Renegade's Magic

“What have you brought?”



“Lisana’s treasure.”



“But…but—” Her dismay and displeasure were equally evident. “Surely you can’t mean to trade them to the intruders! They will never give you what they are worth. And there are things there that you should never trade away, things of such value that—”



“I know.” His words cut her off. His tone was almost gentle as he said, “I don’t intend to trade them to the Gernians. I don’t think the Gernians will be doing any trade with us at all this year. If we are wise, we will stay deep in the forest and well hidden from them and their bullets. No. I’m taking these not to the Gernians but to Kinrove.”



“Kinrove?” She said the name with loathing, but a queer hope gleamed from her eyes. “Why?”



“I intend to strike a bargain with him.”



“To get Likari back?”



“That will be part of the bargain I hope to make.”



She had returned to her crouch over the cooking fire. Now she looked up at me, ladle in hand. I do not know how to describe the progression of emotions across her face. She looked down again, blinking very rapidly. She did not try to blot the tears. When she looked up at me again, they were running freely down her cheeks. Her voice was hoarse as she said matter-of-factly, “You need food. And rest. Look at you, hiking about in your night robe and slippers. This is what befalls a Great One with no feeder! They have no sense at all. Make yourself a seat and I will bring you food.”



Here, under the night sky, it was easy to speak to the magic. At Soldier’s Boy’s request, moss and earth rose into comfortable hummocks for him and for his feeders. The others came to him swiftly, relieved to have their lives put back into a routine. It had escaped him that he’d traipsed off still clad in his night garments. Not even I had noticed the discrepancy. A woman came, bearing oil, and rubbed his abused feet and calves. Someone else brought him warmed washwater, and then combed his hair back from his face and plaited it so it would be out of his way while he ate. Almost as soon as that was done, Olikea placed a large bowl of food in front of him. It was a thick soup of beach-peas and dried fish, and two dark, hard rolls of the travel bread they had been baking all week. It was simple and hearty, and I wished there had been a hogshead full of it rather than just the generous bowl. Soldier’s Boy ate without speaking, feeling the food revive him, and Olikea didn’t disturb him with questions.



Afterward, the magic fashioned a couch for them to share. The other feeders had kept a distance, either out of respect or because they sensed that peace would be most quickly restored if the Great One and his chief feeder had time for quiet conversation. Olikea and Soldier’s Boy lay down together, under a blanket of fox furs. Olikea prudently put the sack of treasure at her feet where no one could disturb it without waking her.



Up the trail, at the various kin-clan camps alongside it, the sounds of merrymaking went on unabated. This first night of the migration was always a time for gatherings and renewal of friendships. It seemed strange to me that they were so undaunted by what probably awaited them on the other side of the mountains. The best that they could hope for was a summer of remaining hidden in the forests there, hunting and fishing, but seldom venturing forth to trade or have any congress with Gettys. Then it came to me that such a season might be far closer to their old traditions than one of trading and visits. If only the two groups could agree to remain mutually isolated, there might have evolved a sort of peace. But I feared that very soon the actual cutting of the ancestral trees would resume, and then the Specks would feel they had no choice except to retaliate. I wondered what form that retaliation would take while I listened to their songs and music in the spring night. It was hard to reconcile the drumbeats and lifted voices in the night with my memories of flames and the screams of dying men. How could humanity range so effortlessly from the sublime to the savage and back again?



Olikea pressed herself against him, not in a seductive way but as one who seeks both warmth and comfort. He put his arms around her and pulled her close. Her hair smelled of the wood smoke. He rested his chin on the top of her head and felt a twinge of desire, but the ache in his back and legs overpowered it. That made him feel like an old man. She spoke into his chest. I crept closer, eavesdropping once more on his emotions and thoughts.



“When we reach our summer grounds and you go to visit Kinrove, what then?” she asked him.



“No,” he said quietly.



“No?” she asked him, confused.



“I will not wait until we reach the summer grounds. Tomorrow, when we rise, we will eat well. And then you and I will depart, to quick-walk to Kinrove. I will not wait any longer. You saw the beginning of all this. You should see the end.”