Feather Page 6

  In the weeks they had marched to get here, Feather had seen huge herds of antelope, deer, wild cattle, pigs, and other hoofed animals she did not recognize. The game was much more plentiful than in the area where the Wobans lived, and she was sure they were far beyond the bounds of the old kingdom of Elgin.

  She saw Tag and the other boys practice shooting their bows and slings during the long afternoon hours.

  “Don’t you hunt?” she asked him one evening.

  “Not yet. Soon. After the City of Cats.”

  Now that they were among so many other people, Feather was less fearful. She could blend in with the crowd of women and girls without being noticed, and Tag managed to find her at least once a day for a few minutes of conversation. In the evening they could slip away for a short time while the others visited and ate around the fires. There was a large rock not far from Feather’s sleeping spot, and they could sit behind it and not be seen. They were still careful not to be seen much together, but Feather had grown to trust Tag and look upon him as her one true ally.

  Hana did not treat her harshly now but relied on her as a diligent helper. Feather was glad for the days she could work quietly beside Hana and the other women of Mik’s band. She hated the one day when they all went out to skin and butcher game in the field. The men had found a herd of huge, shaggy cattle and slaughtered six of them, then summoned the women to do the hardest part of the work. The Wobans would have shared equally in the work, men and women together, she knew, and they would have made the work easier by singing and laughing together. The Blens didn’t sing, she had decided by now, and when they laughed, it was a menacing sound that made Feather shiver.

  One evening she saw Lex making the rounds of the men in their band and collecting arrows from them.

  “What is he doing?” she asked Hana.

  Hana barely looked up. She was stirring a concoction she brewed for the men on chilly evenings, and it had to be prepared just right.

  “They break arrows when they hunt, or sometimes the feathers are ruined and must be replaced. While we are camped like this, it is a good time for Kama to fix them.”

  “Kama fixes arrows?” Feather eyed the dark-skinned woman with new respect. Kama always seemed pessimistic, complaining about the food, the weather, the decisions the men made—anything at all, it seemed—and predicting that they would not reach the warmer lands to the south before the snow fell.

  “That is her job when needed.”

  Feather hesitated, wondering whether or not to reveal her own skill at fletching. Would they take her away from the heavier chores of hauling water and fuel? Or would they keep a closer watch on her, knowing she had a valuable ability?

  In this tribe it might mean more freedom, she decided. So far she had given her captors no reason to believe she would try to escape, and little by little she had found herself less restrained. If she could sit down for a good part of the day and work on arrows, her sore feet and bruises might heal before they resumed the endless journey.

  “I can do this job,” she said.

  Hana continued stirring. “What job?”

  “The arrows. I am skilled at this. I learned from an elder, and they say I’m very good at it. My hands are small, and I can bind the feathers perfectly.”

  Hana stirred on, saying nothing.

  Feather bit her lip. “Should I bring the small kettle now?”

  “Yes,” said Hana. “But Denna and I will serve the men.”

  Denna was a teenager, and Feather had learned that she was also a relative newcomer to the Blens. She had traveled with them for less than a year, and her bitterness was evident in her sulky response to commands. Feather had thought of trying to befriend her, but Denna shunned her. “You are a slave,” she’d said. “I’m a member of the tribe now.” Yet she recoiled every time she was forced to take part in the tribe’s activities.

  It gave Feather hope because it was apparent that no one stayed a slave long with the Blens. Those who worked hard were rewarded by being adopted into the tribe, as Tag and Denna had been.

  Now Denna went to help Hana with the drinks, throwing a scowl in Feather’s direction. Feather was sorry the girl had to go among the rowdy men and serve them, but she was glad she could retreat from the crowd. She waited behind her rock for half an hour, but Tag didn’t come. At last she gave up and went to her sleeping spot and rolled up in the wool blanket that was his gift.

  T he next morning, after she helped Hana with breakfast for Mik’s band, Feather was sent to Kama.

  “You make arrows?”

  Feather swallowed hard. “Not the shafts, but I fletch them.”

  The woman looked her up and down, and Feather wondered what she saw. She knew her own clothes were worn and dirty from a month on the trail, and her skin was sun browned. Her torn shirt was mended with a needle she had borrowed from Hana. She tried to keep her hair neat. After she had been a couple of weeks with the Blens, Tag had brought her a comb—from where she did not ask. She carried it in her pouch and used it daily.

  Kama nodded in apparent satisfaction. “You show me.”

  Feather gulped and followed her to where she had set out her tools and supplies in the shade of a large tree. A bundle of fresh arrow shafts was propped against a rock, and a collection of about twenty damaged arrows lay beside them.

  “Many arrows are lost this time of year,” Kama said, settling down on the dry grass. “The men hunt, and they miss. Pfft! The arrow is gone.” She raised her fist into the air and opened it, extending her fingers toward the sky.

  “It is the fall hunt,” Feather nodded. She sat down beside Kama and watched her pick up one of the broken arrows.

  Kama turned the shaft in her hands and squinted at the shattered end.

  “This one can be fixed. It is long enough. This one . . .” she picked up another and shook her head. “No good. They lose the tip, and they break the wood.”

  She sorted out the arrows that could be salvaged and chose one with mangled fletching for Feather to work on.

  “You fix this?” she asked.

  Feather turned it slowly. “I can. I will scrape off the glue and use new feathers. What feathers do you have?”

  Kama opened a folded piece of leather to reveal an assortment of feathers, and Feather fingered them.

  “These are very good.” Feather smiled at Kama, and the woman nodded.

  “All right, you work. Before the noon meal, you show me what you have done.”

  Kama took one of the new shafts and began to smooth the wood, rubbing it methodically with a grooved piece of sandstone. Feather soon forgot her and lost herself in making the damaged arrow whole again. She cut the threads first, then scraped off the remains of the feathers’ vanes, then smoothed that part of the shaft. From the leather pouch she chose the wing feathers of a large prairie bird. The bands of black, white, and mottled gray pleased her. She sliced each one down the center quill and used the wider half for her new fletching.

  After gluing and tying the feathers in place, she carefully trimmed them. Using the hot end of a stick from the fire, she burned away the edges, leaving the shape she always made for the Wobans’ arrows. Hunter and Jem had told her that her fletching made the arrows fly straight and swift. They claimed they were better hunters when their quivers were filled with her arrows, and that gave Feather a pride she had never known before. She would show Kama, her new mentor, how well she could fix the damaged arrows. Perhaps she could even earn some respect here in the Blen tribe.

  By noon she had refurbished three arrows. The sinew threads provided for her use were not as fine as the linen thread Weave made, but the glue was fast drying, and Feather was well pleased with her work. The sun was just overhead, and although the nights were becoming cold, the noontime heat made her grateful for the shade. But before many more weeks, she knew, the cold weather would begin in earnest, and she would long for the baking sun once more.

  Kama came and stood over her, then bent to pick up her finish
ed arrows.

  “Your time is up.”

  Feather blinked up at her. “I can work faster, now that I have the feel of your glue and your tools.”

  Kama looked over the arrows, saying nothing. Then she turned and gave a piercing whistle. A group of boys was practicing archery a hundred yards away, and they turned toward her. Kama gestured for them to come.

  Feather caught her breath and tried not to stare at Tag. Two other boys came with him.

  “Here,” Kama said, holding out the mended arrows. “You try these, and tell us if this girl is worthy of her name.”

  Feather bit her teeth together hard. Kama was almost making a joke. But if her arrows did not please Kama, the jest would not be funny. She would be punished, no doubt, for making false claims of skill.

  The boys took the arrows and went back to where they had been shooting at the large, red-tinged leaves of a tree. The first boy missed his mark, and Feather winced. Of course, that boy might be a poor shot anyway. She had never paid attention to his shooting before. The second boy brought down a leaf, and she breathed.

  Tag nocked his arrow and aimed high into the branches, then let fly. The arrow zipped through a leaf on the highest bough, then arced gracefully to the ground several yards beyond the tree.

  The boys ran to retrieve the arrows, and Feather waited, nervously eyeing Kama, but Kama did not look at her. When the boys brought her the arrows, she examined them closely. At last she turned away, and as she did she said, “You work with me now whenever we do not march.”

  The boys stared at Feather with raised eyebrows. Tag said to them, “You go on. I’ll be right there.”

  The other boys left but not without a speculative stare at Tag and a second look at Feather.

  When they were out of earshot, Tag asked, “You made those arrows?”

  “Just the fletching.”

  He nodded. “You do good work.”

  “It is what I do best.”

  “It might work in your favor. Their arrows are crude. They have few artisans. Pelke makes the beads, but that is child’s play.”

  Feather smiled at him. She was glad he still referred to the Blens as they, not we. It meant he did not yet count himself as one of them although he acknowledged that they considered him a member of the tribe.

  “I wasn’t sure whether to tell them or not,” she said.

  He looked off into the distance, thinking, and nodded again. “I think it is a good thing. We shall see.” He ran off to join the other boys.

  That afternoon Feather worked on the new arrow shafts. Kama prepared them and left the fletching completely to Feather. It was the same the next day. Feather saw Denna and some of the other girls scowl at her when they walked past the place where she worked, but they said nothing. At night they ignored her, but that was nothing new.

  On the third day of arrow making, Kama said, “The men want more arrows.”

  “We made twenty yesterday,” Feather said in surprise.

  “Yes, but now they need more. The men of the other bands have seen your work. They want to trade for our arrows, and Mik told me we must make as many arrows as we can today. I made him send all the boys out to cut more shoots for shafts. They will not be dry, but we have used nearly all that I brought from the last stopping place.”

  Feather considered the implications of that. First of all, Kama was telling Mik what to do. That was unthinkable. Second, at this rate, she would be making arrows all winter. They were no longer just a hunting implement but had become a trade commodity.

  “I will get one of the other women to help smooth the wood,” Kama said. “You make me a pattern in leather, and I can cut the feathers your way. But you must glue and thread them.”

  Feather smiled up at her. “We make a good team, Kama.”

  Kama frowned. “Why do you laugh?”

  “I was thinking how rapidly things change.”

  “Oh.” Kama sat down, and her full lips held a pout. After several minutes she said, “But you do think we are alike even with my dark skin?”

  Feather shrugged, embarrassed. “It did make me wonder if you are a true Blen.”

  Kama smiled then, the first time Feather had seen amusement cross her face. “Is anyone born a Blen?” she asked. “But you are correct. Many years ago I lived far from here. It is too far back to think about. My name was once Kamenthia, but that is not a Blen name, so now I am Kama.”

  She bent over her work, and Feather watched her, seeing a vision of herself many years down the road, apathetic, resigned to being a Blen.

  “Don’t you ever think about going back?” she whispered.

  Kama shook her head. “At first, maybe. Not now. I could not go back now. I am too changed from what I once was.”

  “You could change back.”

  “No. I am a Blen.”

  Feather picked up her tools.

  After a long silence, Kama said, “I try not to think of the past. It is best.”

  “It seems so,” Feather said, but her heart screamed, No! I will never forget! I will always remember the Wobans and my brother.

  “These people, the Blens, they are not the smartest people,” Kama said, and Feather stilled her hands and stared at her.

  “They rule wherever they go,” Feather said, choosing her words carefully. Was this a test of loyalty?

  Kama shrugged. “Perhaps if they steal enough smart people like us, they will grow even stronger, no?” Her white teeth gleamed in a smile.

  Feather chuckled. “Perhaps. I think their hunting has improved already.”

  “Yes! But you know, they will keep on losing the arrows.”

  Feather knew the tall, dry grass hid many of the spent arrows. “Maybe we should use brighter feathers or dye some. Red or yellow perhaps.” She did not say that at home Weave had dyed many feathers for her for this very reason. Scarlet, sky blue, and bright goldenrod. Each of the men chose his color of feathers and painted colored markings on his arrow shafts. Hunter’s had stripes of black and red, she remembered, with two red feathers and one black. Karsh, who was not yet a hunter, did not get the best feathers. On his arrows, she placed one golden feather and two natural, and painted one green stripe around each of his arrow shafts.

  “It is good,” said Kama. “Perhaps they will not lose so many. But always as we approach the autumn equinox, many things are lost. Especially many arrows.”

  “What do you mean?” Feather asked.

  “The days, they grow shorter.”

  She nodded.

  Kama shrugged. “It is a bad time. The cold winter comes. The fruit and grain stop growing. We have to find a place to keep warm. People get angry. Whole things are broken, and treasured things are lost.”

  Feather frowned, thinking about that as she sliced the vane of a hawk’s feather precisely down the center. “Why now?”

  Kama shivered. “It is just the way it is. We go to the City of Cats, and on the day when light and dark are equal, our boys will become men. After that, things start to get better, even though the winter comes.”

  Feather looked up at her in puzzlement, but Kama was very serious. Not all things were broken and lost now, though perhaps the hunt accounted for more lost arrows than was normal. Still, she remembered that Hana had broken a small clay pot she valued only the day before, and Tag had lost his flint stone on the journey.

  If that is true, Feather thought, perhaps there is a time when I will be restored. My tribe is broken, and I am lost. She hesitated, then asked Kama, “Is there a time when lost things are found?”

  Kama smiled once more, and Feather began to think her smile was bright in her dark new world. “Yes, yes. In the spring, when once more the day and night are equal. That is when broken things will be mended, and lost things will be found.”

  T he next night Feather sat with her back to the large rock where she and Tag often met. The stone still held some of the sun’s warmth from the day. She hugged her arms tight, trying to keep her body’s heat close in th
e chilly evening air. She was almost ready to run for her wool blanket when Tag sprinted around the side of the rock and dropped to the earth beside her.

  “Good. You’re still here.”

  “I thought you might not come again.”

  “I had to get away from the others first.”

  She smiled at him in the moonlight. “I’m glad you’re

  here.” The noise from the camp was louder than usual tonight, and Tag nodded back toward the fires. “The men are fighting over today’s kill. Each band’s leader claims a large share of the meat.”

  “Will we leave soon?” Feather asked. The nighttime revels and quarrels among the men made her afraid.

  “Yes. We must go to the City of Cats together.”

  Feather blinked in surprise. “I thought we would leave the others.”

  “We will. After the ritual.”

  “But . . . that takes place soon, doesn’t it?”

  “Lex says four more nights by the moon. I think we will leave tomorrow.”

  “Why didn’t we just meet there to begin with?”

  “The people don’t like to camp near the cats. Their city is full of the old plague, it is said, and only the cats keep it away. But the cats will come around the camp while we are near. At night they will steal dogs and children if the people are not careful.”

  “Our band has no dogs,” Feather said. She remembered Snap and Bobo back at home and wished her band of Blens had a dog.

  “No, but we must still be careful. Sleep nearer the fires when we are there.”

  Feather nodded. “Are they really so fierce?”

  “Yes. They stalk game on the plain, but when we come around . . . well, Mik says people are slow moving and easy prey for the cats. And they grow to be huge.” Tag swallowed, and Feather wondered if he was thinking of the ritual. She hadn’t dared to ask him or anyone else what the young men must do at the City of Cats to earn their place among the men.

  “Did you ever have a pet?” she asked.

  Tag shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He lowered his voice. “My people from before had dogs and riding animals.”

  Feather drew in a slow, deep breath. “You rode on a horse?”