Climate of Change (24 page)

He got down beside her, took the top, and turned it rapidly between his spread hands. It dropped to the hard earth floor and stood there, whirling firmly. Tour watched it, her eyes large and bright, her black hair straggling across her dark face as she concentrated. She just loved the motion. He in turn loved seeing her while she was fascinated. His fascination was with her fascination.

The top slowed and wobbled. Tour was just as interested in this aspect. Her tongue touched her lips as she focused. Hero wasn't sure what it was about the motion that so intrigued her, but it was enough to know that it did.

The top finally fell on its side, rolled a bit, and stopped. “Dead,” Tour said solemnly.

That was what she thought? No wonder she preferred to make it live. He picked it up again and gave it another spin. She could watch it as long as he could animate it.

Playing with his daughter always reminded him of her mother. Crenelle liked to play with an object of similar size, but it wasn't wood. Indeed, from it had come the child, in a manner of thinking. Crenelle had insisted on being raped, and though that was counter to his family's way, he had finally compromised by letting her tell her tribe he had raped her, the first time. She in turn compromised by not telling that to
his
tribe. It had been a small sacrifice that brought him great reward. He loved Crenelle, for all that she was the one who had chosen him, on the basis of his hunting prowess, rather than his choosing her. She entertained him endlessly on the bed, and was competent to handle the foraging and household chores, and of course she had brought him Tour.

Crenelle entered the room. “Craft is coming,” she said.

“Uncle Craft!” Tour said happily. He had made the top for her. Maybe he was bringing another.

Crenelle went back out, to tell Craft to go on in. For reasons Hero did not follow, she normally remained well clear of his brother.

Hero gave the top one more spin, and stood, awaiting his brother. Craft had been checking on a potentially awkward situation, and was surely coming to report.

Craft entered. He glanced at the child. “I'll go out!” Tour said, quick to catch the hint. She knew when adult business was happening. She picked up the precious top and dashed out.

“The chief died this morning,” Craft said. “He designated Bub to be the next chief.”

“That must not be,” Hero said. “Bub resents our family, and will do us mischief the moment he has power.”

“True. But if no one contests it, he will take the office once the burial ritual is done.”

“What are we to do?”

“I talked with Rebel. She said you have to contest for it. If you are chief, we will have no problem.”

“But Bub won't fight me. He knows he'll lose.”

“I talked to Keeper. He said there's another way.”

“How can I fight a man who won't fight me?”

“By going on a challenge hunt. If you go out alone, with just one man as your second, and succeed really well, the elders will have to designate you as chief instead. Because it is supposed to be the bravest and strongest man of the tribe, not just the one the old chief favored.”

“But who would be my second?” Hero asked. “Most of the men are afraid of Bub, and for good reason—he carries grudges.”

Craft nodded. “He does. But he already has a grudge against our family, so one more won't hurt. I will be your second.”

“I don't want to be chief.”

“You can designate someone else to be chief, if you step down. If you win the contest.”

Hero wasn't happy with this, but knew that his brother spoke truly. He would have to do it. “When?”

“Now. The burial will be in three days, after the chief's spirit has safely left his body. You must win your challenge by then.”

“What must I hunt?”

“The ultimate: a male lion.”

Hero sighed. Ritual challenges were limited to spears and knives. This was a severe restriction for single combat with a beast as formidable as a lion. “I must tell Crenelle. She won't like this.”

“I will fetch weapons.” Craft departed.

Thus quickly it was decided. They simply couldn't afford to have their family be subject to the ill favor of the next chief.

Crenelle returned. “I heard,” she said, sparing him the necessity of telling her. She stepped into him and kissed him. “Don't get yourself killed, my love. I don't want to have to marry your brother.”

“He is coming with me.”

“There's another brother.”

He wasn't sure how serious she was, so just held her without speaking. It was true that when a man died, one of his brothers was expected to marry his widow, so as to be sure she was provided for. But would she want to marry Keeper? He was a year younger than she was. Still, he did on occasion bring over a puppy for Tour to play with.

Now that he thought about it, it occurred to him that it was odd that neither of his brothers had married. It was not because willing women were absent. What were they waiting for?

Crenelle quickly packed his pack with food and a firepot. Then she bore him to the bed and made love to him, efficiently and well. She had always been good at that. “Return to me, Hero,” she whispered in his ear.

“I will try.” But they both knew that it was no simple mission he
was going on. A group of men could take a lion, but it was chancy at best for a single man, especially if the lion pride was near.

Craft returned, his own pack on his back and a number of weapons in a harness hanging at his side. “I have told an elder,” he said. “We will be watched.”

That meant that scouts would be out, observing what they did, without helping or interfering. Hero would be disqualified if Craft did anything other than support him or tend his wounds. But if he were successful, the news would be around well before he returned to make his claim.

And if he died, Keeper had better get over to his house with the dogs to protect Crenelle and Tour, for Bub would send his minions there to burn their house—punishment for Hero's temerity in challenging him. Keeper well might have to marry the widow quickly, to make an end to the threat. For by the code of the tribe, Bub would have no grievance against Keeper or his family. Enmities existed, but even a chief had to be wary of going counter to the code.

They knew where there was a pride of lions, and walked swiftly that way. Prides came and went; this one had moved into the area in the last month, so not much was known about it. It wasn't safe to spy too closely on a pride. But it surely had an adult male, and that was the animal Hero had to kill. Craft would be allowed to scare off the grown females, if he could, so long as he took no part in Hero's battle with the male.

Hero had never tackled a grown lion before, alone; no one had. That was why it was a worthy challenge. He had driven off a lioness on occasion, when she came too near his kill, but that wasn't the same. Oh, a female lion was formidable enough; but he had not had to pursue and kill her, which would have been a different matter. He wasn't sure he could do it. But he would find out.

“Do you ever feel fear?” Craft inquired as they walked.

“I fear for my wife and child.”

“For yourself.”

“I am wary of the animal I must face.”

“I think that is not the same.”

Hero shrugged. “I do what I must do. If fear stopped me, I would have to abolish it.”

“That is why you are a great hunter and warrior.”

“Not if the lion wins,” Hero said with gruff humor.

They crossed a ridge, and entered the wide valley of the lions. The male was likely to be lounging near the den, while the females ranged out hunting. With luck he could settle with it before a female returned.

They knew where the cave was, because it was the only one suitable for lions and had been there as long as anyone could remember. They approached it. There was the lion, alone, lying before the entrance, gazing in their direction. It knew they were coming, but had no fear of them. Perhaps that was just as well, because if it fled, they would have trouble even catching it, let alone dispatching it.

Craft handed him a second spear, for once the contest began, there would not be opportunity. This one had extra little stone barbs behind the main head, so that it would cut coming out as well as going in. The first spear was more straightforward, heavier with a larger stone. It was intended for a quick straightforward kill. The second was for finishing off the animal if it were wounded or otherwise not yet dead. But either could be used either way, at need. Hero removed his pack, as he needed to be free to move quickly. Then he marched forward alone to challenge the lion, both spears ready.

The lion lifted slowly to his four feet, surely wondering what business this two-footed stranger had here. But there was a limit to its patience. When Hero came too close, the lion roared and made ready to charge.

Hero stopped and waited, bracing himself. He was now within range, but wanted to be very sure his first throw would score, for he might not get a second one.

The lion charged, then stopped and roared again. It was merely a feint, to make the other flee. But Hero did not flee; instead he hurled his spear.

It was a great shot. The spear went right into the lion's open mouth and stuck in its throat from the inside. The animal stood there, casting
his head back and forth, not realizing that it was doomed. It might not be a lethal strike, but it would not be hard to finish off the creature with the second spear.

Suddenly there was a roar from the side. “A second lion!” Craft cried, chagrined.

Hero whirled, bringing his second spear about. But, caught by surprise, he was not fast enough. The lion was on him before he could throw. All he could do was try to fend it off with the spear. Too bad he had lost his heavy spear; that would have been better for this.

The lion leaped. Hero tried to scramble back out of the way, but lost his balance and fell on his back, his spear held above him. This nevertheless caused the lion to miss him; only one paw came down on his left shoulder. The claws dug deep. Then the lion was off him, catching its own balance, skidding on the ground and turning for another charge.

Hero scrambled back to his feet. He brought the spear about, but again lacked time to throw. So he stabbed it at the lion's neck. The blow was glancing rather than penetrating. Hero stabbed again, and this time the point lodged in the lion's chest without sufficient force. He was not being effective.

The lion batted at the spear, shoving it aside. In a moment it would get its balance and launch at his throat. Anticipating that, Hero swung his spear back sideways, trying to use it as a baffle. But he knew that would be ineffective. So he grabbed for his knife with his left hand, though it was a relatively puny weapon.

The lion reared up, batting again at the spear. It didn't realize that the weapon was relatively ineffective sideways; it had felt the sting of its point and was wary. This distraction was Hero's chance to retreat.

Instead, Hero leaped forward, shoving the spear shaft in the lion's face. The creature was so surprised it fell over backward. Hero bashed at it with the shaft, striking legs and snout, trying to slice flesh with the barbs. This was nuisance rather than deadly force, but until he got the chance to make a proper spear thrust it had to do.

The lion twisted to get its feet under it. But Hero's forward momentum carried him onto it. As it tried to rise, he landed on its back. He stabbed, his left arm circling its body, his hand coming in from its
front, going for its neck. This time he scored, glancingly; blood welled up on the fur.

“Yaaaaa!” Hero screamed, flush with his success of the moment. His mouth was near the animal's ear.

Startled anew, the lion scrambled up and bounded away. Hero had inadvertently spooked it. It slowed, and turned to face him again, considering another attack.

“Yaaaaa!” he repeated, and took a threatening step toward it.

The lion didn't know what to make of this strange aggression. It turned again and fled. This time it did not stop. Soon it was gone.

“Well done!” Craft said. “You scared it off.”

“I was lucky.” Hero went to the first lion, who was still trying to get the spear out of its body. He used the knife to slit its throat, and in a moment its struggles ceased.

Then he felt his shoulder. The contact with the second lion's paw had been brief, but there was significant damage. The claws had penetrated deep, and now that the heat of action was fading, his shoulder was freezing up. The pain was burning and continuous. He realized that it was just as well he had used his knife quickly, because he would not be able to use that arm for a while.

“Let me see that,” Craft said, addressing Hero's shoulder. “Haven gave me some balm. I don't know whether it will be enough.”

They cut off the lion's ears and tail, evidence of the killing, and started back. Of course the word of his accomplishment was already spreading, but this would make it official. The rest of the body they left for the carrion eaters.

“I thought there was only one grown male in a pride,” Craft said.

“Maybe they were brothers.”

Craft nodded. “Brothers stick together.”

They walked at a brisk pace, though the sun was hot. Hero was sweating more than usual. He drank water from his water skin, but his thirst remained.

It wasn't long before the pain of the shoulder spread down the arm and across the chest. Hero didn't say anything, but Craft knew. “That lion's spirit is in you, biting inside.”

“Haven will fix it.” As he spoke, he wondered why he hadn't said Crenelle. She was, after all, his wife. But it had always been his sister who had ministered to his hurts, from childhood on, and now in his pain it was her comfort he sought.

“Haven will fix it,” Craft agreed. “Keep walking.”

Hero realized with dull surprise that he had stopped walking. He resumed, but his feet were feeling heavy. His left shoulder had turned numb, and his arm just hung.