Foxfire (30 page)

Her silence was more eloquent than words.

“Do you think he suspects the truth?”

“Nay!”

The words he had held inside since Hircha's revelation burst out of him. “Why would Darak tell Hircha?”

“It's different. She's not my child.”

“Callie would never blame you.”

A cloud passed over the sun, shadowing her face. She glanced up and flicked her fingers in the sign to avert evil.

After that, neither of them spoke. His mam needed all her breath for the steep climb up the hill. He extended his hand to help her, but she swatted it away. Only when she lowered herself onto a shelf of rock did he realize she had brought him to Darak's favorite spot. Her gaze drifted south, as if she hoped to see him cresting the hill. Then she faced him and folded her hands in her lap.

“All right. Tell me everything.”

 

 

 

All afternoon, they talked. Or rather, he talked and his mam listened. As she had commanded, he told her everything: his experiences with Fellgair, his meetings with Keirith, his hope of turning the tide of the rebellion, and the doubts that had been eating away at him since that visit to Graywaters.

It was like returning to his childhood, when they would spend every day together, his mam sewing or grinding herbs or cooking, while he helped with simple tasks like scrubbing a pot or stacking the peat bricks. Or when he was older and would rush home to share his latest triumph, whether it was snaring a rabbit or bringing down a bird with his sling.

They basked in the sunlight and the love that had always bound them together. But as the shadows of the western hills darkened the waters of the lake, Rigat shivered. Just as the day was waning, so, too, was their time together.

“I have to leave soon, don't I?”

His mam's smile was bleak.

“They'll never accept me.”

“They accept you as my son and Darak's.”

“But only because of that. If they knew who I really am . . .”

“Is that what you want?”

“I don't know! I just . . .” He gripped his knees, rocking back and forth in frustration. “My rockslide saved this village. My spying helps the rebels. I deserve a little . . .”

“What? Gratitude? Respect? Fear?”

“Aye!”

“Then go back to the council and tell them what you've done. Go to Temet and demand recognition. If their gratitude and respect are so important—”

“You're more important. And so is Keirith.”

Her face softened and she patted his knee, sighing. “Sometimes, I think it would be better to have it all out in the open. The longer you wait, the worse it will be when people discover the truth. And they will. Lies always catch up with you.”

She was clearly thinking about what had happened between her and Keirith as well as what might happen to him. Desperate to reassure her, he said, “I'd never let anyone hurt you.”

“Madig, you mean?” She shot him a scornful look. “I'm not afraid of Madig. Or the elders. What could they do?”

“Cast you out.”

“They wouldn't dare. I'd tell them Fellgair would destroy them.”

“Would he?”

“I doubt it. Cursing a god to his face doesn't win his affection. It's a fine threat, though. And I'll use it if I must. But the only way Madig—or anyone—could hurt me is to threaten my husband or my children.”

Did she even realize that she had put Darak first? Again? Probably not. She would never deliberately hurt him.

“Be careful, Rigat. And don't trust Fellgair. Rely on your instincts, not what he tells you to do.”

“He doesn't tell me to do anything. Just talks about the great web of possibilities.”

She muttered something under her breath, then sighed again. “I know you're a man now. But you're still . . . very young.”

“I'll be all right, Mam. Don't worry.”

She hugged him hard, then pulled away. “When will you go?”

He knew he should leave at once. But surely, he deserved one night with his family before he returned to his solitary existence.

“On the morrow.”

 

 

 

Later, he blamed himself for that choice and for the other mistakes he made. If he had left the village sooner, ensured that no one was following him, scanned for the energy of another person . . . any of those precautions might have averted the disaster.

But he was distracted by thoughts of his mam. He had promised to find a way for them to meet in secret, just as he met with Keirith. As he strode through the dew-slick moor grass, he made another vow: that soon, he would abandon secrecy and let the whole world know his true identity.

He waited until he was a mile from the village to open the portal. After quickly surveying the terrain behind him, he pictured his forest lair and allowed his power to build. Then he slowly carved the doorway out of the sky and stepped through it. As he turned back to close the portal, he saw the figure slipping out from behind a boulder.

Madig froze, staring past him with openmouthed shock. “What is that?”

“Nothing. Just . . . a portal.”

“To Chaos?” Madig's voice cracked with panic.

“Nay! To the forest. See? The pines?”

Madig limped toward him, slow and hesitant as a dream-walker. “You did push Seg. During the hunt.”

“That . . . it was a stupid prank. I didn't mean—”

“You always hated him. Because he bested you time and time again.”

Only because I let him, Rigat thought. But he bit back the words.

“You hated my boy. You shamed him in front of the tribe. And then you killed him.”

“Nay!”

“You caused the rockslide.”

“To stop the Zherosi. Seg getting killed—that was an accident.”

“He tried to tell me. But I didn't believe him.”

Madig's voice was soft, almost a singsong. Like Callie when he soothed a sick ewe or Darak praying over a dying stag.

“How could the son of Darak Spirit-Hunter be evil, I asked?”

“I'm not evil!”

“You're a murderer. An abomination. Just like your brother.”

“Leave Keirith out of this!”

Madig's hand rose.

“I know you miss Seg. But I didn't kill him. I swear on my mother's life.”

Slowly, he drew an arrow from his quiver.

“Don't be stupid!” Rigat shouted. “If you believe I started the rockslide, you know I can stop you from killing me. Please! Don't make me hurt you.”

Madig nocked the arrow in his bowstring, all the while cursing him in that soft, musing tone. Frantically, Rigat tried to seal the portal, but his concentration was shattered and his finger slashed helplessly through the air.

The seamless flow of words stopped as Madig raised his bow.

Rigat's power surged. He was as helpless to control it as the cold sweat that broke out on his forehead and the spasm of terror that clutched his bowels.

Madig stumbled, then quickly recovered. He shook his head, grimacing, and flexed his fingers. With a grunt of pain, he drew the bowstring taut. Rigat flung up his hands, shouting, “Stop!” The power raced down his outstretched arms, a tingling surge of energy that burned his fingertips as it leaped toward his attacker.

Madig lurched sideways. The arrow slipped harmlessly from the bowstring and clattered against a rock. He gasped for breath, his eyes bulging. Then he crumpled to the ground.

Rigat managed to totter back through the portal before his legs folded under him.

But his legs wouldn't obey, and he no longer had the power to command them.

“You really must learn to close a portal more quickly.” Shaking his head, Fellgair stepped through the portal, which snapped shut behind him.

“I killed him.” His tongue felt thick, too large for his mouth.

“No.”

Unable to stand, Rigat crawled forward on his hands and knees. Even before he reached Madig, he could see his chest rising and falling. His left eye rolled wildly and his mouth was twisted in a horrible grimace, but his pulse was strong, if very fast.

“You could have killed him, of course. If you had directed the power instead of allowing it to pour out of you.”

Like water from a broken jug. That's how he felt—broken and empty.

“I shouldn't have come.”

“You shouldn't have let Madig catch you.”

“He'll tell.”

Fellgair strolled over to Madig and nudged him with his foot. Madig made an awful gobbling sound in his throat. As Fellgair bent closer, the gobbling became a strangled moan, thick with phlegm and fear.

“I doubt Madig will be saying anything for a while.”

“I didn't mean for this to happen.” He wasn't sure if he was talking to Fellgair or Madig. “I just wanted him to stop.”

“And threw your power at him with mindless strength.”

Rigat nodded miserably.

“Of course, it may not be your fault at all.”

He hoped Fellgair was right. Madig had stumbled even before he threw his power at him. But that didn't change the fact that he had struck with—what had Fellgair said?

“What should I do?”

At first, he thought it was Fellgair's cold voice whispering inside of him. With growing horror, he realized the thought was his.

The second voice was equally calm, equally reasonable, but far kinder.

He fought the urge to weep. He wanted his mam to stroke his hair and tell him he was not evil. He wanted Darak's arms around him, that deep voice assuring him that he had simply defended himself. He wanted one of Keirith's lectures and the hug that always followed. He wanted Callie to tell him everything would work out in the end. He would even welcome a tongue-lashing from Hircha who had warned him to stay out of Madig's way, or Faelia's reluctant but defiant defense of his actions.

Fellgair simply stood there, watching and waiting.

Fellgair crouched beside him. Clawed fingers stroked his hair gently. With a soft moan, Rigat leaned against the furry chest.

“Hircha warned you,” Fellgair said. “And your mother. Keirith always told you to use your power wisely. Instead, you panicked.” Fellgair's arm tightened around his shoulders. “But who could blame you? You had to defend yourself. That wasn't evil. And neither are you. Don't worry. It will all work out in the end.”

Rigat smiled. And then the import of Fellgair's words and actions finally reached him.

“Don't mock me!”

Fury changed to horror at his outburst, and he recoiled, awaiting the lash of his father's anger.

Instead, Fellgair sighed. “I wasn't mocking you. I was giving you the comfort you seemed to require. Obviously, it's less effective when I do it.” Waving away his stammered apology, Fellgair added, “I have many gifts. Fatherly affection is not one of them. Darak was right about that.”

For a moment, his expression grew wistful. Then the golden eyes flicked back to him. “As for Madig, you know your choices. Kill him. Summon help and devise a story to explain his condition. Or leave and let matters sort themselves out.”

“I could try and heal him.”

“You're far too weak.”

“You could heal him.”

“Me?” Fellgair looked astonished. “Why would I want to save the man who just attempted to kill my son? Why, for that matter, would
you
want to save him?”

“He was angry. And upset. About Seg.”

“And that gives him the right to try and kill you?”

“He wasn't thinking clearly.”

“Neither are you. Do you really believe Madig will simply forget this? That he'll be so grateful to be restored to health that he'll forgive you for Seg's death?”

A soft sound escaped Rigat. The whimper of a frightened animal.

“What about Mam?”

“A woman who can curse a god to his face is quite capable of handling a few suspicious villagers.”

“Then she'll be safe?”

“For now? Yes. Next moon? Next year? I cannot say. But even if the truth of today's . . . accident . . . comes out, why would they harm her?”