"Cru—"

"Do think fhain scars make thee Prydn?" Cru said in a flat voice. "Then a's one more for thee."

They all hung frozen on the edge of the infamy as the color drained from Padrec's face. Then Drust shot forward, clawing for his own knife. "Judas!"

"Nae, stop!"

No need for Dorelei's command. Malgon neatly hooked Drust's arm, spun him around and away, confronting Cru with his own contempt.

"Did know thee angry but nae a fool."

The blood ran faster from Padrec's wound. Guenloie fluttered about him to stanch it. The thing done, it was to Cru as if his eyes had been opened suddenly after long blindness. He saw the mean folly of it and flinched away from their stunned accusation.

"Padrec ... be sorry."

"Guenloie, tear the gown for linen. Sister, fetch thy scissors and hyssop." Dorelei pointed at Cru, speaking in the same tone she used on the Taixali boy. "Judas. Judas who was false among Jesu's own fhain. Go from me, Cruaddan."

He hung his head in naked misery. "Dorelei—"

"Go from me."

"Cannot."

"Then will speed thee."

Dorelei's own hand was a blur; for an instant in that vicious traverse, Padrec saw the beauty and grace of her go feral as Wolf. One stroke and the shallow red line across Cru's chest. He suffered it without flinching.

"Go from me, Judas."

His bare nod of acceptance was part of the shuddering that took them both. It was not that much; Padrec yearned to say something, to make peace. Cru already had repented of the moment. But Padrec knew enough not to intervene in such a matter. Only time would heal it now. For all his early maturity, Cru was still a boy, and even grown men could stumble on something they weren't ready for. More shocked than angry, his own anger flared and died in understanding. Then Neniane

was back with the shears and poultice, cutting at the linen gown. They would rather use that than the almost sacred linen put aside for child-swaddling.

Cru brought from the rath a small bundle, bow, and quiver. He mounted and rode away without a glance at any of them. Dorelei glared after his retreating figure across the back of her own pony as Cru rode south through the last of the light. She felt empty and ill, barely noticing Neniane and Malgon as they slipped up beside her.

"Peace; a's but a man," Neniane soothed. "Will cool and come home the wiser."

"Judas. Will nae step aside for tallfolk, will nae suffer a traitor for husband."

"Be nae Judas but the best of men," said loyal Malgon. "Let a go apart just the while. A day and—"

"Oh, let be!" Dorelei hissed. "Go play with foolish iron thy gern did tame for thee. Go."

With a glance at Neniane, Malgon bade her away and went to help Padrec if he could, troubled in his own thoughts. Aye, bids a go and yet looks after the gone before the stayed. They were much changed by Padrec's magic. Jesu gave them new gifts, true enough, and new sorrows to wrap them. If he'd not been so fond of his new iron-toy, Malgon might have seen it coming.

Lugh Sun was gone, mooneye rising, but Dorelei raced the pony on, ignoring the labored shriek of its breath. She hated Cru; she would kill him and could not, but if the pony dropped under her, if its heart burst, then let it. Should run the heart out of it and herself. She pushed the spent animal up a brief slope and along a ridge as the sickness grew in her stomach.

Used to her seat and rein, the pony felt the weakened will and sensibly slackened his pace. Too sick now to care, Dorelei let the pony break gait, slow to a walk, falter to a lathered halt. Dorelei eased down to lie on her stomach in the cool moss. After a time she rolled over, letting the freshness seep into her back. The ex-

hausted pony stood nearby, head hanging, too winded even to graze.

/ don't care if he never comes back. I don y t care. It is not his wealth in me, but Padrec's.

Was it? She didn't know that surely. Cru had not reached for her that much since Midsummer. She remembered the last time, not very tender. There was anger disguised in his loving, as in hers after the Taixali village. It could be Cru or Padrec, she didn't know.

Let him go. I a:n Christian now. I will follow Jesu with Padrec. He is stronger than Cru. Those that will not follow, let them go back to bronze. Let them try to betray me like Judas-Cru. Oh, Mother, I hurt so inside. Why did he make me send him away?

The flat dish of earth showed no fires anywhere in any direction, no sound but the soughing wind. She wasn't hungry; the thought of food brought a fresh wave of sickness, but she could use a fire to rest and think by before going back. The wind on the hill was alive with things to tell her, once she heeded them.

Sheep passed this way often, the scent old and fresh alike, so the ridge would be full of dried dung. Dorelei collected a small heap of moss not yet dampened by the night dew, then a stock of chips to burn. When her fire was laid, she took from her saddle pouch the tinderbox Malgon made her, thinking how soon wonders became common. She struck the iron against the flint until one of the red sparks caught in the tein-eigin, then shoved the box into her fire pile. Tein-eigin was sacred moss used for kindling the holiest fires; she felt a bit reckless using it so, but it wouldn't hurt to have one more magic working for her.

The smoke blotted out the sheep smell with its own, but one acrid trace lingered. This trail was marked by Wolf often as part of his hunting range. A path so often used by sheep would be easy food for a family working together. Summer was fat for Wolf as fhain; they were always well fed now, though they might chase a sheep for the fun of it, playful as Rof or Bredei. Tallfolk never

thought of Wolf as a person who laughed or liked to play. She heard them, riding before the sun went down, raising their voices before the night's hunt. Dorelei knew the different songs. Sometimes they talked or passed warnings from one group to another, but tonight there was no urgency in the mournful song. Tonight Wolf sang for the love of it.

Dorelei wished she could.

The wind shifted; the urine marking scent was strong and new. Squatting by her fire, Dorelei felt no surprise when her pony neighed and skittered in nervous warning.

"Peace, come here by me/' She snuggled her cheek to his forelock. The pony's head jerked up again, wary. Holding the reins, she shifted so Wolf could scent them and come if he felt like it.

Just so, one night, did Jesu climb a high fell where he found Sa-tan, an evil lord of the night who offered Jesu all the kingdoms of the world if Jesu would bow to him. Dorelei found it easy to understand. If gods could bicker, they could bargain. And in just such a place as this, the Father-God spoke out of the bush to Moses.

Speak to me, then. I will listen. What does Father-God say to me?

Beyond her fire, a part of the dark took shape and moved. Light and shadow resolved to gray pelt, two close-set reflections of the fire to amber eyes, muzzle lolling open in a cold smile that seemed to relish the secret joke of the world.

A bitch wolf; like human women, female wolves needed change and play and even a time to tire of her pups and draw off alone. Like Dorelei she could weary of a husband but never left him until death.

That's wise. Mother sends Wolf, not the cuckoo, to remind me of this. Give Cru a time apart, and we will mend it.

The two females eyed each other. "Do come to offer me the world to bow down to thee?"

Wolf seemed amused: why do you trouble night with questions?

"Be the bush that burns and speaks law?"

Will give you law, woman. Taste the air, feel the night beyond your fire. Still. Whole. Would you change that?

"Where whole?" Dorelei challenged. "Hunger and cold and dead children always."

And yet it was yours since before Mabh. I hunted on your flank when the first gern cried to Mother, and now we both die out of the land. What matter your new magic and mate; to call him Raven means he can fly? Go the way you know.

"Sa-tan, thee offer old gifts for new."

Do I? Will tallfolk hail you when they believe you spirits of the dead? Will they open gates and welcome you because fhain now carries iron? I will give you law to trust: go back.

Wolf lifted her muzzle; there was a new scent on the night air beside Dorelei and the pony. She rose from her haunches and turned her last pity on Dorelei.

Listen for my song. I will sing for you.

Across the fire, Wolfs form became less definite, faded, disappeared. Now Dorelei heard the newcomers and caught the fhain smell. Her people had followed her. Perhaps...

"Cru?"

There was no answer out of the dark. Dorelei shifted away from the firelight; after a moment she saw the small shapes squatting motionless in the dark. Out of it, silent as Wolf, came Reindeer gern in her old kilt and vest as Dorelei remembered her, the huge pendant ruby catching her fire and throwing it back. The older woman stood waiting. Dorelei would have risen in respect, but something new stayed her. / tamed the iron, not Bruidda. I will not put my hands to her belly. That is past. It is for her to do.

The hard-faced woman gazed at Dorelei with a flicker of displeasure. "Does Salmon forget Bruidda, who blessed thee once?"

"Nae, sister."

4 'Girl does nae rise for woman, then?"

Dorelei spoke loud enough for the others to hear. "Did call me child. Be woman now with wealth in me. Now gern speaks to gern. Sit by my fire, sister."

Bruidda sank to her haunches, ropy arms dangling over her knees. 'Thee grows proud. Do take Mabh's name where a's own blood would not."

"Was reborn in Jesu magic and named anew by Raven. Sister would nae understand."

Bruidda didn't miss the condescension. "Fhains tell that thee ride with Blackbar now."

"Aye."

"By what magic?"

"Reindeer remembers Naiton of Taixali?"

"A did kill my son."

"Did shame him with a's own iron."

Bruidda allowed a slight, satisfied smile. "Did hear. Say then, how was a done?"