"Silth bitches," she heard her dam murmur, as though she were still alive and crouching before the firepit, muttering about all the things she hated in her world. But at least Marika did not see her crouching there. Her mind was beginning to recover.
"We must take her back. That was, after all, the purpose of the expedition. To find the source of that touch."
"Of course. Like it or not. Fear it or not. Khles, I have a foreboding about this one. A name comes to me again and again unbidden, and I cannot shake it. Jiana. Nothing good will come of her. She has that air of doom about her. Do you not sense it?"
The other shrugged. "Perhaps I am not sufficiently Wise. What of the others?"
"The old one is useless. And mad. But the huntresses we will take, too. While they remain in shock, unready yet to race into the wilds to avenge their pack and get themselves killed in the avenging. We never have enough help, and they have no other pack to turn to. Myself, I foresee them becoming far more useful than the pup."
"Perhaps. Perhaps. Labor does have its value. Ho! Look there. See the little eyes glow in the firelight. She is a strong one, pushing back the chaphe sleep. Sleep, little silth. Sleep."
Behind the two strange meth the pile of rag skins stirred once again. Almost seethed, Marika thought.
The taller outsider extended a paw toward Marika. Fingers danced. Moments later sleep came, though she fought it with all her will, terrified. And when she wakened she remembered, but could not decide if what she recalled had been dream or fact.
The Wise made little distinction anyway. So what did it matter? She would accept all that as fact, though what she had heard made no sense.
Chapter Six
I
Morning came. Marika awakened disoriented. Where were the noises of a loghouse beginning its day? The clatter, the chatter, the bickering were absent. The place was as still as death. Marika remembered. Remembered and began to whine.
She heard footsteps. Someone stopped behind her. She remained facing the wall. What a time to spend her first night in huntress's territory!
A paw touched her. "Pup? Marika?"
She rolled, looked into Grauel's face. She did not like Grauel. The huntress from Gerrien's loghouse had no pups of her own. She was very short with others' young. There was something indefinably wrong about her.
But this was a different Grauel, a changed Grauel, a Grauel battered by events. A Grauel shocked into gentleness and concern. "Come, Marika. Get up. It is time to eat. Time to make decisions."
Barlog was doing the cooking. Marika was amazed.
She surveyed her home. It seemed barren without the jostle and snarl. All outsiders surrounding the firepit. How many outsiders had ever eaten here? Very few.
And a huntress cooking. Times were odd, indeed.
The food was what one might expect of a huntress who had cooked only a few times in her life, and then in the field. A simple stew. But Marika's mouth watered anyway. She had not eaten since dawn the day before. Yet she did not gobble what Barlog handed her. She ate slowly, reluctant to get to what must follow. Yet the meal did end. Marika clasped her hands across her full stomach as Grauel said, "We three must decide what we will do now."
Barlog nodded.
Last of the Degnan. Last of the richest pack of the upper Ponath. Some things did not have to be said. They could not wait for summer, then take new males and begin breeding back up. Especially as Grauel could not bear pups. There were no Wise to teach, no males to manage the packstead. Of food and firewood and such there was such a plentitude that that wealth was a handicap in itself.
Times were hard. If the nomads themselves did not come first, some pack left in tight straits by them would discover the wealth here and decide to plunder. Or move in. Two huntresses and a pup could not hold the palisade. Not unless the silth from the packfast stayed. And did so for years.
Marika suspected even a few days were out of the question.
Silently, she cursed the All. She stared into the embers at the bottom of the firepit, thinking of the wealth in iron and stores and furs that would be lost simply because the Degnan could not defend them.
Neighbors or nomads. There were plenty of both who would commit murder gladly now. Winter was ahowl and the grauken was loose in the world.
A few nomads had escaped the massacre yesterday. Marika did not doubt that there were others scattered about the upper Ponath. Were they gathering? Might their scouts be at Stapen Rock, watching, knowing the packstead could be taken easily once the strangers departed?
That was the worst of it. Thinking the nomads might get everything after all.
Grauel was speaking to her. She pricked up her ears. "What? I was thinking."
"I said the sisters offered us a place in their packfast." Loathing under strict control tautened Grauel's voice. These meth were the silth whom Marika's dam and granddam and Pohsit had so hated.
But why?
Grauel continued, "We have no choice if we wish to survive. Barlog agrees. Perhaps we can take new males and begin the line afresh when you have reached mating age."
Marika shook her head slowly. "Let us not lie to ourselves, Grauel. The Degnan are dead. Never will we grow strong enough to recover this packstead from those who claim it."
She had wanted to see the stone packfast inhabited by these meth called silth. But not at this price. "Run to the Laspe, Grauel," she said. "Tell them. For a while, at least, let our wealth aid someone who shares our misery. They will have a better chance of holding it. And they will become indebted, so we would have a place to return one day."
The silth, seated a short distance away, were paying no attention. Indeed, they seemed preoccupied with the male end of the loghouse. They whispered to one another, then did pay attention, as if very much interested in the huntresses' response to Marika's suggestion.
Grauel and Barlog were startled by the notion. It had not occurred to them, and probably could not have. Two packs sharing a stead was not unheard of, but it was rare.
Grauel nodded reluctantly. Barlog said, "She is as smart as her dam was." She rose.
Grauel snapped at her. For a moment they argued over who would carry the message.
Marika realized that both wanted to get away from the packstead and its uncompromising reminders of disaster.
"Both of you go. That will be safer. There are nomads around still."
The huntresses exchanged looks, then donned their coats. They were gone in moments.
For a long time the silth did nothing but sit staring into the firepit, as though trying to read something in the coals. Marika collected the eating utensils. As she cleaned them and stowed them away, the silth kept glancing at her. Occasionally, one whispered to the other. Finally, the tall one said, "It is time. She has not sensed it." She came and got one of the bowls Marika had cleaned, filled it from the pot, carried it to the trap closing the cellar belonging to the loghouse males. She set the bowl down, opened the trap, blew aroma into the darkness below. Then she retreated, looking amused.
Marika stopped working, wondering what was happening.
A wrinkled, meatless, gray old paw appeared. Marika frowned. Not even Horvat ...
A head followed the paw fearfully.
"Pohsit!" Marika said.
Pure venom smoldered in the sagan's eyes. She snatched the bowl and started to retreat into the cellar.
"Stop," the tall silth ordered. "Come out."
Pohsit froze. She retreated no farther, but neither did she do as directed.
"Who is this, pup?"
"Pohsit," Marika replied. "Sagan of this loghouse."