Exile's Children (71 page)

“Yes,” Isten said. “Best we send a rider to the Aparhaso and learn what Juh does.”

Kanseah said, unthinking, “Not me. I've carried messages enough of late.”

Akaman and Dreamer, both, looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. He wondered if he had—and knew he believed everything that Morrhyn said, and that he would not go out again save to join the Commacht—which likely, he thought, made him the sanest man present.

“No,” said Tahdase, “you've done your share. We'll send another, eh?”

“Tomorrow,” said Isten. “And when we know what Juh and his Aparhaso do, then we'll decide.”

Kanseah nodded and quit the lodge.

His mind whirled as if he were caught in the eddies of the river that ran through the Naiche Wintering Ground. That swift current shone bright and cold under the hibernal sun, and all down its length stood the lodges of his clan which, he thought, might likely all be slain by the Breakers if cautious Tahdase and wary Isten failed to act.

He looked at the sky and asked the Maker to judge him as he reached his own decision. He had heard Morrhyn and knew what the Commacht did; he had told his akaman and his wakanisha—dispensed his duty. He knew in his soul that Morrhyn was right: he did not believe there was any other choice.

He raised his arms and shouted, “Listen to me! Listen to me, all you Naiche! Listen to what I tell you!”

Lhyn set the kettle over the fire and turned her body to the wind to break the gusting that threatened to extinguish the flames. Even through the furs she wore she felt the cold out here, where nothing stood to break the blast save frail humanity. She rubbed her hands together and held them closer to the fire, listening to the buffeting of the wind against the hides of the lodge.

She felt afraid and hid her fear, for she'd not let her husband or her son—or even Morrhyn—see it. They needed the strength of belief, and she knew—she'd looked into Morrhyn's eyes, and theirs—that none of them entirely trusted what they did was right but did what they believed was best; the only thing.

And she believed it, sure in her heart, and knew she must support them.

What else was there?

So she smiled as the wind took her breath away and flung iced
splinters of frozen snow against her cheeks, and sheltered the fire that they'd have tea to drink and warm food, and wondered how the defenseless ones fared.

Later, when Racharran and Rannach and Morrhyn had eaten, she would go see how the others faced this storm wind, and if they had enough to eat.

And how many had died in the cold.

She started as a hand touched her shoulder and looked up to find Morrhyn standing over her.

“This is not easy.” His smile was like a ghost's; she remembered him younger, when … She shook the memory off with the ice on her furs, and said, “No,” not quite sure whether they spoke of the cold and the wind or things long past but there still, unforgotten.

He said, “Tea?”

She nodded and said, “Soon. When the water boils.”

He squatted and she looked at him, wondering how he came to be so gaunt, his hair turned the color of sun-washed snow, and his eyes so burning blue. She knew, of course: he'd told her; but even so she remembered the young man who'd called her to his blanket and asked her to decide between him and Racharran. And her answer.

“I'd welcome warm tea,” he said, and smiled; and touched her cheek. “Once, eh?”

She said, understanding, “Yes.”

“But now,” he said, “I'm no woman's. I'm wed to another.”

She said, “Yes.”

“I've no choice,” he said. “But if I had …”

Lhyn said, “Yes; I know,” and took the kettle from the flames and poured him tea.

He drank it and looked around, at the lodges erected swift against the night and the snow, and said, “This is no easy thing any of us do. I wonder …”

She asked when he fell silent, “What?”

“If,” he said, “it is all in vain. If we shall reach the Meeting Ground; the promise.”

“Do you doubt it?” She took his hand. “You brought us the word. How can you doubt it now?”

He shrugged and smiled, and said, “Easily. I wonder every day if I bring the People to salvation or destruction.”

She said, “Salvation, Morrhyn! You guide us to a new land, and rescue us from the Breakers!”

“I hope it is so,” he said.

She said, “It is! It must be so!”

He held tight to her hand and smiled, and said no more.

Jach accepted the tiswin Yazte offered gratefully. The Maker knew, but this must raise his standing amongst the Lakanti—Yazte's chosen messenger, and now come back with such incredible news and welcomed to the akaman's lodge to sit with his chief and Kahteney. The warriors and the maidens, both, would surely look at him anew now; he sipped the tiswin and smiled hugely.

“And the Commacht go?” Kahteney asked.

Jach nodded. “They were readying for departure when I found them, and it was Racharran's word that they decamp even as I left.”

“To the Meeting Ground,” Yazte said in a tone pitched somewhere between question and statement.

Jach nodded and said, “Yes, to the Meeting Ground. Morrhyn said …”

“You've told us what Morrhyn said.” Yazte raised a hand to silence the young warrior, smiling that Jach not feel slighted. He looked to Kahteney. “What do you think?”

The wakanisha stared awhile into the fire, then said, “I think that Morrhyn went to the Mountain and spoke with the Maker.”

Jach's head bobbed vigorously. “You should have seen him! He was …”

“Yes, yes.” Again Yazte halted his enthusiastic description. “We do not doubt what you've told us, but we must decide what we are to do about it.”

“What's to decide?” Jach could not rein his tongue. “Surely we go with them?”

Yazte studied him with fond eyes. “There's more to it than just striking camp, young Jach. Have you thought about the journey?”

Jach's smile flattened into a frown. He shrugged and said, “Do you doubt Morrhyn's word?”

“No.” Yazte shook his head. “But even so …”

“There's many would surely die along the way,” Kahteney said. “This cold is enemy enough, but did these … Breakers, Morrhyn names them? … come upon us, then likely none should survive.”

“And if they come on us here,” Yazte said, “then likely none shall live.”

“It's a difficult choice,” Kahteney agreed.

It did not seem so to Jach: he had spoken with Morrhyn and seen
the truth. He
knew
the only choice was between destruction and the promise of a new land, but he was only a simple warrior and not long with the braids, and he supposed Yazte and Kahteney saw a wider picture. He looked from the wakanisha to the akaman and waited.

Yazte said, “I wish we both might have spoken with Morrhyn, and with Racharran.”

Kahteney shrugged. “Jach here was sent in our place, no? And with instructions to learn what the Commacht do, concerning these … Breakers. So he's done that and we know what the Commacht do.”

Yazte nodded ponderously. “And what shall
we
do?” he asked, absently scratching at his wide belly.

Kahteney looked at Jach, his eyes contemplative. Jach felt himself weighed, and elevated when the wakanisha said, “I think we should heed him. He's our trusted man, no? And he tells us Racharran takes his clan to the Meeting Ground.”

“With the Rain Moon filling,” Yazte said, “and hard snow still on the ground.”

“And these Breakers moving against us all,” Kahteney said. “On which subject I cannot doubt Racharran's word.”

“It's a long way,” Yazte said.

“Yes,” Kahteney said. “Shall we fight them? It should be alone, I think.”

In his turn, Yazte studied Jach. The young warrior held his face composed under that scrutiny, then gasped when his akaman said, “What would you do, Jach?”

He said carefully, “Were it possible, I'd gather up all the clans and ride against the Breakers. But …” He shrugged. “It's too late for that, no? The Grannach warned us at the last Matakwa, and we paid that warning no heed. Now it's too late: we cannot gather, and the Breakers come into Ket-Ta-Witko like … like … some prairie fire that rushes on and devours everything before it, all unheeding.” He broke off, nervous, fearing that he spoke too forward. But Yazte gestured that he go on, and so he told them, “I listened to what Morrhyn said, and Rannach, and Racharran; and I think we had best go with the Commacht. Else, I believe that we shall die. I believe the Maker sends the Breakers to scourge us and, do we not heed Morrhyn's promise, then we are surely doomed.”

He fell silent, eyes lowered, embarrassed: he presumed to advise men greater than he. But still he believed all he said was true.

Softly, Kahteney said, “Out of the mouths of the young comes wisdom.”

Yazte said, “Do you truly understand what you say, Jach? Are you
right—and Morrhyn, and Racharran—then you say that the People must quit Ket-Ta-Witko and go to some other place? That we must up and leave this land we know for some unknown country? Are
you
ready to do that?”

Jach looked his akaman straight in the eye and said, “Yes!”

Kahteney reached out to set a hand on his shoulder and asked, “To go out in winter? When so many shall die along the way? And perhaps these Breakers find us?”

Jach met the Dreamer's gaze firm as he'd met Yazte's and said, “I think it is the only way. I think that if we do not follow the Commacht, we all shall surely die.”

Kahteney smiled approvingly and turned his face to Yazte. “I hear him,” he said. “I hear truth in his voice.”

“Yes.” Yazte heaved a huge sigh and reached for the tiswin; poured them all a cup before he said, “I hear the truth. So! We join the Commacht, no?”

He looked at Jach. “This a great decision you bring us to.”

Jach met his gaze and said earnestly, “The only true decision, my akaman.”

Yazte laughed. “I'll tell all those who complain that you are the culprit, eh? That it was you convinced us to go?”

Jach said, “If you must,” and shrugged his embarrassment.

“Tomorrow, eh?” Yazte looked at Kahteney. “Do we strike camp tomorrow, we can find the Commacht in a day or two.”

The wakanisha nodded and smiled at Jach. “You did well. Perhaps the Lakanti owe you their lives.”

There were already victims: colts taken by the cold, and horses wearied past endurance; oldsters who could not survive the rigors of the road, some babes.

They left them in the trees when trees were available for burial, and in the snow when they could not. When stone was there, they cairned the dead; but most were left alone and bereft of proper ceremony, for whatever scavengers haunted the ice-clad plains to find.

Wolves flanked their way, which was both blessing and curse, for whilst the winter-hungry packs took the weakest horses and the weakest, or bravest, dogs, still they gave assurance there were no Breakers.

For where the Breakers came, nothing lived.

This the dreams Morrhyn had lost as he approached the clan's Wintering Ground now told him were true. The dreams came back as the Commacht moved out from under the aegis of the invaders' send
ings, or perhaps it was that his clan was moved to purpose and, with the word of promise sent out to all the People, the Maker showed a more favorable face. Or perhaps again it was that the clan's belief raised up a bulwark against whatever magicks the Breakers employed. He did not understand how it could be—nor much cared—only that the dreams came back and allowed him to guide the Commacht toward the promise. He knew again where the long, slow column should turn aside to avoid the strangeling beastriders; which draw might shelter their fires; which wood hide them from the searching Breakers; which valley offer them safe progress, where the Breakers not see them, and that was enough for now: must be, for it was all he had.

His dreams did not reveal the outcome of the perilous trek and he supposed that was not yet decided, and could not help but think on those visions he had known in the cave and that one awful image of a possible future in which all the People were slain and only the Breakers remained.

That he tried to ignore, seeking to focus his mind on hope, and on that other image of the promised land; but it remained always there, like a skulking ghost that whispered all was pointless, useless.

Nor could he deny that he was afraid. To dream of danger when only he and Rannach had been threatened was one thing—two men could easily hide—but to conceal the entire clan from the Breakers, that was so large an undertaking, it seemed a near-unbearable weight newly set on his shoulders. But these dark thoughts he kept to himself, and showed the Commacht only a confident face; and when hearts sank he repeated the promise and raised them up. He wished his own might rise, and asked the Maker's forgiveness for his weakness.

They traveled south at first, toward the Lakanti grass, and then swung west, a course that would bring them ever closer to the boundary of their grazing and the Tachyn's.

“To the Meeting Ground?” Chakthi stared at Dohnse from out of eyes opened wide in astonishment. “In such weather?”

Dohnse nodded, his own eyes flicking sidelong from akaman to wakanisha. “That is what Racharran said. Morrhyn says that we can all find a new land there, free of the Breakers. The Maker will take us there.”

“Which can be no bad thing,” Hadduth said, addressing Chakthi. “Eh? These invaders are surely a plague to us all.”

“And the Commacht are gone?” Chakthi frowned, as if the idea were too large to encompass. “Quit their new Wintering Ground now?”

“They struck their lodges even as I left,” Dohnse said. “Had all the messengers not come together, I think they'd have been gone before. Perhaps they waited for us—to give the word.”