The Song of Homana (7 page)

He pulled up his mount sharply, hissing invectives beneath his breath. And then his face went blank with the uncanniness of the
lir
-bond and I knew he conversed with the wolf.

Lachlan, wise harper, said nothing. He waited as I did. But the tension that was a tangible thing did not appear to touch him.

Finn broke free of the contact at last. I had watched his face; had seen it grow hard and sharp and bleak, like his eyes. And now I grew afraid.

“What is it?” I hissed.

“Storr sends a warning.” Finn shivered suddenly, though the sunlight that glittered off his earring was warm upon our shoulders. “I think I feel it myself. I will go in. Keep
yourself here.” He looked at Lachlan a moment, considering something, by the look in his eyes. Then he shrugged, dismissing it. “Keep yourself here, as I said, until I come back for you.”

He spoke lightly enough, no doubt for Lachlan’s benefit, but I could not wait for subterfuge. I caught the rein of his horse and held him still. “Tell me. What is it?”

Finn looked again at Lachlan, and then he looked at me. “Storr can touch no
lir
.”

“None?”

“Not even Alix.”

“But—with her Old Blood—” I stopped. He need say no more. Could Storr touch no
lir
at all, the situation was grave indeed. “There may be danger for you as well,” I told him quietly.

“Of course. So I go in
lir
-shape.” He dropped off his horse at once, leaving me with a skittish animal at the end of a leather rein.
“Tahlmorra lujhala mei wiccan, cheysu,”
he said to me, shrugging, and then he was no longer a man.

I watched Lachlan. As the space in which Finn stood emptied, swallowed instead by the void, Lachlan’s eyes stretched wide. And then they narrowed as he frowned, staring as if he would learn it himself. His fingers dropped to the harp case at his knee, touching it as if to reassure himself he was awake, not asleep. By the time I looked back at Finn the man-shape was completely gone, replaced by the blurred outline of a wolf. I felt the familiar rolling of my belly, swallowed against it, as always, and looked at Lachlan again. His face had taken on a peculiar greenish hue. I thought he might vomit up his fear and shock, but he did not.

The ruddy wolf with Finn’s yellow eyes flicked his tail and ran.

“They do not merit fear,” I told Lachlan clearly, “unless you have done something to merit their enmity.” I smiled as his eyes turned to me, staring as if he thought I too might be a wolf, or something equally bestial. “You are an innocent man, you have said: a harper…what have
you
to fear from Finn?”

But a man does not stop fearing the specter of childhood
nightmares so easily, no matter how innocent he is. Lachlan—with, perhaps, more guilt than he claimed—might have better reason to fear what he saw. He stared after Finn, seeing nothing now, but the greenish pallor had been replaced by the white of shock and apprehension. “
Wolves
cannot know reason! Does he know you in that shape?”

“Finn, in that shape, knows everything a man knows,” I said. “But he also claims the wisdom of a wolf. A double threat, you might say, for one who deserves careful consideration.” I shifted in the saddle, half my mind with Finn and the other half knowing what Lachlan felt. I had felt it myself, the first few times. “He is not a demon or a beast. He is a man who claims a god-gift in his blood, much as you claim it in yours. It is only his gods manifest their presence a little differently.” I thought of the magic he made with his music, and then I laughed at his horrified expression. “Think you he worships Lodhi? Not Finn. Perhaps he
worships
no god, or gods, but he serves his own better than any man I have ever known. How else do you think he would keep himself to my side?” Finn’s horse tried to wander, searching for grass in the snow, and I pulled him back. “You need have no fear he might turn on you, wolflike, and tear your throat from your body. He would do that only if you gave him reason.” I met the harper’s eyes steadily, keeping my tone light. “But then you have no wish to betray me, have you? Not with your saga at stake.”

“No.” Lachlan tried to smile, but I could see the thoughts in his head. No man, seeing the shapechange for the first time, forgets it so quickly. If at all. “What was it he said to you, before he changed himself?”

I laughed. “A philosophy, of sorts. Cheysuli, of course, and therefore alien to Homanans or Ellasians.” I quoted the words: “
Tahlmorra lujhala mei wiccan, cheysu
. It means, roughly, the fate of a man rests always within the hands of the gods.” I made the gesture, being very distinct as I lifted my right hand and spread my fingers. “It is usually shortened to the word
tahlmorra
, which says more than enough quite simply.”

Lachlan shook his head slowly. “Not so alien to me, I
think. Do you forget I am a priest? Admittedly my god is singular, and far different from those Finn claims, but I am trained to understand the faith a man holds. More than trained; I believe it with all my heart, that a man may know and serve his deity.” His hand tapped the harp case. “My gift is there, Carillon. Finn’s is elsewhere, but just as strong. And he is just as devout, perhaps more so, to give himself up to his fate.” He smiled. “
Tahlmorra lujhala mei wiccan, cheysu
. How eloquent a phrase.”

“Have you any like it?”

Lachlan laughed. “You could never say it. You lack an Ellasian throat.” He thumped the harp case. “This one is not so hard:
Yhana Lodhi, yffennog faer.
” He smiled. “A man walks with pride forever when he walks with Lodhi, humble.”

And then Finn was back, two-legged and white-faced, and I had no more time for philosophy. I held out the rein as Finn reached for it, but I could ask none of the questions that crowded my mouth. Finn’s face had robbed me of my voice.

“Destroyed,” he said in a whisper. “Torn down.
Burned.
” His pallor was alarming. “There is no Keep.”

I was over the broken stonework before I realized what it was, setting my horse to jumping though he lacked the legs to do it. He stumbled, scrabbling at the snow-cloaked heaps of mortared stone, and then I knew. The wall, the half-circle wall that surrounded every Keep. Shattered and broken upon the ground.

I pulled up at once, saving the horse, but also saving myself. I sat silently on the little gelding, staring at what remained of the Keep. Bit by bit I looked, allowing myself one portion at a time; I could not bear to see it all at once.

Snow covered nearly everything, but scavenger beasts had dug up the remains. I saw the long poles, some snapped in two, some charred. I saw scraps of soiled cloth frozen into stiffness, colors muted by time and harsh weather. The firecairns that had stood before each pavilion lay in tumbled fragments, spilled by hostile feet and destructive hooves. All of it gone, with only ragged remnants of a once-proud Keep.

In my mind I saw it as I had seen it last: undressed,
unmortared stone standing high to guard the Keep; billowing pavilions of varied hues emblazoned with painted
lir
. The perches and pelts existing for those
lir
, and the children who feared nothing of the wild. Save, perhaps, for those who knew to fear Homanans.

I cursed. It came viciously out of my mouth along with the spittle. I thought of Duncan, clan-leader of his Keep, but mostly I thought of Alix.

I rode on then. Directly to the proper place. I knew it well enough, though nothing remained to mark it. And there I slid off my horse, too stiff to dismount with any skill or grace, and fell down upon my knees.

One pole pierced its way through snow to stab out of the ruins like a standard. A scrap of fabric, stiff from freezing, still clung to the wood. I tugged at it and it came away, breaking off in my hand. Slate-colored, with the faintest blur of gold and brown. For Cai, Duncan’s hawk.

Not once had I thought they might be dead. Not once, in all the time spent in exile, had I thought they might be gone. They had been the one constant in my life, along with Finn. Always I had recalled the Keep and the clan-leader’s pavilion, filled with Duncan’s pride and Alix’s strength, and the promise of the unborn child. Never once had I even considered they might not be here to greet me.

But it was not the greeting I missed. It was the conviction of life, no matter where it existed. Nothing lived here now.

I heard the sound behind me and knew at once it was Finn. Slowly, suddenly old beyond my years, I stood up. I trembled as if with illness, knowing only a great sorrow and rage and consuming grief.

Gods…they could not be dead
—

Lachlan made a sound. I looked at him blindly, thinking only of Alix and Duncan, and then I saw the expression of realization in his eyes.

Finn saw it also. As he leaped, still in human form, I caught him in mid-stride. “Wait—”

“He knew.”

The words struck me in the face. But still I held Finn.
“Wait. Do you slay him, we will learn nothing from him.
Wait
—”

Lachlan stood rooted to the earth. One hand thrust outward as if to hold us back. His face was white. “I will tell you. I will tell you what I can.”

I let go of Finn when I knew he would do nothing more. At least until he had better reason. “Then Finn has the right of it: you knew.”

Lachlan nodded stiffly. “I knew. Have known. But I had forgotten. It was—three years ago.”

“Three years.”
I stared around the remains of the Keep. “Harper—what happened?”

He looked steadily at me. “Ihlini.”

Finn hissed something in the Old Tongue. I merely waited for further explanation. But I said one thing: “This is Ellas. Do you say Tynstar has influence-here?”

Dull color came up into Lachlan’s face. “I say nothing of that. Ellas is free of Ihlini domination. But once, only once, there was a raid across the border. Ihlini and Solindish, hunting the Cheysuli who sheltered in this realm, and they came here.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “There have been songs made about it, but it is not something I care to recall. I had nearly forgotten.”

“Remember,” Finn said curtly. “Remember it all, harper.”

Lachlan spread his hands. “The Ihlini came here. They destroyed the Keep. They slew who they could of the Cheysuli.”

“How many?”
Finn demanded.

“Not all.” Lachlan scrubbed a hand across his brow, as if he wished to free himself of the silver circlet of his calling. “I—do not know, perhaps, as much as I should.”

“Not enough and too much, all at once,” Finn said grimly. “Harper, you should have spoken earlier. You knew we came to the Keep.”

“How am I to know them
all?
” Lachlan demanded. “The High King gives the Cheysuli shelter, but he does not count them, old or young. I doubt
Rhodri
can say how many Keeps or how many Cheysuli are in Ellas. We merely welcome them all.”

This time it was Finn who colored, but only for a moment. The grief and tension were back at once, etching
lines into his face. He wore his mask again, the private mask, stark and hard in his insularity. “They may all be dead. And that would leave only me—” He broke off.

Lachlan took a deep breath. “I have heard that those who survived went back into Homana. North. Across the Bluetooth River.”

Finn frowned. “Too far,” he muttered, looking at Storr. “Too far even for the
lir
-link.”

I looked directly at Lachlan. “You have heard much for a man who recalls so little. To Homana, you say. North, across the Bluetooth. Are you privy to information we have no recourse to?”

He did not smile. “Harpers are privy to much, as you should know. Had you none in Homana-Mujhar?”

“Many,” I said briefly. “Before Bellam silenced the music.”

Finn turned his back. He stared again at the remains of Duncan’s slate-gray pavilion. I knew he meant to master himself. I wondered if he could.

“May I suggest,” Lachlan began, “that you use my harp skill in trying to rouse your people? I could go into taverns and sing
The Song of Homana
, to test how the people feel. How better to learn their minds, and how they will answer their rightful king’s call?”

“The Song of Homana?”
Finn said doubtfully, turning to stare at Lachlan.

“You have heard it,” the harper said, “and I saw what it did to you. It has a magic of its own.”

He spoke the truth. Did he go into Homanan taverns and play that song on his Lady, he would know sooner than anyone else what my people were capable of. Had Bellam cowed them, it would take time to rebuild their spirit. Were they merely angry, I could use it.

I nodded at Lachlan. “The horses require tending.”

For a moment he frowned, baffled, and then he understood. Silently he took away our horses and gave us room to speak freely, without fear he might overhear.

“I give you leave to go,” I told Finn simply.

Something flickered in his eyes. “There is no need.”

“There is. You must go. Your clan—your kin—have gone north across the Bluetooth. Home to Homana, where
we are bound. You must go and find them, to set your soul at peace.”

He did not smile. “Healing Homana is more important than seeking out my clan.”

“Is it?” I shook my head. “You told me once that clan- and kin-ties bind more closely than anything else in Cheysuli culture. I have not forgotten. I give you leave to go, so I can have you whole again.” I held up a silencing hand. “Until you know, it will eat at your soul like a canker.”

The flesh of his face was stiff. “I will not leave you in companionship to the enemy.”

I shook my head. “We do not know if he is an enemy.”

“He knows too much,” Finn said grimly. “Too much and too little. I do not trust him.”

“Then trust me.” I put out my gloved hand and spread my fingers, palm up. “Have you not taught me all you can in the art of staying alive, even in dire adversity? I am no longer quite the green princeling you escorted into exile. I think I may have some control over my life.” I smiled. “You have said it is my
tahlmorra
to take back the Lion Throne. If so, it will happen, and nothing will gainsay it. Not even this time apart.”