For the Good of the Clan Read Free Page A

other old men, quietly smoking our pipes and sipping our beer. The talk was desultory. Balog said almost nothing, unless directly addressed. Perhaps the fact we had lost one of the better hunters weighed on him. No clan can afford to lose a strong leader like Ulat, although it is a knife that can cut two ways; too many strong men and there is rivalry and bitterness; too few and there is no one to lead the lesser men and push them to greater efforts. All men are not born equally gifted, that is the will of the gods, although even the least likely may have some usefulness to the clan.
    I must have dozed off, for I only vaguely remembered Neidre guiding me to my hut. I didn’t actually realize she had joined me in the furs at first, only that I felt warmer than usual. Somewhere in the night, however, I found myself joining with her, more dream than deliberate action. A pleasant dream, nonetheless.
    In the morning she was gone, but returned later with hot porridge, improved with some dried berries and sweetroot juice. I wondered at this improvement in my diet, but only thanked her. She blushed and murmured her welcome, but stole a glance upward as she turned. I thought I caught the glimmer of a smile. After she left I found myself smiling as well. My heart embraced this small pleasure in a hard time. I have learned you must fully enjoy the pleasant, to offset the bitter. There will be plenty of that in life.
    Donathan appeared as I finished. His eyes were puffy and red. His wan smile told me he had taken more beer and smoke than he should have. He sat heavily on a log next to me. I handed him the cup of warm wine Neidre had left. There were still a few swallows left.
    “Here, my boy, take the last of this. The hair of the dog that bit you will help heal your suffering.” He nodded silently and swallowed it quickly.
    “I tried to avoid too much beer and rope weed, Master, but they kept pushing more and more at me. Honestly, I took much less than the others. They are still sleeping.”
    “They will appear soon, heads aching and stomachs rocking. Give them some willow bark tea and tell them to drink only water until evening meal. They will recover. Do not let them have any beer or wine.”
    “But that is what you gave me.”
    “You are a medicine man. You can do things that are not wise for others to do. Remember, a little drink in the morning after a night of overindulgence will help you recover, but don’t make a habit of it. Drink plenty of water yourself today, and eat lightly now. We have work to do.”
    Donathan took a long pull from the water skin and had a handful of dried pemmican. After a while he looked better.
    “Master, would you like to know what I learned from the others?”
    “Tell me what you heard. Leave nothing out as it might relate to Ulat or his family.”
    Donathan then recited all he had heard: which unmarried women seemed most likely to accommodate the young hunters; which married women might become lonely if their husbands were away on a long journey; bragging, of course, about who had done the most, hunted the best, ran the fastest, journeyed the farthest.
    “There was some quiet talk, Master, about leadership.” His voice grew soft and he leaned toward me.
    “Sit back, boy, and speak quietly but do not whisper. Do you want everyone to know you tell secrets?” He had so much to learn.
    He adjusted his position but could not help but glance around for listeners.
    “Try not to look like you’re talking about anything important, boy. That is the way to avoid having others listen to what you say. Just speak quietly but casually and all will ignore you. Lean toward me and whisper and everyone will know that you’re speaking confidences and some may guess of what you speak. Learn to be casual when you are doing something critical. That is the one secret of being a good shaman.”
    He nodded. “I can never understand when I should be mysterious and when I should not. You contradict yourself,