Glimpses (8 page)

***

Alec wished he could at least see the bad
bear. Whenever it came around, his father took him to a town and
left him there while he went to hunt it.

His father carried him a long way down the
river, until they came to the waterfall. Alec knew this place well.
There was a little cave behind the waterfall, a good place to hide
from a bear. His father carried him under the torrent and into the
cave, then went back for their things. Alec sat very still and
quiet, so the bear wouldn’t hear him.

They spent the whole day there. Alec slept
for a while in the afternoon with his head on his father’s leg and
woke hungry and damp. They stayed there all night, too. His father
went out into the woods to check for the bear a few times. That was
always frightening, but Alec knew better than to say so. Papa said
you should never be afraid because it made you weak and
foolish.

***

Amasa was tracking the spotted cats higher up
the snowfield the next day when he happened to look back and saw
that Ireya was back. She was running in his direction and waving
her arms, trying to scare off the cats again.

“Damn woman,” he growled under his breath.
One of the kits almost within bow shot, clearly visible in front of
a rock face up the slope. He inched forward, gauging the wind.
Close enough at last, he set his feet firmly in the snow and shot.
The arrow struck the cat just behind the shoulder blade—a heart
shot—The kit tumbled down the slope toward him until the arrow
shaft caught in the snow. Shouldering his bow, Amasa began the
short climb to fetch it. He could almost feel the money in his
hand. Looking back again, he saw that Ireya had stopped some
distance off, but was still waving her arms, frantically motioning
for him to come to her.

Not without the valuable kill. Amasa was
nearly to the kit when suddenly a section of glistening snow gave
way beneath his feet and carried him down the slope like a wave.
But waves of snow were hard as walls, and filled with rocks. It
tumbled him down the slope like a man drowning in white water. Pain
shot through his left forearm as he felt the sickening snap of a
bone breaking. Then he and the snow were falling, falling, falling
...

***

Just after dawn Alec’s father came back to
the cave. “Come, child, we have to move on.”

“Did you see the bear, Papa?” Alec asked,
shivering in his damp clothes.

“Yes. He’s a big one, and mean, but he’s gone
now. You were a good boy, keeping quiet for so long.”

His father carried him and their gear out
from under the falls and led Alec down the riverbed for a long time
before they stopped to eat. Even though the bear was gone, his
father was keeping a sharp eye out. Alec stayed quiet so he could
listen. His father was a great hunter; a woman who took care of
Alec sometimes told him so. Alec knew it must be a very tricky
bear, not to get killed. And smart too, to always find them
again.

“Are we going to the town now, Papa?” Alec
whispered as he ate his cold muskrat meat.

“Yes. You’ll have to stay there awhile.”

“While you hunt the bear?”

“Yes, child.”

“What’s a bear skin worth, Papa?”

His father smiled in that tight, strange way
he sometimes did. “This bear? More than you can imagine.”

When they got to the town that night his
father traded the pelts for silver and a few weeks of food. Then
they went to the inn where they’d stayed a few nights when they
came up here this spring. It was called the Coney and there was a
sign shaped like a hare over the door, with painted eyes and
whiskers.

The woman who ran it was kind enough, and
Alec didn’t mind being left here, except for the worry of having
his father go away again. But Papa always came back.

***

Pain woke Amasa. His chest, head, and left
arm ached badly, even worse than the rest of him. He felt like he’d
been beaten from head to toe. He started fully awake as the memory
of the avalanche came back. But he wasn’t buried; he was lying
wrapped in blankets and furs by a fire. It wasn’t the campsite he’d
shared with Ireya, but a shallow cave, the mouth of it half-filled
with snow. Pushing back the furs with his good arm, he found that
his left had been set and splinted with thick branches and
blue-and-white rags, the same as the head cloth Ireya had worn. The
rags near the middle of his forearm were stained with blood, where
a sharp end of bone had broken through the skin. He had a few
cracked ribs, too.

He heard the squeak of snow under boots and a
moment later Ireya appeared in the mouth of the cave, carrying pair
of skinned rabbits. She didn’t look at him or smile as she knelt by
the fire and began cutting up the meat.

“Ireya, did you bring me here?” he asked,
though speaking made his chest hurt worse.

Again she didn’t look at him, or answer. She
was angry.

Still muddled, he lay there watching her as
she cooked rabbit over the fire on a green stick. Without the head
cloth, he could see how her dark brown hair shone in the firelight.
Even angry, she was beautiful.

She stayed angry as they ate the rabbit and
some dried apples. She had a flask of beer and grudgingly shared it
with him.

She’s an odd one, but must have a kind heart
to dig me out of an avalanche drag me here, he thought, laying
there in a nest of furs and blankets. Her furs and blankets. No
doubt his were gone for good, swept away with all the rest of his
gear.

“Thank you,” he said at last. “Thank you for
saving my life.”

She seemed to understand, but it only made
her madder. She spoke sharply to him in that language of hers as if
she expected him to understand.” When it was clear he didn’t she
said, “Autasa!”

“I don’t understand, Ireya.”

She snatched up the charred spit and with a
few deft strokes drew the outline of a cat with spots in the dirt.
“Autasa.”

“The lynx kit! You’re angry at me for killing
it?” That was why she’d interrupted his hunt the other day. She was
protecting the lynx.

“I killed your autasa. I’m sorry. I didn’t
know they were yours.”

She just wiped out the drawing and went back
to her side of the fire, but perhaps she’d understood; she now
looked more sad than angry.

“Thank you for this.” He held up his splinted
arm, grimacing with pain.

She passed him the beer flask again,
motioning for him to drink. “Turab.”

He took a long swallow and felt warmth spread
through him. It was strong stuff, this turab, and as good a beer as
he’d ever tasted.

That night she surprised him considerably
when she took off her heavy cloak and spread it over him, then got
in under the bedding with him, nudging at him to give her room.
Muttering something, she turned her back to him and pulled the
cloak and furs up to her chin.

Amasa was in too much pain to feel any lust.
Instead, he took stock of what he’d lost. Bed roll, knife, bow,
extra clothing, flints, trap lines—everything that kept him alive.
If it wasn’t for Ireya, he’d be dead already.

She cared for him for three days, feeding him
and tending his throbbing arm with snow and some sort of smelly
herb he didn’t recognize. She had a pouch of it and mixed up a
fresh poultice each day.

On the fourth morning she brought in several
loads of firewood, half a dozen skinned rabbits, and left.

She didn’t come back that day, or the next,
or the next and though he ate sparingly, the food was soon
dwindling and the beer was gone. She’d left a cup behind and he
used it over the fire to melt snow for water.

His chest and arm still ached badly, but he
was well enough now to move around the cave a little. Whatever had
been in those poultices had kept away fever and rot. The skin was
already healing, but he knew it would take a month or more for the
bones to knit, and longer before his arm was strong enough for him
to draw a bow.

Just when he’d begun to give up hope of
living that long, she came back, laden with a heavy pack of food
and clean clothing similar to what she wore, though the tunic was
shorter. There was also a knife, enough twine to make snares, and a
pouch with flint, steel, and tinder shavings.

She gave him bread and slices of a hard,
sharp cheese, and a sip from a flask of turab, then checked his
arm, pressing here and there and sniffing the wound.

“Good,” she said at last.

“Yes.” The pain was down to a dull ache
today.

She stayed and began teaching him words in
her language. Though not enough for a real conversation, he began
to get a sense of the person she was. Her folk were called
Hâzadriëlfaie, and she lived on a farm somewhere beyond the peaks.
Apparently it wasn’t unusual for the women of her people to go off
hunting.

She smiled often and sat beside him to
scratch pictures in the dirt for words. He did the same with his
good arm and often found himself laughing with her over his clumsy
efforts. Now and then he’d catch her watching him and there was
sometimes a look in her eyes that made his heart beat a little
faster. He’d been with enough women to know when one fancied him.
When she slept beside him again that night, Amasa was healed enough
to wonder if she was doing more than keeping warm. The question was
soon answered when she turned over and kissed him on the mouth, the
ran her fingers down his bearded cheek and laughed softly.
“Good?”

“Good.” He kissed her back.

Eyes half closed, she knelt and pulled her
tunic over her head. Amasa stared up at her in wonder. Her smooth
skin and small round breasts looked golden in the firelight. Her
nipples were like tiny wild strawberries.

It had been a long time since he’d had a
woman and his breath caught in his throat as she brought his right
hand up to cover her breast. They needed no common language for
this. She stood to pull off her trousers, revealing slender legs
and a dark triangle of hair marking her sex. She helped him out of
his trouser, laughing a little at the awkwardness of it, then lay
down beside him again, stroking his thigh. He ran the fingers of
his good hand through her long soft hair, then down the smooth skin
of her neck to cup her breast again. She sighed and kissed him,
then drew a sharp breath as he gently pinched her nipple. He
chuckled, then ran his hand down to her waist, her hip, her
buttock. She made no complaint, but instead caressed his stiffened
cock and balls, making him grow harder under her touch.

“Good!” he whispered.

She parted her thighs for him and he explored
the moist lips of her cunny. She was hot and slick there already,
and moaned as he took her right nipple between his lips and his
fingers found that tiny, hard bud between her legs that gave women
so much pleasure, gently rubbing it. A widow in Silver Bridge had
shown him that spot when he was hardly more than a lad and he’d
never left a woman wanting since. Ireya moaned again, rolling her
hips under his hand and tightening her grip on his shaft. The musky
fragrance of her cunny rose to his nostrils and he nearly came just
from the smell of it. Before he could, however, Ireya threw her
head back and reached her climax with a long, ragged keen, surging
under his fingers. Never had he wished more for two good arms to
hold her properly. Then the keen trailed off to laughter. Ireya
moved his hand from between her legs and kissed him deeply as she
pushed him flat on his back and straddled his hips. Holding his
erection at the base, she slowly lowered herself onto it, taking
him inside, into the dark tight heat of her body. Amasa groaned at
the pleasure of it as she rode him. Reaching between them, he found
that little bud again and played with it as she thrust herself up
and down on his cock. She soon cried out again as she came and the
pure joy he saw on her face pushed him over the edge into a climax
of his own so intense that he could hardly catch his breath.

As they lay gasping and laughing together
afterwards, Amasa held her close with his right arm and knew he
felt something more than simple lust toward this woman.

***

Ireya stayed with him for nearly a week,
hunting in the daytime and making love to him by night, then
disappeared as she always did, returning just before the food ran
out.