Keirith looked up into that calm, stubborn face and repressed a curse. “Fine. So I somehow manage to save Hua rather than kill him. How do we explain his sudden recovery? A miracle?”
“Why not? It’s close enough to the truth.”
“Why do you want me to risk so much for a boy you don’t even know?”
“Think about it. That’s all I ask. No matter what you choose, I’ll understand.”
After his father left, Keirith paced the beach angrily. He had his own battles to fight. With Natha’s help, he had cast out a few fragments of Xevhan’s spirit, but more were buried inside of him. If he couldn’t reach them, how could he reach this poor boy? Didn’t his father understand that he could hurt Hua, cause even greater damage? His newfound faith in his power was as foolhardy as his apparent belief that they would return home and life would go on as if nothing had happened.
“You’re not Morgath,” his father had told him when they first discussed the tribe’s reaction. “You didn’t destroy the Zheron for the love of it, but to save us. We just have to make the elders understand that.”
His father was so relieved that they had survived the ordeal in Pilozhat that he simply could not understand that his existence was an affront to everything their people believed. Hircha knew better; he saw the knowledge of his doom in her eyes. But there was no pity there. If anything, she seemed to admire his determination to return home and meet his fate.
Like Hua, he was ready for death. It would be a sweet release for both of them.
“You bury the memories. But they’re still there. You can never bury them deep enough.”
But Hua had. Whether his spirit had simply shattered when his parents were murdered or whether he had deliberately retreated into himself rather than face their loss, he had escaped the memories. It would be cruel to force him to confront them now.
Yet when he had told his father all that happened to him, he’d felt as if a great weight had been lifted. Like his father, he’d needed to tell his tale. Perhaps Hua did, too. But he still didn’t know if he could reach him.
“I didn’t have the strength for trance.”
“You did not try.”
Natha’s voice and his father’s battered him. By the time he returned to the hut, he had banished them and made his decision. Then he saw Jirra crouched beside Hua’s pallet, dribbling water between his lips, and Illait’s genial face shadowed by misery. And heard himself saying, “I might be able to help.”
He sat beside Hua and clasped his limp hand. Flesh dry as birch bark covered the delicate bones. Knobby wrists protruded from the sleeves of a tunic that hung on arms little thicker than sticks.
If he were a shaman, he would have a spirit catcher, a crystal he had shaped with his own hands. With it, he could recapture the fragments of a wandering spirit and bring it home, just as his father carried the spirits of the Oak and Tinnean back to the grove. But tonight, he was the spirit catcher and he had only his power to help him reclaim Hua.
Keirith closed his eyes, but behind him, he felt the weight of all the other eyes that watched him. Deliberately, he shut them out, along with the hiss of the fire and the smell of the stew, until there was only his heart, beating a slow tattoo within his chest, and his breath, rising and falling with Hua’s.
In darkness, he waited for Natha. In darkness, Natha came, filling him with the same sinuous warmth he had first experienced that night on the beach. Keirith let the energy pass from his hand to Hua’s. It seeped into wasted flesh and hard bone, flowed into blood, and surged through the boy’s body with the faint but relentless beat of his heart. The energy reached for Hua’s spirit as naturally as a flower turned toward the sun—and found only a dark void.
Slowly, carefully, Keirith probed deeper. It was like diving down into the lake at home with still, silent waters all around him. He had never touched such emptiness. If not for the beating of Hua’s heart, he would have thought the boy was dead.
As he sank deeper into the darkness, he felt a faint pulse of energy. Eagerly, he followed it, only to be pushed away. At first, he thought Hua was doing it. Then he realized it was Natha, urging him to go back. He remembered the allure of the elemental dance in the adder pit, the freedom of floating above his body after death. The deeper he went, the more tenuous his connection to his body. But Hua was so close; if he retreated now, the boy’s spirit would be lost.
Keirith hesitated. He attuned himself to the rhythm of his heartbeat, to the pressure of his hand clasping Hua’s. Then he dared to probe a little deeper.
Immediately, he encountered fierce resistance. His joy in discovering the strength of Hua’s spirit was tempered by the realization that the barriers he’d erected were even stronger than Xevhan’s. Born of his determination to keep the painful memories at bay, they would also shut him out. If he pushed too hard, he risked shattering that frightened spirit.
He and his father had taunted Xevhan into attacking them, but even if it meant losing Hua, Keirith couldn’t bring himself to hurt him. He cradled Hua’s spirit, sensing the terrible fragility beneath the hard shell.
As he did, an image rose before him: his mam seated beside the fire pit, rocking a fretful Callie in her arms, crooning a lullaby to ease him into sleep. Unbidden, the words filled him.
Hush, my little one.
Hush, my own.
Don’t be frightened.
You are not alone.
Gheala lights the night.
Father guards your dreams.
Mother will—
The violent outpouring of pain and denial ripped through Keirith. Images buffeted him: a man racing out of a hut, clutching a spear, a woman screaming for him to come back. And Hua’s terrified thoughts and emotions as he watched.
He didn’t know why everyone was shouting or why Grandfa and Fa had run out. He wanted his mam, but when he reached for her, she pushed him away and ran after Fa. He mustn’t cry. He was a big boy now. He had to be brave like Fa and Grandfa. He had to go with them. But Grandmam wouldn’t let him. She grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the hut so fast he tripped and fell and skinned both knees. And he did cry then, but only a couple tears. Grandmam didn’t take him in her arms like she used to when he was little. She just pulled on his arm hard and Auntie Sariem pulled on the other and they dragged him to his feet and told him to run, run, run, fast as a rabbit, into the trees, and don’t look back.
So he ran, fast as a rabbit, and didn’t look back. Not even when he heard the roar. Not from a wolf or a wildcat or any animal he knew. It must be some awful creature the Unmaker had sent from Chaos.
All around him, people were running. Behind him, people were screaming. The beast was eating them and if he didn’t run faster, it would eat him, too.
Abruptly, the images vanished, leaving only the wail of Hua’s spirit.
I won’t.
You’re safe. But it’s still with you, isn’t it? No matter how hard you try and shut it out.
I know because the beast came after me, too.
You know I’m not. You can feel me, same as I feel you.
The touch was featherlight and gone at once. Keirith opened himself, allowing the boy to sense the pain and fear that haunted his recent memories, while shielding him from a barrage of images that would only frighten him more. Again, Hua reached for him, as wary as the eagle when he had first tried to touch its spirit.
Little boy wonder. Little boy awe. It made Keirith ache.
Aye. He let me fly with him.
Suspicion tainted Hua’s touch, but it faded as Keirith shared the memories of that flight. So long ago, it seemed, but through Hua, he experienced the joy again and the giddy, breathless excitement.
> My name is Keirith.
A boy. From another tribe.
The little . . . Aye, the lake. The eagles live on that mountain you saw. And I live in the village. With my sister and brother and my mam and my—
Hua thrust him away with a wail. Again, Keirith surrounded his wounded spirit, holding it close.
I know you don’t want to come back. But your grandmam is here. And your grandfa. And your aunt Sariem. They miss you. They want you to leave the forest and come live with them again.
But I am, too. I’ve fought the beast. And if you fight it with me, we can make it go away.
Please, Hua, if you just try—
Hua shrieked as the memories burst free, inundating Keirith with the terror of that morning.
The beast was behind him, ready to snap him up with its huge, awful fangs. He had to look back. He had to see how close it was. But when he did, there was no beast, only men with long daggers and fishing nets and spears and clubs.
I’m holding you. I’ll keep you safe. They won’t hurt you.
Mam. Running. Her hair streaming behind her. Sunbright, Fa called it. Mam’s sunbright hair tangled across her face when she looked back. They were chasing her. They were going to catch her. He screamed, loud as he could, but Mam couldn’t hear him. He had to help her. He had to chase away the bad men. So he yanked his hands away from Auntie Sariem and Grandmam and ran, fast as a rabbit.
Fa was running, too, running toward the men chasing Mam. He would kill the bad men and make the others go away and never come back. But Fa had to go faster, fast as a rabbit, else he’d never get there in time.
Fa was walking sideways, like he did after the Midsummer feast and didn’t Mam shout at him that night when she took away the jug? But Fa wasn’t laughing now. He just fell to his knees and onto his face with the . . .
... arrow sticking out of him. Get up, Fa, please get up! But he just lay there. Grandmam and Auntie Sariem were pulling him away, but not before he saw Mam pick up the spear. Not before he saw her charging toward the bad men. Not before he saw her sunbright hair whipping around her neck and her legs bending and her body falling, just like Fa, but oh gods, oh gods, oh gods . . .
The scream ripped through Keirith, bringing with it the image of the severed head, rolling over and over on the ground, sunbright hair trailing behind it.
Hua screamed again and all Keirith could do was hold his fragile spirit, drawing on his strength and Natha’s to absorb the awful images. He took them all in—the arrow in his father’s back, the bloody stump of his mother’s neck—and with them, the shock and the horror and the agony of loss that Hua had not allowed himself to feel before. Felt his spirit tremble with the effort to hold them, heard his scream mingling with Hua’s, and thought he could never be strong enough to hold this much pain, his spirit would shatter along with Hua’s, both of them lost, oh gods, I’m sorry.
Natha coiled around them, holding them safe. He flowed through their spirits, carrying memories to comfort them—a father’s strong arms hugging them, a mother’s hand reaching out to steady them as they took their first awkward steps.
Sariem’s laugh banished the screams. Faelia rolled her eyes and the raiders fled. Callie’s giggle sent a shaft of sunlight blazing through the shadowy forest. Grandfa bellowed and uprooted the thorn bushes and vines obscuring the path. And there was Grandmam, squatting down at the edge of the trees—she shouldn’t be doing that, not with her knees so bad with the joint-ill. Grandmam’s face, creased in a great smile, Grandmam’s arms, flung wide to welcome him home.
Natha released them, dissipating like mist before the sun. Keirith touched Hua’s spirit in farewell and gently withdrew. He found himself lying on the pallet, his arms flung around Hua’s shoulders. As he eased free, he looked at the circle of anxious faces hovering above him.
Jirra’s eyes went wide with shock. Her hand flew to her mouth. Keirith turned to find Hua blinking uncertainly. His mouth moved, but the words were too soft to hear. With a hoarse cry, Jirra pulled her grandson into her arms, laughing and weeping and rocking him just like she used to when he was little.
Keirith accepted Jirra’s tearful thanks, Sariem’s kiss, and Illait’s bruising hug. He lingered beside Hua a moment to whisper, “There’s no shame in crying when you’re sad. Or in grieving for your mam and fa.”
Tears welled up in Hua’s eyes and oozed down the wasted cheeks. Keirith gently wiped them away. “You’ve got your grandmam and your grandfa and your aunt to help you.”
Hua’s lips moved. Keirith had to put his ear to the boy’s mouth to catch the words.
“Your grandfa’s going to move the village to a new place—a secret place that the bad men won’t find. And if they come in your dreams, remember my friend Natha. Pretend that he’s coiled around you again, keeping you safe, even while you’re sleeping. Someday, you’ll have your own vision mate to protect you. Maybe you’ll find an adder, too. Or an eagle.”
He stumbled on his way out of the hut and his father’s hand came up to steady him. The village was asleep, the long twilight beginning to fade into darkness. Together, they walked down to the sea.
“Are you all right?”
“Aye. Just . . . very tired.”
“And Hua?”
“He’ll need time to heal, but he’s strong. Else he couldn’t have held back the memories so long.”
“You’re strong, too. Else you couldn’t have reached him. You’re a healer. Like your mam.”
Keirith shook his head.
“It’s true. Only you heal spirits, not bodies. That’s your gift. And you must use it.”
It was as impossible as dreaming that the council of elders would welcome him back into the tribe. Yet Keirith wanted to believe it could happen, that he could use his power for good as he had tonight.
“When I came back from the First Forest, when I thought I’d never hunt again . . .” His father took a deep breath. “What I was really afraid of was that I couldn’t be the best. Not the best in the tribe but as good as I once was. So I became a Memory-Keeper.”
The disgust in his father’s voice made Keirith wince. “Did you hate it that much?”
“Nay. But the forest always called me. For fifteen years, I tried to ignore it. I don’t want you to make the same mistake. I’m a hunter, Keirith. And you’re a shaman. Maybe not the same kind of shaman as Gortin or Struath, but that’s your life-path. And no matter what anyone says, you must follow it.”
That was why his father had wanted him to help Hua—not only to reclaim the boy, but to reclaim himself.
Although exhaustion shadowed his father’s eyes, there was no mistaking the eagerness on his face as his gaze swept over the village to linger on the trees beyond. The gods only knew how long it would take him to learn to draw a bow with those hands. He might never again bring down a deer with one shot to the heart. But his instincts were still keen and his desire keener. After so many years, his father had found his path again.
But can I really find a place with my tribe?
The resurgence of hope left him breathless—and terrified. It was easier when he had given up. His father was right. Living was hard. Even harder than he had imagined.
His father’s hand came down on his shoulder. Keirith looked up into that calm, stubborn face and found the courage to smile back.
Chapter 51
GRIANE DUCKED OUT of the birthing hut and found herself surrounded by people. Elathar’s sons had abandoned their nets to get a look at the new member of their family. She carried the squalling infant up the hill, her progress slowed as more of her kinfolk joined the throng. The whole tribe h
ad awaited this birth with special eagerness; it was the first since the raid.
The old women scraping hides insisted she stop and show them the babe. They still sat outside Jurl’s empty hut; until his bones were safely interred in the tribal cairn, the council of elders would not risk his spirit’s displeasure by bestowing his home on another family. Some still shook their heads over his mysterious death, but most accepted that his quick temper had brought on the fit that killed him.
She smiled automatically as the old women pronounced the child a fine boy and left them discussing the labor pains and birthing ordeals they had endured. Nemek had obviously heard the shouts of congratulations; he paced impatiently outside the hut. Only Nionik’s hand on his arm kept him from sprinting toward her as she approached.
She smiled at Mirili and Nionik and held the babe out to Nemek. “I bring you Catha’s son.”
“A son? I have a son?” With a dazed expression, he looked from the infant in her arms to his father. “I have a son.”
“Not until you accept him from Mother Griane,” Nionik reminded him with a smile.
Nemek extended shaking hands, balancing the child on his palms with such trepidation that Griane and Mirili both reached out to settle the poor mite securely in the crook of his arm.
“He’s so small.” He peered more closely at the wriggling bundle. “Is he supposed to be that red?”
“Your face was redder,” Nionik said. “And wrinkled as a withered apple.”
“He was not,” Mirili protested. “He was beautiful. As beautiful as my grandson.”
Nemek shot his mother a grateful glance. He bent his head over his son, crooning sweet nonsense. Suddenly, his head jerked up. “Catha. How is—”
“She’s fine. And we counted four pops when we threw the afterbirth in the fire, so it seems I’ll be presenting you with four more babes.”
Mirili exclaimed with pleasure but Nemek turned pale. “Four . . . more?”
“I don’t know why you’re looking so queasy,” Griane said. “Your part is done in a moment.”
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