Bloodstone (2 page)

As if the thought were his own, he heard the eagle’s response:

Disappointment shadowed the joy of the flight, but he knew the eagle was wise; the experience of flying together was still too new for them.

He had always loved the eagles. During his vision quest last spring, he had climbed far up Eagles Mount, to the special place he had discovered as a child. All night, he had sat there, shivering with cold. As dawn approached, he’d watched the sky lighten to a deep blue and Bel’s first rays paint the treetops gold.

At first, all he could make out was a faint shadow against the sky. He knew at once it was not a real eagle, for the outspread wings flapped with otherworldly slowness as the bird descended. His heart slammed against his ribs at the thought of finding his vision mate so quickly; his father had waited three days and nights in the forest before he heard the she-wolf’s howl.

Only when the eagle swooped lower did he see the wriggling serpent in its curved talons. The adder’s head reared back. Red-brown eyes gazed down into his. A tongue flicked out and a voice, dry and rasping as autumn leaves rubbing together, whispered his name.

The adder’s choice had shocked him. He’d been so certain his power was leading him along the shaman’s path and every shaman in the tribe’s history had found a bird during his vision quest, a bird that became his guide to the spirit world. When Tree-Father Gortin agreed to take him as an apprentice anyway, he had been relieved and thrilled, but he could not resist the urge to seek communion with a real eagle.

Three moons ago, the male had permitted his touch, such a fleeting brush of spirits he had wondered if he’d imagined it. Since then, they had touched many times, but only today had the eagle allowed them to fly together.

And already, it was time to separate; Keirith could feel his weariness mingling with the eagle’s hunger pangs.

Slowly, carefully, he began the process of returning to his body. The separation must be done gently lest he injure his host, the energy furling as gently as the morningstar closed its blossoms at twilight.

“Keirith!”

The voice startled them both. His spirit tore free. For one terrifying moment, he was lost between bodies, falling helplessly through space. And then his spirit hurtled back into his body with a jolt that left him gasping.

When he came to himself, he was lying on the ground, looking up into the Tree-Father’s worried face. The Tree-Father was speaking in a low, urgent voice, but it took Keirith a moment to understand the words. When he did, he whispered his name three times to seal his spirit’s return. Then he ran his hands over his body to reestablish the boundaries of his physical self. But when he tried to sit up, the Tree-Father pressed him back.

“Just lie still and breathe.”

He closed his eyes, allowing the dreamy lassitude to relax his body and mind.

“What were you doing out here by yourself?” the Tree-Father scolded in his mild way. “You should know better than to attempt a vision on your own.”

“It wasn’t a vision. I was flying.”

“What?”

“With the eagle. I touched his spirit. And we flew together.” His triumph faded when he opened his eyes and saw the Tree-Father’s expression. “What is it?”

“You touched his spirit?”

Keirith nodded, still trying to understand why the Tree-Father looked so horrified. When he realized the truth, relief left him breathless. “I was careful. I never hurt him. Not even the first time.”

“How many times have you done this?”

“I . . . not many,” he lied.

“
How
many? Twice? Three times?”

“I can’t remember. Please. Tell me what’s wrong?”

“Merciful gods.” The Tree-Father stumbled away, rubbing the empty socket of his left eye. He drew a trembling breath as he turned to face Keirith. “To subvert or subjugate the spirit of any creature is a violation of our laws. Worse, it is an abomination in the sight of the gods.”

Keirith scrambled to his feet. “But I didn’t subvert his spirit. He welcomed me. And next time—”

“There will be no next time! You must never do this again.”

“But why? You touch the spirit of every person in the tribe. You touched mine when I came back from my vision quest. Tree-Father Struath touched the spirit of the Holly-Lord himself.”

“A shaman spends years honing his power and understanding its limits. When we touch a human spirit, we receive permission first. Animals cannot offer that.”

Guilt filled Keirith when he recalled how long it had taken him to overcome the eagle’s panic.

“And there’s another reason why riding the spirits of animals is forbidden. That was how Morgath began.”

“You think . . .” Keirith could hardly force himself to speak the words. “You think I’m like Morgath?”

The Tree-Father’s expression softened. “Nay. But what you did was wrong. Perhaps Morgath began in innocence as well, but in time, he used his power to cast out the spirits of the animals he touched. For that, his body was sacrificed to appease the gods and his spirit consigned to Chaos.”

If the Tree-Father knew how many times he had touched the eagle, he would condemn him as surely as the elders of the Oak and Holly Tribes had condemned Morgath. His chest would be cut open and his still-beating heart ripped out. His body would hang from the lowest branches of the heart-oak to be devoured by scavengers. His bones would be scattered in the forest, never to lie in the ancestral cairn. That was Morgath’s fate—and his if he flew with the eagle again.

It was forbidden. It was an abomination.
He
was an abomination.

“This power is dangerous. You must swear never to use it. Or I shall be forced to call you before the council of elders.”

Never to fly with the eagle again. Never to share that terrifying, giddy exhilaration of flight. But what choice did he have? Helpless, Keirith nodded.

“I must have your spoken oath.”

“I swear. I will never fly with the eagle again.”

“That is not enough. Swear that you will never touch the spirit of any bird or animal.”

“I . . . I swear.”

Keirith sank down on the rock, numbed by the sacrilege he had unwittingly committed and the loss of his link with the majestic bird that soared overhead. The Tree-Father’s hand came up as if to pat his shoulder, but fell back to his side.

“I’m sorry, Keirith. I’d hoped that one day . . .” The Tree-Father shook his head impatiently. “I’ll speak to your parents tonight.”

“Can’t we just keep this a secret? Between you and me?”

“I must offer some sort of explanation for releasing you from your apprenticeship.”

Keirith could feel his mouth working, but no words emerged.

“I thought you understood. I cannot permit you to continue with your studies.”

Gortin had been his guide and teacher for nearly nine moons. In the space of a few moments—hardly longer than his flight with the eagle—he had severed him from both his gift and his life-path.

“It’s my fault. I should never have accepted you as my apprentice. But you had such a desire. And since the eagle appeared during your vision quest as well as the adder, I thought . . .” The Tree-Father sighed, his face sorrowful. “I was wrong. Forgive me.”

“Please.”

“If I was wrong to take you as an apprentice, I would be more at fault for instructing you further in the mysteries.”

Keirith went down on his knees. He seized the Tree-Father’s hand and pressed his lips to the tattooed acorn.

“Stop this. Get up.” The Tree-Father yanked his hand free. “I’m sorry. Truly. And I will tell your parents that when I speak to them.”

“Nay. I’ll tell them.” He didn’t know why it was important to him to have that much control over his future, but it was. “At least let me do that.”

The stones bit into his knees while he waited for the Tree-Father’s decision. Finally, he said, “Very well.”

Fingers brushed the top of his head in blessing. Then the Tree-Father left, taking Keirith’s hopes for the future with him.

A fortnight later, he was still seeking the courage to break the news to his parents. He told himself that he hadn’t wanted to ruin his father’s last days at home before leaving for the spring Gathering. Then, of course, he had to wait for him to return. In his heart, he knew the truth: he was a coward. The son of the great Darak Spirit-Hunter was a coward and an abomination.

For ten long days, he had kept up the pretense that he still went to the Tree-Father’s hut for his lessons. Instead, he crept out of the village before dawn to roam the forest and the hills to the north. But today, he had returned to Eagles Mount, to his special place near the top of the crag.

But the afternoon had been waning and he’d been too eager to touch the eagle to waste time climbing here. Such an unimportant decision at the time, but one that had ruined his life.

He flung himself onto the grassy ledge, panting. Boulders shielded him from the women sowing barley and oats in the fields. The ground was too rocky to lure the sheep away from the eastern slopes. Even the fishermen out on the lake would be unable to say for sure whose figure they spied scrambling up the steep ridge. His only companions were the rocks and the sun and the eagles.

He knew it was foolish to come. Like picking at an un-healed scab. It only reminded him of everything that had gone wrong—and tempted him to fly again.

How could an experience so wonderful be wrong? He hadn’t dared ask the Tree-Father that or reveal how many other creatures he had touched with his power.

Keirith shuddered, remembering that first time. He had practiced with the sling for moons before his father took him into the forest to hunt. Gods, he’d been excited. And scared that he might shame himself before the man who had once been the greatest hunter in the tribe.

He missed his first two shots completely and stunned the wood pigeon with his third. Cheeks burning, he waded through the underbrush; his father always emphasized the importance of a clean kill. When he crouched to wring the bird’s neck, the wood pigeon screamed. He screamed, too, scuttling back in shock.

“What is it, son?”

When his father knelt beside him, the bird screamed again. Even with his hands over his ears, he could hear the screams, high and shrill and terrified. Only when his father twisted the bird’s neck did they stop.

“Keirith. Tell me.”

“It . . . it screamed. Inside my head. I heard it, Fa. I swear.”

His father patted his shoulder and wiped his cheeks. But when Keirith asked if he’d heard the dying screams of his prey when he was a hunter, his father slowly shook his head. “Perhaps you’re meant to follow another path.”

But he refused to give up so easily. He practiced shot after shot, aiming at clumps of grass, at pebbles on the lakeshore, at a groove in a tree stump. He whirled the sling until his arm ached, until he was sure he would always make a clean kill. But inevitably, it happened again, this time with a rabbit he had snared. He managed to control himself long enough to end its misery before he doubled over and vomited.

He offered extra sacrifices to the spirits of the animals he failed to kill cleanly. He prayed to the gods, begging them to take away the curse. When he mastered the bow, he accepted his father’s praise and pretended not to see the doubt that shadowed his expression. But the first time he sighted down an arrow at a doe, his hands began to shake and sweat broke out on his forehead. His father’s hand came down on his shoulder, gripping him hard despite the missing fingers.

“Let it go, son.”

That was the last time they went hunting together. If his father was disappointed, he kept it to himself. Somehow, that was worse.

He continued to set snares and bring down game with his sling. All boys were expected to do that, and he refused to let this weakness—or power—keep him from doing his share. He taught himself to block some of the terror of the wounded animals before it overwhelmed him. Later, it seemed only natural to reach out to their spirits and calm them. He’d never imagined it could be wrong. Touching the eagle’s spirit . . . that had been different, of course, but even if the impulse was selfish, it wasn’t evil.

With an effort, he quelled the resentment that rose in him. Throughout his studies, the Tree-Father had praised his ability to fall into a trance, his close communion with his spirit guide Natha. Now he used the same gift to condemn him.