But Mordeleg remained crumpled on at his feet, insensate.
And a lanky, black-haired fem in duskLands leathers strode forwards, another stone raised and ready in her hand.
PERHAPS SHE’D waited overlong to act. But Anahli’d no desire to interfere in the foolishness of two sparring oških. Not that is, until she’d heard the underlying venom to the exchange, and seen the heavier oških grab the slighter one, slam him against the oddling cavern and… and…
Her eyes widened, scarce believing. The punishment for this sort of aberration in duskLands was quick—and fitting. Surely dawnLands didn’t allow such a thing.
Not that it mattered. She was a’Šaákfo. Gliding down the weeping tree all silent, Anahli snatched up two stones adequate to the deed.
She didn’t need the second one.
Again, she saw more. The Riverling had overflowed Her banks, wet trickling down towards the unconscious oških, and…
The other oških spun about, ready for another scrap now he’d the liberty to make it. He bore the wyrh tree tattoo along his ribs, but he was lanky as a weanling colt, more a’Šaákfo than any stout-muscled a’Naišwyrh, even to the sheen of chestnut in his shoulder-length black hair. It fell, weighted with beads and copper, about a face that, again, was broad in the cheekbones and narrow in the chin like her own folk. Anahli started to make soothing talk. Instead, the spit dried in her mouth.
The first thing she noticed was that his hands were glowing. Roped with strange, sparking tendrils that matched and met the gleam of the oških’s eyes, blue white beneath his forelock. Not Darksight, either. More like the glitter-life of an Elemental… and yet not. Anahli knew the look of the former, had seen such in those who’d come, desperate, to Alekšu. Had seen the dimming, the dying, after first Chogah then Palatan Danced the cure, killing the connexion.
The oških wrenched his gaze away. The blue-white tendrils wisped into Smoke, as if they’d never been there.
Had they? Suddenly Anahli was unsure of exactly what she’d seen. The wonder vanished all the further as the oških turned with a snarl to the figure insensate at his feet and toed him. Making sure.
Well, and Anahli approved of that.
But the Riverling was flowing close to the downed oških; even a cupful of Her could drown. Anahli strode forwards and grabbed the motionless oških and, after a small hesitation, the other bent to assist. Together they hauled him away from the cavern-thing, and deposited him beside a tree.
Anahli leaned against the bark. “Are you well?”
“A’io.” Husky-soft, against a spray of leaves. “My thanks. It was a good throw.”
Anahli grinned and looked back at the fallen oških. “I didn’t kill him, did I?”
“Killing that one”—the slender oških looked up and threw the forelock back from his face—“wouldn’t make me weep.”
Recognition settled in, then. His eyes were still the giveaway—too wide and not deep-set enough, more intense than pretty, dark indigo leaching odd-pale about narrow pupils flecked with small lights.
The latter still discomfited. Anahli masked it with humour. “So you’re Madoc’s fascination. Tokela a’Naišwyrh, it has been long. Sun light your path, cousin.”
“Fascination? Me?” This with a wry smile. “I’d say he’s more struck with you at present, Anahli a’Šaákfo. River sing you welcome, cousin.” The smile abruptly slipped, and Tokela gave an inexplicable stagger; Anahli grabbed at him with both hands.
“Are you well?”
“I’m…” It quavered and Tokela fell silent, his gaze curious and captious, all at once. His eyes glimmered, not tears but with those tiny lights—of course, she reasoned, Chogah said he had been called Eyes of Stars… but this is…
Is it? something chided, deep and inwards. I remember. Do you?
Do I what? Anahli wondered. Wind tilted the trees, skirled about them and pulled tiny strands about her cheeks; strangely enough, Tokela’s hair barely moved. A rash of heat prickled her palms and flared upwards through her bones—or so it seemed—to set a flashFire swirl behind her own gaze.
Remember, the something said. Eyes meet eyes to waken Spirit. Spirit wakens our Mother’s heart, and Her heart wakens. You must remember…
REMEMBER.
Talk/not-talk. Darkness, and echoes. Not just River, but many voices… too many: Wind and Earth, Fire and Stars, curling about the entry to Šilombiš’okpulo.
Eyes waken the heart, and the heart wakens silence. The pathway of silence, followed too long. Remove the mask, O trickster. Show the way to those who are ours.
Tokela didn’t understand. He didn’t want to. But as Anahli released him, leaving pale marks where her fingers had dug into his biceps, it was as if she’d tugged free some scab deep within him, taking flesh and leaving it to seep empty.
This time, he did fall to his knees.
Silence.
Then, gentle and terrible, Anahli asked, “How long has the Elemental been with you?”
THE ELEMENTAL. Been with you.
Tokela didn’t look up. Couldn’t. “What are you talking about?”
Anahli knelt, grasped his arms again. Bent close and, nose to nose, looked into his eyes.
The surge again, noise but not-noise. Heat behind his eyes, in his arms where she touched him, and Tokela found himself raising one hand, fingers tracing the Marks upon Anahli’s cheeks then to the growing squinch of brow. Another Mark, there, like Alekšu’s horns but not, seeming made of SkyFire, unfamiliar. Yet still the blue-white light danced upon sienna and…
And Anahli… shivered. Closed her eyes, swallowed, then opened them.
Said, obdurate, “I think you know what I’m talking about.”
“What is going on here?”
And ai, but yet another voice rent the clearing, making them both start. Tokela fell back on his haunches. Anahli bolted upright and whirled on Našobok like an enemy.
“We’ve done nothing! You’ve no right to even ask wh—”
“I’ve no right?” Našobok’s voice jolted against hers, River and Ice. “You’re the one with no rights here. Neither of you. What are you doing here? This place is forbidden to…” He paused as he glanced at Tokela, but turned back to Anahli, warmth fading. “What have you done to Tokela? What’s happened to the midLander ošk—”
“You’ve no idea what’s happened here!” Anahli
