The Animal Wife (16 page)

A wolf barked again. With a short, impatient roar, the tiger answered. He was still moving. Quiet as corpses, we in the lodge sat motionless, listening, for what seemed like half the night. After a very long time, we heard another bark from deep in the woods, then another, then a third—not a wolf this time, but a hind. She too had seen the tiger.

"So," whispered Maral, breaking the silence in the lodge. "He's gone. He came to learn who was here."

I would have liked to ask what Maral meant, but I didn't want to seem unsure, unmanly. So I was glad to hear Pinesinger's voice in the darkness. "What do you mean?" she asked. "Were you expecting him?"

"This is a good place," said Maral, "this land of your husband's. We have red deer and roe deer, moose and reindeer. With so much to eat, does it surprise you that other hunters come?"

"I was surprised to hear one on the roof."

"He lives in the forest," said Rin. "And he roams very widely. Sometimes in the middle of winter, in the Moon of Roaring, his wife lives with him. They both roar. It's good to be very careful on the trails and to be in the lodge by dark."

"Why did he jump on the lodge?"

"When we come, he visits us. Not always the first night, but usually within a few nights."

"Why?"

"How do I know why? Am I his kin?"

"Aren't you afraid?" asked Pinesinger.

"When he's here, we're afraid."

"How do you know when he's here?"

"The wolves tell us."

"Do they keep watch for you?"

"When they're here, they watch. When they're away, we watch for ourselves. Tonight they were here."

"We have no firewood. How will we get firewood now?"

"Does nothing prowl your father's wintergrounds to make you take care?" asked Rin. "How do your people get firewood?"

"Never before have I heard of a big animal jumping to the roof of a lodge," said Pinesinger. "If I had known this place was dangerous, I would have stayed home!"

"Take it up with your husband," said Rin.

***

In the morning we found wolf tracks scattering in all directions and tiger tracks the size of a man's head. We saw that the tiger had come from the west, following the river upstream, walking rather slowly, standing this way and that way, as if he were wondering about us. After his visit he had gone back to the west, downstream, taking great, even strides that left the prints of his hind feet only, as if he had walked on two legs like a man.

We all looked, but no one wanted to speak of him. When I crouched down to look at the tracks so I would know them if I saw them again, Maral said, "We know this one. He visits every fall. Right now he's traveling. He knows we come every winter, and he doesn't want to live where we spoil his hunting. He knows he can hurt us, but he also knows we can hurt him. See his big steps? See his rear tracks covering his front tracks? See how straight he travels, like a fox? He has a far place in mind."

Maral seemed right about the tiger. Even so, I feared this animal. I had seen the width of his front footprints and how high his claws had reached where he had scraped a tree. He would be longer than a horse and as high at the shoulder. He would be heavier. His face would be as wide as our coldtrap, and his teeth would be longer than my fingers. Knowing his size made me fear him.

"We'll hunt today," said Maral. "If we can, we'll set snares. Wives! Take string with you. Set as many snares as you can find places to set them, or until you use all the string."

I had thought I would go hunting with my two uncles and Marten; I had thought these men would want to teach me how to find my way around the country. But Maral said, "Someone must gather wood, and we can't send the children. You, Kori, you gather wood."

Aunt Lilan said, "We're going to pick redberries, unless birds have eaten them. Kori should come with us, since he's new to this country."

"Thank you, Aunt," I said, "but if my uncles want me to gather wood, I'll go where we were yesterday. In that direction I know where to find wood."

"Watch carefully," said Lilan.

"I will, Aunt."

"We call him the Lily."

I knew at once what she meant. My mind's eye saw a soft yellow lily striped with black and white, a lily that grows in woods in high places. Such plants are few, but the bulbs can be eaten. "The Lily," I repeated.

"We see he went west," Aunt Lilan went on, as if her husband had not already told me. "But no one has followed to see how far. Perhaps he's traveling, as my husband believes, or perhaps he changed his mind and is still near. Sometimes he stays near us a long time. Sometimes he moves on. Anyway, don't forget him."

"Who could forget him?" I asked.

As I walked south toward the four hills, I kept watch carefully at every bend of the trail. I sniffed the air for the tiger's musky odor and listened for any sound, although I knew those huge soft feet of his would make no sound. Even the weather made me uneasy. At that time of year it should have been clear and cool, but the air was wet, uncomfortably heavy, almost cold and also almost hot. Across the sky stretched a band of clouds like a belt on the sky's belly. I thought I heard thunder. That was something so late in the year—thunder during the Moon of Fires.

In the berry scrub at the foot of the hills, the bushes seemed alive with willow-tits busily eating. Surely bad weather was coming to make them so greedy. I turned off the trail into the rolling woods below the hills, and watching carefully, trying to stay far away from thickets that could hide a tiger, I began to gather wood. When a pile was ready, I carried it to the lodge.

There I looked at the tracks of the other men, all together, off on a hunt in single file, with Ako behind them. Did my uncles see me as the wood carrier of the lodge, doing woman's work, child's work, just because there was a tiger? Well, I had gathered wood, a big pile of it. Did it make me a man of meat, a feeder of foxes? I put my ax beside the coldtrap so that all who came would see it. Then I got my spear, the spear with the flint that Father had given me, and then, head high, facing the wind, I took the trail by the lake again. Perhaps I didn't know the country to the north, where my uncles had gone, but I knew enough about the country to the south and east to keep from getting lost. I could follow the stream. I could follow the trail around the hills. I could hunt in the woods between the lake and the hills, using both as landmarks. Feeling very sure of myself, I ran at the stream and crossed with one wide leap.

The Lily had gone west on the north bank. I turned east, followed the south bank around the lake, and soon found myself at the edge of the open heath. Over the hills the south wind poured, shaking the tiny poisonous leaves. Reindeer might be lying in the open places, letting the wind blow away the last of the biting flies.

This thought seemed promising. I made my way through the thicket to the low edges of the open slopes. On a large, flat rock surrounded by red-leafed crowberry bushes and blue-needled juniper, I sat on my heels to scan the countryside. From there I could see far. I looked for the red plovers that sometimes follow reindeer to hunt the ticks in their hair or the insects chased up by their feet. Red plovers like a heath near water, but it was late in the year for plovers, and I saw none. I looked for the ravens that might guide me to reindeer. Even wolves reward ravens who guide them—that's why ravens help hunters—but I saw no ravens.

Instead I heard excited voices overhead, and looking up I saw a long string of geese flying low, as if thinking of landing. Rather than circling back over the lake to land into the wind, though, they went straight on, making for the tops of the Breasts of Ohun. There they landed.

From the southwest, with the gusting southwest wind, a cloudbank crept toward us, pushing ahead of itself the queer warm weather. As I strained my eyes, looking to see where the geese had gone, I noticed against the gray cloudbank a pure white plume of smoke. The plume came and went quickly, like the flash of a bird in a thicket, like the flash of sunlight from a polished spear, giving me just enough time to know I had seen it. Smoke? I stared, not quite believing my eyes. Up in the hills was a fire. A brushfire? A campfire? Who had made a fire?

My first thought was a pleasing thought: the smoke was Father's. But why would Father make camp instead of coming to his lodge? The smoke couldn't be Father's. Nor would it be that of our kinsmen or other visitors, since they too would come to the lodge. No one would camp in the Hills of Ohun.

So surely I was making a mistake of some kind. Perhaps my uncles had gone into the hills without my knowing, perhaps to burn the berry bushes and make way for spring grass, perhaps to cook and eat something they had found. These reasons made the best sense, yet in my heart I knew they were not the reasons. My uncles had gone north. I had seen their tracks. The women had gone west, downriver. There was no reason for any of our people to cross the river, let alone to double back and go secretly up among the hills. So perhaps I hadn't seen smoke after all. The mind's eye sees what pleases it, or so said Uncle Bala.

But suddenly there it was again, a white plume of smoke. I was certain of it. Then I heard on the wind a slow, faint
ng, ng, ng
—the even strokes of someone with a hand ax, chopping.

Now I knew someone was there. I almost stood up, to go back to the lodge to tell the others. Then I wondered if I should climb the hills and see for myself who was camped there. Perhaps the people were visitors, sick or hurt. Perhaps they couldn't find us and had camped up high to watch for our smoke. If so, they would be waiting for us to find them.

While I looked up, squinting, I became aware that something was behind me. Something was watching me. Softly, the berry bushes crackled. Very quietly, something was creeping toward me. I carefully let my right arm slide down my thigh to my spear, which lay on the rock beside me. As I did, I slowly turned around.

Behind me was a reindeer! In fact, I could see four reindeer, but one was nearer, its head forward, its eyes and nostrils wide and searching curiously. It was a young male with thin, plain antlers. The others, all females, stood far back in the willow thicket, each side-on as if poised to run but watching me warily with one eye.

When I turned, the young male reindeer's head went up, and he jerked one of his hind feet sideways, a warning. One of the females gave a whistling snort. I raised my spear. When I moved, the young male turned, showing his side. Leading him a little, I threw hard. His leap brought him onto the spear. With a loud thump, it struck through the skin under his outstretched leg. He gave a coughing cry and ran bucking into the willows. Forgetting all about the smoke, cursing myself for not bringing two spears, I snatched my knife from the top of my moccasin and ran after him. By his footprints were great splashes of foaming red blood. My spear had pierced his lung!

Filled with joy, I crept into the willow thicket and suddenly found myself standing almost above him, where he had fallen to his knees. His eyes rolled as he tried to stand, moaning out a froth of red bubbles. I threw myself astride him, hooked my elbow under his chin, and lifted up, stretching his throat and burying my face in his long, soft hair. As I drew my knife across his throat I smelled him, like a sleeping-skin. He twisted and called, blood gurgling in his voice, but he was strong, very strong—under me I felt his hindquarters lift suddenly. He was standing! Then I was riding him, trying to hold his chin up with my elbow, trying to get my knife into his throat. He staggered a few steps and plunged forward, before I had decently cut him. Between my knees I felt him moving, trying to get to his feet again, but suddenly he collapsed sideways onto my right leg and lay still.

I freed myself and stood up. The wind had died. The day was ending, and into the depth of the quiet thicket cold air was creeping from the lake. My reindeer lay at my feet with his head on the ground, mouth open, tongue out, and a pool of blood forming. I could smell it. He lived a little longer, watching me, knowing at last who was the stronger of us.

Ah well. Our eyes met, and I held his gaze until his pupils widened in an empty stare. Then I was alone, with meat. But was I? I heard ravens, then saw three large black forms soar over the tops of the willows. The ravens had seen me hunting after all. Circling, they called, then set themselves down on the large, flat rock where I had been sitting, up in the red sunlight on the hillside, on the open heath. Restless, they shrugged their wings, all three of them facing me. I wasn't glad to see them.

I thought of my spear. My reindeer had ruined it entirely, I saw, since the shaft had broken off underneath him. As the rest of it was now inside his body, I would have trouble getting it out. I set my heel on his ribs and tried to grasp the tip of the blade with my fingers, but it was slippery with blood and wedged tightly. I had no hope of getting it. I tried my knife on his ribs, but the blade was not sharp, and it took a long time just to make a small white slit in the skin. Meanwhile evening was coming quickly. I should be doing something to protect the meat.

On the flat rock up the hill, the ravens called. They too saw the low sun, and saw that if I didn't hurry they would lose a meal. Who were they calling? Someone to help them? To hurry me? My mind's eye saw the wide striped face, the round yellow eyes of the Lily watching from the trees.

Although I tried to stop it, worry crept unwanted into my mind. I felt something watching me, and turned. Nothing. I looked at my knife with disappointment, remembering all the evenings we had spent on the trail, evenings of firelight and talking, when I could have been working the edge but had chosen instead to play Water Kills Fire or Stones in the Holes with Andriki or even with the little children. If Father could see me in a thicket at sunset with a big carcass and a useless knife, what might he say to me?

But then, I had killed! Perhaps the reindeer was young, but he wasn't small. Even the broken spear looked good, since it almost seemed as if I had thrown my spear right through him. Besides, the other men had taken Ako hunting but not me. I hoped they had also gathered wood. As for me, I had killed meat!