Between Starfalls

by S Kaeth

  “Not good enough,” he shouted.

  His glare pinned Kaemada like prey. “You are too slow, too cautious. You have been training for twenty summers, Kaemada, and this should be in your blood by now! You live and breathe this. When the time comes, you must surrender to it. No excuses, no avoiding imminent conflict. An enemy will not be so gentle as I.”

  She stared at her clenched fingers, clasping them in front of her until the skin whitened. Was it her inner turmoil that had caused her to fail, or was she still not good enough?

  He turned on Ra’ael. “You must control your blood rage. Control allows the telekinesis. Its absence allows the blood rage. You must always decide when that happens. Do not be afraid of the risk, but do not allow a slip from lack of control, either!”

  “You.” He narrowed his eyes at Takiyah. “Finesse, Takiyah, finesse! Wading into the thick of battle and waiting for your friends to save you only works if you don’t leave them behind. If they’re not with you, don’t step forward unless you want a knife in your back.”

  Kaemada stared at the fallen leaves around her boots. She could feel Galod glowering at them, but they each knew better than to engage him. There was no need to make a bad day worse. She bit her lip, her heart torn to pieces, engaged in a bitter battle with itself. Her gaze went to the east, where three dead trees clustered. Their roots had withered away, yet still, they were home to many creatures, and vines grew around them. For as they died, they fell together, each supporting the other, even in storms.

  When they’d been younger, Taunos had laughed and named the trees for them, but Kaemada saw the truth in it. When there were only three supports, each needed to be strong. When there were many, as in a hut, the weakness of one no longer mattered so much. If she could not be strong, she would have to leave the work she’d trained so hard to do.

  If only her heart could accept that.

  Shaking his head, Galod waved them away. “Go now. You have a ceremony to prepare for.”

  How did he always know the kaetal’s celebrations, though he rarely left his clearing?

  Ra’ael and Takiyah nodded a formal farewell to Galod and turned to go. Kaemada quickly followed, glancing back to see the hermit striding away.

  Takiyah nodded her head toward a large fern. “Torkae is that way.”

  Ra’ael narrowed her eyes at her. “The path is this way.”

  “That takes longer.” Takiyah headed through the vegetation without looking back, ignoring Ra’ael’s glare.

  Kaemada shrugged. “The only paths we have to stay on are those through the mountains.”

  Grumbling, Ra’ael tromped behind them.

  The trees thinned as the women descended the hill outside the kaetal. Beyond, the tall grasses of the prairie danced in the wind, where animals grazed and children played in the waning rain. The domed huts of Torkae, made from woven grasses and bent branches tied together with sinew and twine, stood in harmony with the natural surroundings, whether they be in the prairie or forest. Every home’s doorway faced the central fires.

  It should be enough to be a part of a hut rather than to be a tree against the storm. Kaemada lifted her face to the wind and forced a smile to veil her troubled thoughts.

  A wide path swept through the middle of the kaetal at the forest’s edge. At the western end, it led across the grassy field, which they were decorating for the ceremony, and then up a hill where a large wooden building with a roof of woven grasses stood—the Ellewyn. Most nights, Ra’ael supervised the unmarried youth of Torkae as they gathered there, where they could sing, dance, and mingle freely without disturbing others.

  The bustle of activity filled the air. Hundreds of people went about their business in a flood of brown skin, dark eyebrows, and round faces that bore the many kisses of rain and sun and wind. Laughter and conversation created a pleasant hum that sang of life all around. As hunters returned, tools were cared for and meat butchered. Other men whittled, tanned hides, or tended the smokehouse. A true smile broke on Kaemada’s face upon seeing her son, Eian, playing with string alongside two other young children while one of the Elders gestured widely, telling them a story.

  Women tended fields or clustered around the fires at the center of the kaetal. Mothers worked with babies strapped on their backs or playing nearby. They sang and talked in small groups as they mended clothing, wove fabric and grass mats, spun fibers into thread, or mixed dyes. Children ran through the kaetal, playing at races, throwing sticks through hoops sent racing down the hill, or leaping about in the trees. Older children tended the lumbering, shaggy alanshorn as they grazed, music drifting through the air from their pipes.

  Turning away from her morning frustrations, Kaemada's smile grew. She met Ra’ael’s gaze as the other woman retrieved her pale blue shroud of priestesshood from their house and draped it over her shoulders. Everything was just as it should be.

  “It would be helpful if you three would at least gather some greens, or even hunt some meat while you play at war with Galod.” Talaera emerged from the trees carrying a large basket of sprawling stars-of-evening, her black eyes sharp with disapproval.

  Kaemada’s smile vanished. Dropping her gaze to the grasses beneath her boots, she searched for harmony. She was never comfortable with the worry from her mother’s cousin and tried to avoid it as much as possible, just as the words that would bring peace now evaded her.

  “We cannot train and gather at the same time, as we have discussed before,” Ra’ael said, facing Talaera’s reproach for her.

  “Then why not gather on the way back?”

  Ra’ael’s eyebrows raised. “We each have our tasks, and you seem to have this one well in hand.”

  Talaera frowned, matching their pace as they wound their way toward the center of the kaetal. “Why set yourselves apart so? Other kaetaln would be quite alarmed, seeing psions together and idle. Especially students of Galod.”

  “Pay no mind to the shrieking of tailosaen, for it is only gossip and of no consequence.” Saimahkae Maeren, the Great Mother of Torkae, waved them over with a smile to soften her words. “You are ours, and we know your challenges, but also how brightly you shine.”

  Kaemada quickened her step and settled beside the square-faced woman with short, grey curls. While Talaera was her closest kin besides her brother, Maeren always felt more like family. “Betah teimelei, Saimahkae Maeren.”

  “Ah, Kaemada, so formal.” Maeren laughed and reached for Takiyah with both hands. “Takiyah, come here, my daughter.”

  Takiyah bent down, receiving and returning Maeren’s kiss. “Betah, Mother.”

  “I’m off to alert the Storyteller and Teros about the messenger Kaemada spotted,” Ra’ael said.

  Kaemada lifted a hand as she hurried away, but Ra’ael didn’t acknowledge her. Her loss of control with Galod must still be troubling her.

  “I must finish Alaren’s dagger,” Takiyah said as her mother handed her a wooden bowl of berries to sort. “I promised him it would be ready tonight.”

  Maeren frowned and passed the bowl to Kaemada instead. “Go well. I have enough help in Lína’s daughter.”

  Thankful for the work to display her contributions to the kaetal, Kaemada sorted the berries, throwing out the odd one that had gone bad.

  “I worry how others see us,” Talaera said, settling on Maeren’s other side.

  Kaemada’s stomach churned. Why couldn’t Talaera let this go? But at least Maeren was there—not even Talaera could argue long with the Saimahkae. Kaemada tried, but she couldn’t be what Talaera wanted. She always came up short, like this morning. She couldn’t be her brother.

  If she left Galod’s training, Talaera at least would be happy, but certainty filled her as she tossed out another bad berry. If she didn’t try to protect her people somehow, that would poison her just as surely as the bad berries rotted the rest. She wanted to contribute more than poor baking or tangled weaving. Galod’s teachings had always drawn her, sure as the mists clustered by the rivers.
But the only tasks she was good at brought strife.

  Talaera retrieved a bowl from her basket and began separating the stems from the petals of the flowers. They would be crushed and used as a seasoning once dried. “Takiyah’s forge? Psions together outside the kaetal? We must look to the rest of Rinara and be harmonious with them.”

  Maeren raised her eyebrows at Talaera. “I seem to hear more shrieking. Is it just these old ears?”

  Kaemada hid a smile as Talaera ducked her head, her stone knife slicing furiously at the flowers, bruising the petals.

  “They’re not Rinaryn. These antics of yours—nursing that pegasus colt to health, the conversing with birds, this talk of training psions as a group—must end!”

  Kaemada’s eyes narrowed. “It would be easier to train psions as a group, as Galod trains Ra’ael, Takiyah, and me. Especially if you wish me to have more time for other tasks.”

  “It’s not our way. You must be above any suspicions. The honor your mother gathered to herself, despite being a psion, will not protect you if you continue such ways. Please, Kaemada, for your own sake, please. Do not be so strange.”

  Why was it that her mother and her brother—even her sister—were highly honored despite choosing tasks her people thought unusual, yet Kaemada couldn’t manage the same? Wilting, she scowled at the berries. “I only wish to help, not bring disharmony.”

  “Why do we allow Galod to stay, Saimahkae?” Talaera asked. “Why do we allow his students to go outside our laws for training? Not all are easy with Galod, nor with us because of him.”

  Maeren raised her eyebrows again. “What is the uneasiness of others against the defense of our kaetal? And, unlike many Rinaryn, Galod has been happy to help in this way.”

  “Some worry Galod may muddy our song. We should be harmonious with other Rinaryn,” argued Talaera.

  Heat rose to Kaemada’s cheeks. The hermit’s teachings helped her keep her son safe. She didn’t want more disharmony, but she couldn’t sit back while Talaera attacked Galod. The words came out before Kaemada could stop them. “And so we sent supplies to Tanelwith when the Darks attacked.”

  Talaera fixed Kaemada with a piercing stare. “You should not have sent those two wagons of supplies.”

  That sparked a fire in Kaemada. “The attack decimated Tanelwith. They were afraid and needy, and I helped them. Is that not part of the harmony you spoke of?”

  Talaera drew in a deep breath as if settling herself. “I know your father had family there.”

  Kaemada dropped her gaze, shifting. She’d been avoiding thinking of that.

  When Talaera continued, her tone was hard. “That does not mean we must leave ourselves open to misfortune. You act without forethought. With Tanelwith hit so hard, it will fall to us to make up for their lack of offering for the Feast. If we do not, the mutterings against us will grow louder.”

  Maeren shook her head, gesturing for peace. “We will make do—we always do. Remember, Talaera, harmony within first, then without. The thoughts and hearts of land spouses are elsewhere, not on the day-to-day work of the kaetal. Each of us must be free to pursue the spirits’ song.”

  Kaemada dropped her gaze to the bread. If the Saimahkae saw that in her, perhaps she wasn’t prideful and selfish to see it in herself. But training hadn’t gone well, and if the way forward wasn’t training with the others, as she’d done all her life, what was it?

  Talaera’s tense eyes spoke of the fear that drove her complaints.

  Kaemada reached out to make peace, speaking carefully. “Our presence makes our kaetal different, and so some look askance at us. This isn’t something I would have any of you suffer.”

  The Great Mother’s gaze captured Kaemada. “Listen and understand. Gifts such as Kaemada’s, Ra’ael’s, and even my Takiyah’s, are more and more common these days. It makes the Council of Elders nervous. Those like you initiate change and influence the future, and it can be uncomfortable, even frightening. But the Council knows that many times it all works out for the best.”

  The Council of Elders gathered together every planting and harvest season at the Feasts of Starfall to discuss issues and mediate disputes that were unresolved by regional Councils. Kaemada blinked in surprise.

  “Surely not nervous!” Talaera objected. “The Elders are the wisest from each of the kaetaln.”

  Maeren laughed. “Yes, my dear, nervous. After all, they’re as flawed as any.”

  Frowning, Kaemada considered her words as she helped Maeren spread the dough on a smooth, flat rock.

  “Do not worry about it, either of you.” Maeren shook her head. “Do you think Taunos will be back for the Feast of Starfall?”

  “Oh!” One of the kaetal women, Taela, stopped short in passing by and twirled her hair around one finger. “Is your brother coming home?” she echoed breathlessly.

  “Wait!” Shana paused with a basket of grasses ready for weaving. “Taunos is coming home?”

  Kaemada laughed through the longing in her heart. It’d been moons since she’d heard her brother’s booming laugh, since his jokes and pranks had lighted the kaetal. Though he spent much of his time away, still the young women competed for his attention. Perhaps the one caused the other, on and on as a cycle.

  “There are many other fine men of marriageable age,” Talaera said, though her smile spoke of pride in Taunos.

  “Now both of you, off. I believe there are meaningful tasks to do elsewhere.” Maeren shooed them away and winked at Kaemada. “You see? I will settle that brother of yours down with a marriage—likely this summer even. The young women still find him desirable, and he cannot run forever.”

  “He still travels the realms looking for ways to protect our kaetal,” Kaemada said, flicking away a stray stem from the bowl.

  “He could do much good right here in Torkae, or anywhere else in Rinara. It’s time for him to come home,” Talaera said.

  “You may try to convince him, but I also know the men have taken him aside to talk to him many times. He always replies that his work is out there, to learn, and to watch, and to keep our people safe.” Kaemada focused on mashing the berries. “It seems no amount of talking can quell his wanderlust.”

  “Oh, Kaemada.” Maeren rested a hand on her shoulder. “I know you miss him.”

  Kaemada forced a smile. “He’s all Eian and I have left.”

  With a wooden spoon, Maeren slathered the bread with honey. “I do not see what your brother thinks he can do that your mother could not. If any could get the Darks to see reason, I think it would have been Lína. Everyone loved your mother, psion or not.”

  Kaemada pressed her lips together. Her heart stung at the suggestion that her brother was wasting his time and at the mention of her honored mother. Keeping silent, she spread the mashed berries on the honeyed dough. The rock it lay on would be placed among the coals so the bread could bake. She could see some men digging a place for it near the fire.

  Maeren folded the bread in layers, then rose slowly, one hand pressed to her back. “Now enough chattering. Kaemada, you must practice with little Laran to control his telekinesis, so he stops throwing rocks while appearing innocent. Then I can get some rest from his mother’s complaints!”

  ~

  Kaemada made a game of tossing swatches of cloth at Laran, challenging him to push away only the blue ones. As blue cloth hit the ground over and over again, Maeren and Talaera’s words rang in her mind. Talaera was her closest relative in the kaetal, in part due to so much devastation from Dark attacks over the summers. If only the work that fulfilled Kaemada didn’t worry Talaera so much.

  “Hah!” Laran giggled as he thrust a piece of yellow fabric in her face, dancing with glee just out of arm’s reach.

  She forced herself to focus on his laughter rather than her troubles and smiled at him. “Good work today, Laran, but remember: what did the rodent get for tormenting the alanshorn?”

  The glee melted off him, and his shoulders sagged. “Trampled.”

&nb
sp; With a nod, she tapped him on the chin. “But what about the wolf who honed his strength?”

  He swiped at the air. “He got a feast! Like tonight!”

  Laughing, she nodded. “Be the wolf, Laran, yes? Not the rodent.”

  He scampered off, and Kaemada wound her way through the people to check on Eian, exchanging pleasantries along the way and wishing her heart weren’t so troubled. Near the central fires, Takiyah’s voice rang out, dripping with condescension.

  “Oh, my thanks! Can you also tell the color of the sky by looking?”

  Takiyah and the stranger they’d spotted before faced off, while around them, others distanced themselves from the simmering confrontation. He must be a messenger, but what could have darkened Takiyah’s face with fury like a rolling thunderstorm? Kaemada hastened toward them.

  The man’s teeth bared in what should have been a smile if it wasn’t for the malice in his eyes. “But they’re not your parents. You’re not one of us.”

  The hair on the back of her neck raised. What was the messenger insinuating? Takiyah had been adopted, but that didn’t matter. After all, Kaemada had adopted Eian, and her son surely belonged, regardless of her turmoil.

  She spoke carefully, searching for the peace they should be able to build together. “Shareil. Takiyah is as much one of us as I am, or as you are. She was raised here. She eats with us, sleeps in her parents’ hut, and helps keep us all safe and well. Surely you’re mistaken.”

  “Kaemada Sierso.” The man spat her name like a bitter seed, but Kaemada gave a polite nod.

  “No,” he drawled. “No, I think you’re right. She’s as much Rinaryn as you are.”

  Her skin prickled with danger. At least Ra’ael was heading toward them again, but where was this contempt coming from?

  Takiyah’s tone sliced the air. “What cause have you to come here and spread your poison?”

  Setting her hand on Takiyah’s shoulder, Kaemada tried to mute the argument before further words were said that could not be called back. “Perhaps if you rest for some time here, you will see there’s nothing to be afraid of.”