“Why did they name you after Her, River Wolf?”
The question was hoarse, and startled Tokela no less than, it seemed, Našobok. Taking up the oar once again, Našobok started to row. When it came, the answer was quiet.
“No doubt the same reason they named you Eyes of Stars. It’s what the nameKeeper saw in me.”
Beneath them, as if showing off for a paramour, River lurched the canoe frontwards, then back. Našobok took the motion with careless ease, while Tokela had to grab for the closest beam, chasing both balance and subject matter.
“And that’s why you kept it? Why your sire refuses to speak it?”
“That, amongst other things.” Našobok shrugged and half-turned. “It’s one of the things you must consider. If you came with me, the time will come when they no longer voice your name. Though”—another shrug—”you are oških, after all. You’ve the right to test many waters without irredeemable shame.”
“I am not shamed of you!”
“You never have been. It’s not a gift I take lightly, Star Eyes.”
Silence, as strangely comfortable as the eyes-meeting-eyes. River lapped beside them, Her recognition, once again, almost a vibration between them.
Tokela blinked, shook his head slightly, dropped his gaze.
“There are always consequences. Have scant worry over mine. Those a’Naišwyrh can do nothing to this outlier they haven’t already done. But you? Ai, you must think of yourself, Tokela. Perhaps you should ask: what are the consequences? If you leave, or if you stay? Have you thought upon this? Or did you come to me lastDark with a fear upon you that made you ask for shelter? Have you faced that fear, made sure it has merit? That there is no help for you amidst your People?”
It struck deep.
Našobok took the paddle in one hand, reached out with the other and tapped at Tokela’s chin. “Palatan left for a’Šaákfo earlier thisSun. He told me to tell you this: he means to return with answers for you. He has vowed this as Alekšu.”
It should ease Tokela; clearly Našobok thought it would. But it didn’t. It meant Alekšu knew, but also that Alekšu had no answers yet. And…
Don’t trust Alekšu.
And Make your own Clan.
And You are not the only one who has seen Other!
What did Inhya know? What did Anahli?
“I’ll be back, Star Eyes.”
Tokela slid his gaze to Našobok, whose Smoke-coloured eyes had creased, a smile lingering in tip-tilted corners.
“I’ll be back before the Brother Moon completes His turn, a little more or less. If you still want it, you have a place with me. With the wyrhling.” Našobok reached out, caressed Tokela’s face. “That is my vow, to you.”
DRUMS ANNOUNCED it. Not the huge bass voices of the talking drums, but a light and solitary beat echoing against the cliffs and downRiver. Then other sounds: first a deep-throated call sending shivers down the spine of anyone hearing it; then, one by one, others joining in descant.
Ilhukaia’s crew, singing her ready to depart.
Tokela had crept up Overlook after Našobok had set him ashore, and stayed. The ledge was barren of any others; he was glad. For one so skilled at making himself invisible, over the past few Suns he’d been far too evident for his liking. He leaned into the warm stones of his chosen, solitary perch, propped his chin into his elbows, and watched.
There had been some commotion earlier. Wind had shifted from dawnwards to downRiver, causing a flurry of activity. Old Munro had quickly rowed across, with Kalisom, to meet Galenu upon the strand. Several pouches changed hands almost too quickly to follow, and were ferried back over. The two wyrhlings made it back aboard just as the moorings were untied. The front crimson squaresail billowed loose, quickly manoeuvred and set. Once they’d drifted well into River’s main, the settee mainsail was tilted. Catching Wind’s breath, both resembled more the fine, bright-hued lace of insect wings than the tightspun fabric they truly were.
And Našobok, of course, a familiar lion stalking the deck, mane flying in what breath filled the sails. The same breath that even now tugged at Tokela’s hair, beckoning him to follow.
Not yet, he promised Wind, and River. Soon.
He had to hope it would come true. Had to. Otherwise…
His eyes stung; he pretended it was Wind’s disappointment.
On the strand below, movement beckoned. Galenu was still there; he’d spotted Tokela, was waving greeting. Tokela returned it, somewhat half-hearted, only to have that heart lurch and beat as strong as Munro’s drum as his eyes returned to Ilhukaia’s deck, and Našobok flung his fist from heart and outwards, towards Overlook.
He’d known Tokela watched. A foolish, faithless hope filled Tokela’s chest, meeting and matching the drum of his heart.
Galenu retreated. Tokela didn’t move, watching until Ilhukaia disappeared upRiver in a chiaroscuro of trees and Sun. Kept watching until his eyes burned.
Only then did he hear the light pace climbing the last steps to the Overlook. For a heartbeat he wondered if Galenu had actually climbed up here to speak with him; he quickly abandoned that, not only because it was absurd Galenu should have done, but because he recognised the step. Tokela’s heart hammered fiercer—this time with active panic.
Truly faithless, hope, for he had implored it to let him avoid this very instance. Somehow, though he knew it had to come. Tokela didn’t turn, merely hunched his shoulder and gritted his teeth. Waited.
“There are nets to mend,” Inhya said. She was somewhat out of breath, had obviously made the climb nonstop. “The next running comes all too soon.”
Tokela frowned. The breath he’d sucked in and held escaped him in a nigh-silent cough. Still, he didn’t move.
“Now the wyrhling is gone, you will pay more attention to your share of work, a’io?”
It was so normal as to be inconceivable. Tokela wasn’t sure what else to do, so he half-turned.
Inhya stood a little distance away, arms crossed and tangled in the shawl fallen about her elbows, bright-wrapped head cocked, thoughtful brows a-quirk. Again, normal. Inhya looked not much different from any other time when Tokela was in
