Blood Indigo

by Talulah J. Sullivan

  “We were all… not ourselves,” Madoc agreed, very soft. “It… It made me think wild things, too. But when you ran for help, I tended to Tokela myself,” Madoc said. “What you saw was not blood. It was the colour of indigo. It was indigo.”

  “He had newly laid more,” Akumeh agreed, but it came chancy.

  “It mixed with the blood running down his face, nothing more.”

  It was unnerving, how well Madoc spoke the lie. His sincerity made Sarinak grunt with satisfaction, made Akumeh’s confusion settle further into willing disbelief.

  But Inhya had already seen the truth.

  Either Madoc had not been careful enough, or the strange bleeding had started again. For when Inhya dried and tucked her eldest son into a mound of furs in the chieftain’s bedding den, she had seen the traces. A small skim, in Tokela’s ears and nostrils, of a substance she’d seen but once before—the colour of lapis, of indigo stain.

  Lakisa’s birthing-blood.

  Shaper blood.

  Chepiŝ blood.

  This was no mere River Spirit. This was nothing that Palatan could help, no matter how he might try.

  “Perhaps River hadn’t washed away all the dried matter, and the indigo smeared and mixed with the blood from his head wound,” Sarinak offered. “Be easy. It is good you came to me with this, good to fear something Other. But it is dangerous to make assumptions, also.”

  “I would not hurt him,” Akumeh insisted. “But neither could I remain silent if—”

  “‘If’,” Inhya put in, “is just that.”

  As one, the three males looked at her. Madoc alone seemed wary. Sarinak was relieved, and also Akumeh, though still anxious.

  Sarinak took note of it, repeated, “Be easy. Your actions thisSun were honourable. You saved lives. You spoke with frankness despite your feelings, ensured dawnLands remains untainted by any sorcery. Your people will know of your bravery, and surely you’ll be given leave to take your adult’s path after this. You have earned it, Akumeh.”

  More relief as Akumeh nodded, started to turn. Then, hesitant, “What of Otter? Tokela, I mean. Will he…?” Again, the hesitation. Sarinak threw a troubled frown Inhya’s way. “My chieftain has drummed for my return,” Akumeh continued, “and I… I…”

  “We shall tell Tokela what you seem unwilling to,” Inhya replied, blunt.

  Akumeh flushed and retreated from the den.

  Madoc growled something beneath his breath; Sarinak gave a hiss of disapproval and Madoc subsided, looked away.

  For some time there was only the crackle and sizzle of the chieftain’s hearth, and the ever present lap and surge of River.

  “This,” Sarinak finally voiced, “means trouble. Forestlodge is made of chatter. Seguin will welcome it.”

  Inhya couldn’t disagree, but jerked her chin towards Madoc, meaning plain in her expression.

  “Akumeh imagined it!” Madoc challenged.

  Inhya set her mouth firm. There was strength—and then there was belligerence.

  “And that will make its own talk, ai?” Sarinak’s tone was wry, unthreatened.

  “There was nothing to make talk about!”

  “Before this is done, there will be. Such already follows your brother like flies to sweat.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with Tokela!” Madoc protested.

  “I seem to remember, not even several Suns ago, you were crying to brother Moon over how Tokela had wronged you and everyone a’Naišwyrh,” Sarinak growled.

  It gave Madoc pause, but didn’t stop him. “But this time he did something right. He saved Anahli’s life! Don’t you even care that he saved Anahli’s life?”

  “Of course we—”

  “I’ve never seen him like that,” Madoc continued, soft. “Never seen him so… He found them, didn’t he? Tokela found his parents after they drowned.”

  Inhya made a small, choked sound.

  “He did, didn’t he? He never told me. Yet I heard he was there. That you thought he’d drowned with them, until you found him under their wykupeh.”

  Underneath, gone to ground like any small, wounded animal, fingers grimed with dirt and blood where he’d dug in, frantic. It had been normal. Ever since his birth, his blood had been normal, so much Inhya had doubted what she had once seen.

  And now, this. How? Why?

  “You didn’t see him. He was so upset. I think he would have done anything to bring Anahli back to lif…” Madoc’s talk, rushing together, suddenly choked, wavered silent.

  “Bring Anahli back to… life?” Sarinak’s voice was soft, but it seared through Madoc’s outrage like a hot blade to fat.

  “We… we thought she’d drowned. Tokela thought she’d drowned. But she… hadn’t.”

  Sarinak kept peering at him. Madoc looked away.

  Silence. Then,

  “Come with me, spouse.”

  “Sarinak—”

  “With me.”

  Without a word, but not without a warning glance to Madoc’s sudden-pale face, Inhya followed as Sarinak strode into their private den and gave an enraged flip of the hide to cover the entry.

  Whatever was said, did Madoc hear, he would be constrained from any mention by the mere lowering of the thick hide. Not that Inhya believed for a heartbeat Madoc would restrain himself from listening.

  But Sarinak used Hunting-talk, aware of both their sons—one without, one within, lying bundled in the next alcove near the wide hearth filled with gleaming-stones.

  This. It was accompanied by a low growl, a flit of his eyes towards Tokela’s senseless form. We cannot look aside from this.

  Inhya didn’t know how—what—to answer.

  What has he done, Inhya? What else might he do? Sarinak moved closer. What else does our son—our blooded son!—hide?

  Inhya looked down, making her own silence within his talk—until he strode over and took her arm, hissed, “And what do you hide?”

  She raised her gaze, met his. Signed, I swore oath to Lakisa! The name, even if not spoken aloud, still had the power to back him, if slight. Do my oaths mean nothing?

  “Your oath cannot displace the good of our tribe, and you know it!” Sub-vocal, yet still betraying his agitation. “You heard Akumeh, claiming he saw the blood of Shaped things. You heard our son! Even, rot him, Mordeleg made claims I scarce wanted to believe, yet… all these winterings, all the rumours… are they true, Inhya? Have we sheltered a creature in our dens all this time? Does he have the ability to Shape, even life from death?”

  Inhya put her face in her hands.

  “Are the rumours true, Inhya?”

  Jerking her head back and forth, Inhya spoke into her hands, hoarse. “I have already spoken to Palatan.”

  “Palatan!” It rang against the curved walls.

  Over in the tiny alcove, limned faint, Tokela murmured, tossed amidst the furs. They both froze, watching white-eyed as any prey animal. Only when Tokela stirred no more did Sarinak take in a deep breath. Tightening his grip, he pulled Inhya away from the alcove, but did not allow any agitation to colour his voice, once again dipping nigh-silent.

  “Your brother—”

  “Is Alekšu,” Inhya returned, just as soft. “You know such things are his dominion. His right, even here in duskLands. His duty, to stand against such sorceries.”

  “Then why has he left?”

  “He said he will return. Perhaps to help Tokela—”

  “Perhaps! And what are we to do until then? Keep that one”—Sarinak threw a hand in Tokela’s direction—“drugged senseless?”

  “If we must.”

  “If we can.”

  Inhya let out a sob, echoing hoarse into the den. “Palatan will return, and help him. He is our son, Sarinak!”

  “And if Alekšu has no Power over half-bred creatures?”

  “Sarinak!” It was a choke.

  He loosed her, began pacing, resorting, once more, to signs. The rumours. All the rumours, at which I scoffed, while you kn—

&n
bsp; I knew nothing for certain.

  You suspected, then. And said nothing.

  My—

  Your oath. I know. He kept pacing, muttering curses.

  “Sarinak, heed me. I beg you. Such things happen, but they can be cured. It happened with my brother. He was possessed when he was younger than Tokela. Chogah cast it from him.”

  Sarinak halted, peered at her. “I’d heard he was sickly. I didn’t know… this. Of course”—he shrugged, as if trying to shed his disquiet, and padded closer—“such things would not be openly discussed. But it is there, in the blood, this… this madness. Those a’Šaákfo carry it, insidious, like invisible Marks. It lingers, displays fangs in unlikely ways. My sire, his sister… even Galenu is, in his own way, mad.” Sarinak shook his bright-wrapped head, talismans and tokens rattling. “Perhaps we should let Galenu take him back to his own kind.”

  “We are his kind!” Inhya protested, faint.

  “Are we?”

  “He is of our blood. Spirit-madness is not the same as being Shaper!”

  “And what if, in him, it is? Rumour has become truth—has perhaps always been truth. Tokela’s dam let herself be cozened by outLand sorcerers, and that”—another gesture towards Tokela—“is what has come of it!”

  Their murmurings were barely audible, but emotion had its own life, roiling about the den. It roused Tokela, slight; with a twitch, he curled deeper into the furs.

  He did not even have the wet, rasping quality to his breath one nigh-drowned should have, would have. His inhalations were taken with eerie peace.

  “Inhya. As much as our two peoples are joined, dawn to dusk, Naišwyrh’uq cannot lie so easily with such things. You are of thisClan, now. Your birthing-tribe chooses to tread a risky path, one as dangerous as courageous, but we cannot countenance such things here. DawnLands was nigh destroyed by Other. Those who lived along River bore the brunt of the devastation. You know this!”

  Inhya kept watching Tokela. Said, through her teeth, desperate, “He saved Anahli.”

  “And what if Anahli wasn’t meant to be saved?”

  “And what if she was?”

  “I cannot believe you’re asking such questions.” Sarinak gripped Inhya’s shoulders, shook. “This… thing has taken all wisdom from your sight. You’ve let your mourning of Lakisa’ailiq lead you too far astray. Inhya, you swore an oath that protected the get of Shapers.”

  “I swore to protect Lakisa’s son!” She didn’t use the suffix, and it hit them both like a blow. “An infant. You would return to the old ways of child killing, of witch hunting?”

  Sarinak released her. His eyes went dark, then hooded as they slid sideways, taking in the still, fur-wrapped form in the alcove. “That was an evil time.” He shook his head, paced over to their bedshelf, lowered himself to sit on the edge with another shake of his head. “But Inhya, what has happened thisnow, the doubt of it will grow, and splinter. Such a weakness—disease—of Spirit has nearly felled us more than once. Lakisa’ailicq’s Spirit-madness, my own father’s weakness when my mother was taken, Našobok’s defection—”

  “Sarinak—”

  “I watched, and wasn’t allowed to so much as weep as my brother was rived from us! As my dam, her heart wrung but her eyes dry, watched her youngest hung from the poles for two Suns, then watched agains as he was forced to run the gauntlet, beaten and debased and cast from our lodging to become less than nothing! Little he cared, but it killed us all! And then, so soon after, my sire’s decline—you remember how it was, tšukasi. In the end, I had to go to Council, conspire to his replacement.”

  “You took nothing that wasn’t yours,” she whispered.

  “Inhya, you know we always bide unsure. With all that’s happened in our family—all the weakness, the sickness—the tribes were well within their rights to not accept me.”

  “But they did.”

  “A”io. They won’t accept this.” Sarinak jerked his chin towards where Tokela lay. “All the speculation damaged his standing—so much that there was never a breath of hope that he would be trained to perhaps hold Mound-chieftain’s staff. And it was his right to try; Tokela is eldest of our Clan after me! But now? Rumour will burn through our Land like flames. You know our tribal law, my heart: those possessed of an Elemental must be cast out! Shapers are never allowed in our territory. We hold duskLands, you and I, and we must hold to the law or be set aside.”

  “I know.” Almost a moan. “Yet if we do what you say must be done, my oaths lie broken. One I swore to protect shall hang from the poles and run the gauntlet, never to return, and our… our blood son will… ai. Madoc will never forgive us.”

  Sarinak let out a vile curse, turned away. “Would you have me keep Other in our midst, just so our son will love us? I can’t do that, Inhya. And it hurts my heart to think you would ask it of me.”

  “That isn’t what I—”

  “I know you loved my father’s sister. I know what she meant to you. I didn’t understand, then. I had playmates, of course. I eased the heat in my blood amongst my own, as proper for oških. But I never had a lovemate, never an oathbrother. I scorned my brother’s ways, his insistence upon rutting males even past his oških summerings. I was contemptuous of what he had with your brother. I didn’t understand such love. Not until I found you.”

  Inhya came over, knelt before Sarinak and laid her head upon his knees. His fingers, strong and callused from spear and fishing-net, stroked her hair with the gentleness he gave only to her. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, peered at up her spouse. “There must be something to be done, other than…” Her voice choked. “Sarinak, he’s our son.”

  Sarinak crumpled, then, as if the strong cliff stones that had made him and borne him were shivering into sand around their feet. “He was our son.” It quivered, thick with tears. “But that time, beloved, is long past. And we’ve been deluding ourselves to imagine otherwise.”

  “HOW IS she?”

  Aylaniś turned from the furs, looked outwards to Inhya’s silhouette within the opened tipo door.

  “She sleeps, peaceably.” A smile, shared between two mothers. “She’s alive, thanks to your sons. Both of them.”

  Inhya’s gaze flickered, and she entered, her voice strong-seeming. “If there is anything… well. You must take care she doesn’t fall prey to the lung-sick. It happens here, often, when someone has nigh drowned.”

  “There are times advice is maddening as blackbuzz in summering,” Chogah growled from where she’d squatted in beside the hearth. “We know better how to care for her than even one as exalted as you.”

  Inhya slid a dark glare Chogah’s way, said to Aylaniś, “Do you have any more of the sleep stink?”

  Chogah made a disagreeable noise.

  Aylaniś slid her a quieting gaze, little hoping for its success, and peered at Inyha. “For Tokela.”

  “I must.”

  “We’ve enough ourselves for now.” A well-filled pouch came sailing from Chogah’s direction. “A’io, drug him. What else can you do? Unless you plan on smothering him middark.”

  Inhya still didn’t answer Chogah, but she tied the pouch at her belt.

  From the Bowl, drums announced midSun meal. Aylaniś reached out where Kuli lay, curled up in the furs against Anahli’s sleeping form. He’d remained there all thisSun, quieter than Aylaniś had ever seen him. “Wake up, son.”

  Kuli always woke quickly and this was no exception; he sat upright, his wavy hair scrunched in several directions. “Aška?”

  “I need you to go with your aunt Inhya, Kuli.”

  “But Anahli—”

  “She won’t wake yet.” Aylaniś peered at Inhya, though her talk remained for Kuli. “You have time to eat with your friends, and perhaps help Aunt Inyha, a’io?”

  Inhya’s eyes held to hers, acknowledged the plea. “I truly could use your help with a few things, Little Fox.”

  Kuli rolled from the furs, shook himself with a sleepy shiver, then grinned at Inyha an
d sped out of the tipo. Inhya started to follow.

  Aylaniś touched her sleeve, murmured, “We must leave, soon.”

  Inyha clearly hadn’t expected this. Her eyes chased away—the way Kuli had gone.

  “He will stay through summering at least. I like that he’s learning different ways here.”

  “Perhaps we will trade Kuli’s further hearthing for Tokela,” Chogah drawled. “It would, after all, be better than smothering him.”

  Aylaniś shot Chogah a quelling glance.

  But the statement, outwardly ignored, had raised hope in Ihyha’s gaze. Aylaniś didn’t know how to answer it, had to look away.

  Inyha’s voices followed her, though. “Will Palatan return soon?”

  And neither could she answer that. I grieve with you. But I don’t know. Don’t know if he can help Tokela. Her gaze moved to Anahli, met Chogah’s over the small hearth, then slid to Anahli, drugged as surely as… What has Tokela done to her? Made?

  Shaped?

  Finally, Aylaniś answered, “I’m sorry, but I cannot say any more to this. We’re not Alekšu. It isn’t our place.”

  Inhya took in a long, quavering breath, then nodded. Retreated.

  Aylaniś watched her go, eyes stinging, wanting to speak, go after.

  “We should take the lost one’s son with us, my chieftain.” It was respectful. Ai, Chogah could pull respect from her tail split when she had to.

  “It is not a decision we can make. Neither of us is Alekšu.” A keen cut, no matter how much Aylaniś tried to blunt it—too many paths had been walked down to trust this elder.

  “The Power does not leave with the title. Do you think I don’t See what is happening?” A jerk of chin towards Anahli. “He has changed something in her. He has awakened something that we thought would never rise. We should take Tokela with us.

  “So he can… infect more of our People?”

  “You sound like a dawnLander, horse-chieftain.”

  “And you seem to forget what your own purpose is!” Aylaniś hissed back. “To protect our Grandmother from Other!”