The Song of Homana

by Jennifer Roberson

  I set one hand to the back of his head as he tucked it under my chin. I thought, suddenly, of Aislinn, wondering what she would think of him when she was old enough to know. This boy would be my heir.

  “Come,” I said, rising, “we will speak of this elsewhere.” I turned to take him from the chamber but he reached up and caught my hand. Instantly I forgot my resolution and bent to pick him up, moving to the nearest bench in a warmer chamber. I sat down and settled him on my lap, wincing against the pain. “You must tell me what happened as clearly as you can. I can do nothing until I know.”

  Lorn flopped down at my feet with a grunt, but his brown eyes did not leave Donal’s face. The falcon flew in and found another perch, piping his agitation.

  Donal rubbed at his eyes and I saw how glassy they were. He was exhausted and ready to fall, but I had to know what had happened. As Rowan came in I signalled for him to pour Donal a swallow or two of wine.

  “My jehana and I were coming here,” Donal began. “She said you had sent for us. But there was no urgency to it, and she wanted to stop at the croft.” He stopped as Rowan brought the cup of wine. I held it to his mouth and let him drink, then gave it back to Rowan. Donal wiped his mouth and went on. “While we were there, men came. At first they gave my jehana honor. They shared their wine and then watched us, and within moments Torrin and my jehana were senseless. They—cut Torrin’s throat. They slew him!”

  I held him a little more tightly and saw the stark pity in Rowan’s face. Donal had come early to his baptism into adulthood, but Rowan earlier still. “Say on, Donal…say on until you have said it all.”

  His voice took on some life. Perhaps the wine had done it. “I called for Taj and Lorn, but the men said they would slay my jehana. So I told my lir to go away.” Renewed grief hollowed his face, blackening his eyes. “They put her on a litter and bound her…they put a chain around my neck. They said we would go to the Northern Wastes.…”

  I glanced at Rowan and saw his consternation. The Northern Wastes lay across the Bluetooth River. There would be no reason to take Donal or Alix there.

  “They said they would take us to Tynstar—” Donal’s voice was hardly a whisper.

  It came clear to me almost instantly. Rowan swore in Homanan even as I said something in the Old Tongue that made Donal’s eyes go wide in astonishment. But I could not afford to alarm him. “Was there anything more?”

  His face screwed up with concentration and confusion. “I did not understand. They spoke among themselves and I could make no sense of it. They said Tynstar wanted the seed of the prophecy—me!—and my jehana for a woman. A woman to use in place of the one he lost to you.” Donal stared up at me. “But why does he want my jehana?”

  “Gods—” I shut my eyes, seeing Alix in Tynstar’s hands. No doubt he would repay me for sending Electra to the Crystal Isle. No doubt he would use Alix badly. They had opposed each other before.

  It was Rowan who drew Donal’s attention away from my angry face. “How did you win free?”

  For a moment the boy smiled. “They thought I was a child, not a warrior, and therefore helpless. They counted my lir as little more than pets. And so Taj and Lorn kept themselves to the shadows and followed across the river. One night, when the men thought I slept, I talked to Taj and Lorn, and told them how important it was that I get away. And so they taught me how to take lir-shape, though the thing was too early done.” His face was pinched again. “Jehan had said I must wait, but I could not. I had to do it then.”

  “You came all the way in lir-shape?” I knew how draining it could be, and in a child…I had seen Alix, once, when she had shapechanged too often, and Finn as well, after too long a time spent in wolf-shape. It upset the human balance.

  “I flew.” Donal frowned. “And when I could not fly, I went as a wolf. And when it sickened me, I walked as myself. It was hard—harder than I thought…I believed lir-shape was easy for a warrior.”

  I held him a little more tightly. “Nothing is done so easily when it bears the weight of the gods.” I rose, lifting him to stand. “Come. I will see you are fed and bathed and given rest in a comfortable bed.”

  Donal slid down to the floor. “But my jehan is here. Jehana said he was.”

  “Your jehan has gone to Hondarth and it is too soon for him to be back. Another week, perhaps. You will have to wait with me.” I tousled the heavy black hair which had already lost some of its childhood curl. “Donal—I promise we will fetch your jehana back. I promise all will be well.”

  He looked up at me, huge yellow eyes set in a dark Cheysuli face. No Cheysuli trusts easily, but I knew he trusted me. Well, he would have to. I would make him into a king.

  Donal braced both elbows against the table top. He rested his chin in his hands. He watched, fascinated as always, as I traced out the battle markings drawn on the map of Caledon. In the past ten days we had spent hours with the maps.

  “It was here.” I touched the border between Caledon and the Steppes. “Your su’fali and I were riding with the Caledonese, and we went into the Steppes at this point.”

  “How long did the battle take?”

  “A day and a night. But it was only one of many battles. The plainsmen fight differently than the Homanans—Finn and I had to learn new methods.” Well, I had; Finn’s methods were highly adaptable and required no reorganization.

  Donal frowned in concentration. He put out a finger much smaller than mine and touched the leather map. “My su’fali fought with you—so has my jehan…will I fight with you when I am made a prince?”

  “I hope I may keep the peace between Homana and other realms,” I told him truthfully, “but does it come to war no matter what I do, aye, you will fight with me. Perhaps against Atvia, does Osric wish to task me…perhaps even Solinde, should the regency fail.”

  “Will it?” He fixed me with intent yellow eyes, black brows drawn down.

  “It might. I have sent Electra away, and the Solindish do not like it.” I saw no sense in hiding the truth from him. Cheysuli children are more adult than most. Donal was also a clan-leader’s son, and I did not doubt he already knew something of politics.

  Donal sighed and his attention turned. He pushed away from the table and got off the stool, sitting down on the floor with Lorn. The wolf stretched and yawned and put a paw on Donal’s thigh as Donal reached to drag him into his lap. Taj, perched upon a chair back, piped excitedly, and then Duncan was in the doorway.

  “Jehan!” Donal scrambled up, dumping Lorn, and ran across the room. I saw Duncan’s smile as he caught his son and the lessening of tension in his face. He scooped up the boy and held him, saying something in the Old Tongue, and I knew he could not know. They had left the telling to me.

  “Have you been keeping Carillon from his duties?” Duncan asked as Donal hugged his neck.

  “Jehan—oh jehan…why did you not come sooner? I was so afraid—”

  “What have you to be afraid of?” Duncan was grinning. “Unless you fear for me, which is unnecessary. You see I am well enough.” He glanced at me across the top of his son’s dark head. “Carillon, there is—”

  “Jehan—” Donal would not let him speak. “Jehan—will you go now? Will you go up across the river? Will you fetch her back?”

  “Go where? Why? Fetch who back?” Duncan grinned and moved across the room to the nearest bench. He sat down with Donal in his lap, though the boy was too big to be held. It seemed odd to see Duncan so tolerant of such things; I knew the Cheysuli did not profess to love, and therefore the words were lacking in their language. And yet it was manifest in Duncan’s movements and voice as he sat down upon the bench. “Have you lost someone, small one?”

  “Jehana,” Donal whispered, and I saw Duncan’s face go still.

  He looked to me at once. “Where is Alix?”

  “Alix was—taken.” I inhaled a careful breath. “It appears it is Tynstar’s doing.”

  “Tynstar—” Duncan’s face was ashen.

  �
��You had best let Donal tell you,” I said quietly. “It was he who won free and came to me here, to tell me what had happened.”

  Duncan’s arms were slack around the boy. And then suddenly they tightened. “Donal—say what has happened. All of it. Tell me what you saw; tell me what you heard.”

  Donal, too, was pale. I doubted he had ever seen his father so shaken. He sat hunched in Duncan’s lap and told the story as he had told it to me, and I saw the struggle in Duncan’s face. It made my own seem a shadow of true feeling.

  At last Donal finished, his voice trailing off into silence. He waited for his father to speak even as I did, but Duncan said nothing at all. He merely sat, staring into the distance, as if he had not heard.

  “Jehan—?” Donal’s voice, plaintive and frightened, as he sat on Duncan’s lap.

  Duncan spoke at last. He said something to Donal in the Old Tongue, something infinitely soothing, and I saw the boy relax. “Did they harm her, small one?”

  “No, jehan. But she could hardly speak.” Donal’s face was pinched with the memory and he was frightened all over again.

  Duncan’s hand on his son’s head was gentle in its touch. The tension was everywhere else. “Shansu, Shansu…I will get your jehana back. But you must promise me to wait here until we come home again.”

  “Here?” Donal sat upright in Duncan’s arms. “You will not send me back to the Keep?”

  “Not yet. Your jehana and I will take you there when we are back.” His eyes, staring over Donal’s head, were fixed on the distances again. Duncan seemed to be living elsewhere, even as he held his son. And then I realized he spoke to Cai. He was somewhere in the link.

  When he came out of it I saw his fear, though he tried to hide it from Donal. For a moment he shut his eyes, barricading his soul, and then he held Donal more tightly. “Shansu, Donal—peace. I will get your jehana back.”

  But I knew, looking at him, he said it for himself and not his son.

  “Duncan.” I waited until he looked at me, coming out of his haze of shock. “I have spoken to your second-leader at the Keep…and the Homanans as well. We are prepared to go with you.”

  “Go where?” he asked. “Do you know? Do you even know where she is?”

  “I assumed the lir could find her.”

  “The lir do not need to find her…I know where Alix is. I know what he means to do.” Duncan set Donal down and told him to take his lir and go. The boy protested, clearly frightened as well as offended, but Duncan made him go.

  At last I faced him alone. “Where?”

  “Valgaard.” He saw the blankness in my face. “Tynstar’s lair. It is a fortress high in the canyons of Solinde—you have only to cross the Bluetooth and go directly north into the mountains. Cross the Molon Pass into Solinde and you have found it. You cannot help but find it.” He rose and paced across the floor, but I saw how his footsteps hesitated. “He would take her there.”

  “Then we will have to go there and get her.”

  He swung around. One hand was on the hilt of his longknife; I saw how he wanted to shout, to bring down the walls, and yet he kept himself very quiet. It was eerie. It was the intensity I had seen so often in Finn, knowing to keep my distance. But this time, I could not.

  “Valgaard houses the Gate,” he said in a clipped, hissing tone. “Do you know what you say you will do?” He shook his head. “No, you do not. You do not know the Gate.”

  “I admit it. There are many things I do not know.”

  Duncan prowled the room with a stiff, angry stride. He reminded me of a mountain cat, suddenly, stalking down its prey. “The Gate,” he repeated. “Asar-Suti’s Gate. The Gate to the Seker’s world.”

  The words were strange. Not the Old Tongue; something far older, something that spoke of foulness. “Demons,” I said, before I could stop.

  “Asar-Suti is more than a demon. He is the god of the netherworld. The Seker himself—who made and dwells in darkness. He is the font of Ihlini power.” He stopped pacing. He stood quite still. “In Valgaard—Tynstar shares that power.”

  I recalled how easily he had trapped me in my bed, seeking to take my life. I recalled how he had changed the ruby from red to black. I remembered how it was he had stolen Homana from my uncle. I remembered Bellam’s body. If he could do all of that while he was out of Valgaard, what could he do within?

  Duncan was at the door. He turned back, his face set in stark lines of grief and determination. “I would ask no man to risk himself in such a thing as this.”

  “Alix risked herself for me when I lay shackled in Atvian iron.”

  “Alix was not the Mujhar of Homana.”

  “No.” I did not smile. “She carried the seed of the prophecy in her belly, and events can change events.”

  I saw the shock of realization in his face. The risk he spoke of was real, but no greater than what Alix had faced. Had she died in my rescue, or somehow lost the child, the prophecy might have ended before it was begun.

  “I will go,” I said quietly. “There is nothing left but to do it.”

  He stood in the doorway. For a long moment he said nothing at all, seemingly incapable of it, and then he nodded a little. “If you meet up with Tynstar, Carillon, you will have a powerful weapon.”

  I waited.

  “Electra miscarried the child.”

  SEVEN

  As one, my Homanan troop pulled horses to a ragged halt. I heard low-voiced comments, oaths made and broken, prayers to the gods. I did not blame them. No one had expected this.

  No one, perhaps, except the Cheysuli. They did not seem troubled by the place. They merely waited, mounted and uncloaked, while the sun flashed off their gold.

  A chill ran down my spine. I suppressed it and reined in my fidgeting horse. Duncan, some distance away, rode over to ask about the delay.

  “Look about you,” I said solemnly. “Have you seen its like before?”

  He shrugged. “We have come over the Molon Pass. This is Solinde. We encroach upon Tynstar’s realm. Did you think it would resemble your own?”

  I could not say what I thought it might resemble. Surely not this. I only dreamed of places like this.

  We had crossed the Bluetooth River twelve days out of Mujhara: nine Homanans, nine Cheysuli, Rowan and Gryffth, myself and Duncan. Twenty-two men to rescue Alix, to take her back from Tynstar. Now, as I looked around, I doubted we could do it.

  The Northern Wastes of Homana lay behind us. Now we faced Solinde, having come down from the Molon Pass, with Valgaard still before us. And yet it was obvious we drew closer. The land reflected the lair.

  Icy winds blew down from the pass. Winter was done with in Homana, but across the Bluetooth the chill never quite left the land. It amazed me the Cheysuli could go bare-armed, though I knew they withstood hardship better than Homanans.

  Snow still patched the ground beneath the trees, mantling the rocky mountains. Great defiles fell away into canyons, sheer and dark and wet from melting snow. All around us the world was a great, dark, slick wound, bleeding slowly in the sunlight. Someone had riven the earth.

  Even the trees reflected the pain of the land. They were wracked and twisted, as if some huge cold hand had swept across them in a monstrous fit of temper. Rocks were split open in perfect halves and quarters; some were no more than powder where once a boulder had stood. But most of them had shapes. Horrible, hideous shapes, as if nightmares had been shaped into stone so all could share the horror.

  “We draw close to Valgaard,” Duncan said. “This has been the tourney-field of the Ihlini.”

  I looked at him sharply. “What do you say?”

  “Ihlini power is inbred,” he explained, “but the control must be taught. An Ihlini child has no more knowledge of his abilities than a Cheysuli child; they know they have magic at their beck, but no knowledge of how to use it. It must be—practiced.”

  I glanced around incredulously. “You say these—shapes—are what the Ihlini have made?”

 
Duncan’s horse stomped, scraping iron-shod hoof against cold black stone. The sudden sound echoed in the canyon. “You know the three gifts of the Cheysuli,” he said quietly. “I thought you knew what the Ihlini claimed.”

  “I know they can make life out of death,” I said sharply. “One Ihlini fashioned a lion out of a knife.”

  “There is that,” Duncan agreed. “They have the power to alter the shapes of things that do not live.” His hand swept out to indicate the rocks. “You have felt another of their gifts: the power to quicken age. With the touch of a hand, an Ihlini can make a man old, quickening the infirmities that come with years.” I knew it too well, but said nothing. “There is the possession I have spoken of, when they take the mind and soul and keep it. And they can take the healing from a wound. There is also the art of illusion. What is, is not; what is not, seems to be. Those gifts, Carillon, and all shadings in between. That is a facet of Asar-Suti. The Seker, who lends his magic to those who will ask.”

  “But—all Ihlini have magic. Do they not?”

  “All Ihlini have magic. But not all of them are Tynstar.” He looked around at the twisted trees and shapechanged rocks. “You see what is Tynstar’s power, and how he passes it on. We near the gate of Asar-Suti.”

  I looked at my men. The Homanans were white-faced and solemn, saying nothing. I did not doubt they were afraid—I was afraid—but neither would they give up. As for the Cheysuli, I had no need to ask. Their lives belonged to the gods whose power, I hoped, outweighed that of Tynstar or Asar-Suti, the Seker of the netherworld.

  Duncan nudged his horse forward. “We must make camp for the night. The sun begins to set.”

  We rode on in loud silence, necks prickling against the raw sensation of power. It oozed out of the earth like so much seepage from a mudspring.

  We camped at last behind the shoulder of a canyon wall that fell down from the darkening sky to shield us against the night wind. The earth’s flesh was quite thin. Here and there the skeleton broke through, stone bones that glistened in the sunset with a damp, sweaty sheen. Tree roots coiled against the shallow soil like serpents seeking warmth. One of my Homanans, seeking wood for a fire, meant to hack off a few spindly, wind-wracked limbs with his heavy knife and pulled the whole tree out of the canyon wall. It was a small tree, but it underlined the transience of life near Valgaard.