“You’ll tweak danger’s nose once too often, my heart.” Soft, underlain with worry.
“Hunh. Life is risk. What’s the point otherwise?”
Palatan had no argument for that. Instead they both fell silent, bound by Smoke and regrets. The black mare wandered over, rolling air through her nostrils at Arrow, who gave a chiding nip to her nose and got up, offended. Not so offended, of course, that he wouldn’t come back and plop half-in and -out of Palatan’s lap. Palatan chuckled, gave Arrow an absent scratch, and passed the pipe.
“A quick trip.” Našobok took several puffs. “Why go and return? I thought you only meant to stay a few Suns past First Running.”
“I thought so, too. Is Tokela still on Ilhukaia?”
Našobok didn’t possess the same abstruse skill set, so he often found himself left behind when Palatan’s thoughts winged ahead. This time he soared with them, catching the draft. “A’io. Perhaps he should go with you in my stead.” The thought, still forming as Našobok voiced it, seemed the ideal solution.
Yet Palatan’s face had closed, his body still, rigid.
“You’re Alekšu.” Našobok paused, glanced around. Said, very quiet, “And Tokela is River’s.”
Smoke escaped Palatan’s nostrils; otherwise there was no response.
“It’s akin to what I’ve seen in you, but not,” Našobok furthered. “More… elusive, like trying to capture Her in my fingers. Or the Sunwise prickling along my scalp and spine when green SkyFire comes, but there’s no ache in my bones to say a storm’s coming, and Sky is clear thisdawn—hunh!” He couldn’t help the self-deprecating snort; surely Palatan wasn’t helping. “Perhaps I’m mad as the legendary Tsinoé, trying to climb Nanihloyeh to reach his Brother Moons… but I do know this much: this storm lingers in my gut, is sleeping in my hold, is wrapped in my blanket.”
Palatan still kept looking away, Smoke wreathing the tiny rows of braids at his temple.
“Do you doubt me?”
Still, Palatan did not answer. Puzzled, affronted, Našobok started to rise.
Palatan started, snatched a hand out and took hold of Našobok’s longcoat “N’da. I’m sorry, I don’t doubt anything you’ve said. You’re Hers; you would recognise one of Hers. But…” He seemed to be searching… n’da, not searching. Picking, choosing, as if he was unsure what talk was truthful, or even prudent.
“Oathbrother…”
Palatan pulled upwards and drew close, their foreheads touching, his talk barely a whisper. “A’io, oathbrother, and I’ve already had one lessoning thisSun on the ways and wheres to discuss such things.”
They were not in the caldera a’Šaákfo, where secrets faded into endless caverns, smothered by the weight of Fire and Earth. Neither were they riding the wide steppes of duskLands where Wind would sing them silent.
River had many reflections, and only one place of silence: beneath her surface. What could People do but mimic the Power of their places?
“It’s why I wanted to meet with you here, oathbrother. I wanted—n’da, needed—to know what you’d seen in Tokela. As Chogah said, Anahli wasn’t the only one covering for him at arbitration.”
“Wait. Anahli?”
“What were they doing when you saw them together?”
“I thought…” Našobok hesitated, then admitted, “At first I thought they were well along on their way to making play together. Then I saw that rotted Mordeleg lying there, and… well. I wasn’t too gentle with either of them. Anahli knows just what to say to jab me, and after everything that had happened during Spear Dance—”
“No blame to you there. What else?”
“Nothing, not then. Both of them seemed odd, but I figured it to be embarrassment. Tokela wanted a lover, not another reprimand. It wasn’t until he came to Ilhukaia that… well. It became more than obvious.”
“Again, no blame to you. It seems he’s been concealing it quite well. Too well for my liking, but soon he’ll be unable to hide from anyone.”
“Then take him with you!”
“Našo—”
“At least until I return from this run. He wants out. He knows he’s in trouble. He wants to come with me, and I’m prepared to take him. But not for this run; it’s too dangerous for anyone new.”
A slight smile chased about Palatan’s lips. “Ai, you are in deep.”
“And getting deeper, I’m afraid. Take him with you.”
“Našobok.” It was soft, weighty. Grim. “This is… difficult. Complicated.”
Always between them; oaths sworn but oft torn by two Elementals: Našobok with River at his back, and Palatan with Fire behind his eyes.
“You are Alekšu,” Našobok repeated and added, somewhat desperate, “with everything it means, fair or foul. If you can’t help Tokela, who can?”
“I don’t know, oathbrother.” Palatan’s eyes were gilt lanterns beneath Sun. “But I intend to find out.”
19 - Wyrhling
He woke in a strange place, with strange smells, strange sounds…
Voices.
Tokela lurched up to a crouch, furs and woollens flung aside, then winced as the movement pulled at bits that should not be sore, surely.
A lurch of the wooden floor beneath him nearly sent him sprawling, and then…
He remembered. All of it: hard rain and misted breath, skin upon skin. And when a silly smirk tilted his lip, he couldn’t find it in himself to care.
Tokela sat back on his haunches, looking about to find himself alone in Našobok’s hold. The voices he’d heard weren’t… within. They carried from without, swallowed occasionally by fitful gusts of Wind. Sun wafted in through open lookouts, and River slapped against the ship’s hull, causing Ilhukaia to rock fiercer than even lastdark. Tokela’s fingers and toes clutched, seeking balance in the movement.
He heard his name.
Every sense flared, every bit of nerve or courage he possessed fled. He flattened on the decking like rodentkin beneath raptor shadow, his hands cupped at his nape, waiting.
They’ve come for me. Inhya’s told Sarinak what she saw, and he’s come for me, to cast me out…
His imagination, flaring panic in uncountable directions, nevertheless was not up to this. What would they do?
What was he waiting for?
Why was he cowering on the decking like a beaten dog?
Tokela shoved up from the hard wood, scowling, and crouched there with head cocking back and forth.
