He screeched the names of the men the krarl had lost; at each one a woman or two shrieked. At my name there was a huge moaning, and the warriors beat their spears together.

“Our master is Death. Death is god,” Seel ranted. “Twelve of our sons has he taken, but worse than our sum of sons, the son of the chief, the hope of the krarl, the rising star among the tents, our tomorrow, has he taken!”

Chula screamed excellently on the cue. The three tiny bears dived into her skirts in fright, so I felt sorry for them.

Ettook lumbered in the broad firelight. He showed around the spearheads, the gold bangles and bronze knives I had taken in the last war months. In the manner of the ritual he praised my valor and my cleverness.

“Tuvek, the flower of my loins, my son best of all sons. Generous to me as the rain to the pasture, brave as the leopard in his battles. Who does not remember Tuvek’s courage when the foe ran before him like rabbits? Who was the young god riding among the warriors? It was my son, Tuvek. He who made the women sigh like a wheat field in the wind, he who rode the men beneath the hooves of his horse, whose arms were stronger than brass, and whose wit was sharper than diamond, whose desire made sons, whose anger made silence. Ah, Tuvek, my son, what is there in death’s place which causes you to linger there?” He rubbed his face, which was a healthy jocund color. “When the raiders came,” Ettook roared, “who but Tuvek dared to follow them? It must mean death to try blade for blade with the cities, yet still he would go. I forbade him, for his safety, yet he paid no heed. He went to save his brothers, the braves. He died for them. Who will not weep for Tuvek, my best of all sons, lord of all warriors?”

The beasts’ threnody gushed up again, the spears rattled.

Seel lifted his arms, and a carmine sun and a white moon staggered on his crow’s sleeves.

“Death,” sang Seel. “In your dark tent our men are standing. Relent, Death, relent. Return to us our men, return to us the son of our chief.” Then, raising his voice, he flung himself at the four points of the world, north, south, east, and west, from any of which the answer might arrive, which is why they allow four nights before they seek it, one darkness for each. “Tuvek,” the seer squealed, “come back among your folk, come back from the black tent, the bone-grove, to the warm hearth. Death may give you horses and hounds, but you have horses and hounds in the land of life. Death may give you women, but they bear no fruit and you have women of flesh and blood who shall. All Death can offer, you possess. Tuvek, come back among your folk.”

“Say no more,” I said, stepping out into the raw red light. “I am here.”