The Unfinished Song (Book 5): Wing (15 page)

Warm blood flowed over Vessia’s back and chest.

She was dizzy… damaged… dying.

Good
. Better to eat one’s fill of death than
starve for freedom.

Night was falling. Hadi knew he should return to the
tribehold before dark. Instead, he scoured the yard around the
Deathsworn menhir, gathering every bit of cut and torn clothing he
could find. Dindi had been here, but what had happened to her? Had
she been brought here dead or alive? Had she left here whole or in
pieces?

A shuffle behind him frightened him so much he
almost pissed his legwals. He tried to whirl around and leap and
raise his spear at the same time, and somehow he tripped and fell
on his belly, sliding on the snow a good arm’s length before he
came to rest in front of two boots.

Muck and mercy, let it not be the Deathsworn
returned
, he thought as he followed those boots up a long,
lanky body to an angry face.

“Uh, hello Finnadro.” Hadi grinned with relief.

“This area is taboo,” Finnadro said sternly. He
noticed the cloth bunched in Hadi’s hands. “Were you robbing the
dead?”

“No, uncle!” Hadi scrambled to his feet. “I was
looking for my clan sister. I found pieces of her garments, but no
sign of her.”

“Is she dead?”

“That’s what I can’t figure out. She was not among
the dead or wounded on the battlefield. Neither I nor any of my kin
prepared her body for the Deathsworn. I didn’t even know about this
place. We took all the other bodies to a different black stone. So
why were her clothes here?”

Finnadro squatted and traced something on the ground
with one finger. He moved to and fro around the menhirs.

“I wish you had not disturbed the ground.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I can still read the prints. Whoever made them took
no trouble to hide his actions. There was a man and a woman and one
horse. I think he carried her to the rock, but she walked away from
it. See the heel mark? She was barefoot but still alive. Then she
put on boots. See this scuffle where the bare prints mingle with
the boot marks? There was another group as well. A woman and two
men. They came from this side. Then both groups left together.”

Finnadro stood up slowly.

He looked frightened.

Anything bad enough to frighten a fellow like
Finnadro was enough to make Hadi want to hibernate.

“I know who was here,” said Finnadro. “I have met
this man once before.”

“Who was it?”

“I thought he was a Rogue Deathsworn. But he is
something much worse. He is Lady Death’s Henchman.” Finnadro closed
his eyes a moment. “What was your clan sister’s name?”

“Dindi of Lost Swan.”

“I know her.”

“Yes, Uncle. She gave you and the White Lady shelter
that night and got us all attacked. Typical of Dindi, I’m
afraid.”

“She was also the first to change colors during the
War Dance,” Finnadro said. “I thought the White Lady did that,
but….” His frown deepened. “None of this is a coincidence. There is
a Pattern here, but I have too few threads to weave the Vision.
Dindi is alive, but I fear she is in terrible danger.”

“Oh, please, please don’t tell me that.”

“I’m sorry, nephew.”

“Why? What would Lady Death’s Henchman want with
poor Dindi?”

“The Deathsworn have no power of their own. But they
do have the ability to leach the power from others. They must renew
their strength by stealing the aura from other people. Most of them
do this during their work with the dying, as part of their
permitted tasks. But a few go rogue. They use their dark powers for
their own pleasure.

“This man… I do not know if he works for his own or
for his Lady’s pleasure. All I know is that he gathers his strength
through murder and torture. He has killed…many.”

“Then why didn’t he kill her?”

Finnadro looked at Hadi with pity. “Do you really
want to know?”

“No. Yes.” Hadi gulped. “I have to.”

“About five moons ago, shortly before I traveled to
the Corn Hills, I was on my way to the Rainbow Labyrinth tribehold
to liberate the White Lady from her kinsman. I came across a body.
It had been…mutilated. While still alive. I won’t disgust you with
the details. I followed the track and found more bodies. The last
victim I found was still alive—a woman. She had been raped and
burned and tied…. I tried to rescue her but….” Finnadro rubbed the
back of his neck. “I was left for dead. I actually don’t know why I
survived.”

“You think he took Dindi to torture her to death?”
Hadi’s voice squeaked.

“We can hope not. He does not torture
all
his
victims. I found others he had merely killed.”

“Wonderful! That’s mucking wonderful! Maybe she
won’t be tortured to death, maybe she’ll just be killed!”

Hadi’s throat closed and he panted too fast. The
whole forest seemed to bend in on him, and he couldn’t breathe.
Finnadro patted his back.

“Nephew, breathe deep. Take courage.”

“Courage.” Hadi tried to laugh but it came out more
like a sob. His nets came up empty in River Courage. “How can I
save her? I can’t even hunt one boy in the Chase to pay a single
deathdebt. How can I stop the Henchman of Lady Death herself?”

“You can’t,” said Finnadro. “This is not your task.
It is mine. Go back to the tribehold. Join the revenge raid against
Orange Canyon. I will be traveling in that direction as well, but
on my own mission: to hunt down the Henchman of the Black Lady, and
to save your kinswoman before he murders her. If I do save her, I
will find you and return her to you.”

Hadi pressed his lips together. He was ashamed at
how relieved he felt that this burden, too, would not be placed on
his shoulders. He knelt before Finnadro.

“Wolf Hunter, if you can save my clan sister, I will
find some way to repay you the lifedebt. So I swear.”

Finnadro put his hand on Hadi’s shoulder. “I will
save her or avenge her. So I swear.”

Tamio waited at the burnt out site of the kraal. The
others, some two septs of Green Woods warriors matched by an equal
number of Rainbow Labyrinth, were already there, though only a few
of the latter readied horses. Lacking horses, most would walk.

Kemla was the last to show up and as Tamio expected,
she was loaded down with bags. He rolled his eyes. Tamio had two
horses, his own Clipiclop, and another. Without a word, he grabbed
Kemla’s bags from her and slung them over the riding blanket on the
second horse.

“How many horses are you taking?” asked Kemla.

“The second one is for you.” He grinned at her.

“Are you insane? I had enough riding to last three
generations. I never want to sit on a horse again.”

“You don’t want to travel with the slowpokes, do
you?”

“I prefer to walk,” she declared haughtily.

“Suit yourself, Kemla.” With a laugh, he leaped on
Clipiclop’s back and kicked the horse into a canter. The second
horse, on a lead rope tied to the hoop around its neck, followed.
The mud they kicked up splattered her legwals.

Tamio reined in the horses and waited for Kemla to
catch up with him.

She did. And kept on walking, right past him,
pointedly ignoring him. He gave his mount a kick.

“Mount the horse, Kemla.”

“I will when I feel like it.”

“Feel like it soon.”

“I do not roster my day by your whims, Tamio,” she
sniffed.

“Mount the horse.”

“Let me alone.”

“Just mount the horse.”

“Leave me alone, Tamio!”

Heads swiveled to watch them. If she thought she
could embarrass him by raising her voice, she didn’t know him.

“How can I leave you alone when we are traveling
together?” Tamio shouted back. “Get on the stupid horse!”

“Never!”

Tamio dismounted and grappled with Kemla, as if in a
dance move, except that he ended his steps by tossing her bodily
over the second horse. Her arms and legs dangled over either side
as if she were a rolled blanket.

A very wiggly rolled blanket. She kicked and
squealed and cursed Tamio.

The horses had had enough. They spooked. Kemla’s
horse reared. Both equines dashed off, out of sight around a bend
in the dirt path through the trees.

Tamio broke her fall. The pair of them ended up in
the dirt, Tamio sprawled on his bum, with Kemla on top of him, her
breasts pressed against his chest.

She sat up and began to pound him with her fists.
Hard. “You oaf! You almost got me killed!”

“Ow!” Tamio grabbed her wrists and pinned them
together. Fortunately, he was bigger than she was. “Don’t do
that.”

“Let me go!”

“Make me,” he challenged, grinning.

Fiery henna patterns cross-hashed her hands, snaked
up her arms. Arms. She had dyed her hair flame red. Exotic. It
suited her warm skin, and spicy scent, although he preferred her
hair night black, full of secrets. He imagined sinking into her
heat. It excited him. Everyone else had already left, so she
couldn’t complain about the audience. He rolled over her, pressed
her against her own rucksack. He needed to slide into her, right
here, right now…

“No more games,” he said. “No bets, no deals, none
of that pit muck this time. I’ve decided to make you mine.”

“You’ve
decided
?
You’ve
decided?”

“You want me. Why hide it?”

“You are the most arrogant, bloat-headed—”

Tamio shut her up with kisses. He kissed her until
she kissed him back, until she buckled and moaned for him, until he
had to inhale or pop like corn in her heat.

“Told you so,” he said.

She jabbed her folded elbows hard into his gut.

“Ow!” He let her go and rolled away, trying to
recapture his breath.

He thought she’d made her point already, so he
wasn’t paying attention, and didn’t see the spear. He heard the
buzz of whipped air, then his head exploded with pain. She’d
smacked him in the head with it.

She prodded him in the chest with the stone-tip. “I
should kill you now.”

“I’m not an Orange Canyon warrior, you damn
she-wolf.”

His ears still hissed. He shook his head like a wet
dog, but that only made it worse.

“If you had been, I would have aimed lower,” Kemla
said. She prodded him hard enough that the spear drew blood. “Did
you cast a love hex on me?”

He laughed. “You have it that bad?”

She tried to smack him with the spear again, but he
rolled to his feet. “Stop! There’s no hex.”

“Keep your paws off me, or I’ll kill you.”

“You are a very vicious young woman.”

“And don’t forget it.” Kemla gestured to the
distinct lack of horses in their vicinity. “Look at what your
fooling around has done! Everyone has left already. They’ve
probably already spotted the journey omen without us.
You
chased off my horse. Go catch it now. Or do you expect me to walk
all the way?”

Every journey begged a journey omen. That was the
tradition among Hadi’s people, though the Green Woods tribesfolk
laughed when they heard it. Nomadic during all the warm months,
they only sought omens when they planned to remain in one spot for
an extended time. A staying-put omen.

For Hadi and other farming folk from Rainbow
Labyrinth clans, the first stretch of their journey toward Orange
Canyon was fraught with anxiety. They all kept alert for a glimpse
of an animal which could either consecrate or doom their entire
quest for revenge. Tamio hopped from foot to foot, excited as a
little boy on his first hunt, hoping to win the honor of spotting
the omen animal. Kemla took interest solely because she knew it
would annoy Tamio if she outdid him. The dozen or so other Rainbow
Labyrinth travelers tilted and turned their heads, noses a-quiver
like squirrels. Only Jensi showed no interest in the omen or the
journey. She stared at her own shuffling toes, as if the only omens
she could expect on this journey were worms.

Hadi spotted a beast peeking from the woods at the
war party, but he was so horrified, he didn’t say anything, as if,
by not naming it, he could pretend it away. Maybe somebody else
would see another, better omen.

How often did that happen? Did people ignore the
true omens of their journey? Did ignoring omens ever fool fate?

Unfortunately, Tamio also saw the beast. “Look! A
wolf!”

It wasn’t a wolf for long. As the beast trotted
toward them, causing Hadi’s heart to jump into his throat and his
boots to scuff, as if of their own accord, back a step or two (he
bumped into Tamio), the fur shimmered and sparkled and shifted to
legwals on a bare-chested man with shaggy hair and an unshaven
face.

Paro.
Does that count as an omen animal?
Hadi
wondered.

“I’m not an animal,” Paro said.

I guess not
.

“Too bad,” said Tamio. “Any totem of the enemy
tribe, a bird or sheep, would be muck luck for us. A wolf, a true
wolf, any totem of Green Woods or of Rainbow Labyrinth, would be a
good luck. You’d have been a good omen.”

“Too bad,” said Paro, unsympathetically. “Find
another omen.”

Paro did not move toward Jensi. He did not even
greet her out loud. He only joined the group of walkers in a casual
way. He did look once at her, a deliberate coup d’oeil, but after
he had scratched whatever question itched him, he did not repeat
it. She didn’t return the look or directly acknowledge his
presence. Yet Hadi knew she was aware of Paro, and annoyed. Her
posture, which had sagged, snapped straight. Her chin climbed
another rung of air.

He didn’t like to see Jensi annoyed—honestly, no one
liked to see Jensi annoyed, she could be as sharp as Gramma
Sullana—but he couldn’t help thinking it was better for her to be
defiant and proud than morose. Too bad it took Paro’s stupid
grinning face to bring out the change.