Part 30 (1/2)

FOR DAYS, KEIRITH did little but go over the events of the last sennight. He felt like an animal caught in a snare; any move would only tighten the noose around his neck. The Pajhit's words, so similar to his father's, echoed in his head: ”Trust your instincts. Your observations.” ”Trust your instincts. Your observations.” Words that applied equally well to both the hunter and the hunted. Words that applied equally well to both the hunter and the hunted.

Perhaps it was because he thought so much about his father that he dreamed of swimming in the lake with him. They dove deep, squinting at each other through the murky water. Hands clasped, they floated together, enjoying the silence and serenity. But then something pulled him to the surface.

He woke to hear his mam calling his name, her voice as clear and strong as if she sat beside him. Still half asleep, he sat up, looking around the hut for her. Only when he saw the walls of stone and the guards, silhouetted in the doorway, did he remember where he was. He lay back on his fleece, hoping they would think his s.h.i.+vering came from cold instead of fear. And in the morning, he walked into the Pajhit's chamber and, with a calm he did not feel, laid out his bargain.

”I'll tell you everything I know about my gift, teach you everything I've learned about the way a shaman works with a spirit guide. I . . . I'll even let you touch my spirit if it's the only way for you to understand. But in return, I want your oath that I may go home.”

”To a people who view your gift as an abomination? Who would sacrifice you for using it?”

”Your people would sacrifice me as well.”

The Pajhit conceded that with a reluctant nod.

”I want to go home.”

”Very well. You have my oath. Once I've learned what I need to know, I'll help you leave Pilozhat. If you still wish to go.”

And so he became the teacher and Malaq his student. Keirith taught him the lessons he had learned as an apprentice: stillness, emptiness, control. Every afternoon, they sat together in Malaq's bedchamber while he struggled to master these skills. Without the crutch of qiij, it was impossible for him to slip the bonds of his body, but there were also distractions that broke his concentration: priests calling him to meetings to organize the festival called The Shedding; the Master of Zhiisti wailing about some dispute among his students; or simply the brush of Niqia's fur against his hand.

”It takes time,” he a.s.sured Malaq. ”Be patient.”

In the evenings, Malaq became the teacher again. ”s.h.i.+elding will not cast someone out of your spirit, but it will prevent him from searching it. And for two spirits who wish to commune, s.h.i.+elding keeps them from . . . bleeding together.”

”Is that dangerous?”

”It can be-if the spirits touch for a long period of time. Think of the s.h.i.+eld as a wall. Partners whose spirits are touching can make the wall as strong as they wish. The more permeable the wall, the greater the connection. And the deeper one spirit may probe another.”

It raised all Keirith's old fears. Until he mastered the technique of s.h.i.+elding, he would be vulnerable.

”I know you fear what will happen when our spirits touch. But I promise you, I will go no deeper than you permit me.”

The first time he felt the delicate brush of Malaq's spirit, he instinctively pushed him away. Although Malaq withdrew immediately, Keirith was too drained by the experience to try again until the following evening. This time, he forced himself to withstand the shock of the initial intrusion. Within moments, Malaq's presence faded until it was barely perceptible.

<good, kheridh.=”” very=”” good.=””> It was like sharing thoughts with the eagle, except Malaq's were much fainter.

<because i=”” have=”” erected=”” the=”” wall.=”” but=”” i=”” left=”” a=”” c.h.i.n.k=”” in=”” it=”” through=”” which=”” we=”” can=”” communicate.=”” i=”” want=”” you=”” to=”” try=”” and=”” stop=”” up=”” the=”” c.h.i.n.k=”” with=”” your=”” power.=””> Instead, he blasted a hole through it. The next night, however, he did a little better. The hardest part was learning to restrain his power, allowing it to unfurl as gently as he had when he touched the eagle. When he apologized yet again for his clumsiness, Malaq looked at him in astonishment. ”It takes some Zhiisti a moon to master the rudiments of s.h.i.+elding.”

After that, though, they had to stop the lessons; three nights of using qiij sapped Malaq's energy. When he recovered, Keirith resumed his instruction, but Malaq was fretful at his continued failure.

”We just haven't found the right tools to help you,” Keirith a.s.sured him. ”Sometimes, the Tree-Father gazes into the smoke of a fire. Or into a bowl of water.”

They gave up on the bowl of water after Niqia began drinking from it.

”A polished stone?” Keirith suggested.

After some hesitation, Malaq removed one from the small altar in his bedchamber, a palm-sized disk of greenish-black stone, speckled with red.

”Concentrate on the red blotches,” Keirith said. ”Just let yourself fall into them. Become part of the stone.”

The first time, the trance lasted only a few moments, but Malaq was as excited as an apprentice, swearing that the specks had formed the shape of two wings. ”What does it mean?”

”What do you think it means?” Keirith replied, just as the Tree-Father would have.

”I think it was you. You were the wings. Carrying me to a new realm of knowledge.” Then Malaq recovered his customary reserve and added dryly, ”Or perhaps it was only the pheasant I had for supper.”

They laughed together, giddy with the success and the shared bond of power. Malaq was still chuckling when Keirith rose.

”What is it?”

”Nothing. I'm just tired. Excuse me.”

The next morning, he went back to the Pajhit's chamber and told him he wanted to observe a sacrifice.

”May I ask why?”

”I . . . I just need to.”

”Very well. I'll have the guards bring you to the temple of Zhe before dawn.”

”Nay.” Keirith swallowed hard. ”I wish to see a sacrifice to Heart of Sky.”

All expression fled Malaq's face. ”As you wish.”

It was still dark when he left the palace, but already the corridors were bustling with slaves carrying platters of food, and anonymous officials ducking into storage rooms. None of them even flinched when they heard the awful blast of the horn, but then they must have heard it thousands of times before.

Torches blazed near the steps of the temple, illuminating the shadowy figures standing at the altar. Behind the temple, Kelazhat's looming ma.s.s was black against an azure sky striped with rose and gold clouds.

Malaq stood atop the platform with two other priests. A band of bronze circled his forehead. A s.h.i.+mmering cloak in shades ranging from pink to ruddy red cascaded over his golden robe.

Keirith's guards halted directly before the platform. The guttering torchlight made it difficult to decipher Malaq's expression. He probably knew why he had insisted on coming here today. Perhaps he considered it another test. And it was. Only this time Keirith was testing himself.

It had come to him so clearly in that moment of shared laughter. He liked teaching Malaq and was eager to learn the skills Malaq could teach him. He enjoyed sharing his gift with another who accepted and admired it, who accepted and admired him. He was losing himself in the lessons and the fellows.h.i.+p and the sense of belonging. Today's sacrifice would remind him that he was still a prisoner, still an outsider-always an outsider-among the enemies of his people.

His stomach roiled when the horn bellowed again.

Please, Maker. Don't let it be someone I know.

He had watched the Tree-Father slit the throat of a bullock each Midwinter, the throat of a young ram each Midsummer. He had watched the blood spurt into the sacred bowl, smelled its hot, salty-sweet scent. But he had never watched a man lying helpless on a slab of rock as a dagger carved open his chest.

When he heard the footsteps, he resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder and stared straight ahead. The polished stone of the altar gleamed in the torchlight. It was the same greenish-black color as the stone Malaq had used to help him fall into a trance. Only now, the red blotches looked like spatters of blood.

The captive stumbled up the steps, supported by two guards. The man must be drugged, just like the three who'd been castrated. The guards staggered a little as they eased him onto the stone slab; the man was big and the drugs made him ungainly. The guards pulled his arms over his head and took a firm grip on his wrists. Two others stepped forward to seize his ankles. The man's head turned to watch them and Keirith let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding: the victim was a stranger.

The Pajhit lifted the bronze dagger skyward. The man hummed a hoa.r.s.e little counterpoint to the priests' chanting.

Maker, let it be quick. Don't let him suffer.