The Unfinished Song (Book 5): Wing (33 page)

As if on cue, Umbral appeared in the doorway, with a
slew of split logs strapped to his back.

“Look what your slave has done!” Farla screeched.
She hopped around, holding up the blanket. “She’s torn holes in it!
Look! Look!”

Umbral stacked the wood against a wall.

“Dindi, come with me,” he said. “Bring the
blanket.”

“You’re going to get it now, slave girl!” cackled
Farla. She tossed the blanket at Dindi.

Without a word, Dindi followed Umbral outside. He
had stacked more logs out back. He sat on one now, a casual
position with his elbow on one knee. In his black leather and black
fur cape, he looked like a dark fae lord reigning over his winter
keep.

“Let me see the damage.”

Dindi spread the tapestry over another pile of
stacked wood. Farla had vandalized the tapestry quite
strategically. Several of the loveliest figures were destroyed,
including the Aelfae who had taken flight as a bird.

“I know you didn’t do this, Dindi,” Umbral said.

“I know you know.”

He raised a brow at her.

“Farla is a much less sophisticated liar than you.”
Dindi touched the hole where there had once been a bird. “You told
me this tapestry was about fate, not flight. You told me a single
thread didn’t matter. But it matters when it’s gone, doesn’t it? It
leaves a hole behind that can’t be filled. There are no wings left
in this picture. What is the tapestry about now?”

Umbral touched the hole. Their fingertips met.

“Loss,” he said.

He withdrew his hand.

“I want to do something about Farla and Essi,” Dindi
said.

“Which one did you want me to kill?”

“I’m serious.”

“As was I.” His lips twitched in amusement.

“I have an idea how we might help them both. But I
need your support.”

“How do you do it, Dindi?” Umbral asked. “I’ve seen
Farla bully you these last few days. The names she’s called you,
the grueling chores, far beyond what the rule of hospitality
demands, and now this, destroying your blanket out of petty malice.
And it all seems to roll right off you like water off a swan’s
wings. How can it not bother you?”

“Of course it bothers me. I can’t stand seeing them
tear each other down. They need each other and that’s why they hate
each other. They’re like threads tied up in a knot, unable get
untangled. But without the knot, there’s nothing left but a hole.
They love each other too. As long as you can still love, you aren’t
completely lost.”

“It’s possible to love someone and still destroy
them. One might almost say it’s a prerequisite.”

“Farla blames Essi for hexing her. Essi blames
Farla. Maybe they are both right. Maybe neither is. Maybe you are
half right about fate. Sometimes bad things just happen. One thread
can’t change what has already been woven on the loom. But who says
the same pattern has to continue forever? Will you help me?”

“I don’t want you to be disappointed. People don’t
change.”

“They die. That’s change.”

He smiled slightly. “True.”

“Then what have we to lose? Let me phrase this a
different way. I’m doing this, with or without your help. What do
I
have to lose?”

Because you’re going to kill me anyway
. She
knew she didn’t have to say it out loud. Though they were enemies,
they understood each other at a level deeper than words.

At last, Umbral nodded.

“Very well. I’ll help. Within reason. But as soon as
this prank of yours is done, we must leave.”

Dindi’s heart sank. “I thought it was impossible to
make it through the pass in the winter.”

“It’s dangerous, but waiting may be more dangerous.
I found another…
knot
, I suppose you could call it, a
penumbra, wild death magic, in the forest. It was similar to the
knot we found in the bog that animated the Aelfae mummy, though not
as large.”

“Mercy. Was there an Aelfae…?”

“Fortunately not. But I have been seeing more and
more tendrils of this dark magic the closer we get to Cliffedge. I
fear what is happening there. I fear why they are bringing the
White Lady there.

“Dindi, I know you are only helping me because you
have no choice. I know you hate me. But we are knotted together.
Crazy as it is, we need each other if we are to stop this foul
magic from spreading. You saw it. You know it is
wrong
.”

“I saw your magic as well.” She shuddered.

“Yes,” he said stiffly. “I did what needed to be
done to stop the Aelfae. I will do it again as I must, without
apologies to you or to anyone else. The task of the Deathsworn is
to mete out death, but also to limit the stretching shadow, that it
not swallow the whole world into darkness. Whoever is creating
these penumbral knots is playing with Deathsworn magic, without any
limits. They must be stopped. I’ll need you to try to dance another
Vision.”

“Here? Now?”

“No, not inside the clanhold. Once we are away.”

“Very well. But first we help Farla and her
mother.”

“Why is that so important to you?”

“Do you really care what’s important to me or
why?”

“I don’t ask idle questions, Dindi. I asked.
I
care
.”

She hugged her elbows with her arms, aware of the
sounds of daily toil in the clanhold. Even when they weren’t
weaving, Spider Loom women spent most of their winter working wool:
sorting it, scouring it, combing it, carding it and spinning it on
a distaff. Each step had its own sound and scent. The women worked
snug in their cabins, so she couldn’t see them, but she could hear
the rough
skirtch-skritch
of the brush on the carding stone,
smell the pungent soap used to cleanse the fibers. At first, she
had found the aroma distasteful, but now, as she drew in a deep
breath, trying to find an answer to give to Umbral that wouldn’t
sound big-headed or mush-brained, the scent seemed precious to
her.

I’m the Vaedi. Or should be. Or could be.
Supposedly. If I weren’t far more likely to die in the near future.
I’m supposed to save the White Lady, and save the Aelfae, and maybe
even save the world, but chances are, I won’t even be able to save
myself
.
But maybe I can do this one thing
.
One small
good thing
.

“All my life I’ve been weak and useless,” she said
finally. “More of a burden than a help to those who loved me. I
would just like to help someone, if I can, before….” She shrugged.
“Before the opportunity passes.”

He reached his hand toward her cheek, as if he would
caress her; he leaned forward, as if he might kiss her forehead.
The Penumbra around him, the unnatural abyss that surrounded him
where a Tavaedi had a Chroma, gaped like a hole under her mind. Her
lucidity tottered and almost collapsed into the chasm. Vertigo made
her sway, the shock of swift nausea made her step backward,
involuntarily.

“Don’t touch me!”

She spat out the words without thinking, as pure
self-defense. His open hand clenched. She noticed, even though he
snatched his hand away at the same time. His knuckles whitened in
fists held in tight check against his thighs.

“It hurts me, Umbral,” she said softly. “
You
hurt me. Just by being near me.”

“I know.”

There it was.

“So. Your mysterious plan to help the Blind Woman
and the Dwarf.” He smiled, a genuine, even generous smile, complete
with crinkles at the corners of his eyes; but his fists never
wholly unclenched. “I have no idea what you have in mind or how you
think I can help.”

The men gathered around a raging bonfire, drinking,
swapping fibs, jests and boasts. Tamio had survived another day,
with a kill to notch on his stick, and he had just enough beer in
him to feel expansive toward existence and not yet so much that he
had to piss. The oily peat moss burning in the bonfire added a
pungent flavor to the smoke. Possibly the sly sheep-kissers had
added a few other herbs as well. For medicinal purposes. He
breathed in deeply, enjoying the rush.

Orange Canyon castes did not intermingle as equals.
If it weren’t for his friendship with Vumo, Tamio never would have
been invited to sit around this fire, which was attended by Weaver
men inside the inner wall of the sheepmeet, where the finer tents
were pitched. No Eaglelords visited the sheepmeet, so the Weavers
were the elite here, and happy to boast it. They did not even care
that Tamio had killed one of their tribesmen earlier that evening,
since the warrior who’d fallen had been a Drover. They acted almost
as though they and Tamio shared a common enemy.

“So what do you do if a certain quail evades all
your traps?” Tamio asked Vumo.

“There are more birds in the bush. Just move
on.”

“What if this
particular
quail is the one I
want.”

“Ah,” said Vumo. He took a deep breath of the smoke.
“Nice fire, heh. Maybe you’d better make sure you’re catching her
in your trap, not the other way around.”

“Come, there must be a trick you know that never
fails,” Tamio insisted.

“As a matter of fact…” Vumo leaned forward
confidentially. “There is.”

“Go on, old man. Don’t hold out on me.”

“There’s a whole routine, you understand. Steps,
like in a
tama
. It’s not any single step, but the whole
performance that matters.”

“I understand.”

“First you stake out your target. I gather you’ve
already done that—fine. This works both on strangers and on women
who already know you.”

“What if she hates me?”

“Still works.” Vumo drank deeply. “Still works. If
she is not actually an enemy Tavaedi. Then she might just kill you.
But if she is from an allied tribe or clan, or a neutral one, this
will work. Because the first step is to let her find you terribly
wounded. You’re not really wounded, of course, but you have some
flashy cut, wrapped up, that you let her think is worse than it is.
You were just in a fight, you could tell her you were wounded.”

“I already told her I was fine,” Tamio said
ruefully.

“No problem, just let her think that you lied, from
manly pride. You’re too brave to complain, and so forth. The next
step is to swear her to secrecy. There must be some reason she
can’t tell her family or others about you. For her own protection,
of course. If the enemy knew she helped you, she herself would be
in danger, and so forth. You can really swell this part up, all
about your secret battles with the enemy. Beyond mere duels. You’re
really on a quest to kill the War Chief of the whole enemy tribe or
something. Larger than life, you see?”

“Yes… yes…”

“So you spend the whole day with her, letting her
fuss over you, but really drawing her out, letting her spill her
dreams to you. She’s telling you exactly who to be to please her,
so listen closely and be that man—for the day. By evening, she’ll
be in love with you. At this point, you take out your conquest
sticks and show them to her. The one for women too.”

“But…”

“And you break it. Right there in front of her. Tell
her those dozens of other women, hundreds maybe, they don’t matter.
Not now that you’ve met
her
. You pledge to marry her.”

“But…”

“But you have one final battle. To kill the War
Chief, and so forth. Secret, dangerous. You might never see her
again. But if you survive, you say, you’ll marry her.”

“But I don’t want to marry her,” said Tamio. “I only
want…”

“Of course, and this is where the final step comes
in.” Vumo grinned. “You give her a token. A conch shell works well.
Tell her to blow on it and it will summon you, no matter how far
you travel. Use a bit of magic to make it glow—if she’s not a
Tavaedi you can draw on her aura as you do this, so she can see the
glow it will impress her—to prove that the token is magic. It’s
not, of course, so when she finally blows on it, a few days after
you’re gone, she won’t see the glow. She’ll think you’re dead, and
neither she—nor her male kin, that’s the important bit—will come
looking for you when you don’t show to marry her.”

Vumo laughed heartily. “I’ve used that routine, oh,
a dozen times at least. Works better than a hex.”

“A conch shell,” Tamio repeated. “You used a conch
shell.”

“Usually a conch shell. Once or twice I used a ram’s
horn. Around here that might be easier to get….What’s wrong with
you?”

Tamio stood up. The thick, foul smoke burned his
eyes. He needed to get out of here. He staggered back a step or
two.

“Here boy, watch your step. I thought you could hold
your liquor better than that. Or is it the smoke?”

Vumo took Tamio’s arm to steady him, but Tamio shook
him off with an animal roar. Rage exploded inside him like a log
that finally erupted in sparks after sitting a while in burning
moss.

“Nephew, please…” said Vumo.

“I’m not your nephew!” shouted Tamio. “You’re
nothing to me! I owe you nothing! Speaking of loyalty, whose side
are you on, anyway? Maybe you missed the part where these Orange
Canyon bastards attacked a clan from your own tribe. Maybe you’re
such an ass you just don’t give a muck! Guess what, you dirty old
goat, I
do
care!”

“What is this?” demanded Vumo coldly. “You were
happy enough in my company a cup or two ago. Now you think you can
lecture me on loyalties? You don’t know a damn thing about my
loyalties.”

“Only that you have none.”

Vumo punched him across the jaw. Tamio tripped under
the blow, though he caught himself in a roll instead of sprawling
in the dirt.

“I have one Raven left to break, old man!” Tamio
screamed. He threw the black arrow at Vumo’s feet. “I demand you
meet me in combat!”

“Get out of here, you drunk ass!” said Vumo. “I
won’t kill a stupid pup just because you bark at the bigger
dog.”