Bloodstone

by Barbara Campbell

  Nemek bristled. “My part lasts a good deal longer than a moment, thank you.” Then blushed when his father laughed.

  “Will you come inside and share a cup of elderberry wine?” Nionik asked.

  “Later, perhaps. Now I must return this little one to his mother. He’s hungry.”

  “That’s why his face is so red,” Nemek told his father.

  Nionik nodded gravely. Griane shared a smile with Mirili. No need to fear for this child’s future; he would be surrounded by love.

  She was starting back to the birthing hut when a shout stopped her. Everyone froze as Conn raced into the village. Callie trailed behind him, his face nearly as red as the babe’s.

  “Three coracles,” Conn said between pants. “Coming up the river.”

  “It’s Fa!” Callie tugged at her skirt. “Fa and Keirith. I know it. Lacha brought them home.”

  Three coracles. That must mean the girl was with them. The one Fellgair had told her about. Quickly, she thrust the Trickster from her mind as she’d done every day in the half-moon since returning from the Summerlands.

  “Come on, Mam! We have to go down to the lake. We have to be there when they come.”

  The coracles could just as easily contain visitors from another village, but she could scarcely breathe for hope.

  Maker, let it be them.

  Already, people were streaming out of the village. Callie’s excitement had infected everyone. All around her, Griane heard eager speculations that Darak and Urkiat were returning with Keirith. They didn’t realize Urkiat would never return, that his body was lying in foreign soil. She could only hope his spirit heard the prayers she offered.

  She glanced around, searching for Faelia. She had entrusted her daughter with the truth about Keirith, had even revealed that the Trickster had told her. Despite her youth, Faelia could be counted on to keep a secret; the gods knew she had enough of her own. But Griane had said nothing to Callie, fearing he would spread the tale to the entire village.

  Failing to spy her daughter’s bright hair, she walked quickly to the birthing hut and found Lisula and Muina waiting outside. They were the only others who knew about Keirith. Neither had offered much comfort when she had shared the tale with them, both of them worried about the reaction of the tribe. Griane had bristled when Muina reminded her of the law.

  “Keirith is not Morgath!”

  “I know that without you shouting at me,” Muina replied. “But others will only see the power and the potential for destruction.”

  Judging from their worried expressions, both priestesses were recalling that conversation, but there was no time to speak. Sali ducked out of the birthing hut and held out her arms for the child.

  “You go, Mother Griane. Bethia and I will stay with Catha.” Sali hesitated, darting anxious glances at all of them before blurting out, “I hope it’s them. I know how much you’ve missed them. I’ve prayed every night for their safe return.” Then, as if appalled by her speech, she darted back inside.

  Muina stared after her in astonishment. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that many words come out of the child’s mouth in all the years I’ve known her.”

  “Whatever happens,” Lisula said, “you know we’ll stand by him.”

  “Where’s my stick? I won’t stand at all without that.”

  Lisula produced Muina’s quickthorn stick and they made their way slowly down the hill. Griane trailed after them, telling herself not to build up her hopes in case the visitors were strangers. Like the others, she shaded her eyes against the late afternoon sun, watching the coracles move out of the long shadow cast by Eagles Mount.

  “Mam! Mam!” She turned in the direction of Faelia’s voice and found her pushing through the crowd. “Is it them?”

  “We don’t know.”

  Faelia surprised her by throwing her arms around her neck. “What do we say? If it’s Keirith?”

  She’d discussed that very question with Muina and Lisula without arriving at an answer. All she could think to say was, “Follow your father’s lead.”

  Over Faelia’s shoulder, she spied Ennit striding toward her. He kissed Lisula on the cheek before turning to them. “It looks to be two men and a woman. One of the men might be Darak—I couldn’t be sure—but the other . . .” His face crumpled. “It wasn’t Keirith. I’m sorry, Griane. He had almost no hair at all and what there was of it was black.”

  Griane hugged Faelia hard, praying that no one would guess that she and her daughter were sobbing with joy.

  As he drove his paddle deep into the water, Keirith stared at all the people lined up along the shore. Somewhere in the crowd were his mam and Faelia and Callie. Conn, too, perhaps. He’d looked for him as they passed Eagles Mount, but tears reduced the scene to blurred smears of white and green.

  It will be enough to see them all again. After that, it doesn’t matter what happens.

  As they drew closer to shore, his father glanced back and flashed a smile. Always, when they discussed this homecoming, his father insisted all would be well, but Keirith sensed the doubts lurking beneath that confidence. Only once had his father voiced them.

  The morning after Hua’s recovery, his father took him aside. To Keirith’s surprise, he included Hircha in their conversation as well.

  “Illait wanted me to ask . . . he would have spoken to you himself, but he thought it might be better coming from me. He’s invited you to stay. Both of you. If you want.”

  “Stay?” Hircha echoed.

  “He said no matter what had happened in Pilozhat, you’d restored his grandson.”

  “You told him?” Keirith asked in shocked disbelief.

  “Nay. But Illait’s no fool. I don’t know how much he’s guessed, but he’s offering you a home here. You’d live in his hut. Be part of his family.”

  “I have a home,” Keirith said. “And a family.”

  “Aye. Always. But . . . it’s a risk. Going back. You know that.”

  “Do you want me to stay?”

  “I want all of us to be together. But I also want you safe. I can’t guarantee what the council will decide. And I’ll not ask you to pretend to be some stranger I found in Zheros.”

  “I couldn’t do that. It’s just . . . too hard.”

  “Besides,” Hircha said, “that’s my role. Unless you want to claim me as your long-lost daughter.”

  His father frowned as he always did when Hircha turned her acid humor on him. For some reason, she enjoyed pricking him, probably because his father didn’t know what to make of it. And because, despite her bravado, she was a little afraid of him.

  “Aye. Well. Think about it. Both of you.”

  Keirith shook his head. “I want to go home, Fa.”

  “I’ve come this far,” Hircha said, humor gone. “I’ll see it through to the end.”

  Keirith shuddered now, recalling her words. Then he remembered his father’s, fierce and soft: “As long as I live, they will never take you to the heart-oak.”

  His father had meant to comfort him. Instead, he’d convinced him that if the council voted for death, he must end his life rather than let his father sacrifice his.

  A great cry rose up from the shore. Obviously, they’d recognized his father. Keirith scanned the crowd again. When he spied the two bright heads side by side, he caught his breath. Merciful Maker, Faelia was as tall as his mam. And there was Callie, jumping up and down, waving. They were all there: the Grain-Mother and Grain-Grandmother, the Oak-Chief and the Tree-Father, Ennit and . . . aye, there was Conn, shading his eyes, searching for him.

  His father was still splashing to shore when Ennit plunged into the water to embrace him. The Tree-Father made the sign of blessing over him. The Grain-Mother kissed his cheek. Callie pushed past them and his father caught him up in his arms. But Faelia and his mam just stood there, staring past his father at him.

  He leaped out of his coracle to help Hircha. A few of his kinfolk glanced at him, frowning, but most were too excited by h
is father’s return to pay much attention to the strangers he’d brought with him.

  His father set Callie down so he could hug Faelia. His mam watched them. She was very pale, her cheeks damp with tears, her body rigid with tension. His father must have noticed, too. When he said her name, his voice was soft and hesitant, as if uncertain of his welcome.

  The sound of his voice broke his mam’s strange stillness. She stepped into his arms, turning her cheek over and over against his as her fingers clutched his tunic in a white-knuckled grip. His father sought her mouth as a flower, withered by the unrelenting sun, might seek water.

  Around them, folks smiled and murmured, but it was too intimate a moment for Keirith to watch. His gaze drifted to Faelia, who stared back at him with disturbing intensity.

  She knows. Somehow, she and Mam both know.

  His mam whispered something to his father that made him start. After a long moment, he nodded. He turned to face the crowd, but before he could speak, the chief raised his hands for silence.

  “We’re glad to have you home, Darak. And we welcome your friends. There will be time later to hear what happened, but for now, perhaps the Tree-Father would say a prayer in thanks for your safe return.”

  In less than three moons, the Tree-Father seemed to have aged years. Pouches beneath his eyes bespoke sleepless nights and the hand pressed to his father’s forehead in blessing shook with a visible tremor.

  “Maker, we thank you for hearing our prayers and bringing Darak home to us. This very day, we shall offer a sacrifice at the heart-oak in thanks for his return. And we beg your mercy for the other son of our tribe. Wherever Keirith may be, keep his spirit safe until we meet him again in the Forever Isles.”

  “Thank you for your welcome and your prayers,” his father said. “But we shall not have to wait to meet Keirith.” He paused, looking around the circle of happy faces and Keirith held his breath. “I bring you a tale of wonder. A miracle vouchsafed by the Maker.” His father’s voice held the deep cadence of the Memory-Keeper now. “I saw my son sacrificed by a Zherosi priest. I saw the dagger in his chest, his blood spilling onto the altar.”

  Gasps and moans accompanied this statement. The Tree-Father looked so stricken, Keirith automatically took a step toward him. Then he noticed Othak sidling forward. Othak wearing the brown robe of the initiate. Othak squeezing the Tree-Father’s arm and murmuring words of comfort. Othak who had slipped into the position that should have been his as easily as he slipped through the crowd. Keirith told himself it would have happened even if the raiders hadn’t captured him, but resentment still burned within him.

  His father waited for the commotion to subside. “As my son lay dying, I called to him. I opened my spirit to his and sheltered it. Just as Tinnean’s body sheltered the spirit of the Holly-Lord during our quest.”

  Amid the whispered speculation, fingers sketched the sign of blessing.

  “But the priest who murdered my son pursued us. He attacked our spirits. And together, we drove him out.”

  Keirith glanced sharply at his father; that was not what they had discussed. By claiming that he helped drive out Xevhan’s spirit, his father could be held equally culpable for the crime.

  “The Zherosi priest is dead. A man who sacrificed hundreds of our people. But my son lives.” His father slipped behind him and put his hands on his shoulders. “This is Keirith, son of Darak and Griane.”

  Stunned silence greeted his pronouncement. All eyes were fastened on him, some with disbelief, some with horror.

  “It’s true.”

  Heads swung toward his mam as she strode forward to stand on his left. Without hesitation, Faelia took up a position on his right. Only Callie remained where he was, his face puckered in a frown.

  “The Maker sent me a vision.” His mam gazed defiantly around the crowd, as if daring anyone to contradict her. “This is Keirith, the son of my body. Reborn through the Maker’s mercy. Come home to us at last.”

  In the uproar that ensued, his father remained calm, assuring the chief that he would relate the entire story to the elders. The Grain-Grandmother shouted down those who called for the council to meet at once, insisting that the family deserved a night together to celebrate their reunion. The Grain-Mother stepped forward to kiss him on both cheeks. Then, with his father’s arm around his shoulders, they made their way through the crowd and headed home.

  Once inside the hut, an awkward silence arose. “This is Hircha,” his father finally said. “I should have introduced her before.” He shrugged apologetically. “Without her, we would not have escaped.”

  “Welcome to our home, Hircha.” His mam’s voice was strained, but her smile seemed genuine. “Your home,” she corrected herself. “It’s little enough to thank you.”

  “I didn’t do much.”

  After another awkward pause, Faelia gave him a quick kiss. Then she pushed Callie forward. “Kiss your brother.”

  “That’s not my brother.”

  Although Keirith was expecting it, the words still hurt.

  His father knelt beside Callie. “Did you hear what I said down by the lake?”

  Callie stared at the rushes and nodded.

  “A bad man killed your brother. I took Keirith’s spirit inside mine. I kept it safe. And when the bad man died, Keirith took his body. You remember how the Holly-Lord took uncle Tinnean’s body when his spirit left it?”

  “But he didn’t keep it. He went back to his tree.”

  “Aye. Because that was his true form. But Keirith is a man. So he had to have the body of a man.”

  Callie squinted up at him suspiciously. “How do we know?”

  “Know what?” his father asked.

  “That it’s really Keirith. That it’s not the bad man.”

  “Because the bad man’s spirit is gone. It’s gone,” his father repeated in a gentler voice. “This is just his body. But Keirith’s spirit is inside. I know because I’ve talked to him. And once you’ve talked to him, you’ll know, too.”

  “Say something Keirith would say,” Callie demanded.

  They all looked at him expectantly. To save his life, he couldn’t think of anything. Tears welled up in Callie’s eyes. “I told you! He’s not Keirith. Keirith’s dead!”

  Keirith realized he was gnawing his thumb and quickly dropped his hand. His mam always scolded him for that. When he was little, she’d smeared a foul-tasting ointment on his thumb to keep him from sucking it, but even that failed to break him of the habit completely.

  His mam and Faelia were both watching him with wide, tear-glazed eyes. As if only now, seeing the familiar gesture, they truly believed who he was. Yet neither had hesitated to stand by him on the beach. His father and Hircha had had a moon to grow used to his appearance; he couldn’t expect the rest of his family to overcome their shock in a few moments.

  “You used to call me Keiry,” he said to Callie. “When you were little. And you and Conn and I played wolf among the flocks. And Conn always got mad because he had to be the sheep. Because . . . it was a stupid joke . . . I said he was . . . baaed at barking. Do you remember?”

  Callie nodded slowly.

  “And . . . and before the raid, you lost your quartz charm. The one shaped like a fish. And I found it. But I didn’t give it to you.”

  When Callie frowned, Keirith nudged the rushes with his foot. The light from the fire was too dim to see anything, so he got down on his hands and knees. It had to be here. He remembered that moment so clearly. “I did see it. The night before the raid. It was here—by the doorway.” He clawed through the rushes, ripping up great handfuls and tossing them aside, but the charm was gone. Defeated, he sank back on his haunches.

  A small, grubby fist appeared before him. The fingers opened to reveal the charm. “We found it,” Callie whispered. “When Mam and Faelia put down fresh rushes.”

  Callie flung his arms around his neck. Keirith wished he could freeze this moment: the warmth of Callie’s body pressed against his, the
mingled odors of grass and earth and sheep.

  Too soon, Callie squirmed free. “How come if you’re a man your face is so smooth?”

  “The raiders don’t have a lot of hair on their faces.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t you have to shave at all?”

  “Nay.”

  “Will you ever?”

  “Probably not.”

  Callie considered this. “Do you have hair in your crotch now?”

  “I had hair in my crotch before!”

  Faelia giggled. Then Hircha. Keirith felt himself flushing, but then he laughed. In a moment, they were all laughing except Callie, who just looked puzzled. “What about the hair on your head?”

  “That’ll grow in.” Keirith took Callie’s hand and drew it back and forth over the soft stubble. “The priests there shave their heads. A moon ago, I didn’t have any hair at all.”

  “It feels like the sheep. After the shearing. I know! I’ll shave my head, too, and then we’ll both look the same.”

  Keirith pulled him back into his arms and buried his face against the soft, warm neck.

  Griane took refuge in preparing supper. She had to do something to keep from staring at Keirith. Before she could ask Faelia to help, Hircha picked up a knife and began skinning the rabbits Faelia had snared that morning.

  “I worked in the kitchen,” she said with a hesitant smile.

  “Kitchen?”

  “Where the food was cooked.”

  A place just for cooking. It was as inconceivable as Darak’s claim that you had to purchase water. With half her mind, she listened to the stories they told Callie—silly tales about the strange group of performers Darak had fallen in with and incredible descriptions of the place Keirith had lived. An enormous building of stone with more rooms than there were huts in the village. Painted tree trunks that held up the roofs or simply marched alongside a path for no reason whatsoever. A tame wildcat that took food right from your fingers.

  Callie interrupted with dozens of questions, but whenever he asked about the bad man, Darak or Keirith steered the conversation to another topic. Since she was prepared for Fellgair to enter the tale, she could listen with the same wonder as the children when Darak revealed that the raiders worshiped the Trickster, too.