from you? What would you have to give him to get Kerlew back?'
Tillu shook her head slowly. 'More than I could give him.'
'Hides? Meat? Reindeer?' Heckram pressed. 'I am not a wealthy man, but I have ...'
'No.' The weariness in Tillu's voice silenced him. 'It is too late. I know Carp. He will never give Kerlew up. Nor will he stop until he finds a way to bring me under his command.' She lifted her hands and rubbed hard at her face. 'I have always known that.
There is no way that I can regain Kerlew.'
Heckram crossed the tent and sat beside her. He didn't touch her. She held herself too tightly; if he touched her, she would break. 'What if you took the boy and went away?' he asked.
'He'd follow again,' she said dully. 'And he is always with the boy, and Kerlew would never willingly leave him. I've lost him. My son is lost to me. He will be what Carp shapes him to be, a man as conniving and vicious as Carp himself.'
The depth of pain in the small woman's voice broke Heckram. He reached for her, then drew his hand back. 'Don't give up,' he whispered. 'Let me think about it. But don't give up yet.'
She looked at him, and through him. Something hardened inside her, some small bit of resistance that she had not known she possessed. Heckram saw it in her face and dared to smile at her. Almost, she smiled back. Then she gave herself a small shake and rose suddenly. 'Can you help me give Ketla a drink of water?' she asked him. He nodded.
Tillu pulled her sandy eyelids open. A gray dawn had infiltrated the hut to put a merciful end to the night. She lifted her head, felt the jab of a kink in her neck. She had been sleeping with her back braced against a carved chest. Now as she stood up, the ground seemed to rock under her feet. She leaned a hand on the chest and looked around her.
Ketla and Rolke lay exactly as she had left them. She should check them again. In a moment. She scrubbed at her face. Capiam lay with a single hide tossed across his still-clothed form. A line divided his brows and his face was gray with the fever he wouldn't admit. Heckram was gone. She tried to remember his leaving and couldn't. She remembered the cup of soup and piece of cheese he had brought from Ristin's hearth.
She had eaten it, and then he had said something about watching Kerlew and Carp. He must have left then. She rubbed at her eyes and temples, willing the dull pounding inside her head to stop.
All night she had moved from Ketla to Rolke and back again, keeping water in Ketla, and endeavoring to get Rolke to drink. The stench of sickness was thick in the tent. Sour sweat and urine blended with the aromatic potions she mixed. Tillu felt soaked in the smell. And the drumming and chanting hadn't helped. It had begun soon after Capiam left with old Carp. The varying beats of the drum had continued until Tillu felt it beat within her head, thudding against her temples. More muffled was the chanting, first in Carp's wavering old voice, and then in Kerlew's uncertain tenor. Heckram had left then, to return with food for her and news of the shamanic efforts.
'Kari has rubbed her face with soot, except for tall ovals around her eyes. She cooks the offering meat for them, while Carp sits on soft hides and drums. He is dressed in white fox skins and wears many necklaces of amber and bone. Kerlew is at his knee, and repeats every chant after Carp.'
He had whispered the words softly, their heads close together as he supported Rolke and Tillu spooned willow bark tea between his shiny lips.
'Where is Capiam?' Tillu had asked.
'There, at Kari's fire, as are most of the herdfolk. Those who do not sit about the fire to watch find an excuse to walk past and stare. Capiam sits across the fire from Carp, and watches him silently. I believe it is what Carp told him he must do, if Carp is to present his requests to the spirit world.'
'Spirit world!' Tillu had spat out the words and Heckram had looked at her with surprise. Her anger had risen as she met his stare. 'The 'spirit world' to Carp is an excuse to take what he wants. He will drum and chant and demand the best food and drink and soft hides to sleep on. Then, if Ketla and Rolke live, he will say it was his doing, and demand gifts of thanks. And if they die, he will say it was Capiam's fault, that he was not generous enough to satisfy the spirits. He lives like a great black tick fat with blood.' Her voice had dropped as she added, 'And that is what he will teach my son.'
Heckram had reached across Rolke, to grip her shoulder for an instant. She had felt her eyes drawn to his. His voice was grave as he asked, 'And you have no belief in the spirits at all? I know you have no faith in Carp. But what of your son? You do not think that Kerlew can be a true najd, one who honestly helps the herdfolk to honor the spirits of the earth?'
She answered unwillingly. 'Kerlew believes what Carp tells him. He honestly thinks his chantings and dreams can change the world he lives in.' She shut her eyes tightly for an instant. 'Carp could not ask for a better tool. Take a boy who has never been accepted, and tell him it is because he is special, that he is destined to be a shaman, that magical powers will be his. ...' Her voice trailed off in helplessness. 'What can I offer him that is better than that? I tell him that he must work harder, try harder. And no matter how he works, he will always be different. There will always be those who taunt him, shame him.'
'Not if he were najd,' Heckram had said softly. 'None would dare!'
'But that isn't what I want for him!' Tillu had insisted.
'But it may be what Kerlew wants for himself,' Heckram had reminded her.
That must have been when he decided to go to Kari's fire himself, to watch the boy.
Not that it could have done much good, Tillu told herself. She straightened slowly, feeling her vision darken and then clear. Never had she felt so drained by one night's vigil.
Ketla was breathing well. When Tillu offered her water, she opened her eyes briefly and even murmured thanks. Tillu covered her again. With time and rest, Ketla would recover. Her knees creaked as she rose again. Rolke was next. She stooped over him, feeling the grim fear rise in her. But his chest still rose and fell in brief breaths. She lifted him easily from his nest of blankets and held the dipper of willow-bark tea against his lips. A little trickled into his mouth. He swallowed once, twice, and then the rest trickled out the corner of his mouth. Tillu sighed and eased him into his bedding. She damped her hands in cool water and sprinkled it over his face and chest. His skin was hot and dry, and the lumps inside his elbow joints were now painfully obvious. She covered him again.
Suddenly the tent stifled her, the smells of her own herbs and roots rose to choke her.
She stumbled to the door and pushed her way out into the cool morning air. Already the rest of the camp was wakeful. A considerate quiet was kept outside the herdlord's tent, but elsewhere folk were taking down their tents and loading up their harkar. The thought of travel made her feel queasy. She sank onto the thick hides on the doorstep and breathed in the cool morning air. There was a full bucket of cold water outside the tent door. Tillu plunged her hands and face into it, feeling the icy contact as a painful pleasure. She drank from her cupped hands, washing away the clotted taste of the night. She sleeked her hair back and lifted wakeful eyes.
The Cataclysm leaped up before her. She gasped in the impact of its presence. No description could have prepared her for it. After the long trek across the tundra, the upthrust of the Cataclysm was startling. The clear light of morning brought it closer to the cluster of tents and animals. Her eyes traced the ragged edges of rock, schist, and soil. Layer upon layer of the earth's skin had crashed together in mammoth confrontation, had pushed each other into vertical ramparts of stone. Bluish white slabs of ice and snow were trapped in pockets of the Cataclysm, contrasting with the stark gray and black of rock and the verdant greens of plant life. She guessed that the moving dots on the high ice fields were the wild herd.
'By tonight, we'll camp in the shadow of the Cataclysm.'
There was smug satisfaction in Joboam's voice. Tillu turned to him, trying not to show her uneasiness. This jovial greeting from the man Heckram had knocked down last night? She held her body in alertness, ready to leap away in an instant.
He looked down on her and smiled. It was not the easy smile of friendship, but the smile of one who knows he has another at his mercy. The smile made Tillu feel both ill and angry. She made no reply to his comment, but only looked up at him warily.
He stepped to the door of the tent and thrust his head inside. 'Capiam! Shall I bring your rajd up for you?'
'Shush!' Tillu hissed angrily, but Capiam was already stirring. In a moment the herdlord was swaying in the
