Exile's Children (3 page)

Morrhyn's elbow dug hard against his ribs, but he ignored the wakanisha as he faced Chakthi. The Tachyn smiled stonily and ducked his head. “Vachyr is Tachyn: yes, he is the better man.”

Racharran stiffened even as Morrhyn's hand clasped his wrist. None bore arms in Council, but had Racharran worn a blade then … “Careful.” Morrhyn's voice was a breeze against his ear. “He rants; he seeks to provoke you. Do not rise to his bait.”

It was not easy. Yazte stared at Chakthi as he might at some night crawler found in his bedding. Old Juh frowned in open disapproval. Even careful Tahdase looked shocked. At their sides, the wakanishas of their clans scowled. Racharran reined in his anger, forcing back the challenge that sprang to his lips. Carefully, measuring his words, he said, “Your opinion is your own to hold, brother. As is mine.”

A shadow crossed the Tachyn's face, anger and disappointment flashing an instant in his eyes. In the name of the Maker, Racharran wondered, does he truly look to begin a fight here, now?

“We are the Council of the People.” Juh's voice was no longer so gentle; now it was edged with the steel that made him akaman. “It is unseemly that we trade insults here, in Matakwa.”

Yazte grunted agreement; Tahdase nodded as solemnly as his youth allowed.

Chakthi stared fiercely around for a while, then Hadduth spoke softly in his ear and he lowered his head. “My brother Racharran speaks
the truth. Our opinions are our own to hold. I intended no insult to the Matakwa.”

It did not sound like an apology, but under the pressure of Morrhyn's fingers, Racharran nodded his acceptance.

“So, then, do we return to this matter of Arrhyna?” Juh sounded relieved.

“What's to discuss?” Yazte smiled with deliberate calm. “An offer has been made, an offer rejected; the maiden has chosen. What else is there?”

Chakthi's teeth ground behind his thin-pressed lips and the eyes he turned on the Lakanti were cold as winter ice. “As akaman of the Tachyn, I object to her choice.” His voice was no warmer than his gaze. “As akaman of the Tachyn, I ask that the Council decide this matter for her.”

This was without precedent, but it was no more than Racharran had expected. Times were, a maiden could not decide between two suitors or her parents might object to her choice, then the matter could be decided in Chiefs' Council, all concerned presenting their views and the Council's decision final. In this case there was nothing for the Council to decide: Arrhyna had chosen, her parents did not object. Chakthi pushed too far—as Racharran had feared—solely on behalf of his son. He looked past the Tachyn akaman to where Vachyr sat amongst the warriors. The young man was glaring across the Council fire—at Rannach, Racharran guessed.

“Does my brother Racharran object to this?” asked Juh.

Racharran shook his head even as Yazte murmured, “You need not do this, brother. This is a farce.”

He flashed the Lakanti a smile and made a small, quieting gesture. It
was
a farce: he had no doubt of the immediate outcome, for all he might wish Arrhyna would stand up and renege her promise to Rannach, declare her mind changed, and go to Vachyr. The future should be easier that way. But still—he could not help the small flame of malice—it should be good to see Chakthi humbled.

Ceremoniously, he rose to his feet, blanket cradled, and said, “I have no objection. Let those concerned be heard.”

Old Juh nodded. Yazte scowled dark as Chakthi. Tahdase looked nervous. The ancient Aparhaso chief raised a hand. “Then I summon them,” he intoned. “Let the maiden and her parents step forward and be heard. Let the warriors step forward and hear our judgement.”

The protagonists moved through the crowd encircling the Council. Vachyr and Rannach trod proudly, glowering at each other like young
buffalo bulls in rut. Arrhyna came with downcast eyes, nervous as a deer, Nemeth and Zeil close behind and no more confident. The crowd fell silent.

Juh said, “Let the maiden Arrhyna speak,” and smiled encouragingly. “Child, you are much honored—two brave warriors ask your hand and offer many horses. Which would you have?”

For a moment, Arrhyna's hair curtained her face, red as the fire's glow. She spoke from behind its veil, too soft she might be heard. Yazte said, “Child, do you speak up? You've naught to fear; none shall harm you here, nor say you nay.”

Arrhyna raised her head at that, green eyes wide as they fixed on Rannach. “My choice is Rannach,” she said.

Vachyr's scowl darkened, the corners of his angry mouth downturned. Rannach beamed. Juh said, “Now we hear the parents.”

Zeil glanced at Chakthi, clearly loath to earn the akaman's further disfavor. Juh motioned that he speak, and the man touched his wife's hand. With his eyes fixed on the ground he said, “Vachyr's bride-offer is generous, but my daughter has made known her choice and I cannot deny her.”

“You name Rannach your choice?” Juh asked.

Zeil swallowed and said quietly, “I do.”

“And there is agreement with your wife in this?”

Zeil nodded. Nemeth said, “There is. I would abide by my daughter's choice. I name Rannach.”

Racharran heard Chakthi's furious grunt, saw the tightening of Vachyr's jaw. No good at all, he thought. This shall be a troubled summer. But even so … He could not deny that the Tachyns' discomposure afforded him a degree of pleasure.

“Then it is agreed by all who have a choice in this,” Juh said. “How speak my brothers?”

Yazte said, “It is agreed,” beaming at Vachyr.

Slower and softer Tahdase said, “It is agreed.”

Chakthi snarled and shook his head. “I say
no
!”

Juh turned to Racharran. For an instant the Commacht thought he might shock them all by siding with Chakthi, but that should only make an enemy of his son, and likely drive him away. Then those headstrong warriors who followed Rannach would go with him and the clan be weakened. Nor, was he honest with himself, could Racharran perform so dramatic a turnabout: it would be a diminishment of his honor. Loud, he said, “It is agreed.”

Juh climbed stiffly to his feet, his arms raised as he turned slowly around the circle. “Then let all present know it is decided.” His voice
was pitched to carry to the outermost ring. “The maiden Arrhyna shall wed the warrior Rannach with the blessing of this Council. Let none argue this, nor speak against it.”

Chakthi did not speak against the decision—could not—but instead sprang upright with a furious snort and stalked from the circle, Hadduth trailing his heels. Vachyr hesitated a moment, glaring first at Arrhyna then at Rannach before following his father.

Into Racharran's ear Morrhyn said, “Chakthi cannot argue this.”

“No?” answered Racharran.

Morrhyn said, still soft, “To argue this is to go against the Council. He would be cast out; no less Vachyr.”

Racharran grunted, then looked to his son, who came past the fire with his bride-to-be. Rannach's smile was wide and proud; Arrhyna stood modestly beside him.

Racharran climbed to his feet and took the girl's hands. “I welcome you to the Commacht, daughter.” He glanced at Rannach. “Perhaps you'll tame this stallion.”

Arrhyna smiled shyly. “Thank you, my akaman. I am honored to live amongst your lodges.”

Rannach said, “Thank you, father. For a while there I feared you might take Vachyr's side.”

“For a while,” Racharran said quietly, “I thought I might. For the good of the clan.”

The shock he saw on Rannach's face was gratifying, but then he shrugged and smiled more warmly. “But how could I, after Chakthi's insult? Vachyr the better man? Ach, no! only”—he placed a hand on both their shoulders—“tread wary about those two, as you would about a wounded buffalo.”

Rannach nodded gravely. “I'd see Arrhyna in our lodges this night,” he said. “And ask you offer her parents our hospitality.”

Perhaps, Racharran thought, there's yet hope for him. Perhaps marriage
will
gentle him. Aloud, he said, “That's wise. Yes: I'll speak with them now.”

“Thank you,” Arrhyna said. “The akaman of the Tachyn bears them little love for this, I think.”

“Chakthi,” Rannach declared, grinning, “bears little love for anyone. Save Vachyr.”

“Go.” Racharran dismissed them with a wave. “Take your cohorts with you. And remember your promise!”

“As my akaman commands.”

Rannach spread his blanket to encompass Arrhyna and jerked his head. On the instant, Bakaan and the others came hurrying up to form
an honor guard. Racharran went to where Nemeth and Zeil stood. They looked to him like buffalo separated from their herd, and frightened.

“Your daughter sleeps under my protection this night,” he said, “and soon shall wed my son. Would you name yourselves Commacht, then you are welcome in my clan.”

Nemeth looked at Zeil, who nodded and smiled nervously. “My thanks,” he said. “We've angered Chakthi with this, and …” He shrugged helplessly.

“Chakthi is not a man to forgive a perceived slight,” Racharran finished. “Do you bring your tent across the water now, and tomorrow we'll cut your horses from the Tachyn herd.”

“And does Chakthi object, my Lakanti shall be there.” Yazte came up to join them, clapping Racharran cheerfully on the shoulder. “In the name of the Maker, my friend, that was a thing worth the seeing. Chakthi had the look of an old bear driven from his wintering cave. His discomfort was a thing to relish.”

“Old bears are grumpy,” Racharran said. “And often dangerous.”

“True.” Yazte's smile faded. “But should this particular bear show his claws, you've but to ask my help.”

Racharran nodded. “I'll see them wed soon as possible,” he murmured. “Perhaps the ceremony will cool Vachyr's ardor and he look elsewhere for a bride.”

“Perhaps.” Yazte snorted. “But Chakthi's pride? That shall not be cooled, I think.”

“Ach, pride!” Racharran chopped a dismissive hand. “Such pride is a curse.”

“But what should we be without our pride?” Yazte asked. “You'd not take the Tachyn's insult. Was that not pride?”

“It was.” Racharran smiled, somewhat ashamed. “I rose to that.”

“As would any warrior,” Yazte said. “Chakthi stepped beyond the pale with that. I've not your calm. Had he said that to me …”

Racharran nodded, wearying of the conversation. He felt a need to forget the bellicose Tachyn for a while. “I've tiswin in my lodge,” he said, “do you care to celebrate this decision.”

“I do,” Yazte declared eagerly. “Lead on, my friend.”

“A moment.” Racharran motioned that Yazte wait, and went to where Juh sat, deep in conversation with the Aparhaso wakanisha, Hazhe. He waited politely until they looked up, then extended his invitation.

“Thank you,” murmured Juh, “but these old bones of mine crave rest, and the days when I could sit with you youngsters drinking the night away are long gone. The wedding, though, I shall attend.”

Racharran ducked his head, accepting the subtle dismissal. He turned toward young Tahdase, but the Naiche akaman was already quitting the circle, surrounded by a protective band of warriors.

He returned to where Yazte waited. “We drink alone,” he said. Yazte chuckled. “Then the more for us.”

Racharran smiled and looked about for Morrhyn. The wakanisha was deep in conversation with Kahteney of the Lakanti and Isten of the Naiche, and when Racharran caught his eye and motioned the lifting of a cup, he shook his head. Racharran shrugged—so it would be him and Yazte, and therefore, no doubt, further discussion of Chakthi and his famous temper. He went from the circle with the Lakanti, hoping Yazte did not drink him dry.

“I've known the same dream,” Kahteney said. “I fear it bodes ill for the Commacht. I believe it means war with the Tachyn.”

“That may well come,” Morrhyn allowed, “but I cannot beleive the dream refers to that. I fear it is something larger.”

He looked to Isten, hoping—or fearing—for confirmation, but the Naiche Dreamer only shook his head and said, “This is a thing for the Dream Council, not”—he glanced around as if fearful of eavesdroppers—“so public a place.”

Morrhyn frowned. Isten and his akaman shared the same cautious nature; or the one fed the other: it was hard to decide. They both prompted him to think of nervous deer, waiting, testing the wind, before venturing forth. Surely neither would come readily or swiftly to any decision; and he felt in his bones that swift decisions would be needed ere long. But, by custom, he must allow Isten was right: was the dream forewarning of events momentous as he feared, then it was a thing for the Dream Council, for all the wakanishas. And after, when interpretation was agreed, for the full Council. He wondered if, after that night's events, concord could any longer be reached. He lowered his head in silent acceptance.

“Best then we sit in council soon,” Kahteney declared tersely, favoring the Naiche wakanisha with an irritated glance.

“Yes.” Morrhyn nodded, wishing it might be now. It seemed that since arriving at the Meeting Ground his trepidation grew apace, as if this gathering of the clans somehow accelerated his concern.

“But best Rannach and Arrhyna are wed first,” said cautious Isten. “Let that particular thorn be blunted before we seek Hadduth's aid.”

Morrhyn doubted the marriage ceremony would do much to blunt any of the Tachyns' feelings, but it would, he supposed, finally resolve
the minor problem. “My brother Isten speaks wisely,” he declared diplomatically. “But once that is done?”

“We hold Dream Council,” said Kahteney, and smacked his lips, grinning. “Now, Morrhyn, did Racharran not invite my akaman to drink tiswin? And do you not think we wakanishas should attend them?”

Morrhyn hesitated. He would sooner speak of the dream or be alone to contemplate its meaning. Save, he thought, Isten will not lend us his advice; and Kahteney believes it means war; so … He ducked his head and said, “I suppose so. Isten, do you join us?”