Over the maddening voice she heard her own voice, calm and grave, saying, 'I have to go back and look for him.'
'You'd never find him in the dark. You don't even know where to begin looking.'
Heckram's voice, coming from the darkness behind the fire. She hated him in that instant, hated his steady, reasonable words, hated the deep, resonating voice that uttered them. Then he stepped into the light and looked at her in dumb agony, and her hate died. She had no need to accuse him of the loss of her son. Heckram already accused himself.
'My father would never allow it anyway,' Kari added morosely. 'Twelve years ago, two families were separated from the herd. One of the women had a hard birth, and they decided to rest a few days. There were seven of them, it seemed there could be no danger. But they never caught up with us, nor reached the Cataclysm. No trace was ever found. Some say wicked spirits carried them away. No, Capiam never lets anyone stray from the herd once the migration is begun. It is his duty.'
Tillu was scarcely aware of the girl's words. Her eyes searched Heckram's face.
'How?' she faltered, and then, 'Where?'
He looked away from her, moved forward to crouch by the fire. The soft light of the flames touched the hard angles of his face and body, turning him to a figure carved of stone and misery. 'This morning. We hadn't traveled far ... do you recall the big boulder with the red and yellow lichen over it, near the thicket of ossier? Not far from the third stream we crossed?'
He didn't look up to see Tillu's tense nod. Kari and Lasse had moved in closer, drawn by the low voice. Kari gripped one of Lasse's hands in both of hers, but seemed unaware of him. 'It was there, by the boulder. One of the harke must have eaten something; it began to bloat, and then to stagger. It's not so unusual a thing to happen.
If I had more harkar, it would have made no difference. But it was my largest reindeer, and carrying the heaviest load. I had to unload it. So, Carp had to walk, so that the other harkar wouldn't be overburdened. He began to mutter and complain. And we had to go slowly, for the sake of the sick beast. Carp seemed upset as the other folk passed us. He said we should send Kerlew to find you, and you could come and tend the sick animal. He thought you could purge it. Kerlew was anxious to go, and I didn't see anything wrong with the idea.'
His eyes pleaded with Tillu. 'I didn't think he could get lost. All he had to do was follow the line of folk to where you were. He was so pleased to run ahead.'
She nodded slowly. She could imagine Kerlew, impatient with the slow pace, and perhaps grown a little bored of Carp's lectures. Had he wanted to show off for Heckram? Probably.
Kari broke silence. 'But if he came forward, along the line of people, how could he get lost? Why didn't he find us?'
Heckram shook his head, and anger crept into his bafflement. 'That's what I can't understand. If he was following the line of people, what could have happened to him?'
'Kerlew happens to himself,' Tillu said softly. 'Anything might have led him away from the caravan. He might have sat down to watch a bird and fallen asleep in the warm sun. Something as simple as that.'
'Where's Carp?' Kari demanded suddenly. Irritation tinged her voice, as if there were questions she wanted answered.
Heckram's own voice was tinged with disgust. 'He's by my mother's fire. Chanting.
When I wanted to find Kerlew before we did anything else, he got angry. He said the boy had allies I could not imagine, and that only a fool would worry about him. That Kerlew was walking on paths I could not follow. Then he went to Ristin and demanded food and a place by her fire. He got it, but more from her graciousness than from his demanding. Now that he has eaten, he sits by the fire and chants to a rabbit.'
'A rabbit?' Tillu was baffled.
'Earlier today he saw one of Kelr's boys playing with a rabbit he had caught. He called the boy and traded him a hunting charm for the rabbit. He wrapped the rabbit in a skin, like a baby. Now it's dead, but he keeps it. He laughed at me when I told him the meat would spoil. He said the sweetness of the meat would bring Kerlew back to him, and keep him safe ever after.'
Disgust filled Tillu's face. Lasse and Heckram looked uneasy and Kari seemed to retreat within herself. 'We cannot hope to understand the way of the najd,' she said softly. 'We can only watch him and learn.'
'I'd rather be out looking for Kerlew than watching him chant to a rabbit,' Heckram said sourly.
A sudden slow throbbing sounded in the night. The sound of a drum carried far on the still air, reaching beyond the call of a voice. Tillu saw Heckram and Lasse exchange slow glances, and then look away as if fearful of sharing too much. No one spoke. The drum sounded on and on, beating with a raw monotony that scraped determinedly at Tillu's frayed control. She rose abruptly. 'I'm going to see the herdlord,' she announced.
The others looked at her, and Kari nodded slowly.
The herdlord's tent was no mere stretching of hide over a pole or two. It was domed like a hut, and made of hides sewn together in a pattern. Even the earth outside it was coated with soft hides of black wolf, tanned with the lush fur on. The tents surrounding it were large but Capiam's was twice the size of the others. It squatted beneath the tundra's wide sky as if it had always been there. Smoke rose from its vent flap, and with it the smell of roasted meat and burned fat. A muttering of voices seeped from its snug walls, and then laughter. Tillu did not notice the sound, nor the lushness of the furs her dirty bare feet trod. She lifted the door flap and peered into the tent.
It boasted no less than four travel chests, each carved and painted with bright figures. One was decorated with bits of bronze and amber set into the polished wood.
Brightly woven baskets were stacked about the interior walls; cheeses and tools hung from the pole-supports. The shelter smelled of reindeer and dog, smoke and sweat and heat. After the cool night air, it was stifling. Tillu stepped in.
The circle of men about the fire did not notice her at first. Capiam was turned away from her, listening to some low-voiced suggestion from Pirtsi. The boy hadn't been to Kari's fire since the migration began. So Kari's intended husband courted her father, not her. Tillu wondered if Capiam knew how little interest Pirtsi had in Kari. Or if he cared.
To Capiam's left were Acor and Ristor, one dozing in the fire's heat, the other sucking on a marrow bone. A woman's broad back was turned to Tillu, the framework of her bones mantled by fat. Her black-haired head was bent over some work in her lap, while beside her Rolke picked chunks of flesh from a fish's bones and stuffed them into his mouth. And beyond Rolke, closing Capiam's circle, was Joboam. A smile widened his mouth but didn't extend to the darkness of his eyes. And his eyes went darker still when he lifted them to Tillu. He did not speak. It was Rolke who followed his gaze, and spoke around a mouthful of fish.
'Father, it's the healer, come at last! I would think she would have come sooner to make her courtesies!'
Pirtsi started to nod his agreement, then stopped when Capiam's black eyes shot an arrow of reproach at his son. But the herdlord smiled as he rose to greet her. 'Come, Healer, we are glad whenever you can find time to share with us. I do not fault one who does not visit, not when many have told me of her healing skill. I trust Kari has been of some aid to you?'
Tillu found her courtesy. 'Kari is a great help to me, and could be a fine healer herself someday. But that is not why I have come to you tonight.'