People of the Sea(181)
“I hope so, Horseweed.”
Kinship through the father instead of the mother? How could people think so differently? He’d been brought up on the coast and had never traveled more than two weeks in any direction. Everyone he knew was related through his mother’s family. If his people did things the way Kestrel’s did, none of his relatives would be his relatives. The thought was unsettling. It must have been terrible for Iceplant’s mother. How could her parents have forced her to marry into such a strange life? Which of his relatives had done that to Wind Shadow?
Horseweed struggled against the weight of the travois for over half a hand of time, then stopped, catching his breath. His legs ached. The muscles in his back felt strained and hot.
“Are you all right?” Kestrel asked.
“Fine.” He smiled at her, trying to disregard his quivering limbs. Why did Sunchaser have to be so heavy? He threw himself into the struggle again, forcing himself forward. The last thing he would let this pretty Kestrel think was that Horseweed was a weakling!
The moon had slid halfway across the sky, and sweat ran down Horseweed’s sides in trickling rivulets. His legs shook as the poles ate into the skin on his hips. His breath came in gasps, but he ground his teeth and stumbled forward.
“Could I help?” Kestrel asked. “Maybe if I—”
“No. Fine. I’m fine.”
Horseweed glared at the steep hill before him and called up yet another fistful of energy from his empty reserves. When he reached the next level spot, he paused, taking another breather.
“My village is over that next rise.” He turned to look at Kestrel. Despite the cold breeze, perspiration had beaded on her smooth brow. It had matted tiny curls to her temples. “Are you going in with me?”
Kestrel’s eyes narrowed as she gazed at the hill. “I guess I… Horseweed, I’m not leaving Sunchaser. Not again.”
“What about your husband?”
“I don’t know. I—I just don’t know. But go on. I’ll follow you in.”
Horseweed watched her smooth her fingers over her atlatl and nocked dart, and he started to climb the rise. She had a right to protect herself, but he fervently hoped that she wasn’t contemplating murder. The Otter Clan’s punishment for such a crime came with breathless swiftness.
“Kestrel,” he warned, “don’t attack him first, no matter how frightened you are. My people… they wouldn’t understand.”
“Thank you, Horseweed. I don’t know the ways of your people, and I need your help.” She unnocked her dart, then tied her atlatl to her belt and gazed at her long dart, as if wondering what to do with it.
“You can put it in my quiver if you want. I’ll stay close by you. You’ll be able to reach it, I think, if you need it.”
“Thank you.” Kestrel walked forward and slipped her dart into his quiver.
He dropped his eyes back to the trail. The travois poles raked over a section of up-thrust rocks, creating a high-pitched screech. “You’re a brave woman. Stay behind me. If trouble starts, I’ll reach for my own atlatl. No one will question my actions to protect you.”
They passed Harrier’s empty camp. The fire had burned down to flickering red coals. The scent of smoke mixed with the fragrance of the dew-soaked meadow where Harrier’s
lodge stood. From the corner of his eye, Horseweed saw that Kestrel’s legs had started to shake so badly that she could barely walk.
His own legs were shaky, too, though for different reasons. Come on, Horseweed, just a little farther! Sunchaser called you a man … prove it! He leaned into the travois, every muscle in his body rebelling.
Kestrel bit her lip. On top of the hill, Horseweed’s kin had built up the central fire. About two dozen people stood in view, talking. A wavering golden aura arced over the camp, blotting out the stars. Shouts rang out. Her expression betrayed the fact that she was living a nightmare—one she had suffered through a thousand times.
But she stiffened her muscles and kept on walking. That courage steeled Horseweed’s flagging endurance. He nodded to himself. This night would be a test for both of them. Hers of the strength of her soul, his of the strength of his body. He licked dry lips, placing one step ahead of the last as he dragged the travois up the western trail toward the village.
Lambkill’s voice rose above the others, yelling in rage, “Whose baby is that? Bring the mother forward! I want to see her!”
Kestrel had to clamp her teeth to halt the cry in her throat. He sounded exactly as he had on the night of Iceplant’s murder when he’d stood red-faced before her, thumping her pregnant belly with his knife.