Exile's Challenge (34 page)

Kahteney and Davyd had both nodded. Then Kahteney asked, “You say they come against us again?”

“I say only,” Morrhyn had returned, “that we should not trust the Green Turtle; nor think the river holds him off.”

Davyd had said, “And my dreams? Are they not of invasion? Tell me what they mean.”

“I cannot,” Morrhyn had said. “I think we had best leave all this until the Matakwa. I'd hear what the Grannach have to say.”

And so they rode, the vast, splendid column of all the People, the Commacht and the Lakanti, the remnants of the Naiche and the Aparhaso, those Tachyn who remained loyal to Dohnse—or to the concept of the People Chakthi had forgotten. All of them—the survivors of Ket-Ta-Witko, that the Breakers had denied them and taken from them—going to Matakwa in a new world, in Ket-Ta-Thanne.

And Davyd rode, headily, at the front of the great mass. Rannach rode to his left, Tekah a little way behind, Morrhyn on the farther side. Fat Yazte was there, and Kahteney; Arcole on his right. He wondered where Flysse was, and supposed she went with Arrhyna and Lhyn, farther down the column.

He turned in his saddle, looking back, and folk caught his eye and smiled, or raised lances in salute, which filled him with a guilty pride so that he turned again to the fore. The movement tugged at his wounds and he winced, which brought Arcole's head around, the older man's eyes filled with concern.

“Are you …” Arcole hesitated. Davyd was become something more than the scareling thief he'd taken under his unwilling wing on the
Pride of the Lord
.

Davyd tightened his smile and said, “Yes,” understanding. “Don't worry.”

Arcole shrugged—God, but it was hard to understand him since the wood—and shifted the musket to a more comfortable position across his thighs. “We could halt soon.”

“No.” Davyd shook his newly white head. “Best we find the Meeting Ground soon as we can, no?”

“As you say.” Arcole smiled to hide his confusion and turned his horse away in search of Flysse.

He found her down the column and reined in beside her. The roan and the gray snapped at one another and then decided to make friends. Flysse asked, “How is he?”

“Hurting, though he'll not admit it.” Arcole shrugged. “It's as if he
needs
to ignore the pain. I think he'd get to the Meeting Ground without delay.”

Flysse smiled and took his hand. “And would you not be the same, husband? Were you hurt, but felt a need to tell your story?”

“It's not the same.” Arcole shook his head. “He's old before his time. That hair …”

“Marks him,” Flysse interrupted. “The Maker's mark.”

“Do you believe that?” Arcole asked. “Truly?”

“Yes.” Flysse nodded slowly, solemnly. “Was it not Davyd guided us out of Grostheim, and saw us safe along the river, through to here?”

Arcole ducked his head in agreement.

“And was it not Davyd's dreams brought us to the Grannach?” Flysse asked.

Again, Arcole nodded: “Yes.”

“Then why doubt him now?” Flysse wondered. “Trust him.”

“He speaks,” Arcole said, “of war. Of things I cannot believe can be. Alliance between Salvation and Ket-Ta-Thanne? How?”

Flysse said, “I don't know, only that I trust him.”

“As do I,” Arcole said, “though I cannot understand how.”

“Then trust me,” Flysse said.

And Arcole nodded and held her hand tight and said, “Yes.”

Fools, all of them. Fools piled on fools, all trust and honor, none of it counting for aught save the sorrow they deserve for denying you. They'll pay the price of their foolishness, believe me. Oh, yes; and a heavy price, a steep toll on their stupidity. At Matakwa: I'll show you then, and they'll all tremble in fear of you and know that they should have listened to you before, because you are great as any of them—Morrhyn or Kahteney, or the upstart Davyd. Yes, I'll show you how to best them all at the Matakwa
.

Taza no longer cared whether the voice was his own or some other, only that it promised him what he wanted. Neither could he any longer decide between what it and he truly desired: there was no longer any difference between his ambition and the voice's, and he was seduced.

He smiled as he rode, all docile, knowing he was watched, and held his own council—his and the power's—and wondered what the voice's promise should deliver.

Scouts rode out ahead, not for fear of attack—Morrhyn had suggested, and so it had been agreed, that nothing be said of Davyd's dreams before Matakwa—but to check the land and alert the Grannach to the People's coming. Davyd had tentatively suggested that Tekah be one, but the young Commacht had instantly rejected the notion, insisting that his place was at Davyd's side, and so he rode attendant on his self-selected ward.

Davyd found it somewhat embarrassing: he could hardly shift in his saddle without Tekah asking was he well, did he need rest; and nights, Tekah stationed himself guardian outside Davyd's lodge, armed against further betrayal for all Taza was himself well guarded. It was not said, not aloud, but word had spread swift amongst the Matawaye that at Matakwa Taza would be accused of attempting Davyd's murder, and so it was as if Davyd were protected by all of the
People, for they looked on him now as Morrhyn's proven acolyte. Had he not the Prophet's hair? Had the Maker not blessed him with dreams and given him the strength to slay the wolverine?

At night, free of Tekah's vigilance, Davyd would yank off the skin and fling it irritably across his lodge.

“It is a mark of honor,” Morrhyn said. “Of courage.”

“It's a skin,” Davyd returned. “The skin of an animal I don't even remember killing.”

“Perhaps because it was the Maker slew it,” Morrhyn said.

Davyd shrugged. “I'd sooner He'd slain it before it clawed me.”

“You hurt? Shall I ask the women attend you?” Morrhyn asked.

And Davyd shook his head. “Thank you, no. I'd sooner speak of my dreams.”

“You have,” Morrhyn said, “and you know that neither I nor Kahteney have answers.”

“Even so.” Davyd lay back on furs that came—praise the Maker!—from buffalo and bear, not wolverines, and said, “I dreamed I fought. I dreamed I was a wakanisha and a warrior, both. But you say that cannot be; does that mean my dreams were false?”

“I cannot say.” Morrhyn shrugged, reaching to the kettle heating over the fire. “Tea?”

“I'd sooner tiswin,” Davyd said.

Morrhyn smiled and went to the lodgeflap, speaking with the waiting Tekah. In moments a flask of tiswin was brought—Tekah inquiring, again, if aught else was needed.

“I wish,” Davyd muttered when the flap was closed on the warrior's earnest face, “that he'd not mother me so.”

“He blames himself for what happened,” Morrhyn said. “Since that first day he feels a debt, it's a thing of honor.”

“I know,” Davyd grunted. “But still … Ach, Morrhyn, please fill me a cup.”

The Prophet nodded and spilled the liquor into the clay mug, passed it to Davyd. “I think,” he said, “that we must wait before we can understand your dreams properly. Best wait until we speak with the Grannach.”

Davyd drank deep of the tiswin and sighed. “I'd know now,” he said.

“Be patient,” Morrhyn urged. “Perhaps the Grannach shall have news of events beyond the mountains.”

“And is it like before?” Davyd scowled impatient at the flames. “Shall the Breakers creep up on us?”

“We cannot know, but we can be ready,” Morrhyn answered. “For now, we can only wait.”

And Davyd must be content with that, which chafed him sore as his wounds.

Taza lay on poorer furs than the upstart, but won by his own skills—not gifted!—and pondered the wonders to come. He was, he knew, become a pariah amongst the People. His foster parents no longer welcomed him to their lodge and he had set up his own, which he knew was watched for fear he make another attempt on Davyd's life. Such was unfair without proof, but even so the solitude suited him, allowed him the privacy to commune with the newfound power.

That came stronger in the night when he lay alone, the voice clearer, filling him with confidence and purpose so that he knew what he must do. What he would do, and teach all these fools the lesson they deserved.

He hoped the upstart stranger's wounds fester and poison him; if not …

Then he shall die anyway
, the voice said.
We'll slay him together, you and I. I'll give him to you for a plaything. Him and all the others who laugh at you and condemn you
.

Taza closed his eyes and slept, warmed by his hatred.

The mountains bulked ahead, like vast walls erected against the land beyond, great bastions that must surely hold out Salvation, hold the People free from Evander and the Autarchy. They rose up from the oceanic swell of the grass-girdled foothills, climbing higher than the timber could reach, to vaunt themselves indomitably against the hazy heavens. Arcole could not see the topmost peaks, only the cloud that masked them, as if stone and sky met and blended in impassable
barricade, but still he touched absently at the scan branded on his cheek and thought of that country beyond, of all it meant, and of Davyd's confusing dreams.

“They cannot reach us here.” Flysse's voice intruded or his musings and he smiled, not quite cheerfully.

“No? Are you sure?”

Flysse gestured at the bulwarks ahead. “How could they? Think you the Grannach would grant Evander passage?”

“No.” Arcole shook his head. “Not likely. But ever so …”

“Leave off,” she urged. “Doubtless we'll learn the import of Davyd's dreams in time, but meanwhile we've Matakwa to attend. You know what that shall mean?”

“That we become …” Arcole assumed a dignified expression, a portentous tone. “… 
adopted
Commacht?”

“That, yes; which is no small thing,” Flysse replied, more serious. Then more serious still: “And Davyd …”

“Shall become what he becomes,” Arcole said, and felt his doubts return. “Which shall be what, eh? Are his dreams true, then …”

“We shall find out in time,” Flysse finished for him, “but until then, do we enjoy what we have now?”

Arcole nodded, but still the doubts lingered. He put on a cheerful face and studied the mountains ahead, wondering what lay beyond them now, in Salvation and in all the unknown worlds.

The site chosen for the new Meeting Ground was similar in many ways to the old, and did it lack the overseeing mass of the Maker's Mountain, still it was hill-ringed and woody, with a narrow stream meandering across the lush grass that covered the floor of the bowl. One pass granted ingress from the west, another to the east, showing a rocky trail that wound away upward to lose itself amongst the peaks. That was the direction from which the Grannach would come, and the People waited on them. Lodges covered the grass now, fewer than in Ket-Ta-Witko, but nonetheless an impressive number, with the owners' favorite horses tethered close by, the rest herded to the south, tended by youths.

Morrhyn looked out across the camp and felt a mingling of pride and sadness. The People had survived the Breakers, but so many had been lost. And were Davyd's dreams true … Rannach caught his eye and he shrugged and said, “We can only wait,” guessing the nature of his akaman's unspoken question.

“And there are other matters,” Yazte said. “Not least, Taza.”

“Not least,” Kahteney corrected, “the adoption ceremonies.”

“Ach!” Yazte shook his large head. “Those are surely no more than formalities. They're Matawaye now in the eyes of the People.”

“Not in Taza's,” Kahteney murmured, and looked to where the twist-footed young man had pitched his tent.

The lodge was new, and newly painted with the eagle emblem of the Lakanti, as if Taza challenged his clan to deny
him. It was set on the fringe of the Lakanti grouping, a little way apart from the rest, with Taza's horse on a grazing string and the youth himself squatting in the sun, industriously stitching a torn shirt. Was he aware of being observed, he gave no sign, but seemed entirely content.

Morrhyn frowned, thinking the malcontent near great an enigma as Davyd. He surely owned the dreaming talent, but all wound up with the pride and ambition that persuaded both Morrhyn and Kahteney he should not be named wakanisha. It was hard, for all he told himself he should not judge until both sides were heard in council, to doubt that Taza had sought to slay Davyd. But how to prove that? His dreams told him nothing, and neither had Davyd or Kahteney dreamed of Taza. So was it as he feared, that somehow the youth clouded the talent? And were that so, what unrecognized power did he own?

Morrhyn sighed unthinking, and Rannach looked to him, giving him back his own words: “We can only wait.”