Help me emerge, Fire said, and I can help you. Their efforts will lie thin, here on the edges of the Shaping well.
There was an echo of… Palatan? And upon the breeze that rose, slight, to tug at Našobok’s long hair…
Anahli.
Tokela was afraid to answer. The Chepiś would hear.
They won’t hear.
They are—he didn’t want to say it but had to—part of me! In my Spirit!
If you are one with us, they can’t hear you. They can’t hear any Elemental, only try to chain Us—Shape Us—to their will. And you—Fire tried to Dance, warm-bright ochre within muted silver—are altogether skilled at keeping them out. Do you not realise? It’s what you’ve done for most of your life.
“We have to leave. Soon.” Jorda had paced closer, after a smattering of unfamiliar talk choosing to speak to Tokela directly. He seemed more nervous about the sand’s strange behaviour than any other possibilities. “We can’t be here after dark, this close to the vortex. Do you understand me?”
Tokela believed he finally did. Old tales ran true; the thing these Chepiś called voohr-tekhs was a Shaping well. Like Šilombiš’okpulo, only wilder. Angrier.
Not only that. In this place where their own sorcery had run amok, the Chepiś seemed warier than even firstPeople.
“We’ll answer any questions you have on our way,” Sivan continued. “We’ll see your companion safe, but you must come with us.”
You must not go. They would make of you a weapon.
How can a person be a weapon? Like a spear, or a knife?
Believe me, little brother, you have seen no weapons akin to what these outLanders could summon through you and your kind.
My… kind? I have none.
You do.
That last was definitely Anahli. Tokela almost smiled.
But Sivan still knelt before him, watching him. Her thin, pale brows twisted, almost a question.
So Tokela asked, “What do you want with me?”
Našobok watched, too. One sand-dusted hand moved, ever so slight. Hunting-talk. Keep on. Occupy them.
“Make talk” with prowlingKin. “Occupy” Chepiś. Našobok’s confidence was daunting, sometimes.
“If it were my choice,” Sivan answered, “I would leave you to your own place.”
“It isn’t your choice?” Tokela stepped to one side. It was slight, but three sets of small, round eyes gave it notice, tracked it.
“It is the will of our… ah”—Jorda fumbled, tried again—“do you have a word for someone who is leader?”
Tokela frowned, tilted his head. “We have many leaders in many traditions; which do you mean?”
Sivan seemed confused, but gave it a go. “You must have one who holds power over all. One who gives directions and must be obeyed.”
“How could there be one leader over all tribes and clans?” This was an easy answer. “One born and bred upon River’s thighs wouldn’t know enough of life upon the duskLands grass to lead anyone. Our leaders guide others with their skills and wisdom, each to their own purpose and ability, but we’ve none who hold the kind of power you speak of.”
This was met by bewilderment. Even the Matwau seemed surprised—which just proved outLanders understood firstPeople even less than firstPeople kenned outLanders. Tokela took the opportunity; more query as distraction. “Does your leader never let others guide them? Do they never make mistakes?”
Ah… confusion was being replaced by disquiet, varying degrees. Reassuring, that even these outLander faces were easily read despite their alien cast.
“Our leader wishes to help you.” Jorda’s answer was too firm, too rote. “She’s interested in you. What you are.”
“What I… am?”
Maloh slanted dark eyes first to Jorda, then Sivan, then back to Tokela, who’d already decided the Matwau to be the most dangerous of the three.
“You are unique, Tokela,” Maloh replied, wry. “It seems our leader wishes to keep it that way.”
Keep it that way.
If you can waken powers long thought dead… Ai, Star Eyes, no wonder they hunt you.
The sand trap was on the move again. Maloh’s gaze flickered that way.
Now behind them, Našobok rose quiet as huntingKin, searching for a suitable weapon.
“Did you know my dam?” It wasn’t anything Tokela had truly meant to ask.
Silence.
Jorda broke it. “She was my friend. I helped her when she asked.”
“Help her? Like you would help me by taking me from here? What do you want with me? What did you want with my dam?”
Occupy them. And here Tokela was, more occupied with obtaining answers than covering an escape.
“It was a mistake, to interfere. But now we can make it right.” Jorda’s bodytalk, though, read uncertain. “Perhaps we can mend you.”
Only a half-circuit of Moons ago he would have leapt at the opportunity. Now… “Perhaps. You don’t know.”
“How can we make things right by taking the little one from his people?” Maloh crossed her arms, shaking her head. “Such things should not be done without consent. The price is high.”
She sounded like someone who knew.
Našobok crept closer. He’d a large stone in one hand.
“Then I do not,” Tokela started to back away, “consent.”
Fire exploded upwards, knocking the water bowl sideways. As one the tall ones turned.
A stone hit Jorda in the temple. He dropped.
Tokela also dropped, but to purpose. He ducked and rolled, snatched up his knife from Jorda’s limp, thin fingers, and leapt to his feet as Našobok let fly a second stone. Našobok didn’t wait to see if he’d downed another target. Instead he headed for Tokela, who’d also started running.
They barely made two fours of strides. Another shallow pit shimmered then yawned before them, runnelling outwards then back before it spurted upwards into a fountain of sand and dust.
Našobok grabbed Tokela’s arm, hauling him sideways just as the sand went soft at their feet. They dodged sideways merely to find another, then another…
Stopped.
“It was a good try,” Našobok shrugged and turned about to face their enemy, chin lowered.
This time it was Tokela’s to lunge sideways and yank his cousin from another dust spume, pull him forwards.
And knew, with the inwards Other that crept like weavingKin along a web, what the Shaping place sought.
Not them. Not even Maloh. It was after the Chepiś.
Našobok’s aim had been true. Jorda’s head was splashed
