The Dog Master (49 page)

She awoke and faced two choices: go north, back to summer quarters, and try to find Mal, or trek south in pursuit of her tribe, taking her past the entrance to the Cohort Valley. Either way, she would likely run out of food, and she had no way to hunt for herself, though she knew some trees along the stream would still have fruit on them.

She could no longer be sure of her father's support in her stand against marriage to Grat. He had not come after her! Grieving, she remembered sitting in his lap and singing him songs when she was a little girl. Her tears turned bitter, though, when she thought of her mother. Perhaps Father had not tried to find her because Sidee would not let him.

She made up her mind and went north. Mal knew how to survive in the wilds on his own. He would take her in. She smiled when she imagined how he would react to her unexpected appearance.

Then her eyes widened as she let her thoughts float farther along on the fantasy. They would spend the winter together, perhaps in Bellu's cave. It would be as if she were married to Mal, instead of Grat.

Married to Mal
. No council to prevent it, no mother to trade her off like an elk hide. Was that what she wanted?

When Lyra thought of her life, Mal was always there, entwined into her memories like the delicate flowers woven into the vines around her wrist. He was a man like her father, thoughtful and kind. He had Dog's smile and seemed so wise compared to others his age.

When the Kindred returned and she rejoined her family, there would be no question of Lyra marrying Grat, because she would be married to Mal.

Yes.
It was what she wanted.

She began singing as she walked, interweaving “Mal” and “marriage” into her happy tones. Breaking free of Sidee had liberated her feelings. She was on her way to be with Mal.

She abruptly went quiet when she heard something large rustling in the woods. Unbidden, scary stories from her childhood came to mind—though she was far away from the river junction that marked Cohort territory, the fierce man hunters were said to be lurking everywhere, seeking to snatch the defenseless and take them away. She was far from home, a woman alone out in the forest. Heart pounding, she peered into the thick trees, catching her breath when something big and dark moved ponderously, snapping a twig underfoot. A cold eye regarded her and she exhaled—just a reindeer, a big male. Some females became visible with their motion as well. Just a herd.

Then Lyra remembered something her father told her—where there were prey animals, there were often predators tracking them.

She was not safe here.

Lyra ran and her terror ran with her, pursuing her like a hungry lion. She imagined wolves and bears and horrible fangs and vicious claws. She wanted her father, her brothers, her tribe to come save her. She wanted Mal.

She found a place where she could lean branches on some rocks and crawled in underneath and lay trembling. The fire she built did not quite give her comfort, and thinking of Mal no longer warmed her. Nothing was worth this, not even being able to marry the man she felt sure she loved.

She had made a terrible mistake.

*   *   *

She barely slept—every noise in the night had been something coming for her, and the leaping shadows from her fire seemed deadly living things. No singing, this day. She could only keep marching forward, with no thought but getting to Mal.

The next day presented her with a choice: the stream bent away from her, off to her woman's side, but the Kindred always marched straight along the path. Her father once told her that if they stuck to the stream it eventually rejoined the path, but they always chose to spend the day away from water, though mothers would soak elk hide and squeeze it into their children's mouths whenever the sun was hot.

She could last the day without refreshment—she needed to make progress. She hated, though, that this meant leaving the trees. She strode along under the cloudless skies, exposed in yellow grasses that came up to her knees in some places. Any predator could see her, here.

She had settled into a dull plod for some time when she glanced back to check her progress, and she gasped in surprise. Far in the distance, some men were coming toward her. Father? She held her hand up to shield her eyes and stared. There were three of them.

They were not Kindred. Even at this distance, she could see that their garments were crude, simple flaps of hide tied at their waist. They carried clubs and at least one spear, and they were running. Running straight at her. Their faces were oddly black, as if rubbed with dirt or ashes.

She realized who they might be.

 

FIFTY-SEVEN

Dog focused intently on Mal's hands. It was a routine they had gone through countless times over the summer, and Dog clearly looked forward to it, looked forward to the praise and food she would receive for doing a good job.

Mal swallowed. This was it, their first try at the strategy he hoped would help him hunt this autumn, building up food supplies before the snows came and drove away all the game.

The lesson of Dog running heedlessly into the middle of the herd of reindeer and causing them to bolt in panic toward Mal was not lost on him. If she could cause such a reaction as a pup, what would happen now, when she ran with the smooth speed of an adult?

She was not yet full grown, but Dog was already larger than many wolves Mal had seen.

A small herd of nine reindeer, probably split off from a larger group nearby, grazed comfortably fifty paces from Mal and Dog. All summer Mal had been training Dog for this moment, teaching her hand signals to replace the verbal commands he used first.

His plan was to send Dog to the woman's side until the wolf was roughly parallel to the herd. Then he would have Dog charge the herd and then, as they had practiced, Mal would wave a hand sign and Dog would come to him in a coursing, back-and-forth manner that had taken many days to master. The reindeer would run full at Mal, and he would take one square in the chest with a spear, hopefully bringing the animal down with that one shot, though he had fashioned himself another spear he could use if the opportunity presented itself.

Dog was on alert for Mal's command, unaware of the prey. Mal raised his woman's hand and Dog tensed, her mouth open slightly, eyes widening. Mal pointed.
Away.

Dog bounded away, turning to glance back repeatedly until Mal held up his hand.
Remain.

Dog stopped and sat, staring at Mal. Then a scent found her and she whipped her head around, noticing the herd of reindeer for the first time.

“No, Dog,” Mal whispered.

Dog seemed to have forgotten Mal was there. She focused intently on the ungulates.

“Dog, remain!” Mal shouted harshly.

The reindeer raised their heads as one at this, and the action was too much for Dog, who broke training and streaked toward the animals with undisguised glee.

Mal watched in disgust as the herd swung their antlers and fled, headed in exactly the opposite direction. All the hours of lessons, tedious and repetitive, and Dog had forgotten everything.

“Dog, come to me!” Mal called. “To me!”

After an alarming amount of time, Dog finally came racing back to him, her tongue out and her mouth open, looking joyous. When she was a few feet from Mal, though, she stopped, her ears drooping and her tail down.

“That is right. I am angry at you,” Mal scolded.

They went back to the cave and dined on some of the meat from the ice wall. Dog sensed something and came and rested her head in Mal's lap until he gave up and stroked her soft fur, but he remained pensive, thinking of the day's failure. They would train again tomorrow in the same spot, and perhaps the memory of reindeer would help Dog understand what was required of her.

It was very important she learn, because Dog ate so much, and long before winter's end Mal would run out of food.

*   *   *

Denix squatted next to Brach at the fire. “It has been three days since we found her clothing by the stream. I am afraid Ovi must have drowned.”

Brach's mouth formed a sad line. “I grew up with her, she was like an older sister to me.”

Denix nodded respectfully. “I have fond memories as well, though I never believed she should be wife to Silex.”

“No, what you say is true.”

“Silex described to me where they have gone—north of Kindred territory, along the stream. I plan to cross the river at first light and tell him, and tell Cragg and Tok about their mother.”

“Be careful of that river.”

“I will go to the shallows.”

“I do not understand why Ovi would bathe there, where the water is so deep and the current so malevolent,” Brach said finally. “This seems less an accident than a deliberate act.”

“There will always be things about Ovi we will not understand,” Denix ventured.

“Yes,” Brach said, looking into the fire. “I do agree.”

*   *   *

Other than having Lyra run off, the winter migration went as well as any within Kindred memory. They were well past the river junction and therefore out of Cohort territory, so Urs took the hunt out for fresh game, allowing the stalkers to range out ahead. Soon a small noise among the spearmen told Urs, without even looking, that one of the stalkers had returned. They would have fresh meat.

It was Grat. He looked as if he had been running some distance, and he appeared agitated, his eyes wide. The scars on his face from where Mal's horn had seared him made his beard odd, the black thick hair missing in the spots where the flesh was pink. Urs always found himself staring at the burn marks, but something about Grat's expression focused Urs's attention, and he waited for Grat to catch his breath, oddly tense. This was not going to be about reindeer.

“Cohort,” Grat panted.

A shock of alarm went through Urs, and he involuntarily gripped his spear. “Where?”

“Ahead in a clearing. Many hundreds of paces.”

“How many Cohort?” Valid pressed, his face pale with fear.

“Four,” Grat replied, holding up that many fingers.

“‘Four,'” Urs repeated. “Four? Just four?”

Grat nodded. “Four. They did not see me.”

Urs and Valid stared at each other. “There are many more of us,” Valid observed carefully, opening and closing his hand three times to illustrate. “There are only four of them.”

“They are fearsome,” Urs responded.

Grat was looking back and forth between them, scowling at Urs's hesitation.

As if sensing Grat's disapproval, Urs turned to the younger man. “You think we should attack,” Urs stated.

“Yes!” Grat exulted. “We should kill them. I almost did so myself.”

“They are only four,” Valid reminded Urs.

“You agree then, Spear Master? We should kill them, stab them with spears and beat them with clubs?”

“They killed our men,” Valid replied.

Urs fell silent, thinking. The two men watched him, Valid respectfully, Grat impatiently.

“All is good,” Urs finally said decisively. “Call the hunt together. We will attack these four Cohort. Attack them and kill them.”

*   *   *

Dog growled softly. “What is it, Dog?” Mal asked. He followed his wolf's intense stare, but did not see anything in the bushes on the other side of the Kindred Stream. Nonetheless, Dog growled again.

A lion? Mal's grip on his spear tightened. He regretted he had left his club back home.

As if on signal, three men stood from the brush. They carried clubs. Mal gasped, startled but not afraid. They were not Cohort—their faces were not painted, and they looked unsure of themselves as they stepped forward.

“Good summer,” Mal greeted evenly. “I am Kindred.”

The men glanced at each other. This would be the time for them to set their weapons on the ground, but perhaps they did not know this, for they approached until they were standing on the opposite stream bank, some twenty-five paces away.

“Wolfen,” the oldest of the men stated, sounding almost reluctant. They were gazing rapturously at the wolf at his side.

Dog had not moved—she was sitting, rigidly staring at the strangers. When the first of the three men took a tenuous step into the water to cross, Dog stood, and when the other two joined the first in the water, she growled, deep and menacing, which appeared to unnerve the men.

“She will not hurt you,” Mal assured them. “Dog. Remain!”

Dog sat, her eyes still focused on the strangers.

Again the Wolfen glanced at each other. Seeming to reach a decision, they waded the rest of the way across, stopping when they climbed up the bank, now just ten paces away from where Mal stood. Their expressions were full of an odd intensity, and they were all three pale and sweating.

Suddenly, Mal knew why they were there.

They were staring at Mal and he was staring back. Dog was growling so softly only Mal could hear her. They had clubs. He had a spear. His was a distance weapon, and once loosed it was gone.

But he would do whatever he had to do to protect Dog.

For several moments no one spoke, and then Mal cleared his throat. “I have been in a situation such as this before,” he advised, his voice remarkably steady. “A man named Grat, and his accomplice Vinco, came to kill me. In Grat I saw a determination lacking in humanity, but for Vinco I could see how difficult it was to summon the will to murder. You three are, in your bearing, more as was Vinco. This will not be easy for you to do, yet it is your purpose, this day.”

His words seemed to have shaken the three men, who stood mutely.

“Why do you do this, Wolfen?”

“Do not speak to him,” the older man whispered. “He is hyena.” The younger men nodded and, grimly, the three of them advanced.

They have courage,
Mal thought to himself irrelevantly. He had a spear in plain view—one of them was going to take a grievous wound.