Read Online The Reindeer People by Megan Lindholm - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Megan Lindholm
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that kept him from belonging to this world. She tried so desperately to make him right. But nothing changed him. He couldn't even see his own wrongness. All her waiting, all her efforts at teaching him were useless. Lost in the swirling hopelessness, she stared at her only child.
'Aren't you going to start the fire?' Kerlew demanded petulantly. He tugged at the covers she had pulled away. 'It's getting colder and I'm hungry. Is that all you killed today?'
The old rage, the rage she had thought left behind with his baby years, rose in her. The unfairness of this burden chafed and burned her soul. She towered over him, her anger giving her strength. With one hand she seized his shirt front, dragged him from the blankets to his feet. She all but threw him at the cold hearth stones. He staggered sideways, caught his balance awkwardly, and then suddenly crouched down, cowering before her.
'No!' The word ripped her throat. 'No! I am not going to fix the fire! You are! You, the fool that let it go out! Even the youngest babe of Benu's folk knows that the fire must be always tended. Without the fire we cannot live! But you, old enough to hunt, if you were not so stupid, you let the fire go out while you huddle like a baby and fondle some stupid rock. Give me that thing!'
She wrenched the reddish stone, polished by Kerlew's touch, from his frantic grip and flung it through the tent door. Kerlew's face went white. The stone vanished into the snow and Kerlew cried out. He dove after it, but she caught him by the back of his shirt and dragged him back, to dump him roughly on the cold earth by the hearth. She was shaking with rage and despair. This was her son, her boy who would soon be a man? This crouching creature that wept with anger because she had thrown a stone from the tent? It was unbearable.
'I want my rock!' he screamed furiously. He tried to rise from his place by the hearth, but she shoved him back. She snatched down the leather bag that held the dry tinder high above the earth floor. She flung it at him. The boy cried out as the bag slapped him and fell to the floor. She followed it with the fire-bow. She had no flint and strike-stone.
'Make the fire!' she commanded in a voice that shook the tent. 'Now!'
'I can't. I don't know how. I want my rock!' He scrabbled away, but she seized him by the scruff of his shirt and dragged him back. Tears streaked his face.
'You try. Now. You've seen me do it a thousand times. Now you try. Now!'
'I can't! I can't! I want my rock! It was my rock, not yours.' There was fear in his voice as well as defiance, and any other time it would have melted Tillu's anger. But she was too cold, too hungry, and too tired of being the entire support of his world. She knelt behind him and seized his thin wrists, forced his hands to the tools. His hands were limp. He would not pick them up.
'Pick them up! Right now, Kerlew! You pick them up and you try! Do you think I will always be here for you, to come home and make the fires and cook the food? What if I had gotten lost today? What if a bear had killed me, or I had fallen and broken a leg? Would you sit in this tent and cry, I can't! until you froze or starved? Would you? Would you sit and stroke a rock until you died? Would you? What if I hadn't come back today?'
The boy craned his neck to look over his shoulder at her. His mouth hung open and his closely set eyes goggled at her in terror. 'Not come back? You not come back? Kerlew alone?' His fear had reverted him to babyishness. His mouth hung askew, his bottom lip trembling wetly as he stared at her in mindless fear. Tillu was ruthless.
'That's right. Tillu not come back. Now you try. Try!'
The boy took up the implements awkwardly, waved them about helplessly, and then tried to fit them together. She held her anger as he made three faltering tries, then slapped his hands aside. 'Fool! Like this. Your top hand here, like this. Your other hand here, on the bow. Try!'
He shrank from her touch,
'Aren't you going to start the fire?' Kerlew demanded petulantly. He tugged at the covers she had pulled away. 'It's getting colder and I'm hungry. Is that all you killed today?'
The old rage, the rage she had thought left behind with his baby years, rose in her. The unfairness of this burden chafed and burned her soul. She towered over him, her anger giving her strength. With one hand she seized his shirt front, dragged him from the blankets to his feet. She all but threw him at the cold hearth stones. He staggered sideways, caught his balance awkwardly, and then suddenly crouched down, cowering before her.
'No!' The word ripped her throat. 'No! I am not going to fix the fire! You are! You, the fool that let it go out! Even the youngest babe of Benu's folk knows that the fire must be always tended. Without the fire we cannot live! But you, old enough to hunt, if you were not so stupid, you let the fire go out while you huddle like a baby and fondle some stupid rock. Give me that thing!'
She wrenched the reddish stone, polished by Kerlew's touch, from his frantic grip and flung it through the tent door. Kerlew's face went white. The stone vanished into the snow and Kerlew cried out. He dove after it, but she caught him by the back of his shirt and dragged him back, to dump him roughly on the cold earth by the hearth. She was shaking with rage and despair. This was her son, her boy who would soon be a man? This crouching creature that wept with anger because she had thrown a stone from the tent? It was unbearable.
'I want my rock!' he screamed furiously. He tried to rise from his place by the hearth, but she shoved him back. She snatched down the leather bag that held the dry tinder high above the earth floor. She flung it at him. The boy cried out as the bag slapped him and fell to the floor. She followed it with the fire-bow. She had no flint and strike-stone.
'Make the fire!' she commanded in a voice that shook the tent. 'Now!'
'I can't. I don't know how. I want my rock!' He scrabbled away, but she seized him by the scruff of his shirt and dragged him back. Tears streaked his face.
'You try. Now. You've seen me do it a thousand times. Now you try. Now!'
'I can't! I can't! I want my rock! It was my rock, not yours.' There was fear in his voice as well as defiance, and any other time it would have melted Tillu's anger. But she was too cold, too hungry, and too tired of being the entire support of his world. She knelt behind him and seized his thin wrists, forced his hands to the tools. His hands were limp. He would not pick them up.
'Pick them up! Right now, Kerlew! You pick them up and you try! Do you think I will always be here for you, to come home and make the fires and cook the food? What if I had gotten lost today? What if a bear had killed me, or I had fallen and broken a leg? Would you sit in this tent and cry, I can't! until you froze or starved? Would you? Would you sit and stroke a rock until you died? Would you? What if I hadn't come back today?'
The boy craned his neck to look over his shoulder at her. His mouth hung open and his closely set eyes goggled at her in terror. 'Not come back? You not come back? Kerlew alone?' His fear had reverted him to babyishness. His mouth hung askew, his bottom lip trembling wetly as he stared at her in mindless fear. Tillu was ruthless.
'That's right. Tillu not come back. Now you try. Try!'
The boy took up the implements awkwardly, waved them about helplessly, and then tried to fit them together. She held her anger as he made three faltering tries, then slapped his hands aside. 'Fool! Like this. Your top hand here, like this. Your other hand here, on the bow. Try!'
He shrank from her touch,
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