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"Lord Bear," a man said near the front, in an almost conversational tone. Others took it up: "Lord Bear. Lord Bear. Lord Bear!"
Now it was a thunder, echoing off the walls behind them and the great house behind her. The house that had been owned by her blood for more than a hundred years, and that looked out over the land that fed her children, its wheat and fruit and meat the stuff of their bones and blood. She raised a hand again.
"Who was it brought you to this good earth? Who was it found you seed grain and tools and stock? Who gave every family their land, and made fair laws, and kept them, and saw that others kept them too? Who made the Brotherhood of the A-list, so that we'd have guardians always ready and you could plow and reap in peace, knowing you'd keep what you grew and made? Who was always ready to hear a grievance, and give those who needed it a helping hand: or a kick in the ass, if they needed that? Who?"
"Lord Bear! Lord Bear! Lord Bear!" Fists were in the air, and drawn blades, men shouting it like a war cry even as the tears ran down their faces.
"I'm not the only one who lost a husband in this war," she went on more quietly, when the sound had died down to a rumble.
The tone brought that to a new hush, and now they were straining to hear what she said. At the rear there was a mumbling as her words were repeated and passed backward.
"I'm not the only one who has children who will grow up without a father. My daughters, my son, the child I'm carrying beneath my heart right now, they've lost the man who loved them, who held them and told them stories. They're crying for him, like all the other children who lost someone dear to them." Several of her family looked at each other, startled. Well, I wasn't sure I was pregnant again until about last week.
A long sigh went across the crowd, and she spoke into it: "But Mike Havel was special. It isn't just my children who've lost a father. My husband was father to this land, to all the people of the Outfit: landfather, they said in the old days. He was our landfather. When the enemy came from the north with all their numbers to take our homes and make slaves of our children, who led us out to fight them? Who made our plans? Who was in the front of every battle? Who killed the tyrant Arminger with his own hand, and preserved our freedom and our lives?"
She bent and then raised the helmet and its snarling covering over her head in both hands. "When this wild thing came to kill, who stood fearless between the beast and his folk, though its claws tore his face and his own blood poured out on the earth? Who killed the Bear, Bearkillers? Who was the lord who died for his people?"
"LORD BEAR! LORD BEAR! LORD BEAR!"
This time she let the thunder build until her ears rang with it and it pounded at her chest like huge soft hammers, and then let it die away until she replaced the helm on the coffin with gentle reverence.
They're mine, she realized, when she looked at them again. And I'm theirs. I've never felt like this before: did Mike?
She motioned Mary and Ritva up into the cart; Will handed her the boy. The girls stood straight on either side of her; Mike Jr. rode her hip, knuckled an eye and then looked out over the crowd fearlessly. He'd never been a timid boy.
"The Bear Lord is dead. Will you keep faith with the one who gave his life for you? Will you keep faith with the blood that he spilled out for you, the blood that runs in his children? When the time comes they can take up his work. Will you choose one of them to wear the Helm of the Bear Lord in his place?"
The noise wasn't words, not this time, but it was certainly agreement. There was a roaring guttural undertone to it, as well: Let anyone who wants to say no I won't run far and fast! She noticed even then that her brother and his wife had their swords drawn, and were shouting as loud as anyone.
Is this what Juniper feels, when she makes magic? Signe let herself smile a little before she continued.
"Bearkillers, with his dying breath the Bear Lord named Will Hutton as his deputy, to rule in his stead until his children came of age and a new Bear Lord could be chosen by you, the free people of the Outfit. You know Will Hutton; a fighting man our enemies and the wild folk fear, and a wise and honest one as well. He was always Mike Havel's strong right hand and close councilor. The Bear Lord put the authority in his hands, and to advise him Mike set me, and my brother Eric, Will's son-in-law, and Lua
Will stepped up to stand by her side before the sound of acclamation died. He turned his head slightly to whisper into her ear; they were about the same height. "You might have told me about this first, honeypie."
"And then you might have said no to the arrangements," she said back with a wintry smile. "And this is what Mike wanted: or at least, it's what I think Mike would have wanted."
"And now I can't do otherwise without it lookin' as if I was out to trample down his memory and his kids'. Folk'll remember this day for a good long time, that's certain-sure. What your daddy calls makin' myths. Mike, he did marry him up a smart one, didn't he?"
"Hey, Unc' Will, you don't believe those stories about dumb blonds, do you?"
"I used to, truth to tell, but now I got me a tow-haired Swedish grandson and he's as smart as a whip," he snorted. "I won't say which side of the family he got it from."
She blinked then, shocked that the tears she'd fought back were still waiting. I can't cry now. Later, but not now. "Oh, God, Unc' Will, I miss him!"
He nodded, gave her shoulders a brief squeeze, then stood straight beside her and waited for the noise to die, blocky and strong and looking out at their people with shrewd eyes dark in his weathered, coffee-colored face. The crowd fell quiet bit by bit.
"Mike Havel was like a son to me," he told them shortly. "I'm grieving with you."
He crossed himself. "I hope he's with God now: or that he doesn't have too long a spell in Purgatory. God knows and we all know he wasn't a perfect man; he wasn't the prayin' sort, and he had him quite a temper, and he was a bad man to cross, a hard man to his enemies. Hell, folks, if y'all find a perfect man, come ru
A burst of startled laughter cut across the crowd's mood; when he went on they were coming back to the light of common day, from that other place where Signe had led them, even as sun and winds and shadows fell towards the west.
But that's OK, she thought. They'll remember it the more strongly because it wasn't long. I don't think it could be long, or we'd burn out. Common day is where we live. That other place: it's for visiting and coming back.
Hutton went on: "But Mike Havel was a good man, as good as any I ever met. He stood by his friends and his kin and his given word, and he wasn't never afraid of nothing in all the world. There was no give in that man, and no step-pin' back. Sisu, his old-country folks called it, and Mike had all there was to have. Everything around us here today is his work. Now he's gone."
He put his hand on the head of the boy Signe carried for a moment.
"But like Signe said, his kids are still with us. They say our children are the future, and that's God's truth; I've got grandkids and I hope to see their kids before I go. Mike Havel wasn't afraid to die, for his kids, or for yours, for our future. That's right and fitting; it's a man's work to fight and die for his fam'ly, and it's his pride. But it's also a man's pride-or a woman's-to work for his kids and their future. You know that; you work every day to grow the food they eat and make the clothes they wear. We've got work ahead of us, Bearkillers. The Outfit has to fix up what this war tore down, and we're going to have lots of people moving south. Some'll be honest and hard-workin' folks who'll want to join up with us. They won't have much, but they'll have their hands and their backs and the guts to use them-and remember how we got our start, from people just like them. Others won't be honest, and likely we'll have to fight again.