“Sometimes things must be contained for their own safety,” Sivan murmured. “And ours.”
“You don’t believe that.” The disappointment in Maloh’s brown eyes scored a stinging furrow in Sivan’s composure.
“What I believe is irrelevant at present,” Sivan retorted. “History has proven it, over and over. What if the Dominus hadn’t been confined?”
Jorda grimaced.
“If he had been left to go on as he was, both your people and mine would be no more than another extinct myth told around the fires of little Tokela’s people! If they even managed to survive!”
Jorda stumbled again, this time went to his knees. With a shudder, he rocked onto his palms.
Maloh turned, started to help Sivan haul him to his feet. Jorda backed from beneath their grip, yanked the goggles from his eyes and the gloves from his hands.
“There’s something. Something—”
“The vortex is but a sol’s walk away,” Maloh pointed out.
“Something else.”
“Jorda.” Sivan gritted out. “Are you sure it isn’t interference?”
“I don’t know! Let me find out!”
It took time. The sun advanced, slow and shimmering against the hot sand where Jorda’s pale fingers dug, searching.
This close to the vortex, what inklings of psi connexion her brother possessed with the boy might be more pliable, easier to splice and follow.
Or not. The island’s vortices were thankfully small, but also, one and all, violent. Unpredictable.
Jorda raised his head, eyes going pitch-black from corner to corner, lighting with the silvery star-trails of connexion. It was easier for those of their people who had been born on this world to link into the framework. Still, it wasn’t easy.
Finally Jorda looked up, gaze fading to pale grey and blinking beneath the strong sunlight. “They’re heading this way.”
SKY WAS boundless in dryLands, and beautiful for the travelling. Našobok had never thought to regret fine weather on any voyage.
But now he did. And kept whispering: “Here. I’m here.”
As invocations went, it made little impression.
Tokela propped hands to either side of Našobok’s ribcage. Neck cords bulged. Teeth gleamed, a snarl. Našobok tangled his fingers in thick chestnut and pulled. Hard. Tokela’s elbows wobbled then gave, and Našobok muscled him close, wrapping arms and legs tight.
No passionate embrace. Scarce time for that, now.
“Tokela!” It cracked like a quirt, a rough shake as punctuation. “You waste what strength you’ve left, fighting me as well as—”
“It won’t… stop. It… I… Bring me… keep me…”
“I’m here. You’re here.”
“Here.” A snarl. “I can… will do this.”
“I know you can. I have you. You’re with me.”
“N’da, not just… with!” From faint sough to grating desperation; but ai, better to give it voice than sink into a silence that had, finally, toppled Tokela from their mount’s back.
Našobok set his teeth, hung on. Wondered if he held one of serpentKin instead of a nigh-grown oških he outweighed nearly twice over. Kept murmuring reassurances as one whipcord arm snaked itself free, and braced himself for the ill-considered blow or three—ai, his Tokela could punch with the best.
Instead Tokela slammed his palm against his own head, fingers clawing, small furrows blooding their wake.
He’d already torn his lip in an earlier self-inflicted bout. Našobok had been too late to prevent that one. Granted, it had shattered the first Dreaming-hold, but…
Enough.
Našobok flung Tokela onto his back, hard, and Tokela huffed a choking gasp, ribs expanding like a bellows’ breath. Sure enough, the IceFire sparks behind Tokela’s eyes scattered, dimmed. But Našobok didn’t loosen his grip.
He was learning.
“Leave off!” he growled. “Pain might break whatever’s taking you from your body, but all blood will do is attract predators.”
“I must,” Tokela panted, “make it stop. Stars are theirs. What if they can… hear?”
Ai, that wasn’t something Našobok had considered. “We’ll be to River before they even know where we are.”
He hoped it wasn’t a lie. Their path hadn’t lain altogether easy, though so far dark’s basket had scooped up Rain clouds instead of Stars. They’d made progress—albeit slow, and that more from weather than any wandering of Tokela’s Spirit. Thunder had swooped down, chasing them across the dryLands with spear-shards of light and rain-torrent wings. A flash flood had sent them to higher ground, the aftermath slowing them even more, their mount sliding and skating across muddy flats. They’d given up, spent the rest of thatSun’s passage and the following dark in wait beneath a sandstone overhang, all the while listening for the whispered telltale of the sodden cliff perhaps sliding down upon them.
Finally Thunder had furled ša’s jagged pinions and drawn the clouds away, bringing Sun to dry wet garb and warm their skins. But with it had come their first clear dark. With it, Stars.
Našobok hadn’t known, then.
To Tokela’s credit, he’d lasted some time. Perhaps such fortitude had miscarried, merely allowed this… whatever-it-was to build. Or perhaps the drug that had made Tokela so pie-eyed on Galenu’s cart had lasted just long enough and no more.
Had Našobok realised, he’d have found some before they ventured the dryLands plain. For now, he could only hope they’d run into a yakhling caravan.
“Better here,” Tokela husked. “Grandmother at my back. You as shelter. Always, you try to shelter. Only this time you can’t. I’m so sorry.” He let his eyes close, lashes inky shadows amongst the fading, indigo-and-clay Marks stippling his cheekbones. “Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Sorry.” The forlorn twist beneath snarled the breath in Našobok’s lungs, sent his heart into small, shattered pieces. “That you came for me.”
“Never. I’m here. We’re both here. You’re not alone.” He meant it, yet couldn’t help the tiny thrill fissuring up his spine as Tokela gave another shudder, eyes rolling. No longer his—or perhaps his in a twisted, extraordinary way—a gaze of white squall, light and murk shifting and twisting, Stars reflecting ever on, down and in.
At times like this, it was easy to believe Tokela had been sired by Chepiś.
Našobok tightened his grip and bent closer, shadowing those eyes from Starlight with his body and the long, ebon fall of his hair. “Make talk with me, Tokela. Stay with me.”
“Can’t.” It was a gasp.
“Then”—Našobok bent closer, breathed the talk against Tokela’s neck—“ask me.”
“Won’t.” It was faint within the dubious shadows of sanctuary. “Not a… good place.”
So Tokela wasn’t as far gone as all that. “Indeed, a poor choice, but here we are, a’io?—and better the distractions of pleasure than pain. You don’t have to face this alone.”
“Alone.” Harsh, like sand in a grain mortar. “What happens”—another shudder and gasp—“when we get to your ship?”
Ai, this was a different thing altogether than bringing amongst his crew one possessed by Elementals… and who also, it seemed, heard the Void-within-Stars long ago loosed upon thisLand by Chepiś.
No wonder Sarinak and Inhya had resorted to drugs. It was startling that they’d let him go with Galenu. More, why had Palatan left him there? And what of Aylaniś?
What had happened?
Time for that later. For now? “Cast it from your heart. We’ll know what to do when River is beside us, a’io?”
“I knew what to do. I didn’t listen. Didn’t want. But River would sing my name, tell me how…” Another shudder and the eerie, inwards turn of focus that Našobok had come to realise was Tokela… listening. “She’s faint, here, so faint… but She can swallow even Stars, reflect them back, away. She’ll hide us.”
“A’io. I believe you. But first we hav
e to get there.”
And they’d a ways to go. At least another Sun’s passage before they even saw Her marshes and bottomlands. Another dark of naked Stars.
Not counting, of course, however long after that it would take them to catch up with Ilhukaia, making her steady way downRiver. But there they’d have trees, and River.
The Moons’ combined light pulled crimson from Tokela’s hair, slatted across his forehead to spear one eye. The pupil contracted, as if in answer.
“Can’t… let it.” Small flickers waged war behind Tokela’s visage; more of Sky’s realm than any of Earth’s scape, and Thunder sending shards of lightning across to warn: I come with storms upon my tail, take care. Našobok shifted to block the changing light—shield and thrown shadow, spreading the tail of his leather longcoat behind him to cover as much of Tokela’s legs as possible.
Somehow, it worked. As if Stars were indeed eyes, and Našobok set upon keeping their gaze from the one They hunted.
“Ask,” he whispered, cupping his hands about Tokela’s face.
“N’da. Can do it. Will…” Finally, the Stars in Tokela’s eyes dimmed, one by one. Then those eyes closed and, still twitching and shivering, Tokela went limp.
Sleep, escape, it didn’t matter. Našobok pushed up to hands and knees, dubious of their situation.
It most certainly wasn’t a good place: the middle of dryLands, in a wash muddy from Rainfall, amidst meagre protections of scrub and brush. Chepiś sorcerers with their odd singing-net of Stars weren’t the only predators to worry over. They couldn’t stay here overlong.
The spotted bay mare who’d carried them was nibbling, matter-of-fact, at what sparse forage she could find: sweetsage and needlecreeper, mostly. Našobok chirruped to her and she raised her head, ears pricked. He preferred riding River’s back to any Kin upon thisLand, but he’d learned a few horsetalker ways in his time.
“My tail is killing me, old friend,” he murmured, half-silent as his gaze lowered to Tokela. “But my Spirit wails harder. Ai, Palatan, if only you were here.”
Tokela remained quiet beneath him, twitching and sweating despite the chill. Našobok gave the soft, carrying trill that meant “come here” and the mare obeyed.
It took more innovative encouragement to convince her to lie down, propped over Tokela as he was. But her training had been thorough—even the castoffs from duskLands superior to any others. Našobok kept clucking and persistently tapping behind her knee; with a resigned sigh, the mare at last lowered herself with a whump and a sprinkling of sand. Her recumbent body would offer some protection, with Našobok’s longcoat serving as the rest while he set up a lean-to. And invoked Fire’s protection. He’d heard the rumbling cough of lionKin more than once.
It didn’t take long. He squandered some time attempting to find sticks long enough for shelter poles, and that a flat failure. The tallest scrub barely reached his hip. Instead Našobok resorted to one of the bows and several arrows as props to the skin tarpaulin no traveller was ever without. His longcoat he left wrapped about Tokela whilst unrolling his sleeping blanket: long enough for a makeshift roof. He flipped the blanket over the poles, covering Tokela, and chirruped the mare to rise.
Coaxing her nigh to the circle he was preparing for Fire’s dwelling, he made talk with her, rubbing a chalk-dusted thumb upon her wide forehead, promising no ties or hobbles in case she had to defend herself. She shared his breath and lipped his hair, understanding. Content.
But as he turned away she pinned her ears and rolled air through her nostrils. He heard it, too: a low sough echoing from a distant ridge. A bark followed after, farther away. Našobok muttered an inventive curse. He’d hoped to be on the move during thisdark’s passage, not tethered in one spot asking to be eaten.
At least there was enough dead, dry brush to make a fair blaze. Fire crackling new and hungry beside them, Našobok gathered more fuel, scanning the cliffs and angles of the wash. He didn’t wander far and, upon returning, thrust his longspear close to hand in the sand, double-checked his knives, and made sure of his pack of necessities: water, food, and the pipe and bag of leaf he was never without. Digging into the latter, he took out a pinch and tossed the leaf into the tiny breath Wind blew across his cheeks: an offering, a plea, any help would be welcomed. Then he let out a snort at the vagaries of his kind. Mere tiny motes striding Grandmother’s broad belly, ever-insistent upon the coercion of hope. As if any Spirit, Elemental or otherwise, would consider varying a long-charted course to heed the plea of one outcast Riverwalker.
Yet…
He peered at Tokela, stretched out and hopefully senseless.
Something had varied its course towards this oških, heeded his fate. Had done, in truth, from their beginnings, claiming some and passing others by, an infrequent Dance forbidden and all but forgotten. And to what purpose?
Ai, but Našobok was full of questions, ones not his to ask nor tell. It wouldn’t help them now. Nothing could help, not some vagary called fate by outLanders, not all the forbidden puissance seething within Tokela’s overwhelmed Spirit, not an absent oathbrother…
It wasn’t the first time Našobok had wondered: should they be heading to dawnLands, to Palatan? Could he help?
But Palatan had left Tokela there, in dawnLands where to hold a co-tenant was to court banishment. And Aylaniś, despite her promise to stay until Palatan had returned, had packed up and gone, with only the flattened-dry circle of grass where their tipo had been.
It made no sense. What had happened? When Našobok had petitioned his former Clan for answers, they’d told him nothing other than Tokela had been sent away with Galenu. But he could guess at some of it.
Either way, Chepiś were after them. After Tokela. And Našobok hadn’t the right to lead any outLanders into duskLands and the sacred—secret—heart of Grandmother.
No choice, thisnow, but to head back duskwards. Perhaps Tokela, without River’s grace, lay more vulnerable to this uncanny Star hold.
Našobok knelt and breathed across Tokela’s forehead.
“Ai, Star Eyes.” The intimacy barely stirred Tokela’s thick, dark hair. “You spoke true. This is not good.”
IT WAS good to retreat inwards when Frost Moons began to display a bite; even better to sit about the hearth, blow Smoke and hear the old storyKeepers lead the old Songs. But it was just as good to ride and greet dawn across the baking warmth of open plateaus. Beyond good to feel Wind’s full force, and the lurch and slide of muscles between his thighs. Bliss, to revel in the shared strength and communion between four- and two-legged—horsetalker—to hunt and howl and lean against warm hide and roll naked in the grass. To ride beneath Sky’s great basket, beneath the light of Moons and Stars spilled from that basket into endless ebon and indigo.
To wander.
For wandering season was upon them. Even now the gathered People of the Horse were moving from the caverns and out over the wide grazing plains. Palatan loved the deep, volcanic caverns, revered them for their legacy and their protection of all firstPeople, but he craved open territory with every fibre of his heart. Wandering first alone, then with a playmate who had, over turnings, become lovemate then oathbrother, then with his chieftain who had become his spouse…
And now, with a daughter.
None of the children you sire upon your spouse will quicken to an Elemental’s call.
Yet now Anahli rode beside him, her face into Wind and her heart flying with Ša’s breath.
This trip was yet another transformation. They’d barely moved onto the plains down from their caverns before Palatan had headed dawnwards. Into midLands, where Aylaniś said they’d sent Tokela.
Anahli, barely from her Breaking into owlClan, had insisted they go.
The turnabout was still difficult. No matter the assurances of She Who Guarded the Deep Places, to bring one touched with Other into Her heart…
Anahli drew rein. Her mount crabstepped, uneasy beneath her rider’s sudden tension, and blew a challenge into Wi
nd’s breath.
Palatan, brow quirking, did likewise. “What is it?” Getting used to a new co-tenant often held more challenge than refuge. Wind, more than most, bided rootless and edgy. It took some strength of will to resist Ša’s instincts.
“I don’t know.” Anahli shook her head—to clear her vision, no doubt, and thumped at her chest. Here. I am here.
“A predator, perhaps. Scented upon Wind’s breath.” Palatan’s suggestion was soft, asking.
At their heels, three fleethounds peered upwards, gazes quizzical. Their leader, Arrow, lay down, willing to the wait. Between Palatan’s hide-wrapped knees, his chestnut mare pricked her ears, searching for what had claimed her pasture-mate’s attention.
“Predators,” Anahli answered, slow. Her eyes gleamed, not merely co-tenanted, not merely darksight, but also the faintest and eeriest whiff of Starlight. Tokela had awakened that, too.
Palatan soon heard it—Sensed it, a vibration against his breastbone. A song, a story, a rhythm like to any drum, in truth, setting a-quiver the great Starry basket. And others answered, sought to join it… unwelcome, off-key and asyncopated, brittle ice reaching, seeking…
Hunting.
Beneath Palatan’s haunches the chestnut began to prance in place. Arrow growled, rolling to his feet, and the younger ones followed suit, silky hair shivering erect. Palatan swayed beneath the force of it, for a lingering breath taken in the Dance.
“Yeka?”
Palatan couldn’t answer. The ice shivered and cracked, warming, and with no more than a waft upon Anahli’s Wind, the new and homely voice whispered along the soft, Starlit grass. Beloved and ai-so-familiar, carrying a wish—
If only you were here
—fading as quickly as it had approached.
“Gone.” Anahli’s gaze, turning to him, had dimmed, any hint of Starlight fading, revealing that her connexion with Tokela had dissolved. “He’s not in midLands, Yeka. Where is he?”
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