The smell of cooking soon drove the men to finish the horse pen. Once Gale, Haron, Sandrider, and the other animals were cleaned, fed, and driven into the wooden confines of the enclosure, everyone returned to their women, sweaty but pleased at the conclusion of the day’s chores. By agreement the large portions of leftover dried meat would be consumed first so as to avoid wasting food. Tomorrow they would fish, keeping to the shallow depths with nets and spears but casting lines into the dark blue of the deeper waters. Carp was good and not hard to dry, so the Arros would easily amass ample rations to last them the summer. Reserves they would gather over the last few weeks, ensuring sufficient food on the way to their trade route’s starting cities.
All in all the afternoon passed comfortably. When the Sun started to fade behind the high dunes to the west, Agais began to feel some of his trepidations slip away with it. For the first time in days he’d let his mind focus on other things apart from his wife and daughter. It felt good to be able to stop worrying, if only for a few hours. Sadly, though, even as this warm thought caught him, the Grandmother ducked out of her tent and looked around. It didn’t take her long to notice him relaxing in the sand by the cooking fire.
“Raz has recovered completely,” the old woman told him quietly, coming to sit by Agais while he watched the flames. Now that they’d reached the oasis, they would use the rest of the driftwood stores they’d bought and kept. The kindling, soaked with salts and hardened after drying, burned with a myriad of colors for hours on end. Whisping tongues of blue, green, and red licked the bottom of the wide iron cauldron in which Grea and Delfry were boiling fresh water. Beside them, Surah and Iriso were slicing up narrow strips of dried meat. The other women had taken the children into the palms, searching out whatever edible plants they could find in the fading light.
Agais sat silent. He’d forgotten about the damn lizard, too, for once, and was hesitant to speak his mind as the Grandmother watched him levelly.
“Release him,” she insisted. “I will take responsibility for Raz if you are unwilling to do so, but he’s been bedridden for over two weeks and doesn’t understand why. I’ve had to keep him a little under the entire time, just to make sure he doesn’t let himself loose. He’s unconscious now. He’s unconscious every time I leave him.”
Still Agais didn’t speak. His eyes took in the fire, dark in the light as he contemplated the decision.
Soon the Garin would be overrun with other families. The Kahnts, the Eamons, the Asani, and five-score more. Because of their placement, the Arros would likely be at the very edge of any settlement that sprouted around them, but other clans would still pen them in. Agais was starting to regret not figuring out some way to get rid of the boy sooner. It would probably be impossible to hide him even if he was kept tied to the bed until the atherian came from the east.
A cruel thought to say the least.
“We’ll discuss it over the meal,” he said finally, giving in. “I will tell you I believe Raz can be controlled. I’ve seen it. But a decision such as this is not mine to make alone. Iriso will undoubtedly have something to say. Others, too. Some might be content enough to bear the child’s presence while he is secluded to your hut, but I doubt they’ll all be as open to having him move free amongst them and their children. No matter how tame he might seem.”
The Grandmother opened her mouth to speak, perhaps to argue that Raz was of no danger so long as he was watched, but Agais held his hand up. Wearily he leaned back on one elbow in the sand.
“You know as well as I do, Grandmother, that if you should decide to release the boy on your own, I won’t be able to stop you. You hold the only voice stronger than mine. It is out of respect, therefore, that I ask that you be patient, at least until we have discussed it as a family. By giving the others a say in what is done with the child from here on out, I hope to show them that I trust them wholly, no matter what.”
The old woman shut her mouth and said nothing. Then she nodded. For the next half hour the two sat quietly, content in their silence, watching the foragers return with decent findings and listening to the women chatting incessantly over the smell of rich meat soup.
The Grandmother was true to her word, and so before dinner began and under the excited hum of discussion about the coming months of comfort, Agais got to his feet. Conversations ended quickly, all eyes turning to the clanmaster.
“There is something to be discussed,” Agais began, his gray eyes circling the ring of people, “before we can eat.”
He hesitated, gaze lingering on the Grandmother, who nodded encouragingly from her spot beside Grea.
“The lizard-child,”—he saw Iriso roll her eyes—“is no longer ailing. He’s recovered fully from his injuries. It is the Grandmother’s opinion that Raz should be released and allowed some limited movement around the camp.”
There was a moment’s stunned silence.
And then Iriso leapt to her feet.
“Release him?” she demanded shrilly, gaping at Agais. “You want to let that monster run loose around our children? Has the Moon cursed you with insanity, Agais, or are you purposefully acting like a fool? I’m starting to question your abilities as head of this family!”
The silence that followed was more profound, but kept even shorter by Jarden’s angry voice.
“It’s you who are the fool, Iriso!” he spat at her, still seated on the ground, but eyes blazing. “Twice already you’ve challenged my brother on this matter, and twice you’ve been proven wrong! Agais has never shown anything but the utmost capability to lead us true, even through hard times. It is your prejudice against a child who has shown no ill will to anyone in the last week that has you floundering! Well I tell you this: I hold faith in my brother, I hold faith in the Grandmother, and I hold faith in Raz’s ability to continue being nothing but a well-behaved boy. He tries to protect those who have cared for him when anything he conceives as a threat approaches. With that I remind you that you, too, have been cared for. You bear the name Arro, but you are not blood. Our father accepted you into this family before his death with no qualms, and I’ve no qualms with you as a sister. BUT ONLY IF YOU STOP QUESTIONING THOSE WHO HAVE BEEN NOTHING BUT GIVING TOWARD YOU!”
Jarden’s last statement reverberated, and Agais was silently grateful they’d made camp so far away from the other clusters of tents around the lake. Iriso, for one, looked shocked and on the verge of tears, though whether they were tears of anger or hurt the man couldn’t tell. On the other hand, Jarden’s lecture had done the trick. She grew silent and sat back down heavily, leaning into the cradling arms of her husband. Still, the woman’s retreat did nothing to quell the fire in Jarden’s voice.
“I stand by the Grandmother,” he said, looking around with a bit more threat in his eyes than Agais might have thought necessary. “She has never led us wrong.”
“And I,” Tolman said in his deep Percian voice, lifting a hand and nodding.
“I too,” young Prida said shyly from beside the dark-skinned man, smiling up at him. Though she was barely of age to have a say, the girl’s vote triggered the other women to nod or shake their heads, murmuring yays or nays, and the rest of the men soon followed. By the end, Agais was relieved to find that his vote would have little effect on the decision. Grea, the Grandmother, Kosen and Delfry, and Ovan all voted for Raz’s release. Eara and Zadi, the sisters, were split, Eara, the older, voting yes as Zadi shook her head. Not surprisingly, the other younger mothers, Trina and Hannas, voted against Raz’s release, as did Ishmal, shrugging apologetically and glancing nervously at Sasham, his youngest. Achtel, always a clever man, knew a positive vote would do little to change the outcome, so he cast nay, supporting the wife he still held to his chest. Iriso remained silent, but Agais was kind enough to place her voice where her heart was.
“With my choice that makes a count of ten to six eligible voices in favor of releasing Raz,” he said aloud, double-c
hecking his math so as to avoid sparking any angry voices. “However, as that’s not the majority I would like, let me offer a compromise. The boy will be released, but he will be limited to the Grandmother’s tent and wagon for the time being, along with some time outside after dark. That should give him room to spread his wings and for all of us to develop our opinion of him further.”
His eyes found Iriso. The woman was looking up at him in surprise.
“Does that satisfy all of you?” Agais asked pointedly, not looking away.
As one the clan nodded, even the scorned woman, and Agais sighed inwardly as the matter finally closed. Dinner got underway at once, and when he’d sat down Agais leaned close to the Grandmother.
“I want him sedated when we untie him, just enough so that it doesn’t cause a commotion. And Jarden, Tolman, and I are to be with you.”
The Grandmother nodded, intent on her bowl of soup.
“And Grea?” she asked quietly.
Agais glanced around the woman to his wife. She was happily playing with Foeli and Barna, the twin brother and sister, tickling them and smiling when they rolled and giggled. He felt a pang of fear seeing the deep pleasure she took in the children, but battled it back.
“No. I’ll discuss it with her, but while I trust that Raz will behave, I side with Iriso in the fact that we can’t be absolutely sure. I’m unwilling to endanger my wife and child after the… discussion you and I had recently.”
The Grandmother shrugged in an understanding fashion.
“A fair concern,” she said, finishing her meal and getting to her feet. “Come to my tent after you’ve convinced Grea.”
Agais nodded, watching her walk away.
________________________
“I thought I asked you to wait for us,” Agais groaned, rubbing his temples in frustration. Seated on the stool she’d carried down from her wagon, the Grandmother smiled mischievously.
“I’ve already held one promise to you today,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “You should only expect so much patience from an old crone like me.”
Agais snorted, watching Jarden and Tolman playing with Raz, cross-legged on the reed mats. The boy was heavily sedated—at least the Grandmother had fulfilled that part of the bargain—and his attempts to grab the copper ring from the two grown men’s outstretched hands were weak. When they let him get it, however, he laughed, emitting the series of hiccups and caws that were his unique manifestation of childish merriment.
As a creature, the babe was a magnificent beast. Despite his slurred motions he stood strong, far come from the beaten and ragged thing they’d found abandoned to the sands. His leathery wings almost glowed blue in the oil-fed lamplight of the tent whenever he stretched them, contrasting the black-green tinge of his skin. The paired joints outside his shoulders allowed Raz to fold the wings tight and low against his back, almost completely hiding them from view. Nothing but faint scars remained from the three sword wounds, and the side of his head, just below his webbed ears, was only a little bare where new scales were still growing to replace the broken ones. His wrists, on the other hand, were marked with twin rings of pale, smooth skin. Agais had seen older atherian slaves with the same markings.
He doubted those scales would ever grow back.
“Get him something to cover the scars,” he said. “I won’t have people thinking we’re keeping slaves on the off chance they find out he’s here. And has he eaten today? There’s leftover soup that’s going to go to waste if it doesn’t get finished.”
The Grandmother smirked at Agais’ concern, but said nothing. Instead she climbed into her wagon through the open entrance as Tolman left to fetch food for the boy. She returned a minute later with a handful of slim silver bands and a carved oak bracelet.
“Put these on him.” She handed them to Jarden, on the floor still playing with Raz. Letting the boy toy with the copper ring with one hand, the man slipped the silver jewelry over his left wrist with little effort.
“These aren’t going to stay on easy,” he told the Grandmother, switching hands and pushing the wooden armlet onto the child’s other wrist. “They’re too loose.”
“He’ll grow into them,” the old woman responded dismissively. Agais gave her a sharp look. It was fortunate Tolman chose that moment to return, steaming bowl in hand.
While Raz ate—sticking his reptilian snout into the soup and lapping it up noisily, spilling much of it on the floor—the adults sat and talked. All of them were in agreement that the boy wasn’t making any moves to harm anyone, though Jarden fairly pointed out that the sedatives could be affecting him. They’d have to pass through the night and see how he was in the morning, and Agais gave the Grandmother permission to stop drugging him, granted Raz remained behaved.
“If he’d wanted to hurt us, he would have tried to by now,” he conceded, watching Raz finish licking his bowl clean and toss it away, taking an interest in the shiny new bangles on his wrist. “Even so, it’ll settle the minds of the others if we keep him in here for a few more days at least. We’ll take him outside at night, but briefly.”
They all agreed, watching the child, who was hiccupping as he flicked the bracelets and listened to them jingle. As small as he was, Raz would have looked harmless had he been human. Instead, though, the folded wings on his back, his sharp sunset eyes, and his scales, claws, and tail gave him a distinctly predatory air. Agais remembered the first time he’d seen the boy move, a blur of limbs and teeth, and he shivered.
“Just a few days,” he said again, hoping Raz wouldn’t get tired of being cooped up. “After that it won’t be long before the lizard-kind come from the mountains, and he can be someone else’s problem.”
Jarden and Tolman nodded, but it was the Grandmother Agais’ eyes flicked to. The old woman didn’t move. Instead she watched Raz yawn, showing off his dozens of narrow teeth before curling up into a ball on the floor, tail looped around him. One wing unfurled to cover his body like a blanket, and almost at once the boy’s breathing was long and deep.
Finally the Grandmother glanced at Agais, and the look in her eyes spelled the mutiny of her thoughts out so clearly she might as well have screamed it to the heavens.
VIII
The next day proved utterly uneventful, as did the following. Steadily more families were trickling over the dunes, and within a week the number of caravans and tents pitched around the desert lake swelled from a dozen to four times that. More would arrive in the coming days, others probably sporadically after that, but regardless their little settlements would grow quickly. It was a mere stroke of luck that none of the clans had chosen to circle in too near the Arros, allowing Raz’s presence to remain concealed.
That would change soon enough, Agais forced himself to acknowledge.
Still, he had bigger things to worry about. Grea had been confined to their tent for over a day now—too uncomfortable to walk as the baby shifted ceaselessly in her womb—and while she was still capable of eating, sleep had been difficult the last few nights.
For her and her husband both.
Agais’ original sense of wonder at his wife’s pregnancy was fading with every passing hour. Now he felt her pain, felt her discomfort whenever she flinched or let out an involuntary groan, and felt much more than that. His mind was a muddled mess of thoughts and images, a splintering display of questions and concerns that resulted from this clashing anxiety between finally being a father and his black fear of the Grandmother’s silent warning. He was at once thinking of what he would do when his child learned to walk, and what he would do if his child didn’t survive. Or if Grea didn’t survive. Or if they both didn’t survive…
In the end, though, the hope he had formed for himself held solid. He clung to it like a single lit candle in the dark, trusting the light to keep the shadows at bay. The child—son or daughter, it didn’t matter—would be strong and healthy. They would grow to
laugh and play with the older boys and girls and would one day marry and bear him grandchildren to bounce on his lap. All else faded as Agais drove that image to the forefront of his mind, and soon he was even able to let go of the Grandmother’s irksome belief that Raz i’Syul was the answer to the telling the Twins had granted her.
Not that Raz would grow up poorly, though. Agais felt funny admitting it to himself, but the babe—had he been born to man—could have been any mother’s dream. After the effects of the herbs wore off, Raz had emerged an intelligent, well-behaved, and pleasant boy. Fully aware for the first time in weeks, the child only complained about his confined space in the tent and wagon, squawking unhappily until the Grandmother had finally figured out how to convey to him that he had to be quiet or he would be in danger. When, astonishingly, he listened, the old woman convinced Agais to let Raz out a little earlier every night. The other caravans were still some distance away and usually kept to themselves in the evenings, and the clanmaster took amusement in watching the lizard-babe emerge from his tent for the couple of hours of sunset and twilight that followed. For the first two nights the infant had examined everything with expected curiosity, split eyes wide when he saw the wagons and fire and horses for the first time. By the third, though, he’d lost interest, and instead somehow managed to coax Jarden and Tolman into playing in the sand with him.
But Raz, as childish as he seemed, was still the beast at heart. Night noises pricked his ears, and more than once he abandoned what he was doing to bare small fangs at the empty darkness outside the camp. It was impossible to aptly explain the occurrence of breaking branches and loud neighbors, so Agais, the Grandmother, Jarden, and Tolman could only wait until these spouts of defensiveness passed. Raz instinctively didn’t leave the ring—though whether this was because he felt it was home or because he was scared of the world outside remained unknown—and after several long seconds he would relax, sniff the air, and return to whatever game he was about.
Child of the Daystar (The Wings of War Book 1) Page 7