Storm Bride (27 page)

“I say, let us press our victory to the end. When the voice of Golgoyat came to our father, he did not tell us when we should cease to war. And while Golgoyat fights, so do the Yakhat! We are warriors. We don’t listen to witches weaving tales.”

“But Tuulo,” Keshlik said quietly.

“What about Tuulo?” Juyut’s voice dropped, and he leaned closer to the fire to look Keshlik in the face, wearing an expression of pleading. “Brother, I weep with you for her death. But one man’s dead wife does not mean that the Yakhat have to turn back from battle like rabbits.”

“One man’s wife might not mean that.” Keshlik raised his voice. Golgoyat help him, but he would have to convince them now if he had any hope of bringing the Yakhat horde to the peace table with him. “But most of you warriors here have wives, no? Will you give them up so that you can continue war? Will you drive a spear through their bellies when they ask you to come home to them and live peaceably?”

There was silence.

“Good,” Keshlik continued. “Listen, men of the Yakhat, children of Golgoyat: Tuulo’s death was a sign. She was the victim of war as surely as are the men being devoured by worms on the fields behind us. And this is the meaning of the sign: the spear that we have carried against our enemies since the Sorrow of Khaat Ban is thrust into our own hearts. If we continue in this manner, we create only sorrow after sorrow, and our wounds are neither healed nor repaid. The only way to win the battle is to cease from it. Let Golgoyat return to his bride. Let Khou bless this place as her home.”

“No,” Juyut said. “No. This is the witch’s lie. Golgoyat is a warrior. The Yakhat are warriors. If we cease to fight, we die. The way you’re offering us is the way of death.”

“So what do you want then, Juyut?” Keshlik said. “Are you going to take your warriors and fight? Without the elders, without your clans, without your women, without the herds and the yurts and all the rest of the Yakhat?”

Juyut stiffened and raised his chin. He regarded Keshlik with a tempestuous glare. “I’ll lead the Yakhat horde. If you’re offering to lead the Yakhat into surrender, then I’ll lead them into victory.”

“What?” Keshlik’s words thundered out of his mouth in equal parts fury and dismay. “Are you challenging my command?”

He briefly seemed to waver, his spear quivering in his hands. “Yes,” he said at last. “If the chiefs will follow me.”

Argument broke out at once all around the circle. Bhaalit shouted over the bickering of the elders, trying to restore order.

Keshlik stood silently, watching his brother. Juyut’s eyes met his, his gaze as hard as a spearpoint.

Bhaalit’s voice boomed across the council. “Let us not bicker like children! We can discuss this like free men. First, let every tribe declare who it stands with. Since Keshlik speaks here as leader of the war band and the chosen of Golgoyat, I will speak for the Khaatat in his place. And I declare the Khaatat for Keshlik.”

The census went around the circle. Six tribes were with Keshlik. Five were with Juyut. Many of the chiefs added arguments of their own, pointing out Keshlik’s century of leadership and his support by Saotse, or countering that Juyut was also a son of Keishul and an accomplished warrior. Few minds were changed.

Keshlik awaited the words Bhaalit would have to say next with dread.

Bhaalit shot Keshlik a heavy glance, his mouth pulled down into a sorrowful frown. He raised his palm and addressed the chiefs. “Since we are divided, shall we allow Juyut to challenge Keshlik?”

The chiefs assented.

“And will every one of us recognize and submit our warriors to the victor?”

Again, assent came from all around the circle.

Bhaalit sighed deeply and turned slowly to Keshlik. He lowered his voice, as if speaking to Keshlik alone. “And do you accept the challenge, Keshlik?”

Keshlik’s mouth was dry. Dread of this very outcome had grown from the moment that Juyut had opposed him. If he wished to lay aside his spear, he would have to take it up one last time. He scraped his tongue against the roof of his mouth and said, “I do.”

“And Juyut, you will abide by it?”

Juyut nodded.

“Then we have agreed,” Bhaalit said, disappointment shadowing his face. He looked from Keshlik to Juyut and back in bewilderment. “If Juyut does not back down. We meet at dawn.”

Saotse spoke up from where she had retreated to the fringes of the circle when he wasn’t watching. “What shall I tell the envoy?”

The Yivrian prince still waited in the same spot, regarding the arguing warriors with wide eyes and a nervous posture.

Keshlik shook his head. “Tell him that his fate, like all of ours, will be decided tomorrow.”

Keshlik sat at a fire, across from Bhaalit. The logs crackled, and the sparks ascended to Golgoyat in the windless night. Somewhere nearby, the witch and the mother were sleeping in a tent, together with Keshlik’s son. He had almost gone to wake them, to see the child one last time, but he restrained himself. Such a visit would only make the night more difficult, and he needed to keep his composure. If he did not let himself dwell on farewells, then there was a chance that the farewells would not be final.

A twig snapped at the edge of the fire’s light. Bhaalit immediately leaned forward and had his hand on his spear.

Juyut appeared, his hands empty. “I’ve come alone. I want to talk to my brother.”

Keshlik started to get up to meet Juyut alone, but Bhaalit waved him down.

“No,” Bhaalit said. “I’ll go. Juyut, take my place.” He rose and disappeared into the dark, leaving Keshlik and Juyut alone.

Neither of them said anything for a while.

“I don’t want to fight you,” Juyut said.

“Then don’t. Take back your challenge.”

“It’s too late for that. I cannot take it back without shame.”

Keshlik murmured, “Are you still young enough to care about shame? I have more important cares.” He gestured toward the tent where his son slept.

“Of course I care.” Juyut seemed wounded. He searched out Keshlik’s expression, his own reflecting dismay and distress. “It seems that you don’t care. You care neither for your own honor nor for that of the Yakhat.”

Keshlik threw a stone into the fire. “Honor will not save my child or bring back my wife. I desire peace. The Powers desire peace.”

“The Powers.” Juyut spat. “That is witch’s speech. Golgoyat is the only Power that the Yakhat have ever needed.”

Keshlik studied Juyut. “You actually believe that. That is the root of all our trouble. Those of you who do not remember the Bans have no memory of the marriage of Golgoyat and Khou. You have no knowledge of what it would mean, for them to wed again.”

“That time is past. The Yakhat are warriors now. We cannot go back to what we were.”

“We’ll find that out, soon enough.”

Juyut circled the fire and came to sit next to Keshlik. “I came to urge you to reconsider. The Yakhat should not be divided.”

“And if I said those same words to you, would they change your mind?” Keshlik plucked a blade of grass from the ground and threw it into the fire, watching it bloom in flame, then fade into a writhing black line, then disappear. “You can no more change my mind than save the grass from the fire, Juyut. Even if I cannot make peace, I will not ride into battle again. Of all of the plunder of a thousand raids, Tuulo was the only prize I truly wanted. You know that when I first brought my spear to her yurt, she made me wait outside for three days before letting me in?”

Juyut chuckled. “You’ve told me the story.”

“Then maybe you’ll understand why I have no more desire to fight.” He hung his head. He swallowed a sob, but he could not restrain the tears which leaked from his eyes.

Juyut reached over and brushed the tears from his cheeks. “Brother. Why are we suddenly on opposite sides, when we have fought so long as one?”

I wish we did not have to be.
He could not say it, though. Instead he swatted Juyut’s hand away. “Leave me alone. If you cannot rescind your challenge to me, then don’t make this harder than it must be.”

Juyut reluctantly rose to his feet. He crossed to the far side of the fire, hesitated, then turned back to Keshlik. “I love you, Brother.”

Keshlik covered his eyes. “Just go, Juyut.”

He left.

Keshlik was alone with the fire and the darkness. He looked toward the tent where Tuulik slept, then to the place where Juyut had been. “I love you, Brother,” he whispered.

Chapter 33

Uya

S
aotse woke Uya from her
sleep. Uya would sleep the whole day if she could, if Saotse weren’t shaking her shoulder and repeating her name insistently.
   
Wake up, Uya. Please, Uya. It’s important.”

Of course it was important. Uya had experienced nothing but important events lately. And perhaps—probably—this important thing was more important than claiming a precious hour of rest while the baby slept. “What do you want, Saotse?”

She opened her eyes. The light of dawn poured in the door of her tent.

“Come to the battleground. And bring the child. In case… Just bring the child.”

“Why?”

“Keshlik and Juyut are going to duel.”

Uya blinked and allowed her eyes to take in the light while her ears absorbed Saotse’s words. “Who is Juyut?”

“Keshlik’s brother.”

“Oh, him. Why would they duel?”

Saotse voice was heavy and scored as if by gravel. “Because Juyut will not consent to peace.” She explained to Uya what had transpired while Uya and Tuulik slept.

Saotse’s story jarred Uya into alertness, and she rose to her feet. Tuulik was tightly swaddled and lying on a blanket on the ground.

Uya touched his nose and brushed her finger against his cheek. “So you want me to come to the duel. What am I supposed to do?”

“Just be there. Keshlik will want to see his son. And if it comes to that, perhaps Juyut will pity us if he sees you carrying the child.”

“Pity us? You mean…”

“If Juyut wins, I don’t expect either of us will see tomorrow.”

Uya looked down at Tuulik again then reached for the leather thongs that would bind him safely to her back—a gift from Dhuja.
I should be afraid
, she thought as she bound the lowermost straps above her hips. But she seemed to have run out of fear.
Too many days in the wolf’s mouth, too much death all around me. I want to sleep, and I want to stay with the baby.
Everything else was a matter too distant and unimportant for her to waste her thoughts on.

“I’m coming,” she said. “Just give me a moment.”

Dawn spilled like yellow wine across the battlefield. The grass was bent with dew that soaked Uya’s and Saotse’s leggings as they strode to the place of the duel. They were among the last to arrive. The Yakhat had already formed a ring around the designated place, though they parted to let Saotse and Uya through, tongues clicking with gossip when they saw the Yakhat child bound to Uya’s back.

They emerged into the inside ring where Keshlik and the chiefs of his party were waiting. At the opposite end of the ring, Juyut crouched, five chiefs standing near him. The warriors who fenced the bounds of the arena with their spears were subdued and somber.

Keshlik greeted Saotse with a few words, and he bowed briefly to Uya. She nodded in response. He said something to Saotse.

She turned to Uya. “He asks if you are well, and he thanks you for coming.”

Uya nodded. “I am well.” What else could she say? Nothing seemed to fit the weight of the morning.

Juyut stripped to the waist and took a few strides toward the center of the ring. He carried a bronze spear in his right hand and an obsidian knife on his belt. A moment later, Keshlik took off his tunic and moved forward, similarly armed. He called out to the chiefs across the field from him in a long, sonorous speech.

“He asks whether they’ll abide by the terms of the duel and follow whoever wins, whether to peace or to war,” Saotse translated. She paused to listen. “They agree. Now he repeats the question to the rest of the Yakhat warriors.”

A dreary thunder of agreement sounded from all around them. Tuulik began to cry.

Clucking her tongue, Uya released the child from his binding, unlaced her blouse, and tucked him close to nurse.

“The battle is starting,” Saotse said.

Uya looked up. Keshlik was watching Tuulik nurse, and she caught his gaze. His face was stricken and bereaved, like a man who knew he was about to die. For a moment, Uya pitied him.

He looked away from her. He raised his spear to the ready, and advanced toward his brother. Uya turned her back to the duel and cast her gaze down at the nursing child.

“Won’t you watch the battle?” Saotse asked.

“No,” Uya answered. “This is more important.”

Behind her, wood met wood. Bronze tore flesh. The watching warriors gasped and flinched. The sounds of fighting went on. But in front of her, lovely Tuulik suckled happily at her breast, his eyes closed. A drop of milk glistened on his cheek like a pearl. Uya wiped the milk away, then brushed the tips of her fingers through his wispy hair, as fine and gauzy as a spiderweb.

“Don’t be afraid, little one,” she whispered. “Your father is fighting for you.”

But why would he be afraid? He knew nothing other than his mother’s voice and the taste of her breast. She cooed and rocked him gently, and he continued to nurse.

She looked over her shoulder. If Tuulik was not afraid, she had no reason to be, either.

The two men still stood in the center of the arena. Both were bloodied. One of them—at first glance, she couldn’t tell which it was—had suffered a major gash along his thigh, and his blood ran down his leg and soaked the ground. She had to look twice to recognize Keshlik. Both of their expressions were twisted by pain, and their faces were marred by sweat and blood.

Keshlik was limping, his movements with the injured leg hesitant and feeble, while Juyut danced outside of his reach. Keshlik prodded forward with the point of his spear, but Juyut darted aside. Juyut circled, looking for the place to strike.

She switched Tuulik to her other breast.

A gasp and a roar passed through the Yakhat horde.

Uya looked up. Keshlik was on his back, with Juyut sprawled atop him. Juyut’s hand was curled around the haft of his knife, and the tip of the blade had entered Keshlik’s side. Neither of them moved.

Perhaps she was going to die today, after all. She hoped that Tuulik got enough to nurse, first.

One of the warriors stirred. At first it seemed to be Juyut, rising from atop his elder brother. But then Keshlik’s arm flexed. He put his hand over Juyut’s on the haft of the knife. An agonized groan rent the silence as Keshlik pulled the knife from his side. Only a finger’s width of the blade had entered, Uya saw with relief. He cast the knife aside and clapped his hand over the trickle of blood from his side.

Then he pushed Juyut from atop him, and Uya could see at last how the warriors had fallen: Juyut had leapt forward to plant his knife, but he had fallen onto the point of Keshlik’s spear. The spear was broken in two, the spearhead buried in Juyut’s ribs. The beam of the spear was still in Keshlik’s hand.

Keshlik rose to his knees, visibly shaking with the effort. He looked down at his brother, then at the broken spear in his hand. He hurled the haft aside with a throat-rending curse. Then he lay his head on Juyut’s chest and wept.

The Yakhat were silent.

“That’s enough death.” Uya tucked Tuulik into the crook of her arm and strode into the arena.

“What are you doing?” Saotse cried after her.

Uya ignored it. She found the beam of Keshlik’s spear in the grass, picked it up, and walked over to him.

She touched his shoulder. He looked up, startled. His face was a ruin, splattered with blood and marred by tears, his eyes bloodshot with grief. She showed him the portion of the broken spear that she had taken, then touched the splinters bound to the bronze spearhead in Juyut’s chest.

“I’m taking these,” she said. “As you offered them to me.”

He showed no sign of comprehension.

“Do you understand? I am taking your spear. We will marry, and our people will be at peace.”

A moment passed in silence. Then he nodded.

Saotse appeared at her shoulder, then the Yakhat chiefs came, speaking to Keshlik. Tuulik began to fuss, and Uya opened her blouse again and gave him her nipple.

Exhaustion and relief flooded though her, and she knelt on the grass, cradling Tuulik against her belly. She would let the rest of them worry about terms and truces. She had done her part, and now she would rest.

A wind came out of the east, blowing gently toward where the dead rested. “Chaoare, carry my words to my mother and Nei and the rest of my
enna
,” she prayed. “Tell them that I am a mother now, though not to the child they expected. Tell them that I miss them, but that I am not alone. I helped make peace. And when it’s time, I’ll repair the totems of our
enna
and raise them for their memory again.”