Rebel Ice Read Online Free PDF Page B

and his salvagers kept the tribe's tithes modest but regular. Some of the older Iisleg had been scathing and even whispered Navn the Younger was a coward, but time was on Deves's side. His tribe grew, as did his stores. In time Kangal Orjakis had selected his men to serve as caravanners to transport and present the worgald and tribute from this region to Skjonn.
    Navn did not want rebellion, not after all those years of careful work. Yet unless he chose sides, he and his tribe would end as victims of both.
    Shouts surrounded the headman's tent, and the scout automatically drew his bow and went to the flap.
    Navn had no time for females, visiting or his own. It was the odd look on his scout's face that drew him to the flap to glance outside.
    His men had formed a protective barrier before his tent, but beyond their shoulders he saw a small, stick-like figure with tattered, rotting furs hanging from her body.
    The female appeared as human as the Iisleg, but she was not a native. Her hair had been grown as long as a man's. He had never seen a woman so thin, either, not even during the Famine of Disobedience. She did not speak, but tottered about, reaching skeletal hands toward his men, who moved out of reach.
    If she had been a man, they would have helped her, but women held little value for the Iisleg. They earned a small bride-price for their fathers when they were of age to be purchased for marriage, but that was their only real worth. The gods had created women without souls so that they would be content to provide care and warmth for men. Wives could be trusted with simple, menial tasks, like cooking, weaving, and purifying water. Until she married, a female shared her mother's work, or sorted in the gjenvin tents. A few who were unsuitable for marriage for various reasons were permitted to serve as ahayag and provide physical relief to the unmarried men of the tribe.
    Navn did not care about the woman, or her pitiful state. It was the twisted symbol, still visible on the breast of her ragged undergarment, that struck him to the core.
    That, he had seen before. It was the same as the mark on the garment of an ensleg female the gjenvin had brought back from a crash site. A woman with a terrible head wound, who had been covered in blood and dying.
    But it could not be her. That female was dead. Had been dead for two years now.
    "It is a walking shade," his scout whispered, raising his bow to dispatch it.
    "No." Navn covered the bow sight with his hand and stared hard at the manacle around one of the female's bony wrists. That, too, was familiar to his eyes. "I will see her."
    The scout appeared astounded by this, but moved to one side. Navn secured his skull wrap before stepping out. As he moved through his men, they parted as new snow before the storm.
    "How does she live?" one of Navn's hunters asked no one in particular. "She carries no furs, no food, no weapons."
    "The demons protect her." Another raised his bow.
    Navn stepped between the bow and the woman. "No."
    The female, evidently exhausted, stopped and sank to her knees in the snow. Her fingers were ghostly sticks, colored and stiffened to gray claws by snowbite. Navn reached and caught her by a length of her snarled dark hair before she toppled. Her eyes rolled up into her head for a moment before she focused on his face. Her lips moved to shape something, but it was not a word he understood.
    Navn thought of the ensleg female who had come two years ago. Who had worn the same symbol. Who had been dragged into his tent by the chief gjenvin, who had claimed the skela could not kill her. Unlike this one, her face had been caked in frozen blood and gore. He could not tell from the features if this woman was the same one.
    No, that one who came before is dead . Navn, who had lost his faith when he had become headman, made a sign of protection over himself. I myself watched the jlorra drag her out of camp. They must have devoured her. They would not permit a dying thing