The Tiger and the Wolf Read Free

been a continuation
of the steeply sloping bank of earth. Inside, the cavernous space
was dark and warm with fire’s trapped heat, grand enough for
pillars to prop up a floor overhead that created a close, lofty,
slant-walled space where food was stored and meat was hung
and the rats could not reach.
    Maniye claimed just this much of it: a little alcove at one end
that she had appropriated and made her own, a cell fit for the
child of a chief. In all the dominion of the Wolf, this small space
was the Shadow cast by Maniye, Akrit Stone River’s daughter.
She had beads here, and hangings and furs, all she could
manage to haul up to soften the confines of her world. Though,
her favourite part of her lair was an absence. In the wattle and
daub of the end wall there was a smoke-hole that she had dug
out to be her lookout on the outer world, a narrow slot in the
wall. It gave her a view out towards the forest’s dark edge, but
surely not an escape. She was small for her age, but her bony
shoulders could never have fitted through that space, twist as
she might.
    And if there were those who said that the wolf shape she
might Step into would be such a scrawny thing that it could
have wriggled through – well, the drop, down the longhouse’s
wall and then the almost sheer side of the mound, would surely
have broken her bones. Neither wolf nor girl could have made
the climb. There could be no possible basis for anyone thinking
otherwise.
    And yet here came Kalameshli Takes Iron, with his bony face
full of suspicion. The scrape and rattle of his robe of bones had
tracked his path through the wives’ quarters below – the one
man allowed there. She had seen his shadow blot the firelight,
angular and angry even in silhouette, and she shrank back into
her tiny bottled kingdom, holding her breath and trying to wish
him away.
    Her wishes had never had power, and how could they have
had power over him who was the Wolf’s priest and favourite,
and who knew the secrets of the forge?
    There was a ladder placed at a slant, leading up to her, and
she saw his form shift and slide, Stepping onto four fleet feet to
scrabble up, then back on two as soon as he had ascended.
There was not quite enough space, even at the highest point
beneath the ridge-pole, for him to stand upright.
    Still she breathed shallowly and pretended to be elsewhere.
There was some magic, she believed, that could cast an echo of
her spirit to another place, to send hunters chasing after their
tails instead of chasing her. The other girls spoke of such things,
part of their arsenal when they sought to deceive parents and
meet lovers. If such a thing was possible, Maniye did not know
the making of it. Magic was not something Akrit Stone River’s
daughter was fit for.
    He was hidden from her by the hanging meat and switches of
herbs, but she felt him Step again, abruptly, no longer a man in
a robe of bones, but a lean, grey wolf, scarred and cunning. She
heard him sniff, finding her out by her traitor scent, despite all
the clamour of chicory and feverfew. He padded forwards, eyes
glinting in the dim light, and when he Stepped back to the shape
of an old man, he was standing before her as she huddled
beneath her makeshift window.
    ‘Your peers are all at their practice.’ He pronounced each
word precisely, as though he was worried about spitting a few
more loose teeth out if he spoke too hastily. ‘They fight, they
run, they jump, they Step. But not you.’
    Kalameshli, was still strong enough to wrench her arm or slap
her, and he had free rein to do so. She backed away as he stalked
to the window. The sun caught the thousands of tiny bones sewn
into the hide of his robe, playing over the intricate patterns
there. Standing there, he made the place his, took the sun from
her. ‘Not you, no: here you are. Why is this, I wonder?’
‘Perhaps it’s because they hate me,’ she told him flatly.
    ‘And holding yourself aloof