The Horsemasters (28 page)

“The Mother knows this. Sky God knows this. They can see into the heart, and that is what is important to them.”

Thorn’s puppy came up behind him, pushed his muzzle under Thorn’s armpit, and whimpered for attention. Thorn hushed him softly.

Cree was saying, “But the reindeer will not come to us. They are offended.”

“This may well be,” Ronan said. “Someone in the tribe has perhaps failed to show reverence. Perhaps someone spoke boastfully about his kill. Perhaps someone talked and laughed too loudly while butchering his meat. These things can happen, and the spirit of the reindeer is offended. We must all take great care to be reverent, and they will come back again. They always do.”

“Sa,” said Dai and Okal and Lemo and Kasar.

“That is so,” said Asok and Sim and Mitlik.

“Cree?” Ronan asked. “Heno? Are you understanding me?”

Cree nodded grudgingly. Heno grunted.

“Then let there be no more of these accusations,” Ronan said. For the first time a hint of coldness crept into his voice.

“It is important that we think of the things that draw us together, not of the things that pull us apart. If there is a man here who cannot bring himself to look with tolerance on the ways of another tribe, then I say now that that man does not belong in the Tribe of the Wolf.”

Absolute silence. Heno and Cree were staring intently at their knees. Thorn looked wide-eyed at Ronan. Just as the silence was about to become uncomfortable, Ronan said in a different voice, “We have another matter to discuss today.”

All around him Thorn could feel men snapping to attention. Tension thrilled in the air. They had all known in their hearts that Ronan would settle the problem of the hunting luck. It was always like this. The men would quarrel and one tribe would blame another and tempers would flare and they would come to Ronan and he would settle it.

That was how it was for most problems. This matter of the horse-calling, however, was something else, and all knew it. This was the first time that an alliance had been made that did not fall along the lines of which tribe a man came from or which god a man worshipped. Some of the men of the tribe had a woman and others did not: that was the crux of this particular problem. It would not be settled easily.

Ronan said, “Hunting is the business of men, and so it is proper for the chief to settle hunting quarrels. The ceremony that has been proposed is not just for the men, however. It is for the women also, and I understand that the women have something to say to the men of the tribe on this matter.” He inclined his head toward his wife. “Nel?”

Nel hesitated, then turned to Berta. “I am a newcomer to this tribe,” she said with charming diffidence. “It is not yet for me to speak for the women’s side.”

Berta shook her sleek dark head. “You are the wife of the chief. You have told us you were to be the Chosen One of the Mother. The women of the Wolf feel it is proper that you speak for us.”

The other women all nodded, and Beki gave Nel an encouraging smile.

“Very well,” Nel said. She folded her hands, rested them upon her crossed ankles, regarded the men before her, and for a moment looked uncannily like Ronan.

How can that be? Thorn thought. But his artist’s eye saw the answer almost immediately. The resemblance lay in the tilt of the head, the lift of the chin, in the thin-bridged arrogance of the narrow nose. In that moment, Nel looked like a woman who could rule a tribe.

Nel was speaking. “The women of the tribe have this to say to the men in regard to the ceremony of the horse-calling.” Her face was grave, almost stern, and she was directing her comments to the unmarried men. “The women say it is a fine ceremony when it is done by the tribes of the plains. It honors the horse; it ensures the fertility of the herds; it gains their cooperation and permission so that hunters can take those that are needed for food and for clothing. It is a fine ceremony.”

As Nel was speaking, Thorn could see the single men beginning to perk up. Mitlik, who was from the River People and who had introduced the idea of the horse-calling to the Tribe of the Wolf, was grinning.

“However,” Nel said, “it seems to the women’s side that the men who proposed this ceremony have not taken into consideration the fact that there are no women of the Wolf eligible to participate.”

The single men all turned to look at Mitlik. “Why is that?” he demanded indignantly of Nel. “Among my tribe the married women always participate in this ceremony. In fact,” he added loudly, “it should please a husband to have his wife join in this rite.” Here Mitlik threw a defiant look at the married men, who were glaring at him furiously. “A woman who ‘calls the horse’ proves to her husband that she seeks his success in hunting,” Mitlik stated. “And good hunting leads to a good mome, good health, and plenty of food and clothing!” He sat back, and the single men all nodded their vigorous agreement.

Kasar said heatedly, “I have never heard anything so ridiculous…”

“Go find your own women and leave ours alone!” said Lemo.

“I have not finished,” Nel said, her soft voice somehow managing to make itself heard above the deeper voices of the angry men. Ronan shifted his position slightly, and the men quieted and turned again to Nel.

“Is it not true, Mitlik,” Nel asked, “that the women who are with child do not ‘call the horse’?”

Once again heads swiveled toward Mitlik. “Is that true?” Okal demanded.

“Well…” Mitlik looked uncomfortable, “Sa. I suppose that is true.”

“And is it not true also that the women who are yet nursing their babes do not participate?” Nel asked next.

“Dhu,” said Dai disgustedly.

Crim was heard to chuckle.

Mitlik was looking distinctly crestfallen. He mumbled, “I never heard of that.”

“It is certainly true among the People of the Dawn,” Berta snapped. “It is most probably true among the River People as well. You just never noticed.”

Mitlik ducked his head.

“There aren’t any women left!” Kort said indignantly.

“You are a fool, Mitlik,” said Okal.

The married men were grinning at the obvious discomfiture of their rivals.

Nel said, “Yoli and Beki and Yeba are with child. Fara and Berta and Tora and Tabara are nursing children. Eken, in accordance with the traditions of her people, is a maiden, and such a ceremony is not for maidens. This leaves,” Nel said gently, “only me.”

The men all looked at Ronan.

“I am thinking it is not possible to have a ceremony with only one woman,” Nel said.

“That is true,” Dai said, hastily averting his eyes from Ronan’s face. The rest of the unmarried men signaled their enthusiastic agreement with Dai.

Nel looked at the faces of the single men and bit her lip.

“Why didn’t you tell us this before, Berta?” Heno called to his wife. “You let us get into a sweat when all the time you knew you would not participate.”

Berta answered sweetly, “I do not recall being asked.”

Heno glared. The sweetness of Berta’s smile matched her voice.

“Why can’t a pregnant woman participate in this ceremony?” Dai asked suddenly. “If she can mate with her husband without fear, then why cannot she mate with another man?”

Tora gave him a pitying look. “She would not be mating with another man, but with a stallion. Her baby would be born with hoofs!”

“Sa,” Berta agreed. “And nursing mothers cannot take a chance of losing their milk.”

The rest of the women nodded their agreement.

Crim’s deep, reasonable voice was heard. “This particular issue may have been resolved, but there is yet a problem within the tribe.” He was addressing Ronan. “I was not in agreement with the ceremony proposed by the unmarried men,” he said. “It is not our way in the tribes of Sky God to share our wives with other men. However, I can understand the thinking of men such as Mitlik and Dai and Okal. They are young, and they have been too long without a woman.”

“I understand this too, Crim,” Ronan answered. “There is little I can do about it, however. We are not likely to have much success if we try to trade for wives at a Gathering; no father will agree to send his daughter into the outcast Tribe of the Wolf, no matter how high the bride price we offer.”

Glum silence greeted this unwelcome, if patently true, observation.

Nel was the one to speak next. “I am not certain of this, because it is not the way of my tribe, but it seems to me from what I see that the girls of Sky God are often given in marriage to men they do not like.” A single line creased the smooth skin of her brow, and she turned to Yoli. “Is this not so?”

“Sa.” Yoli’s voice was bitter. “It is so.”

Yoli’s story was well known to the tribe, and it was certainly illustrative of Nel’s point. Both Yoli and Lemo were from the Tribe of the Fox, where Lemo’s father was the chief. Lemo’s mother was frail, however, and unable to fulfill the many duties expected of the chief’s wife. So the chief had taken Yoli for his second wife in order to keep up his position. Unfortunately, Lemo and Yoli were already in love, but her father, proud of the honor being offered to his daughter, would not listen. Much against her desire, he had married Yoli to Lemo’s father.

As the months went by, the two young people had become more and more attached to each other. Yoli was in despair. She hated the embraces of the old chief, but she could not bring herself to wrong him by secretly lying with his son. At last, in utter desperation, Yoli had tried to hang herself. Luckily she had been found while she was yet alive, and then she had been made to confess the cause of her violent action. In response to her confession, Lemo’s father had expelled both his son and his wife from the tribe.

“There are many girls who are forced to marry men who are not to their liking,” Yoli said now to Nel. “Their fathers don’t care. All they are interested in is a good bride price.”

“And the older the man, the more likely he is to come up with a good bride price,” Beki answered, knowing from bitter experience how important this issue was.

Heno moved restlessly. “There are more important things to do than to sit here and listen to women whimpering,” he growled.

“It is you no one wants to listen to,” his wife informed him.

“Hold your tongue, woman!” Heno roared.

Berta opened her mouth to reply, but Ronan cut in acidly, “If you have more important things to do, Heno, then you may go and do them.” He turned his head. “What are you thinking, Nel? Do you think we could persuade some of these unhappy girls to join the Tribe of the Wolf?”

Nel answered, “Why not?”

“I can name you three girls who would much prefer to marry Dai than the husbands their fathers have picked for them,” Beki said promptly.

Dai looked pleased. Kasar scowled. “I did not know you had a fancy for Dai,” he said to his wife.

Beki was amused. “I was using Dai as an example, Kasar. Any of our men—Okal or Mitlik or Kort or Altair—are better than the choices of these fathers I speak of.”

“This is all very well,” Okal said impatiently, “but how, do we go about meeting these girls?”

It was Ronan who answered. “At the Spring Gathering. I will take the unmarried men and those of our women who feel able to make the trip.”

Beki grinned. “I will talk to the girls from the Tribe of the Leopard.”

“And I to those of the Fox,” said Yoli.

“And I to those of the Buffalo,” said Fara.

“There is little point in our speaking to the women of the Goddess,” Tora said. “We marry whom we like.”

“The women of the Goddess might be glad of an opportunity to marry with real men,” Heno said.

Tora regarded him scornfully. “The women of the Goddess are the only women who bring forth real men,” she answered.

Nel once more bit her lip.

Ronan said briskly, “I believe we have resolved the problems we came together to discuss. I have noticed we are growing low on wood. Bror, take the men and bring in a fresh supply.” Ronan stood up. “This council is over.” As the men and women of the tribe rose to go about their business, Ronan turned to Nel. “You and I, minnow,” he said, “are going to look at horses.”

PART THREE

The Horsemasters

(Two years later)

Chapter Twenty

Fenris, leader of the tribe known to the Kindred as the Horsemasters, sat on the stallion he had named for one of his gods and surveyed the camp spread before him. The women had the cookfires burning, and children prowled from tent to tent in hopes of a stray bit of food. At a little distance up the river from the buffalo-hide tents, the tribe’s great horse-herd grazed voraciously on the newly burgeoning spring grass.

The day was cold and clear and bright, the scene before him peaceful, but Fenris’s brow was furrowed with trouble. The horses had already grazed down their present pasture and would have to be moved again on the morrow. The hunting these last few days had been scarce, and the local tribes long since thoroughly vanquished.

No grass for his horses. No plunder for his restless warriors.

We have been too long in this place, Fenris thought. Winter is finishing, and it is time to move on.

To many chiefs, the prospect of moving so large a group of people and animals would have been daunting in the extreme. It did not daunt Fenris, whose grandfather many years before had collected his people and his herds of short-maned, stocky horses and led them from the freezing open steppes of the north into the rich, temperate river valleys of this southern land.

It was a vagabond life the Horsemasters had led since leaving the steppes, the sort of life attractive to adventurers, to men who were restless and ruthless, wild and brave. Such a people were the men of this tribe, and the chief of them all was their kain, Fenris.

The grass of this river valley was rich and green, Fenris thought now as he surveyed the sunlit scene before him. The River of Gold, the men of the Kindred called it, and the grass it nurtured was more beautiful than gold to the horse-herd Fenris and the men of his people held more sacred than they did their own children.