The sentinels, who were a blend of warden and veteran warrior, hadn’t gone with the warbands. Instead, they stood motionless, spears upright, as if it were bright and sunny outside. Their eyes flicked to them as they approached, but other than bowing in return to Tessouat’s greeting nod, they didn’t move.
Cacica Yabisi was waiting for them, pacing impatiently on the seashell tiles with her personal sentinels. She was adorned with the beauty of sea and soil, the beads in her headdress clinking together and laughing at the wind. There were smeared and broken symbols painted on her body that Narune recognized, but he saw that they were meaningless; the truth-marks had already been absorbed into her body and spirit.
The cacica whirled toward them at their approach, eyes bouncing from Kisari to Narune, and he felt the weight of her gaze almost immediately.
Tessouat stepped aside and made up the space between him and the cacica. He clasped his hands before him, a faint smile on his lips. Narune glanced at the elder, then at the cacica, who glared at him, and fell to a knee.
He wasn’t sure what was happening, but, whatever it was, he wouldn’t bring any shame to his mother or give them any reason to bear judgment on her too.
“Your broke your oath,” the cacica said, her voice cutting through the shrieking wind of the storm and the patter of water. Only a few other Trueborn were walking around, but without stormdancers to challenge the sky most sensible folk remained inside their bohíos.
Narune winced and nodded; the shards still pierced his very spirit, so it should hurt every time someone held his honor and examined its worth.
Kisari, who stood behind him, moved forward and kneeled with him. She swept back her lose hair and flowering vines before taking a breath. “The Guardian swallowed their broken oaths and replaced them.”
“Oh?”
Narune let Kisari tell her of their encounter with the Guardian. Tessouat inclined his head midway through, and, to Narune’s utter surprise, the cacica was grinning viciously by the end of the story. It was the same look he had worn after almost killing Kisari back during the Ritual of Fang and Feather.
“This is good, then,” Cacica Yabisi finally said, arms spreading. “If the Guardian says so, then I will accept it.”
So easily? Narune frowned. “You will…?”
“Oh, yes, but don’t mistake me. I plan on bashing your head against the oath hard enough to see whether either one will break.” She crossed her arms. “Tessouat.”
The spiritseer elder nodded and moved toward Narune. “Give me see your Flowing Blade.”
Narune gave it to him. Tessouat examined it with slow, practiced care, while ignoring the thunder cracking above and the water whipping against his face. After what seemed like an eternity, Tessouat crouched to examine Narune’s Gourd, and then asked Narune a series of questions.
Narune, still kneeling, dared to say nothing other than the honest truth. Most of the questions were simple, but seemingly unrelated, some were questions he had expected, such as the one about his adventure with Kisari to retrieve the heartwood, and then came the hard ones.
“Why are you so desperate to become a spiritseer?” Tessouat asked.
Narune glanced from him to the cacica before answering; still the truth, but he kept a few things to himself.
Narune explained that he wanted to become a spiritseer, and then a champion against the halja, earning glory at every turn, to prove neither he or his mother were, or would ever become, traitors.
Cacica Yabisi said nothing for a moment, arms crossed, and met his gaze. Then, she shook her head, her face pained a little. “The Halfborn of old have weaved thorns into your blood that can never be removed. You two could become the greatest warriors we’ve ever had, but my fear of you losing yourselves would always be there.”
Tessouat nodded slowly. “I’ve heard of your battle against the halja ambush. Your actions are worthy of praise, Narune, but let me ask this: Did the battle show you a little of the might of spiritseers?”
Narune hesitated, tail twitching, and then nodded.
“Well, in that moment we only stood to lose a generation of novices. That would have been a cruel, heartbreaking thing, make no mistake, but now imagine an equally desperate battle on a far greater scale against the expanse of Stillness at the Wound. Imagine a hundred just like you, all veteran spiritseers, going berserk.”
Narune thought back to the battle and chewed on Tessouat’s words. It only took a moment before he shivered, but he still looked back up at the two of them defiantly. “I know this, Elder, but we’re working to understand our… affliction. If we can learn what happened to the other Halfborn, then maybe we prevent it from happening again, and then our blood wouldn’t be any more dangerous than the Flows.”
“Not exactly,” Tessouat replied, his face softening. “A spiritseer will end themselves if they stumble, but rarely others, and they won’t have to be put down by hesitant comrades and friends. Even so… I fear we must still try to make a worthy weapon out of you.”
“Agreed,” Cacica Yabisi added casually.
Narune’s mouth fell open, then closed. What? His eyes narrowed, and beside them Kisari shifted nervously.
“We’ve always been losing the war,” Cacica Yabisi said. “I told your mother this. Every cacica has struggled with this truth, but each has also managed to keep us at a deadlock for a little while longer. It hasn’t been without cost—we lose more of the forest to the Stillness each Cycle, and stronger halja appear practically every moon—but we’ve held.
“Our first battles with the Stillness, back when we were all barely more than beasts, were disastrous. We would have lost then if not for the Guardian, and even with her, we were driven back again and again. Do you know what we did? We licked our wounds, picked up our spears, and sprinted back to fight. From this stubbornness came the safeholds, our shamans, and, much later, the survivors of Vanadyl whose war lore helped create the spiritseers.
“Then came the Halfborn, who were believed to be a gift from the forest we struggled to defend.”
Narune was staring wide-eyed up at her, unconscious of the rain streaming down his eyes or his soaked ears and tail. He saw where this was going, and it kindled hope within his heart.
“Once the Halfborn themselves became spiritseers, we knew we had a truly great weapon. Perhaps even one finally capable of cutting out the infection around the Wound,” Cacica Yabisi continued. “And that arrogance led us to disaster.” She pointed at him. “Now, we’re losing again and I have no answer. I’ve sent the seamaster on a long hunt to find allies, and I’ve already thrown myself at the feet of foreign rulers. They’ll be a desperate gamble, at best, and many are too soft to do us any good. So, just as so many other cacica have, I wondered…”
“About the Halfborn?” Narune asked hopefully.
“If their betrayal was a fluke, yes. A dangerous question, because we were lucky enough to survive last time. But the cacicas asked, ‘knowing this now, can we change that fate?’ That is why Cacica Anacaona, who adopted me to take her place, also adopted your mother instead of giving her back to the forest.” Cacica Yabisi scowled and looked away. “I intended to not just inherit Cacica Anacaona’s desperate hope, but also fully support Colibrí as a champion of our people. But then… well, she went wild while saving my life, and what I saw was something I knew I could never trust—that thing she became was no warrior.”
Narune felt his face flush, knowing she had seen the same thing in him when he had gone berserk during the Ritual of Fang and Feather. And now…?
“And now,” she said, as if answering his thoughts. There was a pause, and Narune watched the cacica’s shoulders suddenly fall as if a great weight fell on her. “Now, I don’t know what to do. My search for help is seemingly earning us lustful enemies instead of allies, and the enemies we already have are outgrowing us. What if there are more like Peacemaker?” She shook her head slowly. “Without the Halfborn, there might not be any Islandborn before long, but even s
o, I refuse to let you be the reason why we finally fail to uphold the first of all our oaths.”
“I swear I’ll do whatever it takes to prove we can be trusted,” Narune breathed. He lowered himself, head and palms pressing into the muddy tiles. “The chance to try is all I ask—all I ever wanted—Cacica. Please, let me show you that, even if there is a monster within us, we are its master.”
“You’ve already failed me once.” When he looked up, she shrugged. “At the Ritual, I asked the spiritseers to flood the arena with their Flow and then set you against many opponents.”
“You forced him to go berserk?” Kisari spat out in shock.
The cacica glanced at her. “No. We pushed him, just as we might push any warrior, and he broke.”
“That’s still unfair,” Kisari snapped.
“Yes,” the cacica said with a laugh. “And, little warden, so is war. What will you say for him when he comes back covered in the blood of his comrades? That it’s unfair?”
Kisari said nothing.
“But,” Cacica Yabisi began, “I will give Narune another chance—because of you, Kisari.”
Kisari glanced hesitantly around. Narune shrugged at her. “Eh? Me?”
“Yes.” Cacica Yabisi nodded. “When I fired an arrow toward you, Narune broke from his bloodlust to save you. That wasn’t the action of a beast or a monster—and it gave me hope.” She shrugged. “I had never planned on letting you pass the Ritual, but… well, let’s just say that I might have used the oath you gave me as a cord around your neck. I was debating whether to train you in secret, and asked the Circle to judge your worth against the risk. After all, I could have you executed at whim without worrying about my honor—but then you went ahead and did it all behind my back on your own.” Cacica Yabisi laughed and she glanced at Tessouat. “Well, it saved us time, I suppose. I had almost forgotten because of the mess with Peacemaker, but here we are. So, Narune, I will give you what you ask—one more chance.”
Narune couldn’t push himself further into the ground. “Oh, thank you, Cacica!”
“Tessouat?”
The spiritseer elder bowed. “As an elder of the Circle, I witness and agree with your decision on behalf of my peers. Kayuya Narune, warrior grown from the soil and water of Mother Colibrí, your feats at the Ritual of Fang and Feather are worthy of the spiritseers. I acknowledge your self-earned right to learn the mystic arts.”
The elder then directed Narune to stand and had him use his foundation spells in turn. He then watched Narune move through the Blade stances, then examined Narune’s control over his Channeling with a critical eye. After all this, Tessouat drew his own Blade and challenged Narune’s control and focus under the burden, with Tessouat’s Blade coming at him from seemingly every direction.
Once, Narune wouldn’t have been able to maintain his Channeling while defending himself, but Narune was far beyond that now—and, having heard what had happened at the beach, Tessouat should know that already, but maybe the elder wanted to make sure.
Tessouat nodded at the cacica after calling an end to his examination. “His foundation is exceptional, with very minor flaws, and his control over the Carrion Flow is a little above where it should be. I am pleased.” To Narune, he asked, “Who trained you?”
Narune hesitated, but Cacica Yabisi snorted and said, “Just go ahead and say Sanemoro’s name already. He’s waiting for you and, though we haven’t said a single word to him, the sage looks like someone readying themselves to do something very stupid.”
Narune exhaled and nodded.
“Interesting,” Tessouat said. “Perhaps we should have sages assist more directly with our training.”
“Come,” Yabisi said.
Cacica and Tessouat walked deeper into the village, flanked on either side by her sentinels. Narune rose from the ground, then frowned when Kisari moved to him and wiped dirt and mud from his war garb. The look on her face was hard to decipher; he couldn’t tell what was going through her mind and she didn’t offer anything through their touch.
After a moment she nodded toward the cacica.
They followed after them, but it only took a few heartbeats before Narune realized where they were headed. They arrived at the Proving Grounds not long after, the gray skies above brightened by streaks of lightening. The packed soil was already muddy, but it wasn’t as bad as he would have expected. The stands were empty, and sentinels ringed the space.
Sanemoro waited nervously at the entrance to the arena. He brightened when he saw Narune and Kisari, and looked as if he had expected the cacica to drop their mutilated corpses at his feet. He rushed over and embraced each of them in turn.
But Narune’s gaze was fixed on the scene beyond the sage. Standing in the circle were novices, one from each of the other Flows. They were all youths that he had previously fought at the Ritual and spiritseers he had survived the halja ambush with. And at their center stood Ixchel, a lazy look on her face, but she smiled when her gaze met his.
“Cacica, please!” Sanemoro cried, his voice grown loud, and when Narune turned he saw a sentinel holding the sage away from her. “How can you ask this much from him? They will kill him, and Colibrí will be furious.”
“Well, Narune should had been returned to the forest twice over now,” Cacica Yabisi said with a yawn. “And Colibrí isn’t here. That’s half the point.”
Narune’s eyes narrowed.
Cacica Yabisi drew close, put an arm around his shoulder, swept her free arm out after turning him around. “Welcome to your second chance, Naru.”
All the spiritseer novices bowed as one.
Chapter 27
Colibrí placed a hand on Jerrico’s strange artifact. The warbands had already spread across the forest, readying to sweep to the Primordial Wound. They would do so even if they managed to catch Peacemaker by surprise, and would sweep on their way back just to be certain. It would take a while, perhaps a few moons. She already missed Narune, and of course Sanemoro and Kisari too.
But distraction would kill her and then she’d never see them again, so she focused. This first pounce was everything; they knew the artifacts worked, but not whether their guess that Peacemaker had hidden his nests along the shores of the Unseen Flow were true. If so, then they’d need to act quickly, moving from nest to nest and preventing Peacemaker from reacting.
Scouts and Violetflow spiritseers would be scattered in between the warbands, waiting and watching, and if they found Peacemaker fleeing or observing…
She grinned.
The storm had weakened, but water still streamed down. Though Colibrí couldn’t see anything through the gloom and dense canopy, she knew the skies were still gray and that it wouldn’t be long before the storm caught its breath and began anew. Not that it mattered; everything was still drenched, including her, but thankfully her poncho was quick to dry and excellent at warding against stormwater.
Warmaster Jhul watched from beside the high magus, and the foreign warrior who held the device stared beyond Colibrí while standing in some kind of strange stance he had fallen into at the barked command of his leader.
“Just as we practiced,” Jerrico said to her. “I’ll try Drawing the Unseen Flow a little, nudge it into movement—who knows, it might help—but you’re the one that needs to make sense of what you see and guide us.”
“I know.”
“And I know you know. Saints forgive, I’m just a little nervous, so let me talk. Speaking of which, damn, that talking snake was massive.” He paused thoughtfully. The Guardian had gone on the far side with Jerrico’s best, and thoroughly terrified, apprentices, leaving her with the high magus and the careless assurance that he could do the work of twelve by himself. “Do you think it would let me examine it? Do your people control the thing?”
Kisari glanced over at him, eyelids halfway closed. “She is the Guardian, and no, we don’t control her. Not even the land does, by the sound of things, and the islands are more her home than it was ever ours. She’s both t
he first warrior and first among all warriors, and we’re proud to follow her.” Colibrí puffed out her chest as she voiced the last part. Jerrico rolled his eyes.
“Well, I suppose there are worse things to have as a role model,” he said with a laugh, then watched her while she tried to focus. “Well?”
Colibrí closed her eyes, her tail hanging low, ears going flat. She felt him make adjustments to some of the bits of odd cord, wood, and metal in the devices, and heard him mumbling as he went off to do the same to the other devices—presumably while Drawing the Unseen Flow the entire time. Jerrico had mentioned that it was laughably easy in the forest.
There… She felt it slowly. It was a little like a river, though she felt that it was better compared to some of the flooded portions of the forest. The Flows of Creation were everywhere, but in some places the Unseen Flow ran deepest and widest, and there was a discernible path if she looked closely enough.
Even better, the Primordial Wound was like a wellspring and pushed Flow outward toward the sea with enough force to make their paths more or less straightforward.
The feeling made her nauseous, though. She was used to the wet-like sensation of Flow, but this was like entering and leaving the sea naked, and feeling the difference on your skin. In fact, a shiver passed through her.
And, even deeper within her mind, the Jurakán waited. She had become skilled at holding the shrieks back, but when they grew intense there wasn’t much she could do but endure them. Right now, the screams were so loud and vivid that they were challenging to ignore.
She followed the Unseen Flow in her mind’s eye, a violet color that was there, but somehow really wasn’t. It was like leaning from the jutting bark of a tree-lord and looking out across the roots. She could see where it curved and ran.
Colibrí let go of the artifact and consulted with Jhul, who was surrounded by his best scouts, and they chose their path. She would remain with the high magus to ensure they stayed on track every so often, but otherwise this was to be a sprint.
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