Barta stood quietly until he reached them, her hand still resting on True’s arm. Why had she never before noticed how very much Tally looked like their mother? Her heart twisted in her breast.
“Tally, you should not be moving about so much.”
Grimly, he met her gaze. “It seems I must.” He jerked his head toward the encampment. “I heard about what happened back there.” The strength of iron appeared in his gray eyes. “Sister, it is time I was up on my feet. And it is time you and I together took back this tribe—on Wick’s behalf, and on Father’s.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I know who you are.” Tally spoke quietly as they sat beside the fire, his words meant for True’s ears alone. Unemphatic as they were, they set True’s every instinct on alert.
He looked at the boy sharply. Tally sat with a rug slung over his shoulders against the cold and damp, his hair hanging in a tangle. Like the rest of them, he looked weary and miserable, but strength kindled in his eyes. They met True’s head-on, and a chill traced its way up True’s spine.
Another day had passed, a time of confusion and unrest among the members of the Epidii. For the moment, he and the lad sat alone; Barta had gone to speak with Gant and others of the guard, and Tally’s friends were off on some errand for him. Now True wondered if Tally had sent them just so he might have this opportunity to speak privately.
True shrugged uncomfortably and looked away from those perceptive eyes. “I do not understand your meaning, young Master. How could you know what no one else does? I barely remember my own past.”
Tally’s lips curved in a wry smile. “Oh, you remember it. Why else would you call me ‘young Master’ when none of us here are your masters? You are a poor liar…True. So you should be, with such a name.”
True swallowed convulsively as heat suffused him. He had not been prepared for this; since yesterday he’d thought about little but Barta and Brude, and what the breakdown in relations between them might mean for the tribe. He’d questioned himself over and over again, because if the goddess decided to recall him into death—his miraculous time here suddenly done—he would have to leave Barta in perilous circumstances indeed.
Now he wondered how best to reply to Tally. Prevarication seemed hopeless, denial useless.
Before he could speak, Tally went on very softly, “I think my mother knew also, did she not, or at least suspected? It is why she defended you from the moment you returned. She had an instinct for all things magical, did Mother. I suppose I’ve inherited a bit of that.”
True drew a breath that seared his lungs. “Young Master…Barta does not know. She cannot be told or the spell ends. Should she guess, I have leave from the goddess to tell her, but anything else will sunder us. You cannot breathe a word.”
“You think I would?” Again, Tally’s smoky gray gaze engaged True’s and held it. “Indeed, I am surprised Barta has not yet guessed. Your eyes are the same—exactly the same. By what miracle did you win your way back to us?”
“By the mercy of the Lady, her reward for the loyalty I’d shown.” True shook his head. “But it is not forever, and she would not say how long I might stay. I didn’t care, at the beginning. I wanted only to arise and follow your sister—in any form.”
Compassion flooded Tally’s gaze. “I saw her agony when she lost you. I had never seen anyone hurt that way. I confess, I never thought on your pain at being unable to take the place at her side as always. Are you sure Barta does not guess?”
“I am sure.”
“Yet I have never known her to take to anyone as readily as she did to you. My sister is not what I would describe as a warm woman and not particularly welcoming to strangers. Yet she did welcome you at once. And she must feel something strong—else she’d never have taken you to her bed.”
True stared. “What do you know of that?”
“Rekka told me. She overheard what Barta said to Brude. Is it the truth, or just a lie Barta told to put Brude off?”
“It’s the truth.” True closed his eyes for an instant, remembering the perfection of those moments when he and Barta became one—and he became complete. They had not joined so since, though she did lie beside him when she slept.
True did not know what to do with the feelings that filled him when he looked at her or recalled her touch, the sweet taste of her. It made a powerful hunger. And now he faced this danger, if Tally could be considered a danger.
“Please, young Master,” he whispered, his eyes still squeezed shut—a prayer. “Do not tell her.”
For an instant Tally remained silent. Then True felt the boy’s fingers grip his forearm hard. “Do you think I would betray you, True?” he asked again. “That I would betray the goddess, for all that, at whose feet I worship? That I would destroy this finely woven spell of magic it is my privilege to witness? What do you say happens if Barta does guess who you really are?”
True looked at him then, his heart in his eyes. “My understanding is I will then win leave to stay.”
Tally nodded his head, looking thoughtful. “It can only be a matter of time before she sees the spirit that inhabits this flesh—the same spirit, as I can clearly perceive, she’s loved so long. I will keep your secret, True. In the meantime, I would like to think of you as an ally.”
True regarded Tally curiously, and the boy went on, “I do not completely understand why Wick left. He must have known it would be the last thing our parents would wish. Father wanted one of his children to take the place of chief after him. With Wick gone, that leaves Barta. Or me.”
True lowered his voice still further. “I do not know that your sister wants the place.” He looked away across the encampment to where he could just glimpse Barta in conversation with Gede.
“Are you quite certain? For I believe she always longed to lead, deep down. It is why she defied Father so often, and it’s what prompted the raid that cost her so very much.”
“Perhaps loss has changed her mind.”
“But we need someone to step up now. Master True, I remember little of the attack at my parents’ hut, when they were killed. But while I lay senseless after, I had dreams. Deep, surprising dreams.”
“Did you?” True sometimes dreamed of running as a hound, his paws flying over the rough ground and the air rushing through his lungs.
“I dreamed of us all together the way it used to be before Father got injured so sorely.”
“And why was that surprising?”
Tally smiled. “Only because I could feel the magic that surrounded us all, uniting us—like love. Mother used to say there was magic in everything—that it bound the world together, if we could but see.”
“Yes.”
“It’s as if in this dream state I could see the love—and magic—underlying everything, making of us a tribe. But what it united was not flesh with flesh so much as spirit with spirit.”
True looked at the boy questioningly.
“What I am saying to you,” Tally told him softly, “is that the bond never breaks and love never ends. We are all still united, and that means I must act in my Father’s stead, if Barta will not.”
“You?”
“I know I am young. But I have strong friends around me—Gede, Gant, my sister…and you.”
“You mean to challenge Brude for the place?” True asked carefully.
“Why not? My sister has no issue, yet. And that makes me the last surviving member of my father’s house. I have almost fifteen winters. And I am willing.”
“You would make a fine leader, Master Tally, were you older. You have wisdom and, as you say, a share of your mother’s magic. But in such times as these, with unrest all around, the Gaels on our heels, and winter coming…would Brude make such a poor leader? He has strength and a desire for it.”
“But little compassion and limited wisdom. I dread to think what mistakes he might make.”
Gently, True said, “Young Master, we all make mistakes. Brude, Barta, me.”
“And I
will make them also. But they will not be mistakes prompted by arrogance or greed. And I will not let us forget our spiritual duties, what we owe the Lord and Lady. You, above all, should acknowledge that.”
True bowed his head.
Tally went on slowly, “I pray the Gaels will pursue us no farther this season. They have what they want for now—the land we held.” Tally’s wide gaze grew hazy, as if he looked inward. True recalled sometimes seeing such a mist in Mistress Essa’s eyes. Softly, Tally spoke. “Yes, they have what they want for now. But it will not last. They will send their clans in the wake of their war carts; they will spread all across the land that once belonged to the Caledonii, like a sickness. In my dreams I have Seen a time when our language is lost and even our blood is but a memory in this land.”
True went breathless. “How to fight such a thing? If you have Seen—”
“What I have Seen is a warning. I believe it will take might and magic together if we are to stay free. Brude’s path will bring ruination.” Tally gripped True’s arm. “I have told no one else of this, nor can you. I will keep your secret if you keep mine.”
True did not like keeping secrets, and the one he already guarded weighed heavily enough. But the boy’s aura had altered and changed color to something resembling that of Mistress Essa’s.
He nodded reluctantly, and Tally’s fingers tightened. “Good. Now come along with me. There is much to be done.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“You?” Brude’s stern face broke into sudden laughter, unexpected and cruel as a bolt of lightning. He shot an incredulous look at True before returning his stare to Tally, who stood before him straight as a sapling.
True concentrated on making his own expression blank, revealing none of his thoughts. Tally had insisted on going to Brude at once and stating his case. They hadn’t even taken the matter to Barta first.
“Oh, Tally, boy, thank you for the laugh. I thought I might never laugh so again.”
“Scoff if you will; I am in earnest.”
“You cannot possibly be. Look at you! How many years have you now?”
“Almost fifteen.”
“Fifteen years. And you think you can take Wick’s place?”
“No, my father’s place.”
Brude gave another disdainful bark of laughter. “Go away, boy. I have work to do.”
Tally jerked his chin up a notch. “Flight, you mean? The ceding of our lands—presenting them to the Gaels like a gift? Just,” he added deliberately, “what you chided my father for doing.”
All humor drained from Brude’s face. “I have presented them with nothing,” he stated. “I have merely moved eastward in an effort to save all these lives.” He waved an arm to encompass the camp at large. “We have too few warriors, especially given your sister’s rashness and your brother’s defection. How am I to make a stand with no men?”
“There comes a time when one must stand no matter the numbers. That was hallowed ground we gave up, where lay the bones of our ancestors.”
Tally’s voice had risen, shrill with his youth. Folk began to drift up; True felt more than saw Barta glance their way.
“So,” Brude hunched his shoulders and took it on, “you would drench it with still more Epidii blood? All this land is hallowed ground. Without more warriors, we will not hold any of it.”
“What goes on here?” Barta, breathless, took the place at True’s side.
Brude snapped, “What goes on is that your cub of a brother fancies himself a wolf full grown. He thinks to challenge me.”
Barta stared, and a muscle bunched in Tally’s jaw. “Someone must.”
“Tally”—Barta laid a hand on the boy’s arm—“come away. This is but the pain in your heart speaking.” She looked at True. “Why did you let him speak?”
“It is not my place to hold him.”
That caused Brude to direct a glare at True. “And you would not, if you could. I have noticed, True”—he made a curse of the name—“whenever trouble erupts, you are to be found nearby. I do not care how many trials you have overcome.” He raised his voice and spoke to those still drifting up, one of whom was Gant. “Does anyone else worry about the danger he represents?”
Gant spoke up, after a measured glance at True. “He has fought bravely in every encounter we’ve shared.”
“So he has. But that could be a ruse. He might well be a spy.”
Barta pushed past Tally and stood nose to nose with Brude. “This has little to do with True. You merely seek to divert blame from what you have done in seizing the place of chief.”
“Blame? It is not I responsible for the death of brave warriors whose strong arms we now need so desperately. And not I who took this dangerous incomer to her bed!”
A murmur circulated through the onlookers.
Tally spoke before Barta could. “He is not dangerous. I have Seen!”
“Ah, now you would claim your mother’s place as well as your father’s?”
“I claim only what the gods have granted me.”
True closed his eyes a moment, hoping Tally in his earnestness would not spill his secret.
He felt Barta’s fingers brush his arm before she said, “It does not matter whom I take to my bed.”
“That is where you are wrong.” Brude’s expression turned ugly. “Your sons will have a place in the succession.” Wildly, he gestured at True. “Do we want them descended from that?”
Once again, the crowd murmured. True felt a chill work its way up his spine. Could his presence ultimately harm Barta? As a hound, his presence at her side had not mattered. As a person, he may already have given her his child, quite possibly the next Chief of the Epidii.
Again, Tally spoke up. “The past—and those gone before us—are with us yet, so long as I stand. Those who would support me as chief, rally round. Those who would have Brude lead us, do likewise to him. We shall let the gods decide which of us should lead the Epidii.”
The murmur among the onlookers rose to a clamor. For an instant True’s ears, overwhelmed, could distinguish few distinct words.
Brude threw back his head. “Finish growing up, boy, before you think to challenge me. Perhaps it is time for a new order. Given your sister’s foolishness, your brother’s defection, and your own childishness, what has Radoc’s house to offer us now?”
Out of the ensuing furor stepped Pith. Respected the old man was, despite his blindness. Some argued he had a direct connection with the powers, and few would doubt it now when he lifted his face to the sky and to each of those at the forefront in turn, precisely as if he could see them.
“Brude map Edder,” he began, “you take much upon yourself. You have snatched this place as chief with none to grant it to you and think to hold it now in defiance of our traditions. What did Radoc map Dumno ever do but fight on our behalf? Since the time of his uncle and his grandfather before him, those of his blood have spent themselves for our sakes.” The old man’s voice quavered a bit before he resumed yet more strongly, “I remember his grandfather, knew him in my youth. He would despise us for running now. Yet it is the first course you, self-appointed chief, chose.”
Brude rounded on him, little respect for the elder’s position visible on his face. “I am no coward. Indeed, I did argue to Radoc in the past that we should fight. It is my first course of action. But I moved as I did to preserve what is left of this tribe—to buy us more time and give us a chance to recover. You shall not label me ‘coward’!”
Quickly Tally spoke, his voice piping high above the others but his words unflinching. “I say we should go back, take up our old stance, and fight for what belongs to us.” He raised his chin still higher. “Either way, I say leadership of this tribe should not be handed over to Brude while members of our house still stand!”
****
“Sister, we need to work together. It’s the only thing that will serve.”
Barta shot Tally a look and marveled again at the change in him. A different being fro
m the grief-stricken and injured boy he’d been only days ago, he now appeared fired with a determination that lit him from within. Transformed he was, and no mistake.
She could recall her mother wearing just that look when spiritually convinced about some course of action. Was it possible Tally had inherited the best of both their parents?
Lifting a brow, she considered it. The two of them sat alone beside their fire in the dull afternoon, overcast and chilly enough to herald winter.
Barta could not bear thinking of winter with its want and hardships—not now. How dared Tally look so confident?
“Do we not always work together?” she asked, quoting one of Essa’s favorite adages. “It is the path to survival.”
Tally turned his misty gray eyes on her. “You know very well what I mean. Despite what Brude says, you are not stupid.” A small smile curled his lips. “Well, not usually.”
Barta sighed. She wished True would return from tending the injured hounds, many now without masters and bearing sore wounds. They responded well to True, and he’d gathered them on the far side of the camp.
Important work, but she never felt at ease without him at her side—just as she could no longer seem to sleep except in his arms.
Last night while there she’d dreamed she slept with Loyal instead, his scent surrounding her. For an instant after she woke she’d been sure it was so: not till her eyes caught sight of True’s fingers splayed across her breast had the pieces fallen back into place. Troubling and yet strangely comforting at the same time. But she needed his presence—like breath.
A bit tartly she told Tally, “I understand you are bent on taking Wick’s place. That does not mean you need to take up with insulting me.”
“I do not insult you. Nor do I mean to take Wick’s place. I mean to make a new place for myself—and you. We are the only ones left, Barta. We must rise to it and stand together.”
“A boy of fifteen and a woman who’s lost whatever respect she ever garnered from this tribe?”
“Radoc’s descendants.”
Loyal and True Page 16