Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 07 (17 page)

 
          
"He
was killed."

 
          
"In
battle, aye. Actually,
after
a
battle; the Atvian king killed him. Osric himself." Ian drank again. His
tone was meditative. "A long time ago."

 
          
Aidan
reached out and recaptured the skin he had tossed aside, dragging it across
grassy ground. "What was he like?"

 
          
Ian
quirked an eyebrow. "I thought you said you met him yourself ten nights
ago."

 
          
Aidan
waved a hand. "Aye, aye—I did… but how am I to know if he was real or not?
You
met the real man. The warrior
Mujhar who won Homana back from Solinde and the Ihlini."

 
          
"Your
great-great-grandsire." Ian smiled, tugging Tasha's tufted ears in
absentminded affection. "I remember little enough. I was three the last
time I saw him… to me he was little more than a huge man dressed in leather and
ringmail, glinting and creaking when he moved. He was entirely Homanan, in
appearance as well as habits… to me, that was what counted. Carillon the
Homanan: my
jehana
made it so. He was
Mujhar, aye—but I was taught to be aware his blood was different from
mine."

 
          
"But
you were kin to him."

 
          
Ian
shrugged. "My granddam was his cousin… aye, we were kin, but the link was
never explored. There was something else that took precedence—" He shifted
against his saddle, resettling Tasha's weight. "I was the bastard son of
Donal's Cheysuli light woman. I was not entirely
approved
of by the Homanans, who knew Donal was pledged to marry
Carillon's daughter."

 
          
"Aislinn,"
Aidan murmured.

 
          
"Aislinn
of Homana." Ian sighed and thrust one arm beneath his head. Gray-white
hair, in the darkness, was silvered by the moon. "My
jehana
was half Homanan herself, but she hated it. I remember her
petitioning the gods to let her spill out the Homanan in her blood many times—whenever
my
jehan
left the Keep for
Homana-Mujhar." Ian was silent a moment. "Eventually, she did… in the
Keep across the Bluetooth, she spilled
all
of her blood. Homanan as well as Cheysuli."

 
          
Aidan
made no comment. The history was his own, and well-learned in now-distant
boyhood, but hearing it from Ian made it come alive. His great-uncle had known
those people. Carillon, Finn, Donal—even Alix herself, who had proven to be the
catalyst for the resurgence of the Old Blood. Others carried it, aye, but it
was Alix who, by bearing a son to
Duncan
, breathed new life into the prophecy.

 
          
Who put new blood into the stable
—Grimly,
Aidan smiled.
When the old blood grows
too weak, the new blood makes it strong
.

 
          
But
his thoughts did not linger there. From his great-uncle, as with others, the
emotions were tangible things. Aidan sensed shame, regret, grief; a tinge of
bitterness. He put aside his own.

 
          
"
Su'fali
," he said softly, "has
it followed you so long?"

 
          
Startled,
Ian glanced over. His eyes asked the question.

 
          
Aidan
answered it. "She killed herself, your
jehana
.
She brought dishonor to her name, expunged her rune-sign from the birthlines…
but that does not destroy the memory of the mother in the mind of her
son."

 
          
"No."
Ian's tone was rough.

 
          
With
care, Aidan proceeded. "Once a year you carry out
i'toshaa-ni
—"

 
          
Ian
cut him off. "That is my concern."

 
          
Aidan
drew breath and tried again. "I think it is wrong for one man—one warrior—to
assume responsibility for things he had nothing to do with."

 
          
"And
you think that is why I carry out
i'toshaa-ni
?"
Ian's eyes in the darkness were black, save for the rim of feral yellow.
"You do not know everything, regardless of your 'gift.' "

 
          
Aidan
gestured placation. "No, perhaps not—but I think that is a part of it. As
for the rest, there is also the knowledge of what Lillith did to you, and what
your child on her became."

 
          
Ian
plugged the wineskin abruptly, squeaking the stopper home. "These are
personal, private things."

 
          
"So
is what
I
feel. Yet everyone wants to
know."

 
          
Ian's
motion to toss down the wineskin was arrested. Then, in silence, he set it
carefully by his saddle. "Aye," he said finally, "everyone wants
to know."

 
          
Aidan
wet dry lips. "And yet when the taboo topic is raised, everyone turns
away."

 
          
Ian's
silence was loud.

 
          
"Taboo,"
Aidan repeated. "Even mere
contemplation
that a Cheysuli warrior might lie with an Ihlini woman."

 
          
Ian
was, if nothing else, a man of much compassion. Yet now the emotions Aidan
sensed were anger and bitterness. "We have little reason to consider such
a bedding a benevolent thing," Ian declared. "Look at Lillith—daughter
to Tynstar himself, half-sister to Strahan… servant of the Seker." He
sighed, rubbing at tired eyes; age, all of a sudden, sat heavily on him.
"Lovely, lethal Lillith—who, holding my
lir
, ensorcelled me so well I had little choice in the matter… and
then bore me abomination."

 
          
"Who
then bore
my
father a daughter."
Aidan stroked back hair. "You see,
su'fali
,
it has been done before. And children have been born."

 
          
"But
children who are not Firstborn." Ian's voice was emphatic. "Now, more
than ever, we must be vigilant. The Ihlini have proved we can be tricked, even
into bed… they have proved they have the power to alter the prophecy. It is
only our good fortune the bloodlines were not whole…" Abruptly, his tone
altered. "Aidan, if ever a child of the Lion sires a child for the Seker,
everything is undone.
Everything
is
undone."

 
          
Tension
was palpable. Aidan sought to break it. "Do not fret about me,
su'fali
. I may be bound for my wedding,
but she will not be an Ihlini."

 
          
Ian's
face was taut. "There is danger in complacency."

 
          
"Aye,"
Aidan agreed. "But even if I should fail, the gods will tend to the
outcome."

 
          
"Do
not—" But Ian broke it off.

 
          
Aidan
nearly laughed. "You were intending to suggest I not trust so much to the
gods? But that is heresy,
su'fali
.
And you a devout believer."

 
          
Ian
fought to retain his composure. "This is not a topic for jest and mummery.
We have dedicated our lives to the prophecy, devoted all honor and commitment
to the gods—"

 
          
"—with
whom I speak." Aidan shrugged correction. "Or, at least, with
one."

 
          
"Aidan—"

 
          
"Fate,"
Aidan declared. "The Homanan word for
tahlmorra
.
If it is meant to be, surely it will be. And nothing I do can change it."

 
          
Desperation
underscored Ian's tone. "But it
can
be changed. By me, by you, by—"

 
          
"—Ihlini?"
Aidan nodded. "Certainly they may try. And perhaps they can
win
—the gods gave us all free
choice."

 
          
Staring
in dismay, Ian slowly shook his head. "Does it make no difference to you?
Does any of it matter?"

 
          
Aidan
sighed. Weariness swept up out of the darkness and threatened to swallow him
whole. "
Su'fali
, I do not mean
to be contentious or perverse. But I have these thoughts, these
feelings
—" He shook his head,
dismissing it. "I promise—all of it matters to me. But as for making a
difference…"He collapsed against his saddle, too tired to stay upright.
Through a yawn, he said, "—we shall have to wait and see."

 
          
The
day dawned bright and warm, with no hint of rain in the air. They rode in
companionable silence, taking comfort in mere presence, and lost themselves in
the season. It was very nearly
midday
when Ian pulled his gray to a halt atop a
hillock. "There," he said. "Solinde."

 
          
Aidan,
reining in his dun, squinted across the distance. "How can you tell?"
he asked. "It looks the same as Homana."

 
          
"There
speaks ignorance." Ian grinned. "Is this land the same as the land
around Mujhara?"

 
          
"No,
of course not—"

 
          
"Is
this land the same as that we left yesterday?"

 
          
"No,
no—of course not—"

 
          
"And
while there
are
similarities between
this patch of ground and that, there are also differences." Ian resettled
reins, unthreading tangled gray horsehair from red-dyed braided leather.
"Just as there are in people."

 
          
Aidan
forbore to answer. His great-uncle was being obscure.

 
          
No more than you
, reminded Teel. The
raven was a black blot against blue sky, swinging back from the border to
return to his
lir
.

 
          
Aidan
scowled into air. "How much longer to Lestra?"

 
          
Ian
shrugged. "A six-day or so… I am not certain. The only time I went there
was in
lir
-shape. It changes the
measure of distance."

 
          
Aidan
nodded vaguely. He sat quietly a long moment, soaking up the sun, then relaxed
into the saddle. The depth of his relief was unexpected as well as welcome.
Then he sat rigidly upright, thrusting arms into the air to cloak himself in
the day. "Gods—I can
breathe
again!"

 
          
Ian's
question was quiet. "Has it been so very bad?"

 
          
Aidan
shrugged, lowering his arms. He was unwilling to discuss it. Not now. Not
here;
he did not want to destroy the new
freedom he was feeling. "Not all of the time. But now it does not matter.
I am no longer in Homana, hounded by gods and fetches, but in a new realm. And
beginning a new life—complete with a
cheysula
."
He grinned at his kinsman. "Four daughters," he laughed. "Hart
must be hungry for sons."

 
          
"Hart
is hungry for nothing except the means to wager." Ian's tone was dryly
affectionate.

 
          
Aidan
laughed. "
Jehan
said I will like
him."

 
          
Ian
nodded agreement. "Everyone likes Hart… until he wins their coin."

 
          
Lir
. It was Teel.
Lir, there comes a storm
.

 
          
"Storm?"
Aidan spoke aloud. "The sky is blue as can be—"

 
          
Look behind you, lir. There the sky is
black.

 
          
Aidan,
sighing, twisted in his saddle to glance back the way they had come. "Teel
says there is a storm…" He stopped speaking to gape inelegantly.
"Where did
that
come from?"