And found himself thinking again, sudden-sharp, upon Madoc.
Consequences.
If I was to go away, go to River, be outlier—wyrhling—what would you do then?
But choices?
“Why did they name you after Her, River Wolf?”
The question was hoarse, and startled Tokela no less than, it seemed, Našobok. Taking up the oar once again, Našobok started to row. When it came, the answer was quiet.
“No doubt the same reason they named you Eyes of Stars. It’s what the nameKeeper saw in me.”
Beneath them, as if showing off for a paramour, River lurched the canoe frontwards, then back. Našobok took the motion with careless ease, while Tokela had to grab for the closest beam, chasing both balance and subject matter.
“And that’s why you kept it? Why your sire refuses to speak it?”
“That, amongst other things.” Našobok shrugged and half-turned. “It’s one of the things you must consider. If you came with me, the time will come when they no longer voice your name. Though”—another shrug—”you are oških, after all. You’ve the right to test many waters without irredeemable shame.”
“I am not shamed of you!”
“You never have been. It’s not a gift I take lightly, Star Eyes.”
Silence, as strangely comfortable as the eyes-meeting-eyes. River lapped beside them, Her recognition, once again, almost a vibration between them.
Tokela blinked, shook his head slightly, dropped his gaze.
“There are always consequences. Have scant worry over mine. Those a’Naišwyrh can do nothing to this outlier they haven’t already done. But you? Ai, you must think of yourself, Tokela. Perhaps you should ask: what are the consequences? If you leave, or if you stay? Have you thought upon this? Or did you come to me lastDark with a fear upon you that made you ask for shelter? Have you faced that fear, made sure it has merit? That there is no help for you amidst your People?”
It struck deep.
Našobok took the paddle in one hand, reached out with the other and tapped at Tokela’s chin. “Palatan left for a’Šaákfo earlier thisSun. He told me to tell you this: he means to return with answers for you. He has vowed this as Alekšu.”
It should ease Tokela; clearly Našobok thought it would. But it didn’t. It meant Alekšu knew, but also that Alekšu had no answers yet. And…
Don’t trust Alekšu.
And Make your own Clan.
And You are not the only one who has seen Other!
What did Inhya know? What did Anahli?
“I’ll be back, Star Eyes.”
Tokela slid his gaze to Našobok, whose Smoke-coloured eyes had creased, a smile lingering in tip-tilted corners.
“I’ll be back before the Brother Moon completes His turn, a little more or less. If you still want it, you have a place with me. With the wyrhling.” Našobok reached out, caressed Tokela’s face. “That is my vow, to you.”
DRUMS ANNOUNCED it. Not the huge bass voices of the talking drums, but a light and solitary beat echoing against the cliffs and downRiver. Then other sounds: first a deep-throated call sending shivers down the spine of anyone hearing it; then, one by one, others joining in descant.
Ilhukaia’s crew, singing her ready to depart.
Tokela had crept up Overlook after Našobok had set him ashore, and stayed. The ledge was barren of any others; he was glad. For one so skilled at making himself invisible, over the past few Suns he’d been far too evident for his liking. He leaned into the warm stones of his chosen, solitary perch, propped his chin into his elbows, and watched.
There had been some commotion earlier. Wind had shifted from dawnwards to downRiver, causing a flurry of activity. Old Munro had quickly rowed across, with Kalisom, to meet Galenu upon the strand. Several pouches changed hands almost too quickly to follow, and were ferried back over. The two wyrhlings made it back aboard just as the moorings were untied. The front crimson squaresail billowed loose, quickly manoeuvred and set. Once they’d drifted well into River’s main, the settee mainsail was tilted. Catching Wind’s breath, both resembled more the fine, bright-hued lace of insect wings than the tightspun fabric they truly were.
And Našobok, of course, a familiar lion stalking the deck, mane flying in what breath filled the sails. The same breath that even now tugged at Tokela’s hair, beckoning him to follow.
Not yet, he promised Wind, and River. Soon.
He had to hope it would come true. Had to. Otherwise…
His eyes stung; he pretended it was Wind’s disappointment.
On the strand below, movement beckoned. Galenu was still there; he’d spotted Tokela, was waving greeting. Tokela returned it, somewhat half-hearted, only to have that heart lurch and beat as strong as Munro’s drum as his eyes returned to Ilhukaia’s deck, and Našobok flung his fist from heart and outwards, towards Overlook.
He’d known Tokela watched. A foolish, faithless hope filled Tokela’s chest, meeting and matching the drum of his heart.
Galenu retreated. Tokela didn’t move, watching until Ilhukaia disappeared upRiver in a chiaroscuro of trees and Sun. Kept watching until his eyes burned.
Only then did he hear the light pace climbing the last steps to the Overlook. For a heartbeat he wondered if Galenu had actually climbed up here to speak with him; he quickly abandoned that, not only because it was absurd Galenu should have done, but because he recognised the step. Tokela’s heart hammered fiercer—this time with active panic.
Truly faithless, hope, for he had implored it to let him avoid this very instance. Somehow, though he knew it had to come. Tokela didn’t turn, merely hunched his shoulder and gritted his teeth. Waited.
“There are nets to mend,” Inhya said. She was somewhat out of breath, had obviously made the climb nonstop. “The next running comes all too soon.”
Tokela frowned. The breath he’d sucked in and held escaped him in a nigh-silent cough. Still, he didn’t move.
“Now the wyrhling is gone, you will pay more attention to your share of work, a’io?”
It was so normal as to be inconceivable. Tokela wasn’t sure what else to do, so he half-turned.
Inhya stood a little distance away, arms crossed and tangled in the shawl fallen about her elbows, bright-wrapped head cocked, thoughtful brows a-quirk. Again, normal. Inhya looked not much different from any other time when Tokela was in for it.
Save her eyes. They were guarded, much more than normal. Not just wary. Afraid.
The shame and sting of it seared Tokela’s heart. But a tiny, venomous place in his Spirit found a fierce—and repellent—glee.
Inhya’s expression hardened, as if sensing it, and she tucked her chin, mouth set. “Aylaniś has taken both Madoc and Kuli for another hunt. It would be a prudent time to remove your things from the ahlóssa den.”
This was even more inconceivable. Tokela turned fully about, stammered, “Wh-what d-did you say?”
Inhya showed no exasperation at such obtuseness, merely repeated, “The little ones are with Aylaniś. You should remove your things now. It’ll be easier for everyone, particularly Madoc.”
“But… you…” His tongue kept proving itself traitor, stammering protest. “You were… What happened was—”
“What happened, Tokela?” Inhya seemed deep-rooted as a tree—though much less pliable, more insurmountable. Akin to the cliffs beneath their feet.
Tokela envied her. “In the Council den.” Carrion-eaters take him and shred his bones, why could he not shut it? “What happened with—”
She clucked, a dismissal, nothing less.
Still, he couldn’t let it go. “At the hearth! You saw. My arm. Fire.”
“What do you think I saw, Tokela a’Naišwyrh?” Her eyes wavered, ever so slight.
And finally—finally—his tongue stilled.
“Sarinak is waiting for you at the ahlóssa den,” Inhya continued, looking away. “You will do your duty, and he will do his: cleanse and smudge you as is proper, take you
to your new place.” A pause, then, “You will not speak of any foolishness to him. You know what it means if you do. You will not approach Madoc with such things—or, indeed, with anything else.”
Tokela’s eyes slid upwards, thankfully hidden by his forelock, for he could only imagine what was in them. So. “This is how it will be, then?”
“Given the past few Suns, did you expect otherwise?” Her riposte was calm, eminently reasonable. “You are oških now, and he is ahlóssa. It’s unseemly for you to be with him so much.”
I won’t let you do this. You’ll be sorry.
Wind twisted about them, a sudden chill gust filling Tokela’s gaping mouth, tugging at his hair and whipping Inhya’s shawl nigh from her grasp. She backed a step, eyes wide, made as if to retreat. Paused, eyes narrowing into knife edges, her talk coming just as sharp.
“You’ll not have to be burdened here overlong. There’s been talk made of a hearth-place for you. And when my brother returns…” For the first time, Inhya seemed to diminish, uncertain. “Alekšu will return soon, and have cause to… to speak with you.”
“Alekšu.” It was wooden.
“A’io. You will listen, and he’ll aid you.”
“How will he aid me? I thought nothing hap—”
“You ask too many questions.” Again, a snap. “We’ll say nothing more to any of this at present. Mound-chieftain waits, and you—”
“What a climb!”
Breathless, the talk a’Naišwyrh had a peculiar accent. Both Inhya and Tokela turned to see a brightly clad, somewhat portly figure treading the topmost step.
“Your pardon!” Galenu exclaimed. “The climb up always takes me by surprise and I have to stop midway. I didn’t mean to startle anyone; I merely came to watch the wyrhcraft set off. Not unlike young Tokela here.” A smile flashed, fading as Galenu addressed Inhya. “I didn’t realise there was… council being held atop the overlook.”
Didn’t realise? Yet Galenu’s manner suggested otherwise, making Tokela wonder how much the elder had heard.
“No council thisnow, stone-chieftain,” Inhya returned, serene and formal. “You merely witness my son finishing his oških Journey. Sarinak awaits him. Come, Tokela.”
“If you please?” Galenu held up a hand, gave a charming smile. “I’ve talk to make to your son regarding Mordeleg’s offences—amongst other things—and I’ve had small chance so far to do so.” The smile turned to Tokela, kinder and less calculating. “Might we speak now, oških? You’ve been”—the smile turned sly—“well, a bit preoccupied these past few Suns.”
It ticced a return smile at Tokela’s lip.
Inhya found no similar mirth in Galenu’s talk, but remained silent. Comprehension struck Tokela; his right now, not hers, to agree to Galenu’s request. He was oških.
“My mother, I will come to Sarinak immediately after this.”
Inhya’s face darkened, but she gave way with some grace. “Not overlong. He waits, with other duties before him.”
Galenu watched her descend the stair. Tokela eyed him, somewhat wary now they’d come to it. What did Galenu want?
Neither did he look at Tokela, but everywhere else—Forest’s surround, the driftwood railings, the rocks, River. For someone who wanted talk, Galenu lingered remarkably silent. Tokela shifted from one foot to the other, put his own face to River, found calm there.
He could outwait this. He could wait forever.
“Are you comfortable enough with making midLands talk?” Galenu finally asked in that dialect.
Tokela tilted his chin in the affirmative.
Again, a pause. Then, “You’re not very happy living here, are you?”
It was the last question Tokela had expected. For a half heartbeat he was unsure he’d heard correctly. But there was no mistake—in talk or the humiliation it rendered. Could everyone see this? Was it written so plain on his face?
Tokela took rabid hold of himself, forced his voice light. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Galenu fell quiet again. Tokela usually found security in silence; often friend, sometimes a comfortable weapon. Yet he barely lasted two fours of his own heart’s beating. Tokela knew, because he counted.
“I am with my mother’s family, Galenu a’Hassun. I’m grateful they—”
“Gratitude can be very discomfiting. On both sides.”
Tokela had no idea of how to answer this.
“You were ill-treated by a member of my tribe,” Galenu continued. “I can only excuse his behaviour in that he feels threatened by you.”
“Threatened? By me?”
“Mordeleg thinks you’re more closely related to me than he is. He’s right, of course.”
“I don’t understand.”
Galenu frowned, then shrugged. “Of course, you wouldn’t. In midLands, our moiety is hereditary, through many and varied Hoops of powerful leaders. Here in duskLands the chieftains are ones who can speak the most persuasively, trade effectively and hold back the outLanders; a’Šaákfo the way of leading is matriarchal, held by wit and horse-wealth and the resultant raiding games; in dryLands, Water-tapper is leader; in upLands the one who finds the herds and keeps their people fed when the light leaves in wintering…” He shrugged again. “Well. Mordeleg thinks you threaten his chance to hold our territory.”
This was altogether much to take in.
“Either way, Tokela, son of my nephew, I wish to make amends.”
“Arbitration demanded and settled restitution; it is done.”
“A’io, and fairly done. But there are other matters. Ones for which I’d offer personal restitution.” Galenu paced across the parapet and came to stand beside Tokela, looking out.
Tokela kept his spine to the stones and his eyes upon Galenu, curious. Chary. The old chieftain remained silent, as if merely enjoying the view. Altogether curious, with his grey hair in an elaborate knot, his lightweave leggings, long, sashed tunic, and open-toed sandals appended only by a thick blanket shawl.
What did he want? There was no doubt in Tokela’s mind but Galenu wanted something.
“Ai, but Wind’s breath is heavy, here, filling your lungs with the wet. Your sire thrived here, but I must confess a preference for midLands, dry and crisp—and hot come summering. Did you know Talorgan, Sun and sweet water light his Spirit, grew up only a level below my own sett?”
Hearing his sire’s name so boldly spoken took Tokela aback. All he could do was tilt his head, curious.
“We call our lodgings setts. Like badgerKin we dug our homes into the rocky flathills, such as the place where I am chieftain. Not unlike here, where the Mound and Her cliffs have been hollowed out for habitation. It’s why we’re Hassun, stoneClan—surely you know that? But of course you do. Nechtoun tells me you’re intelligent—too smart for your own good, he adds, though I don’t see why intelligence needs such critical measure. Ai, well. Those a’Naišwyrh are set in their ways.”
His cheeks hot in a reaction somewhere between pleasure and insult, Tokela returned the shrug.
“It can be hard to live in a place where folk insist on keeping their sights trammelled to Earth. Particularly if you have eyes that seek Sky.”
That last twisted sharp beneath Galenu’s tongue, enough like to Tokela’s own name to be no accident. Neither did it contain the normal humour of such puns. Unsure how to answer, Tokela gave another shrug.
“You don’t make much talk, do you?” One arm braced against the driftwood railing set into Tokela’s support, Galenu lifted one eyebrow. “Hunh. You’re very like to your sire, you know.”
Again, a complex and conflicted reaction of emotions—first, Galenu had seen something in Tokela of Talorgan, then the realisation that it was a lie, all of it. Talorgan had not sired him—and where no shame should remain in his dam’s choice of who would sire her child, there was shame in this instance. Shame, and danger in what had sired Tokela. He was half of Other. The proof seethed within, rising unbidden as any storm.
Even Alekšu ha
d ridden away with unanswered questions…
“Tokela. You’re the only son of my sister’s son. You are of an age to gain sire-knowledge. I would offer my hearth to you, if you’d come to midLands.”
Not a surprise, exactly, since he’d eavesdropped on Council… had it truly been merely three Suns ago? Tokela looked down at the arm Fire had taken in, still unscorched, unscarred.
Thought: If you knew, you wouldn’t want me either.
Said: “There is another I’m sworn to.”
If it wasn’t exactly true, it wasn’t false, either.
But what if Našobok knew the whole of it? Insidious, the doubt.
Galenu was frowning. “But horse-chieftain hasn’t spoken yet, though I’m sure she… Ai. I see. Našobok.” An odd, perturbed expression crawled over his seamed face. Then he chuckled, rueful. “Those eyes of yours indeed look beyond the horizons here. Small wonder they don’t know what to do with you.”
Tokela looked away.
“Hunh. I don’t retract my offer. I think there might be depths to you that Našobok’s… simpler means cannot fill.”
From embarrassment to affront, the flames of it warmed, cheek to neck and nape. Tokela turned to Galenu, challenging.
“I mean no insult,” Galenu held up his hands, spread in apology. “Only truth. The wyrhling will satisfy your body well enough. But what about your mind, Tokela?”
Tokela realised he had opened his mouth merely to have whatever he meant to say abandon him. What did Galenu mean, his “mind”? He knew the word, of course, recognised it as another term for the brain housed within his skull. But the only meaning it could have in the given context was what outLand people defined as intellect, despite the fact everyone knew one’s intellect was in the heart, in the knowing, in the instincts and the feeling.
“Travel and an undomesticated playmate. It all sounds very exciting. I understand, believe me. It’s true, nephew, you won’t find such things in my sett. But I hold latches to many other doors; other kinds of excitement. We live not just in thisLand but upon a world, Tokela—a’io, a strange word, of outLand use but altogether true—and our world both shrinks and expands with every Sunrise. I’ve tried to make the ways of stoneClan broader in my time. I don’t want my People to only pay heed to the Earth beneath our toes, but also other places and peoples. As I shared it with your dam, I’d share it with you: there’s so much more than stubborn, fierce dawnLands can ever hope to hold. And…” Galenu trailed off, then continued, very soft, “I owe fealty to your dam’s Spirit, Tokela. I would repay it.”
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