Blood Indigo Page 16

  Even thinking about the possibility made Tokela’s breath catch in his chest, his heart pound behind his ears, and a soft whisper from River, rising him…

  “—encroach farther than they’ve yet been!” This from Forestlodge’s chieftain. “We have seen Chepiś outside their own places. Even those cursed beasts they’ve Shaped have been ignoring the bounds.”

  Tokela frowned, snared from ache to apprehension beneath mere utterance of that name.

  “Disregarding what territories our ancestors set long ago would mean breach of truce.” Palatan’s voice resounded, firm. “That can be dealt with, if you’re sure you’ve seen more than a few together.”

  Several voices rose at once, all in protest but none of them definite.

  “SwimmingKin are late this year!” Nechtoun’s voice carried, muting the others into grumbles. “Every summering, the changes have come. Unnatural ones, and our Land cries out while we sit, doing nothing! The Chepiś are not so idle, I promise you, whether they breach truce-laid bounds or no!”

  “You blame Chepiś for a Sun-drenched day when you wish for Rain’s touch, old friend.” Galenu sat beside Nechtoun, but in this they were clearly not in accord.

  “Who knows what they’re Shaping in their cold dens?” Nechtoun retorted.

  “Everyone knows they want our places, to make and Shape into their own abominations!” another elder snapped. “They’d have our people as slaves!”

  “Chepiś don’t take slaves,” Galenu retorted. “Those are ahlóssa tales, nothing more, meant to frighten. I can’t listen to such ignorance.”

  “It is well known that stoneClan takes slaves.” Another chieftain, from dryLands by her regalia. “So naturally, that Clan’s chieftain would—”

  Several hisses.

  Galenu stiffened. “We do not keep slaves!”

  “Surely your—what do you call them? Boundlings?—would dispute the distinction—”

  “Enough!” Sarinak’s staff rose and came down with a crack upon the wooden board. Cups rattled, contents sloshing. “We were speaking of Chepiś and their predations, not midLands customs!”

  Boundlings were outliers, of a kind; miscreants and lawbreakers, or so Tokela had heard—and thusly not allowed a Clan. Still, Tokela wondered at the anger making the accusation—and Galenu’s equal ire at the voicing of it.

  For, despite the enforced change of topic, Galenu’s voice shook. “There are Chepiś that take what isn’t theirs, just as with our own People. Not all of them are our enemy. We would do well to remember that—”

  “We would do well”—this time Nechtoun interrupted in anger—“to remember what they did to our Land!”

  “Long ago.”

  “Not long enough!” Inhya snapped, and a host of voices rose in agreement.

  “We still suffer from their predations!”

  “Just look at the despoiled places—"

  “A’io, like Šilombiš’okpulo!”

  “I have made trade with Chepiś,” Galenu protested. “Have called some friend!”

  Galenu not only made stories, and sketches, but was friends with Chepiś? Tokela frowned, tilted his head to better hear.

  Sarinak gave a disagreeable snort. “And so, you tread where you shouldn’t, stone-chieftain.”

  “I wasn’t aware that Mound-chieftain had the authority to tell not only dawnLands, but midLands, where to tread.”

  Sarinak refused to be baited into anything resembling indignation. “I should think an elder of any Land would have sense to see trouble when it openly stalks him.”

  “Trouble?” Galenu countered. “How is it trouble to welcome wisdom from another People?”

  “But they aren’t,” Nechtoun inserted, “People!”

  “Come now, you can’t mark them all with the same hue. Just as our own agreements, tribe to tribe, are crafted to allow a Skybow’s wealth of ways and colours and customs.” Quite pointed. “If some Chepiś make overtures of friendship, is it sensible to meet those with fear or superstition?”

  “You drag all of us in your wake, yet still refuse to perceive the folly of your actions,” Inhya said, flat. “We a’Naišwyrh are still dealing with the consequences of your ‘friendship’ with outLanders.”

  Tokela found himself hunching like hareKin beneath a winged predator’s shadow. Ai, and he’d teased Madoc about the egocentricity of wanting concerns aired in open Council, never dreaming his own would be fair game.

  Almost angrily he pulled his shoulders straight, snuck a glance at Madoc.

  Madoc wasn’t paying attention. Done with worrying over Tokela’s possible hearthing claim, or ogling the fancy dress of the adults, he’d dug a thick spinning thread from his belt pouch, winding a game of spiderKin about nimble, grubby fingers.

  “—Hoop turns different, of late.” Sarinak’s admittance seemed reluctant. “It is worrisome.”

  “But have Chepiś broken the truce?” Palatan stood abruptly, and it seemed for a half breath that Fire’s reflection glinted, copper-cobalt, behind his Forest-hued eyes. “I hear talk, talk, talk about sightings and speculations. If they have broken truce, if they have come into our Land in disallowed ways, then we will act. If.”

  Silence.

  “Let us offer orison,” Inhya’s voice drifted soft and heavy as a winter blanket, “that it need never come to that.”

  “Yet our own history,” Galenu had mastered his own ire, determined to make his point, “sets forth what can happen when we refuse to deal with outLanders.”

  “Then,” one of the desertClan males pointed out, and Galenu rolled his eyes.

  “It seems to me,” a chieftain ventured, from fenClan by her garb, “dealings are not wise, period.”

  More murmurs, mostly in agreement.

  “I have seen them,” fenClan’s leader added. “Not in numbers, n’da. But they do take fishKin from our estuaries without asking, without reverence. They trade overmuch with Riverwalkers, but we have nothing to do with them.”

  Tokela was now the one creeping to the edge, ears straining.

  “Is there such a thing,” Našobok drawled, “as overmuch trade?”

  “If it brings outLand menace, a’io!” the fen-chieftain snapped. “I would not expect such as you to understand.”

  Tokela’s snarl was silent, but heart-meant.

  Below, Našobok merely shrugged. “Yet I see you wear the fruits of Riverwalker trade upon your shawl fringe, and fancy work hanging upon your nose and ears. Or has fenClan suddenly found a source of Matwau-mined milkrock in the bogs?”

  She stiffened, looked as if she would retort, then turned away, those ear dangles bouncing.

  Nechtoun shifted in his chair. “Surely, Galenu, you cannot be so lost to reason as to welcome Matwau in your lodge.”

  Matwau? Tokela thought they’d been speaking of Chepiś.

  “How would they fit?” A lesser chieftain from dryLands frowned. “A’io, we see them, sometimes. They’re sturdier than Chepiś, but similar enough. Too big for any proper dwelling. And the smell of them!”

  “They do smell strange,” Galenu admitted. “But perhaps we smell and look strange to them.”

  “What matter what they think? All that matters is where Chepiś think to venture, their Matwau pets roam. And Matwau aren’t constrained by truce.” This from one of deerClans. “All tall ones are dangerous. Matwau routed People like to us from overSea, long ago; as many of us are descendants of those who escaped here as we are of People who’ve lived here since Grandmother birthed us all. The tall ones would take thisLand if they could, yet there are those of us who trade with them? Have we learned nothing?”

  “Matwau have come before, from upLands. We put aside our own differences, banded together to rout the invaders and sent them back to their own places.” Inhya’s voice was quiet, but carried nonetheless. “This very den was burrowed so our alliance could meet. All who sit to this Council are descendants of that alliance, and nearly all of us have traded, hearthed and espoused beneath the
wings of our cooperative. Together we drove Matwau from our Lands, and together we will again, should there be need. Matwau are unkempt cowards. It is the Chepiś sorcery and Shaping we should worry about.”

  Tokela winced. Shaping. Chepiś sorcery.

  “—does not kill as many as Matwau eirn!” challenged Grass Weaver.

  There was a small buzz of murmurs, some obviously taken aback by not only her bold talk, but to whom it had been directed.

  Curious, to see the struggle—respect for her age versus the fact of her outcast status. Yet open Council meant all could plainly speak.

  Madoc gave Tokela a sudden nudge. Tokela did his best not to startle, wasn’t sure he succeeded as Madoc gave him a piercing look and signed, Should we go? This is boring.

  I told you. Tokela wasn’t bored. In any fashion, unfortunately. Go if you want. Quietly.

  You’re not?

  Tokela shrugged, kept listening. Madoc gave a sigh, more with his body than his voice, but stayed. He bent once again to winding the thread about his fingertips.

  “The secret of metal-that-burns was given to Matwau by Chepiś sorcery,” Inhya answered, hard and even.

  “Metal working is no sorcery, hearth-chieftain,” Galenu spoke up. “A skill, nothing more. A science.”

  A strange, harsh word, and one Tokela had not yet heard; he leaned forwards, hoping someone would speak it again.

  “Hunh!” This from Nechtoun. “You make too free with talk about this šai’ens of tall ones.” He didn’t stumble over the strange word, but it sounded different upon his tongue. “We have our own ways, more accurate than any outLand sorceries. Matwau or Chepiś, we have seen enough doings of tall ones here, and none of them good!”

  Again, Tokela felt the sear and backlash as Nechtoun continued.

  “Galenu. I love you. We were once playmates, will ever be oathbrothers, but I will never agree with you on this. We shouldn’t even be trading with ones arrogant enough to manipulate the sacred Elementals! Big water-bronzes or fancy forge work are not worth the corruption such things bring! So much of their work is torn by force from Grandmother. It burns not only our skin, but our Spirits! It is unfit for us to even look upon!”

  “Father.” Sarinak’s voice had changed, from inflexible to soft and placatory.

  Tokela’s own nerves crawled uneasy. Beside him, Madoc’s fingers stilled, his breath gone shallow. They both knew the signs. Nechtoun bided unwell, some Suns. It was why he no longer held Mound-chieftain’s staff.

  “Nechtoun, what’s gotten into you?” Galenu didn’t seem to see what was happening. “You sound hidebound as your sire at his worst!”

  It wasn’t naming the dead, not exactly, but close enough that several including Nechtoun made the quick, placatory gesture before he retorted, “You say hidebound? I say tradition! If we have no tradition, we have nothing, and deserve to be overrun by Shapers!”

  Tokela knew he was watching Našobok overmuch. But it was puzzling how Našobok’s hands, large-jointed and relaxed where they were resting upon crossed knees, began clenching into slow fists. His eyes, gleaming from where the hair had fallen into his face, slid over to where Aylaniś and Palatan sat.

  Aylaniś returned Našobok’s glance. She seemed sad, concerned. Palatan’s expression alone gave no purchase whatsoever into his thoughts, slick and unyielding as wet rock.

  Not that Tokela truly had any idea of what thoughts Našobok and Aylaniś were exchanging, either.

  “Do you suggest if we just latch our doors and put our heads into the body-soil trenches”—Galenu’s voice had begun to rise—“nothing will happen in thisLand just because we don’t want it to?”

  “While you suggest we invite it in?” Nechtoun half rose.

  “Yeka.” Sarinak again, gentle. The den’s murmurs had subsided, everyone peering at Nechtoun with varying shades of pity and disquiet.

  “I will not be silenced on this!” Nechtoun retorted. “I am… was… Mound-chieftain! Galenu, you mightn’t hold in your heart the love you once bore for our Lands, but—”

  “Nechtoun, there’s much my heart holds to in thisLand. I’ve never said there wasn’t. But there is more than thisLand, and I well know because I’ve seen it!”

  Madoc had crept closer to Tokela, snuggling close, curving along his back as if wanting every fibre of touch-comfort to permeate them both. Tokela reached back, tangled fingers in Madoc’s hair, and silently implored under his breath: Galenu, please. You don’t understand. If you were oathbrothers once, surely you must see what is happening.

  But Galenu didn’t stop. “I’ve walked the stony outcrop past the Omrikasten and seen ša’s Fire. I’ve witnessed wonders past imaginings in Chepiś glitter and ebon glašg.”

  Aum-ree-khas’n? Another word Tokela had never heard, but he recognised glašg: the smooth, shining and translucent not-metal made far downRiver in Matwau holts. Like, but unlike, the t’rešalt with its reflections of dark and Stars.

  More, a strange, wild enchantment—a recognition—rose at Galenu’s talk. It sang in Tokela’s ears like River’s soft melody, drowning apprehension.

  “I’ve also seen horrors, in strange villages reeking of Matwau, their valleys tamed past bearing and smoke hanging thick over clear-cut Forests. Warnings, as sure as the beauty. For the more we think thisLand is the only place in existence, the more our comfort will be overcome by plain reality: we are not the only people here.”

  “We are the only ones who belong here!” It thundered into sudden silence. Nechtoun’s face had gone blood-dark; his fists clenched. “I want nothing of them, nothing! And I want nothing coming here to change our home!”

  “Change isn’t coming.” Našobok spoke from the shadowy end of the den, flat-calm amidst the stiff froth of feral currents. The sound altered Nechtoun’s focus, turning him towards where his disowned youngest half crouched, as if he would rise but dared not.

  “Change,” Našobok continued, very soft, “is already here.”

  And within the time it took for Tokela to draw another breath, Palatan had also moved from the shadows quiet as huntingKin. He knelt beside Nechtoun, reached out and put a hand against Nechtoun’s temple.

  “Peace, grandfather,” he murmured, voice soft and soothing. “Be at peace. It’s done.”

  Tokela wondered what Palatan thought he could do, then remembered. Alekšu. Alekšu. Tokela’s gaze slid to Inhya. What did she think of this? Palatan was her brother, after all.

  Inhya didn’t seem disturbed.

  Sarinak, on the other hand, did.

  As Nechtoun fell silent, eyes clouding, Madoc’s arms stole about Tokela’s waist. Tokela ran comforting, albeit absent, fingers through the bright hair, watching as Palatan shot a narrowed glance at Galenu. Galenu blinked and took a sharp breath, as if to protest. Then, eyes narrowing upon Nechtoun, he sat back and gave way.

  Perhaps Galenu had simply forgotten Nechtoun’s uncertain state. What must it be like to watch someone—one you’d loved for a long time, considering—and watch that one deteriorate while you stayed reasonably whole, and aware.

  A sudden stab of pity quivered Tokela. Not only for Nechtoun, but also Galenu.

  “Wyrh-chieftain speaks truth,” Aylaniś said, her quiet voice directed around the circle. “The very Earth beneath our feet is shifting, changing. Moreover, if we try to keep things contrived, unchanging, then how are we different than Chepiś? They keep their places in some altered and untimely state. They once sought to turn all thisLand so. To have no change? That is unnatural.”

  “It’s as our ancestors say,” Palatan added, his hand still upon Nechtoun’s shoulder. “If we turn aside from Grandmother, She will merely roll and submerge us in the Deep.”

  “Indeed, horse-chieftain. Alekšu.” Grass Weaver, both hands crossed respectfully at her heart, gave a brief nod. “You remind us of wisdom. And Našobok wyrh-chieftain makes talk that none other than outliers choose to hear. And stone-chieftain? It is… interesting, how you make the talk of outliers.”


  This was met with shocked murmurs, but also satisfied ones. Galenu, it seemed, had some antagonists.

  “But stone-chieftain, I say you’ve not earned rights to wander. You have taken them, and given nothing in trade.”

  Earned. Tokela found himself unintentionally charmed by the sound of it, the possibilities.

  “I disagree with your assessment, yakh-chieftain.” Galenu’s tone was firm, yet held more respect than most others would give an outlier.

  “Hunh,” the old fem grunted, unconvinced. “Taken. Even as Matwau take. Even as Chepiś take. Consider this: things cannot be taken without some damage. What have you let outLands take, stone-chieftain, without earning any protections?”

  The ominous ring of it silenced even Galenu.

  Madoc tugged at Tokela’s braidlock. The motion slight and slow, Tokela angled his head to peer at Madoc.

  What are they talking about? Is Grandsire… here?

  Madoc realised what he’d implied only after he had brought it forth, and shot Tokela an apologetic look. I didn’t mean it in the same way as with yo—

  I’ll explain later was all Tokela could trust himself to reply, turning away. A small choking noise sounded from behind him, but he didn’t turn. His eyes stung a betrayal no less than Madoc’s thoughtless talk.

  “While Chepiś remain on our borders, Matwau daren’t intrude too far,” Grass Weaver continued, implacable. “Many of Matwau bide even more fearful of Other than dawnLanders.”

  “You forget yourself!” Sarinak growled.

  “N’da. I never forget what I am. Often you do, when we have something useful for you. But we never forget. We cannot afford to.” Grass Weaver gave a sharp, decisive jerk of her chin. “Your talk is straight as arrowflight, Inhya hearth-chieftain. Chepiś are dangerous. Their abominable Shaping has bent Grandmother’s shell nigh to breaking. They have never belonged here, and they know it. More and more they lose themselves to their own madness. Take refuge, like the old tales of Tsin’oe, in Stars- and Moons’ light.”