“Galenu Hassun-chieftain.”
“A’io, Sarinak Mound-chieftain.”
“You are bloodKin to this oških. As he does not have his own wealth, you will see that his sire and dam make compensation of five young and healthy ewes to the herds of Tokela’s sire, kept by your People. Also, Inhya hearth-chieftain has made her will clear to me in this: Mordeleg will not stay here another Sun’s rising. He is banished, from here and for a Sun’s running in all directions, from the heart of the Great Mound.”
“It will be as you say, Sarinak.” Galenu might be irresponsible in too many ways, but he had also kept his tribe prosperous. Inhya was confident in this much; Galenu would act lawfully.
“Also, I warn all three of these oških against the Šilombiš’okpulo.” Sarinak’s gaze swept the room. “It is foolish, to wander nigh to such places. They confound the senses… can take our sense from us! If any of you are caught there again, there will be retribution. Do you understand?”
Tokela and Anahli—after another sideways quick glance, agreed. Mordeleg had to be prodded by Galenu, but he too capitulated.
“It will be done.” The chieftain’s stave was pounded, a swift four-beat upon the swept stone floor.
At Galenu’s prompting, Mordeleg rose. His face was flushed in what might have been repentance but more resembled anger. Nevertheless he did his duty: first a duck of his head to the arbitration council, then over to where Tokela was rising. The wyrhling murmured a warning; Tokela looked up, wary and waiting.
Mordeleg did his duty there, as well, and as prettily as Inhya had ever seen it: a tilt of head with hands outstretched. Tokela’s gaze still would have looked at home behind a nocked arrow, but he recalled his own duty. Though nowhere as obsequious as Mordeleg, he perfunctorily covered the outstretched palms with his own.
Galenu gave a lift of eyebrow to the Council, then took up Mordeleg’s eating knife and herded his charge away.
Once they were gone, Tokela couldn’t exit fast enough. The wyrhling followed. Inhya wasn’t sure she was any happier with that last than she had been the previous Sun’s setting. It could only mean more trouble.
The other elders, including Sarinak, were already exiting in the opposite direction, well rid of the entire business. Palatan was speaking with Anahli—something indeed had happened, for Anahli listened, nodding. As they departed, Palatan raised a hand to Inhya.
She knew she should follow, ask him his thoughts. Instead, she followed Tokela.
Voices in the entry tunnel gave her hesitation.
“Ai, old Galenu has him on a leash for now, to be sure, but that one’s no sorrier for what he did than I believed his lies.” The wyrhling’s voice purled low, insistent. “Watch your tail.”
A small grunt from Tokela, followed by his low, delighted laugh. Inhya hadn’t heard the like in some turnings of Hoop.
“I would rather you watched it.” A throaty purr of response. Disconcerting, to say the least; Tokela had so long lacked any emotion in Inhya’s own presence.
It made her hesitate further.
“Mmm. Tempting. But I’ve business with your old uncle khatak, and you’ve yet to remove your things to your new den. Not to mention I need a nap. I’m no longer oških, to hunt all Sun and howl all dark. Though you do howl quite nicely.”
Again the laugh, though self-conscious, and a soft, not-quite silence stretching out, inferring what occupation filled it. Inhya gave a tiny sigh, pursed her mouth sideways and decided to just leave, turning away.
“So. When both the Moons rise above River, make your way to my love, eh? You can see how you like Ilhukaia, or if River sings any sweeter to you there.”
Inhya halted. She didn’t hear Tokela’s murmured answer.
If River sings any sweeter to you…
Nigh twenty summerings past, thigh-deep in a Riverling, where Lakisa had insisted upon delivering her young like some mad wyrhling.
River sings sweet to my little one…
How the blood of the birth, beneath copper-clear water, had not spread and stained River with any normal hue, but wafted downstream more like the discoloured indigo egest of one of the twisted and Shaped creatures.
Can’t you hear? Lakisa had asked, in a delirium of pain and—now Inhya knew—Other. Even now, She knows him. Do you hear Her?
Inhya had kept her own answer silent, buried it deep in her heart: N’da, I cannot. I will not. And neither will your son.
And now, Mordeleg’s talk of the Riverling. Of the forbidden place.
Inhya’s heart twisted, settled hard. With a dip of chin, she started forwards—
Only to nearly run headlong into Tokela, returning the way he’d come.
Tokela jolted back, soft bemusement sliding away. Inhya’s own trepidation overruled any pain his recoil might have given her—in fact hardened further into anger as his gaze rose, just as cross, to level into hers.
Humiliating, how he could gut her with a glance. Yet for perhaps the first time in too long, Tokela’s eyes were not merely flat, aloof mirrors, coolly deflecting what might seek to touch him. Something stirred—desperate, seeking. No wild-eyed infant born in a wash of River brack and indigo ichor, but the too-small ahlóssa who had sought a foster-mother’s company after they’d sent the bodies of his parents to Fire and River.
Tokela took in a shallow, shocked breath and broke the gaze, veiling it with forelock and lashes both, colour rising in his cheeks.
“Tokela?” Inhya tried, soft.
“I left my knives on the hearth.” Tokela’s gaze stayed downcast, hidden. And when she didn’t move, he slid around her quick as a mouse.
“Tokela.”
He didn’t stop, seemed a bit unsteady as he kept on.
“Tokela.”
“What?” It was as weary as hers was sharp.
“Hear me. Please.”
He stopped halfway to the hearth. Not quite, but almost, a question.
Inhya had no answer. But she tried. “Take care. The Riverwalker won’t mean to—or perhaps he will—but he’ll hurt you.”
With each word, the bony shoulders beneath Tokela’s best tunic pulled, more and more, into knotted fishing line. Instead of answering, he continued, steps tottered once then twice. Each
