The Dog in the Dark Page 4

  “By the ancestors,” Gleannéohkân’thva said. “Did your mother teach you no manners?”

  “She taught me,” Brot’ân’duivé answered, ducking inside. “But I did not listen.”

  The old healer scoffed, suppressing a smile. He was dressed in a quilted russet shirt, and his unruly hair was shot with gray.

  In spite of his poor manners, Brot’ân’duivé nodded to the others present.

  Young Leanâlhâm sat on the moss carpet with a needle in hand as she worked upon an embroidered pillow slip. She was dressed much as any other girl who had not yet gone for her name-taking. A plain cotton skirt of amber color spread around her folded legs, and her pullover of soft goat’s wool looked a bit too small for her frame.

  Leanâlhâm was three years past the time when she should have gone for name-taking. Gleannéohkân’thva and Sgäilsheilleache had their reasons for delaying her . . . because of her mixed blood. She did not speak and dropped her gaze. Brot’ân’duivé’s presence always daunted her, but he gave it no thought as he fixed on the third occupant.

  “Welcome,” she said evenly.

  Cuirin’nên’a, mother of Léshil and daughter of great Eillean, stood near the stairs.

  She wore a simple tawny gown with a russet wrap around her shoulders. Such plain clothing did nothing to diminish her or what she was. Her hair fell like corn silk all the way to her lower back—she must have cut it recently. Her face was triangular like those of all an’Cróan, though its long angles swept in soft curves down to a narrow jaw and chin. Her caramel skin was flawless, and a long narrow nose of delicate nostrils ended above a small mouth of full lips a shade darker than her skin.

  Cuirin’nên’a’s almond-shaped eyes were large, even for her people. One could become lost in them, if one was careless.

  To Brot’ân’duivé, she sometimes did not seem quite real. Dressed so unlike the anmaglâhk that she was, her seemingly fragile beauty had been—was—a tool she wielded like any other. It made her deadly.

  “Greetings,” he returned, stepping farther in.

  “To what do we owe the honor of your presence?” Gleannéohkân’thva asked wryly.

  “Perhaps I missed your company.”

  Brot’ân’duivé had come to speak to his old friend and to Léshil’s mother, though he found it difficult to look at Cuirin’nên’a. It was not her dangerous beauty that affected him, but rather the fact that she was the living reminder of someone else.

  Departed Eillean, Léshil’s grandmother, was always there in Brot’ân’duivé’s thoughts when he faced Cuirin’nên’a. The loss of her had been terrible for his people, as was the loss of any greimasg’äh. Yet his loss of Eillean was one that he had never been able to put aside, though they had never truly bonded.

  He did so now, for there was much he needed from the old healer and Léshil’s mother.

  The three of them had long been involved in the dissident movement among their people.

  Brot’ân’duivé had been the newest of them to join that faction. That too had been the doing of Eillean, who had also brought her daughter, Cuirin’nên’a, among them. Most dissidents were not anmaglâhk, but there were a few. All had come to realize that Most Aged Father was no longer fit to lead their caste, and that the old one’s view of how to protect their people had in itself become a threat to them.

  Gleannéohkân’thva would never speak of such things in front of Leanâlhâm. She was an innocent, not one of them, and Brot’ân’duivé was in no hurry. They could talk later tonight. As he dropped cross-legged on the moss, something did distract him.

  A warmth grew suddenly in one spot inside his tunic, between the outer and inner folds of the fabric on his front left side.

  There he had stored one of two word-wood devices used for communication. The other was on his right side. All fully acknowledged anmaglâhk carried one of those, as grown and made by the people’s Shapers from Most Aged Father’s own tree home. Through this device, any full anmaglâhk could speak with the patriarch through any tree in existence.

  But the word-wood on Brot’ân’duivé’s left side was far different.

  Gleannéohkân’thva as a healer was also a Shaper and had made that one in secret. Only dissidents carried such a word-wood. And one of them had just called out to this tree—and the old healer.

  Brot’ân’duivé exchanged a glance with Gleannéohkân’thva, who stiffened slightly with a scowl of his wrinkled owlish face.

  “Leanâlhâm,” he said gently. “Would you go to the communal ovens and see what is cooking for dinner? If there is no fresh grain bread, perhaps find some from yesterday to steam and soften. I have a craving, little one.”

  “Of course,” the girl answered, setting aside her sewing to rise. “If there is none, I will make you some myself.”

  “Thank you, dear,” Gleannéohkân’thva said with a great grin, watching the girl hurry out through the canvas-covered doorway.

  Strictly speaking, he was not her grandfather, but rather the brother of her grandmother. The term for this relationship was much too long for common conversation. But the old healer had raised the girl like his only daughter. She loved him as if he were her own father, in place of the one who had abandoned her. It often appeared she would do anything for him.

  That was why the old healer protected her from the truth of his secret activities—and why he now sent her away.

  The doorway’s tapestry still fluttered from the girl’s departure as Gleannéohkân’thva’s warm grin vanished. Cuirin’nên’a rose straight from the floor and reached the doorway in one fluid moment. She peered out before looking back and nodding to the old healer.

  Gleannéohkân’thva knee-walked to the nearest wall of his home, from which were made all secret word-woods he created. He flattened his hand against that wall, for the tree itself was all he needed to communicate with any word-wood he had grown and shaped from it.

  Brot’ân’duivé quickly took out his own wood-word given to him by the healer and pressed it against the wall. Cuirin’nên’a crouched beside him, placing one slender finger between Brot’ân’duivé’s and against the smooth oval of wood. And they listened.

  “I am here,” Gleannéohkân’thva said without identifying himself.

  It is Tar’kash. . . . Are you alone?

  Hearing the voice of their compatriot inside his thoughts, Brot’ân’duivé answered first. “No. I, Brot’ân’duivé, am here as well, as is Cuirin’nên’a. Speak freely.”

  Tar’kash was a trusted member of their own dissident cell and currently in Crijheäiche—Origin-Heart—the home of Most Aged Father and the main settlement of the Anmaglâhk. Tar’kash took a dangerous risk in even carrying a non-anmaglâhk word-wood in such a place, much less in using it while there.

  Gleannéohkân’thva’s tense expression reflected that concern. “What has happened?”

  I overheard that Osha was picked up north of the human city of Bela and is being returned home even now. I know that he was off with Sgäilsheilleache, and that the greimasg’äh would wish to know of this. . . .

  “What of my son,” Cuirin’nên’a interrupted, “or his consort?”

  “And Sgäilsheilleache,” Brot’ân’duivé added.

  None of them were mentioned—only Osha. He returns by ship under the watch of Dänvârfij.

  “Dänvârfij . . . Hkuan’duv’s last student?” Brot’ân’duivé asked. “What is she doing on that side of the continent? What purpose was she given by Most Aged Father?”

  Hkuan’duv—the Blackened Sea—was one of four remaining greimasg’äh, the “shadow-grippers” among the Anmaglâhk. It unsettled Brot’ân’duivé that Most Aged Father would send Hkuan’duv’s finest student to retrieve one insignificant young anmaglâhk, who still had not completed final tutelage under his jeóin, Sgäilsheilleache.

  Unknown, Tar’kash answered. She has not been seen in Crijheäiche for moons. But I learned she was already onboard when the ship intercepted Osha on the western coast.

  “And my son?” Cuirin’nên’a demanded sharply. “Something must have been said, for Osha left with him.”

  Nothing concerning Léshil—my apologies. Tar’kash’s voice then grew rushed with urgency. I must go! I am alone on the forest outskirts, but I cannot risk being seen. Use this information as best you can.

  The word-wood began to cool beneath Brot’ân’duivé’s hand. His thoughts were already turning, trying to calculate what was missing. Sgäilsheilleache and Osha had undertaken to protect Magiere and Léshil wherever they wished to go, south along the coast below his people’s lands. But why was Dänvârfij aboard one of their ships on the continent’s far side? And what was Osha doing there . . . alone?

  Cuirin’nên’a pulled her hand from the wall as if that contact were something to be wary of.

  “This is not right,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “Why does Osha return without the others, especially Sgäilsheilleache? Why would Most Aged Father send a loyalist of our caste to ‘intercept’ him?”

  Brot’ân’duivé could not construct an answer as he pocketed his word-wood. “I will go and learn for myself.”

  “I am coming,” she said flatly.

  “No, your presence would cause suspicion,” Brot’ân’duivé warned, “or at least undue attention. You have not been that long out of imprisonment for suspected treason. I will send word as soon as I learn anything.” He turned to Gleannéohkân’thva. “Send word of this to anyone carrying your word-wood who is near the port. Have them watch for ships . . . and Osha or Dänvârfij.”

  Gleannéohkân’thva had neither spoken nor taken his hand from the wall. The wrinkles around his eyes deepened. “I do not like this. Osha would never tolerate being separated from Sgäilsheilleache.” r />
  Brot’ân’duivé understood the old healer’s concern. Whenever Sgäilsheilleache was not away fulfilling a purpose given by Most Aged Father, he returned to this place, his chosen home. He was like a son to Gleannéohkân’thva—and somewhere between a beloved cousin and an uncle to Leanâlhâm, though their blood relations were not that simple.

  Such personal concerns had no place here. Their cell, and all dissidents, had much larger issues now. In Most Aged Father’s paranoia, he did his best to set the human nations upon each other. He believed that if the enemies of his people, all humans, were constantly at each other’s throats, they would never look toward the land of the an’Cróan. They would continue to weaken one another, becoming a lesser threat as a whole . . . or so the patriarch believed.

  Most Aged Father did nothing by accident. If he indeed had Osha retrieved and “watched,” then something had happened . . . perhaps beyond his control. This was either a new concern or an advantage Brot’ân’duivé could exploit, or both.

  He turned to the others. “I will contact you as soon as I—”

  Leanâlhâm, looking to Gleannéohkân’thva, ducked through the doorway’s hanging.

  “New bread in the ovens, Grandfather,” she said, her long, loose hair tucked behind her ears. “It will not be long.”

  “Ah, bless you, my girl,” Gleannéohkân’thva answered with an instant grin and a clap of his wrinkled hands.

  Leanâlhâm plopped down with a satisfied sigh to return to working on the pillowcase.

  Brot’ân’duivé rose, heading for the doorway. “I will speak to you again soon.”

  He did not look back, though he felt the others, especially Cuirin’nên’a, watching his sudden departure. His thoughts still turning, he was barely into the trees beyond the enclave when he broke into a jog.

  If he hurried, he might still intercept Osha before the young one was brought before Most Aged Father.

  Chapter Three

  A noise, followed by a mix of voices beyond Magiere at the cutway’s back end, interrupted Brot’ân’duivé. He spotted four dockworkers come out of the rear alley and stride up the narrow path. Each carried stacked crates, their contents rattling loudly. The lead man could barely peek over his burden’s top.

  The rhythm of Brot’ân’duivé’s story was broken, so he stepped out onto the waterfront. Magiere followed, impatience plain on her pale face, and all four dockworkers ignored them both as they exited and hurried north along the waterfront.

  “And then?” Magiere demanded. “What was happening with Osha?”

  At Brot’ân’duivé’s silence, she stepped around in front of him.

  “We didn’t even try to keep Osha from heading off on his own to that ship,” she said. “Did he walk into some trap?”

  Brot’ân’duivé studied Magiere closely and wondered about the motivation for her concern. She had seen Osha three days earlier and knew he had survived any past complications.

  “Get on with it,” she pressed. “What happened next?”

  He debated how much to let her or the others know. Certainly she would share all with Léshil and, so much the worse, with Chap. But Brot’ân’duivé had made a bargain with her, one tale for the other’s, and he would not be shorted in the exchange.

  He had been careful about what he had told her and had shared nothing of the séyilf, the message stone with Osha’s name, or his own true concerns after he had left Gleannéohkân’thva’s home.

  At some point after completing basic training, Osha had been taken before the Chein’âs by a caste elder to receive his tools—stilettos, garrote, bone knife, and a white metal handle for a collapsible bow: the weapons of an anmaglâhk. The caste elders decided upon initial acceptance and approval for completion of training. Brot’ân’duivé was well aware that Osha had been granted approval by the barest margin.

  Before any initiate was allowed to join a mission beyond their people’s lands, he or she had to acquire a full-fledged caste member as a jeóin—“assentor”—to act as mentor for final training. Osha had achieved—but not completed—that as well.

  It was unheard-of for an anmaglâhk, other than an elder or a greimasg’äh, to ever be called back by the Chein’âs. And Brot’ân’duivé had heard of such a summoning only twice.

  As he had trotted through trees after leaving the enclave, he had not stopped pondering this occurrence coming the same day as the news that Osha returned alone and possibly under watch. Osha was quite probably the least capable of any who had been approved for service among the Anmaglâhk. The strange second summons from the Chein’âs had left Brot’ân’duivé deeply disturbed.

  “Well?” Magiere said.

  He was tired of her demands, tired of speaking of the events and portents that had set him on this path to collide with hers.

  “We are wasting time,” he said. “We must find a ship.”

  He stalked off southward along the waterfront, not bothering to see whether Magiere followed.

  * * *

  Magiere’s lips were parted in another demand she never got out. She bolted after Brot’an, dodging around to block his way one more time.

  “You’re not getting out of this,” she warned. “What else? Spit it out!”

  By the time Osha had set off to catch a ship home, he was returning alone . . . because Sgäile was dead. She’d had no idea that Osha might have been in danger from his own kind, and Brot’an was going to tell her exactly what happened.

  “What did they do to him,” she demanded, “lock him up because he and Sgäile helped us . . . protected us?”

  Brot’an lowered his face closer to hers. His slanted amber eyes narrowed, making the scars on his face ripple.

  “I recall an implied agreement, one story for another.” He paused. “I have no intention of giving away all that I have to be left wanting of anything in return.”

  Magiere hesitated. This had been the hinted bargain: his story for hers. He stood motionless in waiting and didn’t even blink.

  “What happened to you up in the Wastes?” he asked. “How did you find the second orb that you hid with the first? Or do you agree here and now that we should look for a ship instead?”

  Magiere stared up into his eyes and wondered whether her irises turned dark, expanding amid rising fury and frustration . . . and fear.

  * * *

  Late that afternoon, Chap stood beside Leanâlhâm at the base of the pier, the appointed place, waiting for Magiere and Brot’an.

  “Not long now,” Leanâlhâm said to him, and he hoped she was right.

  She was obviously uncomfortable in an open port among so many humans. She still held the end of that insulting rope looped around his neck.

  A moment later Leanâlhâm let out a sharp, aggravated sigh. She reached back to grab the seat of her pants and pulled at her own backside—again. This was something she’d been doing now and again ever since Leesil had forced the girl to change clothes. As a result she was attracting more stares than some oversized wolf on a leash.

  The two sights together drew more looks than Chap could count.

  Magiere had left Leesil with enough money for a room. As soon as that was settled, he’d slipped out, leaving Chap with Leanâlhâm at the inn. Chap did not want to know where or how Leesil had gotten those pants, obviously cut for a human boy.

  Leanâlhâm’s face scrunched in frustration as she pulled on the thick canvas fabric.

  —Stop—that—

  She did—and lurched away from him to the length of the rope.

  Leanâlhâm stood shaking in fright, her wide green eyes locked on him. Not because of his command but rather because she had heard it at all. She had best get used to the fact that he could use memory-words, plucked from any errant memories he had caught rising in her mind, to speak to her.

  Chap had caught only scant fragments in trying to dip into the girl’s memories. She was not particularly skilled or disciplined in hiding such—unlike Brot’an. In the moment, her mind was empty of any recollections. At other times it was difficult to catch anything rising into her thoughts—except scant past moments with Osha on their own journey to the Numan Lands.