Tokela looked out over the Council and did not see it.
If only he could retreat a bare passage of Suns and never step foot inside that rotted t’rešalt, never let the indigo venom of Shaped creatures sting his blood, never let the touch of Chepiś pierce him, expose him, change him.
Madoc’s hand pinched, hard, and Tokela started, found Madoc’s curious gaze upon him, gleaming like polished copper in the dim. Tokela realised he was sweating.
Are you… here? Madoc signed, concern written in the twist of brow.
Comfort, somewhat, that Madoc would ask. But there was immeasurable comfort in how he didn’t truly understand the reality beneath the asking.
And security, of a kind, for Tokela to answer I’m here.
Good. You need to pay attention to this. Madoc's mouth jutted sideways, a mutinous tilt.
“—those are our requests of hearthing. The first, Gweh a’Katasu, oških of dryLands, is keen to learn our woodKeeper’s ways.”
Inhya was speaking, standing next to Sarinak. The woodKeeper had risen, his massive arms crossed over his chest, respectful. His craft was familiar to everyone there; Tokela had many times gone upRiver to the squat, dusty wykupeh. He’d also often wondered why the woodKeeper’s intricate, towering sculptures weren’t considered as forbidden as sketches.
Tokela slid Madoc a curious look. What does this have to do with anything?
Madoc scowled. Wait.
“—to let it be known to all that I gladly extend dryLands’ offer of hearthing without trade,” the woodKeeper was saying. “My own offspring, save my youngest daughter, are gone from my lodging, all espoused in trades of good faith or heart-longing. I’ve many things to share with a hard-working oških.”
The dryLands oških stood by the door, a blanket over one arm. At his side waited a tall fem, likely an aunt. Tokela had done the same after his parents were taken by River, standing in the Council’s entry with his eldest aunt—Giltha’ailiq, Nechtoun’s spouse, now given to Fire and River. There had been talk of hearthing Tokela in duskLands; his dam’s granddam had, after all, been a’Šaákfo. Instead Inhya claimed hearthing-right; she’d been Larissa’s oških playmate, then lovemate and oathsister.
The oških embraced his aunt, then walked slowly around the circle. The blanket he folded open at the woodKeeper’s feet, to kneel upon. In turn the woodKeeper rested a hand on the oških’s skull for a length of silent breaths. Then the woodKeeper helped his new-made son up, took the blanket from the floor, folded it over his own thick arm. They both exited, to satisfied murmurs all around.
Sarinak raised the chieftain’s staff, requesting silence, and Inhya spoke again, grave and formal.
“Another request has been tendered to me only thisSun’s rising, through once-chieftain Nechtoun. Galenu a’Hassun, stone-chieftain, you have offered to open your midLands lodging to my son, Tokela.”
Tokela sucked in a sharp, baffled breath. Galenu? Why? It must not be settled business, or else Inhya would have brought Tokela himself into Council. Tokela considered Galenu with narrowed eyes as the elder rose, arms across his chest.
“I do offer. It’s Nechtoun’s opinion that your son is of an age to know his sire’s people.”
To midLands? Galenu a’Hassun meant to offer a hearthing-place? Truly? Tokela’s eyes flickered to where his old uncle was seated, nodding. Inhya also glanced at Nechtoun, then Sarinak. Sarinak was peering at Galenu. He didn’t seem to be surprised.
Inhya, on the other hand, seemed less than pleased. “Of an age, you say. Tokela is ahlóssa.”
“I saw Tokela, as you call him, only thisSun, and I’d warrant”—a smile that didn’t seem altogether friendly—“he won’t long be that. So he has the right to know his sire’s people,” Galenu persisted.
It had been long since Tokela had heard even that part of his blessing-name spoken, and it echoed strangely in the den.
“And it’s my right to welcome him to my lodging, where he can experience that knowledge. Though,” Galenu’s smile broadened—amity, a’io, but barbed and layered with brine, “your hesitancy is understandable, Inhya hearth-chieftain. Admirable. A mother always wishes to keep her little ones at her kirtles.”
Tokela let out a slow breath. He’d never heard anyone speak so to Inhya. Not and walk away unscathed, anyway.
“You speak with all the knowledge you possess, Galenu stone-chieftain.” Edged as an obsidian dagger, Inhya held to her dignity as host. Even through clenched teeth. “I will give your request what consideration it deserves.”
“Aška doesn’t like him one bit, does she?” Madoc mouthed against Tokela’s ear.
Tokela itched to know why.
“Here, before witnesses of Council,” Galenu continued, clipped, “I claim my right—and those rights Tokela may claim as my nephew’s son. I expect you, hearth-chieftain a’Naišwyrh, to cede them when Tokela’s old enough.”
Inhya stared him down, but finally gave a tilt of head: acknowledgement, if not surrender.
I am old enough. My right. Tokela’s spontaneous inner protest came from his heart, belying the faded henna on his cheeks. I could find a new place, with new ways. Prove myself away from a mother’s fears, escape and still belong to my People, in a place where rumours cannot follow.
Rumours. Galenu surely hadn’t heard the rumours… but perhaps Mordeleg would tell him. Mordeleg had pounced upon the hints of Tokela’s heritage like raptorKin. Mordeleg was Galenu’s cousin, after all, with more rights to Galenu’s lodging-welcome than any… ehšehklan.
A familiar hand wormed its way into Tokela’s own, and he slid his gaze to Madoc, found his cousin’s face pale-taut.
Madoc, he signed, what—?
Don’t go with him. Madoc’s hand gripped tighter. Please, brother. Don’t go so far away from me.
Hope withered, cold and heavy, twisting at Tokela’s heart. He turned from Madoc to the gathering below and in particular the two… antagonists. For a’io, they were that and had obviously been for some time: Inhya, eyes glittering all angry, and Galenu, chin tilted, obdurate.
Madoc worried for nothing. Inhya would not let go. Would hold to Tokela from love and yearning and, yes, fear—would keep him penned and hemmed at every opportunity, unwilling to even let him draw a deep breath that was not scrutinised or under suffrage.
Should he bleed himself pale
