Tokela’s heart had begun to drum, hard against his chest, with Galenu’s strange talk of places and Sunrisings and… Worlds. But at the last it stuttered, went back to the mere lut-lub of blood and muscle, shivered as if in pain. Tokela didn’t even know why, until he found himself answering, talk a’Hassun dropping, each syllable, like stones into River.
“There are many who would owe my dam. There seem to be very few who would give such regard to me.”
Galenu’s nostrils flared. All this while he’d not been peering directly at Tokela. His eyes suddenly rose, met, held. “I see.”
N’da, you really don’t. Which is just as well.
Tokela didn’t drop his gaze. Galenu finally sighed and shrugged.
“I meant what I said, Tokela. I meant all of it. You’ve a place with me, should you choose.”
Then Galenu touched his fingertips to his own heart and head, reached out to give a gentle push against Tokela’s breastbone. Turning, he retreated down the stair.
Tokela watched him go, then slid down the stones to his haunches. He stared out across the compound, past the drum heights and to the thick trees beyond.
Perhaps even all the way to a darkling t’rešalt and a Forest forbidden.
HE NEVER imagined his heart could be more filled—more found—than when he rode beneath Sky’s vast arch, across highLand Forests or lowLand plain, companioned only by four-leggeds and his thoughts.
But here. Ai, here.
Palatan walked the caverns in ecstatic silence. He carried a small, pitch-fuelled torch, for there was no natural light, however faint, for darksight to glean. Every now and then he would raise a hand to lightly trace the rough, ebon surface, hewn by countless Hoops of molten trails. In response Palatan’s own skin would twitch, as if he were one of horseKin shuddering a fly. It was not rebuff; it was assimilation. Sensation sparked along his nerves, exchanging Fire without for Fire within.
It was a trail cold to any save those Blooded to it. Many had lost their way—and their lives. They would wander in endless darkness or be cozened by molten runoff—so solid in appearance but in reality a treacherous, deadly cousin to River. Palatan, however, knew this path as intimately as his own heartbeat. The caverns above were deserted save for two vital presences: his best mare, happy with the fodder he’d brought, and Arrow, who waited obedient but disgruntled whenever his two-legged companion descended into a place he could not follow.
The hum of his People also remained with him, vibrating like a faint heartbeat in the volcanic stones above.
The snows were retreating. It was almost time to leave the caverns. Almost time to wander the summering plains.
Palatan kept going deeper. The corridors spiralling before and beyond—beneath—immeasurable trails into an abyss vibrant with Power. He descended unafraid, light of tread but heavy with his own appeals and questions.
Is he ours?
What mystery lies upon him?
What must I do?
At first there was no answer. But the deeper and deeper his descent, the more silence gave way to a tickle at his nape, a touch rousing and soothing and humbling, all at once.
He is ours. More than you can possibly know in thisnow.
Then he belongs here. I’ll bring him to us.
But?
I fear he won’t come willing.
And you know better than to merely wield a weapon, like outLanders who consider nothing but thisnow.
Palatan considered the heated dark for long breaths. Yet those outLanders grow bold, restless. I would save our People, whatever it takes.
The sharpest obsidian will shatter if wielded unwisely.
Again, Palatan closed his eyes and contemplated the skim of Fire & Other always there, ghosting Sight.
Help him, son of my daughters. Show him a little of what lies in thisLand.
And then?
Let him choose.
20 – Falling Weir
“Tokela! Anahli! Akumeh!” Sarinak’s voice boomed out above the stream’s rush. “Go with these ahlóssa and help them!”
Tokela looked up from the net he and three others were shaking clean and pulling onto the ricks for drying. First Running was over; the nets had to be overhauled before the next fishKin run, and Sarinak had been overseeing the process. Now, with broad feet braced upon the sentry stone, Sarinak was accompanied by Madoc, Kuli and Kuli’s friend Laocha. All three ahlóssa were sopping wet and panting from their run downstream.
For the past six Sunrises, Madoc had not approached Tokela. Neither had Tokela the right to approach Madoc; Inhya had made that altogether clear. Sarinak sending him anywhere with Madoc was unexpected.
Or perhaps not, in this strange place they’d all found themselves. Inhya hadn’t told Sarinak anything of what had happened; otherwise, Tokela would be outlier instead of retrieving nets with his tribe. Neither had Palatan returned. Aylaniś seemed unworried about this—three Suns there and the same to return, after all. Tokela nevertheless had the impression she was watching him, waiting. Anahli also watched him, but she seemed to have had some change in her heart; she no longer quipped dire warnings about her sire. Galenu hadn’t left, either, but seemed pleased to visit Nechtoun until Wind Moons came; he smiled at Tokela when they did meet, and seemed to be waiting no less than Aylaniś.
Even River had gone quiet. It was as if the t’rešalt had never touched them.
“The weir at Falling Water is stuck fast. The ahlóssa can’t raise it on their own,” Sarinak was explaining as Tokela relinquished his task to another and sloshed for the bank.
“Come, Otter!” Waist-deep in River’s shallows, Akumeh’s elation was infectious: wild water and tangled nets meant excitement, danger, a chance for one more proof of prowess to add to his looming adult status. But Akumeh was still oških, still honouring lowForest obligation to the fishing and, while he was here and oških, he’d made it plain he didn’t need the promise of Spear Dance to fancy Tokela.
Tokela had been just as ripe for Akumeh as Našobok. The first Sunrises of the oških den, waking and making his way beside ones who either paid no heed or actively avoided The Half-Breed, separated from everything Tokela had come to—admit it—rely upon, including the young ones who didn’t care what he was as long as he gave them stories and entertained them.
He wanted Našobok. He missed Madoc’s company. Aloof pride was an unsatisfactory companion, and Akumeh was as skilled as he’d promised. Perhaps not as skilled as Našobok, nor, thankfully, accompanied by the heart-lurch that seemed to hollow Tokela every time he thought of Našobok. There was no lovemate waiting in Akumeh. Instead there was plenty of play—and more, it dulled the keen edge of Other hovering at Tokela’s nape.
And there was Anahli.
“Do we have to take Dancer?” Akumeh twisted his eyebrows at Tokela, levelling a wry smirk at Anahli as she strode up. He still hadn’t—quite—forgiven her for humiliating him so—despite the fond familiarity of address.
Anahli tossed a fishing spear lengthwise at Akumeh; he caught it one-handed and twirled it, tucked it under one arm. She grinned, fully aware of his annoyance and seeming, somehow, to revel in it. Sauntering over, she linked arms with Tokela and offered the other to Akumeh. With a roll of eyes, he took it.
Tokela rather suspected he admired ‘Dancer’.
Madoc, on the other hand, flicked Tokela a sullen glance from where he stood on the bank next to his sire. As if to make up for that, Kuli came running past Sarinak and flung himself at Tokela and Anahli, chattering all the while.
“Ai, I’m glad you’re coming with us, Tokela!” The reedy shout could, of course, be heard downRiver. Undeterred by Madoc’s loud groan, Kuli climbed Tokela like a favourite tree. More from self-defence than anything, Tokela snatched and swung Kuli around to his back. Akumeh was grinning. Anahli gave Kuli’s hind end a shove as he slipped mid-climb.
“You’re slippery as an eel, little Fox!”
“Madoc’s been grumbling like an empty belly, but the r
est of us have missed you, haven’t we, Laocha?”
Laocha was in full agreement, hugging Tokela’s waist. Her curly black hair stuck out in wet spirals, her thick ahlóssa braid the only part of it lying tame, sodden-flat against her skull. “Will you tell us a story after we’re finished?”
Their enthusiasm warmed despite the chill of Madoc’s mood. “Perhaps.”
“Ai,” Akumeh said, “I didn’t know you were a StoryKeeper.”
“I’m not, really—”
“He should be!” Kuli insisted, and this time Tokela didn’t demur. Akumeh’s smile had tilted from indulgence into blatant admiration. Anahli’s smirk grew to laughter as Tokela yipped. Kuli had grabbed hold of his hair.
“Perhaps I’m glad”—Akumeh gave wry consideration to Kuli’s progress—“I’ve no stories in my heart after all.”
“Didn’t you, Madoc?” Kuli pressed. “Miss Tokela?”
“Of course.” Madoc’s gaze said otherwise. “When I have thought of him.”
A shadowling answer from behind Tokela’s eyes snarled back, just as thoughtless and cruel. Instead, with utmost self-composure, Tokela answered, “I’m sure Madoc has more important things to occupy him. Like hanging onto Aška’s skirts.”
Anahli nudged Tokela with an amused snort. Kuli giggled from the security of his perch on Tokela’s back, clearly not remembering his own tearful hanging-on to his dam’s belt when she’d first left him there before the wintering.
Madoc tossed his head and growled—seemingly to his sire but peering at Tokela the entire while, “Perhaps these oških aren’t the ones to help. All they ever do is swagger and throw their spears at each other.”
“Do you question me, son?” Sarinak smacked the back of the bright head. “Can you can swim better than Tokela? Have you somehow grown stronger than Akumeh? Or quicker than Anahli? Perhaps I should do as your oških brother suggests and send your bold tongue back to your dam’s kirtles!”
Madoc’s face flamed.
Sarinak beckoned Tokela. “You know falling weir best. You will lead.” Sufferance had been bought, it seemed, with Tokela’s removal to the oških den. “You little ones, mind him well, and all of you keep your eyes sharp along the trail. Several wily bearKin chance that place.” With a curt nod, Sarinak motioned them on.
Tokela put it from his mind as Akumeh snatched their remaining spears from the bank. “You take the little ones, Otter. I’ll ride herd on this mouth.” Akumeh suited actions to talk and grabbed at Madoc’s ahlóssa braid, hauling him towards the path. Anahli and Laocha followed suit.
“Tokela is Tokela, not Otter!” Kuli took umbrage from his perch on Tokela’s back, then grabbed hold with a little yip as Tokela trotted after.
“Oh, I know his name. But Otter suits him.” Undeterred, Akumeh threw back a grin.
“Well,” Kuli considered, “perhaps it does make sense. Uncle Sarinak is right—Tokela does swim better than any of us.”
“How nice,” Tokela exchanged the grin with Akumeh, “that you make sense.”
“Hunh. I wasn’t talking about your swimming, playmate.”
Tokela’s ears heated. His grin, however, widened.
Anahli nudged him again, eyes dancing.
“I think Tokela swims like otterKin, too.” Laocha put her bid in, taking Anahli’s hand and skipping along beside.
Madoc, unwilling to risk another swat by squirming from Akumeh’s grip, let himself be propelled along. But the fond play between the oških increased his grumbles.
“I can swim, too. Not as good as you, Tokela. Or Madoc”—Kuli pacified as Madoc shot him a glare—“but well enough.”
The dull rumble of the waterfall was beginning to touch their ears.
“What has happened with falling weir, chieftain-pup?” Anahli asked Madoc, who was indeed beginning to sound like growling young wolfKin.
Well, and Madoc had always liked Anahli. Enough to stop growling and answer, “It’s stuck again. I was going to free it, but Laocha and the Spawn said they’d tell if I did.”
“A good thing, too,” Tokela retorted.
“And if you call my little brother ‘Spawn’ one more time, I’ll end you,” Anahli furthered.
While Madoc was thinking up a suitable comeback, Akumeh swatted him. “Anahli speaks truth. And ahlóssa have no business moving weirs alone. You should know that more than most, chieftain-pup.”
“I’m no pup!” Madoc protested. “And I wasn’t afraid!”
“To have no fear isn’t brave, just stupid,” Anahli pointed out.
Tokela said nothing. He knew it would be fat to Fire. But Anahli was right. Falling weir was particularly treacherous, beneath a waterfall cascading from a stony promontory to the deep sink below. The fall of water was a prime “ladder” for the fish to use to the upper pools, and therefore also prime territory to set one of the largest weirs: a cunningly laced contraption of weeping-tree staves and netting, easily moveable.
The path grew chancy, winding up a woody bluff. The fall’s rumble was increasing into a roar. As Tokela swung his passenger down, Kuli ran forwards, dogging Madoc’s heels.
“Did you spot any bearKin lingering?” Anahli asked. Madoc’s negative was muffled as they climbed deeper, upon the narrowing trail laid by both four- and two-leggeds.
“Which of you ahlóssa swims the best?” Akumeh prompted.
“Me!” Kuli boasted, then “Ai-ye!” as Laocha whacked his arm and protested. “It’s true!”
She glared at him, then shrugged at her elders. “It is true. But he’s too prideful.”
Akumeh gave a fond tug at her ahlóssa braid. Anahli smirked at Tokela and slipped her hand into his.
This much still lingered:
Eyes meet eyes to waken Spirit. Spirit wakens our Mother’s heart, and Her heart wakens…
“I remember.” Anahli gave a tiny shiver, then as if to deny it squeezed Tokela’s hand and released him. “Is it well?”
He nodded, self-conscious.
“Good.”
And the vista opened out beneath them.
So many places held beauty upon River and Her children, but this particular fall was spectacular. Whether Sun shone or not, the fall foamed and sparkled, a multihued Skybow of fury—and justly so, with Earth and stone attempting to trammel Her. Mists soared upwards, snagging in the dense evergreens, lingering heavy-sweet in the lungs, and laying a dense fuzz upon hair and skin, to lave thick-wet trails when smoothed.
“Is it possible to grow accustomed to this?” Anahli’s murmur was almost lost in the roar and tumble of the fall. “I miss my plains, but this is beautiful, too.”
“I hope not,” Tokela answered. River’s beauty filled his heart and stung his eyes with heat, shivered across his skin and juddered at his heartbeat. There were… melodies, thick and noisome, a clash of not-voices, overwhelming with silent sound.
Anahli walked the edge unafraid, her downwards gaze full of wonder, her steps nimble despite the maze of tree roots fingering and burrowing into bare rock. Akumeh released Madoc and went over to the traces holding the weir. Tokela looked down into the fall, where the weir lay submerged in foam and boil, and took the opportunity to lean his palms hard against his thighs, take a deep breath and clench his teeth, eyes shut.
Not thisnow. Not. Thisnow…
As Tokela opened his eyes again, he found Madoc watching him. Tokela peered back, flat, until Madoc’s gaze flickered aside. Fingers and toes finding purchase on the moss-slick rocks, Tokela crouched, eyes following the play of the well-waxed lines from River to where they were set into the cliff. Akumeh had knelt at the latter, muscles bunching and sliding beneath his skin as he worked the wooden pulleys, assuring their soundness. Tokela let himself enjoy the sight.
“I already checked the traces!” Madoc’s shout was necessary, here atop the falls, but it was definitely aggrieved. “I’m not stupid!”
Akumeh’s only response was a grunt. Tokela didn’t do even that.
“What does She say to you
?”
The query gave a painful jolt of surprise. Tokela sloughed his gaze sideways, found that Kuli had come up silent as his foxKin namesake. Squatting on the bank beside Tokela with one thumb between his teeth, he stared down into the water.
“Sometimes,” Kuli said, unusually soft, “I think I can hear Her. River, I mean. It’s almost like She’s singing, isn’t it?”
Memory crashed with thisnow, and if Tokela closed his eyes he could see another ahlóssa with another elder cousin…
That’s Sea’s voice you hear. More powerful than River, even.
Does She whisper your name, too?
Sometimes… sometimes, I think She does. Našobok’s face had been so wistful, as if he knew exactly what he was saying… and as if he wanted it more than anything.
Why would anyone want this?
“Tokela!” Akumeh’s shout carried above the roar. “Do you see anything?”
Tokela tilted his chin in acknowledgment, contemplating the great rush of water. He could—just barely—see part of the weir. It looked to be angled wrong. Perhaps.
His fingertips brushed the cliff, tiny patterns in the damp as the notion came, swift as wingedKin. What if—what if?—he could somehow listen to the fall, try to ken what was wrong? Make this experience safer for everyone?
It thrilled—then chilled. Perhaps that was how Chepiś abominations had begun.
But a’io, River sang. Tokela had, particularly as of late, grown so accustomed to setting the pitch of Her out from his notice. Kuli’s description pulled Her back into awareness.
“Do you hear Her, Tokela?” Kuli said, still soft. “You do, don’t you?”
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