The Reindeer People by Megan Lindholm Page B

had slid smoothly as the loop of woven sinew had settled around the vaja's antler. But it had been late in the year, and with a sudden jerk the vaja and her calf had been free and fleeing through the woods, leaving Lasse with but an antler caught in the loop of his lasso. He had taken it back to the village and worked it into a needle case for his grandmother. The incident had become a joke among the herdfolk. But Heckram had admired the boy's pragmatism and went out of his way to befriend him.
    'It's foolish to try and decide it now,' Heckram conceded. 'Better to wait until the vaja and her calf are before us, and then see which is more likely to work.'
    'Snow,' observed Lasse.
    It had begun to fall, tiny crystalized flakes that sparkled in the moonlight. In the dry cold, the flakes were like icy dust. It did not cling, nor dampen them as it settled on their shoulders and hats. A gust of wind stirred it, and the icy bits stung Heckram's face. He turned aside from it. 'Time to go back to the sita,' he suggested, tossing his head at the tent village.
    'Sitor.' Lasse suggested the plural with an edge of mockery in his voice. Puzzled, Heckram looked at the tents again.
    He saw what the boy meant. In a sense there were two villages below, not one. The division was subtle, but obvious once he looked for it. Closest to the base of the pingo, in the most sheltered area, was the tent of Capiam, the herdlord. Beyond it were the tents of the elders and his favored advisers. Beyond them, the tents of those wealthy with reindeer: perhaps a score of them. In a migratory caravan, such as the herdfolk were now, it was customary for each household to have two or more rajds. Each rajd was a string of neutered reindeer, usually about seven. Those tents nearest the pingo boasted three or more strings each, and some of them as many as five.
    Then there was another village, pitched beyond the rajds of the first one. The tents of this village were clustered more closely together. More light gleamed from the seams of the worn tents, and fewer animals were picketed between them. His mother's tent was there, with the rajd of seven harkar they shared. Lasse's tent was beside it, and Elsa's not far from that. The poorer folk of the herd had drawn together in their own separate village, just as the wealthy had set themselves apart from them. It was a cold thing to feel, and but one more sign of a trend that Heckram despised.
    'Did Joboam apologize?' he suddenly asked the boy.
    Lasse gave a disdainful grunt and turned to spit into the snow.
    'Did he?' Heckram pressed.
    'No. Not that I'd have stood about to listen to it if he did. I've no use for anything he says.'
    'He should be made to apologize, publicly.' Heckram's deep voice was soft, his words hard as polished flint. 'If Capiam were all that a herdlord is supposed to be, he'd have seen to that. And made him pay, too, for the insult.'
    'Let him call me what he likes.' Lasse stooped to crack a stone from its icy bed and shy it down the frozen crust of the pingo. 'Those who know me know I'm not a thief. And who cares what the others think?'
    'I do. And you should. It's not just you, it's your family he's insulted. Isn't your grandmother upset?'
    Lasse sighed and turned away from Heckram. 'Let's get back down to the sita before the wind really comes up.'
    Heckram reached out to put a hand on Lasse's shoulder. It made the demand of friendship as it shook the boy's stiffened shoulders. 'What is it?'
    The boy's voice came thickly. 'She heard that Joboam had accused me of stealing milk from reindeer that were not mine. A stupid accusation! Is a vaja going to stand still while a stranger milks it? Only a fool could believe that. And my grandmother is no fool, even if she thought that 1 would steal. But she is proud, in the old way, and she was angry. So she chose to show her pride and anger in the old way, to shame him with a gift. She sent three cheeses to his tent. He will see these, she said, and he will