Chapter Seven: Dirty Laundry

Birds start their day well before sunrise. One particularly loud and inconsiderate one, singing its territorial claim from the highest point of the tent, drew Ottavar out of his uneasy sleep. He studied Jerevan's dimly lit face; peaceful, no unhealthy scent on his breath. Ottavar edged away, careful not to wake the youth.

After a quick visit to the muckhole under a sky still glittering with stars, he kindled a fire in the indoor hearth from the last surviving lamp. No one had set up fresh ones last night. He threw a wolfskin cape around his shoulders and sat contemplating the flames. Maybe he should have tried to sleep longer. Too late now.

The fire began to dance away the chill. He poked cooking stones into the heart of it so they would be ready to heat breakfast or make tea. Light crept in through the smokehole while he sifted his thoughts.

His dreams had been strange, confused, foreboding. Nothing substantial, just things wanting to happen and a lot of bad weather. That was...sort of...normal.

He had learned that most dreams were jumbled fragments of the dreamer's memories. Others might be true messages from the spirits. Although he had sensed no danger to Jerevan nor seen anything else remarkable, Ottavar thought that some of last night's had not been entirely his own. His grandfather had appeared in the last one, trying to tell him something about Radovin, but wind and thunder drowned out the words. One more layer of enigma. He got up again and padded to the rear of the tent.

Ottavar mused over his own bed, where Radovin lay curled under a cozy hide, only matted black hair showing. Pah! If ever anyone needed a real bath. But how? They could hardly take him down to the pool without stirring up a grass fire before they were ready.

Humans are mysterious beings. What was it about Radovin that bothered him, intrigued him so? Of course he would be concerned, that was his job. But this was different. It wasn't the information they might get from him, either. There was a strangely familiar quality about him, something like...a sense of having known him for a long time, but the time was in the wrong direction? That odd moment when their eyes met, the whole--ayah-kayah. It gave his mind an itchy feeling, the kind that made him look forward to scratching it. He sighed, hoping his feelings could be trusted. Hacaben had him pegged there. Always looking for one more sign, something to get a grip on.

There was movement all around now. Jerevan pushed himself gingerly up, leaned on an elbow, and rubbed his eyes with the other hand. Ottavar hunkered down by him, smiling. "Good morning, Jero. How are you feeling? Your head hurt any--aside from the lump?"

"Not really. I'm just sore all over. Oh...shi--Papa's gonna be mad at me."

"What for?"

Jerevan sat up all the way and swiveled around, poking his toes out at the edge. He wiggled them and frowned. "For doing stupid things. And losing a good spear for nothing."

"He's just glad you were all right. Anyway, you brought back something that keeps him from thinking about little things." Ottavar gestured toward his own occupied bed.

Jerevan glanced at the inert mound. "Oh. Yeah. Radovin. Woh! That's like, fate or something, ah?"

"Yeah," Ottavar replied, stroking his scanty beard. "Something."

Radovin woke to calm domestic sounds; quiet talk mingled with the hiss of heated stones dropped into liquid. He wondered where...or who or when he was, in this soft, warm nest. No, he wasn't a child again, back in his mother's home. This was the White Horse band's tent, at the Summermeet, and he was a hearthless fugitive. And he had to pee.

He stuck his head out to breathe in a warm, homey blend of smoke and leather, sweetgrass and sweat, food in great variety--scents so long absent from his nose that they were new again. Morning light augmented the glow of a fire. It was late!

"Good morning, Radovin."

A man looked down at him with a pleasant smile. "I'm Bazenaber, Ottavar's brother."

"Um, good morning." He didn't look a bit like the shaman. Radovin scrambled to his feet, nodding politely. Another "good morning" and yet another flew at him. He nodded like a foolish bird and edged toward the back entry. He knew where the muckhole was; almost stepped in it the other night.

A man coming in halted just short of a collision. Radovin backed off a step; the man stood where he was, blocking the way.

"Hai, Radovin. Good morning."

"G'morning. Ahm, scuze me." Radovin did a little dance, trying to hold his pee and find a way through. "I gotta go to the...."

"Oh, use the ash basket." The man laughed, and laid a hand on his shoulder. Radovin cringed involuntarily at the touch. "You need to stay out of sight."

"Ah--oh--all right." The lowly container was right beside him, thank the good spirits. He was perilously close to dribbling. Radovin unloaded with a sigh of relief. He wrung out the last drops, then turned to gaze at his surroundings. Two girls came in behind him, swishing past with a smile and a "good morning." One giggled. The older one, about his own age, shushed her. Both of them cast covert glances back.

It didn't matter that no one was rude enough to stare. Here he was' in a tent full of strangers who all knew his name, he hadn't been properly introduced to any of them, and he stunk. Even a doomed nobody should take a bath once in a while.

He held his arms close against a chilly draft. Should he wait where he was or make some move? Ottavar stood near the hearth; at his side, Lovaduc--an ogre out of some ancient legend, eerily lit by the fire below and daylight from the smokehole above. The thought of interrupting their conversation made him feel like a bug waiting to be squashed. It was safer to go unnoticed, especially by persons of high status.

Three women entered through the back flap while he dithered, letting in more cold air. Two continued toward the hearth, one stopped by him. He glanced up and recognized her. Ottavar's mother.

"Good morning, Radovin. Did you sleep well?"

"Um, yes, um...Tevina-mada. Um...." He avoided her eyes. Profound sleep had left his head clear and full of embarrassing memories. He had totally lost his bottom last night.

"Come by the fire, you're getting cold standing here. We have to find you something to wear, ah?" She touched his arm, gently urging him along.

"Yes, amada," Radovin murmured. He saw Lovaduc look his way and say something, gesturing to Ottavar, who turned his head too. Tevina herded him inexorably nearer. He stopped when she did.

"Thank you, Mama," Ottavar said. "Good morning, Radovin." Tevina gave Radovin's shoulder a little pat and left them, heading around the hearth to where another woman was dipping soup into bowls. Ottavar took off the cape he wore and held it out. When Radovin's hands remained tucked under his arms, he thrust it closer, smiling. "Take it, ah? You need to warm up. You look like a plucked bird. We'll sit and have some breakfast, then we can talk."

"Thank you, Ottavar-anu." Radovin dipped his head low. The cape brushed softly against his skin when he swept it around his shoulders, still warm from Ottavar's body. He might have been skinned for merely touching something so fine. It brought to mind the play-acting he had indulged in as a carefree child, dressing up in the grown-ups' things. There had been a time when it was all right to smile, and ask questions, and everything he did was not wrong.

"Sit here while I get you a bowl." Ottavar indicated a small, plump cushion. Radovin obeyed. The shaman left him, dodging moving bodies.

Ottavar returned with a bowl in each hand. "Here's your breakfast," he said, handing one over. He lowered himself onto an adjoining cushion.

"Thank you." Radovin cradled the smooth wooden bowl in his hands, as fearful of touching it as he was of spilling on the good fur. They were treating him like a guest, as if he were really somebody. It was harder all the time to believe he was awake. But he was hungry, and the soup smelled good. Water had been added to yesterday's stew, and fresh herbs to liven it up. He spooned and sipped steadily to the last drop. So did Ottavar, with an eye on him.

Radovin fiddled with a corner of the fur cape, swallowed a big nothing, and tried to start. "Um...about them...Bodisar and...that one...."

"Mm-hm. Take your time."

Radovin tensed as Lovaduc sat down next to him with no warning.

"Good morning, Radovin."

"Good morning, Lovaduc-nabu." Radovin bobbed his head and sneaked a look through tangled hair at the big man's earnest face. Smile lines in the corners of greenish eyes groped at him. Stil...headman of this band, a figure of high authority, not to mention big enough to tear Radovin into bite-size pieces with his hands.

Lovaduc cleared his throat. "First, I want to apologize for not greeting and welcoming you properly last night. I was distracted, but that's no excuse to neglect and be rude to a visitor, and one to whom I owe a debt of gratitude."

Radovin jerked his head up with an uncomprehending stare, then ducked back down. Apologize? Owe?

"Eherrmm. And I want to thank you for helping my son. I doubt he'd have made it back here without you."

"He was hurt. I saw him fall." Radovin's shoulders touched his ears in a deprecatory shrug. "I had to."

"Lovo, where did you put your dirty clout," the headwoman called from the rear of the tent. "Oh--not again!

Lovaduc moaned. "I did it again. Sorry, Sheri. Hai, does Jero have enough extra shirts and all that Radovin could wear? They're 'bout the same size."

"He'll need moccasins too," Ottavar said.

"He needs a bath," a child's voice piped.

"Tookie!"

Lovaduc's quiet rebuke devastated the small speaker. Tucali hid her face in her grandmother's bosom.

"She didn't mean to--mean it like that," Jerevan said, leaning in Radovin's direction with a look of mixed amusement and sympathy. The tow-headed younger boy sitting next to him wore an expression of deep chagrin. A couple of girls had their hands over their faces.

"It's true." Radovin lowered his head another notch.

"We know you couldn't bathe whenever you wanted to," Ottavar said. "We'll manage something. I wish you could get to the pool. Nothing feels better than a real soak."

"You would know, Ott. You never pass up a chance." Lovaduc scratched in his beard, watching the laundry-gathering. "It wouldn't be a problem if he were a dirty shirt, ah?"

"Lovo, you're a genius!" Ottavar smacked his hands on his bare thighs.

"Huh?" Lovaduc's face went blank for a moment. Then he looked at Radovin and roared with laughter. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry," he said, still laughing. "But you're no bigger than a bundle of bedding."

Radovin looked down at himself, a lumpy fur-wrapped parcel. A dirty shirt--he'd been called worse things. But what did that have to do with...ah.

"We can go downstream to that slow bend where we got the sweetflag yesterday. It's way out of sight and there's cover, in case. I doubt anyone else will be down that way, we didn't leave much." Ottavar beamed at Radovin. "You can soak as long as you like."

"I'll carry this shirt," Lovaduc proclaimed, patting Radovin on the back--an action that made him go rigid all over. "We can talk after. I've waited this long; I can let you get cleaned up first. Now don't look at me like that."

"I'm sorry." Radovin stared at his hands. He had let another startled look escape.

"Look here, ah? I know you've had a rough life with the Bull band. But as long as you're with us, you'll be treated as one of us. Ottavar has spoken for you. He and his family will be responsible for seeing that you have what you need. You have only to ask."

Radovin had the odd sensation of being among people who spoke a strange language, using words that sounded familiar but made no sense. Ask. If he needed anything.

Lovaduc shook his head slowly. He heaved himself to his feet and stretched. "All right, let's get organized. Ott, you want another body or two to watch. Davo? You're not going on the hunt, ah? Yeah, I wish I was too, but...."

Ottavar rose too. The men moved away, talking quietly. Most of the others had left the hearth to go outside or finish gathering their dirty clothes. Jerevan still sat on the other side of the hearth, having a whispered conversation with his younger brother. They glanced frequently in Radovin's direction. They weren't laughing.

He hunched the cape tighter around his shoulders and leaned his elbows on his knees, gazing into the fire. Definitely, this lot was not like the Bull band. Or maybe they just didn't know he was an attracter of evil, a bearer of bad luck, and as good as dead. A flock of might-have-beens flew up out of the shadow of his memories. He drove them away. The past was gone, and his future with it. He sat in silence until he was asked to lie down on a large hide that Lovaduc spread over the mats.

Lovaduc heaved a sigh of relief. "Vah! I was afraid some busybody would be hanging around here looking for gossip. Did you see the funny look what's-his-name gave me by the pool?"

"We pulled it off, anyway. Let's get the 'shirt' unwrapped," Ottavar said.

They pulled up one edge of the hide slowly, letting Radovin roll out. He sat up and pushed damp hair out of his face. Jerevan smiled at him from a seat near the hearth.

Radovin stepped off the hide, returning the smile tentatively. Lovaduc headed out the back way with the hide. Ottavar followed him, with a backward glance. Radovin watched them sideways. Well, he'd be ready whenever they were. Jerevan sat looking expectantly at him. No one else was in the tent. He heard women chattering outside.

Jerevan held out a small stack of folded garments. "Here, we picked out some clothes for you to try on. This is just plain stuff, but I've got some better things for, you know, later. It's good we're almost the same size. I think my spare moccasins will fit too. You might as well get some use out of it all, I don't like dressing up and I've got lots of clothes."

"Uh, thank you." Radovin took the clothes and hunkered down to sort them out on the floor mat. It was a nice assortment, clean and smelling of the fragrant herbs that women used to keep bugs out of fur and feathers.

Jerevan settled back, watching him. "Feels good to be clean, ah? It must have been tough camping out where the water's scarce. I'm going down to the sweat lodge later, with Ottavar. We'll both come out shiny pink."

"Yeah." Radovin smiled at Jerevan's infectious grin. "I'm glad you're all right. How are you feeling now? Your head isn't aching any more?" He stood to put on a soft breechclout, a pair of leggings hung over his shoulder.

"My head's fine, too hard to bust, Papa says. Solid bone." Jerevan tapped his head with a fingertip. "It doesn't feel too bad; I've had lots of nasty tea. Ottavar's making me stay in today, make like I'm sick so we have an excuse to keep people out. I don't mind, I'm too sore and stiff to jump around. Got all twisted up, besides bouncing on my head. Ott says the sweat will take care of it."

"Yeah. That'll loosen you up." Radovin tied the leggings on with a loose temporary knot and held a leg out to get a look. "Heat is good for pulling out pain. Well, most of it. Couple of days, you'll be like new."

"That's what Ott says. Heat and smelly herbs. You're looking better too--I mean, last night, I thought maybe you were sick or something, when I saw Papa almost carrying you in."

Radovin picked up a neatly folded tunic. "Mm...I was just tired." Just tired, yeah, right. More like burnt out. He had pushed himself too hard. A stupid thing to do when you're alone.

"You must have been tired, you outslept me. I had a good head start, though. Ottavar slept with me, but I don't remember him being there, I was done when I hit the bed."

"So was I," Radovin said. "I don't remember much for a while before...." He unbent and slipped the tunic over his head, pulled it down straight, and ran his hands over the soft leather. Just plain stuff? It wasn't even stained.

"I'll never forget the look on everybody's face when you said who you were. Woh! That was something. With everybody hunting for you, we almost run into each other. You sure are lucky."

Radovin raised his head to gaze at the friendly son of the White Horse band's headman.

"What's the matter?" A puzzled frown replaced Jerevan's smile.

"Nothing." Radovin turned his head away abruptly. He hadn't meant to stare. "I'd better take this off before I get it sweaty." He pulled the tunic off. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ottavar re-enter the tent. The shaman seemed wrapped in his own thoughts. He walked silently to the opposite side of the hearth from them. Radovin folded the tunic slowly, trying to think of something to say to ease the sudden tension. He liked Jerevan. All of this band. Shit. The hardest part about being dead was still being alive.

Jerevan broke the silence. "You were waiting for our band, ah?"

"Yeah. I...didn't know what to do, didn't know anybody." Radovin shrugged. "I was watching, wondering how I could.... Then you...."

"Dropped out of the sky like bird crap," Jerevan suggested, with another grin.

"You said that." Radovin relaxed and smiled. "Yeah, it kind of knocked me sideways when you told me who you were."

Jerevan laughed. "Woh, I bet! Then you did it to the rest of us."

The mutual shock of last night was funny by hindsight. Radovin set the tunic down, and his hair fell all over his face. It was getting dry. He straightened up and pushed it back.

Jerevan scratched his freckled nose. "Want me to tie your hair for you?"

"If you want to."

"Sit down here." Jerevan waved an invitation.

"Thanks. It's hard to keep it out of my face." Radovin stripped off the leggings first, re-folding them before he sat on the mat with his back to Jerevan.

The boy first gave the long mane a run-through with an ivory comb. "Uhv goh hlipphry hair," he mumbled through a thong in his teeth as he wrestled the freedom-loving strands together. "Ith like Ottavarth. Hmy thifterth'd braid it fo' you." He got a firm grip on the hair and tied it before it could get away again. "They like doing hair. Want me to let mine grow. I guess I'll have to pretty soon. Doesn't mean I'll let them braid and bead it every day."

Jerevan's hair was cut above the shoulders and chopped short in front, a common style for children. Most adults let their hair grow freely. The Dedicated never cut theirs. Radovin's hair had not been touched by flint since his mother's death; nor had anyone combed or tied it for him since then. It was the only outward sign of his vocation that he could show. Now, it was all he would ever have. He tried not to think about that, thankful for Jerevan's tendency to rattle along.

Lovaduc came stooping in the back way, swatting the loose flap aside with one hand. He strode to where Ottavar hunkered by the hearth, staring at the ashes as if studying them for omens. "Hu-uhh," he grunted as he sat where he had a good view of both entrances of the tent. "Hacaben is coming over, ah?."

Ottavar half-rose to pull another folded hide close and resettled cross-legged on it. "Yeah, he should show up in a lick or two. Look at that." He spoke so that only Lovaduc could hear him.

"Yeah. Buddies." Lovaduc smiled at the sight of his son engaging their reticent guest in conversation and grooming. "I'll let you do the talking. I seem to make him nervous."

"Yeah, I noticed. So do I, but I think he trusts me, some. Or wants to."

"He needs someone to trust. Poor kid was scared witless last night. No wonder, where he's been. Ah, well, you'll straighten him out, Ottko."

"He's no kid, Lovo. Just looks like one next to you." They traded wry smiles. Ottavar took a long breath. "We'll straighten out a lot of things, I hope." There was mostly one thing, and now it left little room in his mind for anything else.

Bodisar's assertion, that certain markings on the lower cliff face proved that the Bull band had a prior claim to its use, took them by surprise. Ludoven and Kayotar went to check it out. Bodisar had no idea, he'd said, that the drive would take place at that time, or he'd have warned them. And mammoths could fly.

While the White Horse band buried and mourned, Bodisar's messengers took his version of the story to others. Why wouldn't they believe him? It wasn't their territory that was being depleted by a larger band's wasteful hunts. They didn't suffer the many subtle intimidations and petty insults. Their leaders had not met sudden death.

Lovaduc's first thought had been for the band's safety. It was time to move, to make a fresh start. They packed up all that mattered most and left the rest broken or burnt.

The band had stopped at the Summermeet long enough to attend the Council meeting, then moved on. Lovaduc sent a runner to the Red Deer band, now their nearest neighbors, in autumn. The news barely made its way from camp to camp before the long winter discouraged travel.

Now that they were settled safely away from the Bull's territory, they could make their case without fear of further covert attacks. Radovin's unexpected advent fanned a blaze of hope for real justice.

They might as well start, Jerevan had finished. "Radovin, come here, please," Ottavar said, motioning with one hand. Radovin came, and sat cross-legged in front of the men, head bowed and hands folded.

Jerevan made himself comfortable across the tent from them, close enough to watch and far enough not to hear a whisper. Lovaduc gave him an approving look.

Radovin's unnatural air of deference and avoidance of eye contact might please an arrogant bastard like Ivergan, but it disturbed Ottavar. No time for that yet; business first. He pulled out the piece of painted leather that he had tucked under his belt, and held it out flat. "You're the one who set these out, ah?"

Radovin nodded. "Yes, o-denu."

Ottavar puckered his lips in amusement at the unaccustomed title, respected wise one. "You know something about the deaths of Ludoven and Kayotar?"

"Yes. It was not an accident."

"We never believed that it was. Do you know what really happened?"

Radovin nodded, but just then Hacaben arrived. The old shaman took a seat beside Lovaduc with an expression of eager anticipation. Ottavar made a cursory introduction.

Hacaben gave the witness a short scrutiny. "So...you are Ivergan's apprentice."

"Not any more."

"Hmm, no, I suppose not." Hacaben glanced at Ottavar, eyebrows rising briefly, then turned back to Radovin. "You've paid some visits to the Bull band's camp at night."

"Yes."

"Good for you."

Radovin's startled eyes dodged back after a brief flash of surprise. Hacaben grinned. "Well, go on, then. You saw the killings?"

"No. I wasn't there. I...had to stay away that time."

"Did you usually go on hunts?" Ottavar asked.

"Yeah, to help with the butchering and haul the meat back."

"Not to hunt?"

"No. I carry bad luck, they don't want me around."

That jibed with what he knew so far. The bad-luck boy wasn't allowed with the hunters, but he could follow after to do the dirty work. It was demeaning. He might be a runt, but he was old enough to wield a spear in a major hunt. By his age most young men had made a few notable kills. They would bear the marks of their status as mature hunters--a tattoo, trophy jewelry of tooth or horn. Ottavar would have expected to hear more than a trace of resentment in the young man's voice.

"So you weren't actually there?"

"No."

"But you would have been, normally," Hacaben said. "Why were you kept away?"

"I was forbidden to talk to anybody from another band. Especially the Dedicated. I had to stay out of sight. I didn't know until after...I mean that your people were there." He gave Ottavar an apologetic glance, then his eyes hid behind their lashes again.

"Is that all you did, just carry? Did you track the herds in the Spirit World, or call them?" Ottavar wanted to know how far his training had gone. It was an important part of a shaman's work to locate game before a hunt, and sometimes to exert a magical influence on a herd.

Radovin hesitated. "Yeah, some."

"Ah, then you are well along in your work. You are probably ready for initiation...." Ottavar paused; Radovin had tensed, a barely perceptible drawing in. Interesting. Any other apprentice would be eager to boast of his experience. Of course he would have been discouraged constantly by Ivergan, but still, he was free now. "Have you done very much--"

Lovaduc cleared his throat loudly. Ottavar gave him a dirty look. The headman gazed innocently upward. His fingers tapped silently on his legs. Hacaben's face held a queer mixture of curiosity and humor, but he said nothing.

Ottavar sighed. Later. "If you didn't see it yourself, what made you certain it was not an accident?"

Radovin closed his eyes, immersed in his memories, describing them as if the incident were happening at the present. "One night I hear them talking. They don't know I am there...." The short dialogue he recited word for word left no doubt of the Bull band headman and shaman's guilt. He repeated parts of it at Hacaben's request.

"Is it possible anyone else, besides those two and Pavolen, knows anything about it?" Hacaben asked after a long silence. "That gang of Pavo's?"

Radovin shook his head. "Not unless Pavo told them. He couldn't have. They talk a lot, no secrets."

"The good spirits know what they do," Ottavar said, through clenched teeth.

"Pavo is probably more scared spitless of Bodisar than of any avenging spirit," Lovaduc muttered grimly. "Well, that's it. We are going on a Bull hunt. Radovin? You will speak to the Council?"

Radovin nodded. "I will."

In the silence that followed, Ottavar reviewed their prospects. It wasn't going to be easy, putting forth a witness of unknown provenance against the leaders of a large and powerful band. They were going to need support from others, and they had little time. It was also necessary to ensure that the Bulls had no claim on the runaway informer. He felt an unaccustomed certainty about what must be done, but he wanted to talk with Radovin first. It looked like he would have no time for that today. Tomorrow, for certain.

Hacaben asked a few more questions about other members of the Bull band; who disagreed most with Bodisar, openly or not. He was interrupted by a growl from Lovaduc's stomach.

The headman patted his middle. "Something tells me it's past time for lunch."

"It is," Ottavar said, peering around a chuckling Hacaben. A streak of sunlight sneaked in past the back flap, its reflected glow illuminating Jerevan, who had shaken his head when Sherilana peeped in several times already. "We'd better break it up. I have to get down to the sweat lodge with Jero before midafternoon, and I need to get some things together first."

"Ayah," Hacaben said. "And Lovo's not the only one who could use a bite to eat." He cast a meaningful glance at Radovin's ribs.

Lovaduc grunted. "Not the only one, maybe, but don't get between me and the food. Are you staying to eat, Hac? Sheri put all yesterday's catch in the pit this morning. Small game, bit of this and a bit of that. Couple of nice young birds she promised to save for me, but I know there's enough to spare you a few bones."

"Thank you, but I have to get back. Dosi's baby has been ailing and I have to check with her. I'll see you later. I asked some fellows to use their ears today--before I even knew that you had the genuine article already."

"Thanks, Hac," Ottavar said with heartfelt relief. "I don't dare poke around as hard as I want. Anybody from this band asking too many questions could stir up trouble."

"I know. I have to watch my step too. But a couple of gossipy old hunters can pick up a lot if they know what to listen for." Hacaben leaned forward slightly. "Radovin?"

Radovin raised an expressionless face, not quite meeting the old man's eyes.

"It has been my pleasure to meet you. I hope to see more of you when this is all settled. Don't worry about the Council meeting. You have friends now. Go with all good." Hacaben extended his right hand, waiting for Radovin's hesitant response. Their fingers touched.

Radovin's limp hand dropped back into his lap. The three men rose and moved toward the front entrance. Ottavar, last to leave, paused to look back. Radovin sat motionless, head down. That young man had a very troubled spirit. Tomorrow, he promised himself.