Part 4 (2/2)
Two moons later, when he heard the rabbit scream, he had offered prayers and sacrifices to avert another death. Later, he realized his ability to feel an animal's pain did not foretell a death in the village, but he still couldn't bring himself to speak of his power; in his mind, it would always be linked with the death of his baby brother.
He wished he could explain that now, but his parents seemed to have forgotten him. His mother was staring at the rushes. His father kept reaching for her, then letting his hand drop to his side.
”And later?” she finally asked.
”I thought he imagined it. I was wrong. I'm sorry, girl.”
She held his gaze a long while. Then, as if they exchanged some signal he couldn't see, they both turned to him.
”I thought it would stop. If I didn't hunt. And it wasn't always bad. Sometimes I could make things better.”
”How?” his father demanded.
”The ewe. Three springs ago. It was her first lambing and she was having trouble. And I helped her.”
”So it's not just birds.”
He shook his head.
”But you didn't tell Gortin that.”
”I couldn't. Not the way he was looking at me. Like I was . . . something awful.”
He waited for one of them to tell him he wasn't awful, that he'd done nothing wrong, but his mam only said, ”And you use this power to touch their spirits.”
”I don't hurt them. I would never hurt them. I'm not like Morgath.”
His father's breath hissed in. ”Do not speak that name in my home.”
”That's what you're thinking, isn't it? That I'm like him. An abomination.”
”If I thought you were anything like him-”
With an effort, his father choked back his next words, but Keirith knew what they were: ”I would kill you as surely as I killed him.” ”I would kill you as surely as I killed him.”
He must have made some sound, for his mam stopped chewing her upper lip and said, ”Struath always claimed magic was neither good nor evil. It was what people did with it. And Morgath-aye, I will say his name if only to curse it and condemn him to Chaos for all time-he used his power for evil. I know . . . we both know . . . you're not like that.”
She paused, glancing at his father, waiting for him to speak. But he didn't. He hesitated. And finally nodded. And in that terrifying pause-only the s.p.a.ce between one heartbeat and the next-something inside Keirith died.
”You should have come to us,” his mam said.
His father refused to look at him.
”You should have told us the truth.”
His father loathed him. His father thought he was as evil as the man who had tortured and mutilated him.
”I thought . . . I hoped it would go away.”
Finally, his father looked up. ”And when it didn't?” His voice was hoa.r.s.e, as if it hurt him to speak to the abomination he had sp.a.w.ned.
”I don't know. I just . . .”
”You lied.”
”Darak . . .”
”You lied to the Tree-Father when you told him that you'd only flown with the eagle a few times. You lied to us every day you sneaked out of this house and pretended to go to your lessons.”
”I tried-”
”Gortin dismissed you a fortnight ago. You could have told us then. You could have told us years ago. Instead, you hid this power. Because you knew it was wrong.”
”It's not wrong. It can't be.”
”So now you know more than Gortin,” his father said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.
”Maybe he's just jealous. He can only fly with his spirit guide, and half the time it doesn't come to him. Besides, he hates you.” Keirith overrode his mam's vehement denial. ”That's what you say. I've heard you. Both of you.”
”Gortin does not hate your father. What happened with Struath . . . that was a long time ago. And whatever flaws Gortin may have, he would never punish you because of his . . . differences with your father.”
Again his mam's eyes sought his father's for confirmation.
”We're talking about your behavior,” he said, ”not the Tree-Father's. You think we'll shrug this off because you're too young to know better? When you heard the wood pigeon, aye. Even when you helped the ewe. But you're supposed to be a man now.”
He was a man. It was his father who insisted on treating him like a child, who stubbornly refused to understand. ”You think I asked for this power? That I want it?”
”Don't you?” his father shot back. ”It's one thing to help with the birthing of a lamb. It's another to fly with an eagle. That you did for your own pleasure.”
And because he knew it was true, Keirith lashed out. ”At least the eagle welcomes me! He wants me. Which is more than you do.”
His father's head snapped back. ”Stop talking nonsense.”
”Do you know what it's like? Everyone watching you, tallying every mistake, every failure. Shaking their heads and thinking 'He'll never measure up to his father.' ”
”That's not . . . no one says that.”
”You think I don't see the way they look at me? The way you you look at me? Your firstborn son who can't make a kill without puking up his guts. Who can't keep his apprentices.h.i.+p with the Tree-Father. Who's as evil as Morgath!” look at me? Your firstborn son who can't make a kill without puking up his guts. Who can't keep his apprentices.h.i.+p with the Tree-Father. Who's as evil as Morgath!”
He felt the power roaring through him. Not the gentle unfurling that came when he sought the eagle's spirit, but a wild, uncontrollable current that left him breathless. He spun around, but before he could reach the doorway, his father caught his arm. Even with only three fingers, it hurt.
He didn't mean to do it. He only wanted to free himself from that punis.h.i.+ng grip, to escape his father and his accusations. He only wanted to get away.
The energy poured out of him, a raging torrent that slammed into his father's spirit and sent him reeling backward. Too late, Keirith pulled it back, gasping as the unleashed power crashed into him, gasping again as he careened into the wall of the hut. From a great distance, he heard his mam cry out. There was a brilliant burst of light-red, orange, gold-that faded into s.h.i.+mmering black dots. Had he done that, too? Or was it because he'd hit his head against the wall?
His legs folded under him, and he slid to the ground. Something glinted among the rushes. Callie's quartz charm, the one he had mislaid a sennight ago. He'd snapped at Callie for going on and on about it and felt awful when tears welled up in his brother's eyes. He reached for the charm, but his hand was shaking so badly that he dropped it. The charm lay there, mocking him. Even this one simple act he couldn't do right.
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