Lies of Descent

by Troy Carrol Bucher

  He could feel her fading away. Her spirit surged and dimmed, like the waves of the deep water, sometimes pushing, sometimes calm. He did not know what the magic was doing to her mind, but it was taking a toll on her body. She did not speak, and her skin felt dry and hot. Her narrow face had lost much of its child fat, as if whatever magic held her in its grasp aged her, and unless he was as crazy as the old spirit-walker, she was now taller and more gaunt. They had separated her from the crystals, but it’d done little good. She remained in a trance. He feared for her—feared for both of them—for what would be lost if it was already too late.

  There had been more to the spirit-walker’s command than to marry the asha. He’d kept it out of his thoughts so that he would not reveal it across the bond. It was only now, when he was sure she could not hear him, that he dared let it come to mind. ‘Marry her after she is okulu’tan’ had been the old one’s words. ‘Marry her and raise the child as Ti’yak.’ A puzzling command. Any child of their marriage would be raised in a longhut. So why give it? Did the okulu’tan think her bronze skin or her ancestors would make a difference? It would not. The girl was obviously part Arillian with her dark coloring, but his people had traded with Arillians his whole life, and mixed-bloods were not shunned. Is it because I am chae’lon? A way of saying that I should be released from the bond once we are married? He hoped this was the true reason. How else am I to raise the child as Ti’yak? He would keep this part of the command to himself until he sniffed out the answer. It would not matter for years—and might not matter at all if things went poorly with the okulu’tan of the lake.

  Ky’lem knew nothing of what would happen when they reached the village. The old okulu’tan had only told him that if they did not make it in time, prior to the night Faen swallowed the moon, the magic would consume both of them. The old spirit-walker, however, could not have known the barrier he’d placed over her would be broken prior to their arrival.

  Or had he? It was impossible to know what the old spirit-walker planned.

  In either case, the okulu’tan would help Ni’ola control the magic—if they would help at all. He wasn’t convinced they would. If they did not, the chance of anyone uniting the tribes would die with her, and so, too, might the world.

  Behind him, he could feel Ni’ola’s mind stir faintly. The bond had changed after the barrier collapsed. Where before her thoughts and feelings came through clear and direct, now they hovered like ghosts or shouts in the distance carried on the wind, too faint to be understood.

  “Fallen’s blood,” Pai’le cursed from behind him. “What are you waiting for? Hurry up before the flies take all my blood.”

  Ky’lem pushed his way through the reeds toward the shore, the mud sucking at his bare feet. Something large slithered across his shin and he froze.

  “What do you keep stopping for?”

  “Hold.” Careful not to move his legs, Ky’lem handed his bundle and the rope back to Pai’le. He felt rough scales slide over his skin.

  After a bit of fumbling, Pai’le held both of their possessions awkwardly above his head.

  Making no sudden moves, Ky’lem pulled his knife from the bundle.

  Fearing betrayal, Pai’le sloshed backward, out of reach, and sank to his neck in a hole. He struggled to keep his balance and their possessions out of the river.

  Ky’lem ignored him and dropped down into the now murky water. The snake tried to strike when he grabbed it, but he yanked it away before its fangs could reach him. He stood and pulled it from the water, swinging it by the middle in a wide arc. The head swept by Pai’le, who was forced to step back into the hole he’d just climbed out of. His face sank beneath the surface.

  Bringing the green-and-yellow snake around and over his head, Ky’lem slapped it onto the surface of the water, stunning the creature long enough to slip his grip forward and grasp it behind its head. It twisted and turned, wrapping its long body around his arm. He pinched at the back of the snake’s head and the mouth opened, exposing long pale fangs that dripped thick, milky venom. He shoved the knife, point first, into the snake’s mouth.

  Pai’le came up sputtering and cursing. “Faen take you, Ky’lem!”

  Ky’lem ignored him and ground the knife around in a tight circle, severing the snake’s throat and spine. It was the easiest way to kill a water viper without an ax or a sword—their skins were as tough as mastonhide. He left the knife in the snake’s mouth and held the long body up as explanation. “Dinner,” he said.

  With a great amount of splashing and cursing, Pai’le stormed past him toward the bank, pulling the raft behind him.

  A short time later a small fire crackled in front of them. Pai’le knelt across from Ky’lem, scraping the inside of the snake’s skin with a knife. Ni’ola sat on a log nearby, staring off into the distance. She had not moved since he placed her there. Is it a trick of the light from the fire, or is there a red tint to her eyes? He imagined the old spirit-walker’s red, piercing eyes surrounded by Ni’ola’s face.

  Ky’lem shivered and turned back to the snake roasting over the fire. It looked cooked enough. He leaned forward and tore free a strand of meat. It was greasy and tasteless, but it was hot. They’d need their strength for the final leg of the journey. He placed a morsel of the meat in Ni’ola’s mouth, and she chewed.

  She’d been like this since Pai’le hit her over the head with the tree limb. After he’d done it, she’d remained unconscious for some time. When Ky’lem had thrown water on her to wake her, she’d opened her eyes in a vacant stare. He’d tried everything to rouse her from the trance—more water, yelling her name, prodding, and even a few hard slaps across her cheeks. Nothing worked. She would eat if you put food in her mouth and walk if you pulled her along by the hand, but other than following simple prompts, her condition hadn’t changed since starting down the river.

  Across from him, Pai’le stopped scraping and peered into the flames, a grim expression on his face.

  “You should eat, too,” Ky’lem said to Pai’le. “It is a long journey back to the longhuts.”

  The big warrior didn’t reach for the meat. Instead, he stared at Ky’lem over the flames. They cracked and popped, sending sparks into the air. “I no longer see you without your face paint—only a pachna who frets over an asha who will soon be dead. She will die, you know.”

  “Perhaps it is your fault. Perhaps you hit her too hard.”

  “For the last time. I did not. I know my own strength and how much of it to use. Whatever ails her, it is from the spirit-walker’s magic, not the blow to her head.”

  Ky’lem grunted. He believed the big warrior, but it didn’t make things any better between them. He knew the blow had been necessary, but it still angered him that the big man had struck her. Ni’ola might be an asha, but her heart and mind were as strong as any child of the people. She did not deserve the big man’s scorn.

  “I could kill her for you,” Pai’le said. “Perhaps while she is like this, she will not pull you into the great beyond with her.”

  A low growl came from Ky’lem’s throat—a primal response. I will never allow anyone to harm her—not you, not the okulu’tan.

  “Easy.” Pai’le held up his hands. “It was only an offer of mercy. I simply do not want you to die when the magic takes her. What will I do with no Ky’lem to argue with me before the council?”

  “You will do as you always do, lead Ti’yak warbands head-on against the gray demons. Someone else will take my place to argue the stupidity of butting heads with a ram.”

  Pai’le tilted his head. The quizzical arch of his eyebrows told Ky’lem the big warrior was trying to decide if he’d just been called stupid.

  “I have the strength in my arms and the desire in my heart to fight the gray bastards, but I don’t have your patience,” Pai’le said at last. His voice was quiet, lacking its usual boisterous tone. He threw a small twig onto the
flames and stood. “Look at the results of this raid.” He began to pace. “You and I are all that is left. I always figured you thought too much about the future and not enough about the present—but perhaps you are right. Meeting the demons head-on may not always be the best method.”

  Ky’lem nearly dropped the meat he held. All these years of bickering and the man chose now, when Ky’lem could do nothing and would likely die, to finally make sense. “Make Tal’nar your new second. He uses his head more than the others. If you can control your desire to smash at the gray demons with a club long enough to listen to him, you will become a great warleader.”

  Pai’le stopped and squared himself to Ky’lem, a hand on his sword hilt. “I am already a great leader.”

  There was some truth to the statement, and Ky’lem wished he’d been more careful with his words. Pai’le was a good leader when it came to getting men to follow him and to fight beyond the moments they would surrender to their fears. Where he had trouble was keeping warriors alive beyond the first fight. “I meant no offense, brother. You are a good warleader, but a great warleader worries at the loss of a single warrior because he plans for the next fight . . . and the one after that.”

  “Bah. Let the old men on the council worry about the future. I am the tip of their blade. Made only to be thrust at the demons.”

  “You could be more.”

  For a moment, the big warrior was silent, his mind churning on the idea. Then he laughed. “You are a dangerous man, Ky’lem. I’ve known this since you forced peace with the Arpatha. As much as it saddens me, perhaps it is good you will not live more than a day or two longer.”

  “Just because she is ill does not mean I will die, and I will still be Ti’yak in my heart, even though I am her pachna.”

  “If you live, you will serve an okulu’tan. There will come a time when . . .” He looked at Ni’ola, pausing while he chose his words. “. . . your spirit-taker’s needs will come before the tribe. You will have no choice but to side against us.”

  Ky’lem had nothing to say in response. They both knew the truth of the statement and which side Ky’lem must take.

  Pai’le watched the flames dance. He did not look up toward Ky’lem, and when the big man spoke again, the words were soft. “The okulu’tan lied to us both, Ky’lem. I hope your sacrifice is worth it, and that you find a way to unite us all somehow.”

  The words were as much support to Ky’lem’s decision as the big man was capable of making. In all the years they’d fought side-by-side, neither had ever told the other their true thoughts. “While I may be a fool, if bonding with an asha is the risk I must take to save our people, then I would do it a thousand—” A wave of dizziness swept over him, cutting off his words. He put a hand down to keep from falling over.

  “What is it?” Pai’le asked. He moved to Ky’lem’s side, helping to steady him. “Are you ill?” There was true concern in his voice.

  “No . . . it is Ni’ola,” he managed between deep breaths. He hated showing weakness in front of the big warrior, but there was nothing he could do. Without Pai’le’s support, he would have tumbled forward into the fire. The world bucked around him, as if he rode a wild, crazed horse—one that had jumped off a cliff. When he thought it could get no worse, it did.

  Ni’ola tore at his spirit. He could feel the life flowing out of his body—could feel her drinking it in greedily. Whatever was happening to her, she needed his strength, and he had no choice but to give it. That is what a pachna was made for, to protect the okulu’tan and to provide the life they needed for the magic when there was nowhere else to draw from. He feared that in her condition, she would not limit how much she took.

  Careful, asha, you will kill us both. He doubted she could hear the thought, but he threw it toward her on the chance she might.

  Pai’le’s eyebrows rose. “Should I hit her again?” His voice came to Ky’lem in warbled loud and soft tones.

  “No!” he snapped back. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He would not see her hurt any more than she’d already been injured. Besides, he was not sure that it would do any good.

  In the pouch at Ky’lem’s side, the crystals flared hot, burning him through the leather. Should I return them to her? Without them, he was the only reservoir she could draw from, but her inability to control the gems had nearly killed her the last time she held them. It hadn’t done much good for him either. His shoulder still throbbed from where he’d landed on it.

  Faen’s ass! There was too much he didn’t know, and with no okulu’tan here to help, all he could do was guess. Giving her the crystals felt like the right thing to do. If they were responsible for her going into this trance, perhaps they were necessary to get her out.

  More energy was torn from him, and he wilted to the ground in Pai’le’s hands.

  “Give . . . crystals,” he mumbled. It took all his remaining strength to get the words out.

  Pai’le drew back as if Ky’lem had swung another water viper in front of him. “She almost killed you with them the last time.”

  “She is . . . killing me . . . without them.” Ky’lem’s head fell back against the log, and he closed his eyes. “Do it.”

  “You are as insane as the old spirit-walker,” Pai’le said.

  Ky’lem felt Pai’le tear the pouch from his waist. Giving the asha the crystals would either save them or kill them. He wasn’t sure which, but he could think of nothing else. Maybe Pai’le was right. Maybe he should have let the big man knock her unconscious one more time.

  Pai’le upended the pouch into the Ni’ola’s hand. The plants around her began to wither and die. Ky’lem felt their strength flowing into her. It was too late to change his mind now.

  * * *

  —

  “Must you leave now?” Pai’le asked. “Beasts hunt the land surrounding the lake at night. You couldn’t fight off a ga’ginga pup, much less a mergol, in your condition.”

  While he wasn’t as feeble as Pai’le suggested, it had taken more than a glass to regain the strength needed to set out for the lake. In that time, Ni’ola had aged at least a year. He was sure of it. Returning the crystals had worked, but whatever the magic was doing to her, the crystals were accelerating it. Ky’lem was right about one thing, though. Traveling at night held many dangers that could be avoided in daylight—especially this night when so little of Sollus was left in the sky—but he couldn’t wait for morning. He had no choice.

  I am the warrior who slew three gray demons in a single day. I am stronger than Faen’s darkness. Some of the weakness slid away as he recited the mantra. He stood up straight. He would not fail.

  “At least wait until the morning is closer and you are more rested. Who is acting like a charging bull now?”

  “This is not the same, Pai’le. Look at her. If I wait until morning, she will be an old woman by the time we reach the Najalii.”

  “I admit she does look different, but it does not matter. As I told you before, she will die. If not from this, then from the okulu’tan who will kill you both. Take a chance and end it quickly now, brother, before she takes you with her to the beyond.”

  Ky’lem grunted in disgust. Not this again. He’d thought they had moved past it after their words over the fire. “I thought you understood. No matter how she dies, I will follow her. If we can get to the lake in time, the okulu’tan will save her. I will not let them harm her.”

  “Phaw. The Ky’lem I know would risk death to be free of the okulu’tan, not hide behind the skirt of a foreign asha. Even if they do accept her, what kind of survival is being her pachna? I see no way for you to reach your goal.”

  Ky’lem ignored Pai’le’s goading and hung one of the two waterskins over his shoulder. It hung like a stone weight around his neck. He was strong enough to make the journey, but he wouldn’t be much use in protecting her along the way.

  “Sollus’s
blessings be with you during your journey home, Pai’le. I am leaving. See to my firstwife. If she is mistreated, the truce with the Arpatha will not hold.”

  Pai’le laughed. “All that is before you, and your first concern is another tribe’s daughter. You are chae’lon. It’s no longer your concern.”

  “Pai’le—”

  The big warrior held up his hand. “Rest easy. She has the sharpest tongue in the village, but I will ensure she finds the appropriate husband to keep peace with the Arpatha.”

  Ky’lem watched Pai’le’s face for signs he lied. The big warrior surprised him again. There were none. “Thank you.”

  “Go.” Pai’le shooed him. “Take your asha and die in the darkness.”

  Ky’lem took Ni’ola’s hand and pulled her up. She rose to her feet, unaware of the world around her. Stepping off, he pulled her with him into the blackness of the forest.

  “Sollus’s blessing be upon you, pachna,” Pai’le called behind them.

  Ky’lem steered Ni’ola around a patch of deep shadows. As if Pai’le’s earlier use of the beast’s name had summoned it, a mergol roared in the distance. A second, much farther away, bellowed in response. The forest beasts were larger and stronger than their mountain cousins, the merdon. He would need more than Sollus’s blessing to get them through Faen’s darkness this night.

  Chapter 27

  The night passed, with progress measured in the hesitant steps and stumbles of a blind man. The forest canopy above Ky’lem and Ni’ola blocked out all traces of the thin moon. Ky’lem could see no more than a rod in front of him, and that only by the faint glow of the crystals that escaped between Ni’ola’s fingers. Ky’lem held her wrist, keeping her hand at shoulder level to get as much of the weak light in front of them as possible. Their movements were an awkward dance of tugs and turns that slowed them every bit as much as the darkness of the forest.