N’da, you really don’t. Which is just as well.
Tokela didn’t drop his gaze. Galenu finally sighed and shrugged.
“I meant what I said, Tokela. I meant all of it. You’ve a place with me, should you choose.”
Then Galenu touched his fingertips to his own heart and head, reached out to give a gentle push against Tokela’s breastbone. Turning, he retreated down the stair.
Tokela watched him go, then slid down the stones to his haunches. He stared out across the compound, past the drum heights and to the thick trees beyond.
Perhaps even all the way to a darkling t’rešalt and a Forest forbidden.
HE NEVER imagined his heart could be more filled—more found—than when he rode beneath Sky’s vast arch, across highLand Forests or lowLand plain, companioned only by four-leggeds and his thoughts.
But here. Ai, here.
Palatan walked the caverns in ecstatic silence. He carried a small, pitch-fuelled torch, for there was no natural light, however faint, for darksight to glean. Every now and then he would raise a hand to lightly trace the rough, ebon surface, hewn by countless Hoops of molten trails. In response Palatan’s own skin would twitch, as if he were one of horseKin shuddering a fly. It was not rebuff; it was assimilation. Sensation sparked along his nerves, exchanging Fire without for Fire within.
It was a trail cold to any save those Blooded to it. Many had lost their way—and their lives. They would wander in endless darkness or be cozened by molten runoff—so solid in appearance but in reality a treacherous, deadly cousin to River. Palatan, however, knew this path as intimately as his own heartbeat. The caverns above were deserted save for two vital presences: his best mare, happy with the fodder he’d brought, and Arrow, who waited obedient but disgruntled whenever his two-legged companion descended into a place he could not follow.
The hum of his People also remained with him, vibrating like a faint heartbeat in the volcanic stones above.
The snows were retreating. It was almost time to leave the caverns. Almost time to wander the summering plains.
Palatan kept going deeper. The corridors spiralling before and beyond—beneath—immeasurable trails into an abyss vibrant with Power. He descended unafraid, light of tread but heavy with his own appeals and questions.
Is he ours?
What mystery lies upon him?
What must I do?
At first there was no answer. But the deeper and deeper his descent, the more silence gave way to a tickle at his nape, a touch rousing and soothing and humbling, all at once.
He is ours. More than you can possibly know in thisnow.
Then he belongs here. I’ll bring him to us.
But?
I fear he won’t come willing.
And you know better than to merely wield a weapon, like outLanders who consider nothing but thisnow.
Palatan considered the heated dark for long breaths. Yet those outLanders grow bold, restless. I would save our People, whatever it takes.
The sharpest obsidian will shatter if wielded unwisely.
Again, Palatan closed his eyes and contemplated the skim of Fire & Other always there, ghosting Sight.
Help him, son of my daughters. Show him a little of what lies in thisLand.
And then?
Let him choose.
20 – Falling Weir
“Tokela! Anahli! Akumeh!” Sarinak’s voice boomed out above the stream’s rush. “Go with these ahlóssa and help them!”
Tokela looked up from the net he and three others were shaking clean and pulling onto the ricks for drying. First Running was over; the nets had to be overhauled before the next fishKin run, and Sarinak had been overseeing the process. Now, with broad feet braced upon the sentry stone, Sarinak was accompanied by Madoc, Kuli and Kuli’s friend Laocha. All three ahlóssa were sopping wet and panting from their run downstream.
For the past six Sunrises, Madoc had not approached Tokela. Neither had Tokela the right to approach Madoc; Inhya had made that altogether clear. Sarinak sending him anywhere with Madoc was unexpected.
Or perhaps not, in this strange place they’d all found themselves. Inhya hadn’t told Sarinak anything of what had happened; otherwise, Tokela would be outlier instead of retrieving nets with his tribe. Neither had Palatan returned. Aylaniś seemed unworried about this—three Suns there and the same to return, after all. Tokela nevertheless had the impression she was watching him, waiting. Anahli also watched him, but she seemed to have had some change in her heart; she no longer quipped dire warnings about her sire. Galenu hadn’t left, either, but seemed pleased to visit Nechtoun until Wind Moons came; he smiled at Tokela when they did meet, and seemed to be waiting no less than Aylaniś.
Even River had gone quiet. It was as if the t’rešalt had never touched them.
“The weir at Falling Water is stuck fast. The ahlóssa can’t raise it on their own,” Sarinak was explaining as Tokela relinquished his task to another and sloshed for the bank.
“Come, Otter!” Waist-deep in River’s shallows, Akumeh’s elation was infectious: wild water and tangled nets meant excitement, danger, a chance for one more proof of prowess to add to his looming adult status. But Akumeh was still oških, still honouring lowForest obligation to the fishing and, while he was here and oških, he’d made it plain he didn’t need the promise of Spear Dance to fancy Tokela.
Tokela had been just as ripe for Akumeh as Našobok. The first Sunrises of the oških den, waking and making his way beside ones who either paid no heed or actively avoided The Half-Breed, separated from everything Tokela had come to—admit it—rely upon, including the young ones who didn’t care what he was as long as he gave them stories and entertained them.
He wanted Našobok. He missed Madoc’s company. Aloof pride was an unsatisfactory companion, and Akumeh was as skilled as he’d promised. Perhaps not as skilled as Našobok, nor, thankfully, accompanied by the heart-lurch that seemed to hollow Tokela every time he thought of Našobok. There was no lovemate waiting in Akumeh. Instead there was plenty of play—and more, it dulled
