Feather (4 page)

They reached the brush shelter Karsh shared with the single men during summer. Hunter left him and turned back toward the fire pit. Karsh ducked through the doorway. Jem and Bente were there already, settling down to sleep.

“Don’t let Rand upset you,” Jem said. “He is getting old and can’t hunt any longer. His bones hurt him too. That makes him cross.”

Bente laughed at his father’s words, but Karsh was not comforted. He lay in the darkness on top of his elk hide robe, peering out the opening. He could see a few stars above the hills. Could Feather see them too?

She
was
his sister. He knew it in his heart even if no one could prove it. And if no one else would go after her, he would. It was his job as her brother. In the darkness, he made a vow. If it took the rest of his life, he would find her and bring her back.

slow. After that she stayed away from the people whose faces wore the angriest expressions, and she dodged quickly whenever she saw an upraised hand. She discovered early that her knife was gone from her pouch though the paper Karsh had found was still there.

She fetched water from the stream and firewood from the edge of the nearby forest. She would have considered diving into the woods and losing herself, but she was tied to a foul-tempered Blen woman by a ten-foot cord while fetching the fuel. That made it harder to duck blows, but the woman tried to hit her only once. After that their arms were busy carrying their loads of wood. The woman continued to harass Feather by jerking on the cord whenever Feather stretched it taut as she reached for sticks.

When they returned to the cook fire near the stream, the woman untied the cord. Feather rubbed the sore place it had made around her waist, but there was no time to think about her discomfort. Orders were barked at her, and Feather realized she was now the slave of nearly forty filthy, peevish people. All of them seemed to have needs for her to fulfill. There were two others who seemed to be captives as well: a thin, cringing man and a hard-mouthed girl not much older than Feather. But even these two treated Feather with disdain and tried to put their own chores off on her. Yes, Feather was definitely the lowest of the low in this band.

She looked often back in the direction they had come yesterday, trying to memorize the features of the terrain, but she dared not linger too long about it. Someone would smack her shoulder and scream, “Work, you lazy girl!”

Before she had completed all the tasks they set her, the Blens were breaking camp. Feather had received no breakfast. She had been hauling skins of water when the others swarmed the food, and when they had moved away, there was nothing left but crumbs. She hesitantly approached a woman she had earlier seen tending the cook fire.

“Please, I am hungry.”

“You’ll have to fend for yourself.”

“But I’ve been working hard. Is there nothing left to eat?”

The woman frowned and reached inside the leather bag she was packing. “Here!” She threw a piece of dried fish the size of Feather’s palm to the ground at her feet. “From now on, come around when the others are eating.”

The people were gathering up their packs and bundles. The leaders had already moved out, following the stream. Feather looked again toward the forest, wondering if she had any chance of reaching cover without being noticed.

“You! Girl!” The man who had captured her snarled at her. “Don’t be thinking of it. You belong to the Blens.”

Feather swallowed hard. She turned to follow the others. “Pick that up!” the man screamed.

She turned in surprise. He was pointing at a pack on the ground. Slowly she walked toward it. She tried to lift it by one strap, but it was too heavy. She looked up at the man, afraid he would strike her if she refused to carry the burden.

“Put it on!”

“I—I can’t!”

He shook his head in impatience and hefted the pack with one hand. “Turn around!”

Feather obeyed, and he settled the heavy pack on her back, passing two leather straps over her shoulders. She pulled them as tight as she could, but they were too long for her slight body, and the pack hung loose.

“I don’t think I can carry this,” she protested, but when she glanced toward her captor, his arm was drawing back.

“Move!”

Feather clutched the straps and stumbled on after the others.

She faltered many times during the morning march. The pack shifted and bumped her lower back with each step. Within an hour she was falling behind, and a man goaded her with a long, thin willow stick.

“Keep up!” was his chorus, and Feather would hop ahead a few steps when the switch stung her legs. He seemed older than most of the other Blens, and his beard was grizzled, though she doubted he was anywhere near Alomar’s age. None of the Blens was old, and she was beginning to think it was because they had to keep up. There were no toddlers either, though one woman carried an infant on her back. The youngest children were nine or ten years old. Perhaps there was a permanent summer camp where they left their old and their very young.

She fell twice. The first time, the stick man whipped her legs sharply with his weapon, and she scrambled to her feet. She plodded on, forcing herself to keep her legs moving. She was near exhaustion. When she fell again, he stood over her menacingly.

“Get up, Girl.”

“How much farther?” she gasped.

“As far as Mik takes us. Get up now, or do you like the switch?”

She pushed herself to her knees. A shadow fell over her, and she slowly raised her head. The man who had captured her was standing near them.

“Let her be,” he growled at the stick man.

“You wish to leave her behind, Lex?”

“No, but she is mine to beat. You go on.”

The stick man shuffled off after the band, and Feather climbed stiffly to her feet, wobbly as she drew herself up.

“You are weak,” he said, eyeing her with scorn.

Feather felt ashamed. She had never considered herself weak, but then, she had never been forced to march for hours on end, up hills and down, all morning long.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I was feeling faint.” She wanted to ask if there would be a noon meal, but she didn’t dare. The sun was already high overhead.

Lex reached into his leather pouch and took something out. “Eat.”

Feather took it with trembling fingers. It was some sort of hard, coarse biscuit. She put it to her mouth without hesitation. It was so dry she could hardly chew it.

“You will learn to keep up,” Lex said. She nodded, and he continued, “Because if you cannot keep up, I will not leave you behind to wander alone as I found you. We don’t leave stragglers. Do you understand?”

She swallowed with difficulty and nodded.

He stared at her for another long moment, then jerked his head in the direction the band had gone. “Come, then. Mik will stop soon for a short rest. You will do any chores given you, and you will have a chance to drink. Then you will rest if you can. When we move out, I will not have you be last. The man who whipped you, Tala . . . it is his job to be sure no one falls behind. You think he is cruel?”

Feather nodded.

“I tell you, he is gentle as a fawn compared to our leader, Mik. If you see his wrath, then you will know the meaning of cruelty.”

Feather took a shaky breath. “The pack is so heavy,” she whispered.

“That is your load. If you can find someone to share it, well. But you must arrive at our evening camp with the pack and all that is in it now.”

She nodded, knowing none of the Blens would ease her burden. Lex was her own master, it seemed, and it was his belongings she carried. If he was so concerned about her strength, she thought, why didn’t he carry it himself?

“Go now.”

Without another glance at him, she forced herself into a trot southward along the stream bank, following the wide trail left by many feet. She didn’t look back, but she could hear Lex just paces behind her. Pain tore through her leg muscles, and the ache in her back grew worse. A few minutes later she crested a hill, gasping for breath, and saw the people spread out in a shady grove below. Her legs were numb as she stumbled down the hill. When she came to the edge of the crowd, she knew many of them were staring at her. She limped around to where some of the children were sitting, gnawing at their food, and loosened the leather straps.

Lex went to the woman who gave Feather fish in the morning. Although she feared him, she saw that he was her lifeline. She let the pack fall to the ground and hurried around to stand in his shadow. When he moved away from the woman carrying his portion of food, she stepped up as boldly as she could and held out her hand.

The woman looked at her and sniffed, then shook her head and handed her a biscuit and a piece of dried meat.

Feather took it back to the pack and lay down with her head on it. The pack was lumpy and unyielding. She looked up at the sky above, where there were no dirty, angry people, only wispy white clouds and clean blue space. She wondered what Karsh was doing now. Was he filling his plate with hot, nourishing food from Rose’s stew pot?

“You had a hard morning,” a new voice said, and she jerked to a sitting position. A boy a little older than she was squatted beside her. She eyed him cautiously.

“You don’t speak like them.”

He gave her a fleeting trace of a smile, and Feather’s world was suddenly not so dreary.

“Like you,” he said softly, “I am an outsider.” She studied his face. It seemed gentler than the others. His hair wasn’t dark like theirs either, but a soft brown, almost golden. It lay tousled over his forehead and hung down at the sides a bit below his ears. Most of the men had wiry, tangled hair and beards. This boy looked more normal to Feather, more like her own people.

“Do they beat you?”

He winced and looked around before replying, “I learned to keep pace, but it’s hard at first.”

She nodded. “Do they ever stop running?”

“When they have a reason to celebrate, then they stop and revel.”

When they’ve raided a village,
Feather thought.

“There are places where they go in winter,” the boy said. “They will stop longer then. But not now.”

Feather looked at what was left of her food. “How often do we get this?”

“There will be more tonight. They cook at sunset. But you have to be quick, or there’ll be nothing left.”

“Do the elders eat first?”

He shook his head. “It’s whoever grabs first, but you do have to watch out. Some of them get nasty if you shove in front of them.” He leaned toward her, and Feather realized he was staring at the bruise on her cheek where a wellaimed blow had landed that morning. “Does that hurt?”

Gingerly she felt the place just below her left eye. “Not so much as my feet and my back.”

He nodded toward her pack. “Lex’s things?”

“Yes.”

He stood and hefted it by the straps, testing its weight. “It’s too heavy for you.”

She laughed without mirth.

The boy frowned. “The straps cut into your shoulders.”

She nodded, feeling a flush stain her cheeks. “He said I am weak. It must be true, though I wouldn’t have thought so.”

“You will strengthen, but this is too much. Is it Lex’s personal plunder?”

“I don’t know.”

He looked around, then began to work at the straps. “If it’s that, I can’t help you.”

Feather’s lips trembled as she considered his words. “He . . . he said that I could try to find someone to help me, but I didn’t think anyone would.”

He pulled the flap on the pack free and looked up, smiling broadly. “If he said that, it’s all right.”

He peered into the pack and began to rummage inside. Feather watched in amazement.

“Ah, this would do it.” He lifted out a pouch that seemed very heavy and set it on the ground. Beside it he laid a bulging cloth bag. “Extra arrow heads and corn. I have room for these. The rest should be manageable. I’ll fetch my pack.”

He hurried away, and Feather felt tears spring to her eyes.

He was back in moments and shifted the two heavy bundles to his own pack. Feather watched in silence, unable to find words that would express her gratitude.

He looked toward the stream then back at her without smiling. “Lex is watching. Don’t look.”

“Are you certain he won’t be angry?”

“How can he be? He told you it was allowed.”

“Yes. But I don’t think he really thought someone would help.” It was all she could do not to look toward her master. “Do I belong to him?” she asked, and even to herself, she sounded terrified.

“You belong to the tribe,” the boy said, “but since he found you, you perhaps belong more to him than to anyone else. You’re his responsibility too. He doesn’t want you to die of hunger or exhaustion. But if you’re not an asset to the tribe, it’s up to him to make you improve or . . .” He looked away. “Well, we won’t worry about that because you’re going to be fine.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded and got to his feet, lifting his pack. “I’d best not spend too much time with you.”

“Wait! What is your name?”

He smiled again, and Feather wished she could keep him there with her, smiling and talking like friends.

“I’m called Tag.”

“Are you a slave?”

“Not any more.”

“You don’t wear the necklace.” She had noticed that right away. All of the men in the band seemed to wear the beaded necklace that held the tuft of orange fur.

“This year I will be allowed to prove my right to wear it.” He looked toward the men. “We are leaving now. We mustn’t walk together. Do not try to talk to me.”

He walked away, and Feather took a deep, slow breath. Tag. A friend . . . perhaps.

The others were rising and scrambling for their packs and bundles. She lifted her pack. Its weight was less than half of what it had been. With thankfulness, she slipped it on. Even though it was lightened, the straps dug viciously into her sore shoulders. As she turned to go, her eyes met those of the woman carrying the baby. As she strapped on her baby’s cradle, Feather noticed that she tucked wads of cloth under the straps. She wondered what she could use to pad her own shoulders. She had no rags, and she didn’t dare look in Lex’s pack for something suitable. Moss, maybe. She decided to watch as she walked, to see if she could find a clump of moss, though the area they were crossing was quite dry. She usually saw moss in the damp, cool forest near the Woban village.

Lex was staring at her, frowning. She hurried into line, ahead of a few other people, and he strode past her.

“Did you drink?”

How could she have forgotten? She realized the interlude with Tag had distracted her, and Lex knew it too. He shoved a small water skin into her hand. “Drink. And do not lag behind this time, or the boy will lose his new friend.”

Her heart raced with fright as she tipped up the skin and drank. When she reached to hand it back to him, Lex was gone, striding ahead to where the leaders walked.