Exile's Children

by Angus Wells

Jach nodded. “They were readying for departure when I found them, and it was Racharran’s word that they decamp even as I left.”

  “To the Meeting Ground,” Yazte said in a tone pitched somewhere between question and statement.

  Jach nodded and said, “Yes, to the Meeting Ground. Morrhyn said …”

  “You’ve told us what Morrhyn said.” Yazte raised a hand to silence the young warrior, smiling that Jach not feel slighted. He looked to Kahteney. “What do you think?”

  The wakanisha stared awhile into the fire, then said, “I think that Morrhyn went to the Mountain and spoke with the Maker.”

  Jach’s head bobbed vigorously. “You should have seen him! He was …”

  “Yes, yes.” Again Yazte halted his enthusiastic description. “We do not doubt what you’ve told us, but we must decide what we are to do about it.”

  “What’s to decide?” Jach could not rein his tongue. “Surely we go with them?”

  Yazte studied him with fond eyes. “There’s more to it than just striking camp, young Jach. Have you thought about the journey?”

  Jach’s smile flattened into a frown. He shrugged and said, “Do you doubt Morrhyn’s word?”

  “No.” Yazte shook his head. “But even so …”

  “There’s many would surely die along the way,” Kahteney said. “This cold is enemy enough, but did these … Breakers, Morrhyn names them? … come upon us, then likely none should survive.”

  “And if they come on us here,” Yazte said, “then likely none shall live.”

  “It’s a difficult choice,” Kahteney agreed.

  It did not seem so to Jach: he had spoken with Morrhyn and seen the truth. He knew the only choice was between destruction and the promise of a new land, but he was only a simple warrior and not long with the braids, and he supposed Yazte and Kahteney saw a wider picture. He looked from the wakanisha to the akaman and waited.

  Yazte said, “I wish we both might have spoken with Morrhyn, and with Racharran.”

  Kahteney shrugged. “Jach here was sent in our place, no? And with instructions to learn what the Commacht do, concerning these … Breakers. So he’s done that and we know what the Commacht do.”

  Yazte nodded ponderously. “And what shall we do?” he asked, absently scratching at his wide belly.

  Kahteney looked at Jach, his eyes contemplative. Jach felt himself weighed, and elevated when the wakanisha said, “I think we should heed him. He’s our trusted man, no? And he tells us Racharran takes his clan to the Meeting Ground.”

  “With the Rain Moon filling,” Yazte said, “and hard snow still on the ground.”

  “And these Breakers moving against us all,” Kahteney said. “On which subject I cannot doubt Racharran’s word.”

  “It’s a long way,” Yazte said.

  “Yes,” Kahteney said. “Shall we fight them? It should be alone, I think.”

  In his turn, Yazte studied Jach. The young warrior held his face composed under that scrutiny, then gasped when his akaman said, “What would you do, Jach?”

  He said carefully, “Were it possible, I’d gather up all the clans and ride against the Breakers. But …” He shrugged. “It’s too late for that, no? The Grannach warned us at the last Matakwa, and we paid that warning no heed. Now it’s too late: we cannot gather, and the Breakers come into Ket-Ta-Witko like … like … some prairie fire that rushes on and devours everything before it, all unheeding.” He broke off, nervous, fearing that he spoke too forward. But Yazte gestured that he go on, and so he told them, “I listened to what Morrhyn said, and Rannach, and Racharran; and I think we had best go with the Commacht. Else, I believe that we shall die. I believe the Maker sends the Breakers to scourge us and, do we not heed Morrhyn’s promise, then we are surely doomed.”

  He fell silent, eyes lowered, embarrassed: he presumed to advise men greater than he. But still he believed all he said was true.

  Softly, Kahteney said, “Out of the mouths of the young comes wisdom.”

  Yazte said, “Do you truly understand what you say, Jach? Are you right—and Morrhyn, and Racharran—then you say that the People must quit Ket-Ta-Witko and go to some other place? That we must up and leave this land we know for some unknown country? Are you ready to do that?”

  Jach looked his akaman straight in the eye and said, “Yes!”

  Kahteney reached out to set a hand on his shoulder and asked, “To go out in winter? When so many shall die along the way? And perhaps these Breakers find us?”

  Jach met the Dreamer’s gaze firm as he’d met Yazte’s and said, “I think it is the only way. I think that if we do not follow the Commacht, we all shall surely die.”

  Kahteney smiled approvingly and turned his face to Yazte. “I hear him,” he said. “I hear truth in his voice.”

  “Yes.” Yazte heaved a huge sigh and reached for the tiswin; poured them all a cup before he said, “I hear the truth. So! We join the Commacht, no?”

  He looked at Jach. “This a great decision you bring us to.”

  Jach met his gaze and said earnestly, “The only true decision, my akaman.”

  Yazte laughed. “I’ll tell all those who complain that you are the culprit, eh? That it was you convinced us to go?”

  Jach said, “If you must,” and shrugged his embarrassment.

  “Tomorrow, eh?” Yazte looked at Kahteney. “Do we strike camp tomorrow, we can find the Commacht in a day or two.”

  The wakanisha nodded and smiled at Jach. “You did well. Perhaps the Lakanti owe you their lives.”

  There were already victims: colts taken by the cold, and horses wearied past endurance; oldsters who could not survive the rigors of the road, some babes.

  They left them in the trees when trees were available for burial, and in the snow when they could not. When stone was there, they cairned the dead; but most were left alone and bereft of proper ceremony, for whatever scavengers haunted the ice-clad plains to find.

  Wolves flanked their way, which was both blessing and curse, for whilst the winter-hungry packs took the weakest horses and the weakest, or bravest, dogs, still they gave assurance there were no Breakers.

  For where the Breakers came, nothing lived.

  This the dreams Morrhyn had lost as he approached the clan’s Wintering Ground now told him were true. The dreams came back as the Commacht moved out from under the aegis of the invaders’ sendings, or perhaps it was that his clan was moved to purpose and, with the word of promise sent out to all the People, the Maker showed a more favorable face. Or perhaps again it was that the clan’s belief raised up a bulwark against whatever magicks the Breakers employed. He did not understand how it could be—nor much cared—only that the dreams came back and allowed him to guide the Commacht toward the promise. He knew again where the long, slow column should turn aside to avoid the strangeling beastriders; which draw might shelter their fires; which wood hide them from the searching Breakers; which valley offer them safe progress, where the Breakers not see them, and that was enough for now: must be, for it was all he had.

  His dreams did not reveal the outcome of the perilous trek and he supposed that was not yet decided, and could not help but think on those visions he had known in the cave and that one awful image of a possible future in which all the People were slain and only the Breakers remained.

  That he tried to ignore, seeking to focus his mind on hope, and on that other image of the promised land; but it remained always there, like a skulking ghost that whispered all was pointless, useless.

  Nor could he deny that he was afraid. To dream of danger when only he and Rannach had been threatened was one thing—two men could easily hide—but to conceal the entire clan from the Breakers, that was so large an undertaking, it seemed a near-unbearable weight newly set on his shoulders. But these dark thoughts he kept to himself, and showed the Commacht only a confident face; and when hearts sank he repeated the promise and raised them up. He wished his own might rise, and asked the Maker’s forgiveness for his weakne
ss.

  They traveled south at first, toward the Lakanti grass, and then swung west, a course that would bring them ever closer to the boundary of their grazing and the Tachyn’s.

  “To the Meeting Ground?” Chakthi stared at Dohnse from out of eyes opened wide in astonishment. “In such weather?”

  Dohnse nodded, his own eyes flicking sidelong from akaman to wakanisha. “That is what Racharran said. Morrhyn says that we can all find a new land there, free of the Breakers. The Maker will take us there.”

  “Which can be no bad thing,” Hadduth said, addressing Chakthi. “Eh? These invaders are surely a plague to us all.”

  “And the Commacht are gone?” Chakthi frowned, as if the idea were too large to encompass. “Quit their new Wintering Ground now?”

  “They struck their lodges even as I left,” Dohnse said. “Had all the messengers not come together, I think they’d have been gone before. Perhaps they waited for us—to give the word.”

  Hadduth said, “Morrhyn’s word.”

  “His promise,” Dohnse said. “Got from the Maker.”

  The Tachyn Dreamer looked hard at him and asked, “You believe that?”

  “I do.”

  He trusted neither of them any longer, but perhaps there was still hope. Surely he believed what Morrhyn had told him, and if that were true, then the Tachyn must follow the Commacht or be slain and damned. If he could persuade them to join the exodus, then perhaps his people might live and he retain some vestige of honor.

  He opened his mouth to speak, ready to persuade, to convince; but Hadduth silenced him with a raised hand and said, “We’d best join them, no? Should they meet the Breakers along the way, they’ll need friends.”

  Chakthi stared awhile at his wakanisha and then nodded: “Yes. We’ll speak with the clan this night, and in the morning go out.”

  Dohnse looked, frowning, from one to the other. It seemed to him that decision had been reached too easy.

  37 A Promise Given

  Yazte and his Lakanti found them as they toiled up out of a valley that hid them well, but was thick along all its length with deep snow. The Commacht scouts saw the newcomers first and signaled back to the column, which clambered slowly to the egress to find the Lakanti waiting before the edgewoods of a winter bared forest. It heartened the Commacht to see friends again and strengthened their belief in Morrhyn—even the doubters found it convincing that the Lakanti akaman should believe and bring his clan to join them. And the doubling of numbers was no bad thing, nor the supplies the Lakanti brought, for that summer’s war had left the Commacht poorly provisioned for the trek.

  Racharran smiled as he saw Yazte all swathed in furs like a great bear astride his horse and went forward with Morrhyn, leaving Rannach to see the clan safely up from the valley.

  “Well met.” He reached to clasp Yazte’s hand.

  “Are we?” Yazte frowned grumpily from under his cowl. “I could be sitting warm and comfortable in my lodge if not for …” He looked past Racharran and his eyes grew wide. “Morrhyn?”

  “Yes.” Morrhyn smiled.

  Yazte said, “Jach told me you’d changed somewhat. But …”

  Morrhyn shrugged and looked to Kahteney. “We must talk, my brother.”

  Kahteney nodded. Himself slender as his akaman was plump, he looked fleshy beside Morrhyn. “I’d hear everything,” he said.

  “You shall,” Morrhyn promised. “But later. Do we halt now?”

  Racharran looked at the forest, then out across the snow. The sun westered fast and the light began to fade, the temperature dropping as the wind sent ghostly clouds swirling over the flatlands, rattling the bare branches like clattering teeth.

  “Is it safe?”

  “As best I can tell.” Morrhyn in turn studied the woods. “I’ve not dreamed of any peril here.”

  “You dream?” Kahteney’s voice was shocked.

  “I do.” Morrhyn’s smile was a mixture of gratitude and ruefulness. “Not always of pleasant things, but later we’ll speak of this, eh?”

  Kahteney ducked his head slowly, as if he’d discuss it all on the spot, but Yazte raised his voice over the gusting of the wind and said, “Do we set our lodges inside the wood before night finds us? Or shall we sit here talking until my old ones freeze?”

  Racharran turned in his saddle to watch the tail of the column come up out of the valley. Rannach sat his borrowed horse beside a pillar of stone shining blackly with frozen meltwater, urging on the youngsters herding the loose horses. “There’s something you should know,” he said, angling his lance at his son.

  “That Rannach’s come back?” Yazte looked at the mounted figure and shook his head. “Jach told me. Brought Morrhyn back, he said.”

  Racharran nodded. “The Council’s judgment?”

  “Ach!” Yazte turned his head to spit into the snow. “You knew my feelings when that was delivered—they’ve not changed.”

  Racharran said, “Even so. Do the others find us …”

  “We spoke of this.” Yazte glanced sidelong at Kahteney, who smiled his agreement. “And it seems to us that Rannach’s exile must be abrogated. Morrhyn needed him, no? And the People need Morrhyn’s promise. And save for Rannach, we’d not have that. So? Do any object to his presence, they’ve you and I both to argue with. Now, can we, for the Maker’s sake, set up our camp and open a flask of tiswin?”

  Racharran laughed and said, “Yes!”

  The trees broke the wind somewhat, even if their skeletal branches swung and swayed and rattled so that the night was filled with their chattering—as if it were the Spirit Night and all the dead of that year come wandering back. But still it was warmer than the open prairie, and the lodgefires burned bright with friendship’s heat and shared purpose.

  Lhyn smiled as she worked with Roza, readying food for the men who spoke so earnestly of what had been and what might lie ahead. Yazte’s wife was plump and cheerful as her husband, and her company alone lifted Lhyn’s spirits. She felt better at ease than she had since quitting the Wintering Ground, encompassed by friends whose presence strengthened her—not to mention that the Lakanti had shared out their food and furs so that all were now better kitted for the journey.

  She and Roza, with an escort of young warriors, had seen to the distribution, and she knew now that her people stood a better chance of finding Morrhyn’s promised land with fewer losses, and that was enough for her. So did the men speak of manly things whilst the women readied the food that should fuel them for those endeavors, she did not mind. Anyway, even did he not ask her advice now, Racharran would talk it all through again and seek her thoughts when they lay under the blankets and she give them and—usually—be heeded. So she cooked and listened with half an ear to Roza, and half to what the men said.

  Most of it she knew, and stirred the pot as Morrhyn told of his journey to the Mountain and the visions gotten there, and Rannach spoke of the Grannach’s secret valley and all Colun had told him. They both told of the journey back—which filled her heart with pride, that her son was so brave—and Racharran spoke of the Breakers he’d seen, and the messengers sent from all the clans.

  She pricked up her ears as Yazte asked, “Shall they join us, you think?”

  And saw her husband shrug and answer, “I cannot guess. They were told … But do they hear is in the Maker’s hands.”

  Kahteney looked at Morrhyn then, with something akin to wonder in his eyes, and asked, “Have you dreamed of this?”

  Morrhyn shrugged; Lhyn frowned to see him so thin, his shoulders like sticks under his shirt. “No. At least, not clearly—I’ve told you, there are branching paths that lead to different futures.”

  Yazte studied him with awe in his eyes—and, Lhyn thought, something close to fear—and asked, “And this one? This path we take?”

  “Is safe,” Morrhyn said. “And brings us to the Meeting Ground, where the Maker will bring us to a new land.”

  Softly, Kahteney said, “I still cannot dream.”

/>   Lhyn let go the spoon she held: there was such sadness in his voice. She wondered if a wakanisha’s loss of dreams was harder or worse than a mother’s loss of her son. But Morrhyn had gotten back his dreams; and she had gotten back her son: she felt sorry for Kahteney.

  Morrhyn said, “Mine were lost awhile. When I came back into Ket-Ta-Witko, toward our Wintering Ground, I lost them.”

  “Ach, yes!” Rannach laughed and reached for the flask of tiswin. “And that frightened me. Think of it—we’d come out of the hills with Breakers all around and Morrhyn guiding us past them. Until he came to our own grazing! Then he lost his dreams. The Wintering Ground was empty and he could not tell me where the Commacht wintered. Ach, I had to remember a thing my father told me years ago. That was lucky, eh?”

  Lhyn said, “Rannach,” and waited as he turned his face toward her. “The tiswin goes to your head.”

  He frowned, and then looked shamefaced and ducked his head and said lowly, “Yes, mother.”

  She said, “You have done brave things, but Arrhyna waits for you to come back, no? And she bears your child. Shall you go back to her a drunkard?”

  Rannach shook his head and said, “No, mother,” and set his cup between his knees.

  Lhyn nodded and went back to her stirring of the pot, then looked again to where the men sat and wondered why Morrhyn faced her with such … she could not tell … suspicion, perhaps, in his eyes. Or guilt, or fear.

  Their eyes met and he looked away, but not before she saw him compose his features in an expression of deliberate calm that hid those fleeting emotions she’d seen there. Abruptly, a terrible wondering filled her, as if his glance had lit a fire of ugly doubt. It had been at mention of Arrhyna and the child that he’d looked so troubled, and she could conceive of only one reason. Vachyr had raped Arrhyna—might the child then be his? Surely Morrhyn would know, but he had said nothing and clearly Rannach believed it was his seed that grew in Arrhyna’s womb. Morrhyn’s silence seemed confirmation of that, but if he only hid the truth from Rannach? Lhyn frowned and set such unpleasant notions aside. Better not to think of that: better, were it true, that Rannach not know. She stirred the pot and smiled at Roza and listened to the men talking.