Storm Bride (22 page)

Chapter 26

Saotse

T
liqyali wiped Saotse’s forehead with
a rag dipped in cool water. “Is Sorrow still near to you?”
   
Saotse’s feet rested on a woven mat, and beneath the crackling reeds, the earth trembled. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

Tliqyali hesitated. “Because something may be different.”

After the battle had dispersed around noon, Saotse had rested with the
kenda
’s entourage, and she listened to Sorrow in the soil and attempted to feel the movements of the Yakhat in her skin. But to her surprise, Tliqyali was right. Saotse wasn’t sure what the Hiksilipsi woman could sense, but something
had
changed. Sorrow was present, but she was not wholly with Saotse. Her attention was divided. “How do you know?”

“I don’t have any direct touch with Sorrow, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Tliqyali said, amusement edging her voice. “But I can touch you, and your spirit has changed its tone. Your heart is beating differently. Something has shifted.”

Saotse held her tongue for a while. This Hiksilipsi woman was the best aid she was likely to get, but would she immediately go tell the
kenda
if she admitted her uncertainty? But did she have a choice? If she were to charge into battle and find that Sorrow no longer answered…

Saotse swallowed her pride. “I don’t know what’s happening. Something else, or someone else, has begged for Sorrow’s presence. She is here, but she’s not
all
here. Do you understand what I mean?”

“A little,” Tliqyali said.

“Do you know why? Does your training give you a way to ask Sorrow what has happened?”

Tliqyali laughed. “You should know better than me that the Powers don’t speak as we do. Their language is the twisting of the wind, the color of leaves, and the pattern of lichen on a rock. You can ask them a question, but rarely will you get an answer expressible in words.”

“But I’ve communed with Sorrow so many times. If she shared this—whatever it is—with me, then I could speak the words.”

“Have you tried to commune with her now?”

Saotse paused. She hadn’t, mostly because it would require her to go deeper into the Power than was safe when she was alone and with friends.

But she wasn’t alone. She clenched Tliqyali’s hand. “If I immerse myself in Sorrow now, it would be like when I knocked down the
kenda
’s pavilion. But worse. I’m not sure that this is wise.”
I already lost one friend today to Sorrow’s recklessness.

“I’ll help you,” Tliqyali said. “Give me a moment to prepare.”

The woman began to sing in Hiksilipsi, a light, pattering rhythm like rain falling on still water. Saotse heard her move around the little tent, open satchels, and scrape something into a bowl. The smell of burning sage suffused the tent. A bell rang nine times, then the rustling of her skirt settled in front of Saotse. She folded the mat back with a crunch of bending reeds then took both of Saotse’s hands.

“I haven’t done this before with one of the Kept,” she said with a nervous laugh. “But the principles are the same. When you’re ready, step off the mat and onto the bare earth.”

Saotse’s heart pounded with anxiety. “What am I supposed to do?”

“You are the Kept. Do what comes naturally, what you’ve done before. You were born hearing the language of the Powers, so speak it now with the Power that Keeps you. I will be your guardian and your guide. If you go too deep, I’ll pull you out.”

Saotse nodded. She stepped onto the ground and fell into Sorrow.

At first, she knew only the vastness of Sorrow’s pain, and the ground began to shudder with her sobs. But Tliqyali’s palms, pressed against hers, provided a slender reminder that she was a woman, and she was among friends. Saotse stilled her weeping. Sorrow was not consoled, but she quieted. And in their wordless union, Saotse asked,
Who else is here?

The answer: A black stormcloud thundered from horizon to horizon. Rain sliced through the sky, lightning pounded the earth, hail bruised the trees, and wind screamed. Sorrow had sadness mingled with rage, but the stormcloud had only hatred: hot, black, and boiling with cruelty. Saotse shrank back in terror, but Sorrow dissolved it. She remembered that the storm was not wicked. Once the wind had been a dance and not a fist, and the rain had been a kiss instead of a slap. Once, and maybe again.

The earth swelled to touch the sky, soil bulging beneath sod and creaking its stony bones—and fell back again with a shudder of frustration. The pain was too great, and the labor of reunion was unfinished.

But realization thundered through Saotse:
Sorrow does not labor alone.

It wasn’t just the storm that split Sorrow’s attention, but another person, whose struggle rippled through Sorrow like the splashing of a child in shallow water. The woman contracted; the earth contracted. The woman screamed; the stones screamed.

And Tliqyali pulled Saotse from the depths of the Power and dropped her, sweating and quivering, onto the reed mat.

The cool rag dabbed her forehead again, and Tliqyali pressed a skin of water to her lips. Shaking, Saotse spilled the water all down her shirt. Tliqyali caught her head, laid her gently out on the mat, then covered her quickly with a blanket.

Saotse grabbed the woman’s hand. “What did I do? What happened when I was with Sorrow?”

“Very little,” Tliqyali said. “There was some shaking, and you screamed. And the earth shouted. It was
very
loud.”

“What did I say?”

“Nothing I could understand. Do you not remember?”

Saotse waited for the trembling to cease. “I remember. But I don’t understand. Someone else is in Sorrow.”

“Someone other than you was communing with Sorrow?”

“Yes. Another Kept?”

Tliqyali tucked the blanket around her. “I doubt it was another Kept.”

“Then who?”

“It could be anyone. All flesh influences the Powers, just as the Powers speak to all flesh. Do you not know this?”

“No. The Hiksilipsi were seldom in Prasa to teach.” And she hadn’t wanted to go to them when they were present. Admitting to anyone that Oarsa had ceased to speak to her was more pain than she had wanted to bear.

“It’s unfortunate that you couldn’t learn more from us,” Tliqyali said. “As Kept of Sorrow, you are gifted to perceive the Powers directly, and for this reason when Sorrow joins herself to you, you can invoke and direct her power. But the Powers may join themselves to anyone. This other person, if she isn’t Kept, cannot command the earth as you can, and she may not even know what is happening. But Sorrow may bind to her nonetheless.”

“But why would Sorrow do that?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her.”

Saotse groaned in frustration. Sorrow had shown her sadness, separation, and struggle. The other woman was somehow bound up in it. But the explanation that Saotse wanted was not something Sorrow could give.

There was a noise at the entrance of the tent, and a rough male voice called out to Tliqyali in Yivrian. Tliqyali answered, then said to Saotse, “The
kenda
wants to see you. Can you walk?”

“Help me to my feet,” Saotse said.

Tliqyali took her by the hand and helped her up, and Saotse stood for a moment to see if she had the strength. She did. She shuffled forward, leaning on Tliqyali’s arm.

The
kenda
’s pavilion was open on every side to let in a cool breeze, and Saotse could hear the
kenda
pacing. “Saotse,” he said when she was still several paces away. “What was the tremor and the great noise we all heard a little while ago?”

“I was speaking to Sorrow,” Saotse said. “We screamed. That’s all.”

“Is there something wrong?”

Saotse hesitated. But no, Sorrow’s
presence
was as strong as ever, even if the Power’s
attention
was split. “Nothing is wrong. Tliqyali was guiding me to understand the Powers better.”

“Very well,” the
kenda
said, in a tone that made it very clear he didn’t want to hear any more about what Saotse and Tliqyali had done. “The Yakhat are forming up again on the far side of the valley. I think they mean to make a second battle this afternoon. And we’ll meet them with spears forward, as many times as they want, until they either scatter or surrender. Are you prepared to join us?”

“I am prepared.” She suffered a pang of doubt as to whether Sorrow would still respond to her and allow her to call up the soil as she had before. She reached out to the Power and felt the strong, bitter embrace of Sorrow, which assuaged her fears. Whatever the other influence of the powers, Sorrow would still come to Saotse. She could still bring them victory.

“Very well,” the
kenda
said. “We’ll ride out within an hour, possibly sooner if the Yakhat move quickly. Tliqyali will accompany you in place of Tagoa. Prepare however you need to, but I expect to see you here and ready before we ride.”

Chapter 27

Keshlik

T
he afternoon sun blazing on
the valley floor was a dim glow seen through the trunks of the trees. The fern-choked forest ran down a short, gentle grade to where the spruces guarded the edges of the field, and there, just inside the shadows afforded by a moss-swaddled log, crouched the scout. The fist behind his back signalled Keshlik’s force to stay put.

Keshlik heard, very far off, the feathery beat of hooves and the raindrop sound of spear meeting spear. Juyut had met the Yivriindi in battle. The scout’s signal would not continue much longer. Behind Keshlik, his men held their spears at the ready, their faces showing their eagerness to redeem themselves from the morning’s shame.
Good.
He needed every drop of ferocity he could get from them.

The scout ducked and ran over to Keshlik in a crouch. Once he was in the shadow of Lashkat, he stood. “The battle is joined. The Yivrian line has their back to us. They’re at the far end of the valley, with their tents between us and them, but they’ve left a minimal reserve at the perimeter.”

“And their chief?” Keshlik asked. “Has he remained in the camp or joined the battle?”

“The chariot with the blue banners followed the Yivrian force out. He remains behind the front line. A white-haired woman accompanied him.”

“Are they in the last line? Is there a force behind them?”

The scout nodded. “He’s in the middle. There is a shorter line of spearmen that guards his rear.”

Keshlik nodded. He turned to the men nearest him. “We ride out like the storm wind. Do not attack their encampment or engage with their perimeter. Fly past it and charge the rear guard that protects the witch and the chief. The battle will be over once we have crushed the Yivrian center and met up with our brothers on the other side.”

The warriors murmured assent, and the order was repeated through the ranks. Keshlik rode cautiously to the edge of the forest. Ahead, in the open valley, he saw the Yivrian encampment, the battle line, and the flags of the Yivrian chief as the scout had described them. He tutted to Lashkat, and she began to run through the open. The rest of his force poured out behind him.

They charged into the open field to the west of the Yivrian encampment, shouts in their throats and spears in their hands. The encampment sentries called out warnings and prepared for the attack, but the Yakhat rode by them like a river around a stone. The grass flew beneath Lashkat’s feet. To his left lay the furrows of the witch’s rage. The Yivrian line approached.

Behind them, drums began to sound in the Yivrian camp, warning of Keshlik’s approach. His warriors passed through the narrow throat formed between the camp and the result of the morning’s battle and began to spread, matching the width of the rear line.

The rear guard of Yivriindi had seen them. Their bronze spearpoints glittered as they turned. The Yivrian soldiers lowered the shafts of their spears into the soil. But the line was loose, ragged, panicked. The witch in the
kenda
’s chariot hadn’t yet disturbed the soil.

Keshlik rebalanced his spear in his hand, leaned to the left, and prepared to meet the Yivrian line. His mark was an adobe-skinned man with eyes wide and teeth clenched in fear. When Keshlik was a heartbeat away from riding into the man’s spear, he threw his own, forcing the man to dodge aside. Keshlik flashed past him and through the gap.

He rode to his spear and plucked it from the ground and turned Lashkat. The man he had just leapt past had found his feet and struggled to bring his spearhead around, but not quickly enough. Keshlik planted the point of his spear in the man’s throat.

A quick glance around showed that the Yakhat had broken through the rear line in several places and were engaged in melee with the rear defenders. The front line, where Juyut attacked, had begun to buckle. Cries of dismay rang from both fronts.

Keshlik shouted, “To the chief!” He charged toward the silver chariot and its shell of guards.

He was unsurprised to hear the earth rumble angrily once again. But anything she did now would harm her own as much as it did the Yakhat.

Far ahead of him, on the front line, the turf warped and belched. The Yakhat were already pressing through, and the soil buried the Yivrian foot soldiers as rapidly as it did the Yakhat horsemen. More horses poured through.

The earth rumbled behind Keshlik, and a rift split the ground, cutting off any escape back to the forest. But he had no intention of retreating: the
kenda
’s guard was before him, and he was two breaths away from celebrating his enemy’s death.

He turned Lashkat and charged into the gap between two men. They brought their spears together. Wood crunched. His horse screamed, and Keshlik pitched forward over her head.

The world spun. He landed on his back with a grunt. Behind him, Lashkat battered the defenders with her hooves, half a spear sticking out of her chest. More defenders were rushing at him. His own spear was still in his hand.

Keshlik roared and leapt to his feet. He parried an incoming blow and planted the head of his spear in someone’s gut. Horses screamed and ran past him. Yakhat and Yivrian men traded spear thrusts.

The chief’s chariot was pulling away. Keshlik shoved two of the panting rabbits aside and made chase.

The chariot’s ponies reared, and a Yakhat horse appeared on the other side. The horse’s rider carried a spearhead dripping with blood. One of the ponies collapsed, the other bolted, and the imbalance caused the chariot to rise up on one wheel.

Keshlik threw himself against the high side of the chariot. The wheel broke. The chariot collapsed onto its side.

The earth around them moaned and shuddered. Keshlik leapt atop the chariot and blindly thrust his spear downward. A flash of metal deflected his spearhead. The
kenda
tumbled out of the wrecked chariot, his ancient sword flashing in his hand. He stepped back and raised his sword to parry Keshlik’s strike.

A spear took the
kenda
in the back.

Blood gushed from his mouth. He fell to the ground atop his precious blade, revealing Juyut standing triumphantly behind him. Juyut screamed in celebration and leapt off his mount to plant his feet on the dead man’s back, then raised his spear in salute. “Yakhat, the victory is ours! The
kenda
is dead! Golgoyat fights among us!”

Keshlik raised his spear to match, even as the ground coughed and buckled again. The shout of victory leapt from mouth to mouth among the Yakhat, while a wail of dismay arose from the Yivriindi. Their defensive lines started to buckle and flee even where they had still been strong. It was turning into a rout.

After a final violent heave, the ground stilled and did not move again.

Keshlik glanced around. “Where is the witch?”

“I haven’t seen her,” Juyut said.

The
kenda
’s guard was strewn in bloody heaps on the ground around them, but he saw no sign of a small old woman among them. But neither did he see any sign of her bringing up her Power. Perhaps she had been taken by a stray arrow. It would be irony for her to fall so accidentally—but he would take her death any way he could get it.

He considered staying to direct the battle until the witch’s body was found and he could bring her eyes back to Tuulo. But his heart betrayed him. “Juyut, I need to return to Prasa. But Lashkat is fallen.”

Dismay flashed across Juyut’s face. “Lashkat? I’ll ensure that she is burned with a warrior’s honor. Take mine, and fly to your wife.”

Keshlik nodded. He swept aside the pang of sorrow at the loss of his mare. “Lead the battle to its conclusion. The victory is yours.”

Juyut reddened with pride. “Send my greetings to my sister-in-law and my nephew.” He saluted Keshlik with his spear and slid off his mare.

Keshlik leapt atop Juyut’s mare, and they sped off the battlefield toward Prasa, toward Tuulo, and toward his son.