“The hunters said goodbye to their families and painted themselves with the colors of the night so they would be hidden from Golaalchuk. One of the hunters — a female named Yuroth — colored herself with the silver of the moons, for she was the quickest of all the tribesfolk. Alone, she approached the great rockfur, and she sang her song of challenge to him.
“In his anger, Golaalchuk thought one of the moons had escaped him, and he chased Yuroth. She ran faster than the wind, but Golaalchuk could move from one mountain peak to the next with a single step. As she reached the killing ground, a deep canyon without an exit, he caught her, and ran her through with his horns. She turned to him as she died and ran her spear through his eye. Then the other hunters leapt from hiding and stabbed Golaalchuk with a thousand spears.
“His blood flooded the canyon, and his back became the island on a new lake. Free of his threat, the moons returned to their places. The darkness ended, and it is said that the moons themselves stood vigil for Yuroth until Sonhadra welcomed her into its embrace.”
“Poor Yuroth,” Quinn replied, thinking how brave she had been to take on the beast herself. To sacrifice herself. It was only a legend, but most stories had truth at their core. “Did you ever hunt a rockfur?”
“When the moons came closest to the sun, our hunters would go out to hunt a rockfur to ensure that endless night did not fall again. I have hunted many, and seen many of my people dead by them.”
“Thank you for the story, Orishok.” Surprisingly, much of her pain had subsided. The chills and headache were gone, and though she still felt nauseous, she no longer felt like she was waiting at death’s door. Maybe expelling the mushrooms had saved her from the worst of it.
“When we were in the caging place, you looked frightened. The color fled from your cheeks. What did you see there that made you afraid?”
Quinn met Orishok’s gaze. “I killed someone.”
HE SEARCHED HER EYES; her guilt and pain were evident. His Quinn, a being so gentle and patient and kind, had taken a life. She looked at him as though that knowledge would scare him away or make him see her in a poor light.
“That upsets you,” he said.
“It does. I don’t think many people are happy killing anyone.”
“Will you tell me the story?”
One side of Quinn’s mouth lifted in a half-smile; the expression held humor, but no real joy. “That’s the way of it, huh?”
“Death is not happy, but sometimes it must happen. I do not know your story. It does not change anything between us. I am death, Quinn. I have killed many. More than I have numbers for.”
Quinn rubbed her forehead, something she did often when she was trying to find the right words to say what she meant.
“If you do not wish to tell me, it is okay.”
“No,” she said. “No, it’s fine. It just brings up painful memories...and everyone I had to tell after it happened didn’t believe me. Sometimes, they almost made me believe that I was wrong, that it happened the way they said it did...”
“Sometimes I wonder how your people made it into the sky. They seem capable of great foolishness.”
“Yeah, they are.” She looked at her cup and took another drink before setting it on the floor beside her. “I had a siz ster.”
“I do not know that word.”
“Um, blood kin. Female. We had the same parents. For a male, it is bruh thur.”
Orishok nodded and mimicked the hand gesture she’d made earlier, signaling her to continue.
“Her name was Klair’uh. She was older than me by two years, but we were really close growing up. We did everything together. I was her mayd of onnur for her weh ding. That is when two people come together.
“Our parents were in an ak si’dent and they were killed. We both grieved, but I think...I think it did something else to her. That it...broke her on the inside. She wasn’t happy for a long time, and she’d often get really angry for little to no reason.”
He thought back to his days before the change; there’d been some of his people whose minds had been wounded, somehow, who had lost control of themselves. When they proved themselves dangerous to the tribe, they had been exiled. Doomed to walk Sonhadra alone, to find their deaths and have no one to hold their vigil.
“I visited her as often as I could. I wanted my sister back. She was all I had after our parents died, and I missed her. But her huz bind, her mate, made it uncomfortable for me when he was around. I don’t know if it was because of how Klair’uh was acting or what, but he started to look at me differently. He would stand closer than he should and sometimes his hand would brush against me where it shouldn’t. So, I made sure to visit only when he wasn’t supposed to be there.
“Then Klair’uh found out she was preg net.”
“What is preg net?”
Quinn pointed to her stomach. “Pregnant. Baby.”
“She was with child.”
“Yes. I thought a baby would bring her some happiness. That a new life would help ease the pain of our parents’ death, or at least take her mind off it. And it did, for a time, until she noticed her huz bindz behavior. When Kloh’ee was born, she got worse. She’d lash out at me in anger, accuse me of trying to steal her man, then go on about me planning to take her huz bind and her baby and leave her alone. It didn’t matter how many times I told her none of that was true, she saw him. Saw the way he looked at me, the way he’d corner me when he thought she wasn’t watching.
“I hated what she’d become, and I would’ve stopped visiting her all together...but I couldn’t do that to Kloh’ee. I luhv’d her. Then one day... I guess she couldn’t take it anymore. She attacked me. I think she planned it. I mean, she sounded okay when I talked to her before I visited, and she was the one who invited me over. And when I turned my back to leave, she attacked me with a nyf.”
Orishok stared at the dark veins in the stone of the floor and considered her words. Could they be true? “Your sister, your blood, tried to kill you?”
“She was sick. I...I wonder if it’s my fault, if I didn’t do enough for her. I should have found her help. I thought she would just wake up one day and feel better.”
“There is more, yes? More to tell?”
Quinn drew in a shaky breath and closed her eyes. Orishok reached forward and settled his hand on her knee, ignoring the warmth and smoothness of her skin. She opened her eyes and looked at his hand, placing her own atop it. She brushed her thumb over his knuckle bones.
“I fought her. I remember Kloh’ee crying in the background, and Klair’uh was screaming at me, and I did everything I could to keep her from stabbing me...but I didn’t want to hurt her. She was my sister. Then Brok came home. I was distracted when he came through the door, and Klair’uh shoved me away. When she ran at me... he hit her. He hit her so hard, she fell.
“There was this rock that I gave Klair’uh for her burth day one year. It was supposed to be from the tallest mountain on urth, to symbolize that she could go as high as she wanted. That she could do anything if she only reached for it. It was sitting on the table by the door so she could see it every day. He must’ve picked it up when he came in, and he’d hit her over the head with it.
“While she was down, he just hit her again, and again. There was so much blood. It was on her clothes, her skin, his hands, pooling on the floor. And she was dead. I just stood there as he killed her. It was Kloh’eez crying that broke through my shock. She was so scared, but all I saw was my sister, lying dead on the floor. I don’t remember what happened, but I was just holding Klair’uh and crying. Then he...touched me. He was smiling. His wife was dead and he was just smiling.
“And he said ‘It’s okay, Quinn. She was crazy, we both know it, and now we can be together’. And I...snapped. I just remember the rage and the pain, because it didn’t matter if she was crazy, she was my sister, and she just needed some help and she could’ve gotten better but then she was gone and he took her from me.” She paused, chest swelling wit
h a deep, steadying breath. Her eyes glistened with tears. “Took her from Kloh’ee.”
“When the uh thorih’teez came, they found Brok with multiple stab wounds and his face bashed in. I was taken into custody and later kun vict’d of murdering them both. Because my finger prints were on the nyf and the rock, and I was covered in their blood.
“Those cages...I was kept in ones a lot like them for the last couple years.”
Was that what her people did when they thought one of their own had done wrong? They put them in cages? It was an unsettling thought to Orishok, especially having spent so many years in a cage himself. Bahmet was large, undoubtedly, but it was a cage regardless.
“And you blame yourself for all of it. Carry it in your heart.”
Quinn looked at him, and tears rolled down her cheeks. She brushed them away with the back of her hand. “I should have done more.”
“You did your duty. You did what you could. What more was expected of you?”
“I could have done more,” she repeated. “But I didn’t. I distanced myself—”
“No,” Orishok said, and Quinn snapped her mouth shut. “She was your tribe, even if that tribe was small. You did your duty for them, you supported her with honor. When your sister turned against you, it was she who was wrong, and it was she who betrayed your tribe. And a tribe cannot survive if one of its number turns against the rest.”
“That’s not how things work Orishok. Her mind was not well. There are dok turz for that, but I never took her.”
“It was not your duty to take her, Quinn.” A different sort of fire was burning in his heartstone now. That she should feel responsible for the way she was mistreated by those closest to her sparked surprising anger within him. “Whether her mind was sick or not, it was for her to seek help. If one of my people fell ill, they would tell the others. They would ask us for help. Because we knew the weakness of one was the weakness of us all. Your sister dishonored your tribe. Betrayed your tribe. As did Brok.”
She stared at him, frowning, with fresh tears in her eyes. Her expression undercut his anger, chilled the fires within.
“We come from two very different places, Orishok.”
“But you are in this place now, Quinn. You are of Sonhadra now. You are my tribe. You acted with honor when she attacked you, and you fulfilled your duty to her when she was dead — you avenged her.”
“I killed someone. There’s no honor in that. I took away Kloh’eez father.”
“Brok was a traitor to his tribe, and his death was owed for killing one of his own.”
Quinn closed her eyes and tilted her head back against the bed, hiding her face in her hands.
“It is never easy, Quinn. I want you to know my words well in this. Even when I hunted beasts with my people, it was never easy. Only beings like Kelsharn can inflict death without carrying the weight of it. But, though it is not easy, it is often necessary. To feed your people, to fuel Sonhadra, to protect what you hold in your heart.”
He stood up and moved closer, kneeling beside her. Gently, he placed his hands over hers and guided them away from her face. There were dark circles beneath her puffy eyes and splotches of red on her nose and cheeks.
She was still beautiful.
“You are my tribe now, Quinn. That means we are together.” He lightly gripped her wrist to raise one of her hands, and then laced his fingers with hers. “That means I will share the weight.”
She burst into loud sobs and leaned forward, wrapping an arm around his neck. Releasing her wrist, he slid the soiled bucket aside and put his arm around her. She was so slight in his embrace.
Quinn clung to him, and he made no attempt to pull away. Small as she was, she fit against him perfectly, and his heartstone seemed like to shatter — how could the joy of her nearness and the sorrow of her pain coexist without breaking him?
After a time, her sobs settled, and her breathing steadied apart from random, stuttering intakes of air. When her hold on him loosened, Orishok carefully gathered her in his arms and moved her into the bed. He draped one of the blankets over her and made sure the heat stones were on.
He watched her as she slept, mindful that she was still sick, and his hand crept to his chest. His heartstone vibrated beneath it. He’d told her she was his tribe. Such words could not be spoken lightly.
But it was not enough; he needed to make her his.
Chapter Eight
QUINN LEANED AN ELBOW on the table, stuffed a few more berries in her mouth and chewed. Their sweet, tart flavor swept over her taste buds. They were the best thing she’d ever tasted. She should have paced herself, uncertain as to whether they’d disagree with her stomach, but she couldn’t. She’d already gone through an entire riverfruit and several handfuls of berries without dulling her hunger. Hell, she was so hungry that she would have gone for more of the mushrooms, had Orishok not disposed of them.
She’d suffered through food poisoning on a few occasions, and remembered it taking a day or two for her appetite to return in each instance. At most, she’d slept for twelve hours, but she was already famished. To add to the oddness of the situation, she’d woken up refreshed and energized, feeling better — apart from the hunger pains — than she had in years.
Swallowing, she looked down to her remaining food supply. There was one more riverfruit, some thick, root-like vegetables, and a few more berries in the large stone bowl. More than enough to fill her belly for now, but it wouldn’t last long.
And she craved something more.
“Orishok?”
“Yes?”
“I need meat.”
“We have already met, Quinn.”
She looked up at him and grinned. He watched her from the other side of the table. “Meat to eat. From hunting.”
“Those things have nothing to do with each other. Why do you use the same word for them?”
“Some of our words sound the same, but have different meanings. Just depends on how you use them. What would you call it?”
“Karahn.”
“Which I bet will translate to meat soon enough.” She chuckled and plucked another berry from the bowl and held it between her forefinger and thumb. “We call this a berry. But there’s also bury, which means to put something in the ground and cover it up.”
“Your people are confusing, Quinn.”
“We just have a lot of words. So.” She tossed the berry into her mouth. “About that meat.”
“We will need to hunt it.”
“I want to learn.” Quinn pushed back the chair and stood. “Would you teach me?”
“It takes many seasons to learn such things,” he said, looking her over, “and it is very dangerous.”
She gave him a droll look. “What are you implying, Orishok?”
He tilted his head. “Do you not know my words?”
Quinn shrugged. “I just hope you’re not implying I’m weak is all.”
“When we hunted, we went in large groups. Ten hunters, or even more for bigger beasts. And, many times, I saw hunters harmed or killed. I do not want that to happen to you.”
It did funny things to her heart when he said things like that, though part of her wondered if he talked that way because he cared about her or because he just didn’t want to be alone.
She brushed her hand over his arm as she walked past. “I trust you. Besides, you’re as strong as ten men, at least.”
His gaze lingered on her back for long enough that she didn’t think he’d follow her upstairs. Just as she considered stopping, she heard his footsteps on the floor.
She entered their room and grabbed one of the dresses. It was a simple design, devoid of embellishments. “Do you have a knife?”
Orishok stepped fully into the room — he must’ve hesitated in the doorway, thinking she was about to undress — and approached her. He looked from the fabric to Quinn’s face and lifted his arm. She’d seen him change shape a few times, but it never ceased to amaze her; even this relatively minor alterat
ion was a wonder.
He curled all his fingers save his pointer finger, which stretched out and flattened into a blade. It resembled a thin shard of sharpened obsidian. She reached out, but he drew his hand away.
“I do not want to make you bleed, Quinn.”
“It’s that sharp? Why did you think we’ll need more than you to hunt?” She gathered the fabric and pulled it taut. “Cut from here to here.”
“I did not say we needed more.” He ran the blade over the place she’d indicated; it cut clean and silently. “I can kill anything in the forest. I only said it was very dangerous for you.”
“But I will be with you.” She tossed aside a portion of the dress and straightened another part of the fabric for him to cut.
Orishok put his finger-blade to work again. “No, you will not.”
Quinn looked up and arched a brow. “What do you mean?”
He met her gaze evenly. “Do you remember what happened when I came between you and the treeclaw?”
Quinn stared down at the fabric in her hands. “That thing with all those legs?” She hadn’t considered it at the time; she’d been grateful for his timely arrival, but everything had happened so quickly, so chaotically. Having seen what happened to the plants he’d touched, she understood now. “Animals don’t come near you.”
“Once they know what I am, they run. They sense death. If we are to bring back meat for you, you will have to lure a beast to me, and I will strike before it can flee.”
“So, you want me to be bait. Turn around, please?” He gave her his back. Quinn slipped her arms out of her sleeves and let her clothing pool around her feet. She kicked it aside. “I’m supposed to run off on my own to lure out...whatever’s out there that wants to chase me?”
“Yes. Some beasts will flee from you, because your scent is unfamiliar. If we have luck, you will do the chasing.”
Undying (Valos of Sonhadra Book 7) Page 10
