The Dog Master (41 page)

Grat's face held a feral grin—when he attacked, it would be in a frenzy. Without a club, there was nothing Mal could do but try to dodge. His leg allowed no retreat.

“Fire boy,” Grat spat, his face full of sneering repugnance. He glanced at Vinco, who gave a confirming nod. Mal was not of the hunt. There was no prohibition against fighting.

As if to validate Grat's statement, Mal raised the fire horn and blew into the wide end, stoking smoke and glow. Grat ignored this: he was looking at the spot on the side of Mal's head where his heavy cudgel would strike the first blow. Grat was a stalker, experienced with using the club with deadly effect. He stepped forward, lifting his weapon, while Mal drew in a huge breath as if getting ready to scream.

Mal drove himself off his good leg, closing the distance to Grat in an instant. Grat blinked in surprise, unable to swing his club with Mal right up against his chest. Mal put the small end of the horn into his mouth and blew into it with all his might.

The embers exploded out of the horn and directly into Grat's face. With a cry, he dropped his club and swatted at his face. His eyes were full of grit and live coals spilled down inside his tunic, searing his flesh. Grat fell to the dirt, rolling and yelling in rage. Vinco jumped on him and tried to pat out the smoking cinders in Grat's hair.

By the time Grat had stripped his clothes and shoved his face into the stream to rinse the ashes out of his eyes, Mal was gone.

*   *   *

When Calli saw Mal burst into camp she raised a hand to her mouth. She had never seen her son look so terrified. “Mother!” he called, as if he were still a little boy. Panting, he ran to her, and she reached out to hold him.

“Mother,” he gasped, breaking from her embrace. “Grat means to kill me.”

“He…” She tried to make sense of this. “Did you have a fight?”

“Not a fight. Listen to me. He was stalking me. He and Vinco. With a club. He tried to hit me with it. He wanted it to be a fatal blow!” Mal sketchily explained what had just occurred, and Calli paled.

“What am I to do, Mother?” Mal implored.

Calli felt weak with fear. She reached for her son's hand. “Come with me,” she said, trying to sound confident. She turned and walked him toward the women's side of camp, pulling insistently when he hesitated. “It is the only place, Mal,” she insisted. “Come.”

Reluctantly, Mal stepped over the line, following his mother into female territory. Almost immediately, Albi was there, glowering at them. “What are you doing? What is he doing? He cannot be here,” she snarled.

“He is a boy, remember? A mother may bring her boy to our side.”

Albi scowled, but stepped aside when Calli pushed past her.

Calli directed her son to hide among some large rocks. Other than Albi, they had drawn no attention, and Calli could think of no reason to change that. “Just stay here,” Calli directed.

“Where are you going?” Mal asked, panic in his voice.

“I am going to talk to Urs.”

*   *   *

Urs came out of the men's side with an impatient look on his face. “I know you are preparing for the hunt,” Calli told him, “but I need to speak with you, Urs. Privately. It is urgent.”

With a curt nod, he followed her down the path until they were alone. Calli bluntly described what was happening, and Urs's frown deepened.

“I am sure your son exaggerates,” he soothed.

“I am sure he tells the truth,” Calli retorted.

“Calli,” Urs said in exasperation, “this has nothing to do with the hunt.”

“If Mal were a member of the hunt … No, Urs, just listen to me. If
he were a member of the hunt,
Grat would not be allowed to hurt him.”

“That can never happen.”

“Do you not remember that when we were starving, it was Mal who found food for the Kindred?”

Urs shook his head. “It was
fish
.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It was not meat, Calli. Finding a pile of frozen fish in a cave does not make a man a hunter.”

“Then make him tool master! I have seen his work and it is clearly superior to many.”

“Calli. Tool master was something Hardy declared for himself. There has not been such a thing before or since.”

“But there could be! As tool master he would be a man. He would not have to go on the hunt with you, but he would be protected. Can you see how this will fix this? Can you see how this will save my son?”

He shook his head again. “They are saying I am a bad hunt master,” Urs advised gravely. “They say that I allow a curse to remain with us even as our food supply dwindles.”

“You know there is no curse.”

“I know only that our hunts have been poor, that the weather has been evil, and that there is open talk that perhaps I am not the man to lead the hunt.”

“And that is more important than my child's
life
?” Calli demanded angrily.

Urs's expression hardened. “If you want protection for your son, you need to speak to his father. That is the person who rightfully protects children from harm. A father is allowed to intercede and to prevent any action by Grat.”

“Palloc,” Calli spat contemptuously. “He will not help.”

“It is not my business, what happens between and man and a wife,” Urs observed, “but I believe you should go to your husband and apologize for whatever you have done and beg him to take you back. Perhaps then he will speak on Mal's behalf.”

“Palloc will not do that because he believes Mal is your son,” Calli hissed.

She hated him then for the look of revulsion on his face. How could she ever have loved this man, who felt such contempt for her boy?

“That is ridiculous,” Urs said scornfully. “He obviously is not.”

“Well of course he is not,” Calli snapped. “But Dog was, Urs. Dog
was
.”

*   *   *

When she returned to camp, something had changed. Several women were gathered at the communal fire, though there was nothing cooking. They averted their eyes when she approached, as if ashamed to look at her.

Trying to quell her panic, Calli hurried to the women's side. When she arrived, she saw Grat and Vinco standing at the boundary, lingering there. Grat held a club in his man's hand. He looked wild, his hair wet, his beard burned away in spots that were erupting into blisters on his face. Vinco poked Grat and nodded in her direction, and Grat turned and fixed her with cold eyes.

“We need to speak to Mal Crus,” Grat announced imperiously. “Get him.”

Calli ignored the chill that went up her spine. “I do not know where he is.”

“Yes you do. He was seen entering the women's side,” Grat replied.

“Lots of women saw him,” Vinco volunteered.

Calli stared at them. “What are you two doing? Do you really intend to try to slaughter a member of the Kindred? Do you really suppose you will not be punished?” she asked softly.

Vinco dropped his eyes, but Grat's expression was hard and unmoved. “Get Mal Crus,” he repeated.

“I will not.” Calli moved to step past him and Grat seized her by the arm.

“Get him or I will get him myself.”

“I am a married woman.
You must never touch me
.”

For a moment it appeared he was going to strike her—she saw it in his face, his eyes. Then he wavered, releasing her arm. Calli restrained herself from rubbing the sore spot that remained. She turned and marched away, feeling sick to her stomach.

“We need to put an end to this!” Grat shouted after her.

Calli looked over her shoulder and was horrified to see Grat step over the line, following her into the women's side.

*   *   *

It was just Grat: Vinco could not bring himself to trespass on forbidden ground. When Calli realized she was leading Grat straight to her son she veered sharply away, and Grat followed.

Her heart was pounding and she did not know what she was going to do. She headed back toward the communal area, horrified that everyone was deliberately turning from her. They were going to let this thing happen. Grat was going to kill her son right now, and
nobody would help her.

Grat had halted, confused by her change in direction. He turned and looked back toward the women's side, then straightened in surprise. Calli followed his stare and felt her breath leave her.

Her son was walking calmly toward his killer. The weak terror had left his face, and his broad shoulders had straightened with resolve.

“Good summer, Grat,” he said. “Let us not do this on the women's side.”

 

FORTY-EIGHT

As if he had no cares at all, Mal walked right past Grat, who could easily have raised his club and smashed in the back of Mal's head, but who instead followed Mal. “All is good, Mother,” Mal assured Calli.

This broke her. Sobbing, she trailed after him, her knees buckling, as her son and his enemy crossed over into the communal area.

“So, Grat,” Mal said. His voice was steady, even if his hands were trembling.

Grat stepped forward, raising his club, and Mal braced himself.

“Grat! Vinco!” Urs shouted sternly. Startled, everyone turned. Urs stood several paces away. “The hunt leaves now. Come.”

Grat and Vinco froze in indecision.

“Grat!” Urs shouted again. “We are leaving. Come
now
!”

The hunt always departed in the morning. No one could remember them ever leaving in the midafternoon.

Vinco reacted first, breaking into a dash. Grat lowered his club. Before running after Vinco, he turned to Mal. “We will be back,” he promised.

*   *   *

The water at Silex's bathing place was like ice, reflecting a summer that still had not taken firm hold of the world. He splashed himself hurriedly and then lay on a warm black rock, gloriously alive, his skin tingling. He thought about the times he had seen wolves stretched out on soft grasses, luxuriating in the day. This, he reasoned, was what it must feel like to them—worries momentarily forgotten, bellies full, nothing chasing, nothing to chase.

Silex lingered far longer than he might otherwise, allowing himself a lapse in what he experienced as a daily struggle to ensure the Wolfen's survival. When finally he reached for his skirt of fox fur and tightened it around his waist, he raised his eyes sharply, feeling a human gaze.

Denix came out of the foliage. Her hair was wet. She walked toward him with a deliberate calm, and Silex flushed, realizing she possibly had been there, observing him, the whole time.

“If you had come before I bathed, you could have watched me, as you did that other occasion,” she remarked.

She was fixing him with the intent stare he so coveted, and naturally it unnerved him. He wanted that look, craved it, but when he got it, the feelings it stirred were like a meal too rich, a light too bright. He turned away from it, his face hot. “I did not watch you on purpose,” he protested weakly.

“You did not glance elsewhere. You stare your eyes at me when I am not looking in your direction, but then when I return your gaze you turn away.” She reached up and ran a hand through her hair, shaking it so that small droplets fell on her brown arms and glinted there like stars. “Why is that, Silex? What do you want from me?”

Silex watched, fascinated, as Denix stepped right up to him and raised a hand to his face. The moisture on her palm was cool on his cheek.

“You are so like my Fia,” Silex murmured. “Your passion.” He felt the strength of that passion now, calling to him, raising his own like a wolf howl.

“I am not like your Fia,” Denix corrected sharply. She let her hand fall and Silex's face ached to have it back. “She was horrible to me. So jealous and mistrusting.”

“Fia? I did not know this,” Silex said apologetically.

“
Everyone
knew this. The two of you were so suspicious and jealous of each other. It did not seem a marriage based on love, though I know it felt that way to you. When she died, as life left her, she made you promise to marry Ovi because she knew Ovi would never love you the way Fia did. Even in death, Fia begrudged you any woman who might bring heat to your bed. Ovi is your sister, but she does not love you the way a wife would. The way
I
do, Silex.”

“Oh Denix.”

“The day you picked me for the hunt, there was but one man for me.”

Silex closed his eyes. “So, then. What of Tok? What you said.”

“I would never fornicate with Tok, Silex. He is your son. I would not have let Brach touch me, either. Nor any man. I just attempted to cause you an aggravation.”

He stared at her. “Why would you want to do that?”

“To get you to do something, Silex! I know you want to!” she shouted, anguished.

Silex licked his lips. “Yet you know I cannot. I, especially, must set the example.”

“But it is killing me, Silex. I tell you this with all my heart—a woman desires a man's touch. Without it, she is as dry and brittle as old bones in the sun. But it must be the one man who touches her, the one to whom she has silently given everything. I have wanted forever to tease out the longing in you. I have done all that I can.” Tears flowed down her cheeks. “Just one time, Silex. I beg you, please let me know your love just one time. There is no one to see us.” Denix lifted off her simple garment of elk hide and stood before him naked, her small breasts reacting to the cool air, her dark nipples firming. “
Please
.”

“I cannot do this, Denix,” he choked almost inaudibly.

“Just once,” she insisted. She took a step forward and he watched her as if fascinated. “I promise, I will then leave you alone. Just this one time.”

He felt his resolve give way to a desire stronger than any hunger. His limbs were trembling as he reached for her. It was sudden and irresistible and he gave into it with undeniable joy. They eased themselves down on the warm sand, their mouths pressed together, panting. Denix made to roll over on her hands and knees, but he stopped her, and, lifting his skirt, showed her what he had learned from the Kindred, that they could look into each other's eyes as he moved on top of her.