Duncan continued to stir the fire, though it did not particularly require it. “I am clan-leader. It came on me eight months ago, when Tiernan died. With it comes much responsibility, and I chose not to divide myself between a cheysula and the leadership this year.” He waved the stick idly. “Perhaps next year.”
Alix nodded absently as she freed the last tangle from her hair. Her attention was not really focused on Duncan, but she sensed an odd tension in him as he watched her silently. His eyes followed her hands as she pulled the silver comb through the heavy length of her dark hair.
The exercise improved her disposition and her feelings toward the clan-leader. No man, did he want to sacrifice her to some unspeakable god, would allow her the amenities common to courtesy. She was grateful to him.
“My thanks,” she said gravely, then smiled warmly at him across the fire.
Duncan was on his feet in one movement, muttering something in the lyrical Old Tongue. His lips compressed into a thin line and his eyes were suddenly hostile as he stared at her, transfixed.
“What have I done?” she cried, aghast.
“Can you not feel it?” he demanded. “Can you not hear the tahlmorra in you?”
Alix dropped the comb. “What do you say?”
He swore and turned from her, hands curling into fists. Then he gathered up a bundled blanket and tossed it at her violently.
Alix caught it before it could fall into the fire, recoiling from his cold anger until she felt a tree against her back. As he continued to stare at her with an unwavering, bestial glare, Alix pushed herself to her feet and hugged the blanket as if it would protect her.
“What do you say?” she whispered.
“Tahlmorra… and you know nothing of it,” he snapped.
“No!” she cried, illogically angry when she should be frightened. “I do not! And do not mutter to me of it when I cannot comprehend what it is. How am I to conduct myself if you tell me nothing?”
Duncan took a trembling breath and visibly controlled himself, as if he knew he had frightened her. “I had forgot,” he admitted quietly. “You cannot know it. But I question that you feel nothing.”
“Feel what?”
“We serve the prophecy,” he said with effort, “but we cannot know it perfectly. The shar tahls tell us what they can, but even they cannot know everything that the gods intend. The tahlmorra, as a whole, is unknown to us. But we feel it. Sense it.” He sighed constrictedly and ran a stiff hand through raven hair. “I have come to face a part of my tahlmorra I did not know. I should welcome it…but I cannot. I cannot accept it. And that, in itself, is a denial of my heritage.”
Alix felt a measure of his pain, amazed at the depth of his turmoil. His solemnity had vanished; the man she had thought so controlled and implacable was no different from herself. But she did not understand, and said so.
Duncan relaxed minutely. “No. You cannot. You are too young…and too Homanan.” His eyes, focused on the heavy curtain of her hair, were bleak. “And Carillon has already won your heart.”
“Carillon!”
He gestured to the blanket still clasped in her arms. “Sleep. We ride early.”
Alix watched him walk into the shadows, disappearing as easily as if he were a part of the night. She wondered, as she shook out the blanket and lay it by the tree, if he were.
The gods sent her a dreamless sleep.
Chapter Eight
Alix rode with Duncan the next day, hands clasping the saddle and body held carefully upright so she would not touch his back. With Finn she had kept herself from him because of his undisguised interest in her; Duncan’s dignity seemed to demand such behavior on her part. She could not imagine hanging onto him or otherwise interfering with anything he did. And he had closed himself to her since their conversation of the evening before. For all he was still courteous, he was also cool toward her.
When evening came and the band of Cheysuli stopped to set up camp, Alix found herself delegated to tend Duncan’s fire as if she were a servant. She disliked the sensation. It made her feel a true prisoner, even though she was treated mostly like a visitor.
Alix dumped a tree limb onto the fire and scowled at it blackly, angry with herself for remaining so acquiescent to orders and angry with the circumstances in general. When she sensed a presence on the outer fringes of the firelight she straightened, then gasped and stumbled back a step as she saw the baleful gleaming eyes of a ruddy wolf.
It came closer, into the light, and blurred itself before her. Alix released her breath and gritted her teeth as she saw the form shape itself into Finn.
“Do you seek to frighten me to death?”
Finn laughed at her and squatted to pour himself a cup of honey brew from the pot Duncan had set over the fire. After several restorative swallows he fixed her with a bright gaze and scratched idly at his cheek.
“Well, I have returned your princeling to safety.”
Alix knelt down on a thick dark pelt, disgruntled enough to speak rudely even to him. “You did not slay him?”
“Carillon is meant for a death, like all men, but it will not come at my hands.”
She shot him a dubious glance. “You would do whatever you could in this personal war you wage against the Mujhar. Even to slaying his heir, were you given the chance.”
“But Duncan would not let me do it.” He laughed at her startled glance. “No, I would not slay Carillon. He has a part in our own prophecy, if we are to believe he is the one the runes show us. There is no name; only his deeds are written down. The prophecy does not foretell the prince’s death so soon, so you may take comfort in that. First he must be Mujhar.” Finn studied her over the cup as he drank, still squatting by the fire. “You do not seem to fret for him, meijha. Have you retrieved your heart from him so soon?”
Alix lifted her chin defiantly. “I will be with him soon enough, when he returns for me.”
“Your place is with us,” he said seriously. “We are your people. You do not belong with valley crofters or the majesty of the Mujhar and his heir.”
She knelt on the thick fur, leaning forward in supplication. “You took me from my people. You stole me, as the Homanans say Hale did to Lindir. Can you not understand how I feel about the race you say is mine? By the gods, Finn, you even threatened to force me!”
“I did not think you would have me willingly.”
Alix released a breath in frustration. “Why will you not hear me? Are you ever so witless as you seem?”
“Witless!”
“Do you do anything with any thought put to the consequences?”
“The qu’mahlin has left us little time for thought. Most of the time we act because we must.”
“You use that as an excuse!” she cried. “You prate about the qu’mahlin as if only you have suffered. Yet you leave me no room to think perhaps your race has the right to curse Shaine, because you behave as if you are free to do what you wish. Duncan would have me see you are men like any other, yet you behave as if the Cheysuli are demons with no understanding of what you do to others.”
“You need learning,” he said bluntly. “When we have reached the Keep and you have spoken to the shar tahl, you will understand better what it is to be Cheysuli. You will understand what the qu’mahlin has done. Until then you are lost.”
“Take me home,” she said softly. “Finn, take me home.”
He set the cup down and looked at her levelly. “I do.”
Alix ground the heels of her hands against her eyes, feeling the grittiness of exhaustion and tension. Her desperation was growing, swelling up inside her until it threatened to burst her chest and force tears from her eyes. She had no wish to cry before Finn of all people, and the sensation of futility and helplessness hurt so bad she could think only to hurt back.
“I will escape,” she said firmly. “When I have the time, and the opportunity, I will win free of you. Even does it come to putting a knife into you.”
He smiled. “You could
not.”
“I could.”
“You have neither the spirit nor the strength to do it.”
Furious, Alix snatched up the pot of bubbling honey drink and threw it at him. She saw the contents strike his upraised arm and part of his face, then she was on her feet running.
Finn caught her before she reached the edge of the firelight. Alix cried out as he caught one arm and twisted it behind her back. Then he jerked her around until she faced him, and she was suddenly terrified as he bent over her.
“If you would be so bold as to do that, meijha, and yet be caught, you had best be prepared to suffer the consequences.”
Alix cried out again. She could feel his breath on her face; the dampness of the spilled drink as it stained her gown. She felt her lip caught in his teeth, then stumbled back as Finn was jerked away from her.
Alix gasped in pain and shock as Finn came off the ground, hand to his knife. Then he froze, staring angrily at his assailant.
“You will not force a Cheysuli woman,” Duncan said coldly.
Finn took his hand from his knife. “She may have our blood, Duncan, but she has been reared Homanan. She wants humbling. If you leave her to me, I will see to it she behaves with more decorum.”
“We do not humble our women, either,” Duncan snapped. “Leave her be.”
“Why?” Finn demanded, all affronted male pride. “So you can take her?”
“No.”
“If she is what you want as cheysula, clan-leader, then you had best follow tradition and ask for her clan-rights in Council.”
Duncan smiled thinly. “I ask no clan-rights of any woman this year, rujho. But if you are so hot to take her, you should hear your own words. She is no light woman, Finn. Ask for her clan-rights, when she has been proven to have them.”
Finn glared at him. “I have no need of formal clan-rights where a woman is concerned. There are enough to be had without taking a cheysula.”
“Stop!” Alix cried, so loudly they both stared at her in surprise. Self-consciously she swept back her loose hair and scowled at them. “I know nothing of these traditions you speak of, or clan-rights, or Council . . or anything! But you had best know I will do nothing against my will! You may have forced me to come with you now, but there will be a time when you do not watch me, and I will get free of you all. Do you hear? You cannot keep me!”
“You will stay,” Duncan said calmly. “No one escapes the Cheysuli.”
Finn smiled. “The clan-leader has spoken, meijha. We may disagree, my rujho and I, but not on this.”
Alix felt the tears welling in her eyes. She widened them instinctively, trying to take back the moisture, but the first tear fell. On a choked sob she spun and ran from them, wondering what animal they would send to fetch her back.
She found a damp mossy area beneath a huge beech tree not far from camp and sat down quickly, loose-limbed and awkward. For a moment she gazed blindly at the shadows and wondered forlornly if she would ever see her home again. Then the enormity of her plight crept upon her. Alix pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them, hiding her face in her torn and stained skirts.
Liren, said a gentle voice, so empathetic it nearly undid her. Liren.
Alix turned her head against the rough weave of her gown and saw Storr waiting quietly in the moonlight. For a moment resentment replaced her grief, then it faded. She knew, somehow, Storr had come on his own, not because he was sent to take her back to camp.
I was not sent, he said. I came because you are in pain, and in need.
“You speak as a wise old man,” she whispered.
I am a wise old wolf, he said, sounding amused. But there is not so much difference, for all that.
Alix smiled at him and put out a hand. Storr moved to her and allowed her to place a hand on his head. For a moment she was stunned at what she did; touching a wolf, she thought silently. But Storr was patient and very gentle, and she did not fear him.
“You are Finn’s lir,” she murmured. “How can you be so wise and trustworthy and belong to him?”
Storr’s eyes closed as she ran fingers through his thick pelt. My lir is not always so hasty and unwise. You have confused him.
“I!”
He saw you and wanted you. Then he found you were Cheysuli, and his rujholla. He has had no one but Duncan for too long.
“Well, he will not have me.”
You must take someone…someday.
“I will not have a beast like him!”
Storr sighed. Remember, what name you give him fits you also. You are Cheysuli. It may seem strange now, but you will be happier among us than elsewhere.
“I would sooner go home. Home home; not this Keep.”
Even knowing you are not like others?
“Aye. And I am no different.”
But you are. Knowing yourself different makes you different. Think of the qu’mahlin. The Mujhar’s decree applies also to you.
“I am his granddaughter.”
And Cheysuli. You do not know Shaine. But know this—if your kinship to him were more important than your race, you would be in Homana-Mujhar.
She knew he was right. But she could not say it, even when he nudged her hand and went away.
“I am sorry for my rujholli.” Duncan moved softly out of the shadows. “You must not give credence to his words. All too often Finn speaks without thought.”
Alix looked at him and wished herself as far from Duncan and his brother as could be. But since the wish did not work, she answered him.
“You are nothing alike.”
“We are. You have not seen it yet.”
“You cannot make me believe you are as angry, or as cruel.” She sighed in surrender and picked at the moss. “Or else you do not show it.”
Duncan squatted before her, hands hanging loosely over his knees. “Finn was but three when the qu’mahlin began. He has little memory of the peace in our clan—or in the land—before it, He knows only the darkness and blood and pain of Shaine’s war.”
“What of you?”
He stared at the moss she was destroying with rigid, nervous fingers. “I was five,” he said finally. “Like him, I awoke in the middle of the night when our pavilion fell under the hooves of Homanan horses. It was set on fire even though the Mujhar’s men saw we were only children, and too small to do much harm. They did not care.” He caught her hand suddenly, stilling it as if its movements disturbed him. His eyes were pale in the moonlight. “You must understand. We were small, but such things remain clear.”
“What do you say?” she whispered, sensing his need to have her comprehension.
“That you should understand why he plagues you. He is bitter toward Shaine, and Homanans in general. Carillon is the Mujhar’s heir.” He paused. “And you want him… not Finn.”
“But if your story is true, Finn is my brother!”
Duncan sighed. “You were raised apart. Why should he not desire a woman, even after he has learned she is bloodkin to him?”
Alix stared at him, hand still caught in his. The stubborn conflict she felt rise at Finn’s name faded beneath a new—and more frightening—comprehension. She saw before her a solemn-faced warrior who seemed to be waiting for something from her.
For a moment she nearly rose and fled, unable to face the conflict. But she restrained the instinct. There was the faintest whisper of knowledge within her soul, the realization of a power she had never thought she might have, and it astonished her.
“Duncan…” she said softly, “what is this tahlmorra you say I should feel?”
“You will know it.”
“How?”
“You will know it.”
“And do you say…do you say every Cheysuli has this tahlmorra?”
“It is something that binds us all, as tightly as the prophecy. But it has weakened in many of us because so many of us have been lost and forced to take Homanan women to get children.” His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I am not proud of that. But it
must be done, if we are to survive. But there are some of us who feel tahlmorra more clearly than others.” He brought her hand up, smoothing his thumb over the back of her palm. “Mine has told me what will come. When we reach the Keep I will seek out the shar tahl and have him show me the prophecy runes to be certain. But I know it already.”
Alix withdrew her hand, uneasy. “It has nothing to do with me.”
“It is never wrong. The prophecy was given to us by the Firstborn, who were sired by the old gods. It unveils itself in the fullness of time, and to those who listen and understand. I am one of those who follow its path, Alix. I would give my life to see the prophecy fulfilled.” He smiled suddenly. “I will give my life to see the prophecy fulfilled. That much is clear.”
“You know your own death?” she whispered.
“Only that I will die as I am meant, serving the tahlmorra of the prophecy. The Firstborn have said.”
Alix looked away from the steadiness of his gaze. “You confuse me.”
“When you have spoken with the shar tahl, the confusion will leave you. Be sure of that.”
“And does Finn serve this same tahlmorra?”
Duncan laughed. “Finn follows a sort of tahlmorra. I think he makes his own.”
“I am no part of it,” she told him severely.
His eyes were gentle, “Of Finn’s…no. The threads of your tahlmorra are entwined with those of another man.”
“Carillon?” she asked in a blaze of sudden hope.
He did not answer. She understood him then. Her head came up until she met his gaze squarely. Then she got to her feet and shook out her tattered skirts.
“If I am Cheysuli, I make my own tahlmorra. Like Finn.” She looked down on him. “You cannot force me, Duncan.”
“I would not.” He shook his head and rose, looming over her in the darkness. “There is no need.”
“You will not force me!”
His hand touched her face gently. “I would not, small one. Your own tahlmorra will.”
Alix stepped away from him, holding his eyes with her own and denying him what she saw in his face. Then her resolution wavered.
She turned and fled into the shadows of the camp.
The Shapechangers Page 8
