The Song of Homana

by Jennifer Roberson

  I heard the grate of stone on stone and swung around, anticipating my nightmare. But the man who stepped out of the recess in the wall was a stranger to me. His eyes were blank, haunted things. He seemed to be missing his soul.

  Silently, he came at me. His sword was a blur of steel, flashing in the torchlight, and I jumped back to avoid the slash that hissed beside my head. My own blade went up to strike his down. They caught briefly, then disengaged as we jerked away. I could feel the strain in my hands, and yet I dared not lose my grip.

  Again he came at me. I skipped back, then leaped aside, and the sword tip grated on stone. And yet even as I moved to intercept, the Ihlini’s blade flashed sideways to stop my lunge and twist my sword from my hands. It was not a difficult feat. And so my weapon clanged against the black stone floor and I felt the hot pain in my knuckles flare up to pierce my soul.

  The blade came at me again, thrusting for my belly. I sucked back, avoiding the tip, and felt the edge slice through leather and linen to cut along my ribs. Not deeply, scraping against one bone, but it was enough to make me think.

  I jumped then, straight upward from the floor, grabbing the nearest torch and dragging it from its brackets. Even as the Ihlini came at me again I had it, whirling to thrust it into his face. The flame roared.

  The sorcerer screamed and dropped his sword, hands clawing at his face. He invoked Asar-Suti over and over again, gibbering in his pain, until he slumped down onto his knees. I stepped back as I saw one hand come up to make an intricate motion.

  “Seker, Seker.…” He chanted, rocking on his knees while his burned face glistened in the torchlight. “Seker, Seker.…”

  The torch was still in my right hand. As the Ihlini invoked his god and drew his rune in the air, the flame flowed down over the iron to caress my hand with pain.

  I dropped the torch at once, tossing it toward the wall while my knuckles screamed with pain. The flame splashed against the stone and ran down, flooding the floor of the corridor. As the Ihlini continued to chant, his hands still clasped to his face, the fire crept toward my boots.

  I stepped back at once, retreating with little aplomb. My sword, still lying on the stone, was in imminent danger of being swallowed. The flame poured across the floor like water, heading for my boots.

  “Seker, Seker—make him burn!”

  But he had made a deadly mistake. No doubt he intended only his enemy to burn, but he had not been clearly distinct. He himself still knelt on the floor, and as the stone caught fire from the river of ensorcelled flame so did he. It ran up his legs and enveloped his body in fire. I kicked out swiftly and shoved the sword aside with one boot, then ran after it even as the river of fire followed me. I left the living pyre in the corridor, scooped up my sword and ran.

  It was then I heard the shout. Alix’s voice. The tone was one of fear and desperation, but it held a note of rage as well. And then I heard the scuffle and the cry.

  I ran. I rounded the corner and brought up my sword, prepared to spit someone upon it, but I saw there was no need. The Ihlini lay on the ground, face down, as the blood ran from his body, and Alix was kneeling to take his knife. She already had his sword.

  She spun around, rising at once into a crouch. The knife dropped from her hand at once as she took a two-handed grip on the sword. And then she saw me clearly and the sword fell out of her hand.

  I grinned. “Well met, Alix.”

  She was so pale I thought she might faint where she stood, but she did not. Her eyes were huge in a bruised and too-thin face. Her hair hung in a single tangled braid and she wore a bedrobe stained with blood. It was not her own, I knew, but from the man she had slain.

  I had forgotten the gray in my hair and the lines in my face; the altered way I had of standing and moving. I had forgotten what Tynstar had done. But when I saw the horror in Alix’s eyes I recalled it all too well. It brought home the pain again.

  I put out one hand, ignoring the swollen knuckles. “Do you come?”

  Briefly, she looked down at the dead Ihlini. Then she bent and scooped up the knife, moving to my side. Her free hand was cool in my own, and I felt the trembling in it. For a moment we stood there, soiled with blood and grime and in the stink of our own fear, and then we forgot our weapons and set arms around each other for a desperate moment.

  “Duncan?” she asked at last, when I let her free of my arms.

  “He is here—do not fret. But how did you trick the Ihlini?”

  She glanced back briefly at the dead man. “He was foolish enough to unlock my door. To take me somewhere, he said. He did not expect me to protest, but I did. I took up a torch and burned his knife-hand with it.”

  I put out my own knife-hand and touched her hollowed cheek. “How do you fare, Alix?”

  Briefly there was withdrawal in her eyes. “I will tell you another time. Come this way with me.” She caught up the hem of her bedrobe and went on, still gripping the knife in one hand.

  We hastened through the corridors and into a spiral stair. Alix went first and I followed, falling behind as we climbed. We went up and up and I grimaced, feeling the strain in my knees. My thighs burned with the effort, and my breath ran short. But at last she pushed open a narrow door that I had to duck to get under, and we stepped out onto the ramparts of the fortress.

  Alix pointed. “That tower is a part of Tynstar’s private chambers. There is a stairway down. If we get there, we can go down unaccosted, then slip into the wards.”

  I caught her hand and we ran, heading for the tower. I heard the sounds of fighting elsewhere, but I knew we were badly outnumbered. And then we rounded the tower, looking for the door, and I stopped dead. Out on the wall walkway stood a familiar figure—“Duncan!”

  He spun around like an animal at bay. His eyes were startled and fearful. “No!” he shouted.

  Alix jerked free of my hand and started to run toward him, calling out his name, but something in Duncan’s face made me reach out and catch her arm. “Alix—wait you—”

  The moonlight was full on Duncan’s face. I could see the heaving of his chest as sweat ran down his bare arms. His hair was wet with it. “Go from here—now…Alix—do not tarry!”

  Alix tried again to free herself from my hand but I held her tightly. “Duncan—what are you saying? Do you think I will listen to that—?” Briefly she twisted her head to glare at me. “Let me go—”

  Duncan took a step toward us, then stopped. His face turned up toward the black night sky. Then he glanced back at me, briefly, and put out a hand toward Alix. “Take her, Carillon. Get her free of this place—” He sucked in a deep, wavering breath and seemed almost to fall on his feet. I saw then, in the moonlight, the blood running down his left arm. “Do you hear me? Go now, before—”

  What he intended to say was never heard in the thunderclap that broke over our heads. I recoiled, flattening against the tower, and dragged Alix with me. With the explosion of sound came a burst of light so blinding it painted everything stark white and stole our vision away.

  “Do I have you all, now?” came Tynstar’s beguiling voice.

  I saw him then, moving along the wall from another tower. Duncan was between the Ihlini and us. He put out a hand in my direction and cast a final glance at Alix. “Get her free, Carillon! Was it not what we came to do?”

  I ran then, dragging her with me, and took her into the tower. I ignored her protests. For once, I would do what Duncan wanted without asking foolish questions.

  I did not dare take a horse for Alix from our mounts for fear of leaving another man afoot. So I swung up onto my own, dragged her up behind me and wheeled the horse about in the shadow of shapechanged stone.

  Alix’s arms locked around my waist. “Carillon—wait you! You cannot leave him behind!”

  I clapped spurs to my horse and urged him away, sending him from the smokey, stinking haze that clung to black-clad Valgaard. Away I sent him, toward the defile and freedom.

  “Carillon—”

&nbs
p; “I trust to his wits and his will!” I shouted over the clattering hooves. “Do you not?”

  She pressed herself against me as the horse slipped and slid on basalt. “I would rather stay and help—”

  “There!” I interrupted. “Do you see? That is why we run—”

  The nearest stone shape reared up just then, shaking itself free of the ground. It lurched toward our mount, reaching out its hands. No, not hands: paws. And claws of glassy basalt.

  Alix cried out and pressed herself against me. I reined in my horse with a single hand and jerked our mount aside, shouting for Alix to duck. We threw ourselves flat, avoiding the slashing claws, and the sword I held outthrust scraped against the beast. Sparks flew from the blade on stone: steel against a whetstone, screeching as it spun.

  We rode past at a scrambling run as the horse tried to keep his balance. Chips of stone flew up to cut our faces as iron-shod hooves dug deeply into basalt. I saw then that all the stone shapes were moving, grating across the ground. They had none of the speed of our supple grace of flesh-born animals, but they were ghastly in their promise. Most were hardly recognizable, being rough-cut and sharply faceted, but I saw the gaping mouths and knew they could crush us easily.

  Yet another lurched into our path, I reined in the horse at once and sat him on his haunches, knowing he scraped his hocks against the cruel stone. Alix cried out and snatched at my doublet, holding herself on with effort. I spurred relentlessly, driving the horse to his feet, and saw the lowering paws.

  A bear; not a bear. Its shape was indistinct. It lumbered after us, hackles rising on its huge spinal hump, ungainly on glassy legs, and yet I knew it might prevail. The horse was falling under us.

  Smoke shot up beside us: the breath of the god himself. It splattered me full in the face and I felt the blood of the god. It burned, how it burned, as it ate into my beard. But I dared not put a hand to my face or I would lose control of the horse. And I refused to lose my sword.

  The smoke shot up with a screeching hiss, venting its wrath against us. It stank with the foul odor of corruption. The horse leaped aside, nearly shedding us both; I heard Alix’s gasp of surprise. She slid to one side and caught at my arm, dragging herself back on the slippery rump. I heard again the scream of the smoke as it vomited out of the earth.

  The canyon grew narrow and clogged with stone. The defile beckoned us on. We had only to get through it and we would be free of the beasts. But getting to it would be next to impossible with the failing horse beneath us.

  Another vent opened before us. The horse ran directly into it and screamed as the heat bit into his belly. He twisted and humped, throwing head between knees, and then shed us easily enough. But I did not complain, even as I crashed against the stone, for the horse was caught by the bear.

  I pushed myself up to my feet, aware of the pain in my bones. I still had my sword and two feet and I did not intend to remain. I went to Alix as she sat up from her fall, grabbed her arm and dragged her up from the stone.

  “Run,” I said, and we did.

  We dodged the stone beasts and jumped over the smoke, threading our way as we ran. We gasped and choked, coughing against the stench. But we reached the defile and ran through, knowing it too narrow to give exit to the beasts. We left behind the smoke and heat and went into the world again.

  The ground was laced with snow. Twisted trees hung off the walls and sent roots across the earth, seeking what strength they could find in the meager soil. Behind us reared the canyon with its cache of beasts and smoke.

  Alix limped beside me, still clinging to my hand. She was barefoot; I did not doubt it hurt. Her bedrobe was torn and burned away in places. But she went on, uncomplaining, and I put away my sword.

  I took her to a screen of wind-wracked trees that huddled by a rib of canyon wall. There we could hide and catch our breath, waiting for the others. I found a broken stump and sat down upon it stiffly, hissing against the pain. My aching joints had been badly used and I felt at least a hundred. No more was I able to perform the deeds of a younger man, for all I was twenty-five. The body was twenty years older.

  Alix stood next to me. Her hand was on my head, smoothing my graying hair. “I am so sorry, Carillon. But Tynstar has touched us all.”

  I looked up at her in the moonlight. “Did he harm you?”

  She shrugged. “What Tynstar did is done. I will not speak about it.”

  “Alix—” But she placed one hand across my mouth and bid me to be silent. After a moment she squatted down and linked both hands around my arm.

  “My thanks,” she said softly. “Leijhana tu’sai. What you have done for me—and what you have lost for me—is more than I deserve.”

  I summoned a weary smile. “Your son will be Prince of Homana. Surely his jehana has meaning to us both.”

  “You did not do this for Donal.”

  I sighed. “No. I did it for you, for myself…and for Duncan. Perhaps especially for Duncan.” I set my swollen hand to her head and tousled her tangled hair. “He needs you, Alix. More than I ever thought possible.”

  She did not answer. We sat silently, close together, and waited for the others.

  One by one the warriors returned, on foot and mounted on horseback. Some came in lir-shape, loping or flying as they came through the trees; we were not so close that the magic could be thwarted. But I saw, when they had gathered, that at least four had been left behind. A high toll, for the Cheysuli. It made it all seem worse.

  Rowan came finally at dawn. He and Gryffth were mounted on a single horse, riding double from the defile. Blood had spilled from a head wound to stain Rowan’s leathers dark, but he seemed well enough, if weary. He prodded Gryffth with an elbow and I saw how the Ellasian drooped against Rowan’s back. I got up, feeling the pop in both knees, and reached out to steady Gryffth’s dismount. He had a wound in one shoulder and a slice along one forearm, but both had been bound.

  Rowan got down unsteadily, shutting his eyes as he put one hand to his head. Alix knelt beside him as he sat and parted his hair to see the wound. He swallowed and winced as her fingers found the swelling.

  “This is not from a sword,” she said in consternation.

  “No. His sword broke. So he grabbed a torch and came at me. I ducked the flame but not the iron.” He winced again. “Let it be. It will heal of its own.”

  Alix moved away from him. For a moment she looked at the others, all wounded in her rescue, and I saw how it weighted her down. Of us all, I was the only Homanan. The others, save Gryffth, were all Cheysuli.

  The Ellasian leaned against a boulder, one arm pressed against his ribs. His freckled face, in the pale sunlight of dawn, was ashen, streaked with blood and grime, but life remained in his bright green eyes. He pushed a hand through his hair and made it stand up in spikes. “My thanks to the All-Father,” he said wearily. “Most of us got free, and the lady brought out as we meant.”

  “And for that, my thanks,” said Duncan from the ridge, and Alix spun around.

  He stepped down and caught her in his arms, crushing her against his chest. His cheek pressed into her tangled hair and I saw the pallor of his face. Blood still ran from the wound in his left arm. I saw how it stained his leathers and now her robe. But neither seemed to care.

  I pushed myself up from my tree stump. I moved stiffly, cursing myself for my slowness, and then stood still, giving them their reunion. It was the least I could do.

  “I am well,” Duncan answered her whispered question. “I am not much hurt. Do not fear for me.” One hand wove itself into her loosened braid. “What of you? What has he done to you?”

  Alix, still pressed against his body, shook her head. I could not see her face, but I could see his. His exhaustion was manifest. Like us all, he was bloodstained and filthy and stinking of the breath of the netherworld. Like us all, he was hardly capable of standing.

  But there was something more in his eyes. The knowledge of terrible loss.

  And I knew.


  Duncan put Alix out of his arms and sat her down on the nearest stump, the one I had vacated. And then, without a word, he stripped the gold from his arms and set it into her lap. With deft fingers he unhooked the earring and pulled it from his lobe. He was naked without his gold. Still clothed in leather, he was naked without the gold.

  And a dead man without his lir.

  He set the earring into her hand. “Tahlmorra lujhalla mei wiccan, cheysu.”

  She stood up with a cry and the gold tumbled from lap and hands. “Duncan—no—”

  “Aye,” he said gently, “Tynstar has slain my lir.”

  Slowly, tentatively, trembling, she put out her hands to touch him. Gently at first, and then with possessive demand. I saw how dark her fingers were against the flesh of his arms that had never known the sun, kept from it by the lir-bands for nearly all of his life. I saw how she shut her hands upon that flesh as if it would make him stay.

  “I am empty,” he said. “Soulless and unwhole. I cannot live this way.”

  The fingers tightened on his arms. “Do you go,” she said intently, “do you leave me, Duncan…I will be as empty. I will be unwhole.”

  “Shansu,” he said, “I have no choice. It is the price of the lir-bond.”

  “Do you think I will let you go?” she demanded. “Do you think I will stand meekly by while you turn your back on me? Do you think I will do nothing?”

  “No. And that is why I will do this—” He caught her before she could move and cradled her head in his hands. “Cheysula, I have loved you well. And for that I will lessen your grief—”

  “No!” She tried to pull out of his arms, but he held her too well. “Duncan—” she said, “—do not—”

  As she sagged he caught her and lifted her up. For a moment he held her close, eyes shut in a pale, gaunt face, and then he looked at me. “You must take her to safety. Take her to Homana-Mujhar.” He tried to steady his voice and failed. “She will sleep for a long time. Do not worry if, when she wakes, she seems to have forgotten. It will come back. She will recall it all, and I do not doubt she will grieve deeply then. But for now…for us both…this ending is the best.”