her son.
CHAPTER TEN
'Mother?'
The pain in Heckram's voice jerked Ristin's attention from the tent hide she was piercing for lacing. He shadowed the door of the sod hut, the day bright behind him.
She squinted her eyes against the glare, and he stepped in, letting the flap fall behind him. He looked stricken. In that moment she knew what he would look like as a corpse.
It frightened her.
She tried not to show it. 'That's a long face for the man whose betrothal gathering is but five nights away.' She patted the hide on her lap. 'I've nearly finished boring the holes. Elsa has the sinew ready for the lacing. If you'd but make the time to cut and trim poles for it, this tent could be finished by nightfall. Or are you having second thoughts?'
As if he had ever had the first thought about this joining. He smiled a sickly smile.
'On the contrary. I've just decided to slaughter my fattest harke for the feast. Care to help me with the butchering?'
She stared at him in consternation, knowing full well that he grudged slaughtering any of his animals, let alone his heaviest reindeer ox. 'But I thought you were going hunting for meat ...' she began faintly.
'So I was, but something's saved me the trouble. It's Bruk. He'll have to be butchered.
I'd like some help.'
Ristin stood abruptly, letting the bone awl and heavy leather hide slip from her lap.
Without words she followed him out of the sod house and behind it, into the area where their pulkor harkar were hobbled. The sun was bright against the snow, but the air was cold. Ristin wrapped her arms around herself, wishing that she had paused to pull on her outdoor tunic. The back of winter was broken, and the light stretched longer with every day, but that did not mean that the true thaw of spring had begun. She hastened to match her son's long stride, straining to hear his muttered words.
'I was going to harness Bruk up and drive the pulkor over to the healer's. I wanted to invite her and the boy to the betrothal feast. But when I came out here -'
Heckram gestured.
Ristin's two harkar had wandered up to the edge of the woods and were busily pawing up the snow in their search for lichen. The rest of their animals grazed higher in the hills with the main herd. Those two harness harkar and Bruk were kept close by the hut for convenience. Bruk was a prime animal, weighing twice as much as her tall son, even if the harke's shoulders came but chest high on the man. Bruk's coat was sleek, and his neck and haunches rippled with muscle. He could carry his own weight in a pack load, or pull a loaded sledge all day without faltering. Heckram had broken him to harness two years ago when Bruk was a feisty three-year-old. Now he was as responsive an animal as any herder could wish for, healthy and strong, with a long life of usefulness ahead of him. Ristin could not think of a possession her son valued more.
But the harke was down in the snow, not browsing with the others. He rested now, but his sides heaved as if he had run all night. Then, as Ristin watched, the reindeer heaved itself up on its front legs. Panting and grunting, it struggled to rise. But his hind legs were limp and useless, remaining bent in the snow. He sagged back into the pawed snow around him, his exhaustion evident, and sounded his distress with coughing grunts.
'What's wrong with him?' Ristin demanded, fearing some new disease. She made no move to approach.
'His hock tendons are severed. Something did it in the night.' Heckram was keeping his voice carefully neutral, but Ristin knew the effort it cost him. Bruk represented the work of years, had been Heckram's sturdiest and best harke. Now he was useless for anything but meat. It was a staggering blow to a man considering marriage.
And an inconceivable accident. 'But how?' Ristin demanded, her voice rising with her outrage. 'No wolverine kills that way. A bear mauls. A wolf might hamstring a wild reindeer. But any predator would have killed and fed before it left. And we heard nothing last night.'
'Bruk was used to people. He probably just stood there, expecting the harness.' As Heckram spoke he moved closer to the panicky animal. He placed a gentling hand on his shoulder, and Bruk turned puzzled eyes to his master. 'Steady, fellow,' Heckram comforted him. He moved in closer to Bruk as the wearied animal let his head sink, calming him with his touch and soothing words. Then Heckram sank his knife in, a straight swift blow to the heart. He gave a practiced twist to the blade and left it in the wound. Bruk gave one startled bellow, then slowly foundered into the trampled snow.
Little blood escaped from the wound. It was the herdfolk's way of killing a meat animal.
The blood would collect in the chest cavity to congeal, then to be scooped out with birch scoops by the butchers and made into blood sausage.
Ristin, hardened as she was to butchering time, flinched as the knife went in. She was silent as a final shudder ran through Bruk's heavy shoulders.
'Who would do such a thing?' she wondered aloud in a choked voice. 'Have you reported it to Capiam? He should come and see this before we butcher, to witness the truth of what we say. Whoever did this must be brought before the herdlord!'
'No.' Heckram spoke softly but firmly. He knelt down in the snow beside the fallen animal. His knife haft stuck up from the dead beast, but he stroked the fur on its side as if it would take comfort from his touch. 'No, I have told only you. Nor shall we. Think about it, mother. Has Capiam sent word of his congratulations on my betrothal? Has he sent a gift of food, or offered one for the feast? Who has? Lasse's grandmother, of course. Rilk, and Reynor, Trode and Lanta, Jakke. Ibb and Bror. All of them folk living as close to the edge as we do. Those who could spare it the least have sent the most.
And those who wallow in food, and feed their dogs what our children would be glad for? They have sent nothing, no word, no gift, no sign.
'So shall I give them the satisfaction of watching me run to Capiam, bemoaning the loss of one animal and crying out for justice? No. There would be no justice, only satisfaction for whoever did it. He would know his blow had hurt. So. We shall have a butchering instead. You and I. Our finest harke, to honor Elsa and her family. Bruk will be a bit tough. He wasn't young, and he was struggling for a long time before I even found him. But there will be plenty of him, and it will speak well of our opinion of Elsa and her family.' He ran his hand again over the shining hair. 'He'll make a nice bedhide for Elsa.'
