There was only one thing that puzzled him. Hair was growing back on the skin, and it was coming in white. Usually hair didn’t reappear on a new brand or burn, yet this hair was not only growing in thick and soft, but it was also a different color.
Valorian stood back to appraise the results. When the whole bum had grown over, he decided the mark would be quite striking against Hunnul’s black body. It looked exactly like a lightning bolt.
“The Mother Goddess has put her mark on him,” a quiet voice said behind him.
Smiling, Valorian turned to greet his grandmother, Mother’ Willa, who was walking toward him through the long grass.
She held a basket in her hand, and the hem of her skirt was wet with dew. She was a thin, wiry, small woman whose strength and energy belied her age. She served as the family’s midwife for the women and animals alike, and she had helped deliver every child and most of the adults in the family. The clanspeople adored her. They knew she held a special place in Amara’s grace, for no other woman had lived as long or brought so much life to a successful beginning. When she spoke of the Mother of All, her people listened.
Valorian listened now, glad for her wise words. “Is that what you think? This is not just a lightning bum?”
“Of course not! This horse rendered you and Amara a great service. The goddess left that mark as a sign of her favor.” The old woman gently slapped Hunnul’s neck when he tried to snatch for her basket of herbs and wildflowers. She held it out of his reach. “I have spent too long this morning gathering these for my medicines. You do not need to eat my labors, even if you are the beloved of Amara.” She looked up at her grandson, her wrinkled face beaming. “Amara has blessed you, too, I see. Kierla will deliver a child by winter.”
“Did she tell you?” Valorian asked in surprise.
“She didn’t have to. It’s written all over her face.”
Valorian rocked on his heels. He was constantly astonished by the intuition of this tiny woman.
Mother Willa suddenly took his hand into hers and looked earnestly into his face. “My dearest child, you have seemed troubled since you came back to us. That is written all over your face.”
He nodded once, but didn’t say anything. She was right, of course. Ever since he had returned to life, he had felt as if he were galloping through a wall of mist. His journey from the realm of the dead had subtly changed his self-perspective and left him with an incredible power he didn’t know what to do with. None of his old dreams and goals were steady or defined anymore.
“Then let me tell you something,” she said forcefully. “I have seen much in my life that has saddened me; I have seen our people defeated and crushed under the Tarn’s heel. I have seen them reduced to living in ragged tents, with poor stock and no food. But never once did I believe that the gods had abandoned us. Now I am certain they are weaving our destiny. The Clan will live! They have sent you to us. You will lead us to our freedom.”
He ground his heel deep into the grass. “I have already had a similar discussion with Aiden. I will not displace Fearral. ”
“I did not say you had to. There are other ways to lead. The gods gave you a great mission to test your skills, and you passed, so they sent you back with signs for us to believe. You can unite this Clan with those signs, Valorian.” She stabbed a finger at Hunnul. “That mark, your wife’s pregnancy, the tale of your journey, and greatest of all, your power. Use those to convince the people that your dream to leave Chadar is the will of the gods.”
He snorted. “How do you know it is? They didn’t exactly carve it in stone.”
“Because they chose you. You are the one in this Clan with the belief in a new land. If Amara had wanted us to build towns, she would have sent for Fearral!”
“Aiden said much the same thing,” Valorian replied with a dry laugh.
“Huh. That boy shows some sense sometimes.” She let go of his hand, her bright eyes twinkling. “Well, I’ve had my say. I’ve wanted to tell you that since we left Stonehelm, but there never seemed to be a moment.”
“Things have been confused lately,” he agreed.
“Well, don’t look for them to get better any time soon,” she chuckled. “By the way, I think Tala will deliver her foal tonight.”
Valorian smiled in admiration. She was always right about those things. Tala hadn’t looked different to him that morning, but if Mother Willa said the mare would go into labor that night, it would happen.
She patted Hunnul and walked back toward camp, leaving Valorian alone with his horse and his thoughts. The clansman sprang to Hunnul’s bare back. They trotted past the black pillar of rock in the meadow, then went up a high backed ridge just as the sun broke over the wall of mountains. Valorian stopped Hunnul so he could look down at the camp of his family nestled into the sheltering edge of a copse of trees. He studied the poor, ragged camp for a long while.
Although he would never admit it aloud, Valorian had to confess to himself that he was uncertain about his desire to take the Clan to a new land. How could they survive the trip? They had few animals left, their tents and gear were old and worn, and the people were ground down by misery. How could they survive a long, hard journey over the mountains to a land they knew nothing about, where they would have to start all over again? And most important, could they escape from General Tyrranis?
Drawing a deep breath, Valorian turned Hunnul and headed east, deeper into the mountains. Perhaps Fearral was right, he pondered. Perhaps Clan survival depended upon adapting to fit the changes, not running away from them. was there some way to adjust to the demands heaped upon them and still flourish? The Clan had been trying to do that for eighty years without much success.
Valorian looked up at the great snowcapped mountain range that filled his vision. These mountains were a good example of the problems the Clan had had adjusting. Although his people had lived in the shadows of the Darkhorns for three generations, their tales and traditions, their dreams their religious ceremonies, and their habits still reflected the old life on flat grasslands. These mountains were strangers—hard, merciless, unknown entities that dominated Clan life but were not a beloved part of it. The range had belonged to some other race of ancient people who worshiped the peaks as gods and vanished, leaving behind only a few ruins and some legends. The nomadic Clan belonged to the open grasslands, where horses could run with the wind, stock could graze, and tents didn’t have to be erected on stone. If there was a chance to find a more suitable home, why shouldn’t they take it?
Valorian felt as if his mind was running in circles. He went back to his thoughts about adapting. Could the Clan adapt to its present situation, given a little more time? It was possible, he reasoned. If the Tarnish provincial governor were anyone but General Tyrranis. If they could get more livestock. If Fearral paid more attention to long—lasting solutions.
If the gods were willing. . . . That was a lot of “ifs,” and too few of them were likely to change.
That left the gods. What did the deities want for their people? The Mother of All hadn’t bothered to explain, but gods rarely did. They simply gave mortals the tools and let them find their own way. Could Mother Willa be right, then? He would expect Aiden to jump in and suggest that his brother lead the Clan out of Chadar, but Mother Willa was close to Amara. She wouldn’t say anything that she felt contradicted the goddess’s will. Perhaps this power to wield magic was his tool to take the Clan to the Ramtharin Plains.
The more he considered it, the more uses he could see for magic. He had been reluctant to think about it until now because Sergius’s death had horrified him. He had seen all too clearly how destructive and powerful magic could be. But if he taught himself to use his power properly, there wouldn’t be any more murders. He could use the magic to give his people heart. If they chose to follow him, they would not only be taking a physical journey, but also a spiritual journey as well, out of defeat and bitterness to a new hope. They would need all the help they could get.