by Dawn Cook
“The boat?” Lodesh said wonderingly. “You can’t make it to the Hold in time.”
His gaze went accusing. “I’m not going to the Hold. I’m going to find Keribdis.”
“What!”
Strell’s fists clenched. “Someone has to tell her what she did was wrong. And since none of you seem to be capable of it, I will.”
Lodesh moved to stand beside Yar-Taw. His face was creased, and his green eyes looked dead. “She’ll outright kill you, Strell. Just like Talon.”
Strell’s breath came in a quick sound. “I’m a shade more durable than a bird. And I wasn’t planning on walking up and asking if she would like to discuss it over tea.”
Yar-Taw felt a stab of guilt. It was an emotion he was becoming uncomfortably familiar with. Though the man’s understanding was woefully inadequate, his bravery wasn’t. “Strell,” he said reluctantly. “Keribdis needs to be punished for what she has done. But it’s not that we don’t want to. It’s that we can’t.”
“You outnumber her!” Strell shouted.
“She would have shifted and flown. No one here can catch her.” Yar-Taw moved uneasily from foot to foot. “And as for carrying out the judgment? I can’t do it. Perhaps once, but not now. Not anymore. I’ve been complacent too long.”
Strell’s arms were stiff at his sides. “You’re afraid. She was right. You’re a fortress of cowards, hiding from your mistakes.”
Lodesh reached out to restrain him, and Strell shook him off. Yar-Taw swallowed his anger, knowing Strell wasn’t in his right mind. “Am I afraid of the horror of taking someone’s sentience?” Yar-Taw said stiffly. “Yes, I’m afraid. But that wouldn’t stop me if I thought I could do it.” He went to the table, sitting so he could see Alissa. Slumping, he looked away. Ashes, he was tired. “Strell,” he said reluctantly. “I physically cannot take Keribdis’s sentience away.” He glanced at Lodesh, embarrassed for speaking aloud of such things.
“Why not?” Strell demanded, and Yar-Taw blinked at the man’s attitude.
“None of us can,” Yar-Taw said. “Her grip on us is too sure, too tight. To take someone’s sentience—or suppress it until the feral consciousness takes over, if Alissa is right—requires that the one carrying out the verdict is stronger of will than the condemned. Keribdis would have fought, and the stronger-willed Master would have won.” Yar-Taw frowned, not liking the feeling of inadequacy and liking even less having to admit it to a commoner. “She would have taken my awareness instead of the other way around.”
Yar-Taw felt his face go slack in a sudden thought. “That’s why Keribdis was so storm-bent on dominating Alissa. . . .” he whispered, thinking it was the ugliest thing he had said in a long time. “Alissa had proved she was stronger willed, in the air as a raku and on the ground as a Master. Apart from Talo-Toecan, she was the sole person capable of bringing Keribdis to justice. Perhaps,” he wondered aloud, “that is the real reason Keribdis left Talo-Toecan.”
“Then Alissa is right,” Strell said, startling Yar-Taw from his revelation. “You believe her. Your feral sides are suppressed, not destroyed.”
Yar-Taw’s gaze went to the stone cup Alissa had made with her thoughts. “No. I do not have a beast in my thoughts. But now I will never know why Alissa did.”
“She won’t die.”
He grimaced at the sound of certainty in Strell’s voice. Lodesh, too, had lost his look of despair and was brushing the sand from Alissa’s face with the corner of his sleeve. His motions held a positive feeling, not one of last rites. Hope was one thing. Blindness was another. “We can’t prevent her death,” Yar-Taw said. “A Master can’t live without a source.”
“She did for the first twenty years of her life,” Strell said bitterly.
Yar-Taw shook his head. “She won’t survive. She would be dead now but for Connen-Neute. He bought you time to say good-bye. And he’s likely to pay for it with his life.”
Yar-Taw turned as Beso-Ran padded down the path, graceful despite his large size. He had several long poles and stakes. “I’ll be back with the canvas,” he said shortly. Handing them to Lodesh, he gave Yar-Taw a look before walking away, telling him more clearly than words not to say it was a useless gesture. It seemed the conclave needed misplaced hope. Lodesh and Strell fell into motion, deciding where the poles should be placed.
“Such a will she had,” Yar-Taw said, more to himself than them. “She would have been a marvelous Master.” His eyes dropped. “She was a marvelous Master. Imagine, expending all her source in one last cry of defiance.”
“Defiance?” Lodesh said, puffing as he hammered a stake with a large nut. “That wasn’t defiance. That was a cry for help. That’s what she calls Talo-Toecan.” He paused as he let the nut drop to the sand with a thump. “Useless.”
Yar-Taw went still, only now realizing where their hope had come from. The breeze from the ocean ruffled his sleeves. “Useless? She calls Talo-Toecan, Useless?” Yar-Taw frowned. They were halfway around the world. He couldn’t have heard her. But then recalling the strength of the shout, he swallowed and looked over the empty beach.
Strell and Lodesh worked together with little comment. Their desperation was gone. It had been replaced with action, action they clearly thought would make a difference. Yar-Taw licked his lips. Talo-Toecan wouldn’t be pleased with him for having allowed things to get so out of control. Wolves. Not only had they killed Connen-Neute, miraculously returned to them, but Talo-Toecan’s student as well. “Do you think he heard?” he asked.
Lodesh wedged a second stake deep into the sand. His eyes met Yar-Taw’s with a frightening refusal to accept the loss of hope. It sent a chill deep into Yar-Taw. He had seen it only once before, when an army thirsting for revenge hammered at the gates of Lodesh’s city.
“If I know Alissa,” the Keeper said, “he heard.”
35
Talo-Toecan flew. The sun was setting before him later than it should; he was chasing the failing day and gaining on it. Alissa’s terrified, soul-rending scream had torn through his mind almost three days ago, shocking him into immediate, undeniable motion. He had been listening to the night as was his wont, hearing it echo with its familiar emptiness. And her cry of anguish had reached him. He was coming. Like an insane dream-demon, he flew.
Below him was only water. His wings faltered at the thought of it, then resumed their steady cadence. Someone had hurt Alissa. He would find out why. He never should have let her go alone. He instinctively knew she had found the conclave. And someone had hurt her.
Why? he wondered, feeling the breeze cool as the sun set. True, Alissa was stubborn and bullheaded. She often made mistakes while trying to prove herself. But she was always contrite when her error was shoved under her nose, even if it took several days for her to see it. Her temper had much improved. She shouted at him only on the rare occasion now. And it had been ages since she had outright said “no” to him. There was nothing in Alissa to find fault with. She was the archetype of a young raku, full of promise and in desperate need of a gentle hand.
And then Talo-Toecan went cold. Keribdis.
His breath came fast at the thought that his wife might be behind Alissa’s pain. But upon searching his emotions, he decided she probably was. Feeling the potent rush of anger and worry, he forced his wings to move faster. All too soon, fatigue forced him into a glide. Cursing himself for having gotten old, he slowly descended as he gave his wings a rest, the sun seeming to rush to set as he lost altitude.
The water grew closer, and his anger shifted to self-preservation. He had followed Alissa’s call, but the nearer he got, the harder it became to pinpoint exactly where her cry had originated. And he had no idea how far he had yet to go.
Settling his mind, he listened. All of last night he had listened. Listened until the pounding of his heart thundered in his ears like the pulse of time. Now, as the sun set, he closed his eyes and listened again. With all his being he sought her presence, trying to believe he could be heard beyond
the curve of the earth. Alissa could. Why couldn’t he?
“Alissa . . .” he called, willing his heart to slow as he was confined to listening between its beats. A faint response jolted him, and his eyes flew open. “Alissa!” he called, scanning the sky. His breath came quick as he found a shadow splayed awkwardly on the swells. Golden wings caught the last glint of the setting sun. Fear, unfamiliar and shocking, struck through him.
Her wings were outstretched, with her neck curled back upon itself to prop her head on her shoulders and out of the water. Her tail hung beneath her, almost lost in the blur of water. Even in the fading light, he could see her golden hide was red from the sun. A white crust of salt rimmed her. Large, dark shapes circled below.
“Alissa!” he cried, angling downward. “Trying to fly back? You silly, brave fool!”
“My fault,” came a whisper of ailing thought.
Talo-Toecan hesitated. That wasn’t Alissa’s thought signature. There were no other young rakus. It had to be . . . “Silla,” he thought, both elated and dismayed. What was she doing out here dying on the swells? Then a low rumble escaped him. Perhaps the question was, What had Keribdis done to frighten her student this badly?
Clamping down on his returning anger, he descended until the sound of the wind on the water came to him. A noise of dislike slipped from him at the sensation of water running under his hind feet as he landed. He held his wings up until deciding he floated high enough to keep them dry, then carefully folded them. The dark shadows fled, and relief went through him.
“Silla?” he thought tentatively, reaching a hand out to run the back of a claw across her head. The dark shadows beneath her returned, and he tensed. “Silla, wake up,” he said, trying to keep his worry from spilling into his thoughts. “You have to shift so I can carry you.”
Her lids fluttered. “All my fault,” came her faint thought, and his brow furrowed. Her thoughts were like a steady breeze scented with woodsmoke.
More confident, he chanced jiggling her head. “Silla, I’m Talo-Toecan. Look at me. I have to get you back to the island. You have to tell me where it is.” He leaned forward, and as his shadow fell over her, she opened her eyes.
“No!” she cried. “I have to find Talo-Toecan. I have to find him!” Her golden eyes struggled to focus. She was dehydrated and not in her right mind.
Talo-Toecan tensed in frustration. What had Keribdis done? Desperate for answers, he looked up at the pristine blue of the sky, remembering why he hated the water. It was worse than a desert, and just as deadly. “Silla, listen,” he thought firmly. “Alissa is real.”
“I know,” Silla warbled, her thoughts weak. “She and Beast are real; I’m not.”
Confused, Talo-Toecan splashed a rivulet of water on her. It had the desired effect.
“Who?” the young raku cried, snapping awake. Rearing her head back, she struggled to take flight, crying out in pain as her wing canvas cracked from the sun and salt.
“I’m Talo-Toecan!” he cried, alarmed. “Alissa called me. I’m here!” Still she thrashed, making red foam where her wings had cracked. “Stop!” he thundered, frightened she might drown right in front of him. “I want to help!”
His thought cut through her panic, and she came to a half-submerged halt, panting. “You’re Talo-Toecan?” she whispered, her fright mixing with hope. Eyes glazed in hurt, she struggled to fold her wings against her, then gave up.
Blood stained the swells, and Talo-Toecan grew more worried as he glanced below to the dark shapes. He had to get her out of the water. “Yes,” he said. “Where is Alissa?”
“Please,” she whispered. “Do you know a healing ward, Master Talo-Toecan?”
His eyes closed briefly as he imagined her agony. “Yes, child. But I don’t think I can run one on you. How long have you been in the water without food and water?
“Two days in the water, three without food,” she whispered, her gaze falling. “I thought I could make it,” she finished, crying now. “I didn’t know it was so far.”
Talo-Toecan shook his head. “You’ve already used up a good fraction of your body’s reserves. It will likely cause you worse pain.”
“All right,” she said bravely, her focus weaving. “I’ll try to fly without it.”
“Fly!” Talo-Toecan said he ran his gaze over her salt-cracked, dehydrated wings. She was nearly dead from exposure, and she wanted to fly. “Silla, I’m going to carry you. I can at least dull your pain, and then you can shift.”
Alarm tightened her, and she opened her eyes. “I’ll drown if I shift!”
“I won’t let you drown,” he said, lunging a hind foot at one of the shadows to warn them away. At her nod for permission, he ran the ward. He knew it took effect when her eyes opened wide at the sudden easing of pain. A sliver of cautious fear had come into her gaze as the curtain of pain was removed and she really saw him for the first time. He tried to give her a confident, comforting smile, but she looked so bad, he knew it was a useless attempt.
She took a slow breath and disappeared in a swirl of pearly white, reappearing much faster than Alissa ever had. He lunged forward as her head threatened to slip under the waves, trying to be gentle as he pulled her dripping from the water. Her involuntary cry of pain shook him as the salt bit deep at her burns and the hurt broke through the ward.
“Are you all right?” he asked, cursing his claws and thick skin.
“Yes,” she said aloud, then hunched as her voice cracked into a fit of coughing.
He waited until she stopped. Cradling Silla against him, he shook the water from the tips of his wings. Her hair was as black as Keribdis’s, and he wondered whose child she was. “Bear with me, Silla,” he said, eyeing the darkening sky. “The worst part will be getting airborne.” He hesitated, wondering how he was going to manage the extra weight. “Which way do I go?”
Silla closed her eyes. Her lips were cracked. Two days in the sun had turned her a savage red, the skin so tender, her salt-soaked clothing brought grimaces of pain through the ward. Perhaps . . . he wondered, feeling the heat radiating from her burns. Perhaps he should risk a healing ward. If he only let a trickle run the pattern, it might do more good than harm.
“That way,” she said, vaguely pointing. She let her head fall against him, accepting his protection, and his heart went out to her. “That way.”
Talo-Toecan’s anger slipped into a steady burn. He used it to force himself back into the air. Keribdis, he thought, feeling his muscles pull as he beat his wings and ran atop the water like an ungainly albatross. He never should have let the woman out of his sight. He never dreamed she could cause so much damage away from the Hold.
With a final lunge, he made it into the air. Three more heavy beats, and he began to gain altitude. He glanced at Silla, both relieved and worried that she had passed out.
If the truth be told, he had goaded Keribdis into leaving, letting her believe it was her idea. He had reached his breaking point, and it was easier to distance themselves than resolve their disagreement. And he had said nothing when the entire conclave went with her, glad for it.
Talo-Toecan felt a wash of bitter satisfaction. With them gone, the decision as to what to do about the escaped recessive alleles had been delayed for an additional two decades. In that time, the people had mixed so thoroughly that, by doing nothing, they had unwittingly put the beginnings of his plan into action.
As he struggled for height, Talo-Toecan’s eyes narrowed. There was a faction of Masters that believed as he did, their agreement made known only by their silence when others protested. Had they known how close he estimated the populations were to a true breakdown of barriers? Had they willingly left so his plan would have a chance? Why hadn’t they stayed?
He had no way of knowing. Perhaps they went with Keribdis to keep her from doing something foolish. If so, they had failed. For if Keribdis had hurt Alissa, the woman had changed the rules so far as to be playing a different game. One he wouldn’t allow her to win.
<
br /> 36
Strell finished one tune and slipped into another with the same breath of air. The sand was cold under him, and the sunrise felt good on his shins through his thin trousers. He sat at the base of a palm tree just outside the tent’s shelter. Lodesh sat beside him. The Keeper yawned and ran a hand over his stubbled cheeks. Strell stifled a grimace as he realized the three-hundred-year-old man had no gray in his infant beard and likely never would.
It doesn’t matter, Strell thought with a stab of satisfaction. Alissa was his. His eyes closed in heartache. She would be all right. She had to be.
Lodesh stretched, sighing from a fatigue born from no sleep. “She can’t hear you playing,” he said softly as they watched Alissa breathe.
Never missing a note, Strell stretched his right foot out, and with the toe of his boot, awkwardly wrote in the sand, “She can.”
“Oh, clever.” Lodesh gave him a wry look. “I can write my name in the snow, too.”
Struggling not to laugh and ruin his music, Strell added in raku script, “So can I.”
“Two languages?” the Keeper said. “All right. Now I’m impressed.”
Strell lowered his pipe. “Alissa taught me the Hold’s script our first winter together,” he said into the new quiet. “In case Bailic ever asked me to read anything.”
Lodesh nodded. “Did he?”
Strell shrugged. “A few times.”
“Hm-m-m,” Lodesh mused. “You don’t know how she writes her name, do you?”
Strell smoothed a piece of sand and sketched in the Master’s script the small figure consisting of a smooth, unbroken line weaving amongst itself. He considered adding the name Hirdune after it but desisted. Now was not the time to make it known they had eloped.
“Luck?” Lodesh’s brow furrowed in disbelief. “Her parents gave her the word luck?”
He smiled. “Uh-huh. I think it’s appropriate. She gave my name the word for stone.”
