Lies of Descent

by Troy Carrol Bucher

  “An okulu’tan did this?”

  “Who else has the power to command such a thing?”

  Ky’lem opened his mouth to rebut the explanation but had no words. There was no other answer. While he’d heard that the spirit-takers could possess a man, he’d never heard of any that could raise the dead to fight. And this was certainly no trick of the gray demons. Their arts lay in different areas.

  “Curious that you are made a pachna by a spirit-walker, yet a lesser okulu’tan wants you to die. Clearly, they are as scattered as the tribes. Yet you choose to serve the old one anyway.”

  Ky’lem hadn’t considered that there would be factions among the okulu’tan. What had he expected—that they would open their ways to a female from another land? Even with the loyalty of the bond, the idea sounded foolish.

  “So, where is your new master? Did he escape beyond the mountains and leave you to bring the asha back on your own?”

  “I didn’t bond with the old one. He’s dead, sacrificing himself to create the storm that saved you.” He let Pai’le make the connection between the storm and his escape.

  Pai’le scrunched his eyes in confusion. “So you are free? Then why are they trying to kill you?”

  Ky’lem looked to the asha and back to Pai’le. “Because I am bonded to the girl.” He expected anger or rage. Instead, laughter filled the chamber.

  “Oh, Ky’lem. All your strategy and logic, yet you are an even greater fool than I am.”

  Ky’lem’s ears blazed at the insult. “The old one understood more than you think. The Fallen grow stronger, yet we destroy ourselves with our incessant tribal wars. Already, Tomu stirs. If the Esharii do not destroy the gray demons soon, it will be too late. The old spirit-walker believed she is the key to uniting the tribes again.”

  “He was mad,” Pai’le said flatly, not budging a finger’s width. “If they train one, then soon others will want to be trained. What’s next? Train our women to fight such as the gray demons do? Asha’han as pachna—as council members?” Pai’le shook his head. “The path he placed you on will not work.”

  As always, Pai’le remained in the present and was blind to the future. “It will take all our people to defeat the gray men, asha’han included.”

  “And you abandoned me, the man you’d sworn on your sword and your blood to follow on this raid, for an asha that will not be trained?” Pai’le grabbed the hilt of his sword, as if he’d changed his mind.

  I didn’t abandon you, you idiot. I’m trying to save us all. The man was so thickheaded.

  “I would kill you, but I find that the okulu’tan has played me for as big a fool as you.” Pai’le let his hand fall away from the sword’s hilt. “I choose not to believe you wanted me dead in order to take my place, else why risk yourself to save me in the storm? I have racked my thoughts for another reason and can find none. Therefore, the okulu’tan must have lied to me.”

  “That is the truth,” Ky’lem said. “While I have been frustrated with you, maybe even angry, I would not challenge you.”

  “But surely you see that if the okulu’tan lied to me, he also lied to you?”

  There was a strong possibility Pai’le was right. Perhaps the spirit-walker had been completely insane. Perhaps I am a fool. Just as Pai’le let emotion and pride get in the way, perhaps I let the spirit-walker blind me with my own cold logic. Ky’lem looked over at the asha. She glared at both of them and seemed ready to bolt if she must. He could not bear the thought of her facing the world alone. Part of him knew it was the bond that spoke. Did it matter? Despite his doubts and his foolishness, it was far too late to go back now. He must embrace his path and hope it one day led to his desires.

  Ky’lem faced Pai’le and drew himself up to his full height. “She will be trained, and I’m afraid there’s one more edict I’ve been commanded to break.”

  “Oh? And what is that? Will you kill a spirit-taker or swim in the water of the sacred lake?”

  Ky’lem ignored the sarcasm. “After Ni’ola completes her training and is made an okulu’tan, she will become my wife.”

  Ni’ola’s shock traveling across the bond nearly knocked Ky’lem from his feet, and it wasn’t because he’d used her name for the first time.

  Ky’lem staggered to one knee near the edge of the chasm. He peered down into darkness. He’d only spoken half of the spirit-walker’s deranged command. If he’d have told all, he might have found himself joining the creature at the bottom.

  Chapter 22

  How the two warriors could rest with the clawing below, Nola didn’t understand. Every time she grew close to sleep, the horrid scratching on the rocks brought her wide-awake. Whenever she closed her eyes, she imagined its nails snapping and tearing on the stone and pictured the fingers, pale and bloodless, meat torn away from the tips, clawing until bone scraped rock. She expected it to climb over the lip at any moment, its mangled hands reaching for her throat and the two warriors sleeping soundly through her death.

  She grunted and flipped over, putting a hand over her ear. The two warriors must be exhausted, especially Ky’lem. He’d carried her up the last of the climb without a complaint—neither in words, nor through the bond.

  The bond.

  She could not stop thinking about what the okulu’tan had done and the link between her and Ky’lem. It was all she could think about, all she could feel, besides the bite of the cold and the nagging fear that death would come for her.

  For the hundredth time since the night of the storm, she withdrew the two red crystals from the pocket at her waistline. They were small but heavy in her hand, and they glowed with a light of their own, reminding her of the way the spirit-walker’s eyes had gleamed red in the night. The two crystals were all that was left of the crazy old man. The storm he’d called had consumed him. But before he’d died, the okulu’tan had done more than bond her to Ky’lem. She could feel it. With each passing day, the glow in the gems grew brighter and the strength of the connection grew stronger, pushing at the threshold of her awareness. She felt them always. When she slept, she dreamed of them, and when she woke, they were in her hand. She knew with certainty that there was something she needed to do before they overwhelmed her. She just didn’t know what.

  Why hadn’t the okulu’tan explained more? There’d been plenty of time during the days leading up to attack. It was a mystery she couldn’t solve, and the only person who could explain it to her had left this world. The okulu’tan of the lake would know what to do, but she feared them as much as she feared the creature clawing below.

  By the Fallen, what have I agreed to? But she knew the answer—a chance at survival and, maybe, something more. It was the only decision she’d been given since the Draegoran had placed his sword against her forehead to test her—survive with the Esharii or die on the island of the Draegorans. When put in those terms, there’d really been no decision at all.

  Ky’lem’s snores pulled her from her thoughts and brought memories of her home. If her face were not so frozen with the cold, she would have laughed. In all their time together, the scar-faced warrior had never made a sound while sleeping, and now his snores rumbled through the chamber and echoed from the walls.

  Pai’le woke with a start from one of Ky’lem’s loud snorts. His sleep-filled eyes searching for danger before he shook his head in disgust. He clopped Ky’lem on the shoulder and rolled back over. The snoring stopped, and it was Ky’lem’s turn to sit up bleary-eyed and confused.

  Nola giggled. Her father snored when he was very tired or very drunk—which wasn’t often—during festival or on special occasions. Her mother had been far less gentle than Pai’le when the snoring woke her. For all Ky’lem’s gruff tone and prowess, hearing him snore made him seem . . . well . . . like any other man. He was not any other man, though. She knew that from the bond.

  The bond again. Always the bond. I need to stop thinking ab
out it. Thinking about it only led to the one thing she truly wanted to avoid—his statement that they would one day marry. The mirth drained from her cheeks and they tingled in anger at the thought. He had no right to say those words without my agreement. I’m far too young to marry, and marriage is the woman’s choice, not the man’s. Everyone knows that. How could the man expect me to marry him one day? He’s at least twice my age. Would he force himself on me?

  She shuddered, surprised she would think of such a thing. She wouldn’t have before the bond, but his experiences had exposed her to thoughts and knowledge that took her far beyond the world she’d known only days ago. The world was a darker and more dangerous place than she’d ever imagined.

  She didn’t think Ky’lem would hurt her, but the Esharii were different than the people back home. Some of the things she knew about Ky’lem made her sick. He was ruthless and hard, without a shred of guilt or remorse for those he killed, whether it was her people or his own. He’d stolen wives and horses, and the things he’d done to a captured Draegoran in his youth made her want to vomit. He’d treated her fairly before the bond, but that was because she was little more than property. Now, however, his thoughts confused her. One moment he was angry with her and the next he was making sure she was uninjured and wrapping her in a blanket with the deepest concern, as if she were his own daughter.

  Or future wife . . .

  For Fallen’s sake. Stop it! She didn’t know what to think. She wasn’t supposed to be crossing the world, escaping living corpses, and becoming some sort of witch-woman-bride for the Esharii. She wasn’t supposed to know the things that filled her with horror. She was supposed to be home, playing with her dolls and helping her mother cook. It wasn’t fair. Not at all. The bond had taken something from her, and she could never get it back.

  Fair or not, though, nothing could be done, but if she ever became a powerful okulu’tan, things would change. I’ll decide whom I marry and what I do.

  The crystals in her hand flared with her sudden confidence, acknowledging her will. They pressed against her head, threatening to burst through. They wanted to be used.

  “I don’t know what to do!” she hissed at the crystals.

  There was no response—only the continued desperate push at the edge of her thoughts.

  She jammed them back into her pocket, pulled the horse blanket tight around her, and tried to sleep. It never came, and before she knew it, they were heading down the Esharii side of the pass.

  * * *

  —

  For two days they traveled, following a thin, winding trail with sheer drop-offs to one side and steep walls on the other. They spent the first night huddled between rock outcroppings, and the next saw them making camp in a large stone bowl with water flowing through its center. The flow was too large to be called a stream and too small to be called a river, and the end of the bowl formed a narrow channel that drained the water over a cliff so high Ky’lem said the water never reached the rocks at the bottom. Nola slid forward on her belly and peered over the edge to see if it were true, but she could not see through the mist.

  Ky’lem knelt at the water’s edge and washed away the remainder of his face paint. When he was done, he seemed a new person. Neither of the tribesmen had been much for conversation, but the lack of face paint made Ky’lem even more withdrawn and sullen. He threw one of the waterskins to the stone. It skittered and tumbled to a stop, but thankfully did not tear. Nola felt his irritation. He was frustrated with Pai’le—frustrated because he worried the big man was right and he’d been played for a fool. The unpainted face marked him so in his mind.

  Well, she’d agreed with the okulu’tan’s offer the same as he had, making her no less of a fool. They must go to the Najalii as commanded to find out the true results of their decisions.

  Ky’lem picked the waterskin back up and faced her. The clean face highlighted his scars, making them more pronounced and his face more menacing.

  We are fools together. The thought came to her clearly across the bond. He looked up at the crescent of Sollus hanging low in the sky. Two fools who will likely die when Faen swallows the moon.

  * * *

  —

  Eight days from the cold of the mountain pass saw them building a raft on the bank of the great river. Ky’lem’s anger bled across the bond. The use of his sword to cut down trees, even those that were young and soft, brought curses to his lips about the nights it would take to resharpen the blade. He became angrier with every swing. Nola felt the rhythm of that anger. It pitched toward her in time with the chunk of the blade striking wood. Any other blade than the heavy Arillian style he and Pai’le carried would have been useless for the task, but between the weight of the sword and Ky’lem’s powerful swings, there were a dozen small logs lying near the bank.

  The logs were long and straight, with few limbs and a thin bark that looked more like skin than wood. Where the bark was cut, the pale white wood matched the tribesmen’s skin. Pai’le worked at stripping away the limbs.

  The two tribesmen wore little more than loincloths in the sweltering, damp heat. Sweat coated the muscles of their chests and backs, dripping from faces and arms while they worked. It was an odd sight, and not because of the bare skin. Just days ago, freezing to death had been a close thing. Now they roasted in a steaming forest so thick Nola couldn’t see more than twenty paces in any direction. Above them, a canopy of broad leaves blocked out all trace of the sun.

  The discordant calls of birds and animals never ceased in the thick, lush forest. Strange animals, like the small, brown furry creatures called tit’tai for the sounds they made. They looked like squirrels, but they were not like any of the friendly chattering squirrels Nola knew from home. The tit’tai scurried up the trees till they were lost from sight and then descended on the wind in winding circles to attack birds that were just as peculiar—bright with an infinite variety of blues and greens and yellows, odd-shaped beaks, and piercing calls. Worse than the noise and heat of the forest were the insects. Great swarms floated in the air.

  Nola worked her way along the bank doing her best to avoid those swarms while cutting creepers with a knife and dragging them back to be woven into rope to hold the raft together. It was slow and difficult work, made worse by the clothes she wore. Her shirt and breeches clung wetly to her skin. Ky’lem told her to remove her shirt, that all Esharii women went topless like the men. ‘It is the way of the People. There is no shame in it,’ he’d told her. She knew the words were true, but she’d lashed out at him anyway, telling him she was not Esharii and that it wasn’t proper. She’d buttoned her shirt higher to prove her point. She hadn’t let the heat slow her down either, and a sizable pile of creepers sat ready for use.

  They would ride the raft down the great river that marked the border between Ti’yak and Arpatha lands. For generations, the two tribes had fought over everything, from the fish taken from the water to the rights of use for travel. Luckily for them, the two tribes were now at peace. Ky’lem was the reason for that peace. His firstwife was an Arpatha warleader’s only daughter. Without his negotiations and their marriage, the two tribes would still be at war. Nola knew this because Ky’lem knew it, and his anger opened his thoughts so that they flowed like the water down the river. It was another of his contradictions. He’d taken pleasure in fighting the Arpatha, but he’d taken more from the peace he’d brokered between them. It made no sense.

  How can he savor fighting and peace at the same time?

  She took hold of another creeper and a long, narrow thorn stabbed into her thumb. Ky’lem ceased mid-chop and stood up straight, his eyes scanning the forest around her. The creepers themselves held no thorns, but they tended to be found among others vines that did, making a thick bramble that had to be untangled.

  I’m fine. A thorn.

  She dropped the knife and sat down to rest. Pressing her thumb to her lips, she tasted the metallic
tang of blood on her tongue. The thorn had gone in deep.

  Bless Sollus. The blood would attract more bugs, as if they weren’t thick enough already.

  Kachunk . . . kachunk . . . kachunk.

  The sound of Ky’lem’s chopping returned to its rhythmic beat behind her. His anger appeared to be subsiding. That was good. Despite the fact that he was filled with irritation and was far more quick to anger since Pai’le had arrived, Nola found traveling with the two men less unpleasant than she’d first feared.

  Ky’lem seemed to be coming to accept her. Whether it was the bond or on his own, Nola wasn’t sure. She’d behaved as the Esharii expected a young girl should, except for the clothes, and she’d done her best to help where she could, gathering firewood and such, and staying quiet and out of the way when the two warriors were talking or hunting. Ky’lem had responded by teaching her how to set a fire and which spiders and plants were poisonous and which were not.

  Pai’le, on the other hand, never spoke to her. Instead, he relayed his commands through Ky’lem as if she were his property. She knew what the big Esharii thought of her. She was beneath him. So far beneath she barely existed in his eyes, although she’d noticed him staring at her several times like he was trying to decide what to make of her. His silence was fine with her.

  She glanced back at the big warrior. He made his way down a log, stripping away branches. He stopped, sensing her eyes on him, and she turned away quickly.

  “Tell your asha she should be working, not resting.”

  She rolled her eyes. I’m almost done.

  “Let her rest. She is not used to such labor. We are not ready for the vines yet, and she is nearly finished.” There was no disappointment in his thoughts—the opposite. He seemed to be pleased she’d done so much so quickly.