Morrighan (6 page)

“I cannot stay in this canyon, Morrighan! Where would I go?”

I didn't need to say the words. He saw them in my eyes.
Come with me to my tribe.

He shook his head. “I'm not like your kind.” And then more sharply, almost as an accusation: “Why don't you carry weapons?”

I bristled, pulling back my shoulders. “We have weapons. We just don't use them on people.”

“Maybe if you did, you wouldn't be so weak.”

Weak? My fingers curled to a fist, and swifter than a hare, I punched him in the stomach. He grunted, doubling over.

“Does that seem weak to you, mighty scavenger?” I taunted. “And remember, our numbers are twice that of yours. Maybe it is you who should follow our ways.”

His breath returned, and he looked up at me, his eyes gleaming with playful revenge. He sprang, knocking me to the ground, and we rolled in the meadow grass until he had me pinned beneath him.

“How is it that I've never seen this great camp of yours? Where is it?”

A member of the tribe never gave away the location of the rest, even if caught. Ever. He saw my hesitation. The corner of his mouth pulled in disappointment that I didn't trust him. But I did—I trusted him with my life.

“It's a vale,” I said. “Just a short walk from here. A canopy of trees hides the camp from the bluffs above.” I told him I took the narrow ridge just outside the entrance to this canyon to get there. “It's not far. Do you want to come with me to see it?” I asked, thinking he had changed his mind.

He shook his head. “With more mouths to feed, there is more hunting to be done.”

A knot grew in my throat. His kin needed him. They would take him away from me. “Past the mountains there are animals, Jafir. There are—”

“Shh,” he said, his finger resting on my lips. His hand spread out to gently cradle my face. “Morrighan, the girl of ponds, and books, and knowing.” He stared at me like I was the air he breathed, the sun that warmed his back, and the stars that lit his way—a gaze that said,
I need you.
Or maybe those were all the things I wanted him to see in my eyes.

“Don't worry,” he finally said. “We won't leave for a long while. More supplies need to be gathered for such a journey, and with so many mouths to feed, it is hard to save up. And some in the clan oppose the journey. Maybe it will never happen. Maybe there will be a way for us to go on as we always have.”

I clung to those words, wanting them to be true.

There has to be a way, Jafir. A way for us.

We rode through the glades and the gorges, setting snares, stalking fowl, and waded at the edges of ponds, wriggling corms loose with our toes. We laughed and squabbled and kissed and touched, for the exploring never ended. There were always new ways to see and know each other. Finally, with six rock doves and a bag of corms hanging from the back of his saddle, he told me there was another piece of his world that he wanted me to see.

*   *   *

“It's magnificent,” I said. Strangely and bizarrely magnificent.

We stood on the edge a shallow lake, the water lapping at our bare feet. Jafir stood behind me, his arms circling around my waist, his chin brushing my temple.

“I knew you would like it,” he said. “There must be a story there.”

I couldn't imagine exactly what that would be, but it had to be a story of randomness and chance, of luck and destiny.

On a knoll in the middle of the lake was a door, surely part of something greater at one time, but the rest long swept away. A home, a family, lives that mattered to someone. Gone. Somehow the door alone had survived, still hanging in its frame, an unlikely sentinel of another time. It swung in the breeze as if saying,
Remember. Remember me.

The wood of the door was bleached as white as the dried grass of summer. But the part that left me most in awe was a tiny window no bigger than my hand in the upper half of the door. It was made of red and green colored glass pieced together like a cluster of ripe berries.

“Why did that survive?” I asked.

I felt Jafir gently shake his head. And then the afternoon sun dipped lower and the rays skipped through the panes just as Jafir promised they would, casting us both in jeweled light.

I felt the magic of it, the beauty of a moment that would soon be gone, and I wanted it to last forever. I turned and looked at the prism of light coloring Jafir's hair, the ridge of his lip, my hands on his shoulders, and I kissed him, thinking that perhaps one kind of magic might make another last forever.

Chapter Fourteen

Jafir

Liam was dead.

Fergus had killed him.

When I arrived back at camp, Fergus was strapping the body to the back of Liam's horse to dump elsewhere. There were only careful whispers among a few. Even Steffan held his tongue.

Reeve pulled me aside and told me what had happened.

A baby had been squalling all afternoon, and Liam was on edge, telling the mother to shut the child up. By the time Fergus rode into camp, Liam was primed and searching for a fight. He laid into Fergus again, and they argued, but this time Liam wouldn't let it go. He wanted the northern kin to leave and the clan to stay put. If not, he was leaving with his share of the grain. Fergus warned him if he touched one bag of the supplies, he would kill him, saying the food was for the whole clan, not just one. Liam ignored him and hoisted a bag onto his shoulder, carrying it toward his horse.

“Fergus was true to his word. He had to be. Liam betrayed the clan. He had to die,” Reeve whispered, not saying exactly how Fergus had killed him.

The northern kin looked on the spectacle with both fear and respect. Laurida hung back in the shadows, her gaze fixed on Fergus, the lines at her eyes heavy with misery.

I looked at him,
my father,
pulling the strap tight on Liam's body. Determined. Angry. His silence said more than anything else. Liam was his brother.

The evening wore especially long, the silence growing like a thorny hedge between us, and after the last of the children were put to bed and Fergus had returned with Liam's empty horse, I headed for my own bedroll.

Steffan shouldered me in passing as if by accident. “Where were you all day, Jafir?
Hunting?
”

I looked at him, caught off guard by his question. He never brought up my hunting, since I was the most skilled at it.

“The same as every day,” I answered. “Didn't you see the game and food I brought back?”

He nodded. Then smiled. “So I did. Well done, little brother.” He patted my back and walked away.

I left early the next day, setting extra snares along the way, carelessly tripping some and having to reset them. I couldn't concentrate. My focus was splintered, jumping from my last image of Liam, his arms dangling loose from Fergus's horse, to Reeve's words—
Liam betrayed the clan. He had to die
—and then to the image of the mothers hushing their children in camp this morning, afraid of stirring another fight. How could the wild animals that lived beyond the mountains be any worse than this? With the last trap set, I pushed my horse faster to get to Morrighan, blocking out the world, as if the wind rushing past could carry away what lay behind me.

Chapter Fifteen

Morrighan

It had been a long morning, and worry needled through me as each hour passed. Though I had finished my chores early, weeding the garden, repairing the frayed baskets, and stripping new rushes for the floor, when I told Ama I was off to gather, she found yet another chore for me, and another. Morning turned to midday. My anxiety burned deeper as I watched her cast glances toward the end of the vale, and when I finally grabbed my bag to leave, she said, “Take Brynna and Micah with you.”

“No, Ama,” I groaned. “I've worked with them through every chore this morning, and neither ceases from their chatter. I need some peace. Can I not at least gather alone?” Worry etched her face, and I stopped, eyeing the furrows across her brow. “What is it?” I went to her, taking her hands in mine and squeezing them. “What's unsettling you?”

She swiped a gray strand of hair from her face. “There's been a raid. Pata went to the flats early this morning to gather salt, and she spotted a tribe traveling south. Their camp three days north of here was attacked by scavengers.”

I blinked, not quite believing what she said. “Are you certain?”

She nodded. “They told Pata one of them was named Jafir. Isn't that the scavenger you met all those years ago?”

I shook my head, scrambling for an answer, trying to make sense of it.
No, not Jafir.
“He was just a boy,” I said. “I—I can't remember his name.” Every part of me was breathless. “It was a long time ago.” My mind spun, and I couldn't focus.
Scavengers? Jafir raiding a camp?

No.

No.

I yanked my doubts to a halt and steadied my breath. “We are safe, Ama. We are hidden. No one knows we are here, and three days north is a very long way.”

“Three days of walking, yes. But not for scavengers on swift horses.”

I assured her again, reminding her how long we had been here without ever seeing anyone outside of our tribe. I promised I would be cautious, but said we couldn't let one sighting miles away make us fearful of our own home.
Home.
The word floated in my chest, feeling more fragile now.

She reluctantly let me go, and I hurried down the path to the canyon, through the meadow, and up the steps of the ruin into its dark cavern. He wasn't there yet. I paced, waiting, sweeping the floor, stacking the books, trying to keep my hands and thoughts busy. How had someone heard Jafir's name? He spent every day with me.

Except for those three days he hadn't come.

I remembered how he held me when he finally showed up, a strange embrace that felt different. But I knew Jafir. I knew his heart. He wouldn't—

I heard footsteps and turned.

He stood in the doorway, bare-chested as he was most days of summer, tall, his hair a wild mane, his arms tan and muscled, his knife secure at his side. A man. But then I saw him as Ama and the rest of the tribe would.
A scavenger. Dangerous. One of them.

“What's wrong?” he asked and rushed over to me, holding my arms as if some part of me were injured.

“There's been a raid. A tribe in the north was attacked.”

I saw all I needed to know in his eyes. I pulled free, sobs jumping to my throat. “By the gods, Jafir.” I stumbled away, unable to see clearly, wishing I were anywhere else but here. I staggered deeper into the darkness of the ruin.

“Let me explain,” he begged, following, grabbing at my hand, trying to stop me.

I jerked free and whirled. “Explain what?” I yelled. “What did you get, Jafir? Their bread? A baby goat? What did you take that didn't belong to you?”

He stared at me, a vein rising on his neck. His chest rose in deep, controlled breaths. “I had no choice, Morrighan. I had to ride with my clan. That is how I got this,” he said, motioning to his bruised face. “My father demanded that I go. Our northern kin were coming and—”

“And their mouths were more important than the tribe's?”

“No. That's not it at all. It is desperation. It's—”

“It is laziness!” I spat. “It is greed! It is—”

“It is wrong, Morrighan. I know that. I swear to you, after that day, I vowed never to ride with them again, and I won't. It sickened me, but—” He shook his head and turned away as if he didn't want me to look upon him. He truly did look sick.

I grabbed his wrist, forcing him to turn back to me. “But
what,
Jafir?”

“I understood too!” he shouted, no longer apologetic. “When I saw the children eating, when I heard a mother crying, I understood their fear. We die, Morrighan. We die just like you! Not all of us hit our children. Sometimes we die for them—and maybe even do the unspeakable for them.”

I opened my mouth with a biting reply, but the anguish in his expression made me swallow it. Fatigue washed over me. I looked down at the floor, my shoulders suddenly heavy. “How many?” I asked. “Children?”

“Eight.” His voice was as thin as mist. “The oldest is four, the youngest only a few months old.”

I squeezed my eyes shut.
It was still no excuse!

“Morrighan. Please.”

I looked up. He pulled me to his chest, and my tears were warm against his shoulder. “I'm sorry,” he whispered into my hair. “I promise it won't happen again.”

“You're a scavenger, Jafir,” I said, feeling the hopelessness of who he was.

“But I want to be more. I will be more.” He lifted my face to his, kissing away a tear on my cheek.

“So …
this
is what you've been hunting every day.”

Jafir and I jumped apart, startled by the voice.

A man walked through the door, a casual swagger to his step. “Well done, brother. You found the tribe. Where's the rest?”

“Why are you here?” Jafir demanded.

“Pretty thing. What's your name, girl?” he said, ignoring Jafir. His cold blue eyes slowly rolled over me, and I felt like prey in the sights of a hungry animal. He stepped closer, studying me, then smiled.

“She's a straggler from the tribe we raided,” Jafir told him. “They are moving on.”

“I don't remember seeing her among them.”

“That's because your sights were set on another.”

I couldn't breathe. A wild beat pounded in my head.

“Moving on, but not before you have some fun?” He looked back at me. “Come here,” he said, waving me forward with his hand. “I won't bite.”

Jafir stepped in front of me. “What do you want, Steffan?”

“Just what you've been enjoying. We are kin. We share.” He moved to step around Jafir, and Jafir lunged at him. They both stumbled back and slammed up against the far wall. Dust rained down around them. Though Jafir was taller, Steffan was stout, built more like a bull, and there was weight behind his fist. He punched Jafir in the gut, then again in the jaw. Jafir staggered back but in the next breath swung, his fist cracking against Steffan's chin. He lunged again, knocking Steffan to the floor this time, and in an instant, his knife was at Steffan's throat.