He did not hurry. I think he had sent the others on so that he could be alone to speak with me. Perhaps he had believed that there would be some great struggle between us, a confrontation of his two selves that no one should witness. Now he moved with purpose, as if treading a road he had foreseen and dreaded. He returned to the lodge and went directly to the new hiding place that Olikea had devised. In a heavy cedar storage trunk, beneath the layers of wool blankets and fur coverings that he removed and carelessly piled on the earth floor, there was a false bottom. It was not easy to get it open, for it had no obvious handle or catch. But eventually he pried it up and sat for a moment, staring at what remained of Lisana’s treasure hoard. I imagined that he felt regret or reluctance, but could not be sure, for I was no longer privy to his feelings or emotions.
He spread one of the smaller blankets on the floor and loaded the treasure into the center. For some small time, he sat holding the ivory baby in his hands. With a fingertip, he traced the indistinct features of its face, the round cheeks, the closed eyes; then he returned it to the soft bag that Olikea always kept it in and added it resolutely to the pile. Once that was done, he tied up the four corners of the blanket to make it into a carry sack, tossed it over his shoulder, and left the lodge. He left the blankets scattered on the floor and the door wide open. Either he thought he’d never return, or he’d become so accustomed to having feeders pick up after him that he no longer noticed the messes he left.
The sun was already low, and soon the light would be lost to us. “You’re a fool, starting a journey at this time of day,” I said to him, but he paid me no heed. I doubt he even noticed the thought. For a time, he simply walked, following the well-trodden trail. I think he enjoyed the end of the spring day. Despite my trepidation, I did. There is nothing that smells quite like a forest in spring. The air was cool enough that walking was pleasant. Even for a heavy man, the first part of a walk can be a pleasant thing. But all too soon, my feet and knees began to complain, and my back reminded us that we’d spent far too much time sitting on a rock the night before. The blanket of swag on my shoulder began to seem heavy, and sweat began to trickle and chafe.
He took a deep breath, blew it out, and then with his next step began a quick-walk. It took me off guard and I did not enjoy the lurch from one place to another as he stepped. He had not fed as well that day as he was accustomed to, and soon he was using magic he had stored. I thought I sensed him grumbling to himself about that, but could not be sure. He strode quickly as well as quick-walked, so that the countryside flew past us. Night came on, and still we walked. He was very tired and his stomach roared with hunger before he saw fire ahead of us in the distance. He stopped his quick-walking then, and despite his aching back and muttering knees, forced himself to walk normally as he approached the campfires.
The trail ahead of us led uphill. To either side of it, firelight winked through the sheltering cover of the newly budded trees, like a string of glistening jewels scattered up the side of the mountain. As he approached, the cooking smells nearly made his knees buckle with hunger. Music floated on the night, drums and strings and the voices of the People upraised in shared song. Lisana’s memories of the westbound migration surfaced in his mind. The younger folk had always loved the trek back to the western side of the mountains. During the firelit nights of the migrations, they moved freely among the kin-clans, discovering friends new and old, taking lovers, trading with one another and comparing the trade goods that they were carrying west. It was a time as eagerly anticipated as the social season in Old Thares. The best storytellers of all the People would be performing, and there would be singing and shared food and shared blankets. A good time. Up ahead, someone gave a sudden whoop. Perhaps it was a storyteller ending a rendition of a favorite, for his cry was echoed with laughter and applause. If I had been a Speck child, I would have been racing up the trail to see what wonderful event was going on.
That thought brought Likari sharply to my mind. A moment later, Soldier’s Boy sighed and then paused on his upward trek. I wondered if the same thought had occurred to him. But his pause was momentary. He was soon laboring along, the calves of his legs screaming with the extra effort and stomach growling at the smells of the food.
His disappearance the night before had badly delayed the departure of his feeders, so it was no surprise that he found them around the first campfire he came to. Olikea was there with them, crouched by a pot of something simmering on the coals. At first glance, she seemed an old woman from the droop of her face and her untidy hair. She still wore a winter robe against the chill of the spring night, but it was a simple work robe, unlike the spring finery that some of the other women had donned. Grief had aged her. She was not the wild and flirtatious creature that had seduced me only a year ago. I thought of that, and marveled at all the changes that had been packed into such a short time.
While I pondered such things, Soldier’s Boy walked unannounced into the circle of their firelight. One of the other feeders noticed him first and gave a small squeak of surprise. Olikea started at the sight of him. She immediately put her gaze back on her cooking and said sourly, “So, here you are. You’ve come to your senses, then.” Her tone was not welcoming, but I thought I had detected a brief expression of relief on her face when she saw him.
“I suppose I have.” He lowered the sack of treasure to the ground beside him. At the sound of it, she looked back at him with a frown.
“What have you brought?”
“Lisana’s treasure.”
“But…but—” Her dismay and displeasure were equally evident. “Surely you can’t mean to trade them to the intruders! They will never give you what they are worth. And there are things there that you should never trade away, things of such value that—”
“I know.” His words cut her off. His tone was almost gentle as he said, “I don’t intend to trade them to the Gernians. I don’t think the Gernians will be doing any trade with us at all this year. If we are wise, we will stay deep in the forest and well hidden from them and their bullets. No. I’m taking these not to the Gernians but to Kinrove.”
“Kinrove?” She said the name with loathing, but a queer hope gleamed from her eyes. “Why?”
“I intend to strike a bargain with him.”
“To get Likari back?”
“That will be part of the bargain I hope to make.”
She had returned to her crouch over the cooking fire. Now she looked up at me, ladle in hand. I do not know how to describe the progression of emotions across her face. She looked down again, blinking very rapidly. She did not try to blot the tears. When she looked up at me again, they were running freely down her cheeks. Her voice was hoarse as she said matter-of-factly, “You need food. And rest. Look at you, hiking about in your night robe and slippers. This is what befalls a Great One with no feeder! They have no sense at all. Make yourself a seat and I will bring you food.”
Here, under the night sky, it was easy to speak to the magic. At Soldier’s Boy’s request, moss and earth rose into comfortable hummocks for him and for his feeders. The others came to him swiftly, relieved to have their lives put back into a routine. It had escaped him that he’d traipsed off still clad in his night garments. Not even I had noticed the discrepancy. A woman came, bearing oil, and rubbed his abused feet and calves. Someone else brought him warmed washwater, and then combed his hair back from his face and plaited it so it would be out of his way while he ate. Almost as soon as that was done, Olikea placed a large bowl of food in front of him. It was a thick soup of beach-peas and dried fish, and two dark, hard rolls of the travel bread they had been baking all week. It was simple and hearty, and I wished there had been a hogshead full of it rather than just the generous bowl. Soldier’s Boy ate without speaking, feeling the food revive him, and Olikea didn’t disturb him with questions.
Afterward, the magic fashioned a couch for them to share. The other feeders had kept a distance, either out of respect or because they sensed that peace would be most quickly restored if the Great One and his chief feeder had time for quiet conversation. Olikea and Soldier’s Boy lay down together, under a blanket of fox furs. Olikea prudently put the sack of treasure at her feet where no one could disturb it without waking her.
Up the trail, at the various kin-clan camps alongside it, the sounds of merrymaking went on unabated. This first night of the migration was always a time for gatherings and renewal of friendships. It seemed strange to me that they were so undaunted by what probably awaited them on the other side of the mountains. The best that they could hope for was a summer of remaining hidden in the forests there, hunting and fishing, but seldom venturing forth to trade or have any congress with Gettys. Then it came to me that such a season might be far closer to their old traditions than one of trading and visits. If only the two groups could agree to remain mutually isolated, there might have evolved a sort of peace. But I feared that very soon the actual cutting of the ancestral trees would resume, and then the Specks would feel they had no choice except to retaliate. I wondered what form that retaliation would take while I listened to their songs and music in the spring night. It was hard to reconcile the drumbeats and lifted voices in the night with my memories of flames and the screams of dying men. How could humanity range so effortlessly from the sublime to the savage and back again?
Olikea pressed herself against him, not in a seductive way but as one who seeks both warmth and comfort. He put his arms around her and pulled her close. Her hair smelled of the wood smoke. He rested his chin on the top of her head and felt a twinge of desire, but the ache in his back and legs overpowered it. That made him feel like an old man. She spoke into his chest. I crept closer, eavesdropping once more on his emotions and thoughts.
“When we reach our summer grounds and you go to visit Kinrove, what then?” she asked him.
“No,” he said quietly.
“No?” she asked him, confused.
“I will not wait until we reach the summer grounds. Tomorrow, when we rise, we will eat well. And then you and I will depart, to quick-walk to Kinrove. I will not wait any longer. You saw the beginning of all this. You should see the end.”
“But—”
“Shh. We should sleep while we can. And I cannot bear to think any longer on what I must do.” He closed his eyes then, and wearied by more than his long day’s walk, he sank swiftly into sleep. I remained aware behind his closed eyelids. I felt Olikea’s deep and heartfelt sigh, and how she relaxed into his arms. She, too, slept, but I remained aware for hours longer, listening to the sounds of the People in the night.
I think the following spring morning was the sweetest of my life. Dappling sunlight through the trees, birdcalls, the smells of the forest as the sun gently warmed it, the deliciousness of being warm while the rest of the world was still chill; nothing in my memory can compete with it. For one long, luscious moment, I simply existed, unaware of the strife and troubles that still waited to be resolved. I was like an animal awakening to the glory of spring.
Then I tried to stretch and could not, and recalled all too abruptly that I was still a prisoner in my own body. Soldier’s Boy awakened and then Olikea stirred in his arms. She slipped quickly from beneath the blankets and busied herself around the campsite while he stole a few more precious moments of dozing with his body warm and his face touched by the fresh day. At the smell of cooking food, he stirred quickly enough, his stomach’s roaring more demanding than the reveille bugles at the academy had ever been. Olikea had made a porridge and liberally sprinkled it with dried berries. She brought him a bowlful, with a spiral of honey drizzled over the top. He ate it with a carved wooden spoon and washed it down with a mug of hot tea. While he was eating, his feeders laid out proper clothing for him, for the Specks would go clothed until they emerged on the other side of the mountains into the warmer days of spring there.
Olikea knelt before him to lace his feet and legs into soft knee boots after he had donned the supple doeskin trousers and simple woolen tunic she brought him. As soon as his boots were tied, he rose and lifted the sack of treasure to his shoulder. “Let’s go,” he told her.
“First, I must clean and repack our cooking vessels and the fox-skin robe we slept under last night. It will not take long.”
“Leave them.”
“What?”
“I said, leave them. I do not think we will have need of them again. I intend to quick-walk the entire day, to overtake Kinrove and to speak with him this night.”
“But—” She glanced about at their campsite, at the other feeders, the dirty pots and the rumpled bedding.
He gave way before her confusion. “Take only what you think you must have. The other feeders will bring the rest.”
I sensed that he didn’t care what she brought or didn’t bring. There was finality to this decision, one that bespoke a swift end to all things. He did not expect to need anything she had brought with her, and he himself carried only Lisana’s treasure. Did he intend to kill himself? That was the first thing that came to my mind, but I could not imagine why or how he would make such a decision. How would that benefit Likari? Or, once he had obtained the boy’s release with the treasure, did he foresee that as the only possible end for us? I toyed with the idea, and found it vaguely attractive, and then all the more frightening because it was no longer as unthinkable as it once would have been.
Olikea packed swiftly and sensibly, taking a blanket, food, and bare necessities. I sensed her eagerness to be on her way to her son. The other feeders accepted the Great One’s decision. Their equanimity in the face of his changeable actions reflected the status a mage had in the society of the People. The magic powered his decisions, and they were never to be questioned. They simply portioned out the goods that Olikea had been carrying among themselves and bade us farewell.
With little more ado, Soldier’s Boy took her hand and they began their quick-walk. He not only poured his magic generously into the quick-walk but also physically stepped along as swiftly as he was able. I was disconcerted at the level of effort he put into this; by midmorning, I was very aware of the physical strain on him, as well as the depletion of his magic. Olikea spoke of her concern at such a pace, her words fading and then recovering as they moved swiftly past the other kin-clans on their migration. “You will exhaust yourself. Should not you save some of your magic for confronting Kinrove?”
“I will have enough. Treasure and magic are not the only way to sway Kinrove.” He paused. Then, “I have something else he wants,” he added enigmatically.
By afternoon’s end, we had traversed the cavernous pass and emerged on the other side. It was pleasant to come out into a warmer place, one where the evening light lingered on the land. Spring seemed stronger here. The tiny leaves on the deciduous trees glistened in various shades of green. The challenges and replies of the birds seemed to fill the air around us.
When Soldier’s Boy paused, I thought surely he would say that was enough journeying for the day. Instead, he caught his breath for a few moments and then asked, “Where does Kinrove’s kin-clan spend the summer? Where is his dance located?”
“He will be about a day’s journey from here, to the southwest. He has summered there every summer for many years, at a place that offers space, water, and food for his dancers.”
“Can you describe the path there for me?”
“Yes,” she began, and then suddenly shook her head. “But no. Not well enough for you to quick-walk there. No!” she repeated more emphatically at his look. “All know the dangers of a quick-walk when the path is not well known to the Great One. There are tales of two Great Ones who have simply vanished forever attempting such a feat. Unless you have your mentor’s memories to guide us, it is hopeless. We will need to walk the rest of the way there. It will be all right, Nevare. It is only one more night.”
I heard in her voice that even one more night seemed too many to her, but also her determination that Soldier’s Boy would not risk himself pushing on in ignorance. His own determination was as strong. “Very well. But we will continue walking in that direction, then. Southwest, you said?”
“Yes. But first we will go downhill for a ways. Then we will see a trail that goes in that direction. It will not be hard to find. His dancers have traveled with him and they will have trampled the path fresh quite recently. Come. Walk. But at a sensible pace. Remember, I am still your feeder and still have the care of you.”
Although they no longer quick-walked, she kept hold of his hand. When he would have hastened the pace, she held him back to a steady walk. As she had predicted, it was very easy to see where Kinrove’s dancers had gone. When they diverged on a trail to the south, Olikea and Soldier’s Boy followed them. She dropped his hand once, to leave the path and harvest several large clumps of mushrooms by the wayside. When she returned, she walked even more slowly. Even so, by the time the light was fading, his back ached abominably and his feet were very sore. He realized he was limping, and when they came to a small stream that crossed the path, he did not object when Olikea announced, “We will spend the night here.”
A hummock of earth shaped itself into a receptive chair for him. Olikea set to work immediately making a cook fire. He sat down and almost immediately realized he was far more tired than he had thought. Only the smell of the cooking food kept him awake. She glanced up at him once, to ask with a wry smile, “Are you glad now that I did not come away with nothing at all? We would be eating raw mushrooms tonight and little else.”
“You were wise,” he conceded, and for the first time in weeks I saw a genuine smile light her face.
The meal she made was simple, but it was hot and good. They ate together from the cooking pot, and had only fresh cold water to drink. The meal did not fill him, but then, no meal really ever had. It was enough to subdue the pangs of hunger. By the time they had finished eating, all light had fled the sky and the dark of night surrounded them. She fed the fire enough fuel to leave the flames dancing companionably, and then came to the couch he summoned from the forest floor. As she slipped under the blanket beside him, he felt a stir of arousal at her nearness. Before he could so much as touch her, she pressed herself against him.
She made love to him that night with the same uninhibited passion she had shown when first she had seduced me. They were alone, and with a common purpose, and perhaps that was all that was needed to make it seem, for that night, as if they loved each other. By the time she was finished with him, his weariness and aching joints had been replaced with a clean tiredness. She lay with her head on his chest and he stroked her long damp hair. Neither of them spoke; perhaps they were finally wise enough to know when words could only spoil something.
The dawn light through the young leaves overhead woke them. Olikea stirred the fire from the ashes and used the last of the food she had brought to make a hearty breakfast. She had saved the mushrooms she’d picked the day before and fed them to him now, and Soldier’s Boy felt their rejuvenating effect gratefully. They did not completely drive the ache from his back or the weariness from his legs, but he was able to rise without groaning. Olikea quenched their small fire with water from the stream and they journeyed on, the treasure bag slung over his shoulder.
By noon, they could hear the drumming and sometimes the occasional whoop or drawn-out, plaintive calls from Kinrove’s dancers. The magic, one of weariness and sorrow directed toward the Gernians, was like a cooking smell carried on the summer wind. “We draw near,” Soldier’s Boy said with relief, but Olikea shook her head. “Sound carries here, as does magic. I have heard that Kinrove chose the location for his dance carefully, so that the forest and the vales would amplify both the dance and the magic. We still have some way to travel, but we shall be there before evening.”
As the long afternoon progressed, the sounds and the presence of the magic grew stronger. If Soldier’s Boy allowed himself, he could taste the fear and the discouragement that wafted out from the dance. The sound became a constant that buffeted his senses. Although the magic was not directed at them, approaching it was still like wading up a strongly flowing stream. It drew strength from Soldier’s Boy. Olikea set her face into an expression of grim determination and marched on. The music created something that was the opposite of a quick-walk; it seemed to take forever to toil up the slight rise in the trail to where a couple of Kinrove’s men stood a lackadaisical watch beside the trail. Half a dozen people stood idly by, perhaps awaiting their turn to pass.
Their sentry duty seemed ridiculous to me at first. Why guard the most obvious trail into Kinrove’s summer encampment? It would have been child’s play to circle wide of the two idle guards and simply approach his stronghold through the forest. But as we drew closer, Soldier’s Boy’s leg muscles became more and more reluctant to work. By the time we actually reached the guards, he felt as if he had waded there through tar. It came to me that the whole of his encampment was encircled by this magical palisade, just as it had been at the Trading Place; the guards were not guarding so much as serving as the keys to entry. Only at that location could anyone approach one of Kinrove’s guards and request to be allowed in.
As we drew slowly closer, I could see that those who sat or stood awaiting admittance had evidently been there for some time. They crouched or stood, their eyes on the guards, reminding me of dogs begging at table. Off to one side of the trail, a banked campfire smoldered. Around it were blanket rolls and a scatter of possessions. I divined that it was a pathetic siege of sorts. I wondered how long they had been waiting.
As we toiled up the path, one guard caught sight of us and immediately jabbed at the other. Both stood abruptly, lifting bows and training arrows onto us as we came. One stood taller, craning to see us, and then said something to the other guard. The first one puffed out his lips, the Speck equivalent of shaking his head. They stared at us as we advanced, their faces stony. “Will they let us pass?” Olikea asked in a whisper.
“They will. But this time, it is my turn to ask you to be silent while I strike the bargain.”
She gave him a doubtful look but acceded.
They stopped a dozen steps short of the guards, not because the men had made any threat toward them, but simply because they encountered a barrier. Abruptly, weariness and aches flooded Soldier’s Boy’s body and he found himself questioning his reasons for coming here. What would he accomplish? Had he no faith in Kinrove, the greatest of the great? He looked at Olikea. Her face wore a similar bewilderment. She gave him a questioning glance. I deduced it before either of them did. I spoke loudly in Soldier’s Boy’s mind. “Step back. Two steps back will probably put you out of the barrier’s range.”
I do not know if he heard me or if he started to leave. But once he had retreated two steps from the guards, he suddenly shook his head and wheeled round again. He caught Olikea by the shoulder and kept her from going any farther. He focused his attention on the guards. “I want to see Kinrove,” he declared. “Send him word that Soldier’s Boy, Nevare, is here and wishes to speak with him. Tell him it is of the greatest importance.”
They did not even look at one another. “You are not to be admitted. This Kinrove has made clear to us.” The guard who had spoken added, “Know this, Great One. Kinrove’s magic will slow you or anything you might launch at us. But it has no effect on our arrows. They will fly as swift and true as ever.”
“I bring him gifts,” Soldier’s Boy said, as if no warning or threat had ever been made. Without any ceremony, he lowered his treasure sling to the ground. He untied the knots, and unfolded the blanket, baring the contents to their view. They tried to step forward to see it but were constrained, I think, by the same barrier that kept us out. They craned their necks, and their eyes grew wide as he began to sort through the jumbled treasures. Other supplicants ventured closer, their mouths hanging ajar at the wealth so casually transported in the old blanket. When he came to the bagged figurine, he hesitated, and then offered it to Olikea instead. “You, perhaps, will know best what to do with this,” he said.
She accepted it from him, and something changed in her face. Her face held that suppressed gleam of satisfaction that Epiny used to show just before she leapt to her feet to proclaim she had won a game of Towsers. She didn’t open the sack, but she cradled it in both hands. She smiled at the guardians. “Do not tell Kinrove that I wish to see him. Instead, tell Galea that Olikea, Nevare’s feeder, stands before you and holds her heart’s dearest desire in the palms of her hands. And if she can but get Kinrove to admit us, only to speak to him, then it shall be hers. Forever.”
Her eyes flickered to mine as she said that final word, as if fearing she offered something beyond what Soldier’s Boy would permit. But he only gave a curt nod. Then he slowly crossed his arms on his chest and waited. Olikea continued to cup the blanketed image in her hands.
They stood, an emperor’s ransom on a blanket at their feet, and a treasure of unknown value cradled in her hands, and waited. Neither one stared down at the fabulous wealth strewn across the blanket. Neither spoke or moved.
The guards exchanged glances, and then leaned close to each other for a whispered consultation. They agreed on something. One of them went to a sack hanging on a nearby tree. From it, he extracted a horn and blew three sharp blasts on it. The noise was still hanging in the air as the other explained to us, “That will let them know to send a runner to us. When he arrives, he will bear our message back to Kinrove.”
“Thank you,” Soldier’s Boy replied. Without even a small smile, he added, “In return for your swift action, I think that each of you should choose your own gift from us, from the largesse that we bring. It seems only fair.”
He stepped back and then knelt down heavily to spread the treasure more temptingly across the blanket. It was an unprecedented action for a Great One even to notice guards in such a way. They were stunned and instantly avaricious, jostling each other to have the best view of what was presented, all the while glancing at each other to see if one’s fellow was staring at the choicest bit that was offered. They were still leaning as far forward as they could against the magic barrier when the runner arrived. He was full of curiosity and drew as near as he could to view what they were ogling. The guards had scarcely a moment for him. “Go to Kinrove and tell him that Soldier’s Boy—Nevare wishes to be allowed through the barrier to speak with him. And tell Galea also that Olikea, Nevare’s feeder, is with him, and has a gift for her.”
“Her dearest heart’s desire,” Olikea corrected him, holding the draped charm up again.
“Go swiftly, and return quickly with his reply, and from this treasure, you will have your choice of reward,” Soldier’s Boy announced.
I think it had the opposite of the desired effect, for immediately the runner surged forward, vying with the two guards for the best view. One of the guards told him jealously, “But we are to choose first, before you!”
“But which of us?” the other asked in sudden worry.
“I will decide that,” Soldier’s Boy announced. “Once the message has returned that I am to be allowed past the barrier.”
“Go!” one of the guards told the runner crossly. “The message will never be delivered while you stand here gawking.”
The runner made an annoyed sound, but then turned and sped away as swiftly as he had come. The two guards eyed each other for a moment, then went back to lustfully ogling the treasure. Someone tugged at the light cloak Soldier’s Boy was wearing. He turned to see that one of the other waiters had crept closer. “When they let you in, will you ask that I can come with you?” she boldly asked. Her brave words were a strange contrast to her dark-ringed eyes and skeletal form. She was a woman of middle years, unkempt, with the smudges from her cooking blending with the specks on her face.
He didn’t answer her directly. “Whom are you seeking to free?” he asked her.
“My son. Dasie freed him once, and I was so full of joy when he came home. But after three days of sleeping and eating, he became full of restlessness. He said he could still hear the drums. He could not lie still at night, but twitched and jerked in his sleep. Sometimes he would be talking to me and then suddenly he would stop and stare into the distance. He could not remember how to hunt. Whatever he began, he left half finished. Then one morning he was gone from my lodge. I know he is back with the dancers. It isn’t fair. Dasie freed him. He should have stayed longer at home and tried harder.” Her tears were falling, flowing in runnels down her face, as if constant weeping had eroded her flesh.
He looked aside from her and spoke quietly. “I do not know if I can even get myself and my feeder past Kinrove’s guards. And it is very important that I speak with him. I cannot get you in. But I can tell you that if I am successful, your son will no longer dance. And that is the best I can do.”
His words had become softer as he spoke. The woman turned away wordlessly. I do not think she was disappointed; I think she had known most of the answer before she had asked. But Olikea had her own question. “If you succeed, her son will no longer dance? What do you mean? I thought we were going to get Likari back.”
“Likari is part of my goal. But I have a larger ambition.”
“And what is that?” she asked, her voice cooling. I could almost read her thoughts. That the first time, he and his raid on Gettys had done nothing toward getting her son back. She did not want him to have any greater plan now, only to focus solely on getting Likari back.
He took a breath but before he could reply, he was distracted by the sounds of heavy wings beating overhead. A croaker bird’s descending flight is nothing like an owl’s. The creature did not alight in the branches overhead so much as use one to break his fall as he came down. The branch bobbed under his weight, and for a time, he kept his wide wings out, balancing himself until he had dug his claws firmly into his perch. When he was settled, he folded his wings in and spent a few moments fussily settling his pinions. Only when he was finished did he stretch his long ugly neck out and turn his head sideways so that one eye pointed straight down at me. He opened his beak, and to me it appeared that he silently laughed.
“Has something died nearby?” Olikea wondered aloud. “What brings a carrion bird here?”
Orandula laughed aloud then, raucous caws in succession that split through the endless drumbeat of Kinrove’s dance. Soldier’s Boy refused to look at him any longer, but transferred his gaze to the guards staring at his treasure.
“Who chooses first?” one of the guards demanded of him.
“Don’t ask him! He cannot choose at all!” the croaker bird called down. The words were perfectly clear to me and Soldier’s Boy scowled at them, but Olikea didn’t appear to notice that the bird had spoken.
“Who chooses first?” the guard asked again. I think that his question annoyed Soldier’s Boy, for he abruptly replied, “He does!” and pointed to the other fellow.
The first guard was unperturbed. “Well, let me know what you choose, so I can decide which I want,” he told his partner.
“I’m thinking!” the other man replied testily.
“Let me know what you choose, so I can decide which I want!” the bird echoed him overhead. He followed his words with his sinister cawing laughter. I heard Soldier’s Boy grind his teeth.
Then the runner appeared around the bend in the trail. He ran fleetly and was grinning as if he bore rare good news. He came to a halt and said to the guards, “You may admit them. Kinrove is ready to receive them. He will open the barrier, but only to those two!” He raised his voice to convey those final tidings. The other supplicants had drawn near to hear the runner’s words. They muttered and milled, but did not look likely to make any attempts to breach the defenses.
“How will we know when we may pass?” Olikea wondered aloud, but before her words were finished, she knew. From repelling us, the force suddenly pressed us forward. Soldier’s Boy stopped to gather his swag, then caught Olikea by the hand and led her through with him. Above our heads, the carrion bird suddenly cackled loudly and, with noisily flapping wings, followed us.
“You said I could choose first!” the one guard reminded Soldier’s Boy.
“So I did,” he replied, and once more lowered the blanket. The two guards were not slow to claim their prizes. The runner, who had had less time to gawk at the riches, took longer, but eventually settled on a heavy silver medallion of a running deer on a silver chain. He looped it around his neck immediately and seemed very pleased with it.
“Follow me,” he invited us, and added, “Kinrove will quick-walk us now.”
The promised quick-walk began with a sickening lurch, and proceeded at a speed I’d never known before. In three steps, we stood in Kinrove’s summer encampment. The noise of the endless drumming and the seemingly random blatting of the horns were well-nigh unbearable here. The circle of dancers was smaller than it had been the first time we saw it. It still wove through a village of tents established around a larger pavilion. That surprised me; I had seen few tents at our kin-clan’s summer settlement. But there were many ways in which his village seemed more permanent: the dancers had trodden a trail of bare packed earth through the tents; neatly stacked firewood in a rick waited next to a stone oven near a well-tended cook fire on a stone-based hearth; fish was smoking nearby over another fire, and a platform of poles held ready caches of smoked meats and fish.
Kinrove’s tent was on a raised dais; it was the same pavilion I had seen before, simply moved to this location. Four men stood watch outside it and they were armed with bows, not spears or swords. They had watched our quick-walk approach, and I perceived what an advantage this had given them over us. Kinrove had learned. I did not think that anyone would ever again be able to surprise him in his stronghold.
A waiting man looked us over, then nodded grimly and held the tent flap open for us to enter. Two of the guards followed us, nocked arrows at the ready. I heard again the flapping rush of wings. There was a thud as the croaker bird landed on top of Kinrove’s pavilion. Soldier’s Boy gritted his teeth but did not grant him a glance.
Within the tent was an almost familiar scene. Kinrove, fat as ever, nearly overflowed his cushioned chair. Tables of prepared food awaited his attention, while feeders came and went from them. Galea, his first and most favored feeder, stood just behind him, her hands on his shoulders. They both kept silent as we approached, but the woman did not take her eyes off Olikea’s bundle. Her breathing seemed to quicken as we approached Kinrove. When we were still a good distance from him, he lifted his hand, and “Stand there!” the guard escorting us commanded us. At the same moment, Kinrove’s magic wrapped us and held us where we were. “Put down what you are carrying.”
“They are gifts for Kinrove. I only ask that he hear me out, and he can keep every item that is there,” Soldier’s Boy replied. Before the guard could reply, he rested the blanket on the earth and then opened it wide. With a grunt, he went down on one knee and then two. He began to arrange the jewelry and treasure on the blanket, looking down at it as he did so. “All of this once belonged to Lisana, my mentor. The value of what is here is beyond reckoning. All of this, I offer to Kinrove.”
“In exchange for what?” the Great Man demanded skeptically.
“If you will only listen to what I propose. That is all.”
Olikea took a sudden gasp of air, and then spoke. “And for my son. For Likari. Give him back to us, free of the dance, and all of this is yours. And the Ivory Babe, the greatest fertility charm ever known among the Specks!” She drew the cover off the image as she spoke and then held it aloft, cradling it as carefully as if it were a real child. “Give me back my son, Galea and Kinrove, and I will give you this, that you can have a son of your own.”
Galea’s hands tightened on Kinrove’s shoulders. She leaned down to whisper in his ear, and the mage scowled in annoyance, but listened. He took a deep breath and puffed it out through his lips. But then he said grudgingly, “Kandaia. Go to the dance. Watch for the boy Likari, and when he passes, touch his shoulder and say to him, ‘Kinrove bids you stop and follow me.’”
Olikea gave a cry of joy and clutched at Soldier’s Boy’s arm. “I will tend you as no Great One has ever been tended before. You can speak to me as you wish, use me as you wish, and ever I will still be in your debt.”
“Hush,” he said to her, firmly but without harshness. His eyes had not left Kinrove’s face. With Olikea’s help, he rose to his feet and then said quietly, “Greatest of the Great Ones, will you hear what I have to say? I give these treasures and I speak these words at Lisana’s bidding. She has given a task to me. It is beyond me. And so I come to ask a boon of you.”
“What is this?” Olikea asked in a small, breathless voice.
“What I told you,” Soldier’s Boy replied calmly. “My larger ambition.”
A strange expression wandered over her face. It took me a moment to identify it, and then to my shock I knew it: jealousy. “You came here to do her task, not mine,” she said bitterly.
He turned to her, took her hand, and met her eyes. “I will not speak another word until Likari is given to you.” He turned his gaze to Kinrove. “Given to you, whole and freed of the dance. That is the price of the fertility child. Give back Olikea’s child. Make a child of your own, and someday I hope you will look down into his face and imagine what it would be if a cruel and endless dance stole him from you.”
A flush of anger passed over Kinrove’s face, and I thought to myself that this was not the time to bait the Great Man. Soldier’s Boy had run his head into the noose. Should Kinrove decide to tell his guards to kill us he could easily keep everything we had brought and suffer no loss at all. But Soldier’s Boy either did not realize this or did not care. He turned his gaze back on Olikea and smiled down on her. I could not recall that he had ever before done so. “At least to you I will manage to keep my word. One promise kept in my whole life.”
She opened her mouth to say something but Kandaia had returned, her hand on the shoulder of a skinny lad. For a second I could not recognize Likari. He had gone through a growth spurt. He was taller but thin, thinner than I had ever seen him. His skin and his hair were sweaty and dust clung to him. He stared about the inside of the tent, his eyes dazed and unblinking. Olikea gave a cry. She strained toward the boy, but Galea cried out, “The charm! First the charm, then your son!” I had never heard such ruthless need in a woman’s voice. Kinrove lifted his hand, and Olikea jerked to a halt.
She turned back to confront her tormentors. “Take it!” she shouted furiously. “Take it!” She lifted her arm and would have lobbed the statuette at Galea’s head, but Soldier’s Boy deftly caught it.
He set a steadying hand to her shoulder. “I have what you want. Send someone to take it from my hand. And let her go to our son.”
A small gesture from Kinrove’s hand freed Olikea and she went to Likari in a stumbling run. When she reached him, she fell to her knees and threw her arms around him. He looked dazedly past her, his mouth slightly ajar as he breathed. Soldier’s Boy swung his gaze back to Kinrove. “Free him from the dance,” he said in a low, commanding voice. A feeder had approached him and stood waiting to receive the fertility charm. Another stood gawking at the spread of treasure on the opened blanket.
“He has made his own pact with the magic. I can do nothing about it.”
Soldier’s Boy held the fertility charm in both hands. I felt his magic gathering. “Do you think I cannot shatter this image with my hands? Free him, Kinrove. Release him from your damage, and we will see what ‘pact of his own’ binds him to the magic.”
“Please! Please! Do whatever he says, if only I can have the charm!” Galea added her own plea to his words.
Kinrove puffed his lips out, an expression of both denial and disgust, but he also gave an abrupt nod toward Likari. The boy collapsed into Olikea’s arms. He closed his eyes and went limp. Olikea scooped him up. His thin legs dangled over her arms as, without asking any permission, she carried him to one of Kinrove’s soaking tubs. With her hand, she laved water over his face, wiping the dirt away with her sleeve. Then she carried him to a fire and sat down, holding him in her arms near the comforting warmth. She looked up at Soldier’s Boy. “He sleeps so heavily.”
“It is what he needs now,” Soldier’s Boy told her. He held out the statue and allowed the waiting feeder to take it. The other server knelt and reverently gathered up the corners of the blanket. The man bearing the charm was only a few steps away when Galea rushed forward from her place behind Kinrove’s chair. She did not snatch it from him. Instead, she made a cradle of her arms and he gently deposited the wrapped charm there. As she took it, her entire body seemed to receive it. Her shoulders curled in, her head bowed over it possessively. She looked down at the small carved baby in her arms and smiled as tenderly as if the infant were real. Then, as if she were in a dream, she carried the charm out of Kinrove’s pavilion without a backward glance at any of us. When the tent flap fell behind her, Kinrove spoke.
“All of you should leave now,” the Great Man said in a harsh voice.
Soldier’s Boy turned toward him incredulously. “You said you would listen to my request. Will you break your word in front of all your feeders?”
“I do not trust you,” Kinrove said blackly. “Shall I keep my word to one whose word I cannot trust?” One of his fluid hand gestures dismissed the other feeder with the blanket full of loot. So much for buying Kinrove’s favor. He would take the bribe but not be dazzled by it.
“Nor do I trust you, but you are whom I must deal with. And you must deal with me. Today we must do what we both know is our only solution. I have seen it, Lisana has seen it, and when first I came here, you spoke of it to me. I have tried to do it on my own, and failed. Great Kinrove, I come to join your dance. To dance, as you called it, the dance that has never been danced before. You must use your magic to rejoin the halves of me. When Nevare and Soldier’s Boy are one again, then the magic will be able to use all our resources to fulfill itself. Our sundering is what has blocked our success. Put me back to what I was, Kinrove, and I will let the magic use me.”
Kinrove looked at him for a long, silent time. I was still and small inside him, sick with dread. I had not foreseen this. Why had not I foreseen this? He’d asked me voluntarily to rejoin him. When I’d refused, I’d thought I’d frustrated his plan. Now I saw that he had been giving me a final chance to be a party to what would happen to us. “Don’t do this, Soldier’s Boy!” I cried to him. “Let us walk away from here and talk some more. There must be another way.”
“There is not another way, because Nevare fears and fights to remain separate from me.” Soldier’s Boy spoke the words aloud, to Kinrove as well as to me. “I, too, dread what must be done. I do not think that of my will I can do it; it is like staring into the sun without blinking, or putting a burning brand into a wound that must be cauterized, to let this intruder, this Gernian become part of my soul. I know what must be done, but just as I could not sunder my halves, so I cannot rejoin them. Lisana has told me that you are the only living mage who can help us. So I have come to you to offer gifts and seek your help.”
Kinrove’s upper lip curled in scorn, briefly baring his teeth. For that instant, he looked like a snarling dog. “Now you come, asking this? Now? After my dance is but a shadow of itself, after so many of our warriors died in your ill-planned raid? After you have wakened the hatred and wariness of the intruders against us? Now you ask this of me, when all of my strength, every hour of the day, is barely enough to hold the intruders back from the ancient ones? No longer can I send sadness and discouragement rolling into their den. All of my focus must be only on defending our ancestors. And even so, it is not enough! Daily they press against me, daily they make small inroads. But you ask me to divert my strength and focus it on you, to reunite what Lisana foolishly halved!”
Soldier’s Boy had listened to Kinrove’s rant with a bowed head until he spoke disparagingly of Lisana. Now he lifted his gaze and our eyes locked with Kinrove’s. “The fault lies not with Lisana!” he thundered. “Had she not split me, how could the plague have been spread to the very heart of the soldiers’ nest? Had she not split me, would not you even now be watching your back lest the Kidona send magic against you while you are defending against the intruders? It is not her fault that her success has been incomplete. Instead, it is as you accuse me. The first time I stood before you, I should have asked you to make me into a whole again. If I had, so many things that have gone wrong would never have come to pass!” Here he spared a glance for Likari, still sleeping in Olikea’s arms. Olikea’s entire focus was on her son, however. I do not think she even heard what Soldier’s Boy was saying.
“I cannot go back to that day, and do what was wise. None of us, no matter how much magic we hold, can do that. So. Because I have waited, will you now wait? And in a season or a year, will we look back and mourn that we did not do now what we should have done?”
Kinrove’s scowl had only deepened. “It is so easy for you to say, ‘do this now.’ You think not at all of how much magic it must cost me, let alone the time and the preparations that must be made. Do you think I will wave my hand and it will be done?”
Actually, Soldier’s Boy had believed just that. Or so it seemed to me from the sinking disappointment that flooded through him. He took a deep breath. “What does this require then, Greatest of the Great Ones?”
Soldier’s Boy’s apparent humility and outright flattery seemed to placate Kinrove. He leaned back in his chair. He tapped his lips with his steepled fingers and for a few moments seemed lost in thought. Then, as if even such a sedentary activity demanded it, he gestured to a feeder to bring him food. Almost as an afterthought, he added, “And bring a seat for Soldier’s Boy, and food and drink.”
Feeders and their assistants sprang into action, serving not only Soldier’s Boy but also hurrying to supply Olikea with a comfortable bench and offering her food and drink as well. A large chair was toted out to me, draped with soft blankets and cushions. No sooner was Soldier’s Boy seated in it than a table was placed before him. A ewer of water and one of sweet wine, two glasses, a tray of sticky little balls of sweet meat and grain, a bowl of thick soup and two freshly baked loaves were set out before me. At the sight and smell of the food, Soldier’s Boy’s ability to think fled. He felt his hands start to shake and his throat squeezed tight with hunger. Yet, for one long moment, he sat still. When he realized that he was waiting for Olikea to serve him, to fill his glass and arrange the dishes and suggest to him which he should taste first, he shook his head and then all but dived into his food.
He had eaten at Kinrove’s table before. Even so, the exquisite tastes and textures nearly overpowered him. In each dish were ingredients designed to nourish a Great One’s magic, and as he ate, he became more aware of the intricate web of magics that emanated from Kinrove. The Great Man had not exaggerated the effort he was expending. He was the center of the dance that protected the ancient trees, but he also controlled the magic that surrounded his summer encampment with a strong boundary. He held a magical shield between himself and Soldier’s Boy, one that at a flick of his finger could become deadly. There were other, smaller magics at work, including the ones he worked to deaden the small pains of his abused body, and others that Soldier’s Boy could not quite trace. As he watched Kinrove eat, he perceived that every movement of the Great Man’s body served two purposes. His gracefulness was not something that Soldier’s Boy had imagined. Every movement he made, every gesture of his hand, how he lifted his glass or turned his head, all of them meant—something.
Kinrove put down his glass. He didn’t smile at Soldier’s Boy, but there was a sort of acceptance in his face now. “You start to see, don’t you? It is how the magic has always spoken to me. I have said it before, but few understand. I am the dance; it is me and I am a part of it. And when I summon the dancers and they come, they join me and become a part of me. I dance, Soldier’s Boy. Not, perhaps, in as lively a fashion as I did when I first became a Great Man. But since the magic woke in me, there is not a movement that I have made that was not a part of my dance.”
Kinrove gestured at a server to fill his glass again. As she stepped forward, the Great Man shifted his own posture slightly, in a way that echoed and yet opposed the feeder’s movement. For the moments that she poured his wine, she was his unwitting dance partner. As she stepped away, his hand moved toward the glass. For a fleeting second, Soldier’s Boy could see the invisible lines of force that Kinrove’s dance created. It all made perfect sense, for that instant. And then the comprehension faded from his mind, and though he could see how gracefully Kinrove lifted his cup and drank from it, he could no longer perceive the magic.
“You will have to be prepared,” Kinrove announced, as if he were continuing a conversation. “There are, of course, foods that will raise your awareness. But the preparation is more than a matter of merely eating what is put before you. You will dance until you become the dance. It will be strenuous, and you have never in your life trained for such a thing. You may not be capable of what the dance demands of you in order to make the magic work.”
Soldier’s Boy was offended. He slapped a hand to his ample chest. “This body has marched for hours at a time, ridden a horse for days over many miles of different terrain. This body has dug a hundred graves, and it—”
“Still has never endured the rigors of a dancer. But it will have to. Do you understand that you may not survive this dance?”
“I must survive, to be made one. I must survive so that the magic can work through me, to drive the intruders away. What, will you kill me with your magic to be rid of me, and then tell everyone that it was my own fault?”
Kinrove was silent for a moment. His face assumed grave lines, and that, too, Soldier’s Boy fleetingly glimpsed, was a part of his endless dance. “You can either let go of your resistance now, or you can dance it away,” he observed mildly. “I suggest that, if you can, you banish your distrust and accept what I tell you. The magic is like a river when it carries you to the dance. Be you mud or be you stone, still it will flow, and it will cut its way through whatever resistance you put before it. It will be easier for you if you clear the resistance from yourself rather than make the magic slice through it.”
“Let me worry about controlling my resistance to your magic,” Soldier’s Boy replied stiffly. “Whatever must be done to make me ready, then let us do it.”
“My magic?” Kinrove asked almost condescendingly. “That you name it ‘your magic’ when you speak to me rather than ‘the magic’ shows that you will resist it. Very well. There is no way I can help you with that. Perhaps by the time you are ready to let the dance have you, you will have heard my counsel.”
Kinrove turned his attention away from Soldier’s Boy. He summoned, not one, but three of his feeders. As his hand flowed through the triple beckoning gesture, Soldier’s Boy again had a tiny image of Kinrove drawing strings of magic toward him, like an arcane puppeteer. The feeders approached him and waited.
“We will need a quantity of the food that we make each day for the dancers. But it will need to be made of a greater strength. There must be much sweetness in it, and twice as much hallera bark. The root of the wild raspberry must be dug, and the youngest parts of it ground and added. Prepare also a large roast of meat, and water soured with the leaves of the atra bush. I will have other dishes that you will need to prepare, but that will be enough for now. One other task you must do for me. Use bear grease and the tallow of a doe, and strong mint and crimsberry leaves and willow tips. Make a rub for Soldier’s Boy, and a very hot bath. We must loosen his joints and muscles. Prepare wraps, too, for binding his feet and legs to protect them, and a wide wrap for his belly, to support it. All these things, make ready by the evening. Go now to do these things. And send a feeder to his table, to help him fill himself with whatever he desires.”
The command for food had been welcomed, but the mentions of the bath and the wraps sounded more ominous. “Don’t do this,” I whispered to him. “Stop it now. Take Olikea and Likari and go. You can’t trust Kinrove. Neither of us have any idea of what will become of us if he tries to reunite us as one. Leave now.”
“Lisana said this was our only path,” he said aloud. “In her wisdom, I trust. I will do as she suggested. I give myself over into your hands.” He seemed to have difficulty speaking that last sentence. He glanced over at Olikea. He cleared his throat. “I am accustomed to the ministrations of my own feeder. Might I ask that she be given help in caring for our son, so that she can assist me in preparing myself?”
At her name, Olikea lifted her head. Her gaze went from her deeply sleeping boy to Soldier’s Boy and back again. Plainly she was torn. But when she spoke aloud, there was no indecisiveness in her voice. “You should not need to ask this, Nevare. No one has the right to separate a Great One from his preferred feeder. And no one has any right to keep feeders from ministering to their Great One.”
She stooped and then stood up. Likari’s limp body dangled in her arms. His head lolled back and his legs, longer and thinner than I recalled them, swung as she walked toward me, carrying her boy. When she reached me, she did not set him down before me, but gave him over into my arms. Soldier’s Boy’s arms curved, lifting Likari to hold him close against his chest. “Likari was Nevare’s feeder when your dance stole him from us,” Olikea said loudly. “When he awakens, if he is himself, he will once more wish to serve him. And I will allow no one to take that honor from him.”