Part 5 (1/2)
His father was on his knees. His mother crouched beside him, stroking his hair. Neither of them would look at him.
It seemed to take forever to get to his feet. He had to dig his fingers into the turf that filled the c.h.i.n.ks between the stones. Only by leaning against the wall did he manage to stay upright. He didn't know how he found the strength to speak.
”Father.”
His mam's head came up. He hoped it was the fire that made her eyes so bright. If he had made her cry, he would never forgive himself.
”Father.”
His father's shoulders rose once and fell.
”Please.”
Any explanation, any words of apology died when his father finally raised his head and Keirith saw the horror on his face.
Half blinded by the tears welling up in his eyes, Keirith groped for the bearskin and staggered outside. He thought he heard his father shout his name, but he didn't turn back. He raced through the village and splashed across the stream, ignoring the icy water that soaked him to the knees. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't care. He just had to get away-from the village, from his family, most of all, from his father.
Only during his vision quest had he spent a night outside the village. But why should he be afraid? The night belonged to unnatural creatures.
Chapter 4.
FEAR IS THE ENEMY. Darak had lived by those words as a young man. In the years after the quest, he had repeated them sometimes: when Griane was in labor, when Callie took sick three winters ago. Little wonder they came back to him now. Darak had lived by those words as a young man. In the years after the quest, he had repeated them sometimes: when Griane was in labor, when Callie took sick three winters ago. Little wonder they came back to him now.
Eagles Mount shrouded their valley in gloom. Would Keirith have gone there, back to the one place where he felt accepted and wanted? Or fled from it because it held too many painful memories?
Eagles Mount at night. Barefoot. Clad only in a tunic. This early in the spring, it would be miserably cold up there. Easy enough to miss your footing in the daylight. At night, you could tumble all the way down those treacherous slopes unless a ledge broke your fall-or your back.
Control the fear.
He picked his way across the stream. Dark clouds seethed over the hills to the north, and a freshening breeze chilled him as he headed up the hill. Behind him, tree limbs rubbed against each other, groaning. Although he knew it was just a storm coming on, his hand reached up to clutch the bag of charms he wore around his neck. It was too much like those final moments of his dream-journey through Chaos. When he reached the lone oak at the summit of the hill, he half expected the ground to split open, to fall helplessly into that endless black tunnel that had taken him to Tinnean, to the Oak, to the World Tree itself.
When the power of the World Tree flooded him, Tinnean had helped him understand he could surrender to the song without losing himself. When Struath sought to learn whether Morgath had taken his body, the a.s.sault was brutal but brief. Morgath's invasion was so gentle he'd scarcely been aware of it. The terror came later.
And now Keirith had attacked him. His son had invaded his spirit.
Control yourself.
He squinted into the distance, cursing the failing light and his aging eyes. He could see no signs of movement among the clumps of gorse and moor gra.s.s that studded the rocky terrain.
He hadn't ventured onto Eagles Mount since he was a boy. The northern slope was less steep, but hidden from Gheala's feeble light. If he circled up from the south, he'd face a more difficult climb. He was still trying to decide the best course when he heard the hoa.r.s.e panting. He whirled around, shouting Keirith's name.
Conn pulled up so quickly he nearly dropped his torch. ”Nay, it's me, Memory-Keeper.”
”What is it?”
”Mother Griane. She came to our hut. She said . . . well . . . there'd been a fight. About Keirith's apprentices.h.i.+p.”
”You knew?”
Conn took a hasty step backward. ”He only told me today.” His head drooped. ”We had a fight, too. Because he hadn't told me before and because . . . I think there's more to it than he's letting on.”
Conn gave him a searching look, but Darak just nodded.
”I can take you. To the place he goes. On Eagles Mount.”
Blessing Griane's foresight and Conn's loyalty, he squeezed the boy's shoulder and nodded again.
As they trotted toward Eagles Mount, he kept going over the confrontation with Keirith. He could still feel the lingering ache in his head, still hear his son's voice screaming inside him.
Let me go!
Instinct. That was all it was. The same instinct that impelled a trapped animal to flee or to fight. He had prevented Keirith from fleeing, so he had to fight, throwing that power at him with mindless strength.
One look at Keirith's face told him he was horrified by what he'd done. His son hadn't set out to hurt him. He was just scared and angry. He could have no idea of the memories the attack would evoke.
His children knew the story, of course. Every child did. But he never spoke of Morgath. Even Griane, whom he trusted more than anyone in the world . . . even to her, he had never confessed the helpless terror he'd experienced while he hung on that twisted tree in Chaos.
Now, he was equally helpless to withstand the memories: Morgath wearing Yeorna's body, her beauty only amplifying his evil; Morgath smiling as he severed the fingers, one by one; Morgath stroking his body, oozing through his spirit, staining him forever with his touch.
”If I thought you were anything like him-”
”Memory-Keeper? Watch the footing here. It's tricky.”
Even with Conn's guidance, he slipped twice, but the bruises and sc.r.a.pes wouldn't matter if they found Keirith. Instead, the ledge was empty. If he'd come here, he hadn't stayed long; the gra.s.s was cool, the blades springing straight up under his questing palm.
When he slipped again on the way down, Conn urged him to go home. Reason told him they could search all night without finding Keirith, that they would never find him unless he wanted to be found, that he would have a far better chance of tracking him in the morning. And then he imagined the broken body of his son lying in the cold and the dark.
Conn's piece of deadwood burned down to a stick no longer than his thumb as they searched the places where Keirith might have gone: the tumble of boulders on the eastern slope of Eagles Mount where the boys used to pretend to be wolves stalking the flocks; the sheltered strip of beach where they had made their blood vow; the small stand of alders where they spied on the girls bathing in the river.
”Don't tell him I brought you here,” Conn said. ”He'd kill me. So would my fa.”
It was the only time that night Darak smiled.
They found no signs of Keirith in any of the familiar places, but near a tiny grotto under the exposed roots of an oak, Gheala's fleeting light revealed a footprint in the damp earth. It was at least a day old, certainly made before he had come home. The thought of his son hiding there, too ashamed to face him, sickened him.
He knew what it was like to grow up in a father's shadow. His had been the best hunter in the tribe. He'd spent his youth and early manhood trying to best him. Until he discovered his father's spirit in Chaos, he had preserved the memory of him as a cold man, distant and critical. He had sworn to be a different sort of father. Yet Keirith's words and actions bespoke far deeper problems than the natural pulling away that occurred when a boy became a man. Long before this night, he had failed his son-and he wasn't even sure how.
The night was waning by the time they headed back to the village. The threatened storm had blown past with only a few fat raindrops. Seeing him eyeing the sky, Conn repeated his promise to help him search again at daybreak.
”He won't have gone far, Memory-Keeper. I know him. He gets in these moods sometimes, but they always pa.s.s.”
Darak patted the exhausted boy and told him to go home, but Conn lingered. ”If he comes home . . . if you see him before I do . . . just . . . tell him I'm sorry.”
”I will. And thank you, Conn. Keirith's lucky to have you for a friend.”