Foxfire (93 page)

Keirith rose and opened his arms to his brother. “Please help me,” he whispered. “I can't do this without you.”

He felt Callie nod, although his shoulders continued to shake. Then his brother straightened. Callused fingers cupped his cheeks. Chapped lips pressed lightly against his.

“We'll find each other,” Callie promised. “In the grove of the First Forest or the Summerlands or the Forever Isles.”

Keirith heard the crowd stirring and reluctantly released his brother. When he saw Ennit hobbling forward, leaning on Lisula, he knew it was time.

Ennit bent to hug Mam. “Tell Darak I love him. And that Lisula and I will join you soon.”

Lisula whispered something that made Mam smile. Then she straightened. “Lord Trickster. Are you ready?”

“As ready as I'll ever be, my dear.”

“You don't have to move. I'll open the gateway near you. And remain on this side with Nedia, while Barasa leads the way. Is there anything I should know? Or do?”

“Just make sure they move quickly.”

“They will.” She crossed her hands over her heart and bowed. “Bless you, Lord Trickster. We will always remember you in our prayers.” Her gaze met Mam's once more. Then she and Ennit walked slowly back to the tribe.

Hircha's fingers dug into his arm. “You're sure?”

“Aye.” Keirith brushed the untidy hair off her face. For a moment, they simply stared at each other. “No farewells,” he whispered. “You and I . . . our lives were bound together back in Pilozhat. And they always will be. No matter where we are.”

He leaned forward to kiss her, but Hircha pushed him away. “No farewells.”

Her coldness shocked him. This could be the last time they ever saw each other. But she just stood there, staring off at the forest as if he had ceased to exist.

Numbly, he watched Callie kiss their mam and carefully slip Fa's bag of charms free. Callie lifted her hand and pressed her palm against the bag of charms. Then he straightened, swiping at his cheeks.

“The gods go with you,” Keirith whispered.

“And you.” Blindly, Callie reached for Ela. She took his hand and led him toward the others.

Deep blue rimmed the eastern horizon as the three priestesses filed sunwise around the stand of trees. Their soft chants ebbed and flowed as they walked past Keirith, as soothing as the cool morning air. But his body was trembling with fear and anticipation.

Hand in hand, the rest of the tribe followed the priestesses, circling the trees like stately dancers. Everything they possessed was strapped to their backs or slung across their chests so their hands would be free to grip those next in line. In the uncertain light, they looked like creatures from another world, bows and spears jutting above the men's heads like horns, bundles creating large humps on their backs. The smaller children clung like leeches to the men and women who carried them. The older ones stumbled along, still half-asleep, guided silently by the adults.

Lisula and Nedia dropped out of the long line to flank Barasa. Lisula's lips moved. Behind her, the sky shuddered as a dark sliver pierced the blue. She nodded to Barasa. With Wila's hand clasped in hers, the Grain-Mother stepped forward and vanished.

One by one, they followed. It was like watching the history of his people—of his life—pass before him. Three generations of the children of the Oak and Holly. People who had sprung from a dozen different tribes. Some he had known since childhood, others he had only come to know in the last moon. All bound together by determination and courage and dedication to their gods.

Holtik, straight and fearless. Mother Narthi, white hair blazing in the gloom. Mirili, with her granddaughter slung in a makeshift sling across her chest. Dirna, with little Luimi clinging to her hand. Duba and Alada, leading the rest of their orphans. Owan, leaning on Takinel's shoulder.

Although they could not raise their hands, they all paused as they neared the front of the line to cast a farewell glance at his mam, little realizing they were bidding him good-bye as well. But when the time came to enter the portal, none hesitated; they had all witnessed their Grain-Mother and Tree-Father crossing into the First Forest. Even the ewe trotted blithely beside Lorthan.

Keirith stood beside his mam, his hand upraised, his vision blurring. Then he heard a grunt and glanced down.

Fellgair's eyes were closed, his forehead creased in concentration. A bead of sweat trickled down his face. Keirith glanced back at the dwindling line and saw Ennit draw up short. Fearing Dugan had balked, he raced forward, but after a few steps, he, too, checked his stride.

The air in front of Ennit roiled, as if a whirlpool had opened between the sky and the ground.

“Don't stop,” Keirith whispered. “Fellgair's holding the way open.”

Ennit nodded and tugged on Dugan's lead. The ram let out a loud bleat. Cursing, Keirith added his strength to Ennit's, but Dugan refused to budge. Finally, he circled behind the ram and pushed. Another pair of hands appeared on the wide rump.

He looked up into Callie's straining face. His brother suddenly grinned. “Add this to your tale.”

They both froze at the blast of a Zherosi kankh.

“Poke him with a stick,” Keirith said, then raced for the west rim of the hill.

Hircha was already crouched among the rocks. Even before she pulled him down beside her, he could hear the shouting.

Sentries raced along the tree line. They were too far away for Keirith to make out their words, but there was no mistaking the upraised swords, pointing at the hilltop.

He glanced over his shoulder. He could make out the two priestesses silhouetted against the rosy sky, but surely from the base of the hill, they would be indistinguishable from the pines.

Another kankh blasted the early morning stillness. Shadows moved among the trees. A cluster of helmeted figures emerged to scan the hilltop.

Dugan let out a bellow nearly as loud as the kankhs. Every head jerked toward the sound. One of the men drew a sword and shouted something. Within moments, a line of warriors marched out of the trees.

“Ennit and his gods-cursed sheep!” Abandoning any attempt to remain hidden, Keirith tugged Hircha to her feet. Together, they ran back to the tribe.

Ennit was on the ground, clinging to Dugan's lead with Ela. The last of the women cautiously circled them and vanished through the portal. The air was swirling madly— foaming like water over rocks—but even as Keirith watched, the portal shrank until the taller boys had to duck to enter.

“Leave him!” Keirith shouted at Ennit. “The Zherosi are coming!”

Ennit's grip slackened at the same moment that Callie thumped Dugan on the rump with a branch. With an outraged bleat, the ram leaped over Ennit's legs and bolted through the portal.

“Hurry!” Keirith shouted to Ela.

“Not without Callie!”

“I'll be right behind you,” he assured her. “Go! The portal won't hold much longer.”

Nedia's chanting was ragged with effort; even Lisula was clutching the trunk of a tree for support. Still, Ennit hesitated. “What about Griane? If the Zherosi find her—”

“Keirith will protect her,” Hircha said. “And Fellgair. For mercy's sake, Ennit, go!”

Keirith squeezed Ennit's shoulder and helped him to his feet. Braden ducked through the portal. Ela waved frantically and followed. Ennit whispered, “Maker keep you safe,” and vanished.

“Go, Callie,” Hircha said. “Quickly.”

“What about you?”

“I'm staying.”

A kankh blared, louder than before, and an answering roar rose from the Zherosi.

“Don't be a fool!” Keirith shouted.

“I'm staying!”

She wrenched free of Callie and pushed him through the portal. Keirith caught a last glimpse of his white face as he disappeared.

Nedia swayed. Keirith shoved her toward Hircha. “Help her through! I'm going for Mam.”

He raced to his mother, but when he bent to lift her, she frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to the portal. I won't leave you to the Zherosi.”

“What can they do to me?”

“Kill you!”

“I'm dying, Keirith. Let me be.”

He pulled her arm around his neck. Her left hand flailed helplessly. “I can't leave him.”

Fellgair's breath came in short, hoarse gasps. Only a faint trace of gold remained in the muddy depths of his eyes. His mouth moved, but Keirith couldn't make out the words.

“Get Lisula through,” his mam whispered. “Before it's too late.”

“Mam . . .”

“Please.”

He straightened, only to see the portal flicker uncertainly.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. His mam deserved a peaceful death. Lisula deserved to be with Ennit and her family. And Hircha . . .

He didn't know if he was praying that Hircha would go or that Fellgair would find a hidden reserve of power or simply for it all to be over.

As he hurried toward Lisula, a concussive blast of air sent her reeling. The sky split open. Through the jagged rent, Keirith glimpsed Ennit's terrified face. Ennit thrust his hand through the gap and shouted Lisula's name. She dragged herself to her knees, reaching for him.

The gap began to close, as if some divine hand was weaving the sky together again.

“Help me!” Keirith shouted to Hircha.

They shoved Lisula hard, and she tumbled through the portal. Ennit caught her and pulled her into his arms. Her head came up. She opened her mouth to speak. And then there was only blue sky before him.

Keirith sank onto his knees. He looked up into Hircha's eyes, bluer even than the sky.

“Why?” he asked.

“Don't be a fool.”

From the hillside came a shouted command to straighten the line. Dear gods, they were close.

Fellgair lay slumped across his mam's lap. For one terrifying moment, Keirith thought he was dead. Then he heard the weak pants and let out a sigh of relief. He knelt beside them and took his mother's hand.

“Go,” she whispered.

“I can't just leave you.”

“You must.”

“I'll carry you to the grotto.”

“There's no time. Keirith. Please.”

He could hear the sharp crack of stones ricocheting off boulders, a man shouting for the archers to move up. Still, he clung to his mam's hand. He told himself to remember everything: her swollen knuckles, hard as pebbles; her upper lip caught between her teeth; her clear, steady gaze, as fierce as the will that commanded her failing body.

“Mam . . .”

“I know. I love you, too.”

He raised her hand and kissed the palm, breathing in the faint scent of herbs, the scent that had always meant home and safety and Mam. And then he recalled the words his father had spoken that final day before they had left the village.

He squeezed her hand gently. “I love you, Mam. I always have. And I always will.”

Her eyes filled as she smiled. A tear slipped down her cheek. He brushed it away and laid her hand atop Fellgair's. Then he staggered to his feet and lurched off.

Hircha steadied him, eased his pack onto his back, took his hand. When they reached the stony path that led down the northern face of the hill, he paused to look back.

The first rays of sunlight bathed the two still figures in a rosy glow. Birds welcomed the dawn with a burst of song, only to be drowned out by the voices of the Zherosi.

Hircha tugged his hand, and he stumbled after her, following the path she chose, leaning against boulders when she paused, crouching when she pulled him down.

“Look.”

Peering between two boulders, he saw a disorderly line of warriors struggling up the northern slope.

“The empty grotto,” Hircha whispered. “There's nowhere else.”

Ignoring the pebbles that dug cruelly into their hands and knees, they crawled forward. His leather sheath thudded dully against the stones. Behind him, he could hear Hircha's hoarse breathing and the occasional skitter of loose pebbles. He dared another glance at the warriors, but they needed all their concentration to keep their footing on the shifting stones.

He had to squirm out of his pack in order to belly under the pine spar. Hircha shoved her bundle toward him, then clawed her way over the pebbles. He tossed the packs aside and pulled her into the grotto.

They sat there, panting. Then he seized the pine boughs that the men had used as bedding and laid them near the spar, carefully placing them to hide the deep cuts made by the axes. In the full light of day, the ruse would fool no one, but while the sun was still low, the Zherosi might simply see the broken branches and never notice the grotto hidden behind them.

He motioned Hircha against the wall of the cave. She ripped the leather thong from her disordered hair. Gripping it between her teeth, she calmly wove a tight braid and tied it with the thong. Then she drew her dagger and gave him a fierce nod.

Together, they waited.

 

 

 

The rough bark of the pine scraped her back, but she was too tired to move. Too tired even to squeeze the hand beneath hers.

A racking breath shuddered through Fellgair and into her.

“Soon,” Griane whispered.