The Dog Master (18 page)

Albi. Her mother-in-law.

 

TWENTY

Year Four

It was her favorite thing to do on a beautiful day like this: sit with her ankles in the Kindred stream, her hands resting comfortably around her distended abdomen. While everyone else had been remarking on how cool it had been that summer, for Calli, the temperature was always annoyingly warm. Her baby was probably not coming for a little while yet.

She sighed. The elk hide she wore was uncomfortable, though it was nothing more than a simple drape, a hole cut in the center for her head and the front and back flaps tied loosely at the waist so that the side slits allowed ventilation. The garment stuck to her sweat, irritating her when she moved.

A sharp impact rang out from downstream, and Calli turned to see Hardy at work chipping a flake of stone that had been buried under the fire for several days, so focused he did not seem to know she was there.

Barely able to communicate, slow to walk, his eyesight worthless beyond a few paces, Hardy had reinvented himself as the best toolmaker of the Kindred. To see a stone he held it so close to his face that the children suspected he was smelling the correct way to strike it, and then with precision his strong hands would chip until a point or cutting edge emerged. Most of the men made weapons, of course, but Hardy was the best. At his urging, people had begun to call him “tool master.”

As she watched, a pack of young children, all naked boys under the age of five summers, crept up on the tool master, wet mud in their hands. They were grinning and nudging each other, delighted with the mischief they were about to visit upon the old man, and there, in the center of them, was Calli's son.

This was his third summer. Calli had delighted Coco by swelling with child not long after her wedding—speculation was she may have gotten pregnant on her wedding night, which was considered a real blessing.

With a shout, the boys darted forward, slinging their mud. Hardy, though, had laid a trap, and with a roar he was on his feet, armed with his own dirt balls. His sight was poor but his range was long and by aiming at the middle of the crowd he was able to strike more than one. Calli winced when her own child took a hit smack in the back, but to his credit he only shrieked with pretend fear, fleeing and giggling with the rest of the boys.

Calli clapped her hands with delight, and Hardy turned and squinted in her direction. His expression was unreadable, but his shoulders were shaking, and Calli realized the old man was laughing.

“So,” Albi said from behind her. Calli started, a jolt of something like guilt flashing through her. Albi sat next to Calli, raked her stringy hair back from her forehead, and thrust her own feet into the water. Calli saw odd discolored spots on the older woman's ankles and wondered what might have caused them. They reminded Calli of the spots on her elk hide. “You have not said what you think of his name,” Albi chided her daughter-in-law.

Just two days ago, the Kindred had held its naming ceremony for the children who were in their third summer. The oldest woman in the family was afforded the right and responsibility to bestow the legend and name upon the child, so it had been Albi's honor.

What Albi said about Calli's son almost made her wonder if her mother-in-law had even
met
the child. Albi spoke of “A Boy Who Practiced Solemnity, Prudence, and Thoughtful Calculation.” His formal name, Dognus Seria, was immediately shortened to “Dog,” though the nickname sounded ugly to Calli.

More to the point, if there was ever a child who was
not
solemn, prudent, and thoughtful, it was her little boy. He was a constant source of mischief and laughter—it was as if Albi thought that by naming him something so inappropriate, she could alter his personality.

“Tell me, what led you to name him that?” Calli responded, dodging Albi's question.

Albi grunted. “I have always hated my name, given me by my grandmother, the same rodent-woman who named my son. A name should say something about character, about potential. My name says I have pale skin. My son's name says he has pale eyes. And that is it, as if this is all that is important about us. No, not for my grandson. Someday, he will be hunt master.”

Calli knew some sort of response was expected of her. “He certainly has a way about him,” she finally commented.

“Look at that fool,” Albi said.

Calli looked up, catching Albi's stare and following it across the stream, where Bellu's brother Nix was strolling aimlessly. He soon vanished into the woods. “Now there is someone named incorrectly,” Albi observed. “He is not ‘He Who Has Mastered Hunting in the Snow,' he should be ‘He Who Is as Dumb as His Brothers.'”

Calli suppressed a laugh. The two women looked at each other, and for at least a moment, they shared a relationship without strain or tension. “I have heard Nix favors Renne and would like her as his wife,” Calli remarked after a moment.

Albi's eyes turned cold and vicious. “Do not
ever
do that,” she hissed.

“Do what?” Calli responded, shocked.

“Marriage is up to the council. If we let the men pick us, we would become mere prey to them. And Renne. Do you know what happens within the Kindred when a man and woman are not happy as husband and wife? You have seen it, right? Anger runs high. The man goes to the widows for comfort, the woman cries to all her friends and stops doing her work … one of the reasons there even
is
a council mother is to prevent such a thing.”

Calli frowned. “You are reaching conclusions I do not find reasonable. Why would you suppose Renne and Nix would be unhappy?”

“She can be no man's wife.” Albi snapped. “In just two years, you will be council mother. Are you ready? Today, no, you are not ready. The power to arrange marriages cannot ever be surrendered. Calli, for as long as I live I will always be your adviser. My wisdom, combined with your social popularity, will make us the most formidable force in the Kindred. But only if you do what I say.”

Calli's reply was fortunately cut off by Bellu's arrival. Waddling under her first pregnancy, she sighed and plopped down between the two women. “My baby has been trying to kick his way out today.”

“Or her,” Calli reminded her friend.

Bellu shook her head. “Oh, Urs could father nothing but a boy,” she proclaimed sunnily.

Calli looked away. “I suppose so.”

“Our husbands went out today to hunt, just the two of them, did you know that?” Bellu asked.

Calli was surprised. “Palloc and Urs?”

“Palloc has been over to our fire several times, wanting to go out alone with Urs. It has been very important to him, for some reason.”

“I never heard anything of this,” Calli replied.

“The hunt,” Albi snorted. “While we do all the work, they run around looking for something to kill, and half the time they fail at it.”

Calli and Bellu exchanged a wordless glance.

“Anyway,” Bellu finally said, “your mother just fed me a stew. My son must be in my stomach eating everything that I swallow, because I am already hungry again!”

Calli nodded, patting her pregnancy. “I feel the same way.”

“I could not stop eating,” Albi agreed. “When I was with Palloc, the hunger never stopped.”

“Oh?” Bellu responded. “So there was a time in your life when you were hungry?”

Calli stared, shocked at her friend's audacity. Bellu's eyes widened, as if she, too, were surprised.

Albi did not hesitate. Her eyes narrowed and she swung her meaty arm, palm flat and open, and slapped Bellu hard across the face. With a cry, Bellu fell to her side.

Albi sprung up and brought her foot back as if to kick Bellu's pregnant belly, and Calli was in front of her without even realizing she had stood up. “No!” she yelled at Albi.

The two women squared off, Calli ready to fight, and then a dark calculation came and went in Albi's eyes. The council mother had just struck the wife of the hunt master.

Albi had made a very bad mistake.

*   *   *

Brach had summoned Silex: the big she-wolf had been spotted nearby. The two Wolfen trotted side by side.

“Fia wants a child. Children. It is all she speaks about,” Silex blurted.

Brach nodded, uncomfortable with the subject. “There has been good hunting lately,” he noted.

“What if it is me? What if I cannot impregnate my Fia?”

“I am pleased with my new spear.”

“How long before she turns to another man?”

Brach looked shocked. “What? She would never do that! Silex, sometimes at night, well…” He cleared his throat. “The sounds coming from where you bed provide inspiration to my wife and I. It does not seem to my ears as if Fia is dissatisfied.”

“Fia is the most passionate woman I can imagine,” Silex agreed after a moment. “And that is what worries me. Am I enough for her? Of the seven of us who split from the tribe, there are only two women—that feels a mistake.”

“If another were to even approach Fia I would kill him myself,” Brach pronounced grimly.

“Yes, well, we all know that when a female wolf is receptive, even the most submissive males are restless, often beyond wisdom. It has been two and a half years since we left the others. In that time, the boys have grown the beards and bodies of men. I think, Brach, it is time to find Duro and our brother Wolfen and give our unmarried men a chance to meet their own mates.”

“If there even
are
any unmarried women,” Brach observed.

“True.”

“There,” Brach interrupted, pointing.

Silex smiled. It was her, the large she-wolf with the white human handprint on her forehead. Brach stopped, handing Silex a reindeer leg. It was as heavy as a club, laden with meat.

“It has been some time since you have made yourself known to us,” Silex called out softly. Behind her, he spotted several young wolves, shying back and staying in the trees even as the she-wolf approached. Her offspring—she had had a spring litter!

The large wolf accepted the tribute from Silex when he heaved it across ten paces to her, watching him, her eyes on his face.

*   *   *

Palloc carried a club in one hand and a spear in the other. Urs held only a spear. They were out in the area where the Kindred had hunted successfully a few days before, but the herd had moved on, and they were not finding tracks heading in any particular direction. The hard earth made it difficult to discern where they might have gone.

Palloc was not paying much attention anyway. Several times since the night of their weddings he had decided the time had come to get Urs alone and finally fulfill the pledge he had made to himself to kill his nemesis, but the hunt master had resisted every suggestion that they do this, hunt together, just the two of them. Now, surprisingly, Urs had swiftly agreed they should go off by themselves when Palloc again proposed it, and the summer quarters finally were far enough away that they were out of sight of anyone from the Kindred. It was a clear, dry day, and the men moved into a wooded area more for the shade than the likelihood they might encounter reindeer sleeping in the grasses there.

Good. The trees provided additional cover.

Palloc would do it quickly. He would simply fall a few steps behind the other man, raise his club, and strike with all his might. The first blow might not kill him, but it would stun Urs long enough for Palloc to drive his spear into the hunt master's heart. Then he could use the club to finish the job.

Palloc would wait two days and then return to camp and claim a bear had made off with Urs. By that time, scavengers would have been at the body long enough that even if they searched, all the hunt would find would be bones marked with animal teeth. No one would doubt his story.

Palloc fell back.
Now,
he thought to himself. He gripped his club. Urs was taller than Palloc by several finger lengths, but the club would make up for that. The stone tied to the end would crush Urs's skull.
Now. Now.

Urs halted abruptly, turning so swiftly that Palloc nearly tripped in surprise. “I need to talk to you,” Urs said quietly.

Sweating, Palloc nodded. He loosened his grip on his club.

“A spear master is charged with more than true aim. He must be a wise teacher, willing to help the younger hunters hone their skills. He must withhold his throw until sure of a hit, so as not to waste his shot, and to demonstrate patience. When the spear master throws, the spearmen will often follow the action immediately, so it must be right. Understood? The throw must be right.”

Palloc blinked at Urs's intensity. Why was he talking about this? These were things that were well known.

“But you have not taken time to help the younger hunters. And your own aim is not true, and is often premature. This disrupts the effort of the entire hunt.” Urs shook his head.

Palloc stared at him.

“I cannot have you as my spear master anymore. It is not good for the hunt; everything I do must be good for the hunt. Everything we all do.” Urs clapped him on the shoulder. “I know this is hard. But there is no humiliation in facing the truth of one's limitations, there is only humiliation in failure due to overreaching.”

Palloc felt as if his club had hit his own head. He was stunned literally speechless.

“I am glad I was able to tell you away from the others,” Urs continued. “I will go back now; you wait half a day and then follow. By the time you return, all will know, and it will be my instruction that you be treated with the respect due a spearman of the hunt. This is all for the good. I know you see that.”

Palloc nodded dumbly. And that was that: Urs turned and headed back to camp, his head up, his shoulders square. Palloc watched him go, the spear in his hand twitching.

Now,
the voice said inside of him.
Now.