'No! Oh, no, not dying, Tillu.' Fear and refusal whitened Ketla's face. 'You'll see, Healer, he's a strong boy. And the najd has said he'll get better. He's sleeping now, resting, and when he awakes he'll feel better. He'll be up to the feeding grounds, watching the reindeer and the young girls before the end of summer, you'll see.' Ketla's voice rose higher and higher as her frantic words tumbled out. Tillu shook her head.
'No. Dying, Ketla, despite the best I can do.'
'But the najd ...'
'The najd has ways of making words say nothing at all. What did he say, exactly?
Wasn't it, 'In the shadow of the Cataclysm, Ketla and Rolke would be freed of pain.'
Don't you see? He will be right, whether Rolke gets better or dies. That is always how he speaks. With promises that offer nothing, predictions that take no chances. No, Ketla.
Listen to me, even though I tell you hard things. Put off this joining. Don't make me leave Rolke to run and find Kari. For she must be found before Joboam finds her. She must be told she doesn't have to join with Pirtsi. You know she doesn't want to. That's why she has run away. And you've sent Joboam after her, the very one who has made her hate and fear the idea of being any man's mate. And you know that, too!'
Certainty grew in Tillu as she watched Ketla's eyes widen in horror. She felt a flicker of hope. Ketla would put off the joining, would hear Kari out. But Ketla's face set more deeply into stubborn denial. The gathered women, shocked to silence by Tillu's words, began to mutter among themselves. Sudden glints of anger kindled in Ketla's deep eyes.
'Get out!' she shrieked abruptly. 'Healer, you call yourself? And kneel before me and wish death on my son, and carry wild tales about my daughter! Speaking lies about the najd who chants for my son, and has taken your own son into his tent! Get out! Take your evil tongue and useless medicines with you! Get out of my tent! The najd.
Someone fetch the najd for me! I want him to come now, to drum and chant for Rolke and Capiam.'
'Ketla!' came Capiam's weary rebuke from across the tent, but Tillu had already risen.
She was not surprised at Ketla's behavior. It was how she dealt with things she did not wish to face; she denied them. Tillu stiffened her back and forced herself to speak calmly.
'I will go. There is little I can do here that you cannot do yourself. Rub Rolke with water often, and pour tea into his mouth; even if he does not swallow, it will wet his tongue. And give the same tea to Capiam. It may keep his fever down. The sickness is rising in him, as it did in Rolke.'
'Get out! Get out! Get!' Ketla was shrieking now, shaking with fury. The healer's calmness only incensed her more.
'I will. I'm going to find Kari. I'm going to tell her she does not have to join with Pirtsi, that she can go to Stina and the older women. They will tell her that she is free to join or not join. And they will see that no one forces her. Some of the herdwomen seem to have forgotten their old traditions.' Tillu's eyes raked the women standing speechless around Ketla. They shifted uneasily, their sudden silence more unsettling than their previous whispering had been.
'Is it true Kari does not wish to join with Pirtsi?' asked one softly.
'Get out!' Ketla shrieked, and Tillu did not bother to reply. She swung her pouch of herbs to her shoulder and left, slapping the door-flap aside. A panting Pirtsi stood before her.
'Well?' Tillu demanded recklessly. 'Are you going to say you didn't know Kari didn't want you?'
'I ... no ... What?' He took a breath, gathered his wits. 'Healer! You are needed at the reindeer pens.'
Tillu gave a wordless cry of frustration, stamping her foot. Some fool with a broken shoulder or leg, no doubt. 'It will have to wait!' she declared fiercely. 'Have him lie still and put a cold wet cloth on it until I can come! Do what you did for a broken bone before I came along.'
'But it's the najd!' Pirtsi exclaimed, horrified.
'All the better!' Tillu snarled.
'But he's dying ...' Pirtsi's voice trailed off. Tillu looked at him hard, seeing the shock in the boy's face, the trembling of his hands. 'Like Elsa,' he added on a breath.
'What do you mean?' Tillu demanded. She stepped closer to the youth, steadying him with her hands on his shoulders. She locked gazes with him, willing the truth out of him.
'He's crumpled,' he said abruptly. 'Broken like dry sticks.' He shuddered violently and turned from her. She let him go. 'Tell Capiam,' she instructed him and began to run.
She did not see the tents she passed, didn't hear the folk who cried out to ask what was wrong. Her savage expression was enough to bring men and women running after her, all eager to witness whatever disaster she raced to.
The sorting pens were on a hillside above the camp. Years ago, the pens had been built of boulders and stones. Brush and bushes had grown up around them. The men standing at the open mouth of the pen shouted when they saw her. She pushed past them, ignoring their words. Abruptly she slowed to a walk.
Carp lay like a crumpled doll. A herdsman from one of the other herdfolk stood over him. At the far end of the pen, herders shouted and trotted, keeping the restive vajor and their calves back from the shaman. Tillu drew near reluctantly. He had to be dead.
No one could be so crumpled and be alive. One leg was bent under him and out from his body. The wrongness of the twist hurt to look at. The herdsman stared down at the body entranced. When Tillu touched him to move him aside, he looked at her as if she were an apparition. His wet lips trembled.
'They must have thought he meant harm to the calves. The vajor trampled him.
Usually they jump over a fallen man, swerve aside from a standing one. I've never seen anything like this. What was he doing up here before dawn? Why did he come in here?'
Tillu didn't answer. The print of a cloven hoof was clear on Carp's face. His left eyelid was split open, and the eyeball dangled on his bloody cheek. He wore one of Joboam's fine tunics of bleached leather. Mud smeared it and blood seeped up through it. His hands were curled defensively over his chest. Two of the fingers twitched, and Tillu cried out softly. He heard her.
'Kerlew.' Blood came out with the name. 'A last word,' he begged. She knelt in the churned mud and dung beside the old man. Something moved her to put one hand softly over his.
'Guilty hands. Say he has guilty hands.' A grayish tongue moved briefly inside the bloody mouth. 'I didn't touch it, but he did. I knew it would show.' He stopped, struggled to draw a breath. Tillu heard a wet bubbling from his chest. She could not move. The herdsman was transfixed with horror. At the mouth of the pen, voices were raised, but no one came near.
'Fool to fear a woman. Only a woman. He say, kill her, kill the secret. I say, no. I laughed at him. Thinking he could kill a secret. Not when I knew. Fearing a woman.
Weak man. Strong hands. When wolverines fight, one must die.' His other eye opened, stared sightlessly up. 'Take his drum. It's a good drum. Kerlew. My. Son.'
His mouth sagged open, blood running thinly over his chin. Tillu bent closer to hear his last words. There was only a sigh.
'He's dead.' She did not know how much time passed before she finally uttered the words. Time had paused as she knelt there. My son, my son. Her heart beat out the words. She could no longer hate the bones and flesh heaped before her. He was gone, and in his passing had stolen the hatred that had fueled her resolve. Like a mask cast aside, the najd was gone. An old man had died, an old man who had longed for a son.
For a short time, he had had one. Could she begrudge him that?
She rose stiffly, not feeling the caked mud that clung to her legs and feet. She pushed through a crowd of herdfolk. They milled past, crowding about the body to exclaim over the horror of it. No one detained her. The ones that met her eyes faltered and looked away. Old Bror caught her arm, speaking words of concern, but she pulled free and walked on. She was nearly outside the pen when Joboam confronted her. She shook her head, not looking at him, and tried to step around him. He moved to block her.
'What do you want?' she asked dully.
'Only to know what you saw, Healer.' The contained glee in his voice lifted her eyes to his face. His mouth was solemn, but his eyes gleamed with a mocking challenge.
'Where is Kari?' she demanded suddenly.
