Armun had been that way since birth, that was what her mother had said. Shesil had always blamed herself, for she had once killed and eaten a squirrel in a time of great hunger, when everyone knew that women were forbidden to hunt. Because of this her daughter had been born with the front teeth of a squirrel, wide apart, and with the cleft upper lip of a squirrel as well. Not only had the lip been split, but there was an opening in the bone in the roof of the mouth behind it. Because of this opening she had not nursed well when she had been a baby, had coughed and cried a lot. Then, when she had begun to talk, what she said had a very funny sound. No wonder the other children had laughed at her.
They were still laughing, though not when she could reach them. She was a young woman now, long-legged and strong. And she still had the temper that had been her only defense as a child. Even the biggest boys did not make fun of her, except at a distance, for she had a ready fist and knew how to strike. Black eyes and bloody noses were her mark and even the stupidest soon learned to leave this squirrel-faced demon alone.
She grew up, friendless and apart. When she walked about the encampment she usually held the loose top of her soft leather garment over the bottom half of her face. Her hair was long and many times she held this the same way as well.
As long as she did not talk, the other women suffered her presence. Armun listened to them, saw the young hunters through their eyes, heard their excited gossip. Farlan had been the oldest of their group, and when Ortnar had joined the sammad she had been quick to go to him, even though she had only known him for a short while. The usual way was to get to know boys from the other sammads when they met each year. That was the usual way. But everything was changing now, and Farlan had been the first to take advantage of that change. Although the other young women said nasty things about her boldness, she was the one who had a tent and a hunter of her own — and they did not.
Armun was not jealous of the others, just angry. She knew the plains and the forest better than any of them; her mother had taught her well. She returned from foraging with her basket full when the other young women wailed at the barrenness of the land. She worked hard, cooked well, did all the things that should make her desirable to any young hunter. Yet she stayed far away from them knowing that they would only make fun of her just as everyone else did; her anger surged at the thought. When they saw her face they laughed, when she spoke they laughed. She remained silent and apart.
At least she tried to. But since she ate at Merrith’s fire she must do as the older woman ordered. She brought wood and cut meat, scorched her hands turning it over on the coals. Merrith saw to it that there was good food waiting each evening when the hunters returned hungry and tired. But Armun did not want them laughing at her so she always found other things to do when they were gathered around the fire.
Although there was no snow, the rains came in the deepest part of winter. They were uncomfortable but not cold, and this discomfort was infinitely better than frozen forest and deep snow. Hunting patterns changed now, for the great herds of duck-bills had gone somewhere else upon the vast plain. Yet there were still murgu to hunt in the upland forest to the east, so hunting parties pushed farther and farther up into the hills. This was not without its dangers.
It was well after dark when the hunting party returned.
The days were very short now so this was not unusual; some hunters even stayed out overnight when pursuing game. But something was wrong this time for the returning hunters called out loudly when they came into sight of the camp, their ululating cries drawing everyone’s attention. Some of the hunters ran out to aid them when they called for help as well. When they came closer to the fires it could be seen that two of the hunters were being carried on litters made of poles and brushwood. Herilak led the way, grim-faced and tired.
“We were after the sharp-toed runners. A claw-marag was hidden under the trees. It attacked and did all this before we could kill it.” The first litter was dropped heavily to the ground. “It is Ulfadan. He is dead.”
Merrith screamed aloud when she heard this and ran forward. When she threw back the furs that lay across Ulfadan’s face she wailed terribly and tore at her hair.
Herilak looked around until he saw Fraken, then called him over. “We have need of your healing skills. The marag fell on Kerrick and the bone in his leg is broken.”
“I will need strong sticks, lengths of leather. You will help me.”
“I will get the wood.” Herilak looked up and saw Armun standing nearby. “Get some soft leather,” he ordered. “Quickly.”
Kerrick bit his lips but could not keep back the groan when they took him from the litter and placed him on the ground by the fire; the broken ends of bone sawed inside his leg. Fierce pain speared through it again when Fraken poked at the flesh.
“You will hold his shoulders tight, Herilak, when I pull the leg,” Fraken ordered, then bent and seized Kerrick’s foot. The old man had done this before, pulling and twisting so the broken ends of bone met. The pain of this pushed Kerrick into dark unconsciousness.
“Now the sticks to keep the bone in place,” Fraken said, tying them securely with lengths of soft leather. The work was quickly done. “Put him into the tent, cover him with furs for he must be kept warm. You, girl, help us.”
Kerrick blinked back to consciousness with sharp awareness of the throbbing pain in his leg. It hurt still, but far less than it had done. He pulled himself up onto his elbows and in the flickering light of the fire outside saw the lengths of wood bound to his leg. The skin had not broken; this would heal well. Someone moved behind him in the darkness. “Who is there?” he called out.
“Armun,” she said, reluctantly.
He dropped back with a sigh. “Get me some water, Armun. A lot of it.”
She hurried out, a dark figure quickly gone. Armun? He did not know the name. Had he met her before? It didn’t matter. The leg had settled down to a steady throb of pain like a bad tooth. His throat was so dry that it made him cough. Water was what he needed, a long deep drink of cool water.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Kerrick slept fitfully until dawn, when the throbbing of the leg woke him yet another time. When he turned his head he saw the bowl of water close by. He pushed his hand out from under the furs, seized it and drank deep, drank again and drained it. The girl came from behind him and picked it up. He could not tell who she was, her hair fell over her face. What was her name? She had told him.
“Armun?”
“Yes. Do you want more water?”
“Water. And something to eat.”
He had not eaten last night, had no desire to. But he was hungry now. The girl hurried out, her back turned. He hadn’t been able to see her face, he couldn’t place her at all. But she had a nice voice. The way she talked through her nose like that was familiar. How the leg hurt when he tried to get comfortable! Familiar? Why? This nagged a bit until he realized it was one of the sounds you used in Yilanè. Armun. He said it aloud, with the same nasal quality, then repeated it to himself. He had not spoken Yilanè in such a long time that when he did so now memories of Alpèasak pushed in, unbidden.