“There is much strangeness here,” he said, narrowing his eyes somewhat. “You have never seen a fazee before, I know, yet you made no outcry and did not run. The fazee did not behave as it should have before it died, and you returned here to the camtah as if you knew the way well. I would hear what these things mean.”
I considered telling him exactly what they meant, exactly what I was now. I would have told him, but telling that much, I would have had to tell him about my crippled life, too, and I couldn’t face the pity he would feel for me. His hands were heavy on my shoulders, but not as heavy as the weight of his pity would be.
I said, “They mean that I won’t be as much of a burden to you as you thought- Primes are Primes because of their ability, not because of someone’s arbitrary order. You should be pleased with your bargain.”
“Bargain?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “Ah, you mean with my house-gift, my belonging. No, wenda, I am not quite pleased. Take that cloth and clean my sword.”
He pointed to a piece of material sticking out of a partially open sack near the camtah, then went toward the seetar. His curiosity was still with him, but he had taken all of his emotions tightly in hand, not allowing them to rule him, and they were too mixed together for me to read easily My own emotions, though, were a different matter entirely
Wenda he’d called me! My hand went to my banded throat and I grasped the chain he’d put there. I was nothing but wenda to him, to be closed in chains and given orders!
The seetar he’d been riding had the carcass of an animal strung across its neck. He pulled the carcass down to the ground, then unsaddled the seetar rubbing it briefly before returning his attention to the carcass. He took the knife that was wedged in the back of his swordbelt, and began skinning the thing. I glanced at his bloody sword, then got the material to wipe it with. Looking at the carcass had reminded me how hungry I was, but I couldn’t ask him for food. I went back to the veranda and began to lift the sword—but it flatly refused to lift! I had to use two hands to get it off the ground, and then had to kneel down and lay it across my lap before I could begin cleaning it. It felt as if it had invisible roots anchoring it to the ground, and I wondered how the barbarian handled it so easily. The barbarian supposedly still had his eyes and attention on the carcass, but I felt his amusement and almost heard his chuckle. I ground my teeth together and rubbed at the sword.
The barbarian skinned the animal quickly then took a large bag of what looked like ordinary wood, dumped some of it on a scarred place in the front corner of the veranda, and started a fire. When the fire was going well, he cut a slab of meat from the carcass, stuck a long, sharp stick through it, and brought it over to me.
“Do you hold this over the fire, turning it from side to side, until I say it is done,” he directed, taking the clean sword from my lap and replacing it in its scabbard. I took the stick with the meat, and went to the fire.
The meat stick was too wet to burn, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t smoke nicely. I coughed as I held it, squeezing my watering eyes shut, wondering if the meat would take forever to cook. My arms felt like lead by the time the barbarian called me, my stomach was knotting in cramps from the delicious smell, and I was nearly drooling. I carried the meat to him where he was still cutting up the carcass; he took it and inspected it, nodded his head, then took a bite.
“True dimral at last,” he said around the mouthful, chewing away at it. “A bit underdone, perhaps, but you will gain facility with experience.”
He squatted down and took another bite, and I could feel his contentment as well as see it. Without being able to stop it, I blurted, “But what about me?”
“You?” he asked with a surprise he didn’t feel, his eyes looking up at me. “You also have need of dimral? I hadn’t considered such. You have my permission to seek in the woods for dimral of your own.”
His tone was light and uncaring, but his mind was expectant, waiting for something to happen, and I knew what that something was. He was waiting for wenda to acknowledge him as the great warrior and hunter, to admit that she would starve without him, to beg him for something to eat. Well, a true wenda might, but despite the bands, I was still a Prime! I turned, grabbed up the knife he’d left in the carcass, and ran into the woods.
I listened hard as I ran through the bushes and between trees, both to avoid any other carnivores and to find something that would show I wasn’t helpless. In a few minutes, I caught a wisp of shy thought, lost it, then caught it again. I sent reassurance ahead of me to the shy animal, changed course slightly, and slowed down.
I rounded a tree and saw the animal I had felt, a long-legged, big-eyed innocent of a beast. It was a dusty red in color, and it had taken the reassurance I’d sent and was clinging to it, grasping it eagerly and accepting it. It came up to me without hesitation, rubbing its soft nose gently on my arm, trust and affection clear in its mind.
I held the bloody knife behind me, telling myself that I had to do it, if I didn’t, I would starve. I touched the silken neck with my fingers, feeling the pleasure the caress gave the beast, seeing the trust clear in its eyes, then laughed bitterly at myself. I could starve more easily than destroy that trust in me, die more easily than betray the confidence of a thing that was almost all emotion without defense. I let the knife slide out of my fingers and sank down into a crouch, giving myself over to hopelessness and despair.
The beast had been nuzzling me gently but suddenly it turned and ran, radiating terror. I scrabbled after the knife I’d dropped, searching for the terrible danger that had frightened the beast, finding the barbarian staring at me from beside a tree not three steps away. His mind was in calm turmoil, sharp questioning prevailing, his eyes unblinkingly on me. I knew he’d seen me fail to kill the animal, and I couldn’t stand it. He’d make me admit that I was helpless, make me beg to be protected. I got to my feet to run just as the animal had.
I’d barely taken a step before his hand was on my arm, pulling me around to face him. His blue eyes showed the disturbance he felt, and I trembled, trying to hold my own emotions in.
“The tenna did not fear you,” he said, more a statement than a question. “The tenna cannot be approached, yet you approached it. The fazee, too, was touched by something outside itself. What power do you have, woman, and why have I not seen it before?”
I didn’t answer him, but he nodded just as if I had. “The word I spoke to you. I believe it woke the power within you, did it not? That was the purpose of the word. You reach to the beasts some way, healing them or destroying them at your pleasure. Yet you could not slay where you had healed, and this I understand. Is your power over beasts alone, or may men also be touched?”
“Not as easily” I choked out, closing my eyes, but unable to close out the calm control of him. “If I couldn’t touch men, I would be of little use as a Prime.”
“Now do I understand the awe of your people,” he said slowly letting my arm go. “And why my friend Dennison spoke of you as he did. There is much yet I must learn of this. Let us return to the camtah before the dimral grows cold.”
“Your dimral,” I said as he started off wrapped in thought. “I haven’t caught mine yet.”
He turned back to look at me, and annoyance flared in him. “Enough, wenda!” he snapped. “Have you not yet learned your lesson? Bring the knife and come!”
I tried to hold his commanding eyes, tried the way I’d tried to kill the tenna—and failed just as miserably I picked up the knife and followed after him, hating myself because he let me walk behind him with a knife in my hands. He knew well enough that he had nothing to fear.