He was not filled to bursting with wilding things.
Tokela leaned upon Overlook’s railing, watching the clouds drift, roiling from silver to dark pewter. From them Rain fell soft as breathing, lying like fuzz upon his hair and skin. Even sound was held captive; faraway voices echoed clear, whilst near ones muted. A low growl of industry hummed in the Bowl behind him; the midSun meal. River had her own stillness as well; what voices carried from wyrhling craft were hushed, as well as any activity from Her westmost thighs where the yakhling caravans sat hunched against the wet, their draught animals tethered close. So quiet, Tokela thought he could hear the rip-click of their teeth as they grazed the grassy banks.
So. Quiet. Ever since lastdark.
Tokela smiled and traced one finger against the stones next to him. Sketched a proud, broad nose and chin, full lower lip, bistre hair blowing in Wind. Looking to the horizon.
Našobok had been better than anything he could have imagined.
Unfortunately, play was over.
Sarinak had sent for Tokela earlier—private talk, before the arbitration—and had listened, stolid and patient, as Tokela had explained what happened with Mordeleg. Sarinak had even agreed that Našobok should attend, and speak. Anahli had been sent for, but she was off hunting with Madoc, Kuli, and her dam. Tokela was glad the ahlóssa were well away from any of this, but Anahli would be another voice on his side...
Another muted sound: booted feet upon the stair. Tokela flattened his hand upon the sketch, smeared it back into mere dust.
“Inhya was waiting when we returned.” Clad in hunting leathers, the blood-pardon stripes were still vivid against Anahli’s lower lip and chin. “I’ll be there, tell them I threw the rock. That Mordeleg didn’t have your consent.” She looked about, then resorted to hand-talk. I won’t say anything else.
A breeze tickled at Tokela’s damp forelock then died back, sullen beneath Rain. With a hard swallow, he turned his eyes to the caravans across River. “Anything else?”
Silence; Anahli must be trying to sign her answer. With a huff of frustration, she murmured, “You know what I mean.”
“N’da. I don’t.”
Her hand shot out to grasp his. “This.”
The contact tingled before Tokela could pull away, like heat and ice all at once, like…
Like the t’rešalt.
Tokela couldn’t help a brief glance at his fingers, saw Anahli was rubbing her own together.
“Well enough. You don’t trust me, and—”
“It isn’t—”
“—and in your place, I wouldn’t trust me, either.” Anahli kept considering her fingers, as if she’d never seen them. “But… You gave me an… an ache. Behind my eyes.”
“I seem to do that with all my kin.”
Anahli let out a short laugh, looked away. “Tokela, if you hear nothing else I say, hear this much: don’t trust Alekšu.”
This was… strange. “Don’t trust your sire?”
“And take care with the wyrhling.”
Enough was enough. “Look, I don’t know what you have against Našobok, but—”
“I know he’s your playmate. Did you know that he once lived a’Šaákfo, one of our family?”
Tokela tipped his chin, puzzled negation.
“He has been with my sire since they were oških. They have secrets, long-held. But even that didn’t stop him from leaving. He’ll leave you, too. It’s what he does.”
“I know what he does.” Tokela finally rounded on her, eye for eye. “Better than you, it seems.”
Anahli sighed, leaned against the railing. “Just don’t forget what I’ve told you. Please. But if they do find out—”
“I have nothing more to say to this.”
“—don’t let them take you a’Šaákfo. No matter what.”
AS HEARTHCHIEFTAIN, Inhya had ultimate charge over the children either fostered or made Clan a’Naišwyrh. If they were involved in any dispute in which the elders were required to arbitrate, she was always present, seated beside Sarinak upon the small rise of stone. Rarely, however, did she speak in such cases, preferring to remain a silent, vigilant witness to her charges’ welfare.
In this case, silence was not easy.
“I didn’t fully ken the rules of Spear Dance. You must believe me. I meant no offence.” Mordeleg certainly told his tale with all due courtesy. He had relinquished his one eating knife peaceably enough; he kept a respectful seat, rump resting on heels, before the small group of elders.
Nechtoun and Galenu and several from Galenu’s tribe sat with Inhya and Sarinak. Anahli stood—compliant for once, Inyha approved—behind Palatan in Alekšu’s place. Both of them stood behind Tokela who, hands upon knees, knelt at the opposite side of the hearth, following the unspoken maxim: always good to have cleansing Fire between antagonists.
Mordeleg didn’t meet Sarinak’s eyes as he spoke; while such rudeness could be excused as midLands custom, Inhya believed Mordeleg’s downcast gaze little more than insolence and deceit. “We’d an understanding between us, Tokela and I.”
As Mordeleg had been asked to speak, Tokela had turned his face aside, the recent ahlóssa braid now a forelock that curtained his eyes. One would almost think he wasn’t paying attention to Mordeleg; he stared, unblinking, into nothing.
Inhya had fully intended to stand beside Tokela, but someone had taken that place.
The wyrhling had been allowed, after some deliberation and at Tokela’s request. He didn’t merely stand beside Tokela, either; he lounged against a wooden pillar bearing the honour of several ancient spears and atlatls. An insolent pose. But to do the wyrhling credit, the insolence was clearly inspired by anger.
He wasn’t half as angry as Inhya.
Nor as Tokela. His sparse-freckled cheeks were dark. An occasional reflection of Fire, distinctly unsettling, limned his half-lidded eyes.
Mordeleg was still protesting an unlikely innocence. “It’s not the first time he’s refused with his mouth even though his bodytalk said otherwise.”
“Interesting,” drawled Našobok, “when his indigo is new-laid—”
“Silence,” Sarinak warned.
“Is it my fault if ahlóssa tease?” Mordeleg protested. “Is it wrong to expect him to follow up on his promises when he is able?”
Inhya wanted to lean forwards and slap the broad, earnest face.
“He gave me every sign he was willing. He didn’t push me away.”
The wyrhling shoved up from the pillar. “When you’re
