“Is it Munro?” Tokela moved across the small hold to the map hung upon the back wall. River, from Her starting place amongst the Rumbling Ice Mountains, and down to Sea.
“A’io.” Našobok slung the hide over the drying line and grabbed up a blanket. He didn’t miss Tokela’s eyes, hungry upon the charts scattered and piled across the table beneath the hanging map—or his hands clasped behind his back.
“Riverwalkers… sketch.”
“I’m not very good at it, to Munro’s chagrin. Says it’s my upbringing.” Našobok reached over and twitched at one of the charts. “This one is of the estuaries downRiver. Where River folds into Sea. They chart has depths and soundings and… it’s all right, you can touch it. It’s meant to be touched.”
Though perhaps not with the reverence that Tokela gave it, light fingers a-quiver, tracing the lines. “They wouldn’t let you, either.”
“Wouldn’t let me…? Huh. Sketch, you mean. Well, you know our birthing-tribe.” Našobok couldn’t help the quirk of brow. “Do you sketch, then?”
Tokela’s eyes were narrowed, gauging. “Sometimes.”
“Then you should make more talk with Munro. I think he tires of his wyrhmates’s clumsiness with such things.”
Still stroking the chart, Tokela fell silent. There was tension beneath, rising, and Našobok knew why. He hadn’t answered the asking:
Take me with you.
It wasn’t a journey Našobok intended to make thisdark. He needed rest. He needed contemplation.
He needed to decide what it had meant when Tokela had said Take me with you and he’d found himself, against any logic or sense, thinking Of course I will.
So Našobok curled close to Tokela, wrapping both arms snug. Against his forearms, slender ribs expanded as Našobok snaked one hand around and down; a quick breath escaped in a decided whimper as Našobok took him in hand and nuzzled the damp hair from Tokela’s nape.
Nipped, and said, “Come to my furs.”
Tokela wasn’t the only one practiced in evasion’s Dance.
THIS WAS how an elder fem with the joint-ill must feel.
Anahli’s hands and shoulders ached. Her eyes burned and wouldn’t stop weeping. Her apron—thankfully it was an apron, and not her leathers!—smelled abominably. Her hands stung, and she’d several shallow cuts where the obsidian had decided cutting fishKin-flesh wasn’t enough; that ša wanted Anahli-flesh as well.
She never wanted to eat silvers ever again, much less have to spend another miserable halfDark in the lean-tos, fileting and salting, or hanging the catch for Smoke’s care. And there were rumours of another run coming upRiver!
Surely she wasn’t the only one who hoped it would wait until after First Running’s final Dark, with a great bonFire to greet Summering’s beginnings. Even if she’d absolutely no longings towards Dancing. All she wanted was a hot soak and several darks’ worth of sleep.
Unfortunately, the plethora of hot pools fed by a caldera were a ride of three Suns distant. At least there were bathing dens here, hide and bough wikupehs set up beside River, steam escaping the corners, shared bloodwood tubs warmed by gleaming-stones. As Anahli headed towards them, Rain felt good upon her upturned face, cool blessing upon sooty, weepy eyelids.
The oških fems had decided to forgive her transgressions of Dance, making friendly talk with her in the lean-tos instead of radiating chill and silent disapproval. Čayku had even lent her the apron, and made a few promises of the fun they’d have in the baths later…
Soft, her dam would say. Hot water is for wintering; summerings are spent on the plain, with no real abundance of water, let alone heated!
All right then, soft, but Anahli craved hot water. Particularly thisnow, in the damp and chill of dawnLands, with bits of fishKin under her fingernails.
First, she had to retrieve a few things she’d left in her family’s tipo. It rose before her in the gloaming, wide bulk below and poles splaying like steepled fingers reaching for Sky. A thin trail of Smoke tangled with the “fingers”, and as Anahli came closer she could hear murmurs. Her sire’s voice, rising and falling, making terse talk with…
Chogah?
Her breath behind her teeth, Anahli crept closer. Her sire kept company with Chogah only when he was forced to.
“—not so simple!” Chogah hissed. “Being Alekšu means not only responsibility to our People, but ourselves.”
“And well you know the latter!” Palatan’s voice, hushed, snapped like a braided quirt. “I’m still cleaning up the remnants of your self-interest!”
“I told you, when you were Marked child-no-longer, that you would need me.”
“I’d little choice, as you were then Alekšu.”
“With the obligation—n’da, the right”—mockery ran like silkweave along Chogah’s voice—“to make the cure for those possessed of Elementals. I could have done so with you. Instead, in secrecy, I blooded you to Lapis Council and owlClan.”
Lapis Council, Anahli knew. Those were the elders of the duskLands tribes, their gatherings every third Moons. But owlClan? She’d heard nothing of such lineage.
“I told them I hadn’t seen a talent like to yours in many turnings. Then you squandered it, running wild with that Riverwalker outcast, not learning at my side as you should.”
“Some things”—a hiss—“cannot be taught.”
A pause. “Do you smell fishKin?”
Anahli froze.
“Don’t change the subject, old one; the entire compound reeks of silvers.”
Chogah laughed, soft and mocking. “Yet you insist on letting these hidebound fishmongers throw away more… uhn… unteachable things. Despite that your Riverwalker lovemate has found another of shamanKin to cosset and ruin, an oških that bides even more powerful than you. And you would merely watch as your Riverwalker takes him from us?”
“What choice do I have? You know as well as I, he is not of us. His Spirit is tainted by Chepiś, forbidden.”
Anahli’s eyes widened. Tainted by Chepiś roiled itself under by another of shamanKin…
But their like were long gone. Purged.
“So it’s said. And enough that many deem him ehšehklan—even his own hearth-mother!” Chogah shifted, a creak of leathers, and her next words proved to Anahli of whom they spoke: Tokela. “Hunh! Inhya always was a heart-blind fool, believing what Lakisa’ailiq cobbled out of Spirit-lost dreams.”
“I need your experience, not your bile. Only cowards mock another’s pain. My sister is afraid.”
“And she should be. But not for what reasons she thinks. Call upon your heart and your Spirits, Palatančokašanli.” Anahli had never heard Chogah say her sire’s blessing-name in such a tone. “Realise the possibilities.”
“Possibilities.”
“One of shamanKin, and Shaped by Chepiś! Tell me, Alekšu, that you don’t wonder at it. Did Lakisa’ailiq lie with one? She lost every other child of Talorgan’s; how did this one survive? How did Chepiś taint Tohwakeli’fitčiluka, eh? How has he survived it? His mother didn’t.”
“He still might not.” Bleak. “I wish we knew more of how it happened. All those who know the truth are dead.”
“Galenu knows.”
Palatan snorted, and Anahli had to agree with the assessment. That old midLander knew more about his own visage in a clear pool!
“He knows what happened, I tell you.” Chogah’s voice lowered, venomous. “It is not the only secret he holds that belongs to owlClan.”
A rustling from within the tipo; Palatan rising and brushing at his leather leggings. “You say I cast away unteachable things—you fixate on impossible things. Galenu has nothing of yours. His dam—your sister—told you things to torment you. That practice runs deep, it seems, in your lineage.”
“Hunh. I believe, now, that Anahli also knows.”
This did suck Anahli’s breath from between her teeth.
No more rustling. Only silence, holding for so long that Anahli leaned sideways—carefully,
more carefully—to peek through a crack in the door flap.
Chogah sat on the ground, stirring at a pot of steaming spicebark. Her sire stood rigid; the only thing moving were his hands, clenching and releasing by his hips as if they longed to be about Chogah’s throat.
“You,” he finally said, hoarse, “twist your talk as it suits you.”
“Huh. As does your spouse’s eldest. You have a blind spot two Suns running about Anahli. Yet you’ve wondered why she covered for Tokela at arbitration, haven’t you? I’ve no doubts the River outlier did—that one’s always thought with his bits when it comes to pretty boys with Fire behind their eyes. Only this one has River as well… Two Elementals, Alekšu. Two co-tenants in one host. Isn’t that another pretty puzzle?”
“This,” Palatan gritted, “is no mere puzzle. And what do you know of Anahli?”
“How do such as we know anything?” Scornful. “I know she saw Tokela use his Power. She was ill in your tipo after the incident with the midLander oških, who just happens to claim, nextSun, that Tokela tried to use ‘witchcraft’ against him. Why Anahli decided to shield Tokela, who knows? But I do believe something tried to wake in her, then. You felt it too. Didn’t you?”
“A mere whisper.” Palatan’s hands were tightened, tendons and bone sallow beneath bronze. “Sluggish, feverish. A passing thing.”
“Like a breeze faltering in the heat.”
“A breeze.” His whisper came faint. “A swarm of bees, with the Wind of their wings cooling a hive.”
Wings. Wind. Waking. Feel. Fevered breeze, rippling River as She washed through dreams not Anahli’s own, calling not her but Tokela. Calling Našobok. River’s voice like Wind in the trees, whispering:
Eyes meet eyes, to waken Spirit.
Spirit wakens our Mother’s heart…
A breeze played with the ends of Anahli’s braids, rattled Rain against the hide flaps. Anahli blinked, refocused upon the odd tableau within.
“But nothing, now,” Palatan murmured.
Chogah hummed agreement. “I thought I’d imagined it, too.” A snort. “No doubt you sired her; both of you can cloud your eyes as easily as breathing.”
“Insult me as you like, Chogah, but leave Anahli alone. Why do you think she’s here? To be away from you.”
Aylaniś had said it, more than once: Predator and prey is the way of things. Eventually, all of us are hunted in some fashion. Yet I do not have to allow it in my tipo, with my children as prey.
“Another pretty problem, Alekšu, and this one yours in particular. To need your predecessor, all the while wishing you could see the end of them.”
“Or your successor.” Pointed.
“Ai, we are bound too close by too many things.” Chogah snorted. “Listen. Deep in her heart, Anahli knows what Tokela is. Perhaps more than we can. And”—this with a soft sneer—“she’s listening to us right now, outside the tipo.”
“I WON’T say anything. I swear it.”
“If you do,” Chogah said, mixing up another cup of spicebark, “we’ll make sure you are unable to bring forth even the memories.” She held out the cup.
For a half breath Anahli wondered if she intended to carry out the threat here and now. Chogah kenned the suspicion. As if in challenge, she kept holding out the cup.
Eyes narrowing, Anahli crossed her arms.
“Ai, if both of you were any more stiff-necked, I could break you with a slap!” Palatan growled and, snatching the cup from Chogah, downed it in one gulp. “Take mine. I wouldn’t bother poisoning you! I’d rather drag you behind my horse!”
Ai, he was angry, no question. “I didn’t intend any—”
“Didn’t you? You didn’t walk away, kept listening. More fool me for closing my nose and ears, and for making open talk of such things. While Chogah bides thrice the fool for knowing you were there, yet going on—”
“By the time I knew she was there, it was too late—”
“Wait!” Anahli protested. “Are there are still shamanKin? Are—?”
Palatan’s fingers slapped against Anali’s lip, held firm. “Understand this, ehši. I will alter your memory if I must.”
“We might anyway,” Chogah grumbled.
Palatan shot her a foul glare, turned it upon Anahli, and only then took his fingers away.
“But…” Anahli saw his hand twitch again, changed what she had been about to say. “Yeka, what do I know?”
“And that is the question of thisSun’s rising.” Chogah, sarcastic.
“Until you do know, you cannot ask,” Palatan raised one finger, this time, pressed firm against Anahli’s mouth as she started to protest. “It’s not only what you might know. It’s also what that knowledge will do to Tokela.”
Any talk died in Anahli’s throat. Palatan nodded, his gaze hardened into malachite. Suddenly Anahli wondered why she’d never, until then, noticed the tiny blue-to-orange ombre of flames behind. “Anahli. Do you understand?”
Ai, she was afraid she did.
“Ask no further questions.” Those eyes softened, and Palatan dropped his chiding hand, turning away. He looked… ai, weary. Old, somehow.
“Chogah, leave me. I’ve decisions to make, and you make me tired even when I don’t. Aylaniś should be back shortly, and…” His nose wrinkled. “You, too, daughter. Go. We’ll speak later. After you wash; you reek of fish.”
DAWN CAME in, soft but inexorable, chasing dark to the corners of Sky’s realm. Munro’s drum had long since gone quiet, the old one retired to his hammock. Even Wind lay still, napping in dawn’s embrace as ša often did.
And like some avatar of Wind, Tokela also lay sleeping, swathed in the furs and Našobok’s blanket.
Našobok had stood at the flung-back flap of his hold stair, He’d watched the Moons set, first Brother then His siblings, each behind the trees, as Sky turned from indigo, to murky Smoke, then to coals as Sun rose. Let Wind waft over his bare skin. Taken Smoke from his treasured pipe.
And watched Tokela sleep.
Sprawled on the pallet below, Tokela muttered and cast one arm upwards, twitching and lost in some other place—no doubt more astride dark’s Mare than any sweet and steaming oških dreams. It shot a pang through Našobok so jagged, it was a wonder it didn’t draw blood.
Take me with you.
Amongst wyrhling and yakhling lay the favoured cache for undesirables: outliers often came from the forbidden. For as long as Našobok could remember, River had surged through his veins, driven him, and while what possessed him merely glimmered in comparison to what burned, hot and high, within Palatan, still Našobok’s blood flowed with an undertow for which he had given… everything.
Thankfully, the undertow threatening to swamp Tokela had been sated. For now, anyway.
Sometimes an Elemental just has to… fix to something. Be consumed by what is here, and present. Smoke, or sex, or Dance... like tinder to Fire’s touch. The flare and burn, then the ash.
Našobok had learned such things—first by accident then by practice, in myriad and intimate ways. He’d held Palatan during long, Spirit-ridden Moons passages, teased him back into thisnow with well-timed caresses. Had watched Lakisa change from indulgent, merry auntto time-raddled shade. Had held his sire down on a dark, storm-slick deck when Nechtoun, his Spirit lost in exposure and grief, had tried to do them both harm.
Either Tokela would ripen like to Palatan, throwback to Power most had no idea still existed—or, like Nechtoun, like Lakisa, Tokela’s Spirit would buckle beneath such promise and flee, leaving behind an emptiness no Power could fill. Until then would the dual edges remain: passion, expression, giving… withdrawal, hiding, panic.
Našobok had wondered; now he knew.
His heart kenned his own kind. He could not overtly wield Her Power, but he had learned to listen. To observe. To accept.
Beneath Take me with you lay another, deeper plea: Listen. Please. And accept what I, all too soon, will have to.
A light tap sounded upon the open
hatch of his hold. Našobok started, spared a glance for Tokela and found him unmoved—no surprise there. Palatan too would sleep like the dead after such upheaval. With age and experience came self-possession; still, the Elementals were very Power-full.
Našobok wrapped in a blanket, and mounted the steep stair to find one of his wyrhmates waiting above.
“Kalisom,” Našobok smiled. “You’re back early. I expected to find Munro.”
“Ran out of gambling tender.” Kalisom gave a lift of his massive, bare shoulders and grinned. “And the playmate I chose was not so fair upon dawn as dark.”
With a chuckle, Našobok came on deck and folded shut the hold door behind.
“I left Munro to sleep. Wasn’t going to disturb you, either, but”—Kalisom jerked his ebon head, sending snugged-back twistlocks to jerk and dance—“you’ve a visitor up aft, wyrh-chieftain.”
Našobok followed the gesture to see Aylaniś, leathers covered by a colourful blanket, her arms crossed and profile tilted duskwards, backlit by Sun’s rising. Odd, that she was here. Or perhaps not; as he saw her, Našobok knew what he had to do. And he’d long ago decided that coincidences to do with his lovemates often weren’t that at all.
“She hailed me as I boarded the raft, came across with me.” Kalisom seemed uneasy as Našobok turned back to him.
“What has your clout knotted, wyrhmate? You’ve seen Aylaniś horse-chieftain before.”
“She is spouse to Alekšu, now.” Kalisom made a warding gesture.
“Hunh!” Našobok cuffed him, half joke and half chide. “You sound a superstitious landwalker. Be easy, she won’t bite.” He smirked. “Hard, anyway.”
A return smile teased at Kalisom’s lip. “Well, the others will be back soon, wyrh-chieftain.”
“See if you can round them up sooner. Start preparing for a journey. We’ve rich cargo in the offering.”
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