“We are the only ones who belong here!” It thundered into sudden silence. Nechtoun’s face had gone blood-dark; his fists clenched. “I want nothing of them, nothing! And I want nothing coming here to change our home!”
“Change isn’t coming.” Našobok spoke from the shadowy end of the den, flat-calm amidst the stiff froth of feral currents. The sound altered Nechtoun’s focus, turning him towards where his disowned youngest half crouched, as if he would rise but dared not.
“Change,” Našobok continued, very soft, “is already here.”
And within the time it took for Tokela to draw another breath, Palatan had also moved from the shadows quiet as huntingKin. He knelt beside Nechtoun, reached out and put a hand against Nechtoun’s temple.
“Peace, grandfather,” he murmured, voice soft and soothing. “Be at peace. It’s done.”
Tokela wondered what Palatan thought he could do, then remembered. Alekšu. Alekšu. Tokela’s gaze slid to Inhya. What did she think of this? Palatan was her brother, after all.
Inhya didn’t seem disturbed.
Sarinak, on the other hand, did.
As Nechtoun fell silent, eyes clouding, Madoc’s arms stole about Tokela’s waist. Tokela ran comforting, albeit absent, fingers through the bright hair, watching as Palatan shot a narrowed glance at Galenu. Galenu blinked and took a sharp breath, as if to protest. Then, eyes narrowing upon Nechtoun, he sat back and gave way.
Perhaps Galenu had simply forgotten Nechtoun’s uncertain state. What must it be like to watch someone—one you’d loved for a long time, considering—and watch that one deteriorate while you stayed reasonably whole, and aware.
A sudden stab of pity quivered Tokela. Not only for Nechtoun, but also Galenu.
“Wyrh-chieftain speaks truth,” Aylaniś said, her quiet voice directed around the circle. “The very Earth beneath our feet is shifting, changing. Moreover, if we try to keep things contrived, unchanging, then how are we different than Chepiś? They keep their places in some altered and untimely state. They once sought to turn all thisLand so. To have no change? That is unnatural.”
“It’s as our ancestors say,” Palatan added, his hand still upon Nechtoun’s shoulder. “If we turn aside from Grandmother, She will merely roll and submerge us in the Deep.”
“Indeed, horse-chieftain. Alekšu.” Grass Weaver, both hands crossed respectfully at her heart, gave a brief nod. “You remind us of wisdom. And Našobok wyrh-chieftain makes talk that none other than outliers choose to hear. And stone-chieftain? It is… interesting, how you make the talk of outliers.”
This was met with shocked murmurs, but also satisfied ones. Galenu, it seemed, had some antagonists.
“But stone-chieftain, I say you’ve not earned rights to wander. You have taken them, and given nothing in trade.”
Earned. Tokela found himself unintentionally charmed by the sound of it, the possibilities.
“I disagree with your assessment, yakh-chieftain.” Galenu’s tone was firm, yet held more respect than most others would give an outlier.
“Hunh,” the old fem grunted, unconvinced. “Taken. Even as Matwau take. Even as Chepiś take. Consider this: things cannot be taken without some damage. What have you let outLands take, stone-chieftain, without earning any protections?”
The ominous ring of it silenced even Galenu.
Madoc tugged at Tokela’s braidlock. The motion slight and slow, Tokela angled his head to peer at Madoc.
What are they talking about? Is Grandsire… here?
Madoc realised what he’d implied only after he had brought it forth, and shot Tokela an apologetic look. I didn’t mean it in the same way as with yo—
I’ll explain later was all Tokela could trust himself to reply, turning away. A small choking noise sounded from behind him, but he didn’t turn. His eyes stung a betrayal no less than Madoc’s thoughtless talk.
“While Chepiś remain on our borders, Matwau daren’t intrude too far,” Grass Weaver continued, implacable. “Many of Matwau bide even more fearful of Other than dawnLanders.”
“You forget yourself!” Sarinak growled.
“N’da. I never forget what I am. Often you do, when we have something useful for you. But we never forget. We cannot afford to.” Grass Weaver gave a sharp, decisive jerk of her chin. “Your talk is straight as arrowflight, Inhya hearth-chieftain. Chepiś are dangerous. Their abominable Shaping has bent Grandmother’s shell nigh to breaking. They have never belonged here, and they know it. More and more they lose themselves to their own madness. Take refuge, like the old tales of Tsin’oe, in Stars- and Moons’ light.”
Tsin’oe, who’d climbed Everwintering Mountain to reach those Stars, but instead had fallen to his ruin, entombed in rock. An outlier story; Tokela remembered Našobok sharing it.
“Why, who knows? They cannot eat those things, cannot drink them or take them as mates. But Chepiś numbers thin, while Matwau have learnt their masters’ ways too well. They flourish in the abandoned places, circling the carcasses of Chepiś settlements like scavengerKin. The tall ones are, all of them, partners in desecration.”
Again, silence, as if submerged in the wake of Grass Weaver’s speech.
Then Našobok stood, walked forwards with a powerful, quiet tread to stand beside the old chieftain, and Tokela felt it as a blow, wiping every other coherent thought from his heart.
“Yakhling and wyrhling speak with one tongue in this Council. You could do worse than listen to ones who haven’t your pride of place. Some truths only outcasts dare to see. I too have seen, with my own eyes and those of my people: the Chepiś are on the move.”
“Moving, but not inward,” Palatan murmured. “Not breaking truce.”
“Yet.” Aylaniś said. “Where do they go, wyrh-chieftain?”
“The tribes hold such places forbidden. But outliers don’t fear the same things.” He crossed his arms over his chest, gave a slow, lazy smile towards Sarinak—who still refused to acknowledge it. “This is why we’re sometimes useful to each other, a’io?”
Sharp white canines flashing in that crooked smile, tall as a grandfather oak, broad-shouldered, cords of vein and muscle flexing beneath Sun-dark skin. Those callused hands, so quick to catch the old yakhling’s staff, were surely skilled with other weaponry, privy to other secrets.
Tokela groaned, nigh silent, and rocked back to bury his face against his doubled-up knees, trying
