Renegade's Magic

Both of the women maintained a weighted silence, but I saw tears rise in Firada’s eyes. She leaned over to take her sister’s other hand. Jodoli seemed completely unaware of the importance of his offer to them. “And how will you do that?” he demanded harshly. “Kinrove has summoned him as a dancer and he has gone. We have told you. You cannot simply bring him back to us. He would not stay. He might not even know us.” He looked disgusted as he leaned back from the fire and the food. “Nevare, you speak too often of what you will do with your power, always thinking you know more than the magic. You and Dasie, so sure you could destroy Gettys, even if it was something the magic had not bade you do! And now, you will steal Likari back for us somehow. It is a cruel hope that you dangle before these women. The magic took Likari. How can you use the magic against itself, to take him back? Can a knife cut itself, a fire burn itself? NO! Will you ever learn that when you set yourself above or against the magic, you are wrong? That you are doomed to fail?” He shook his head and said in a lower voice, “Kinrove and I were fools, to allow ourselves to be coerced into helping you. We should have fought you with every means we had. Neither of us will make that mistake again. Whatever foolish idea you are harboring, do not seek to include me or my feeder.”

The rebuke was the harshest I had ever heard Jodoli speak. Soldier’s Boy smarted under the sharp words. He seethed with anger and indignation, but could not think of a reply. “I will not need your help,” he finally responded, but his words sounded childish, even to himself. His pride was pricked. What I felt most strongly was his determination to do something, anything, that would prove his worth to his followers. I wondered if he would try to pit himself against Kinrove. If he had Dasie’s backing, he might break the dance once more. It would be a stupid thing to do, was my opinion. They’d stirred up Gettys like a boy poking a stick into a hornets’ nest. Kinrove’s dance would be the only thing holding the Gernians back from tracking the Specks into the forest and annihilating them. Stopping Kinrove’s dance now would be a suicidal gesture for all the Specks.

As he and Jodoli glared at one another, a sudden howl rose from the group gathered around Dasie and her fire. It crested in shrieks of disbelief and pain. The sound paralyzed all of them for a moment, and then both Firada and Olikea leapt to their feet and ran to the other fire. Soldier’s Boy rose more slowly, looking toward the ululating feeders.

“What is it?” Soldier’s Boy demanded with dread.

“She’s dead,” Jodoli said flatly. “Dead in winter, worse luck for her. We will have to act swiftly.”

“I don’t understand.” Those were the words he spoke, but echoing within him were other words. Jodoli was right. It’s all my fault. I failed her, too. Independent of his weariness, a separate blackness rose at the edges of his vision; he feared he would faint. The harder he tried to improve things, the worse they became. Dasie had been a heroine to her kin-clan, and beyond. She had freed the dancers from Kinrove and then gone forth to fight for her people. For her to die now, before she could even return to them with the small triumph of the raid, would devastate her folk. Unbidden, a cowardly thought crept coldly through him. It could turn all the Specks against him. Then where could he go? To whom would he turn for shelter and sustenance?

Jodoli was not answering that, but another concern. “Winter is the worst time for a Great One to die. Her body will have to be borne back to the Valley of the Ancestor Trees. The trees are mostly dormant at this time of year; it will be hard for her chosen tree to take her in. It will be much more difficult to join her to her tree. Some of her may be lost.”

“Lost?” he echoed unwillingly.

“We will have to move quickly. The sooner she reaches her tree, the better. If there is still warmth in her body, that is best of all. I pray that when my time comes, I will die when my tree already embraces me and my kin-clan stands around me singing. Dasie must go to her tree almost alone, in winter with only a few to sing to her. Oh, this is not a good omen.”

Jodoli did not even go to the other fire to see if his assumptions were correct. Instead he did something that Soldier’s Boy had never seen him do before: attempt to dress himself, fastening his own cloak and hood that was still chilled and damp from his day’s journey. Before Soldier’s Boy could reach for his own garb, several of Dasie’s feeders converged on them. Soldier’s Boy felt he was almost wrestled into his clothing and boots. Olikea came to help them. All of the feeders were weeping as they worked; it did not make them gentler. Never had I seen Specks move so quickly and in such a concerted way. By the time Soldier’s Boy was ready, Dasie’s bundled body had already been reloaded onto the travois. When Soldier’s Boy sought to speak to Jodoli about what would happen next, the Great One sternly shushed him. “Do not distract her with words. Say nothing to draw her attention to us. Whatever anger you feel for me, set it aside. This is not our time. It is hers. Keep silent, and learn how a Great One goes to her tree.”