Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 07 (11 page)

 
          
White
teeth gleamed. "I thought you might agree. I think any warrior would,
faced with such a course." The Hunter rose, stretched legs, moved to a
shattered tree stump. As he sat down, a tiny sapling sprouted at the base of
the broken stump. "Teel is—different. I thought him well suited to
you."

 
          
Aidan
sat upright carefully, holding himself very straight.
I will say nothing of this to him
—
all these
wonders
he
performs. Perhaps I am not meant to notice
.

 
          
But
that seemed incongruous. How could he not notice?

 
          
Once
more, Aidan focused. "Why? Why is Teel suited to
me
? Why not another warrior?"

 
          
"Because
you also are different." There was no sting in the quiet words; from a
god, they were revelation. "You will spend much of your time questioning
things; that is the way of you. Many men act first with little thought for
result—rashness is sometimes a curse, sometimes a virtue—but your gift is to
think things through before acting." The Hunter smiled. "You will
make mistakes, of course—you are man, Aidan, not god—but you are also
exceedingly cautious. Some might call you reluctant, others will name you
afraid, but cowardice is not your curse."

 
          
Aidan
wet drying lips. "What
is
my
curse?"

 
          
The
god looked down at the sapling trying mightily to be a tree. He bent, cupped
its crown in his fingers, murmured something quietly in a tongue foreign to
Aidan. Then, in clear Homanan, "Not so quickly, small one… there is time
for you to grow. For now you must wait on men." He took his fingers away
and looked again at Aidan. "You are simply you. Try to be no one else. Let
no one force you to be."

 
          
"But—"
Aidan, staring at the tiny tree, did not finish, forgoing the question he meant
to ask in a flood of others like it. "Is that all?"

 
          
"All?"
Brown eyebrows arched. "Trying to be himself—or herself, as Keely learned—is
one of the most difficult tasks a human can face."

 
          
Aidan
waited a moment. "But I have to be Mujhar."

 
          
The
Hunter was very solemn. "That, too, is a task. Not every man
succeeds." He shifted on the stump. "I am here to tell you nothing
more than I have. It is not the nature of gods to tell their children
everything—man does not learn by being told; he must
do
. So, you will do." One leather-clad shoulder lifted and
fell in a casual shrug.

 
          
Aidan,
who felt in no way enlightened
or
casual, scowled at the Hunter. "Are you really here?"

 
          
"Are
you
?"

 
          
In
spite of himself, he smiled. "With this pounding in my head, I could not
begin to say."

 
          
Brown
eyes glinted. "Horses are made for riding, not for falling off of. Now you
must pay the price." He paused. "You might have flown, you
know."

 
          
"I
might have," Aidan agreed. "There is nothing so free as flying… but
riding a good horse has its own brand of magic."

 
          
The
Hunter laughed. "Aye, well, we gave you free will… choosing to ride
instead of fly is one of the smaller freedoms."

 
          
Aidan
shifted restlessly, then surpressed a wince. "That is all—? You came
merely to say I must be myself?"

 
          
"Enough
of a task, for now. But since I am here, you may as well tell me about your
dream."

 
          
Ice
encased his flesh. "You know about my dream? You know about the
chain?"

 
          
The
answer was oblique. "I mean the dream you dreamed just now, before coming
to yourself. Your eyes were wide open, but you saw nothing of the day. Only
inside yourself."

 
          
Aidan
felt moved to protest. "But you are a
god
."

 
          
The
Hunter looked annoyed. "You are a man," he said plainly. "We
made you deliberately impulsive and idiosyncratic, and gave you minds with which
to dream… do you think we also put thoughts in your heads? Why would we want to
do
that
when it defeats the purpose
of living?"

 
          
"My
heads hurts," Aidan replied. "That is my only thought."

 
          
The
Hunter displayed white teeth. "We gave you the freedom to rule yourselves,
Aidan, because we wanted children, not minions. Devotion is appreciated;
respect we honor highly. But we do not want fanatics and zealots. That is not
why we made men." He paused, then softened his tone. "Now, tell me of
the dream."

 
          
He
did not want to, any more than tell Niall. But he had spoken to the Mujhar.
Surely he could find it within himself to divulge the dream to a
god
.

 
          
He
drew in a trembling breath. "Shaine," Aidan said, and told him the
whole of it.

 
          
He
thought, at the end, the Hunter would disparage him for it, saying he was too
fanciful, or blame it on the fall. But the Hunter did no such thing.

 
          
"It
was not false," he said quietly. "Who calls it so is a blind man,
with no soul to use as eyes. Those in your head can play you false; those of
your soul cannot."

 
          
"But
Shaine has been
dead
for nearly one
hundred years!"

 
          
Frowning,
the Hunter nodded.

 
          
It
frightened Aidan badly. "Have
you
no explanation?"

 
          
"There
are tests," the Hunter replied absently. "I am only one among many; I
cannot tell you what others plan for you. There are tests, and tasks… no
tahlmorra
is fulfilled without pain, or
there can be no growth. Without growth or evolution, there can be no change.
Without change, the world dies."

 
          
"Evolution?"
Aidan echoed.

 
          
The
Hunter's smile was sanguine. "A mechanism for change. For the
betterment
of a world."

 
          
Aidan,
lacking reply, merely stared at the god.

 
          
"So."
The Hunter rose. "I have said what I came to say. There remains only
this." He reached into his belt-pouch. "This is for you, and only
you. When you have learned both use and meaning, you will be closer to finding
the answers to all those questions you ask aloud in the darkness of the
night."

 
          
Something
arced through the air. Aidan, scrambling forward painfully, caught it. And knew
it instantly by touch. By the texture of the gold, formed into a seamless,
flawless link big enough for a man's wrist.

 
          
"You
do
know—" he began, but found
the Hunter gone.

 
          
In
his place reared a tree, in full-blown majesty.

 
          
«
^
»

 
          
Aidan
made his way through Clankeep and rode straight to the blue pavilion bedecked
with a painted black mountain cat. It was not his own; he had none. It was his
father's pavilion, though Brennan rarely came. Its use had fallen to Aidan,
though he also spent most of his time in Homana-Mujhar.

 
          
He
reined in the dun before the laced doorflap. And scowled up at his
lir
, perched in perfect indolence atop
the pavilion ridgepole.

 
          
You knew
, he charged, sending annoyance
through the link.

 
          
Teel
fluffed feathers.

 
          
"You
knew
," he said aloud, as if the
dual challenge carried more weight than one or the other.

 
          
I knew nothing
, the raven retorted.

 
          
Aidan's
brows shot upward. His tone dripped sarcasm. "Oh? Is this the first crack
in your vaunted self-assurance? You admit to ignorance?"

 
          
Teel
thought it over.
I knew what he was
,
he conceded at last.
But not what he
wanted
.

 
          
It
was, Aidan thought, a compromise. Something Teel rarely did. "Why?"
he asked aloud. "Why did he come to me?"

 
          
Teel
turned around twice on the ridgepole, then stared down at his irritated
lir. You are angry
.

 
          
"Aye,"
Aidan snapped. "Should I not be? I have just spent a portion of my life—I'm
not even knowing how much!—talking with dead men and gods."

 
          
Ah
. Black eyes were bright.
Anger is good
.

 
          
Aidan
glared. "Why?"

 
          
Because it is better than fear. If you give
in to the fear, it can overwhelm you.

 
          
"For
now the only thing overwhelming me is frustration," Aidan retorted. He
scowled blackly at the raven. "You did not answer my question. Why did he
come to me? This
god
."

 
          
Teel
fluffed feathers.
I am quite certain he
told you
.

 
          
"Something
of something," Aidan agreed. "Not enough to make sense, merely to
confuse."

 
          
Teel
cocked his head.
Gods are often like that
.

 
          
Aidan
drew breath for waning patience, caught it on a hiss as the pain of bruised
ribs renewed itself. "Then I am to assume you will give me no answers to
the questions I still have."

 
          
We are not put here to answer
all
your questions
, Teel said .brusquely.
Only some of them
.

 
          
"With
you choosing which ones."

 
          
We answer what we can, if the questions are
in your best interests
. Teel dug briefly under a wing, then looked down at
Aidan once more.
You will know what you
must know when the time to know is come
.

 
          
Aidan
gritted teeth. "Obscurity," he said grimly, "is a game I do not
care for."

 
          
The
raven's tone was amused.
But it is the
one I am
best
at
.

 
          
Giving
up, Aidan kicked free of stirrups and carefully let himself down from the
saddle. It was a painful exercise and one he regretted immensely, clutching
impotently at ribs. Likely he needed them strapped, which meant admitting to
the accident. His father would be amused; Brennan
never
came off a horse.

 
          
Or,
if he had, his son had never known of it.

 
          
"Hungry,"
he muttered aloud. "But chewing will hurt my head."

 
          
Out of sorts, are we?

 
          
Aidan
went into the link.
Out of sorts and out
of patience; I am here for the shar tahl. Perhaps
he
will have my answers, even if you do not
.

 
          
Teel
eyed him archly.
Oh, he may have them…
but are you worthy of them
?

 
          
Aidan
looped the reins over a post set into dirt before the pavilion.
Surely a warrior with you for a lir is
worthy of anything
.

 
          
It
was sufficiently double-edged that Teel did not respond.

 
          
The
shar tahl's
pavilion was larger than
most, since he required additional room for storage of clan birthlines and
assorted ritualistic items. It was customary to wait no farther inside a
shar tahl's
or clan-leader's pavilion
than a single pace; Aidan therefore sat very precisely near the open doorflap
on a gray-blue ice bear pelt brought from the Northern Wastes. The
shar tahl
was not yet present, although
word had been carried throughout Clankeep the Mujhar's grandson had arrived.

 
          
Even
though Aidan was well-accustomed to the immense size and overwhelming presence
of Homana-Mujhar, he felt daunted by the pavilion. It was here the history of
the clan was kept, rolled tightly in soft leathers and tucked away inside
strong chests. His own history resided somewhere in the pavilion, reduced to a
single rune-sign on pale, bleached doeskin. A rune, no more than that, yet he
felt small because of it. Small because of doubts; was he doing the right
thing? The Hunter had not admonished him against displaying the golden link, merely
said it was
for
him. He could not
imagine anything to do with gods could be denied a
shar tahl
. Such men served those gods with steadfast loyalty.

 
          
He
waited, legs folded beneath him, with the link clutched in two hands. Teel was
not with him, leaving his
lir
, with
some trepidation, to find his own way. Aidan was alone, and feeling immensely
lonely.

 
          
He will say I am mad. Or, if he does not say
it, he will think it… and soon even the clans will say I mimic Gisella
—

 
          
Aidan
cut it off.

 
          
I should look at another side… perhaps he
will have my answers and share them willingly. Perhaps he will know what this
is and what I should do with it
—

 
          
Aidan
gritted teeth. "Why does this happen to me? First all those dreams, now
this nonsense of dead Mujhars and gods—" He clenched fingers around the
link. Fear was unavoidable, no matter what Teel said. "What if I
am
mad?"

 
          
"Aidan."

 
          
He
stiffened, then bowed, showing homage, and was startled when a hand touched the
crown of his head.

 
          
"No,
Aidan—not from you." The hand was removed. The
shar tahl
came more fully into the pavilion and moved around to
face his guest. He was surprisingly young for his place, still black-haired and
firm of flesh. He was, Aidan thought, perhaps thirty-five or thirty-six.

 
          
But
the
shar tahl's
physical appearance
was not the matter at hand. "Why not?" Aidan asked, glad to think of
something else. "Honor is your due."

 
          
"And
I do not disparage it. I only resent the time it wastes when there is distress
to be addressed." The
shar tahl
sat down in front of Aidan. It seemed somehow incongruous to see a
shar tahl
in leathers; Aidan was
accustomed to linen or woolen robes, though neither was required. But this
particular man, displaying armbands and earring—his absent
lir
was a fox—was different from the others. Aidan knew it at once.

 
          
It is not merely age… the fire in him is
different. It burns a little brighter—
Inwardly, he frowned.
I have only known old shar tahls… this one
is not old. This one is more like a warrior. Perhaps that is the difference
.

 
          
The
shar tahl's
tone was mild. "You
come so rarely, or so I have heard, that the reason must be quite
important."

 
          
Guilt
pinched Aidan's belly. He answered more brusquely than intended. "Aye, it
is. This." He set down the link on the fur between them, then took his
hands away.

 
          
The
shar tahl
did not at once look at the
object. He looked only at Aidan, who felt years stripped away until he was a
boy, staring guiltily but defiantly into the face of authority. Yellow eyes
were kind, but also very attentive. "You do not know who I am."

 
          
Aidan
maintained a blank expression. "The
shar
tahl
, of course."

 
          
"I
mean, which one."

 
          
He
debated answers. This
shar tahl
, a
stranger to Aidan, was as odd as the brown man who called himself the Hunter,
who called himself a god. Aidan decided to avoid possible problems by stating
the obvious. "The
shar tahl
of
Clankeep."

 
          
The
other smiled. "You take the easy road. That is not your reputation."

 
          
Aidan's
answering smile was twisted. "My reputation is founded on many things, and
so there are many reputations. Which one do
you
know?"

 
          
"The
one I heard up north across the Bluetooth, in my home Keep." The
shar tahl
crossed his legs and linked
dark fingers. "My name is Burr. I am but newly come to Clankeep—I thought
it might be worthwhile for me to live nearer the Lion."

 
          
Something
pricked at Aidan's awareness. Something sounded a faint alarm. "
How
nearer?" he asked. Then, very
quietly, "As near as Teirnan might like?"

 
          
Burr's
eyes narrowed, if only minutely. And then he smiled. "Teirnan, as you
know, has been proscribed by all clan councils. He forgoes the teachings of the
shar tahls;
therefore he forgoes my
own. And, undoubtedly, anything else I might say to him."

 
          
Certainty
firmed Aidan's tone. "But you know him, my proscribed kinsman."

 
          
"Everyone
knows of him."

 
          
Aidan
spoke very precisely, so no mistake could be made. "I did not say
of
him. I said you knew
him
."

 
          
Quiet
reassessment. Burr altered manner and tone, as if casting off prevarication and
the habitual obliqueness of
shar tahl
.
"I know him. I knew him. I
met
him, once." The tone was uninflected, shielded behind self-assurance.

 
          
Oddly,
it rankled. "But you did not see fit to send word to the Mujhar."

 
          
"Teirnan
has more to concern himself with than what the Mujhar might say, or do."

 
          
Aidan
felt a flicker of irritation. For a fleeting instant it shocked him—this man
was a
shar tahl
, due honor and
respect—but it passed. What they spoke of—prince and priest-historian—could
affect Homana's future, as well as the prophecy.