Retreat, then. A slow seepage that left him enervated, as if someone had slit him stem to stern and emptied him out onto the Rain-soaked decking. Strong hands holding him, fingers trailing from his lips to his nape, muscles shivering yet firm against his own. Whispers, again—but these couched in Našobok’s soft voice, murmuring endearments against Tokela’s hair. The creak of wood, his own hoarse gasps. Sky dark, rumbling against the trees as they swayed, moaned. Spirits, true, but manifested outside, voices soothing, voices welcome.
Voices, sated. Silent.
“Better, now?” was the soft murmur against his cheek. Tokela tried to answer and couldn’t. He felt hollowed out, replete, floating. Untouchable.
“Tokela.” Insistent.
“I’m… here,” Tokela answered, somewhat less than truthful as his head lolled sideways.
“Believe me, I’m well aware of y…” The fond voice trailed off as Tokela staggered. Našobok leaned closer; a slat of Moonslight escaped the cloud cover and pinpointed his pupils, dousing their glow yet clearly illuminating a sudden frown. “Ai, Star Eyes. Are you well?”
“I’m—”
“I didn’t hurt you? You seemed to want—”
“You didn’t. I wanted it. Wanted you to…” With a bit of effort Tokela made himself focus. “It was really good. I just feel a little, uhn, light-headed.”
Našobok seemed unconvinced. An uncomfortable twinge fluttered in the pit of Tokela’s belly and he looked away.
“I am well!”
“Of course you are.” Našobok’s retort held a bit of acid. He bent to scoop up their discarded clothing. “But Wind’s picking up, and both of us standing here soaked with a bare rudder. Come down to my hold. We’ll dry off, get warm.”
Tokela nodded, leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.
Dark. Quiet. Nothing Danced there, light or dark or shadowling not-whisper…
“Tokela.”
He opened his eyes just as Našobok leaned close and nuzzled Tokela’s temple, lingered there, then pulled him close against his chest. Tokela hung there with a delicious shiver.
“Don’t make me go back,” he whispered, sudden, against Našobok’s shoulder. “When you go, take me with you. Please.”
18 – Son of the Lost
“She said you… sensed things. In her son.”
A thrill of alarm ran through Palatan. He had never spoken of what had passed between him and Lakisa. A quick glance showed Aylaniś, too, apprehensive.
Inhya seemed to realise anew the repercussions of an additional presence. “I… This matter, it must stay between us, within this tipo.”
She spoke the talk a’Šaákfo, not merely courtesy, but because it had language for concepts dawnLands had long ago sloughed as dangerous.
“You know it will not pass my lips.” Aylaniś reached down, clasped Palatan’s and Inhya’s joined hands, and rose. “I’ll pour fresh tea while you tell Alekšu what you must.”
The familiar, ritual motions of guest-welcome reassured, but didn’t lessen the jangle of Palatan’s nerves.
Lakisa had insisted upon the tradition of bringing her infant son to her grandmother’s Clan. NameKeepers were different along River’s thighs; her dam-right to have her child’s name Dreamt by the matriarchs of her birthing-tribe. Only both her mother and grandmother were dead, and Palatan closest in dam-line, so Lakisa had begged Palatan to Dream the infant’s Naming.
He’d protested. While Dreaming with Smoke or peya was far from forbidden even along River, he knew it would be considered an affront to his Alekšu. But Lakisa’s protests had silenced his own: Chogah had turned from Lakisa, claiming she had tainted herself with Chepiś and deserved whatever it brought her.
That last had made Palatan relent—he was newly a sire himself, found it monstrous to punish a babe for any transgressions real or believed. And Chogah, upon finding out, had been at first furious then oddly complacent.
They’d never spoken of it since. Palatan could still remember the… the taste of a Spirit literally unravelling from within. As if carrying the babe had frayed vital threads, and the birthing had snapped and broken them.
Lakisa had been too far within that… that place, and Palatan himself unsure how to broach it and stay whole. Even thisnow.
And thisnow he balanced the Spirit-wealth of an entire tribal alliance upon his shoulders. He could no longer afford rash actions.
“What things, sister?” His prompt was soft, careful. “What talk did Lakisa a’iliq make to this?”
A tremor twitched Inhya’s hands as he spoke the name, even with the pardoning suffix, but then, Inhya had been long a’Naišwyrh. She mouthed a tiny orison and continued.
“In truth there was little. Only that his name disturbed her even as she decided he must keep it.”
Inyha was hiding something. Perhaps an oath bound her as well. Perhaps one twined with the manner of Lakisa’s death.
“Our dam spoke to me of it, later. Suleweya worried after you, said you were strange for Moons after,” Inhya clarified as Palatan frowned. Her talk began tripping over itself. “My brother, we all remember what it was like for you. Before. Had I known what La—what my lovemate meant to ask of you, I would have dissuaded her. You were so susceptible as oških, and the danger pervasive. So many Spirits can lie in wait, even beneath the guidance of Smoke or peya.”
Smoke actually quieted ša’s brethren Elementals, while the peya could make them wild. The one time Palatan had been given the latter…
Chogah had told his family it was to banish the Spirits. She had whispered to Palatan that it was a testing.
And you, my eldest sister, stood amongst the ones who watched as she gave it to me.
The resentment lingered, as did the aftermath of the drug’s effects: a faulty latticework with fragments still missing. It made Palatan brusque, somewhat heedless of his tongue. “And now you fear the same affliction visits the son she gave you. You come here and ask me to
