The Song of Homana

by Jennifer Roberson

  I tried to swallow the cramp in my throat. “What of Tynstar?”

  “Alive,” Duncan said bleakly. “Once he had struck down Cai—I had nothing left but pain and helplessness.” He looked at Alix’s face again as she slept in his naked arms. And then he brought her to me and set her into mine. “Love her well, my lord Mujhar. Spare her what pain you can.”

  I saw the tears in his eyes and he moved back. Then one foot struck an armband on the ground, sending it clinking against the other, and he stopped short. He touched one naked arm as if he could not believe its loss, and then he walked away.

  NINE

  Donal’s young face was pinched and pale. He sat quietly on a stool, listening to what I said, but I doubt he really heard me. His mind had gone elsewhere, choosing its own path; I did not blame him. I had told him his father was dead.

  He stared hard at the floor. His hands were in his lap. They gripped one another as if they could not bear to be apart. The skin of his knuckles was white.

  “Jehana,” he said. That only.

  “Your mother is well. She—sleeps. Your father gave her that.”

  He nodded once. No more. He seemed to understand. And then his right hand rose to touch his left arm, to finger the heavy gold. I could see it in his mind: Cheysuli, and bound by the lir. As much as his father had been.

  Donal looked up at me. His face was starkly remote. He said one word: “Tahlmorra.”

  He was an eight-year-old boy. At eight, I could not have withstood the pain. I would have wept, cried out, even screamed with the grief. Donal did not. He was Cheysuli, and he knew the price of the lir-bond.

  I had thought, perhaps, to hold him. To ease what pain I could. To tell him how Duncan had gotten his mother free, to illustrate the worth of the risk undertaken. I had thought also to assuage his guilt and grief by sharing my own with him. But, looking at him, I saw there was no need. His maturity mocked my own.

  Alien, I thought, so alien. Will Homana accept you?

  I lifted Alix down from her horse. She was light in my arms, too light; her face was ashen-colored. She had come home at last to Duncan’s pavilion—six weeks after his death—and I knew she could not face it.

  I said nothing, I simply held her. She stared at the slate-colored pavilion with its gold-painted hawk and recalled the life they had shared. She forgot even Donal, who slid slowly off his horse and looked to me for reassurance.

  “Go in,” I told him. “It is yours as much as his.”

  Donal put out a hand and touched the doorflap. And then he went inside.

  “Carillon,” she said. No more. There was no need. All the grief was in her voice.

  I put out my arms and pulled her against my chest. With one hand I smoothed the heavy hair. “Now do you see? This is not the place for you. I would have spoken earlier, but I knew it would do no good. You had to see for yourself.”

  Her arms were locked around me. Her shoulders shook with the tears.

  “Come back with me,” I said. “Come back to Homana-Mujhar. Your place is there now, with me.” I rocked her gently in my arms. “Alix—I want you to stay with me.”

  Her face turned up to mine. “I cannot.”

  “Do not fret because of Electra. She will not live forever—when she is dead I will wed you. I will make you Queen of Homana. Until then…you will have to content yourself with being merely a princess.” I smiled. “You are. You are my cousin. There is a rank that comes with that.”

  Slowly she shook her head. “I cannot.”

  I smoothed back the hair from her face. “All those years ago—seven? eight?—I was a fool, I lived in arrogance. I saw what I was told to see by an uncle I abhorred. But now I am somewhat older—older, even than that—” I smiled a little, thinking of my graying beard and aching bones—“somewhat wiser, and certainly less inclined to heed such things as rank and custom. I wanted you then, I want you now—say you will come with me.”

  “I owe Duncan more than that.”

  “You do not owe him personal solitude. Alix—wait you—” I tightened my arms as she tried to pull away. “I know how badly you hurt. I know how badly it bleeds. I know how deeply the pain has cut you. But I think he would not be surprised did we make a match of it.” I recalled his final words to me and knew he expected it. “Alix—I will not press you. I will give you what time you need. But do not deny me this. Not after all these years.”

  “Time does not matter.” She stood stiffly in my arms. “As for the years—they have passed. It is done, Carillon. I cannot be your meijha and I cannot be your wife.”

  “Alix—”

  “By the gods!” she cried. “I carry Tynstar’s child!”

  I let go of her at once and saw the horror in her eyes. “Tynstar did that to you—”

  “He did not beat me.” Her voice was steady. “He did not harm me. He did not force me.” Her eyes shut for a moment. “He simply took my will away and got a child upon me.”

  I thought of Electra, banished to the Crystal Isle. Electra, who had lost the sorcerer’s child. An heir. Not to me or to my title, but to all of Tynstar’s might. He had lost it, and now he had another.

  I could not move. I wanted to put out my hands and touch her, to tell her I did not care, but she knew me better than that. I could not move. I could only think of the Ihlini and his bastard in her belly.

  Alix turned from me. She walked slowly to the pavilion. She put out one hand and drew back the doorflap, though she did not look inside. “Do you come in? Or do you go back?”

  I shut my eyes a moment, still aching with the knowledge. Again, I lost her. But this time not to Duncan. Not even to Duncan’s memory. That I might expect.

  But not this. Not losing her to Tynstar. To a bastard Ihlini child!

  By all the gods, it hurt. It hurt like a knife in my loins. I wanted to vomit the pain.

  And then I thought of hers.

  I let out my breath. Looking at her, I could see it hurt her worse. And I would not increase the pain by swearing useless vows of vengeance. There was already that between Tynstar and me; one day, we would end it.

  I went to her. I took the doorflap out of her hands and motioned her inside. And then we both turned to go in, and I saw Finn beside the fire.

  The light was stark on his face. I saw again the livid scar that marred cheek and jaw; the silver in his hair. Then he rose, and I saw he had grown thin. The gold seemed heavier on his arms.

  “Meijha,” he said, “I am sorry. But a tahlmorra cannot be refused. Not by an honorable man. And my rujho was ever that.”

  Alix stood very still but her breath was loud in the tent. “You knew—?”

  “I knew he would die. So did he. Not how. Not when. Not the name of the man who would cause it. Merely that it would happen.” He paused. “Meijhana, I am sorry. I would give him back to you, could I do it.”

  She moved to him. I saw the hesitation in her steps. I saw how he put his arms around her and set his scarred cheek against her hair. I saw her grief reflected in his face.

  “When a lir is lost,” he said, “the others know at once. Storr told me…but I could come no sooner. There was a thing I had to do.”

  I was wrung out with all the emotions. I needed to sit down. But I did not. I stood there, waiting, and saw Donal in the shadows. He sat between two wolves: one a ruddy young male, the other older, wiser, amber-eyed Storr.

  Alix pulled out of Finn’s arms but she did not move away. I saw how one of his hands lingered in her hair, as if he could not let it go. An odd possessiveness, in view of his actions with Torry. But then I could not blame him; Alix needed comfort. From Finn, it would undoubtedly be best. He was her brother, but also Duncan’s. The bloodlink was closer than that which cousins shared.

  I sighed. “Electra has been banished. She lives on the Crystal Isle. There is no question about her complicity in Tynstar’s attempt to slay me. Did you wish it—you could take up your place again.”

  He did not smile. “That time is
done. A blood-oath, once broken, is never healed. I come home, aye, to live in the Keep again—but nothing more than that. My place is here, now. They have named me Cheysuli clan-leader.”

  Alix looked at him sharply. “You? In Duncan’s place?” She caught her breath, then went on. “I thought such things were not for you.”

  “Such things were for my rujho,” he agreed, his gravity an ironic measure of Duncan’s. “But things change. People change. Torry has made me different.” He shrugged. “I have—learned a little peace.” He used the Homanan word. I liked shansu better.

  “I am sorry,” I said, “for the time you lost. I should never have sent you away.”

  He shook his head. “You had no choice. I saw that, when Torry made me. I do not blame you for it. You let her go with me. You might have made her stay.”

  “So you could take her from me?” I shook my head. “No. I knew the folly in trying to stop you.”

  “You should have tried,” he said. “You should have kept her by you. You should have wed her to the Ellasian prince…because then she would still be alive.”

  I felt the air go out of my chest. The pavilion spun around me. The firecairn was merely a blot of light inside my skull. “Torry is—dead?”

  “Aye. Two days before Duncan lost his lir. It was why I could come no sooner.”

  “Finn,” Alix said, “oh, Finn—no—”

  “Aye,” he said roughly, and I saw the new pain in his eyes. It mirrored that in my own.

  I turned to go out. I could not stay. I could not bear to see him, knowing how she had loved him. I could not bear the grief. I had to deal with it alone.

  And then I heard the baby cry, and the sound cut through me like a knife.

  Finn let go of Alix. He turned and pulled the tapestry aside. I saw him kneel down and gather a bundle from the pallet. He was gentle. More gentle than I had ever seen him. Incongruous, in him. But it seemed to fit him well, once I got over the shock.

  He brought the bundle to us and pulled away the wrappings from a face. “Her name is Meghan,” he said. “She is four months old…and hungry. Torry—could not feed her, so I became a thief.” Briefly he smiled. “The cows were not always willing to be milked.”

  Meghan continued to cry. Finn frowned and shifted her in his arms, trying to settle her more comfortably, but it was Alix who intervened. She took the baby from his arms and sent Donal to find a woman with an infant. She cast a glance back at Finn before she followed Donal out. “No more the milk-thief, rujho. I will save your pride by finding her a wet nurse.”

  I saw a shadow of his familiar grin as she slipped outside the pavilion. It took the hardness from his face and lessened the pain in his eyes. I saw it now, where I had not before. He had lost more than a brother.

  And I had lost a sister. “Gods,” I said, “what happened? How did Torry die? Why…why?”

  The smile dropped away. Finn sat down slowly and motioned me down as well. After ten months, too long a time, we shared company again. “She was not bred for privation,” he said. “She had pride and strength and determination, but she was not bred for privation. And carrying a child—” He shook his head. “I saw she was ill some three months after we left Homana-Mujhar. She claimed it was nothing; a fever breeding women sometimes get. I thought perhaps it was; how was I to know differently? I did not expect her to lie.” He threaded one hand through his hair and stripped it from his face. He was gaunt, too thin; privation agreed with him no more than it had with her.

  “Say on,” I said hollowly.

  “When I saw she got no better, I took her to a village. I thought she needed the companionship of women as well as a shelter better than the rude pavilion I provided. But—they would not have me. They called me shapechanger. They called me demon. They called her whore and the child demon’s-spawn. Sorcerer’s get.” The anger was in his eyes and I saw the beast again, if only for a moment. But I also saw the guilt he had placed upon himself. “Shaine is dead and the qu’mahlin ended…but many prefer to observe it. And so she bore Meghan in what shelter I could provide, and weakened each day thereafter.” He shut his eyes. “The gods would not hear my petition, even when I offered myself. So I gave her Cheysuli passing when she was dead, and brought her daughter home.”

  I thought of Torry, weak and ill. I thought of Torry bearing the child. I thought of the Homanans who had cursed her because of Finn. Because of Shaine’s qu’mahlin. And I thought how helpless a king I was to stop my uncle’s purge.

  “I am sorry, Carillon,” Finn said. “I did not mean you to lose her twice.”

  “Blame Shaine,” I said wearily. “My uncle slew my sister.” I looked at him across the fire. “Do you mean to keep Meghan here?”

  “This is her home,” he repeated. “Where else would Meghan live?”

  “At Homana-Mujhar,” I said. “She is a princess of Homana.”

  He stared at me. “Have you learned nothing? Are you still chained by such things as rank? By the gods, Carillon, I thought by now you might have learned—”

  “I have,” I said. “I have. I do not mean to take her. I merely wanted you to think. You have admitted Torry died because the privation was too hard. Do you give the same life to your daughter?”

  “I give her the Keep,” he said softly. “I give her what her blood demands: the heritage of a Cheysuli.”

  I smiled. “Who speaks now of rank? You have ever believed yourself better than a Homanan.”

  He shrugged. “We are as the gods have made us.”

  I laughed. I pushed to my feet and popped my knees, trying to ease my joints. The ride had tried my strength. Finn rose as well, saying nothing. He merely waited. “Privation has rendered you less than what you should be,” I said gruffly. “Have Alix put flesh on your bones. You look older the way you are.”

  His black brows rose. “Who speaks of age should look in the silver plate.”

  “I have,” I said, “and turned it to the wall.” I grinned and put out my arm, clasping his again. “Tend Meghan well, and bring her to me often. She has other blood besides the shapechanger taint, and I would have her know it.”

  Finn’s grip was firm. “I doubt not your daughter will need a companion. As for the Mujhar of Homana, he requires no single liege man. He has all the Cheysuli clans to render him aid when he needs it.”

  “Nonetheless,” I said, “I would have you take the knife back.” I slipped it from the sheath. The gold hilt gleamed softly in the light from the firecairn: rampant Homanan lion and a blade of purest steel.

  I thought he would not take it. Another was in his sheath, one of Cheysuli craftsmanship. But he put out his hand and accepted it, though there was no blood-oath to accompany the acceptance.

  “Ja’hai-na,” he said quietly.

  I went silently out of the tent.

  My horse still waited. I took up the reins but did not mount at once. I thought of Alix, tending to Meghan, and the child within her belly. She would need Finn. She would need Meghan. She would need all the strength of the Cheysuli when Tynstar’s child was born. And I knew she would have it in abundance.

  I waited a moment, aware of something familiar. I could not put name to what it was, and then suddenly I knew. It was a flute, a sweet-toned Cheysuli pipe. The melody was quite simple, and yet I knew it well. The last time I had heard it, it had been upon a harp, with a master’s hands upon the strings. Lachlan’s hands, and the song The Song of Homana. And now it had come to the Keep.

  I grinned. Then I laughed. I mounted my horse and turned him, ready to go at last, but Donal was in my way. He put up his hand and touched the stallion’s nose as I reined him to a halt. Lorn sat at his left side.

  “Cousin,” Donal said, “may I come?”

  “I go back to Homana-Mujhar.”

  “Jehana has said I may go.” He grinned a grin I had seen before.

  I leaned down and stretched out my hand, swinging him up as he jumped. He settled behind the saddle.

  “Hold on,”
I said, “the royal mount may throw us.”

  Donal leaned forward against my back. “Make him try.”

  I laughed. “Would you like to see me tumble?”

  “You would not. You are the Mujhar of Homana.”

  “The horse does not know titles. He knows only your substantial weight.” I kneed the stallion out and felt the arching of his back. But after a moment he settled.

  “Do you see?” Donal asked, as the wolf trotted beside the horse. I looked for Taj and found him, a dot against the sky.

  “I see,” I admitted. “Shall we gallop?”

  “Aye!” he agreed, and we did.

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  SWORD-BOUND

  CHRONICLES OF THE CHEYSULI

  SHAPECHANGERS

  THE SONG OF HOMANA

  LEGACY OF THE SWORD

  TRACK OF THE WHITE WOLF

  A PRIDE OF PRINCES

  DAUGHTER OF THE LION

  FLIGHT OF THE RAVEN

  A TAPESTRY OF LIONS

  THE GOLDEN KEY

  (with Melanie Rawn and Kate Elliott)

  ANTHOLOGIES

  (as editor)

  RETURN TO AVALON

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