Blood Indigo Page 28

  He rolled her over, pushed her down. She gave an abrupt, painful yip and kept rolling; they ended up on their sides, face to face.

  “Wha—?”

  Reaching beneath, her grimace turned to triumph as she brought forth one of the bone-and-feather pins she wore in her braids.

  Palatan snorted, reached over and twined a fallen strand about his fingers, admiring the gleam like polished, darkest bronze. “No pointed sticks. No torture thisdark. You have my secrets.”

  “Most of them, anyway.” Aylaniś leaned closer and ran her tongue over his lower lip, sank her teeth lightly there.

  Most of them. He pulled her close, sudden and uncertain, shrugged it off by laying a trail, with lips and tongue, down the tattoo on her arm.

  “Perhaps,” she said, breath quickening, “a little bit of torture?”

  “Ai, are you two the only ones here, then?”

  Aylaniś stiffened, sighed. Palatan gave a curse, rocking up to his elbows to glare at the ahlóssa standing on the other side of their small hearth.

  “Kuli chieftain-son!” Aylaniś twisted about. “Where are your manners? Can’t you see we’re occupied?”

  “I surely can see that,” Kuli said with a sigh. “But I’d truly hoped Uncle Našobok would be here too.”

  As if cued, Rain began pelting them; huge drops, gaining in momentum.

  They all three ducked for the tipo, startling both Arrow and Anahli from sleep, and ended up tucked together, laughing fit to burst. Just like before, Palatan thought, as his daughter and his spouse fussed at each other over a quickly cobbled meal of trail food, whilst his son went to milk the mares.

  Perhaps the Vision was merely too much Smoke, too much tulapaiś, too much… yap-yap-yap.

  “HE SAYS he was viciously attacked.”

  “Without or with further provocation?”

  Galenu paused.

  “Surely,” Sarinak prompted, “provocation enough existed in Dance. I told Tokela to leave it, but oških hearts beat hot. Perhaps this matter can be solved between us alone, and the humiliation of being beaten twice by a slighter opponent”—a quick, proud smile ticced his broad face, slight but there—“teach a lesson in humility to your oških.”

  As far as Galenu was concerned, Mordeleg likely earned that lesson. But his Clan’s honour also lay at stake. “The oških has demanded arbitration, as is his right. He says Tokela promised to lie with him and instead lay in wait to kill him. In light of that, he’s important evidence against Tokela that will prove his false nature.”

  Sarinak gave a low growl, stalking from the door where he had admitted Galenu into his den. By the hearth, Inhya continued pouring fragrant bark tea into several birchbark cups. Necessary, the stimulant; it was not yet Sun’s rising.

  “That’s a lie!” Madoc, on the rug beside his parents’ hearth, clambered to his feet. His dam stayed him with a look.

  “Sit, son.”

  Madoc obeyed, reluctant but taking advantage: Inhya hadn’t harnessed his mouth. “But it’s a lie! Tokela hates Mordeleg, and he’d never—!”

  Another look from Inhya, forbidding.

  “Kindly forgive my son, Galenu Hassun-chieftain,” Sarinak offered, even as Inhya said through her teeth, “You will excuse your rudeness, Madoc.” She pulled Madoc to his feet and gave a slight push forwards.

  “There’s no need,” Galenu said, his eyes steady upon Madoc. “I don’t think he was calling me the liar—were you, chieftain-son?”

  Big-boned and gawky, Madoc had the promise of his people’s height and breadth, as well as the tawny hue to his hair that ran sporadically through the Mound People. Inhya gave another push, Madoc grimaced and met Galenu’s gaze—ai, no midLands ahlóssa would meet an elder’s eyes so boldly. Madoc’s had interesting glints of carmine amidst sepia.

  He would break hearts, this one. Handsome, likely a chieftain himself some Sun, Madoc a’Naišwyrh would have his pick of mates.

  “Nevertheless,” Inhya prompted, bringing a cup of tea over to Galenu.

  He took it with a grateful nod, sipped as she went over to stand with Sarinak.

  Madoc tucked his chin, firm. “I wasn’t calling you false, stone-chieftain, but Mordeleg has to be lying. Tokela has every reason to take him down, but he wouldn’t…” Madoc’s Sun-bronzed cheeks darkened further. “Wouldn’t.”

  Galenu took this in. “You are close with Tokela, then, ahlóssa?”

  Interesting, how Madoc looked away. “He’s my brother.”

  “My youngest,” Sarinak put in with a weary air, “has been foolish and surly about his brother’s doings. Unreasonable, if understandable.”

  Madoc flushed harder. Anger, then, not embarrassment.

  “As to my other son, it would be equally as foolish to deny Tokela can be more trouble than not. But this?” Sarinak shrugged.

  Inhya continued. “What your oških has confessed to you, Galenu stone-chieftain, seems unlikely.”

  Galenu often found much of Mordeleg’s claims unlikely, but he wasn’t about to admit that. Not here, not yet.

  “Until lastSun, Tokela showed little sign of”—Inhya considered her talk—“interest.”

  “In Mordeleg?”

  “In anyone,” Sarinak muttered.

  Inhya slid him a slight frown. Sarinak gave an almost-imperceptible shrug as she continued. “You sent Mordeleg here because he proved intractable in midLands. He’s continued to be so. Restrictions anger him; not that I care, he’ll follow them. But Mound-chieftain and his fellow oških are the only ones keeping him contained. They outfight him, of course.”

  Of course. Despite the smugness, Galenu had to agree. “I’d hoped a change of place would help. And time.”

  “He’s been here nearly three Moons,” Inhya reminded.

  “The other oških detest him.” Madoc was scowling. “He’s weak and they know it.”

  “Madoc,” Sarinak growled, “if you cannot keep your tongue still, I’ll send you out.”

  Madoc slumped, aggrieved, but shut his mouth.

  “What happened in Dance merely exhibited your oških’s malicious nature.” Inhya put hands on hips.

  “Hunh. With some males, rutting can be as much struggle as satisfaction.” Sarinak gave another shrug, this time with a twitch of a grin. “I’m sure Galenu remembers what I mean.”

  “Neither memory nor motion has thoroughly failed me yet,” Galenu answered, wry, and offered his own slight jab. “I, too, saw Spear Dance. Tokela made his choice—unsuitable, perhaps, but it wasn’t Mordeleg.”

  Sarinak’s face went stony. Madoc’s hadn’t that self-possession—his glower could surely melt the well-swept floor. Jealousy stuck out over him like quills. Galenu had to hide a smile. This one was his dam’s son, all right.

  “Where is Mordeleg now?” Inhya asked.

  “In my den.” Galenu’s turn, now, to shrug at their scepticism. “I doubt he’ll stray. I told him if he wished a hearing, he needed to wait Mound-chieftain’s convenience.”

  “I will listen,” Sarinak agreed. “To him and Tokela both”

  “I can find Tokela!” Madoc piped up, and Inhya, after throwing a silent question at her spouse, consented.

  “After the meal,” she added, making a grab for Madoc as he leapt into motion.

  “Later thisSun should be convenient for arbitration,” Sarinak added. “I will gather four elders, and you, Galenu, are allowed a midLands witness. Bring that witness and Mordeleg to the Council dens after midSun meal.”

  Galenu tilted his head to his hosts, replaced his cup next to the others by the hearth, then departed.

  “YOU’RE SMILING.” Tokela’s fingers smoothed, back and forth, across a wide, satiny scar tracing from Našobok’s ribcage to his belly. He seemed fascinated.

  “I’m thinking of pleasant things,” Našobok told him, riffling fingers through the dusky, fur-soft forelock that would not stay out of Tokela’s eyes. “And looking at you.”

  Such a simple—and true—compliment had alto
gether too much power. Yet sheathed in Tokela’s innocence was an intriguing edge, a keen blade of wit and want beginning to sharpen itself.

  Našobok might end up with a few more scars from it before this was all over. He smiled again. Ai, bring it.

  They both had their toes in River, swishing companionably back and forth. There was a lambency within Tokela, one the darkling trust of newfound intimacy had explored and started to free. As if he would sprout wings and take to them, if only he hadn’t been told his entire life that flying was impossible.

  Našobok welcomed impossibility. He closed his eyes, sighed, and thought upon every heartbeat leading to this one pulse-point, thisNow.

  When he opened his eyes again, Tokela still watched him. Almost too closely. Restless, in the wake of Našobok’s silence.

  I thought you liked quiet. When did you become so anxious? The question hurt Našobok’s heart. Too many questions about too many things…

  Enough. Better to make more talk in a way they both comprehended. He grabbed a handful of chestnut hair to pull Tokela close—

  “There you are!!”

  One of Našobok’s canines grazed Tokela’s lip; both of them winced before rolling apart.

  Kuli stood not two lengths from them, fists planted on his hips and cinnabar head cocked. “Everyone’s looking for you, Tokela. You’re in trouble again. And Uncle! What are you doing lying with Tokela?”

  Tokela gave a slight growl, lurched upwards, belatedly seemed disconcerted by the fact he was very erect. Ai, then, so was Našobok.

  So it was decided: after bedding Palatan one final time, Našobok would have to kill him so he couldn’t breed any more like this stealthy, precocious little being.

  Who refused to shut his yap. “I know you were dancing with him, and I know that usually leads to a lot of rubbing up against each other—”

  Anger and thwarted lust had joined battle across Tokela’s expression, quickly losing ground to a third combatant: sheer astonishment.

  “Blood myself, I swear I will,” Našobok murmured. “If only that reedy voice breaks soon.”

  Tokela made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a snort. It was true: Kuli could doubtless be heard leagues downRiver.

  Nor was he showing any signs of stopping. “See, it’s one thing for you to dance with Uncle, but you shouldn’t be rutting him—”

  Shouldn’t? Tokela mouthed, eyes wide.

  “—because he belongs to Yeka and Aška!”

  Tokela turned those wide eyes to Našobok.

  The only answer Našobok could make was laughter. Under its pressure, a smirk touched Tokela’s mouth.

  “A complicated story for another time.” Grabbing for his clout, Našobok gained his feet. With a wince, he angled the sodden leather about his hips. That put the finish to it, even more than a mouthy little ahlóssa.

  Našobok sighed. “So you’ve found us, Little Fox. What trouble, and who’s looking?”

  “Galenu stone-chieftain, for one,” Kuli said. “Making all sorts of talk about someone dumping one of his Clan just inside his guesting-den, trussed and gagged like bait to trap lionKin.”

  Našobok grinned. Tokela’s puzzlement was beginning to slide into gratification.

  “Then I went to find Madoc only to hear Uncle Sarinak letting loose—he is not happy, I’ll tell you, and said if there’s trouble to be found, Tokela will find—Ai! I’m just repeating what he said, I swear!” Kuli clipped onto the end of his recital as Tokela made a threatening gesture his way.

  “And you say I talk too much,” Našobok murmured Tokela’s direction, finding himself treated to a darkening of those freckled-sepia cheeks and another smile.

  “Anyway, Anahli would say ‘all is chaos’—only I think she rather likes it that way—but no one seems at all happy and least of all that Mordeleg. He has to stay in stone-chieftain’s dens and didn’t even get to break his fast—which is worse than being tied up if you ask me—and Aunt Inhya wants him out of here and kept growling as much at Uncle Sarinak, which made him all the more growly, and Madoc was s’posed to come looking for you, Tokela, since you’re not there—obviously—but you know how Madoc is, when I found out what he was doing he didn’t want me to come, and since he had something to do before he could come, I figured I would come find Tokela on my own. I’m not sure, though, that they knew you were off rutting Uncle Našobok.”

  Finally, Kuli took a breath. Našobok tried to speak.

  It was in vain. “Aška thought you were supposed to be in our dens to break your fast, Uncle, but Yeka must have known you were out and about—you know, Yeka just knows things doesn’t he?—and Aška was annoyed because she doesn’t like it when Yeka knows things she doesn’t, and she had baked extra nutcakes but Anahli and me ate them all since you weren’t there and ai, but when Yeka finds out you’ve been rutting Tokela when you were supposed to be breaking your fast with—”

  “Kuli,” Tokela broke in, low and quiet. “You won’t make talk about who I was with. Or why.”

  Kuli shot a look Tokela’s direction. The flood of talk choked off. And stayed off. Kuli’s gaze held to Tokela’s and, a’io, the ahlóssa seemed worried.

  If Našobok hadn’t seen it, he’d never have believed it.

  The unnatural silence held. Našobok was almost afraid to break it. “We will come, soon enough. So, Little Fox, fly!”

  Kuli tried to rally. “Foxes don’t fly—”

  “You will be flying if you don’t go away,” Tokela interrupted.

  Kuli shut his mouth. And went.

  Našobok watched, befuddled just as speechless, as Kuli scooted over to the trail down the cliff bank and clambered up. The last sight of him was his cinnabar hair, flying in Wind.

  Meanwhile, Tokela brushed sand from his thighs as if nothing untoward had happened.

  “Tohwakelifitčiluka. What Power-full weapon do you wield to shut that one’s yap?”

  “I once stopped giving him stories. He barely lasted four Sunrises.”

  Našobok blinked, then laughed. Hard. Tokela frowned, then smiled and joined in. Našobok came over and snugged an arm about him.

  “We go. I’ll come as well. Since I was the one who dumped the oversized owl pellet on Galenu’s floor, after all.”

  Tokela’s smile hung on—just barely. His eyes took on that remote, forlorn cast that twisted at Našobok’s heart. For he recognised it. Knew it for himself, all too well.

  Našobok nuzzled Tokela’s forelock. “And after this is settled? Come to Ilhukaia. Be with me this Moon’s passage as well as last. If you want.” At first a tease, but as he finished speaking Tokela’s smile turned all lovely.

  “You want me again? You were only obligated to one Dance once you laid hands on my spear.”

  “I laid hands on your spear several times lastDark—or have you already forgotten?” Našobok drawled, and counted coup as the smile blossomed full-bore. “So I think I’m rather entitled to a few more rounds as playmate. We go together, and you come to my ship when Sun begins His descent. I’ll give you a proper tour of my truest love, and…” Našobok trailed off as Tokela turned to walk with him, came to a dead halt.

  This time Madoc stood at the entry trail, bristled-stiff in challenge. His eyes flickered with something quite unpleasant as they detailed the arm slung across Tokela’s shoulders, strafed the owner of said arm, then returned to Tokela.

  Then Madoc turned on one toe and stalked away.

  Našobok felt Tokela lean forwards, slight but unmistakable. From one too-swift heartbeat to the next it was subdued: muscles still quivering, jaw twitching, but impulse conquered.

  It was fearsome. No oških should be so… contained.

  Našobok dropped his hand to the whipcord small of Tokela’s back, gave a gentle push. “Go after.”

  Tokela shook his head, watching as Madoc disappeared into the thick wood.

  “Cousin,” Našobok chided. “Life is already too filled with paths left fallow.”

  Still, To
kela didn’t move. But his gaze turned to Našobok, unyielding. “You said consequences.”

  “I did. But,” Našobok shrugged, “Madoc is young.”

  “Not too young to be another who would”—emotion blazed in those eyes, sudden-hot—“own me.”

  Not only sliding the knife home, but with a twist. Našobok closed his eyes, hung his head, then shook it and started to circle his arm about Tokela once more.

  Tokela sidestepped the intended caress as if it were a brand, and there was a strange glimmer beneath his eyelids as he lowered them, averted his face. Našobok dropped his arm, peered at him, curious.

  Tokela’s fists were clenched, his teeth gritted tight enough for the cords to rope and flex along his jaw and neck, and one answer was suddenly clear: do not touch.

  Našobok waited for several lengthy heartbeats, then said, “We should go. They will look for us.”

  “And why should a wyrhling care—or need—to obey?”

  There was the impulse, strong and barely heeled, to grab Tokela by the hair and shake him. Instead Našobok retorted, clipped, “This wyrhling doesn’t care a plague carcass what Mound-chieftain has to say to him. What this wyrhling cares about is what Mordeleg thought to do. I want that one away from here. Away from you.”

  Tokela’s gaze met his. Surprise… and something else that lurched Našobok’s heart upwards in his throat. He’d long known the “starry-eyed” one had been truly named—but not like this. Tokela’s gaze flickered in the half light, not merely with ebbing traces of darksight, but something else.

  But before Našobok could suss it out, Tokela turned away.

  “We should go.” He started walking, his forelock once again falling over his eyes.

  Našobok watched him go for several breaths.

  Perhaps nothing. Hints of another impossibility. A reflection of his own experience, a belief…