Authors: Jennifer Roberson
Raissa sighed. “Well, it would change things. The Council might be willing to let you remain solitary…they would respect your shorn hair, regardless of the reasons for it. You would have the freedom you desire if you refuse to take a
cheysul
, and have already conceived. But that is still a Council decision.”
“I should never have come,” Alix said. “I should never have allowed Duncan to take me out of Mujhara.”
“This is your home.”
“I should have let Carillon take me back to the croft.”
“It will not be so harsh—I promise—when you are accustomed. Alix, we are your people.”
Alix looked at the woman and saw the innate strength and pride reflected in her Cheysuli face. She put a hand to her own, tracing the identical high cheekbones. Her skin was not so
bronze; her hair not so dark; and her eyes amber, not beast-yellow…but she knew herself Cheysuli.
She sighed. “Where is Malina’s tent?”
Raissa’s eyes flickered but she said nothing of her surprise. “Near the gates. The blue one with Borrs’s
lir
-symbol, a mountain cat. There is only one.”
Alix took the silver comb out of her bodice and stared at it. Then she met the woman’s eyes and smiled. “I have something to return. My thanks for your kindness.”
Raissa nodded and Alix left the brown pavilion.
Alix found the blue tent and jerked the entrance flap aside, somehow not surprised to find Duncan there. But Malina did surprise her.
The girl did not look Cheysuli. Her hair was dark blond and her eyes blue. She lacked the feral, feline grace of the true Cheysuli woman, but she was beautiful nonetheless.
Duncan rose to his feet. Alix moved swiftly to the woman and held out the comb. “This is yours.”
“Mine?” Malina asked in surprise.
Alix saw she did not show her pregnancy yet; no swelling belly evident beneath the soft green gown banded with amber beadwork and bronze platelets.
“He let me use it because I had none…when I still had hair enough to need it.” She glanced at Duncan a moment, then looked back at Malina. “But it is yours. He said so, once.” Alix put the comb into the girl’s hand and silently left the pavilion.
Duncan caught her before she had gone more than five steps. He swung her gently to face him, one hand going tenderly to her shorn hair.
“
Cheysula
, forgive me. I had no right.”
His gentle voice nearly finished her. “I have no claim to that title, Duncan. You have given it to another.”
His hands cupped her jaw and lifted her face so he could see her welling tears. His own face was stark and tight. “You have only to say it, Alix. It is yours to decide. We would not be happy apart.”
“I would not be happy sharing you.” She swallowed heavily. “I doubt Malina would care for it, for all that.”
“Malina knows I have asked for you as
meijha.”
“She
knows
?”
His hand smoothed back a ragged tendril of hair. “It is often done among us, Alix.”
“I cannot.” A tear spilled over and slipped down her cheek.
“And if you have conceived?”
She closed her eyes and put her forehead against his chest. “Why must you take her back? What I have done is no light thing for me, and now it is all for naught. Duncan…I did not know I would have to fight a woman and an unborn child. I thought I had only to think of the Council.”
“I am sorry, small one. I did not intend this.”
Alix sucked in a trembling breath. “They will try to make me take Finn as a husband.”
His hands stiffened. “What do you say?”
“Raissa told me. It is doubtful I can keep my wish to remain apart.” Alix shivered. “Unless I have conceived. Raissa said it would change matters.”
“Aye, you could live apart with the child…or become
meijha
to me. Which would you choose?”
She lifted her head. “I have said I will be
meijha
to no man, Duncan. Even you.”
“And Finn?”
“I want no one but you.”
“I have said how you may have me.”
“And
I
have said no.” She stepped back from him and smiled sadly. “Perhaps Finn will have the forcing of me yet.”
“Alix…”
“Duncan, I know there is much of the Cheysuli I cannot comprehend. But there are things in me
you
cannot comprehend. Do not ask me again to be your
meijha
, for I will not.”
She waited for his answer. When he said nothing at all, remote and unattainable before her, Alix turned and walked away.
Alix felt the weight of her decision as she walked slowly back to Raissa’s pavilion. She knew, instinctively, Duncan wanted her as much as she him, but the pride inherent in his race would not allow him to come after her.
Nor will mine allow me to accept his offer.
She considered it carefully again, as she had since Duncan first suggested she be his
meijha.
The shiver of distaste that ran briefly through her body once more told her she could not be so free with the man she loved. It was not a Homanan custom.
If I cannot have him to myself, I will not have him at all.
But the decision, once made, gave her no contentment.
She slowly became aware of the voices as she walked. They were different from those she heard spoken by Cheysuli in the Keep; these were not sounds her ears heard but what her mind sensed. Alix fingered her brow as if touch might tell her what it is, but no answer came. Whispers floated through her awareness,
drifting in wisps of tonal patterns similar to what she heard as words from Cai and Storr.
Alix stopped abruptly, staring around to search for those who tormented her, but no one seemed to pay her mind except passing curiosity. The Cheysuli, she had learned, did not exhibit the open emotions of the Homanans.
She pressed hands against her head as the oppression increased. No one said anything to her, yet she was so sensitized to the gentle waves of sound in her mind that she thought she had gone mad. Alix stopped walking and waited for the madness to take her completely.
Liren,
do not fight so
, said Storr’s gentle voice.
Alix opened her eyes and saw the wolf before her. She gasped and knelt, putting grasping hands to his neck ruff.
Storr, is this a punishment?
she wailed silently.
A curse?
It is a gift,
liren,
from the gods. It is only new to you.
Alix glanced up as a shadow passed over her. Cai circled in the air, dipping and playing among the currents.
Liren, he said,
you must learn to control your gifts.
Control them!
she cried, startled.
Come with us
, Storr said gently.
Come with us
, liren,
and we will teach you
.
They took her out of the Keep, to a huge oak scored with an old lightning-wound. The charred hole left behind was enough to hide her, and Alix crawled into it as if seeking security in a mother’s womb. Storr lay down at her feet and Cai perched on an overhead limb.
“What must I learn?” she asked aloud.
To accept
, Cai said.
Not to rail against your tahlmorra.
“You are Duncan’s
lir
,” she accused. “You will support whatever he says.”
I am his lir but I am also myself. I am not a dog
, lir
en, who answers its master’s voice with unthinking loyalty. I am of the lir, and we are chosen by the gods.
Storr’s tone agreed.
We are not echoes of those we bond with, or I would have all of my
lir’s
faults.
Alix laughed softly and stretched out a hand to caress Storr’s silver pelt. “You have none of Finn’s faults.”
Then will you listen?
Her hand fell away. “Aye.”
Cai mantled once and settled more comfortably.
You bear the Old Blood
, lir
en. It has gone out of the clan. You will bring it back.
“By bearing children.”
Aye
, Cai agreed.
How else does a female give more to the world?
Alix scowled at her bare feet.
Storr’s eyes glinted.
It is not that you do not want children
, liren, he said.
It is that you wish to choose who will father them.
“Aye!” she shouted. “Aye, you have the right of
that
!”
We cannot tell you who to take
, Cai said calmly, ignoring her outburst.
That is for you to decide. But we can aid you accept your
tahlmorra,
and the gifts the gods have given you.
“What have they given me?”
The ability to hear us.
Alix frowned. “I have ever heard you. From the beginning.”
But you hear us
all, liren, Storr said.
Each
lir
in the Keep.
You are not mad
, Cai said reassuringly.
It is only you hear what no one else hears.
“I hear…” she whispered distantly.
The weight in your mind
, Storr told her.
It is the voices you hear, when the
lir
converse. You must set it aside until it is needed.
“And if I cannot?”
Then it
could
drive you mad
, Cai said at last.
Alix closed her eyes. “It
is
a curse.”
No
, said Storr.
No more than the ability to take
lir-
shape.
Her eyes snapped open. “I could
shapechange
?”
You have the Old Blood
, Cai said quietly.
And with it comes all the old gifts.
Alix set a hand against the tree as if to steady herself. Her thoughts ranged far ahead of what she had just heard, conjuring visions of herself in the shape of any animal she wished. Then she frowned.
“I have no
lir.
”
You need none
, Storr told her.
That is what the Old Blood means…freedom to speak with all
lir
and assume any shape.
“By the gods!” she whispered. “How is it possible?”
Others have also asked that
, Storr said, sounding suspiciously like Finn.
But they have not been the get of the gods.
She slanted him a sharp glance. “No one else in the clan can do this?”
No. It is a thing long lost to us, for the Cheysuli have taken Homanan women to increase their numbers. It has weakened the gifts.
Storr paused.
It is for you to bring the Old Blood back.
“We begin again,” she said suspiciously. “You have said this before.”
That does not make it less true
, Cai commented.
She craned her head to stare up at the hawk. “Then teach me,” she said. “Show me what it is to shapechange.”
First you must decide which of us to bond with.
She considered it. “Flight must be difficult. Perhaps it would be better if I remained earthbound, this first time.”
You are wise, liren. My
lir
near broke his arm his first time in the air.
Alix, struck by a vision of Duncan having difficulties, laughed aloud and nodded. “Then I will be a wolf.”
Storr approved.
Then
listen, liren. He paused.
Your sight, while good, has become secondary to your ability to smell. Allow yourself to judge the world by scent
, liren.
The earth, trees, insects, worms, birds, leaves, pollen, breezes. And more. Do not depend solely on mere sight, for it can fail. Think with your nose.
She concentrated, closing her eyes and trying to separate individual scents.
Now you must feel the damp earth beneath your paws; mud clinging to your claws. Be wary of sharp stones that can trap themselves between your pads, and thorns that pierce the tender webbing between toes.
Alix put her hands to the moldy, leafy ground and felt the dampness.
Winter is coming. Your coat must be thick and warm. A heavy layer of fat forms beneath your skin, thickening your undercoat. It itches, but you know it will mean added warmth in the coldest season. Your tail grows bushier, more luxuriant, and you are lovely
, liren.
She was.
You have the endurance to travel many leagues in a single day, without food and little water. Your sinews and nerves are strongly knit and your heart is large. You are young and strong and joyous in life.
Alix felt warm blood pulsing through her veins; felt the vibrancy and exhilaration of youth. She opened her eyes and met Storr’s on a level, realizing she knelt in the leaves like any four-footed creature.
The world spun. It picked her up like a leaf on a whirlwind and turned her upside down.
Alix put a hand out toward Storr, silently asking his help, but she saw only a padded, furred paw with black nails.
She cried out, and heard her voice echoing in the woods like the howl of a lonely wolf.
Disorientation took her. Dizzily she clasped her head in her hands, conscious they were human once more.
“Storr…” she said weakly.
It was too fast
, liren.
You must not fear the shapechange. You cannot harm yourself in
lir-
shape, but it is not wise to shift too quickly. The mind cannot adjust.
Slowly her stomach settled itself. Her eyes saw clearly again and the ache in her head died to nothingness. She smiled wearily, triumphantly, and looked into the wolf’s wise eyes.
“I have done it.”
It will be better, after this.
Perhaps
, Cai said gently,
you will amaze even my
lir.
Alix sat hunched on the broken stump of a felled tree, toes digging through the velvet of her court slippers into the soft ground. The slippers were torn and stained, nearly useless, for they had been made for Shaine’s palace and not the wildness of a Cheysuli Keep. Her ruined gown had been changed for a woolen dress of palest orange; her ragged hair trimmed so that it did not straggle so much, but she had retained the slippers to recall her brief moment of glory.