Strange, how she was the one spitting and hissing, and Chogah so fiercely calm.
And her gaze, fixed upon Aylaniś. “That is not our only purpose, my chieftain.”
Aylaniś closed her eyes, took in breath for another heated reply. How do you expect me to know that, when all of you hold your secrets close as skin? Instead it changed within her; what came out upon the exhale was the beginnings of song. She turned away with another breath, and from deep in her throat the warbling Moons prayer came, soft as the damp cloths she bent to rinse in the basket then replace upon her daughter’s forehead.
Anahli was too warm; the Medicine had that effect. But sleep was preferable to waking, now and here.
“You’ll need another dose of the sleep stink for her, soon enough,” Chogah murmured.
“I have plenty.”
“She can’t stay here. Not now.”
“I know.”
“Hunh. It is time. I know you thought thisnow would never come, but it has. She must come home, and take wing with the night flyers.”
Aylaniś nodded, and kept singing, soft but carrying.
IT IS time. I have waited long enough.
He is underwater, currents folding busily about him. But River is strangely still upon his skin, calmed as far as his arms can reach, as if he can contain Her.
Why do you think you are here? You have given yourself to me, and this time, I will not let you go.
But I am not… His throat closes, instinct, mere pressure trying to halt the not-talk. There has never been need for talk in thisnow. I have… changed things. I… Anahli…
Have you? Are you sure that what you wakened was not already there?
My mother… my… father. I…
You survived. You showed mercy, for they were already Mine.
I… am… Other.
You are of Us, and what you bear within you makes you more of Us.
Us?
We have waited long. You are no longer an infant sucked into a spiral of ignorance. You must take possession of what is yours. You must awaken what is not. It is past time for the teind to be counted: in blood, for blood. The not-voice is strong, ringing inside his skull, inescapable. Pulling him deep into the dive.
He puts hands to his temples, as if to knead the pressure away. Teind? You have my parents!
And you gave them to Me, Eyes of Stars. What else will you give Me, merely to evade what you are?
Tokela came bolt upright.
The den was empty and dark. His choking breaths tore the stillness, overloud.
This had happened before. The Dreams, the waking into an empty room, his lungs filled with water and his bedding soaked with River brack, his cry ringing into the wikupeh to those who would never again answer…
Happenstance fled, a shadowling skittering from illumination, a dark shroud…
The furs were wet. Heavy. Clinging. Tokela kicked them away and crawled closer to the hearth, shivering and damp. Another blanket lay close by; he snatched it up, curled into the nubbly dry warmth, and laid his head to his knees.
And Fire stayed merely that: warmth, comfort.
Soon his shudders eased, heat beginning to steal through skin and bone. Thoughts stole, also, in flits and starts. What had happened. What would happen.
The rush of blood in his skull, the drumbeat of his heart, echoing the Spirits whispering behind his eyes and creeping through his veins.
His veins. If he was to open them, now, what would he find?
Tokela held out his arm, pondered the knotwork of indigo tracing the length of it… and there was the conundrum. How veins seemed indigo, or even sometimes the hue of moss and mould, but when spilled… changed.
Should he empty his veins onto the stones a’Naisgwyr, would he be found cold and limp within a darkening pool of indigo, or carmine?
He was naked of everything but the tiny eating knife that still hung from the thong at his throat. Unsheathing it, he quite methodically put the keen edge to the underside of his forearm and against the thickest vein, indigo pulsing—
“Tokela?” It was thin, wavering. “What are you doing?”
Tokela’s heart lurched up into his throat, descended and hammered like a too-tight drum. “Seeing if I’m still alive,” he told Kuli, and ran the blade along his forearm.
Shallow. Not enough to spurt and fell him before it could be staunched. Only enough to watch the blood well, and to find his breath come easier as it dripped down tawny flesh: sanguine, thick… normal.
“Are you?” Kuli’s voice was small. “Still alive?”
Am I? Is Anahli?
But ai, he knew. Could feel her heart beating, and her breath smooth, in and out, like Wind.
Like she was beside him. Inside him. Part of him.
Wind and Water. Fire and Earth and Spirit and…
Eyes meet eyes.
Is this how Chepiś felt when they Shaped me? Made me?
“You saved Anahli from River.” Kuli padded across the floor both silent and subdued. “She’s still sleeping. Both of you, sleeping so long… it’s already well past midSun meal. Almost dusk.”
Why was Kuli here? He’d seen what had happened. Madoc had seen, and Akumeh had. Likely the tale had been told of what they’d witnessed. He’d seen the fear and loathing in their faces. Surely no one would leave Kuli alone here, with a half… creature.
More likely Kuli had snuck in.
Kuli confirmed this in the next breath. “I was helping Aunt Inhya fold blankets, but she was called away. So I came in to see you.”
“You shouldn’t be here.” It was a growl.
Kuli merely folded down onto hands and knees beside Tokela and began to crawl into his lap.
Tokela should shove him away. Chase him out. River’s voice rushed through Tokela’s own heart, a merciless background descant to his heartbeat, a blood heat sure to drown anything.
If only he had drowned instead of Anahli.
Instead Tokela quivered like a hart in a meadow who listened for the predator’s second step. Found himself leaning against his tiny cousin, letting Kuli wrap skinny arms about him, rock him as if Tokela were the younger. Tried to halt himself as he snaked his arms about Kuli; instead felt the sting of weakness as he buried burning eyes into cinnabar hair and tried to forget the questions:
What is happening? What have I done?
What could I do, given the chance?
None of them mattered. Only the kinship, and comfort, and silence.
Into that silence, Kuli spoke. “You saved my sister. You almost drowned to save her.”
“I… suppose so.”
“I owe you blood debt. That makes us oathbrothers.”
Tokela wanted to laugh in the face of such youthful seriousness—but that same thing sobered him. “When you’re old enough.”
Silence, with Kuli holding to him, wrapped close. Then, “Are you cold, Tokela?”
Gritting his teeth, Tokela bade his shudders to stillness. That stillness merely opened him further to every other movement: Kuli’s heated, wiry frame and quick, shallow breaths, the brine and sweat lingering in his tangled hair, the tingling behind Tokela’s own eyes rising like a water-horse to heat and light and air, eager for River’s call.
“Perhaps,” Kuli considered, “it would be warmer if you had a story for me.”
This did break a laugh from Tokela, though also a half sob. He tried to speak; it truncated into a whisper, “I’m sorry. I’ve no stories in my heart thisnow.”
What have I done? To Anahli? To my parents?
What could I do?
Kuli peered up at him, RainForest eyes wide and unquestioning.
“You must go,” Tokela growled. “They can’t find you here. They can’t know what I’ve done, or…” or they’ll take your sister from you.
Kuli suddenly burrowed against Tokela’s shoulder, no longer comforter, but one in desperate need of comfort. “I think they’re going to send you away, Tokela.”
With shaking fing
ers, Tokela smoothed the snarled, cinnabar locks, said nothing.
I think they should send me away. Far away.
IT SMELLED… strange.
It gave Madoc a sparking, throbbing pain behind his eyes.
He’d woken, off and on, though he wasn’t sure how many Suns had passed… and now he feigned sleep, eyes narrowed to bare slits, watching as his dam woke and begun tending the smelly clay pot with bits of leaves and bark from a pouch at her hip belt. It was well known that Inyha had brought her birthing-tribe’s herblore to dawnLands, had grown as expert in River and Forest plants. Even the old herbKeeper used Inyha’s tinctures. But this, escaping around the edges of the pulled down flap, was something Madoc had never smelled before. It must be from duskLands.
Memories sparked, a telling of passage. His sire coming in, grimacing at the scent. How they wouldn’t let Madoc move about the few times he’d woke, just lie there with his foot propped and swaddled. How Inhya occasionally rubbed it with smelly, sticky unguents or bathed in salts and herbs. How his sire carried him to the bodysoil trenches. How Madoc had tried to hear what his parents had said that first dark when Madoc had blurted what he never should have, both closed up in their sleeping den, but his leg had foiled him from sneaking close enough.
He knew it couldn’t be good.
They were so… subdued. It worried Madoc all the more. After the intensity of… whatever, whenever… it seemed as if everything had closed down into a small and tight space.
With a huff, Inhya dipped a cup into the pot, wiped its rim on a cloth, and took it over to the window ledge. To cool, Madoc figured—the breeze coming in was misty with falling Rain.
He hoped it wasn’t some concoction he would have to drink—if the smell of it gave him a headache, he could only imagine what the taste would do.
Small noises, coming from the bedding den. Madoc’s nape hairs vibrated as recognition set in: Tokela. Only, not.
Inhya stilled. Then she snatched up the cup from the window and hurried into the bedding den.
Tokela was there, Madoc knew it.
More sounds—not speech, not at all, but more like an animal’s whimpering. Then a silence, enduring so long Madoc thought his nerves would snap.
Inhya came from within, the empty cup dangling from nerveless fingers.
Madoc couldn’t stay quiet, not any more. “What did you give him? What is that stuff?”
Inhya started, as if her heart had been leagues absent, and turned. Her eyes shone brilliant in the dim with some emotion Madoc couldn’t comprehend. Then she seemed to shake herself, and padded over to sit beside him. “Everything is well, son.”
Madoc didn’t believe her. He realised suddenly, when it came to this one thing, he’d not believed her in some time.
And it hurt.
“I want to see him.”
“Madoc—” Fingers covered his lips.
“I want to know he’s all right.” He wanted to be strong, angry—instead his voice betrayed him, slipped up high and wavering.
Inhya peered at him for long heartbeats, then tilted her head, relented. She helped him rise, let him lean heavily against her as he limped into the tiny alcove. Pain shot up and down his leg; Madoc was glad when they stopped at the lowered hide covering the alcove’s opening. Inhya reached out, pulled it aside.
Acrid smoke fingered out, drawn to the larger space: a bowl of dried resin smouldering just inside. Beyond it, on a pallet of rushes and furs, Tokela lay stretched out, twitching in some senseless reaction, arms thrown up over his head and hair flung over his eyes. Inhya hooked the door hide then ambled over and bent down, fingering the dark forelock back. Tokela frowned, drew up an arm as if shielding his face. He didn’t wake. Madoc’s breath caught in his throat. Tokela looked nothing like himself; not the brother Madoc had run wild through woods and fields with, wrestled with, argued with.
It seemed Tokela had gone away to somewhere far and unwelcoming. What had returned, Madoc didn’t know.
Suddenly Tokela went lax, arm falling back. Madoc’s breath squeaked and hung; his dam took his arm as he leaned forwards. Pain shot up his leg once more, and with clearer eyes Madoc saw the pulse, steady-strong, in his cousin’s throat.
“See,” Inhya murmured. “He’s sleeping, nothing more. I gave him a strong draught. It’s like what I give to your grandsire at times; to let him rest without—” She took in a breath as if to bite back her talk, and Madoc felt his stomach sink.
She knew. Somehow, she knew.
Madoc refused to say the first, or even the second thing demanding voice. But what did come out surprised him. “You can’t.”
It was louder than he intended, into the close den, but Tokela didn’t hear. Didn’t stir. Nevertheless, Inhya put gentle fingers once again to Madoc’s lips, helped him limp, slowly and awkwardly, over to their bedshelf. To his surprise, she flung back the furs, nodded him in.
“You can stay here. For a little while. You can let me know if he gets restless again.” Inhya shrugged. “But he shouldn’t.”
“You can’t,” Madoc repeated.
“I can’t what?”
“Send Tokela away. You’re going to send him away, aren’t you?”
She finished tucking him in, knelt beside the bedshelf and put her chin upon her folded hands. “You know we must.”
“I don’t know that! I don’t want to!”
Inhya reached out, gave a gentle, intimate tug to Madoc’s braidlock. He wanted to jerk away, rebuff her; he couldn’t.
“Ai, Madoc.” A sigh, resolved. Weary. “Denial won’t help any of us anymore.”
23 - Exile
It was a tiny and private gathering, held in a small alcove off the great Council den. Usually such things were taken care of in Council, in public, but all things considered…
Galenu was not surprised.
He kept still until Sarinak finished speaking, and knew all along there was more, much more, than Mound-chieftain let on—or likely ever would. But what was said told enough. Galenu let Sarinak’s voice ring into silence, let Inhya pour him another cup of copperbark tea. Took a great draught, tasted sharp green needles and sweet honey, and stared at the curve of rock overhead.
“So,” he finally said, “you think Tokela is mad.”
With one hand Sarinak made a quick, sideways gesture, ward and negation.
“Isn’t that what you’re saying, avoid the topic as you may? You’re keeping him drugged and locked away, as if he were some dog with the foaming sickness!”
“He has a Spirit ill.” Short, from behind Inhya’s clenched teeth. “You should know, Galenu—son to Mituna ailiq a’Šaákfo—the healing ways of duskLands. Draughts and resin are best for such things.”
“Ai, and a brother of such Smoke is often used to quiet hiveKin, when one thinks to steal what is theirs,” Galenu riposted. “You’re not Alekšu, yet you think to use such strong Medicine?”
“Alekšu is not here,” Sarinak broke in, a clear threat within it. “Aylaniś and Chogah gave us the draught. Not that I must explain anything to one who has raised no offspring nor cared for Spirit ill. You’ve no rights to criticize anything my spouse must do.”
“I’m afraid I’ve every right, since you seem bent upon tossing me the mess you’ve made!”
“We,” Inhya rocked forwards, “have not made this situation, Galenu a’Hassun.”
“I think I could speak to many who would disagree. Našobok saw it. Your brother saw it. Nechtoun has shared his heart to me on this one thing of import: that you, Inhya, and Tokela, were bent upon colliding. We can debate the making of this situation as you will, but you’ve certainly put a finish to it!”
Sarinak lurched to his feet and strode forwards, burly but graceful in his anger. Galenu gained his feet, both defence and vehemence. Inhya also had angled forwards, fists clenched.
All right, perhaps Galenu had gone a bit too far.
And ai, but Sarinak was all a’Naišwyrh, and they were big.
“How
dare you come to my place and speak to me so? If any ‘finish’ could be said to have been made, you and your outLand friends have more to do with that than any could boast!”
“You and Inhya would blame a clouded Moons’ rising upon Chepiś!”
“What blame I lay is justified!” Sarinak retorted furiously. “I remember what they did to Tokela’s dam.”
“And you know so much of what they ‘did’ to her, do you?”
“They killed her as surely as if they had put her to River themselves!” Inhya hissed. “And you know that.”
“You’re so certain,” Galenu said, very soft, “of what I know.”
“You have always claimed to ‘not know’. You, who claims to be storyKeeper; you, who claims friends in outLands! Which merely means you know just enough to slither past responsibility.”
That one clung, stung. “If I’m so irresponsible, however can you trust me with a young oških?” Galenu snorted disgust. “Ai, that’s right. It’s either me, or the gauntlet and exile, since your precious brother Alekšu has quit the field.”
“You have no—”
“But you expect me to take an oških you’ve treated as some disobedient bondling!”
“Unlike stoneClan, a’Naišwyrh do not bond or beat children!” Inhya snapped. Before her, looming altogether too close to Galenu, Sarinak’s stance promised he held few such compunctions against coldcocking an adult. Even if he was an elder.
Galenu refused to back down. There was a reason to this, one lying beneath all the ones layered atop, and he would find it, know it. “That oških is no longer a child, and I’ve eyes in my head. Fear is what he has here, nothing more.”
“Not fear but contempt is what that one holds for us—and you think we would choose that?” Sarinak snapped. “Tokela has never invited me to so much as lay a hand on his shoulder. Never. I learned long ago not to even try.”
“Preposterous!”
“Hunh. You stand in my place, an old khatak thinking to tell us how to raise a child? Pity you didn’t give as much as a thought before now!”
“Perhaps I would have, if—”
“Rot!” Sarinak spat. “You’d all but forgotten he was alive, I’ll warrant, until you saw him during First Running and decided, based on a Sun’s passage of acquaintance, you had found someone to understand your madness! Well, perhaps you’re correct there, stoneChieftain. What goes on in that one’s heart is not normal, and you’ve your own responsibility to claim there!”
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