The Dog Master (45 page)

The lion turned back and Mal missed the neck as the lion snapped at the spear point, biting down on the shaft. Mal was still driving forward and the lion twisted away, jaws clamped down on the weapon, and now she did fall, pulling Mal helplessly after her.

Mal held on to the spear with all his strength because without it all was lost. They tumbled together, man and beast, and when the lion slammed onto the ground Mal fell with his chest on the butt of the spear, doubling over it and gasping with pain as it cracked his ribs, and then he was
on the lion herself,
feeling her fur and blood and claws, and he rolled blindly away. His club,
there
. He desperately threw himself at the club, snatching it, powering himself up with his good leg, raising the weapon high.

The lion was not moving. She had fallen to her side, the spear still sticking out of her mouth, from which she drooled dark blood. Her eyes were open and staring, but lifeless.

She was dead.

Mal dropped his club and slid to his knees, suddenly so weak he could no longer stand. He lifted his tunic and the welt on his ribs where he had landed on the back end of the spear was already turning an angry dark red, and when he touched the tender spot he gasped with the pain.

The force of Mal's fall had driven the spear straight through the roof of the lion's mouth.

Wincing, he stood. He knew his side would ache for many days, and he felt sick. But they were safe. He put his hands on his knees, ill and trembling.
They were safe
. Gradually, his nausea subsided, and he stared wonderingly at the gigantic predator he had just killed. He, Mal Crus, cursed, crippled fire boy, had just killed a lion.

Overhead the puppy was silent, no doubt still cowed by the brief appearance of the ferocious cat right there in front of her. When he hauled himself up on the ledge, though, she became ecstatic, struggling against her bonds and crying in joy. He tried to untangle her and she just made it worse, spinning in circles, licking his face, climbing on him and whimpering.

Mal knew that he would feed for several days on the lion, though his stomach might rebel against the unfamiliar meat at first. And he resolved to skin the beast at first light. He would find the tree bark Lyra had shown him, smash it to a pulp and heat it in hot water, pouring the thick mixture on the hide and leaving it in the sun on the rocks to cure, just as he had done with the mother-wolf's fur. Among the Kindred, it would be Mal and Urs alone who wore lion fur in the winter.

“All is good, little girl,” he laughed delightedly. “Hold still and I will untie you.”

*   *   *

Calli was frantic. A nice herd of reindeer, close by camp, had made it unnecessary for the hunt to go out as a collective. Instead, smaller groups might venture out onto the plains every couple of days, but never with Palloc, who seemed content to feed off the efforts of others. He hung around the communal fires, watching Calli with lazy eyes. Only when she seemed to be heading out of camp did he move, and then it was to follow her at close distance, not preventing her progress, but tracking her so that if she met her son she would be leading Palloc straight to him. She knew she could never allow that to happen.

The effect of the reliable food supply was magical. The tensions rippling through the women's council dissipated—Albi might be wandering around with a baleful look on her face, but everyone else was happy and relaxed.

Calli went to speak to Bellu, hoping to convince her to talk Urs into sending the full hunt out. “We should be building up our supplies of cooked, dried meat,” Calli explained.

Bellu waved her hand languorously. “Urs will decide,” she said dismissively. “I have better news.”

“As council mother, you can tell him the women are concerned,” Calli insisted.

“I am pregnant,” Bellu announced. “Wonderful!” Her mouth open and eyes wide in anticipation of Calli's joyous squeal.

“That is good, Bellu.”

“You do not seem very excited,” Bellu pouted.

“No, of course, I am very excited. I just worry, though, that we will not have enough food for the migration south.”

“That is not for some time.”

“But to run out of food, while you are expecting a child,” Calli pressed.

A shadow entered Bellu's eyes. “Are we in danger of running out of food?”

“Well, yes we are, if the hunt is unable to continue to find game,” Calli equivocated slowly.

“I see,” Bellu said. She tapped her teeth with her nails. Because of her frequent baths, Bellu had the only clean nails in the Kindred, and they looked odd without dirt under them.

Calli left Bellu's fire convinced the hunt would soon be assembling, but another two days passed before Urs summoned the men for a conversation that went all day, the men laughing raucously many times. They were in excellent spirits. Their wives had plenty of energy for them in the night, their children were not crying in hunger, and the reindeer were easy to find.

“The hunt leaves tomorrow,” Renne mentioned to Calli that night. Since the death of Dog and Renne's husband, Nix, Renne seemed to seek out Calli for conversation when she was lonely.

“All is good,” Calli replied, relieved.

“Mostly, women will miss their husbands,” Renne noted haltingly. She appeared to be wrestling with something. “But you and Palloc are different.”

“Palloc and I are married but only in name,” Calli replied. “He did not care for my children, and he does not care for me as a wife.”

“So you are not offended that Palloc might visit the widows at night?”

“No, I am happy that he does not bother me,” Calli replied, pushing a fleeting memory of Urs from her mind. The men might avail themselves of the widows, but there was no one in all the Kindred who was in Calli's unique position. She might avail herself of no one.

Her eyes sought out Valid. He was sitting with his daughter and actually letting the girl do something to his hair, pulling it back and treating it with sticky tree sap so it would not blow in his face. Lyra was singing to her father, and Calli guessed that was the trade for the indulgence—he would allow Lyra to groom him but only if she made up a song in return. Valid was a good father, a good man. His wife, Sidee, often complained about him, in that way that so many wives in the Kindred talked about their men, an attitude that caused Calli to marvel to herself how such small issues loomed so large in the minds of women who had every reason to be content.

Only later, as Calli drifted off to sleep, did something occur to her.

Renne, asking her if it bothered her that Palloc visited the widows.

Renne, who was herself, a widow.

*   *   *

Whenever Silex returned from the hunt to wherever the Wolfen had established their gathering site, he slept in a bed made comfortable by laying an elk hide over grasses gathered in the spring. Ovi slept nearby, though not too near because at night she made snorting sounds that could keep him awake. So her eyes widened in surprise when Silex came to her sleeping place and lay down next to her. There was still enough daylight left to see him, though the gloom was starting to reach out of the shadows to envelop couples in their beds.

“Ovi,” Silex whispered.

She propped herself up on one elbow so that she could face him with a questioning look.

“There is something very important I need to speak to you about,” he continued.

“Yes?”

He peered at her but saw no suspicion, no sign she knew he had committed adultery. “An important topic,” he stalled.

Ovi merely waited.

Silex sighed. “We have never laid as man and wife, not once in all the years we have been married.”

She looked at him carefully. “Is this something you want to do now?” she replied cautiously.

He pursed his lips. “Well … has it bothered you?”

“Bothered me?”

“Do you want me to, Ovi? Because I will. I do not wish to deny you my attentions if you desire them.”

“What is this about, Silex? I have told you in the past. It was never something I enjoyed.”

“What
do
you enjoy, Ovi? What makes you happy?”

“I hate it when you ask me that. Why are you always asking me that? What has brought on this concern?”

“I have recently learned that a woman might harbor desires, but feel constrained from revealing them, and that this might be a cruel thing.”

“That is simply foolish. A woman does what she must, there is no
desire,
” Ovi replied with just a hint of scorn. “There is just the needs of the day. And the next day. And the next, until the final peace of death. I have never felt you were cruel to me, Silex. You just do what you have to do.”

“I just want you to know that I am willing, Ovi. I want to be a good husband.”

“You are a good husband, Silex. Will you be sleeping here next to me tonight?” she asked neutrally.

Silex looked into her tired eyes. Nothing in their conversation had assuaged his guilt. “No, I will go back to my own bed now,” he replied.

The next morning he left early, his conscience burdened, and headed toward a place where some logs had been laid against a rock, forming a protective shelter. Inside this lean-to was a sleeping area made of animal hide laid on summer grasses, and lying on the bed was his lover Denix, her arms and legs open and welcoming.

*   *   *

Mal skinned and butchered the lion. The meat was tough, dry, and stringy when fresh, and the strips that he hung over the fire to shrivel in the smoky air were so difficult to chew he took to softening them up in hot water before he bit off a piece. Dog, though, seemed to love the stuff, and would gnaw happily on a hunk.

The first night, Mal cooked the lion's heart over the fire on a stick, and it was the best meal he took from the animal. He was not able to make much with the rest of the organs, coming up with a stew so strong smelling that even Dog shied away from it.

“This meat will not last all winter, Dog. We must find prey, now that my mother has stopped coming.”

Mal had little doubt that his mother wanted to come, and he thought he knew exactly why she was not bringing him food—somehow, Albi was preventing it.

*   *   *

Mal was not at the rendezvous point the first day, nor the second. Calli refused to believe he was dead—their agreement was every third day. He would come.

But the hunt returned in the morning of that third day, laden with meat, grinning with victory. At that moment, Calli would have given anything for another time of hunger, but the Kindred were fat with their kill and unlikely to venture out for more for several more days.

Calli resolutely butchered a reindeer for the communal meal, feeling as she did a pair of eyes on her. When she looked up it was Palloc, grinning triumphantly, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

 

FIFTY-THREE

Dog went with Mal every day to walk through the forest, tagging along with the leather rope tied securely around her neck. Mostly, they ate worms and bugs, supplemented with chunks of tough, smoky meat. She was hungry, but the only food she ate came from Mal's hands.

When they came upon a herd of reindeer, Mal could scarcely contain his excitement. Mal proceeded on his hands and knees through the late summer grasses, silent and slow, dropping his head whenever one of the reindeer glanced over in his direction.

Dog was too short to see the prey at first, but she smelled something, and Mal's behavior enlivened her. Dog sniffed at Mal's face, panting in his ear, and gave a soft whimper.

“Shhh!” Mal warned.

Dog cocked her head, hearing something in Mal's tones but not understanding it.

And then Dog saw the reindeer. She went completely rigid, her eyes opening wide. Mal was completely unprepared when she unexpectedly lunged forward.

The rope slipped from Mal's grasp. “Dog!” he hissed, but it was too late. Scampering forward on feet too big, Dog joyously plunged directly toward the center of the herd. Mal put a hand to his mouth: both female and male reindeer had antlers—what if they lowered them to Dog, would she know to evade them?

When the ungulates saw the wolf they reacted with a panicked scramble, milling momentarily before charging off, straight toward Mal.

Gulping, Mal stood up, his spear at the ready. The motion alerted the stampeding animals and they veered, but several were close and Mal let fly and, to his shock, solidly struck an adult female in the hind quarters.

The reindeer stumbled, but then righted itself and thundered off with the rest of its herd, Dog streaking off after them.

“Dog!” Mal wailed at her retreating form. He ran as fast as he could, chasing the dust and the animal tracks.

This was his worst fear: Dog, barely bigger than a puppy, off on her own, where countless predators might view her as an easy meal, or other wolves might swoop in and eliminate her as a threat.

The reindeer, he knew, could run a long way, and would definitely do so with a wolf on their heels. Dog, on the other hand, was tired and hungry—how long would she go?

Some distance, Mal found. The sun had noticeably moved in the sky when without warning the grasses parted and Dog bounded up to him, her tongue lolling out of her saliva-flecked mouth.

“Dog!” Mal called in relief. He tackled the wolf and the two of them rolled on the ground for a moment, his face buried in her fur. “Do not run away like that again,” he scolded happily. But he gave her the last bit of lion meat from his pouch. They were now out of lion altogether. He scooped up the rope. “Let us find our kill, Dog. We will eat reindeer meat tonight.”

No, they would not. The herd was easy enough to follow, even when they slowed and their hooves no longer chewed the soil. There was a nice blood trail, and at one point they came across Mal's spear. “They will stop soon and the female I speared will lie down,” Mal reasoned aloud. Reindeer were grazing animals who would drop their heads to the grass as soon as the immediate threat of the wolf passed, but for some reason they kept moving on this day, and after a time Mal found out why.