Robin, kneeling beside the pond, slowly dipped her hands in the water, then splashed it over her face and scrubbed. She shook and wiped the drops off, then blinked at her reflection in the sparkling surface. Her reddish harvest-gold hair was rimmed with a white feathery halo where the sunlight filtered through.
Smiling at her vanity, she picked up an earthen pitcher resting on the ground beside her and scooped up a pitcherful of water, playfully taking it from the place where her reflection smiled back at her. She laughed lightly as her image came apart in glittering ripples, then stood and, propping the pitcher on left hip, started up the shaded slope toward the root house.
Reaching it, she paused to wave at Sharn and the she-wolf sunning themselves in the clear track, then entered and descended the stairs to the main room. Gath sat on his bed of furs, with his back against the hearth and his hand resting on the horned helmet which shared the furs. He wore his loincloth, and throbbing veins webbed his massive muscles. He was shaved, but there was a white pallor around his dark eyes, flakes of ashen callous on his forehead and cheekbones, and his dark hair was shorter, singed and burned at the ends. There was now a deep crease between his eyes, his mouth was stretched flatter, and his expression was of a man who had lived a hundred lifetimes.
Robin smiled brightly and crossed to the table saying, “You always wake up, don’t you? Every time I go out, or get up to put a log on the fire, or even turn over in my sleep.” She set the pitcher down and put her smile on him.
He said, “Habit.”
“Oh, I see. Well, it’s understandable. It must be frightening to live here alone.” She picked up a pair of shears from the table. “Are you going to let me trim your hair now?”
“I’ll do it,” he said quietly.
“I can do it better.”
He shook his head.
She poured fresh water into a waiting cup, kneeled beside him and extended the cup, looking directly into his eyes. He took it and, with lids closed, drank, then let the dripping cup dangle from a finger. Her eyes followed the drops thoughtfully. “Gath, why… why won’t you let me help you?”
He seemed not to hear her. His eyes wandered to the part down the middle of her hair. His empty hand reached curiously, then quickly withdrew. She shifted uneasily at the warmth of his nearness and size. Even in repose he was threatening. She blinked uncertainly, then boldly extended her hand for the cup. He put it in her hand and held it there, his massive grip enclosing her hand and wrist. His voice was a hoarse whisper, and his words were measured.
“Stay with me.”
“Of course,” she said lightly. “If I was acting like I was going to run off, I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t understand what’s happened to you.” She tried to remove her hand, but he held on, and she stopped trying. “Aren’t you going to tell me?”
He let go of her hand, lifted a red-gold curl away from her cheek, and admitted quietly, “I need you.”
Confusion crowded behind her innocent eyes, and she blushed so intently she was unable to speak.
“I am sorry,” he said. “But you must stay here.”
“But… but for how long?” she stammered. “Even after you’re well?”
His eyes held an uncompromising yes, then filled with guilt, and he stood. Facing the anvil, he began to putter with a belt buckle; a horned death’s-head emblem had recently been hammered in it.
She watched him helplessly, her cheeks still florid, then her words poured out. “Gath, I’m glad you need me. I think that’s what I’ve wanted from the moment we met. But it’s all so confusing and mysterious. And I need you.” She began to sob. “Oh, Gath, I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I’ve got to. The Kitzakks came again. They attacked three villages and destroyed them.” Her head dropped, and she covered her face with her hands. “Oh, Gath, we’re all in such terrible trouble.”
He looked over her shoulder, asked, “You?”
“All of us,” she blurted. “But you most of all. Look!”
She hurried to her bedding, gathered up a cloth bundle, and hurried back. Kneeling, she unwrapped part of it and removed the black doll. He took it from her, grinned grimly while examining it, and tossed it into the fire. Its lacquer burst into flames and crackled hotly.
“Gath,” she pleaded, “you don’t understand! Brown John took it from a bounty hunter. A man the Kitzakks sent to kill you. And there are more, out there in the forest somewhere. Hunting you. Brown John says they strike from shadows. They’ll kill you before you see them.”
“I’ll see them,” he said quietly.
She watched his face darken strangely as he sat back down against the hearth. Boldly she crawled to him and placed a hand on his raised knee. Her eyes found his. “Please, listen. There is a plan, but it needs your help. Brown John has joined the Council of Chiefs, and they’re raising an army for you and Brown John to lead. You just have to. They need a champion.” Her voice pleaded. “That’s why I came. To tell you. You have an army now, just like Brown John said you would. All the tribes will fight, but only if you lead them.”
He did not reply, but an odd, shiny heat of excitement glittered behind his eyes.
“Oh, Gath, you’re our only chance.” Her voice broke, “You must understand that.”
Tears filled her eyes and he looked away, but asked, “If I help, you will stay here?”
“I could, but it wouldn’t make any difference. They’d still find me.” She unwrapped the rest of the cloth saying, “I don’t know why anyone would bother to take the trouble, but they did.”
She removed the white doll. Seeing the likeness, he sat forward, ripped the totem from her hand and held it buried within his thick, knotted fingers. His body pulsed, seeming to expand, and his heat made her flinch and crawl back.
“What is it?” she gasped.
His hand trembled and the doll dropped to the floor. Robin stood abruptly and backed against the wall staring at the image on the floor as Gath squatted over it.
A faint hot red glow appeared on the face of the white doll. It grew hot and brilliant, spreading over its body to spill on the floor.
Robin whimpered and retreated to the staircase. Her foot found the first step, the second, then stopped and she swayed faintly.
His black mane was lifting. When it looked at her, the eyes were glowing, filled with flames.
Robin screamed, bolted up the stairs and out.
He started after her, then stopped short. Turning with a slow ominous movement, he strode to the back of the fireplace where his chain mail was hanging from a peg. He put it on easily, belted it using his new death’s-head buckle, picked up his axe and slung it on his back.
He moved with slow deliberation to the horned helmet, took it in two hands and lifted it above his head. It was slow, hard work. His muscles fought against themselves.
Beads of steaming sweat broke out on his face. Only his eyes were fixed with resolve. His arm pulsed with constricting muscles, and the black metal dungeon grudgingly descended over his head, once more claimed its prisoner. It was an hour before he found her sign. A small footprint in the mud at the side of Smooth Pond. He found another and part of a third amid broken leaves. The three footprints were each a good stride apart, clear indication she was running wildly.