Leesil glanced sidelong at Brot’an, who gripped the rail with both hands.
“You know that ship?” he asked.
Brot’an didn’t flinch or look at him. He didn’t even blurt out a “What?” and instead answered flatly. “No.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
Brot’an pivoted halfway and looked to where Chap and Leanâlhâm huddled.
“Leanâlhâm,” he called. “Go below and see what the cook is preparing for lunch. Wait for it and bring it up to us.”
Normally Magiere would’ve gone at Brot’an for ordering the girl about. Instead she moved to the rail behind Leesil. Something was happening, and she must have sensed it.
Leanâlhâm frowned, as if knowing she was being sent off for some reason other than biscuits, dried fruit, and probably salt pork left over from last night. Rising, she headed for the door below the aftcastle, and Chap didn’t follow. They all waited until Leanâlhâm was out of sight.
“All right, out with it,” Leesil said, glancing at the small vessel growing smaller in the distance. “Why are you watching that ship?”
Brot’an shook his head and stepped closer to tower above Leesil.
“I do not know. Perhaps it is nothing.”
The four of them were almost alone. Only the ship’s pilot at the wheel was close enough to hear. So long as they spoke Belaskian, that wouldn’t matter.
“You think we’re being followed,” Leesil accused.
“What?” Magiere asked angrily.
Leesil swung his arm back to keep her away from Brot’an, but he, too, was tired of Brot’an’s never-ending string of secrets, one leading to the next.
“What do you know that we don’t?” Leesil paused. “It’s anmaglâhk out there on that ship, isn’t it? How did they learn enough to follow us?”
Brot’an still didn’t answer, and Leesil’s frustration grew. Standing a few steps off, Chap rumbled softly.
—Ask him—why—he is—at odds with—his caste— ... —What caused—this breach—
At Chap’s suggestion rising in his thoughts, Leesil didn’t take his eyes off Brot’an. Chap was after something, perhaps knew something.
“What did you do?” Leesil asked. “What caused the break between you and Most Aged Father, between you and your caste?”
“Not with my caste,” Brot’an returned, and there was an uncommon edge to his so carefully controlled voice. “Only with Most Aged Father’s blind fanatics, only with the loyalists.”
“The what?” Magiere asked.
Brot’ân’duivé briefly closed his eyes at Magiere’s question. He had known this moment would come, and something pulled at him, telling him what—who—was likely on that other ship. That too had only been a matter of time, for he had put it into play himself. When he opened his eyes again, he fixed on Léshil.
“It was from Cuirin’nên’a,” he began, “that I learned the true depth of the breach. For I did not cause it.”
Léshil’s features flattened. “My mother?”
No one spoke. Not even Brot’ân’duivé broke the silence. As yet he could not see how much or how little he would have to give up.
“I answered your questions,” Magiere said, barely above a threatening whisper. “Now you answer Leesil.”
Brot’ân’duivé did not need her to remind him of their bargain....
Once Osha had gone off with the summoned clhuassas, Brot’ân’duivé ran for the central enclave of the Coilehkrotall. It was a three-day journey, but he cut that time short by resting only briefly along the way and even traveling by night. Near dusk on the second day, something disturbed him.
He slowed and heard movement ahead, soft-footed but in haste. A familiar whistle carried on the air. Someone was trying to catch his attention.
He rushed onward, swerving into the trees and away from any open paths. It was not long before that someone appeared.
Cuirin’nên’a came over a gradual rise and halted. She crouched, studying the earth in tracking, and Brot’ân’duivé hurried into the open. That she was here and not with the girl and his old friend unsettled him. Cuirin’nên’a rose at the sight of him.
Besides wearing an anmaglâhk’s cloak over her shoulders, she was covered in soil, leaves, and tree needles amid dried smears of earth. She had shredded her gown to wrap up her limbs and torso. Older, dried blood crusted on her hands, though there were signs she had tried to clean it off. In surveying her whole form, he saw no wounds.
“Brot’ân’duivé,” she breathed, but that was all she got out amid panting from a long, hard run.
He had known her since she was a girl, and had never once seen relief in her eyes, not even when he had helped to free her from a glade where Most Aged Father had imprisoned her. Brot’ân’duivé pulled her to the base of an ash tree, made her sit, and then waited.
“Gleannéohkân’thva is dead,” she finally managed to say.
A hint of pain slipped into her voice and struck him as well, though this barely registered in his mind. Gleannéohkân’thva was like the forest’s highest trees ... seemingly eternal no matter how old he grew.
Strands of silky white-blond hair were stuck in a smear of blood on Cuirin’nên’a’s cheek. Brot’ân’duivé reached out and pulled them off, and still he could not respond.
“Assassinated,” she went on quietly, “by loyalists.”
He half turned and sank on his heels; his back struck the tree’s trunk as he settled beside her to stare out at nothing.
“Three,” she said. “One hid in the forest while two entered to search for the journal. We were at the feast, and I should not have left it behind. They took it before I could stop them.”
She paused as if reliving the moment. Details were missing, but only one thing mattered.
“The one with the journal ran,” she continued. “Gleannéohkân’thva followed and would not heed my warning. When I had finished with the other, it was too late. Gleannéohkân’thva lay outside, an arrow ... an anmaglâhk arrow through his heart.”
Brot’ân’duivé still stared outward. If he looked at her, either of them might lose control of their grief.
“What of Leanâlhâm?” he asked. “Where is she?”
“I hid her in the forest well beyond the enclave. Then I went after the two who fled with the journal. In place of catching them, I ...”
At her sudden silence, Brot’ân’duivé had ample time to guess at the rest.
“Who did you meet?”
“Urhkarasiférin,” she whispered, “returned from following you and Osha.”
It was as he had guessed, though it made no sense. How did she know this other greimasg’äh had tracked him? Urhkarasiférin would fulfill any purpose set by Most Aged Father that served the people. He was as devoted—and perhaps as naïve—as Sgäilsheilleache, and neither a dissident nor one of Most Aged Father’s blind followers.
Had that now changed? Had another greimasg’äh taken sides?
“He did not,” Cuirin’nên’a whispered.
Brot’ân’duivé glanced at her. That she followed what he would reason, without his saying anything, testified to his trust in her.
“I would not have found him,” she went on, “except that he let me. I attacked him on sight even so, thinking he had been the one to lead those sent by Most Aged Father. I knew I would not survive, but I did not care, so long as neither did he.”
“Why did he let you live?”
She sighed. “He had nothing to do with what happened, leaving the other three behind to only watch—and wait for his return. I assume the enclave has been under surveillance. When he saw you there and then leaving again, he must have wished to speak with you ... or at least understand your intentions before anything was done. Killing had never been part of his purpose. He did not order them to break into Gleannéohkân’thva’s home.”