Kerlew sat still, frozen with fear. Confusion milled through his mind. The bone najd had told him not to speak to the first one. Carp had told him, many times, that he must find his own path to the spirit world, and enter alone. Something was wrong here, something chilling and evil.
'Do not be afraid, little apprentice.' Carp's words were warm and dripping, rich as fresh liver. They reached inside Kerlew, pulled at him. He bowed over his knees with the pain of resisting them.
The bone najd spoke coldly. 'There is no place for you here, forest najd. And Kerlew will not take your place nor give you his. Walk the path you have chosen.'
Carp suddenly went flat and snarling, his back rippling as angrily as his spirit beast.
His growl was the growl of Wolverine enraged. His teeth were sharp and white as he leaned forward and sank them into Kerlew's clenched fist. The blood ran red between his fingers, and the tiny wolf within his fist stirred and growled. Kerlew's mouth stretched wide in soundless agony. Blackness closed in on him. He felt Wolverine worrying his hand from his wrist, felt the parting snap.
'Go back.' The bone najd lifted his drum-claw. 'Go back and finish dying, forest najd.'
There was a sound like an old tent splitting in the wind. The pain stopped. Kerlew opened his eyes. His hand was on the end of his wrist, unmarked. He felt Wolf stir within it. Carp stood just off the edge of the ledge, looking suddenly mournful. 'A last word,' he begged, and it was the voice of the tired old man Kerlew knew.
'No.' The bone najd forbade it, and Carp suddenly tattered to pieces and was swept away on the wind. Something ripped out of Kerlew and went with him, like a hook tearing free of his flesh. He hunched over his knees, feeling his pain run hot down his face. He did not know how many lifetimes it lasted. When he could lift his head, the day was blue and clear before him. He looked down on the tiny herdfolk village below him. Below him, their lives went on. Folk clustered and shouted thinly by the reindeer pens, children raced between the tents, the herd gazed on the meadows and flanks of the Cataclysm.
The ledge was suddenly darkened, the opening to the niche blocked by a dark shape.
Kerlew breathed in sudden fear, hid his hands from more pain.
'Comes the second,' the bone najd sighed. She filled the opening to the niche, closing the day away from them. Her feathers were sleek and gleaming. She stood, looking down on Kerlew and he almost knew her. But she was not for him. She had come for the bone najd with the bird-bright eyes, and it was for him that Kerlew lifted the tiny skull in his hand. She took the owl talisman into her hand. 'Be free,' he told her. She smiled suddenly, eyes as black as Raven's feathers. She leaned far out, looked down to the village below. Kerlew followed her gaze. The meadow at the foot of the steps teemed with folk, all crying out in thin voices and waving their arms. Owl gazed down on them for a long moment. Then she spread wide her wings and swooped. Kerlew watched her silent flight. Shrill squeals of terror rose as she descended on her prey. She would feed well. The bone najd looked satisfied. Kerlew leaned back once more in his niche, to await the third. The morning passed its peak, and the warm sun of afternoon touched Kerlew's feet with feeble fingers. And still Kerlew was patient, knowing he would come.
He came as hot panting breath, as the scent of warm life and fresh blood. He felt like a rush of sleek fur under Kerlew's hands, like a tumble of cubs against his chest. He stood before Kerlew, larger than the moon, and his eyes were green. His narrow black lips writhed in a smile that bared brave white teeth, and Kerlew laughed in joy with him. Tears washed his eyes clean and he saw his brother. The hand he reached was not to claim or to subdue, but to touch with fondness. His brother suffered the touch of his human fingers upon his furred brow. 'Wolf,' he whispered. Joy was hot in him. 'At last you have come.'
'Kerlew,' whispered Wolf, and his voice was a voice to trust at last.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Tillu awakened slowly. She had drifted at the edge of sleep for much of the night, feeling that she should rise and go back to Capiam's hut, but never finding the willpower to leave the body comfort of the nest of hides and Heckram's warm chest rising and falling beneath her cheek. She pushed a handful of hair back from her eyes.
A dim light gave substance to the furnishings of the tent, color to the woolen blanket that wrapped her close to Heckram. Bird sounds, and the mutter of folk moving past the tent. Morning sounds. She sat up abruptly, suddenly awake.
'Kerlew!' she said aloud. And then, 'Kari!' At the sound of her voice, Heckram reared up and sat blinking in the light.
'It's morning,' he said blearily. For a moment he sat still, catching up with himself.
Then he reached across Tillu to scoop up their clothes. 'Here,' he said, thrusting the wrong shirt at her, 'you've got to get to Kari, talk to her. Take her to Ristin, if you want.
Or to Stina. Tell them what's wrong, and let them take care of it. But do it quickly, before they start making her ready for the joining ceremony. I've got to get up the Steps, after Kerlew.'
Tillu experienced a moment of disorientation. Someone else had taken charge. She smiled a crooked smile as she pushed his shirt back at him and found her own. She wasn't sure if she liked being directed. But as she pulled her shirt on, she thought of the alternative; of being responsible for everything, handling not only every problem but every decision, however minor. She could find nothing wrong with his suggestions; it was only that he had voiced them first. 'You'll find Kerlew for me.' She said the words aloud, trying them out. The confidence she felt in him surprised her.
'Yes. And I'll bring him back to you, not Carp.' Heckram pulled on his leggings as he spoke. He glanced over his shoulder at her. He stopped suddenly and looked at her, long. She looked back, wondering what to say. Nothing, she decided. They would not need to always explain things to each other. They already understood. So she didn't apologize as she stuffed Kari's knife into her belt and ducked out of his tent. It wasn't necessary.
She hurried past children carrying birch scoops of reindeer milk, thick as cream, and women fetching buckets of water. She nodded hastily to those she knew. 'Oh, Healer!'
called one, 'My husband's fever is back again and ...' But Tillu only nodded quickly and hurried on. Soon, she promised her guilt, soon. The fevers and headaches that came and went, the tick bites that suddenly abscessed, could be tended tomorrow. Kari's joining had to be stopped today.
'Here you are! I've had the whole herdfolk searching for you!' Ketla exclaimed, annoyed, as Tillu pushed into the tent.
Tillu's eyes flew to Rolke, fearing the worst. But his thin chest still rose and fell, and the fever still tossed him. Habit made her push past the women to him, kneel to feel his skin.
'But where's Kari?' Ketla demanded of her back. 'Surely she's been out with you this morning? When we awoke and you were both gone, we worried. It's like her, off playing like a child when she should be preparing herself for her joining. A hundred things to be done, and she leaves them all for me. But now you are back, and we can ...'
'Kari's not with me,' Tillu replied distractedly. The boy's fever was higher today, consuming what little flesh he had left. But his breathing disturbed her most. It sounded like water splashing over stones, a nasty, gurgling sound. She scooped up a dipper of yesterday's cold willow-bark tea and held it to his lips. He didn't even turn his head away. He was unaware of her. Tillu closed her eyes tightly.
'Kari's not here?' she demanded an instant later. Ketla glared at her.
'Isn't that what I've been telling you? She's not here. We thought she was with you. I sent Joboam out to find you both. When he didn't come back, I sent Pirtsi. Don't think that was an easy thing to do; you tell a young man that his girl has run off on their joining day! But he took it well and went.' The other women murmured assent.