And River…
River burst from confinement like a soul freed of flesh; a water-horse leaping, a song from many throats to fill a cast net of Stars and burst it with Sun’s rays.
Free. They were, all of them—all!—freed and just as incomprehensibly bound together. Tokela had no need to require or even ask. Just Reach, then release.
And when the Chepiś ghost with darkling wings sought to beat him back, foul his own Elemental flight, River safeguarded him, filled him when Her People quailed beneath the Void. River drowned conjured Starlight with a thick hiss, slicking against Tokela’s skin and pounding behind his ears in the flow of his own blood, salt-silt and coppery-warm.
Mine, She told him. You were Mine, first.
With eyes reflecting Starlight upon water, Tokela met the alien eyes both there and not-there, felt the net falter, and the fabric of the Shaping start to fray.
“I won’t come with you. This is my place, and my People,” Tokela said, in a voice that filled the estuary like River at full tide. “You will not come here again.”
And with a great booming rush of wings, the thing escaped.
THE CLEANUP was foul. Without the Spirit that had animated them, the misShapen creatures began to bloat and rot.
Fire was happy to consume them. Tokela suspected Palatan approved.
But it wasn’t only the smell of the things burning that kept the villagers circling the one who’d vanquished them. They also gave Tokela a circuit as wide as Sun dipping towards Dusk. Even Našobok’s crew were eyeing him warily.
You were alone before you took this path. It was River. It was unhealthy. Now, you are alone no longer.
No longer, echoed, fainter. ShamanKin, fading into dusk.
“Ai, it is a mercy.” Našobok refused avoidance. He came over, threw an arm across Tokela’s shoulders, and snugged him close. “These… things. Once they were Kin.”
Tokela nodded, and ducked his cheek against Našobok’s arm. So was I.
So you are, River chided. My Kin. My son, returned to Me and Mine.
“Huh.” Našobok nuzzled his hair. “Good luck, old Munro says, to have shamanKin aboard.”
“But I’m not—”
“Aren’t you?” Našobok gestured all about them: the burning creatures, the villagers lingering with food and drink and awed murmurs, the wide expanse of water that lay calm once more. “The stories will be told for many Hoops. How the Spirits of long-gone shamans joined with an oških’s latent power to help a village beleaguered. How that oških, with his own Spirits, drove back an invasion of Shaped creatures.” His voice dipped into a whisper. “Can I help it if shamans are still about?”
“Ai, River Wolf!” Odina addressed Našobok with familiarity—and respect. “Our craft is clean. The village’s trade has been carried and counted. Do we stay, or move on?”
“We move on. Prepare our craft.”
Odina gave a respectful tilt of chin, first to her chieftain, then to Tokela. Turning on one heel, she marched down the quay.
Našobok watched her go, then turned back to Tokela, serious—and sudden. “So. We have come to the turning place. We go forwards, or back. What is your wish?”
What is your wish? An echo in thisnow, but faint behind Tokela’s sight, Fire was a soft presence surrounded by moisture. No desert heat, no burning Sun, no white-hot Stars to sear a seeking Alekšu. Instead there were soundless depths to immerse abandon—his depths, Spirit and body and breath.
This was his… and his co-tenant’s… place.
Come to us. We would help you. Protect you. Teach you.
He was no longer sure which voice was which. Their intent floated upon the mists and melted together upon River’s coppery surface, mirrored. Whilst She waited, secure enough to be silent—wherever Tokela went, She would hold him; but here, upon this craft so aptly named Surrender…
Našobok misread the hesitation. “I will take you to Palatan.” Slow, almost unwilling, did Tokela dare think it regret? “If he will give you sanctuary. If you wish to go.”
“If he wills. If I wish.”
Našobok took Tokela’s shoulders in gentle hands, broke the whisper with a quick shake and said, just as gentle, “What do you want?”
“I want to be with you. With River.” It tumbled out. “What I don’t want is to be used.”
“I would never—”
“I know. I know. But the others… I’m not so sure.”
“No more than you should be. Even those outLanders in the desert can’t be trusted. They seek to use you.”
“Not just the outLanders. Našobok. I don’t want to be a weapon used by my own People against the Chepiś any more than I want the Chepiś to use me against my own People.”
Našobok was quiet for so long Tokela was sure he’d offended him. Angered him. And no wonder.
“It seems to me you’ve answered your own question, then,” Našobok finally answered.
“You’ll let me stay?”
A snort, and Našobok cuffed at his ears. “I asked you what you wanted. You are River’s; you belong here. On Ilhukaia, in my bedding, at my side for as long as you choose.”
Warmth spangled heart-deep and spread.
“But heed me, Tokela. The time may come when the decision will be taken from you.”
“Then I’ll fight them with their own weapons. Ensure truce is kept.” Tokela looked out across River. “I am Tohwakeli’fitčiluka. Eyes of Stars.”
FINIS
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Author’s Note
I feel as if I’ve been working on the world of the Alekšu’in for much of my life.
I didn’t know it, at first. Or, more likely, just refused to see it. Openly acknowledging one’s cultural ties wasn’t exactly encouraged where or when I grew up. So the world you’ve just been introduced to in Blood Indigo went through, well, a lot of “white-washing” at its beginnings. When the story first began to emerge, it
