He did not look back, though he felt the others, especially Cuirin’nên’a, watching his sudden departure. His thoughts still turning, he was barely into the trees beyond the enclave when he broke into a jog.
If he hurried, he might still intercept Osha before the young one was brought before Most Aged Father.
Chapter Three
A noise, followed by a mix of voices beyond Magiere at the cutway’s back end, interrupted Brot’ân’duivé. He spotted four dockworkers come out of the rear alley and stride up the narrow path. Each carried stacked crates, their contents rattling loudly. The lead man could barely peek over his burden’s top.
The rhythm of Brot’ân’duivé’s story was broken, so he stepped out onto the waterfront. Magiere followed, impatience plain on her pale face, and all four dockworkers ignored them both as they exited and hurried north along the waterfront.
“And then?” Magiere demanded. “What was happening with Osha?”
At Brot’ân’duivé’s silence, she stepped around in front of him.
“We didn’t even try to keep Osha from heading off on his own to that ship,” she said. “Did he walk into some trap?”
Brot’ân’duivé studied Magiere closely and wondered about the motivation for her concern. She had seen Osha three days earlier and knew he had survived any past complications.
“Get on with it,” she pressed. “What happened next?”
He debated how much to let her or the others know. Certainly she would share all with Léshil and, so much the worse, with Chap. But Brot’ân’duivé had made a bargain with her, one tale for the other’s, and he would not be shorted in the exchange.
He had been careful about what he had told her and had shared nothing of the séyilf, the message stone with Osha’s name, or his own true concerns after he had left Gleannéohkân’thva’s home.
At some point after completing basic training, Osha had been taken before the Chein’âs by a caste elder to receive his tools—stilettos, garrote, bone knife, and a white metal handle for a collapsible bow: the weapons of an anmaglâhk. The caste elders decided upon initial acceptance and approval for completion of training. Brot’ân’duivé was well aware that Osha had been granted approval by the barest margin.
Before any initiate was allowed to join a mission beyond their people’s lands, he or she had to acquire a full-fledged caste member as a jeóin—“assentor”—to act as mentor for final training. Osha had achieved—but not completed—that as well.
It was unheard-of for an anmaglâhk, other than an elder or a greimasg’äh, to ever be called back by the Chein’âs. And Brot’ân’duivé had heard of such a summoning only twice.
As he had trotted through trees after leaving the enclave, he had not stopped pondering this occurrence coming the same day as the news that Osha returned alone and possibly under watch. Osha was quite probably the least capable of any who had been approved for service among the Anmaglâhk. The strange second summons from the Chein’âs had left Brot’ân’duivé deeply disturbed.
“Well?” Magiere said.
He was tired of her demands, tired of speaking of the events and portents that had set him on this path to collide with hers.
“We are wasting time,” he said. “We must find a ship.”
He stalked off southward along the waterfront, not bothering to see whether Magiere followed.
Magiere’s lips were parted in another demand she never got out. She bolted after Brot’an, dodging around to block his way one more time.
“You’re not getting out of this,” she warned. “What else? Spit it out!”
By the time Osha had set off to catch a ship home, he was returning alone ... because Sgäile was dead. She’d had no idea that Osha might have been in danger from his own kind, and Brot’an was going to tell her exactly what happened.
“What did they do to him,” she demanded, “lock him up because he and Sgäile helped us ... protected us?”
Brot’an lowered his face closer to hers. His slanted amber eyes narrowed, making the scars on his face ripple.
“I recall an implied agreement, one story for another.” He paused. “I have no intention of giving away all that I have to be left wanting of anything in return.”
Magiere hesitated. This had been the hinted bargain: his story for hers. He stood motionless in waiting and didn’t even blink.
“What happened to you up in the Wastes?” he asked. “How did you find the second orb that you hid with the first? Or do you agree here and now that we should look for a ship instead?”
Magiere stared up into his eyes and wondered whether her irises turned dark, expanding amid rising fury and frustration ... and fear.
Late that afternoon, Chap stood beside Leanâlhâm at the base of the pier, the appointed place, waiting for Magiere and Brot’an.
“Not long now,” Leanâlhâm said to him, and he hoped she was right.
She was obviously uncomfortable in an open port among so many humans. She still held the end of that insulting rope looped around his neck.
A moment later Leanâlhâm let out a sharp, aggravated sigh. She reached back to grab the seat of her pants and pulled at her own backside—again. This was something she’d been doing now and again ever since Leesil had forced the girl to change clothes. As a result she was attracting more stares than some oversized wolf on a leash.
The two sights together drew more looks than Chap could count.
Magiere had left Leesil with enough money for a room. As soon as that was settled, he’d slipped out, leaving Chap with Leanâlhâm at the inn. Chap did not want to know where or how Leesil had gotten those pants, obviously cut for a human boy.
Leanâlhâm’s face scrunched in frustration as she pulled on the thick canvas fabric.
—Stop—that—
She did—and lurched away from him to the length of the rope.
Leanâlhâm stood shaking in fright, her wide green eyes locked on him. Not because of his command but rather because she had heard it at all. She had best get used to the fact that he could use memory-words, plucked from any errant memories he had caught rising in her mind, to speak to her.
Chap had caught only scant fragments in trying to dip into the girl’s memories. She was not particularly skilled or disciplined in hiding such—unlike Brot’an. In the moment, her mind was empty of any recollections. At other times it was difficult to catch anything rising into her thoughts—except scant past moments with Osha on their own journey to the Numan Lands.
There had to be a reason the shadow-gripper had brought her. Leanâlhâm did not belong in the middle of all that was happening. It was going to be a long journey ahead, and Chap’s patience was worn thin.
Leanâlhâm panted a few times at the scare Chap had given her, but she quickly recovered. She knew he often spoke in this fashion to Leesil and Magiere. This was simply the first time he had tried it with her, considering it had taken a while to catch enough of her memories to do so.
“I do not like these clothes,” she whispered pathetically. “I want my skirt.”
—No—
“These ... pants ... are not comfortable,” she began, and then pleaded, “Please, majay-hì!”
—You will—call—me—Chap—
He was also fed up with being treated like some sacred being. It had its uses, but it got in the way. He had little in common with the majay-hì that her people nearly worshipped, and Leanâlhâm was worse than most in that. He wanted nothing to do with any association to his true kin, the Fay, from which the majay-hì descended along with other Fay-born creatures in ancient times. Leanâlhâm needed to abandon some of her people’s awe for the majay-hì, as he had more important things with which to deal.