Whisper of Leaves

by Unknown

  ‘But the Sky Chiefs’ wishes were respected, and in the season of their choosing, Erboran took the circlet of Chiefship and ruled wisely and well, as the Sky Chiefs themselves intended.’

  Palansa paused. The warriors were quiet but she sensed they were unconvinced, her words having soothed the passions Arkendrin had roused, but not removed their cause. For what Arkendrin had said was true: the ebi were dying; the Thanawah’s waters were running red. Urpalin muttered to the warrior next to him, and someone else whispered.

  ‘I thank Arkendrin for using his Voice to bring to all our minds the troubles presently afflicting us,’ she said hurriedly, then stopped, as if lending weight to what she would say next. In truth, her mind had gone blank. The child flipped inside her, pummelling her ribs as if reminding her of what she was fighting for and she flattened her palm against her belly, reassuring him.

  ‘Life is hard now, I do not pretend it is other, but the Sky Chiefs have given us many gifts, and one of them is strength. Our warriors are mighty hunters, able to run longer than the sun’s course across the sky and to track wolves when only the marwing sees their trail. Yet strength is a thing that must be tested, for without adversity it withers, becoming weakness.’ She steadied, knowing what to say now.

  ‘In withholding the rain, the Sky Chiefs test our strength. Are we to crumple before such testing? Are we to dishonour them by hunting that which should not be hunted until after the next moon and the mourning period of Chief Erboran is over? Is it too long for us to wait? Is it too much for them to ask of us? Are we not loyal enough? Are we not strong enough?’

  There was absolute silence, then one of the younger warriors spoke. ‘I am willing to wait. I, who have every reason to want the creature dead, will honour the Sky Chiefs.’

  It was Urgasen, Urgundin’s son, seated not with Arkendrin and his followers, nor with Ursulalin and Ormadon, but between. Urgasen had taken his father’s place high on the spur, but he was young, his Voice untried. Palansa held her breath. There was a soft ripple of approval, growing to louder calls of agreement.

  Palansa exhaled; she avoided looking at Arkendrin or appearing to gloat. The Shargh were with her for the present, and Arkendrin daren’t gainsay them. She’d won more precious time for her son. And even when Arkendrin could hunt again, there was no guarantee he would find the creature quickly.

  The assembled Shargh were moving restlessly, some even beginning to rise, and she spoke the words of ending quickly, watching them file out. Even after the last of them was long gone, she remained seated, simply enjoying the relief of knowing the Speak was over with. It was Tarkenda who struggled first to her feet, then helped her rise.

  ‘We’re a fine pair,’ she grunted. ‘One gnarled with old-man’s ache, the other carrying the woman’s burden.’

  ‘Not a burden,’ said Palansa, smoothing down her skirt, ‘but a . . .’ The flap flipped open and Ormadon appeared, ‘. . . blessing,’ she finished. She rolled up the hide of rulership and Ormadon helped her stow it under the bed, then he collected Erboran’s spears and leaned them against the wall next to Erboran’s flatsword. Palansa lifted the circlet from her head and rubbed her sweaty brow.

  ‘You spoke well, Chief-wife,’ said Ormadon.

  ‘He hates me for it,’ said Palansa, taking a seat next to Tarkenda.

  ‘His hatred is not new.’

  Ormadon settled opposite, taking the bowl of water Tarkenda poured for him. ‘You’ve succeeded in making the Shargh consider the Sky Chiefs, rather than thinking of him. That’s good. It’s dangerous to make the Shargh choose between you and Arkendrin, better to make them choose between honouring or not honouring the Sky Chiefs.’

  ‘I thought Arkendrin would win the argument over hunting the thing of the Telling,’ admitted Tarkenda, ‘and that might have been enough. It would have kept him away from here, away from us. I hadn’t thought of doing what you’ve done.’

  ‘The result is the same,’ said Palansa, sipping her water. ‘It gives us more time.’

  ‘Not as long as you think,’ said Ormadon. ‘Arkendrin knows much about the creature now. He knows she’s called “owl”, a kiraon in the treemen’s speech, and he knows she’s been weakened by her blood-ties being killed. He knows she hides in holes under the trees.’

  Palansa paled. ‘Irason,’ she breathed. ‘They must’ve captured a treeman so that Irason could read his tongue.’

  Ormadon nodded. ‘Irdodun puts it about that the hunt is now simple, and that soon the creature’s body will be laid out on the spur for all to see. Then Arkendrin will take his rightful place as Chief.’

  ‘He’ll be free to do as he wants then,’ said Palansa bitterly. The child lurched and quivered inside her and her eyes went to Erboran’s flatsword. She couldn’t run in her present state, even if there were somewhere to run to.

  ‘He’s filling the warriors’ heads with grand schemes of joining with the Weshargh and Soushargh again and taking back the land north of the Braghans,’ Ormadon continued. ‘He wants to be Chief of all the tracts we once wandered.’

  ‘He would lead us into a river of blood,’ said Tarkenda. ‘Does he imagine those lands are ours for the taking? That the Northerners will simply hand them over? The fighting would be worse than even the Older Days.’

  Palansa’s startled eyes went to hers but Tarkenda ignored her, keeping her attention on Ormadon.

  ‘Arkendrin’s tongue has always outpaced his legs,’ said Ormadon, rising. ‘I’ve heard from others that Urpalin was too ready with the dagger, and that the treeman man died before they found out where the holes were. It’s hard to tell mawkbird from marwing when Arkendrin’s people talk, but knowing Urpalin, it’s likely.’

  ‘If that’s true, it could take them many moons to find where she hides,’ said Palansa hopefully.

  Ormadon shrugged. ‘Whatever the truth, Arkendrin’s caught here until the next moon.’ He moved to the door. ‘Don’t be alone, Chief-wife,’ he said, and ducked through the flap.

  ‘Will your vision come true?’ demanded Palansa of Tarkenda, scarcely waiting for the flap to still. ‘Is my son to be killed and Arkendrin take us north?’

  ‘I’ve told you before that it’s unclear.’

  ‘Unclear, unclear!’ Palansa paced up and down the sorcha. ‘What’s the point of having a vision that cannot be read?’

  ‘Ask the Sky Chiefs,’ said Tarkenda dryly.

  Palansa said nothing and Tarkenda sighed. ‘You’ve done well today, better than I dared hope.’

  Palansa turned on her, her eyes as dark as night. ‘Will it be enough?’

  ‘That, too, is with the Sky Chiefs.’

  36

  Kest rinsed the stubble from his face and pushed the stub of clear-root back into his pack. He was clean now and, thanks to the clear-root, free of the itching half-beard. He’d slept in a bed last night as well, even if it wasn’t his own.

  Despite the awful trip via Dakresh’s longhouse he felt rested for the first time in many days, and he had to admit that Miken had been right in insisting he stay the night rather than going straight to the Warens. You falling ill from exhaustion will aid no one, Miken had said. He must remember to use that argument on Kira, he thought, as he made his way down the passageway to the hall. He scanned the trees through the open windows as he went, seeing nothing amiss, and wondering what the returning patrols would report.

  The hall was surprisingly crowded considering how early it was, children laughing as they rolled sour-ripe along the tables to each other, adults with heads close in conversation. This was what he’d missed most in the Warens; not just the soft air and chimes, but the sounds of normalcy, of happiness.

  Miken beckoned him from further down the hall, and as he moved between the tables a group of Protectors rose hurriedly and Kashclansmen and women swivelled, noticing him for the first time. He nodded and waved the Protectors back to their seats. Miken had poured him a cup of thornyflower tea and was busy spreading riddleberry jam onto nutbread for
him.

  ‘I’ve been thinking on what we spoke of last night,’ said Miken softly, passing him the bread. ‘I think you’re right. The Shargh probably tortured Bern until he told them everything he knew of Kira. The question is, how much did he know?’

  ‘She told me she’d seen him, that’s all,’ said Kest, taking a bite of his bread. And he’d been too angry to ask any questions; a bad mistake.

  ‘She told you at the Clancouncil?’

  Kest nodded, recalling with irritation that Miken had interrupted their argument.

  ‘Kira’s dear to me,’ said Miken, noting his antagonism, ‘not just because she’s Kashclan, but because she’s spent much of her growing here.’ His gaze went to Tenerini, now taking her breakfast with some of the other women and his expression gentled.

  ‘We would have taken her as a daughter if Maxen had allowed it.’ He cleared his throat and refilled Kest’s cup. ‘We would still take her.’

  ‘If we’re right, she’d draw the Shargh to you,’ said Kest, putting his breakfast aside. ‘It would risk everyone.’

  ‘I know. It’s best she stays where she is . . . for the time being. And even the Warens might not be safe, especially at the full moon,’ said Miken. He paused. ‘Will you tell Kira about Bern?’

  ‘As Leader, she has a right to know.’

  Miken set down his cup. ‘Will you tell her what we suspect about his death?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ The answer was honest but Kest felt his face warm.

  ‘As Commander, it is of course your decision, but forgive me now if I speak as someone who knows Kira well. She’s stubborn, as you’ve probably discovered, and single-minded in her passion for healing, necessary qualities in a Leader and, no doubt, why the Clanleaders agreed to appoint her. But what is less obvious is her lack of self-interest.’

  ‘Surely that is a good quality in a Leader, unlike her recklessness . . .’ Kest faltered, recalling too late that Miken was Kashclan.

  Miken nodded, taking no insult. ‘Perhaps what I should have said is that Kira has no sense of self-preservation. She puts others first.’

  ‘I would have thought that was a good quality in a Leader too.’

  ‘It is up to a point,’ agreed Miken. ‘But beyond that it’s destructive. If Kira believes she’s the reason for the Shargh attacks, the reason for Tremen suffering . . .’

  Kest gulped his tea, scalding his throat. ‘Are you saying she’d offer herself up to the Shargh to protect the Tremen?’ The thought was appalling and difficult to believe, in spite of what he knew of Kira.

  ‘Not offer herself up in the way you mean, although it could amount to the same thing.’ Miken leaned forward. ‘Kira lived and breathed for Kandor. Into him she poured all the love her mother didn’t live to give her and her father wouldn’t. Now that Kandor’s gone, there’s nothing to hold her.’

  ‘She has affection for Tresen,’ pointed out Kest, struggling with what Miken was saying.

  ‘That’s constrained by clan-tie,’ said Miken dismissively. ‘Is there no one in the Warens she’s shown interest in?’ he asked, eyeing Kest speculatively.

  Kest gaped. Was Miken suggesting that Kira could only be saved by bonding? With him? The idea was startling, but not without its attractions.

  ‘Tresen, Werem, Paterek and Arlen are the only men who spend any time at all with her,’ said Kest, putting the idea aside. ‘And they’re all Kashclan. She heals and prepares pastes and potions and records her knowing largely on her own. Eating and sleeping she does only when forced,’ he added dryly. The Kashclan leader’s face remained heavy with worry.

  ‘I won’t tell Kira what we suspect about Bern’s death,’ said Kest, coming to a decision. ‘Instead, I’ll emphasise the danger she’ll put Protectors in if she acts recklessly and remind her how essential her Healer skill is to all our futures. If, as you say, she puts others before herself, that should be enough.’

  ‘For the present,’ said Miken, dourly.

  Kira stomped around the bed, taking out her frustration on the cavern floor. She’d accorded Tresen the courtesy of informing him where she was going, as a Leader should, and now all she was getting for her trouble was an argument.

  ‘I don’t think you should be going so far into the Warens on your own, and neither does Kest or else he wouldn’t have left that advice with Protector Leader Pekrash.’

  ‘The Protectors won’t let me leave the Warens, and now you’re saying I shouldn’t leave the training rooms. Maybe I should just sit here and not move. Would that make you happy, Tresen?’

  ‘I never said that and neither did Protector Leader Pekrash. It’s advice, that’s all. If you go off and get lost, then Protectors will have to search for you instead of protecting the longhouses.’

  ‘Why in the ’green would I get lost? I’ve been to the Storage Cavern and back before.’

  ‘Kest brought you back last time.’

  ‘We came back together!’ exclaimed Kira, plonking herself down on the bed. ‘I might go anyway. The Warens don’t command the Bough.’

  Tresen’s eyes flashed. ‘That sounds like something worthy of your father!’

  Kira faltered as the images of smoke and flames filled her head, then the mattress rustled as Tresen settled beside her and pulled her close. His arms were warm and she shut her eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t have the right to say that.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ she muttered, ‘but it’s true.’

  He smoothed the hair from her face. ‘Kira –’

  Then the curtain was flicked back and Tresen sprang to his feet. Kest stared at them, nonplussed. If it had been any other couple he would have sworn they were courting.

  ‘Tremen Leader Kiraon, I was looking for you,’ he said tightly, his eyes flicking between her and the stiffly standing Protector.

  ‘Well, you’ve found me,’ said Kira, barely looking at him.

  Kest turned to Tresen. ‘I’ve spent the last night in your longhouse, Protector. All’s well there and Kashclanswoman Tenerini sends you some clothing, also some for you Tremen Leader Kiraon. I’ve left it in the outer cavern.’

  ‘I thank you, Commander,’ said Tresen.

  Kest dismissed him with a nod. Tresen glanced to Kira as he left, something indecipherable passing between them, making Kest wonder again if he’d stumbled into something he oughtn’t.

  ‘We need to speak,’ said Kest.

  Kira gestured to the chair next to the bed, but Kest shook his head; a bedroom was hardly an appropriate meeting place.

  ‘Where else in this cage would you suggest?’ she said, chin tilted, her eyes flashing gold. He’d thought they’d developed a level of accord but perhaps he was wrong.

  ‘We can speak where you prepare the herbs if you like,’ said Kest.

  ‘No, we’ll speak outside.’ She scrambled to her feet, standing like a Protector about to start sword practice.

  ‘As you wish.’

  ‘You’re letting me go outside?’

  ‘As Tremen Leader, you’re free to go wherever you like.’

  Her face softened and her eyes flashed to gold, the change astonishing, then she moved past him and he followed her through the wounded and out into the tunnel. From the back she looked like a child and he wondered how anyone so slight could hold such power.

  ‘It’s a trick really, isn’t it Commander?’ she said, as they walked. ‘I can only go where it’s responsible to go, where I don’t risk anyone else.’

  ‘You can describe it how you wish, Tremen Leader. If it’s a trick then I’m caught in it too. We’re both obliged to put the Tremen before our personal wishes.’

  There was an echo of marching feet and he stopped and pulled her close to the wall as shadows snaked towards them. A patrol led by Merenor appeared through the murk. He looked tired and pleased to be back, but the news was as Kest hoped: no slashed trees and no sign of Shargh, despite the nearness to the full moon. Merenor finished his brief report and Kest clapped him on the back.
>
  ‘Where have they come from?’ asked Kira, as the footfalls faded into the darkness.

  ‘Renclan Octad.’

  ‘Renclan? I thought you were focusing your patrols to the north-east.’

  ‘Not all.’

  The map showed two openings in Kenclan and one in Renclan, but he already knew from his journey through the Warens with Kira, that the map wasn’t totally accurate. The Renclan and Kenclan octads shared similar stone, the type that had produced the Sarnia Cave and underground streams in Kenclan. It was likely that the stone also formed more openings in Renclan. Having Protectors there might dissuade the Shargh from searching for a way in. Then again, the presence of Protectors might suggest that there was something worth searching for.

  ‘You have bad news for me,’ said Kira.

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Your face.’

  ‘I was thinking of something else,’ said Kest, mentally cursing his lapse. It was the second time she’d read him like a sheaf.

  ‘So the news is good?’

  By the ’green, she was persistent. ‘We will speak of it outside, as you requested, Tremen Leader.’

  Kira flicked back her braid and stomped across the last of the caverns, a figure suddenly stepping from the shadows and making her jump. Only a Protector, praise be to the alwaysgreen, obviously on entrance-guarding duty. Kest spoke to him quickly issuing some quiet commands. How sure he was of himself. He was growing into his role of Commander more quickly than she was adapting to being Leader. Then again, he’d been a Protector Leader first, whereas she’d only gathered.

  The sounds of the forest intruded and Kira jiggled impatiently behind Kest as he edged around Nogren, following him quickly, then coming to a stop. It was dusk. For some reason she’d assumed it would be morning, like when she’d journeyed to the Clancouncil. She’d kept the sights and smells and sounds of that day in her head, savouring and replaying them all through the long days of writing, and she’d expected to experience them now.