The Unfinished Song (Book 5): Wing (4 page)

“It was no victory, I fear. The True Enemy has
deceived my Sister and me both. All of this was but a game for him,
a distraction, while he stole from us what he wanted all
along.”

“My Lady?”

“The White Lady has been taken. Once again, I must
beg your aid to save her.”

“Where has she been taken?”

“It is veiled from me. There is a wound in the
world, and it is growing. It saps my strength; it steals the future
from me. Finnadro, I love my sister, I cannot bear for her to be
harmed. If you love me, find her.”

Vessia’s captors, Vumo (her husband’s brother) and
Amdra (her niece), had put a sack over her head and tied her to a
horse. At first she was so furious, she just wanted to hurt Vumo.
It was hard to bite through the sack, and her hands and feet were
tied together, but she did get in some elbow action. It pleased her
to hear Vumo grunt in pain. He never retaliated, only held her
firmly, stomach down, over the horse in front of him while she
thrashed trying to fling herself off. His horse plodded at a
leisurely pace, equally indifferent to Vessia’s efforts.

“Can’t you ride any faster?” Amdra’s piercing voice
could be heard clearly through the wool sack.

“
She’s making it
difficult.”

Not difficult enough
. Vessia would never
escape this way. Even if she could wriggle off the horse, perhaps
breaking her ankle in the fall, or worse, what then? She couldn’t
untie herself. She’d roll or crawl for a few scoots at most before
they scooped her up again. Wasted fury was no escape plan.

She stopped wiggling. Hopefully, Vumo would think
she was exhausted already because she was old and weak and unable
to fight as well as she used to. That shouldn’t be too much of a
stretch to believe since she
was
exhausted, old, weak and
unable to fight as well as she used to.

For now, she must be docile. Lull their
suspicions.

So far, she had only one thing in her favor, which
was that they were riding horses instead of Amdra’s raptor, Hawk.
If they had been flying, the journey would have taken only a day or
two. Overland, it would take a full turn of moon. If they had to
cross the Boglands, it could take two moons. The longer the
journey, the more chances Vessia had to escape before they took her
to the Orange Canyon tribehold.

She knew who waited for her there. Once back in his
power, she would never escape.

At first she had no idea why Hawk was gone, or how
soon he would be back, but listening to their terse conversations,
she learned that he had been captured alive by the Green Woods
tribe.

Vessia had an idea how she could turn that to her
advantage.

A ragged cheer rose from the throats of the
defending tribesmen as the last of the Orange Canyon warriors fled
the field. In truth, though, there was little to cheer about, Hadi
thought. He had never seen such devastation. There was more blood
in the field than snow, and more prone bodies than men still
standing. The air already thrummed with gathering flies, and the
greedy caws of ravens. He himself was still on his feet, though his
arm ached from a slice so deep he could see the meat.

It was time to gather the wounded and the dead. Hadi
scoured the field for Lost Swan clansmen. First he gathered up the
remnants of Bojo, head and body separately. He found Uncle Logodi
lying on his back, not dead, but groaning with a shattered hip.
Logodi wept when he saw Hadi. They both knew that Logodi would
probably be visiting the Deathsworn. Even if evil fae did not foul
the wound, as they surely would, how could a hunter survive if he
could not walk? Hadi carried his uncle to where the wounded were
gathering under the direction of the local Tavaedies.

When he went back to the field, he found Yodigo.
Dead. Worse than dead. The Raptor attack had ravaged him, turning
his corpse into a monstrosity.
Oh, Jensi, I’m so sorry
. How
would he tell her?

At least she will never see what they did to her
husband
, Hadi thought as he packed the entrails back into the
corpse as best he could. There was nothing he could do to restore
the shredded limbs.
And I will never tell her
.

They had won. But what a price.

Hadi heard footsteps behind him and swung his spear
wildly, almost decapitating a Green Woods tribesman in fur legwals.
Hadi didn’t recognize him.

“Do you want help?” the man asked.

“Uh…”

“I’m Paro.”

“Right.”

“We fought together.”

“Right.” Hadi rubbed his head. “It’s all kind of a
blur.”

“I was on four legs at the time.”

“Oh. Oh!”
Muck and mercy
. “The wolf.”

“Yes.” Paro sounded bitter. “The wolf.”

“I, uh, owe you a lifedebt I think. Um. Maybe more
than one.”

“Give me your sister in marriage.”

Hadi stared at him.

“I’m kidding,” said Paro, with no smile.

Hadi laughed weakly.

“I can help you place the body in the jar.” Paro
gestured to the dismembered pieces of Yodigo.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Hadi said, “But I
think Jensi would prefer I handle the body of her husband rather
than a…you know. Please don’t kill me.”

Paro showed no immediate signs of rabidity. He stood
there a moment, then walked away. Hadi sighed in relief. Then he
looked down again at the tangled intestines and splattered brains
at his feet, and wished he could have taken Paro’s offer.

The other clans gathered their dead and wounded too.
Then those who were able helped gather the enemy dead, since they
could not be left to fester either, bitter foes though they had
been. The Tavaedies moved amongst the tribesfolk as they travailed,
giving directions and providing organization.

Hadi helped other warriors place the dead into large
jars and roll them through the woods to a Deathsworn menhir. The
wounded who were past saving had to be brought to the same place,
and left in rows. The Deathsworn would give them mercy. Figures in
black already waited there, like ravens ready to fight over offal
from a hunter’s kill. Hadi shuddered. He was careful not to look
directly at them, or go anywhere near them. Some said that even to
touch a Deathsworn meant you had to join them.

He returned to the battlefield again, but there were
no more bodies to carry. A female Tavaedi dressed in pine branches
approached Hadi. “You look as though you were about to collapse,”
she chided him. “Go to the Rainbow Labyrinth Tavaedi in yellow,
over there—and have him take a look at that arm.”

Hadi clutched his arm dazedly. “There are others
more injured than I. It can wait.”

She pursed her lip, but couldn’t really argue with
that. “Then perhaps you should go with the others returning to the
tribehold and have your womenfolk tend you.”

“Can’t,” mumbled Hadi, not quite meeting her
eyes.

“Ah. How many have you killed, little nephew?”

“Not sure.” His head was still fuzzy. “Just one, I
think, but I chopped off the arm of another, and though he ran with
his comrades, he might yet die.” Even magic couldn’t keep a man
alive after so much blood had poured out of him, Hadi knew with
sick certainty.

“‘
We’ll say ‘two,’ then, to be
safe,” the Tavaedi advised him. “Go wait outside the sweat lodge.
That’s where we will perform the Purification Pattern.”

“I shouldn’t…near you.…I’m all mucky…” Hadi said,
not very clearly. What he meant was that he should not be around
women until after he cleansed himself of the stain of murder.

“I’m a Tavaedi, nephew, I can’t be contaminated by
you, fear not. We will start the Pattern soon.”

He agreed he would go. However, he paused to recover
his spear first. Like his dirk, it was part of his birthright, one
of the few objects he would take with him when he left Lost Swan to
join his bride’s clan. He would need to notch it with his
kills.

The tribehold walls were broken now. The trees had
been ripped out, the stumps were charred. In one spot, even the
boulders had been chewed to pieces. He climbed over the rubble.

He finally found the other warriors awaiting
purification. Most of them leaned against the curved outer wall of
the sweat lodge, waiting their turn to go inside. Tavaedies let in
batches of men, a dozen at a time. At this rate, the ceremony would
eat the remainder of the day. Hadi sat on a rock. He drowsed and
then jerked awake when something brushed him. He shouted in alarm,
still half in a nightmare, thinking that the Orange Canyon warriors
had returned and he had to kill another one who would not stop
staring at him with unclosed eyes.

“Hadi, Hadi, it’s just me!” said Tamio, who had
touched his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Tamio.” Hadi took quick, deep breaths. “What are
you doing here? I thought you weren’t in the battle. Did you kill
someone too?”

“Yes,” said Tamio, with a frowny quirk of his mouth.
He had changed clothes since Hadi had last seen him. Now Tamio wore
blue wool legwals and tunic, and carried a white jar painted with
blue waves instead of a basalt club. “Nine notches for my Bullshead
Staff. But for now I’m here to help them dance Blue. I have that
Chroma too.” Seeing Hadi’s confusion, he added, “In the
Purification Pattern.”

Hadi held up his hands, which were still grimy with
blood and dirt. “I had a man’s guts in my hands, Tamio,” he said
plaintively. “What kind of dance can wash that off?”

“Hadi…”

“Will your dance make me forget what it felt like to
crush a man’s eyeball with my thumb?”

“No.”

“Will your dance make me stop seeing that Raptor
tear apart my best friend?”

“No.”

“Then what good is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“I didn’t want to kill them,” Hadi said. “I never
wanted to kill anybody.” Yet if he hadn’t, they would have taken
Jensi, Tibi and Dindi and other girls and hurt them in bad ways.
“But I’m not sorry I killed them. I’m not sorry.”

Tamio knelt by him and took his hands. Tamio poured
warm water, melted snow, over Hadi’s hands and washed them.

Clearing corpses and purifying killers consumed the
whole day. Tamio helped with both tasks. Though grueling work, he
welcomed the labor, which spared him from thought. He wasn’t ready
to think yet. The womenfolk meanwhile had kept busy restoring order
to the tribehold as best they could despite the destruction. A few
of the subterranean homes were intact, but many had been pulled out
at the root. These were caved in with dirt and unlivable. The women
raised tents for all those who were roofless. Only the captives
were not given tents. They were bound to stakes outside, next to
fires, but otherwise untended. Many died of their wounds, or the
cold, overnight, and these were simply carried to the Deathsworn
menhirs at dawn to join the rest of the dead.

The remainder of the captives had to be dealt with,
however, and Tamio was curious to see what the Green Woods custom
was. They did not keep slaves, or redeem hostages, nor did they
make human sacrifices. If they didn’t keep them, sell them or kill
them, then what? He heard mention of a “chase” and wondered if they
fed them to the wolves.

There was also the matter of deathdebts. Each clan
had its share. Broken Basket, Tamio’s clan, alone had seven.
Kemla’s clan, Full Basket, had another eleven and Hadi and Dindi’s
clan, Lost Swan, had fifteen, since so many of them had made the
journey to Green Woods tribelands. This was a devastating blow to
so small a clan. Their elders, who had stayed behind in the Corn
Hills, would not be able to rebuild without strong men. Lost Swan
was now a clan of widows and orphans.

Tamio went with Hadi to break the news to Jensi
about Yodigo’s death.

There was nothing in that task he relished.

Jensi was not the only woman, or even the only new
bride, who singed her bangs and painted her face like a white skull
that day. Many Green Woods clans were just as small, or smaller
than Lost Swan had been, and a higher proportion of their womenfolk
had joined the battle as warriors. Whole clans were essentially
gone, reduced to a few toothless elders, with none to pay their
deathdebts. War Chief Nann counted the dead for these.

The Green Woods tribesfolk made special arrows,
black and fletched with crow’s or raven’s feathers, which they
called Raven’s Arrows or just Ravens. One arrow for each
deathdebt.

The next day, everyone met in the Great Lodge. It
was a solemn assembly, attended by many widows (and a few widowers)
with hair streaked in ash and faces painted like skulls. War Chief
Nann stood in front of a huge quiver of Raven Arrows. One by one
she called out the names of the dead. She gave out the arrows for
her own tribe first, many dozens of them, then the Rainbow
Labyrinth arrows.

“Who will pay the deathdebt of Barigo of Broken
Basket?” Nann asked.

Tamio stood up. “I will.”

He claimed three in all, of his clan’s seven.

More names called, more Ravens distributed. Kemla
took one, Tamio noticed.

“Who will pay the deathdebt of Yodigo of Lost
Swan?”

Hadi stood up. “I will.”

He walked forward to take the Raven Arrow from
Nann.

When he sat down again, his sister Jensi squeezed
his hand.

Only days ago, Tamio would have spoken for Yodigo.
He exchanged a sober nod with Hadi.

But then Nann asked about the next dead warrior from
Lost Swan and Hadi spoke for that one too…and the next…and the
next.

Tamio shook his head at him, but Hadi ignored
him

Hadi stood for every one of his clan’s dead.
Fifteen.

Not all the Ravens were claimed. Some clans had not
enough living to speak for them.

War Chief Nann said, “We will not let any of our
dead or the dead of our allies go un-avenged. I will see that the
other arrows find heroes to fight for them. All those with Ravens
may join our raid into Orange Canyon, where we will make them pay
in blood for the woe they have visited upon us!”