Morrighan (5 page)

My heart thumped, the familiar
no
beating behind it, but … I did love to ride with him. At first I'd been afraid, but Jafir was a good teacher, gently coaxing me onto the huge animal's back, and quickly I discovered I loved the feel of his horse beneath us, Jafir's strong arms circling around me, the strange sense that we were connected, forever inseparable as we rode together. I loved the giddy feeling as the meadow blurred beneath us, the feeling that we had wings, that we were swift and powerful and nothing in the world could stop us.

I looked at him and nodded. “Just this once,” I said.

“Just this once,” he repeated.

But I knew I was opening another kind of door, and like before, it was one that could never be closed again.

Chapter Eleven

Morrighan

“What is beyond the mountains, Ama?”

“Nothing for us, child.”

We sat in the shade of a sycamore, full and leafy with summer, grinding the last of our amaranth seed into powder.

“Are you certain?” I asked.

“I've told you the story before. It was where your papa journeyed from. Only he and a handful of others made it out. The devastation was even worse there. It was far more brutal than anything on this side of the mountains. He watched many die.”

She had told me about the choking clouds, the fires, the shaking ground, the wild animals. The people. All the things that papa had told her.

“But he was only a child, and that was a long time ago,” I said.

“Not long enough,” she answered. “I remember the fear in your papa's eyes when he spoke of it. He was glad to be where we are now, on this side.”

I saw the age on Ama. She was still healthy, robust even, for a woman her age, but weariness lined her face. Moving on and keeping the tribe safe had been an endless journey for her. Here in this vale she had found rest now for almost two years, but lately I had seen her scanning the surrounding hills and bluffs. Did she sense something else? Or was it just an old habit resurfacing? Was she afraid to believe that peace could last?

I desperately wanted to tell her,
The scavengers are leaving
. Our peace and boundaries would only grow if we stayed. But she'd wonder how I knew, and I couldn't tell her what Jafir had told me—that our nearest threat might soon be gone forever. His clan wanted to leave. They talked of going to the other side of the mountains. Maybe even beyond that. I had seen the worry in his eyes when he told me. I felt it in my heart. If they left, would he leave too?

“What kind of animals?” I asked.

Ama paused from her grinding and looked at me. Studied me.

“I'm only curious,” I said and ground at my seed more earnestly.

“I don't know all their names,” she answered. “One he called a tiger. It was smaller than a horse, but with the teeth of a wolf and the strength of a bull. He watched one of the creatures drag a man away by the leg, and there was nothing they could do to stop it. The animals were hungry too.”

“If the Ancients were like gods and built towers to the sky and flew among the stars, why did they have such dangerous animals that couldn't be controlled? Weren't they afraid?”

Ama's gray eyes turned to steel. Her head turned slightly to the side. “What did you just say?”

I looked at her, wondering what caused the sudden sternness in her voice.

“You called them
Ancients,
” she said. “Where did you learn that term?”

I swallowed. It was the word Jafir used. “I'm not sure. I think I heard it from Pata. Or maybe it was Oni? It's a good description, isn't it? They are a people from a time long past.”

I could see her turning my explanation over in her head. Her eyes warmed again, and she nodded. “Sometimes I forget how long past.”

I was more careful with my words after that, realizing there were many terms I had learned from Jafir. It was not just I who had taught him.
Arroyo, mesa, palisades, savanna.
His were the words of a wide open world. I had watched him come alive in new ways as we raced across a lowland or when he expertly guided his horse up a rocky hillside. This was his world, and he was confident, no longer the sometimes awkward boy who kissed me in a cramped box canyon.

I came alive with him, allowing myself to believe, however briefly, that it was my world too, that our dreams lay just over the next hill, or the next, and we had wings to take us there. But I always watched over my shoulder, always remembered who I was, and where I was destined to return, a hidden world where he would never fit in.

There is no future for us, Morrighan. There can never be.

Jafir had a knowing about him too. It was a knowing I didn't want to think about.

Chapter Twelve

Jafir

“You are a lone wolf, always going off by yourself.” Fergus threw a blanket onto the back of his horse. “You'll ride with us today.”

I had already promised Morrighan I would meet her early and we would ride to the falls where the knotweed grew. She had spotted it on one of our rides. If I was lucky, I might spear a fish in the pools of water there too.

Fergus hit me with the back of his hand, sending me stumbling into my horse. I regained my footing and tasted blood in my mouth. My fingers curled to fists, but I knew better than to strike the leader of the clan.

“What's the matter with you?” he yelled. “Are you listening to me?”

“There is nothing wrong with hunting alone. I always bring back game to feed everyone.”

“Rabbits!” Steffan sneered, readying his own horse. “He's not a lone wolf! He's nothing more than a duck. Always preening in the water.”

“It is called bathing!” Laurida yelled from where she stood by the ovens with Glynis and Tory. “It would do all our noses some good if you followed Jafir's example.”

The rest of the clan, who were also saddling up, laughed. Fergus ignored Laurida, eyeing me instead, a dark scowl on his brow. “We do not hunt today. We take. Liam spotted a tribe yesterday.”

“A tribe?
Where?
” I asked.

He mistook my quick reply for eagerness and smiled. It was a rare sight on his face, especially if it was directed at me. “An hour's ride north,” he answered. “Their bellies were fat, and their baskets full.”

I breathed relief. Morrighan's tribe was south and to the west. Our clan hadn't raided a camp since last spring. The tribes had either become better at hiding or had moved far from us.

“You don't need me,” I said, looking at Piers, Liam, and the rest. “You have enough—”

Fergus grabbed me by my shirt, jerking me close, his expression a threatening storm. “You ride with us. You are my son.”

There would be no dissuading him. I nodded, and he released his grip. I stared after him as he mounted his horse, wondering what ate through him. It was not like him to even remember that he was my father.

They did not fight back. It sickened me how easily their food was taken. It was a small tribe, only about nine, but none defended their ground. An iron poker lay near their fire, a knife on a rough wooden table, rocks at their feet, but none lifted a hand toward us.
Fight back,
I wanted to say, but I knew if they did, we would cut them down. Not all of them, but enough to send the message.
Do not fight us.
We are hungry like you, and we deserve this food as much as you, even if it was gathered by your hand.
It had always made sense to me before, but now the words seemed jumbled, different, as if they had been rearranged.

It is them or us.
The whisper was faint now, and I wondered if I had ever heard it at all. I couldn't remember her face anymore, not even the color of her hair, but I still felt my mother's lips against my ear, warm, sickly, the sour smell of death on them, whispering the ways of the clan.
The tribes have a knowing about them, a way of conjuring food from the dry grasses of the hills. As the gods have blessed them, so should they bless us.

I tied a sack of acorns to the back of my horse, while the rest of the clan pillaged or brandished their weapons as warning. I kept my gaze down, concentrating on tightening the rope, avoiding looking at any of them, but I couldn't ignore the whimpers of a few. These acorns, gathered by another hand, were no blessing to me, and the bile rose in my throat. My father's scorn surfaced again.
What's the matter with you?

Steffan eyed a girl cowering behind the older women of the tribe.

“Come here,” he called to her.

She shook her head wildly, her wide eyes glistening. The women pulled closer, shoulder to shoulder.

“Come!” he yelled.

“We're finished here,” I said, grabbing his arm. “Leave the girl alone.”

“Stay out of it, Jafir!” he yelled. He threw off my arm, advancing toward her, but Piers stepped into his path.

“As your brother said, we are done.” Steffan had come to blows with Piers before, but Fergus, Liam, and Reeve were already riding off. The others were also mounting their horses to leave.

Steffan glared at the girl. “I'll be back,” he warned, and left with the rest of us.

We traveled swiftly over the grasslands and hills back to camp, and with each mile, my anger grew.
Fight back.
Conflicting words pounded in my head.
Them or us.

By the time we got to camp, only one thing was certain to me.

I would never ride with them again.

I would see my kin starve first.

I returned to the raided camp the next day, alone, with two peafowl that had taken me all day to hunt down. All that remained of their camp were the cold ashes of a fire and scattered scraps left behind in haste.

The tribe had moved on to someplace where we wouldn't find them again, and I was glad to see them gone.

*   *   *

Our clan from the north arrived the next day. Fergus had told them to come. Liam was angry. Their numbers were greater than ours, but most were women and children. Mouths that would need to be fed. While we had eight strong men in our clan of eleven, they only had four in their clan of sixteen.

“They are our kin,” Fergus argued. “The numbers will make us strong. Look at Harik the Great. His kinsmen number in the hundreds—that means power. He could squash us all in one fist. The only way our clan will be as great is if our sons have wives and our numbers grow.”

Liam argued there was barely enough food in the hills to feed our own.

“Then we will find new hills.”

I looked at the children huddled together, too afraid to speak, their eyes circled with hunger and days of walking. Laurida poured water into the kettle over the fire to make the stew stretch and then added two large handfuls of the salted meat we had stolen from the tribe. The mother of one of the children began to cry. The sound cut through me, strangely familiar—
them or us
—and for a fleeting moment, I was glad for what we had stolen.

The evening passed, prickly and uncomfortable, the children eating quietly, the heated words between Liam and Fergus weighing on the rest, Liam still casting glares at the newcomers. With their soup finished, the children and mothers looked glumly into the fire. The silence was stifling. I preferred squabbles and scuffles to the taut hush.

Anger welled in me, and I whispered to Laurida, “Why do we never tell stories?”

Laurida shrugged. “Stories are a luxury of the well-fed.”

“At least stories would fill the silence!” I snapped. “Or help us understand our past!” And then lower, under my breath as I glared down at the ground. “I don't even know how my own mother died.”

Fergus's boots suddenly filled my circle of vision. I looked up. His eyes blazed with anger. “She starved to death,” he said. “She hid away her share of food and gave it to you and Steffan. She died because of you. Is
that
the story you wanted to hear?”

On a different night, I might have felt the back of his hand again, but his expression was so filled with disgust, the effort to hit me must not have seemed worth it, and he turned away.

No, it was not the story I wanted to hear.

Chapter Thirteen

Morrighan

“Where were you?” I asked, running to meet him as he got off his horse. He hadn't come for three days, and I had feared the worst.

He drew me into his arms, holding me tight in a strange, desperate way.

“Jafir?”

He pulled back, and that's when I saw the side of his face, a purple bruise coloring it from cheekbone to jaw, circling under his eye.

Fear skittered through my chest. “What beast did this?” I demanded, reaching for his cheek.

He brushed my hand away. “It is nothing.”

“Jafir!” I insisted.

“It wasn't a beast.” He tied his horse's lead to a branch. “It was my father.”

“
Your father?
” I couldn't hide my shock, nor did I want to. “Then he is the worst kind of animal.”

Jafir spun, lashing out at me. “He's not a beast, Morrighan!” And then more quietly, “Our northern clan arrived. There are many mouths to feed. He must show strength, or we will all become weak.”

I stared at him, dread rushing through me. It was no longer just talk. They would cross the mountains. I kept my voice even, trying to hide my fear. “Will you leave with them?”

“They're my kin, Morrighan. There are small children—” He shook his head, and in a tone that held both regret and resignation, he added, “I am the best hunter of the clan.”

That was because his kin were lazy and impatient. They wanted what they hadn't worked for. I had seen Jafir carefully setting his snares, patiently sharpening his arrows, scanning the grasses with the steady eye of a hawk, looking for the slightest rustle.

“Before they leave, you could teach them. You could—”