Bloodstone (77 page)

Keirith accepted Jirra’s tearful thanks, Sariem’s kiss, and Illait’s bruising hug. He lingered beside Hua a moment to whisper, “There’s no shame in crying when you’re sad. Or in grieving for your mam and fa.”

Tears welled up in Hua’s eyes and oozed down the wasted cheeks. Keirith gently wiped them away. “You’ve got your grandmam and your grandfa and your aunt to help you.”

Hua’s lips moved. Keirith had to put his ear to the boy’s mouth to catch the words.

“Your grandfa’s going to move the village to a new place—a secret place that the bad men won’t find. And if they come in your dreams, remember my friend Natha. Pretend that he’s coiled around you again, keeping you safe, even while you’re sleeping. Someday, you’ll have your own vision mate to protect you. Maybe you’ll find an adder, too. Or an eagle.”

He stumbled on his way out of the hut and his father’s hand came up to steady him. The village was asleep, the long twilight beginning to fade into darkness. Together, they walked down to the sea.

“Are you all right?”

“Aye. Just . . . very tired.”

“And Hua?”

“He’ll need time to heal, but he’s strong. Else he couldn’t have held back the memories so long.”

“You’re strong, too. Else you couldn’t have reached him. You’re a healer. Like your mam.”

Keirith shook his head.

“It’s true. Only you heal spirits, not bodies. That’s your gift. And you must use it.”

It was as impossible as dreaming that the council of elders would welcome him back into the tribe. Yet Keirith wanted to believe it could happen, that he could use his power for good as he had tonight.

“When I came back from the First Forest, when I thought I’d never hunt again . . .” His father took a deep breath. “What I was really afraid of was that I couldn’t be the best. Not the best in the tribe but as good as I once was. So I became a Memory-Keeper.”

The disgust in his father’s voice made Keirith wince. “Did you hate it that much?”

“Nay. But the forest always called me. For fifteen years, I tried to ignore it. I don’t want you to make the same mistake. I’m a hunter, Keirith. And you’re a shaman. Maybe not the same kind of shaman as Gortin or Struath, but that’s your life-path. And no matter what anyone says, you must follow it.”

That was why his father had wanted him to help Hua—not only to reclaim the boy, but to reclaim himself.

Although exhaustion shadowed his father’s eyes, there was no mistaking the eagerness on his face as his gaze swept over the village to linger on the trees beyond. The gods only knew how long it would take him to learn to draw a bow with those hands. He might never again bring down a deer with one shot to the heart. But his instincts were still keen and his desire keener. After so many years, his father had found his path again.

The resurgence of hope left him breathless—and terrified. It was easier when he had given up. His father was right. Living was hard. Even harder than he had imagined.

His father’s hand came down on his shoulder. Keirith looked up into that calm, stubborn face and found the courage to smile back.

G
RIANE DUCKED OUT of the birthing hut and found herself surrounded by people. Elathar’s sons had abandoned their nets to get a look at the new member of their family. She carried the squalling infant up the hill, her progress slowed as more of her kinfolk joined the throng. The whole tribe had awaited this birth with special eagerness; it was the first since the raid.

The old women scraping hides insisted she stop and show them the babe. They still sat outside Jurl’s empty hut; until his bones were safely interred in the tribal cairn, the council of elders would not risk his spirit’s displeasure by bestowing his home on another family. Some still shook their heads over his mysterious death, but most accepted that his quick temper had brought on the fit that killed him.

She smiled automatically as the old women pronounced the child a fine boy and left them discussing the labor pains and birthing ordeals they had endured. Nemek had obviously heard the shouts of congratulations; he paced impatiently outside the hut. Only Nionik’s hand on his arm kept him from sprinting toward her as she approached.

She smiled at Mirili and Nionik and held the babe out to Nemek. “I bring you Catha’s son.”

“A son? I have a son?” With a dazed expression, he looked from the infant in her arms to his father. “I have a son.”

“Not until you accept him from Mother Griane,” Nionik reminded him with a smile.

Nemek extended shaking hands, balancing the child on his palms with such trepidation that Griane and Mirili both reached out to settle the poor mite securely in the crook of his arm.

“He’s so small.” He peered more closely at the wriggling bundle. “Is he supposed to be that red?”

“Your face was redder,” Nionik said. “And wrinkled as a withered apple.”

“He was not,” Mirili protested. “He was beautiful. As beautiful as my grandson.”

Nemek shot his mother a grateful glance. He bent his head over his son, crooning sweet nonsense. Suddenly, his head jerked up. “Catha. How is—”

“She’s fine. And we counted four pops when we threw the afterbirth in the fire, so it seems I’ll be presenting you with four more babes.”

Mirili exclaimed with pleasure but Nemek turned pale. “Four . . . more?”

“I don’t know why you’re looking so queasy,” Griane said. “Your part is done in a moment.”

Nemek bristled. “My part lasts a good deal longer than a moment, thank you.” Then blushed when his father laughed.

“Will you come inside and share a cup of elderberry wine?” Nionik asked.

“Later, perhaps. Now I must return this little one to his mother. He’s hungry.”

“That’s why his face is so red,” Nemek told his father.

Nionik nodded gravely. Griane shared a smile with Mirili. No need to fear for this child’s future; he would be surrounded by love.

She was starting back to the birthing hut when a shout stopped her. Everyone froze as Conn raced into the village. Callie trailed behind him, his face nearly as red as the babe’s.

“Three coracles,” Conn said between pants. “Coming up the river.”

“It’s Fa!” Callie tugged at her skirt. “Fa and Keirith. I know it. Lacha brought them home.”

Three coracles. That must mean the girl was with them. The one Fellgair had told her about. Quickly, she thrust the Trickster from her mind as she’d done every day in the half-moon since returning from the Summerlands.

“Come on, Mam! We have to go down to the lake. We have to be there when they come.”

The coracles could just as easily contain visitors from another village, but she could scarcely breathe for hope.

Already, people were streaming out of the village. Callie’s excitement had infected everyone. All around her, Griane heard eager speculations that Darak and Urkiat were returning with Keirith. They didn’t realize Urkiat would never return, that his body was lying in foreign soil. She could only hope his spirit heard the prayers she offered.

She glanced around, searching for Faelia. She had entrusted her daughter with the truth about Keirith, had even revealed that the Trickster had told her. Despite her youth, Faelia could be counted on to keep a secret; the gods knew she had enough of her own. But Griane had said nothing to Callie, fearing he would spread the tale to the entire village.

Failing to spy her daughter’s bright hair, she walked quickly to the birthing hut and found Lisula and Muina waiting outside. They were the only others who knew about Keirith. Neither had offered much comfort when she had shared the tale with them, both of them worried about the reaction of the tribe. Griane had bristled when Muina reminded her of the law.

“Keirith is not Morgath!”

“I know that without you shouting at me,” Muina replied. “But others will only see the power and the potential for destruction.”

Judging from their worried expressions, both priestesses were recalling that conversation, but there was no time to speak. Sali ducked out of the birthing hut and held out her arms for the child.

“You go, Mother Griane. Bethia and I will stay with Catha.” Sali hesitated, darting anxious glances at all of them before blurting out, “I hope it’s them. I know how much you’ve missed them. I’ve prayed every night for their safe return.” Then, as if appalled by her speech, she darted back inside.

Muina stared after her in astonishment. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that many words come out of the child’s mouth in all the years I’ve known her.”

“Whatever happens,” Lisula said, “you know we’ll stand by him.”

“Where’s my stick? I won’t stand at all without that.”

Lisula produced Muina’s quickthorn stick and they made their way slowly down the hill. Griane trailed after them, telling herself not to build up her hopes in case the visitors were strangers. Like the others, she shaded her eyes against the late afternoon sun, watching the coracles move out of the long shadow cast by Eagles Mount.

“Mam! Mam!” She turned in the direction of Faelia’s voice and found her pushing through the crowd. “Is it them?”

“We don’t know.”

Faelia surprised her by throwing her arms around her neck. “What do we say? If it’s Keirith?”

She’d discussed that very question with Muina and Lisula without arriving at an answer. All she could think to say was, “Follow your father’s lead.”

Over Faelia’s shoulder, she spied Ennit striding toward her. He kissed Lisula on the cheek before turning to them. “It looks to be two men and a woman. One of the men might be Darak—I couldn’t be sure—but the other . . .” His face crumpled. “It wasn’t Keirith. I’m sorry, Griane. He had almost no hair at all and what there was of it was black.”

Griane hugged Faelia hard, praying that no one would guess that she and her daughter were sobbing with joy.

As he drove his paddle deep into the water, Keirith stared at all the people lined up along the shore. Somewhere in the crowd were his mam and Faelia and Callie. Conn, too, perhaps. He’d looked for him as they passed Eagles Mount, but tears reduced the scene to blurred smears of white and green.

As they drew closer to shore, his father glanced back and flashed a smile. Always, when they discussed this homecoming, his father insisted all would be well, but Keirith sensed the doubts lurking beneath that confidence. Only once had his father voiced them.

The morning after Hua’s recovery, his father took him aside. To Keirith’s surprise, he included Hircha in their conversation as well.

“Illait wanted me to ask . . . he would have spoken to you himself, but he thought it might be better coming from me. He’s invited you to stay. Both of you. If you want.”

“Stay?” Hircha echoed.

“He said no matter what had happened in Pilozhat, you’d restored his grandson.”

“You told him?” Keirith asked in shocked disbelief.

“Nay. But Illait’s no fool. I don’t know how much he’s guessed, but he’s offering you a home here. You’d live in his hut. Be part of his family.”

“I have a home,” Keirith said. “And a family.”

“Aye. Always. But . . . it’s a risk. Going back. You know that.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

“I want all of us to be together. But I also want you safe. I can’t guarantee what the council will decide. And I’ll not ask you to pretend to be some stranger I found in Zheros.”

“I couldn’t do that. It’s just . . . too hard.”

“Besides,” Hircha said, “that’s my role. Unless you want to claim me as your long-lost daughter.”

His father frowned as he always did when Hircha turned her acid humor on him. For some reason, she enjoyed pricking him, probably because his father didn’t know what to make of it. And because, despite her bravado, she was a little afraid of him.