Talar crested the final rise of the pass of Gentle Crossings and stopped to catch his breath with Bledig, Jillyn, and Gerid. He’d returned to Carthway twice in one year. This was becoming a habit he hadn’t wanted to develop. A really bad habit.
With the festival over, the city should have been a muddy field with the sprawling Inn and the towering Goddess’s Seat, but the Clan Council was in session. While the elders awaited word about the peace treaty, the clans had gathered. Colorful tents littered the area, men, women, and children went about their lives and the livestock grazed, unpenned, on the new grass.
“Are you sure the elders will be at the Goddess’s Seat?” asked Gerid, hands on his thighs, head hanging, gasping for air.
“Looks like it.”
A cloud drifted across the sun, easing the spring glare as they started down the hill. What he wanted was to lie down and rest for a week. And he would, just as soon as he talked to the Divine Voice. After that. . . .
Who was he fooling? He’d march back to Mythnar, without rest, to find Kaelyn–regardless of whether his wrists burned or not.
Goddess. He didn’t want to lose anyone again. And yet knew the hope was foolish–life and death intertwined and all that rubbish.
He sucked in a slow breath. He’d lost someone he’d loved before and was still living. He could do it again. He just didn’t have to like it.
How brave of him. How ambitious and completely unrealistic. He was going to worry, and keep worrying until he knew the truth and would just have to deal with that.
“If we stay here any longer,” said Jillyn, breaking the silence, “I don’t think I’ll be able to move again.”
A chorus of grunts and nods greeted her statement.
“All right, then. Let’s get this over with.”
They marched down the hill and went straight to the Goddess’s Seat. Talar paused at the edge of the sacred circle. It hadn’t seemed like anyone of the Great Hawk Clan in Angwyn knew of his shame. Maybe his father hadn’t publicly disowned him like he’d said he would.
Bledig stepped close. “We do this together.”
“About that. . . .”
Jillyn eased up to his other side. “It’s the right thing to do.”
“That it is,” said Gerid.
Talar nodded. “That it is.” Disowned or not, lives rested in the balance.
The man standing guard at the open door narrowed his eyes at them, but let them pass. Guess they looked odd, but not dangerous. Inside, torches and braziers illuminated the chamber, the smoke drifting up to the flue in the ceiling. Men and women sat on blankets around the Goddess’s Seat four rows deep, positioned by clan rank and rank within the clan: elders, shamans, junior elders, and junior shamans.
The elder sitting on the Goddess Chair, Her Divine Voice, stood and waved them over, and the room went silent. All eyes turned to them. Talar could only imagine what they were thinking. They were filthy and exhausted from their trek. Two southerners, a clansmen who looked more like a southerner, and Bledig, with his tattoo on his cheek–although after Kaelyn’s performance at May-Garths and in the joust, he wouldn’t be surprise to see more tattoos.
“Do you bring more news?” asked the Divine Voice.
The circle parted and they approached.
“More news?” asked Jillyn.
The Divine Voice bobbed his balding head. “Yesterday Pwyll of the Great Hawk arrived and told us of Meriduin’s deception.”
Gerid cursed under his breath, just loud enough for Talar to hear.
Talar resisted the urge to do the same. If Pwyll had roused the clans into blood debt there might not be a way to stop anything. Everything in its time. Except blood debt always seemed to happen in the blink of an eye.
“Indeed, there has been deception,” said Talar, trying to weigh his words without sounding uncertain. “But the south has been deceived as well.”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. The Divine Voice waved a hand and they fell silent.
“Tell us more,” said a familiar voice.
Talar’s stomach churned as his father stood. The last time they’d talked they had argued about freeing Kaelyn and her Meriduinian friends. He couldn’t help but wonder what the chances were that his father would be more willing to listen now.
“I know this man,” said his father.
Oh Goddess, here it came.
“I know that recently he has traveled with the Hero of our Great War, The Southern Bear, Mac Theselon.”
More whispers swept through the crowd.
“Speak,” said the Divine Voice. “And She will listen.”
Talar doubted that, but if everyone else in the room did, he’d be happy.
“Both sides are being tricked.”
Silence met his statement and he wondered if he should have padded his statement with flowery pleasantries. But there was nothing to be done about it now. “The clansmen delegation was killed, so, too, was Prince Wyndham. When we left, Mythnar keep was in flames.”
“The last effort of our clansmen,” said an elder.
The crowd roared in agreement.
“When I went to visit my brethren, they were dead. Long before the keep was ablaze,” said Bledig.
“And who are you?” asked a shaman.
“He’s a ghost,” said another.
Shamans and elders leapt to their feet.
Bledig widened his stance, but didn’t reach for his sword. “I am reborn in Her service.”
But the crowd didn’t listen. More men and women stood, yelling at each other, drawing close to Talar and the others. Jillyn pressed near Gerid, who wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“Enough,” said the Divine Voice, roaring through the noise. The crowd fell silent.
“Regardless of who attacked who, we must prepare for battle. Meriduin will either expect our retaliation or begin marching for us with a blood debt of their own.”
The crowd nodded and muttered their agreement.
Talar glanced at his father, who nodded but didn’t look as if he entirely agreed.
“The warriors must be gathered. Send out the call.” The Divine Voice turned to Talar. “We are grateful you journeyed to tell us your news. You may stay among the clans or leave, as you will.”
“But–” said Bledig.
Talar grabbed his arm and tugged him from the circle. This was an argument they couldn’t win and they didn’t want to aggravate the situation. Gerid and Jillyn followed.
At least they weren’t being arrested for treason this time.
“But they didn’t listen,” said Bledig.
Talar kept walking, pulling the clansman farther from the Goddess’s Seat. “You expected them to?”
“Not really,” he said.
“So what now?” asked Gerid.
Talar stopped and stared at the Goddess’s Seat towering above them. He didn’t know what was next. They’d gambled that the clans would see reason–or at least listen.
A figure strode past the guard toward them.
Talar squinted. It was his father.
Swell. The man was just going to rub another failure in his son’s face. Clan tradition. Clan this. Clan that.
Well, clan ways killed the people he cared about.
He jerked around and headed to the Inn.
“Hold up a minute,” called his father.
Jillyn placed a tentative hand on his arm, then pulled it back. “Talar?”
“Talar, wait,” said his father.
Talar turned to face him. “What do you want?”
His father glanced at the others. It was clear whatever the man had to say, he wanted to say it in private.
Talar sighed. “Can you give us a moment?”
“Sure,” said Gerid. “We’ll meet you in the Inn.”
They walked away.
Talar squared his shoulders. This was a conversation he didn’t want to have. But he didn’t have the energy to avoid it. “Well, get it out. Say what you have to say.”
“Talar, I–” His father met his gaze for a moment, no more than a heartbeat, then stared at his feet.
“Just say it. I was a fool to think the Divine Voice would listen to me. I’m no longer clan. I gave up my voice when– When–” His throat tightened. He couldn’t say it, couldn’t throw the events of that horrible night back in his father’s face like he’d done all those years ago.
His father raised his gaze and held steady with Talar’s. There was something there, an emotion, burning away in his eyes. If Talar had thought it possible, he might have thought it was regret. But his father was always right. The Goddess spoke to him and kept him on the path. Always.
“I–” His father swallowed. “I was wrong.”
Talar blinked. He had no idea where this was coming from. “What?”
“I was wrong about the Meriduinians and that girl. And I was wrong about–” He pursed his lips. “I thought She was testing you.”
“She was. She took my wife and unborn child. And I didn’t give Her the answer She wanted.”
“But I could have–” His father’s eyes were glassy. “If I hadn’t kept you, you could have said good-bye.”
Talar snorted. “And I still would have forsaken Her.” The turmoil in his gut eased. That was the truth of it. Regardless that his father had kept him in meditation, Delwyn and their child would have died, and he still would have turned his face from his Goddess.
His gut churned anew. All those years wasted, spent hating his father for something She had done. Sure She had gotten his rage, but so had his land, his clan, and his father. So had himself.
“I know,” said his father. He eased close and reached a tentative hand toward Talar’s shoulder.
Tears burned Talar’s eyes. All those years with his hatred. He grabbed his father’s hand and finished the action, pressing it to his shoulder. “You raised a fool.”
“No. I didn’t.” His father pulled him into a quick embrace, then stepped back. “The Divine Voice is a fool. Negotiation with the south is the only way the clans will survive this.”
Nothing was forgotten between them, but perhaps they could begin to find forgiveness. “Maybe we can make him see reason. The warriors should still gather. There’s no guarantee Meriduin will negotiate.”
“No, there’s not. But if neither party will talk, war is a certainty.”
