Perkar frowned at the old man, puzzled.
“Raincaster?” Brother Horse asked.
The young Mang pointed with his lips, downslope and to their right. “Spotted Lion over there, crouched down, watching that straggling calf. She scents us, but she will stay away.”
Brother Horse grinned at Perkar's gape of astonishment.
“A lion!” Hezhi asked. “A lion is near?”
Raincaster nodded. “That's why you shouldn't run off alone,” he explained. “If the lioness had been watching the herd here rather than down there when you came running over…” He shrugged. Perkar felt himself blushing at his own stupidity. Of course where there were wild herds there would be wild hunters.
“Why didn't you say something?” Hezhi demanded.
“I would have—later” Raincaster assured her. “When it would not be an embarrassment to speak it.” The young man shot Brother Horse an admonishing glance.
Brother Horse only chuckled. “Raincaster, do not forget that they are like children in this land. We have to treat them that way.” He stepped forward and clapped Perkar on the shoulder. ”I don't mean that in a bad way, Perkar.”
“I know that,” Perkar replied. “And you are right, as usual.”
“Everyone knows their own land the best,” Ngangata put in. He had been silent throughout the whole exchange. “So I'm sure that Raincaster meant to mention the second lioness, downslope and on our left hand. Twenty paces.” His voice, though a very faint whisper, got the attention of everyone. Even Brother Horse started a bit.
“Stand tall,” the old man murmured. “Stand tall and walk back.”
Perkar laid his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Harka?” he whispered.
“Yes? ” his sword replied in a voice that was born just within the cup of his ear—a voice no one else could hear.
“This lioness …”
“I was just noticing her. She may be a slight threat, but I sense no real intent to attack. ” Perkar suddenly felt his eyes move of their own accord, and a nearby jumble of rocks and scrubby bushes suddenly revealed, in their midst, a yellow eye and the darkened tip of a cat's muzzle.
“And the other? Why didn't you mention the other?”
“She is no danger at all. My task is to keep you alive, not to prevent you from appearing foolish. It would take more enchantment than ¡possess to fulfill that obligation.”
“What of Hezhi? She might have been in danger, when first she ran up there.”
“I can sense danger only to you, not to your friends, ” the sword replied.
And so the four of them walked backward until they reached their horses, where Perkar thought he heard Yuu'han—who, true to his word, had waited patiently for them—chuckle dryly.
THEY waited, mounted, while Raincaster went cautiously back to the ridge and made his offering to the god of the herd. Perkar could see the little wisp of smoke and hear the young man singing in a fine, clear voice. He feared that the lioness would choose to attack the lone warrior, but Raincaster went unmolested.
Perkar understood the man's determination to make the offering; back home he and his family sacrificed daily to keep the good graces of the gods of their pasture—how much more important that must be here, where the land was untamed, where many of the gods must be like the lioness, seeing them only as potential prey. He shivered. It put what he and Ngangata were soon to do into a different perspective. And it had been foolish of him to so endanger Hezhi; though she had learned more than seemed possible in a few months, it was important to remember that she had been a captive in her father's palace for nearly her entire life. She did not even have the natural cautions he did, and his served him poorly in this treeless land. Inwardly he nodded. Any thoughts he had entertained of asking the young woman to join Ngangata and him on their journey vanished. She would be safe with Brother Horse; he knew the ways of this country, had survived them for many years.
The decision brought many kinds of relief with it. It was undeniable that he was developing some small sort of affection for Hezhi, though it would be impossible to articulate exactly what he felt. In her, pain and distrust were so tightly bound; he wished sometimes that he could draw her into his arms and somehow understand, soothe away some of that hurt. But she would detest such closeness; it would harden her. And at other times, he had no wish to touch Hezhi at all, much less hold her. There was still so much for him to forget, when it came to her…
As Raincaster sang, the remainder of the Mang hunting expedition came down out of the hills, slowed by the travois their horses carried, packed with meat, pine nuts, and skins for winter clothing. All told, they numbered some thirty men and women and fifty horses. The thin cry of an infant rose clearly from the approaching riders. For the past two months they had all camped in the hills, hunting, singing, and drinking. It had been a good time, and it had given him some chance to heal, to forget his crimes, to be merely a man of eighteen, hunting and riding with Ngangata, Yuu'han, and Raincaster. Now, however, it was time to shoulder his burdens once again.
Raincaster finished his song, and they mounted up and rode east, away from the herd. There had been some suggestion of trying to kill a straggling cow, but they were already burdened with too much food, and the older people—Brother Horse included—disdained hunting for sport. A few of the younger men wanted to ride off and engage in a sport known as Slapping, in which they would ride close to a bull and strike it with a wooden paddle, but Brother Horse forbade it, grumbling that he was too old to explain such foolish deaths to grieving parents. And so they left the incredible herd behind, in peace.
Hezhi rode beside Brother Horse, and Perkar trotted T'esh over to join them. Hezhi was enthusiastically remarking on the previous night's snowfall.
“It never snows in Nhol?” Perkar asked Hezhi, coming up beside her. T'esh whickered softly, and Dark responded with a like sound.
“Not that I know of,” she replied. “It gets cold sometimes—I may have heard about it snowing there before, but I've never seen it.” She gestured out at the landscape. 'This is like riding upon the clouds,” she offered.
“Eh?” Brother Horse grunted.
“Clouds. It's as if we ride above the clouds—on top of them.”
Perkar nodded agreement. They could easily be on the back of an overcast sky; the land was gently rolling paleness, the highlands receding into a gray line to their right and behind. Above them, higher heaven was profound azure with no hint of white. It seemed almost reasonable that at any moment they might pass over a small rift or hole and, peering through it, regard the green, blue, and brown of landscape far, far below.
“Will this weather hinder the—” Perkar paused to try to get the word right. “—Bun-shin?”
“Ben'cheen,” Brother Horse corrected. “Ben', 'tent,' see? 'Swollen Tents.'”
Perkar nodded through his exasperation. “Will the snow hinder the Ben'cheen festival?”
“Not at all,” Brother Horse said. “Our kinfolk from the high plains will be arriving already, and they'll have come through worse weather than this.”
“How many people will attend this gathering?” Hezhi asked. “Duk and the other women talk as if it will be the whole world.”
“To you they will seem few,” Brother Horse admitted. “But there will be many hundreds, perhaps a thousand, for at least a score of days.”
“Why in wintertime?” Perkar asked.
“Why not?” Brother Horse grunted. “What else is there to do? And believe me, the winters here in the south are mild—it's really almost spring, and this the first, probably only, snow. It is our obligation to host the Ben'cheen for our less fortunate kinfolk, give them a warmer place to stay.” He smiled ruefully. “Like birds, flying south,” he offered. “Winter is the best time to tell stories, best time to find a woman—” He winked at Perkar. “—best for all of that. Summer is just work!” He reached over and clapped Perkar on the back. “The two of you will enjoy it. Meet new people. Perkar, you might even encounter some warriors from the northwestern bands and start talking to them about that truce you want to strike between them and your folk.”