on the meadows and flanks of the Cataclysm.
The ledge was suddenly darkened, the opening to the niche blocked by a dark shape.
Kerlew breathed in sudden fear, hid his hands from more pain.
'Comes the second,' the bone najd sighed. She filled the opening to the niche, closing the day away from them. Her feathers were sleek and gleaming. She stood, looking down on Kerlew and he almost knew her. But she was not for him. She had come for the bone najd with the bird-bright eyes, and it was for him that Kerlew lifted the tiny skull in his hand. She took the owl talisman into her hand. 'Be free,' he told her. She smiled suddenly, eyes as black as Raven's feathers. She leaned far out, looked down to the village below. Kerlew followed her gaze. The meadow at the foot of the steps teemed with folk, all crying out in thin voices and waving their arms. Owl gazed down on them for a long moment. Then she spread wide her wings and swooped. Kerlew watched her silent flight. Shrill squeals of terror rose as she descended on her prey. She would feed well. The bone najd looked satisfied. Kerlew leaned back once more in his niche, to await the third. The morning passed its peak, and the warm sun of afternoon touched Kerlew's feet with feeble fingers. And still Kerlew was patient, knowing he would come.
He came as hot panting breath, as the scent of warm life and fresh blood. He felt like a rush of sleek fur under Kerlew's hands, like a tumble of cubs against his chest. He stood before Kerlew, larger than the moon, and his eyes were green. His narrow black lips writhed in a smile that bared brave white teeth, and Kerlew laughed in joy with him. Tears washed his eyes clean and he saw his brother. The hand he reached was not to claim or to subdue, but to touch with fondness. His brother suffered the touch of his human fingers upon his furred brow. 'Wolf,' he whispered. Joy was hot in him. 'At last you have come.'
'Kerlew,' whispered Wolf, and his voice was a voice to trust at last.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Tillu awakened slowly. She had drifted at the edge of sleep for much of the night, feeling that she should rise and go back to Capiam's hut, but never finding the willpower to leave the body comfort of the nest of hides and Heckram's warm chest rising and falling beneath her cheek. She pushed a handful of hair back from her eyes.
A dim light gave substance to the furnishings of the tent, color to the woolen blanket that wrapped her close to Heckram. Bird sounds, and the mutter of folk moving past the tent. Morning sounds. She sat up abruptly, suddenly awake.
'Kerlew!' she said aloud. And then, 'Kari!' At the sound of her voice, Heckram reared up and sat blinking in the light.
'It's morning,' he said blearily. For a moment he sat still, catching up with himself.
Then he reached across Tillu to scoop up their clothes. 'Here,' he said, thrusting the wrong shirt at her, 'you've got to get to Kari, talk to her. Take her to Ristin, if you want.
Or to Stina. Tell them what's wrong, and let them take care of it. But do it quickly, before they start making her ready for the joining ceremony. I've got to get up the Steps, after Kerlew.'
Tillu experienced a moment of disorientation. Someone else had taken charge. She smiled a crooked smile as she pushed his shirt back at him and found her own. She wasn't sure if she liked being directed. But as she pulled her shirt on, she thought of the alternative; of being responsible for everything, handling not only every problem but every decision, however minor. She could find nothing wrong with his suggestions; it was only that he had voiced them first. 'You'll find Kerlew for me.' She said the words aloud, trying them out. The confidence she felt in him surprised her.
'Yes. And I'll bring him back to you, not Carp.' Heckram pulled on his leggings as he spoke. He glanced over his shoulder at her. He stopped suddenly and looked at her, long. She looked back, wondering what to say. Nothing, she decided. They would not need to always explain things to each other. They already understood. So she didn't apologize as she stuffed Kari's knife into her belt and ducked out of his tent. It wasn't necessary.
She hurried past children carrying birch scoops of reindeer milk, thick as cream, and women fetching buckets of water. She nodded hastily to those she knew. 'Oh, Healer!'
called one, 'My husband's fever is back again and ...' But Tillu only nodded quickly and hurried on. Soon, she promised her guilt, soon. The fevers and headaches that came and went, the tick bites that suddenly abscessed, could be tended tomorrow. Kari's joining had to be stopped today.
'Here you are! I've had the whole herdfolk searching for you!' Ketla exclaimed, annoyed, as Tillu pushed into the tent.
Tillu's eyes flew to Rolke, fearing the worst. But his thin chest still rose and fell, and the fever still tossed him. Habit made her push past the women to him, kneel to feel his skin.
'But where's Kari?' Ketla demanded of her back. 'Surely she's been out with you this morning? When we awoke and you were both gone, we worried. It's like her, off playing like a child when she should be preparing herself for her joining. A hundred things to be done, and she leaves them all for me. But now you are back, and we can ...'
'Kari's not with me,' Tillu replied distractedly. The boy's fever was higher today, consuming what little flesh he had left. But his breathing disturbed her most. It sounded like water splashing over stones, a nasty, gurgling sound. She scooped up a dipper of yesterday's cold willow-bark tea and held it to his lips. He didn't even turn his head away. He was unaware of her. Tillu closed her eyes tightly.
'Kari's not here?' she demanded an instant later. Ketla glared at her.
'Isn't that what I've been telling you? She's not here. We thought she was with you. I sent Joboam out to find you both. When he didn't come back, I sent Pirtsi. Don't think that was an easy thing to do; you tell a young man that his girl has run off on their joining day! But he took it well and went.' The other women murmured assent.
'You sent Joboam after her?' Tillu asked in outrage and dismay. 'Where's Capiam?'
'Well, of course I sent him after her. What else was I to do? Capiam would have done the same thing, had he been up to it. We've always sent Joboam after Kari when she ran away and hid from us. He was always the best at finding her. Rolke was no use at all.
And he certainly couldn't be asked to do anything now, sick as he is.' Ketla looked flustered and a little angry. The healer wasn't listening at all. 'As for Capiam, he's still abed. Feverish, like Rolke, and not feeling well.'
Snorting her exasperation, Tillu stepped over to the pallet Capiam and Ketla shared.
The man was lost beneath blankets and hides. She tried to pull his blanket down, but he gripped it tightly. His eyes were shiny, his lips papery as bark, but he spoke in weary command. 'I am not as ill as Ketla thinks I am. I am just tired, and a bit feverish. Leave me alone.'
Tillu pulled stubbornly at the hides, but Capiam was just as stubborn in retaining them. 'Leave me alone,' he repeated obstinately. She sighed and sat back on her heels.
'All right. I'll leave you alone. But I will leave some tea that I want you to drink, whenever you are even a little thirsty.' She glanced about. Ketla was directing the women who were setting out Kari's joining clothes and discussing the food to be prepared. Tillu leaned closer to Capiam. 'Have you any idea where Kari is? Where did Joboam say he would look for her?' Capiam only flapped a hand at her irritably.
'Can't you leave me alone? Joboam will find her, and Ketla will handle the joining ceremony. It isn't until this afternoon. By then, I will have rested, and I will be there.
Until then, Joboam will find her. Joboam will ... he can see to things. Ask Joboam.'
Capiam's eyes sagged shut with weary finality. His hand fell limply atop the blankets.
Tillu rose abruptly.
'Ketla,' she said clearly, slicing through the women's conversations. Recklessness settled on her, a premonition of hovering disaster that could be averted only by direct action. She pushed through the circle of women and knelt to put her face on a level with Ketla's. She took the stout herdwoman's hands in hers, noting the fever that still simmered in them.
'Put off the joining,' she said in a voice so deadly soft that it filled the tent. 'Your husband is ill, you yourself are not well,' and, over the beginning of Ketla's objections,
'and your son is dying. Dying. Now is not the time for a joining.'
