The Horsemasters (18 page)

“Ah…” said Thorn in understanding. “We also have such a taboo, but the men of the Buffalo are wise enough to obey it.”

“The People of the Dawn do not have such a taboo,” Mait said with a shrug, “and our hunting has never suffered.” He leaned over to look at what Thorn was drawing. Thorn gave the stone to Mait to look at and let his own eyes rove over the scene before him.

The horseherd had left the river and was grazing at the southern end of the valley. Almost directly below Thorn’s feet was a small group of ewes and new lambs. The lambs were lying in the sun, the mothers grazing. As Thorn watched, one lamb was suddenly seized by a desire to nurse. He leaped up and ran toward the ewes, bleating madly. All the rest of the lambs instantly decided that they must nurse too. The peaceful scene was transformed: lambs bleating and seeking mothers, mothers baaing and seeking lambs. As the babies found the right mother, they would fall to their knees and begin to nurse ferociously. Finally, silence fell.

The boys were laughing. “I never knew how amusing animals could be until I came here,” Mait said. “It gives you a different feeling about them, sharing the valley with them the way we do.”

“It is a wonderful chance for an artist,” Thorn said, “to be able to get close to them for so long a time.” And he took his drawing stone back from Mait.

“We did not have artists in my tribe,” Mait said. “I hope you do not mind my watching you?”

Thorn shook his head and began once more to draw.

“Look,” said Mait softly, “there is Ronan.”

Thorn lifted his head and both boys sat in silence watching Ronan as he came down the valley, Nigak at his heels.

“What is he going to do?” Thorn asked.

“He has been watching the horses.”

There was a startled silence. “Watching the horses?” Thorn said. “But why? Ronan is not an artist.”

“He started to do it right after the men came back from the gathering with news of that tribe from the north,” Mait said.

Thorn drew in a long breath. “The tribe that rides on horses?”

“Sa. The tribe that rides on horses.”

“Can he be dreaming…?” Thorn could not even finish the question, so ridiculous did it sound.

“Sa,” said Mait, “I am thinking that he is.”

Chapter Thirteen

Ronan lay on his back in the grass, his knees bent, one arm behind his head, the other flung across his eyes to shade them from the brightness of the sky. Nigak lay beside him, his long white muzzle resting on Ronan’s hip.

“I believe it is possible,” Ronan said softly. “I really do believe it is possible.”

Nigak made no answer.

“The rest of them think I am mad. Perhaps I am.”

Still nothing from Nigak.

“To do it, though, I will need Nel.”

Nigak lifted his muzzle. Ronan craned his neck and looked into the wolf’s bright yellow-brown eyes. “You think so too, I see.”

Nigak pricked his ears.

“You think I should have gone for her sooner. It is not that I forgot my promise,” Ronan explained to Nel’s wolf. “It is just that I have been reluctant to leave the tribe.”

Nigak sat up, ears still pricked, and stared intently at a small, long-legged foal that had wandered away from its mother.

“Na,” said Ronan firmly. Nigak whined. “Na,” said Ronan again. Nigak got up and padded down to the river for a drink. His manner was dignified. Obviously this was not a wolf that would dream of attacking a defenseless foal.

Ronan sighed. He would have to do something soon. He could not continue to send the others out hunting while he lay around in the grass and watched horses. His position as chief gave him certain privileges, but he knew he was reaching the end of his men’s tolerance.

Dhu! When was Bror going to return? So much hinged on that. Bror would have reliable news about this tribe of so-called Horsemasters. And Bror was the only man he would trust to leave in charge of the tribe while he left to fetch Nel.

The first crescent of Antelope Moon had risen over the sunset last night. It was summer. Bror had been gone for two full moons.

Nigak returned from the stream and stood over Ronan, dripping water on his face. Ronan sat up. “Tomorrow,” he promised the wolf as he wiped the wet off his cheek, “I will take you hunting. I can see that young Thorn is scandalized by our laziness.”

He put his hand upon Nigak’s ruff, and the two began to walk together down the valley toward the camp. Ronan wondered resignedly what problem would greet him today. It seemed a day scarcely passed when the belief of one tribe did not come into conflict with the belief of another. This was one of the chief reasons he was loath to absent himself for too long.

He passed the small hut that the women who followed Sky God had erected at a little distance from the camp to serve as their moon hut. In practice, the only woman who ever used it was Eken, as she was the only one who was bleeding. All of the other women of the tribe were either pregnant or nursing.

This custom of isolating a bleeding woman was not something that the Red Deer tribe had ever followed. Nor had the other tribes from the plain that followed the Mother. The men of Sky God, however, had been adamant that a bleeding woman harbored evil powers that could harm their own masculine abilities, and they had insisted on the moon hut. Eken, reared in the Way of Sky God, had been amenable to the isolation, which indeed was what she was accustomed to in her own Tribe of the Buffalo.

Ronan shuddered to think what was going to happen when the moon blood of Berta and Tora once more began to flow. Neither of those strong-minded sisters was likely to want to spend a week sitting alone by herself in the moon hut!

I will think of something, Ronan promised himself. It was a phrase he had comforted himself with often during the past three years.

He looked toward the north wall and saw two slim masculine figures running to meet him. Mait was still at a distance when he cried out his news: “Bror and Lemo are back and they have word of the Horsemasters!”

* * * *

Thorn and Mait joined the rest of the tribe in the flat, open space before the huts, and Ronan gestured that they were all to be seated. Thorn realized that the two scouts were to be allowed to recite their story in front of everyone, and his heart began to pound with excitement. He took a place in the tribal circle beside Mait and directly across from Ronan, Bror, and Lemo. Once everyone was seated, Bror began to speak.

“We went far north, almost to the end of the lands of the Kindred, to a tribe called the Tribe of the Elk.” Bror’s stern, strong-boned face was very somber. “They had a terrible tale to tell.”

“Sa,” Lemo agreed, his own fair-skinned young face almost as grim-looking as Bror’s. “Terrible.” Lemo’s wife, Yoli, looked at him anxiously, then picked up his hand and held it tight in her own.

“What we heard of these Horsemasters at the gathering is true,” Bror went on, turning his head a hide to look at Ronan. “The tribe is originally from the frozen north, but it seems they have turned their backs upon the steppe forever. At the Spring Gathering it was said that they were well north of the River of Gold, but Lemo and I learned that they have actually entered into the hunting territories of the Kindred.”

Questions and exclamations of dismay issued from every mouth. It was Heno who asked the question that Thorn was most eager to have answered, “Is it true that they ride upon the backs of horses?”

“It is true,” Bror said. “There were men in the Tribe of the Elk who have seen them.”

“How do they guide their horses, then?” This was obviously a problem Ronan had been thinking about.

“They put a rope around the horse’s nose, and hold the ends of it in their hands,” Bror returned.

“But you did not see this for yourself?”

Bror shook his head regretfully. “The nirum from the Tribe of the Elk would not show us the way. They were too afraid.”

Ronan looked disappointed.

“These Horsemasters are a terrible people,” Lemo explained. “They descend upon a tribe like a storm sweeping down from the north, leaving only death and destruction in their wake.”

“Death and destruction?” Berta said sharply.

Lemo nodded. His young face was white and set. “The men of the Elk told us that the Horsemasters killed all of the men in the Tribe of the Owl, raped the women, and took them for their own.”

There was a horrified silence.

“I have heard of conflicts over hunting grounds,” Crim said slowly, “but never has there been such a thing as this among the tribes of the Kindred.”

“Nor among the tribes of the plain,” Cree said.

“Have these Horsemasters established themselves on the hunting grounds of the Tribe of the Owl, then?” Ronan asked.

Bror answered, “For the moment. But that is what is so terrible about them, Ronan. They do not stay in one place. They take what they will, and then they move on.” Bror shook his head in bewilderment. “I can understand that to a people of the cold and barren north, the river valleys of the south must seem sweet. But once they have won a good hunting territory for their tribe, why leave it?”

Ronan said slowly, “If they have truly mastered horses, then it would be easy for them to travel.” His dark eyes swept around the circle of his own tribe. “Imagine how swiftly and comfortably you could travel if you were sitting upon the back of a horse!”

Thorn smiled as he contemplated this possibility. “It would be splendid,” he said softly.

Beki asked, “Where is the Tribe of the Elk located?”

“On the River of Gold, south of where it flows to the sea.”

Silence.

Heno said heavily, “If they follow the River of Gold, it will bring them to our mountains.”

Beki shivered and Kasar reached a comforting arm around her shoulders.

“What plans have the northern tribes made to combat the Horsemasters?” Ronan asked Bror next.

“No plans that I could discover,” Bror replied stolidly, “They are frightened to death, Ronan. All the talk is of fleeing.”

“I cannot believe that the men of the Kindred are so weak!” Ronan’s arched nostrils were flared with scorn.

“They are afraid of the horses, Ronan,” Bror said. “And the Horsemaster tribe is very large, much larger than any single tribe of the Kindred.”

“More reason for the tribes of the Kindred to unite,” Ronan said tersely.

Bror shrugged.

“Even if these foreigners do come as far south as the mountains, our tribe will be safe,” Yeba said stoutly. “Such a large number of people will never attempt the Altas.”

“That is so,” Berta agreed. “The tribes of the plain will also be protected by the Altas. It is the tribes of the Kindred that are in danger.”

All of the braided men nodded their agreement and looked with pity upon the short-haired men who followed a god and not a goddess.

“They may not come down the River of Gold at all,” Kasar said.

Heno nodded. “That is true.”

“Their pattern,” Bror said heavily, “is to come ever south.”

“Well, whichever way they come,” Mait said, “the Tribe of the Wolf will be safe.”

“That is so,” said Tora.

“True,” said Cree.

The men of the Kindred were silent.

“Even so,” Thorn finally murmured, a frown between his brows, “I do not like to think of the Tribe of the Buffalo under the heel of these marauders.”

“Nor do I,” Crim said emphatically.

Everyone looked at Ronan. He regarded them austerely. “I will be leaving the tribe for a short time,” he said, with a dramatic change of subject. “Bror will be in charge while I am gone.”

There was a stupefied silence.

It was Mait who asked, “But…where are you going?”

“To the Tribe of the Red Deer to fetch my cousin,” Ronan replied. His tone made it perfectly clear that he would not welcome any more questions. “I will not be gone for very long.”

It was a measure of his authority that not a single other question was raised.

“You cannot go alone,” Bror said at last. “Let me come with you. Crim can take charge of the tribe.”

The faces of both Heno and Cree darkened at the mention of Crim being placed in authority over them. Ronan gave Bror a warning frown. “I am not going alone, I will have Nigak. You are needed here.”

Bror opened his mouth to protest again.

“And that,” said Ronan pleasantly, “is an order.”

* * * *

The way was filled with memories. Once he was through the Buffalo Pass and into the hunting territory of the Tribe of the Red Deer, the memories crowded thick and strong. He had been so occupied these past years that he had been able to push his past life to the very bottom of his mind, where it surfaced only occasionally in disturbing dreams.

At his side Nigak whined, as if he could sense the distress within Ronan. As if he shared it.

“Do you remember this place, fellow?” Ronan asked the wolf softly. He buried his left hand in the thick silver fur of Nigak’s ruff, and the wolf pretended to grab Ronan’s right forearm with his teeth, a game he had always played with Ronan, never with Nel.

Nel. In the last few days, Ronan’s thoughts had turned to her as they had not for three long years. Nel was a part of that life he had pushed into the dark recesses of his mind, that life which included his mother, and Morna, and Neihle, and Tyr. His betrayers.

But not Nel. Never Nel. He should not have waited this long to fetch Nel. It had been a shock to him when recently he had calculated her age and realized that by now she was probably a woman. He could not picture it. He did not want to picture it. He did not want Nel to be changed.

“I’ll look for her first at summer camp,” Ronan informed Nigak now. It was during the first weeks of his lonely exile that he had formed the habit of talking to the wolf as if he were a person. “If she has been initiated, she will be at summer camp.”

But there was no sign of Nel at summer camp. Ronan concealed himself in the woods and watched the comings and goings of the tribe for two full days, and there was no sign of Nel.

The girls were different from the ones he had once shared the summers with. Those girls would all be married by now and nursing children, he thought: Borba and Iva and Tosa and Cala. He saw many of his old agemates at camp, however, although not Tyr.