Cheysuli 7 - Flight of the Raven

by Jennifer Roberson

  "My mother never told me that."

  "Aye, well…" He shrugged. "There are hundreds of stories about our ancestors, meijhana—and doubtless one day there will be as many about us."

  Shona arched a brow. "And children to tell them to?"

  He grinned. "One day."

  She touched the knotted girdle. "Sooner than that, I'm thinking."

  He opened his mouth to question her, but the kivarna flared up even as she laughed. While he could not sense the presence of the child, he knew the truth without a doubt. Shona's emotions were to easy to read.

  "Gods," he blurted, "when?"

  She smoothed a hand over the girdle, rattling its weight of gems. In the torchlight, colors flashed. "Did you truly not guess?"

  "No." He looked. "Not even now. Are you certain?"

  "Oh, aye." She made a face. "To me, I'm showing—see how the gown barely fits? And how short the girdle is tied?" She sighed, twisting her mouth. "I meant to hide it, so I could tell you closer to my lying-in… but Aileen and Deirdre saw it too soon. They sent the midwife to me." She grinned. "Three months, my lord… and we'll have us a wee bairn of our own."

  "Three months—"

  She nodded. "I'm so tall and wide, the babe is spread all over. If I were a smaller woman, there'd be more bairn here." She put a hand to her belly.

  He was not thinking of that. "But that would mean…" He paused, counting back. "That would mean we were still in Erinn."

  Shona nodded. "And, by the days, 'twas that first night together." She laughed. "You're a potent one, I'm thinking."

  Aidan frowned. "I thought it was the Homanan food."

  "So, you did notice!" She scowled fiercely, though without much sincerety. "Too polite to mention you thought I was getting fat?"

  He colored. "There are more flattering things to discuss."

  "Aye, well…" Shona grinned. "Does it matter? 'Tis a bairn, not too much Homanan food—will it be a lad, d'ye think?"

  "How am I to know?" Aidan slid the torch into a bracket by the door and turned to pull her close. "And does it matter? If not, there will time for us to make a lad."

  "Six or seven," she agreed, and then blurted out a garbled sound of shock. "Aidan—look—"

  He swung from her, alerted by the very real alarm in her tone, and saw the shadow stretching down into the door. And then the man who wore it, stepping into guttering torchlight to stare blindly at them both.

  Silvering black hair was long and unkempt, tangling on his shoulders; leathers were stained and tattered, fitting his frame too loosely; bare arms were naked of lir-gold. But the marks of armbands remained, graven into flesh. As much as the loss of them—and his lir—were graven into his spirit. Teirnan of the a'saii was well and truly mad.

  Foreboding swept in. Aidan touched the hilt of his knife. "What do you want?"

  Teirnan stood framed in the doorway. His tone was an odd amalgam of detachment and intensity. "What I have always wanted."

  He felt rather than heard Shona's movement behind him. Instinctively he put out a shielding hand, thinking of the unborn child. "How did you get in?"

  Teirnan's smile was a travesty. "Such a thing to ask a Cheysuli."

  Aidan swallowed back increasing trepidation. He had never met the man, knowing him only by reputation; that reputation made him an enemy. "Your lir is dead," he said. "Spin me no tale of lir-shape, kinsman. You are kin-wrecked and lirless, and you have no place here."

  Torchlight limned his intensity. "But you have just called me kinsman. And I am." He stared past Aidan to Shona. "Are you Keely's daughter?"

  Her voice was level. "Aye."

  He nodded. "Blais described you. And the others… but none of them matter. Even you do not; you are not of my flesh. You are not of my bone." Yellow eyes burned fiercely in the torchlight. "And most certainly not of my spirit."

  There was Blais in him. Aidan could see it, even beyond the harshness of age and privation. They were of a like height and stature, in addition to coloring. Maeve had given her son nothing.

  Unless it be her good sense. Aidan drew in a breath. "Very few are of your spirit," he retorted. He looked more closely at the warrior, looking again for Blais, or something of Maeve, and marked the lines etched so deeply into the flesh beside his eyes, the hollows below arched cheekbones. Teirnan's self-exile had not been an easy one. But Aidan thought the emptiness of his spirit had more to do with lirlessness than with a life of privation. "So, you have met Blais. What do you think of your son?"

  Muscles ticked in the ravaged face. "He is not my son. He is hers… Maeve made a Homanan out of him—an Erinnish—" Teeth showed briefly in a feral clenching. "Left to me, he would have been a warrior. Left to her he is nothing, a shadow-man, a soulless halfling with no understanding of the truth."

  "Ah," Aidan said. "He repudiated you."

  "Wise man," breathed Shona.

  "He came to me and said he was my son—my son, whom she kept from me all these years…" Again the feral grimace. "She should have left him to me."

  "So you could twist him? So you could take him into the deepwood and feed him on lies?" Aidan shook his head. "Maeve knew what you would do. It is why she left Homana."

  "He was my son, once—"

  Aidan overrode him. "He is a warrior. Clan-born, blood-born… no matter what you say, Teirnan, he is a true-born Cheysuli, with the right to choose. The gods gave us that right. Even you have profited from it—if you call the travesty of your life profitable." Aidan shook his head. "You were a fool, kinsman. There are other ways of undoing things. Quieter ways of accomplishing change."

  Teirnan was too thin, too tense, too unbalanced. He had voluntarily shed the anchor of his life by renouncing the prophecy and everything it stood for; the death of his lir had stripped him of everything else. There was nothing left to Teirnan save the fanaticism that had driven him from the clans, and even that was stretched too fine. Without a lir, he was nothing. A void stood before Aidan clad in human flesh shaped in the likeness of a man.

  "Why did you come?" Aidan asked.

  "For the Lion," Teirnan rasped. "Niall is dead. Now it is mine."

  Aidan shook his head. "The Lion has been claimed."

  "By Brennan?" Teirnan laughed. "That is an old conflict, kinsman… it began even before you were born. Brennan and I are old enemies and older rivals, both pursuing the Lion." His smile was a rictus. "If he thinks it is for him, tell him to come down here."

  Aidan frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "Tell him to come down here. Here, in this vault. With the door shut, and the Womb of the Earth to receive him."

  Aidan felt Shona's nearness. Also her puzzlement; the unasked questions: what did Teirnan want? What did he expect?

  Teirnan touched marble lir. "Tell him to come here before the Womb, and ask the blessing of the gods in the old way. The way Carillon did, wanting to be Mujhar."

  Apprehension became fear. "Why?"

  Teirnan's eyes burned. "Because he will not. Because he is afraid; do you not know the stories? Brennan of Homana is afraid of places like this. Because he knows the Womb will swallow him whole and never give him up."

  "That has nothing to do with it." Aidan knew very well his father would not enter the vault, but it had nothing to do with fear of the Womb. It was a fear of enclosed places; it had always been Brennan's weakness. "He is Mujhar, Teirnan. The Homanan Council says so, Cheysuli Clan Council—"

  "Only the gods matter."

  Aidan nearly laughed. "I know something of that, kinsman. As for you? You turned your back. You took your a'saii and went away from everything, repudiating your heritage. How do you expect to convince anyone—even your own son—you are worthy to be Mujhar?"

  "How?" Teirnan took one step into the vault, then another. "By being born, kinsman… as the old Mujhars were born."

  Comprehension blossomed. "Teirnan—no—"

  He stood on the brink of the Womb. "She will give me back," he said. "She will. I am a child of the go
ds. Child of the Jehana. I will go in the man and come out the Mujhar."

  "Teirnan—" Shona blurted.

  "She will give me back," he repeated. "Hers is a fertile Womb. She gave Carillon back. She will give me back a Mujhar, so my son will not renounce me. So no one will renounce me. I will be Mujhar, blessed in the old way, the way of our ancestors." He lingered on the edge. "I see it in your faces; you think she will not do it. You think my way is madness."

  "Don't," Shona whispered, one hand splayed across her belly. "Gods, man, don't—"

  Teirnan's face spasmed. "I must. It is the old way. Too much of the old ways have been lost—too many of the customs discarded in the name of the prophecy… do you not see? If I am made Mujhar, I can change things back. I can make us what we once were."

  "Teirnan." Aidan took a single step toward the oubliette, and the man. "This will not win back your son. This will not win you the Lion."

  It was a litany. "The Jehana's Womb is fertile. She will make me Mujhar, just as she did Carillon." Teirnan's laughter echoed. "I, at least, am Cheysuli."

  "No," Aidan said. Twofold denial: of the act, and of the claim.

  Teirnan smiled and stepped off the rim.

  This time the Womb was barren.

  Chapter Six

  « ^ »

  The assumption of power by a new king was done with very little fanfare. Brennan considered it unseemly under the circumstances; even though the two-month mourning period was over, sorrow lingered. Niall had ruled Homana for nearly fifty years. Neither his presence:—nor the honor and affection—would fade immediately.

  The new Mujhar received messages of condolence from other kingdoms with good grace, remarking privately to Aidan that no one was laggard in also wishing Niall's successor a lengthy, peaceful reign, and set about exerting his own power over the Homanan Council without delay. And though Brennan had spent most of his life preparing for the moment, Aidan knew he did not enjoy it.

  Although the changes were not immediately evident, it became quite clear Brennan was arranging the governing of Homana to suit his personal tastes. His policies were more assertive, though not overtly aggressive, and the kings of Caledon, Falia, and Ellas found long-standing trade treaties in the throes of renegotiation. Brennan wrote long letters under official seal to Corin and Hart, informing them they now ruled their realms autonomously, as Niall had always intended they do once he was dead. But he involved them in his new plans for Homana as a way of insuring Solinde and Atvia followed suit. The prophecy would not be served if the realms remained divided by more than distance. If they were to insure four realms were to unite, politically the three brothers had to think as one.

  That left Erinn, under Sean's rule. Though married to Keely, Sean was neither Homanan nor Cheysuli, with nothing owed to the prophecy. But he did owe the Mujhar; Niall had wisely forced a trade alliance that improved Erinn's economy so that separation would prove detrimental. With Keely's presence—and influence—Sean agreed to a new alliance that extended the old treaty. Erinn would not lose; neither would Homana.

  Aidan watched his father's machinations with a sense of wonder tinged with amusement. He had always known Brennan was the most serious of his kinfolk; now he saw why. The Prince of Homana was never allowed to forget his place; never allowed to think of himself as independent of the Mujhar; never allowed to think for himself; never given the opportunity to know freedom from his future. The Prince of Homana, named Mujhar, stood the highest in three realms. And Aidan was next in line.

  It was brought home with perfect clarity the day Brennan called him into his private chamber and said they should consider opportunities for betrothing Aidan's child.

  Aidan, perched on a casement sill, stared. "It is not even born yet!"

  Brennan, slumped deep in a chair, gestured impatiently. "We can discuss possibilities regardless of its gender."

  "Why should we? Let the child be born."

  The Mujhar sighed and rubbed a hand through silvering hair. "You know as well as I we none of us have the freedom to wait so long. You had more than most, but there was me between my jehan and you. Now I am Mujhar and you the Prince… we should look to insuring your hold on the succession."

  Aidan sighed with forced tolerance. "No one is going to wrest my grasp from the succession, jehan. Teirnan is dead. There is no one else in all of Homana who wants to change the order now."

  "We cannot be certain of that. Now that Teirnan is dead, the a'saii appear to have fallen into disarray—but how are we to be sure? There is Blais, after all."

  "Blais repudiated him. That is one of the reasons Teirnan threw himself into the Womb." Aidan eased himself back into the deep-cut casement. "Just because Blais refuses to come to Homana-Mujhar does not mean he plots against the succession. Blais is stubborn, and he came to be a Cheysuli, not an ambitious kinsman desiring more than his due."

  "We will discuss it anyway."

  Aidan eyed his father. There was a new note of authority in Brennan's tone. Their dealings before had been courteous and circumspect with a mutual regard, but there had always been a generalized affection that lightened parental orders and commands. Now Brennan spoke as a king to his heir. Aidan began to see the taut web that the title wove around him.

  Since his father had no intention of dismissing the topic, Aidan chose a diplomatic tone of voice. "Cousins have wed cousins for years, jehan. Is that what you desire? Or do you think we should look elsewhere?"

  Brennan's scowl deepened, but it was not directed at anything—or anyone—in particular. "A part of me agrees with the first, for we have mixed linked bloodlines to form closer kin-ties. It was required to strengthen the gifts. But we are so closely tied…" He sighed. "Perhaps it is time we looked to other realms."

  Aidan nodded thoughtfully. "We are now too close to Erinn."

  "And to Solinde."

  "And Corin's Glyn is barren." As his father looked up sharply, Aidan shrugged. "He told me before he left. He does not care, he says—he did not marry her for children."

  Brennan scowled thoughtfully. Then sighed, shrugging. "If we look to other lands, there is Ellas, Falia, and Caledon."

  Aidan raised a single brow. "But Homana has never married into those realms. Finn's daughter came the closest by marrying the youngest son of Ellas' High King—" he paused "—how many generations back?"

  Brennan waved a hand. "It does not matter. That is old history, and we are speaking of new."

  "Aye, well…" Aidan thought it over. "I am not so certain I like the idea of marrying my daughter into foreign lands."

  Brennan smiled. "But if she is a son, he will remain here. And the princess come to him."

  "As Shona has?" Aidan arched a brow. "While we are speaking of weddings, what of mine?"

  Brennan gestured. "I thought you might wish to wait. Even though official mourning is ended, it would not be seemly to hold a large wedding celebration within a year of the Mujhar's passing."

  "Then we will hold a small one." Aidan shrugged. "As I have said before, Shona is not a woman for ceremony. And I myself do not care. I only thought it might be wise in view of the imminent birth. There are only two months left, jehan. And you know the Homanans."

  "Aye, so I do." Brennan stroked a temple. "I could speak to Aileen. Together, she and Deirdre could fashion a ceremony. And it might be good for Deirdre."

  "It might be good for us all." Aidan slipped off the sill. "I will speak to Shona. I promise, jehan, she cares little for ceremony. She will not insist on splendor." He grinned. "All she insists on is for the two months to pass, so she can rid herself of the burden."

  "So did your jehan." Brennan smiled briefly. "I will speak to Aileen."

  "There is one thing."

  Brennan eyed him warily. "What is it?"

  Aidan was amused; was he so unpredictable? "I want to take her to Clankeep. To bear the child there."

  Raven brows rose. "Why? Would she not prefer Homana-Mujhar?"

  Aidan shook his head slowly.
"She has grown up ignorant of her heritage, except for what Keely taught her. Shona has a great need to know her ancestry, to understand the history of our people. She is empty of us, jehan. She is empty of the knowledge. There are shar tahls to learn from, and clansmen to meet." He shrugged. "I think she longs for a thing of which she has no understanding."

  Brennan sighed. "Lir-sickness, in a way. After all, she is Keely's daughter. Who is to say what needs burn in her blood?" He looked at his son. "Take her wherever she wishes. She is Cheysuli, too. Nothing is closed to her."

  Aidan nodded. "I will tell her to plan for a wedding. Then we will go to Clankeep."

  "You might ask," Brennan suggested. "Telling is not always wise."

  Aidan grinned. "You forget, jehan. There is the kivarna between us. She will know the truth of things the moment we see one another."

  Something glimmered in Brennan's eyes. "Then I would say it is fortunate you are not a habitual liar."

  "Nor any kind of liar." Aidan crossed to the door. "I think it is time I put up my own pavilion in Clankeep. As a gift to the child."

  "No," Brennan said quietly, as his son swung open the door. "As a gift to yourself."

  Aidan paused, staring. He sensed regret commingled with a desire to alter things of the past. "Jehan?"

  "As a gift to yourself," Brennan repeated. "You will lose too much in the years to come. The Lion will swallow you up, as well as the Homanans. It is how things are, and not necessarily bad… but I might wish for another way, had I to do it again."

  "What would you change?"

  Brennan's gesture encompassed the chamber. "This. Walls bind me, Aidan… they bind every Cheysuli. But I cannot very well order the Lion taken out of the Great Hall and dragged off to Clankeep, to crouch amidst the trees." Briefly, he smiled. "The Lion is Homana… but we are more than that. So, when you put up your pavilion, raise it for yourself. To honor your ancestry. To remind you of what we were."