Unfinished Song(Book 4): Root

by Maya, Tara

  Zumo went on placating her. “I am sure Kavio never meant for his elderly mother to do his searching for him.”

  “I do not have to explain myself to my son, still less to you,” Vessia said haughtily. “And I am not a tottering old tortoise. I am stronger at my age than most warriors in their prime. I do not need coddling from babes like you!”

  “Your plan to travel to the Green Woods tribehold and hold a contest is completely ludicrous,” said Zumo. “If you weren’t getting a little soft in the head, you’d see that.”

  “Soft in the head!” roared Vessia. “I’ll show you soft in the head, you little…”

  “There, you see? Would a reasonable person shout and rage like a rabid aurochs without any provocation like that? Aunt Vessia, you need rest.”

  Vessia glared at him, but held her tongue. There was no use arguing with Zumo. The presence of the warriors indicated that he was willing to use force to restrain her from leaving the Rainbow Labyrinth tribehold. She still could hardly believe that the little boy she had once dandled on her knee with her own son had taken her captive, in full view of the Society of Societies assemblage. No one had stopped Zumo from having her escorted away like a criminal, not even her husband, the Maze Zavaedi.

  The more fool she to be surprised, she thought bitterly. She suspected Zumo had already done much worse to her son, Kavio.

  “Keep your paws off me,” she said to the warriors. “I am perfectly capable of walking on my own two feet, no matter what some people think.”

  The warriors left her alone the rest of the walk down underground corridor beneath the earth. When they reached the door to a large kiva, Zumo pushed aside the heavy leather hanging and gestured for Vessia to enter.

  The room had been lavishly apportioned. Woven hangings warmed the cold stone walls, pillows and blankets filled the sleeping niche dug into one wall, rugs overlapped on the floor. Clay vases stocked with water and dried foods lined one wall. There was no oven for cooking, but Vessia had no doubt she would be provided with hot meals daily. It would be a comfortable prison.

  “The warriors will always be stationed just outside the door, to help you with anything you need,” Zumo said.

  “I’m sure,” she said dryly. “Why must I be held here, in the Labyrinth, instead of in my own home?”

  “Because, dear Aunt, I fear for your safety,” said Zumo. He affected concern so well. “Do not forget the Curse. It is out there, waiting to find you. Why go looking for it? No, you must stay here, where we can protect you.”

  “Are you threatening my life?” she asked coolly.

  “I am protecting your life.”

  She snorted.

  Zumo frowned at her. “You are a wise and wonderful woman, and no boy could have asked for a better aunt, but there are things even you do not know,” he said. “This is for the best, Aunt Vessia.”

  “I want to speak to my husband.”

  “He is already on his way,” said Zumo. The leather creaked as he brushed by it, then the door curtain fell back into place.

  The room was spacious but Vessia found the stone walls oppressive. She did not like being confined, even in her own house. She needed open sky and sun. She needed the smell of pine and grass, the sound of running waters. The only light in this room came from a narrow hole in the ceiling, a skylight that reached the surface somewhere in the tribehold above ground. She knew the guards kept watch there. The only sound was the tick-a-tack of knucklebones the guards started throwing to whittle the time, and the scratching of a mouse who imagined Vessia didn’t notice it riffling through one of the jars of food.

  Zumo had said that her husband was on his way, but as Vessia paced the room, the small ray of sunlight from the skylight crawled across the floor. A timid serving maid brought her a plate of hot corn mash.

  Vessia hated corn mash. She let it grow cold on the eating mat. The mouse gave serious consideration to approaching it, but had not yet worked up the nerve.

  Finally, she heard voices outside the door, someone negotiating with the guards. Her husband, the Maze Zavaedi, War Chief of the Rainbow Labyrinth tribe and the most powerful man in Faearth, entered her prison.

  “Vio!” she cried. She ran and embraced him.

  Vio hugged her back, but released her quickly. He picked up the plate of cold corn mash. “Why didn’t you eat this?”

  “I didn’t feel like it.”

  “You never know when you might be hungry. If you are given food, eat!”

  “I’ve been thrown in a prison pit and that is all you care about?”

  She could feel rage radiating red and stinging, from his aura.

  “You were a fool, Vessia,” he said flatly. “You poured victory into Zumo’s bowl like beer from a jug.”

  “He cannot keep me here, surely!”

  “Why did you say you would travel to other tribes to recruit girls for the Vaedi Vooma? That sounded like madness to the other Tavaedies. They agree with Zumo, that you must be locked up for your own good.”

  “What was mad about my plan?”

  “A woman your age…”

  “My age! Why are you humans obsessed with age? I was born before Faearth itself! A few more turns of the sun on top of multitudes of seasons is nothing.”

  “Maybe for other faeries, that would be true, but you live among humans now. You are a mother with a grown son, not an unmarried maiden.”

  “And you are a father with a grown son, so what? No one questions your right to be War Chief.”

  Vio’s brow furrowed. “Don’t they? Who do you think Zumo’s stealth coup was truly aimed at, Vessia? When he points out to the others how old you are, he is really pointing out to them how old I am. Don’t you see? He is now War Chief in all but name.”

  “But you have allies. All the Imorvae…”

  “Zumo knows I do not dare move against him as long as he holds you in ‘protective’ custody. That is why he has incarcerated you here….to keep me on his leash.” He buried his head in his hands. “O my love, I am sorry I did not foresee this and prevent it. I should never have allowed the Morvae to exile Kavio.”

  No, you should not. But she bit her tongue. She had still worse news.

  “Something terrible has happened to Kavio,” she said softly.

  Vio jerked up his head. “Is he dead?”

  “I don’t know for certain. But I heard the banshee wail his name.”

  Vio turned ashen. For the first time, Vessia noticed how old he looked. His face was deeply lined; his hair was salted gray and white. It shocked her. When she gazed at him, somehow she always still saw him as he had looked the first time they met, tall, handsome, muscular and proud.

  “Then Zumo has won,” said Vio woodenly.

  “No. I am not willing to give up on us, or on Kavio, so easily. We will find a way out of this.”

  “When Zumo is strong enough to proclaim himself War Chief openly, he will have us both killed. The only question is whether he will also sweep all of the Imorvae into the bonfire, or limit the massacre to those who actively oppose him.” Vio had never been much of a bowl-half-full fellow. “Are you going to eat your food?”

  “No. Have it, if you’re hungry.”

  “I’m not hungry.” But he forced himself to eat the corn mash rather than let it go to waste. Vessia wanted to tell him that the mouse would have enjoyed it more, but Vio did not like rats, and wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment.

  “This old mountain lion will not go down without a fight,” Vio promised her. “And if Zumo does have our son’s blood on his hands, he will pay that deathdebt with more pain than he can dream.”

  After he left, Vessia had nothing to do besides watch the spot of light continue its journey up the wall, then fade and give way to a paler spot of moonlight. She wrapped a blanket around her shoulders to stop her shivers. There was no fire in her cell. Perhaps Zumo was afraid to let her commune with fire fae. Wise of him, she thought savagely.

  Another server brought her a new pla
te of food.

  Corn mash again.

  She ate it anyway.

  Dindi

  Kemla did not return to practice that morning. Tamio sauntered back in alone. He offered no explanation and no one dared demand one. They continued practice as if nothing had happened.

  Dindi felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up, as if a predator were stalking her. Several times, she glanced up to catch Tamio staring at her. He always looked away when she turned toward him, leaving her uncertain if she had only imagined it.

  It felt like eternity before the rest of the troop finally left the cave. As usual, Dindi stayed behind to pick up the drums, feathers and beads the others had dropped in the dust. She straightened up, swept, and packed her basket of costumes to be beaded and mended.

  Her mornings belonged to the troop, but her afternoons were her own. As she left the cave, she slipped out the object on a cord around her neck that she usually kept hidden under her blouse. It was a totem doll, ancient, ratty and worn. The unimposing figure, which was so old that the face had been rubbed out, held far more power than anyone guessed. Once, Dindi had thought it hexed, and blamed it for Visions that had hit her like hurricanes at the most inopportune of moments. Now she knew her own magic was as much responsible for those Visions as the corncob doll. The doll’s power flowed like a river. To use it, one needed magic of one’s own, to steer a boat on that river. Slowly, she was learning to steer. Every since her return from her Initiation at Yellow Bear, she had been practicing daily. She was much better at controlling the Visions now than a year ago.

  Even so, the Visions did not always come. Or if they did, they were not helpful. Dindi had seen Visions of the original inhabitants of the Corn Hills: Aelfae with wings like swans. They had lived in the cave that the human clans now used to practice their magic. Dindi had also seen Visions of the coming of the first humans to the hills. Originally there had been only one clan, Full Basket, just a few families who had spread out from Flint Cliff clan further east. At first, they had lived in peace with the Aelfae, but soon enough fae and human warriors had started to clash. All-out war had followed, a ruthless feud that had lasted generations.

  Which was all very interesting, but did not answer Dindi’s biggest question: why had the Aelfae cursed just her lineage, hexing all the descendants of Lost Swan clan to hide their magic? When during the long war had it happened? And—most important of all—how could it be undone?

  Dindi sat on a rock with the corncob doll in front of her, and prepared to invoke a Vision.

  “Dindi! Dindi!” cried several tiny voices.

  A dozen Orange, Red and Yellow pixies fluttered around her.

  “Someone is watching you!” they warned her.

  Dindi glanced around but saw no one. She did not doubt the fae, however.

  “Who?”

  “Tamio!” The pixies laughed. “He’s hiding but he’s not very good at it! We saw him at once!”

  She closed her hand around the corncob doll protectively. Muck and mercy, why would Tamio spy on her? Did he suspect she was using magic?

  That did not seem likely. The spell hiding her magic seemed to cast a blanket over people’s eyes when it came to her aura. She couldn’t prove she had magic even when she tried. She knew; she had tried. She’d only made a fool of herself. Thank the Seven Faeries she had never been stupid enough to tell everyone she had six Chromas. They would have laughed themselves sick. Ha ha! Dindi, the little serving maid is secretly one of the most powerful magic dancers in Faearth! Ha!

  Even she didn’t believe that. She just wanted to break the Aelfae spell so she could claim a tiny bit of magic and try her best to answer the faery riddle she had promised to solve. Not that she had much chance of that either, at this rate.

  “Go away, Tamio,” she muttered under her breath.

  “He’s still there,” the pixies assured her. “He’s lying down, covered with leaves. I think he plans to be there a while.”

  “I can outwait him,” Dindi said. She pulled out a costume from her pack. She had darning to do.

  It was close to sunset by the time the pixies told her Tamio had left. Dindi broke into a grin.

  “I told you I could outwait him,” she told the pixies.

  She had hidden the corncob doll under one of the costumes. She felt around for it.

  Ouch. She sucked blood from a cut finger. Instead of the corncob doll she had accidently picked up a ceramic shard. It was all that remained of the marriage bowl Kavio had smashed in front of her when he’d rejected her and walked away.

  Pain boiled up in her chest. Don’t think about it.

  She placed the shard back in her basket.

  The corncob doll was under Kemla’s red robe. Dindi held it in front of her. A bit of blood from her cut finger smeared the neck, making it look as though someone had tried to slice off the head.

  Don’t think about it.

  Instead, she focused on the Patterns of magic around her. Lines and swirls and swoops of light dimly connected the trees, rocks, brambles and sky.

  “Corncob doll, help me, help me, help me see, those who concealed my mothers and me,” Dindi said.

  The lines of magic intensified and poured into the doll. The flash of light grew stronger than a sun, and swallowed Dindi into the glowing inferno of a Vision.

  Mayara

  “Give me your wings,” Mayara’s mommy said. “I’ll bury them.”

  Mayara wasn’t sure what to do. Her wings were part of her—they grew from her back. How could she give them up, even if she wanted to, any more than she could take off her arms or her legs?

  “Hurry!” Mommy kept looking back over her shoulder. The forest beyond the cave looked innocent enough, but Mayara could hear the war cries of humans climbing the slope, out of sight. Hu, hu, hu! they shouted in the distance, to the beat of drums.

  Once their clan had lived free, soaring on the mountain winds, sailing in the lake beneath the waterfall. The arrival of a clan of humans had changed all that—now, Mayara’s kin hid by day in a barricaded cave. Mommy always said to never, never leave the cave. Now, however, Mommy dragged her into a maze of boulders upslope of the cave entrance.

  “Why did we leave the cave, Mommy?” Mayara asked.

  Instead of answering, Mommy said in a low, but angry voice, “I told you to give up your wings!”

  “Mommy, I don’t know how,” Mayara whimpered.

  “Don’t be frightened,” said Mommy, sounding very frightened. “I’ll do it.”

  She danced in a circle around Mayara, who felt a wrenching pain.

  “Mommy, don’t!” she cried. Amputating her arms would have hurt less. Mayara screamed. Mommy clapped her hands over Mayara’s mouth, muffling her agony when Mommy finished the job with two hard yanks. Bloody stumped wings fell to the ground. Mayara collapsed, sobbing.

  “I had to do it,” Mommy whispered. “Oh my baby, if you knew how I hated to pull your wings. It’s the only way.”

  Hu, hu, hu! The human war band sounded closer, their drums thrummed louder. Thrum, thrum, thrum!

  “There’s no time to bury them properly,” Mommy muttered, more to herself than to Mayara. Mommy danced again and a huge boulder rolled over the wings. Only a single feather remained. Mayara snatched it up, determined to keep it even if Mommy tried to pry it out of her hands. But Mommy was preoccupied with her own rants, all under her breath, almost too hot and hissed to hear.

  “The others are fools if they think we can defeat the humans. Yes, we have magic, but they outnumber us.” She shook Mayara by the shoulders. “I know you don’t understand now, Mayara, but remember, I did this to keep you safe. Hide behind the rock. You will see bad things. Don’t make a sound. Whatever you do, don’t come out of hiding. Run, if you have to, just don’t let the humans see you. Only after the humans are gone can you return here, to this rock, and retrieve your wings. Then, fly! Fly to the others!”

  “Hu! Hu! Hu!” The human war band topped the ridge in sight of t
he cave. Mommy shoved Mayara behind the rock and ran toward them.

  The humans howled in delight. They rushed her in a pack. Mayara had seen a wolfpack tear a deer in half. Flesh never broke cleanly, but ripped, muscle by muscle. Bones snapped, tendons trailed behind severed limbs. She shut her eyes, but screams and laughter assaulted her.

  Appetite whetted by their first kill, the human pack surrounded the cave. A volley of arrows answered from behind the barricade before the cave entrance. Some of the humans fell. It made little difference, however, for even now, a second pack of human men rushed up the hill, then a third, then a forth until there were too many to count. The humans had no bows and arrows, only spears—and fire.

  The rest of the afternoon and all through the night, the battle at the cave continued. Mayara fled higher into the mountains, deeper into the woods, but she could hear the shouts and thuds of battle even in the hollowed out log where she eventually cowered. Having nothing else to hold on to, she clutched her feather. The air tasted of smoke. All she could see of the battle was the dark plume in the sky. After that, she had to listen to the song and drumming of the humans as they celebrated their victory.

  When stillness returned, and finally, even birdsong, Mayara crept back down the mountain to the cave where her clan had once lived. She found them. Their heads had been mounted on stakes all around the cave. Some of the faces were still fresh and staring. Others were burned and blackened skulls. Many had lost noses, eyes or ears, or been carved up through deliberate mutilation. The bodies had been burned and dumped in a pile on top of a flat boulder nearby. Every single person she knew and loved had been slaughtered.

  Her wings were buried under the charnel pile. There was no way could she bring herself to try to move the fetid, headless corpses.

  She wandered away, still in shock. Hunger and thirst were her only companions over the days that followed. She was too young to hunt for herself. She found streams, and drank from them the way a hunted fawn would, fragile and easily spooked. Her flesh thinned against her bones. Her clothes, once finely beaded in the symbols of her clan, disintegrated into rags. Dirt alone clothed her after that. All she had left was one feather, which she twisted in her ratted hair.