Wind Walker

WIND WALKER (A Commonwealth Novel) By

Michelle L. Levigne Triskelion Publishing www.TriskelionPublishing.com

Triskelion Publishing 15327 W. Becker Lane Surprise, AZ 85379 First e Published by Triskelion Publishing First e publishing April 2007 ISBN 1-60186-031-5

Copyright 2005 Michelle L. Levigne All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the publisher except, where permitted by law.

Cover design Triskelion Publishing. Publisher’s Note. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to a person or persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental. Play Nice: Piracy is a crime and in stealing books your favorite authors do not receive royalties or any payment.

Wind Walker

3

Prologue Refuge: Colony Year 0021 The edges of the golden stone path faded away into mist just beyond arm's reach. Arin quickened his pace as spicy sweet smoke wreathed his head. Smoke meant she waited for him, somewhere up ahead. The last three times he visited this dreaming place, he had been alone. Arin didn’t like being alone here. He didn’t care so much about being alone when he was awake, sometimes he preferred it. Here, in this dreaming place that whispered of things he had forgotten, he never wanted to walk alone. He couldn’t remember when he had first met the girl in his dreams, but he was always glad when she appeared. She sat on the edge of a precipice over a velvety black abyss shot with rainbow stars. Arin could never be sure of her age, but he guessed it at ten or eleven. She stood a head shorter than him, and he was sixteen that spring. As usual, she wore a sleeveless tunic that hung past her knees, of no color he could discern. Sometimes Arin wondered what she saw when she looked at him, but he never thought to ask when they met. Nothing mattered when they met, except for being together. She was the friend he could never find among the children born to the shipwrecked colonists, on the world they named Refuge. “You came,” she whispered, turning to face him. Her straight blue-black hair swung aside like a curtain, brushing the glassy, gold-speckled stone under her. Her golden oval face gleamed with tears that made her eyes look enormous. “What's wrong?” Arin dropped to his knees next to her. Touching was forbidden, here in the dreaming place. She would never explain why, just as she never told him her name and never asked for his. Still, he wanted to hold her and soothe away the tears. “My parents are dead.” Her voice broke. Even in her pain, it sounded like a whispering stream. “I'm sorry.” “Great-Uncle has come for us -- my twin and me -- we are to train to be Wind Walkers.” She tried to smile. Big, ebony eyes gleamed with pride despite her pain. “He says the Winds call us, though we are so young. But -- “ Her voice cracked and she stood with a flowing motion that enchanted him. “Tomorrow, I enter the binding of minds for my training. I will not dreamwalk again for many years. I'll never see you again!” “Why? What's a Wind Walker?” Arin struggled to stand and reached futile hands for her. She floated out into the star-shot blackness, as if his motion pushed her away. As she turned to silvery smoke, a man appeared from the darkness, edged in electric blue light. He stood tall, draped in shadows, with long, silver-gray braids and beard. He seemed not to see Arin as he opened his arms and gathered the girl into the shadows. She glanced back once, meeting Arin’s eyes, then man and girl vanished. “Come back!” Arin shouted, his voice cracking. He sat up in his own bed and nearly rolled to the floor before he caught himself. A roar of impotent fury suffocated him. “Arin!” The door slammed open, filling his room with harsh electric light. Commodore Marcus Dorwen braced himself against the doorframe, staring at his son. His uniform jacket hung open, his close-cropped red hair was mussed and he smelled of the tobacco some members of the

Michelle L. Levigne

4

Admiral's Cabinet clung to, despite the havoc it created with the native ecology. “What's wrong, boy?” The Commodore yanked out Arin's desk chair and turned it around so he straddled the back as he settled into it, facing his sweating son. “Bad dream,” Arin admitted, barely able to make his voice loud enough to be heard. “Did I disturb -- “ “We adjourned half an hour ago.” He allowed a half-grin and tilted his head just enough the burn scars across his left cheek showed in the hall light. “Want to talk about it?” Surprisingly, Arin did. “Wind Walker, huh?” the man muttered when Arin finished. “That's a term you don't hear much.” He nodded, his pale blue eyes going out of focus as he thought. “I think she's Ayanlak,” Arin offered. “Oh, definitely. Wind Walker is a native religious leader. Maybe you were remembering . . . “ He seemed about to say more, but instead he sighed and started to stand. “Remembering? What?” He untangled his legs from his blankets and swung them out over the side of the bed to sit up. “What happened before we found you.” “Found me?” “You honestly don't remember?” The Commodore sighed. “You're adopted. You know that, don't you?” “Well, yeah, but -- “ “You're Ayanlak, Arin.” He stared at his father, praying he would grin and tell him it was a joke. The silence in the half-lit room rang as tiny details swirled through Arin's mind and suddenly made sense. “That's why they hate me. Not because Uncle Admiral likes my designs. Not because I get better grades. Not because I'm so good at the trade language. Because I'm a native, not a colonist.” A strangled chuckle escaped his tight throat. “Who does?” The flat tone told Arin his father already knew. “Oh ... Reesker and his buddies.” Arin drew a deep breath, surprised to feel only an odd sense of relief. “Why didn't you find natives to adopt me? They treat their kids like gold.” “Your mother and I wanted children. The sleep-chamber malfunction made her sterile. You were a gift from Fi'in.” The Commodore settled again into his chair. “We were scouting the northern foothills.” He stopped and swallowed audibly; a sign of nervousness that startled Arin. “They were preparing to sacrifice a child. Not even two years old. We heard you scream when they burned your arm.” Arin never took his gaze off his father as his fingers strayed to the patch of shiny burn scar on the underside of his right arm. He had always wondered where he got it. “Of all the crazy things this planet has thrown at us since we were forced to land, that demonic ritual was the craziest. We grabbed you and ran, basically.” The Commodore knuckled his bloodshot eyes. “The Cabinet approved the adoption. I think they envisioned you becoming a bridge between us and the natives.” “I don't think so. Not with the way people feel about Ayanlak nowadays.” Arin tried to smile, but the idea sent a shiver up his back and created a reverberation down to his soul. “This is a puzzling world, son, no doubt about that. All the evidence says the Ayanlak came from the First Wave.”

Wind Walker

5

“First Wave? You mean -- they're Downfall refugees too?” He had thought himself beyond surprise tonight -- he was wrong. “You know that cluster the Ayanlak call the Sentinel Stars?” “Shala, Merla and Enla.” “It's not common knowledge, even in the Cabinet -- they're old-style sleeper ships; permanent orbit. Maybe six generations ahead of the wrecks that brought us to this benighted world.” “Then they're Human, too.” “The Peace faction believes so. The Dominators deny it. It was a mistake to keep our discoveries secret, but we weren't sure how the Ayanlak would react if we claimed we were the same race. They don't exactly like us.” “Good reason. No matter how the Dominators lie, everybody knows we're invaders. We have no right to just come in and take whatever we want.” Arin sighed, feeling a heaviness settle on his shoulders. “How come you never told me this before?” “Scared, maybe.” His father shrugged. “Maybe we hoped people would forget and you'd be completely accepted. Both races are Human, but there's such a wide chasm to cross, it's easier to stay on our side and ignore the truth than try to cross it. We have no idea how long the Ayanlak have been here. Long enough to develop a new culture and forget the Downfall wars. It's a sure bet they were fleeing the purges that classified genetically augmented people as nonHuman. Part of the problem is, we don't know how long our ships wandered before the malfunctions woke us and we had to land.” He groaned and heaved himself out of the chair. “Haven't told you bedtime stories in years.” “Thanks for nothing,” Arin muttered. That earned a lopsided, tired grin. “The thing is, son, we made a lot of deadly mistakes. We ignored warnings and attacked tribes that offered us friendship. We should have left when we realized this world was already populated, but we were so poorly prepared when we fled the Downfall Wars, we didn't have the technology to repair our own ships, much less settle properly. We continued the mistakes of the Downfall by classifying the Ayanlak as sub-Human. That error will be a barrier to peace and cooperation for generations to come.” “Unless I do something about it?” “You're one boy. We wouldn't put that kind of burden on you.” The Commodore chuckled wearily as he stepped to the door. “All I ask is that you live honorably and use the abilities Fi'in gave you. You'll always make your mother and me proud, Arin, no matter what.” Arin nodded and mumbled his goodnight as his father closed the door. His mind churned with the information he had been given as he lay back down and straightened his blankets. He doubted he would be able to sleep before morning. That explained so much! His scar and his talent for the trade language and his empathy for the Ayanlak who came to the fringes of Central to trade. He had thought it was his talents or the snow-white streak in his black hair that made so many of his yearmates treat him badly. He had thought it was jealousy -- but it was simple, filthy prejudice. Well, he would show them. Arin Dorwen was just as good as anyone born in the struggling colony. He would learn everything he could about engineering and the Ayanlak, and loyally serve Admiral Pol Dorwen, the governor, his uncle. Maybe his ability to influence animals with his thoughts wasn't just his imagination.

Michelle L. Levigne

6

Maybe it came from his Ayanlak heritage. The Downfall wars had been partially rooted in Humans trying to change the genome and breed for mental powers. Then they classified the genetically enhanced as sub-Humans, to control them. The Ayanlak claimed many talents and abilities the colonists took as superstition -- but what if they were real? That didn't matter, Arin decided as his mind swirled through the new vistas opened to his imagination. The only way he would be fully accepted by the colonists was to deny everything about himself that was Ayanlak. He would discipline himself never to use his gift on animals. He would even control his dreams. * * * * * Arin didn't dream of his little Ayanlak friend again. The ache of his loss faded under the onslaught of his new purpose in life. After only four months, he stopped trying to return to the dreaming place. Twelve years later, he began to dream of her again. But by then, he no longer believed dreams were real.

Wind Walker

7

Chapter One Colony Year 0034 Tayree d'Bartha, Wind Walker to the Sentinels who patrolled the High Reaches, wished for the second time in her life that she had never been born. Three years ago, she had fled home to the High Reaches and vowed she would never again set foot in the Canyon, capital of the Keerlagor tribe. Yet here she stood, on the cliff above the entire complex, with the night-quiet city behind her and the blue-flamed Wind Walker fire before her. Rhovas, Wind Walker leader and her kinsman, stood on the other side of the fire and held a tiny pellet of Dreamweed powder in his palm. For the first time in her life, dreamwalking to serve her people felt like a threat. Bondage. Torture. “Child of my blood, the Winds have shown you how to find the Twin Heir,” he said, his voice rumbling through the silver waterfall of his beard. “For years, our best hunters have searched,” Tayree murmured. She wore her ceremonial robes, which had always felt solid and protectively heavy with beads and embroidery and decorative paint, but which now felt as thin as mist and little shelter from her pain and anger and fear. “Based on your childhood dreams.” “Omnistos curse those dreams!” Instead of flinching at her blasphemy, she stepped closer to the fire. “They poisoned my life.” “They told us the Twin Heir lived, when we thought he had been killed by the Koh'hani. You gave us the gift of hope.” “I walked where the Chieftain's family noticed me. Omnistos curse that honor.” Tayree shivered, despite the warmth of her robes. “I beg you, send another. My spirit still bleeds.” “You vowed to serve the Winds, Tayree d'Bartha. At all costs.” Rhovas turned his hand, letting the Dreamweed pellet drop into the fire. A gentle breeze sprang up from behind him, blowing a thin column of silver-tinted smoke directly to Tayree. Tears filled her eyes as she obediently put her face into the smoke and inhaled deeply. “I was a foolish child,” she muttered. “I gave my heart to Palan, before I saw the evil in him. Because of those dreams.” “You did not give your heart to Palan, but to the dream the Winds put into your child's pure spirit.” “I healed him once, before I realized what he was. I wish I had walked away and let him suffer,” Tayree whispered as she dropped to her knees, dizzy with the smoke. “Never take justice into your hands. Wait for the Winds to bring justice to you. Never force it. That will only bring pain.” Tayree closed her eyes, a single tear falling, as the vision spilled through her mind. “Melda on the River,” she whispered. * * * * *

Michelle L. Levigne

8

Talon, her twin brother waited for Tayree when she tried to slip from the Canyon before dawn. He stood at the gate of the stables, holding the reins of two misty gray horses set aside for Wind Walker use. He wore dark traveling leathers and stood in the morning shadows. His gray eyes gleamed from his black-bearded face like twin stars. Tayree was still too fog-headed from the Dreamweed to be sour with him. And too grateful she didn't have to choose and saddle a horse on her own. All that mattered was escaping the Canyon before anyone knew Rhovas had sent her to hunt the missing son of Chieftain Pindir and Lady Eriel. “She still blames you?” Talon took Tayree's pack and her stone-tipped staff and held them for her until she mounted. Since they were toddlers, the twins could hear the upper layers of each other's thoughts without even trying. It was always a comfort, and saved hours of talking. “According to Lady Eriel, I had no right to refuse her son. No right to marry Jerel when Palan wanted me. It is my fault Palan poisoned my sons and died murdering my husband.” A tiny snort of bitter laughter escaped Tayree. How easily those words came, only seven moons after those four deaths. “Gracious of her not to mince words.” He winked at her and handed up her pack and staff before swinging into his own saddle. “Strawberry rolls, twin?” “The only thing I don't hate about the Na'huma invaders is the new plants they brought. Give.” She held out a hand still slightly trembling from Dreamweed. Tayree groaned in ecstasy as she bit into the first roll oozing with crushed fruit, still warm from the ovens. “The Twin Heir is among the Na'huma, isn't he?” She nodded, swallowing hard even though her throat tried to close around the gooey, sweet treat. “How will you persuade him to come with you?” “He's Palan's twin -- if I offer him power, he'll follow without a moment of hesitation.” “You don't believe that.” Talon clicked his tongue at the horses. They started down the long, winding passage between high amber and black-striped stone walls carved by wind and water. At this time of the morning, the entire Canyon sat in chill shadows and dripped with dew. Tayree hoped to be as far as the Hagojo Plain, following the river before day trickled into the city. “No. My vision shows a man of honor and authority, guarded by the Na'huma soldiers. He is Palan in face and movement, but …” She crammed the last bit of roll into her mouth and wiped her sticky fingers on the saddle blanket. She had slept little last night, dizzied by visions of her childhood friend reaching for her with gladness -- then turning to Palan, to beat her senseless because she would not renounce her betrothal and marry him. Tayree longed to see how the good-humored, caring boy she had known in dreamwalking had grown to manhood. She feared he would be as arrogant and blind as all the Na'huma leadership. How could she persuade him to return to the tribe of his birth? How could she travel beside him, feeling the scars in her heart bleed again? “You don't trust visions anymore, do you?” Her twin sighed and arched his back, working out kinks from a sleepless night. Tayree could feel it in him, shared by their twin bond that had never been broken, not even

Wind Walker

9

by her marriage to Jerel, Talon's best friend. Only a strong emotional attachment could weaken a twin bond, and she had never experienced such a thing yet. Only her love for her murdered sons had come close. “You don't even trust Aundree's Vision anymore, do you?” “Palan never cared about the laws of Omnistos, but he used the sacred writings to get his way.” Tayree spat to get rid of the bad taste that came from speaking his name. “I wish Aundree had never discovered Dreamweed and never dreamed. Her vision split the People into tribes and enemies. Her vision promised peace when invaders fell from the stars.” “Invaders have indeed fallen from the stars,” her twin reminded her with a crooked smile. Tayree had no response to that. If she could have had her way, she would spend all her life in the High Reaches and never see the colonists who had created havoc on their world. She was coming to learn that what she wanted mattered little in the great scheme of things. By the will of the Winds who served Omnistos, she would walk among the Na'huma and hunt the Twin Heir, a child stolen to prevent the fulfillment of Aundree's Vision. The living image of the man who had tried to rape her, and had murdered her husband and infant sons, all in the name of fulfilling that vision. She had never claimed she completely understood the Winds, but now Tayree thought she understood less than ever. * * * * * “Problem, son?” Commodore Dorwen lifted his gaze from the stack of papers he had been reading. He winced and rubbed his neck. “I really miss reading off a screen. Now I know why our ancestors made 'paperwork' a curse word.” The joke had become threadbare more than five years ago, when the last portable computers finally died. The electric lights and sanitary system in Central still worked, but they were reserved for infirmary use and emergencies. Arin grunted acknowledgement of the old complaint and crossed the main room of the tiny apartment they shared. When his mother died four years ago, they left their spacious quarters in Government House. Lianni Dorwen had been hostess for her brother-in-law and First Lady of the colony and had literally controlled the massive, pre-fabricated buildings brought on the sleeper ships. Now, the two men shared bachelor quarters near the barracks on the far side of Central. Arin preferred it that way; it gave him distance from nasty relatives and their cronies in the Domination faction. “This.” He slapped a roll of drawings down onto the long worktable. The Commodore slowly pushed aside his stack of reports and unrolled the drawings. A smile creased the gray-red stubble he was trying to turn into a beard. “Council approved your bridge plans. Congratulations. A whole two weeks sooner than anybody in the Peace faction thought.” He hauled himself out of his chair and held out a hand to Arin to shake. “Thanks, Dad, but the Dominators win this time.” Arin snatched up his precious drawings -- he worked four entire months on those bridge plans -- and flung them against the wall. He dropped onto the long bench against the wall and deliberately thudded his head back against the plastered surface for good measure.

Michelle L. Levigne

10

“They didn't.” His father closed his eyes. “And guess who gets the honor of heading up the construction project at Melda?” Arin pursed his mouth to spit, then thought better of it. He had never understood the phrase 'bad taste in my mouth' until his frustrating encounter with the Planning Board only half an hour ago. “That bridge is for Whipping Gorge, not Melda. The Ayanlak don't care toad squat if we expand our holdings at Whipping. Build that bridge at Melda, cross the river and start spreading across the plains -- “ The Commodore leaned over his paperwork and reached for the bottle of genuine, pre-voyage whiskey. Cabinet members got one bottle a year on Landing Day and were expected to make it last. Arin remembered a time when his parents donated their bottles to the infirmary. Only since his mother's death and the upsurge in support for the Domination faction had his father held onto his yearly stipend of whiskey. “We get the war the Dominators want, as an excuse to start exterminating the Ayanlak, village by village. First they get the hostiles, then they label the peaceful ones as sympathizers. Pretty soon, the entire planet is ours.” Theirs, Arin silently amended. He had never felt so ashamed to be a colonist by adoption as he had that evening, standing before the Planning Board. Cousin Reesker didn't bother stifling his smirking glee that Arin had been 'honored' with the sticky task of adapting his bridge design to suit Melda on the River. Then the second blow fell. Arin had to oversee the entire ambitious building project. “We don't need the entire fragging planet,” the Commodore whispered, and punctuated his words by yanking the clay and wax stopper from the bottle. He took a long swig, then held out the bottle to Arin. “Medicine, son. A little will help you forget. Just for a while. Until the bleeding stops.” A crooked smile dragged on Arin's mouth. That was exactly how he felt -- like he had been stabbed in the back. He levered himself off the bench and reached for the bottle. His nose recoiled from the harsh fumes and his tongue burned before he quite had the bottle to his mouth. He wished he wasn't totally immune to the effects of the native grain brews or berry wines. * * * * * Eight hours later, Arin wished he weren't so painfully susceptible to the negative effects of the ancient whiskey. Two mouthfuls he had taken, the second against his better judgment. Two mouthfuls, and eight hours later his head still swam and ordinary noises threatened to shatter his skull. He wouldn't have minded the hangover if he could have gone numb for a few hours. The whiskey had only made him so sick he couldn't sleep. “You need a good sweating,” his native assistant, Jolif said when they met at the stables on the western edge of Central. Arin was grateful he had thought to make the arrangements for his journey last night, before he took his father's 'medicine.' He could put everything into Jolif's capable hands until his body turned friendly again. “How will that help?” Arin grumbled, trying not to whimper. “Purge the poisons from your blood. Now, tell me what the hurry is and why you tried to kill yourself the hard way.” Jolif slid down against the outside wall of the stables until he crouched almost on his heels and grinned up at Arin. They could have been brothers, with the same thick, almost coarse, curly black hair --

Wind Walker

11

except for that patch of white in Arin's hair. The same wide shoulders and sand-toned skin. The same black eyes and regal, hawk-like nose. But Jolif was Ayanlak, able to wear sandals and loose knee-pants of butter-soft grazerhorn skin and little more than a vest in an eye-blinding shade of blue. Arin, as a civilian adjutant to the military, had to wear boots and long pants and a buttondown shirt. He compromised by rolling up his sleeves and leaving his shirt untucked as often as protocol allowed. “Speak, friend. The sooner you share your agony, the sooner it is divided,” Jolif urged.

Michelle L. Levigne

12

Chapter Two Groaning, Arin put his back to the wall on the other side of the stables door and slid down to mimic Jolif's position. Albeit, as stiff as an ancient board. His Ayanlak friend was silent, too silent, when Arin finished telling him about the assignment. The silence spread, affecting even the horses, the insects, the wind. Arin knew if he gave in to the ever-present temptation and touched the minds of the horses, they would be on a knife's edge of alertness to the disquiet in the air. He imagined the silence spread westward, across the dusty grass plains, two days' journey to Melda on the River. Even now, some sensitive soul among the Ayanlak likely heard what was in their thoughts and gasped in horror. “How long to build this bridge?” Jolif finally asked. “I have to study the terrain before I can adapt the plans. Then we have to gather the materials. Fall and spring rains will interfere, and the killer blizzards they get around the rivers. I'll be stuck there at least an entire year, just so I know what my bridge has to endure ... “ Did the thudding at the base of his skull ease up a little? Arin opened his eyes and looked at his friend. Jolif grinned. “At least three years to complete? In that long a time, anything could happen.” “Yeah. Reesker and his buddies could all get drunk and run themselves over during the Landing Day races.” Arin groaned. “We'll never be friends with the tribes, but could we at least do nothing to damage the cease-fire?” “Come, my friend. There is still hope. The Winds will yet bring opportunity to those who serve peace and truth. I swear it on the sign of my clan.” Jolif rubbed the feline profile of a nightclaw -- what the colonists called a panther -- etched into his blue enameled torque. “I swear on the scars of our blood-bond.” He held up his hand so Arin could see the green-stained scar on the side. The matching scar on Arin's hand tingled in response. He smiled and let himself believe the tingling took away a little of his misery. Raising his hand, he let Jolif press their scars together, as they had the day they promised undying friendship. What kind of a friend am I, Arin wondered, when I can't even tell him my deepest secret? Maybe before this project was finished, he would finally tell Jolif he was Ayanlak, too. He might need to beg sanctuary among the natives of Refuge. More and more, as the Dominators gained power in the Cabinet, Arin seriously considered turning his back on the colony that had saved his life. But how could he? He had nowhere to go, no family but the Commodore. He still dreamed of peace between colonists and natives, even in the face of this cursed bridge. * * * * * Tayree rode her mist-colored Wind Walker horse south, keeping to the lowlands and avoiding the foothills of the Spine of the World Mountains. The journey south and then east through the gap created by the Scolasi Plains covered more ground than her preferred route straight east through the mountains. Because she rode alone instead of traveling on foot or with a company, she took only four days to cover it, rather than weeks. She left the horse with Wind

Wind Walker

13

Walkers of the Moerna tribe, Keerlagor allies, just before she emerged from the gap. She walked the rest of the way; half a day south across the narrowest part of the Scolasi, then five days straight east to the Braided River, then half a day north to the Human settlement called Melda. When she found the Twin Heir, they would make the return journey on foot, through the foothills and into the Spine. The Koh'hani who had stolen the Twin Heir as a child likely still searched for him; two could vanish into the foothills and mountains far more easily than a mounted company of warriors. Rhovas also had commanded her to teach Chieftain Pindir's lost son the history of the Keerlagor and the teachings of the Winds, to know the land in his blood and to love it. Far easier to do on foot than riding with ease above the land. Rhovas did not command Tayree to reveal her identity to this Na’huma-raised man, her history with his dead twin, or even his identity. Tayree intended to keep silent there. She was nothing more than a messenger and teacher -- mistrada -- to this living image of cursed Palan s'Pindir. Tayree reached Melda in that gray time when dusk became night. A bridge of braided ropes and boards supported on barrels bobbed and swayed with the current, only a short distance down from where the two arms of the Braided River rejoined. The water ran high and fast, swollen by the continuing spring rains. Two men in Na'huma uniforms waited on the Melda side of the bridge, their backs to her. Tayree had little experience with the Na'huma, other than the foundling children who were adopted and trained as Ayanlak. She had heard enough to know those soldiers who guarded the bridge during the dark hours would charge her a fee to cross. She had trade coins in her belt pouch, but the principle of the thing irked her. A spark of mischief raised her first smile in days and she devised a plan as she started across the bridge. Reaching with her mind, she found a baobog and stirred it to flight when she was halfway across the river. The clumsy, naturally indolent water bird screeched, upset at being disturbed when it had already settled into its mud nest for the night. The cry was like spears and metal pots clattering inside a cart, down a rutted road. The two soldiers startled at the sound and stepped away from the end of the bridge. One laughed and chased the baobog as it fluttered to the ground and scurried in circles along the bank. The other taunted his friend. Neither man noticed Tayree step off the bridge onto the bank, and slip into the growing shadows to head toward Melda. The air felt thick from yesterday's rain, heavy with the growing heat that promised to make the next few days scorching torment. The humidity accented the cramped population reek that seemed to dig claws into her nostrils. Tayree smelled charcoal smoke and the slick, poisonous tang of some Na'huma flammable chemical. Under that, she smelled burned meat and the stench of a cesspond, uncapped and improperly tended. The musky, bitter, salty tang of unwashed bodies filtered through on errant strands of breeze. She turned her head to find the source of the smell and saw huts along the river docks. Built of scrap lumber, ragged cloth, tree limbs, they were lit with lanterns hanging by doors or fire pits. “River rats,” she murmured, and turned away, heading toward the larger buildings and cobblestone streets of Melda proper. Tayree had been warned about the men who tended the barges along the Braided River. They made Palan look like a peaceful man who honored and protected women. “There is a sickness in this place, more in spirit than body,” she reported to Rhovas when they met in dreamwalk late after moonrise. “The land cries against it. I can feel it tremble under my feet.”

Michelle L. Levigne

14

They stood on a plateau hung on nothingness, lit by silver moonlight, the grass so deeply green it glowed. Above, stars shimmered in rainbow streaks. Faint swirls of mist like Dreamweed smoke formed a dome between them and the night. “In their struggle to survive, they ignore common sense,” Rhovas said, nodding. “I give you another task while you seek the Twin Heir. Speak to the People among the Na'huma. Open their eyes and remind them of all they have lost, and the harm they do their bodies and spirits.” “I would do it even if you didn't ask,” she said with a snort of disgust for all she had seen. “My soul aches for them. So sick they don't know their illness, and forgetting the cure. We should send more Wind Walkers and Spirit Singers here, to rescue all Ayanlak.” “You are there now. Begin the work.” He chuckled, the sound warm and soothing. “It sickens me, Great-Uncle. We are someday to make peace and call these Na'huma our brothers?” “Aundree's Vision promises it.” His smile grew wide enough to part the silver waterfall of his beard. “Child, you vowed your soul to serve the Winds wherever they led. Not your pain.” “Why won't they heal me?” erupted on a sudden surge of grief. Tayree had thought her mourning would have dulled by now, but coming to Melda had renewed her pain. It felt as jagged as the moment she saw Jerel plummet off the cliff, Palan's knife in his heart, his hands around Palan's throat. “Perhaps they already heal you, but you treasure your wounds too much.” “Treasure?” she gasped. “They give you shelter, so you need not continue living. Despite Lady Eriel's words at the inquest, you are not to blame. Do not continue to punish yourself. Live, Tayree. Open your heart, and learn to dream again.” * * * * * The morning was hot enough to make Arin wish he could get by with just a vest and knee-length pants like Jolif. He had left his boots in the government guesthouse. As soon as he reached his office near the docks, Arin planned on removing his sandals, unbuttoning his shirt and rolling up his sleeves. Regulations and protocol could enter the starry void, for all he cared. From Jolif's grin and sidelong glances as they moved down the street lined with two and three story wood-frame buildings on stilts, his assistant knew his thoughts. Arin didn't mind. Rather, he was grateful. All his life he had felt a lack, a sense that there should be someone at his side who knew his thoughts before he thought them. Jolif came close to easing that sense of loss. When he offered to make the blood-bond six months ago, Jolif had given a gift Arin could never adequately repay. It was remarkably quiet for this early spring morning. Families were still at breakfast. Merchants had yet to open the doors and lift the awnings of their shops. He and Jolif and his two soldier escorts had most of the long, central cobblestone street of Melda to themselves. Ten more minutes of quiet walking, enjoying the peace of the early hour, brought them to the main docks. On the wide, packed dirt and gravel town square, Arin's one-room office hut sat with its back turned to the docks. Arin paused on the stairs to the doorway, turned and glanced back down the street. He regretted having to spend such a beautiful, clear day indoors, even if it did threaten to be hot and stifling. There were rains predicted in a few days; the killer spring storms that demanded Melda be built on stilts or not survive. He couldn't believe in rain on a day like this. The woman walking alone down the street caught his gaze. Her hip-length blue-black hair

Wind Walker

15

was held back with nothing but a headband of glistening silver and blue beads. She wore traveling leathers decorated with brilliant blue, green and red beads in a thick band around her knee-length shirt hem and cuffs. More silver and blue beads decorated the outer seams of her leggings and the fringe of her calf-high red boots. A long knife hung from the wide, braided belt snugging her hips and she carried a staff tipped in stone at both ends. A dusty pack hung down her back. She turned as if she felt the intensity of his gaze. For just a moment, their gazes met. Arin swore she smiled at him and her black eyes sparkled. It seemed in another moment he would recognize her, and her lips moved as if she would speak. Then the soldiers caught up and stepped between him and the woman. A moment later when they left his line of sight, the woman had vanished.

Michelle L. Levigne

16

Chapter Three “Did you see her?” Arin muttered to Jolif. He glanced at his assistant when the man didn't respond. Jolif stared at the spot where the woman had been a moment before, his eyes wide. The Ayanlak frowned, then looked at Arin. “I saw her,” he said just as quietly. Yes, the woman was beautiful with her smooth stride, dark eyes and glossy, thick, long hair. Her leathers were loose on her lean form, draping her like silk. She brought to mind a shadowclaw. The graceful, silent jungle creature could only be glimpsed from the corner of the eye in moonlight. Yet her beauty wasn't reason enough for Jolif to stare like that. Jolif shook himself and glanced once more at the street where the woman had been. He shrugged, then stepped up into the office, walked over to the main worktable and tugged the chair out for Arin to sit. “The mayor will be here in an hour to see you.” “To complain again -- or rather, to complain still,” Arin said with a groan. He put thoughts of the woman aside and settled down into his chair. Along with building the bridge, Arin had to start renovations on all the government buildings at Melda. His was the final word on site, materials and design. His only comfort in the tedium was that every extra project delayed the bridge's start. There was too much work to do, too many officials to appease or put into their places for him to spare thoughts for a woman he had only seen for ten seconds. Still, her face flickered through Arin's imagination all through the tedious, hot day. He was sure he had seen her before. Any moment, he expected a closed door in his mind to snap open and he would remember. Her face floated before his mind's eye at the oddest moments. Fragments of memory showed her laughing -- and then a moment later, her face wracked with tears and pain. Where had he seen her? The Ayanlak guarded their unmarried women like rare treasures, when the colonists were around. Arin thought he could count on one hand the times he had seen a young Ayanlak woman alone; usually he only saw mothers with several children or grandmothers escorted by their sons and grandsons. Considering the way the rougher fringe elements of the colonists treated the natives, Arin knew why the women -- especially the beauties - hid. Then his memories cracked open, dropping him into a scene that felt so familiar he thought he had lived it. Arin stood on a cliff edge, a knife in his hand, fury making his body burn. His throat closed on a shout that threatened to suffocate him. He lunged at a man who was nothing more than a shadowy figure -and they fell. The woman dropped to her knees at the top of the cliff and watched them tumble down, her mouth open in a scream that never touched Arin's ears. With a muffled gasp, Arin broke free of the daydream memory. He looked around his office and found the scene unchanged; Jolif stood at the table holding the paperboard model of the bridge; the guards lounged in the doorway, talking quietly and looking out into the dusty, blinding bright street. The memory -- if that was what it was -- had taken only a few seconds.

Wind Walker

17

Arin surreptitiously wiped cold sweat from his forehead. His heart still thudded in reaction to the fury that had burned him. It felt so real. Yet he knew it had never happened. Musing until he got a headache wouldn't solve the problem. Arin called up all his discipline to concentrate on his job. The answers, if there were any, would come in their own good time. He had work to do. He would do it, no matter how much he loathed it. Still ... he had to know, someday, somehow, who that woman was and why she felt so familiar. * * * * * It didn't surprise Arin somehow, when he stepped onto the guesthouse porch that evening and saw his daydream native woman running toward him. She had been so often in his thoughts, it was like she had stepped from his imagination into reality. For a moment, he was content to watch and savor the grace of her long legs and pumping arms, the way her hair streamed behind her like a banner of dark fire, the intensity of her eyes and the hard line of her mouth. Two men in the baggy, faded clothes of bargemen chased her. “This way!” Arin shouted, and vaulted over the high porch railing. He ran to meet her. A spark gleamed in her eyes as their gazes met. She changed course so abruptly, the men behind her skidded in the dusty street and nearly fell as they tried to follow. Feet thudded at the far end of the wooden porch behind Arin as his guards appeared in the doorway, summoned by his shout. “Get out of the way, little man,” the sandy-haired, bearded bargeman in the lead growled. He slowed when Arin yanked his belt knife free and the torchlight gleamed on the long blade. “Little?” Arin laughed, one short, sharp bark. He stood a good head taller than either of the woman's pursuers. The wind shifted and he caught the stink of alcohol and unwashed bodies. “The she-dirt is ours!” Now Arin knew what they intended for the woman who now stood silently beside him. The bargemen considered all Ayanlak animals. The men were merely draft animals. The women were there to cook and clean and spread their legs for any man who wanted them. They were probably furious this woman had refused them, and then dared to flee. “She's under the protection of the Cabinet,” Arin growled. The bargeman laughed and drew back his fist to attack. Arin shifted his knife to his other hand and lunged with his empty fist. He ducked low, pushing up with his legs and punched his opponent in the middle of his greasy, salt-stinking chest. Rancid breath gushed in Arin's face. He shifted the knife back and swung again, making his opponent dance backwards with a strangled roar of rage and surprise. The other man darted past them and lunged at the woman. From the corner of his eye, Arin saw her spin and twist, avoiding the filthy, outstretched hands. A moment later, the man fell into a crumpled heap at her feet. “Behind you!” the woman called. Her voice sounded like a singing river on a warm summer morning.

Michelle L. Levigne

18

He knew her voice. From long ago. Younger, sweeter, raised in laughter and muted with tears. But from where? Arin turned, narrowly avoiding a knife in his gut. He spun, jerking his knee into his opponent's groin. The bargeman went down, choking. Arin's guards appeared from around the house. How long had the battle taken? Ten, fifteen seconds? “You didn't need my help at all,” he said, turning to look at the woman. “I needed witnesses when I defended myself,” she responded, a thin smile brightening her sharp-boned face. “Witnesses?” He knew he gaped stupidly at her, but he couldn't help it. Arin wanted to sit and just look into her wide, luminous eyes and listen to the sweet murmur of her voice. “Those two would probably swear out warrants that she and ten friends attacked them without reason,” one guard said. He glanced at the Ayanlak woman with admiration that made something inside Arin rear back in anger. “I've heard about the jali'tay, but never seen it used.” “It requires years of study.” She let her smile deepen and nodded to both soldiers, then to Arin. “Thank you for helping. I had heard it was rare for Na'huma to be so kind.” “Unfortunately, that's true.” Arin wiped sweat from his forehead. “Take those two away. I'm pressing charges.” “Yes, sir.” The guards saluted him in unison and bent to drag away the two bargemen. Arin's man had ceased moaning. He curled up, rocking a little in the dust. The woman's opponent was still silent; a boneless heap of filthy clothes and sour odor. “Thank you,” she said, and turned to leave. “Wait.” Arin reached out a hand as if to stop her. Then he glanced at her downed attacker and thought better of uninvited contact. “Can I give you an escort home? Would you like to sit for a while? Something to drink? We've finished dinner, but there's -- “ “Thank you.” Laughter sparkled in her eyes, crinkled in the corners of her mouth. “I have eaten, and I need no escort.” “That's true.” He managed a choked laugh. “May I ask your name? I'm Arin Dorwen.” He braced himself for that moment when she recognized his name and the powerful family that claimed him.

Wind Walker

19

Chapter Four “I am Tayree d'Bartha. Of the Keerlagor.” Something in her gaze made him think she expected him to know that name. If Tayree knew his name, she gave no sign of it. Arin nearly laughed when he realized he was both relieved and disappointed. “Good-night, Arin. May the Winds give you sweet dreams.” She nodded again to him and continued down the street. While he stared and struggled for something to say, she stepped beyond the glow of the torches and vanished into the night. Dreams. Arin felt a dropping sensation in his gut. That was the answer to the puzzle she presented. He had seen her in his dreams. * * * * * The dream returned that night as Arin stretched out on top of his sheets, a sheen of sweat on his naked skin. It had been nearly six months since the fury dreams stopped haunting him and he had thought himself well rid of them. He moaned in his sleep as he realized what would happen -- and he could not stop it. Tayree danced through his dreams, laughing, in a sleeveless shimmering green dress, barefoot, her hair tossed by swirling winds and her face bright with joy and life. Arin watched her, angrily hungry to hold her in his arms. He ran to catch her. His steps covered leagues of ground, yet Tayree danced away, laughing and singing, just beyond his reach. She seemed not to know or care that he was there. A man-shadow stepped between them. Arin reared back, startled, and found a long knife in his hand. His hunger turned to fire with teeth as Tayree ran into the man's arms and tilted her head back, offering her mouth for a kiss. He leaped to attack. Tayree vanished into smoke. He fought with the man-shadow, stabbing, kicking, shouting until the sky cracked. The ground opened up beneath them. Locked together, Arin and the man-shadow fell. Tayree dropped to her knees at the edge of the precipice high above, her face pale, eyes staring. Tears washed her cheeks. The dream changed, and this was something new. Arin stood next to Tayree. He tried to reach a hand to her. He wanted to put his arms around her, comfort her, dry her tears on his shoulder. He couldn't move. Tayree turned. Her eyes widened and she stared into his eyes. Hatred and loathing changed to confusion. She could see him! Arin sat up in bed, reaching for her. His throat hurt from the cry that strangled against his teeth. * * * * * Tayree met Rhovas in a place as unreal as the cliff where Arin fought the man-shadow, yet as solid as her own mind.

Michelle L. Levigne

20

She stood in a meadow, the colors muted by a silvery mist enclosing the spot, the edges softened till they faded away. “So, you have found him.” Rhovas nodded, silver beard faintly ruffled by the gentle breeze that smelled of conifers and sweet smoke. His dark eyes held stars as he cocked his head to one side and studied her. “How is it with him?” “I have asked no questions, only listened.” Tayree half-closed her eyes and heard again the voices speaking on the docks, in the shops, in the main square where the people of Melda read posted notices and shared news. “He is a man of authority among the Na'huma. Respected for his family and talents. He is not of the soldiers, yet they guard him. A man of the People walks with him. Not a servant. A friend, I think, but holding back.” “His tribe?” “He wears a necklet, but I was not close enough to read it. Perhaps it holds no sign. Either he has foresworn his loyalties or he has been cast out ...” “Or he seeks the Twin Heir to destroy him,” Rhovas said when she paused a second too long. His beard parted in a smile when she nodded and looked away. “This Arin has been trained for his destiny. Is he a good man?” “He is respected. He did leap to my aid against two river rats, and he knew I was of the People.” Tayree closed her eyes and the meadow changed to the riverbank where two filthy men stumbled from their barge to snatch at her arms and offered her drink and food to come share their blankets. She showed Rhovas their rage when she refused. One pulled a knife to force her and she fled them as easily as smoke. She showed him the flicker of light on the edge of her vision, the prickle down her back and the touch of a breeze, which guided her to Arin; how he leaped down to defend her. “He needs no teaching, then, to know we are worthy,” Rhovas mused, his smile widening in the silver depths of his beard. He nodded. Bits of misty light glinted off the rainbow layers of glass beads on his robes, marking events in his hundred-plus years serving the Winds and Omnistos. “He must prove he is worthy of the Keerlagor,” Tayree muttered and looked away. “And how is it with you, child of my blood?” “I am well.” “Truly?” He chuckled. “You expected to hate this man and find you cannot, I think.” “I am confused, Great-Uncle,” she said on a sigh, and sank to her knees in the misty grass. Even so close, she could not tell one blade apart from the other. The flowers dotting the grass were merely indistinct blobs of color, though their dreamtime perfume soothed her aching spirit and kept away the nightmare memories that threatened. “When our parents died and you took Talon and me into training, did the Winds show you what would come? If I had never gone to train in the Canyon, Palan never would have seen me. Jerel would still be alive.” “Would you have married Jerel?” the old man asked, his question a whisper yet making her jump as if stung. “He offered you sanctuary because he was your twin's closest friend. Neither of you loved except as friends.” “We came to love. We were happy.” “If Palan did not pursue you, would you have taken Jerel?” Tayree bowed her head and took two deep, slow breaths. Finally she shook her head. “I know not. And you are right. The first time I saw Arin Dorwen, I did not see Palan but a man with light inside him.” “The Winds move strangely, to heal and to teach. I am glad you are teachable, child. All the hopes and dreams of our tribe rest on your shoulders.” Rhovas bent down to wipe a single tear from the corner of

Wind Walker

21

Tayree's eye. “All my strength and wisdom and pride and love reaches to you, Tayree d'Bartha, daughter of my spirit. Listen to the guiding of the Winds and bring the Twin Heir home to his true people.” He stood back, all the light gathering in the single teardrop resting on his outstretched finger. Tayree closed her eyes against the sudden brilliance. “One word of warning, child of my blood,” he whispered. “Capture his mind and heart for the People and begin your journey soon. The way is long when unfamiliar, and enemies still watch to find and destroy him. Beware being caught on the Mist Plains during Conjunction. He is of Pindir's blood with Wind Walkers among his ancestors, but he lacks the discipline to withstand Dreamweed's blooming. Hurry home.” The perfume of the flowers faded and the touch of the breeze grew stronger, bringing with it the tarry scent of conifers and lantern grass, spicy with spring freshness. Tayree opened her eyes and looked around the moonlit clearing she had found for her dreamwalk. She bowed her head and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, to fight tears. The sound of the river slapping against the bridge's barrels came loudly to her through the soft night songs of insects. She felt the curious presence of a catling in the shadows to her left. Somewhere, she felt the presence of a Chaiqua, and that threatened to open a wound barely sealed. The canine predators were sacred to all the Ayanlak, creatures dwelling half in the spirit world, protectors of mystics and nobles. That hadn't stopped Palan from killing the Chaiqua that guarded Tayree's infant sons. Tayree ached, remembering the shock of that discovery. She wondered if she would ever be free of the aching emptiness that threatened to crush her. She felt it when she woke and reached for Jerel and he was not there. She felt it when she dreamed of her sons and woke with the ghost pain of milk in her breasts, and knew her arms were empty. Concentrate on the now! she scolded herself. Tayree smelled the mud of the river, the faint reek of rotting wood and reeds, the smoky presence of the Na'huma settlement on the other side of the river. Like old garbage, she sensed the dull minds of the river rats who preyed on Ayanlak ignorant of the Na'huma ways. She sensed the clean, more alert minds of the soldiers patrolling the docks. Even at this distance, she imagined she could feel the heartbeat of the one who called himself Arin. Had he chosen that name, or had the colonists who rescued the toddler given it to him? It was close enough to Erlon, the name Chieftain Pindir and Lady Eriel gave their son. That, Tayree decided, would be her next step of this quest; to find out about Arin's upbringing among the Na'huma. She had sensed him that morning just moments before she saw him. There was a buzzing in the air, teasing her bare skin like pollen bugs hovering at her fingertips. She had listened to the wind whispering in her ears and turned down the main street to follow, instead of walking the riverbank to the Ayanlak sector of the river town as she had planned. There he was, with Palan's face -- but not his spirit. He stood tall and confident and relaxed, smiling at the Ayanlak man beside him, with one glance showing his distaste for the guards who followed in his wake. Palan's arrogance always pulled him tall while anger hunched his shoulders. He worked to impress or intimidate everyone, even those he considered friends. Palan never smiled except in triumph; always conscious of his importance. He kept many guards in his shadow for show, to impress people.

Michelle L. Levigne

22

When she looked into Arin's eyes, Tayree had seen light in them. Palan had always been darkness, even when he laughed and forgot himself. Tayree had been so glad to sense such a chasm of difference between the twins, she had smiled -- even though this stranger wore Palan's face. “Omnistos,” she whispered now in the moonlit clearing, “I am your servant. You have made me Spirit Singer and Wind Walker to heal others. Heal me now as I obey. Guide me now, to capture the heart and mind of this man of the Na'huma, and bring him home to the People. When I am safely home in the High Reaches, I will burn many handfuls of visril grass to make sweet smoke in thanksgiving and lead the Sentinels in chants of praise to you, oh great Omnistos.” On her last word, she pinched soil between her fingers and pressed it to her forehead, leaving a smudge that would remind her of her vow when she washed in the morning.

Wind Walker

23

Chapter Five “The Winds bless you,” the little, white-haired Ayanlak grandmother whispered. She nodded and smiled and rocked a little among her blankets. Like many Ayanlak caught at the edges of Melda, she was reduced to living in a threewalled shelter, with a fire pit before the open side to keep away the night chills and dangers. The shack faced toward the river like others built on the northern side of Melda. It sat on a hill overlooking the canals and locks. If one side of the shelter sloped too much, it seemed worth the price. The Ayanlak didn't build on stilts or worry about the seasonal flooding. They also didn't have money for wholesome food or clothes that were little better than rags. Tayree had wandered Melda yesterday, learning the districts marked out by workers and merchants, soldiers and river rats, well-to-do Na’huma and their refuse. Today, she devoted to the Ayanlak. She had already found representatives from all fifteen tribes, living in harmonious squalor. She could almost wish the quarrelsome tribal leaders would be reduced to such a state, so they could learn to live in peace. True, there were Ayanlak who worked for the Na'huma without harming body or spirit. They resisted the allure of apathy, or the Na'huma-made grain alcohol that was more deadly than spending Conjunction in the Mist Plains. These Ayanlak walked a knife's edge between retaining their oneness with the land and finding comforting numbness among the invaders. Tayree didn't know whether to envy their ability to blend, or pity them. “How can we thank you?” the woman's son asked. He knelt next to his mother and bowed to Tayree. He was a man-mountain, all muscle and bronzed skin, his hair clipped short in the style of the wandering Wacogu foothill tribe. He didn't wear an armband with his clan markings. He had no knotted and beaded belt to tell of his achievements and what trade skills he possessed; whether he had married and sired children. Tayree had already met five others this morning who also lacked such things; sold to pay for food, medicine, shelter, or to help another Ayanlak start the long journey home. “Go home to the hills and plains,” Tayree said, giving vent to the words that pressed so hard on her soul her lips felt scorched. “That is the best medicine I can give, and the best thanks. Your soul and your body are not two separate entities, but two in one being. What harms one eventually harms the other.” “How? We have no money.” “Your tribe is east of the Mist Plains at this time of the year, so the journey will be short. You can fish and gather berries and dig roots in the spring soft soil, and sleep under the stars. You have blankets and knives. What more do you need for the journey?” “We have been softened, living with the Na'huma.” The young man wouldn't meet her eyes as he spoke. Tayree read shame in his hunched shoulders. She was grateful. Shame would make it easier for him to change. Shame was like wax, and anger like clay. The same circumstances made one soul pliable and another brittle and useless. “You are Ayanlak. Go back to the embrace of the land. It is your mother. Let her feed you. Leave behind the things of the Na'huma that weaken your bodies and souls. In poverty, learn to be strong again. When you have traveled far enough, your kin will find you.” Tayree pressed her

Michelle L. Levigne

24

fist over her heart, making the silent binding vow of a Wind Walker. “I will dreamwalk tonight and send word that you are coming.” She hoped she could find a Wacogu Wind Walker who would hear her. Wind Walkers and Spirit Singers were supposed to be above tribal bickering, but sometimes they cared more for the age-old insults and squabbles over territory than they did for serving Omnistos and the Winds. The Wacogu avoided the schisms that pitted the Keerlagor and their allies against the Koh'hani and theirs. Would they believe a Keerlagor when she said their fellow tribesmen returned? Tayree vowed to search until one listened. Had Palan been right, and together they could have helped fulfill the Vision, to unite the tribes in peace? Surely with all the damage the Na'huma had done since landing on this world, the tribes should learn to stand together, if only to survive? No. He had tried to beat her into submission. Palan was no tool of the Winds, no child born to fulfill Aundree's Vision. She was the willing servant of the Winds and she knew they were never so cruel and capricious. In that moment of silence, Tayree felt the warning prickle on her neck. She had felt it in her dreams, when the Winds showed her the Twin Heir. She had felt it again last night when the river rats attacked. Tayree had run instead of defending herself, heeding the Winds' guidance, and ran straight to Arin's help. She turned now, and found Arin standing on the other side of the pebble-strewn excuse for a street. That tall, well-fed Ayanlak man stood next to him. His necklet showed the nightclaw emblem of the Koh'hani, enemy of the Keerlagor. The Ayanlak looked at her, nodded once, and lowered his gaze. He knew who she was and honored her by refusing to stare. How strange and amusing. The enemy honored her, yet the hope of the Keerlagor knew nothing about her, and stared. Amusing, if the Koh'hani hadn't been in the company of Pindir's stolen son. Why was he here? Did he know Arin was of the Keerlagor, or did he think him a Na'huma? How could this man of the Koh'hani look at the white streak among Arin's thick black curls and not know? Arin stared at Tayree with hunger in his eyes. Palan had always made her feel like a half-cooked lump of meat, waiting to be devoured at his leisure. Arin's stare made awareness vibrate through her whole body. It turned warm and pleasant, tickling. Tayree broke free of the bonding in their gazes and turned back to the elderly woman and her son. They were like the dozens of Ayanlak she had seen already; living in sickness and hunger, spending their days in labor and their nights in exhaustion. “You know him, Singer?” the son asked, following her gaze. “He defended me last night.” Tayree shrugged, as if it meant nothing. “Who is he?” “The governor's engineer. Nephew to him. He brings changes to Melda and there will be plenty of work with real pay soon. I hope to make enough to take my mother home in comfort.” “In a year or two, yes, but you must go now. Who is the man of the People who walks with him?” “His name is Jolif. It is said they are friends, not master and servant.” The son shook his head in disbelief. Is that good? Or bad for me? Yet why would the Winds lead me here unless I had a chance of

Wind Walker

25

success? Tayree smiled and knelt to examine the eyes of the elderly woman she had just calmed out of her pain with a chant and dosed with a cold elixir of pressed herbs. Spirit Singers carried it in their healing pouches as a tonic, as did everyone who grew up in the High Reaches. It would purify the old woman's blood of the poisons filling the air, ground and plants around Na'huma towns, but the healing would not last. “You must take your mother home to the People,” she said to the son, as she examined the mother's eyes and touched the pulse in her neck with gentle, deft fingers. “We can't go near the river,” the son said, his words nearly dragged from him. “Why?” “River rats. They beat me until I join the work gangs and hold my mother prisoner against my obedience. Then they throw us stale bread for wages. I have no way to ask for justice.” “Is that how you came to this side of the river?” Tayree guessed. She bit her lip against a bitter smile when the young man nodded and lowered his head in shame. “Listen, man of the People.” She waited until he raised his head and met her gaze again. “I vow the Winds will protect you.” She heard her own voice as if from down a far tunnel. Tayree shivered at the mixed terror and thrill that always came when the Winds spoke through her. “A Chaiqua will walk before you until you are far from here. I see this, and I pledge my life and my blood to make it so,” she finished on a sigh. She smiled despite the emptiness that followed the power. The prickling on the back of her neck grew stronger. Tayree turned and found Arin and Jolif standing a few steps away. “I heard what you said,” Arin said to the son. “Forced labor is illegal. If you help me, I'll help you.” “How, sir?” the son asked, standing a little taller despite his obvious awe for an official of the Na’huma government. “We can't punish these men unless we catch them in the act, and then we can get them to witness against the others.” He smiled with a sharpness in his eyes that told Tayree he liked justice, not just traps. “When you attempt to cross the river, they'll try to harm you. We catch them and punish and stop them, and then other Ayanlak can freely go home. And I will send guards with you until you are safe.” “Others have offered help, but they always fail and we are worse off than before,” the old mother whimpered. “No, Aunt.” Jolif went to his knees and held out his hands to the woman. “I pledge this Na'huma is a friend to us.” “My name on it,” Arin said, holding out his hands flat, palm up in the Ayanlak style. “I am Arin Dorwen, Chief Engineer, nephew to the Admiral, proud to count Jolif s'Gorr as my blood-bound friend.” He touched the green-tinted scar along the side of his left hand, evidence of the blood-bond oath. “Home,” the old mother whispered. She smiled at Tayree with teary eyes. “You are indeed a strong Spirit Singer. You call us home and heal my body. You are the promised Singer, I think.” “I serve the Winds,” Tayree answered with a shiver. This day was not turning out at all as she had expected.

Michelle L. Levigne

26

Chapter Six The old mother and her son were ready to leave before nightfall. Jolif found a bow and tanglestone for hunting and protection. They had two blankets each, a change of clothes, knives, spark stones and a week's worth of provisions donated by other Ayanlak who didn't want to leave Melda. Tayree could not understand why any Ayanlak wouldn't want to go home and live as Omnistos had intended. “Why do you stay?” she murmured, long after the trap had been sprung with almost disgusting ease. The river rats posing as soldiers had been captured and sent off to jail and trial. Arin went with the soldiers to make his report. It was nearly midnight, and the mother and son and the soldier escorts were halfway across the floating bridge, leaving Tayree alone with Jolif on the town side of the riverbank. “You walk like a hunter,” she continued when he didn't answer. “You hold to the ways and clothes of the People -- but you seem comfortable among these Na'huma.” “The Winds keep me strong.” Jolif watched the four on the bridge, not her. “I studied to be a Wind Walker until my dreams led me here.” She liked him, she decided, despite being Koh'hani. He seemed free of the anger between the tribes. She admired that strength of will. “When will you return to your training?” she asked after a few moments of comfortable silence. “When the Winds speak. They told me to serve Arin, and until they speak again I will not leave him.” “You swore friendship in blood.” “Yes.” He smiled, his face lighting up as if he would laugh. “He is Ayanlak, but his spirit is blind. Searching. Hungry.” “How much have you taught him?” “Little. He still asks as a Na'huma.” Tayree nodded, grateful for that assessment. She must awaken Arin to his lost condition and teach him to want to see through the eyes of the People. “Why are you here?” he asked after a bit. “The Keerlagor live by Aundree's words. A Wind Walker woman features strongly, and to risk you alone among the Na'huma is foolish.” Tayree fought not to turn to look over the river again, because that was evasion. She met Jolif's eyes, saw more questions than comprehension in them, and felt a sadness that startled her. This was a man who someday might have to choose between friendship and his tribe, yet she felt attracted to him. Was it merely loneliness, or was she so hungry to regain the sons Palan killed, she hunted a new mate? The Spirit Singers who sat with her during her grieving warned her such might happen. “Arin is Keerlagor, or you would not have come,” Jolif continued, turning to evade her searching look. He gestured down the path along the riverbank, heading back to Melda proper. She nodded and walked with him. “Who do you think he is?” she asked, keeping her voice calm despite the alarm leaping through her heart.

Wind Walker

27

Jolif met her gaze once more, then ducked his head and seemed to shudder. He reached up to touch his own thick mane of black hair in the spot where Arin's white patch grew. “He is my friend,” he whispered. “When your chieftains ask, dare you disobey the Winds who told you to be his friend? The Winds lead beyond the anger of the tribes,” she whispered as they reached the edge of the river town. “You will someday be a Wind Walker, but before you dream you must learn to heal. To do that, you must heal your own soul. And how can you heal yourself if you betray your friend?” “How did Palan s’Pindir die?” “He moved with anger and hatred, and justice flung him to the ground.” She nodded farewell to him and moved into the shadows while he entered the light of the torches at the edge of town. Justice still waits, her heart whispered. * * * * * “Shaman,” Arin mused. He wrapped his cloak tighter around his shoulders and glanced out the door at the silver sheet of rain obscuring his view of the street. There really was little to see except dripping thatch, rain-darkened wood and mud, everywhere. Ironic, that only a few days ago, he had complained about the heat. The last spring storm was the worst, according to the residents of Melda. After that, then he would know true summer heat here on the frontier. These extremes in the weather would make building his bridge even harder than he had first anticipated. That thought warmed Arin and put a cheerful tune in the back of his thoughts. “She's a Wind Walker, isn't she?” he said, turning to Jolif. “Who is?” Jolif stayed in his seat, studying an elevation map of the banks of the river for two hundred meters in either direction from Melda. “Tayree. I hear Spirit Singer and I hear Wind Walker, and the two seem the same, yet not, but they're both shamans, right?” “Spirit Singers heal. Wind Walkers dream and speak for the Winds. To be both is great power and responsibility.” His eyes lost their focus and a faint smile touched his lips. “What's so funny?” Arin demanded. It haunted him that he was Ayanlak and knew so little about his own people. He kept silent in fear that if he asked he would be laughed at or lied to. As if judged guilty of crimes he didn't commit. “She is Keerlagor and I am Koh'hani. What does that mean?” “Two tribes.” “Two warring tribes. Our territories march along the same boundaries for a dozen days of travel. Fortunately, through the High Reaches where raiding is difficult at best. But here we stand, friends against the Na'huma. And she told me I would someday reach my dream of being a Wind Walker.” “You never told me that.” Arin looked at his friend and wondered if he had ever really known him at all. He never would have believed Jolif would turn mystic on him. “I never felt it appropriate. Yet she looks into my heart and touches on so many hopes …” “What do you think of her?” he asked, the words slipping out without his intending. Hope and fear clutched at Arin's heart.

Michelle L. Levigne

28

“When she follows the Winds, change will come.” “Now you sound like a shaman!” Arin tried to laugh. “Perhaps.” Jolif turned back to the maps. “So she's here in Melda for a purpose? Do you think the Winds called her to heal every sick and broken down Ayanlak in this town?” He stood to pace, wrapping his cloak a little tighter around his shoulders against the chill damp. “I swear, that's all she does all day -- roam the streets looking for Ayanlak to heal and counsel and send home.” “Why do you watch for her?” “I don't -- “ Arin stopped, feeling his heart skip. It was true. He watched for Tayree on the streets, to say hello. He wandered Melda to offer help and earn a smile and a quiet word of thanks. Between them, he and Tayree had sent nearly two dozen Ayanlak across the river. Arin felt some pride in that. More than he would feel when the massive bridge was completed. Listening to Tayree's talk of the land being mother and provider and healer to the People, Arin knew the westward expansion of the colony was wrong. True, the colonists needed good land, but there had to be a better way to get it than crowding out the Ayanlak. Tayree referred to the Na'huma ways as poison and sickness, and he felt no anger when he heard her say it. He agreed with her, deep down in his soul. “Where do you think she is?” “Somewhere dry and private.” Jolif shrugged again. “Wind Walkers need solitude more than most people.” “That's more than you've told me about Ayanlak in months,” he said with a chuckle. “You haven't asked me in months.” “What's the use? You won't tell me anything I really want to know.” He let his wandering feet take him to the door. Leaning against the frame, he looked down the soggy, gray street. What did he hope for? A glimpse of Tayree struggling against the streaming mud, trying to reach him? She might need his help, if the muddy water rose any higher. Now Arin understood why all the houses in Melda were built on wooden beams thicker than his waist. “You weren't ready to hear the deeper truths about the People before now. Ask, and I'll try to answer.” Jolif turned in his chair, slouched down into a comfortable position, and crossed his bare feet at the ankles. A thousand questions crashed through Arin's head. The sudden treasure trove of information being offered to him nearly took his breath away. His tongue felt paralyzed. Then one thought came clear through the sudden spinning in his head. It was the best starting place of all.

Wind Walker

29

Chapter Seven “I'm Ayanlak,” Arin said. “About time you figured it out,” Jolif said with a smirk. Arin played with the notion of pummeling his friend. Then he laughed, threw himself into his chair and let the questions come. “How did you know? How long have you known?” “I looked at you, the day I came as a liaison candidate.” He shrugged. “Was I abandoned or stolen?” He didn't know why he asked Jolif, who had to know less about Arin's past than anyone. “Do Ayanlak abandon their children?” Arin opened his mouth to protest that was no answer at all, then realized just what Jolif meant. “They don't, do they?” He thought back to the pitiful scene he had witnessed the day before. A family had come searching for Tayree in the hottest part of the day, when every sensible person -- except Wind Walkers and engineers -- hid in the shade, sleeping away the heat that was especially oppressive before a storm. Arin had watched from the shelter of an alley as Tayree took a tiny bundle of rags from the father's arms. She knelt in the hot dust of the street, in front of the store that sold shoes and saddles. She cradled the bundle of rags and slowly peeled them back, revealing a child more bones than flesh, limp as the rags encasing him. The mother held another child, just as small but with life shining sad and yet fierce in those deep, dark eyes. Tayree began to sing under her breath, slowly rocking the sick child, cradling him close to her chest. Arin listened, not understanding the odd, elongated words. Tears touched his eyes, knowing the pain she felt, sharing the hopelessness of the parents. Something chilled him deep in the center of his chest despite the searing heat of the day -- this song reached beyond his knowledge or experience and it terrified him. Ayanlak stepped out into the street from their shaded resting places and gathered around Tayree and the family. They moved in a shuffling type of dance, reaching to touch the limp child, raising thin clouds of dust as they circled in and then circled out. Arin had felt his heart leap in his chest, knowing that whatever was wrong, Tayree could heal the child. She had to. There was far more to her than flesh and blood. He felt something stirring deep under the ground, like a rumble that presaged a geyser breaking through a crust of rock. Did he imagine, or had there been a faint glow around Tayree? No real color, not seen with the eyes but with a sense that borrowed from the others to understand what lay beyond experience. The rumbling pressed a little harder; threatened to become audible. Arin felt something close around his throat as his engineer's instincts sensed a barrier too thick to be broken. With an almost audible click, the song stopped. The people froze. Even the dust didn't try to settle right away. Arin swallowed a shout of pain that tore at his chest. The mother shrieked and reached for her child. She pushed past three people, who had stopped with their hands on her child's arms and face. She knocked one man to his knees. He showed no anger. She gathered her child into her arms along with the living one and collapsed, her voice broken by sobs. Her husband wrapped himself around her, raising his voice in a wail

Michelle L. Levigne

30

that brought a new shivering to Arin's body and soul. Around them, the people had bowed their heads and wept. Tayree crumpled into a heap, her head on her knees. Several people had caressed her head or shoulders, comforting her. “They grieved for the child. For every child who ever died,” Arin nearly whispered, as he finished the tale. “Children are that precious to the Ayanlak, aren't they?” “They are our future. They are gifts from our mother the land, and a stewardship from Omnistos.” Jolif shrugged, giving his friend the impression he should have known that already. “Then why did my parents abandon me? Or did they deliberately hand me over to be sacrificed?” “Perhaps they did not. Perhaps you were the only survivor of an attack. Or you were stolen. The tribes fight constantly. What could be more damaging to your most hated enemies than to kill their innocent children? And yet it is a great crime against the tapestry of life to kill a child. The ones who tried to kill you were most desperate -- and look how the Winds acted against them. You were saved and they were destroyed.” A snap-crack of thunder broke through the mesmerizing hum of rain falling outside. Arin and Jolif both jerked. They grinned at each other and settled back into their chairs. “So, I wasn't just thrown out with the morning trash,” Arin mused. “Your loss brought pain. If it did not, your parents were not true Ayanlak.” “But who were they?” He shook his head. “It's probably too late to find out. I didn't have a thing on me, literally. No clue among the preparations for the sacrifice. I don't even know which tribe was trying to kill me.” He tried to grin. A rasping attempt at a chuckle escaped his throat. “I have this burn scar on my arm. Dad says I got it then.” He shoved up his sleeve to show the thumb-sized shiny patch on the underside of his upper arm. “If I were to sacrifice a child, I would remove all my emblems, so the Winds would not punish my tribe. If the child wore his tribe's tattoo, I would destroy it,” Jolif mused. He stood and leaned over the desk separating them and reached out almost far enough to touch the scar. Arin shivered, as if his friend had done so and his touch was icy cold. “Tattoo? You think that's what they destroyed?” “If so, then that tells us much.” Jolif sat again and looked away, which only wrung a strangled groan from Arin. “Then tell me, will you?” “Only nobles and those who serve the Winds tattoo their children. If you were marked for service at your birth, then nothing can stop your destiny.” He bared his teeth in a strained smile. “Be prepared for great and wondrous things, my friend.” “What sort of -- “ “Sir!” A soldier stumbled up the steps to Arin's office. “You're needed. The locks in the canals are about to burst!” He dropped to his knees in the doorway, his shoulders heaving with the effort to catch his breath. He had lost his leather helmet somewhere. Watery mud coated him past his waist. “Call out all the units,” Arin ordered as he reached for his cloak. He looked to Jolif and his friend nodded. “No, you stay here and catch your breath,” he said, when the exhausted man tried to struggle to his feet. He reached under his worktable and brought out the iron-tipped clogs that fastened onto the bottoms of his boots. In this mud, with floodwaters streaking down the streets of Melda, the

Wind Walker

31

clogs were the only means of sure footing. Winds, if I'm one of yours and you really are watching out for me ... Arin allowed himself one moment's luxury of closing his eyes. Watch out for us all, please. * * * * * Arin knew the moment Tayree arrived to help in the chaos of effort at the canals and locks. The abrupt influx of Ayanlak startled him. Suddenly, strong, bronzed bodies were everywhere. Stripped to the waist, barefoot, ragged pants rolled up past their knees. Lifting and carrying and dragging exhausted men out from under collapsing masonry and timbers. She was there in the middle of it, directing her impromptu tribe to where their fresh, strong bodies were needed most. How she knew where the walls and supports were going to collapse next, Arin couldn't guess. For all he knew, the Winds told her. Women held out blankets to the drenched and weary; steaming cups and trail bars of honey, nuts and grains for energy. Why did they help when the Ayanlak disapproved of what the Na'huma did to the river? As the battle to hold back the river and halt the destruction continued, workers were drenched in mud and muck. It hid the color of skin and hair and style of clothes. Arin suspected he was the only one who wondered. Or cared. Tayree organized the women and children who came to watch or support their brothers and sons, fathers and husbands. They formed relay teams who found the high hills of sand along the river and filled grain sacks to buttress the sagging walls of the canal locks. “That's one smart woman,” a bargeman shouted to his work partner, as Arin passed them. “Hope her man appreciates her.” “Hope she doesn't have a man,” his friend shouted back. “I need a woman like that.” Arin continued on to the overlook tower, and fought not to grin. He wondered what they would think of Tayree when the crisis had passed and they discovered she was a 'dirt' Ayanlak. The overlook shuddered in the slamming winds as he climbed the tall stone and wood tower to get the overall picture of the battle. Arin swallowed a sudden lump of fear and kept climbing. He had to see the currents in the muddy water for himself before he could look at the schematics of the locks and canals and docks and devise a way to strengthen them. What idiot had decided to construct a canal between the two rivers, to let barges and boats cross over kilometers from the merging point? The Ayanlak called it the Braided River; branches twined back and forth, crossing and re-crossing, merging, sometimes splitting into four separate rivers before joining again. It was a torment to navigate during summer drought or spring flood. Which was probably why the first settlers at Melda twenty years ago decided to put the locks in, to switch branches when the going got tough. Arin decided the man was either an insane genius or a destructive fool. The canals crossed land that dipped below the river level, sometimes as deep as nine meters. Even during summer drought, the waters were hard to control and hold back. There were two teams of soldiers assigned to patrol the locks and effect repairs, as the water nibbled constantly at the man-made barriers. The pressure of the water bowed the walls now, threatening to double the force of the flood devouring the shallow lands. He stared at the masonry walls and the impromptu supports of sand bags and wooden

Michelle L. Levigne

32

beams until his eyes ached. Arin waited until the stone and wood lines and swirls of mud and water blurred into an abstract figure in his mind. Then, it all snapped together and he knew what to do. He chuckled breathlessly as he climbed down from the overlook. Twice his muddy boots slipped; once he caught his chin on a ladder rung. Arin still grinned, despite the mud and the blood on his face. He called for Jolif and the canal master. Three hours later, the gray sky darkened into full night. With the end of the day came a temporary end to the rain and winds. The water gushed and gurgled and pushed against the walls of the canals. Torches flickered in the dying storm, casting pools of gold across a glistening black landscape. Arin found Tayree perched on a length of shattered tree trunk. She held a steaming cup in both hands, her shoulders hunched under a damp blanket, and gazed out over the rippling water with a tired smile. “Thank you,” Arin said. She laughed softly, tinged with weariness. “For what?” “Your people would not have helped without you. Without their strong backs and hot food, too many of us would have collapsed with the job only half-done. This whole area between the rivers, for twenty kilometers, would be a wreck.” “I suppose this plain of mud is an improvement?” Tayree put down her cup and reached up to wipe a drying streak of red-brown from her bare arm. “It's everywhere. No wonder my ancestors chose to live in the mountains.” And she laughed again. “I know you think our ways are foolish and destructive, and we put too much preoccupation on building things -- “ “That shows how little you know of the People, friend Arin. I would take you to see the Canyon where the Keerlagor Twin Chieftains lead. It rivals even the grand buildings you design.” “Take me to the Canyon? If only!” Arin sank down onto his haunches next to her. He barely noticed when Tayree shifted over, offering to share the log. He moved onto the semi-dry perch. “It could be done. My kinsman is a man of power. He would call on the Winds to seal your integrity.” “Do you know what that could do for relations between my people and yours? Just knowing that the Admiral's nephew had been allowed anywhere near a chieftain … people who have resisted for decades would welcome us.” He shivered, not entirely from the day-long drenching. “You're not making a joke, are you?” “I have seen your spirit in the things you do. You will never act against the Ayanlak. If you will let them, they will take you to their hearts and all will be well with the world.” “Not that I'd ever be allowed to go there.” Arin tried to smile, even as the shattering of the notion left him breathless. “Look around and tell me you can build after the damage done here.” She didn't laugh, but he saw sparkles of humor in her eyes. “Why couldn't you travel and visit, forge bonds for your government and return, while you wait for the ground to dry?” “Why not?” he echoed. Then he shook his head. “Why would your people let a Na'huma so far into Ayanlak land?” “Because you are Ayanlak, of course.”

Wind Walker

33

“How do you -- “ He swallowed hard. That shiver up his back was not from cold, though he had been drenched and dirty since before noon.

Michelle L. Levigne

34

Chapter Eight “How do you know I'm Ayanlak?” Tayree reached up to touch his hair, right where he knew the white patch lay under clots of mud. For a moment, her eyes lost all focus and Arin thought he saw the stars in them. “The Winds sent me to you, Arin of the People,” she whispered. Arin remembered the hunger of his dreams. He was closer to Tayree than he had ever been. What harm would it do, to touch her face, to cup her cheek in his hand, to brush a few damp strands of hair out of her face? The star-filled light in her dark eyes stopped him. “I saw you in my dreams,” Tayree continued. “It is time you learn the ways of the Ayanlak and why you were taken from your people. It is time to reclaim your heritage and your destiny and walk away from the sorrows that enfold your heart.” “You've been watching me like I've been watching you.” He felt laughter bubbling in his chest; warm energy flowing into his cold, aching muscles and renewing them. “Of course. Before I teach you what the Winds command, I must learn the man you are among the Na'huma.” “Teach me?” “There will be time on the journey to teach you of the People. So you will not offend or act the fool when you stand before the Chieftains.” For a moment, Arin caught a glimpse of himself acting like a bargeman set down at a formal state dinner -- wiping his face on his sleeve, belching loud enough to pop eardrums, sauces dripping from his fingers, licking the plate. He nearly laughed. Truly, without her help, though he might use his best manners he would still present a crude and offensive image. “I don't know if I can go ... “ “At least ask,” Jolif said, appearing from the darkness. He nodded to Tayree. She smiled slightly at him. “What do you know of this?” Arin demanded. He felt disgruntled by the intrusion and ashamed of his reaction. “Only that she asked my silence until she was ready to reveal her purpose. Sir,” he added with a bow. “Stop that right now.” He tried to smile, to take the sting from his snapped words. “You're my friend. My blood-bound friend. If I can't trust you, who can I trust?” “Will you take advice then?” Jolif squatted before Arin and Tayree. He looked to the young woman, questions in his eyes. She nodded after only a moment's hesitation. “What kind of advice?” “Trust Tayree. Do what she asks. When she tells you it is time, leave everything and go with her to the Keerlagor.” “Just drop everything and ...” Arin couldn't find his breath. His entire being leaped at the idea of learning his heritage, seeing the fabled Canyon. Maybe even finding his birth-parents. “No. Not in a million years. I can't.” He got up and took several steps away and stared unseeing at the churning river, barely lit by the cloud-shrouded moons. “What do you fear?” Tayree asked. “Everything!” A strangled chuckle escaped him. “There are people in the government, in

Wind Walker

35

my own family, who will never trust me. They don't care that I think like a Human and dress like a Human and speak the Human tongue and everything I've done is to help our colony. To them I'll always be Ayanlak. And they hate Ayanlak. You can't ask me to shirk my duty to go on a field trip! It'd be suicide.” He turned to face them. Jolif and Tayree looked up at him with wide eyes, faces innocent of mockery or malice. “It'd kill my father, if I gave my enemies proof they've been right about me,” he admitted on a whisper. “And what of the parents who mourn you?” Tayree asked. “I know the Admiral would give the last power cells to have an in-road to the Council of Chieftains,” Jolif said, before Arin could recover from the gut-thumping shock of that question. “If he sends you, then you cannot be called a traitor, can you?” “No ... I can't.” Arin raked both hands through his muddy hair. He could almost feel the scalding of the white patch scratching against his skin. “Wind Walkers must listen before we are permitted to speak,” Tayree said. “I listen, and I know the Admiral is a wise man, because chieftains and clan speakers respect him. Ask him.” “And if he doesn't send me?” “Then I misheard the Winds.” She shrugged as if the reversal of his life mattered little more than her damp blanket. “While you wait for an answer, Tayree should prepare you for the journey,” Jolif said. “If I get to go!” “This flooding will take long to go down, and then there is the mud to clear away and waiting for the ground to dry,” Tayree said. “My people tell me it has been years since the flooding and spring rains were this bad. Hot, dry weather between drowning rains is not good for the land. How can you build when it is so unstable?” “For someone who lives in a skin tent or in a cave, you know an awful lot about buildings and foundations.” “I serve the Winds, friend Arin.” She didn't smile. “I am made to learn and think deeply on everything.” Looking into her eyes, Arin saw the stars had vanished. Still, she caught at the edges of his soul, threatening to mesmerize him. “You're right,” he said slowly. “The designs will have to be modified more than I thought. We can't do any testing until the land is dry.” Arin glanced at Jolif and saw a smile flicker across his friend's mouth. “You think this is funny?” “I am ... amazed how the Winds rearrange the world to suit their purpose,” his Ayanlak friend responded. “Well, when do our lessons start?” He held out his hand to Tayree, palm up, giving all his time into her hands. “First the body, then the mind,” Jolif said. “You must get away from the poisoned air and land of the Na'huma. It clouds the mind and dulls the senses.” “If you feel that way about life here, why do you stay?” Jolif held out his hand, the green-dyed scar marking where he had cut it to mingle his blood with Arin's. “The Winds protect him because what he does is in the will of Omnistos and he walks safely in that blessing,” Tayree said. She enfolded Jolif's hand between her own, squeezing, then raised his hand to her forehead. “You will be long remembered for this, Jolif s'Gorr.”

Michelle L. Levigne

36

Arin could have sworn his friend went pale at her words, but it was hard to tell in the shadows and flickering torchlight. * * * * * Tayree dreamed of her sons that night, and the exhaustion of fighting the river all that long afternoon robbed her of the control to pull free. Tears fell in slow trickles thick as honey, as she held them in her arms and nursed them, smelled their sweet baby scent and heard their laughter. She kissed them, holding Torel and Joesh close, knowing she dreamed, savoring their sweetness against the bitterness that would return when she woke. The alarm bells went off, echoing against all the peaks until the entire High Reaches shivered at the sound. She tucked her sons into their crib, pausing for one last loving touch on the downy curls. Her Chaiqua companion appeared at her side, the gray-streaked, blue-black canine head nearly on a level with her shoulders. Tayree stroked the creature's head before it lay down in front of the nursery door. She picked up her healer's pouch and ran, with the clamor of the alarm echoing off the walls of the cave complex where she and Jerel lived with her three brothers. Talon, Juras and Joktan ran far ahead of her; Jerel was on patrol a day's journey away. Tayree flew down the twisting switchback paths through the maze of thoroughfares carved by the Sentinels of the High Reaches. The wind shifted and smoke enveloped her. She choked on the sweet-scorch smell of burned grain. The central grain storage bunker blazed in the night as all the winter provisions for the High Reaches community were destroyed. Hours, yet only moments later, Tayree ran home, knowing the blaze had been deliberately set. She ignored the puzzle for the urgency to nurse her sons. The pain in her breasts vanished at the sight of the Chaiqua in a bloody heap in the doorway of the cave complex. She forgot how to breathe as she stared at the massive beast, teeth bared, fur clotted with blood, turned into a pin cushion of broken arrows. She turned -- and stood in her sons' nursery. The sickly sweet smell of voytas poison filled the air. Her babies had purple stains on their lips, smiling in the euphoria that filled their tiny bodies long before their hearts stopped beating. Tayree shrieked until the bedrock of the mountains echoed. She gathered her sons close and screamed louder when Talon appeared and tried to tear them from her arms. “Jerel needs to know,” Talon whispered, as he and the bodies faded into mist. Then Tayree was running, high into the razor-fine peaks that formed the border of contested land between the Keerlagor and their neighbor. She ran until her feet went numb from the pounding and her lungs threatened to crack and she tasted blood when she coughed. She reached a precipice and found Jerel battling Palan. The two men staggered, bruised and bleeding. Palan jeered at her, boasting how he had set the fire and killed the Chaiqua and poisoned her sons. And soon he would kill her husband. Widowed and childless, Tayree would have to marry him. The dream changed. A third body joined the battle and threw the two men apart. Tayree watched Palan battle Palan. No -- that was Arin. Arin pounded his twin, battering him with fists that moved like a blur. Palan broke free and leaped at Jerel -- and both men went over the cliff. Tears streaked Arin's face as he turned to Tayree. He tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. Then they were in each other's arms and she clung to him, feeling the heat of his body. His heart thundered against hers. Arin kissed her and a flame streaked down through her body, igniting in her belly, flaring out until she thought she could spread wings and fly among the triple moons. He faded into mist in her arms, and the mist turned to Dreamweed in full bloom, ready for

Wind Walker

37

harvesting. Tayree went to her knees, choking on the intoxicating dust. She looked down at herself. Her belly was swollen, heavy with child. Tayree woke to the sweet-sour, heavy perfume of Dreamweed in her nose. She tasted the tickling powder as it melted on her lips. Her body felt heavy, as it had when she carried her sons. Her nipples ached, as if her breasts were full of milk. “Omnistos,” she sighed, and closed her eyes against threatening tears. “What does this mean?” * * * * * He is nothing like Palan. Tayree paused in the middle of a jali'tay stretch with her hands among the lowest tree branches, perched on her toes in the moss that carpeted the clearing. Try as she might, she could not get her mind off of Arin even for an hour. He filled her dreams, disrupting her conscious thoughts, invading her sense of balance with his scent and grace and the sound of his voice. He has Palan's eyes, his mouth, his hair. He has his twin's voice and shoulders and strength. But he is nothing like Palan. Tayree arched backwards, poised on her fingertips as she flipped her legs up, folded them, and extended again. She crossed the clearing in four long, graceful somersaults and landed in a crouch at the foot of a dead brush tree that had lost its spiny, silver-blue branches on one side to lightning strike. It can't be his upbringing alone, can it? Would he have grown up like Palan, or would Palan be like him? Did the loss of his twin harm Palan? If so, why was Arin not warped? The Winds had sent her visions, yet little warning when they led her to Melda. They had only showed her he had authority among the Na'huma. They had not showed her his warm personality, his generosity. They had not warned that from the moment she first glimpsed his smile, her heart would skip beats and her breath would come short and she would feel that curious, melting warmth deep in her belly. Just as she had felt when she first came to the Canyon and saw Palan and believed him the friend from her adolescent dreams. Learning Palan's true nature had cured her of that infatuation. The more she learned of Arin now, the more her body betrayed her every time he drew near. She was a Wind Walker, trained, praised by Rhovas himself, chosen by the Winds for the harsh life in the High Reaches that demanded a strong mind and heart. She had learned complete control over her body and mind at a young age -- and yet she had no control when Arin smiled at her. “His twin killed my mate,” she growled, her voice barely strong enough to rise above the whispering of the morning wind in the branches above her. “Palan revolted me -- yet I look into Arin's eyes once and I want ... “ Tayree wrapped her arms tight around herself, squeezing as if to hold back the words. Three days now, and the dream was as clear in her senses, her memory, as it had been the moment she awoke. Arin had taken her into his arms and it had been joy strong enough to banish the emptiness Palan slashed into her. Arin had taken her into his arms, and when she stepped away, she had her sons safe inside her womb. Was she slowly losing her mind, to believe the vision promised she would regain her sons through Arin?

Michelle L. Levigne

38

Palan would writhe in torment if he knew she willingly joined herself to his twin. “I can't,” she whispered. “It is wrong to let any man but my husband touch me. I am a Wind Walker -- I must stay pure.” A tiny sob choked her. “But it is my right!” The right of recompense allowed Tayree to take children from her enemy's family, to replace the ones he killed. But there were no children born yet to Palan's generation. Even thinking of that now, Tayree shuddered, imagining Lady Eriel's fury if she had claimed her right of recompense. Lady Eriel blamed Tayree for her son's death. She believed Tayree could have mended the flaws in her son's soul. She condemned the young woman before the Council for refusing to serve the tribe by marrying Palan. Even hearing testimony that Palan had beaten and tried to rape Tayree hadn't made the proud noblewoman recant. Wouldn't she be within her rights to conceive by Arin, and keep those children from his family? It would be all too easy to give in to the ecstasy induced by Dreamweed when it bloomed, to make love with Arin, and then forget it all when Conjunction ended. He would never remember. When she returned to the Canyon with Arin, Tayree had already planned what she would ask as reward -- freedom from the duty to marry and produce children for her bloodline. Tayree knew she could never remarry. Jerel would always haunt her, even as she knew he would never blame her for his death. And now, she would add another detail to her reward. Whatever she brought back from her journey would be hers to keep and no one to gainsay her. If she returned to the High Reaches with sons in her womb, their father would have no claim on them. Imagining Lady Eriel's fury at losing her first-born grandchildren, Tayree vowed the royal family would never know. She understood too deeply the agony of a mother's empty arms, and Lady Eriel's anger with her. She would do nothing to incur more anger. If she conceived by Arin. Yet how could she do it? Would Dreamweed help her forget that he was Palan's mirror image? How could she violate her vows of purity and honesty? “I want my sons,” she whispered, and stared around the clearing she had chosen for her exercises. Could she act against the strict codes that guided a Wind Walker's power? Yet it was her right to take back the lives stolen through Palan's viciousness. “Can I?” she asked the trees. The thought of lying in Arin's arms warmed her -- and Palan had always chilled her. “It is my right. Palan's family line must make recompense.” Arin would be hurt. Behind her closed eyelids, Tayree saw a clear image of the way Arin's face brightened when he looked at her. “When we return, I will never see him again,” she whispered. “What does it matter if I betray his friendship? I am nothing to him, and he is nothing to me!”

Wind Walker

39

Chapter Nine By the fourth day after the flood, the ground had dried out enough to build a sweathouse to begin physical cleansing, the first step in Arin's lessons. He had sent word to the Admiral, telling him of Tayree's proposal. He promised that if the governor thought it was too great a risk, or if trusting such a mission to an Ayanlak foundling would damage the morale of the colony, he would stay in Melda. Tayree trusted the Winds to ensure the Admiral gave his permission. She did not tell Arin this. It would do him good to worry and learn that when the Winds spoke, it came to be. * * * * * “You're sure?” Arin glanced back and forth between Tayree and Jolif. “This is supposed to be good for me?” Tayree bit her lip to keep from smiling, much less laughing, and simply nodded for Arin to step through the narrow doorway into the sweathouse. “You need to purify your body,” Jolif said. “It will do you little good to learn discipline to open your soul to the world and the Winds if you are crippled by poisons in your flesh.” “But -- “ He sighed and shook his head. “All right. Give me the steps again?” Tayree closed her eyes and reached out a hand to rest against the sod dome of the sweathouse. If Arin wouldn't step into the darkness and remove his body from her sight, closing her eyes was the next best thing. Both Arin and Jolif wore nothing but loincloths, despite the cool wind of this early morning hour. Letting her voice fall into a low chant, Tayree recited the instructions for the purification ritual. There were five phases, taking the entire day. Special food to eat before each session in the sweathouse, exercises to perform, purifying herbs mixed with the water to sprinkle over the hot stones and to drink and for washing between each sweat session. Tayree would stay outside the sweathouse, guarding their privacy and preparing their food and water. She was grateful for Jolif's presence -- otherwise she would have to sit in the steamy darkness next to Arin, aware of his nearly-naked body so very close to her. She didn't need that added distraction while she tried to decide whether to follow her vision or not. Yes, perhaps the Winds had guaranteed pleasure when she joined her body with Arin's to conceive her sons, but it would only last for the Conjunction. Neither of them would drink the saqua tea, to protect mind and body from the blooming Dreamweed. They would spend the two nights of Conjunction in a sensual haze, with no memories to follow them down from the Mist Plains. There was no need to torture herself with anticipation now, long before Conjunction. So, to her relief, Jolif had the duty of guiding Arin through the rituals inside the sweathouse, marking the time, telling Arin the history of the Ayanlak, even teaching him the higher levels of his native tongue. The common trade tongue developed over the last generation was enough to understand all the tribes and Na'huma, but Arin could not insult his parents by speaking in the common tongue. “All right, I think I have it now,” Arin muttered, when Tayree finished the chant of instruction.

Michelle L. Levigne

40

She opened her eyes as he ducked down through the chest-high opening. Tayree averted her gaze, but not before she caught another glimpse of bronzed, rolling muscle and the light dusting of dark hair across his chest. Jolif struggled not to smile, but she saw his amusement. Tayree turned away, rather than glare at him and lose all her composure. Jerel. She wrapped her arms around herself and tried to conjure up memories of her husband's arms tight around her, the warm, musky smell of his sweat and leathers, the hard demands of his mouth when passion caught them, the laughter that filled their bodies and left them weak. The memories would not come. “Winds, help me,” she whispered. Tayree clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms to break her thoughts free, and bent to pick up the bucket with the first mixture of water and herbs. She had her duties to fulfill. She would concentrate on her duties and let no other thoughts -- or feelings -- into her mind. Early morning light glimmered on the ripples in the still-muddy river as it glided past the bank, ten steps from the stony outcropping where the sweathouse sat. The water for the purification ritual needed to be clean and clear. Tayree saw herself keeping very busy dipping up water and letting it settle, then dipping it into another container to mix with the ritual herbs. She welcomed that extra work. While she and Jolif had built the sweathouse and gathered the supplies for Arin's purification, he asked no questions. Tayree had seen his concern for Arin glimmering bright in his eyes. She gave him her oath, Arin would be protected. She would not hurt him. Tayree swore that. She would take her recompense from Palan's family and Arin would never know. He would be an innocent tool. Tayree did not deceive herself that she had no choice in this. She knew when the Winds gave a vision, there was always a choice. The vision was only an image of what might be if the receiver acted. She could have ignored the answer to her agonized pleas for comfort and help and justice. It was her choice to mate with Arin and conceive children by him and keep them hidden. She would tell no one but her brothers what she had done. The people of the High Reaches would rejoice with her over the lives given back into her family and they would ask no questions. No one outside the High Reaches would know. The morning passed, filled with carrying and settling water, making the ceremonial food, preparing for each new phase of the ritual. Still, there were times Tayree had opportunity to sit and listen to the voices coming muffled through the sod and wet blankets that formed the domed sweathouse. She had no need to stand guard against intruders. Arin had left a message for the officials in town that he would be gone all day on business for the Admiral. Arin had explained to his guards what he did and those soldiers now stood in the forest beyond this riverside clearing. No one would approach. No one would threaten Tayree or disturb Arin's purification. Tayree settled down against the side of the doorway, careful not to disturb the twigs used as pegs to hold the leather flap of the door closed and tight. “Even if you can tell the difference between paintspike and eyekill, you're already too close,” Jolif said. “Women can smell those plants and tell the difference long before men can. Before the smell is strong enough to poison. That difference means women are scouts in the Scolasi, or the entire party dies of eyekill before they know they've stepped on it.”

Wind Walker

41

“That explains what happened to so many explorers and settler parties,” Arin said. His voice sounded strained. Was he angry, or sheepishly amused? “Every death is blamed on the Ayanlak, whether we had anything to do with it or not.” “But Ayanlak did attack many homesteads?” “If someone came onto your property and changed the course of the river or destroyed medicinal plants that meant life or death to you, wouldn't you attack?” “I'd ask what they were doing, first. I'd hope there was a mistake and they didn't know it was my land.” Tayree shook her head, amused but saddened by the defensive tone of his voice. “Yes, some tribes did.” There was a plop -- the ladle dipped into the water bucket -- then the spatter of water on hot rocks, hissing into steam. Jolif groaned a little, taking a deep breath. “They sent scouts to talk with the strangers. But other Ayanlak simply attacked. They didn't stop to think the intruders acted in ignorance. They considered it an aggressive disruption.” “So when the peaceful envoys came, they were attacked in return.” Arin sighed. “Figures. That's the way it goes down through history.” “It's not uncommon for one tribe to attack and then leave markings of another tribe among the devastation, to place the blame on them.” “Setting up the Human settlers as their weapon. Is there any way to stop it? If we can't have peace between all the tribes and Humans, to share this planet without battling ... “ “There is Aundree's Vision of peace.” Tayree braced herself. But Jolif stopped. Silence inside the sweathouse. “Sure. At the end of the world.” Arin sounded sleepy and amused. “She saw stars fall and walk on the land as people, but they are not of the People.” “The disabled sleeper ships?” “Perhaps. But the vision says the tribes will battle and try to make weapons of the star folk, and these weapons will turn against them. And then, the Sentinel Stars will walk the land as three sisters. Peace will come on the land, and those who stand against it will become as dust.” “Oh, that makes perfect sense.” Tayree nearly laughed at the sourness of Arin's tone. “It makes no sense. The nobles and Wind Walkers and Spirit Singers all have twins. There is always one male in each birth. Never triplets. Never more than one daughter.” “Well, when you explain it that way, sure.” Arin chuckled, the sound thick in the misty air. “What do you think you're doing?” The slick voice startled Tayree, coming from behind her, in open air instead of muffled by sod and blankets. It also spoke Na'huma, not the trade tongue. She stood as she turned to face the intruder. Arin's two guards stood behind a man who wore the tight, multi-layered clothes of the Na'huma government officials. The man looked down his long nose at her, wrinkling it as if he smelled something foul. His skin gleamed with greasy sweat despite the coolness of the day. His dull brown hair lay slicked flat against his narrow skull, held in place with the perfumed oil some Na'huma favored. Tayree said a silent prayer of thanks that the wind blew from her back, driving the scent away. “Chief Engineer Dorwen is studying Ayanlak ways,” the guard on the right said. “Sir.” “In there? What's he doing? Learning drinking songs?” The man snorted and reached for the tent flap.

Michelle L. Levigne

42

Tayree caught his wrist. She hid the revulsion she felt at contact with his faintly slimy skin. His eyes widened and he tried to tug free, but she held tight. She had the strength of a childhood in the High Reaches, and the power of the Winds. “Once the ritual has started,” she said in precise Na'huma, “no one may enter. They may come out, but you cannot enter.” “Who do you think you are, to tell me what I can and cannot do?” he growled. He drew back his other fist to strike her. “Hold it, Reesker,” Arin said from behind her. “If you want to start an all-out war with every Ayanlak in Melda, go ahead and hit the Wind Walker.” “Wind Walker?” Tayree fought the flash of fear that worked through her when interest lit the unpleasant man's dull amber eyes. She released his wrist and wiped her hand on the blanket covering the roof of the sweathouse. Arin crawled out, dripping with sweat, flushed and drowsy-looking. But as the chill air hit and he pulled himself upright, that relaxed look faded. “I've heard about Wind Walkers, cousin,” Reesker said, putting a sneer into the title. “Valuable? All beautiful women? Maybe we should try the Ayanlak religion.” Arin ignored him as he raked fingers through his sweaty hair and glanced at his guards. “I told you to keep everyone away.” “I overrule them. On the authority of the Admiral,” his cousin said with a smirk. He looked Tayree up and down. She refused to react, and that visibly irritated him. His irritation grew when Arin kept silent, forcing him to continue by refusing to ask questions. “I'm to assist you in preparing for your trip.” He licked his lips with just the tip of his tongue as he looked Tayree over again. “What special powers does this one have, eh? Do you share?” “Wind Walker Tayree d'Bartha brought the invitation to visit the Canyon of the Keerlagor. Touch her, even think one more lecherous thought, and the invitation will be rescinded,” Arin said in a cool, light manner Tayree didn't believe for a moment. Something inside her cheered. “From the fast response, I guess the Admiral is interested. I wouldn't want to be you if negotiations failed because you couldn't act like an adult.” Reesker flushed red. He pulled himself up straight, trying to tower over Arin, but only succeeded in looking unsteady. “I'll wait for you in town,” he growled, and stomped away. “Good riddance to bad rubbish,” Arin whispered. His eyes narrowed as he watched the man leave with the two guards right behind him. The three at the sweathouse held silent until Reesker and his two shadows vanished through the trees hiding the clearing from the sight of Melda. Tayree watched Arin, reliving her dream where he fought his own twin to defend her. “Well, that's a good sign,” Jolif said. He gave Tayree an impudent grin when she gasped and stared at him. “He's right.” Arin frowned. “If Reesker is upset, that means the Admiral is serious about my proposal.” The two men shared rueful, weary smiles. Tayree sensed the years of partnership between them, suffering together the slights inflicted on foreigners and foundlings. She felt left out. She wanted to have a shared past with Arin, so they could trade glances full of memories. No. That would never be. Once she took her recompense, they could never be together.

Wind Walker

43

Had she decided to do it? “We should return to the ritual,” Tayree said. Arin groaned and Jolif chuckled. The two men crawled back into the sweathouse. Tayree handed in another prepared bucket and fastened the skin door flap into place again. “What were we talking about -- oh, right. Eyekill?” The springy branches of aromatic conifers used for seats in the sweathouse creaked as Arin settled down. “What's been done to wipe it out?” Tayree settled down with her back to the sweathouse and smiled. Everything was back to normal. “Bond-brother, don't worry.” Jolif laughed and Tayree heard a smacking sound of wet flesh against wet flesh. She winced, even knowing the gesture had been affectionate. “You are nothing but a spirit, housed for a short time in a shell of flesh before the Winds call you to your reward from Omnistos. Let the tides and rhythms run where they will.” “It's not that easy,” Arin grumbled. “I've been raised to think like a Na'huma. Cleaning out my body won't change the way my mind works.” “No. Our lady Wind Walker must do that during your journey.” Tayree jumped to her feet and hurried away to dip another bucketful of water from the river, for purifying. She didn't need or want to hear Arin and Jolif discuss her. She resolved to dreamwalk that night. Her great-uncle would be pleased at the progress she had made, and the growing certainty Arin would soon travel to his heritage. * * * * * “Which crime is deeper on my soul?” Jolif murmured as he joined Tayree by the sweathouse at dawn the next day. She finished tossing the last strands of visril grass into the tiny fire and watched the blueand green-tinted puffs of smoke carry her morning prayers up into the air and dissipate. She rubbed her fingers across her forehead, with the perfume of the sweet grass clinging to them, and wondered at the grim tone of his voice. “What crime have you committed, Jolif s'Gorr?” Tayree stayed on her knees and shifted her hands to lay palm up in the attitude of a Spirit Singer ready to help a troubled soul. “None yet.” He tried to smile. “My thoughts pit the laws of Omnistos against rules created by angry men. I believe if Omnistos is one, and the Winds who serve are all one, then Wind Walkers who hear the Winds speak must be all one, and stand above the squabbles of the tribes.” “In theory, yes. Even Rhovas must think and re-think to be sure he serves the Winds and not his emotions.” She shifted off her knees and stretched her legs out. “What has happened?” “Nothing anyone would notice, except those who watch.” He shook his head when she opened her mouth to speak. “I swore in blood even when I suspected who Arin was and what it meant for me, a Koh'hani. The Winds clearly directed me to bind my soul to his in friendship. Then you, a Wind Walker, bid me hold to my oath even if a chieftain tells me to break it.” “Your chieftains know of Arin and bid you attack?” she whispered. “Come see this.” Jolif led her into Melda, hidden in the dawn shadows, along the fringes, to the administrative area by the oldest docks on the river. Above a building set up on rock pilings flew

Michelle L. Levigne

44

a somber red and black-striped flag. “It means a body has been found no one can identify.” Jolif hesitated, looking all around the nearly empty public square surrounding the building. “I will go in ahead of you,” she offered. “No. He is likely far away already.” He stepped out into the street and crossed the mudstreaked cobblestones. In moments, they were inside, with no witnesses and no one to stop them. The unidentified man lay on a table, covered by a grimy sheet in a cool room. Tayree appreciated the precaution, and wondered what the Humans did to preserve bodies during the heat of summer. Despite the cool and the tang of Na’huma antiseptics, her nose told her the man had been dead several days. Jolif tugged the sheet off and she forgot the first whiff of incipient decay. At first glance, he was like any Ayanlak traveler -- leathers well-worn, with blessing beads sewn into the wrists and collar and braided into the fringe of the outer seams of his trousers. His boots held no distinguishing marks. Knife sheaths at his waist, inside his sleeve and in his boot cuffs were empty. Either officials had confiscated them or his attacker had taken them. There were wear marks on his shoulders, indicating a pack or a quiver. Tayree examined his hands and found the telltale callous marks on his fingers from bowstrings and holding the bow. Jolif tugged on the fringe of the man's long traveling shirt. It fell aside, revealing the emblems painted in the corner flaps of his shirt. Rough figures of men, one seemingly on top of the other. They grasped one stick between them, and black half-circles had been painted around the tops of their heads, with a white dot breaking the curve. He brushed her arm and bent to tug up the flap of her own knee-length shirt, to show the same emblem painted in the corner. Tayree nodded. No need for words. Jolif had guessed it was the emblem worn by all those hunting the Twin Heir. She had wondered how long it might take for the other hunters to hear word of a man among the Na'huma who had a splash of white among his raven curls. Living in Central most of his life, Arin would have had little contact with Ayanlak who might guess his true identity. Here in Melda, the western edge of Na'huma aggression, every Ayanlak within three days of travel had probably heard about him and the bridge he had come to build. So other hunters had come, seeking the Twin Heir. How many thought they would return to the Canyon with glory -- and coming to check out their information, had encountered danger and death instead? Who had killed him? Every hunter trained in lonely survival. They could blend with the shadows and move unseen among the Na'huma. They could thrive where others would starve and die of thirst. They had the gift of touching the minds of the animals around them, to see through their eyes, hear with their ears, and know danger, prey and shelter others would miss. “How?” she finally asked. Jolif tugged the sheet to the floor and pointed out the burn marks -- rope marks -- around the man's ankles. Then he lifted one leg, revealing the tough traveling leathers on the man's buttocks had worn through. He lifted the man's head, showing the bloody, battered skull, covered by his long, thick black hair. Tayree held still, silently reciting prayers for strength as Jolif showed more signs of the attack that had killed the hunter. The thin, red line around his neck, the flesh swollen where someone had choked the life from him with a garotte. The stab wounds to his chest and guts. The marks of ropes that bound his arms together in helplessness, between wrists and elbows, and the

Wind Walker

45

slash marks on his wrists. “It takes much to kill those chosen by the Winds, but this is too much,” she whispered, as Jolif covered the dead man again.

Michelle L. Levigne

46

Chapter Ten “Required,” was all Jolif would say until he led Tayree out of the death house and away from the docks. They walked down the riverbank again, toward the sweathouse. Tayree considered spending the morning there to cleanse her body and mind. “The Koh'hani are mainly a good people, devoted to the Winds and to Omnistos. But our leaders are stubborn, and some Wind Walkers refuse the oneness that looks beyond tribal disputes. They train special, deadly servants.” Jolif swallowed audibly and gazed across the river to the dense trees that looked solid black so early in the morning. “Vendetta Hunters. It is said they were created generations ago, to stand against the Vision. The Koh'hani are a proud people. We will not be thrust unwillingly into peace. It is said Vendetta Hunters stole the Twin Heir and erased his name so the Winds would not hear his death. They sacrificed him in a ritual to destroy his innocent soul, so it would not go to Omnistos and cry for justice.” “They failed.” “Yes. And they kill many times, to ensure their victims cannot rise against them. It is required to give such overwhelming death. Especially to those who are touched by the Winds and travel in service to Wind Walkers.” “And now there is one in Melda.” “He will work in darkness, in solitude. The Hunters are sworn to keep themselves unseen, and destroy themselves if they are caught. Punishment for clumsiness, and to protect the dark masters who sent them.” Jolif sighed and a crooked smile turned his face into a mass of crevices. Tayree heard the sickness thickening his voice. “He will find me and order me to break my oath and kill. Then he will return to the Wind Walker he serves and report the Twin Heir is found. If I do not obey, my family will suffer.” “Then we must convince Arin to leave Melda immediately. You must come with us to stay safe.” Tayree nearly smiled at the irony. How could she sleep with Arin if Jolif were with them? “No. By now, the Hunter has heard about the Koh'hani who walks as a friend to the Chief Engineer. I must go in one direction and you must go another and use all your Wind Walker powers to hide your trail.” “Arin needs you to help him learn.” “I will rejoin you when I can.” Jolif turned to her. The intensity in his eyes stole her breath. “Say truly, Wind Walker -- if I were to become Keerlagor, foreswear my allegiance of birth and become a Wind Walker, would your heart be soft toward me, woman to man?” “You honor me,” she whispered. Something inside recoiled at the thought of Jolif's reaction when he learned what she planned to do to Arin. Would Jolif keep his silence? Would he be so devoted to her, he would help raise Arin's sons? He would be a good father. Her brothers would like him. He would be welcome among the Sentinels, and honored for what he had done to help her and the Twin Heir. What was she thinking? She had sworn on Jerel's grave she would never again marry a man who did not hold her heart. How could she do that to Jolif, who certainly deserved more? “That is not answer enough,” Jolif said, and bent to touch her chin, gently tipping her head back so their gazes met.

Wind Walker

47

“That is all the answer I can give, with my head and spirit so full of my duty. Arin will be wounded when you leave.” “Better his feelings than his body.” Jolif gestured back the way they had come. “I have my work for the morning. Then I must go.” She nodded and let him walk away. Tayree continued on down the riverbank. She had to sit and think about this bit of news. Should she ask Rhovas to send warriors and more Wind Walkers to meet them? Should she keep Arin in Melda until she knew it was safe? Would the Vendetta Hunter follow Jolif? Or should she reveal all to Arin tonight and pray the Winds gave her power over his mind, to leave Melda under cover of darkness? She stepped into the clearing around the sweathouse and felt the too-deep quiet. It vibrated with tension. The animals sensed danger, something amiss, and they held still in fear and waiting. Tayree mentally slapped herself for falling so deeply into her thoughts she paid no attention to her surroundings. After those two bargemen attacked her, she knew better than to wander unconcerned, as if she were in the High Reaches. Sending her awareness out, she linked into a tree-lif. She lost her balance for half a second as she looked out at the world through compound eyes. Conquering the strangeness, she asked the scampering little furred creature to flit from tree to tree and spy for her. Tayree headed toward the sweathouse where she could put her back to something in defense. With half her awareness, she watched from the tree-lif's point of view. A man stood so still in the shadows, he merged into them, only four long steps from her. Tall, thin, tanned as dark as his sun-scorched hair. Several knives at his belt, two different thicknesses of rope around his waist, and two more coils of rope hanging from his belt. He wore dark, ragged leathers, blotched with stains; sweat or dirt or even blood. To the tree-lif, the man smelled of death. Little cousin, strike, she begged, and yanked her awareness away to make a baobog leap shrieking from the water. Omnistos, let Jolif be near and let him understand. A man shouted as the tree-lif landed on him, needle claws digging deep into his face. The little creature screeched and darted away. Tayree pulled her knives from their sheaths and flung herself into the trees. She saw the man's dark eyes widen to reveal the white. He dodged as she slashed down, close enough to feel the warmth of his skin. Tayree twisted left and a long knife flew through the place where she had been, to bury itself deep in the tree trunk. She dropped and rolled, twisting sideways a heartbeat before the Koh'hani tried to smash her head with both feet. A flick of the wrist and her knife flew. He made no sound, but she smelled fresh blood before she saw the blossom of red across his chest. The Vendetta Hunter growled and whipped a coil of rope at her, snapping like a snake. Tayree felt it bite into her hair and threw herself down instead of sideways, so it passed over her. With a running leap, she reached for the sweathouse dome and vaulted over. Tayree paused long enough to catch her balance and breath. Hearing running footsteps slap twice in the damp morning grass, she ran toward them. And found herself facing nothing. A growl erupted behind her as the Koh'hani came around the side of the sweathouse. Tayree snatched up the water bucket. She flung the ladle at her enemy, catching him across the nose with the metal bar. When he winced and ducked, she flung the entire silty contents of the bucket at him. He roared as the gritty water filled his eyes. Tayree ran in and stabbed and dashed out.

Michelle L. Levigne

48

A flicker of wind and a glimmer of light at the wrong angle beckoned back toward Melda. Tayree obeyed and ran. Her brothers swore she could run the blotches off a razorclaw when the mountain feline was in its worst temper. She heard the shout ahead of her the same moment she heard feet slapping on the bare soil behind her. Tayree stretched her legs as far as they would go. Men raced to meet her. Arrows flew. Men shouted. The Koh'hani behind her roared fury worse than a wounded razorclaw. “Tayree!” Arin caught at her, stopping her before she ran past him. She lost her balance and her legs tried to fold under her. He held her up and he smelled good, clean and musky and warm, of cook fires and morning tea and bread. Tayree clung to him and her vision filled her senses. If Arin kissed her and pressed her to the ground at that moment, she could not have resisted. “You have wings for feet,” Jolif said, catching at her arm. “Thank Omnistos,” she said, choking, and realized she could hardly catch her breath. She let the two guide her to sit. Even as they turned to see what Arin's guards had done, she realized the battle was over. The Vendetta Hunter lay in a crumpled heap of arrows and blood, with a spear through his back. “Forgive me,” Jolif murmured, as he brushed sweaty hair from her face. “I should have realized you would be his target.” “What are you talking about?” Arin demanded. “First that bird went crazy, then you insisted Tayree needed us and now we have this crazy man to explain.” “There is nothing to explain, friend Arin,” Tayree said. She took a deep breath and willed her heart to a normal pace. “The dead man in the town is Keerlagor, my tribe. This man is a Koh'hani Vendetta Hunter. Koh'hani hate Keerlagor. Jolif warned me, but we thought I was safe a while longer.” “Obviously not.” He glared at her a moment longer, then at Jolif. “What did that crazy bird have to do with this?” “The winds obey her, and made the baobog tell us of her need.” Jolif shrugged and effectively ended the questioning by going over to where the guards examined the dead man. If only it were that simple, Tayree thought. * * * * * Arin insisted that Tayree stay in the guesthouse with them, so he could keep her safe. She was too shaken and weary to even try to convince him the Vendetta Hunter had worked alone. What harm would it do to sleep in a Na'huma house one night? The harm, she came to realize, lay in being so close to Arin all day. Watching him work. Listening to the low, rumbling music of his voice. Catching his warm scent at the oddest times. Seeing how he interacted with people, calming the most nervous and soothing the frightened; laughing with those he respected and intimidating those who tried to dominate him. He would make a good chieftain. Perhaps one of the greatest. The harm lay in admiring him, wondering how it would be to touch him, to be touched by him, to put her arms around him and hope to remember the pleasure when Conjunction had passed. “I must leave now,” Jolif said, when Arin had left the room after their evening meal together. “When the Hunter does not meet with the Wind Walker who sent him, they will know

Wind Walker

49

he died. They will know someone defends Arin. The next one will order me to finish the job and break my oath.” “Then we all should leave immediately. You must help me persuade him to go now, instead of waiting for the Admiral's permission.” “No. I must leave. You must wait for soldier escorts.” “But -- “ She stumbled over conflicting goals and regrets and relief. The journey would be easier with Jolif's friendship as a bridge to Arin's understanding -- but how would she succeed at the Mist Plains if he were there? Some were immune to Dreamweed, and with her luck, Jolif would be one of them. Maybe she wasn't fully resolved to seduce Arin during Conjunction? Yet each day that passed, it grew easier to imagine lying in Arin's arms and surrendering to the hungers Dreamweed could inspire. Less painful. Fewer nightmare memories of Palan haunted her. Yet even as her imagination grew easier, her conscience cried louder. How could she deceive this man who was fast becoming her friend? “When a Wind Walker finds me, they will know I have the blood-bond with Arin. They will use it to find him, through me.” “The Koh'hani can do that?” “The Koh'hani can do many things which the other tribes swore never to learn.” For a moment, the light vanished from his eyes. Jolif shook his head and braced his hands against the table. His knuckles grew white, as if he fought a heavy weight that pushed him to the floor. “I will find a way to shield us both, and then I will rejoin you. Perhaps the Winds sent me to heal some part of the wound my people created.” “You are a good oath-friend, Jolif s'Gorr,” she whispered. “May Omnistos bless you for that.” “There are many forms of blessing. Perhaps one day you will smile on me.” He stood and kicked away the floor pillow he had been sitting on at the low dining table. “Perhaps.” “Not until Arin is returned to his rightful place, I think.” “Then you will come as blood-bound friend to the Chieftain's Heir and will be welcomed. You will be a man of high honor.” “High enough to reach for your heart?” She had no answer for that. Jolif brushed the back of his hand across her cheek, so lightly she barely felt the contact. She couldn't watch him leave. She concentrated on the mug of cold tea clasped in her hands. “I think I will regret my oath, when next I see you,” Jolif said. His chuckle sounded ragged. “I think my oath-friend will have stolen the march on me.” “Never.” “He is a good man. The light to Palan's shadow. He could love you if you ever smiled on him, woman to man.” “Never.” “Why?” He chuckled raggedly when she bowed her head, making her hair a curtain around her face. “I deserve that much, if I am to abandon my friend to save his life.” “Dreams,” Tayree whispered. Her throat tried to close. She took a sip of her tea. “As a child, I dreamwalked with Arin. During my training, Rhovas walked in the memories of my

Michelle L. Levigne

50

dreams and saw what I had discovered unknowingly. The Twin Heir lived. Ever since, hunters have roamed the land, looking for him. I knew nothing of this, but when I went to the Canyon, there was my dreamwalking friend, flesh and blood. I was still a child, and he was handsome.” “Enough to steal an experienced woman's heart. What hope did a child have?” Jolif murmured. “I should have been warned.” She gave him a smile of thanks for his comforting words. “I soon saw through Palan's glamour to the poison beneath. But for a time, I did love him. In a blind, silly, immature way. He wouldn't believe me when I refused him. He turned cruel. So Rhovas released me and I fled home. And Palan hunted me. Jerel was my twin's best friend. He was my friend. He offered me marriage to protect me. We cared for each other. If Palan had not killed him, we would have happily lived our lives together.” “But there was no fire, no merging of spirits, as there should be between man and woman?” His hand brushed the top of her head and Tayree flinched. “Jerel died without my heart joined to his. I swore I would never do that to another. I have no heart to give, I think.” A bitter laugh escaped, startling her. “Perhaps Lady Eriel is right, and the fault is in me.” “Perhaps you still wait for your dream to become true.” “Wind Walkers explore the dreams of others. We do not dream for ourselves.” She closed her eyes tight against hot, wet pressure. Tayree swore she had cried herself dry long ago. “The Winds bless you,” Jolif whispered as he strode to the door. “The hardest path, my teacher said, belongs to those who will climb the highest and shine the brightest.” Then he was gone, before she could think of a reply. Arin stomped through the door many long minutes later. One look at his furrowed brow, his clenched jaw, proved Jolif had left, without explanation or time to dissuade him. She rather admired Jolif for that, even as it struck her fully that now she was alone with Arin. Teaching him to be Ayanlak would be completely her duty. She could not shift delicate, male-only subjects to Jolif. If Arin were to be trained to protect the tribe and not think of his own power, as Palan had, all the responsibility now rested on her. But before that, she had to persuade him to leave Melda on the River ahead of the plan. How? Tayree studied him, fuming and trying not to take it out on her, and she knew tonight was not the right time. Warmth grew in her as she watched Arin struggle with his anger and win. Palan would not have controlled himself. He would have lashed out at someone smaller and weaker. If only I could spend these days with Arin with my eyes closed. And if he touched me … Tayree shivered, falling into daydreams of Conjunction ecstasy. Palan had never touched her except to punish. Arin would only touch her to shelter, to please, to comfort. Yes, she would need Dreamweed desperately, when she joined with Arin on the Mist Plains. Otherwise, her dreams would corrode her memories, so Arin did not love her but Palan triumphed. * * * * * Arin stood in the darkest corner of his room and glared alternately at his mussed, rock-hard bed and the window where the light of the three moons burned bright as day. He knew it was

Wind Walker

51

only his imagination, but it seemed the moons called more insistently than ever tonight. Come. Run. Shed all the foolish Na'huma restraints. Reach to the creatures of forest and field and air. Merge your mind with theirs and never return. Intellectually, Arin knew it was only the events of the day that made it so hard to sleep. First the attack on Tayree, then Jolif left so abruptly. When Arin had pressed him, his friend merely touched the scar of their oath and smiled that sad, mystical smile that implied a Humanraised man could never understand. Well, maybe he could understand now. Hadn't he been trying to see the world as the Ayanlak did? Even if Jolif had gone, there was still Tayree to prepare him for the day he could walk into the Canyon of the Keerlagor and seek his past -- and perhaps his future. And what about Tayree? Arin's gut instinct didn't believe the man who attacked her was there simply to kill all Keerlagor. It was truth, he suspected, but not the entire truth. There was some detail he lacked. If only he knew her well enough to come close to guessing. Tayree filled his mind more than her lessons ever did. The idea that she was under his roof tonight perhaps contributed most to his restlessness. They had talked little after Jolif left; after she taught him another sequence in the jali'tay exercise, he had paperwork and she wanted to be alone to think. “Not good,” Arin whispered to the calling moonlight. He thought he could find her scent anywhere he went in the house. Like crushed sweetgrass, faint and delicate in the morning chill. Like the air after a heavy rainstorm when the river churned, flowing full of life and energy. Clean. Pure. Marking her as untouchable as the wind. Maybe he had finally strayed into the minds of animals one time too many, and he was caught, trapped in the habit of knowing the world through his senses instead of his mind? The animal mind in him wanted Tayree in his arms. Wanted to feel the warmth of her, smell the clean, herbal perfume of her hair, taste the sweetness of her mouth. Feel her heart pounding against his own. His dreams had never given him that. His dreams only showed Tayree oblivious to him. Or when she did see him, she retreated from him in disgust, bitter light in her eyes. His dreams only gave him fury when his hard, hot hunger for her went unslaked. Except for that one time, when she knelt at the top of the cliff where he had fallen with the shadow man. When she had seen him and showed only confusion. What did it all mean? “It means she's completely out of your reach, no matter what you do,” he muttered into the darkness. The worst part of Jolif's departure was the guilty sense of relief. Had he actually considered his best friend a rival? And why not? Jolif and Tayree certainly had more in common than he had with her. Yet Jolif was gone and he was alone here with Tayree. Alone except for guards outside the house, the housekeeping staff in their quarters and the off-duty guards at the back of the house. No chance at all with her, even if she were drunk. Something twisted hard through Arin's gut, killing his purely physical hunger. Why did he imagine he had already tried to seduce Tayree while she was intoxicated? That made no sense! Yet that thought brought him a flicker of an image. Tayree swayed under the triple moons, pale silver dust sparkling on her face and hair. She laughed and bubbled a disjointed tune as she harvested pods

Michelle L. Levigne

52

from silver, feathery plants as high as her waist. Arin saw himself leap from the darkness and enfold her in his arms. When he turned her to capture her mouth in a kiss, she brought her knee up into his gut. Both her fists flew.

Wind Walker

53

Chapter Eleven Arin gasped as if he truly felt the blows Tayree had given him in his dream. He smiled into the darkness, glad Tayree could defend herself. His dreaming self felt an angry hunger to make her scream and beg. It made Arin sick to his stomach. He wasn't capable of that, was he? Could denied hunger turn to poison and drive him to cruelty? Arin wanted to touch her. Forever. His dreams haunted him now that she had stepped from dream into reality. He no longer fought the man-shadow, but himself, pounding his mirror image into dust to protect Tayree. Most of his sleeplessness came from knowing she slept under his roof. Arin had walked in his sleep as a child. Would he tonight? Would his body take him to her, to make dream reality? Would she batter him before she realized what was happening? “Wouldn't that be a laugh?” he asked the sheltering darkness. Tayree would fulfill Reesker's fondest dream, destroying the upstart Ayanlak foundling without a single member of the Domination faction lifting a hand. Something thudded softly outside, followed by a louder, crumpling sound. Arin felt his heart thud to a stop as his imagination interpreted -- something heavy hit a Human head, then the body hit the ground. He stepped closer to his window, staying in shadow but angled to see without being seen. The street below his window lay empty in the scorching moonlight. Chills crept up Arin's back in the humid night air -- there should be a guard patrolling that street. Especially with those unexplained noises. Explanation -- he had heard the guard fall. But how? The men chosen to guard the Admiral's family and the upper staff were the most alert and loyal. Until attacked by someone they knew and trusted. Arin eased his bedroom door open and peered out into the hall. Tayree would be the target. After all the healing she had done, she was known by every native and much loved. If she died or was injured under his roof, what would that do to the grumbling peace? Arin nearly laughed as he recognized that burning in his head and gut. He would kill anyone who even bruised her. He wished he hadn't put her at the other end of the hallway, with Jolif's empty room between them. It took forever to creep along in his bare feet, every muscle, every sense tuned to detect intruders. At her door, he tapped once with a knuckle, then eased the latch open and inched the door open. Silence filled her room. Her scent wasn't even there. Moonlight spilled through the window, without even the blurring benefit of curtains. He turned to her bed and found it empty and untouched. Only a single ripple in the sheet -- and no blanket. She had gone somewhere else to sleep. Arin felt the aching tightness in his ribs loosen. At least she wouldn't be trapped here. But where had she gone? Please, Winds, if you are real … He smiled at the darkness as he left her room. Perhaps he was more Ayanlak than he thought. A faint, cool touch of air made the sweaty hairs on his neck stand up. Arin followed the movement, knowing there should be no breeze this deep indoors. All the doors were closed.

Michelle L. Levigne

54

Even if the bedroom windows were open, the air would not flow. He wondered if that was why Tayree had not stayed in her room. Where had that breeze come from? Arin shook his head to fight the question, determined to focus on Tayree. The breeze held her scent. He almost stopped as he realized that. He took a deeper breath and felt another notch of tension leave. Tonight he welcomed the animal mind-set, if it helped him find her. He followed the scent to the common room where he, Tayree and Jolif had eaten dinner. “Arin.” She breathed his name, softer than a whisper, and stepped from a shadowed corner. “There is danger.” “I know.” He flinched, his voice felt like a shout. “I thought they were after you.” For a moment her eyes grew wide and disbelieving, and he could see the curious child she had been. A memory stirred -- had he seen Tayree as a child? She nodded and stepped back into the darkness and he followed. The darkness enfolded them into safety. For the moment. “You are a dangerous man.” She leaned close to him, whispering so softly he couldn't feel her breath on his skin. “The bridge is much hated and you are its father. Na'huma take, Ayanlak resist, and then Na'huma consider themselves victims. They attack in turn and take land in recompense.” “I know.” Arin could almost have laughed at this impromptu lecture on the difficulties of Human-Ayanlak relations. “The bitterness is that if Na'huma would ask, Ayanlak might give freely. We know you consider us savages, but we live on beauty. We have poetry and dance, artists and builders, like you. We require politeness. We require courtesy. We see Na'huma as selfish children. Many consider themselves called to destroy the evil children who would steal our world from us.” “So someone is trying to kill me? I thought they would try to stir things up by hurting you.” “Perhaps both.” She grasped his arm and gently turned him so he faced across the room and looked at the screened wall that separated the common room from outside. Four men -- Ayanlak, by their long hair and the moonlight glinting off armbands and necklets -- crossed the house-wide porch and pulled open the door to enter. Two carried clubs with dark, glistening stains across the business ends. Arin's stomach twisted. The guards outside were likely dead, bludgeoned, and their attackers now hunted him and Tayree. The two with the clubs went down the hall to the sleeping rooms. The other two settled on the edge of the dinner table. Arin glanced around the room, seeking weapons. Tayree was a weapon in herself, with jali'tay. He supposed he could use the bench next to him to break heads. How long could he and Tayree stay in the dark before someone noticed them? If he shouted, how long would it take the off-duty guards in their quarters beyond the kitchen to rouse and join the fight? Pounding feet made Arin's pulse pick up. The other two Ayanlak reappeared, sliding on the bare wood floor, as if they were unused to going barefoot. “Gone, sir,” the first one said. “Did you check the woman's room? That's the only reason I'd bring the filth into this house,” the apparent leader growled. Something was not right. Arin knew that, even as the picture of their plan came together in his mind.

Wind Walker

55

“She's gone, too,” the other man with the club reported. “Thought she'd be with him, and we could smash them both. Both empty, so we went into Dorwen's room.” “Did you think they'd be sharing one woman at the same time? Even he has better taste than that,” the leader sneered. “He treats his aide like a friend,” the first offered. “We haven't seen s'Gorr since dinner, his bed hasn't been slept in. We thought we'd catch Dorwen with the woman. We could kill them both and make it look like he killed her in self-defense.” Arin felt Tayree move away from him and he nearly reached out to stop her. She knelt and then stood and pressed a blanket into his hand. That meant she had been sleeping out here, where air moved more freely. He thought he understood. They could use the blanket as a weapon. “The two on the right, mine. The left, yours,” he breathed. She squeezed his hand in acknowledgement. Arin stepped out first, flinging the blanket over the head of the first man, then snatched up the nearest bench, swinging with his entire body. Tayree leaped, slamming her target against the far wall even as the man with the blanket let out a yelp. Arin felt his second target crumple under the blow without even a gasp of protest. Still holding the bench, he went after the blanket-blinded man. Tayree back-flipped and caught her second man under the chin with a foot. Arin winced as he heard the crunch of bones breaking and prayed it wasn't her toes. In seconds, it was over. One man was semi-conscious, moaning, trying to crawl toward the door. Tayree caught him by his shoulder seams and flung him against the wall again, his clothes ripping in protest. Stunned, he floundered like a grounded fish while she and Arin lit a lamp and bound the other three. “Now,” Arin said in the trade tongue, “tell us why you are here.” He hauled the man upright and pressed him against the wall. And sat on his legs for good measure. The prisoner glared at him. “Who wants the Chief Engineer dead?” Tayree asked, in Na'huma. The prisoner opened his mouth to respond, then his eyes bugged out. She gave him and Arin a thin-lipped, grim smile and took a handful of the prisoner's hair. It came off with a slight sucking sound -- a wig. “By the starry void,” Arin whispered, falling back on the Admiral's strongest, rarest oath. “Humans.” He sat back on his heels and stared at Tayree as he rearranged the scenario in his mind. “How did you know?” “Necklets from opposing tribes. Armbands do not match necklets. They do not move like Ayanlak. They do not smell like Ayanlak.” She wrinkled up her nose and stepped away from the prisoner. Without thinking, Arin leaned forward and sniffed. Under the blood of a split lip and metallic sweat, he smelled ... military issue soap. Lye and ash with the faint chemical undercurrent of the synthetic disinfectant so jealously hoarded by the colonists. Tayree was right. Ayanlak used soap, but always sweet smelling and clean. The prisoner's sweat had a bitter tang that Arin suspected came from synthetics in his blood. “We should hire Ayanlak as guards,” he muttered. “Who sent you?” The prisoner pressed his battered lips tighter together and glared at the two of them. Arin knew better than to press. He tied up the fourth man, lit more lamps and went in search of the household staff. He found them in the same condition as the off-duty guards --

Michelle L. Levigne

56

drugged asleep. It was a mercy, he decided, that Tayree and Jolif had changed his diet and oversaw the menu. Of the four on-duty guards, one was dead and the other three would be on sick leave with split skulls for several days. Arin was relieved. One death caused by the attack on him was far better than four, yet still too many. He said so after he had roused two guards and returned to the common room. “You are not to blame, friend Arin,” Tayree said. She did not look at him, but focused on the conscious prisoner, as if she could keep him in place by the power of her concentration. By the pale, sweat-drenched look of the man, Arin didn't doubt it. He wanted to laugh, first with relief, then with pride that such a woman was on his side. If anything had happened to her tonight, he didn't know what he would feel. But would anything have happened? If not for his dreams of Tayree in tearful sorrow, he would believe her invulnerable. “The man who sent them is to blame for the deaths, for the illness caused by your Na'huma drugs,” she continued. “Cleary?” One of the new guards stumbled across the room and tilted the prisoner's head back. “Cleary, what are you doing here? You're supposed to be at headquarters.” “Who’s his current assignment?” Arin asked. He grinned, baring his teeth at the prisoner, who now looked like he would be sick. “Cabinet member Reesker Dorwen, sir.”

Wind Walker

57

Chapter Twelve Arin supposed it was ironic, and bitter justice, that the 'Na'huma drugs,' as Tayree said with such poetic distaste in her voice, brought them the truth. Acting quickly, before Reesker could worry about his men, Arin sent to the barracks for the commander, medic, and more soldiers to control the prisoners. He let the officers take and witness the full confession. The commander then issued an arrest warrant for Reesker. By noon, Arin and Tayree led a party of soldiers, escorting Reesker and his staff to Central to face Admiral Pol Dorwen. Arin didn't want to go. There was too much to do to repair the flood damage and prepare for his mission. But what if Reesker had lied and the Admiral didn't know about his proposal to contact the Keerlagor? What if the Peace faction didn't trust him, and he acted without authority or permission? He needed Tayree to convince the Admiral that he, the foundling, had a chance to achieve peace and go where the colony's leaders could not risk themselves. When he explained his worries and reasoning to her, Tayree just smiled and nodded. She was silent a long while, not speaking until Melda vanished behind them. “Consider that the Cabinet does want you to go, and thinks you have been several days on the journey already,” she said. “What?” Arin nearly yanked on the reins of his horse. “I think this cousin was to send you on your way immediately. I think he lied, to delay you and make you look like a liar and a coward, and lazy. He dressed his men as Ayanlak to place the blame for your death on the People. Think how this would block future peace accords between Ayanlak and Na'huma.” “And get the family embarrassment out of the way at the same time.” Arin grinned despite the dropping sensation in his gut. He had always known several relatives didn't want him around; he had just never thought they would stoop to murder. “You should stay in Central to advise the Admiral. We need to see from the Ayanlak perspective if we want to make peace.” “No.” She glanced away, but not before he saw the sudden dimming of her eyes. “My duty ends when we reach the Canyon, then I shall return to the High Reaches and never leave again. You are the one to stand between Na'huma and Ayanlak. The Winds chose you for this duty from conception, and you only now hear them.” “Maybe.” He watched her as they rode in silence, wishing he knew what to say. It made him ache to think they would never see each other again after their journey ended. Arin had a vague notion of the High Reaches, from aerial surveys done before the drone ships ran out of fuel. They stood like a wall of shattered pottery, dividing the northern third of the continent from the south. Tayree would vanish into them for the rest of her life. That thought put a heaviness in his chest that made it hard to breathe. Arin wanted to argue with her, but there had been a weariness in her voice that stopped him. As if he could hurt her if he tried to stop her. He didn't want to hurt Tayree. Ever.

Michelle L. Levigne

58

* * * * * Arin tried to explain the Domination and Peace factions to Tayree as they journeyed to Central. Sometimes he wondered if things would be simpler if the colonists' mother ship hadn't made an emergency landing, and the other ships hadn't been slaved to the central computer. Everyone knew the risks in that, but it had reduced the number of trained personnel needed to man the ships. During the Downfall, anyone with training stayed on the front lines to protect civilization from the petty warlords devouring pieces of the shattered galactic civilization. The colonists came from the desperate remnants of three colony worlds, stranded and dying when regular supply lines from the hub of civilization vanished. With the damage to the mother ship and the cascade effect failures in the other sleeper ships, the colonists had been stranded and ill-prepared. They had originally aimed for a planet where two waves of colonists had already taken a foothold. Supposedly. There was no way to communicate long-distance during Sleep travel. Their equipment was intended to extend the established colony, not create a new one. They lacked the basics and had supplemental supplies. What use were energy packs for equipment they hadn't brought? Or hydroponic tabs and nutrients, without the tanks to put them in? By the time someone could relax from the struggle for survival to build the tanks, the supplies had been damaged, rendered useless. On and on it went. And when the Ayanlak who could have been allies were turned into enemies, two parties arose. The Domination faction held to the prejudices that had brought on the Downfall. They believed in all or nothing. They labeled the Ayanlak sub-Humans. Although the colonists who survived the sleeper tube malfunctions numbered less than four thousand, they wanted the entire planet. They firmly believed the only way to survive was to destroy or enslave the Ayanlak. The Peace faction believed the Sentinel Stars -- the ancient sleeper ships -- proved the Ayanlak were Humans, and fellow-refugees from the Downfall. They wanted to engender cooperation with the Ayanlak at best, or retreat to a neutral zone at worst. “The world, our mother is not neutral,” Tayree said when Arin gave her the basics. “There is birthing and growing, and there is sickness and dying. No flat place of simply existing. For every death, there must be birth.” “To even the balance,” he offered. “There is no balance. All of life is a struggle against the bog of death. Yes, you can survive in a bog if you float, but if you do not try to get out, eventually you will sink.” She shook her head and gazed over the plain, crisscrossed with wagon tracks and spotted with small enclaves of farmsteads and villages, stretching to the horizon. “Ignoring each other will not work, because always someone blames the other for every loss. There is more real peace and security when you know your enemy, than when strangers are neutral. Do you understand?” “You're always watching your enemy, so you know pretty much everything he does or doesn't do.” Arin grinned and nodded. “We should add you to the Cabinet. You can reach the deadheads who won't admit we're stuck here. They don't care about facts that contradict what they want to believe.” “Then they are fools and should be removed from power.” Arin agreed, but knew he could never say such a thing. He wondered if his life was an

Wind Walker

59

example of the impossible neutrality Tayree spoke of. As long as he coasted, trying to fit into the Human world and ignore his heritage, he was basically useless. Even if he could create engineering marvels, he wasn’t truly contributing to his world. To be truly useful, he had to accept and use his heritage. It would be much easier if he could count on Tayree to stay with him every step of the way. But she wanted to go home. Then another thought intruded into the ever-present quandary of losing her. “Hey -- you weren't surprised when I said the Sentinel Stars were sleeper ships!” “Why should I be?” She shrugged and leaned forward to fiddle with her horse's mane. But not before Arin caught a twitch of her lips as she fought not to smile. He groaned, knowing she teased him. “Let me guess -- you've known all along you were refugees?” “Refugees ... is not a word we use. We are the People of the Quest. If you ask where we came from, every Wind Walker will tell you we came from the stars.” Her voice took on that rolling cadence Arin associated with her Wind Walker persona. He suspected if Tayree looked at him instead of the dusty plain stretching out ahead of them, he would see stars in her eyes. “Long ago, legend says, we separated ourselves from evil people who bred themselves like the Sha'hasti breed horses. They tried to give themselves powers that belong to the Winds, to those called to serve Omnistos. The power of fire from air, of bringing the dead back to life, of controlling the minds of animals, of changing the essence of their bodies.” Arin flinched. Controlling the minds of animals? “The Winds led us to the World. We did not name it. Our ancestors determined we would live as if this were the only world, so we would take proper care and respect it. If there were other worlds to flee to, then we would be careless.” “Good thinking,” he murmured. “We settled and were safe and happy and thankful to the Winds and to Omnistos who sent them. Those who had been tainted by the evil breeding bound themselves with eternal vows, to use their powers to serve the Winds and protect the People. Until Omnistos takes them away again.” Tayree heaved a deep sigh and her shoulders slumped forward a little. She looked at him, and her eyes glimmered as the stars faded. A crooked smile caught one side of her mouth. “We are what you call genetic experiments who escaped their cages.” Arin stared. Where had Tayree learned such words and concepts? Unless her people knew all about such things all along? “We definitely have gone too long without talking to your people,” he muttered. * * * * * Admiral Pol Dorwen stood when Arin led Tayree into his office. Arin knew better than to try to impress his adopted uncle by washing and changing clothes; the man was more impressed and pleased with promptness and diligence. But he winced, feeling guilty as they stepped through the door and he realized he should have offered Tayree a chance to wash and rest. “Wind Walker Tayree d'Bartha, this is Admiral Pol Dorwen, governor of the colony,” Arin said, bowing to her and then giving a salute to the Admiral. “Wind Walker?” The Admiral's dark eyes widened and lit up. He bowed deeply and stepped out from behind his desk. “Ma'am, it's an honor. I never hoped to meet a Wind Walker in the flesh.”

Michelle L. Levigne

60

“You are too valuable to your people to travel into Ayanlak territory, and Wind Walkers rarely come near Na'huma towns,” she said in smooth, only faintly-accented Human. Arin was impressed, and he had been helping her brush up on the language. The Admiral chuckled, bestowing on her a rare smile. He held out his hand. Tayree hesitated only a moment before allowing him to shake her hand. She let him lead her to one of the chairs set in front of his desk. Arin waited until the Admiral seated himself before taking the second seat. “Well, boy, you've had some interesting adventures. The preliminaries show me Reesker is up to the kind of nasty tricks he pulled when he was six.” The Admiral tapped a paper sitting on his crowded desk. Arin didn't doubt his uncle had read it four times over, just in the short time since the outrunners had gone ahead to make their report. They were out of the office in less than half an hour. Tayree's suspicions were proven true. The Admiral had indeed sent Reesker to Arin with supplies for the journey and instructions to set out immediately. “How far can soldiers accompany you before you run into trouble?” the Admiral asked, as the interview neared its end. “Only a short distance from Melda.” Tayree smiled serenely and glanced at Arin. “Two travel faster and hide more easily than a company. These Dominators will try to stop us, so we must move swiftly and vanish into the mountains. I grew up in the mountains. Soldiers from the plains would only be a hindrance, not protection, and preparing them would waste time.” “You should have been a soldier, ma'am.” He saluted her, earning a tiny chuckle from her. Arin found himself wishing he could make Tayree laugh more often. He thought of all the hours they would be alone together. The images were pleasant, almost as relaxing as the hot bath he indulged in after he and Tayree went to the guest quarters attached to Government House. A knock on the door startled him just as he let his eyes drift closed under the warm, steamy influence of the bathing room. Snatching at a towel as he stood, he called 'come' and wrapped the cloth around his waist. “Wasted no time,” the Admiral said with a smile and nod of approval. He shut the door behind himself and settled down into the chair next to the door with a massive sigh. “You've done well. Your father will be proud, once the report goes out.” “He doesn't know yet?” Arin felt that sick dropping sensation. He didn't care about impressing relatives with his new importance, but he wanted to share this triumph with his father. The Commodore had ached for him, every time his Ayanlak heritage had stood in his way, no matter how slightly. “Of your mission? No.” He shook his head and that tired smile faded into something grim. “Everything is still on a need-to-know basis. That's how Reesker got away with his plot. His own men didn't know what was going on. We do have to get you moving before the Dominators send bigger guns after you.” “Kill me, you mean,” Arin murmured. “Between you and your Wind Walker, I see success. I'm inclined to believe in these Winds, myself. There has to be a reason why we found you where we did, on the verge of being sacrificed.” The Admiral frowned. “I have to admit, the sacrifice of a child has given the Dominators too much fuel to their argument for annihilation. A people who would do such a thing to an innocent child deserves death, don't you think?” “Jolif says I was preserved for a purpose. My tribe's enemies tried to kill me to stop

Wind Walker

61

something important.” “Keep that thought in mind. It could keep you alive.” He allowed a dry chuckle. “I should leave you to get dressed, and then the two of you are joining me for dinner. We have a lot of planning to do before you set off. Before dawn.” “Secrecy,” Arin murmured. “To keep you alive. Take a word of advice, and get your Wind Walker's heart in your hand. Court her.”

Michelle L. Levigne

62

Chapter Thirteen “Court?” Again, that dropping sensation. But this time Arin liked the trembling that followed. “You like her, don't you? Want her? If you can make her fall in love with you, just think of the benefits for the colony. For peace.” He stood and advanced a step on Arin. “You are the bridge I always hoped you'd be. With a Wind Walker for your wife, you'll ensure the future of the colony. We can finally repay the damage and the mistakes we made when we first landed.” “That's going to take a lot of study, sir. I'm not sure I understand Tayree as a woman, let alone the differences between Human and Ayanlak.” Arin couldn't quite breathe at the thought of being married to Tayree. The Admiral was right. He wanted her. Not just because of his dreams. Because of the intelligence and humor and brilliant life displayed before him every day since he met her. Because sometimes he woke up aching for her sweet-smelling, soft body to crush in his arms and never let go again. “I think relating man to woman will bridge the problems. Do it, boy. It's your duty ... though I don't think it will be harsh. We're the invaders. We violated taboos right and left and when we were punished, we retaliated instead of trying to learn what we did wrong. The Ayanlak tried to warn us about the gocagi migration through the Scolasi Plains, but we wouldn't listen. We only saw rich, neglected farmland. Eighty families, all with children, including relatives of ours, were destroyed in that week-long stampede. Then we attacked the tribes who rode out to help the survivors.” He gestured at Arin, still standing with a towel around his waist. “Get dressed and fetch your Wind Walker. But keep this in mind. All through history, the guilty party has tried to paint itself as the victim, and people have swallowed it whole -- until the truth came out. We need you to build a bridge so the truth can be heard. Any sacrifice is worth it.” “Even romancing Tayree into supporting us?” “Romance is over-rated. Be glad for friendship spiced with a little sex, and don't dream too high.” He reached for the door latch to leave. “But don't give up your dreams or your ethics, either. And name one of your sons after me.” “Yes, sir.” Arin stared, stunned at the suggestion, as the Admiral left and pulled the door closed behind him. He couldn't court Tayree for political reasons. He wanted to be totally honest with her. But he wanted her. The Admiral had been right about that. Arin couldn't deny the ache that filled him every time he remembered she intended to vanish into the High Reaches. The idea grew stronger, changing through multiple convolutions as he and Tayree ate with the Admiral. Through a sleepless night. Through their swift journey back to Melda and beyond. Along the way, he and Tayree would study the papers the Admiral had sent with them. Tayree knew how to read, but not the Human alphabet. She needed to learn so she could translate the documents for the chieftains and Wind Walkers and Council. The Admiral suggested that, knowing the Keerlagor would accept the peace proposals and official apologies more readily through her, than from a document none of them could read. “When we reach the Canyon, you must also learn to read our language,” Tayree said, the

Wind Walker

63

night after they passed Melda and crossed the river and headed out across the plains. “Then you will be much in demand on both sides.” Arin agreed, even as his heart twisted at the unspoken words -- then he would no longer need her, and she could go home to the life her quest had interrupted. He looked forward to sending his guards back to Melda. How could he win Tayree's heart with witnesses around? * * * * * “No horses.” Tayree's voice cut through the early morning gray and chill. “They'll make the journey easier,” Arin said. He shifted the lead reins of the horses from left hand to right. “Yes, I suppose …” She bit her lip against a grin and swallowed a chuckle. Sometimes, Arin was so sensible and so instinctively Ayanlak -- then he would do something like this, reminding her how little he really knew about his own heritage and the landscape. Her mind painted a vivid image of the untrained horses shrieking in terror and running mindlessly through forest and over plain when some of the more dangerous animals approached on their journey. This wasn't the summer for the gocagi migration, but she still intended to avoid the Scolasi Plains. Eyekill would bloom soon. The mountains would be safer, to avoid the Dominators and Vendetta Hunters. Horses would slow travel through the mountains, and make them easier to track. Tayree thought of their supplies vanishing atop the horses' backs. She could ward away predators that approached in ones or twos. Warding off attacking creatures and soothing the terror in the horses' minds simultaneously was beyond her. “No, we must leave them here,” she finally said, when he opened his mouth to voice another protest. Did Arin think because she smiled that she would give in? He had no idea what dangers they faced. He knew about the Dominators, but she refused to tell him about the Vendetta Hunters. She would certainly not tell him or anyone else his true identity. That would bring the curious and adoring -- and vengeful -- down on their trail. “How are we going to carry all those supplies? On our backs?” Arin glanced over his shoulder at the loaded saddlebags and the guards waiting on their horses just out of earshot. “We will be safe. I swear it by the Winds and the duty they gave me.” “Sometimes I really get tired of your mysticism,” he sighed. Then Arin grinned before she could decide whether to pity or be angry with him. “Why don't we need the horses? It can't be that dangerous out there for them, can it?” “They will be frightened by the larger hunters in the forests.” “What about us? At least with horses, we have a way of escaping. I can protect myself. I can control both horses, but you …” He looked away. What had he been about to say? Something about her, in particular, or that secret she sensed lurking in his eyes? Maybe he just resisted her insistence because he liked horses. Arin had an affinity to the creatures that she had yet to learn. As if he had a talent for animals? Just because Palan lacked all the sensitive gifts of noble bloods didn't mean his twin did as well. Tayree believed there had been only one heart and soul between the twins, and Arin had taken both. Perhaps Palan had been too wrapped up in himself to reach out to other minds, even in curiosity. Arin, however, was an ore vein of untapped potential.

Michelle L. Levigne

64

“We have no need to escape.” She shrugged and pretended not to be worried. In truth, excitement began to churn within her. If Arin truly did have all the potential Palan lacked, she had a sacred duty to teach him to be the greatest Keerlagor chieftain ever known. Even traveling on foot, she would only have a fraction of the time she needed. “Trust me, Arin,” she continued, when he didn't leap in with another protest. “You will come unharmed to the Canyon and stand before the Twin Chieftains and no harm will come to you unless you bring it on yourself by foolishness.” “Foolishness, huh?” He chewed on his lip and tugged on his new Ayanlak-style traveling leathers, and studied her. Tayree met his assessing gaze and waited. She hoped she looked far more comfortable and confident than she felt. Her plan for recompense required it, but there were still times when she knew she would cry out against being totally alone with him. The dreams would come, making her witness the battle on the cliff's edge. She feared waking from her dreams to see Arin and think him Palan. Perhaps attacking him before she remembered her enemy was dead. “All right.” Arin sighed. “You're telling me as long as I listen and do whatever you tell me, I'll be safe?” “Of course.” “Of course.” He grinned. “All right, if you say so, we don't need the horses. My feet are complaining already.” “You must make your legs strong for the journey.” “Easy for you to say. I'll wager you've been running everywhere since the day you were born.” Tayree bit her lip against an urge to correct him, even though she knew he was teasing. “The problem remains,” he continued. “How do we carry all these supplies?” “We leave the unnecessary ones behind.” * * * * * “Unnecessary,” Arin muttered against his forearm. He had no pillow but his arm. There was no pillow among the supplies Tayree had decreed they leave with the horses, but the lack now brought up a host of petty grievances and cravings. Uppermost in his mind were the aches running all through his body. Arin prided himself on staying in good physical shape. He boxed and worked out with weighted weapons and did basic calisthenics. He walked everywhere he could, knowing what a soft ruin his body could become without regular exercise. Still, Tayree had set a vicious pace he had fought to match. She strode along with a long-legged reach that caught his attention a few times too many. She never broke a sweat until the noontime sun beat directly down on their heads. Arin gasped and was blinded by sweat less than an hour into the morning. At least now he knew how she stayed so lean and graceful. She worked off everything she ate and exercised every muscle. Not long after they left the valley where his guards had turned back to Melda, Tayree and Arin had entered rough terrain -- hills and bramble patches, streams and rocky slopes. Tayree seemed to dance over or around or through each obstacle. Her grace reminded him of his dreams, before he knew her name, when she floated just beyond the reach of his arms. Sometimes he

Wind Walker

65

blamed her for distracting him, so that he seemed to stumble over the slightest dip or rise in the landscape. Now, just past first moonrise, Arin was a mass of bruises and strained muscles. What wasn't sunburned was scraped by brambles and branches and rocks. What wasn't scraped was covered in goose pimples from the icy spring water he had washed in. Arin had seriously contemplated foregoing the chill of washing and enduring his own salty sweat stink. Tayree had insisted he wash. Arin was too tired and sore to argue with her. She took his damp leathers and turned them inside out while he washed, and rubbed them with a handful of some leaves she had plucked during her day's foraging -- which also explained why she didn't worry about having enough food. To Arin's surprise, the pants and shirt had been dry and didn't smell of a day of sweaty misery. Now, he lay on his stomach -- his rear end was a little too sore for sleeping on his back, thanks to several sliding falls -- and waited for sleep to return. He had been asleep, hadn't he? It wasn't just a numb, brain-dead, body-aching haze, was it? What had awakened him? A noise? Had Tayree spoken his name? Arin opened his eyes and turned to face the fire. Tayree sat on the other side of the flames. She had insisted on taking first watch and he had been in no condition to argue. She was only a dark shape, white teeth bright in the firelight. Teeth?

Michelle L. Levigne

66

Chapter Fourteen Arin's eyes opened wide, but he caught himself before he sat up or rolled over or made a sound. A Chaiqua sat on the other side of the fire, haunches firmly planted on Tayree's blanket. The creature was a mass of dark fur, with reddish gleams where the firelight touched it. Its long tongue glistened, lolling out of its mouth. Her mouth. Arin had no idea how he knew it was female. A moment later, he realized he felt no fear. Slowly, he pushed himself up and rolled over, watching the Chaiqua, feeling for the long hunting blade tucked under his blankets. He preferred to use his talent for controlling animals to protect himself -- but could he be sure it would work? He had used it for years on the horses traded from the Ayanlak and the dogs that had come with the colonists, but nothing this fiercely wild. If it was intelligent enough to resist his mental touch, he might be in for the fight of his life. The Chaiqua opened her mouth wider, teeth bright and sharp in the firelight. Her eyes sparkled and a huffing sound escaped her. Her sides visibly vibrated in the shadows and firelight. “What are you laughing about?” he muttered. Arin shut his mouth with an audible snap. Even if the creature couldn't understand words, she understood tone. She laughed. At him? Arin wondered if he were losing his mind. Maybe from all those herbs and Ayanlak potions? “You're just a dream, right?” The Chaiqua rose and stepped around the fire, bushy tail twitching with soft rustling sounds. Her mouth stayed open in silent laughter and she moved around behind him. Arin held still, clutching his hunting knife through the blanket. “Hey!” He leaped to his feet. “Your nose is cold!” Arin turned and glared. She went down on her forepaws, head resting on her legs, gazing sideways up at him with a definitely coy expression. “What do you want from me?” He took a step closer. The Chaiqua scrambled backwards, bobbed her head and turned, pointing her nose at the forest. She whined and twitched her tail at him, glanced over her shoulder, and then back at the forest. “Follow you?” In answer, the creature whined louder. This was ridiculous -- talking to the beast when he should just reach with his mind and touch hers. Yet he hesitated. The Chaiqua were more legend than reality, even if Jolif had talked about the beasts as if they were as common as dogs. The Chaiqua wanted him to come with her. But why? Arin narrowed his eyes at the beast, refusing to close them just in case she changed her mind and disemboweled him with one swipe of a paw bigger than his hand. He reached out a tentative tendril of thought. Just a test. What if this was one beast's mind he couldn't escape? Images of running and chasing, leaping and splashing in the nearby stream filled his head. The silly beast wanted him to come play! The Chaiqua danced away a few steps and again looked over her shoulder at him. She twitched her tail, then bit it. A few steps toward the edge of the trees, then glanced back at him. “Chase you?” he muttered, and sent an image of his question to her mind. A yelp escaped her, she turned a somersault and landed exactly where she had started. “Just a minute.” Arin glanced around the clearing. Where had Tayree gone? What would she think if she came back

Wind Walker

67

and he was missing? It wasn't like he could leave a note. She was learning to read, but he didn't have a stylus or datapad -- not even an old-fashioned pen and piece of paper. What are you doing? Tayree asked, laughter making her voice ripple. “Where did you -- “ Arin turned to find the source of her voice. He felt dizzy as he realized he heard her inside his head. What's wrong? she asked, still with that bubbling, energizing hint of laughter. Can you hear me? He wondered if he were doing this right. If there was a right way. How are we doing this? You touch the mind of the Chaiqua as I touch it, and we speak through her. We had better withdraw and play with her before she gets irritated. I asked nicely, but she's still rather young for this sort of thing. She adopted you early this afternoon. Didn't you feel her following us? I think so, but -- Arin sighed. “Tayree, where are you?” “Here.” She stepped from behind the screen of bushes, just to the left of the Chaiqua. “Is there no one among the Na'huma who understands this speaking of minds?” “No one.” “Then you have learned this all on your own? That speaks well of your strength and skill.” “But -- “ “No more questions. Not for a while.” Tayree stretched, reaching her arms to the starry sky, her toes barely touching the ground. Arin stared, wondering if she would start flying. “After a day like today, you need a good long run, you know. Or maybe you don't know.” Her smile turned to a frown of consideration. “There's no telling what you figured out for yourself, and what you figured out wrong.” “Tayree.” He swallowed hard, almost afraid to let the words out of his mouth. “Is this normal for you?” “Of course. And it is normal for you, too.” “But -- how -- can all Ayanlak ... speak?” “No. Only those called by the Winds, or of noble blood. Remember, those whose blood was tainted by the evil ones are born with powers. We are all bound by the Winds to use those powers in service.” She turned to face the other side of the clearing. Beside her, the young Chaiqua's tail twitched with impatience. “Well?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder. “Are you coming?” “Give me a few seconds.” Arin tugged on his boots. Tayree might be able to run around barefoot, but his feet were too soft for the rough ground. “You said the Chaiqua adopted me? Why?” “Legend says the first Chaiqua was appointed guardian of our world, and welcomed the People when we came from the stars. But some among our ancestors continued the evil they had fled. Hunters went out to slay the Chaiqua. The first Wind Walkers heard about their plan and warned the Chaiqua. A war began, far worse than the wars their ancestors left behind. The Scolasi Plains are what remain of their battlefield. The deadly plants and the animals there came from those who used their gifts from the Winds for evil. The world became damaged, poisoned, and the tribes formed where once we were one nation. It is said the evil ones fathered brute beasts instead of children, and died of many painful illnesses.” “Brute beasts?” Arin mentally kicked himself for interrupting, but he had to know. He understood the Ayanlak viewpoint enough to see through the legend to historical fact.

Michelle L. Levigne

68

The refugees from the breeding programs had made contact with the most intelligent species on the planet. They started to make a home for themselves, and the usual Human arrogance and stupidity came to the fore. Did he really want to know what the 'brute beasts' were that came from the enemies of the Chaiqua? “They were cursed to have no rest, no home, but to wander the entire planet. Once, the Scolasi Plains were the most desirable land, but the Homeless Ones now pound it under their feet, and poison blooms where they walk.” “You're not talking about the gocagi, are you? You're not saying they were once Human, generations ago?” “They mixed the blood of beasts with the blood of the People, and created abominations.” Tayree shook her head. “That is the past. I tell you only to explain. Chaiqua partner with Wind Walkers and nobles to protect them. You are marked for great things, if a young Chaiqua calls you friend.” “Is that supposed to explain how I can touch the mind of almost any animal? Tayree!” He swallowed a cry of dismay when Tayree stuck her tongue out at him and vanished into the shadows, leaving behind only a rippling laugh. To make matters worse, the Chaiqua lolled out her tongue, silently laughing, and vanished into the trees on Tayree's heels. Frustration and a fear of being left behind and looking foolish flooded through him. Arin took a deep breath and ran, aiming for the spot where they both vanished. A humming buzz went through his body as he broke through the screen of bushes and emerged into a long, moonlit gallery framed by trees. No one else was in sight, but by the buzzing, he sensed his two companions were close. His heart thundered against his ribs. From close enough the bushes rustled at the sound, the Chaiqua let out a long, wavering howl. Tayree answered back from further down the gallery, three steps higher on the scale. There was something teasing, taunting about her voice. A shadow flickered through the darkness of the trees to his left. Arin turned, following the sense of movement. Growling, Tayree leaped over a pricklebush and slammed into his hip with her bent arms. The impact sent him rolling through the underbrush. Before Arin could regain his feet, she vanished into the shadows again. So that's the way, is it? Arin burst out laughing as he pulled himself to his feet and set off after her. He barely noticed when he scraped against trees or rammed his shoulder into an obstruction. Tayree and the Chaiqua ambushed him three more times before he realized the buzzing hum in his chest grew stronger just before they appeared. Arin guessed the link between their minds had stayed open, so he used it as a warning. After that, he evaded the Chaiqua when she popped out of a hole at him, and Tayree when she bounced up from behind a fallen tree trunk. Arin paused, feeling the buzzing hum grow stronger, and caught a glimpse of a patch of darkness to his left. He threw himself into a hole that turned out to be a massive, rotted tree trunk. He nearly sneezed at the bitter-sweet smell of dry rot and tree bark dust. Vines and smaller trees had grown up and around it while it rotted from the inside out. He saw starlight at the end of the hollow tube and followed the path of the trunk, going slightly uphill on his hands and knees. Catching a flash of movement as he reached the end, Arin lunged forward and burst out, hitting Tayree squarely in the back with his head. They tumbled

Wind Walker

69

down the slope, tangled up in each other, and landed hard in a clump of berry bushes. Tayree burst out laughing before she quite caught her breath. Her whole body shook as she extricated herself from the tangle of their arms and legs. “You're learning too quickly,” she sputtered. “Ouch!” She jerked her hand free of a twisted clump of thorns from the berry bush. “You could find us a better place to land next time.” He was too busy getting to his own feet and laughing to respond. The Chaiqua followed at their heels as they headed back to their camp. “It is sad you were forced to hide your gift, but if the Na'huma do not carry it, understandable.” She gave him a glance full of compassion that sent warmth through his chest. “I think you felt shame, with no one to understand and explain.” “Something like that. I do everything I can to hold it back, but sometimes I just have to get alone and open up the doors and let it out. Like a wild animal I keep locked up inside.” He forced a breath out and made himself grin. He needed no mirror to know it was a self-mocking grimace. “Maybe you should teach me some discipline and control while we're at it.” “No, you have great discipline already. I am a Wind Walker. I should have sensed your gift. You kept it hidden. That is great strength. And Omnistos blessed you that you did not destroy or cripple your gift with such control, but made it stronger. It does not usually happen that way.” “Oh.” Arin's mind dredged up images of what could have happened to him. He firmly stopped that train of thought before he tied himself in knots. “So ... what happens now that the Chaiqua has adopted me?” “You have been honored and blessed. And you have a heavy responsibility. If you go back among the Na'huma, you must persuade her not to follow you, or be careful she is not seen and hunted. No one is permitted to lure or trap the Chaiqua. They are sacred to Omnistos. They are guardians of our children, of our homes, and often if a chieftain is lucky, he has a Chaiqua to help him see into souls. My Chaiqua absolutely detested -- “ She stopped short, and Arin had the awful feeling she muffled a sob. In the shadows, it was hard to tell, but he thought he saw a flash of old grief on her face. “Someone hurt your Chaiqua?” he prompted. “Killed her.” Tayree's voice dropped nearly to a whisper as she spoke, and she refused to look at him. “What happened to him?” “He died for his many evils.” “Chaiqua are that valuable?” “A hunting party of Na'huma killed a grandmother Chaiqua for her fur. The tribe who claimed her as guardian slaughtered the hunters, backtracked them to their home, torched their houses and barns and killed all their animals. Only a few children survived to be taken back and raised as Ayanlak, in recompense.” “I wonder how many children we've presumed lost over the years were adopted,” he mused, thinking of the farmsteads destroyed in the gocagi stampede of the Scolasi Plains. He had read the report after the Admiral reminded him of the incident. Nearly four dozen children had vanished without a trace; not even a fragment of clothing or bone to show what had happened to them. Among them was the little sister of one cousin he actually got along with. “Many. We do not punish the children for the crimes of the parents. If we take children

Michelle L. Levigne

70

from our enemies in recompense, they are treated as great treasures.” Arin bit his tongue to keep from asking why he had been taken to be sacrificed as a baby. Jolif had told him enough, he understood the politics. He scrambled for another topic to steer his thoughts away from such questions. For now. “Do Wind Walkers always play like this? Or is it only when Chaiqua play with you?” “No …” She shrugged and tried to smile. The light didn't return to her eyes. She looked away. “Rarely, once we've begun training. There are never enough of us. Once the Winds call ... Among our families, yes, but then duty calls us away.” “What about the nobles?” He didn't know why that suddenly occurred to him. “You said Wind Walkers and nobles had the gift. Am I maybe the son of a Wind Walker?” “Do you feel like a Wind Walker?” “I don't know what a Wind Walker feels like!” Except when I'm on top of her, a silent voice added. The buzzing of their link had vanished, so Arin hoped Tayree couldn't read his thoughts. Or the warm stirring in his body. “I will tell you this, Arin of the People.” Tayree paused at the bushes separating them from their camp. Her eyes took on stars again. “It is because of your noble blood that you were stolen to be sacrificed, and because of your noble blood that I came to bring you home.” She ran the rest of the way to their campsite. “You know I was stolen?” Arin let out a growl of pure frustration. When he reached their campsite, Tayree sat on her blankets, brushing her hair and braiding it in preparation for sleeping. “What am I?” he demanded. “Who am I?” She looked away. He dropped to his knees next to her and snatched the brush from her hand, then grabbed her hands and made her turn to face him. Arin almost released her, seeing for a moment such terror in her eyes he thought his old nightmares were true. Somewhere, some time, he had hurt Tayree. Badly. In spirit, if not body. He refused to let go of her. He relaxed his grip enough that her wrist bones didn't shift under his fingers, but he kept her looking at him. “Tayree, you know who I am. Why won't you tell me? Is it shameful?” “Not shameful,” she whispered. “To protect you. If you do not know, then others with greater powers cannot pluck it from your mind, cannot find you while we journey.” “What are you talking about?” He sat back, with the fringe benefit of drawing her closer to him. Warmth ran through him from head to toe. “I'm still in danger? The people who tried to kill me as a child could still try it?” When she only nodded, he shook her, just once. “That man who attacked you -- was he after me, too? Am I Keerlagor?” Again, just a nod. “Tayree, I'm not letting go until you tell me who I am!”

Wind Walker

71

Chapter Fifteen “It is safer this way.” “For who? Me -- or for you?” He had no idea why that idea came to him. For all he knew, the Winds whispered it to him. The accusation seemed to do the trick. Tayree paled and slumped in his grasp. She licked her lips once as she stared deep into his eyes. Then she nodded. He released her and moved back, putting more than arm's distance between them. “You are the son and heir of Chieftain Pindir.” Tayree stared into the fire as she spoke. Her face fell into solemn, almost emotionless lines. Her eyes filled with the stars again -- or were those dots of light sparks from the fire? “One of the Twin Chieftains?” He sat back hard and abruptly. “Then what am I doing here, instead of in the Canyon?” “You were stolen by our enemy, the Koh'hani.” A bitter smile caught her lips when he flinched at the name. “That's Jolif's tribe -- does he know who I am?” “He guessed. He left to keep from being ordered to violate his oath and kill you. To finish the sacrifice.” Tayree held up a hand to forestall his next question. She turned back to the fire. “The Koh'hani divined you and your twin were destined to defeat them. They determined they only needed to kill you -- alone, Palan would be useless. They killed warriors and servants to steal you from the nursery. They were to sacrifice you with blood magic, to destroy your soul so Omnistos would not hear and send down vengeance for your innocence.” “Jolif said I probably had a tattoo that was burned away.” Arin touched his arm on the round burn scar. He had no memory, but knew it had been torment for the toddler he had been. “The moonbirds are the sign of the Keerlagor, just as the nightclaw is the sign of the Koh'hani. You and Palan were marked as heirs from birth. Your cousins, sons of your father's twin, Sonder, were not born with the mark of the heir.” “Mark?” He flinched when she reached out and touched the glistening white patch in his hair. “Oh. Big deal, huh?” “Very important.” Tayree allowed a flicker of a smile. “The sacrifice failed, the evil ones killed by the Na'huma, and you were saved to be raised as one of them. By fighting destiny, the Koh'hani brought it upon themselves. They wish no peace with the Na'huma, and you will be the bridge of peace.” “Yeah, that's great but ... why didn't anyone come looking for me until now?” “We have been looking. The one who dreamed you still lived did not know you were among the Na'huma. When your twin died and all Wind Walkers cried out to Omnistos for direction, then I was granted the vision to lead me to you. And here we are.” She smiled wearily at him. “Be warned, some tribes shall resist and birth trouble and blame you for their own wickedness.” “Do the Winds say this, or is it Tayree my friend speaking?” he asked, reaching to gently touch her cheek. Arin didn't know why, but he felt sure she would cry in another moment, though her voice didn't waver and her eyes didn't glisten. “Perhaps both. Be warned. There will be war. But it shall be Ayanlak and Na'huma

Michelle L. Levigne

72

against Ayanlak. The Na'huma shall not be annihilated, as some tribes wish. If you choose.” “Of course I choose!” Arin nearly stood, horrified at the image of thousands of innocents slaughtered for the prejudice and violence of the past. He had to put a stop to it. “I can do something about all this, can't I? I'm the son of Pindir …” He took a deep breath, fighting an attack of dizziness. That concept hadn't quite sunk in yet. It might take the rest of their journey before he accepted his change in status. But he had to -- he could indeed bring about the peace now. It was what he had wanted all his life. “Wait until you know your own people better, before you decide. You only see on one side of the dividing wall.” “You think I'm biased?” Arin startled himself with a weak chuckle. “You're probably right.” “Of course I am right. I am a Wind Walker. My twin agrees I am right more often than he, and Talon is a Wind Walker as well.” He decided she teased, and he appreciated it. Anything to break the oppressive feeling of all the news suddenly dumped on him. When he got up in the morning and shaved by his reflection in the stream, would he look different? “That's how you knew who I was, isn't it? I look like my brother -- Palan, you said?” He barely waited for her to nod. “Are twins common among the Ayanlak?” “All those touched with power bear twins. It gives us an anchor, a focus, and strength to draw on in time of need. Wind Walkers and Spirit Singers and the noble bloods always have twins.” “Must get crowded.” He silently cheered when he earned a flicker of a smile from her. “Not really. Every set of twins has at least one male. Simple math proves males will always outnumber females. It is hard for numbers to increase too much, when there are few females to bear children and continue the line.” But her smile grew a little. “The bond between twins is always strong. Talon knows when I am in distress, and he comes to me no matter how far apart we are. I have known his pain in his soul, and I found him when he was lost and wounded in the High Reaches.” She sat up a little straighter. “This twin-bond is good for us. Our chieftains are always twins, two hearts and minds sharing one soul, it is said. But, when the bond is broken, sometimes one twin suffers more than the other. Many say Palan was warped by the loss of you.” “I haven't suffered …” Arin caught his breath, wondering if this twin bond explained his dreams. Had his twin seen Tayree, and that was how he knew her face before he saw her? Had his feelings for Tayree come from his twin? He shuddered as pieces of dream memories thrust into his conscious mind. “Perhaps you did not suffer because you did not know what you lacked. Perhaps you had the blessing portion of wisdom and good character. Lacking those, and without your tempering influence, Palan had no one to hold back his wickedness.” “How did he die?” When she didn't answer right away, Arin felt the hairs on his arms prickle. He didn't like how her face lost all expression and she stared into the fire as if seeking answers in the flames. “He murdered the husband of a woman he wanted,” Tayree finally said on a sigh. “She did not want him. She mated with a good man who offered her protection. Palan murdered him and died in the doing of it.” “What was his name?” Funny, how he felt so calm, even as all the pieces and questions

Wind Walker

73

crashed and slammed inside his head into a cohesive picture for the first time in his life. “Name?” Tayree continued to stare into the fire, unblinking. “Your husband.” “Jerel.” Her voice cracked just slightly. “I dreamed it.” Arin gave her a crooked grin when Tayree turned to stare at him. “I dreamed about you for months, trying to reach you, hold you, furious when you ran to someone else. I dreamed I attacked him and we went over a cliff.” “Palan killed my sons, because I cannot be forced to remarry unless I am childless. When I went to tell Jerel, on patrol duty, I found them fighting. Palan demanded I renounce my husband and give myself to him. Jerel went mad when he heard our sons were dead. They went over the cliff together.” “I'm sorry.” He brushed a finger against the corner of her eye, bringing away a single, glistening teardrop. “If I could have done anything …” “None of us could do anything. Palan had a poisoned soul and you have a strong, good, clean soul. You will be a good chieftain. He would have led us into destruction.” “I might have been just as bad, if I hadn't been taken.” “Maybe.” Tayree sighed and turned away. “You know the why and the wherefore now. I think it will keep you awake all through your watch tonight. Will you let me sleep?” He nodded, not quite trusting his voice. Arin got up and went to his side of the fire. He tried not to watch her tug off her boots and loosen her belt and stretch out on her back, her face turned away from the fire. I can understand why my brother wanted you so badly. Arin turned away and settled down to remove his boots. I don't know if I would kill to have you, but I can understand why he did it. His dream hunger came back to him in full force. Was it his own, or something inherited from his twin? He lifted his head to the three moons and silently wished he looked nothing like Palan. How could Tayree look at him and smile, tease and play as she had, if he reminded her of his brother at every turn? How could he ever hope to ease the hunger that haunted his dreams and now his waking hours? * * * * * Several times during the next day, and the day after, Arin asked Tayree about Palan. What his twin had done and said to her. About Jerel. How long they had been married. Where they lived. His work. Perhaps, she wondered, he wanted to know how she felt about her dead husband? The very idea made her shudder. She ached with the knowledge she had married Jerel with only friendship between them. Jerel knew Palan would count him as an enemy, and he asked her to marry him anyway, to take her beyond Palan's reach. Tayree knew Jerel would never blame her for his death, but she blamed herself. How could she speak of him to Arin, who looked like his murderer? Tayree knew she could not hold onto her hard-won calm or her resolve if she discussed the past or let Arin express sympathy. She distracted him with legends and long discussions of the Ayanlak tribes, their leaders, their prominence in history. She talked about the Keerlagor Council, their duties, who held what position and for how long. She drew maps in the dust when they

Michelle L. Levigne

74

camped for the night, showing him the layout of the Canyon and the boundaries for the tribal territories. That would have only earned her praise from the Elders, preparing the Twin Heir to step into his duties, but she went further. She taught him Wind Walker ways and how to recognize the voices of the Winds in his dreams. She told him long-guarded secrets of identifying, preparing and using the sacred leaves, seeds and roots which healed bodies and minds. Tayree talked about everything that caught her attention, telling Arin every story she had ever heard, giving him detailed answers to every question. She would give him every tool possible to carry his destiny. What he did with those tools lay beyond her reach, but Tayree trusted Arin to walk toward greatness. She talked to keep from thinking -- and feeling. When they set up camp in the silver light of dusk, she always put her blanket down where the breeze could not bring his scent to her. She used herbs in their food that cleansed and masked his warm, heart-stirring scent. Still, Arin walked through her dreams, laughing and playing with her, holding her hand to steady her over a rough spot in the terrain. Always with compassion burning bright in his eyes. Only once in her dreams did she respond to the questions she saw in his face and let him draw her into his arms. Tayree felt her body slowly melt from the inside as Arin captured her mouth in sweet kisses. Then the dream changed. His arms grew painfully tight and his mouth bruised her. He bit at her tongue and smothered her with brutal passion. When she tore free, he was Palan. In her dream, Tayree became her slaughtered Chaiqua and clawed him. She closed her jaws around his throat, disemboweled him with her hind claws and reveled in the blood filling her mouth. When she leaped free of his falling body, he was Arin. She woke herself with a choked scream. Tayree told herself not to care, not to want Arin's friendship or his kisses. On the nights when she knew their camp lay safe from intruders, Tayree led Arin into the dark to seek out the night-roaming animals. They would find a sheltered spot to sit as she taught him to learn the world through animal senses. She taught him how to ask the creatures to perform tasks, and they laughed together when nightbirds and all manner of other creatures brought them gifts of nuts, berries and twigs. Tayree knew better than to allow the deep merging of minds that could happen in such contact. The outer edges of their minds touched and they laughed together in the silence of the night, in the bridge of animal awareness. But only the outer edges, and laughter was all they shared. The hunger growing deep inside her could be nothing but longing to put Conjunction behind her and know her sons grew, safe in her womb. * * * * * Tayree kept their path to the forests and gentle foothills where the food and water were plentiful and shelter was easy to find. There came a point, though, when the trail they needed to take to get them to the Mist Plains by Conjunction took them across the narrowest strip of the Scolasi Plain. The greatest danger in crossing that treeless waste was in being seen. It would have

Wind Walker

75

been easy to cross at night, but the night-blooming plants and nocturnal creatures of the Scolasi Plains were far worse than Vendetta Hunters. They took no rest breaks all the long, too-warm day and kept moving past twilight. When they gained the foothills, she breathed relief -- and admitted terror she would fail, so close to her double goals. Here on the northern side of the gap through the Spine of the World Mountains, they faced new dangers. There were renegades living at the edges of this mountain range. Miners who violated the taboos, looking for gold and silver, copper and iron to sell to the Na'huma. Trappers. Loners. Outcasts from both the Ayanlak and the Na'huma. Escaped murderers and thieves who had managed to find a way to stay alive. Tayree heard a whistling sound and instinctively ducked as she turned to warn Arin, who walked behind her. Arin knelt, shedding his backpack and snatching up his bow and arrows in one smooth motion. Before Tayree could drop to her knees next to him, he had fired two arrows. Then she saw the renegades, swarming from the cover of thick, dark blue-green bushes a dozen steps ahead of them. The whistling sound came from twirling tangle stones, readying for a cast. Two tangle stones screamed through the air at Tayree at the same moment she saw them. She reached for Arin's arm to yank him flat to the ground. He wasn't there. He lay on his side, reaching up to drag her down. Tayree tumbled over him on her hands and knees, leaving him free to release a third arrow. When she looked over him, three renegades lay on the ground, arrows embedded high in their chests. Palan had been just as deadly and accurate a shot. The renegades scattered, dragging their wounded with them. They melted into the underbrush and shadows. Tayree scrambled to her feet. Arin got to his feet first and grabbed her arm, dragging her along with him as he darted into the cover of the trees. Five steps later, he made a sharp turn and they hurtled down a damp, clay slope into a leaf-clogged, stagnant pool. “That came too easily for you,” she gasped. “War games.” “Games? Is this what Na'huma do for fun?” It was hard not to let the irritation crack her voice or take it above a harsh whisper. She was bruised, scratched, and now she was wet from the knees down in fetid water and rotting leaves. “Unfortunately,” Arin whispered. He crouched on the lip of the pool and looked up through the cover of the trees. Too near, men shouted and crashed through the underbrush. “We're taught it's great fun to beat ourselves black and blue and try to break everyone else's arms and legs and skulls, all in the name of preserving the peace.” “Na'huma peace fills Ayanlak graves.” “That'll change, if I have anything to -- “ Arin stopped and stared at her. His eyes widened. For a moment, she didn't know if he would burst out laughing, or crying. “What's wrong?” she whispered. All her irritation vanished. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and soothe away whatever troubled him. “I'm starting to believe.” He shook his head and seemed about to say something else, then froze. Tayree listened. She heard nothing. The rustling and crashing among the trees had stopped. Silence meant danger. She looked at Arin. His mouth flattened into a grim line -- he knew it, too. “Chaiqua?” he breathed.

Michelle L. Levigne

76

Tayree shrugged. The creature only came to them at night, after roaming ahead and behind them, sometimes bringing small game animals for them to roast over the fire. With the Chaiqua's aid, they could spy out the movements of the renegades hunting them and hopefully pass by them without being detected. Fire bit her shoulder. Tayree turned too fast, slipping in the mucky bottom of the pool. She steadied herself with her staff, then snatched at the arrow embedded in her shoulder. Arin shouted, the sound changing to a furious roar that echoed through the woods. He leaped from the pool, charging up the slope toward the lone bowman who had shot Tayree. She swayed, caught in the mental blast that erupted from him. For two eternal heartbeats, she was drawn along with the seeking whirlwind of his mind as he caught the awareness of every creature in the forest. Then he latched onto three Chaiqua, dropped the others, and she fell from the contact. The renegade threw down his bow and screamed as a black male Chaiqua appeared from nowhere and slammed into him. The impact sent them both flying up the slope. Arin ran past, not looking back as the Chaiqua tore into the man with fangs and claws. Tayree stared, one hand pressed over the hot wound in her shoulder. A new warmth flowed through her. Arin had done this because of her. Why didn't it terrify her, as it would have if Palan had done it? The renegade's screams stopped with a bubbling sound. The Chaiqua scrambled away from the body and continued up the slope, to vanish among the trees on Arin's heels. “No,” Tayree whispered, the warmth turning icy. She did not know Arin well enough to be sure he would not react like his brother. She climbed out of the pool and scrambled up the slope. She stumbled as she concentrated all her healing power into her shoulder. Open wounds were dangerous because of predators and infection. She could not chance the loss of blood making her dizzy or weak. Not with renegades so close. Another Chaiqua appeared -- a young male, creamy brown, barely past adolescence. He looked up into her eyes and blocked her path. Tayree skidded to a halt and closed her eyes as the creature went up on its hind legs to lick her wound. When it withdrew, the wound had closed and energy buzzed through her veins. She had no time now to be amazed by the gift. She had to find Arin and stop him. When she stumbled into another clearing, Arin watched an elderly female Chaiqua hold one sobbing, writhing renegade in her claws. She crooned, pinning the man to the forest path with her hind feet while digging deep gouges in his chest and arms with her forepaws. The other renegades fled, bumping into trees, dropping bows, tangle-stones and knives as they ran. Tayree and the young Chaiqua bypassed the winding game trail and ran ahead of the fleeing men. She dropped her staff and drew her bow and the Chaiqua reared up on its hind legs beside her, effectively blocking the path. The man in the lead saw them and stopped short. The three behind him plowed into him and all four went down in a yelping heap. “You deserve to die,” she said in her most stern voice, saved for dire judgments and impressing rebellious warriors. Her voice shocked the struggling, whimpering men into silence. They untangled themselves and cowered on the path.

Wind Walker

77

Chapter Sixteen “Six against two.” Tayree rested a hand on her long trail knife and took a step toward them. “Cowards.” “Don't let it get us,” one whimpered when the Chaiqua dropped down onto all fours. “Why should -- No!” she shouted and held out a hand. The female Chaiqua skidded to a stop on the trail, five steps down from the shivering men. One, from the smell, messed his pants. Arin appeared a moment later, eyes blazing, bow drawn. His gaze shifted to her. He looked at the men. He looked at her again and the fire seemed to flow out of him. A crooked grin, sheepish, lit his face as he lowered the bow. Tayree felt a thrill go through her. And relief. He was nothing like Palan, despite his fury and strength. “They shot you,” he said as he stepped around the cowering men. They whimpered when they heard the gravel in his voice. “I'm fine.” She turned, tugging the slit leather open so he could see the wound had closed. “What do we do with them?” “Why are you asking me?” “The Chaiqua came at your call. It is your hunt. You must decide on their blood.” She glared at the renegades as she spoke. Tayree prayed Arin understood she did this to impress and frighten these men. She had learned long ago a show of strength and skill was more effective at deterring the enemy than battle. Arin stared at her. His mouth opened, then closed, no words escaping him. Then he straightened. He nodded, and a flat smile caught at his mouth. He did understand. “What were you planning to do with us?” he said. When he got no answer, Arin stomped up to the four cowering men and nudged one with the toe of his boot. Someone else lost control of his bladder. The two Chaiqua sneezed, and the young male scratched up dirt from the path, flicking it over the offender. The black male Chaiqua emerged from the trees and settled down at Arin's side, yawning. “Answer me,” Arin said, softening his voice. The menace in the kinder tone made Tayree smile. “Slaves,” a filthy wreck croaked. “Men go into the mines. Women cook and spread for us.” “Ayanlak or Na'huma?” Tayree snapped. “Anyone we can find.” “You are the slaves now,” Arin said. He nudged harder with his boot, flipping the man over on his back. Arin's Chaiqua dashed into the clearing, her eyes wide with excitement. Tayree nearly smothered, fighting laughter at the silent but obvious scolding the older Chaiqua gave her, for missing the battle. * * * * * Tayree had never wanted people to die slowly and painfully until she saw the slave camp. She wished Arin and the Chaiqua had killed the renegades before she interfered. Now, she could

Michelle L. Levigne

78

only pray the four men they left tied up would be in pain and scared witless before she and Arin came back for them. A grid of chains and metal bars blocked the mouth of a cave. The prisoners shoved buckets of ore through the openings for their captors to cart away. A ramshackle line of huts leaned against the sheer cliff face a dozen meters down from the cave mouth. The doors were barred. Sensing through the Chaiqua who went ahead, Tayree smelled blood and fear sweat hanging in a miasma around the rotting wood and thatch roofs. She knew what she would find when she opened the first door. Women, either chained or beaten into subservience. Tayree had seen too many rescued women in her short life who had been gang raped or beaten until they begged for sexual abuse, just to avoid the whip and rod. She had healed their bodies easily, compared to healing their souls and minds. Several, she had been forced to send to more experienced Wind Walkers. Tayree knew what she would find behind those doors and she didn't want to see. Neither could she refuse to open the doors. She had to free those women. She and Arin couldn't get to that first door, or the slaves trapped in the mine. Not yet. Five more slavers walked patrol with spears and bows. “Five,” Arin said. He settled down, squatting on his heels behind a thick, concealing lump of bushes. “The question is, do we kill them, or risk them escaping later?” “Why think about that right now?” “Kill them all, set their slaves free, the problem is wiped out in just one area. If we capture them, question them, the authorities can question them and stop more ... Even if they escape, they'll be frightened, maybe spread the fear to other slavers.” “You are the heir.” She pressed her hands over her heart and bowed to him -- as much as she was able, kneeling. “You know the Twin Chieftains better than I do. Would my father and uncle approve of what we're doing?” “Arin ... when you are Chieftain, you must lead in your way, following what you know to be right. You cannot let the actions of the past dictate your hand.” “That's a big help.” But he smiled as he said it. Arin sighed and closed his eyes and was still for ten long heartbeats. “Will I break any codes if they see the Chaiqua?” “Ayanlak know what their chieftains can do. Na'huma refuse to believe.” “Now you sound like a mystic.” He scowled, then leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose. Tayree forgot to breathe for as long as it took Arin to stand and call the four Chaiqua to follow. They streaked from the cover of the bushes, an avenging cloud of claws and fury-reddened eyes. Arin's Chaiqua bowled over the first man while Arin tackled the second and flung him to the ground with a bone-cracking snap. The other three slavers dropped their weapons as they fled before the remaining Chaiqua, who loped after them with a lazy gait. The renegades were cowards, nasty little boys pretending to be warriors. If they had been worth anything, they would have belonged to the Na'huma army, or trained as warriors. Arin cheered. His mental command to the Chaiqua flashed through the air with a sting like lightning. The creatures sped up and herded the three men toward the slavers' quarters. Tayree saw their direction and raced across the open ground to a holding pen she had noticed earlier; likely used to let the slaves exercise. The walls were filled with brambles, high above a man's

Wind Walker

79

head, sure to tear hands and clothes to shreds. Tayree yanked the gate open and held her staff at ready to whack anyone who tried to escape at the last moment. The terrified slavers only saw the open gate as escape from the Chaiqua breathing on their heels. They flew past her. Tayree heard one shout in dismay. She slammed the gate closed. The Chaiqua skidded to a stop, panting, long tongues lolling in silent laughter. Arin joined them a moment later, herding his wounded prisoners at spear point. Tayree tugged the gate open and the two scurried through, urged by the flash of Chaiqua teeth. Arin's grin was wide and bright with satisfaction and a little boy's pride in playing a nasty trick. “Now what?” he said, bowing to her. Tayree's mind went blank. He had captured these renegades by his own plan. Why did he ask her? “I'll go to the women. You free the men.” There were only five women -- starving, bruised, dressed in rags on the verge of indecency, but alert and still rebellious. They still had the presence of mind to know they were innocent. Tayree had heard of victims hurt for so long, they believed they deserved their abuse. Five women, among eleven slavers. Tayree supposed it could have been worse; more men and fewer women. All five were locked into the first hut. They were all Ayanlak and recognized the symbols painted and beaded into her traveling leathers. Two cried, one laughed -- Tayree worried about her -- the other two smiled and rushed to throw their arms around her. Not until nightfall could Tayree convince the women to leave the security of their cramped room and venture outside. The lure of reunion with husbands, brothers and fathers was almost as strong as the wish to see their captors imprisoned. It took nearly that long for Tayree and Arin to bring in the other prisoners, and then find enough clothes and food and medicine to go among the former slaves. There were nineteen men working in the cave. Eleven were Ayanlak; the others, Na'huma scouts or settlers who had come too far south and west. One man was blind from a whip. Others were scarred with seeping wounds that were never cleaned, much less given medicines to help them heal. No one had eaten decent food in a cycle of moons. They slept in the cave, on the rock with no blankets against the damp and chill. Their clothes were rags. The reunion of the freed slaves brought tears and laughter and rage. Tayree stayed with them and made herself listen and watch. She had to know the hearts of these people to help them. Laughter and tears soon vanished into an ugly rumbling. “Arin!” she shouted, as three men snatched up discarded mining tools. He was only a few dozen steps away, trying to determine how to dismantle the grid that had held the men inside the cave so it couldn't be used that way again. Arin ran to block the men and nearly got run off his feet by the sudden flood of former slaves, all heading for the pen holding the captured renegades. She felt him send out a whiplash of thought, calling his Chaiqua; the other three had left as soon as they freed the prisoners. Arin pushed a few people aside and ran around the stumbling crowd. He covered in a few running leaps what it took the half-starved people many staggering steps to cross. Arin put his back to the gate and the young Chaiqua crouched at his feet, her mouth open to display sharp, gleaming teeth. The slavers watched through the gaps in the gate as Arin casually scratched the fur between

Michelle L. Levigne

80

the Chaiqua's ears. Tayree smelled the sweet stink of their fear from halfway across the yard. “Wind Walker!” the oldest slave cried out. He turned to face Tayree, one arm around his son, his other arm around his daughter. They were alike in their gray eyes, silver-blond curls and freckled, milky skin. “Give us justice!” “Will their deaths give you back the dead? Will it give you more satisfaction than knowing they live in terror and the tale will discourage others?” She stepped through the small crowd to Arin's side and rested a hand on the small crest of silky fur between the Chaiqua's high, pointed ears. She knew that was a mistake when her fingers brushed Arin's and something jolted deep inside her. “What good will that do?” one of the freed Na'huma scouts grumbled. “They'll just get together with their buddies and come back in stronger numbers.” “They're afraid, and they don't understand what happened here,” Arin growled. “Do you think they can tell the truth? No matter what they say, they'll add half a dozen imagined details. For all they know, Tayree and I turned into Chaiqua.” “I don't know if I can tell the story straight,” the golden-blond man muttered. He nodded and allowed a crooked smile. “I thought Chaiqua were myths. For all I know, you did.” “I'm not a Wind Walker.” Arin nodded to Tayree. “The lady is the Wind Walker. I am ... only her student.” “You speak with a Human accent,” the scout countered. “I know.” Arin glanced around the clump of people. Murmurs rose from the crowd and Tayree realized they really looked at her and Arin for the first time -- as people, individuals, not as a Winds-sent miracle that freed them. “You always did speak whatever slick talk served you best,” a man snarled from inside the pen. Tayree turned slowly, feeling a chill race down her back. The man leaned up against the gate. He cradled his arm, wounded by the first arrow Arin shot, and glared at him. “What's he talking about?” another Na'huma scout said. He pushed his way through the group, still clutching a pick in both hands. Nodding at Arin, he rested the pick on its head and used it as a support. “I know you. You're the Commodore's son. The engineer.” “I was.” Arin's little smile and the proud tilt of his head sent a thrill through Tayree. “Yeah, he can be anything he wants. Can't you, Palan?” the slaver snarled. He spat, nearly hitting Arin's arm. The Chaiqua growled and stalked up to the opening of the gate, nearly putting her nose through it. All the slavers retreated. The name echoed through the Ayanlak former slaves. Tayree shivered, seeing the disgust and confusion that replaced relief and dawning hope. “Pindir's heir is dead,” one man said. “I was there when they brought the body back to the Canyon.” “But none of Sonder's sons have the mark,” one of the women said from the back of the group. Tayree shook her head, trying to block out the sound of their questions and confusion. Everything had gone wrong. It was bad enough she had been compelled to tell Arin his true identity and her bitter past with his twin -- now everyone would know the Twin Heir had been found. Or these angry people would turn on him and kill him for his brother's crimes. “I did hear Palan was dead,” one of the slavers said, his voice sharp.

Wind Walker

81

“Can't be,” their leader snarled. He took special care not to come near the gate again. “Unless you believe in ghosts?” “Sir, what are they talking about?” the Na'huma scout asked. He stepped closer to Arin, as if he would stand with him. “Hold it, everyone!” Arin called, raising his voice enough to be heard. “My name is Arin Dorwen ... s'Pindir,” he added, casting a glance at Tayree. Another hubbub arose from his words. He stood still, watching her from the corner of his eye. Tayree knew he wanted to beg her to intervene, but he also knew better. “I was stolen as a child, rescued by the Na'huma, raised by Commodore Dorwen,” he said when he finally got the group quiet. Murmurs of 'the Twin Heir' and similar phrases slid through the group, sounding like rustling fall leaves. Tayree shivered, seeing the hope on so many faces. “He lies,” the slaver leader shouted. “He's Palan s'Pindir. He set us up here, with our tools and supplies. He gets a quarter cut of everything we mine and sell.” He spat again. This time, the Chaiqua leaped forward fast enough to slap at his face through the bars. The man jerked backwards, falling off his feet, and roared with shock and pain. “Slaves?” Arin went two shades paler. “My brother supported this?” He swallowed hard, and Tayree thought he might be sick. Then his jaw hardened and his eyes darkened with fire and he shook his head. “I am Arin, son of Twin Chieftain Pindir and Lady Eriel, stolen from my parents to stop Aundree's Vision. By the power of Omnistos and the Winds, I have been found and I return to my tribe. I swear it on the Chaiqua who adopted me and on the scar that destroyed my tribe's sign. I swear it on the computers in Central and on the father who adopted me.” Tayree couldn't quite repress a smile of pride. Arin had learned his lessons well. He spoke with a grandeur and strength Palan never showed. Always, when he commanded people, the dead twin had spoken from anger and pride, never the assurance that made Arin seem more sturdy than bedrock. “He does have a Chaiqua,” the white-blond girl murmured. “They never adopt evil souls.” “But what about evil magic? Blood and death magic?” another man offered. “How do you know he didn't get a cub and train it to support him? How do you even know she's a Wind Walker?” the slaver snarled. He grinned, eyes bright with something like madness. “I am a Wind Walker.” Tayree met the gaze of everyone there. She reached deep inside herself for the calm of the Wind Walkers. “Called to serve the Winds and Omnistos from my childhood. Trained in the Canyon by Rhovas himself. Assigned to the Sentinels of the High Reaches.” “Prove it,” someone snapped from the back of the group. “No, Tayree,” Arin said. “You don't have to prove anything. If it isn't enough that we freed these people -- “ “Tayree?” The man who claimed to have seen Palan dead stared at her. “You're that Wind Walker? Tayree d'Bartha? I thought I recognized you, but -- with him?” He looked Arin up and down, and his voice wobbled. “He killed your husband -- no, his twin killed your husband and sons. It must be true.” “What does it matter who she is?” Arin broke in again. “You're worried about who I am, remember?”

Michelle L. Levigne

82

Tayree muffled a sob that was half laughter. Arin protected her; he didn't want her to speak her pain before these people. Not even to establish his true identity. Blessed Winds, why was this man taken and his brother left? If I had met him when I first went to the Canyon ... Tayree refused to finish that thought. She knew from long experience how bitter it was to try to rewrite the past. “Hear me!” she called, raising her arms and her voice.

Wind Walker

83

Chapter Seventeen Wind Walker power flowed, making Tayree's voice echo against the slavers' encampment. Every person quieted. She felt her awareness reach into the dusky sky and across the landscape and deep into the bedrock. She felt the presence of a mated trio of moonbirds, touched their minds and begged them to come. The moonbirds were the guide beasts of the Keerlagor, and no more appropriate proof could be found. “I am Tayree d'Bartha, Wind Walker to the Sentinels of the High Reaches, trained by Rhovas. My husband, Jerel s'Loyan died battling Palan s'Pindir, and took his murderer with him. My sons, Torel and Joesh died of voytas poison in their crib, given to them by Palan s'Pindir. My Chaiqua companion died of twenty arrows shot by Palan s'Pindir. He violated the sanctity of the Mist Plains, to try to seduce me.” She paused for a breath, half-expecting someone to call her liar. Silence rang through the encampment. Even the slavers seemed to hold their breaths. Tayree refused to look at Arin as she spoke. She slowly lowered her arms as she finished. “I, more than anyone, should wish destruction and misery on anyone of Palan s'Pindir's blood. But I am first the servant of Omnistos, called by the Winds. They sent me to find the lost Twin Heir and bring him home to his grieving parents. See in his hair the mark of Chieftain's Heir. See the sacred Chaiqua who adopted him. See the moonbirds, guardians of our tribe, who bid him welcome!” She tipped back her head, and peripherally saw everyone else do the same. Silence, while the moonbird trio flew five circles over their heads, then flew off over the cliff face and further into the mountains for their evening of hunting. Tayree waited until she heard the people begin to stir. Now was the moment that made her cringe. She lowered her head and looked at Arin. He watched her, but not with the awe or terror she had prayed to inspire in Palan so he would leave her alone. Arin understood what it cost her to obey the Winds and seek him. He hurt for her. Tayree turned away. Her imagination replaced sympathy with disgust, if he ever learned what she planned to do. “So Palan really is dead,” a man rasped from the back of the group. “And better off all women are without him,” a tawny-haired woman said from Tayree's left. She was the one who had laughed when the women were freed. “I'm more than ready to believe,” the blind man called. He stretched out his hands and his three sons led him closer. “I was a leather-worker in the Canyon, and Palan never helped anyone unless it profited him. The world was created to serve him. Palan wouldn't risk himself to rescue slaves. Not even if you, Wind Walker were among them. He'd write you off as lost and go find other skirts to yank.” “Enough,” Arin said. “Do you believe me now?” He waited until nods and murmurs of agreement went around the crowd of ragged, angry former slaves. “I speak with my father's authority when I say these men will face trial and punishment. I will not let you harm yourselves by falling into mob justice.” Tayree could have laughed at the surprise that widened eyes or made people stand back to consider. All they cared about was repaying pain and humiliation. Arin made them think about

Michelle L. Levigne

84

keeping themselves better than the ones who had enslaved them. He would make a fine chieftain. She knew she would be proud of him, though she would never see him rule. Maybe she would tell her sons about the man who had fathered them, and they would be proud as well. If she and Arin survived the rest of the journey. There was no keeping the secret of his identity now. No more quiet evenings. No hope of vanishing into the landscape. The word would spread faster than fire, carried on bird wings, drumbeat, signal mirror and mounted messenger. The Twin Heir returned -- and his tribe's enemies would gather to destroy him. * * * * * When they finally left the former slave camp two days later, the freed captives came with Arin and Tayree. Until they passed further west into the foothills, they were still in renegade territory. Numbers meant safety for the wounded. Tayree couldn't leave the women alone without another female Wind Walker to heal their minds and hearts. Arin refused to let the Na'huma journey back to the colony without escorts. There was an outpost two days ahead, with a husband and wife Wind Walker team. They could leave the freed captives there. Runners would go to their families with the good news. On Tayree and Arin's authority together, they could send warriors to escort the Na'huma back to safety. Arin wrote reports for the scouts to take back to the Admiral. Tayree dreamwalked to Encladi Wind Walkers within a day's journey by horse, and told them of the situation. The Encladi were allies of the Keerlagor and she detected chagrin and anger that they had not known about the slavers and the forbidden mine in their territory. They promised to find Palan's allies among their clan and punish them. Traitors among their own tribe, mostly likely their Sentinels, were the only explanation for how the mine could have existed without their knowledge. The captured slavers were left inside the locked holding pen with minimal food and water, a few blankets against the cold, and no weapons or means to make fire. Arin torched their camp. If they freed themselves before the Encladi arrived, they would have nowhere to go. They faced starvation, exposure and wild animals, or prison. Their only hope lay in other renegades arriving and giving aid. Somehow, Tayree doubted anyone would help the nine defeated men. They were more likely to be run out into the foothills and forest, if not killed outright. * * * * * Arin woke strangling on a moan that was part frustration, part shame. He lay still a moment, staring up at the stars. He glanced around and saw the other men around him still slept. A long trench fire ran through the middle of the camp. The men slept on one side, the women and all their supplies on the other. The fire was little barrier, but Tayree had explained how the illusion of protection would help the women heal. “Sir?” a voice whispered. Arin sighed and crawled out of his tangled blankets. He missed Jolif more than ever. By

Wind Walker

85

now, his blood-bond friend would have teased him about how their companions treated him, making their respect and awe easier to bear. Tayree had confessed that Jolif left so the Koh'hani Wind Walkers couldn't use their bond to find Arin. He would catch up with them if he could. Worrying about his friend wouldn't help the situation now. Arin took a deep breath and braced himself. The Na'huma captives deferred to him with a mix of awe and disbelief. He supposed they found it hard to believe an Ayanlak could grow up in the inner circle of the government -- or that a civilian with so much authority would give it all up to live as a native. Sometimes, he still found it a little hard to believe himself. What sort of strange stories would these men take home to Central? How would the stories affect his adopted family? Would they be proud of him? Or regret taking him in? “Something wrong?” Arin whispered, as he stepped out of the line of sleeping men and away from the fire, toward the spot where the scout kept watch. “I wondered if you were all right, Chief Engineer. Your dreams bother you?” “Somewhat.” Arin refused to admit, even to this man who admired him, that he dreamed constantly of Tayree. “Everyone knows the Admiral doesn't sleep well, with the Colony on his shoulders. If you're to rule the Ayanlak …” The man shrugged and grimaced. Only two moons ago, Arin would have laughed at the idea. What were the Ayanlak, after all, but savages dressed in skins who danced under the moon? That was before he had met Tayree and she showed him the mystery and beauty of the Wind Walkers' ways and duties, described for him life among the tribes, and told him the proud history of the Ayanlak. The People did not have the technological wonders the colonists had lost, but they controlled water and had a system of messengers to keep track of the most far-flung outpost. They seemed to be leather-wrapped savages only because that was the face the colonists saw. Tayree had described to him her own ornate ceremonial robes and the effort that went into making the clothing of the nobles. She told him about the highly prized, delicate artwork of glass and crystals, the complex musical arrangements everyone was raised to enjoy and understand, the indoor gardens that delighted the people of the Canyon. They were a sophisticated people who loved beauty and learning. The library at the Canyon was known and revered by scholars in every tribe. “People are people everywhere,” Arin said, trying to stifle the growl at the back of his throat. “Yes, sir,” the other man whispered, and backed up a step. Arin sighed, knowing it was useless to try to correct this man's thinking. How could he, when he was still trying to balance his own thoughts and beliefs? He walked away, heading toward the river shallows to be alone. Maybe if he pondered this problem, he could drive Tayree from his thoughts. He dreamed of her every night. His dream of murdering Jerel rarely occurred, now that he had heard the story. Arin was grateful for that small mercy. The dream tonight had focused on his mother. He had asked Tayree to describe Lady Eriel to him. He would have recognized her even if he didn't have that odd 'knowing' feeling in the dream, which told him who this beautiful, regal woman was. His mother hated Tayree. Arin couldn't hear the words she spoke, but he caught the pitch of her voice. She shouted at Tayree, who stood still and somber, staring at the floor at Lady Eriel's feet. Fury

Michelle L. Levigne

86

twisted his mother's lovely, stately features. “She blames me for Palan's death,” the dream-Tayree said, turning suddenly to look into Arin's dreaming eyes. “Why?” he asked, surprised that this time he could speak. “She thinks I had no right to refuse him. She thinks it was my duty to reform your brother through love.” “Love works wonders.” “I hated the evil in Palan. How could I reform him when I held no love for him?” She turned back to his mother, and suddenly Tayree was covered in bruises. Her face was pale, her eyes shadowed, her shoulders slumped. Though she wore a beautiful gown, she seemed like a beggar in filthy rags. “No!” the dreaming Arin shouted, knowing this was Tayree's future, if she had married his brother. He had awakened, choking on his cry. What kind of people were his parents, that they could raise a self-centered, brutal son and condemn a lovely, intelligent woman for refusing him? Arin settled down on a slab of rock looking out over the river shallows. It wouldn't be the most comfortable spot, but he needed to get away from the sight and scent of Tayree to rest. Maybe he deserved the chill and hardness to pay for wanting her, constantly, despite knowing all that stood between them. He wore his brother's face -- how could he ever hope she would smile and kiss him and willingly come into his arms? He had endured one dream of Tayree tonight, maybe now he could sleep undisturbed. She had taught him the silent chant that would put him to sleep, and Arin prayed to the quiescent Winds that tonight it would work. He couldn't spend the day walking tomorrow if he hadn't rested. Curled up with his back to a ledge in the rock, Arin closed his eyes and repeated the chant until sleep, and his Chaiqua, came to curl around him.

Wind Walker

87

Chapter Eighteen “Comfortable?” Tayree said with a laugh, shaking him awake. Arin leaped to his feet -- and the next moment teetered on the verge of falling into the river. He staggered backwards, nearly tripping over the ledge that had been against his back all night. Tayree stifled a few chuckles behind her hand. Sighing, Arin settled down on the rock again. “Do you think dinner last night was a little rank?” he asked, shadowing his eyes to gaze up at her. The sunrise directly behind her surrounded her in a corona of gold. “No. I've eaten much worse.” “Did any of it give you strange dreams?” “Not often.” She sank down onto her haunches next to him. “When my watch shift is over, I'm too tired to remember dreams.” “Oh.” “What did you dream?” “Ayanlak nobles and mystics always have twins, right?” “Right.” “Always at least one male in every birth, right?” “Yes. Arin, we went through this already.” “The heir is always born with a white streak like mine, right? And always sons, never daughters.” “The Chieftain's line of the Keerlagor has never had a daughter.” “Then tell me why I dreamed of three baby girls with black hair and a white streak on each head.” “I think someone else should cook dinner.” Tayree's voice shook. Her legs wobbled as she stood. Arin jumped up and reached for her hand, stopping her from walking away. “What else is in Aundree's Vision, Tayree?” “What do you mean?” Her hand was cold in his grasp. “Three nights ago, I dreamed of Palan. He wanted you to be his mate because of Aundree's Vision. I dreamed of the three little girls, and someone kept whispering about a vision.” “Dreams mean many things, Arin of the People.” “Don't go mystic on me!” He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him again. Her face was white. Her eyes looked bruised. “Please?” he whispered as he released her. “Aundree saw a time when a single heir will marry before he becomes chieftain. Because of our wars, usually chieftains die and their sons inherit before they marry. We are in a time of unusual peace. Pindir and Sonder have lived to see their sons become grown men. They will live long because they lead us away from war.” “So Palan thought he was the heir of the vision?” “There is much more to it than that. It speaks of peace. It speaks of invaders from far beyond the known. Of the tribes united into one people again, as we were before the murder of the Chaiqua. Of powers and sorrows descending on the People. Some Wind Walkers spend their whole lives studying the scrolls of Aundree's visions, and breathing Dreamweed smoke to hear the Winds speak wisdom and understanding to them.”

Michelle L. Levigne

88

“What made Palan think you had to marry him?” he persisted, when she blinked hard against tears and stared at his shoulder instead of his face. “Aundree said the heir would take a strong Wind Walker as wife, and their firstborn shall be three daughters, all marked as heir. They shall lead the Ayanlak into a time of peace and prosperity, when they shall rule the entire world.” Tayree's eyes didn't hold the stars, as they always did when she spoke of visions and destiny and Wind Walker powers. “Knowing my brother as I do now …” He sighed. “He thought he could force it to come true through you?” “He tried to trap me during the Conjunction. He would have raped me, if I had not fought and if he had not been stopped.” “Conjunction?” “When the moons are full and seem to touch and -- “ “Form a perfect equilateral triangle,” he finished for her. “I heard rumors about Ayanlak magicians performing miracles during the Conjunction.” “It is when Dreamweed blooms -- and is the most dangerous to even the trained mind and body. Even those born immune to it can fall into ecstasy, emotional and physical. Some say you could run from eastern sea to western in that time without tiring.” She wrapped her arms around herself and squeezed tightly. “He tried to trap you then?” Arin whispered. He remembered how he had first seen Tayree in his dreams, dancing and laughing, her feet hardly touching the ground. “I was harvesting Dreamweed -- “ She met his gaze half a second, so much pain and hurt in her expression, Arin thought it scorched him. “Something you shouldn't tell me about?” he whispered. “Dreamweed releases all inhibitions and tears down barriers, so even the most reserved and disciplined sometimes act the fool or indulge themselves to the point of harm. Palan tried to seduce me while I was dizzy and exhausted. He was strangely resistant to the Dreamweed, but he would never tell us who helped him prepare. Be that as it may, I still had enough strength to resist. He vowed he would impregnate me so I would be forced to marry him.” “The odds of pregnancy through rape are pretty low. He must have been insane and desperate.” “Many children are born at winter's end, who were conceived at Conjunction. Everyone who willingly mates during Conjunction's ecstasy conceives.” “Willing -- that's the key. You weren't willing.” “Dreamweed dust makes many amorous, and I was covered in it.” Arin stared at her. His empty stomach ached with the need to vomit. The thought of Tayree pregnant through rape made him want to reach through time and kill Palan himself. “My friend.” Tears touched Tayree's eyes and she went up on her toes to brush a kiss against his cheek. “You would tear the world apart for my pain, wouldn't you?” “I swear it,” he growled. “Be comforted. Palan did not win. I was prepared to resist the ecstasy. My twin and others restrained him. I did not press my rights, for the sake of the tribe. A man who attempts rape is castrated, and rapists are killed. The shame and damage to the Chieftain's family was too high a price for my vengeance.” Tayree caught her breath and turned away abruptly. Arin wanted to wrap her in his arms

Wind Walker

89

and hold her until the ache went away. He sensed that was the wrong move to make. Maybe because it would have brought him such sweet joy to do so. “But sometimes you doubt you made the right choice?” he whispered. “I'm sorry, Tayree. If there was anything I could do to make it up to you, I would.” “Be a good son to your parents. Be the greatest Chieftain the Keerlagor have ever known.” “What about you?” “When this journey ends and I have served my people and the Winds, I will have my recompense,” Tayree whispered. She turned back toward camp. “Come, we have a long journey today.” She walked away. Arin paused to watch her, permitting himself to indulge in a daydream that would surely cause him trouble one day. He imagined running after Tayree, to dance with her under the full moons, enfold her in his arms and devour her with kisses -- and she welcomed him, wrapped her arms tight around him, returned his kisses with hunger. He imagined pressing Tayree down into the moss beside this very river, skin to skin. Would she welcome him as a lover, even if for just one night? “Not enough,” Arin whispered. If he made love to Tayree, he wanted it to be forever. He knew the thought of her lying in any other man's arms would be torture. Maybe he understood, just a little bit, what it was that drove his brother. * * * * * For ten days after leaving the freed slaves at the Ayanlak outpost, Tayree and Arin walked during the day and spent their nights as guests in foothill villages and outposts. This was not the route Tayree would have chosen, but because they had lost time freeing the slaves, she had to adapt. She wanted to keep him away from people, to have more time to train him. However, she had also wanted to keep his identity a secret from him, and that plan had been thwarted. It was no longer safe to journey in solitude. Daylight and the Chaiqua protected them when they moved, but to keep Arin alive they needed the protection of the villages along the way. They needed to keep up with the local gossip, to know if strangers traveled behind or ahead of them -- Na'huma or Koh'hani intent on killing the Twin Heir, it didn't matter. Daily, Tayree balanced the need for safety against her goal of spending Conjunction on the Mist Plains alone with Arin. Though she had resisted the notion at first, now she clung to her hope of regaining her sons. She held tight to her plans, even when common sense demanded she dreamwalk to Rhovas and ask him to send Wind Walkers and the Chieftain's Warriors to meet and escort them. News of the rescued slaves and the homeward journey of the Twin Heir raced ahead of them. Tayree wondered which the people admired more -- that a Na'huma-raised man willingly returned to the Ayanlak, or that Arin rescued and defended strangers. The people watched him for evidence that he followed his twin's path of arrogance and greed. The first time Arin laughed or showed humble courtesy or helped someone without being asked, Tayree could see their relief and delight, and sometimes adoration in their wary eyes. More than once, she heard someone mutter that Palan never would have been that way. Everyone, it seemed, knew about the Wind Walker Palan had hunted, about the murdered Chaiqua, babies and husband. She braced herself for the first time someone asked how she felt

Michelle L. Levigne

90

about all this. But no one asked. Perhaps no one believed she was the injured Wind Walker. Perhaps the rescued slaves had respected her pain and kept that news to themselves. Tayree and Arin were expected and welcomed by each village on their path. If the meals waiting for them were not feasts, they were certainly the best the villagers could find. If the village was not a vowed Keerlagor ally, the mystery of the quest and journey impressed them enough they willingly opened their arms to the travelers. Arin and Tayree were always greeted as the Twin Heir and the Wind Walker who restored him to his people. If Arin was uncomfortable with the adulation, Tayree had little time to tease him about it. She found herself raised up as a heroine for braving the dangers of Na'huma society to bring the Twin Heir home to the People. I serve myself, as well, she silently corrected them, and wished she could put a stop to the praise. Still, it would insult the pride and honor of the people they met to refuse their hospitality and gifts and signs of respect, such as high seats at the feast, new clothes, or extra arrows and blankets, and fresh food for the next day's journey. Most especially, she and Arin could not refuse to tell the story of their journey whenever someone asked. That would be an insult that could never be rectified. * * * * * “When will the Twin Heir choose a mate?” Tayree dropped the brush she had just picked up and stared at the village girl who helped her with her steam bath. “He'll have to choose a mate soon, won't he?” the girl prattled on, running her fingers through her mass of blue-black curls. She was more interested in laying out the tub of herbal paste and scrubbing pad than in watching Tayree. “His parents will choose a mate for him. He has been raised among the Na'huma, after all.” “Why would that matter?” The girl frowned at her now. “A chieftain needs to know the hearts of the People. His mate must help him understand. She will be even more important to him than the cousin chosen by the Winds to be his co-chieftain. Such a woman will have great power over him and the future of our tribe.” Tayree took a deep breath, fighting the growing ache in the center of her chest. “She must be a woman of intelligence, good family, and strict moral character.” “Oh.” The village girl's face lost its hopeful light. She nodded slowly and finished laying out the towels. Reaching through the heavy, triple-thick flap of waterproof blanket that served as the door, she dragged in the bucket of herbal water. “Is everything satisfactory, Wind Walker?” “Very. Your village does me great honor.” Her heart ached for the girl's simple, unrealistic hopes, smashed before they had a chance to grow. “Consider that many women will try to win a place at the Heir's side. Perhaps his parents will choose the woman who wins his heart, over all others. A simple village girl has as much chance as the daughter of a noble.” “Truly?” The girl's face lit up. For a moment, it appeared she would hug Tayree before she turned to skip out the door. “Truly,” Tayree whispered. She held herself perfectly still, trying not to breathe or even think. She thanked the man who brought the fire-baked rocks on a metal-lined pan, then fastened

Wind Walker

91

the door flap closed and peeled off her borrowed robe. Tayree splashed on three dippers of water, filling the chamber with thick choking damp. Her dreams the last two nights had been full of Arin, chasing her across a meadow of knee-high grass. Arin, pushing her down to the ground so the sweet green smell filled their lungs. Arin, tugging her clothes off her body. Palan had chased her across the moss of the Mist Plains, crushing it so the smell choked her. Palan had pushed her down, bruising her. Palan had ripped at her clothes. Palan had pounded her with closed fists when she screamed and fought him. The bruises had not faded and the cuts were still scabbed and swollen when she stood before the Wind Walker Council a week later. In her dreams, Arin stretched out on top of her and smothered her with kisses. Tayree laughed, wrapping her arms and legs tightly around him. As if she were two people, Tayree watched herself give herself to Arin, and she waited for him to transform into Palan. She waited for the beating and the fury to start. The pleasure grew in waves that lifted her higher until she woke herself with a choked cry. Both mornings, Tayree had rolled over, seeking Arin on the other side of the fire. Both mornings, she found herself alone in a guest hut or tent, closed her eyes tight against tears and told herself to be grateful for that solitude. Such wanderings of the mind, such longings, were not proper for a Wind Walker. Especially not for a woman widowed less than a year. A woman with the plans she had made for recompense did not deserve such pleasure, even in her dreams. She had the right to take recompense. She had a duty to produce children to carry on her talent and power. Her empty womb and arms cried out to be filled. But it was wrong to deceive Arin, who trusted her and never did her any harm. It was wrong to share Conjunction ecstasy with a man who was not her husband. “No one who can be hurt will know,” she vowed in the steamy silence. “No one who knows will condemn me.” If so, then why did her very soul ache? At the feast that night, Tayree kept watch over Arin, though half the length of the village's festival square separated them. Arin sat with the chieftain brothers and their wives, and the seven sons and one daughter between them. Tayree sat with the Wind Walker and his three sons and one daughter. All three sons were old enough to seek wives and she was grateful none of them asked any questions beyond the journey and the visions that sent her to find Arin. She answered without thinking. It left her attention free to watch Arin. Every unmarried maiden seemed to have finagled her way into serving at the meal. Each dish arrived in front of Arin in the hands of a different girl. Each new pitcher of grass tea or berry wine had a new bearer. Tayree wondered if Arin realized his slightest smile encouraged every girl to dream. That night, her dreams changed. This time, she turned and threw herself at Arin before he could catch her. She landed on top of him as they fell into the sweet grass, crushing it under them. She woke strangling on her cry, her entire body sweating and throbbing, and an aching deep inside where she had thought she would be forever dead. “Only three more days,” Tayree whispered into the darkness. She curled up into a ball and hugged herself until the throbbing hunger eased. Three days until they climbed to the plateau of the Mist Plains, and Conjunction. When she had taken her recompense, then she would lead Arin down to the Hagojo Plain. They would meet

Michelle L. Levigne

92

Rhovas and the nobles, under great pomp and ceremony. Arin would have no need of her then. When she had returned to her home in the High Reaches, then her dreams would stop. * * * * * “Do you hear that?” Arin glanced back down the narrow gap they had taken as a trail for the last hour. “Sounds like a horse,” he continued, before Tayree could pause to listen. “This high up?” Tayree smiled and considered teasing him about wishful thinking. Then she heard the thudding, just slightly off rhythm. It sounded exactly like the horse that had gone lame on their journey to Central with Reesker as prisoner. There -- a sharp clack where a hoof hit a stone. There were plenty of stones in this narrow gap in the landscape, where erosion had cut away through the soil and washed out the trees and eaten down to the bedrock. More clatters and clacks followed, and she imagined the poor beast ready to go lame in a second foot. Why did its rider drive it so mercilessly? “We should go check. In case someone is looking for us.” Arin shifted the straps of his pack and headed back down the slope. Tayree hesitated a few seconds, trying to listen to the wind and find a message, some guidance, a warning. She felt only the slightest chill on her arms from the shadows. No wind, no sounds of animals in the underbrush and trees towering over the gap like a knife wound in the landscape. Maybe she had been too busy planning to deceive Arin and steal his memories at Conjunction? Was this her punishment for lack of care? Something inside her still cried out to pass Conjunction in the lowlands, away from Dreamweed. The vision the Winds gave her was only of what could be, not of what must be. It could be warning as well as promise. She caught up with Arin in a few moments. Tayree found herself wishing yet again they had kept his identity hidden. They would have been treated well by the villagers simply because they were strangers and she was a Wind Walker. True, Arin learned to hold his own as Chieftain's Heir and had done much for his reputation, but the danger remained and he knew it. For every person who welcomed him as a gift from the Winds, someone else hated him because he wore Palan's face, or feared he would fulfill a portion of Aundree's Vision. Arin swore, fluidly and rapidly in Na'huma. Tayree fought a chill that wrapped around her and tried to freeze her muscles, and hurried to keep up with him as he broke into a run. The rider was in view, half-falling from his lathered, filthy, staggering brown horse. The creature came to a halt at the same moment Tayree felt the faint rippling of energy that meant Arin had used his gift. When he first used his animal gift around her, it had caused reverberations as loud as message drums. She had been teaching him to have better control and accomplish more with less energy. Now, even so close to him, she could hardly sense it. Then she saw the rider and all good feelings fled.

Wind Walker

93

Chapter Nineteen Jolif raised his bruised head enough to see them. A crooked, sickly grin twisted his face, then his eyes closed and he slid off the horse. Arin barely reached him in time to catch him. The next half hour slid by as if on greased sleds. Tayree refused to think about the implications as she and Arin tended Jolif. Arin made a fire and heated water in a clay jar that had held their morning tea, courtesy of the last village. Tayree ransacked her medicine bag to soothe Jolif's pain and clear his mind. She and Arin eased his muddy, blood-stained clothes off and settled him on a pallet of their blankets by the fire, then set about cleaning his many wounds. Tayree could not clean them all because they lay hidden under iron manacles on Jolif's swollen wrists and ankles. A few chain links were still attached, the metal strained or chipped, evidence to the extremes he had endured to escape. She tried not to let her imagination run rampant, filling in the blanks of what happened to him. Best to let Jolif speak for himself. When there was nothing more to do for Jolif but wait, Arin busied himself with the horse. The poor creature was so exhausted it stood with hanging head. It didn't react when Arin removed saddle and blanket and the near-empty saddlebags. “What's this supposed to do?” Arin demanded, coming back to the fire where Tayree kept watch and brewed a healing tea. He held out a circle of braided vines, daubed with blood and green stain, and tied with bunches of wilted herbs. It was barely large enough to slide around his hand and sit on his wrist. “What do you think it should do?” Tayree answered while her mind raced. She had studied signs of dark magic practiced by enemy tribes, simply as a self-defense measure. The mangled circle stirred memories, but she couldn't be sure. Could it be the magic Jolif had promised to find? Could it indeed hide their blood-bond from the Koh'hani hunters? “It tingles, like my hand is about to go numb.” He shrugged and put it down on the blanket next to Jolif. “If it were anyone else, I would say poison. Jolif would never bring poison to you, even if his chieftain ordered it.” “Opposite,” Jolif whispered. His eyelids fluttered, but he couldn't get them open. He sighed and seemed to flatten more into his blankets. “Works on our -- blood-oath bond. We're invisible.” “Did your chieftain try to make you betray me?” Arin guessed. His mouth flattened into a grim line when Jolif managed the slightest nod. “He kept you prisoner?” Another nod. “The Koh'hani Wind Walkers tried to seek Arin through your bond?” Tayree asked. Jolif opened his eyes. Bloodshot and filled with tears, they gave all the answer she needed. “His own people did this to him?” Arin sank back on his heels and raked one hand through his hair. He looked like he might be sick. “To get at me? How can anyone hate so much?” “Fear. Not hate. They fear the vision of peace, so they work against it. They fear so much, they risked their souls to murder an innocent child. You are here with us now, Jolif, and we will protect you.” “Arin -- wear.” Jolif reached with feeble fingers for the vine circle.

Michelle L. Levigne

94

“It will protect you,” Tayree said, nodding, though she didn't quite believe it. After all, Jolif hadn't been protected by it, had he? Or had those wounds come before he escaped to find Arin? “We should keep moving,” Arin said. He held the circle in his hands, studying it several moments before he slid it over his hand, then partway up his arm so it would stay tightly in place. “Can you ride for a while? At least until the next village?” Jolif nodded. Tayree knew he lied by the deepened pallor of his face when he managed to sit up. She allowed him to make his sacrifice in silence. What choice did they have? Either they kept moving and found shelter among friendly Ayanlak, or they stayed here where they could be attacked from all sides. * * * * * The horse died under Jolif midway through the afternoon. Arin snatched at his friend, trying to drag him free as the beast crumpled and rolled onto its side. Jolif let out his first cry of pain, his foot caught in the saddle. Then he was free. He fainted in Arin's arms, blood trickling from one corner of his mouth. “While he is unconscious, we should go as far and as fast as we can,” Tayree said. She grabbed hold of Arin's arm to stop him from putting Jolif down. He stared at her, his mouth open, poised to argue. Then Arin closed his eyes and nodded once, sharply. Tayree called on birds and grounders to fuddle the trail they left, and the Chaiqua stayed by the dead horse when they headed for higher ground. She refused to look back as she adjusted to the extra weight of Arin’s and Jolif's packs. As soon as they were out of sight, the Chaiqua would feed, then other predators and scavengers would come. When the Koh'hani hunters found the horse, there wouldn't be enough left of it for them to tell how long ago it had died. They walked until nearly sunset. Tayree wasn't sure how Arin managed with Jolif's limp weight across his shoulders. Her entire being throbbed with the awareness of Jolif's every pained breath. The healer in her begged to stop and help him, if only to ease his pain and give him some dignity. She knew he lay too close to death to be pulled back from the edge. Jolif had endured so much to protect Arin, he would fight with everything he had to keep them from pausing and endangering themselves for his sake. “What are those?” Arin asked, breaking the silence that wrapped them so tightly it hummed. With his chin, he pointed at three circling specks against the setting sun. “Moonbirds.” “How can you tell from so far away?” “They are the only birds who hunt in threes.” “Oh, you mean pantherhawks.” He glanced again at the birds circling in their intricate dance. “Why is it always two females and one male? Does he mate with both of them?” “Moonbirds are sisters. They take turns being fertile. If something happens to the male, they will not suffer. There will always be one to tend the hatchlings and one to hunt.” “Poor guy.” “What do you mean?” Tayree paused to frown and glance at him. She saw the glimmer of humor in his eyes.

Wind Walker

95

“I was just thinking how hard it must be for the male, not really needed, forced to please two women instead of just one. What if one likes him and her sister doesn't?” “Birds are more sensible than people,” Jolif murmured. “So you finally decided to join us. I wondered how long you were going to take it easy.” The laughter in Arin's voice sounded forced. Tayree ached for him. “There should be a place just ahead where we can camp,” she said, with more certainty in her voice than she felt. “What about the rock carvers' village?” “Four more hours walking,” Jolif said. “We should stop.” They had been climbing a rocky trail for the last hour, with empty air only a few steps away on the right, and an uneven stone wall and outcroppings on the left. They could sleep on this trail if they had to, but she preferred more room. Especially if she wanted to tend Jolif's injuries again and dose his pain away. Tayree was never so glad to find she was right than when they came around a bend ten minutes later and found a flat ledge wide enough for an entire company of soldiers. There was even a shallow cave for shelter. The Chaiqua forged on ahead while they set up camp. She came back only a short time later with a wet muzzle, showing them potable water lay ahead. Arin gathered up the water skins and had the creature lead him back. “You should leave me,” Jolif murmured, when Tayree had sprinkled Dreamweed powder into his head injuries and bandaged him up again. “You are Keerlagor now, Jolif s'Gorr. We leave no one to die alone.” “For the sake of my blood-bond, or because I seek your heart?” A broken laugh escaped him when she flinched, jerking backwards as if he would snatch at her. The sound turned into a cough that threatened his bones. “A fine friend you are, undoing all my hard work.” “I would do anything to win your heart, Wind Walker,” he whispered, when he had regained his breath. Sweat beaded his face and darkened the bandages wrapping his chest. “My heart is dead. Do not waste yourself so.” “Not dead.” Jolif waited until she looked at him again. “I think it belongs to another.” “My heart is with my husband and sons.” “Your pain is with them. I think your heart rides with my bond-brother.” “You hallucinate.” “No. I can see, I can hear, maybe clearer than ever, so close to death’s curtain. You love Arin. Or you try not to.” “It cannot be. It will never be. He wears the face of my worst enemy. He speaks with his voice. He -- “ Tayree held her breath and clenched her fists and closed her eyes tight, hating the way her voice began to rise. Any moment, it would have grown loud enough for Arin to hear, wherever he had gone for water. Jolif laughed. A soft, rumbling, half-coughing sound. He pushed her hands away with more strength than she thought possible, when she tried to calm him. “You fail all your training, Wind Walker. How can you be stopped by the face? What is the face compared to the soul?” “It can never be, and will never be.”

Michelle L. Levigne

96

Tayree fought an urge to slap him hard and stop his low chuckling that seemed to rip her self-control to shreds. How could he see through her so easily, into the daydreams and painful longings she tried to deny? Whenever her thoughts turned to lying in Arin's arms, bittersweet hunger blossomed in her. Tayree concentrated on the sons she hoped to conceive. How could Jolif see into the lie she couldn't quite tell herself? Was it true that those at the curtain between body life and spirit life could see all? “Trouble,” Arin growled, and slid the last few steps down the trail into their camp. “Backs to the wall.” He bent and grabbed hold of the blankets where Jolif lay and dragged him into the deeper shadows of the cave. Tayree snatched up her bow and Arin's, and both quivers. She loosened her knives in their sheaths and positioned herself facing the trail going up, with her stone-tipped staff at her feet. “Who?” she asked, her voice pitched to carry only as far as Arin's ears. “I don't know, but my Chaiqua isn't happy.” He nodded thanks and took his bow. “We need to see …” A nasty grin lit his face. “What?” she demanded. The metal-bending shriek of a male moonbird answered her. Tayree shivered, even as she understood and her mind reached to snare a female. Through the eyes of moonbirds, they could see into the deepest, darkest night. The Na'huma called moonbirds 'pantherhawks,' because their largest feathers were stiff and sharp enough to do damage. Their claws could dig in deep enough to kill, and their wings could batter a man unconscious. There! Two dark shapes slid down the trail from above -- and one climbed up, to catch them in a pincer movement. Through the moonbird's night-vision eyes, Tayree saw the Chaiqua pounce, taking one of the downward-moving figures. The man let out a shriek, cut off a moment later in a bubbling wail as the creature ripped into his chest. Then the other two hunters leaped into their camp. Tayree flung herself at the man coming up, while Arin met the one coming down. Tayree stabbed and rolled out of the way, and recognized the dark, ragged garb, like a uniform. Vendetta Hunters had found them, despite Jolif's charm to block the blood-bond. Arin went down, flung aside like firewood by the man-mountain he fought. Tayree broke free of her link with the moonbird, to give all her attention to her battle. The creature screamed as their link severed. Strangely, she sensed the moonbird didn't soar away but stayed, hovering over the battle. The Vendetta Hunter chanted in hoarse, half-voiced gutturals as he and Tayree circled, watching each other's moves. She shivered, sensing the malevolence in the unfamiliar words. This was blood magic, dark magic, forbidden magic. What was he trying to do? He feinted forward. She twisted aside. His other hand came up, but instead of a weapon, sparkling silver dust filled the air. Tayree ducked, but the cloud still caught her in the face. Despite herself, she shrieked as fire filled her eyes and her lungs. The shriek sounded like the moonbird's shrill cry. Tayree reached out, calling up the link as she dropped to her knees. Her enemy passed over her, lunging too high to do anything but skim her hair. The moonbird plummeted, claws and battle pinions extended. The Vendetta Hunter staggered backwards. Through the moonbird's eyes, Tayree watched terror fill his face as it

Wind Walker

97

battered him, flinging him against the stone wall. Gagging at the pain and the sickly-sweet stench of the herbs flung into her eyes, Tayree crawled out of the line of battle. She closed her ears to the desperate cries of the man as the moonbird raked at him, driving him to the edge of the path. Her flailing hand found the water skin Arin had brought and she squirted the contents into her face. “Brother!” Jolif cried. Tayree turned, blinking her eyes clear in time to see Jolif stagger to his feet. The other Hunter now had the upper hand against Arin. She screamed warning. A silver and black blade rose high, flashing in the moonlight. The Chaiqua roared and flew down the trail. Jolif reached the struggling men first, flinging all his weight into the battle. He wrapped his arms tight around the Vendetta Hunter. The man stabbed him, deep in his back, close to his spine. Tayree smelled the blood before it gushed.

Michelle L. Levigne

98

Chapter Twenty The force of Jolif's rush, the momentum of his weight carried the two men over the edge of the path. “Jolif!” Arin shouted and flung himself forward, fingers like claws to grab hold of his friend. He snatched at empty air. Neither man screamed, though there were grunts as they thudded and bounced all the long way down the ragged slope. Arin dropped to his knees on the edge and stared down, into the darkness, shuddering. * * * * * It took until dawn to gather all four bodies and find enough wood to burn them. In that rocky terrain, it was impossible to bury them, and Arin refused to leave Jolif's body for scavengers. Tayree’s knowledge of forbidden blood magic was limited, but she knew burning the bodies would destroy any link the Koh'hani Wind Walkers might have with their Vendetta Hunters. They worked in silence, gathering the scrub wood, sprinkling oil on the bodies, lighting the fires. Arin only spoke to insist on a separate pile for Jolif, keeping him separate from their enemies even in death. Tayree didn't argue with him. The Chaiqua walked with them all that day, until they reached the next village. Usually it roamed far ahead or explored far behind them, catching up at dawn or at dusk, to curl up at Arin's feet. Tayree wondered what healing the creature performed as the three walked in silence. She tasted bitter irony that she who had been trained as a healer had no idea what to say to comfort Arin on the death of his friend. When Arin reached for her hand, she gave it to him. They walked all morning hand-inhand, silent, and she prayed that he found comfort in her touch. Just before noon, they started downward into the last valley before the ascent to the Mist Plains. They didn't stop to eat and refill their water skins until they reached the valley floor. As if putting something into his stomach released the barrier inside him, Arin started talking. He spoke of Jolif. How they had met. Tricks Jolif had pulled on him. The things they had taught each other about their very different cultures. He spoke with pride of times higher officials in the colony's government tried to lure his friend away to work for them. He fought tears when he told how Jolif insisted on the blood-bond oath. Tayree listened, and when he reached for her hand again, she gave it. Arin mourned cleanly for his friend by celebrating his life, and she was glad. She knew Jolif's spirit would not rest easily if grief for him crippled Arin. They reached the village in the foothills in late afternoon. Tayree debated suggesting they pass by and go straight into the mountains leading up to the plateau of the Mist Plains. She didn't want to put Arin through the ordeal of adoration this night, so soon on the death of his friend. But he surprised her. When the outriders came to meet them, Arin forced a smile onto his face and answered their questions with dignity and strength. He knew the right words now to ask for hospitality and proclaimed himself honored to be helped on his journey by these villagers. Tayree fought tears of

Wind Walker

99

pride, that he looked beyond his own loss to see the needs of the people. He would be the greatest chieftain the People had ever known. He would bring peace to all the Ayanlak, and peace between Ayanlak and Na'huma. She loved him. The realization washed over her like a golden wave of warmth that let her laugh with the children who came flooding out of the village gates to meet and greet them. Tayree let the children slide wreaths of flowers around her neck. Little hands took her pack and bow, quiver and staff, and she let others guide her to the guest hut. She would gladly give herself to Arin during the Conjunction. Cold drove away the warmth, so she choked on the laughter that fountained up from her mouth and heart. She would still take her recompense and regain her lost sons, and send Arin on his way. She would betray him, because he wore his brother's face. * * * * * That night, when Arin and Tayree were asked to tell the tale of their journey, Arin added Jolif's sacrifice to the tale. Tayree didn't fight the tears that blurred the firelight. “My blood-bond brother believed all Ayanlak should live in peace, in friendship, as the Winds commanded,” Arin said, raising his head so everyone in the village square could hear. Tayree imagined his voice rang out through the foothills, over the mountains, reaching to the Canyon where Pindir and Eriel waited for their stolen son, to the black caves where the Koh'hani tried to contact their Hunters. “I swear to Omnistos and to you and to all who have suffered for the sake of peace, I will serve so my blood-bond brother's sacrifice will not be lost. Jolif s'Gorr will be remembered and honored by Keerlagor and Koh'hani and all Ayanlak tribes!” The villagers jumped to their feet, shouting their approval. Drums beat and pipes blew and banners waved. Tayree joined with them, raising her voice to the sky. Above her head, the three moons hung so close to Conjunction, she felt them calling her. One more night, Tayree whispered in her heart. * * * * * “We're alone again for how long?” Arin said, after they had put the village an hour behind them the next morning. “Three days. Are you worried?” Tayree tried to smile at him. It was hard. He smiled at her, that dreaming light in his eyes, just like she had seen on his face in her dreams. “I'm relieved. I'm always worried someone will ask me a question or expect me to do something an heir should know about, but I don't.” He shrugged, settling the straps of his pack across his shoulders. The villagers had given them three times as much food as they really needed, along with the ubiquitous pottery jars of grass tea in rope bags. Arin had gallantly offered to carry everything. He laughed, teasing Tayree when he warned her the exertion would make him twice as hungry. She had forced herself to smile and wondered if she would be able to eat anything at all until the Conjunction had come and passed.

Michelle L. Levigne

100

“You have good instincts in all situations,” Tayree said now. “The people know you were raised among the Na'huma, so they will make allowances for your mistakes. You make few mistakes. Your parents will be pleased with you.” “Tell me more about them?” Tayree agreed, glad for the distraction. The mountainside trail they followed was wide enough for them to walk side-by-side, but just barely. Their arms constantly brushed, quite by accident. Each time, a spark of warmth flared at the point of contact and spiked through her body. They talked about his parents, what she knew of Pindir's leadership of the Council and the few battles he and Sonder had led to defend the tribe's territory -- all of which they had won. She told him what she knew of the ritual training of chieftains; the tests of physical and moral courage in the High Reaches, the time spent with Wind Walkers in different tribes allied with the Keerlagor so the Twin Heirs could know all the people. She told him of Lady Eriel, daughter of a chieftain of the Suarag tribe. Pindir had led his warriors in defense of the Suarag's forests and fields that produced the fiber and dyes for their world-famous cloth. It was a proverb that a length of Suarag-made cloth served as swaddling, bridal shirt and shroud all for the same man. Their colors fetched high prices in trade and were jealously guarded. Pindir had led the Keerlagor soldiers to protect their allies' land and secrets. He fell in love with a girl who joined the harvesters, willing to fight with knife and threshing fork to defend her tribe's lands. When Chief Elosin asked his young ally to name his reward, Pindir asked for Eriel and nothing else. “So it was a love match.” Arin smiled, nodding. “Not exactly. Eriel didn't want to live in a stone city. She obeyed her father's wishes, but it took her years to become the gracious lady respected by all.” “Not by you, though.” “What makes you think that?” Tayree nearly stumbled, startled by his perception. “She hates you, doesn't she?” he whispered. “Hate?” She did stumble on that step. Arin caught her arm to steady her and fire flooded her body. Tayree leaned against a tree and pretended to test her ankle to regain her poise. “Why do you say that?” “I've had ... dreams.” He chuckled, a dry, weak sound. “My mother thought you could reform Palan if you married him.” “If you had grown up among us, they would have sent you for Wind Walker training,” Tayree whispered. “Is that good or bad?” His smile turned her knees to water. In answer, she shrugged and started up the trail again. They walked nearly four hours before stopping to eat, at a spot high on the trail where a ledge of rock looked out over the valley they had left that morning. The rock face was hot, almost stinging Tayree's hands. She welcomed the heat baking her body, driving away the melting weakness that flooded her. Arin sat next to her, their arms brushing, and leaned back against the same vertical slab of golden-gray rock. “Is it Conjunction?” Arin asked. Tayree choked on a mouthful of tepid grass tea. She nearly dropped the rope-wrapped jar. “What?” she finally managed to sputter. She wiped her face with her hands and hoped it wasn't

Wind Walker

101

as red-hot as it felt. “This feeling of being ready to fly. Everything smells a hundred times stronger, every color is brighter, more intense.” Arin shrugged and reached for the jar. Tayree handed it over with care that their hands did not touch. “I figured, the Conjunction affects noble blood, if not as strongly as the Wind Walkers. I thought this new ... intensity is part of it. You said Conjunction brought ecstasy.” “Yes. Conjunction is on us. A time to celebrate life and safety, the mid-point of summer. A resting time. Full Conjunction will last two nights, then the phases of the three sister moons will fall away from each other and everything will return to normal.” Tayree wiped at her face again. Did she fear, because Arin felt the approach of Conjunction? Or was she relieved? They were still several hours from the plateau of the Mist Plains, where Dreamweed grew. Could the perfume have spread this far down, to affect Arin? Or did he react so strongly simply because this was his first Conjunction free of the muffling influence of the Na'huma? “Normal.” Arin let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Nothing in my life will ever be normal again.” “You are Chieftain's Heir. There is no 'normal,' I suppose.” She managed a creditable imitation of a smile. “Are you angry at me, Arin, for changing your life so drastically?” “I don't think so.” His face grew still and he slowly raised a hand and brushed a few hairs off her face, plastered there by perspiration. His breath smelled of the grass tea and his scent was warm and pleasantly tinged with leather and a hint of musk and salt. He leaned closer and Tayree thought she would fall into his eyes. “What do you feel?” she whispered. Her voice cracked a little on the final word. “Feel?” Arin echoed. He blinked and jerked backwards away from her. “Ah -- feel, about you?” “You aren't angry at what I did. What do you feel?” “We'd better get walking again.” Arin struggled to his feet and fumbled for the wax stopper for the tea jar. He hung it from the loop on his belt and snatched up his backpack and bow as he started up the trail again. “What's wrong?” She leaped to her feet with a giddy jolt of new energy. Tayree barely noticed as she snatched up her gear and scurried after him. “You have no idea what's going on, do you?” “Arin -- “ “If Palan wasn't dead already, I'd kill him here and now.” “What?” The jolt of his words nailed her feet to the trail. “It's different for Wind Walkers, isn't it?” He stopped short and spun to face her. “Different?” “You smell so good. Your voice starts this vibration deep inside me that makes me want to grab you and kiss you and -- “ Arin shook his head, a hard, sharp motion, and turned to hurry up the trail again. Tayree wanted to cry. To leap into the sky and laugh. Her stomach churned a little, then shifted into a warm, melting sensation that migrated down between her legs. He wants me. No -- not me. My body. Male wants female. That's all. Oh, blessed Winds, did I ask you for this?

Michelle L. Levigne

102

But Arin was far ahead of her now and heading for the top of the trail. She couldn't let him get away. What if he fell and got hurt? What if he got lost? “There is a potion you must drink,” she called. Tayree loped to catch up. “It helps to control the ecstasy. And release it,” she added, forced into honesty by the thudding of her heart. “Release?” Arin gave her a puzzled frown as she caught up with him. He made sure there were nearly two hand-spans of space between them on the increasingly rocky trail. With so few trees around them now, that was easy to manage. “Conjunction creates change in our bodies, like the moons make the tides stronger or weaker.” “That's exactly how I feel,” he said with a choked laugh. “Like high tide, crashing down on me. I'd never force you, Tayree, but the pressure …” “I trust you.” She caught and squeezed his hand, just for a moment. Arin jerked his hand free. It was hot, sweating, and his pulse thudded hard against her fingers in that brief contact. “So Wind Walkers know how to keep the tides from getting at them, huh?” “During the nights of Conjunction, if we wish, it takes us out of our bodies, intensifies all our perceptions. With the proper preparation and timing, we control it and its power, instead of it controlling us.” “Teach me?” His attempt at a smile was pitiful. Tayree felt a clenching at her heart, remorse for what she planned. How high a price would her recompense ask of her? “There is so little time, and such control takes years. You will have to rely on the potion I give you. Be warned, I take weeks off our journey by crossing the Mist Plains. They are forbidden to all, except in the company of Wind Walkers. If you came through here alone at Conjunction, you would not leave until you were carried out dead.” She felt the tension in her chest ease a little when he flinched and gave her a worried frown. “A little mental discipline would still help. Just to boost my confidence.” He attempted a teasing smile. “Give me a chance. You've been a great teacher with everything else, haven't you?” Tayree wondered if he would smile at her like that on the journey down from the plateau. The Dreamweed would steal his memories, weaving them into a pleasant dream. Still, Arin was so unusually perceptive. What fragments might he remember? Enough to sense she had deceived him in some way? “Very well. It will at least keep us busy until we make camp.” She nodded. “Breathe deeply and slowly. Listen to your heart. Think of the air in your lungs and the blood flowing through your veins. Calm and cool them in your mind, and they will calm and cool in reality.” “Easier said than done,” he grumbled. His smile grew a little brighter. “All in the mind, huh?” As they walked, Tayree coached him in concentrating on his body's responses, recognizing them to control them with the power of his mind. The secret, as she had learned long ago, was not in ignoring the body but in knowing it in full, intimate detail. So it could be understood and controlled, all its energies and longings and instincts guided instead of rampaging out of her mind's grasp. Channeled into the areas where they could be used, not wasted. She taught Arin the rudiments, and reviewed them herself. When they made camp at the foot of the final trail up to the Mist Plains, she had damped her own hungers and Conjunction fever. Her dreams, however, were filled with the taste of Arin's mouth hard against hers, his

Wind Walker

103

hands scorching trails across her skin, the weight of him crushing her into her blankets. When she woke, she reached for him, and almost cried when her arms came up empty. * * * * * The final trail up to the plateau Tayree called the Mist Plains made for easy travel the next morning. Arin welcomed the smooth terrain and the speed with which they moved. With less need to watch his feet, he found it easier to concentrate on the control lessons Tayree gave him. He didn't know if it was his need to concentrate that kept his mind off her, or if the lessons truly worked. He only knew he enjoyed relief from the need to wrap his arms around her and kiss her until they were both breathless and unable to stand. The day sped by and it was with some surprise that he saw the first streaks of color from sunset touch the sky. He supposed time felt different, high off the plains where he had spent his life. Arin watched in delight as the stony flatland displayed moss, then streams, then flowers and finally thick carpets of grass. Shimmerbugs fluttered from flower to flower, bright spots of scarlet and purple and yellow against the soft, gray-green of the grass, the more vivid emerald of moss, and the pale pink and blue of the sugarflowers. Tayree explained that Wind Walkers harvested Dreamweed in different areas in rotating cycles, so that no particular spot was ever harvested bare. This year, the harvesters would be on the far side of the Mist Plains, half a day's journey away. No one would know they had come through the plateau. Arin had the distinct impression she pressed the bounds of what was permitted, by bringing him here. He remembered what she had said -- if he came up to the Mist Plains alone, he might not leave alive.

Michelle L. Levigne

104

Chapter Twenty-One They made camp on the banks of a stream that meandered across the entire plateau, upstream from a natural bowl where Tayree said Dreamweed grew. She told him little of the plant; it was the sole province of the Wind Walkers and dangerous to the untrained. It opened minds and removed barriers and inhibitions. Properly prepared, it soothed pain and helped the trained search wounded minds and souls, to heal them. The Dreamweed in this area had not been harvested for three years, and no one would come here for two more years. Tayree planned to harvest a little, so their trip through the Mist Plains would not be a total waste. No trees blocked their view to the sudden drop-off edge of the plateau, two hours of walking away. Beyond that lay the rivers and green pastures of the Hagojo Plains, and the last long leg of their journey to the Canyon -- and his parents. “Are we on schedule?” “Schedule?” Tayree settled down by the armful of wood they had gathered during the day's walk, and pulled out her spark stones. “It seemed to me for a while, you were pushing to get somewhere in a time limit.” He slid his backpack off his shoulder, and followed it to the ground. Arin made sure the pile of firewood lay between them. “I know we're trying to stay ahead of any assassins, but …” He shrugged again. What exactly had he been thinking? “Oh. I did want us to be alone for Conjunction. Some tribes can be rather ... sensual in their celebrations. I didn't want you to wake up under a blanket with a wife you didn't know.” “Thanks,” he muttered. He glanced at Tayree and found her oddly pale. She frowned at the spark stones in her hands. “Want me to do that?” “No. Thank you.” She slashed the stones viciously against each other, hard enough he thought she would cut her hands. Sparks flew and caught in the tinder. “How much longer, once we get down from here?” “Four more days. The first, we will stay with the Sha'hasti, and they will send runners ahead of us. I will dreamwalk tonight and let their leaders know we are coming. They are strong allies and it will give them great joy and honor to welcome you.” Tayree went down on her elbows and blew. The sparks caught and sent tiny crackling tongues of fire along the wood. “There will be a grand procession and we must walk slowly, to let the Elders meet us and escort you to your parents.” “I thought Na'huma were the only ones crippled by protocol and ceremony.” “Then you haven't been listening to a thing I've told you, all these past long days!” Tayree groaned, then flopped backwards, and a giggle burst out of her. Funny, but he had never heard her giggle before. She chuckled when she beat him at something or he made a particularly ridiculous mistake. Giggling didn't seem to suit Tayree. Too young, too silly. She would always be serious even in her playing, Arin decided. Always with that undertone of pain. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss away that pain. “Sorry.” He turned away so she couldn't read his dreams in his eyes. “Maybe we should stay out here until I get it right.” “Then we'd never get home, would we?”

Wind Walker

105

“Oh, thank you for your confidence!” He had to laugh, though, at the thought of wandering these mountains until he completely understood the Ayanlak way. “Not you,” she sputtered. “I doubt even those in the inner circles understand it all.” “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” “Go take your bath, Arin, and clear your head.” She reached for her pack and snatched out the lump of blue-green soap that lay on the top. Tayree flung it at him. It hit him in the cheek. Laughing, Arin leaped up and chased the little ball as it rolled through the trampled grass. * * * * * “What's that?” Arin wrinkled up his nose at the bitter, chalky smell emerging from the clay jar Tayree had set among the new coals of their fire. It fought with the stomach-rumbling aroma of the roasting hindquarters of a coodori, which the Chaiqua had brought them before she disappeared across the plateau. He wiped the ball of soap dry and set it down on her pack so she could use it. A warm, electric feeling touched him as he pictured Tayree bathing in the stream by moonlight. “Dreamweed.” She chuckled when he flinched back out of the path of the steam. “I thought you said that was dangerous!” “It is. But it's still daylight. The pods won't open until moonrise. We're far enough away and the wind is right, so we have nothing to fear from the dust. I went to the edges and dug a root for saqua tea, in case the wind shifts. The flowers and leaves fill our heads with madness, and the roots protect us. The Winds are kind, yes?” “Putting the cure with the poison? Oh, yeah, real kind.” A shiver. “This is all we need to be safe?” “This is one of many things we do to protect ourselves. Some are born immune to the Dreamweed and lesser intoxicants, but only those born to great, high service. They are almost legends.” A mischievous grin twisted her lips as she glanced at him. “I have no wish to be a legend. Very uncomfortable.” She nodded toward the haunch of meat dripping fragrant juices on their makeshift spit. “If you think that's ready -- “ A chuckle escaped her as he hurried to obey. Arin grimaced at her and his stomach gave another painful rumble of complaint. He had been starving from the moment they arrived on this plateau. Whether it was the thinner air or something different in their diet or he was going through another purifying phase in his body, he didn't know. He didn't much care, as long as he could fill his stomach. The Chaiqua had brought them half the coodori calf just after they reached their camping spot, and Arin thought he would drown when his mouth started watering uncontrollably. Fresh, red meat -- no more furry little tree dwellers and birds snagged at water holes. The Chaiqua rejoined them as the evening thickened around them and showed no disdain when Arin offered it scraps of their steaming meal. He laughed at the scratching of the creature's tongue on his hand. Tayree concentrated on her meal, stirring her saqua tea and granted him rare, bittersweet smiles the few times their glances met. Not until their meal was over did Arin realize he ate three-quarters of it, and there was still food left over. “Are you feeling all right?” he asked, when she returned from washing her hands in the stream a good dozen meters from their camp.

Michelle L. Levigne

106

“Yes. Fine.” “You just seem ... I don't know. Sad.” “I have much on my mind.” “I don't want this journey to end. Is that how you feel?” “In a way.” Tayree offered him a glimmer of a smile as she reached with a cloth to take her clay jar out of the coals and put it on a flat stone by her blankets. “When will that be ready?” “It is ready now, but we won't drink it unless we need it. If the wind changes or …” She swept him a somber glance, then quickly looked away. Arin shivered, positive she would burst into tears in a moment. “What are you worried about?” “Worried?” “You think my parents are going to blast you again about not marrying Palan?” “That is the least of my worries. I fear more that the training I have tried to give you will be inadequate for the destiny that waits.” “Funny how a little peace mission turns into me becoming the leader of the most powerful Ayanlak tribe.” “What would your reaction have been if I had told you the day we met, that you were Pindir's heir and I had come to bring you home?” “I probably would have thought you were crazy.” He stretched out on his side and propped his head up in one hand. A chuckle made his whole body rumble. “There has been much deception from my hand, friend Arin. I am sorry,” she murmured. “No. Don't ever be sorry. You did what you had to do, the best way you knew how. I can't begin to imagine what this has been like for you. I'm just glad we're friends, after everything my family did to you.” He flinched, images from his twin dreams cutting through the warm, drowsy contentment. “If there was something I could do to make it all up to you, I would. Anything you want, ask me.” A chuckle shook him. “If you want one of the moons, I'd try to steal the last working shuttle and scrounge enough fuel to try to fly up and get it for you.” “No, I do not want a moon.” She reached for her pack. “If I could hold my sons in my arms again, that would be more than enough for me.” “That's beyond me. Sorry.” The bubbling, warm feeling began to settle. “Don't be sorry. The Winds will provide.” Tayree pulled out her drying cloth and the soap, and then two small skin pouches saved from rations a village gave them. “Sleep, my friend. The Chaiqua will guard us and we have important ... work ahead of us.” “After all I ate, I'm surprised I'm not asleep already.” He closed his eyes and rolled onto his back. Dizzy waves flowed over him. Arin groaned, sure he had eaten too much. The Chaiqua settled down next to him. Its long, warm tongue lapped the hand resting on his chest -- and the dizziness, the sense of being overfull, faded. “Thanks, pal,” Arin whispered. Sleep did not come. He lay still, enjoying the warm night air, the softness of the spicy fresh plateau grass thick under his blanket. The Chaiqua lay still next to him, and Arin fancied the creature guarded more than his body. Hadn't Tayree said there were no predators on the plateau? Didn't she say Dreamweed kept most creatures away? They were safe, he knew. They had camped far enough from the

Wind Walker

107

leading edge of the bushy plants that it wouldn't harm them. “Harvesters,” Arin murmured. That was probably why the Chaiqua stayed so near instead of roaming tonight. Although the harvesters were on the far side of the plateau, what was to stop them from breaking the rules? What was to keep them from going into the areas that were supposed to be left fallow? Arin supposed some Wind Walkers took patrol, to keep stupid travelers from suffering the consequences when they trespassed. Tayree said the Wind Walkers were supposed to be above the tribal feuds and bickering, but the Koh’hani Wind Walkers had certainly proved that false. Arin felt a flicker of grief for Jolif, his first true friend, his life destroyed no matter what he chose to do. Caught between their oath and what Jolif believed the Winds called him to do, and what his chieftains demanded. Yes, Arin could well believe enemy Wind Walkers might attack them. Especially if they found out who he was. He had been foolish to announce himself as the returned Twin Heir. The adulation and hospitality of the villagers had kept them safe, but there were no villagers here on the Mist Plains. Arin whispered a prayer of thanks to the Winds, for Tayree and the presence of the Chaiqua. If only Tayree could stay with him forever and guide his steps as he learned to become a chieftain. But that would never happen, would it? Could she ever learn to look beyond his face and separate him from his vicious twin? He needed her. Was it possible he needed her guidance just a little more than his desire to wrap himself around her and never let go? Maybe Tayree had the right idea, going home once her mission ended. If traveling with him scraped at her half-healed wounds, what would it be like for him, to see her every day and know he could never be her lover? Groaning, desperate for conversation to keep his mind from going in that direction again, Arin rolled over to look at Tayree across the dying coals of their fire. She wasn't there. She hadn't taken her towel and soap, he realized a moment later. The Chaiqua let out a grumbling sigh as Arin got up on his knees and looked for Tayree. Some instinct guided him to look down the slope toward the Dreamweed patch twenty minutes of walking away. In the clear moonlight, everything was lit silver. Tayree was a thin, dark shape against the white and gleaming silver-green of the Dreamweed, which only rose to her waist. What was she doing, wading through the plants? Arin shivered, seeing clouds of glittering pollen rise around her. “Duh,” he murmured. Of course, Tayree was harvesting. She hadn't been able to come last summer because of her newborn sons. Her supply was probably down to nothing. He stayed kneeling, watching her move through the hazy air, like bits of starlight or fluttering diamonds that settled on her, coating her in sparkling brightness. It reminded him of a dream. Just enough to imagine joining Tayree in that cloud, claiming her mouth in a soul-searing kiss, tasting the sweetness of the Dreamweed dust on her skin. “Down, boy,” Arin whispered. This was the last place he should imagine making love to Tayree. Irony, that his twin had followed Tayree here against all the rules and tried to force her -and now Arin was here under her protection, wanting her just as desperately. “Please, Omnistos,” Arin whispered as he forced himself to lie down again, with his back to the fire and Tayree. “I don't really know you, but if you're out there, please fix this. I want her. I

Michelle L. Levigne

108

want to make her happy. I want her to love me like -- “ He groaned at the bitter revelation, and wondered how long he had ignored the truth. “I want her to love me like I already love her. It's never going to work, is it?” he asked the Chaiqua. His companion licked his nose and closed her eyes. Chuckling, Arin decided that was the wisest advice anyone could give him. He closed his eyes and told himself to sleep. Perhaps he would dream of Tayree, saying she loved him. * * * * * He woke, realizing he couldn't feel the blanket under him. Not just the blanket, but the ground seemed to be missing. Arin opened one eye and rubbed his face where he thought the blanket should be. Earth-scented scratchiness flooded his face. Grinning at the sleepy hallucination, he rolled onto his back. Glittering moonlight filled Arin's eyes. He blinked rapidly to clear the sleep haze, then stretched, folding his bare arms under his head to get more comfortable. He had to blame his gluttony for his strange, twisting dreams -- which he couldn't seem to remember now that he was awake. No. One feeling was clear. Loss. The realization that this night on the plateau was a turning point. Once they descended to the plains and met the Sha'hasti, he and Tayree would never be alone together again. He could no longer be plain Arin, caught between two worlds. He would be fully Arin s'Pindir, the Twin Heir, recovered from the dead. Recovered by the woman who had most reason to hate and wish destruction on his entire family. Arin couldn't get over the irony of it. How could Tayree smile at him and laugh and give so unstintingly of her knowledge, patience and friendship, facing the image of the man who murdered her sons and husband? Why did the Winds -- and Arin believed in them more every day -- choose her, of all people, to find him? How much time remained to him to win her over? Arin thought he would give up everything to have her smile and come eagerly into his arms, as she had gone into Jerel's arms in his dreams. But they would have no more time beyond the next day, as they journeyed down from the plateau of the Mist Plains. No more private lessons with Tayree. No more companionable hours of silent walking. No more chances to watch her from the corner of his eye, devouring and memorizing her features, the sound of her voice, her sweet scent, the grace of her movements. No more struggling against his hunger for her body. Was that a blessing or a curse? Arin rolled over and looked for Tayree wrapped in her blankets on the other side of the fire. She wasn't there. He propped himself up on his elbow and looked around for her, perhaps standing watch a few steps from the campfire, where anyone approaching couldn't see her clearly. She wasn't anywhere within sight. Arin stood, to try to glimpse her moving through the glittering Dreamweed patch in the distance. She wasn't there either. A sweet, dusty smell brushed at the edges of his awareness. His whole body tingled in a rush like a fine, icy mist enveloped him. He drew a breath to laugh and

Wind Walker

109

froze, paralyzed in a fiery euphoria that shot through the top of his head. He wondered if he were still asleep. The sensation vanished, leaving him firmly anchored to the ground. Arin looked around their campsite. His gaze landed on the clay jar of what Tayree called saqua tea. To counteract Dreamweed. That's what was getting to him. The wind had changed and dusted him with Dreamweed. Arin tottered over to the flat stone where Tayree put the jar and scooped it up. His hands didn't want to hold steady. He choked on the first bitter taste and splashed as much on his shirt and face as he got into his mouth. It tasted like sand and felt like sand in his mouth, but with a slick, almost greasy texture that made him nauseous for half a heartbeat. Arin put down the jar with unsteady hands and pulled off his shirt and wiped his face. The tingling remained, but his head felt remarkably clear. As if the potion on his skin had cut through a film that dulled his senses. Arin took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He gloried in a sensation that he could put down roots, straight into the bedrock, and he would know every minute change in the entire planet. That was not a sane man's imagining, he knew. Arin tossed his damp shirt toward his blankets and bent to pick up the jar. It had fallen on its side, spilling the contents on the stone and into the moss that surrounded their campsite.

Michelle L. Levigne

110

Chapter Twenty-Two “Tayree, we need more of that awful stuff,” Arin said, and turned to look for her. That was right -- she was gone. Where? Her traveling leathers, however, were neatly folded on the end of her blankets. She was taking her bath. Arin was halfway to the stream when he realized just what he was doing. His face burned, but it wasn't anywhere near the heat flowing up through his body. “Just one look,” he promised himself. Something to calm his imagination. A dose of reality was just what he needed to keep his roving thoughts in check. No one, not even lean, graceful Tayree, could look as good without her clothes as his imagination insisted. Acting like a naughty boy in the throes of adolescence wouldn't be too intelligent, would it? He wished he had changed into his cloth pants. His leathers stuck to his legs. Had the night grown unusually hot, or was it him? Arin caught movement through a clump of trees leaning over the wide, shallow bend in the stream. He knew it was deep enough for a bathtub for three people at that point, lined with smooth sand, the water soft and sweet-smelling. Silver moonlight gleamed on golden skin, turning it to alabaster. Just for a moment. Then the distant figure vanished among the screening branches. Arin paused until his heart slowed to a halfway normal pace. Walking on his toes, he took small, slow steps toward the clump of trees. The water's surface glimmered smooth and silver in the moonlight. Except for tiny rivulets from the current, no movement. Arin turned, trying to peer through the tangled screen of branches. No sign of anyone in the little clearing. “You're getting better at stealth,” Tayree said from directly behind him. She laughed when Arin spun around, almost losing his balance. “Stupid idea, huh?” His voice came out thin, rising half an octave at the end. Tayree wore a sleeveless, loose tunic; a gift two villages ago. It fell to just above her knees, made of some gauzy green material that seemed to absorb the moonlight and give off a soft glow. He could see the outline of her torso through the material. Or was that just his imagination? Imagination. Dreams. He had seen her dancing across a meadow in the moonlight, glimmering in green. “I suppose I should be flattered.” She brushed wet strands of hair off her face. The movement tugged her tunic against her hips and breasts, catching on wet skin. Arin choked. “I'm sorry. I saw you were gone, and I just …” He shrugged. No matter what he said, he would just make it worse. And she just stood there, smiling, eyes sparkling, looking like she would break into chiming laughter at any moment. “Maybe I need more lessons in control,” he stammered. “Run with me. Let the energy out. Let the Winds guide you.” Tayree held out a hand and when he reached to take it, she skipped out of reach. He gaped stupidly. She laughed, spun on her heel and dashed through the trees to the shallows. She splashed across the water and vanished into the shadows on the other side. For half a second, Arin debated going back to the camp and staying curled up on his

Wind Walker

111

blanket for the rest of the night, where he knew nothing would happen. Then the heat and his pounding pulse took over. Arin flew, barely feeling the sweet, thick grass tangling around his bare feet. Then moss cushioned his pounding footsteps, sending up a rich, loamy smell where he crushed it. Water splashed up around him but he passed through the stream shallows so quickly barely any drops clung to him. Tayree's scent hung warm and sweet in the air, mixed with the spice of the soap they had both used. With every breath, the scent grew stronger. He half-closed his eyes and ran, faster with each step, stretching out his legs, digging the turf with his toes, ripping up clods and flinging them far behind him. She made a lean, glimmering green shape waiting on the edge of moonlight and shadow, only a few steps away. Tayree looked back over her shoulder at him, bubbling with laughter. Arin howled and leaped. She ducked low, hit the ground and rolled, then regained her feet before he had landed. Tayree ran, her hair streaming out behind her like a cape. Arin laughed, reveling in the pounding of his heart in his ears, the burning of the rushing air in his lungs. Her scent vanished. He skidded to a halt and spun, nearly tripping as he searched for her. “Over here!” she called from the other side of the stream again. Tayree laughed and spun on her toes, arms stretching up to the starry sky. Arin crossed the water in two flying bounds. She laughed, the sound like wind chimes, and darted beyond his outstretched arms. She slid through the thin screen of the trees like a shadow. Arin stumbled through, scratching his bare arms on every branch. Growling, he lunged after her, tangling his fingertips in her silky damp hair. “Arin!” Tayree let out a shriek that was part laughter and twisted free. She grabbed onto a low branch and swung up into the tree. He scrambled up after her. Tayree stuck her tongue out at him and leaped down, to lead him back to their campsite. She kept the fire between them. It made her glitter, as if coated in stardust. “This is supposed to help?” Arin growled. “You're using up energy, aren't you?” She darted to the left, stopped short and darted back to the right. “There are other ways -- “ He shook his head sharply and decided to save his breath. When I get hold of you … He didn't dare to even complete that thought. Tayree tripped. He vaulted over the fire and caught her around the waist with both arms. They fell, ending up in a tangle on his blankets. She struggled, gasping, breathless and laughing. Arin held on tight. He couldn't laugh for the sensations pounding through his body. How could someone be so sleek and strong with muscle, yet feel so soft in his arms? The warmth of her skin burned through the thin tunic. She wore nothing under it and he felt every curve, even the texture of her skin where she pressed against his chest. When she continued trying to wriggle free, they ended up face-to-face, on their knees. Tayree pushed at his shoulders while he wrapped his arms securely around her waist. Tayree let out a little shriek when his arms tightened convulsively around her. She laughed, but then the sound died in her throat and she grew still, held tight against him. Arin felt nothing but bare skin under his arms. Her tunic had hiked up past her waist. He

Michelle L. Levigne

112

knew he should let her go, but that would let him see her. For one chilling moment Arin thought of what Palan had tried to do. “Don't,” she whispered. “Tayree -- “ “Don't let go of me.” “But your -- “ “Tell me truly, Arin. I will hurt you soon. Because I must. Will you hate me?” “Never. I'll always forgive you.” “Even if I deceive you?” Her eyes swam with sudden tears, not quite enough to spill down her cheeks. “Tayree -- “ She raised one hand to brush his lips with her fingertips, hushing him. Turning her head, she searched the camp. For three long, frozen heartbeats, she went too still in his arms. Tayree blinked her tears away and sighed. Arin finally took his gaze off her and tried to see what she saw. He groaned, seeing the overturned jar of saqua tea. “Sorry. I knocked it over.” “The will of the Winds,” she whispered. “We're far enough away to be safe, aren't we?” “Yes. Safe.” Tayree closed her eyes for a moment, her hands slowly moving down his chest. Arin gasped, feeling his heart rate double. He didn't mean to, but couldn't stop himself from shifting his hands. Her bare skin felt cool, silky. A soft whimper escaped Tayree as she opened her eyes. “I should let you go,” he said, his voice cracking. “All we have is tonight, Arin. Don't take it away.” “Palan.” He loosened his embrace and she didn't move away. “He's not here. You are.” Tayree kissed him, slowly, softly, warm and unflinching when he clutched her close. Desperation and the inability to believe this was totally real made him overreact. Their teeth clashed. He tasted blood. Her lip or his, he couldn't tell. Arin tried to hold back, wanting this first kiss to be perfect. Tayree's arms wrapped around his neck, responding to the demands of his mouth on hers. Arin sat back on his heels and drew her down so she straddled his legs. He kissed down the warm column of her throat, tasting a sweetness that didn't come from the soap or the stream water. Rainbows swirled and sparkled behind his closed eyes. Tayree whimpered and dug her nails into his back. She wriggled against him, pressing herself against his waist. Her hands stroked up his back to clutch his shoulders, holding him tighter as she echoed his every kiss. Arin drew back enough to let him yank her tunic up over her head. Tayree raised her arms to help him. Her eyes were closed, her head tilted back, her mouth open in quick little gasps. Her skin gleamed with a flush like a fire burned under her skin, glittering with Dreamweed dust. He knew Dreamweed did this to them, and he didn't care. They would worry about the consequences tomorrow.

Wind Walker

113

He prayed tomorrow never came. “Please,” she whispered, when he paused to stare. She wrapped her arms around him again and captured his mouth with slow, sweet kisses that tore the breath from him. Her hands moved down his back, catching in the drawstring of his leathers. Something exploded deep in his chest, blinding him with stars and a breathless sensation. Arin rose up on his knees again and held her tightly against him with one arm as he lowered them to his tangled blankets. He fully expected his pants to stick to his skin as he moved back enough to peel them off. In moments, though, he was free and he stretched out on top of Tayree as he had done dozens of times already in his dreams. She smiled, eyes closed and glistening with tears and Dreamweed dust. Too fast! a voice cried inside his head. The voice died in a roaring wave that crashed over him, drowning all thought except to know Tayree didn't scream. She didn't fight. She wanted him. Tayree kept her arms and legs wrapped around him even after he was reduced to a gasping, limp, sweating lump. Arin couldn't push his thoughts beyond recognizing what she did. Somehow, he knew it was a very good sign. Maybe an hour later, by the placement of the moons in the sky, Arin recovered enough to lift himself up on his elbows and knees and get off Tayree's limp form. She moaned and reached for him, never opening her eyes. “I'm crushing you,” he whispered. His smile, he suspected, had to be the most ridiculous, fatuous expression anyone had ever seen. Arin didn't care. He crawled around the dying fire and snatched up Tayree's blanket and crawled back. She curled up against him, snuggling into his shoulder when he draped the blanket over them both. “Is it always like this for Wind Walkers?” he said, after he contemplated adding more wood to the fire and finally decided it was unnecessary. “Better,” Tayree whispered. “Oh.” “No.” She giggled and opened her eyes a crack. “This -- better.” “Oh?” Arin shifted their positions so he could kiss her. Tayree moaned, soft in the back of her throat, and let him tease her mouth open. They clung to each other, kissing, shifting from delicate bird wing kisses to hungry force. He yelped in surprise when Tayree grabbed his hips and pushed him onto his back. She stretched out on top of him, her legs around his thighs, and smothered him with kisses. Arin let out a shout that set them both giggling. “This is impossible!” “I don't want this to be a dream.” She bit his ear lobe, making him wriggle. “Dreams destroyed my life. I want real. I want you, Arin. Tonight. Real. The only reality.” “Is this -- normal?” He grabbed her wrists, stopping her when she tried to tickle him. “I hope so.” Tayree shrieked laughter as he rolled them over, pinning her under him. * * * * * Morning came with a haze in the back of Arin's mind, hungry exhaustion eating at his muscles and aching emptiness growling in his gut. The sun sat high enough in the sky to be even

Michelle L. Levigne

114

with the top of the plateau. It sent bright slivers under his eyelids that turned into flashes of not exactly pain, but something that urged him to move and think while brain and body resisted. Arin moved his arm and felt warm, soft flesh under it. His eyes flew open. For a moment, all he could see was a blur of darkness and slivers of light coming through. Then he felt the silken, musky clean mass against his face. Tayree's hair lay spread across the ground under them. Cautiously, he planted his hands in the blankets and pressed against the ground, moving back from her. She slept, undisturbed for the moment. “It wasn't a dream,” Arin whispered, just for the sake of hearing himself speak. Something wet and cold touched his bare back and he barely stifled a yelp as he turned his stiff body to look. The ground seemed to shift and sway under him like a hammock. If he had anything in his stomach, it would have emptied. The Chaiqua sat behind him, staring at him with an open canine smile and lolling tongue. The creature looked so lively and awake, Arin wanted to throw a boot at her -- but he couldn't seem to find his boot. “Go make yourself useful,” he growled. “Cook us breakfast or find a horse or -- “ His fuzzy eyes focussed to show the gray-furred burrowbog lying at the foot of his blankets. “I don't suppose you can skin that for us, can you?” In answer, the Chaiqua got up and towered over him. It leaned down to nuzzle Arin's face, then down his chest. At the touch of the warm, damp muzzle, Arin felt a tingling move through his body, starting with his head. The ground stopped buzzing and the haze left his eyes so that the sun didn't burn but shone down on him with cool, golden exuberance. “That's the greatest hangover medicine I've ever seen,” he muttered. A chuckle burst out of him. “Guess that means I have to make my own breakfast, huh?” Tayree mumbled and rolled over, reaching out a hand to find him. Arin felt his breath catch in his chest in wonder. Whatever the Dreamweed had done to make her go past her hatred for Palan, he hoped the effects were forever. He couldn't live without her. “Though if we keep this up, I'll probably die anyway.” “Hmm?” Tayree opened her eyes. The Chaiqua left at that point and Arin barely noticed. He leaned down to kiss her. Tayree smiled, sleepy laughter bubbling in her throat, and kissed him back.

Wind Walker

115

Chapter Twenty-Three It was nearly noon before they pushed aside the blankets and tugged on their clothes. Arin skinned the burrowbog and set it up on the spit while Tayree built up the fire and scavenged for more wood, and roots and herbs to stuff the carcass. They went down to the stream to wash. Tayree rubbed his back, scrubbing it with sand, and when he returned the favor he couldn't resist exploring further. They came together on the mossy bank, earning green and gold splotches that had to be washed off again. The burrowbog came close to burning. Arin didn't realize what a near disaster that was until they had pulled their meal off the spit and cut it up to eat. The first taste sent a hollow aching through his body that was nearly ecstasy. In a matter of moments, little more than bones and scraps of gristle remained. They could barely drag themselves to the river to wash. When they curled up together again, it was only to sleep. * * * * * Arin walked a narrow path of gold-dusted stone, hanging over a rainbow-streaked, velvet black abyss. The air tasted clean and fresh and he gulped it, desperate for the clarity and energy it promised. A familiar, spicy-sweet smoke marked a trail through the air. He followed. The trail ended in a glimmering plateau. The stars glittered in jewel tones, melting into the black of the abyss so it seemed chasm and sky were one. Tayree sat on the edge of the cliff, swinging her legs slowly. She wore the shimmering green tunic he had so gladly peeled off her the night before, yet as Arin studied it, the cloth changed to blue like the summer sky after a shower. “We've been here before, haven't we?” he whispered. That startled him almost as much as it did her. Arin reached out to catch Tayree's hand as she turned and leaped to her feet. “No. We cannot touch. Not here,” she whispered as she backed away from him. She hugged her arms tight around herself. “You told me that before. When we were children.” He laughed even as tears of long-forgotten loneliness blurred his vision. “That was you, wasn't it? When we were children. If I had only known ... “ “And if I had known, I would not have smiled at Palan the first time he noticed me.” Tayree took another step away. “I am sick of him always coming between us. I don't want him here. This is our special place.” “This is the first time I thought of him since Conjunction started.” She held up a hand to block him when he tried to step closer. “Arin -- I have not thought of Jerel or your twin since the moment you took me into your arms.” “That's good, isn't it?” “But it will only last for Conjunction. Neither of us will remember, when morning comes. It will all be as a dream, and will fade faster than the fall mists.” “I won't forget. I could never forget you.” He reached for her again. Tayree didn't move quickly enough. A spark shot between his hand and her arm, wringing a pained gasp from them both. She skittered backwards, perilously close to the edge. “You must forget. I will forget. Gladly.” “Tayree!”

Michelle L. Levigne

116

“Arin, how can I remember without Palan coming between us? I dream of you, but he always takes your place. Would you have all my memories turn to dreams of rape? Palan will win.” “What about how I feel about you?” “Dreamweed. Conjunction. You carry the blood of chieftains and you have been touched by the Winds, but you are untrained. Neither of us drank the saqua. We will forget.” Tayree turned and started down the long, gold-speckled stone pathway. Her bare feet made no sound. He ran and passed her and blocked the trail. “I don't want to forget.” He swallowed hard. “I didn't rape you, Tayree. Please tell me I didn't rape you.” “No.” A forlorn little smile made her eyes glisten. “Dreamweed destroys fears and inhibitions. Neither of us did anything we did not truly want. In the morning, we will be what we were before, but here and now, I do not care that you wear Palan's face and speak with his voice. Your every touch brings me joy. Sweeter pleasure than I knew with Jerel. And I thought that he would haunt me whenever another man took me into his arms.” She sighed. “Even here, he doesn't haunt me. “We will remember nothing. That is the only mercy. Tomorrow, I will look at you and see Palan. Jolif mocked me that I could not look beyond the face to the spirit. It would tear me to pieces to know that for two nights and one day, you were my world. The man who wears my enemy's face.” She began to drift backwards from him without moving a foot. Arin reached for her. Tayree moved out of his reach, and he seemed glued to the stone pathway. Arin wanted to remember. He didn't want to lose a single moment of Tayree's laughter, her willing response to his every touch, her hungry kisses. “There is no hope,” she whispered, with tears. “Yours is a great soul and I would gladly spend my days beside you. But I will always see and hear Palan. My heart would cry traitor each time you took me into your arms.” Tayree wiped the tears away and ran her hands through her hair so the tears glistened in the ebony mass like diamonds. Arin could barely get enough air to breathe, let alone the shouts of protest that choked him. He knew she was right. “I hope Palan knows I willingly joined with you, Arin. I hope he knows I enjoyed every kiss, every touch. I hope he knows and wherever he is, he writhes in agony!” If his brother stood before him at that moment, Arin knew he would willingly, gladly kill Palan. How did that make him any better of a man? Arin knew he hadn't been gentle all the time -- but he had tried to give Tayree pleasure. If Palan was as vicious as his dreams showed, Arin shuddered to think how his twin would have treated her in the clutches of passion. He had glimpsed small bruises on her arms and legs when they washed. Palan would have brutalized her -- and enjoyed it. He would have made Tayree scream in pain and fear, not passion. The residue of passion still wrapped him like rags. He couldn't put them off, no matter how cold he felt. The memories were too precious. But he would remember, wouldn't he? Hadn't he drunk some of that saqua tea? But Tayree hadn't had any. He had spilled it. Perhaps she wouldn't have been in his arms at all, if she had been able to drink it. Had he done that to her? Trapped her? How could he live with himself, remembering, and knowing she remembered nothing? “Arin, you are the heir. I am the Wind Walker sent to bring you home to the People. That is all we can be to each other. Tonight, I dreamed of peace. The Sentinel Stars will walk among us. Perhaps your son shall be the heir of Aundree's Vision. He shall have three daughters -- the Sentinel Stars, Shala, Merla and Enla. We have been granted this promise, Arin. Be glad of it, even though you forget.”

Wind Walker

117

Arin wished he could begin the long journey back to Central and his duties as Chief Engineer. But he knew he couldn't, and he wouldn't. He would stay and be Chieftain's Heir because Tayree wished it. If he could never have her, at least he could do this to make her happy. “Forget,” she whispered, and raised her cupped hands to her chin. She blew gently, and diamond dust flowed like a stream to enclose him in a cocoon. Arin fought not to breathe. That was Dreamweed dust, coming to fill his mind and wipe away every memory of their passion. He refused to let it win. He refused to lose Tayree. “I will forget. You must forget. Or I will die of the pain.” He closed his eyes against the glittering white brilliance that wiped her from before his eyes. * * * * * Tayree rolled away from Arin and climbed to her feet, tears streaking her cheeks. She tottered across the fire to her pack and brought out a tiny sack of Dreamweed dust. She shivered, but not from the cool night breeze against her naked skin as she sprinkled the bag's contents over him. The faint breeze tried to swirl the heavy Dreamweed dust off his face. A soft moan escaped his tightly clenched lips and she imagined his dreams took him into unfriendly territory. Not a sob escaped her. She imagined she had lost her voice, along with her ability to wail the pain that cut through her chest with jagged knife thrusts. She stood over him, listening to him breathe, watching as the Dreamweed dust melted in the warmth of his skin and faded. She kept watch as the last of the moonlight faded into the first chill, sodden gray light before true dawn. Taking her traveling leathers and the soap and her towel, she went to the stream to wash. Her hands trembled as she scooped up sand to scrub her arms and legs, and remembered how Arin's touch had made such a simple thing into decadent pleasure. No matter how she scrubbed, she couldn't scrub away the memories. But she would pretend she remembered nothing, because Arin would remember nothing. * * * * * Arin woke when a twig flipped across his nose, somersaulted off his cheek and slid down to catch on his ear. He groaned and rolled over, reaching for Tayree. She wasn't there. He sat bolt upright, gasping, and found her on the other side of the fire, putting pieces of trail bread on a stick, to roast over the last dying coals of their fire. He grinned at her quizzical little frown, and wiped fear sweat off his face. “I thought -- “ The words caught in his throat when he stretched out a hand to her and she didn't laugh and leap into his arms to cuddle and kiss. “Thought what?” Tayree finished her task and scooted closer to the coals. “You slept late. Are you feeling all right?” “What ... what did we do last night?” He flinched when the Chaiqua came up from behind him and nudged him with her head, as if ordering him to get out of bed. “Last night?” She adjusted the stick. “We ate. We talked. I drew you a map of the rest of our journey. Which shall be much easier once we reach the Sha'hasti and their horses. You slept and I harvested Dreamweed.” She pointed at the two bulging sacks lying next to her backpack.

Michelle L. Levigne

118

As they walked the last leg of their journey alone together, she lectured him on what a tiny pinch of Dreamweed powder could do in healing. She described the process for preparing it and how many people just one small sack could treat. Arin listened, glad for something to occupy his thoughts. Not enough, though, to keep him from remembering the haze of passion that had wrapped around them while the Conjunction moons were in the sky. They had laughed and rolled their blankets and limbs into a tangle. Didn't Tayree wonder why her mouth was so sore? Or did only he feel it? Maybe Wind Walkers healed faster? Arin never wanted to lose the tenderness through his whole body. He wanted to ache with memories whenever he looked at her. He gladly let Tayree do the talking, so he wouldn't blurt something that could destroy her. How would she feel if he told her he remembered two nights and one day of passion, when she didn't? Would she feel used? Raped? Perhaps far worse than what Palan would have done? When she ran out of information on Dreamweed, he hurried to ply her with questions about the Sha'hasti, the Keerlagor allies who would meet them. He asked about her three brothers. Tayree and her twin, Talon had shown signs of talent very young. Their parents had spoken of sending them to the Canyon to study with their kinsman, Rhovas when they were older. When their parents died, Rhovas took the twins and started their training several years ahead of schedule. Now, Tayree and Talon lived with their older brothers and served the Sentinels in the High Reaches, as their parents had done. Her brothers sounded protective and willing to spoil their only sister. He found it amusing and ironic that he had two parents he had never seen, yet he envied Tayree her family. He was one of the next chieftains, and he wished he could slide into a much simpler, more anonymous life. How could he change direction now, and turn his back on his destiny after all they had gone through? He hadn't resisted when Tayree told him who he was and why she had come to find him. He had barely blinked, but accepted it as if he had always known he would go home to the Canyon someday. Why hadn't he run away from her then, when he had the chance? Maybe he had accepted his duty simply because Tayree asked it of him. He could do that much to please her, couldn't he, though he would never have her beside him? Arin said nothing to reveal his churning thoughts, going over the same area until it was threadbare and his head ached. He tried not to think, merely to live the moment and store each step of this last journey alone together in his memory. It would be all he would have, when Tayree left. It was almost a relief to him when they came down the last gentle slopes from the plateau and reached the Hagojo Plains. They would ride three days across these lush grasslands until they reached the Canyon, his parents and his future. The Ayanlak who came to meet them were bright with feathers braided into their long hair and polished stones fashioned into headbands and belts, rings and fancy trappings for their horses so they clicked when they walked. They didn't wear leathers like Arin and Tayree, but bright cloth visible leagues away in sharp contrast to the green of the grasslands; vibrant scarlet, gold and purple and a dozen shades of blue. Their horses were as beautifully, carefully decorated as the riders. A pure black mare with golden beads woven into her mane trotted riderless at the head of

Wind Walker

119

the procession. Arin felt his spirits lift at the sight of the beautifully proportioned horse. He laughed when the procession stopped twenty paces away from him and Tayree, and the mare continued forward. She stopped two paces from him and executed a bow, one foreleg bent back, one extended.

Michelle L. Levigne

120

Chapter Twenty-Four “Yours,” Tayree murmured, giving Arin a sideways glance and her first genuine smile since that morning. “What about you?” he asked as he reached for the bridle. Tayree simply shook her head and stepped away. Sighing, wishing he could ask Tayree to ride behind him, Arin swung up into the saddle. The moment he settled, a shout rose from the riders. Banners waved and drums rolled and whistles blew piercingly loud. The mare barely flicked her ears. She raised her head and nickered, as if laughing, when the Chaiqua brushed against her legs and tickled her nose with her whiskers. Arin had reason to be glad of her calmness and easy control. His head swam with the multitudes of introductions that rushed past him. Every rider in the welcoming procession -ninety-two, if he counted correctly -- had a title and duty and a long string of clan names. They proudly pronounced each one to Arin as they introduced themselves to him. Tayree stayed in her chosen post, one hand resting on the mare's neck, standing to his right. He was pleased to note that each person who approached looked first to her, giving a nod of respect, some of them with wide-eyed wonder. Some dropped necklaces of sparkling stones around her neck or laid them at her feet. The welcoming ceremony was the closest he was able to get to Tayree for two days. * * * * * Tayree went running alone that night, pushing herself until her lungs threatened to burst and her muscles wanted to rip free of her burning legs. She was proud of Arin despite the ache that made her want to push everyone away and shriek at them to leave her alone with him. Yet how could she? He remembered nothing of the ecstasy that ruled them during Conjunction. She had no claim on him. Wasn't that what she had wanted, when she took the opportunity granted by her vision? She had meant every word she said last night, when she held him and wished he wore a different face, had different parents, even that they both came from a different tribe. They could never be together. Her own nightmare memories of Palan would stand as a wall between them. Tayree could only pray that their sons -- if she had indeed conceived -- would look like her family and not his. How could she endure it if her precious children, won through sacrifice, reminded her every waking moment of Palan? It would be as if he had reached from the grave and won, after all. Why hadn't she considered that when she first decided to follow the vision? Had she been so lost in her grief and the pain of her empty arms, she had refused to think through to the consequences? There were too many consequences, and only a few she had anticipated. She ran, she suspected, to fight her physical longing for Arin. The day's walking had soothed her minor aches. Arin's laughter, his gentleness even in the strongest moments of passion, his pure delight in her body remained in her mind. Just thinking of his mouth on hers made her insides turn to soft tallow in the fire. She had never untangled herself from Jerel and their blankets with the regret and longing she felt right now for Arin.

Wind Walker

121

“It will not work!” she shouted to the moons. Her voice vanished in the distances. The Sha'hasti camp lay so far away to the west, she could only see a few sparks of light, tiny dots which were actually massive bonfires ringing the gathering. “There must be a joining of spirits. There must be trust and honesty. There must be friendship. I can't look at him without seeing Palan. And I betrayed and used him.” Tayree dropped to her knees, closing her eyes against the tears. “I have my recompense. Why, oh Winds and Great Omnistos, do I feel even emptier than before? If Arin ever hears ... he will hate me.” She opened her eyes and tilted her head back to the moons. They were mere blurs in the hot wet filling her eyes. This was the moment when she should have felt most triumphant, but all she wanted was Arin's arms around her, his whispers of love and forgiveness soft in her ears. She knew she would never hear them, never feel his touch again. * * * * * Tayree found putting distance between herself and Arin far easier to accomplish than she had hoped. Arin quickly became popular with the Sha'hasti riders who escorted them to the Canyon. Everyone wanted a word with him. Everyone wanted to demonstrate their skills in riding and fancy spear throwing and archery. Every stop they made along the way became a competition, entertainment to take his mind off whatever might trouble him in the slightest degree. Arin was an appreciative audience, unashamed by his lack of knowledge or skill. He flattered the people unintentionally by asking for lessons and applauding enthusiastically. If the people acted to take his mind off the strain of his first meeting with his parents, they also kept him from searching for Tayree. She moved further from Arin with every hour that passed, allowing more people to come between them. She didn't sit by his side around the fire, as was her right. Nobles who served on the Twin Chieftains' Council joined them the first day of the procession, and she let them take that position. They filled Arin's head and mind with explanations of what he had seen and heard during the day, teaching him about what he would see, what he would have to do when they reached the Canyon. The second day of the three-day journey, Rhovas and the Wind Walker Elders met them. Tayree stayed back, walking with the Sha'hasti Wind Walkers, and watched her kinsman meet Arin. “I know you,” Arin said, his voice soft but traveling through the hushed anticipation of the gathering. “When we were children -- I dreamwalked with Tayree, and you came to take her away to training.” “The Winds blessed us, Arin s'Pindir,” Rhovas said, nodding, his eyes blazing with a light that did not come from the sun straight above their heads. “Be comforted that the sorrow we have all endured -- you, your parents, my kinswoman, our entire nation -- it was for a purpose. Even now, recompense grows and flourishes and shall come forth in its proper time.” Tayree held still only by clenching her fists until she cut her palms with her nails. Did Rhovas know what she had done? Why had he spoken those particular words? “The time of Aundree's Vision comes upon us, and if you obey and serve, you shall be rewarded ten times what you have suffered.” Rhovas raised his hands in blessing on the gathered crowds. “Let there be rejoicing! The Twin Heir is restored to his people and his blood!”

Michelle L. Levigne

122

Shouts rolled across the plains and rose to the sky with a thunderous roar Tayree felt sure the Koh'hani could hear far to the east and north. When her kinsman called her name, she came to him. Rhovas said nothing before he embraced her, while they still had a moment of privacy, but his gaze was searching. Tayree wondered if he could tell what had happened, merely by touching her. If he knew, he did not rebuke her. Rather, he smiled and gave her a satisfied little nod that sent a shiver through her. What did the High Wind Walker know and what did it portend for her? She had no chance to ask. A heartbeat later, the Wind Walkers surrounded them and overwhelmed her with praise, even as they demanded the tale of her journey. Tayree could not hold back from her place of honor now. She rode at Arin's right side on a misty-gray Wind Walker mare. From now on the horse was hers, as a sign of the great service she had performed for their tribe at the command of the Winds. Rhovas rode to Arin's left, on his own massive silvery-gray stallion. * * * * * That evening, Tayree again slipped away from the feasting. Now she ran to avoid Rhovas's compassionate, all-knowing gaze, and the questions and songs of honor from the multitudes flocking to the triumphal procession. Tomorrow afternoon, they would reach the Canyon, and the closer they drew to her moment of freedom, the more pressure built inside her to scream. She ached with the need to beg Arin for one more night of delicious madness in his arms. But how could she ask for that, when he could not remember even one hour, let alone two nights? When she returned, after the moons had started to drift downward toward the horizon, she found the Chaiqua waiting for her at the bend in the river where the lazy current had dug out a deep bathing hole. Tayree slowed her steps, almost afraid to approach the creature that had become Arin's shadow. She was glad the Chaiqua was there, to foil any last-minute attempts on Arin's life. Yet she resented the creature. It had witnessed their passion on the Mist Plains. It had kept almost too close to Arin since. Tayree didn't fear the creature could speak to Arin's dreams and remind him of what Dreamweed hid – but what could it do to reveal her secret? What did the Chaiqua think of the deception she had created during the Conjunction? Did it approve? What did the mystical creature understand of the ways of People? “Just sneak up on a guy, why don't you?” Arin said. Tayree let out a tiny yelp and stumbled. She looked around for two heartbeats before she realized his voice came from below her feet. He sat in the water, glistening in the moonlight and half-hidden in shadows. “I've never seen you rattled about anything,” Arin said, and splashed at her. The water barely reached the riverbank, let alone where she stood. Still, the teasing did some good. She managed to smile, even as everything inside her tightened. Being alone with him, out here, far from the sound of other voices was worse than sitting next to him in a crowded tent. “What are you doing out here all alone?” Against her better judgment, she dropped to her haunches to stay and talk instead of fleeing to the guest tent.

Wind Walker

123

“Trying to loosen up enough to sleep. Besides, I'm not alone.” He gestured at the Chaiqua, who sat as sentinel on the riverbank above him. Tayree nodded, hoping the moonlight wasn't bright enough to let him see her blushing. She had thought he would say he wasn't alone because he was with her. They could never be together, so why even dream of it? “I swear I'm more sore today than I was yesterday. I could use a good rubdown like you gave -- “ He choked and spluttered on a mouthful of water. “No, this sand isn't as soft as on the plateau. It's said because of the Dreamweed growing there for centuries …” Tayree felt as if she would drown, when Arin's face went very still. He stood, knee deep in the water, clad in the ridiculous Na'huma briefs. “You do remember,” he said, nearly a whisper, but intense enough to be a shout. “Remember?” She took a step backward, terrified he would leap from the water and throw her to the ground. The Chaiqua moved up behind her, nearly tripping her. Tayree threw the creature a furious glance. When she turned back to Arin, he was climbing out of the water. “You scrubbed my back with sand after we made love.” His hands shook as he reached for her. “We went to the river to bathe and you rubbed my back.” Tayree could barely move, her legs trembled so, but she did manage to sidestep around the Chaiqua. She shuddered as a low stream of Na'huma curses escaped Arin. Even now, with fury turning his eyes to flames and his face deathly white, he was nothing like Palan. She sensed pain at the back of his anger, not Palan's nasty, selfish childishness that demanded the entire world revolve around him. “You can't remember,” she whispered, trying not to cry. “I dusted you with Dreamweed so you wouldn't remember.” “You remember. Don't you?” “Every moment.” Tears blinded her when for half a heartbeat, intense joy lit his face. To be replaced instantly by a deeper level of angry pain. “You're immune to Dreamweed -- why can't I be? When I try to get drunk, I only get sick. I never block out anything. And you said Palan was immune to the Dreamweed -- what if it's born into us? And anyway, I drank some of your tea before I spilled it. I remember. Every moment. Every time you begged me to kiss you and touch you and -- “ Arin turned away and another snarled tangle of Na'huma curses escaped him. “I had hoped to spare you the pain.” Tayree surprised herself with the sudden evenness of her voice. It was thick, as if all the air in her lungs had frozen. “Yeah, well, you messed up.” A gasping sound escaped him. She dared to hope it was seeds of laughter. “That wasn't a dream, was it? We really did meet out on that cliff among the stars. You told me neither of us would remember anything. You cried. I wanted to jump through time and rip Palan's heart out of his body. “ He turned to face her again. “Do you have any idea how it feels, to hear you push aside what we did as if it didn't matter?” “In the greater scheme of things, in the face of the needs of our tribe, two nights of madness do not matter.” “Not even if it's tearing my heart out?” Tayree shuddered as she reached deep inside herself for the dedication that helped her obey and begin the long journey to find Arin. But it wouldn't come. Had the Winds abandoned

Michelle L. Levigne

124

her, after all this? She dredged up strength from the certainty of the treasure hidden in her womb and forced herself to face him with steady voice and gaze. “You have a destiny and a duty lying ahead of you that will not permit dallying, Arin of the Keerlagor. You cannot let your body control your mind.” “It's not just my body!” “A bargain, then. Wait until we have reached the Canyon and you are safe in your parents' arms. See the life that waits for you, then consider the barriers between us.” “You mean wait until things cool down and bureaucracy gets into my head. No. That'll never change how I feel about you.” “I know it will.” She turned her back on him and headed for the firelight and the black silhouettes of the tents. “You want me to just treat Conjunction like a fling? A nobleman's privilege to sleep with any girl who makes him hot? You're better than that, Tayree. I hope I am.” “You are. We both are.” She turned again to face him, not too far away that she couldn't see the aching burning inside him. “I gladly gave myself to you, Arin. I enjoyed every kiss, every touch, every moment. I wish Conjunction had lasted ten times longer -- but it has ended and so must we. I hope Palan knows I found joy with you. I hope it torments him through all eternity.” “So that's all you care about? Revenge?” “Never revenge. I came to find you for my duty to our tribe. I gave myself to you and knew such joy as I will never know again because ... I hardly know why anymore. For the sake of madness, perhaps. But I swear to you, Arin s'Pindir, I never thought of Palan, never saw him in your face, while we were in each other's arms.” Tayree's voice broke. Arin took a step to go to her but she skipped back two steps and held out a hand as if to block him. “But the madness of Conjunction has ended. I see you and hear you, and Palan comes between us.” “He'll always be there, won't he?” Arin's voice cracked. He dropped to a half-crouch, one knee touching the ground. The Chaiqua came to him and he rested a hand on its side as if to support himself. “I can't ask you to live like that.” “In that, you are nothing like your brother. He thought only of himself. You will be the greatest chieftain ever born.” “That's supposed to be a comfort?” He choked on bitter laughter. “We were friends before Conjunction, weren't we? My twin didn't come between us then.” “Friends. Warriors fighting for the good of the Ayanlak.” “Suppose you heal enough to see me and no ghost of Palan when you look at me?” She shook her head and closed her eyes. “You do not have the right to wait for me. You must find a wife who will give you your heirs.” He nodded, his gaze dropping to the ground. Tayree wanted to run to him, to throw her arms around him, to beg for one more night of bittersweet joy. To promise him she would try to forget Palan every time she looked into his eyes. “We can never be together. There is too much between us,” she whispered, and pressed both hands over her belly where even now her sons might be growing. “But -- “ “Your mother hates me. She blames me for Palan's death. How long until she can look at me and not remember?” “Oh.”

Wind Walker

125

Silence flowed between them like the thick mud of the wall she had hoped for in their memories. Tayree choked on a bitter burst of laughter, and crept away. She held her breath, strained her ears, and prayed he would not call for her before she could escape. If she heard him speak her name in pain once more, could she keep herself from rushing to his arms? * * * * * Three hours from the Canyon, the procession stopped and prepared itself for the pomp of the grand, ceremonial entry into the Keerlagor capital. Rhovas had brought Tayree's ceremonial robes. She gladly put them on, a protective shell against the reality drawing closer with every painful step. When every bead and draping robe had been put into place and every banner hung to flutter in the breeze and every flute and drum and trumpet and rhythm stick poised, the procession set off. Arin rode in the lead, with Rhovas on one side and Tayree on the other and all the nobles and family heads and lesser Wind Walkers behind them. They made a bright, noisy river flowing down the river plain and lowlands toward the gates into the Canyon. Tayree opened her mind to the moment, to the now, so she could forget that in only a few days, she would be free of her duty and could go home. High Reaches no longer felt like home. No one spoke after they passed through the gates carved of solid rock, leading into the Canyon. Flutes played and drums beat a slow, hypnotic rhythm. Every twenty steps, the trumpets blared a triumphant flourish. The horses walked in synchronized step, their beaded manes and tails clicking and clattering and hooves sending sharp echoes all along the sky-scraping rock walls. The passageway wound gradually through the city, following the course that the long-dead river gave it before the Keerlagor came and carved their homes into the bedrock. Tayree tried not to watch Arin fall under the spell of the elaborate stonework arches, the aqueducts carrying water, the step-gardens that spilled flowers and fruit trees down the very walls. With each turn of the passageway, it widened, until they had reached the plaza at the center of the Canyon. Tayree had seen the parade grounds and landing field when she went to Central with Arin. He had been proud to explain to her the vastness of the ships that had landed in that field to let the colonists disembark and unload their equipment and supplies. Both fields together could not fill the vastness of the plaza, with the Chieftain's Palace rising on thirty deep steps set with glistening, precious stones. Step-gardens filled the corners and three of the six sides of the pyramid base of the palace. The steps to the doors of the grand Council Hall faced the passageway where the procession had emerged. Tayree had loved the lush beauty of those carved stone steps when she had come here to train with Rhovas. She had grown to hate the sight of them when Palan pursued her and refused to take her 'no' as her answer. Now, she looked at the steps with mixed longing and dread. Soon, it would all be over. She could go home and never see Arin again. Lady Eriel waited halfway up the steps. The Elders who had ridden ahead of the procession stood on the far sides of the steps, lining it like living statues in their brightest festival robes, glittering with precious stones and gold and silver. She stood alone, dressed in layered, flowing robes in shades of blue. Her long, golden-red hair hung unadorned to her knees, to

Michelle L. Levigne

126

signify mourning. Not mourning for the son who had died from his own evil, but for the son stolen in childhood. Between now and the welcoming feast, Tayree knew the woman would dress her hair with jewels and flowers, to signify her loss had ended. How would Lady Eriel react when she heard -- as she eventually would, maybe years hence -- that her first grandchildren had been stolen from under her nose? Tayree had taken the recompense that had been granted her by law, but the victory tasted bitter at this moment. She knew how she would feel, if an enemy of one of her unmarried brothers demanded her sons in recompense. Why hadn't she considered that, too? The Sha'hasti riders halted twenty paces from the steps. From this close, Tayree could see Pindir and Sonder and their inner circle of advisers waiting at the top of the steps, framed in the gem-encrusted doorway into the Council Hall. Sonder's sons and wife waited in the crowd somewhere. Tayree wished she could stand with them. They had always been kind to her; Arin's cousins had often sheltered her from Palan. But what would they think of her when they heard what she had done? It was her right to take recompense, but Tayree had begun to suspect that sometimes the right thing to do was to forego her rights. Rhovas stepped forward and raised his hands. Arin had been coached for this moment. His face was set, solemn and pale. He wore new clothes; flowing shirt and billowing pants and ankle-high boots all in glossy black and moon-bright silver, the colors of those who passed from one life to another. He dismounted, keeping his head up, facing forward. Rhovas lowered his hands and took hold of Arin's hand with his right, Tayree's hand with the left. He led them up the steps.

Wind Walker

127

Chapter Twenty-Five Tayree's Wind Walker robes had four new rows of glass and silver beads in the fringe of hem and sleeves. The tale of her journey to find Arin had been embroidered in black and scarlet and blue around the new, stiff, high collar that framed her face. The clothes felt heavier, the tinkling of her beads sounded louder. Before, her ceremonial robes had felt like armor, making her stronger, protecting her from the world. Now, they weighed her down. She thought if she needed to flee, she could not have taken more than a dozen steps. Rhovas led Arin and Tayree up the steps. He stopped one step down from Eriel. Arin and Tayree knelt. She flinched when she felt Lady Eriel's hand on her head. For a moment, Tayree wondered what Arin felt when his mother touched his head. “Lady, as you accepted your sons from the Winds, to give them bodies and life, accept these two back from the lands of the Na'huma.” Rhovas released their hands and backed down the steps. “Welcome.” Lady Eriel's voice wavered. Her hand trembled on Tayree's head. “Welcome, Wind Walker. May the Winds bless you with every joy, double for all you have lost.” Tayree caught her breath. Those weren't the proper words. Lady Eriel was to simply acknowledge her part in bringing home the Twin Heir. The welcome was for Arin, not for her. “Welcome home, son of my body, son of my love.” Lady Eriel lifted her hands from their heads. “Great hurt and suffering was given to us all, but the Winds have guided and know better what is right for us. Please, join your life back to ours.” “Mother.” Arin's voice cracked. Tayree didn't dare look at him. “I'll do my best to honor and serve our tribe.” “That is all we ask.” Lady Eriel held out her hand to Arin. He gave his hand into her grasp, stood, and let her lead him up the steps to face the Twin Chieftains. Tayree let her shoulders slump, relaxing now that her part in this had ended. “Wind Walker Tayree d'Bartha, will you walk with us?” Lady Eriel held out her free hand. This wasn't a part of the ceremony, either. Tayree held perfectly still for five long heartbeats. That was far better than turning to Rhovas for guidance or listening to her heart and flying down the steps, away from all this. If only Talon were here -- but she couldn't sense her twin's presence. He would have come if she had asked, or if he had dreamed that she needed him. Why hadn't she asked? Why hadn't he sensed her need? Coward, she scolded herself as she regained her feet. Tayree surreptitiously wiped her hand on her robe. She was startled to feel Eriel's hand tremble around hers. She kept her eyes on the steps ahead of her, refusing to look at anyone as she climbed to the doorway of the Council Hall and the waiting Chieftains. The Council met inside a massive bubble formed in the rock millennia ago. Over the generations, the names and deeds of the Keerlagor chieftains and significant events of the tribe had been carved into the glossy black, vaulted walls. Tayree shuddered when she entered the chamber and heard the distinctive tapping sounds of metal on glassy volcanic rock. Her name was about to be added to the annals of the tribe. She had not wanted this. She should have demanded anonymity when Rhovas plundered her dreams to send her hunting Arin. Now, there was nothing she could do, short of breaking propriety and leaping across the

Michelle L. Levigne

128

chamber already jammed with Elders and nobles and Wind Walkers, to knock the chisel from the scribe's hand. Tayree held herself perfectly still, withdrawing into herself so she did not feel Arin's presence or Eriel's hand still gripping hers. She heard the almost instantaneous hushing of voices. Felt the momentary extra pressure in the air as the massive bronze-bound doors of the hall closed. She stayed standing with Eriel and Arin at the foot of the steps leading to the double-wide chair that overlooked the chamber. She focused on the top step and waited. She could wait all day, all night, into the next day, unmoving and hardly breathing. It took Wind Walker discipline to do it. Tayree wished she had never come to the Canyon to become a Wind Walker. Pindir descended from the seat he shared with his twin, to clasp his son's shoulders and announce for all to hear that his heir had come home. Tayree shuddered when he moved to her. He held her face between his hands and kissed her forehead in blessing and announced her name for everyone to know. She heard the wind-like whispers and knew the thoughts that had to be going through people's minds. What sort of stories did they make up for themselves to explain how the woman widowed by Palan's greed had been the only one to find the lost Twin Heir? She told herself not to care. The hours dragged as Arin went through the questioning required for the heirs of chieftains. The levels of questioning, of testing heart and soul and knowledge, were compressed from intervals of years to just a short gap in time. Tayree was proud of Arin, how well and thoroughly he had learned his lessons. When he could not remember small pieces of history, he admitted it. No one seemed to fault him for it. The first real reaction among the Council came when the questioning ended and Pindir returned to his seat. Rhovas led Arin to stand with him on the steps halfway up and questioned him on his life among the Na'huma. Tayree heard the murmurs. The snorts of disbelief when Arin described his education and high standing. The laughter when he told of some custom she had also found silly. She felt the air change, currents of hostility and hope battling. “It is Aundree's Vision,” Lady Eriel murmured, and leaned closer to Tayree. “Ironic, is it not, that despite resisting my son's attempt at forcing the Winds, you are indeed part of the fulfillment? We will have peace with the Na'huma because of my lost son. Because he knows the Na'huma as one of them. You are part of this.” Tayree chose not to respond. How could she without the pressure inside bursting out in angry words, tears, and a desire to run from the Council Hall, the Canyon, all the way to the High Reaches? Such actions would shame her family, her status as Wind Walker -- and bring more attention on her. Tayree wanted nothing more than to vanish into oblivion once this day was over. She was to have nothing she wanted. Pindir called her name and gestured for her to come stand before him on the top step, facing everyone. Rhovas led Arin back to his place at Eriel's side. That was the worst part of it -she could not avoid Arin's gaze any longer. “The Winds bless you, Tayree d'Bartha,” Pindir said. He stepped down to her level and held out his hands. “No, do not,” he said with a smile, when Tayree automatically bent her knees to bow to him. He caught her hands and held them tightly in his calloused, dry, strong hands. “We owe you a great debt -- both for justice and gratitude.” “For many years, we have had visions of the Na'huma crossing the plains and burning

Wind Walker

129

wastelands, to fight for our fertile valleys and hills, blocking our waterways and destroying our forests,” Wind Walker Inlia said slowly. She carried so many years, her twig-thin shoulders were bowed, her hair and even her eyes gone white with age. She leaned on Rhovas as she climbed the steps to stand with Pindir and Tayree. “Now Omnistos has brought us a Chieftain's Heir who knows them intimately. We dare to hope we shall triumph in this struggle they bring to us.” “We will live in peace without their poisons infecting us,” Rhovas countered. “We brought you here to speak your vision,” Pindir said, raising his voice so everyone could hear. “Speak again, Tayree d'Bartha, now that your journey has ended.” “Our tribe's hope lies in Melda on the River. I see neither success nor failure.” Tayree lifted her gaze to the black ceiling to avoid all the questioning eyes, as she recalled her vision. “I see quests and broken hearts. I see recompense and justice. A thousand different futures for us and for the Na'huma. No matter the outcome, I must go.” “What price do you ask for this great risk and journey among the enemy?” Rhovas intoned, his voice falling into the half-chant of ceremony. “Freedom,” she said, her voice snapping through the warm, closed-in air. Tayree let the words come, though she had prepared them to speak before the Wind Walker Council, not the nobles. Her weariness made her cast caution aside. “What happened on this journey, I need not speak. What I brought back is mine to keep, and no one may gainsay me. Freedom from my duty to marry. Freedom from my duty to bear children of Wind Walker blood. Freedom to choose when the time is right -- or never to do so again.” “Freedom we give her,” Rhovas intoned, when the background murmuring of the gathered witnesses changed pitch. Tayree dared to hope she heard acceptance in those voices, instead of the condemnation she had expected. It was part of her Wind Walker oath, that she would pass along the talents born into her blood. “Freedom of silence. Freedom of keeping or sending away. Freedom of the womb and the marriage bed.” Tayree flinched, but allowed herself the smallest smile as those words rang out through the assembled people. Then completely by accident, she lifted her gaze and met Arin's. He frowned - but only in confusion. He had no idea what had happened. * * * * * “Yes, she is free to marry or not as she chooses, but why should she avoid marriage? When a full year has passed since her husband's death, she should marry.” Arin sat still in the grand chair placed between his parents, on display to all the important people in the tribe, and their allies. He smiled at the servers who brought them the best of every platter prepared for the welcoming feast spread across the plaza -- and strained his ears to catch every word of the conversation somewhere behind him. They were talking about Tayree. Who else could it be? “I know several men who trained with her, who wanted her,” another man said. “They stayed away because Palan -- may his soul rot -- let it be known she was his.” “Too bad he didn't ask her if she wanted to be his,” a woman said, with a nasty sneer in her voice. “That one took what he wanted and didn't care about the tears and pain he left. The Winds were unkind the day his twin was stolen and he remained.” “That is ancient history,” the first man said. “What matters is Tayree d'Bartha. Her arms

Michelle L. Levigne

130

and bed are empty. There are dozens who will clamor for a chance to win her as wife, and to shelter her. She deserves high honor. She deserves an easy life. Why is she returning to the High Reaches? It is nearly an exile or a punishment, but she goes voluntarily.” “Because she was born there,” a fourth voice rumbled. “It is where her heart is. And if we have any care for the esteemed Wind Walker's happiness, we will let her have what she wishes, not what we think she deserves.” Arin could have leaped from his chair and hugged the man. He didn’t care if such action was permitted to chieftains or their heirs. He doubted it. “How can we persuade her she will be better off staying here?” the woman persisted. “Is there nothing to tie her here?” Please, Omnistos, if you're listening ... let me be that tie, Arin prayed. He looked around the far-flung, crowded, brightly lit festival and found Tayree. She stood with Rhovas and the Wind Walker Elders. Arin suspected Tayree stayed with them for protection. She hadn't spoken a word since the welcoming ceremony, when her reward was spoken and verified. He thought he could find her anywhere she went, as if there were invisible threads between them. There had to be more between them than a few nights of sweet madness, couldn't there? Arin liked her, enjoyed her company -- he needed her simply as his teacher. How could he survive in the Canyon without her? She understood him. Rhovas turned and their gazes met. Arin looked into the Wind Walker's eyes and hope grew in him. If anyone could persuade Tayree to give him a second chance, to push aside Palan's ghost, it would be her leader, her kinsman. How was he going to persuade Rhovas to help him? * * * * * Tayree stumbled through the door of the guest room assigned her in the palace. She leaned against the high footboard of the bed and trembled several moments before she could find the strength to close the door. The luxury stifled her after months of living under sun and stars, but she welcomed the enclosing walls for the privacy they offered. Tayree sat on the edge of the mattress and sank into it. She would smother if she slept on it for too long -- the floor for her tonight. Tapestries hung on the stone walls, dark colors, soothing for sleeping. The floor was thick with sheepskins, dyed to match the tapestries all in dark blue and midnight green. The scent of flowers and citrus penetrated Tayree's stupor. She followed the aroma into the next room and found a bathing chamber, the round, sunken tub full of steaming water. A moan escaped her. She peeled her ceremonial robes off with trembling hands and left them in a pile on the floor. A long sigh whispered from her lips as she sank into the water up to her neck and felt the heat begin to soothe her aches, body and soul. Her mind spun, full of everything she had seen and heard all that long day. When she closed her eyes, everything merged into a black, twisting numbness that prevented her from thinking beyond the moment. Tayree welcomed that. The water had grown lukewarm when she heard the door open in the other room. How long had she soaked there, half-dreaming? For all she knew, it was close on morning.

Wind Walker

131

The day had been too long, even without the rigor of the ceremonies and the feast. Tayree had counted on being able to fade into the background, to sit with Rhovas and relax into his protective presence. Instead, she had been given a place at the Wind Walker high table for the feast. She had been called to stand before the assembly and received praise and gifts from the nobles of the tribe. She now owned a stallion and ten brood mares among the Sha'hasti herds, and percentages in a silver mine. Pindir had knelt before her and publicly acknowledged Palan's crimes against her. He praised her for her devotion to the Ayanlak, that helped her to look beyond her own loss and hurt and sent her to seek Arin for the good of the land. She hadn't wanted any of that. Tayree knew she should have demanded anonymity when her task was finished. Now, everyone in the tribe and all their allies -- and their enemies, soon -would know her name and what she had done. When the truth of her recompense became known, what would they think of her then? “I don't care,” she whispered, her voice ringing softly on the stone of the bathing tub and the cooling water, muffled by the thick towels and robe waiting for her use. She stood and reached for the closest towel. “Tayree?” Eriel's voice in the outer room startled her so she slipped and fell to her knees. Terror wrung a harsh cry from her lips. She knelt in the water, still clutching the thick, emerald towel, and wrapped her arms tight around her abdomen. What if a silly fall ended her sons' lives when they had barely begun? Please, Winds -- not now, after all we've endured. “Forgive me.” Lady Eriel stepped into the room. She picked up another towel and held it out. “I startled you, didn't I?” “Somewhat.” Tayree contemplated refusing the proffered towel and staying in the cooling tub. If the fall hadn't harmed her, taking a chill might. “Thank you,” she whispered and reached for the towel, dropping the first. Eriel turned her back, giving Tayree privacy to dry herself and slide into a thick, fringed robe of blue with buttons of white jade.

Michelle L. Levigne

132

Chapter Twenty-Six “We have wronged you, Pindir and I,” Eriel said after a brief, ringing pause, when they moved to the main room. “Please, Lady -- “ “Tayree, we would have welcomed you as a daughter. Not because our son wanted you, but for your own person.” “I couldn't,” she whispered. “Yes, we know that now. There is none so blind as parents who have lost a child and refuse to see flaws in the one remaining. We should have tried harder to have more children. Perhaps Palan would have been a better man if he had not grown up alone, aware how very important he was, to us and to the Ayanlak. We destroyed our son. We are as much to blame as Palan himself.” “He was a grown man.” Tayree hugged her arms tight, holding the thick robe close as protection. Despite the heat in her skin from the bath, she felt very cold and small and alone. “Badly grown. We should have seen that.” Eriel took handfuls of her skirts, squeezing them. “I beg you, for your friendship with Erlon -- Arin, stay in the Canyon. These next months will be difficult for my son. His whole life is changed. It will be easier if you are here, because he trusts you.” “I am the only person he knows here.” She flinched at the sudden change of topic. “Please, forgive my bitterness?” “Lady, I forgive you. I know how a mother's empty heart cries. But don't ask me to stay.” Tayree took a deep breath, fighting an ache that rose in her chest and threatened to become tears. “I look at Arin and I see Palan.” “I see.” Tears touched Eriel's eyes. “We can never fully repay all you have suffered because of us, can we?” “As the Winds guide, Lady,” Tayree whispered. “You did not come to see me before you left on your quest, as I asked. You thought I would spill more poison from my soul, yes?” The woman managed a crooked, trembling smile when Tayree could only nod. “I wanted to apologize. You should have demanded your rights, when he attacked you.” “Attempted rape is punished by castration, Lady. Then where would the tribe be?” “Sonder's sons are far more worthy, though they do not wear the heir's mark. We could have chosen among other descendants of chieftains. Or perhaps the Winds would have called Arin home earlier. We have all made mistakes, Tayree. We have paid dearly. You have paid more, and I beg your forgiveness again.” “Lady, let there be no debts between us,” she whispered. Tayree tried to meet the woman's hopeful, teary eyes, but it was hard. “I will return to the High Reaches, and you will have your son and the tribe will have its heir. All will be well.” “Yes, but what of your heart?” “It will be as Omnistos wills it, Lady. As the Winds lead.” She pressed her hand over her belly and the hopeful treasure in her womb.

Wind Walker

133

* * * * * Restlessness and a determination not to hide in his bedroom all day drove Arin out into the halls of the palace as soon as he heard the servants stirring the next morning. Servants were a hard concept to get used to. He had to laugh at the irony. Who would have thought the leather-clad, 'dirty savages' of this planet had a social system and hierarchy that required servants? Even the Admiral didn't have servants. The housekeeping staff at Government House weren't servants and would be offended if anyone referred to them as such. Another thing that was going to be hard to get used to was the preponderance of twins among the nobility. Fortunately, identical twins were the exception rather than the rule. Unfortunately, his cousins, Baron and Corin were identical, just as he and Palan had been. Baron and Corin looked like their father, and Arin looked like his father, so it was like seeing dim reflections of himself waiting when he walked into the common room their family shared. The long dining table was empty and no one else was in the room. Arin mentally whispered thanks for that reprieve. Then he wondered what he had to do to get something to eat. “There he is,” one twin said. Arin wasn't even going to try to tell them apart this early. “Good morning to you, cousin.” Arin muttered a response, not quite sure how he should react to anything just yet. The other twin looked up and grinned at him. Arin devoutly hoped there was welcome and humor in that grin, rather than the malice he would have expected from his own brother. That brought to mind the problem he had encountered with the freed slaves. He could just short-circuit it right here. “Could I be honest with you?” He crossed the room to the long bench his cousins straddled. When he got closer, he saw they played some kind of dice game, tossing markers and multicolored cubes onto the bench between them. “I hope so. We are blood, after all,” the one on the left said. He wore a blue stone on a braided thong around his neck. Arin wracked his memories -- undimmed by last night's wine. For once, he was glad of that immunity. Baron wore that stone last night, if he recalled properly. Arin checked, and the other twin wore a gold-flecked green stone around his neck. Corin. “Yeah, well, from what I've heard of Palan, that didn't mean anything.” Arin held his breath, waiting for some kind of reaction that would give him a clue how to walk with these newfound relatives. “Ah, few can resist speaking ill of the dead.” Corin nodded and busied himself picking through the markers on the bench and putting them in a pouch. “I'll wager you're sick to death of being compared to him.” “I'd like to wring his neck a couple dozen times. Just to start out.” He chuckled when both twins frowned at him. “I'm not anything like Palan, except in looks. I'd like to be friends with you two. If he hasn't ruined everything already.” “We would like that, cousin.” Baron finished picking up his playing pieces. He tucked his little pouch inside his shirt and stood, turning to face Arin. “You already stand higher in our esteem than your twin has in years.” “How?” A prickling sensation down his back gave Arin a hint. “Little Tayree smiled last night, and laughed when we danced. She never laughed or

Michelle L. Levigne

134

smiled when Palan was around.” “I had dreams ... I think I linked with him …” Arin took a deep breath. “How bad was it?” “Bad enough not to speak of it. We had our own share of bruises, when we dared to come between him and what he wanted,” Corin said. “We're five years younger than you, and it always made us sick to think that one day, one of us would be forced to co-rule with Palan.” “Co-rule?” “Enough of this.” Baron chuckled and gestured at the door. “It's too early to discuss protocol and procedures. Especially on an empty stomach.” He laughed louder when Arin gave a groan of relief -- which his stomach echoed, loudly. “We eat outside in the courtyard in good weather,” Corin said, and led the way. The courtyard, Arin learned after climbing three flights of stairs, was on the flat roof of the family side of the palace. Carved stone screens higher than his head ran around the entire perimeter. It gave them privacy and fresh air and more direct sunlight than anywhere in the Canyon. He also learned two chieftains were required by law. Since a Twin Heir had been stolen, a cousin was to co-rule. Arin wondered what dark depths it revealed about his brother that neither Baron nor Corin had wanted the honor. Or did it say more for their common sense? The three spent the day together, freed from the demands of the nobility by a decree from their fathers. Arin explored the entire Canyon with the twins, walking everywhere. He wore a hat of woven reeds just like the twins, which protected him from the sun -- and hid his white patch of hair. They dressed like the ordinary folk and wandered the markets, the drill grounds for the warriors, the craftsmen districts. They climbed to the land above the Canyon, where farms and orchards flourished, and dogs and hawks were raised for defense and hunting. The day was exhausting and exhilarating, and perfect because it allowed Arin to get to know the place of his birth in near-total anonymity. The only dark spot came when he and his cousins stopped at a tavern for a late supper. The lanterns hung at regular intervals high on the stone walls had been lit already and the foot traffic had noticeably decreased. A chill crept into the air as the sun’s heat baked into the stone began to dissipate. Arin was glad to step through the double-wide wooden doors of the tavern, sit at a battered wooden table, and sink into the bench cushions. He was more glad of the frothy, sweet beer the tavern keeper served. “Drink up, cousin,” Baron said with a sigh, and a moustache of pale golden foam on his upper lip. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. “You're probably just as immune as Palan was.” “Immune?” Arin shivered, but not because he hated hearing his twin's name mentioned. He was getting used to it, and always with that hint of regret or irritation. “He could drink vats and never be affected. I think it made him angry.” “Made him mean,” Corin corrected. “What man doesn't wish he could lose himself when he needed to, just for a few hours, even at the price of a throbbing head?” Arin nodded, remembering how he had tried to forget about the disappointment of the bridge with the Commodore's whiskey. He had only ended up with an aching head, no forgetting, no sleep, no pleasant dreams. Not even drowsy or dizzy. “He took his anger out on someone. As if it was their fault and not his?” Arin offered. “Exactly.” Baron took another long draught. “He did try to control himself for a little

Wind Walker

135

while. When he thought he had a chance with -- “ He choked and hurried to take another drink. “With Tayree?” he nearly whispered. Both cousins seemed to turn to stone. The noise of the other customers in the tavern grew almost unbearably loud. The problem with living in the Canyon, Arin decided, was that nearly every building was made of stone. Or carved into the walls of the canyon complex. This tavern was a cave, enlarged by its ambitious owner. The acoustics were amazing. Probably deafening at times. “He didn't even notice her until she became Rhovas's assistant and came to live in the Palace. Everyone thought it was love at first sight,” Corin said, speaking slowly and studying the damp rings from the tankards on the table. “She glowed when he was around. How could anyone ignore a woman who reacted that way for him? Some of us swore she had a vision of the man he could be, because the man we knew …” He sighed. “Wouldn't make any woman glow with happiness? She did have a vision.” Arin felt sick, remembering that dream on the Mist Plains. “I dreamwalked with Tayree when she was a child. We were friends. She thought Palan was me.” “Ah, now that does make sense,” Baron said, nodding. “When she refused him, she said he was nothing like her dreams.” Arin drank deeply, wishing he could lose at least a little of the present moment. Was it his fault, somehow, that Palan had been so cruel to Tayree? If she had not expected the friend from her dreams, would she ever have smiled at him? Would he even have noticed her? When he returned to his rooms long after moonrise, Arin tried to find sleep. Despite his exhaustion, he couldn't. His mind was too full, and his heart ached too deeply. If he could have turned back the clock, how far would he go? To that night he had dreamwalked with Tayree for what they thought the last time? When he found out he was Ayanlak? Could he have taken off across the plains and mountains to find his own identity, at age sixteen? Could he have spoken some word of warning to Tayree, not to open her heart to Palan? Arin lay on his bed in the room waiting for him since childhood, and watched the moons across the wide expanse of his high windows. And thought. And regreted. And wished. And knew he wasted his time and energy trying to change the past. All he could do was go ahead. Embrace his destiny. If only to please Tayree. And pray someday, she would see only him. * * * * * Palan's evil did not die with him. Arin told his father and uncle about the slave mining operation he and Tayree broke up. He had to repeat his story to the Chieftain's Council. Investigators went out, guided by Wind Walkers, with squads of warriors to root out any other illegal operations Palan might have supported, which still existed and functioned beyond his death. Arin wished he could go with them, but he had to remain in the Canyon. He had too much to learn, too many people to meet. Sometimes he suspected he would never be allowed to leave the Canyon for the rest of his life. He wished he could turn over the entire chieftainship to his cousins. He mentioned it several times, and each time Baron and Corin turned him down.

Michelle L. Levigne

136

“Father was glad you and Palan had the mark,” Baron explained, after the third time Arin offered to abdicate in their favor. They finally realized he was serious and not joking away the pressure of his restored inheritance. “He didn't want his sons to carry the burden. We don't want the responsibility. We will gladly support you, and we can already see you will take good care of our people. We don't want the honor.” Arin wondered, from the vehemence creeping into his cousin's voice, if Palan had feared his cousins did want to rule, no matter what they said. What had he done to discourage them? Then those concerns were shoved from his thoughts. Word came that an army of Na'huma had entered the mountains and now approached the Canyon. They sent riders out, proclaiming they came in peace and they wished to speak to the Twin Chieftains of the Keerlagor. They had attacked no one who came against them, and only raised their weapons in defense, according to all reports. They skirted all the mountain villages and kept their soldiers under tight control so no one caused any harm Pindir and Sonder met for an entire day with their Council, and then sent messengers to their allied tribes. Arin knew much of this was because of him. Would his return from the dead bring prestige and power to his tribe, or cause trouble? Whoever the Admiral had sent, they came because Arin, adopted son of Commodore Dorwen, promised to try to make peace between the colonists and the Ayanlak. The allied tribes sent delegates to meet with the Na'huma. All the delegates rode out with warrior escorts and Wind Walkers, led by Rhovas, accompanied by Tayree. Arin was not allowed to go. He tried to swallow his disappointment and threw himself into his lessons, so he would make his father and uncle proud in the meetings that would soon take place.

Wind Walker

137

Chapter Twenty-Seven “Who is here?” Arin started to grin, sure that Wind Walker Danton, whom Rhovas had assigned to him as his assistant and guide, was starting to make a joke. Looking at the hatchetfaced young man who seemed to tower over him, even though he was half a head shorter, Arin doubted Danton could joke. He wished Tayree were his assistant and tutor, but he knew that was impossible. She had gone to help bring the Na'huma delegates to the Canyon in safety. Arin hoped now that she had returned, she would stay for a while so he could speak with her. “Commodore Marcus Dorwen, representing Admiral Dorwen, leader of the Na'huma,” the Wind Walker repeated, raising his voice so the people at the other end of the courtyard could hear. Arin hoped he kept his face unreadable, though his heart thudded loud enough to be heard. What was his adopted father doing here? Well, that was obvious enough. The Admiral had sent him as a gesture of good will. It was an honor that the leader of the Na'huma would send his only living brother to parlay with them. What, Arin wondered, did his adopted family think of the revelation of his true parentage? Were they worried or proud -- had the Admiral made a rash decision, pushed into it in reaction to the Dominators? “Well, my son, it is time to see what the providence of Omnistos has brought us,” Pindir said. He held out his hand to Eriel. Sonder stood and helped his wife, Josebeth to stand. Arin nodded and waited for his parents to cross to the stairs, where he and Danton waited. He had just started to enjoy these quiet breakfasts with his regained family, which usually lasted half the morning. In a month's time, he had come to know Pindir and Eriel well enough to call them friends -- people he admired and respected. It pleased him to realize they liked him, and were just as nervous about the long years of separation as he had been. Arin doubted they would be able to enjoy any of those quiet breakfasts for quite a long while, with this bit of news. * * * * * The last days of summer faded into fall before the first peace delegation returned to Central, accompanied by emissaries of the Keerlagor and the tribes that had chosen to ally with them. Arin felt only relief when Pindir and Marcus formed a friendship. He knew he was in trouble when he heard his adopted father telling his birth-father some of his childhood scrapes. Yet perhaps those embarrassing stories helped the peace process. Arin told himself time and again, he welcomed any sacrifice that would bring about peace between the Ayanlak and the colonists who had fallen from the stars. He was proud and grateful to be a tool of Omnistos for that purpose. He felt shattered, when he finally won free of the press of duties and ceremonies and went to find Tayree to celebrate, and learned she was gone. She had not returned to the Canyon with the Na'huma delegation, but left the traveling group early and headed straight for the High Reaches. No one had thought to tell Arin, and he had been too busy to ask. It was a rainy, almost icy day when Arin received the news. He looked around the meeting hall full of new friends and advisors and peers, a crowd of half-familiar faces, and realized he only felt lonely. He would have traded all his importance and power for a chance to walk the

Michelle L. Levigne

138

mountains and plains with Tayree. * * * * * “How far are the High Reaches, Mother?” Arin said, coming into the family's common room. “The High Reaches? Less than a week by horse, two by cart.” Eriel put down her cup and studied her son. “Why?” “Tayree is gone.” “That is her home, after all. She has her duties.” She smiled faintly. “You didn't expect her to stay and watch over you like a nurse, did you?” “No, but I wanted to at least say goodbye. We haven't exchanged two words privately since we arrived.” Arin sank down onto a padded bench at the long table. Watery afternoon sunshine spilled through the open windows with their wide metal shutters flung open to the pleasant weather. A sweet-scented breeze blew through, just gently enough not to disturb the ever-present documents that seemed to follow nobles like gnats. “If she had wished to speak with you, she would have.” “There's no way I can go to visit her, is there?” “I'm sorry, my son. The trip would take too long, and your duties will keep you busy until long past the first snows.” She tilted her head to one side and studied him. Arin tried to hide his disappointment and suspected he failed miserably. “We can send messengers to her.” “I suppose that'll have to do.” “My dear son.” Eriel shook her head and chuckled. Arin flinched when she rested her hand on his. “You miss her?” “Would it help or just make things worse if I said I loved her?” “Oh. That does put a different color in the weave, doesn't it?” She looked deep into his eyes, letting the silence fill the room until it grew thick and soothing. “Your brother never said he loved her.” “I'm sick to death of hearing all the things Palan did wrong!” “You already shine far brighter than your brother ever did.” She rubbed her eye, stopping a tear. “We must thank your Na'huma parents for your training.” “Thank Tayree. She taught me everything I could learn during our trip here.” “She would be very good for you, as your mate. However, her heart and happiness are important, too. The High Reaches are her home. All she has left are her brothers. This entire city reminds her of Palan.” “She looks at me and sees him,” he whispered. “How can you ask her to give up what few joys are left in her life, to come here? She has already served the Ayanlak well. We cannot ask any more sacrifices from her.” “Do you -- I had dreams, Mother. They showed me you hated Tayree, but now I’m not so sure anymore.” “I was angry and needed someone to blame. I didn't want to face the evil I had done by simple neglect and blindness. I loved your brother very much.” “Enough for two?” He shook his head, trying to smile to take the sting from those words. “I understand. The problem is, what do I do about Tayree?”

Wind Walker

139

“Give her time. Send your messages. Give her freedom to think and to be what she is. Let her have her distance. In the spring, when the mountains are passable, go to her.” “That easy?” “My son, nothing is ever easy if it has any value.” “My brother must have believed that. How many times did he try to make Tayree marry him?” “He pursued her four years before he killed her mate. Your brother saw himself as the embodiment of prophecy and Tayree merely a tool. He never loved her, except as a man loves the grazerhorn he hunts and destroys for his own purposes.” “I wish that stupid vision had never come. I dreamed -- “ “Dreamed?” She clasped his hand tighter. “You mentioned dreams before.” “Tayree said I should have taken Wind Walker training.” “What did you see in your dreams?” “Three little girls, newborns, with dark hair and my white streak. Before I ever heard of Aundree.” He took a deep breath to fight the sudden ache inside. If only he had Jolif here with him, to help him understand, explain all the things Tayree had kept from him. “Their mother?” He shook his head. Arin wanted to say Tayree, but the truth was that he didn't see anyone but the babies. He had felt a presence, a sense of comfort and warmth and love. He didn't know if it was Tayree's presence he felt, or just his imagination. “For you to dream of the vision's fulfillment, and you not a Wind Walker, is auspicious.” His mother shook her head. “You should indeed take Wind Walker training.” “Maybe Conjunction would have been different.” “Different how?” She sat back in her chair, tiny vertical lines forming between her eyes. Arin thought for a moment she could almost read his mind, as his adopted mother had seemed to. He felt his face warm, as his body reacted to memories that returned with full force. “I could have resisted the Dreamweed,” he finally muttered. “Tayree took you to the Mist Plains at Conjunction?” Eriel paled. She leaned forward and clasped his hand. Hard. She lowered her voice when she spoke again. “You didn't ... force her?” He searched her eyes for condemnation and thought he saw relief when he shook his head. Maybe hope. Arin had no idea what he felt beyond hunger for Tayree and hatred for his twin. “So you two came together willingly? Does she remember?” “She told me I would forget everything that happened, and that she would -- but we both remember. She says we can never be together, because she sees Palan when she looks at me.” “Of course. But she came to you willingly?” “Mother, what's wrong? Why do you keep saying that?” “Tayree took you to the Mist Plains during Conjunction for a reason. Not for speed, though I know the way is smoother and shorter. For other reasons. The Winds only know.” Eriel shook her head. “Perhaps she wanted you, woman to man, and knew that was the only time you two could enjoy, free from Palan's ghost.” “If that's true …” It was hard to breathe for a moment. “Do you think I have any hope?” “Wait, my son. Give her time and freedom. Your brother would have denied both to her. Ah, I know, you grow ill of hearing your brother's crimes. As I do, when I think of the harm I allowed.”

Michelle L. Levigne

140

“You couldn't control him, Mother. He was evil down to the bottom of his soul. I shared his dreams.” “Yes, I know. No more of this. Let me think on it, and perhaps when spring comes we will have answers.” “All right.” He sighed. What else could he do? There was one thing he could do, though. That night, he walked to the gateway of the Canyon with his Chaiqua. He faced the High Reaches and pictured Tayree so clearly in his mind he thought she would become real in another moment. “Go. Tell her I love her,” he whispered. He knelt on the icy, unforgiving stone until the Chaiqua vanished into the night, and long after. He didn't feel the rain or hear the howl of an oncoming storm until Tayree's image faded. * * * * * “Recompense, twin?” Gray eyes sparkled with a touch of humor, mixed with the sympathy that made Talon's voice soft. “Talon -- “ Tayree closed her eyes and finished losing her breakfast. There were some advantages to living at the edge of a sheer precipice. There was unlimited space to throw things, such as wash water and night soil and a place to lose her meals when nausea wrenched through her body. “Look on the bright side.” Talon sat back from the carved stone safety railing and held out a damp towel smelling of herbs to his sister. “What bright side?” She reached blindly for the towel – it had been there all the other times she needed it. Tayree wiped at her mouth and inhaled deeply of the healing scent. “You'll be able to prove those old tales are true or not. Morning sickness means a daughter. Evening sickness means sons.” “What does morning, night and noon sickness mean?” She put a clean corner of the towel into her mouth and sucked on the moisture to get the bad taste out. “You're in love with the babies' father and you're too stubborn to answer any of his messages.” “I did answer.” She flinched when she heard the snuffling sound of the Chaiqua sitting behind her. Tayree had cried when it appeared three weeks ago, until she grew ill. But she was glad of the creature's warmth in the dark, sleepless nights. She let herself dream that someday, Arin would forgive her. “Not the words he needs to hear. Read, rather.” Talon raked his long, lean fingers through his tangled mop of black curls and sighed. “Tay, I know you. Our twin bond has never been broken by stronger feelings for another. Until you joined to Arin during Conjunction. Tore me out of a sound sleep, let me tell you.” He chuckled, but she only looked at him, her face going dead again. “I feel your misery. I know a little of what you feel now.” He shrugged and grimaced and Tayree felt the sharp stab of sympathy. Less than a moon ago, her twin had met a young woman of the T’bredi, daughter of the High Mistrada, and his soul had reached out for hers. He swore he sometimes saw her when he went dreamwalking, but she never saw or sensed him. Talon would have pursued her, but the young woman was already betrothed, so he knew it was useless to hope.

Wind Walker

141

“Is your recompense worth the price of what you're going through?” “Palan took my mate. I could not have any more children when my sons died, unless I took another mate. I can't -- do that.” Tayree shivered as a gust of morning wind laden with fresh snow screamed up the side of the precipice and wrapped around her. She snatched up her cloak, dropped in her haste to lean over the edge, and snuggled down into its warmth. At the start of the worst winter the High Reaches had ever known, she finally felt safe from discovery. Safe from the invaders who would attack the Sentinels in their lonely vigil. Safe from anyone who might try to curry favor with the Chieftains' family by betraying her. True, Lady Eriel had apologized and admitted her wrong, but what was to stay her hand when she knew Tayree carried her grandchildren? The Chaiqua moved up closer against her back, sharing its warmth, driving away the last shreds of her morning nausea. Tayree knew the creature would protect her for Arin's sake, no matter what she had done. So why didn't that give her any comfort? “I understand your need for justice. I shared the vision that told you how to find Arin, and I felt the tearing in your soul. I felt healing begin when your heart leaned toward Arin, like a flower to the sun. Is your broken heart the price you're willing to pay to regain your children?” “My heart has been broken too many times for it to matter.” She wrapped the towel around the soiled portion and stood. “Now that's passed, I'm hungry.” Part of her rapid recovery from her bouts of nausea came from the Chaiqua's presence. Tayree felt no guilt over Arin's gift in that area. “You will drive me into leaping over this ledge, twin. You know that, don't you?” Talon said with a groan. He smiled and shook his head, and wrapped his arm around his sister's shoulders to walk back to the cave complex they called home. “Don't leave me,” she whispered. “Not even in jest.” “Never.” He glanced back down the trail, heading down out of the High Reaches, to the lowlands and the Canyon. Tayree knew he did it -- she had done it multitudes of times since she returned to the High Reaches. “I approve of your actions, Tay. Recompense is proper when so much has been taken away. It's just that I worry about your heart. And his. Keep his children from him, and you punish him for someone else's crimes.” “Talon -- don't.” Tayree couldn't force the words onto her lips to explain. Her twin brushed a kiss across her wind-cold cheek, and she knew he understood. He always understood. For a moment, she felt pity for both Palan and Arin, denied the twin bond that helped her hold onto her sanity. Juras and Joktan, their brothers were older than Tayree and Talon by eight years. They had helped raise the younger two; and then their parents were killed in an avalanche when Tayree and her twin were eleven. The elder twins were roaming scouts. They spent the spring and summer months traveling the High Reaches' northern borders from one end to the other, watching for signs of invasion. As the brutal winds and icy storms swept down through the sheer valleys and high peaks, the brothers and their fellow scouts headed for home. Their elder brothers were due back any day, delayed by their duty to make full reports in the Canyon and collect the final winter supplies for the Sentinels and their families throughout the High Reaches. They would not be home until everyone had been supplied. Tayree could not wait to see them.

Michelle L. Levigne

142

* * * * * When Arin received word of the unusually hard winter throughout the High Reaches, he felt some measure of relief. He would not have to fear for Tayree's safety from invaders. It made up, in a small part, for his inability to travel to her and persuade her to give him a chance. To resist his lonely hunger for her, he threw himself into building peace between the Ayanlak and Na'huma, and learned from Rhovas himself how to call out with his spirit to Omnistos. Sometimes, Arin thought those lessons were all that kept him sane through his worry and hunger for Tayree. He dreamwalked -- if that was what his visions could be called. He was alone, always trudging up a path of gold-speckled stone, with velvet black nothingness on either side of him. When he reported his nighttime activities to Rhovas, his teacher seemed please. “Stay to the path,” he cautioned Arin. “Keep moving forward, and let no one and nothing take your feet from the path until you reach your goal.” “My goal is Tayree.” “Ah.” The old Wind Walker smiled an infuriating smile that seemed to hold promise. “What does 'ah' mean?” Arin demanded. He tried not to snap, but sometimes the old man pushed his patience to the breaking point. “When your goal is wisdom, understanding, something which can be attained by your own effort, it is enough simply to journey. When your goal is another heart ... Have you tried calling to her, Arin s'Pindir?” Rhovas chuckled when Arin's mouth dropped open. He was considerate enough to leave before Arin started to curse, loudly, his total denseness.

Wind Walker

143

Chapter Twenty-Eight Tayree spent a pleasant morning sorting through her herbs and other crafting supplies, to prepare to make ointments, powders and infusions for winter healing. She wondered if the smell of the herbs made her feel so good, or if she had passed through her nausea stage. Finally. She hadn't lost any food since she sipped her breakfast of thin oat porridge and hot cider. Whatever the reason, she would stick with that menu until she couldn't stand it any longer, and decided to keep a packet of herbs on hand at all times to sniff whenever nausea threatened. She stood to reach for the box of muslin squares she used for sewing poultice packets, and paused when she heard a door thud far off. The series of caves she and her brothers lived in had one main chamber, then three tunnels with chambers off each one. Her healing supplies and the Wind Walker records were all kept in the cave next to her bedroom. There were two more empty cave rooms beyond her workroom. They had been a private relaxing room she had shared with Jerel, and the nursery for her dead sons. She didn't have the inclination or the courage to start transforming one back into a nursery. She had all the winter, after all. “Where are you?” a deep male voice shouted, the sound reverberating through the cave chambers. “I know you're here!” “Jok?” Tayree dropped the muslin and scrambled down the long passageway to the central room. The Chaiqua didn't stir from its napping spot in the passageway, and she was grateful. She would prefer to wait to explain that particular addition to their home. “What about me?” an equally deep voice demanded, laughing. “You two are one and the same.” She laughed and flung herself at the fur-wrapped, black-haired figures standing in the center of the room. Brothers and sister went down in a laughing heap, landing on the pillows used for sitting around the fire pit in the evenings. Tayree squealed when one brother pinched her cheek and the other slapped her bottom. She yanked on long beards and kissed cheeks tanned by exposure and gritty from wind-driven dust. “Stop!” Joktan said, breathless with laughter. He caught Tayree around the waist and stood, effectively stopping her from tickling through his fur cloak. “Where's Talon?” Juras demanded. He stayed on the floor and shoved aside his dropped backpack and bedroll. Then he crawled the last few steps to the low, padded bench set along the wall opposite the door. “Hanya and Lodon had a boy a month ago. It's time for the naming. Jok, let me down!” She kicked her legs, trying to reach the floor. “Tayree, you're fat!” Joktan swung her around once and put her on her feet, instead of dropping her to the pillows as he usually did. Tayree was grateful. “She is not,” Juras said. He had his eyes closed. “Every year, it feels better and better to come home and just sit.” “Jur, look at her.” He yanked on her loose wool tunic that hung past her knees. The move effectively outlined the small bulge in Tayree's abdomen. “You could just ask me, instead of talking about me like I'm still two years old.” Tayree twitched her shoulders to free herself. She didn't stomp out of the room, much as she wanted to. With Juras and Joktan, it was

Michelle L. Levigne

144

better to get the matter out in the open immediately. Besides, the babies were noticeable; more noticeable than she had been with her first children. “You're pregnant, aren't you?” Juras said, after opening one eye and staring at her outline for less than ten seconds. He sat up when she nodded. “Who's the father? And where is he?” “The Twin Heir -- which answers the other question.” “What?” Joktan's shout reverberated off the ceiling. He towered over Tayree, his mouth hanging open, his gray eyes growing wider by the second. “How did that happen, when you didn't even want to admit you were having visions of him?” Juras said. He sighed and patted the bench next to him. “Talk, little sister.” “The Winds showed me if I joined with Arin at Conjunction, in the Mist Plains, I would become pregnant. I want my sons back.” Tayree settled down slowly on the bench next to her brother and leaned back against the tapestry hung down the rock wall for cushioning. She left room for Joktan, and he joined them a moment later, sandwiching her between them. Tayree had lost count of the times her brothers settled her down in just that position, to comfort her or bully her into something that was for her own good. “Conjunction? In the Mist Plains? He's lucky he survived any of it. Well, that's one means of revenge on Palan's family. They'll never know unless you tell them,” Joktan muttered. That earned him a glare from his twin. “What's wrong?” Juras asked, when Tayree flinched at a twist of nausea that had nothing to do with her stomach. “Something went wrong. Something always went wrong where Palan was concerned -- why not his twin?” “Arin was ... immune. I thought he would be blank when we woke up from Conjunction. But he remembers. And he knows I remember.” She sighed, welcoming the warmth between her two brothers, despite the slightly ripe aroma of days of sweat and leathers that needed washing and airing. “Arin knows little about the Conjunction. I told him the memories were all we could ever have.” “He let it go at that? What kind of a man is he?” Joktan demanded. “A man who knows only what he has been told of his Ayanlak heritage,” Juras said. “Did you tell him you were fertile?” “No. My recompense for what Palan took from me is to take back my children. My price for hunting the Twin Heir was my freedom to mate or not mate again, and to keep whatever I brought back from the journey. The Elders and the Council agreed to it. Arin has no right to my children. If nobody tells him, then he won't be hurt, will he?” “We'll see,” was all her eldest brother would say. Tayree knew that boded trouble some time in the future. Juras would wait until her children were born and urge her to let Arin know he was a father. Tayree knew that. Juras might take it a step further and contact Arin himself, whether she wanted it or not. She told herself not to worry about that until later. All that mattered to her was taking care of her health so her children, due to be born at the end of winter, would be healthy and strong. Juras and Joktan approved of her actions otherwise, just as Talon had. Tayree cried herself to sleep that night, grateful for her brothers' support. They had always been together, always supporting and protecting and teasing each other. She couldn't imagine life without her brothers. Tayree didn't know what she would have done if her three brothers had not supported her decision.

Wind Walker

145

* * * * * Arin knew he should have been grateful to be so readily accepted by the Keerlagor. They could have treated him like the outsider he was, raised by Na'huma, unable to understand their hearts and minds and traditions. Thanks to Tayree, who had filled his mind with history so he felt he had lived it, he made few mistakes during the long winter months. Sometimes it irritated him that the people naturally expected him to understand -- until he reminded himself of the alternative. There were a few instances where people were cold to him simply because he wore Palan's face. Arin filled his days with learning his duties, getting to know his family, and charming his way into every heart. It kept him busy, so that sometimes he did not think of Tayree for days at a time. He wondered how she fared and imagined her tucked up snug and warm with her brothers in that cave home she had described to him. Arin was glad he had sent his Chaiqua companion to Tayree. If he could not be there, the Chaiqua was the next best thing. Tayree had to know what it had cost him to do that. He hoped it kept him constantly in her thoughts. He hoped those thoughts were good. Rhovas continued the mystical training Tayree had started. He kept Arin so busy with lessons and stories and lore, it was past mid-winter before Arin realized Rhovas told him absolutely nothing he wanted to know. “Sometimes, what we want to know is not what we should know,” Rhovas said with the same unruffled calm he showed when Arin confessed to him his immunity to Dreamweed and strong drink. “That helps a lot,” Arin grumbled. “You want to change Tayree's mind and heart toward you,” the ancient Wind Walker said with a soft chuckle. “You cannot. There is nothing you can do but offer her love and patience. It takes long for such scars in the spirit to soften and fade.” “So you're saying if I go to her in the spring, she might just run from me and never stop running?” That was the last thing he wanted to hear. “I do not think Tayree will run. Not physically. Learn patience, Pindir's Heir. Do not concentrate so hard on being all that Palan was not, but rather concentrate on being all that you, Arin, are.” It took nearly two days of pondering before he realized all the implications of the man's words. Arin wondered if he would always be so thick-headed. And at the same time, Rhovas's words gave him hope. After all, the man had let him read the scroll containing Aundree's Vision -- the largest scroll he had ever seen in the entire library of the Chieftain's Council or of the Wind Walkers. Arin wondered sometimes how his brother could be so dense as to focus on one tiny fragment of the vision. There were too many steps to accomplish in a century, let alone one generation. He wondered if Aundree's words had simply provided the best tool Palan could find to force Tayree to submit. Maybe his brother hadn't been so stupid and brutal as he and everyone else thought. Maybe Palan's viciousness had come from hungry, desperate love. Warped, stunted love, because Palan couldn't understand he had to open up to the world instead of forcing it to center on himself.

Michelle L. Levigne

146

Palan had been smart enough to realize Tayree's dedication to their tribe and the Winds was likely the only thing that could convince her to submit to him. When she refused that tactic, Palan had snapped. Just like Arin feared he would snap, if he endured the winter of silence and waiting, and Tayree turned from him with fear and loathing the first time he approached her. He dreamwalked every three or four nights. It took until halfway through the winter, constantly calling Tayree's name, before he came to an end of the stone pathway. Arin knew he had progressed when he walked across a grassy plain dotted with flowers. He was nearly ecstatic when he realized he smelled the perfume of flowers and felt dewy cool grass under his feet. Then, halfway through the winter, he saw Tayree during a dreamwalk.

Wind Walker

147

Chapter Twenty-Nine Tayree was little more than an outline. A hint of movement against the twilight, endless plain of green. Arin called, and he thought she paused to look back at him. Then she vanished. For a moment, there was dampness in the air and the perfume on the wind took on a scent like the salt of tears. Every time he dreamwalked after that, Arin called to Tayree and talked to her whether he sensed her presence or not. He told her about his cousins, about the Canyon, what he had done, how the peace accords with the Na'huma progressed. He told her he missed her. He begged her to let him see her. Sometimes, if he was lucky, he caught a glimpse of a fugitive figure, dressed in pale blue against the brilliant green. A hint of movement, a scent of tears, a few soft footsteps in the grass far in the distance. * * * * * Tayree gasped, hearing her voice echo through her sleeping cave. She leaned back against her sweat-soaked pillows and opened her eyes and stared into Talon's wide gray eyes. “Did I -- “ She licked her lips, bitten rough and bleeding after six hours of labor. “Did I call -- “ She inhaled, sharp and hard, as another contraction sliced through her abdomen. “You called Arin,” her twin said, nodding, and gripped her hands as she tried to flow with the rhythm of her straining womb. “I need him.” Tears filled her eyes for the first time since the pains hit. “Tal, I want him!” “You hate him.” “Oh -- don't you -- do this -- to me!” She gripped the end posts of her bed and hunched forward, bearing down. A tiny shriek escaped her. “It's time.” She lay back again and Talon scrambled to drag over the low table with all the preparations for the babies' birth; warmed blankets, the knife and bindings for umbilical cords, ointment to protect and clean fragile skin and ward off infection. Even this deep inside their network of caves, Tayree heard the howling of the last of the killer winter storms -- when she wasn't gasping and fighting not to cry. The storm began half a day before her first pain hit, and still howled strong and steady. No one was going anywhere until the storm ended. Talon had helped Jerel and Oneen, the midwife when her first twins were born. He knew what he was doing. There was no one she trusted more than her twin. The Chaiqua was there, within arm's reach, to give her strength and help her fight the pain. Still, Tayree wanted Arin. His name moaned from her lips as she felt her pelvic bones shift the final time and the first baby head emerged. Tayree wished she could dreamwalk, just for a moment. She would finally run to face him, instead of lingering inside the mist where she could hear him speak to her. She would tell him -What would she tell him? That she had lied to him and drugged him and used him for revenge against his brother? That she hid his firstborn children from him? Tayree had not lied when she said she saw Palan each time she looked at Arin. But it was a lie now. Palan no longer haunted her. Just as Jerel no longer haunted her.

Michelle L. Levigne

148

Only Arin haunted her, in the dreamwalk realm and in her own memories of those nights and day of madness and pleasure and bittersweet regret. “Here!” Talon cried, as the pressure that threatened to shatter Tayree's bones suddenly eased. “Arin, please,” she whimpered, as she collapsed back against her pillows. She smiled as the shrill cry of her newborn filled the air. For just a moment, she indulged in weakness, savoring the illusion of emptiness and completion. All too soon, her contractions would begin again with the second child. “How is he?” Tayree asked, forcing her eyes open. Talon sat perfectly still, holding the wriggling, glistening, red baby -- oh, so tiny -- in his upturned, long-fingered hands. Capable hands that could heal and discipline, carve delicate figures of wood and bone or hurl rocks at bullies. “Tal?” she asked, shivering as if a gust of storm-hardened air sucked the warmth from her room. “What's wrong with him?” “Nothing.” Her brother's voice crackled. “Everything's -- perfect.” Talon finally lifted his gaze from the baby. He gave the cleaned newborn into her outstretched hands. His eyes glistened with tears and he grinned at her wide enough to split his face in half, while his hands fumbled blindly for a blanket to wrap the baby. Tayree gasped. Tears gushed as she clutched her baby close and lifted a single ringlet of damp, white hair off the tiny head. “Arin ... Arin ... my love,” she whispered. “What have I done to us?” * * * * * The Na'huma ambassadors who lived in the Canyon depended on Arin for all explanations of Ayanlak culture. They never made a move anywhere in or out of the city without his permission. The Ayanlak considered Arin a marvel, gifted from the Winds, to have been raised among the Na'huma and yet have such a clear devotion to the Ayanlak ways and culture and beliefs. Arin wanted everyone to leave him alone. What use were his abilities and insight and all the honors and responsibility resting on him, without Tayree? Everything he knew came as a result of his days journeying with her. She had made everything about the Ayanlak natural and easy to understand. He suspected he had absorbed everything she taught him because she had taught him. What boy who fell in love with his teacher didn't succeed in the class? Tayree had ignored all his messages. The communication system in the High Reaches was of the highest quality, with many alternate routes for the messengers to take, and constant checking and rechecking of way stations so stranded or injured travelers and messengers wouldn't be lost too long. Tayree had received his messages and presents of food and furs, jewelry and scrolls, but she hadn't responded other than to thank him. Not one personal word, just formalities, Wind Walker to Chieftain's Heir. Arin tried to comfort himself that she hadn't told him to leave her alone, either -- but that didn't help much. After all, she knew he searched for her in the dreamwalk, yet she never answered there, either.

Wind Walker

149

One of his few comforts that long winter was that he had found a good friend in his mother. Baron and Corin were the boyhood pals he had never been allowed to have, thanks to Reesker and his prejudices. He admired Pindir, who respected him, but it was Eriel who helped him over his low points. She explained when he wanted to know things other people avoided discussing. Except for Tayree. She always ended their conversations about Tayree with the same advice. “Wait until spring. Give her your heart and soul. Give her your life. Accept what she gives you. Do not argue over what she will not give.” He suspected a great deal of his mother's advice had to do with how Palan treated Tayree. Giving -- his brother had demanded and stole. Accept -- his brother had fought. Palan had never loved Tayree, never said he loved her. Arin sometimes woke from dreams where he found his twin and pounded him into bloody fragments, for what he had done to Tayree. Arin wondered what his mother would tell him to do if she knew he dreamwalked, that Tayree was near, but she never responded or let him see her. In his quiet hours, he gnawed on the puzzle of Tayree's strangely worded reward. What had Tayree brought back that she feared someone would try to take from her? He didn't know if he felt relief or worry, to know she was free of the duty to take a mate and produce children. Arin had no intention of forcing Tayree to marry him -- though the prospect was tempting when he felt most tired and frustrated and cut off from everything familiar. Better for her to marry a friend, rather than marry someone chosen for her by her elders. Right? All he knew was that his aching need to see her face and talk to her and hear her laugh grew rather than died as the winter progressed. Arin didn't try to deny his physical hunger for Tayree. He woke some nights with his blankets in a sweaty tangle, his entire body throbbing, begging for release. Ghostlike echoes of Tayree's laughter and singing seemed to hang in the howl of the winter winds in those long, dark, lonely nights. Many noble daughters were introduced to him, suggestions made as to what a fine wife each girl would make. Arin tried to imagine any of those Ayanlak maidens leading him on a mad chase, wrapping themselves around him to roll in the moss, or kissing his mouth sore. His imagination failed him. He wanted Tayree -- body, mind and soul. He had to wait for spring to come before he could hunt her down, and sometimes it seemed like winter would never end. On the night of the celebration marking the first day of spring, he dreamwalked and Tayree came to meet him. For what seemed an eternity of aching heartbeats, he simply stared at her. He feasted his soul on the sight of her. She was barefoot, her hair hanging free, and she wore that shimmering green tunic she wore during Conjunction. There were even green and gold smears on her feet, like she had run through the moss that bordered the stream running through the Mist Plains. “Tayree ... are you really here?” he finally said. She nodded. Tears filled her eyes so they glistened in the silvery soft light and seemed twice as large. A faint, trembling little smile moved her lips. “I've been trying to find you. Sometimes it feels like I've walked twice around the entire planet, trying to find you.” His voice cracked. He didn't want to know if it was through incipient laughter or a storm of angry, aching tears. She merely nodded. A single tear escaped each eye and trickled glistening gold down her cheeks.

Michelle L. Levigne

150

“Why did you run away? Don't you know how I feel about you? Why do you keep punishing -- “ Arin stopped himself with a muttered curse. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin their time together with complaints. He knew exactly why she had fled, why she hid from him. If he could change his face so he no longer reflected Palan, he would. “You're breaking my heart,” he whispered. “I'm sorry.” Tayree sniffed, and more tears trickled free. “I can never make it up to you. You will hate me when you know all the truth, but Arin -- “ “I could never hate you!” Arin leaped across the gap between them. The air sizzled as he reached to grasp Tayree's arms. Needles stabbed into every pore in his skin as he tried to pull her close, cradle her, comfort her, fill his soul with the feel of her in his arms. “Arin, don't!” she shrieked, pulling away. And vanished.

Wind Walker

151

Chapter Thirty Arin fell, blinded by rainbow flashes of lightning that threatened to flay him and separate flesh from bone, nerves from skin and grind him into the stony roots of the mountains. He landed in mud and slush with rain beating at him from seemingly three directions at once. He lay for a long time, too shattered mentally, too drained of energy to even curl into a fetal ball. The Chaiqua found him there just a short while after the storm ended, before Arin began to realize that it had been a real, physical storm and not imagination. The creature nosed him, sending razor-edged whips of energy down through his body. She lay down alongside him and shared her body heat until his brain thawed. Arin started to shiver, finally warm enough to realize he lay in half-defrosted springtime mud. He let the creature nudge and prod him to sit upright, and then somehow got to his feet, and stumbled for what felt like hours until he found a cabin in the midst of the darkness. Arin groaned, ecstatic to feel the solid wood under his hands as he fumbled with the door latch. He didn't bother trying to find spark stones and tinder, but felt his way around the room until he found a wooden trunk. Heaving the lid open, he found blankets inside. Arin wrapped himself up in four blankets and let the Chaiqua nudge him over to the other side of the cabin, until he stumbled down into a bed built into the wall. The creature crawled into the bed with him and stretched out alongside him. The bed was cramped, but the heat was heavenly. The Chaiqua licked his face, his exposed neck, his hands, and more energy flowed through him. Healing, warm, he slept. Arin woke when the afternoon sun slanted sharply through the open door of the cabin, at the right angle to reach his eyes. He rolled over in the bed and out of it and found himself on his feet without any ill effects from the storm. He was halfway to the trunk with a vague idea of finding something to eat, when he realized the Chaiqua was gone. Then he realized he recognized the creature -- it was his Chaiqua. Did that mean he was in the High Reaches? Was Tayree near? The question of how he had gotten here could wait for later. He had to find Tayree. Arin sorted through the clothes in the trunk until he found pants and a shirt, jacket and boots that fit him. He certainly couldn't face Tayree -- and probably her brothers -- in his muddy sleeping shorts, could he? Now that he could think, he realized this was one of the many way stations through the mountains, which Tayree had told him about. They were built and maintained for travelers who became stranded or lost during the monster storms that ravaged the High Reaches. He found packets of dried meat, fruit and trail bread that could stay edible for months in their wax-sealed containers. There were stone barrels of water and canteens hidden there in the darkness. Arin filled two canteens and a pack he found in the trunk. He ate until he was almost satisfied, drank his fill, and set out walking. Arin had no idea where he was going, but he decided the best way to go in the High Reaches was up. Sooner or later, he had to meet someone, and they would take him to Tayree. He wasn't sure how, but he guessed that touching Tayree in the dreamwalk had brought him here to the High Reaches. For all he knew, the storm and instant transport were why touching was forbidden during the dreamwalk.

Michelle L. Levigne

152

The Chaiqua returned to meet Arin just after dark. He resisted the urge to burst out laughing in pure relief and fling his arms around the creature. Instead, Arin knelt before her, looked into her big eyes, and bowed as Rhovas had taught him. The Chaiqua licked his forehead, then turned, tail swishing, mouth open in silent canine laughter, and led the way. After an hour, with the light from the three half-moons turning the mountainside silver, the path grew level and widened and turned to go through a gap in the rock. A young man stepped out from the nighttime shadows into the moonlight. The Chaiqua vanished into the dark, leaving Arin alone with the stranger. Gray-eyed, dressed in leathers, he wore a beaded headband to hold his black hair back from his face. The band carried Wind Walker symbols in green and black. “Talon s'Deir,” the man said, and didn't hold out both hands in greeting. “Arin s'Pindir.” Arin recognized the name -- Tayree's twin brother. He braced himself for attack. The fact that Talon didn't carry any weapons didn't particularly reassure Arin. “Why are you here?” “To see Tayree.” “I know that,” Talon said with a smile that made Arin think maybe, just maybe, he might have some sympathy and support here. “We all know that,” a deep voice rumbled. It turned into laughter when Arin jerked and turned sharply, looking for the source. Two tall, muscled men in leathers, with long black hair and beards stepped out of the shadows of the gap, into the moonlight. They smiled and studied Arin with their big hands jammed into their hips. Gray eyes sparkled with laughter. Arin hoped it was friendly laughter, not nasty anticipation of revenge. “Why do you want to see her?” Talon continued. Hundreds of words poised on Arin's lips. Would eloquence convince them to let him see her? A show of authority? Begging? Then Arin realized he had one, vital thing in common with the three brothers. “I love her.” He spread his hands in a gesture of openness and simplicity. “If she wants me to stay here, so we can be together, I will.” “Is that wise, Chieftain's Heir?” one of the twins rumbled. “Who says I have to rule from the Canyon? That's only for show and ceremony, anyway.” “True,” the second twin said in the same voice. Arin grinned at him, realizing the mirror image effect no longer bothered him. “Is there peace now, between the Ayanlak and the Na'huma?” Talon asked. “I hope so.” Arin wondered why he had asked that question and not something more important, related to Tayree. “Prosperity for the Keerlagor. We shall be a strong nation, able to move against our enemies to the north and south now, rather than simply holding fast. Because of you.” The Wind Walker smiled a little more widely and stepped closer to Arin. “You realize, don't you, this peace never could have come unless you had been taken. The Winds chose you to live among the Na'huma and learn their ways so you could stand between them and us and bridge the canyon of differences.” “But -- “ He shook his head, unsure what to say. Arin only knew he felt totally inadequate for what Talon said of him.

Wind Walker

153

“It is Aundree's Vision,” a twin murmured. “First the Heir must marry before he becomes Chieftain -- “ the other twin began. “No.” Talon shook his head. “It only lists the things that must happen when the time of peace and prosperity comes. It does not say first this, then that. The Winds are very flexible.” “More flexible than people,” Arin murmured. “Why do you love our sister?” the first twin said. “I can't help it! Believe me, I've tried to stop. She practically ordered me to stop loving her. I can't get her out of my heart and mind. She doesn't need protecting, but all I want to do is take care of her.” “Did you make love to her, or did you mate with her during the Conjunction?” Talon asked. Arin's face burned. Those were questions to be answered between Tayree and himself, no one else. Yet, he acknowledged her brothers' right to ask. “I still don't understand everything that happened. All I know is that she holds my heart and my life, and I'm useless to the Ayanlak without her. All right? Is that good enough for you?” The three brothers looked at each other, that laughter sparkling brighter in their eyes. None of them said anything. They didn't nod or wink or make any gestures of silent communication. Yet in a moment, Arin knew he had been weighed and judged by the three. “Come with me,” Talon said, and turned to continue up the pathway, straight through the gap. Arin followed. There was nothing else he could do. If he disobeyed, he suspected he would never get to see Tayree. Talon led him up another path, to a plateau with a spectacular, dangerous view of the entire mountain range and a sheer rock face against its back. A cave mouth opened out from the gold-streaked stone, and two heavy door panels had been set into the cave mouth. They hung open to the cool spring night air. Talon signalled Arin to be quiet, and gestured for him to go inside. When Arin hesitated, Talon smiled and shook his head and started walking away. Arin went inside. There was nothing else to do. The cave mouth opened into a wide room carved from the rock, with tunnels and other caves opening off of it. Thick rushes covered the floor, softening the chill stone and giving a fresh, green smell to the air. Padded benches lined the wall, and thick cushions on the floor surrounded a wide fire pit. A natural chimney in the rock opened up above it in the ceiling. Movement in a tunnel caught his attention. Arin took a step toward it, then decided to be cautious and wait. He realized it was a golden flicker like candlelight. Along with the light came sounds, wood scraping on stone, a soft, musical sound that could have been someone humming under her breath. “Tayree?” His voice caught and broke. He cleared his throat -- then didn't repeat himself when he heard a whisper of cloth on stone. Slowly, she appeared from the shadows, barefoot, wide-eyed. Her hair lung loose down her back and over her shoulders. Tayree wore a long, sleeveless tunic with loop closures across the front, and loose pants, all in deep green. She looked pale, as if she had been underground all winter and still hadn't emerged into spring's warmth and sunlight. “Arin,” she breathed. Tayree didn't smile or frown. She didn't hold out a hand to him or gesture for him to go

Michelle L. Levigne

154

away. She just stood there and stared at him. Arin decided to take her faint trembling as a good sign. “I found out why we're not allowed to touch during dreamwalk.” He offered a ragged chuckle. “Were you hurt?” “Stunned for a little while. And you?” “Knocked my lights out for most of a day. I found a way station and figured you were around here and …” For a moment, he couldn't breathe. “Tayree, I've waited. I've tried to get you out of my heart, because you said there was no hope for us.” He suspected he wore a stupid smile. Arin held out a hand to her. “It's been all fall and winter, and I still feel the same.” “You can't,” she whispered. “I love you, Tayree. I'll stay here if that's what you want, just as long as we can be together.” “You can't love me,” she said, louder. Tayree wrapped her arms tight around herself as if chilled. “I do. I always will.” “You can't. I lied to you. I used you.” “Used me?” Arin felt like laughing, but he couldn't seem to get the sound out of his throat. “How?” “Recompense.” Her eyes glistened, threatening tears. “I would have done anything to have my sons back. It was my right to take back the lives Palan stole. But I couldn't take someone else's children, could I? Knowing how it hurt? I had a vision that if I slept with you during the Conjunction, on the Mist Plains, I would become pregnant. I wanted my sons back. I thought you would remember nothing, because of the Dreamweed.” “I wanted you long before the Conjunction,” he whispered. “Wanting someone is not the same.” She wouldn't look at him as she spoke. “It's a start. I want your heart. You hold mine.” A jagged laugh escaped him. “Was that part of your recompense? To get revenge on Palan by breaking my heart?” “No.” Her voice broke. “I didn't want your heart. I didn't want to fall in love with you. All I wanted was your seed, to give me my sons back.” “Did I?” Arin didn't know what he felt when Tayree shook her head. She still refused to meet his eyes. “I'm sorry, Tayree.” Yet something jolted through him. Hadn't she said that every woman who willingly made love during Conjunction gave birth in the spring? Hadn't she said she went to him willingly? What was he missing? “I'm not sorry. I will never be sorry for those hours I lay in your arms. We had great joy in each other, didn't we?” She knuckled more impending tears from her eyes. “My only comfort is that I did give you some sweetness, for all I took away.” “Do you love me at all?” “Arin, don't!” Tayree started to turn away, to head back down the tunnel. He crossed the intervening space in a few steps and caught her between his arms, pressing his hands against the wall on either side of her shoulders. “That hurt in your eyes is the same pain I've seen in my mirror all winter.” He leaned in close, gently trapping her body against the wall. “You do love me, don't you?” When she nodded, slowly, tears finally escaping to trickle down her cheeks, he leaned down and kissed her.

Wind Walker

155

Sparks mixed with the salt of her tears. Arin slid his arms around her. When she opened her lips to his deepening kiss, the sparks turned into tiny flames. She went limp, clutching at his shoulders to stand upright. “You have to marry me, Tayree. How will it look if the Chieftain moves the entire government here to the High Reaches, and his lady love won't be his wife?” “You're ridiculous,” she whispered. He thought he heard laughter trying to cut through the tears thickening her voice. “As ridiculous as you running away from the Canyon when you knew you loved me?” “I deceived you.” She rested her head on his shoulder, as if she had always rested it there. He had dreamed about her leaning against him, trusting him, depending on him. It was a slice of paradise he had thought he would never have. “I didn't think you could ever love me if you knew what I did. It hurt so deeply to turn away from you, but I had to leave. I couldn't stand to be there when you started to hate me.” “I could never hate you.” Arin ran his hand down her back, gently pressing her closer against him. “Say you love me, Tayree.” “I do love you.” “Despite my brother?” “All winter I dreamed of you. I never saw Palan or heard him or felt him in my dreams. Just you.” “Just me?” He tightened his arms around her. “What did you dream about us?” “By the stream. Making love. Again and again and -- “ “Enough!” He laughed, feeling a painful tightness leave his chest. His skin burned where he pressed against her body. “Don't torture me, Tayree. Do you have any idea how much I want you right this moment?” His answer was tear-streaked laughter. Tayree shifted a little in his embrace, and he realized just how tightly he held her. She could probably feel the speed of his pulse, besides other reactions in his body. “We have tonight, Tayree.” “Just tonight?” “I should let my parents know where I vanished to this time. But for now ... let's pretend it's just you and me. Alone on the Mist Plains.” His breath caught in his chest when she smiled at his words. He picked her up, wrapping her legs around his waist. Tayree gasped, but still clung to him. He could feel her racing pulse now. “Not -- alone, Arin,” she whispered against his ear, then started kissing a hot trail down his neck, to the open collar of his shirt. “Your brothers are long gone.” “Brothers?” She laughed. “We have to think about -- “ “I know.” He stopped her with a kiss. The one kiss turned into many. He carried her down the short tunnel to the little cave where light spilled out into the passageway. It was a long, narrow room with bundles of herbs hanging from a rack in the ceiling; a long table covered with sealed boxes and jars and clay pots; a tall shelf full of scrolls and slates; and a little brazier, mortar and pestle lined up waiting to be used. “Next room,” Tayree whispered between kisses. “I need to show you -- “

Michelle L. Levigne

156

“In a minute.” He leaned her against the wall, glorying in the feel of her pressed against him, her legs wrapped tight around his waist. He fumbled with the bottom flaps of her tunic and finally managed to slide one hand up under it. Tayree flinched, then laughed when his fingers brushed across her hot, silken skin. A low moan rumbled in the back of her throat, muffled by kisses, as his hand curved around one breast. Wetness streaked his fingers. Arin paused, startled. Hesitated. Squeezed again. More dampness. “Tayree -- “ “I tried to tell you,” she whispered. She unwrapped her legs from his waist and he groaned, protesting. “Let me show you.” “All I want you to show me -- “ Arin sighed and let her push him away enough so she could untangle herself from him. He rubbed his fingers, trying to understand the sweet-smelling dampness on them. A soft wailing sound came through the curtain door of the next room. “Perfect timing,” Tayree whispered. She sighed, then cast him a smile as she led him across the passageway. The room was lit with two small lamps, casting a soft golden glow. A low cradle lined with sheepskins dominated the rounded little cave. Arin stared at the three tiny bodies filling the cradle. One moved. The wailing sound came from it. “You said -- “ “You asked if you had given me my sons back.” A breathy chuckle escaped Tayree as she sat down next to the cradle and opened up her tunic. “You didn't give me a chance to tell you the truth, did you?” “No.” His stomach twisted and he felt his knees weaken as he watched her pick up a wriggling little body and settle it on her lap. The angle of the light revealed a tangle of fine, black curls accented by a streak of white. His dream-vision filled his mind, merging into the reality before him. Three little wriggling bodies, all crowned with black hair and a streak of white , just like him. “Daughters?” he whispered. Arin took two more steps closer to the cradle. “Three daughters.” Tayree let out a little gasp as the tiny mouth fastened on her nipple and the wailing stopped. “Three? Aundree's Vision?” Arin laughed, the sound catching in his throat as he leaned closer to stare at the sleeping bodies of his other two daughters. All with black curls and white streaks. “Aundree's Vision.” Her eyes glistened again. “What are their names?” “Shala, Merla and Enla.” “For the Sentinel Stars.” He nodded, pleased at the appropriateness. “I knew I had to name them thus, because that part of the vision so intrigued you. When the Sentinel Stars come -- “ “Down as sisters and bring peace,” he said, nodding. “I dreamed of this, but it made no sense.” “Nothing makes sense when we fight the guidance of the Winds and try to remake the

Wind Walker

157

world to suit ourselves.” Tears made her eyes glimmer again. “Arin ….” “Sshh.” He reached out to gently lift away her tears before they fell. “It's all right. We're together now. I don't care about the past. I only care about being with you. And our daughters,” Arin added on a slightly breathless chuckle. That concept would take some getting used to. “You should see my brothers with them. At least they don't have to fight to get to hold one.” “Our daughters need brothers to look out for them, like your brothers looked after you.” The breathless sensation grew as the words caused her to smile and her face to glow. “I know.” Tayree tilted her head back to welcome his kiss. “At Conjunction, we can ask the Winds for sons.” “I can't wait that long, love.” They laughed together, kissing, leaning over the suckling baby. END