'I asked you, where is Heckram?' Joboam's voice had taken on a note of menace.
Tillu lifted her chin. She spoke softly, and the crowd hushed to hear her. 'I am the herdlord's healer, Joboam. I answer to him, not you. Or do you already claim his position?'
His silence was a moment too long. A subtle change of feeling washed through the gathered folk. 'I but speak for the herdlord, doing as he bids me!' Joboam cried out too loudly.
Tillu laughed a short, ugly laugh. 'I came to speak to Capiam, not to you,' she said, and walked boldly forward. Herders edged away, making a wide path. Joboam alone blocked her way. 'Do you dare to keep the herdlord's healer from his tent when his family is ill?' she asked in a deadly voice.
'Rolke!' The scream ripped the tense moment. Tillu dove for the tent-flap, but Joboam blocked her, thrusting her to the ground with his casual push. Ketla stumbled from the tent. Her black hair was wildly bedraggled, her eyes red and swollen in a face pale and sagging with illness. She took two steps before sinking into a shaking heap. 'Rolke is dead!' she moaned. 'Dead and stiff in his blankets. His skin was cold when I touched him. Cold! Ah! Rolke. My own little boy, my Rolke.' Ketla's eyes suddenly found Tillu.
'Where were you, Healer?' she demanded. 'Why weren't you here to save him? And where is my Kari?'
'Oh, Ketla,' Tillu began in shared grief, but Joboam's hand descended on her shoulder, gripping her with stony fingers.
'Do not listen to her, Ketla! She has just come with a wild tale that Kari is dead, fallen to her death from the Najd's Steps. What have you known but sickness and bad fortune since she came to your tent? Cast her out before she can do more harm to you! And throw away the herbs she has been feeding your family, lest you and Capiam be poisoned also!'
Joboam pushed her suddenly, contemptuously. 'Relna! Keep this woman away from Capiam and Ketla. Do not let her add to their grief.''
'Ketla!' Tillu cried out, but the woman was dazed. The deaths of her children were too great a shock. A sturdy woman seized Tillu's arm. Her eyes were full of disgust as she pulled Tillu away from the crowd. Tillu had a glimpse of Joboam kneeling by Ketla, talking to her gently while a sympathetic crowd murmured to itself. Tillu's mind reeled.
For a short ways she stepped along blindly at the herdwoman's heels. Then she set her feet suddenly and jerked her arm free of the woman's grip.
'Where are you taking me?' she demanded.
Relna spun to face her, and then looked startled. 'I don't know. I certainly don't want you in my tent. What would my own herdlord say to me if I brought upon us the same misfortune that Capiam's folk have found?'
'It was none of my doing!' Tillu hissed angrily. 'It was Joboam, if it was anyone. He killed Elsa. If you do not believe me, ask Ristin. Ask Stina, or Elsa's parents what they suspect. And he drove Kari to kill herself with what he forced upon her. Do not tell me you remember Kari as a merry girl excited about her joining, for I shall know you lie!
And Rolke and Ketla and Capiam suffer from an illness I do not know. But taking my herbs and care from them cannot make them better. Nor anyone else. Haven't you wondered about those with infected tick bites, those who have a fever this day, and are fine the next? Will you say I have brought this sickness on all of you?'
Sudden alarm wiped the anger from Relna's face. 'My husband has a tick bite on his foot.' She stepped hastily back from Tillu. She was not a member of a crowd now, to be swayed to Joboam's words. Alone, she had to listen to Tillu. And she feared what she heard. 'I am not Joboam's to command,' Relna suddenly exclaimed. 'If he wants you kept away from Capiam and Ketla, let him see to it, or one of Capiam's herdfolk. Let Capiam's folk live under their own misfortune. If you are their bad luck, then let them cleanse themselves. Stay away from my folk!' The last was a low growl. Relna strode away from Tillu.
Tillu sighed in a mixture of relief and frustration as she watched her stomp away.
She did not need to fear her or her folk anymore. But by sundown all of Relna's herdfolk would know that Capiam's healer was bad luck, a woman to be avoided. She would have no chance of leaving Capiam's folk by becoming healer to another herd.
She would have to go alone.
Alone. She and Kerlew. Once that would not have meant 'alone.' Before Heckram.
Her heart gave a sickening lurch. She had to gather her things now and go to find Heckram and Kerlew. She would leave with the boy now, while she had the chance.
Joboam was too adept at stirring the herdfolk against her and her son. She had to leave now. Alone.
Most of what she owned and used day to day were in Capiam's tent. No chance of reclaiming them. Kerlew's things were in the fine new najd's tent, next to Joboam's. She dared not go there, either. The rest of what she had was at Heckram's tent, unloaded from the harkar he had led for her. She listed it to herself; the new tent, unused, that Capiam had given her when she had first joined the herdfolk, her cooking utensils, the extra skins and tools she had earned from her healing. She turned her steps that way, alert for any who might try to stop her. She would gather her things quietly and take them out of the camp. But when she pictured the burden that the tent and utensils would make, her step lagged. There would be no sturdy harke to carry them, no Kari to help her manage the beast. Did she imagine no one would notice a woman going laden as a harke? She would be stopped. It was not the first time she had fled from an angry and suspicious people. She must go lightly and travel fast. She could take only what would fit in a shoulder pouch or two. And she and Kerlew must recross the tundra alone, must get to the safety of the forest before the winter winds blew. Where would she get hides for a tent? What would they eat as she travelled? She pushed the questions from her mind. No use in asking them. She tried to find courage in reminding herself that she had taken care of herself and Kerlew all winter. They would survive again. She could not stay among these people. Joboam would stir them against her and her son, would agitate them until they turned on her. Better the wolves of the tundra and the rigors of privation than the unbridled fear and hatred of the herdfolk. Humans were the cruellest predators.
Heckram's tent was dark and cool inside. The sleeping hides were rumpled as they had left them. She stared at them without comprehension, wondering where the warmth and security of the night had fled. When she moved, she went stiffly, feeling as if she had plundered a stranger's tent.
She found her cooking pots hung alongside his. She selected the smaller, sturdier ones. It was harder to separate her sleeping skins from the tangled pile on the floor. She took up Heckram's one of fox-skins, reds and blacks sewn together in lustrous contrast.
She held it against her face, smelling his smell on it. She wanted it. She hugged it tightly against her, fearing the tears that stung her eyes. It smelled of him and their brief time together. She lifted her eyes, suddenly saw an unspoken assumption in the way he had unloaded her possessions and mingled them with his. It touched her soul and stole her determination. All the other times, when she had run away from people who wished harm on her son, she had taken her world with her. This time she would be leaving a part of herself behind.
Slowly she folded the fox-skins into a careful bundle. She set it down atop the other crumpled bedskins. A dull ache numbed her body, while her temples pounded with the pain of grief and unshed tears. She did not move swiftly as she gathered the few possessions she and Kerlew could easily carry. She paused often, the effort of deciding which item to take overwhelming her. There came a time when both packs were filled and yet she did not have the will to leave the place. She sat down for a moment on the rumpled bedding and took the fox wrap into her lap. She stroked it, feeling its warm weight, cuddling it against her as if it were an infant. Slowly she lay down, her cheek pressed against the soft fur, thinking of all that would not be.
I am like Kerlew, she thought bitterly. Full of wild dreams and foolish fancies. What was I pretending last night? She thought of how she had taken him, in lust and laughter, finding a freedom she had never imagined a woman might know. And Heckram, delightedly encouraging her. Letting her be bold. And after, when she had been sated, on the verge of sleep in his arms. Then it had been his touch on her skin, his fingers trailing her thighs so softly that she shivered in their wake. 'Lie still!' he had commanded her gruffly when she tried to capture his hand. And she had, while with fingers and lips he convinced her that her satiation was an illusion, was only the first quenching of a thirst he understood better than she did. His fingertips had twined gently through the dense curls until with a pleading moan she parted her thighs and pushed up against his hand. He put his hand flat on her belly. 'This time,' he reminded her, 'it's my turn.' She nodded slowly, shivered as he knelt between her knees. Slowly, so slowly he moved, watching her face as he touched her, learning by experience what pleased her most. He was not shy. He smiled as he teased her with his body, until in her eagerness she gripped his buttocks and pulled him into
