This was altogether much to take in.
“Either way, Tokela, son of my nephew, I wish to make amends.”
“Arbitration demanded and settled restitution; it is done.”
“A’io, and fairly done. But there are other matters. Ones for which I’d offer personal restitution.” Galenu paced across the parapet and came to stand beside Tokela, looking out.
Tokela kept his spine to the stones and his eyes upon Galenu, curious. Chary. The old chieftain remained silent, as if merely enjoying the view. Altogether curious, with his grey hair in an elaborate knot, his lightweave leggings, long, sashed tunic, and open-toed sandals appended only by a thick blanket shawl.
What did he want? There was no doubt in Tokela’s mind but Galenu wanted something.
“Ai, but Wind’s breath is heavy, here, filling your lungs with the wet. Your sire thrived here, but I must confess a preference for midLands, dry and crisp—and hot come summering. Did you know Talorgan, Sun and sweet water light his Spirit, grew up only a level below my own sett?”
Hearing his sire’s name so boldly spoken took Tokela aback. All he could do was tilt his head, curious.
“We call our lodgings setts. Like badgerKin we dug our homes into the rocky flathills, such as the place where I am chieftain. Not unlike here, where the Mound and Her cliffs have been hollowed out for habitation. It’s why we’re Hassun, stoneClan—surely you know that? But of course you do. Nechtoun tells me you’re intelligent—too smart for your own good, he adds, though I don’t see why intelligence needs such critical measure. Ai, well. Those a’Naišwyrh are set in their ways.”
His cheeks hot in a reaction somewhere between pleasure and insult, Tokela returned the shrug.
“It can be hard to live in a place where folk insist on keeping their sights trammelled to Earth. Particularly if you have eyes that seek Sky.”
That last twisted sharp beneath Galenu’s tongue, enough like to Tokela’s own name to be no accident. Neither did it contain the normal humour of such puns. Unsure how to answer, Tokela gave another shrug.
“You don’t make much talk, do you?” One arm braced against the driftwood railing set into Tokela’s support, Galenu lifted one eyebrow. “Hunh. You’re very like to your sire, you know.”
Again, a complex and conflicted reaction of emotions—first, Galenu had seen something in Tokela of Talorgan, then the realisation that it was a lie, all of it. Talorgan had not sired him—and where no shame should remain in his dam’s choice of who would sire her child, there was shame in this instance. Shame, and danger in what had sired Tokela. He was half of Other. The proof seethed within, rising unbidden as any storm.
Even Alekšu had ridden away with unanswered questions…
“Tokela. You’re the only son of my sister’s son. You are of an age to gain sire-knowledge. I would offer my hearth to you, if you’d come to midLands.”
Not a surprise, exactly, since he’d eavesdropped on Council… had it truly been merely three Suns ago? Tokela looked down at the arm Fire had taken in, still unscorched, unscarred.
Thought: If you knew, you wouldn’t want me either.
Said: “There is another I’m sworn to.”
If it wasn’t exactly true, it wasn’t false, either.
But what if Našobok knew the whole of it? Insidious, the doubt.
Galenu was frowning. “But horse-chieftain hasn’t spoken yet, though I’m sure she… Ai. I see. Našobok.” An odd, perturbed expression crawled over his seamed face. Then he chuckled, rueful. “Those eyes of yours indeed look beyond the horizons here. Small wonder they don’t know what to do with you.”
Tokela looked away.
“Hunh. I don’t retract my offer. I think there might be depths to you that Našobok’s… simpler means cannot fill.”
From embarrassment to affront, the flames of it warmed, cheek to neck and nape. Tokela turned to Galenu, challenging.
“I mean no insult,” Galenu held up his hands, spread in apology. “Only truth. The wyrhling will satisfy your body well enough. But what about your mind, Tokela?”
Tokela realised he had opened his mouth merely to have whatever he meant to say abandon him. What did Galenu mean, his “mind”? He knew the word, of course, recognised it as another term for the brain housed within his skull. But the only meaning it could have in the given context was what outLand people defined as intellect, despite the fact everyone knew one’s intellect was in the heart, in the knowing, in the instincts and the feeling.
“Travel and an undomesticated playmate. It all sounds very exciting. I understand, believe me. It’s true, nephew, you won’t find such things in my sett. But I hold latches to many other doors; other kinds of excitement. We live not just in thisLand but upon a world, Tokela—a’io, a strange word, of outLand use but altogether true—and our world both shrinks and expands with every Sunrise. I’ve tried to make the ways of stoneClan broader in my time. I don’t want my People to only pay heed to the Earth beneath our toes, but also other places and peoples. As I shared it with your dam, I’d share it with you: there’s so much more than stubborn, fierce dawnLands can ever hope to hold. And…” Galenu trailed off, then continued, very soft, “I owe fealty to your dam’s Spirit, Tokela. I would repay it.”
Tokela’s heart had begun to drum, hard against his chest, with Galenu’s strange talk of places and Sunrisings and… Worlds. But at the last it stuttered, went back to the mere lut-lub of blood and muscle, shivered as if in pain. Tokela didn’t even know why, until he found himself answering, talk a’Hassun dropping, each syllable, like stones into River.
“There are many who would owe my dam. There seem to be very few who would give such regard to me.”
Galenu’s nostrils flared. All
