For the Good of the Clan Read Free

Master. Is there such a spirit?”
    “Only one I know of.”
    His lip trembled slightly and unconsciously he touched the amulet at his neck. “Does this evil spirit have a name?”
    “Yes.” I paused, for effect. The young learn so much better when you have their full attention. “It is called ‘Man.’”
    His head snapped up. “You’re telling me Ulat was killed by a man? Who? Why?”
    “That is what we do not know and must discover.”
    “How?”
    “By thinking.” I stood up and started to move about the site in widening circles again, as I had the day before. But this time we moved very slowly and for a long time. My hip ached and my back was tired when we came to what I knew there would be, somewhere.
    We had searched the far side of the ford without finding anything of interest. Then we crossed back over the brook, stepping from stone to stone, thoughtfully placed there by elders who had come before. I had helped to carry the last of them when but a small boy. The borders of the bank were paved by stones or fine gravel that would not hold a footprint, until the trail to the village began, where the trees and grass took hold once again.
    On the village side we found footprints and crushed grass, where someone had waited for a time, off to one side of the trail, where they could watch the ford. They had chewed some mint, perhaps for an upset stomach, and spit the leaves onto the earth.
    “It appears our evil spirit had an upset stomach. In fact,” I said to Donathan as I wandered farther off the trail and into the trees, “he had to relieve himself here.” There was a shallow hole where someone had defecated and then covered it with loose dirt. I scraped the loose dirt aside with my stick. “They had loose stools. And eaten much meat in the past day or two.”
    “Come, we have learned a great deal. Let us return before it is any later. We will just have time to prepare for Ulat’s journey.”
    The ceremony was long, but Donathan did most of the chanting and singing, only faltering once or twice. I recited Ulat’s alam and Matha gave me a small smile, for I carefully recounted his greatest deeds. I skipped over his rivalry with Balog. No point in antagonizing Balog or reminding the clan of difficult times. There was much hunger then, and many died, both old and young. I referred to the lean time, but only said how Ulat had hunted rigorously and shared generously with all. Balog nodded gravely, as though in death his admiration of the man could be acknowledged freely.
    Daneel sat far to the outside of the circle, and I noticed he seemed restless, or uncomfortable. He quietly stole away at one point into the darkness, walking as though he had cramps, but returned after a time, looking better. The rest paid no attention, after all, when you have to go, you have to go. Was Daneel the one who had waited...who had diarrhea...and murder in his heart?
    When I finished, the women poured great amounts of honey beer and we all puffed on pipes filled with rope weed. I pulled Donathan aside.
    “I want you to stay sober tonight, or at least, as sober as you can. Listen to the young men gossip and in the morning come tell me what you hear.” He looked saddened at the prospect of having to keep his wits about him. “That is only one of the many sacrifices you make for the clan. It is your duty.”
    He nodded and wandered off to join the younger men, who were drinking and smoking, loudly recounting exploits they had shared with Ulat, but soon digressing into the usual talk of young men: spears, arrows, hunting and women. For myself, I lost interest in women after Mari passed beyond. The young ones were too noisy and the old ones were too sharp, so I lived in quiet solitude. Most of the time it was a relief, although I could have used the warmth of another on long winter nights. Somehow a few warm stones aren’t the same. As for sleeping with dogs, it is something I have never relished: too many fleas.
    I sat with the