In the days that followed, Karada and Amero became brother and sister again. The cooling nights were passed at the chiefs tent, where the story of Nianki and Amero’s survival were told for all to hear. The knowledge that Karada had a family was something of a revelation to the warrior band. Many of them considered their chief almost a spirit, a demigoddess of the hunt. As they listened to brother and sister speak, the change in their chief was startling. The stern, vengeful Karada became talkative. She even laughed. Few of her people had ever seen Karada smile widely, much less laugh out loud.
Pa’alu was enchanted by Karada’s transformation. He had long cherished every line of her face — wide cheekbones, high forehead, small, straight nose, pointed chin — and every scar on it. Yet the face he knew had always been hard as fieldstone and cold as mountain snow. This new feature — a tooth-baring grin that crinkled her eyes — was totally astonishing, and he silently loved her all the more.
Yet even as he watched the reunion of sister and brother, his delight slowly gave way to something unsettling and ugly. Why did she bestow the favor of her smile and good humor on a man she hadn’t seen in more than ten years? Brother or not, Amero hadn’t fought at her side, hunted and scouted the trackless savanna with her. Was an accident of birth enough to justify this injustice? When she clapped an arm around Amero’s shoulder, Pa’alu felt as if a knife had been shoved into his ribcage.
Two days after the fight between Karada and Sessan, Pa’alu slipped away from the chiefs tent and lost himself in the crowd. It was easy to do. The people of Yala-tene were also turning out to see Karada, the famous nomad chief. Word she was blood kin to their own headman only heightened the villagers’ curiosity and relief. Surely no harm would come to them and their village now, not if the chief of the wild nomads was the long-lost sister of their founder.
Pa’alu drifted through the excited surge of villagers, buffeted this way and that as they flowed around him. He found himself behind the high cairn of the dragon altar, deposited there like a leaf in the eddies of a swiftly moving stream. He came to rest slumped against the sloping side of the cairn. Some time passed before his surroundings breached his melancholy thoughts.
The smell of soot and burned meat roused him. He looked up at the stone pile where the villagers placed their offerings for the dragon. Thinking of Duranix brought to mind Green-gall and Vedvedsica. It had been many days since he thought of the task given him by the elf priest. Digging a hand in his belt pouch now, he found the yellow stone.
This golden nugget held power, enough to affect the mighty Duranix, enough that Vedvedsica should crave the stone for himself. Why should Pa’alu give up such power? Why couldn’t he utilize it for himself?
You owe a debt to the priest, he reminded himself. The elf had saved his life. Besides, Pa’alu was no wise man, stewing herbs or plotting the courses of the stars. In his hand, it was just a piece of stone. It wasn’t the way to Karada’s heart.
Pa’alu put the nugget back in his pouch and stood up, thinking. He might not know how to use the power in the stone, but he knew how to get what he wanted in other ways. The price of the yellow stone had gone up. Once it had been worth Pa’alu’s life — cheap for so miserable a soul. If the elf priest still wanted the stone, Vedvedsica had better be willing to bargain, because the price was now Pa’alu’s happiness.
*
Amero declared a feast in his sister’s honor. Oxen would be slaughtered, fruit would be brought from the orchards across the lake, and the red wine of Yala-tene would flow. Not to be outdone, Karada organized a hunting party to provide the feast with rabbit, gamecock, and golden trout from the highest mountain streams. The day of the feast was set for Moonmeet, the night when the moons Soli and Lutar would meet at the peak of the vault of heaven — by tradition, the last day of summer. Moonmeet would happen three days hence.
His initial shock having passed, Amero was filled with excitement at finding Nianki alive. She and her trusted companions were taken on a tour of Yala-tene, the villagers proudly showing off the storage tunnels, the gardens and orchards. All went well until Nianki asked if she could visit Duranix’s cave.
“Certainly,” said Amero after a moment’s hesitation, “but only you and I may go.”
“Why’s that?”
“The cave is the dragon’s home, and though I’ve lived there for ten years, I must consult with him about the visits of strangers.” Seeing Nianki’s men look disappointed and a bit offended, he added, “You will all meet him in due course. Besides, the hoist can carry only two people at a time.”
Hatu fingered his eyepatch. “Don’t go, Karada,” he said warily. “This is the valley where my father died, and that dragon is the one who killed him. You can never trust a monster.”
She laughed caustically. “What, after ten years the dragon is going to go berserk and bite our heads off? Too much food and wine has made your head soft!”
He bristled, drawing himself up and squaring his shoulders. “I speak what I feel to be the truth, Karada,” he said stiffly.
“You need exercise,” she said, laughing. “Join Kiopi’s fishing band. Use your vivid imagination to catch us some trout.”
Amero shifted his feet, embarrassed by his sister’s taunting. He didn’t like her high-handed, insulting manner with other people. He tried to think of something soothing to say to Hatu, but the one-eyed nomad departed in mute anger. Nianki didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t seem to care.
At the hoist Nianki grabbed the frame and levered herself into the cramped basket. Her brother tugged on the ready lines and the counterweight started down. With a jerk, the basket began to rise.
“Karada!” Targun called up to her. “Don’t forget! The time of mourning is past. Sessan will be buried at sunset!”
She leaned both elbows on the basket rim and looked down at him. “So?”
“You should be there!”
She waved the notion away. “I’ve no time for traitors,” she replied.
As they rose out of voice range of the ground, Amero said, “It will cause bad feeling if you slight Sessan’s funeral, Nianki.”
“He was a fool and a coward,” replied Karada shortly.
“He fought bravely. You killed him. You should go.”
She lost the smile that had been on her face since their reunion. “Amero, I killed Sessan because he tried to steal my people from me. He paid for that with his life. I won’t dignify his burial with my presence.”
There was no budging her, so he let the matter drop. As they climbed out of the basket underneath the waterfall, Amero pointed out the system of pulleys he and Duranix had mounted in the sheer cliff face. The pulleys allowed the basket to rise, descend, and even traverse sideways a distance of a few paces to clear the waterfall.
Nianki looked where he pointed and nodded when he spoke, but the mechanism didn’t interest her. As the basket slipped behind the thundering falls, she put out her hand and let the edges of the torrent briefly tear at her fingers. She smiled again. Here at least was a force she could admire.
Amero tied off the basket, and they entered the cave. The thick stone walls muted the roar of the water enough to allow for normal conversation. Nianki, gazing upward, boldly walked into the center of the cavern. Hands clasped at his back, Amero followed her.
“The dragon made this?”
“He clawed this room out of solid sandstone,” was Amero’s proud reply.
“Amazing. I wish we’d had him with us at the Thon-Thalas.”
She wandered here and there, admiring the water pool and hearth and examining his various tools and experiments with polite curiosity. Amero watched her explore for a while, then said, “Nianki, we have to talk.”
She turned his copper sheet over in her hands. “About what?”
“We’ve found each other after all these years. You have a life on the plains, while I — ”
She dropped the copper carelessly. It clanged on the floor. “Why don’t you join us? It’s a great life — riding, hunting, seeing the wide plain unroll beneath your horse. There’re the elves, of course. I’ve not given up the fight to free the south and east from Silvanos’s hands.”
“Nianki, my life is here.” Amero sat on the edge of the stone hearth. “This is my place. These are my people.”
Her smile faded. “I thought you’d say that.”
“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”
