Exile's Children (55 page)

Racharran watched from the shelter of the trees and endeavored to calculate their numbers. He thought they must amount to more than three full clans.

“So do the People unite,” Motsos said, “we shall outnumber them.”

“If
the People unite,” Racharran answered in a whisper. “And do not forget those beasts.”

“Do they fight as they slaughter buffalo,” Zhonne said, “then they must at least double the numbers.”

Racharran said, “Yes.” And then: “We go back. We must warn the clan.”

“And the others?” asked Lonah.

“We must warm all the People,” Racharran said, and sighed. “Save we unite, I think we are all lost. I think the worst is come upon us all.”

They moved back into the timber and mounted their horses, and then rode hard away.

If it was strange to dream again after so long without such revelation, the dreams that came to Hadduth were stranger still.

It was as though a hand other than the Maker's shaped the images. He could not say whose, but knew only that they were not, after a while, such dreams as he had ever known; and behind them, like fleeting movement caught in the eye's corner, was such power as terrified and intrigued him both. At first, when he began his vigil, he thought he suffered them as he would suffer nightmares; then he reveled in them, for they held out such promise as he had never known.

Seven days and seven nights he lay within the sweat tent before he was ready to confront Chakthi with what he had learned, or thought he learned.

He dreamed first—as had all the wakanishas of the People before that last, fateful Matakwa—of strange riders mounted on stranger steeds, whose paws left prints of fire across the grass, whose mouths gaped wicked fangs, and whose eyes burned as they drove the People before them like buffalo driven crazy by a prairie fire. He woke frightened then, crying out into the darkness of the sweat tent, and would have gone out and warned Chakthi that such danger as neither he nor the akaman could imagine came upon them and would destroy them, but he knew that was not what Chakthi wanted to hear and so forced
himself to a semblance of calm and set more stones on the fire and ate more pahé root and returned to the oneiric world.

Then he dreamed that he stood before the awful riders and crouched in terror as they came down on him, save they did not trample him but turned their mounts around him in a circle and dipped their lances in recognition. Then from out of the circle came a figure mounted on the strangest horse Hadduth had ever seen, horns curling from its head, its coat the color of midnight, its eyes blazing as if fires burned within the sockets. On its back, straddling a great ornate saddle, sat a figure clad in armor that shone like the sun, who leveled a gauntleted finger at the cowering Dreamer and beckoned to him. Hadduth whimpered in terror, and the figure laughed and rode away. As Hadduth rose and watched them go, he wondered how he lived and why they spared him, because between him and them stood a wall of fire that ate up the grass as if it would devour all of Ket-Ta-Witko, leaving nothing behind save he.

The next time he dreamed, the rider halted and beckoned Hadduth to join him again, and when the wakanisha at first demurred, the figure laughed and set his awful horse to prancing so that Hadduth cowered and cried out and woke.

That dream came again and again, until he was afraid to resist and instead bowed his head and asked where the rider would take him.

The armored figure did not answer, but only beckoned him to ride with them, and he—afraid of what refusal might bring—agreed. And then he dreamed the Tachyn rode with them and they moved against the Commacht, and he saw Racharran taken and slain, and Racharran's wife brought to Chakthi, who hailed his wakanisha as a brother and a great Dreamer, and vaunted him above all others in the clan.

From that dream he woke filled with pride, and after he had eaten the food brought him and drunk a little water, he took more pahé and returned more eagerly to the dreaming, which now showed him Rannach brought before Chakthi and slain, and the woman Arrhyna delivered to Chakthi, who thanked him and heaped praise on him, and gifts, so that he became greater than the greatest of the favored Tachyn warriors.

And then he dreamed he stood upon a hill and looked out over all the land that was Ket-Ta-Witko, and at his side was the warrior armored as if with the sun, all bright and glittering, who swept out a hand in which was held a great and burning blade and spoke. And though Hadduth could not understand the words, he knew they were of conquest and the elevation of the Tachyn over all others. He saw Chakthi climbing the hill, laboring, and looked to the shining warrior, who nodded his
agreement that Hadduth reach out to aid Chakthi and bring him onto the hill to stand with them.

And Hadduth realized the hill was the Maker's Mountain and that he stood higher than any man had stood before, and that Chakthi stood with him only by his leave. And the sun-bright figure gestured all around, at all of Ket-Ta-Witko and all that existed beyond, down the passages of time and dreaming at worlds beyond, and worlds that might be, and told Hadduth all should be his, all ruled by the Tachyn, if he would but heed the import of the dream and do that which should raise up his clan in conquest of all its enemies. None should stand before him, or higher than he, but bow and hail and fear him.

Hadduth woke, tempted and afraid. Such pride, such promises, flew in the face of the Maker and was contrary to all the Ahsa-tye-Patiko meant. But still, even so …

It was a heady seduction.

Were it possible, it must surely please Chakthi. He remembered vividly those other dreams, of Chakthi's praise, his own elevation, the aggrandizement …

He ate more pahé and slipped once more into the dreaming.

When at last he emerged from the sweat tent he was gaunt and hollow-eyed, but he had Chakthi's answer now: he told the akaman what Chakthi wanted to hear, and Chakthi was pleased, and feasted his wakanisha; and together, secretly, they prepared.

Racharran and his men came back to the Wintering Ground weary and alarmed. It was no pleasure to find his worst fears confirmed, and still less to see the faces of his people as he told them the disturbing news. When he was done, a long, deep silence filled the camp, and all the Commacht stared at him as if he were diseased and threatened to infect them with his plague. He waited for comment, but it seemed his news was of such moment, none could find their tongue.

“It's as Morrhyn warned,” he said, and instantly regretted mentioning the absent wakanisha, for out of the crowd a man called, “Morrhyn? What's Morrhyn to do with this? Morrhyn deserted us.”

“No!” Racharran answered. “Morrhyn lost his dreams—likely under the influence of these strange folk—and looks to get them back, that he might aid us. He risks his life for that.”

“But still he's not with us,” said another.

All Racharran could do was shrug, for that was true.

“Even so,” he said, “this horde has come through the mountains.

These are the people Colun warned us of, and if they're on the grass of Ket-Ta-Witko, then I fear the Grannach are defeated.”

“Come the year's turning,” a warrior called, “we'll defeat them.”

“I think we cannot.” Racharran shook his head slowly and sadly. “Surely not alone. They are many—far more than us Commacht—and the beasts they ride are ferocious as blood-mad lions. I wonder if they'll even wait for the Moon of the Turning Year.”

“No one fights before,” the man said. “Not even Chakthi.”

“These are strangeling folk,” Racharran replied, “and not like us. I think they may not wait.”

Behind him, the chosen five nodded grim heads in agreement.

“Then what shall we do? You are akaman of the Commacht. Tell us what we should do.”

He recognized Lhyn's voice and struggled not to smile his thanks for that support. Instead, he waited awhile as others took her cue and voiced the same question.

“We must prepare for war,” he said. “Even be it under the eye of the Breaking Trees Moon or the Rain Moon, we must be ready. Also, we must seek the support of all the clans. We must—”

A voice interrupted him. “The support of the Tachyn? Ach, that's not so likely, eh?”

Racharran shrugged. “What comes is enemy to all the People, to the Tachyn no less than us. I'd ask Chakthi to set aside his … differences”—that elicited laughter, albeit cynical—“but first I'd send messengers to the Lakanti and the Aparhaso and the Naiche, to tell them what we saw and what we fear, and ask that they join with us. That might persuade Chakthi. I'd send out messengers with tomorrow's dawn.”

He saw Lhyn's face tense at that. She knew he must be one, albeit he was not yet a day returned. He held his own features still as voices buzzed, warriors speaking one with another, husbands with wives. A child cried and was hushed to silence; dogs paced fretful about the edges of the throng, as if they sensed the import of this meeting. In the sky, the sun observed them with a pale and indifferent gaze. Faint from the farther depths of the canyon came the belling of a bull buffalo, and overhead a flight of nine crows swooped low and unusually silent. Racharran wondered if that was a sign. Morrhyn could likely interpret it, he thought, but Morrhyn is not here. Perhaps Morrhyn is dead. He caught Lhyn's eye and silently thanked her for her smile.

Then, slowly, the hum of conversation ceased and the clan looked again to their akaman.

“What is your decision?” he asked.

There was a silence that hammered on his ears. Then a man said, “You are our akaman and we cannot doubt your word. Tell us what you'd do.”

Other voices rose in agreement. The crows began to caw and wheel in circles above.

“I'd go to Juh,” Racharran said, “with Bylas. I'd send Zhonne and Lonah to speak with Tahdase; and Motsos and Bishi to Yazte. We have all seen these strangelings and can say what they do—and what we fear they shall do.”

“And Chakthi?” a man asked.

“Yes, Chakthi. He might not take my word, eh?” Racharran smiled, encouraging their support; encouraged himself by their laughter. “I'd first look to convince the Aparhaso and the Naiche and the Lakanti, then ask them, each of them, to send messengers to the Tachyn. Do you agree?”

His answer came shouted: “Yes! You are akaman of the Commacht and we follow you!”

He felt proud of his clan then; he hoped their trust was not misplaced and that he did the right thing. Surely he could not think of another course.

He wished Morrhyn was not gone away.

“You'll go to Juh?”

Lhyn stirred the pot suspended over the lodgefire, her eyes downcast. The flames set red lights in her hair, and Racharran thought she looked beautiful and young. He felt old and tired. He wished he need not go; he wished there was no horde massing below the mountains. He shook his head, dismissing futile wishes: what was was, and he must face it.

He said, “Yes. Can I convince Juh, then Tahdase will likely follow. Yazte will believe Motsos and Bishi, do they go with my tokens of authority.”

“And you'll ride out again?” she said.

“What other choice have I?” he asked.

Lhyn sighed and said, “None. I only wish …” She shook her head and fell silent.

He asked, “What do you wish?”

She looked up then and met his eyes, saying, “These are not such times as allow us wishes, eh? Only duty.”

He said, “Yes,” and reached for the flask of tiswin she'd set beside him.

“Will they agree?” she asked.

He filled a cup and drank before he answered: “I don't know. The Maker willing, yes; but …”

“It should be better were Morrhyn here,” she said, staring at the pot.

Racharran said, “Yes, but he is not. And so …”

“You must do what you can,” she finished for him.

“What I can think of,” he said. “And hope it's enough.”

Lhyn said, “Yes. I'll pray it is.”

The Aparhaso wintered in a thick-timbered valley, wooded down all its length with beech and birch and hemlock. No buffalo sheltered there, but Juh's clan had no need of such provision, for they had fought no war that year and had enjoyed the time to hunt and stock themselves well against the cold moons. They had a well-fed look, all plump and content, which contrasted with the two thin Commacht who rode in on horses not much fatter than their owners.

Juh was surprised to see them; Hazhe no less. Racharran saw alarm on both their faces as he reined in his horse before Juh's lodge and waited on the Aparhaso akaman's invitation to dismount.

It came slower than it might, for Juh seemed not quite able to believe his brother chieftain had come avisiting in the Moon of Breaking Trees, but then he beckoned them down and offered formal greeting. He looked a moment at the crowd that had followed them, then bade them enter his tent and called for men to tend their horses. Inside, he gestured them to settle on the spread furs and offered tiswin as Hazhe closed the lodgeflap.

The wakanisha piled more dung on the fire and took his place beside his akaman. Both studied the two Commacht with sympathetic eyes.

Racharran sipped the tiswin, thinking that he had rather been offered food and tea, but Juh's wife appeared to have gone off somewhere, and the silver-haired akaman gave him no other choice.

There was a lengthy and cautious silence as they drank. Then Juh said, “It is my pleasure that you visit us, but it is … unusual. In such weather?”

Racharran set down his cup and said, “These are unusual times, my brother. I've such news as cannot wait the year's turning, but must be decided now.”

Juh motioned that he continue, and Racharran told of his scouting and what he had seen—what he believed it meant for the People.

When he was done, Juh looked to Bylas, who ducked his head and said, “It is all as Racharran has told you.”