Ettook’s painted tent stood higher than the tunnels, in the mouth of a vaulted cave. The land ran down from the mountains here on the eastern side to the winter byres of the goats and horses. There were always a few men moving about there to guard their livestock from the neighboring krarls of the campment, since any krarl would thieve from another when stores got low. Today I could spot only two guards, though the horses were out in the field, chewing the bark from the pines.

I soon found where the men had gone.

The slope below the painted tent was thick with warriors leaning on their spears, their faces, sneering and laughing, I could see even as I came up from the tunnel ways. They had scared the women off from the assembly, but big eyes had been staring all along my route, and fingers pointing me out. If I went unrecognized today, my life henceforth would not be easy. I should have the vixens on my back as well as the foxes’ teeth in my throat. I had no mind to be a joke for the women’s side.

A fire gemmed red on the lip of the cave. Ettook was by the fire, scratching his plaited beard. He had an expression I had seen before, uncertain whether my trouble angered or pleased him. Seel was at his elbow and, at his back, crouching to heat beer for them, Seel’s bitch-daughter. That whetted my mood, to be sure. Her hands glowed from the heat of the flames, but she was eager to warm herself at the blaze of my shame. She was younger than Tathra but thin and stringy except for her breasts, which were heavy, shapeless, floundering things, not tempting to me in the least; her faded hair was the color of sour apricots.

I raised my arm to Ettook.

“Greeting, my chief. Your son salutes you.”

He looked down at me, glad, no doubt, of the cave’s elevation. Already he was no longer able to look down on me when we stood foot to foot.

“Greeting, Tuvek. I hear you are in a wasp’s nest once again.”

“Wasps are easily disturbed, my chief,” I said as sweetly as I could for the feel of vinegar in my guts.

Seel shouted something at me. He was often unintelligible in his rages, though his intentions were transparent enough.

“Seel says you have something to answer for,” Ettook said. “He suggests to me you have profaned the Rite, the thing which must not be spoken of.”

The Rite was usually given this extra title, implying some mystery that must once have belonged in it. I became aware that Seel had not told Ettook precisely what was wrong. It was to be a grand shock and show for them with me as the focal point.

“My chief,” I said slowly and clearly, “maybe the seer forgets I am your son, and that your honor is touched by mine.”

Ettook swallowed this down. His eyes narrowed and he stared at me, calculating. I said, “The seer shall say what I have done, then I shall reply, and then you, my chief, shall judge.”