The Song of Homana

by Jennifer Roberson

  “Sit you down,” Duncan invited. “Donal will move his wolf.”

  I saw then what he meant, for sprawled across one of the pelts carpeting the hard-packed earth was a sleeping wolf-cub. Very young, and sleeping the sleep of the dead, or the very tired. He was damp and the pavilion smelled of wet fur; I did not doubt Donal had been out with the wolfling when the rain began.

  Donal, understanding his father’s suggestion at once, knelt down and hoisted half of the cub into his arms. The wolf was like a bag of bones, so limp and heavy, but Donal dragged him aside. The cub was ruddy, not silver like Storr, and when he opened one eye I saw it was brown.

  “He is complaining,” Donal said, affronted. “He wanted to stay by the fire.”

  “He has more hair than you,” Alix retorted. “Lorn will be well enough farther back. This is the Mujhar we entertain.”

  I waved a hand. “Carillon, to him. He is my kin, for all that.” I grinned at the boy. “Cousins, of a sort.”

  “Taj is weary of Cai’s company,” Donal said forthrightly. “Can he not come in, too?”

  “Taj is a falcon and will remain outdoors,” Duncan said firmly as he sidestepped the flopping wolf-cub. “Cai has stood it all these years; so will Taj.”

  Donal got Lorn the wolf settled and sat down close beside him, one small hand buried in damp fur. His yellow eyes peered up at me with the bright intentness of unsuppressed youth. “Did you know I have two?”

  “Two lir?” I looked at Alix and Duncan. “I thought a warrior had only one.”

  “Ordinarily.” Duncan’s tone was dry as he waved me down on the nearest pelt. Alix poured a cup of hot honey brew and handed it across. “But Donal, you see, has the Old Blood.”

  Alix laughed as I took the cup. “Aye. He got it from me. It is the Firstborn in him.” She sat back upon her heels, placing herself close to Duncan. “I took lir-shape twice while I carried him, as wolf and falcon both. You see the result.”

  I sipped at the hot, sweet brew. It was warm in the pavilion, though somewhat close; I was accustomed to larger quarters. But it was a homey pavilion, full of pelts and chests and things a clan-leader holds. A heavy tapestry fell from the ridge-pole to divide the tent into two areas; one, no doubt, a bedchamber for Alix and Duncan. As for Donal, he undoubtedly slept by the fire on the other side. And now with his wolf.

  “How fares the girl?” Duncan asked.

  I smiled. “At two months of age, already she is lovely. We have named her Aislinn to honor my mother’s mother.”

  “May she have all of her jehan’s wisdom,” Duncan offered gravely.

  I laughed. “And none of my looks, I trust.”

  Alix smiled, but her face soon turned pensive. “No doubt you have come to see Finn. He is no longer here.”

  The honey brew went sour in my mouth. I swallowed with effort. “No. I met him on the road. He is bound for Homana-Mujhar. And no, I did not come to speak to him. I came to speak of Homana.”

  I told them what I could. They listened in silence, all three of them; Donal’s eyes were wide and full of wonder. It was, no doubt, the first he had heard of war from the Mujhar himself, and I knew he would always remember. I recalled the time I had sat with my own father, listening to plots and plans—and how those things had slain him. But death was not in Donal’s mind, that much I could see. He was Cheysuli. He thought of fighting instead.

  “I must have allies,” I finished. “I need more than just the Cheysuli.”

  “Then you offer alliances.” Duncan nodded thoughtfully. “What else is there to give?”

  “My sister,” I said flatly, knowing how it sounded. “I have Tourmaline to offer, and I have done it. To Ellas, to Falia, to Caledon. All have marriageable princes.”

  Alix put a hand to her mouth and looked at Duncan. “Oh Carillon, no. Do not barter your sister away.”

  “Torry is meant for a prince,” I said impatiently. “She will get one anyway; why should I wait? I need men, and Torry needs a husband. A proper husband.” I could not help but think of Lachlan. “I know—it is not a Cheysuli custom to offer women this way. But it is the way of most royal Houses. How else to find a man or woman worthy of the rank? Torry is well past marriageable age; the dowry will have to be increased. There will be questions about her virginity.” I looked again at Donal, thinking he was too young. But he was Cheysuli, and they seemed always older than I. “Bellam held her for years; he even spoke of wedding her himself. There will be questions asked of that. But she is my sister, and that will count for something. I should get a worthy price for her.”

  “And allies for Homana.” Duncan’s tone lacked inflection, which told me what he thought. “Are the Cheysuli not enough?”

  “Not this time,” I answered flatly. “Thorne enters in more than one place. Bellam came at us straight away. But Thorne knows better; he has learned. He will creep over my borders in bits and pieces. If I split the Cheysuli, I split my strongest weapon. I need more men than that, to place my armies accordingly.”

  Duncan studied me, and then he smiled. Only a little. “Did you think we would not come?”

  “I cannot order you to come, any of you,” I said quietly. “I ask, instead.”

  The smile widened and I saw the merest glint of white teeth. Not bared, as Finn’s had been; a reflection of true amusement. “Assemble your armies, Carillon. You will have your Cheysuli aid. Do whatever you must in the way that you must, to win the allies you need. And then we shall send Thorne back to his island realm.” He paused. “Provided he survives the encounter.”

  Alix glanced at him, and then she looked squarely at me. “What did Finn say to you when you met him on the road?”

  “Little.”

  “But you know why he came…”

  I shifted on the pelt. “I was told it was something to do with cleansing. A ritual of sorts.”

  “Aye,” Duncan agreed. “And now he has had to go back.”

  The cup grew cool in my hands. “He said he had no other place to go. That you had, in essence, sent him out of the Keep.” I meant to keep my tone inflectionless and did not succeed. It was a mark of the bond between Finn and me that I accused even his brother of wrongful behavior.

  “Finn is welcome here,” Duncan demurred. “No Cheysuli is denied the sanctuary when he requires it, but that time was done. Finn’s place is with you.”

  “Even so unhappy?”

  Alix’s face was worried. “I thought he should not go—”

  “He must learn to deal with that himself.” Duncan took my cup and warmed it with more liquor, handing it back. It was high honor from a clan-leader; I thought it was simply Duncan. “Finn has ever shut his eyes to many things, going in the backflap.” An expressive flick of his fingers indicated the back of the pavilion. “Occasionally, when I can, I remind him there is a front.”

  “Something has set him on edge.” I frowned and sipped at the liquor. “He is—different. I cannot precisely say.…” I shook my head, recalling the expression in his eyes. “What happened with Electra frightened me. I have never seen him so.”

  “It is why he came,” Duncan agreed, “and why he stayed so long. Eight weeks.” His face was grim. “It is rare a liege man will leave his lord for so long unless it has something to do with his clan- and kin-ties. But he could not live with what he had done, and so he came here to renew himself; to touch again the power in the earth through i’toshaa-ni.” He looked tired suddenly. “It comes upon us all, once or twice; the need to be cleansed.”

  The word, even in Homanan, had a nuance I could not divine. Duncan spoke of things that no Homanan had shared, though once I had shared a fleeting moment of their life. Such stringent codes and honor systems, I thought; could I bind myself so closely?

  Duncan sipped at his honey brew. I noticed then that his hair was still black, showing no silver at all. Odd, I thought; Duncan was the elder.

  “I am not certain he was cleansed at all,” Alix said in a very low voice. “He is—unhappy.
” Briefly she looked at Duncan. “But that is a private thing.”

  “Can he say nothing to me?” I could not hide the desperation in my voice. “By the gods, we have been closer than most. We shared an exile together, and then only because of me. He might have stayed behind.” I looked at them both, almost pleading to understand. “Why can he say nothing to me?”

  “It is private,” Duncan repeated. “But no, he can say nothing to you. He knows you too well.”

  I swore, then glanced in concern to Donal. But boys grow up, and I did not doubt he had heard it before. Finn had taught me the Cheysuli invectives. “He told you what he did, then. To Electra?”

  “To Tynstar,” Duncan said.

  I heard the firecairn crackle in the sudden silence. A hissing mote of sparks flew up. “Tynstar?” I said at last.

  “Aye. It was not Electra he meant to slay; did you think it was?” He frowned. “Did he tell you nothing?”

  I recalled how he had said it over and over, so hoarse and stricken: Tynstar was here. And how I had ignored it. “He said—something—”

  “Tynstar set a trap,” Duncan explained, echoing Finn’s own words. “He set it in Electra’s mind, so that anyone using the earth magic on her would succumb to the possession.”

  My body twitched in surprise. “Possession!”

  The firelight cast an amber glaze across the face before me. Smoke was drawn upward to the vent-flap, but enough remained to shroud the air with a wispy, ocherous haze. Duncan was gold and bronze and black in the light, and the hawk-earring transfixed my gaze. I smelled smoke and wet fur and honey, sweet honey, with the bittersweet tang of spice.

  “The Ihlini have that power,” Duncan said quietly. “It is a balance of our own gift, which is why we use it sparingly. We would not have it said we are anything like the Ihlini.” Minutely, he frowned, looking downward into his cup. “When we use it, we leave a person his soul. We do little more than suggest, borrowing the will for a moment only.” Again the faint frown that alarmed me. He was not divulging something. “When it is Ihlini-done, the soul is swallowed whole. Whole…and not given back at all.”

  Silence. Duncan put out a hand and touched his son, tousling Donal’s hair in a gesture that betrayed his concern as the boy crept closer, between father and lir. I thought Duncan knew how avidly the boy listened and meant to calm any fears. The gods knew I had a few of my own.

  “Finn reacted the way any Cheysuli would react; perhaps even you.” He did not smile. “He tried to slay the trapper through the trap. It is—understandable.” His eyes lifted to meet mine squarely. “In that moment she was not Electra to him, not even a woman. To Finn, she was simply Tynstar. Tynstar was—there.”

  I frowned. “Then Tynstar knew it was Finn he had—”

  “I do not doubt it,” Duncan said clearly. “An Ihlini trap will kill. He did not intend to leave Finn alive. But something—someone—prevented the death by shattering a trap-link.”

  “I broke it.” I recalled how Electra had grasped Finn’s hand, leaving blood in the scratches she had made. How he had been unable to break free.

  And I recalled, suddenly, how he had slain the Homanan assassin in the Ellasian blizzard, more than a year before. How he had said he touched Tynstar, who had set the man a task—

  I stood up. Bile surged into my throat. Before they could say a word I bent down and swept up my damp cloak, then went out of the pavilion shouting for my horse.

  Alix, running out into the rain, caught my arm as I moved to sling on the cloak. “Carillon—wait you! What are you doing?”

  The hood lay on my shoulders and the rain ran into my mouth. “Do you not see?” I was amazed she could be so blind. “Finn thought he slew Tynstar through Electra. Tynstar thought he slew him—” I swung up on my horse. “If one is afraid, one can only become unafraid by facing what causes the fear.”

  “Carillon!” she shouted, but I was already gone.

  I heard the howling when I ran into Homana-Mujhar. Howling. Gods, was Finn a wolf—?

  The white faces were a blur, but I heard the frightened voices. “My lord!” “My lord Carillon!” “The Mujhar!” I pushed past them all and answered none of them, conscious only of the great beating of fear in my chest.

  Howling. Gods, it was Storr. Not Finn. But the screaming was Electra’s.

  Weight hung off my shoulders as I pounded up the twisting red stone stairs. I ripped the cloak-brooch from my left shoulder and felt the fabric tear. Weight and gold fell behind me; I heard the clink of brooch on stone and the soft slap of soaked wool falling to the stairs. “My lord!” But I ran on.

  I burst through the women and into the room. I saw Electra first, white-faced and screaming though Lachlan suggested she be quiet. No need, he said; no need to scream. Safe, he said; unharmed. The wolf was held at bay.

  Electra was whole. I saw it at once. She stood in a corner with Lachlan holding her back, his hands upon her arms. Holding her back—

  —from Finn. From Finn, who was capably cornered by Rowan with his sword, and another man-at-arms. They caged him with steel, bright and deadly, and the wolf in man’s shape was held at bay.

  He bled. Something had opened the scar so that his face ran with blood. It stained the leather jerkin and splattered down to his thighs, where I saw more blood. His right thigh, where the Atvian spear had pierced. There was a cut in his leggings and blood on Rowan’s blade.

  He was flat against the wall, head pressed back so that his throat was bared. Blood ran from the opened scar to trickle down his throat, crimson on bronze; I smelled the tang of fear. Gods, it swallowed him whole and left nothing to spit out.

  I looked again at Electra and heard the women’s frightened conversation. I understood little of it, knowing it to be only Solindish. But I understood the screams.

  I went to her and set a hand on Lachlan’s shoulder. He saw me, but he did not let her go. I knew why. There was blood on her nails and she wanted more; she would rip the flesh from his bones.

  “Electra,” I said.

  The screaming stopped. “Carillon—”

  “I know.” I could hear the howling still. Storr, locked somewhere within the palace. Locked away by his lir.

  I turned away again, looking back at Finn. His eyes were wide and wild. Breath rasped in his throat. Even from here, I saw how he shook; how the trembling wracked his bones.

  “Out!” I shouted at the women. “This will be better done without your Solindish tongues!”

  They protested at once. So did Electra. But I listened to none of it. I waited, and when they saw I meant it they gathered their skirts and scuttled out of the room. I slammed the heavy door shut behind them, and then I went to Finn.

  The man-at-arms—Perrin, I knew—stepped out of my way at once. Rowan hesitated, still holding Finn at swordpoint, and I set him aside with one ungentle thrust of my arm. I went through the space where Rowan had stood and caught the jerkin in both hands, pulling Finn from the wall even as he sagged.

  “Ku’reshtin!” I used the Cheysuli obscenity, knowing he would answer no Homanan. “Tu’halla dei!” Lord to liege man, a command he had to acknowledge.

  I felt the shaking in the flesh beneath my hands. Fists clenched and unclenched helplessly, clawless and human, but betrayal nonetheless. I had seen the bruises on Electra’s throat.

  I heard the labored breathing. The howling filled the halls. Human and wolf, both driven to extremes. But at this moment I thought Storr, at least, knew what was going on.

  I thrust Finn into the corner, fenced by two walls of stone. I drew back one fist and smashed it into his face, knocking skull against brick. Blood welled up in a broken lip.

  “No!” Rowan caught my arm.

  “Get you gone!” I thrust him back again. “I am not beating him to death, I am beating him to sense—”

  A hand closed on my wrist. Finn’s hand, but lacking all strength. “Tynstar—”

  At least he could speak again. “Finn—you fool! You fool!
It was a trap—a trap—” I shook my head in desperation. “Why did you go in again? Why did you give him the chance?”

  “Tynstar—” It hissed out of his bloodied mouth. “Tynstar—here—”

  “He nearly slew me!” Electra’s voice was hoarse and broken. “Your shapechanger tried to slay me!”

  “Tynstar was here—”

  “No.” I felt the futility well into my chest. “Oh Finn, no—not Tynstar, Electra. It was a trap—”

  “Tynstar.” For a moment he frowned in confusion, trying to stand on his own. He knew I held him, and I thought he knew why. “Let go.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “You will try for her again.”

  It focused him. I saw sense in his eyes again, and the fear came leaping back to swallow him whole once more.

  I slammed him against the wall once more as he thrust himself from the stone. Electra shouted again, this time in Solindish, and I heard the rage in her voice. Not only fear, though there was that. Rage. And wild, wild hatred.

  “Finn—” I set the elbow against his throat and felt him stiffen at once. We had done it all before.

  “My lord.” Rowan’s voice was horrified. “What will you do?”

  “Tynstar’s meijha,” Finn rasped. “Tynstar was here—”

  I let him go. I let go of the wrist I held, took my arm from his throat and stood back. But this time the sword was in my hand, my sword, and he stopped when I set the point against his throat. “No,” I said. “Hold. I will get the truth from you one way or another.” I saw the shock in his eyes. “Finn, I understand. Duncan has said what it was, and I recall how you were in the Ellasian snowstorm.” I paused, looking for comprehension in his eyes. “Do not make it any worse.”

  He was still white as death. Blood welled in the opened scar. Now, seeing him in extremity, I saw clearly the silver in his hair. Even beneath the blood his face was harder, more gaunt at eyes and beneath his cheeks. He had aged ten years in two months.

  “Finn,” I said in rising alarm, “are you ill?”

  “Tynstar,” was all he said, and again: “Tynstar. He put his hand on me.”

  When I could I looked at Rowan, standing silent and shocked beside me. “How did you come to be here?”