They did not see him, full of their manhood and turmoil. The girl stood silent in the midst of their tumult, exactly where he had left her. Rage possessed Aza, empowered by his blood-sacrifice, a cold and holy rage which differed from the anger of the Ima as does a lawful killing from murder. He pushed his way through the throng, his mantle with its stoats’ heads flying and his strings of corpse-gleanings singing the chorus of Retribution, and pulled a burning brand from the fire. Flourishing it, he drove the men back to their seats, a hyena before a herd of cattle. He forced Heron to crouch in a corner and stood on the bear’s skin himself, his flaming torch throwing his spidery shadow across the roof.
The shaman spoke scornfully.
‘It is the usual thing for a herd led by a mare to be strayed and destroyed. She has you all there, beneath her little thumb, pressed as firmly to the ground with your passion and desires as if you lay with her and the position was reversed! Garron is a man of his word and so is Leal; both of them honourable and strict, master horsemen and great kumiz-drinkers. Garron led the wolf-hunt last winter and it is not so long since Leal went adventuring with the Paladin who came to us out of the storm. You are all horsemen and Ima.
‘Yet –’ Aza paused to whirl his brand about until the sparks flew. ‘And yet, you allow your reason to depart and blow about you as wildly as these fire-imps. You let her unman you, in body as in spirit. You bring yourselves as low as she.
‘Keep away from her, Ima. Draw back your feet, draw in your horns! – unless you wish to see the devils which dwell in the cold regions she is destined for!
‘I will tell you what the woman has done; when you have heard me you will know that there should have been no argument.’
Aza let the branch in his hand burn out and smoulder. The smoke from it gathered in a cloud above him; when he had enough for his purpose, he dropped the wood in the fire.
‘Look, Ima!’ the shaman cried. ‘These are her crimes.’ He blew into the smoke, which swirled about and formed itself into the semblance of Nandje’s burial-mound. The men, staring at it with wide eyes and fear raising the hair on their necks, saw Gry standing there; and saw the woman they knew to be the flesh and blood Gry, Nandje’s daughter, stand amazed in the place she had not moved from, the edge of the hearth. The false Gry crouched down and entered the mound.
‘And more!’ Again, the shaman blew into the smoke which, gathering itself once more into a cloud, grew legs, a head and tail, until it looked like the Red Horse. And, in silent dread, the men of the Ima saw the phantom woman, other-Gry, mount the Horse, sit tall upon his back, sit boldly on him like a man as the Horse moved forward and, passing through the solid wall, left the house.
‘Which is the greater crime?’ said Aza into the chorus of sighs and groans. ‘You cannot tell! You can tell nothing because this woman, this daughter of foxes, this sister of the wolf, has stolen the will of the Ima, the hearts of every man of you. She laughs and throws dirt in your eyes while she pretends to be a dutiful sister and to mourn her father as a good daughter should. Let Aza wipe your faces clean: I will free you from your disgrace and send your dignity back to you. The woman deserves to die.’
‘N-ooo!’ Leal’s shout was a cry of pain. ‘No. Give her to me and I will take her and myself away, out of this place and land, to whatever – long life in exile or sudden death on the way to it – lies before us.’
‘Never!’ said Garron and Kiang together.
‘Hear me!’ cried Battak. ‘This is what we must do, and secretly, without the knowledge of the men of Rudring, Sama and Efstow or of the far villages: let us take this instrument of our humiliation to the river and, when we have shaved off what is left of her hair and stoned her into repentance, drown her there – and let her body be left to float downstream as far as Pargur and beyond, to be a warning to light women and Southron sinners.’
‘It is my opinion,’ Konik said, ‘that she should be fastened to the earth, which she has disgraced, and left to her kin, the wandering wolves and the Wolf Mother.’
Oshac said nothing, but got up from his place and walked slowly to the hearth. He stood close to Gry and began to stroke her face.
‘She has been weeping!’ he said. ‘Perhaps she is sorry.’ He let his hands wander over her breasts. ‘She is a pretty girl, and will soon learn willing. Give her to me for a night and, the next night, she shall be yours, Battak; and then yours, Konik; and yours, Heron, and every man’s, even her brothers’, for they should share in the shame she has brought on the family. After this, she will be fit only to carry refuse and ashes to the midden.’
At this, Garron cried out and Kiang held him still; but Leal, who seemed able to snatch courage from adversity, jumped up and swiftly made his way to the hearth where he fearlessly pushed Aza aside and took hold of Oshac. The older man grunted.
‘You have a bear’s grip,’ he said. ‘Keep it to defend yourself when you are proved wrong.’
Leal did not answer, but flung Oshac aside, so that he lost his footing and fell into the first row of men.
‘Answer me this,’ Leal said. ‘How could Gry ride the Red Horse without his bridle? It is not made of the skin of the great Om Ren, Father of the Forest, for nothing; strong magic is necessary to control the Horse. Aza has scared the wits from you with his illusions. There are other reasons for his ill-use of Garron’s sister and they are all to do with the choosing of the next Imandi. For it is no secret that Aza favours Battak and no one but Aza claims to have seen Gry at the tomb and riding the Horse.’
The shaman laughed, and his necklaces chattered their hideous song. On his back, he carried a talking drum, a flat disc of skin and wood shaped like a silfren shell or the face of the full moon. To subdue Leal, he quickly undid the string which held it there and, grasping the drum by the manikin whose outspread limbs made the frame of it, he stroked the taut skin with his nails.
‘Aza always tell the truth!’ said the drum, ‘Aza is a man of honour!’
Like a man who has watched all night, Leal bent his head and let his body droop; and every man sat motionless and listened to the shaman.
‘This Gry,’ said Aza, making his voice hiss like that of the drum. ‘She! This false seductress has forfeited our protection – has been kneeling at the crooked feet of Asmodeus, kissing them no doubt; basely kissing others of his nethermost parts, for how else but by sorcery could she tame and ride the Horse?’ and the Ima all sighed and nodded their heads in agreement, except for Leal whose head remained bowed.
‘Nandje himself could not master the Horse without the Bridle,’ Oshac said, amid a chorus of agreement, ‘and Leal has condemned the woman out of his own mouth. Stand straight, Brother, and admit your error.’
Leal did not move but only stared at Oshac and Aza as if they, not he, had lost their senses, while the shaman beat his drum and brought the violent sounds of quarrelling from it.
‘Many have spoken,’ he said, ‘but none harshly enough. Your punishments are fit for common criminals, mere transgressors of the Law; for tricksters and adulterers, for thieves and murderers. Have you not heard the wisdom of the ancients? The punishment must fit the crime. This woman has put herself in the place of a man and of her father, the Imandi of the Ima. Let me punish her for you! I will tie her to the strongest of the unbroken stallions and chase him for a day and a night until he tires; then, if the woman is still alive, she shall be put in the mound with her father’s soulless body and the ghouls and corpse-moths which tenant it; and the doorway filled with boulders.’
At this, Leal rose like a hurricane and called out with its voice, ‘Never!