With a reluctant frown, Trey helped him stand, then together, the two men made their way across the vale toward the now silent tent.
The next morning, after Dierna and her stillborn child had been wrapped in hides and buried under as many rocks as the three young men could pry from the still-frozen ground, Trey set Bayne to breaking camp. Vulshin and Shersi sat, huddled together before the fire pit without speaking and to Trey’s eyes it looked as if they’d already begun their final trek, pausing only to wait until death could catch up with them.
Mouth set in a grim line, he began to wrap the season’s goshon pelts in oilcloth. They would use them to barter their way south to Vulshin’s dream kingdom of Valdemar. Whatever the old shaman believed, they were still trappers, that’s what they did and that’s all they had to offer a new life, regardless of their eyes or their arms. Beside him, Kellisin hovered about uncertainly until he sent him to help Bayne load Dierna’s pony with their extra supplies. He could find no words to comfort him when he had none to comfort himself. Turning away from the injured look in the younger man’s eyes, Trey picked up another pelt with deliberate care.
By the time the sun had reached its zenith, they were ready. Trey made one last attempt to convince Vulshin and Shersi to come with them, but the two older Goshon were adamant.
“It’s our right as elders to choose whether we break camp or remain behind,” Shersi said, her once strong voice weak and breathy. “It’s the way of our people. You know that.”
“Then choose to break camp with us.”
“Treyill,” Vulshin said sternly. “Come, it is time to make your second good-bye. Do it respectfully.”
Trey would have continued the argument afterward, but finally, Bayne drew him away, setting his reins into his hand. His last sight of the vale was that of the hawk circling high overhead, sending its mournful cry into the wind. For good or ill, the last of the Goshon Clan were passing from its world.
The three kinsmen made their way in somber silence for the better part of a week, alternately walking and riding, following what paths were open, and heading roughly south. When they reached the Feral Pass, a thin, mushy path winding its way through a narrow canyon of high, jagged rocks, they rode cautiously, keeping a close eye on the walls of ice and snow that stretched high above their heads. When they finally emerged on the other side, they glanced back to find the sky above the mountain peaks had turned an ominous dark, slate gray.
“Vulshin’s storm,” Trey said heavily.
Bayne nodded. “We have to quicken our pace.”
They made the shelter of a rocky tor just as the storm hit. Huddled behind their ponies, they waited it out and when they finally struggled free the next morning, the pass behind them glittered with impassible snow. Trey narrowed his eyes against the glare.
“Well, that’s it, then,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “There’s no going back now.”
Kellisin glanced over at him. “And Vulshin and Shersi?” he asked quietly.
“Gone. We should never have left them.” Taking hold of his pony’s halter, Trey made his way back to the barely discernable path without looking back.
Bayne shook his head. “We had to respect their wishes,” he said to Kellisin, catching him by the shoulder and pulling him into a rough hug to take the sting away from his brother’s words. “Life is seasonal, and everyone breaks camp for the ride into death eventually, little cousin.”
“I know that,” Kellisin said, his brows drawn down into a tight vee. “Dierna and the baby was hard for us all, but Vulshin and Shersi were old. Trey . . .” He shook his head helplessly. “It wasn’t his choice to make.”
“Trey’s a shaman,” Bayne explained. “They take responsibility for everything; so it’s up to us to remind him not to. But in the meantime . . .” He caught hold of his own pony’s halter, “we have to find a clear patch of fodder and some dry wood for a fire. Unless you want a cold breakfast?”
Kellisin smiled ruefully. “No.”
“All right, then. Let’s catch up to our ray of sunshine, shall we, before he falls off a cliff? Maybe some of your warm rabbit stew will lighten his mood.”
Kellisin nodded and together, they followed Trey down the path.
That night Trey dreamed. He saw Vulshin standing in the midst of a winter storm so violent it blinded him. One hand shielding his eyes, the other stretched out before him, Trey reached out for the old man but, just as their fingertips touched, Vulshin vanished under a sudden avalanche of snow. Trey sprang forward and, falling to his knees, worked frantically to dig his old teacher free, but every time he thought he might have reached him, another deluge of snow buried him again. He cried out in frustration and awoke to find Bayne holding him tightly, rocking him back and forth as their parents had done when he’d been a boy. In the moonlight he looked so much like their father that Trey gaped at him, then the other man pulled back, and Trey was back on the cold ground south of the Feral Pass once again.
The next night he dreamed again, only this time it was Shersi who disappeared under a cascade of falling snow, then Dierna and her baby, then Aivar, then Vulshin again, night after night. He began to avoid sleeping altogether, sitting wrapped in his blanket, staring up at the moon for hours until exhaustion drove him to a few hours of broken rest. He became gray and gaunt, drawing farther and farther into himself and neither Bayne nor Kellisin could bring him out of it.
Finally, as the mountains gave over to rolling hills and valleys, Bayne joined him, sitting staring up and the starcast sky before fixing his brother with a serious expression.
“You have to stop this, Trey,” he said. “We’ll be in foreign lands in a day or two and we’ll need your insight.”
Knees drawn up to his chest, Trey shook his head. “I can’t.”
“You have to. You’re our shaman. We need you.” Bayne frowned. “This isn’t like you, brother. What is it?”
Scrubbing at the growth of beard along his cheeks, Trey took a deep breath. “Do you remember the nightmares I used to have as a boy?” he asked after a long moment.
When Bayne nodded, he continued.
“They were so real, so vivid; sometimes it was hard to tell if I was awake or asleep. I saw storms and floods and fighting and everything I saw came true. I saw our father’s death as clear as if it were happening right before my eyes.”
“I remember. That was when Vulshin began your training and the nightmares stopped.”
“The nightmares stopped,” Trey agreed. “But not because Vulshin began training me.” He closed his eyes. “The dreams always started the same way. I was standing by bright, swiftly flowing water wearing a dark blue coat the like of which I’ve never seen among the Goshon. I looked down into the water and I saw the future of our people.” His face darkened. “But our people had no future,” he grated, “and all I saw were bodies floating below the surface. And just as Vulshin heard them singing in his head; so I saw them dying in mine, and it hurt worse than anything else has ever hurt before or since. One day it was just too much, so I went into my dream and I took the coat off, I buried it in a deep cleft in the rocks, and the dreams stopped hurting. They became hazy and unclear, sometimes happening before and sometimes afterwards. I saw Aivar’s death and Dierna’s and their baby’s, but they didn’t hurt. Not the dreams anyway,” he amended.
“And Vulshin and Shersi?”
Trey nodded wordlessly.
“And the dreams are hurting again?”
“Yes. But there’s more. The day before we left the vale, Vulshin told me that he’d seen me in a dream standing by bright water wearing a coat dyed the deepest blue of a summer evening sky. His very words. Bayne.” He fixed his brother with an intense stare. “I never told Vulshin about the coat. Does that mean it’s back? That even though I buried it, it followed me here?”