Free The Reindeer People by Megan Lindholm Page B

face. 'He looked up at me and smiled so I could see where his teeth are gone. He was leaning on the staff we carved together. And I knew he was coming for me. He said, You are mine, Kerlew. And I will come for you, because the spirits will it. Be patient, but do not forget. Then it started snowing and it fell between us until everything was white and I couldn't see him anymore. But I thought I heard him calling me, so I woke up and got out of bed to see.'
    'Kerlew.' Tillu kept rigid control of her voice. 'Carp is not coming for you. He doesn't know where we are. And we have come a very long way since we left Benu's people. They don't come this far west. We are out of their territory now. I don't think we will ever see Carp again.'
    Kerlew stood silent, his brow crinkled, nodding slowly. Then he let the tent flap fall, shutting out the night and the greater darkness it sheltered. The tent became a small, safe place again, and Tillu could look at Kerlew and see her child. His bare legs stuck out from under his soft leather nightshirt. His thick black hair was tousled, some dangling before his strange eyes. For an instant she saw all his vulnerability and loneliness, and her conscience smote her. In all her travels, Carp was the only adult male who had ever shown anything near tolerance for her son. To some, Kerlew was an object of ridicule; to others, disgust. He had always been taunted by other children, ever since he was old enough to betray his differences with speech. Women either pitied him and treated him as a babe, or pitied Tillu and treated him as a misfortune. In running away from Benu's folk, she had taken him from the only person who had ever befriended him.
    'Then why did he say he was coming?'
    Tillu tried to keep her patience before the slow words of the dogged questions. 'Because you only dreamed it. He didn't really say it.'
    He stood nodding by the fire, his mouth slightly agape, his tongue wetting his lower lip. Then his lips moved as he carefully repeated her words to himself. 'Ah,' he said, nodding at the flames. 'A dream.'
    Tillu sighed in relief and began to settle back into her nest of hides.
    'Do you think Carp will come tomorrow, then?' Kerlew's hopeful question jerked her back.
    Tillu sighed. 'No. Carp won't come tomorrow, either. You never hear a word I say, do you? Bring in some wood for the fire.'
    He stooped to obey her, dragging in sticks of wood frosted with last night's snowfall. They sizzled as he dumped them clumsily onto the red coals.
    'Not too many at once,' Tillu cautioned him. 'You'll put it out.'
    'Then I'd have to start it again,' Kerlew observed, an edge of resentment showing in his slow-spaced words.
    'That's right,' she agreed firmly.
    They both fell silent, feeling the silent tension hanging between them. Part of her said it had been necessary, that the boy had to learn, however he could be taught. Part of her felt only sickened and sad. How well he remembered anger and hurt. He might forget what she had said to him moments ago, but his memory of last month's confrontation was still fresh. It was how his mind worked. As if he could sense the things that pained her and chose to keep those things for himself.
    She looked at him now, saw his eyes steal up to the tent support where the meat hung. She smiled at him slowly, remembering his face shining with the triumph of fire. That she would keep for herself. He stared back at her, then smiled uncertainly.
    'It's nearly time to get up, I think. Shall I bring snow?' he offered hopefully. Then Tillu knew what had really awakened him. He was hungry.
    She pushed wearily at her blankets. She knew she should make him go back to sleep and wait to eat until the true morning. But she felt guilty and, she realized, hungry herself. She was not providing well for them. She knew the forest offered ample food, even in the hardest winter, for the skilled hunter. But she was not skilled.
    In the time since they had left Benu's folk, she had been feeding