~ Chapter 48 ~
As he rummaged through the wardrobe and bureau drawers for his discarded traveling clothes he had arrived in Fayerton wearing, Inali cast aside the restricting garb of clothes meticulously fitted to his frame.
Various articles of clothing flew piece by piece — jacket, vest, tunic, boots removed midstride, hopping on one foot to the next. Socks soared over his shoulders and trousers followed with the same one-footed balance and hop.
A furious search produced his heavily stitched leather trousers, tunic, vest, and belt folded in the bottom of a drawer scented with redwood chips.
Purpose and will directed and compelled his actions. He pulled on snug well-worn supple leather in exchange for his fancy garb with its careful tailoring and its clipped and sewn seams. The smooth fit of his leather garb was like a second layer of his skin.
With the same determination, he strapped on his black leather knee boots and reached for his hunting gear. In the deepest corner of the wardrobe his fingers closed over an embroidered bag. He yanked the bag out, along with his traveling packs, with such force that the bag opened and spilled its contents on the floor. The rain of small leather, bead embroidered pouches skidded across the parquet floor, some disappearing under the bed, others vanishing under a chair, another pouch landed beneath the bedside table.
Inali paused, his purpose shaken. He stared at the quill and beaded deer-hide bag he clutched — Oanada’s medicine bag. In the chaotic flurry since their arrival, he had forgotten flinging the medicine bag into the wardrobe. His hunting gear, traveling packs, his quiver of arrows, and his bow tucked into its bow case had followed — all after an argument with his father, an argument his father had won.
Shortly afterward, Inali had found himself standing rigid and straight, his arms outstretched while a potbellied, miniscule tailor and his two miniscule assistants scurried around him measuring and fitting, pinning and stitching, re-measuring and re-stitching. One misdirected pin stab and a volatile outburst of his temper had sent the flock of tailors scattering, tape measures flying.
How Althar had laughed! His brother had enjoyed every minute of his humiliation and the torment of their father’s ruthless determination to polish his two errant sons into gentlemen.
Under Orvis and Mavis Rosenthorn’s tutelage, Althar was quicker to learn the social graces Fayerton society expected. Althar had reason to learn, mimicking the polite bows, exchanging social pleasantries. They could not return to Wolfdale and resume their familiar way of life before the disruption of Monarka’s death — and Jalinkina.
He found his role in the aloofness of observant detachment. He knew the appropriate courtesies and gestures polite society demanded, but he was still Mikuyi — a Mikuyi reluctantly dressed in the style and fashion denoting a gentleman of Fayerton society.
Inali could not dam the memories Oanada’s medicine bag released. How she had clung to the security of her precious bag, even in sleep.
Oanada’s essence clung to the deer hide, like the aromas of whatever mysteries the leather pouches contained. He had not returned the bag to her, even after they had found her unexplainably entangled once again into the perplexing weave of his and Althar’s lives. Unlike Oanada, he still possessed the bag she had left behind in her haste to escape captivity for her freedom to return to her father and home.
He understood freedom. It was Oanada’s fear he found disturbing — as disconcerting as pulling her medicine bag from the back of his wardrobe. Why had he kept it?
Inali frowned, collected his rampaging thoughts that scattered like dry seeds in the wind to be planted elsewhere before he could tear them out by their roots from his mind.
“There is no freedom, Oanada,” Inali grumbled aloud in answer to the times she had asked him, no begged him for her freedom.
Inali tightened his grip on the supple deer hide, squeezed it, as he tried to squeeze Oanada from his thoughts.
“I am ready, Inali.” Althar appeared at the door, dressed in his Mikuyi traveling gear but not the same in looks as before. Althar wore his long Mikuyi hair shorn to shoulder length.
***
Althar’s gaze lighted on the familiar bag Inali clutched as if trying the choke the life from a living thing.
“I thought you returned Oanada’s medicine bag.”
“I found it in the wardrobe,” Inali muttered.
Althar retrieved several of the scattered leather pouches from the floor, from beneath the furniture. He grinned, held one pouch to his nostrils and inhaled the pleasant fragrances of earth and wood.
“Goldenrod — and yarrow,” he added, sniffing a second pouch. He grabbed the medicine bag from Inali and returned the missing pouches. “Are we still on for the hunt?”
“We are,” Inali muttered and frowned at some thought.
“Then let us get a move on.” Althar tossed the medicine bag into the middle of Inali’s bed and reached for the hunting gear Inali had dropped. He started for the door, paused. Inali continued scowling at the medicine bag as thought wrestling with some emotion he did not want.
“Inali, we are going hunting tonight — unless it is another sort of hunt that calls you?”
Inali stirred from his thoughts. “What?”
Althar shook his head. “I worry about you, brother. I have never known a woman to come before your pursuit of the hunting trail.”
Inali grabbed his quiver, bow, and roll of sleeping furs. “It has not.”
“I find that hard to believe. You better be careful.”
“I am always careful, Althar.” Inali shouldered his quiver of arrows and his bow case.
“Except for one time and only because I was not there to stop you. You were not careful then or half as careful as you have been since.”
“What day was that?” Inali said. His irritation showed. “The day I sent Jalinkina to his grave?”
“No, that was one of your careful days.”
“If you refer to Rena and my being with her, forget it, Althar. She is my personal business and not your concern.”
“I am sure you have been as careful about Rena as you have been with the other women whose company you have enjoyed.”
Althar studied the curious light glittering within Inali’s hooded eyes, continued. “I speak of a specific day — a day I hardly need remind you about, Inali.”
“Then do not. You are beginning to make me regret it, Althar. If not for that day you would not be here, alive and lecturing me with your profound insights.”
Althar chuckled. “Ah! You do have regrets now that Jantz Fayerfield is an obstacle you have yet to deal with, and until you get everything sorted out in your head — and here—” Althar thumped his fist on his chest. “In your heart where it counts, you waste your time amusing yourself with Miss Oldroyd, fucking her and whoever else you think will shove Oanada from your thoughts. Sorry, brother, but that is not how it works.” He nodded to the medicine bag. “Oanada’s medicine bag is more dangerous than you know.”
Inali’s expression remained unchanged. He headed to the door, saying nothing in response.
Althar frowned. “Are you not going to argue with me?”
“No, because you might be right, brother.” Inali strode from the room and left Althar with his mouth hanging open.
“What!” Althar exclaimed, overcoming his surprise and Inali’s unexpected answer. “Inali, wait!”
Shouldering the pack of hunting gear, Althar hurried after Inali. Why was he always running to catch up with Inali?
“Wait!” Althar shouted. He trotted past an astonished Mavis Rosenthorn garbed in her frilly nightcap and robe. “Excuse us, Mistress Rosenthorn. We did not mean to awaken you.”
“Master Althar—”
“Good night, Mistress Rosenthorn.”
Althar had no intention of stopping for anyone or anything. Inali’s long strides carried him swiftly down the stairs four at a time. Althar raced after him. In the foyer, Inali sent a yawning Orrick and two downstairs maids scurrying from his path.
“Tonight is a hunter’s night, Althar,” Inali called over his shoulder.
***
Within the stable, Inali’s silence continued as he saddled and bridled Centauri. Althar cut sideways glances at his brother but he said nothing.
Determination kindled in Inali’s eyes. Long brown fingers deftly fastened straps and harness. Even Centauri sensed Inali’s no nonsense mood and stood quietly without displaying his reluctance for saddle and bridle. Like Althar, Centauri also watched Inali: large dark eyes reading Inali’s body language, quivering nerve tips flinching, glossy coat rippling, responding to Inali’s hands and fingers moving across skin. Centauri tossed his head, anticipating a full speed gallop pursuing the game trail.
Althar kept pace with Inali, saddling, bridling Midnight. He strapped his hunting gear on his back, secured his fur sleeping roll behind the saddle. Leading Midnight from his stall, Althar followed Inali from the stable. In the yard, Inali paused before mounting and sniffed the wind. It blew from the west, from beyond the rising hills that sheltered Fayerton. The faint glow of twilight hung suspended on the western edge of nightfall.
Althar scanned the sky, marked the bright pole star. Only a few stars were visible in the settling gloom. The familiar northern constellations of their homeland were late rising in Fayerton’s latitude. Inali also marked the pole star and mounted Centauri.
Still, Althar kept his silence. Mounted astride Midnight he waited and watched. He trusted Inali’s skill, the inborn instinct that pointed the direction Inali would choose to follow. Tonight would be no different, except for the land through which they rode. Whatever guided Inali, he ignored the side roads and branching forks.
Inali chose a westward trail away from Fayerton, a curious choice and one they had not traveled since their arrival although they had ridden north and south and hunted the Sparrow Hills past Lilienfields.
West of Fayerton their trail wound through unexplored territory, its bald hills and stone outcroppings unlike the familiar terrain of the Unfaithful Mountains. In such terrain, a man’s instincts were all that stood between life and death. As they rode through the summer night, Althar regretted urging Inali to the hunt — still, he followed.
***
They rode for several miles at a rapid pace before Inali’s mood lifted. The rush of wind, the comfortable fit of familiar clothing, the surge of his steed’s powerful muscles and hooves pounding out the miles, assuaged the driving anger. Away from the reminders of Fayerton and Fayerfield House, Inali’s thoughts were once again his own to control as he willed, even if his future hinged on a reckless course that he had lost the power to direct without even knowing why.
The earth raced past, putting mile behind mile. Given the lead, Centauri raced against the wind for the sheer love of running. The confinement of the stable, the lack of hard exercise had built a reserve of unleashed energy that surged forth. Centauri would have run all the way back to the land of his birth had it not been for the firm restraint of Inali’s hand and voice.
He did not push Centauri past the steed’s physical limits. Centauri pranced to a trot, whinnied, chomping and snorting and jerked up his head, testing Inali’s resolve that controlled the tug of the bridle. Finding no slack, no wavering of Inali’s hand the steed slowed to a canter.
They rode in silence, following the narrowing track of the road until it forked into a grassy trail that meandered into a night-filled valley. Water caught the gleam of the moon chasing clouds — the River Sky flowing on its westward journey to the Forsaken Sea.
Inali reined to halt, cocked his head and listened. Fast flowing water came from his left. He glanced skyward, sited the pole star and its radial constellation inscribing its wheeling path from its central star like the hands on a celestial clock. The steady rotation of stars marked the passing hours. A third quarter moon hovered above the darker outliers of hills.
“Let’s camp,” Inali said, sparing few words.
Dismounting they led their steeds toward the babbling water. The bank of the stream offered a grassy shelter for the night and water and forage for their horses.
They made no campfire. The warm night held no sense of urgency. Inali and Althar unrolled their sleeping furs and lay down, but neither slept. Their gazes wandered among the brilliant pin points of starlight in the inky dome of the midnight sky. A shooting star flashed and arced to the northwest, burned through the upper atmosphere. Many a night they had spent watching the sky, pointing out the different constellations, counting falling stars.
***
“I wonder what Rhan and Bregan are doing tonight?” Althar said. “Do you think they are looking up at the same stars? Are they wondering where we are? What we are doing? By the Great Ones I miss Tirzah.”
Inali said nothing in response.
Althar cast his thoughts homeward. In his mind’s eye he visualized the beloved faces of the names he evoked. Inali lay silently gazing up at the stars, but Althar knew he listened and continued.
“Tirzah will go on his first hunt at the gathering. He will be ahead of the other boys his age, maybe even some of the men, having had you to teach him. He is good with the bow and he can read tracks almost as good as you, Inali.” Althar sighed. “I wish we were home, although I am sure this summer meeting will be different from those in the past — with the tribal elders assembling. Whether truth and justice is served will hardly matter to Jalinkina’s kinsmen. Blood for blood. My greatest regret is Touva. He has been our brother. I regret having left before explaining everything to him. He will ride with Jalinkina’s kinsmen. It might come down to the choice of Touva’s life, or our lives. How can either of us make such a choice?”
Althar paused, gazed at his brother lying on his back, his arms folded, propping up his head. He traced the strong outline of his brother’s features. Moonlight glittered in the shadows of Inali’s eye sockets.
“You have yet to speak about that night, Inali,” Althar said.
Inali’s silence continued. Althar frowned.
“How do you shut off your feelings? Or do you?”
“Stop thinking,” Inali grumbled.
“Stop thinking? How do you stop your thoughts, Inali?”
“By not feeling—”
“Is that how you do it? I wonder sometimes what sort of man you are, brother. Thinking, feeling is as essential as eating and breathing. What are you trying to achieve, Inali? What do you want?”
“I want what any man wants,” Inali grumbled.
Althar chuckled. “I never thought of you as just any man, Inali.”
“Why should I be any different?”
“Because you are different — I am different. You do not need me to tell you why or what those differences are that set you apart.”
“Why not?” Irritation grated in Inali’s voice. “You tell me everything else, Althar. You are forever telling me what to do or what I should do — especially if what I did was a mistake.”
“You never listened to me. You must admit there were times when I was right. But did you ever listen or heed my advice?”
“What is with you tonight, Althar? You sound like a complaining woman, giving me unwarranted hysterics. What is wrong?”
Althar sighed, said, “Everything — everything is wrong. Nothing is the same, Inali. Everything is different.”
“Do not make me ask what you mean, Althar. The night is late and I am tired—”
Althar hooted a sharp laugh. “You tired?”
“Yes, tired!” Inali snapped.
“You must be getting old. But then, you have been a busy man these past few days keeping up with Rena Oldroyd. I have never known a woman to exhaust you, brother.”
Inali grunted. “All right, Althar, tell me why everything is not the same for you any more. Did you ever think perhaps I too wish life was as before — before Monarka — or Jalinkina — before—”
When Inali paused, Althar added, “Before Oanada?”
“Leave Oanada out of this, Althar. How long will Monarka’s ghost stand between us?”
“Monarka is gone. I accept her loss but that does not change how I feel. I find myself thinking of what I could have done differently or said. Maybe if I had it would have changed the course of destiny. Now, it is too late and I wonder if each day is worth the effort of living it. Ever since Oanada came into our lives I have watched you make the same mistakes I made and I want to shout at you, ‘Do not do it, Inali!’ but you do it anyway. How can you claim to want what any man wants out of life when you drive all the possibilities away before you learn what they are? Until you have experienced true feelings for a woman, how can you decide if that feeling — that emotion — is either good or bad? Even at its worst, the love of one good woman is better than you thought possible. Until you have known a woman’s love and lost her, you know nothing. What more could a man want from life than to have someone to share his aloneness with—” Althar’s voice dropped in pitch and tone. “I had that love with Monarka.”
“Althar, I believe it would be better and wiser to forget how everything was. Our lives will never be as they were. Never, and it is time you accepted that hard lesson of reality, brother.”
“Have you?”
“I am trying—”
“I am not making it any easier, talking about Monarka, remembering the past, wishing things were different.”
“Someday we will return to Wolfdale. Perhaps soon we can go home.”
“I will never return to Wolfdale,” Althar murmured.
***
Inali frowned. He sat up, narrowed his eyes, trying penetrating the cover of night to see his brother’s face. Perhaps it was better not to see the anguish pinching his brother’s features or to feel the agony of heartbreak, death’s utter desolation on those left behind.
“Althar?” Inali ventured at Althar’s continuing silence, hearing only the steady rise and fall of his brother’s breathing and the occasional ragged sigh.
“I am fine, Inali. Sorry. Tonight I feel empty. I miss Oanada. She has a way of making me feel good about myself at a time when death was the more preferable choice, if not the more honorable.”
“Will it make you happy if I kidnapped Oanada for you? She could entertain you to your heart’s content.”
Althar chuckled. “Oanada makes everything easier. When was the last time you felt contentment, the last time you were truly happy?”
Inali lay down, settled into his sleeping fur, his arm propped behind his head. He gazed up at the diamond net of stars and nebulous patches of milky sky dust. No deeper, blackness existed than the dark space beyond a field of stars splattering the night. Althar’s question had set loose a constellation of memories — times of utter happiness and the peacefulness of contentment when desire was surpassed and not conquered by frustration and brooding anger.
Oanada’s laughter tickled his memory. A vision of watery light, sunshine and wind formed a vision from earlier that day when they had walked together along the esplanade. She had laughed and her starlit eyes had shone full of sun glitters. His cheek muscles tightened, the corner of his mouth lifted. He smiled.
“You have yet to explain to the Fayerfield why you abducted his daughter,” Althar ventured.
Inali’s jaw tightened, smile vanished. His vision of Oanada vanished into obscurity. Happiness was an illusion. No true happiness existed; contentment was self-deception.
“Inali?”
“Yes, brother, I have considered such an explanation but what purpose would it serve now? Whatever the reasons for Oanada’s silence, the man is her father and our father’s half-brother. Better to forget, let it go.”
“Fayerfield deserves an explanation from us. Are you not curious?”
“Curious about what?”
“Oanada’s silence? Or what her father’s reaction will be when he learns the truth? Fayerton might be large by Wolfdale standards but still a village where people have known each other for generations. Fayerfield is bound to hear or be told, especially after the way you embarrassed Oanada at the Oldroyds — or Rojah’s fight with Noah Winterringer today after Darcy Oldroyd publicly kissed Oanada. That Winterringer fellow is a dangerous man. He is like Jalinkina when it comes to protecting his own.”
Inali frowned. It was late, he was tired, his head ached, but again Althar hinted at something beyond his knowledge: Who was Noah Winterringer?
“Rojah was fighting? When was this?” Inali asked, despite his weariness of talking and needing sleep.
“It happened after the regatta while everyone was celebrating the victors. You were preoccupied with other interests,” Althar said. His brother implied more than he said. Rena Oldroyd was an interlude Inali wished his brother had remained ignorant.
“You happened to be available and came to Rojah’s aid?”
“If I had not returned looking for you, the two would have killed each other. Believe me, Rojah had every right for his anger. I also felt like hitting Winterringer. Drunk or not the man purposely provoked Rojah and insulted Oanada. Worthington and half a dozen other men had to pull Winterringer off Rojah. Had Rojah been Mikuyi, he would have challenged Winterringer to the Circle of Fire, as I should have challenged Jalinkina for Monarka’s death, the death of her child.”
Inali stared into the black expanse of the night sky. “Even when we speak about Oanada and her family, the conversation always comes back to Monarka. She is the past, Althar. Monarka’s death was beyond your control, or mine. You have paid the price. We both have. We were exiled from our home, our family—”
“A blood vendetta on our heads,” Althar added.
“The price of blood,” Inali muttered. “Change the subject. Go to sleep, Althar.” He rolled over onto his side away from Althar, his mood sinking. The day had been filled with emotional entanglements.
***
Althar shivered with cold dread — a feeling of death. He forced his thoughts to a less foreboding direction. “Where did you take Oanada today? You were gone for a long time.”
“I took her to Fayerfield House.”
“Is going off alone with Oanada wise, considering her father?”
“Slightly less dangerous than you forcing me to knock Darcy Oldroyd into Kilmere for kissing her,” Inali said.
“Do I detect irritation over that kiss?”
“Darcy Oldroyd is a fool.”
“He is not the only one. Tell me, brother, would you rather it had been Oanada with you at the Blue Swan this afternoon?”
“Go to sleep,” Inali snapped.
“Inali?” Althar ventured. His mind was too restless for sleep. Like his heart, despair lurked behind every nuance of thought. He glanced at the broad curve of his brother’s shoulder. Whether Inali slept or not, he could not tell. Inali remained silent.
***
But Inali did not sleep. He lay awake long after Althar’s snores blended into the chorusing of crickets, frogs, and other nocturnal beasts.
______________
Excerpt, © 2021
Voice of the Wind: Shadows of Time
Mikuyi Moon, Book 7
eamonroe 