People of the Sea(11)
“So, my wife … if I was gone all autumn, who fathered this child?” Lambkill thumped her belly with the blade of his knife.
Kestrel forced strength into her voice. “You did, my husband. In the first few days after you returned. I am not as far along as I look. I think I am carrying twins.” And sometimes she did think so. Late at night when the world went quiet, she swore she could feel two heartbeats in her womb.
“Liar!” Lambkill shouted, but he appeared to be off balance. He stood stiffly with his hands at his sides, his curled brown fingers tensed like talons while he searched her face. For cycles he had told her of how much he longed for a son. After a few moments, he spun and glowered questioningly at Iceplant. Iceplant shook his head. Speculative murmurs filtered through the village. Kestrel caught parts of the conversations and knew what was being discussed. Lambkill had been married four times and had never fathered a child. Perhaps, finally, his seed had taken root. It would be a great boon to his reputation.
A flicker of hope animated Kestrel. He might claim the child even if he knew it were not his. She concentrated on breathing deeply, evenly. “Your two sisters and your aunt gave birth to twins, Lambkill. Your own mother had twins that died just after birth. Twins run in your bloodline.”
Lambkill walked around her; his eyes glowed, lit by an inner rage. Under his breath, he hissed, “Shall I cut the forsaken brat from your womb to see, Kestrel?”
“You would kill your own sons, my husband? Wait until they are born. Then you will know I am telling the truth.” And I will have time to find an escape…
Owlwoman lifted her head to peer at Kestrel with desperate hope in her eyes. The other women in the crowd burst into conversation. Men stood listening intently.
Lambkill’s mouth tightened unpleasantly. “The truth?” he hissed. “I already know the truth!”
He stalked across the wet ground, twisted a fist in Iceplant’s hair and shoved him toward Kestrel. Iceplant did not resist. He came to stand so close that she could count each tiny spiral that encircled the edge’s of his medicine pouch. She had used alder bark to produce the reddish-brown color. For moons she’d been mixing the powdered bark with Iceplant’s food to relieve the stomach pains that so often troubled him. Kestrel was good at taking care of people. She had just started to develop a reputation as a Healer. Easing another’s pain helped to ease her own.
In the subdued light, Iceplant’s handsome face had a sickly pallor. Kestrel saw hurt in his eyes and fear for her. But more fear for himself.
No, she mouthed the words to him, please.
“Tell everyone!” Lambkill ordered. “Go on, Iceplant. Tell them you’ve been bedding my wife for two cycles. Every time I went away, you sneaked into my lodge and drove your penis into her.”
Iceplant’s lips parted, but no words came. Finally he murmured, “Yes.”
Sobs constricted Kestrel’s throat. She bowed her head.
“What?” Lambkill shouted. “Speak up, Iceplant. No one can hear you. Say it again!”
The crowd had hushed, as the buffalo fall silent before the herd stampedes and tramples the plains into dust. No one moved. Only the incessant rain and the sizzling fire gave voice to the world.
Iceplant sucked in a breath. More strongly, he said, “Yes. The child is mine.”
Sharp wails erupted from the women in the crowd.
Lambkill slammed a fist into Iceplant’s stomach, and when Iceplant bent double, Lambkill kneed him brutally in the groin. Iceplant sank to the ground, gasping.
Lambkill taunted, “Didn’t you think I’d ever find out? Do you think I’m stupid? Fool! If you hadn’t agreed to tell me the truth, you’d already be dead. I should never have consented to let Kestrel stay here, in the village of her birth. By rights, we should have gone to live in my father’s village. It was a kindness I did for her—knowing that I would be gone for half of the cycle or more. I let her stay here, near her family, and look what came of my generosity!”
“Don’t hurt Kestrel.” Iceplant tipped his tortured face to the misty rain. “You promised. You said you wouldn’t—”
“It is my right!” Lambkill yelled. He spread his arms and spun around slowly, meeting every eye in the crowd. “It is my right as her husband to decide her fate. Isn’t that so, Old Porcupine?”
“You promised,” Iceplant repeated. “You promised you’d banish both of us.”
Iceplant looked up at Kestrel with his whole tormented soul in his eyes, and she suddenly understood what he’d been planning. He thought it was a way for us to be together… Like a wildflower beneath hot summer winds, Kestrel’s soul twisted and shriveled.