Part 67 (2/2)
They had condemned his boy. His own folk had condemned him.
”The council has decided that Keirith committed a crime.”
”Nay.”
”We must now vote to determine whether he will be cast out of the tribe-”
”Nay!”
”Or sentenced to death.”
Darak's gorge rose and he staggered outside. He barely made it behind the longhut before his legs gave out. He fell to his knees, fighting the urge to vomit. He could scarcely breathe for the hard knot in his chest. It was like Fellgair was holding his heart again, squeezing it between remorseless fingers. When he felt the hand on his shoulder, he looked up, surprised to find Lisula kneeling beside him instead of the Trickster.
She pulled his head down to her breast. Something damp and warm oozed down his face. Lisula's tears, he realized. Why couldn't he weep for his son?
He should never have allowed Keirith to come home. He should have forced him to stay with Illait. But he had been so sure . . .
”Darak. Dear. They're waiting for you.”
He shoved himself upright with such force that Lisula fell back on her elbows. ”You expect me to vote on whether my child's heart should be cut out of his chest or whether he should be driven from his home?”
”Darak, please . . .”
”Get away from me.”
He leaned against the longhut, his fist pressed against his chest. It had all been for nothing-the endless journey, the terror of opening his spirit, Keirith's battle to defeat the Zheron. Urkiat's death. And Bep's and Hakkon's and Malaq's.
”What future does Kheridh have in your village? At worst, he will be sacrificed for using his gift. At best, he will have to hide it the rest of his life.”
In his arrogance, he had refused to heed Malaq's warning, a.s.suring him that Keirith belonged with his people. The same people who were now deciding whether to kill him or cast him out of his tribe forever.
He heard footsteps in the gra.s.s and turned.
”The council has voted for a casting out,” Nionik said.
Instead of relief, the rage burned hotter. He had only to look at Nionik's face to realize the truth. ”It was you.”
”What?”
”Muina. Gortin. Lisula. They voted with me. It was you.” Nionik met his gaze without flinching. ”Aye.”
”He's my son.”
”You think it was easy for me? Good G.o.ds, Darak, I have a son, too.”
”How could you do it?”
”I had to vote my conscience.”
Darak bit back the curse that rose to his lips.
”He could have stopped,” Nionik said.
”What?”
”After he drove the man's spirit from your body. Instead, he pursued him. He cast out his spirit and took his body. He could have stopped, Darak. But he didn't.”
”The Zheron meant to sacrifice me on his altar. He drove a dagger into my son's chest. You think he would have stopped? Ever?”
When Nionik shook his head wearily, Darak grabbed him by the front of his tunic and shoved him up against the wall of the longhut. ”If Keirith had stopped, we would have died. But that would have been all right. Because then, Keirith would have paid for his mistake-as Struath did.”
Nionik pushed him off. ”I don't know! But I do know this power is dangerous. And so do you. And one day, Keirith will turn it on someone else.”
”Then why not kill him?”
”Because . . . none of us could bear the thought of it.”
”He's fourteen years old. He can't hunt for fear he'll hear the screams of the animals he kills. Casting him out is is killing him. You've just offered him a slow death instead of a quick one. Can you bear the thought of that?” killing him. You've just offered him a slow death instead of a quick one. Can you bear the thought of that?”
”Darak . . .”
”Let go of me.”
Nionik dropped his hand. His shoulders drooped, but when he finally raised his head, he wore the face of the chief once more-stern and emotionless. ”The council has voted. The law must be upheld.”
”You think I'll stand by while you drive my son from the village?”
”Then you'll be violating the law and you, too, will be punished.” Nionik rubbed his eyes. ”I know how hard this is. But without the law, we are savages.”
”And with the law, you are murderers. May the G.o.ds forgive you, Nionik. I never will.”
Numbly, he walked home. He could hear the sounds of families inside their huts, but no children lingered outside to play, no old folks chatted together, enjoying the last rays of sunlight. Perhaps word had already spread and everyone wished to avoid him, uncertain of what to say, unwilling to face his bitterness-or fearful they might be tainted by a.s.sociation.
Even before he reached his hut, he knew what he had to do, but he still needed a moment to gather himself before going inside. To his surprise, he found Gortin there with Muina and Lisula. Muina was hus.h.i.+ng Lisula whose cheeks were wet with tears. Griane was dry-eyed but very pale. Callie clung to her skirt, sucking his thumb; it had been years since he'd done that. Somewhere behind them, he could hear Faelia sobbing and Hircha murmuring comfort.
Keirith stepped forward. Incredibly, he smiled. ”It'll be all right, Fa. Really. It will.”
Between them, no words were needed. But even if Keirith understood his intentions, he was clearly fighting for calm. As much as Darak wanted to hold him, he knew such a gesture would shatter his son's control. In the end, all he could do was smile back. ”Aye, son. We'll get through this. Together.”
Before he could say more, the bearskin was drawn aside. Darak recoiled when he saw Nionik. He remained in the doorway, wise enough to know he was not welcome.
”I came to inform you of the council's decision, but I see that's unnecessary. Believe me, Keirith, this was not easy for-”
”What do you want?” Darak interrupted.
Ignoring him, Nionik said, ”Nemek and Mintan are waiting outside to escort you to Jurl's hut. You'll remain there until the sentence is carried out on the morrow.”
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