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and its
ways. Then he was struck full on by a rotten yam, and he would
be dubbed ‘yam-head’ for at least a month after, his shame written in the tribe’s collective memory, a joke that might hound
him all the way to old age unless he accomplished something
remarkable to wipe it out.
Then he was through, having run and crouched, jumped and
balanced his way to the far end. Now his parents and uncles and
aunts went to him, showering him with congratulations, welcoming him to the world of adults, giving him gifts.
There will be no one there for me , Maniye reflected, but even to
think that far presupposed that she would survive the course.
The others were picked out at Kalameshli’s discretion, and
Maniye was not remotely surprised to find herself being left till
last. All she could do was watch the others, learning what she
could from their mistakes. Some of them were slow, some too
timid, others reckless. They fell, they were struck, they tripped,
they rebounded off the obstacles. One girl was hit with a stone
so hard it shocked her out of her wolf shape, leaving her kneeling on the ground, clutching at her bloodied scalp and wailing,
and yet she got back on her feet and went on, because to let the
beaters catch up with her would be worse. One boy forgot himself so much he left his loincloth behind as he Stepped, arriving
at the far end completely naked, for a moment horribly abashed,
but then – realizing that he had passed the important test –
strutting and whooping with his adolescent manhood dangling
and dancing between his legs.
Then they had all gone, all of them except Maniye.
She watched the last of the pack, a girl she didn’t like, haring
off, Stepping from human to wolf with the confidence of those
who have seen the game played out plenty of times before. Even
the beaters seemed content to let these last go with only a desultory barrage. Everyone was waiting for what came next.
Everyone was waiting for her .
She fixed Kalameshli with a stony gaze which he met readily
enough. From his expression, he might be looking at his worst
enemy.
He shouted out an order, and something was brought out
from behind the temple. His three acolytes, brawny young men
all, were sweating and straining to manhandle it, and the crowd
eddied aside to let them through.
It was a wall, she saw. A wall of logs lashed together, rising ten
feet straight up, and the acolytes dragged it to the middle of the
course, securing it by ropes to the other obstacles. The crowd
surged forward on either side until it formed a completely
impenetrable barrier that divided one half of the training
grounds from the other.
The assembled tribe had gone very silent. No beaters had
come forth for her, but every one of them fixed her with their
eyes. She saw plenty of dislike there – those that felt she somehow wallowed in unearned privilege, and who were sufficiently
mistaken to envy her relationship with the chief. They saw this
as yet more special treatment, some sign that she was being
accorded a special status.
How about tomorrow’s sacrifice? Is that status special enough?
Kalameshli gestured imperiously, jabbing his staff at the
course, and she walked over with deliberate, mulish slowness.
Remember , his eyes seemed to say.
She clenched her hands into fists. She had no wish to come
so close to him, but no choice either. She could smell him distinctly, even with her human nose: smoke and sweat and hot
iron.
He held out his flint-ridged staff and one of his acolytes took
it from him, handing him instead a razor-edged switch three feet
long. She saw the sunlight glint off it, and knew that there would
be stones bound into the last few inches.
‘I will be right behind you,’ he said softly. ‘Now, run.’
She was not going to give him the satisfaction, until he
cracked the switch, the flexible greenwood making a sound like
branches snapping. The fright of it had her Stepping to wolf
without thinking,