The Dog Master (27 page)

“What? What could have happened?”

“Well, Jean Claude. I have pondered that for a long time.” Morby reached for the wine bottle, oblivious to the spasm of distaste on the sommelier's face, who hurried over and wrestled the thing away before Morby could commit the gauche act of pouring his own refill. Morby surrendered with a bemused smile. “How did it happen,” Morby said softly. He held his glass up to the candle, watching a dancing ruby flare across the bowl. “I try to imagine humans and wolves out on the steppes, competing for the same food, the wolves only discouraged from hunting
us
by our spears—and if there were enough wolves, or if they were hungry enough, I don't think spears would do the job. It's hard to imagine a friendship developing—why would either species be interested? There would be no immediate benefit evident to either one. Food was scarce, would a human really feed a random passing wolf? Were we handing out meals to bears, lions, foxes? How long would we do such a thing before we, ourselves, were eaten?” Morby took a sip of wine. “Part of me thinks it
was
a sort of saltation, that at least in evolutionary terms, it happened in the blink of an eye. I can't imagine any other way. But honestly? I have no idea. No idea at all.”

 

BOOK

TWO

 

THIRTY-ONE

Year Seven

The day after the naming, the women's council came together slowly after the first meal, the women drifting in reluctantly. This might be necessary, but it would not be pleasant. They sat and spoke in uncharacteristically quiet tones. Albi's naming of Mal Crus was forcing them to face an issue they would have ultimately preferred not to address.

This is the reason,
Albi thought with satisfaction as she glanced from one grim expression to another,
that there is a council mother.
The women of the Kindred required a strong leader, a stone point at the tip of their spear when they needed it. Was it not true that nearly every important decision was made by the council mother and endorsed by the women, and not the other way around? They dithered. They could talk a subject to death. They hated finality.

Albi had been wrong about the cripple. Some, perhaps even most, of the Kindred viewed the little boy with repugnance, but others seemed charmed by his cheerful personality. Instead of a mounting disgust, there was a steadily building approval, and Albi's vitriol against the curse was, with each passing day, less effective.

But she had certainly changed everything, had she not? After this day, Albi knew, there would never again be a challenge to her authority.

He Who Brings a Curse upon the Kindred with His Leg and Must Be Put to Death for the Good of All of Us.
Not much anyone could do, not with a formal name like that laid upon the child. Albi doubted there would even be a debate.

She was strong enough to do it herself, she knew. She would only ask that Calli be restrained. The women might lack the nerve to drag the boy down to the stream, beat him with a rock, and hold his face under water, but they would cling to Calli and suppress her screams long enough for Albi to get the job done.

Everyone was here except Calli—perhaps she lacked the nerve, or maybe she and the boy were running, which was even better. Let them be found by the Valley Cohort—Albi would argue that they had been taken by the dark spirits once the curse had been chased out into the open.

“We have something to talk about,” Albi announced quietly. She loved being able to speak in such soft tones and having it silence everyone, as if she were the hunt master speaking to the men.

“We do,” came a voice from behind her. Albi turned and scowled as Calli strode into the circle, arrogantly standing, as if she were equal to the council mother.

“Something very important,” Calli affirmed.

The women were staring in something like shock as the two women, open enemies, stood next to each other.

“Why not take your place,” Albi suggested evenly. She knew that if she maintained a steady voice and cool temper, the difference between her and the high-strung Calli would be obvious.

“In the tradition of the Kindred,” Calli continued as if oblivious, “on a day when the council has called a meeting, we may, in first order, discuss replacing the council mother, if there are two women who ask it. And I am asking.”

“And I ask it as well,” Coco called promptly.

No one else spoke, and the brief jolt of worry Albi had felt over Calli's confidence melted away. Calli had no one else but her stupid mother.

“Then let us get this over with. Who among us would replace the council mother?” Albi asked.

“But first,” Calli interrupted, “we have a discussion.”

Albi sighed, giving the assembled circle a “see how patient I am?” look. “All right. Discuss.”

“Thank you, Council Mother.” Calli turned and faced the women. “You all are concerned about a curse. We have heard much about this. But what is the curse? Since the birth of my son, times have been both lean and fat, the way it has always been. But now we have good hunting, the men returning with as much food as they could carry. Of course, some of us were fat even when the Kindred were starving,” Calli noted slyly. Several women gaped at her boldness.

“This is off topic,” Albi snarled.

“Oh, you are right, Council Mother. Forgive me. Because what we need to speak of are the ways of the council—and what is the most important rule, the one thing no woman must do?”

There actually was no formal ranking of rules or even, really, any promulgation of the “ways of the council”—so most of the women looked mystified.

“That is right.” Calli nodded, as if someone had called out an answer. “Under no circumstances must one woman ever,
ever,
interfere with the marriage of another.” Calli let them ponder that for a moment, allowing it to sink in.

Albi's lips twisted sourly.
Hardy.
Had the old fool talked to other men, who then told their wives? The council mother considered her position. Well, widows had always been allowed the latitude to fornicate, and no one thought they restricted their favors only to unmarried men. This was a desperate and doomed attempt, and Albi decided to let it proceed so that no one could later argue she tried to stifle Calli's challenge.

“That is right.” Calli smiled at them as if they were children learning the Kindred's traditions. “So let me answer the question that has been on everyone's mind for several summers—why is it my husband, Albi's son, sleeps on the men's side? Why is my bed cold?”

No one—not even Albi—had seen this turn coming, and everyone was silent. Calli glanced at Renne, who nodded encouragement.

“Because,” Calli continued, “Palloc was told by his mother that the reason my children have normal eyes instead of light eyes like his is because they were fathered by someone else. She told him that a son always resembles the father, and she told him that Palloc's father, Albi's husband, had light eyes. That this is why Palloc has light eyes. And so my marriage was destroyed. All because of what she said.”

Albi opened her mouth to speak.

“It is a lie,” Sopho said, rising creakily to her feet. Everyone turned to look at her. “I remember Palloc's father very well. His eyes were normal, the same color as everyone in the Kindred.”

“Albi lied to my husband,” Calli concurred. “And that is why I have no marriage anymore.”

“Yes,” Sopho affirmed.

“You are all but blind, old woman,” Albi spat.

“I remember him, too,” Droi, Hardy's wife, agreed. She, too, rose to her feet. “His eyes were the same color as everyone else's.”

There was a long silence. Albi registered how, one by one, the women were looking away from Droi and toward the council mother.

“It is not the only time Albi has interfered with a marriage,” Droi continued. “For many years, she has come to my family fire and fornicated with Hardy. My own sister, and she forces me to leave so that she may lie in my bed with my husband.” Droi took a shuddering breath, her face collapsing in tears. “She has ruined my marriage, the way she has ruined Calli's,” she lamented angrily. “Now, when I try to love my husband, all I can see in my mind is the two of them together.”

Albi stared at her sister, unable to believe the betrayal.

Renne rose. “When I was younger, Albi's son Palloc went to his mother and asked if the council would approve of him marrying me. And she denied his request, which was her right. But then she sought me out, and she beat me with her … her
stick
. It is why I have this scar on my face, and why I cannot chew food without pain in my jaw. I consider myself lucky to be alive. Everyone knew Albi had done it. Do you remember what I looked like?” Renne sought out their faces, and many women guiltily turned from her glare. “No one stood for me. No one defended me. Albi might have killed me. So I ask this of you now, this one thing. Take away this woman's power before she uses her club on some other woman, or ruins another marriage, or
kills someone's child.
” Renne turned and locked eyes with Calli.

Albi's heart was beating loudly, but she was hardly ready to quit. The distress of the women was plain upon their faces—at this juncture, they could be turned in any direction. Mostly they just wanted the conflict to
stop
. “And what?” Albi demanded derisively, sure of herself, now. “You would have Calli be council mother? Her child is a curse upon the Kindred, and you would elevate her to such a position? You insult the spirits and you will be punished!” Albi thundered.

“Of course not,” Calli responded calmly.

“What?” Albi replied suspiciously.

“Of course I should not be council mother.”

*   *   *

A Wolfen wedding was largely a wordless ceremony. After a man declared he was taking a woman for his wife, the adults of the tribe danced together, the men attempting to put their arms around women from the rear, and the women twisting away, laughing, to face the men, defying their wishes. Wolves mated in a similar fashion, the female flirting but not allowing mounting, touching faces and climbing up on the male's back, then turning playful, bowing down. When all of the married Wolfen had managed to embrace their wives from behind, the last couple, the one getting married, engaged in their own teasing dance, the rest of the tribe cheering them on. It was a true celebration of marriage, a reminder of how important fidelity was to wolves and man alike.

Silex went through the motions of his wedding dance with Ovi, his heart heavy. When he and Fia did this dance, there had been only one couple—Brach and his wife Ros—to participate, but the happy thrill of that night had stayed with him ever since. Adding more people to the dance did nothing when one subtracted Fia.

Ovi, too, seemed unenthusiastic. Was she remembering her wedding to Duro? Had she been joyous on that occasion?

When finally they were the last couple and Silex had his arms around Ovi, the Wolfen came together and lifted their voices into the night in as close an imitation as they could manage of a wolf's howl. After each howl, the tribe paused, listening. Tradition had it that an answering call from the wolves meant that the marriage was blessed. Three times, the tribe howled, and three times, the attempt was met with silence.

Brach clapped Silex on the shoulder. “The wolves did not howl for me, either, Silex, but I have been happy.”

“All is good,” Silex agreed.

Stirred by the dance, the couples were eagerly leaving to go to their beds. Silex lingered by the fire, not ready.

“I am very happy for you, Silex,” Denix murmured to him, smiling shyly.

“Thank you, Denix.”

Something happened to her smile, a brief tremble in the corners of her mouth, and then she nodded curtly and left the fire. Soon it was just Silex and his new bride.

“And so finally, Ovi, I have fulfilled the promises I made upon the deaths of my father and my … and of Fia,” Silex told her as they went together to her bed area. The women had decorated Ovi's animal skins with smooth, shiny pebbles from the river, arranging them around the blanket's borders.

“And I promised our father as well, Silex,” Ovi pointed out.

Silex looked down at the bed. He remembered Fia's hot skin, how the longing inside him made it impossible to do anything but reach for her when they were together. And he looked at Ovi and felt none of that.

Sighing, Ovi went to her hands and knees, facing away from him, hiking her skirt. He closed his eyes, imagining Fia, calling to his lust, willing it to come out and help him do his duty. He had made a pledge, and now he needed to fulfill that pledge. They would have a daughter, he and Ovi, and they would name it after his first wife. He would complete the assignment given him at death by his father.

He opened his eyes.

Ovi, was watching him blandly over her shoulder, waiting for him to do something. “What makes you happy, Ovi?” he asked compassionately.

“Why do you always ask that, Silex?”

“Because you are my sister, now my wife, and I want to see you be happy.”

Ovi exhaled impatiently. “I do not like the question. Are we going to mate, Silex, or not?”

 

THIRTY-TWO

Albi stood with her mouth open, the black holes where she had lost teeth in plain view. “I could not possibly be council mother,” Calli continued. “With your lies about the curse, you have caused so much doubt and fear, no one would ever feel secure under my guidance. No, obviously the person who is council mother should be of the new generation, should be someone we all like and can support. The new council mother clearly must be Bellu, the hunt master's wife.”

The announcement so surprised the women that several laughed and clapped. Bellu, of course, Bellu! She was beloved and beautiful. And she had suffered so with Salu, her ill child—this would give her just the lift she needed! She was not a strong leader, but she was married to one. After years of the autocratic and cruel Albi, she was exactly what the council required.