Heckram guarded them jealously, seeing the doubling of the herd in their bulging sides.
He had another reason to travel slowly. While Lasse skied ahead of him through the darkness, alongside their animals, Heckram came at the rear of the herd, leading a harke with Carp perched atop it. The old man had attached himself to Heckram; Heckram did not enjoy the role. Heckram made enough sense of his strangely accented words to know that a shaman was a najd, a wizard, one who crossed ceaselessly between the day world and that other world of which no man spoke lightly. Heckram knew enough of that world to know that Carp was not a man it would be wise to offend. Yet he did not want to know more of the man or be drawn into his confidences.
Just being physically close to Carp made Heckram nervous. It was hard to ignore his endless bragging stories and impossible to avoid his nagging questions. But while Heckram patiently led the harke with Carp clinging and swaying on its packsaddle, he made no effort to befriend the old man or to ask any questions of him. He deliberately kept his eyes fixed on the rump of the animal in front of him, ignoring the shaman at his side. It didn't discourage the najd.
Carp nattered on, unashamed of riding a harke like a child while Heckram plodded beside him in the dark. His words rattled off Heckram's bent shoulders like flung pebbles.'... and in that hunt, three men were able to bring down the bear that had been raiding our food stores. Enu fell to the bear, but that was as the spirits decreed and not a thing to mourn. Enu had offended Bear in the first place, by letting his woman eat of the heart of the first he- bear killed that season, or none of that bad luck would have found us. Then, after we had skinned the bear and taken the meat, I put the skull in the hollow of a burned birch stump, and within its jaws I placed the bear's heart and Enu's heart, joined together by a pine stake thrust through both of them. Thus was Bear satisfied, and we lost no more meat caches that year. And four moons later, Enu's woman birthed a man-child, and on his skull and on the back of his shoulders was coarse black hair, just like Bear's. Such a hunter as that boy grew to be! What furies could take him!
Sometimes in the heat of a hunt, he would fling his weapon down and leap at the beast, his teeth flashing whiter than a wolf's. He would grab the deer by its antlers and force its nose to the earth, and then ...'
Heckram plodded on, letting the old man's voice blend with the clicking of the reindeer's hooves and the crunch of snow under them. By morning they would reach the talvsit, he told himself. And then ... Images of a sod hut, its hearth cold, of old Kuoljok's empty eyes, of Ristin's careful smile. The unfinished traveling chest crouched in his hut like a reproached dog. In the gray light of dawn, he'd have to face it.
Each thought dragged at him, pulling his spirit down deeper into a cold, numb place.
He pushed his mind on. After a few days of rest, the real spring migration would begin.
All the herdfolk, all the animals, moving from the foothills and forest out onto the open tundra. Sweet spring grasses springing up as soon as the snow bared the ground, the vajor dropping their gangly calves, the gentle wind smelling of tundra flowers as it wandered in and out of the scattered tents. The wide places under the unsetting sun.
It was no good. None of it would be any good, until this thing with Elsa was finished. It was like a task that would give him no peace until it was accomplished. The rest of his life would have to be put off until it was solved. He would take no joy in spring, would not find satisfaction in the new calves, would not relish the fresh greens, until he had made some sense of Elsa's death. Like a terrible debt he must pay. He scratched at the cut down his face, distracting himself. It was healing well, despite Carp's prediction.
'... but that is the value of a shaman. We are the go-betweens, who stitch the worlds together like sinews joining hides into garments. People without a shaman are people alone and half blind. Their lives can make no sense, for they are only living half of it.
Things happen to them, and they cannot understand why, or what they can do about it.
Some lose their spirit guides, and sicken and die without knowing why. Children are born and grow and go blindly through their lives, sometimes offending the very spirits that would shelter and guide them. Their days are long and sad and filled with misfortune. Life becomes a burden to them, and they are vulnerable to any who wish to work harm upon them.'
Heckram found himself nodding to the najd's words. Long, sad days, filled with misfortune.
'Don't you want to ask what I can do for such a one?' Carp's words hung black in the night. Heckram turned to him slowly.
The old man's pale eyes showed almost white in the night, gripping him with their strangeness. He stared into them, unable to reply. Carp answered his own question.
'Such a one can be put on a pathway, and ushered into a journey back to his spirit beast. The journey is dangerous and only the strong return. No one can go with a man on that journey; he must undertake it alone. Along the way, he may meet spirits. If he has wisdom, when he meets his spirit guide he will know him, and he will know how to bind his spirit guide to himself. Then, when the man returns from his journey, his spirit guide comes back with him. If he is very wise, he listens to his spirit beast and accepts his aid. Wisest of all is the one who seeks the guidance of a shaman to find what his spirit beast desires, and what he must do to restore balance to his life.'
Heckram realized with a start that he was standing still, his feet numb in the snow as he stared into Carp's clouded eyes. He no longer heard the click and crunch of the moving herd. He was alone in the blackness of night with the peculiar old man crouched on the back of the harke like some predator ready to sink its claws. A wind slipped past them and wandered off through the trees. An unworldly silence followed it, quenching all familiar night sounds. No branch sighed in the wind, no twigs rustled to a lemming's passage. The stillness was complete.
'Look!' The shaman's shrill whisper cracked the silence. 'Look who follows!'
Heckram turned wide eyes back the way they had come. There was nothing there, only the trail wending off into darkness. He held his breath, listening, as his eyes scanned for any shift of shadow. There was none.
'Nothing follows us, old man,' he rumbled softly.
'Not us!' hissed Carp, a note of laughter in his whisper. 'Not us. You!'
Unwillingly Heckram looked back once more. He stiffened. His grip tightened on the harke's lead rope. Something large and shaggy slipped across the trail behind them and merged with the trees on the other side. He did not breathe as he eased the reindeer into movement. The harke's eyes shone round and black, his nostrils flaring as he snorted out his fear. When Heckram tried to breathe, the air jammed in his throat and he wheezed. He stumbled off the hard crust of the trail and plunged knee-deep into softer snow. Frantically he dragged himself up and tried to increase his pace. On the harke's back, Carp rocked back and forth in silent paroxysms of laughter. Heckram longed to strike him and knew he did not dare. Only a fool offended a najd. His movement made the panicky animal stagger. It jerked against the halter and tried to rear despite the shaman's weight on its back. Heckram dragged it on, taking long swift strides.
A part of him knew what followed. Another part of him refused the possibility of such a thing. Glancing back did no good. The treacherous moonlight showed a flash of fang, a glint of silver guard hairs, a gleam of lambent eyes, but never betrayed the follower entire.
Sweat broke out over his whole body, trickling down his back and ribs. 'Grip to the pack frame,' he croaked to Carp. 'Hold tight so that if we have to run, you won't be thrown.'
'There's no outrunning him!' Carp cackled, spraying spittle. The old man rocked in the packsaddle.
'Maybe not,' Heckram muttered. 'But we'll try. I'm not going to try to stand and face that.'
'Run, then!' cackled the old man. 'I'm sure he won't mind! The faster you run, the sooner we'll get there.'
Heckram burst suddenly into motion. The reindeer beside him sprang forward gladly, stretching and straining to put distance between itself and that which followed.
The najd clung to the lurching packsaddle. Heckram gave the harke the best part of the trail, so that at every fifth or ninth step he plunged through the snow crust and had to wallow up again. Twice he dared to look back, and each time found his pursuer no farther behind. The whisk of grayish shape, the flash of glowing eye, haunted him.
He lifted his eyes to glance down the trail before him, hoping to see the other reindeer and herders. Wolves did not attack groups of men and animals. In numbers there would be safety. His feet pounded on. Any moment he expected to see the gray shape slip past him, to head the reindeer off and turn them back into the pack that certainly followed. He ran until the reindeer was staggering and a lancing pain stabbed up through his ribs. Sweat stung his eyes, the najd stoically bounced on the packsaddle, the reindeer made a bad step, and, as the snow gave
