Bloodstone

by Barbara Campbell

  It was harder to hear how Fellgair entered Darak’s spirit. She knew how much pain his brief account hid and found it hard to forgive Fellgair for choosing that method—of all the ones in the world—to help Darak. Still, it had worked. Darak had saved their boy. It was more than she had done.

  She doubted Fellgair had told him about their bargain; despite his time with the players, Darak was not a good enough performer to hide his feelings. Yet each time Fellgair’s name came up, she could feel his eyes on her, gauging her reaction. It would be just like the Trickster to hint that a bargain existed without revealing the details.

  Then Callie asked why Urkiat hadn’t come home with them.

  “He died, son. He was pretending to fight with me. But we were using real swords—they’re like long daggers. And Urkiat . . . he didn’t move when I expected him to.”

  “You killed him? You killed Urkiat?”

  “Callie!” Her voice sounded too shrill, too sharp. Even Hircha was staring. “It was an accident.”

  “The bad man made Fa and Urkiat fight,” Keirith said. “Urkiat was . . . distracted. Just for a moment. Fa didn’t mean to hurt him.”

  Fellgair had told her much the same story, but the bitterness in Keirith’s voice proved there was more to it than a simple accident.

  To her surprise, Hircha squatted down beside Callie. “He died in your father’s arms.”

  “You were there, too?”

  “Aye. I saw it all. And I think—at the end—he must have been glad to have your father with him. Holding him. Easing him on his way. Helping him . . . drift off.”

  Griane saw the looks Darak and Keirith exchanged, but Callie was intent on Hircha’s face. “Like when Fa rocks me to sleep? Safe like that?”

  “Aye. Just like that.”

  She let her palm rest against his cheek a moment, then abruptly turned away as if embarrassed by her show of affection.

  “Jurl died, too,” Callie said.

  “Jurl?” Darak’s shock was obvious. “What happened?”

  “He threw a fit. And he fell over by the heart-oak and his eyes bulged out and—”

  “That’s enough,” Griane said.

  “Well, they did.”

  “We’re not going to discuss it tonight.”

  When talk turned to happier news, Griane gratefully allowed Faelia to carry the conversation. She couldn’t help sneaking glances at Keirith, looking for familiar gestures and expressions. When he caught her at it, she smiled brightly. His answering smile was so eager it made her ache. Then the smile would slip and he would fall silent, staring into the fire pit or glancing around the hut as if seeing it for the first time. And then catch himself with a quick, guilty start before picking up the thread of the conversation again with a stranger’s apologetic laugh.

  Darak saw it all, of course. His hands betrayed his anxiety, reaching out too often to pat Keirith’s knee or squeeze his arm, bringing him back from the shadows with a gentle touch or a soft word. Only as the evening wore on did she realize that Darak touched him as much for his comfort as for Keirith’s. And that something unspoken flickered between them, as if each knew exactly what the other was thinking and feeling. Perhaps they did. Their spirits had dwelled together. They knew each other intimately. More intimately than she could hope to know either of them.

  The sudden stab of jealousy shocked her. She must have made a sound, for every face turned toward her. “Forgive me. I’m being stupid and sentimental. I’m just . . . I’m so happy you’re home.”

  Grateful tears welled up in Keirith’s eyes. Darak smiled across the fire pit, but his gaze lingered on her too thoughtfully.

  Muina’s arrival helped dissipate the tension. Keirith’s face lit up when Lisula and Ennit followed her inside, but the light died when he realized they’d brought only the younger children.

  “Blame Ennit,” Lisula said, quick to notice Keirith’s disappointment. “He made poor Conn stay with the flock so he could visit with Darak.”

  “Poor Conn will have his turn on the morrow,” Ennit announced, too heartily. “Uncle Lorthan’s too old to be scrambling about the hills at night. And with Trian gone, that just leaves Conn and me.”

  “And me!” Callie shouted.

  Keirith smiled with the rest of them. He seemed to enjoy the company and as the evening wore on, some of the shadows retreated from his face. But now and then, Griane caught him watching the doorway as if expecting Conn to appear.

  One by one, the children fell asleep. When Hircha struggled to hide a yawn, Muina said, “You should be ashamed of yourself, Lisula. Keeping these poor folk up half the night so you could hear their stories.”

  Lisula smiled; after so many years, she was used to Muina’s humor. She hugged Darak hard. “It’s so good to have you home. But you need feeding. You’re skin and bones.” Then she turned to Keirith. “And you—you are a gift from the Maker. My blessings on you, Keirith. Tonight and always.”

  Once they were gone, Darak bundled Callie into bed while Faelia and Hircha helped her clean up. Keirith stood uncertainly by the fire pit. He looked so lost. Before she could speak, Darak said, “Tired, son?”

  “Aye.”

  “It’s been a long day.”

  The broody look descended again; strange how the expression could be so similar in a face altogether different.

  “Try not to worry about the council meeting,” Darak said, then shrugged awkwardly as if he understood how impossible that was.

  Keirith just nodded and started unlacing his strange foot-gear. Why bother to wear shoes at all if your heels and toes hung out? On the morrow, she’d trim down his old shoes; they’d be too large for his feet now.

  “I’m afraid you and Faelia will have to share a pallet,” she told Hircha.

  Hircha shot Faelia a shy glance. “I don’t mind. If you don’t. I don’t snore.” She frowned and glanced over her shoulder at Keirith. “Do I?”

  “Nay. But Faelia does.”

  Faelia stuck her tongue out, then looked abashed.

  “Merciful Maker, Faelia, it’s me!” Keirith looked even more abashed than Faelia. “I’m sorry.”

  “Nay, it’s my fault.”

  “It’s no one’s fault,” Darak said. “It’ll take us a while to get used to each other again.” His gaze drifted toward her, then back to the children. “But no matter what’s happened, we’re still the same people we always were. Aye?”

  “Aye, Fa.” Faelia kissed his cheek, then glared at Keirith. “And I don’t snore.” When Keirith rolled his eyes, she snatched up his discarded shoe and threw it at him. He ducked, grinning.

  “Stop that,” Griane ordered. “You’ll wake Callie.”

  “A portal to Chaos could open up and Callie would sleep through it,” Keirith said. “Even Faelia’s snoring doesn’t—”

  The second shoe hit him in the head.

  “Enough. Both of you. Hircha will think we’re savages.”

  Hircha shook her head, her expression almost wistful. Faelia flopped down on the wolfskins and ostentatiously turned her back on Keirith. Despite the warmth of the evening, Hircha slipped under the furs. Faelia rolled over to whisper something that made Hircha smile.

  Griane smoothed Callie’s hair and hesitated beside Keirith. “Good night, son.”

  “Good night, Mam. It’s . . . it’s good to be home.” His hands rose, then fell back. Quickly, she opened her arms. She could feel him trembling and realized this was the first time she had touched him.

  Gods forgive me. How could I have failed to hug him?

  His body was still slender, but broader through the shoulders. A man’s body now. It was hard to guess the priest’s age with that smooth skin and unlined face. Older than Urkiat, probably. Keirith had not only lost his body but years of life, too. She hugged him fiercely, wishing she could restore those lost years and protect him from the council of elders and the stares of their kinfolk and all the pain he would endure in the coming days.

  “I’m just so gl
ad you’re home. And I’m sorry . . .” Her voice broke.

  “It’s not your fault, Mam.”

  But of course, it was.

  Darak’s hands came down on her shoulders and she started. “I was thinking of going to the lake,” he said. “I’ve so much salt crusted on me, I might crack.” His smile was as hesitant as Keirith’s. “Will you come?”

  She nodded, equally shy. “I need to wash out these clothes.”

  Through the indeterminate gray of twilight, they walked to the lake. Griane wondered if it was mere chance that led them along the beach to the place where they had made their peace after the interrogation.

  Darak pulled off his clothes and waded into the water. While she scrubbed her birthing skirt, she stole covert glances at him and caught him doing the same. Fellgair’s presence loomed between them as tangibly as if the god were standing there.

  Only when Darak was drying himself with his mantle did she slip off her birthing tunic. Just as quickly, she pulled the other over her head and kept on with her scrubbing. She could feel him behind her, watching. And all she could do was squat like a fool, rubbing Catha’s blood from her tunic.

  “Talk to me.”

  She babbled something about Faelia’s rite of womanhood.

  “Nay. Griane. Talk to me.”

  He’d pulled on his spare tunic and was sitting on the same rock he’d sat on after washing the raiders’ blood from his body. She’d been the one to reach out that day. Now he was doing the same.

  She abandoned her scrubbing and rose. “Fellgair killed Jurl.”

  “What?”

  “He was threatening me. About the boy. The raider.”

  “He didn’t hurt you?” He was off the rock, but froze when she backed away.

  “Nay. Fellgair appeared. Before anything could happen.”

  “He just . . . appeared.”

  She took a deep breath. “I was waiting for him. In the glade of the heart-oak. I asked him for help.”

  Darak sank slowly down on the rock.

  “You don’t know what it was like! Gortin had a terrible vision. He saw you being sacrificed. And when I went to Muina, she said you were sick—” She broke off as Darak’s head jerked up. “It was a rite. With all the priestesses. I saw Keirith. He spoke to me. But I couldn’t see you. Muina hadn’t the strength by then. I only knew you were sick. So ...”

  “You went to Fellgair.”

  “I was alone. I had no one to help me.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. “At least Fellgair . . .”

  “What? At least Fellgair didn’t desert you?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Nay, but you meant it.” He stalked toward her, then abruptly veered away. “He hinted that you’d come to him. And then today, when we landed, and you said that he’d told you about Keirith . . . I was just glad it wouldn’t be such a shock. I should have expected such trickery from Fellgair, but . . . good gods, Griane, what were you thinking—asking him for help?”

  “I wasn’t thinking! I was out of my mind with fear and worry. Just as you were when Tinnean was lost.”

  The anger drained out of his face, but he stared at her so intently that she winced. “And what did he ask in return?”

  “He . . . wanted me to go to the Summerlands with him.”

  “And what else?”

  “And spend the day.”

  “And what else?” When she didn’t answer, he crossed to her in three strides and seized her arms. “What else did you give him in return for saving us?”

  She shoved him away. “He wouldn’t save you both! He made me choose.”

  His eyes widened in stunned disbelief.

  “He made me choose,” she repeated in a broken whisper. “Just as he made you choose between me and Cuillon all those years ago. And I . . . I chose you. And now Keirith—”

  “Nay.”

  “If I had chosen him, then—”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “He’s my son. My son! Any mother would choose her child. Any wild creature would protect her young. But I didn’t. Fellgair pushed and pushed and I just called out your name and then it was too late.”

  He shook her, his fingers digging painfully into her arms. “Look at me. Look at me! We cannot know, Griane. We’ll never know. We’re alive, girl. We’re alive and we’re home. That’s all that matters.”

  “Is it?”

  She saw the terrible uncertainty on his face, the desire to believe that nothing had happened in the Summerlands warring with the helpless fear that it had. He would not ask her again. She knew that. But should she tell him? Would the truth be easier to bear than the lingering doubt?

  “Darak . . .”

  He seized her face between his hands and kissed her, his mouth hard and demanding. Without thought, her arms came up, her hands tangling in his wet hair, her body pressing against his, needing the reassurance of his love as much as he needed hers.

  He jerked away, but only to grab her wrist and pull her down onto his discarded mantle. He bore her back, pinning her beneath him, spreading her thighs with his knee. She lifted her hips to receive him, but he reared back. His eyes filled her vision, daring her to look away.

  “You’re mine.”

  He sheathed himself with a single hard thrust that made her gasp. His teeth clenched, but he couldn’t prevent a low groan from escaping. As if to deny it, he gripped her tighter.

  “Mine. Now. Always.”

  With each word, he moved inside of her. She tried to pull his head down, but he captured her wrists and pinioned them at her sides. And when she closed her eyes, unable to look at his ravaged face, the calloused palms came up to clasp her cheeks.

  “Look at me.”

  His eyes were as gray as the twilight. Wide and tearless, they held her captive as surely as his body. Neither of them was permitted the escape of tears, the oblivion of release, only this relentless imprisonment of body and mind and spirit.

  “One blood. One body. One life.”

  The words of the marriage ceremony. The words that bound them together forever.

  His breath came hot and fast, his body demanding the renewal of the pledge they had given to each other so many years ago. And her body answered, hips rising to meet his, fingers digging into the scarred back. She cried out his name, desperate to possess him, to be possessed by him, to expunge the memory of Fellgair, to blot out the grief and pain she had brought him and Keirith both. And when he cried out hers, his voice was so fierce and full of longing that she wanted to weep.

  The pleasure built until she could no longer contain it. Her body shuddered as the first wave engulfed her. Only then did his lips seek hers. Her cry mingled with his as they lost themselves in a final surrendering of self.

  They clung to each other in wordless communion, each offering strength to the other and receiving it in turn. Just as they always had, as they always would. Nothing could change that—not distance or death, not even the Trickster.

  “One blood,” Griane whispered. “One body. One life.”

  Darak’s hands cupped her face. “Always.”

  And then there was only the sweetness of their mouths and the rhythm of their hearts and the warmth of the summer night enfolding them.

  Chapter 52

  NIONIK ARRIVED AT the hut shortly after dawn to tell them he wanted the council to meet immediately. “I know you’ve only just returned, but it would be better to deal with this matter at once.” Darak agreed; the sooner the council could settle things, the better.

  Griane fussed over them while they dressed, as if their appearance could possibly determine the outcome of the meeting. “Just tell the truth,” she advised them. “They’ll believe you. And mind your temper, Darak.”

  “My—?”

  “You’re going to hear things you won’t like, and it won’t help matters if you start snapping at the council members.”

  “I don’t snap.”

  “Nay. You shout.” She smooth
ed his braids, brushed a speck of oatcake off his tunic. When he captured her fluttering hands, she went still. He waited for her to look up at him, watching the color rise up her throat to stain her cheeks. Finally, the blue eyes lifted and she gave him a tremulous smile.

  He smiled back and pulled her close. Last night had confirmed their love, but the shadows were still there. In time, it would grow easier. In time, he would stop tormenting himself with images of Fellgair smiling at her, stroking her hair, touching her body. The Trickster might have been content to make her choose between her husband and her son. He might not have demanded anything more.

  And if he had . . .

  His arms tightened around Griane.

  “Darak. I can’t breathe.”

  He released her. He even managed to laugh as she shooed them out of the hut. “We’ll be waiting,” she promised. “Unless I decide to sneak over to the longhut and listen outside.”

  “Can we?” Callie asked.

  “Nay! I was teasing.”

  “It won’t help matters if your mam charges into the council meeting like a mad bullock.”

  Griane punched him. He grabbed her fist and kissed it. Hircha smiled along with the children. Only Keirith’s smile seemed unnatural, as if he sensed the undercurrents. With an effort, Darak thrust aside those concerns; today, all his energy must be focused on the council meeting.

  The rest of the elders were gathered in the longhut when they arrived. They all nodded politely and tried not to stare at Keirith. Darak chose a place next to Muina, and Keirith sat down beside him. Elasoth nodded to him and he nodded back. He was a natural choice to join the council. All of Elathar’s boys were good, steady lads, although Elasoth had always seemed shyer than his younger brothers. He didn’t know whether that would hurt Keirith or help him.

  Nor could he predict how Lorthan would respond to their revelations. Ennit’s uncle was a sweet, soft-spoken man, but easily swayed by the opinions of others, especially Strail who never hesitated to speak his mind.