shoulders suggesting both annoyance and awkwardness. Both she and Tillu were staring up at them. He'd better get down there. 'Here,' he told the boy.
'Behind me. Put your feet behind mine. No, you have to hold on to me, I need the poles.
Now, when I move my feet, you move yours. First the left ... now the right. Ready?
Here we go!'
It was but a short run down the hill, but the boy whooped all the way, his grip around Heckram's waist surprisingly strong. Crossing the flat was more difficult, not so much because of the boy's awkward weight on the back of his skis but because of the two faces that awaited him. The smile on Tillu's face was a rare and cautious thing, while the look of warning that Elsa wore was becoming all too familiar to him. She did not approve of this silliness and the time it was taking.
'Jump off,' he told the boy when they halted before the women. Yet Kerlew's arms lingered around his waist an instant longer, tightened for a second in a convulsive hug of thanks before the boy stumbled away from him. His small face was shining with excitement.
'And now you will see my calf skin, and then have tea in my mother's hut,' Kerlew began excitedly.
'I'm afraid we cannot stay that long,' Elsa cut in smoothly. 'We have to visit the herd today, so we have still a ways to go. And we must get there soon enough that we can return before dark.'
The light went out of Kerlew's face like the sun going behind a cloud. Elsa went on, 'I was just telling Tillu that we only meant to say hello on our way. It is a nice calf hide; it is only a shame it was cut in the skinning.'
Heckram tousled Kerlew's hair in a gesture that was almost possessive. 'A few cuts in a hide matter little. A clever woman can always sew them shut.'
Now the look of gratitude on Tillu's face was unmistakable, if you would care to stay for just a few moments,' she said, her eyes going swiftly from Heckram's to Elsa's, 'you could have a cup of hot tea to warm you. And I have tallow, from the calf. I could mix the rub for you, Elsa. For your shoulder.'
'I have nothing to trade for it today,' Elsa said, and there was no mistaking the chill of formality in her voice.
'There is no need,' Tillu said awkwardly. 'When you gave me the needles and case, I said I would make it for you. It will take me but a moment ...' She glanced from Elsa to Heckram, plainly puzzled at Elsa's displeasure. Then her eyes went to Kerlew. He was crouched in the snow by Heckram, his hands tracing the pattern of lines and colors that decorated Heckram's ski pole. Her eyes narrowed and the light went from her face.
Dullness seemed to flood it, muting the life in her eyes. 'Of course, if you are in a hurry, you could come for it another time. Whenever it is convenient for you. Kerlew. Kerlew!
Run into the tent and find the other hide scraper for me. I think it is in the medicine box.'
The boy moved reluctantly at her bidding. And there it is, Heckram thought to himself as he kept a friendly smile pasted on his face. The vixen senses a threat to her cub, and chases him back to the den. Is this why they live apart? Elsa had been right, he realized. The woman lived alone out here deliberately. Not to deprive Kerlew of company, but to keep him from the danger of other folk. To protect the boy from hard looks and mocking words, and sly blows when no one was looking. Something inside his chest squeezed tight.
'I'd like to take Kerlew with us today,' he said suddenly. The idea had been in his mind since this morning. But now it seemed very important to him that it come to pass.
Tillu looked wary, while Elsa gasped as if he had doused her with cold water.
'How can we, Heckram? We're on skis; he could never keep up.'
'He could ride on the back of my skis. Or on my shoulders. He isn't that big, Elsa.'
Heckram spoke slowly, deliberately.
'But he would slow us down,' she objected in dismay. 'And already we have lost time, stopping here. Oh, Heckram, we cannot, not today.' Her voice was politely firm.
As was Tillu's. 'You are kind to offer, but the boy has work to do.'
He might have argued with Elsa. Tillu's words left no room for any objections. He looked at her, saw for an instant her watchfulness that would not allow her son to go into any situation where she could not be sure of protecting him. Then her face was politely empty. Her eyes looked away from his.
'I had hoped,' he began, 'to take the boy hunting with me tomorrow.'
'But Heckram -' interrupted Elsa, her upset evident.
'No.' Tillu's voice was smooth. 'Tomorrow I will need him here. You must see how it is, the boy and I alone. I depend on Kerlew for many things; I cannot allow him to go with you.'
'Tillu!'
The cry of anguish was Kerlew's. He had come up quietly behind her. The scraper fell from his hand as he darted forward toward Heckram. She caught him by his tunic back, held him beside her. 'They are in a hurry,' she said firmly. Kerlew wiggled, and her bare knuckles went white with keeping her grip. 'They have to leave now, Kerlew, and you must stay with me. Are not you the man of this tent? Have you not tasks of your own to keep you busy?'
Kerlew darted a glance at Elsa's face, saw her disapproval of the entire scene. He turned his eyes, bright with despair and betrayal, to Heckram. It was a gaze Heckram could not meet. 'Perhaps another time, Kerlew,' he muttered and bent to brush imaginary snow from his leggings.
Kerlew suddenly stopped struggling against Tillu's restraining grip. Very still he stood, and when Heckram dared to look up at his small face, it was closed. As carefully empty as Tillu's own. 'And perhaps not,' he said, his voice cracking on the words. His speech came suddenly faster, the words tumbling and twisted on his awkward tongue.
'It is not as if I have time to spare. To hunt is fine, but a shaman has many other things to attend. There is a world other men see not, the world a shaman moves in. It is there that I am more of a man than you can imagine, yes, and it is there that I protect my mother and bring animals for her to kill. It is there that I go and I call to Carp and he will come, very very soon he will come and I will have no time to go hunting, no, nor to use a bow, so there is no sense in your making one for me, for I would never use it, it would only lie in the corner of the hut -'
'We have to go,' Elsa said, her voice low and uneasy. She planted her ski poles firmly, swung herself suddenly away, and Heckram found himself following her, letting Kerlew's words fall to the snow behind him. 'I'm sorry,' he said, knowing the boy didn't even hear the words. He had to hurry to keep up with Elsa; he could not look back to where Kerlew babbled, his words flung like useless missiles against his own pain.
Heckram felt as if something within him had torn, as if he had broken a bond and the torn flesh was sore, very sore.
At the crest of the hill he ventured a glance back. Tillu already knelt by her hide again, busy with the scraper. Kerlew crouched in the snow, his face in his hands. He rocked as he grieved, looking like a much younger child than he was. The boy's pain sank its teeth into Heckram's heart. 'Why doesn't she go to him, hug him?' he demanded fiercely.
Elsa glanced back at him. 'What did you say?'
His anger flared at her. 'Why did you behave that way? Didn't you see how the boy's feelings were hurt?'
Her face went stony. 'All I saw was a young boy with no manners. A boy whose mother should teach him better. No wonder they have to live apart from folk. Who could tolerate a child like that in a village?'
'I could,' Heckram muttered.
Elsa's face suddenly warmed. She moved to his side, put her mittened hand atop his.
'I know you could. Who would have thought that a man like you could be such a fool over a boy?' Her hand traveled up his arm. 'We waited too long, you and I. But do not be impatient now. I have no doubt that by this time next year, there will be a little one in the komse. A boy, perhaps, that will look like you and will grow strong and tall. A boy of your own to teach and play with and hunt with. You will have a son of your own to share these things with, Heckram. A bright, well-mannered child.'
He looked down into her face, saw her own hunger. She would be a good mother, full of dreams for her children. She would bear fat, healthy babies, would protect them jealously when they were small. And when they were older, she would set her children free into their independence, launching them like leaf-boats in a stream.
