The Horsemasters

PART ONE

THE TRIBE OF THE RED DEER

Chapter One

The air in the cave was quiet. That was what awed Ronan most about the initiation cave: it was so quiet. No sound of pine trees stirring in the wind; no dripping of water or rustle of human or animal life. Only silence: deep, profound, endless.

Ronan had been waiting in this cave for a day and a night now. He was alone, with no food or water, and only a single spear for protection in case a cave bear should suddenly decide to invade his solitude. He had no fire, only one small stone lamp to light the thick blackness. His upper torso was naked, save for where it was decorated by the ocher markings painted there yesterday by his uncle.

It was his initiation into manhood, and he must pass the Test of Solitude.

He had been here a day and a night, but shut away from the sky as he was, there was nothing to help him count the passing of time. Ronan himself had no way of knowing if he had been in the cave for a few hours, or for a week. Time here was endless. He only knew that when the men came for him, he must be ready. They must not find him asleep.

The wounds on his upper right arm had long since stopped bleeding, but they still hurt. He thought the arm had swollen. Neihle had cut deep enough to leave scars, though not deep enough to injure the muscle beneath the skin. The scars were an honor, a sign that the man who carried them was an initiated male of the Tribe of the Red Deer. When the rest of the men of the tribe came to get him, and found he had passed the Test of Solitude, Neihle would make two additional cuts on his left arm.

The lamp flickered. The animal fat in which the wick floated was almost burned out. Surely, Ronan thought, that was a sign that the men must come soon.

He was cold. He was hungry. He was exhausted from thirty-two hours without real sleep. But he kept his upright position, seated on the floor with his back propped against the stone wall, his spear held poised in his left hand. When the men came, they would find him ready.

They had already made the hunting dance before they left him here alone, initiating him into the male society of tribal hunters. Next after the Test of Solitude would come his initiation into the most important, the most sacred and revered, of all the rites of the Mother.

It would be Borba who would do it; they had settled that between them some time ago. Borba had been initiated when her moon blood began to flow twelve moons past, and so she was well qualified to teach a boy the things he needed to know about mating with a woman.

Ronan had kept himself awake for much of his time in the cave by thinking about what he and Borba would do this night and about what changes it would bring to his life.

He would move out of his stepmother’s hut and live in the men’s cave with the rest of the initiates. Ronan had long since ceased to listen to Orenda’s bitter tongue, but it would be a blessing no longer to be forced to endure her enmity at close quarters. He would marry, of course, but not for a few years yet. Boys of fourteen did not generally marry in the Tribe of the Red Deer.

Freedom. That was what Ronan had thought about all through the long and lonely night of his Test of Solitude. He would live in the men’s cave, and hunt every day with his agemates, and lie every night with a different girl. He would no longer be a boy but an initiated man of the tribe.

It would help to make up, a little, for what he had never had.

I will not think of that now, he told himself firmly. It was ill luck to think of angry things during the Test of Solitude.

Ronan’s ears, for so long attuned to silence, now caught a faint sound in the distance. A few moments later there was a flicker of light at the end of the tunnel that led into the chamber in which he was waiting.

The men were coming. Ronan got to his feet.

*

There was a great fire going outside the initiation cave, and after Ronan’s maternal uncle had made the cuts on his other arm, the men feasted on the deer they had killed for the occasion. Ronan sat around the fire with the men of his tribe, listening to the laughter and the talking, and helping to pass great pieces of roast deer meat clockwise around the circle. His exhilaration was so great that he did not even feel the pain in his heavily bleeding arm.

The laughter grew uproarious as the talk became bawdier. Ronan’s strong white teeth bit into the meat that was handed to him, tearing away a big chunk before passing it along to the man on his other side. He felt the food giving him strength, a strength he would need later, as the men were delightedly pointing out with lavish anatomical detail.

The juice from the meat ran down Ronan’s chin, and he wiped it away with his hand. There was blood on his hand, mixing with the red juice of the deer meat. The blood had streamed down his arm from the new ritual wounds. As he listened to the talk, Ronan felt the restless beast of desire rising within him, beating in his blood, hammering in his heart, pulsing in his loins. The meat came around to him again, and he tore off another chunk with his teeth.

It is time. The women will be waiting. Ronan looked up to see his uncle’s tall shape standing before him. The rest of the men were also getting to their feet. It was necessary for them to go to the sacred cave of Earth Mother for the final rite of the initiation ceremony. Borba would be there, with the rest of the tribe’s initiated women.

Someone lit a torch from the fire, and then more torches were raised on high. A few men stayed behind to put out the fire, and the rest took to the narrow trail that wound along the river Volp, a trail that would bring them eventually to the place that was the final destination of all initiation ceremonies, both male and female alike.

The women were at the sacred cave already, gathered on the shore of the river that long ago had cut its way directly into the hillside to form a series of underground caverns. For the Tribe of the Red Deer, this seemingly endless, deep, dark cave represented the womb of the Mother. It was here the tribe brought its young girls when the menstrual blood of life first began to flow; here it brought its young men when they became of an age to worship the Goddess by having intercourse with a woman; here the Mistress of the Tribe twice a year made the Sacred Marriage to ensure the life of the tribe, the life of the herds, the life of the world of men.

No member of the tribe ever approached this place without the hair on the back of the neck rising in awe. And so it was this night for Ronan.

Then he saw his half-sister.

Morna. The Chosen One. The Daughter. The one who would be the tribe’s next Mistress after Arika died. She was one year younger than Ronan.

His mouth set in bitterness as he stared at his sister’s lovely face. She smiled at him and flung back her red-gold hair. Her eyes glittered in the torchlight.

What was she doing here? he thought angrily. Morna had not yet been initiated. She had no business being here this night.

The Mistress, he saw, glancing around quickly, was not here. Well, he had not expected her to be. Arika had always kept as far from her only son as possible, given the communal nature of the tribe.

Borba was not present, either. She must already be within the cave. Ronan stood in the midst of the men, tense and alert, waiting to be told what to do next. It was Fali, the Old Woman of the Tribe, who approached. In one hand she held a stone saucer filled with red ocher; in the other, she held a brush made out of pine.

Ronan, son of Arika, grandson of Elen, Fali said clearly as she painted the loop sign of the phallus on his chest between his nipples. It is your time to learn to know the Goddess as world-maker. It is your time to learn to serve her, as Sky God served her when together they mated to make the world.

The Old Woman finished her work and stepped back. You may enter the cave, she told him softly. Your mate awaits you in the first chamber.

Ronan bent his black head and looked down into the bright brown eyes of the Old Woman. Fali, one of the girls kidnapped so many years before by the men of the Horse, was now the only survivor of that fateful event. The Tribe of the Red Deer had changed since then, Ronan had been told. Principally, it had come to recognize more fully the religious needs of its men. His initiation was one of those changes.

The Old Woman had handed him a stone lamp, and slowly he started along the river, following the stream as it wound into the depths of the mountain. Earlier in the spring, Ronan would have needed to take a boat, but it had been dry this year, the river was not as swollen as usual, and it was possible to walk along the gravel at the outermost sides of the cave.

The men of the tribe came to this cave only twice a year, at Spring and Winter Fires, and then they came but to the first chamber. Only the man chosen to make the Sacred Marriage with the tribe’s Mistress was ever taken into the sanctuary.

Ronan knew he would never be one of the men to see that sanctuary. His mother was Mistress, and his sister would follow her. As it was taboo for him to lie with either of them, he was fated to remain ignorant of the mysteries that lay beyond the first chamber.

He was not sorry for that, Ronan thought, as he made his way carefully along the shore of the river, lit only by his single stone lamp. The cave was thick with the Mother’s presence, thick with the smells of the earth, of the river, thick with Mystery.

Ronan shivered in the chill damp. I have had enough of caves, he thought suddenly, remembering his solitary dark vigil of the night before. Then he shivered again, this time with fear. That was blasphemy!

He made his mind a blank, willing out dangerous thoughts. He looked ahead, his eyes striving to pierce through the darkness, to find the woman he was seeking.

After what seemed to him a long time, the passage widened, and Ronan found himself in the first chamber of the cave. The walls in here were decorated with engravings of animals: buffalo, reindeer, and horses. Most important to the cave’s purpose, however, was the sign of the Mother, the P, which was chiseled again and again into the limestone walls.

The river passed through this chamber and then disappeared out of sight into the profound darkness of the depths of the hill. Ronan did not follow the river; instead, he stopped and looked at the girl who was waiting for him.

The women had made a small fire in the center of the chamber and arranged a bedplace of leaves and grasses covered over by deerskin rugs. Kneeling upright on the bedplace was Borba, naked save for the necklace of pointed deer teeth that hung around her neck and the belt of similar teeth that encircled her slender hips. Her hair had been washed and left unbraided, and it flowed around her shoulders, bright as sunshine in the dimness of the cave. Upon each high firm breast was painted a red ocher triangle, symbol of the female.

Ronan halted. He flicked a quick look at the golden triangle that lay below her belt and felt a vibration beginning within him, low and dark, thrilling all through his blood and his bones and his muscles. But he forced himself to stand still and wait. It was for her to show him what he should do.

Ronan, she said. Her face was lit by the firelight, and he saw the flash of her smile. He thought it looked oddly triumphant.

I am here. He began to walk toward her.

Borba’s laugh held a strange, wild note. You look like a cave panther, stalking toward me like that, she said. She stretched out her hands to him, and he came and took them. She tugged him downward toward her, and he knelt facing her. She had not released his hands, and now she raised them and put them on her bare young breasts. His phallus was perfectly erect.

Her wide eyes gazed up at him. That is good, she whispered. A woman likes to have her breasts caressed, Ronan. And then she reached out and began to untie the leather thong that belted his deerskin trousers.

*

Nel was coming home from collecting berries with her agemates and some of the tribe’s old women, when she heard the baby crying from within the forest of evergreens and birch that surrounded the trail. She halted.

The child walking behind her on the narrow path bumped into her, and some of the berries in the basket she was carrying spilled.

Nel! Rena said with intense annoyance. Don’t stop so suddenly! You made me spill my berries. And she dropped to her knees to retrieve what had been lost.

Didn’t you hear the baby? Nel asked.

Sa, Rena returned. She looked up. The two children were alone for the moment; they had been at the end of the line of returning gatherers, and those in front had not yet realized they had fallen behind. It is one of Mira’s twins. They must have brought it out to the woods while we were at the meadow picking berries.

The sound came again, a thin, fretful wailing. The baby sounded as if it had been crying for some time.

Nel clenched her fists. I am going to find it, she said.

You can’t! Rena dropped her basket and reached out to grab Nel’s arm. That twin is dangerous.

I can, Nel said stubbornly. How can it be dangerous, Rena? It is only a baby!

It is the dark twin, the second one born, Rena said. When the Mother bore twins at the beginning of the world, one became the God of Light and the other became the God of the Underworld. Now, when twins are born to the world of men, it is necessary to send the dark twin back to the Underworld before it can spread its darkness in the world of light. You know that, Nel. Everyone knows that!

Nel’s face was white and set. Her thin-bridged nose and sharp cheekbones looked even more prominent than usual, and her glittering green stare was desperate. "Then why does the Mother make twins, if one is evil?"

No one knows why the Mother does as she does, the other child returned impatiently. She is the Goddess. She does not have to explain herself to us.

The cry came again. I’ll find the baby and hide him away somewhere safe, Nel said. No one will ever know.

Rena’s fingers tightened on Nel’s arm. How will you feed it? she asked practically. You are but nine winters old. You have no milk to give an infant. Rena loosened her grip somewhat as she saw that her words had made an impact on Nel. She added, in a gentler voice, It is in my heart that you are more upset about this child than Mira is. After all, she still has one child left to care for, and that is more than enough. Then, when Nel did not respond, Rena said, My mother told me that in the tribes that follow Sky God, both twins are exposed. At least we do not do that.

Nel! Rena! What is keeping you? From a little way up the trail came the voice of one of the old women who had accompanied them. She sounded cross.

Go on, Rena said, giving Nel a push, and after a minute, Nel went.

*

Supper was ready when Nel returned to her father’s hut, but she could not eat. Her stepmother nagged and scolded and made remarks about ungrateful children, but Nel scarcely heard her. All she could hear, echoing again and again through her mind, was the desolate sound of the baby crying in the forest.

There was no one in the whole tribe who would understand how she felt, she thought despairingly. No one except Ronan, of course, and since his initiation she had scarcely seen him. Now that he was a man, obviously he had no time for the small cousin who was still a child.

I told the Old Woman I would bring her some of the berries I picked today, Nel said, lying with swift inspiration. She could not bear to stay one more minute within this hut, and she knew a promise made to the Old Woman would be respected even by her stepmother.

Olma frowned, muttered something about needing Nel’s help herself, but did not try to stop the child as she left the hut. Nel did not go toward Fali’s hut, however, but turned instead toward the river on whose shores the main homesite of the Red Deer was located.

The Tribe of the Red Deer had dwelled in the area of the Greatfish River for as long as anyone could remember. The location was ideal for the exploitation of the reindeer and red deer which formed the chief staple of the tribe’s diet. The caves and huts faced east toward the river, in a place that was dry and sheltered from the wind, and on the opposite bank the heights of Deer Hill afforded excellent views of the surrounding territory. The river at this point ran in a series of fords and rapids, and immediately upstream from the homesite it converged with the Leza in a marshy area that was rich in both fish and fowl.

Located thus, at the point where two rivers emerged from their narrow upland valleys into the foothills, the tribe was in excellent position to prey upon the herds of deer as they ascended into the upland pastures for summer feeding and then returned to the lowland pastures for the winter.

This evening, however, Nel was not thinking of deer. She was thinking of the abandoned baby in the forest. Behind her, cookfires were burning cheerfully in front of all the huts, and the tribe was at supper. Only the baby in the forest would not be fed this night, Nel thought. She stared at the swiftly running water of the Greatfish River, and then, abruptly, she began to cry.

A large wolf emerged from the forest upstream and began to lope with long loose strides toward the solitary child. Nel did not see him, and she remained in her place by the shore, weeping inconsolably. The wolf reached her, halted, and began to make small inquiring noises in the back of his throat.

It’s all right, Nigak, Nel said in a voice that shook with grief. I’m all right.

What’s the matter, minnow? The voice was familiar, and deeply loved, and, hearing it, Nel struggled to get herself under control. N-nothing, she gulped.

I am thinking it must be a very big nothing to make you cry like this, Ronan said. He sat beside her and put an arm around her narrow shoulders. What is it, Nel? he asked. You can tell me.

Nigak switched his attention to Ronan, extending his white muzzle to sniff at the boy’s clothes. Nel turned her head and buried her face in Ronan’s shoulder. I h-heard the baby, she said. C-crying in the forest. Oh Ronan! Her skinny body was wracked with grief.

One of Mira’s twins, he said softly.

S-sa.

It will be dead by now, Nel, he said. It isn’t suffering any longer.

Do you think an animal got it? she sobbed.

Sa.

She continued to sob, and he continued to hold her. Finally, he said, Come. You are soaking my shirt. You will have to re-scrape it for me, the buckskin will be so stiff.

She shuddered. I don’t understand why they did it, she said. I will never understand why they did it. They say it is the will of the Mother, but how do they know that, Ronan? How do they know that the Mother wanted them to kill that baby?

The Mistress told them so, he said. His face was impassive.

Suppose she is wrong? Nel said defiantly. Suppose the baby was not a dark twin? Suppose the baby they kept is the dark twin, and they have killed the light one?

A little silence fell. Then Ronan said, You are a dangerous thinker, Nel.

So are you, she flashed back.

They looked at each other. After a minute, Ronan grinned. It transformed his face, that smile, transmuting all the dark arrogance into brilliant, beguiling charm. Nel smiled tremulously back.

I’m sorry about the baby, minnow, he said. It’s why I was looking for you. I knew you would take it hard.

It made her feel better to know he had been looking for her. Are you sure it is dead, Ronan?

I am sure.

She let out her breath in a long, uneven sigh.

You can’t rescue all the outcasts of the world like you rescued Nigak, you know, he said.

The wolf, who had lain down before Nel’s feet, lifted his head when he heard his name. He was a magnificent animal, silver gray except for four white legs, a white chest and white muzzle. His clear yellow-brown eyes looked from Nel to Ronan, his ears folded back in friendliness, and his tail wagged.

Nigak was able to eat meat when I found him, Nel said. I was going to look for the baby this afternoon, but then Rena said I wouldn’t be able to feed him and I knew she was right.

Ronan closed his hand gently around her braid. You need to toughen up that soft heart of yours, Nel.

"I am tough," Nel said indignantly.

About yourself you are, he agreed. I don’t ever remember seeing you cry for yourself.

Once I did, she said. Her voice was low. Don’t you remember?

He gave a tug to the long fawn-colored braid. Sa, he said. I remember.

Silence fell between them. Then Nel said, I didn’t think you cared about me anymore. Ever since you moved into the men’s cave, I have scarcely seen you.

Of course I care about you. He sounded surprised. Then he quirked one slim black eyebrow. We are bound together by blood. Don’t you remember?

In answer she stretched out her right arm, with the white skin of the inner side exposed. They both regarded it with interest. On the fine skin near the wrist there was a small half-moon–shaped scar, a memento of the ceremony Ronan had performed when he was ten and she was five. He stretched out his own arm, which showed a similar mark.

Ronan laughed. You were so brave, he said, letting me slice away at your wrist like that. Brave or stupid. I was never certain which.

Both, I am thinking, she retorted, and they laughed together.

So this is where you are, Ronan. I have been looking for you. Nel turned to see Borba making her way toward them from the cluster of pines behind. The setting sun haloed the girl’s hair with gold, and she was smiling at Ronan.

Run along now, minnow, Ronan said into her ear.

I was here first. Nel almost said it, looked into Ronan’s face, and then did not.

Chapter Two

The following day, as if to atone for the lie to her stepmother, Nel brought some berries to the Old Woman.

The day was warm, and Fali was sitting in the sun in front of her hut, scraping a deerskin and basking in the welcome summer warmth.

Good afternoon, my Mother, Nel said politely. I have brought you some of the hawthorn berries I picked.

The Old Woman squinted a little to see who it was. Nel?

Sa. It is Nel.

Sit down, child.

Nel sat and looked with a child’s unwinking stare into the Old Woman’s massively wrinkled face. Fali’s white hair was scraped back into a short, thin braid, and her smile showed more gums than teeth, but her brown eyes were still bright and alert. She looked back at Nel with the fearlessness of the very old to the very young and said, Nel, daughter of Tana, granddaughter of Meli, great-granddaughter of Elen.

Sa. Nel showed no surprise at the extensive naming. It was one of the Old Woman’s responsibilities to keep the family lines of all the tribe. That is who I am.

Fali’s next words did surprise her, however. After Morna, the Old Woman stated, it is you who would be our next Mistress.

Nel blinked. I suppose so, she said.

The Old Woman sighed. Morna looks like her grandmother, she told Nel, but I fear she is not like Elen in other ways.

Since Elen had died long before Nel was born, she had no reply to this observation.

The Old Woman was going on softly. It has not been the same in the tribe since Alin left.

This delving into the past was confusing to Nel. Alin? She frowned, trying to remember. My Mother, do you mean the Chosen One who long ago deserted the tribe to go and live with a man of the Horse?

Fali’s eyes flashed, a strangely vivid look in that withered old face. Alin did what she had to do. The white head bowed. Elen was a good Mistress, she said. Arika is a good Mistress. But neither of them could equal Alin.

Prudently, Nel did not reply.

You have her blood, Nel was Fali’s next remark. You have the blood of Tor in your line, the blood of Alin’s father.

Nel nodded. She knew the name of Tor. Like all members of the tribe, she had been required to memorize her own blood lines.

I have been watching you, Fali said now, and Nel’s head lifted in sudden alarm. Fali went on: I am thinking that you may have the Mother’s healing touch.

It is only that I do not like to watch anything suffer, Nel answered softly. I have no special touch.

If you would like to learn more about the use of herbs to heal, Fali said, I will teach you.

Nel’s green eyes glowed. I would like that very much, my Mother.

The Old Woman nodded. Arika has some of the skill, but Morna shows no inclination toward the healing arts. You, Nel—the bright brown eyes regarded her shrewdly—you, I think, may be my heir. Before Nel could reply, Fali’s eyes closed, and she fell into the light doze of the very old. Nel sat quietly, her thoughts going from Fali’s words to the other concerns that had brought her here.

At last Fali’s eyes opened. She picked up one of the scrapers and began to rub the deerskin that was stretched out on the ground before the hut. Nel watched for a moment in silence, and then she spoke what was on her mind. My Mother, she said, I understand that it is not permissible for hearth-cousins to marry…

Fali looked up from her scraping. Of course it is not permissible, she said. Cousins whose mothers were sisters are too closely bound to marry.

Yet it is acceptable for cousins whose parents were sister and brother to marry, said Nel.

Fali began to rub her scraper over the skin once more. Sister and brother, that is different. The children of brother and sister are cross-cousins, not hearth-cousins.

But what… Nel inhaled and bravely brought it forth: What if a girl wants to marry a boy who was hearth-cousin to her mother? Would that be permissible?

There was a long silence. Fali’s arm had ceased all motion. Ronan, she said.

Nel felt the heat come into her cheeks. I was just wondering.

Fali’s look was piercing. Does Ronan wish to marry you, Nel?

Nel’s cheeks flushed hotter. Na, she answered gruffly.

Then why ask such a question?

Nel did not answer.

The Old Woman put down her scraper and folded her withered hands. To Nel’s great relief, she gazed away toward Deer Hill. What are the family lines here? Fali asked herself thoughtfully. Ronan is the son of Arika. Arika and your grandmother were sisters; therefore, Ronan and your mother were hearth-cousins.

Sa, Nel said a little breathlessly. So doesn’t that make Ronan and me cross-cousins?

Fali removed her gaze from the looming hill and turned to Nel. I am thinking, Nel, that it would not be wise of you to set your mind on Ronan, she said slowly.

Why is that, my Mother?

It would be dangerous. Fali frowned, making even more wrinkles in her face. She repeated, her voice stronger, Do not set your mind on Ronan.

The blood ties are too close?

Fali shook her head. It is not the blood ties.

Then I do not understand you, My Mother, Nel said patiently. If it is not the blood ties, then what is dangerous?

You and Ronan together—that is dangerous. Fali reached out and took Nel’s chin in her hand. The Old Woman’s grip was surprisingly strong. This is your idea, Nel? Ronan has not mentioned marriage to you?

Nel shook her head, to indicate a negative reply and to free her chin from that grip. But I still do not understand you, she cried, retreating beyond Fali’s grasp. If our marriage would break no taboo, then why is it dangerous? Her voice echoed with frustration and bewilderment. What have we done?

It is not what you have done, said the Old Woman somberly. It is what you are.

Then as Nel sat, mute and defiant, the Old Woman explained. Your grandmother was Arika’s elder sister, was Mistress before her. You are the next in line after Morna. Arika will never let you marry Ronan, Nel. Put it out of your mind, my child.

Nel bowed her head, to hide the rebellion in her eyes.

*

During the warm weather the hunters of the tribe moved to their summer camp, which lay in the high country to the south and east of their permanent home. This was a move that was necessitated by the migration of the herds, which ascended during the summer into the pastures of the higher country to feed on the rich, snow-fed grass that could be found there.

The Red Deer summer camp lay at the apex of an elongated triangular basin at the point where the Narrow River suddenly entered a narrow and winding gorge. The basin was bound on all sides by steep slopes formed by the confluence of several small valleys. All of these valleys were cul-de-sacs except the one that led up into the high pass which opened into the country of the Tribe of the Buffalo.

The two large caves which formed the summer home of the Tribe of the Red Deer overlooked the river, and the men of the tribe had also pitched hide tents to extend the amount of shelter.

Life was easy in summer camp. The very old and the very young had been left behind at the Greatfish River; only the initiated males and the women who were not encumbered with small children moved to summer camp. The purpose of the move was to hunt the reindeer and the red deer in order to feed not only themselves but also those who had been left at home. Hunting was not difficult, however, and the living was free and pleasant.

It was Ronan’s first season in summer camp, and he found it fine. By day he and his agemates would roam the mountains, hunting in total freedom, wrestling with each other in the warm sunlight, singing the tribe’s hunting songs, holding spear-throwing contests when there was no animal within their weapon’s reach.

The nights were for girls. Red Deer girls, with sweet seductive smiles and soft willing bodies.

Ronan had heard from his fellows that in the other Kindred tribes, which followed the male god of the Sky, the unmarried women did not have the same freedom as did the girls of the Red Deer. That was certainly one thing about the Way of Sky God with which Ronan did not agree.

The boy is looking happy, Neihle thought when he came up to the initiates’ cookfire one evening to find Ronan eating a supper of stewed deer meat in the company of his agemates. Ronan respectfully rose to his feet when he saw his uncle, and offered him some food.

Na, I have eaten, the man replied. He looked into the dark eyes of his nephew and saw with some surprise that they were on a slightly higher level than his own. You have grown two fingers since your initiation, Neihle said. Something must be agreeing with you.

Ronan grinned.

Borba is agreeing with him, Tyr, one of the boys at the cookfire, said. And Iva and Tosa and Lula and…

That is enough, Ronan said, but a faint smile still lingered on his lips.

We all have to wait until Ronan makes his choice, another boy complained humorously to Neihle. The girls will not go with us until he has chosen. Even the older initiates have to wait.

I am thinking they don’t like that, Neihle said, lifting his brows in inquiry.

They wouldn’t put up with it from anyone else, Tyr said matter-of-factly. For some reason, however, they put up with it from Ronan.

The reason is perfectly simple, Adun put in. Ronan can outwrestle and outfight every one of them.

A potent reason indeed, Neihle murmured. Then he asked his nephew, Would you like to come walking with me?

Of course. Ronan lifted his spear from the stack piled beside the fire and followed Neihle to the path along the river.

It is beginning to grow cold in the evenings, Ronan remarked, courteously waiting for the older man to broach his reason for seeking Ronan out. The summer weather is ending.

Sa, Neihle agreed. He drew a deep breath, not yet ready to broach a topic of whose reception he was unsure. He said instead, You like living in the men’s cave, I think.

Ronan blew out through his nose. Sa, he answered shortly.

Of course he likes living in the men’s cave, Neihle thought to himself. After years of living with that shrew of a stepmother, the men’s cave must seem like paradise.

In the Tribe of the Red Deer, as in all matrilineal societies, a boy’s closest male relative was not his father but his mother’s brother. Even had Ronan’s father not died, Neihle would have had responsibilities toward Ronan. They were responsibilities he always felt guilty he had not sufficiently fulfilled.

Neihle looked down at the ground, stabbing his spear into the dirt as he walked. Ronan, he said, his voice a little muffled, I hope you know that if it had been in my power, I would have taken you to live in my own hut. But my wife had so many of our own children to see to…She could not cope with my sister’s child as well. Unspoken, although well-understood between the two of them, was the fact that Arika would have opposed such an arrangement, and it was his sister’s opposition more than his wife’s that had weighed with Neihle.

Ronan did not answer right away, and after a moment Neihle turned to look at him. The boy’s face was unreadable. Neihle thought painfully that Ronan had learned at much too early an age how to keep his feelings from his face.

I know that, Ronan said finally. He shifted his spear from his right hand to his left. You have always done your best for me, Uncle. Be sure I know that.

His best had not been good enough, Neihle thought now, as he walked through the cool evening at the side of his tall young nephew. Ronan’s father had died when the boy was but six winters old, leaving him in the hut of a resentful stepmother. Then Orenda had remarried, and more children had come along. Neither she nor her husband had wanted Ronan. They had kept him only at the Mistress’s command.

The Mistress, Neihle thought. Arika. In most things, Neihle found his sister to be both just and wise, but he had never understood her in the matter of Ronan.

Arika had lain with Neihle’s heart-friend, Iun, at Spring Fires, and had borne Ronan, her first, long-awaited child. But a boy was of no use to the Mistress of the Tribe of the Red Deer, and Arika had not even suckled him, had immediately given him over to Iun’s wife, who also had a child at the breast. Orenda’s child had died shortly thereafter, and she had blamed Ronan for taking too much of her milk. The boy had never known a happy moment under Orenda’s roof.

Arika knew that, yet she had commanded Orenda to keep the boy and made it clear that Neihle was to leave him under his stepmother’s care. Neihle had never understood why, until this summer.

He heard Ronan saying, I bear no ill will toward you, Uncle. There was a faintly sinister emphasis upon that you, and a shiver ran up and down Neihle’s spine.

He sought to change the subject. Erek brought back word from home that at the full of the moon, Morna is to be initiated.

The men looked at each other. It was always an important moment in the world of the Red Deer when a girl first showed the moon blood that would guarantee the future life of the tribe. When that girl was the future Mistress, the occasion was one for great rejoicing. Yet neither man looked at all elated.

She has become a woman, then, Ronan said, his voice curiously flat.

Sa. She has become a woman.

If Morna will ever be a woman.

Neihle pulled his upper lip. She is…thoughtless…sometimes, but she will grow up. Now that her moon blood is flowing, she will grow up.

Ronan snorted. Nel has more sense in the nail of her little finger than Morna has in her whole head.

Do not say that to anyone besides me! Neihle said warningly. If such words should come to the Mistress’s ears…

I am not a fool. I know how blind she is when it comes to the Chosen One.

The bitterness in Ronan’s voice was deep. Neihle understood, but it was dangerous. Ronan’s growing reputation among the initiates was dangerous also. Arika did not like it. Neihle frowned worriedly at the hawklike profile of his nephew and finally brought up the subject that was on his mind.

I have been thinking, Ronan, to take you with me to the Autumn Gathering this year to find you a wife.

What? Ronan swung around to face his uncle. His eyes were wide with surprise. I do not understand you, Uncle, he said.

Neihle was not surprised by Ronan’s reaction. It was certainly Neihle’s place as the boy’s maternal uncle to make his marriage arrangements, and the boys of the Red Deer often left their home when they wed, but Ronan was still young for marriage. As he said now to Neihle, It is not yet time for me to take a wife.

Morna is young for her years, but you, sister’s son, are old for yours, Neihle returned. Nor are you the man ever to be happy living under Morna’s rule. Even though it seems you could certainly find a girl of the Red Deer to take you—here Neihle smiled briefly, then sobered—I have been thinking it would be well for you to consider making your home in another tribe.

Ronan’s expressionless mask was not, after all, impenetrable, and Neihle saw the flash of hurt. It is not that I wish to lose you, the older man said gently. It is that…I fear for you in this tribe, Ronan.

Now Ronan looked astonished. Fear for me? Why should you fear for me, Uncle?

Neihle shrugged and answered obliquely, I have long thought you would be happier in a tribe that followed the Way of Sky God.

Ronan’s astonished expression faded, and he looked away.

I know you listen to stories of such tribes from the men who were born to them, Neihle said. I have seen your face when Midac tells tales of the Tribe of the Horse and Azur tells tales of the Tribe of the Buffalo.

Ronan did not answer.

Of all the tribes of the Kindred, only the Tribe of the Red Deer yet follows the Way of the Mother, Neihle said. They follow the Mother in other places, this I know from the traders, but among the Kindred it is only the Tribe of the Red Deer. That is why Arika is so careful to keep us pure, Ronan. That is why when a young man marries into another tribe, she will not allow him to return here. She does not want the ways of Sky God creeping in. Neihle put his hand on his nephew’s arm. If I have noticed how you listen to the tales of Sky God, then be sure that she has noticed also.

Ronan’s chin came up. "Noticed me? The Mistress? You are thinking of someone else, Uncle."

Neihle winced, the bitterness in that young voice was so raw. She knows everything about you, Ronan, he answered. She knows you are becoming a leader among the boys. She knows the girls are hot to lie with you. She knows you are interested in the Way of Sky God. And even if she never shows it, she knows you are her son.

Neihle’s hand on Ronan’s arm tightened. All of these things are dangerous, sister’s son. You already have cause to know how ruthless the Mistress can be. If she thinks you may be a threat to her rule…

A threat to her rule, Ronan repeated. Once more he looked astonished. Can Arika really imagine that?

I think so, said Neihle. The two men stood there, facing each other under the darkening sky. That is why I wish to take you to the Autumn Gathering to find a wife. I wish you would consider it.

There was a long silence. Then Ronan answered, Perhaps I will, one day. But not this year, Uncle.

Neihle dropped his hand. Trying to throw off his sense of foreboding, he made himself say humorously, You are having too good a time, I see.

Ronan’s dark face lit with