The Song of Homana

by Jennifer Roberson

  And then I saw it was Electra who held his hand and that he could not break free of her grasp.

  I caught their wrists and jerked, trying to wrench their hands apart. At first the grip held; Electra’s nails bit into his skin and drew blood, but it welled dark and thick. Then I broke the grip and Finn was freed, but he was hardly the Finn I knew. He fell back, still shaking, his yellow eyes turned up to show the whites. One shoulder scraped against the wall. I thought he was senseless, but he was awake. Too awake, I found.

  His eyes closed, then opened, and once more I saw the yellow. Too much yellow; his pupils were merest specks. He stared with the feral gaze of a predator.

  He growled. Not Storr. Finn. It came out of a human throat, but there was nothing human about him.

  I caught his shoulders as he thrust himself up and slammed him against the wall. There was no doubt of his prey. One of his arms was outstretched in her direction and the fingers were flexing like claws.

  “Finn—”

  All the muscles stood up from his flesh and I felt the tremendous power, but it was nothing compared to my fear. Somehow I held him, pressing him into the wall. I knew, if I let him go, he would slay her where she lay.

  His spine arched, then flattened. One hand fastened on my right arm and tried to pull it free, but I thrust my elbow against his throat. The growl was choked off, but I saw the feral grimace. White teeth, man’s teeth, in a bloodless mouth, but the tongue had regained its color.

  I gritted my teeth and leaned, pressing my elbow into the fragility of his windpipe, praying I could hold him. “Finn—”

  And then, as suddenly as it had come on him, the seizure was past.

  Finn sagged. He did not fall, for I held him, but his head lolled forward against my arm and I saw his teeth cut into his bottom lip. I thought he would faint. And yet his control was such that he did not, and as Storr pushed past me to his lir I saw sense coming back in Finn’s eyes.

  He pressed himself up. His head smacked into the wall. He sucked in a belly-deep, rasping breath and held it while the blood ran from his mouth. He frowned as if confused, then caught himself as once more his body sagged. With effort he straightened, scraping his lir-bands against the wall. I saw the white teeth bared yet again, this time in a grimace of shock and pain.

  “Finn—?”

  He said a single word on a rush of breath, but I could not hear it for the exhaustion in his tone. It was just a sound, an expulsion of air, but the color was back in his face. I knew he could stand again, but I did not let him go.

  “Tynstar—” It was barely a whisper, hoarse and astonished. “Tynstar—here—”

  The women were clustered around the bed and I knew I had to get Finn from the room. Electra was crying in exhaustion and fear while the contractions wracked her body. I dragged Finn to the door and pushed him out into the corridor while Storr came growling at my heels, all his hackles raised.

  Finn hardly noticed when I set him against the wall. He moved like a drunken man, all slackness, lacking grace. Not Finn, not Finn at all. “Tynstar—” he rasped again. “Tynstar—here—”

  My hands were in the leather of his jerkin, pushing him into the stone. “By the gods, do you know what you did? Finn—”

  If I took my hands away, he could fall. I could see it in his eyes. “Tynstar,” he said again. “Carillon—it was Tynstar—”

  “Not here!” I shouted. “How could he be? That was Electra you meant to slay!”

  He put a hand to his face and I saw how the fingers trembled. He pushed them through his hair, stripping it from his eyes, and the scar stood out like a brand against cheek and jaw. “He—was—here—” Each word was distinct. He spoke with the precise clarity of the drunken man, or the very shaken. A ragged and angry tone, laced with a fear I had never heard. “Tynstar set a trap—”

  “Enough of Tynstar!” I shouted, and then I fell silent. From inside the room came the imperative cry of a newborn soul, and the murmur of the women. Suddenly it was there I wanted to be, not here, and yet I knew he needed me. This once, he needed me. “Rest,” I said shortly. “Take some food—drink something! Will you go? Go…before I have to carry you from this place.”

  I took my hands away. He leaned against the wall with legs braced, muscles bunching the leather of his leggings. He looked bewildered and angry and completely devoid of comprehension.

  “Finn,” I said helplessly, “will you go?”

  He pushed off the wall, wavered, then knelt upon the floor. For one insane moment I thought he knelt to offer apology; he did not. I thought he prayed, but he did not. He merely gathered Storr into his arms and hugged him as hard as he could.

  His eyes were shut. I knew the moment was too private to be shared, even with me. Perhaps especially with me. I left them there, wolf and man, and went in to see my child.

  One of the women, as I entered, wrapped the child hastily in linen cloth, wiping its face, then set it into my arms. They were all Solindish, these women, but I was their king—and would be, until I sired a second son.

  And then I looked at their faces and knew I lacked a first.

  “A girl, my lord Mujhar,” came the whisper in accented Homanan.

  I looked down on the tiny face. It lacked the spirit of a person, little more than a collection of wrinkled features, but I knew her for mine.

  What man cannot know immortality when he holds his child in his arms? Suddenly it did not matter that I had no son; I would in time. For now, I had a daughter, and I thought she would be enough.

  I walked slowly to the bed, cradling the child with infinite care and more than a little apprehension. So helpless and so tiny; I so large and equally helpless. It seemed a miracle I had sired the girl. I knelt down at the bedside and showed Electra her baby.

  “Your heir,” she whispered, and I realized she did not know. They had not told her yet.

  “Our daughter,” I said gently.

  Sense was suddenly in her eyes; a glassy look of horror. “Do you say it is a girl—?”

  “A princess,” I told her. “Electra, she is a lovely girl.” Or will be, I thought; I hoped. “There will be time for sons. For now, we have a daughter.”

  “Gods!” she cried out. “All this pain for a girl? No son for Homana—no son for Solinde—” The tears spilled down her face, limning her exhaustion. “How will I keep my bargain? This birth nearly took me—”

  I gestured one of the women to take the baby from me. When I could, I slipped one arm beneath Electra’s shoulders and cradled her as if she were the child instead. “Electra, be at peace. There is no haste in this. We have a daughter and we will have those sons—but not tomorrow. Be at ease. I have no wish to see you grieve because you have borne a girl.”

  “A girl,” she said again. “What use is a girl but to wed? I wanted a son—!”

  I eased her down against the pillows, pulling the bedclothes close. “Sleep. I will come back later. There is the news to be told, and I must find Finn—” I stopped. There was no need to speak of Finn, not to her. Not now.

  But Electra slept. I brushed the damp hair from her brow, looked again on the sleeping baby, then went from the room to give out the news.

  Soon enough the criers were sent out and the bells began to peel. Servants congratulated me and offered good wishes. Someone pressed a cup of wine into my hand as I strode through a corridor on my way to Finn’s chambers. Faces were a blur to me; I hardly knew their names. I had a daughter, but I also had a problem.

  Finn was not in his chambers. Nor was he in the kitchens, where the spit-boys and cooks fell into bows and curtseys to see their Mujhar in their presence. I asked after Finn, was told he had not come, and went away again.

  It was Lachlan who found me at last, very grave and concerned. His arms were empty of his Lady and with him came my sister. I thought first they would give me good wishes when I told them; instead they had news of Finn.

  “He took the wolf and left,” Lachlan said quietly. “And no ho
rse for riding.”

  “Lir-shape,” I said grimly.

  “He was—odd.” Torry was white-faced. “He was not himself. But he would answer none of our questions.” She gestured helplessly. “Lachlan was playing his Lady for me. I saw Finn come in. He looked—ill. He said he had to go away.”

  “Away!” I felt the lurch in my belly. “Where?”

  “To the Keep,” Lachlan answered. “He said he required cleansing for something he had done. He said also you were not to send for him, or come after him yourself.” He glanced a moment at Torry. “He said it was a Cheysuli thing, and that clan-ties take precedence, at times, over other links.”

  I felt vaguely ill. “Aye. But only rarely does he invoke them—” I stopped, recalling the wildness in his eyes and the growling in his throat. “Did he say how long he would stay there?”

  Torry’s eyes were frightened. “He said the nature of the cleansing depended on the nature of the offense. And that this one was great indeed.” One hand crept up to her throat. “Carillon—what did he do?”

  “Tried to slay the Queen.” It came out of my mouth without emotion, as if someone else were speaking. I saw the shock in their eyes. “Gods!” I said on a rushing breath, “I must go after him. You did not see what he was—” I started out the door and nearly ran into Rowan.

  “My lord!” He caught my arm. “My lord—wait you—”

  “I cannot.” I shook loose and tried to move on, but he caught my arm again. “Rowan—”

  “My lord, I have news from Solinde,” he persisted. “From Royce, your regent in Lestra.”

  “Aye,” I said impatiently, “can it not wait? I will be back when I can.”

  “Finn said you should not follow,” Lachlan repeated. “Doubtless he has good reason—”

  “Carillon.” Rowan forsook my title and all honorifics, which told me how serious he was. “It is Thorne of Atvia. He readies plans to invade.”

  “Solinde?” I stared at him in amazement.

  “Homana, my lord.” He let go my arm when he saw I was not moving. I could not, now. “The news has come into Lestra, and Royce sent on a courier. There is still time, Royce says, but Thorne is coming. My lord—” He paused. “It is Homana he wants, and you. A grudge for the death of his father, and Atvians slain in Bellam’s war. The courier has the news.” His young face was haggard with the implications. “Thorne intends to take Hondarth—”

  “Hondarth!” I exploded. “He will not set food in a Homanan city while I am alive!”

  “He means to raise Solindish aid,” Rowan said in a quiet voice. “To come overland through Solinde, and by ships across the Idrian Ocean, bound for Hondarth.”

  I thought of the southern city on the shores of the Idrian Ocean. Hondarth was a rich city whose commerce depended on fishing fleets and trading vessels from other lands. But it was a two-week ride to Hondarth, going fast; an even longer march. And the marshes would slow an army.

  I shut my eyes a moment, trying to get my senses sorted. First Finn’s—seizure; my daughter’s birth; now this. It was too much.

  I set a hand on Rowan’s shoulder. “Where is this courier? And find you what advisors you can. We must send for those who have gone home to their estates. It will take time—ah, gods, are we to go to war again, we must reassemble the army.” I rubbed at my gritty eyes. “Finn will have to wait.”

  When I could, I broke free of planning councils and went at last to the Keep. And, as I rode out across the plains, I came face to face with Finn.

  He had left Mujhara without a horse, but now he had one. Borrowed from the Keep, or perhaps it was one of his own. He did not say. He did not say much at all, being so shut up within himself, and when I looked at him I saw how the shadow lay on him, thick and dark. His yellow eyes were strange.

  We met under a sky slate-gray with massing clouds. Rain was due in an instant. It was nearly fall, and in four months the snow would be thick upon the ground. For now there was none, but I wore a green woolen cloak pulled close against plain brown hunting leathers. Finn, bare-armed still, and cloakless, pulled in his horse and waited. The wind whipped the hair from his face, exposing the livid scar, and I swore I saw silver in his hair where before it had been raven’s-wing black. He looked older, somehow, and more than a trifle harder. Or was it merely that I had not noticed before?

  “I wanted to come,” I said. “Lachlan said no, but I wanted it. You seemed so distraught.” I shrugged, made uncomfortable by his silence. “But the courier had come in from Lestra…” I let it trail off, seeing nothing in his face but the severity of stone.

  “I have heard.” The horse stomped, a dark bay horse with a white slash across his nose and a cast in one eye. Finn hardly noticed the movement save to adjust his weight.

  “Is that why you have come back?”

  He made a gesture with his head; a thrusting of his chin toward the distances lying behind me. “Mujhara is there. I have not come back yet.”

  The voice was flat, lacking intonation. I tried to search beneath what I saw. But I was poor at reading Cheysuli; they know ways of blanking themselves. “Do you mean to?”

  The scar ticked once. “I have no place else to go.”

  It astonished me, in light of where he had been. “But—the Keep—”

  “I am liege man to the Mujhar. My place is not with the clan, but with him. Duncan has said—” He stopped short; something made him turn his head away. “Duncan has not—absolved me of what I tried to do. As the shar tahl says: if one is afraid, one can only become unafraid by facing what causes the fear.” The wind, shifting, blew the hair back into his face. I could see nothing of his expression. “And so I go to face it again. I could not admit my fear—i’toshaa-ni was not completed. I am—unclean.”

  “What do you face again?” I asked, uneasy. “I would rather you did not see Electra.”

  He looked at me squarely now, and the strangeness was in his eyes. “I would rather not see her, also. But you have wed her, and my place is with the Mujhar. There is little choice, my lord.”

  My lord. No irony; no humor. I felt the fear push into my chest. “Did you truly intend to slay her?”

  “Not her,” he said softly, “Tynstar.”

  The anger boiled over. I had not realized how frightened I was that he might have succeeded; how close I had come to losing them both. Both. Had Finn slain Electra, there was no choice but execution. “Electra is not Tynstar! Are you blind? She is my wife—”

  “She was Tynstar’s meijha,” he said quietly, “and I doubt not he uses her still. Through her soul, if not her body.”

  “Finn—”

  “It was I who nearly died!” He was alive again, and angry. Also clearly frightened. “Not Electra—she is too strong. It was I, Cheysuli blood and all.” He drew in a hissing breath and I saw the instinctive baring of white teeth. “It nearly took me down; it nearly swallowed me whole. It was Tynstar, I tell you—it was.”

  “Go, then,” I said angrily. “Go on to Homana-Mujhar and wait for me there. We will face whatever it is you have to face, and get this finished at once. But there are things I have to discuss with Duncan.”

  There was gray in his hair; I saw it clearly now. And bleakness in his eyes. “Carillon—”

  “Go.” I said it more quietly. “I have a war to think of again. I will need you at my side.”

  The wind blew through his hair. The sunlight, so dull and brassy behind the clouds, set his lir-gold in the grayness of the day. His face was alien to me; I thought again of the vault and oubliette. Had it changed me so much? Or was it Finn who had been changed?

  “Then I will be there,” he said, “for as long as I can.”

  An odd promise. I frowned and opened my mouth to ask him what he meant, but he had set his horse to trotting, leaning forward in the saddle. And then, as I turned to watch, he galloped toward Mujhara. Beside him ran the wolf.

  TWO

  I rode into the Keep just as the storm broke. The rain fell heavily
, quickly soaking through my cloak to the leather doublet and woolens beneath. The hood was no help; I gave up and pushed it back to my shoulders, setting my horse to splashing through the mud toward Duncan’s slate-colored pavilion. It was early evening and I could hardly see the other pavilions, only the dim glow of their interior firecairns.

  I dropped off my horse into slippery mud and swore, then noticed Cai was not on his perch. No doubt he sought shelter in a thick-leafed tree, or perhaps even inside. Well, so did I.

  Someone came and took my horse as I called out for entrance. I thanked him, then turned as the doorflap was pulled open. I looked down; it was Donal. He stared up at me in surprise, and then he grinned. “Do you see?”

  I saw. His slender arms, still bared for warmer weather, were weighted with lir gold, albeit lighter than the heavy bands grown warriors wore. And in his black hair glittered an earring, though I could not see the shape. Young, I thought, so very young.

  Duncan’s big hand came down on Donal’s head and gently moved him aside. “Come in from the rain, Carillon. Forgive my son’s poor manners.”

  I stepped inside. “He has a right to be proud,” I demurred. “But is he not too young?”

  “There is no too young in the clans,” Duncan said on a sigh. “Who is to say what the gods prefer? A week ago the craving came upon him, and we let him go. Last night he received his lir-gold in his Ceremony of Honors.”

  I felt the pang of hurt pride. “Could I not have witnessed it?”

  Duncan did not smile. “You are not Cheysuli.”

  For four days, once, I had been. And yet now he denied me the honor.

  I looked past him to Alix. “You must be proud.”

  She stood on the far side of the firecairn and the light played on her face. In the dimness she was dark, more Cheysuli than ever, and I felt my lack at once. “I am,” she said softly. “My son is a warrior now.”

  He was still small. Seven, I thought. I did not know. But young.