by Lexy Wolfe
While her face did not reflect her confusion, her tlisan sensed it. At a loss, Storm finally said after several long heartbeats, “Thank you. We welcome your gift.” The tension in the supplicants visibly eased when she spoke. Jaison stepped forward to take the offering with a quiet word of gratitude. When the three did not leave, she frowned. “Is there something else?”
“Yes, Alanis.” She gestured to the young woman beside her who wore only sandals, a loincloth and a strap of leather binding her breasts. “If it is not forbidden by the Timeless One, I would like to offer my daughter to your tlisan Dusvet Jaison for a season dance.”
Jaison’s jaw dropped. “Uh. What?” He looked over her, then quickly away as his cheeks darkened.
“Oh, Zeridus,” Taylin whispered, covering her mouth with her hand. She glanced at the Swordanzen and leaned over to whisper to Star. “No one seems surprised.”
She smiled behind her veil. “It is tradition for many to seek suitable mates outside of their tribes during the Time of Gathering. It is considered…how do you northerners say it? Polite. To ask permission.”
“You honor the na’Zhekali, but I must decline your offer,” Storm deferred. “Jaison cannot yet sire children until he earns his adult name. Until then, by tradition, he cannot accept a mating dance.”
“Who guessed I was avoiding a taboo all these years,” he muttered, drawing smiles from Skyfire and Seeker who were near enough to hear.
“I see. Thank you, Alanis. We look forward to speaking with you on the matter again.” The young woman smiled and winked at Jaison as they turned to leave.
The scene repeated itself as people brought gifts of clothing, weapons, gemstones, polished beads. There were also several requests or offers of season dances with not only Jaison, but Skyfire, Bella, Mureln and even one for Taylin.
The healer covered her eyes. “Oh, gods,” she muttered.
Star grinned. “You should feel honored. You are Sevmanen. Most Desanti men barely glance at Vodani women.”
“Ah, if I don’t think my husband would be happy if I,” Taylin began.
“If someone wished Nolyn to sire a child with them, I would not object because he is a good, strong man.” Star smiled as she watched the various people approach. “And I am sure those children would be as beautiful as him.” She glanced at Taylin. “If someone wished me to bear their child, I would ask him.”
“We are not so liberal in the north.” Taylin’s voice cracked, though what emotions she felt were too confused to discern, even for her.
“I know. Perhaps one day, my people can also be ‘not so liberal’ as yours.” Taylin looked at Star when her voice faltered, then followed her gaze toward the path. The gathered Desanti shied away as several robed figures with veils covering their entire faces approached.
“Who is that?” the healer whispered.
Skyfire scowled, tension rippling across his muscles. “The Alanis Su’alin. Kiya, go inside.”
“No,” Storm stated. “This place is na’Zhekali land. He has no power over any here. Githalin Su’alin Star is the guest of the tribe.” Her eyes flashed with menace. “And I have a promise to keep to him for what he had done to you and your siblings.”
Skyfire put his hand on her shoulder. “Aelia, please. You cannot kill him. It is the Time of Gathering.”
“It is a na’Citali matter, Alanis na’Zhekali,” the darker, delicate woman said. She squared her shoulders. “But your support is gratefully accepted. I doubt he will listen to me.”
“You are Githalin,” Storm reminded in a low voice. Star only nodded, turning to watch the tall man with his entourage approach.
“Come, Su’alin Kiya na’Citali,” he began without pretense or greeting to anyone else present, not even a glance to his sons. “It is time for you to return to your tribe now that your quest has ended.”
Star stood straight with pride. She met the man’s eyes through their veils and stated in clear tones, “No, Father.”
The other su’alin traded looks of shock at the slight woman’s defiance. The man’s anger was visible despite the robes and veil. “It was not enough I permitted you to leave Desantiva, you still think to defy your Alanis?”
“I think to continue serving Desantiva by returning to Forenta to be the voice of our people, if the tribes will accept me.” She brushed her veil away from her eyes, causing the other na’Citali and the Desanti watching the confrontation from the path to avert their eyes. “The northborn have realized they have need of us in their lands, and I wish to aid them!”
The man made a sound of disgust, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Do not be foolish, Kiya. They will only turn on you like vipers and poison your heart and soul. Your place is here among your family.”
The woman frowned, crossing her arms. “I am among family, Father. Radisen and Rengi are both here with me.”
“They turned their backs on the tribe!” he bellowed, glowering at Skyfire and Seeker as they stepped closer to stand behind their younger sister.
“You drove Radisen out! You would have cast out Rengi if Mother had not asked you to let him stay,” she fired back. “You cull anyone who does not have Citali’s gift and push them away. They have both been honored by the Totani to serve as Githalin, and still that is not good enough for you!”
The man looked at the younger of his sons. He blinked with a frown as he took note of the twin, single-edged swords. “You are Githalin Swordanzen now?”
“I am, though not that it makes warriors any more worthy in your eyes,” Seeker stated without inflection. “I remember what you said when we got news of Skyfire earning his place as Githalin. You said he was still a worthless warrior.”
“You insulted the Path of the Sword?” Storm demanded in a low voice, startling the na’Citali who had forgotten the violent tempered woman was there. They whispered nervously when they saw her hand on the hilt of her two-edged sword. “You consider the Path of the Spirit superior?”
“Only a chosen few receive Citali’s gift!” the man stated, iron in his voice. “There is nothing special about Swordanzen. All our people are warriors! Anyone can become one if they have the desire to abandon their tlisan.” He flashed a glare to Skyfire.
Having arrived moments after the veiled group, Ash hurried to Storm’s side and grabbed her wrist. “Aelia, his blood is not worth the stain on your honor if you break the peace of the Time of Gathering.” Green-gold eyes flashing in anger, Storm growled, releasing the blade and crossing her arms in disgust.
The Alanis Su’alin made a sound of irritation. “I have no patience for childish games.” He grabbed Star by the wrist, dragging her toward the pathway. “It is time to return to your place, Kiya!”
The ringing sound of the twin-pointed knife startled both her father and the others of her tribe. Her eyes flashed brilliant gold in the torchlight that illuminated the tribal grounds. “My name is Star, Githalin to Citali. Your heart is too close to this, Father. It is for the tribes themselves to decide whether they want to accept the offer made to our people. You have no more right to speak for them than any of us!”
The man glowered. “Very well, if that is what you wish. But it is a foolish delay. You will return to the tribe because no Desanti would accept any sort of dealings with the outlanders. I will make certain you come to your senses, Daughter.” He looked Ash up and down scathingly before turning on his heel and stalking out. The others followed him.
One of the trailing su’alin hesitated, going to Kiya and clasping her free hand in both of hers. “Welcome home, tlisan. I am happy you are safe.” She ran to catch up to the others before they noticed her missing.
Ash studied his lifemate. “Come walk with me, beloved.” She eyed him sideways for several heartbeats, then relented, joining him. “Please return tomorrow if you still have business with the na’Zhekali. We look forward to speaking to each of you then.” Given the close encounter with the veiled spiritwalkers, the gathered disbursed, eager to put distance between
themselves and the source of the man’s ire.
“And I thought some of the highborn were asses,” Nolyn grumbled as he came out and went to Star, putting an arm around her waist. He kissed her temple. “I can tell I will have my hands full when our daughter gets older.”
She managed a weak smile up at him as she put her Githalin knife away, looking at the hand the other had clasped briefly. Skyfire and Seeker both noticed her troubled expression. “Are you all right, Kiya?”
“I am.” She opened her hand to reveal a cord with complex knotting. “But the na’Citali are not.”
Nolyn frowned. “What is it?”
Mureln came over, blinking. “It is a tasad.” At the blank look from Nolyn and Taylin, he explained. “It is a way of sending messages with knots in cords or string. My people had used it only during times when there is strife with the Forenten or Sevmanen and we did not wish to risk our communications being intercepted. Now it is a means relaying news on currents and fishing. The arrowhawks can carry many more tasads than written letters. They are simple, since they are able to relay only so much more detailed information.”
Skyfire took the tasad, holding it up to study it, then frowned, handing it to Seeker. The other mirrored the eldest brother’s expression. “This is not good.” He looked at Star. “Were things so bad as this after I left?”
“No, but even I could see signs that Father was changing the Path, but you know him. He allows none to contradict him.” She leaned against her lifemate for comfort. “I do not know what to do.”
“Do not focus on it for now,” Nolyn soothed. “Come. I only just woke up and I could eat a whole drizzen. If the bloody thing wouldn’t take off my arm first, of course.”
Taylin jumped at his words. “Gracious, yes, you must still be starving after the healing.” She shooed the couple inside.
“Exactly how bad is the situation?” Mureln asked the two Githalin Swordanzen brothers when the others were gone.
Skyfire shook his head. “Not bad enough that it needs to be faced here and now in front of the other tribes. But at some point soon.”
Seeker crossed his arms with a grunt. “Sometimes I think Storm should have—”
The elder brother scowled. “No! He is still our father, no matter how far from the true Path he has strayed.” The younger frowned, but only sighed, not arguing.
Terrence led the group through the various camps to where many had gathered for games of chance or displays of prowess. Bella chuckled as she looked at the activities. “Somehow, I am not surprised that Emil and Emaris found this place so readily. It would be like a lodestone to iron, drawing them in.” They passed a dice game. “Especially the gambling.”
Izkynder sat atop Tyrsan’s shoulders, looking around in wide-eyed wonder. “Everyone looks so small from up here!”
The man squinted up, chuckling. “I am not quite that tall, dear boy.”
“Almost!” The boy pursed his lips in worry. “I wonder where Chitta is. I hope he isn’t lost.”
Bella shook her head. “I am sure he is fine, just seeing the place his kind call home for the first time. He is pretty special, you know.” She patted the boy’s lower back. “Just like you.”
“You mean weird,” Izkynder corrected matter-of-factly.
“You are not weird,” Marcus argued. “You are only different.”
“Weird,” the boy stated with emphasis, hands on his hips as he looked down at Nolyn’s apprentice.
Terrence glanced over his shoulder, eyes filled with sympathetic understanding. “I think we are all pretty weird to everyone here. They usually only see Desanti or a few Vodani. Almek was the only Guardian they ever really saw, and even then, only once every few of their generations, so just being Guardians they have never seen is strange.”
Izkynder frowned, crossing his arms thoughtfully. “Oh. I guess that’s true, isn’t it?”
Tyrsan looked at the young mage. “You do have a way of cutting to the heart of confusion to clear it away, don’t you?”
With a blush, Terrence shrugged. “I don’t feel like I am doing anything different than anyone else. Just…well. When it comes to people, I try imagining how they are seeing the world. It is like learning other languages. Explaining something in Forentan to someone who only speaks Sevmanan wouldn’t really explain anything at all to them.
“And each language hints at how those who speak it see the world. Desanti do not have plural words for groups of living things, for instance. Neither do the Vodani.” He shrugged a bit. “For them, the group comes before the individual. Back home in Forenta…”
“We tend to look at a person more than the group they are associated with.” Marcus added, “Most of the time.”
“Don’t be so humble, Terrence,” Bella admonished in light tones. “You have a gift of insight that few others display.” He looked oddly at the woman, the comment about humility reminding him of the conversation with the ancient trinity in the divine archives of Fortress.
“Treewalker!” They turned toward the voice as three men and two women approached. All five had the lean, wiry build of most Desanti, all of varying shades of browns in both skin and hair, but all with dark eyes. When the young mage looked at them, they hesitated, averting their gazes. “Forgive us, Dusvet Guardian. We meant no insult.”
“You need not apologize.” He smiled warmly. “My people do walk among trees. The description is accurate.” He offered his hand in greeting to them. “I am Githalin Dusvet Sumyr il’Dzee. Or Illaini Dusvet Terrence na’Zhekali. I leave it to your preference.”
All of them looked up in shock. “You are the outlander, er, Guardian who can call Totani?”
“He aided Totani Dzee’s return to the Raging One,” Tyrsan pointed out. “And won an alliance with her for his aid.”
The Desanti traded uncertain looks. One of the women finally reached out to take his hand in a firm grip. Emboldened, the others also shook his hand. “You are not like Lord Almek Two-Tones,” the woman observed.
“I hope not. I would not be myself otherwise.” He flashed a smile toward Bella who coughed. She winced when she got an elbow nudge in the arm from Tyrsan, which set Marcus and Lyra to giggling behind their hands. “May I aid you in something?”
“We remember you when you were last in Desantiva,” one of the men stated. “You had come here with two other outlanders. A giant who never spoke, the other who was very good with knives. Did they return with you?”
“Unfortunately, no. They had other matters to concern themselves for the Timeless One.” Noting their disappointment, Terrence added, “I am sure they will find their way here again someday. Emil was especially…drawn to the fine women here.”
The pair of women crossed their arms, their expressions smug as they looked at their male companions. “Outlander women cannot compare to us,” the bolder one stated. The Dusvets frowned and turned unerringly toward the main encampment.
With sage nods to each other, the taller of the warrior folk observed, “You do not want to return to your camp, Dusvet Guardians. The na’Citali tribe has arrived.”
The group noted the knowing looks the Desanti traded. Bella demanded, “Why not? We sense—”
The man who made the observation laughed. “Do you think we cannot as well? When two of the greater Paths converge, and there is bad blood between them, the feeling is similar to the approach of the ragewinds. Even an impending confrontation dances on the skin like the air before a lightning strike.”
“I would not fear for Githalin Swordanzen Storm,” the bold woman assured. “The Alanis Su’alin has never cowed her.”
“That is likely why he stands against nearly anything that she had advocated,” the quieter of the men opined. “But the tribes trust her more than him. He may be strong in the Path of the Spirit, but she does not lord her skill or position above others. She protects the land and the people without reservation, regardless of her feelings toward any individuals. There are rumors he has withheld the aid of the S
u’alin because he felt not enough respect was given him.”
“It is probably better we are not there,” Lyra stated in a soft voice. “If this man is hostile toward his own people, we would only add to the conflict.” She took a half-step back when the quiet man stepped closer to her, his dark eyes studying her with a predator’s intensity. The slight woman held still as he touched her left cheek, then her hair.
“I have never seen any human with colors like this.” He looked at his companions. “Her hair and skin feels like ours, but they are the color of the sands under the full moons.” He leaned closer, nose nearly touching hers as he studied her. “And eyes the color of polished sapphires. Is this the color of mages?”
“Uh. No?” She glanced at Terrence, then swallowed nervously, looking back at the man. “I am not a mage. I was never strong enough with magic to be trained as one. I am an archer.”
“What is an archer?” all five asked.
“It is a kind of warrior that uses a bow,” Bella stated. She patted the weapon slung across her back. “Or a crossbow, in my case.”
“Let me show you,” Lyra offered as she unslung the silkwood bow, holding it out across her palms to show them.
They reacted in shock, touching the wood and talking fast among themselves. The man who had examined her so closely grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her after him. “Come! Grandmother must see you.”
“Are they mad, Master Terrence?” Marcus asked as the rest of them hurried to keep up with the five Desanti and Lyra. “They grabbed her!”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But it is the Time of Gathering. They won’t harm her. Not with knowing the kind of wrath they would incur from Storm.”
“Imagine Skyfire’s wrath,” Bella interjected in droll tones.
“You are not helping,” Terrence pointed out, impatient.
“Enough,” Tyrsan scolded. “There is not the place for your childish antics. At least try to behave in front of the Desanti.” The pair fell silent as they followed the group.
