Blood Indigo Page 25

  Tokela didn’t understand. He didn’t want to. But as Anahli released him, leaving pale marks where her fingers had dug into his biceps, it was as if she’d tugged free some scab deep within him, taking flesh and leaving it to seep empty.

  This time, he did fall to his knees.

  Silence.

  Then, gentle and terrible, Anahli asked, “How long has the Elemental been with you?”

  THE ELEMENTAL. Been with you.

  Tokela didn’t look up. Couldn’t. “What are you talking about?”

  Anahli knelt, grasped his arms again. Bent close and, nose to nose, looked into his eyes.

  The surge again, noise but not-noise. Heat behind his eyes, in his arms where she touched him, and Tokela found himself raising one hand, fingers tracing the Marks upon Anahli’s cheeks then to the growing squinch of brow. Another Mark, there, like Alekšu’s horns but not, seeming made of SkyFire, unfamiliar. Yet still the blue-white light danced upon sienna and…

  And Anahli… shivered. Closed her eyes, swallowed, then opened them.

  Said, obdurate, “I think you know what I’m talking about.”

  “What is going on here?”

  And ai, but yet another voice rent the clearing, making them both start. Tokela fell back on his haunches. Anahli bolted upright and whirled on Našobok like an enemy.

  “We’ve done nothing! You’ve no right to even ask wh—”

  “I’ve no right?” Našobok’s voice jolted against hers, River and Ice. “You’re the one with no rights here. Neither of you. What are you doing here? This place is forbidden to…” He paused as he glanced at Tokela, but turned back to Anahli, warmth fading. “What have you done to Tokela? What’s happened to the midLander ošk—”

  “You’ve no idea what’s happened here!” Anahli didn’t back down. “Don’t you dare assume the worst of me.”

  “If I assume the worst, I have cause. This game you’re playing is dangerous, ehši.”

  “I’m not your daughter! I never have been, and I have nothing more to say to you. Outlier!”

  Našobok’s face twisted. He nearly lurched forwards but just as obviously strangled the motion, fists clenching. “You go too far.” Barely audible, fury scoring icy calm. “Up, Tokela.”

  N’da, he didn’t think so. If he did, he was going to be sick. Worse, he didn’t even know why…

  “Tokela?” The voice was unchanged, so why was there concern bleeding from beneath the raw anger? And Anahli… something fragile and tensile as spinner’s webs harnessed Tokela to all the fury and grief she flung, like spear from atlatl, against Našobok. And trying to quiet that? Easier to caress lightning, hold to Wind. The oddling flickers renewed their dance against his eyelids; Tokela squeezed them tight and bit his lip, hard. The sting brought him back within himself.

  “One Sun will rise, Hihlyanahli,” Našobok gritted out, “when you think your own thoughts, not merely echo the poison that n’batuweh Chogah feeds you.”

  A long gasp, as if Anahli were about to reply.

  Našobok forestalled it. “Go. Now.”

  Silence. Then a choke and the sound of feet, heavy and stumbling, in retreat.

  “Tokela.” Calmer, but no less a command. “Get up.”

  I can’t. Don’t you see, I can’t.

  Hands grabbed his wrists and hoisted him upright. Tokela let them and kept his eyes tight-shut, glad of the new forelock that fell into his face—don’t touch me, don’t look, not now—but couldn’t wrest free.

  “Tokela.” No question, no demand, but the fingers taking Tokela’s jaw were as merciless as gentle. Even curiosity at that last didn’t impel him to open his eyes.

  A forehead touching his, brief, and Našobok’s breath against his cheeks. This did open Tokela’s eyes, in time to see Našobok loose him and go over to inspect Mordeleg’s prone form. “Just stunned.” Still quiet; soothing, almost. “What are the three of you doing here, Tokela? What has hap—?”

  “I tell you, nothing happened between us. Anahli did nothing.” She didn’t… it was me. She saw. Knew… and then we…

  We… what happened? How does she know? What does she know?

  “So tell me why you’re here. At this place.” Našobok gestured to the t’rešalt, which was, thank every spirit nameable, dark and dormant. “Have you come here…”

  It trailed away, but Tokela answered, quick as a quirt, “As my mother did?”

  Even Našobok, it seemed, found the subject of Lakisa uncomfortable. Instead of meeting Tokela’s eyes, he peered at the t’rešalt, frowning.

  “How did you know I was here?” Tokela pressed, wondering how anyone had known, at that.

  “I tracked you. You weren’t so careful about your steps, and that one,” he jerked his chin towards Mordeleg, “left a trail like a wounded buck. I feared he would come after you, and it seems he did.”

  “A’io.” This was easier than the… Other. “He threatened Madoc, too. I nearly took him down again, but he pinned me. He tried to force me. I didn’t want him!”

  “That was obvious even in Dance.”

  The reassurance gave some ease. “Anahli saw, too. She threw the stone. I wish I’d…” Anger rose, not hot but cold. I wish I’d done… whatever the Riverling and the Elementals and the t’rešalt would have… It sickened him even as the thought surfaced. “Anahli did nothing, but if she had, at least she’d have given me the choice!”

  Našobok peered at him, mouth quirked. “Tokela, you and Anahli have already attracted enough trouble thisSun; are you so set on flaunting tradition—”

  “It seems tradition would forbid you to me as well. Is that why you didn’t want me?”

  A frown scrawled itself over Našobok’s forehead; he closed his eyes for a long breath. When he did speak, it was a growl. “If you didn’t see that I did want you, then you weren’t paying attention, cousin.”

  Was that condescension? “You didn’t fight for me!”

  “If that’s true, then why am I here?”

  This stopped Tokela midbreath of another angry volley.

  “No doubt Anahli would say I’m here to thwart her. She and I don’t exactly get along of late. But then Anahli doesn’t get along with anyone of late but the n’batuweh.” Našobok shrugged and stood, toed Mordeleg’s haunch. “Well, as it stands, if this one weren’t oških, I’d take him to River and pitch him to Her mercy. But he is, so we must do something, not just make talk about your… uh… unconventional choices in playmates.”

  “Anahli didn’t—!”

  “I meant me.”

  Oh. Tokela’s cheeks burned. A slow smile tilted his mouth; he kept it and closed his eyes, watched the flickers fade to darkness, listened to the drum of his heart quicken into silence.

  “Tokela.”

  He found Našobok watching him, gaze unreadable. It seemed Našobok had many things he would choose to say,; instead he merely continued, “The chieftains are in Council until the Moons touch the Duskmost trees. I certainly can’t interrupt and you’d just catch more trouble did you do so. I also refuse to just let this”—he toed Mordeleg again, this time prompting a tiny groan—“wander free. Neither can I stake him down somewhere away from here.” The slight smile turned wider, tipped into a snarl. “Though it might be a good thing did one of lionKin take the treacherous lout.”

  The image of Mordeleg trussed like hunting bait appealed mightily. Tokela couldn’t help a broad smile.

  Našobok, still watching, let out an odd staccato of breath before a contagious, lopsided grin returned. “I think I know what to do. I’ll be back.”

  Heart stuttering in inexplicable panic, Tokela shot Našobok another wary look.

  Another frown, then Našobok repeated, “I’ll be back. If…” He hesitated, and it seemed odd upon the normal surety of his body. “If you want me to, that is.”

  Tokela felt his cheeks flaming, lowered his head. Gave a tight, self-conscious nod.

  “But not here. We shouldn’t be here, it’s not safe. You
shouldn’t come here, Tokela, and you know why.”

  A knot fisted itself in Tokela’s chest, half resentment and half relief.

  “Where shall I find you?” Našobok’s persistence was all relief.

  “There’s a place downriver, with a deep sink surrounded by weeping trees—”

  “I know the place.” There was a grin in the voice. “Meet me there.”

  And when next Tokela looked up, Našobok was disappearing into the mists, Mordeleg’s unconscious form slung across his shoulder.

  14 – Daughter of Wind

  Anahli flung open the door hide of her Clan’s tipo, and fled inside.

  The tipo was deserted, quiet. Not even her sire’s elderly fleethound lay by the hearth’s well-banked embers. But the wide, scooped-out hollow brimmed with furs and blankets. She dove in, rolling in the remaining warmth and scents: her sire, all spice and sharp musk, the needlecreeper balm her dam used, the ever-present and powdery smell of sweated horse blankets, the sweetsage and grasstails offered to their temporary hearth.

  No cold den with separate bed shelves. No disapproving playmates bound in skirts and headwraps and interminable strictures about what and who and how…

  She wished her sisters had come. Niše, Samke, and Vinka would pet her, comb and braid her hair, make understanding talk. Particularly Vinka, who’d also never forgiven Našobok.

  The worst of it? Anahli had obeyed him, instinctive as if he hadn’t long ago cast aside any rightful respect! As if she were a bare-cheeked ahlóssa! Her heart burned, her eyes seared with tears of humiliation. How was it her fault the otter-masked oških hadn’t been prepared for a fight? How was it her doing that Našobok thought she and Tokela had been courting?

  Anahli lurched upwards, clenching her fingers into the bedding.

  Tokela, whose heart lay in his eyes when they followed Našobok—and Anahli hadn’t had the chance to warn him off.

  He’ll tear your heart out upon the ground and turn away. He will…

  Tokela, Madoc’s fascination, whose eyes had flickered like Stars. Who had… pulled the sparks of light from the alien thing and set them to Dance upon Wind…

  Anahli drew her knees towards her chest. The sparks had… landed upon her chest, sunk into her heart. Našobok’s accusation stung, for whatever had happened, it was not so simple. She’d heard—n’da, not heard, a silent not-talk making questions beyond any true hearing and begged answers she couldn’t supply. Still begged answers.

  Her temples pounded with the pressure of memory; her heart thumped against her breast. She took in a deep, cleansing breath, hoping to quiet it to no avail.

  Possession. It had to be; it was the only answer she knew. The Riverling had answered, tiny as She had been, and the strange cavern… Shaped thing or no, it obviously had some life, and responded to one with the ability to listen. An Elemental’s Power had begun to ripen in Tokela, which meant…

  She had to tell her sire. He was Alekšu, he could help.

  Shaking her head—with a wince, as it set her pulse to pound in her temples all the harder—Anahli growled against her knees. Help? N’da. Alekšu was oathbound to take any gift away—and it was a gift, had been, would be again somehow! Palatan’s existence was now predicated on eradicating such things. Foolish, to think he’d do any different with Tokela.

  And it wasn’t only Alekšu. If they found out, here? Surely Tokela didn’t deserve that kind of punishment. The tribes upon River’s thighs were adamant: purge or exile. Našobok had been a chieftain’s son, but that hadn’t helped him.

  Yet…

  Hadn’t Tokela’s dam been possessed? Hadn’t they tried to help her, before River had taken her? Hadn’t her spouse drowned as well, trying to save her?

  A shadow loomed in the door. “Are you well?”

  Anahli started and leapt to her feet, holding her sire’s blanket against her like a raiding-shield.

  Chogah came inwards, slow, head tilted. She refused to share a tipo despite the distance travelled, insisting upon her own small habitation—set apart, even if it meant an extra horse.

  What is she doing here?—what spinningKin traps does she think to set? Immediately Anahli banished it as unkind, untrue. Chogah had likely seen or heard Anahli’s approach.

  Indeed, the ancient eyes held concern, chiding Anahli’s suspicions. “What has happened, ehši, to send you running home as if huntingKin nip your heels?”

  Home. These smells, this tipo… not a damp, unwelcoming, hard-hearted fish eaters’ Mound upon River.

  And ai, but her eyes pounded in their sockets.

  Eyes meet eyes to waken Spirit…

  “My heart, whatever is the matter?” Chogah knelt, wrapping her arms about Anahli, who hesitated then burrowed grateful, heat-filled eyes against her aunt’s ample breasts.

  Spirit wakens our Mother’s heart…

  Chogah stroked Anahli’s braids, murmured, “Did your dam humiliate you so? But she shows kindness even so; precocious ways will earn you no friends here, ehši. You must learn restraint. Wretched outLand ways loom too close for tolerance, here. Even River takes as much as She gives.”

  And the ebon cavern, squatting on the edge of their territory. Reminder. Threat.

  Anahli squinched her eyes shut, surrounded by comfort though her thoughts sped panicky as unfriended horses. “River. River took Tokela’s dam. His dam was… possessed, wasn’t she?”

  This seemed to confound Chogah. She pushed Anahli back; her eyes, ebon filmed here and there with faint, approaching clouds, narrowed like knives. “I do not speak ill of those who have walked on,” she finally answered. “This is all true, what I tell you. Lakisa a’iliq was possessed, a’io. Not to the Spirits of thisLand, but that of Chepiś sorceries. I could not help her.”

  “But they let her live here. Stay.”

  “They did. There was the unborn child, you see.”

  “Tokela.”

  “He was named Tohwakelifitčiluka. Eyes of Stars. They have even taken away his name, here, out of fear. No child deserves to be born outcast.” Chogah frowned suddenly, as if her thoughts unsettled her. “When he was born, the possession left Lakisa’ailiq. It was an oddling thing.” Then a huff. “When they could no longer prove she was possessed, they allowed her to stay. But she seemed always… fragile, after.”

  The possession left her. Anahli’s own thoughts were just as unsettling. What if the possession went with Tokela? What if… it was his?

  Chogah was watching, gaze too canny. “Why these questions, ehši?”

  Anahli started to pull back; Chogah’s grip snugged at her wrists, held. “What made you come back, Hihlyanahli, when your chieftain has decreed your bed shall lie in the oških dens a’Naišwyrh for at least a Hoop and one Sun? Why ask after a male oških?”

  Anahli shook her head.

  “You saw him, didn’t you?” Chogah pulled her close, peering even closer. “Did you see something in him to make you ask questions, to form others in your heart?”

  Anahli didn’t have to ask how Chogah knew such things; she had been Alekšu, still clutched to what Power she could.

  Why was it permitted for an ancient fem to wrap such secrets for holding—using? Why could Chogah keep hold when others had it muted, appropriated, silenced?

  “Already,” Chogah said, quiet, “the risk is high for him. Cause for suspicion, isn’t it? And this much is true: his birthing broke not only his mother’s possession, but her Spirit. Poor Talorgan, for this much is also true: he lost both son and spouse to Chepiś sorcery.”

  The compassion was real enough, but Anahli also saw the canny gloss behind Chogah’s gaze. Alekšu-that-was, waiting. Watching.

  Wind rattled the door flap, sent a small gust into the tipo. Chogah started, glanced about. She seemed… confused? The stray breeze rose prickles upon Anahli’s bare arms, prompting a memory held against another set of glossed-over eyes, luminous with Stars.

  Remember. Mother’s heart wakens…

  “Wakens what?�
� Surely Chogah couldn’t have heard the not-voice. “What has happened, ehši?”

  “Nothing. My head hurts,” Anahli answered, true enough. Her temples and heart both pounded fit to burst. Chogah was too close; she smelled of mould and sour milk, of a tipo too long closed away from Sky. “I just want to sleep one more dark in my own place.”

  Chogah took a breath as if to say something. It escaped in a sigh; with a clucking sound, she released Anahli. “Rest, then.” Rising with a grunt, Chogah made her slow way outwards. At the still-open flap she paused, seemed to speak more to the hide than Anahli. “Perhaps I shall speak with your sire. Your dam listens to him overmuch. Perhaps he can persuade her to relent from this wrong-headed course.” She looked around, then back towards Anahli. Her eyes gleamed: piercing, too canny.

  “Ai’o. You must come back home, my Dancer. I shall speak with Alekšu.”

  IT’S BUT a game, great and complex. Full of promise.

  So Aylaniś had told him before they’d entered the Council dens, as much reminder as coax. So she’d told him many times before he’d been allowed in the Council of chieftains. But unlike Aylaniś, Palatan had never enjoyed this sort of game, never enjoyed the underhanded machinations that passed for interaction. Alekšu was what he was. What he had no choice in becoming—or now, being. But had he fully realised the political—or afferent—implications?

  If only they didn’t insist upon making everything so absurdly complicated.

  “…if you drive outliers from any place in your territory, they’ll just move elsewhere. To the boundaries of sandClan, perhaps, where resources are already scant. Or here beside River, where MoundChieftain has enough difficulties, even with his own blood.”

  “I appreciate you are trying to make a point, Seguin,” Sarinak growled. “Kindly make it with less insult. I’m fully aware of my own problems.”

  Seguin a’Nunkáhiti, leader of Forestlodge, can be trouble, Aylaniś had informed Palatan as they’d travelled to the Mound. And he’d listened. She’d canny instincts for such things. Indeed, the several Suns of riding Riverwards had been filled with advice and trivia. Seguin begrudges Sarinak’s wide-flung control. Seguin knows he is unable to the challenge, but resentment makes him unwilling to bend his neck, even to Mound-chieftain. You’ve seen his like.