The Stone of Farewell (117 page)

Simon's choked gasp echoed in the terrible silence.

Ingen Jegger slowly turned. Recognizing Simon, the huntsman curled his mouth in a lipless smile. “You led me to her, boy.”

An ash-darkened figure rose from the smoking clutter at Ingen's feet.

“Venyha s'anh!”
Jiriki shouted, and drove Indreju squarely into the huntsman's midsection.

Driven backward by the impact of Jiriki's blow, Ingen at last staggered to a halt, bending over the length of the blade which had been wrenched from its owner's hand. He gradually straightened, then coughed. Blood dribbled from his mouth and stained his pale beard, but his smile remained. “The time of the Dawn Children ... is over,” he rasped. There was a humming sound. Suddenly, a half-dozen arrows stood in Ingen's broad trunk, sprouting on all sides like hedgehog quills.

“Murder!”

It was Simon who shouted this time. He leaped to his feet, his heartbeat sounding loud as war-drums in his ears; he felt the whipsong breath of the second volley of arrows as he ran forward toward the huntsman. He swung the heavy stone which he had clutched for so long.

“Seoman! No!”
shouted Jiriki.

The huntsman slid to his knees, but remained upright. “Your witch ... is dead,” he panted. He raised a hand toward the approaching Simon. “The sun is setting ...”

More arrows leaped across the Y ásira and Ingen Jegger slowly topped to the ground.

Hatred burst out like a flame in Simon's heart as he stood over the huntsman, and he raised the stone high in the air. Ingen Jegger's face was still frozen in an exultant grin, and for the thinnest moment his pale blue eyes locked with Simon's. An instant later Ingen's face disappeared in a smash of red and the huntsman's body was rolled across the ground by the force of the blow. Simon clambered after him with a wordless cry of rage, all his pent frustration flooding out in a maddening surge.

The fury turned into a kind of wild glee. He felt strength flowing through him. At last! He brought the rock down upon Ingen's head, lifted it and smashed it down again, then over and over uncontrollably until hands pulled him away from the body and he slid down into his own red darkness.

Khendraja‘aro brought him to Jiriki. The prince's uncle, as all the other citizens of Jao é- Tunukai'i, was dressed in dark mourning gray. Simon, too, wore pants and shirt of that color, brought to him by a subdued Aditu the day after the burning of the Y ásira.

Jiriki was staying in a house not his own, a dwelling of pink, yellow, and pale brown circular tents that Simon thought looked like giant bee-hives. The Sitha-woman who lived there was a healer, Aditu had told him. The healer was taking care that Jiriki's burns were given proper care.

Kehndraja'aro, his face a stiff, heavy mask, left Simon at the house's wind-whipped entranceway and departed without a word. Simon entered as Aditu had directed and found himself in a darkened room lit only by a single dim globe on a wooden stand. Jiriki was propped up in a great bed. His hands lay upon his chest, bandaged with strips of silky cloth. The Sitha's face was shiny with some oily substance, which served only to accentuate his otherworldly appearance. Jiriki's skin was blackened in many places, and his eyebrows and some of his long hair had been scorched away, but Simon was relieved to see that the Prince did not seem badly scarred.

“Seoman,” Jiriki said, and showed a trace of smile.

“How are you?” Simon asked shyly. “Are you hurting?”

The prince shook his head. “I do not suffer much, not from these burns, Seoman. In my family we are made of stern stuff—as you may remember from our first meeting.” Jiriki looked him up and down. “And how is your own health?”

Simon felt awkward. “I'm well.” He paused. “I'm so sorry.” Facing the calm figure before him, he was ashamed by his own animality, ashamed to have become a screaming brute before the eyes of all. That memory had weighed heavily on him in the days just passed. “It was all my fault.”

Jiriki hastened to raise his hand, then eased it back down, conceding only a small grimace of pain. “No, Seoman, no. You have done nothing for which you should apologize. That was a day of terror, and you have suffered far too many of those.”

“It's not that,” Simon said miserably. “He followed me! Ingen Jegger said he followed me to find First Grandmother! I led her murderer here.”

Jiriki shook his head. “This was planned for some time, Seoman. Believe me, the Red Hand could not lightly send one of their own into the fastness of Jao é-Tunukai‘i, even for the few moments it lasted. Ineluki is not yet so strong. That was a well-conceived attack, one long considered. It took a great deal of power from both Utuk'ku and the Storm King to accomplish it.

“Do you think it a coincidence that First Grandmother should be silenced by Utuk‘ku just before she could reveal Ineluki's design? That the Red Hand creature should force its way through just then, at a tremendous expense of spell-bought strength? And do you think the huntsman Ingen was just wandering in the wood and suddenly decided to kill Amerasu the Ship-Born? No, I do not think so, either—although it is true that he may have stumbled on your trail before Aditu brought you here. Ingen Jegger was no fool, and it would have been far easier for him to track a mortal than one of us, but he would have found his way into Jao é-Tunukai'i somehow. Who can know how long he waited beyond the Summer Gate once he had found it, waiting for his mistress to set him upon her enemies at just the right moment? It was a war plan, Seoman, precise and more than a little desperate. They must have feared First Grandmother's wisdom very much.”

Jiriki lifted his bandaged hand to his face, touching it for a moment to his forehead. “Do not take the blame upon yourself, Seoman. Amerasu's death was ordained in the black pits below Nakkiga—or perhaps even when the Two Families parted at Sesuad'ra, thousands of years ago. We are a race that nurses its hurts a long time in silence. You were not at fault.”

“But why!?” Simon wanted to believe Jirki's words, but the horrible sense of loss that had threatened to overwhelm him several times already that morning would not go away.

“Why? Because Amerasu had seen into Ineluki's secret heart—and who would have been better able to do that than she? She had discovered his design at last and was going to reveal it to her people. Now, we may never know—or perhaps we will understand only when Ineluki sees fit to display it in all its inevitability.” Weariness seemed to wash through him. “By our Grove, Seoman, we have lost so much! Not only Amerasu's wisdom, which was great, but we have also lost our last link with the Garden. We are truly unhomed.” He lifted his eyes to the billowing ceiling, so that his angular face was bathed in pale yellow light. “The Hernystiri had a song of her, you know:

Jiriki took a careful breath to ease his scorched throat. A look of surprising fury contorted his normally placid face. “Even from the place where Ineluki lives, from beyond death—
how could he send a stranger to kill his mother!?”

“What will we do? How can we fight him?”

“That is not for you to worry about, Seoman Snowlock.”

“What do you mean?” Simon restrained his anger. “How can you say that to me? After all we've both seen?”

“I did not mean it in the way it sounded, Seoman. ” The Sitha smiled in self-mockery. “I have lost even the basest elements of courtesy. Forgive me.”

Simon saw that he was actually waiting. “Of course, Jiriki. Forgiven.”

“I mean only that we Zida‘ya have our own councils to keep. My father Shima'onari is badly wounded and Likimeya my mother must call the folk together—but not at the Y ásira. I think we will never meet in that place again. Did you know, Seoman, that the great tree was burned white as snow? Did you not have a dream once about such a thing?” Jiriki cocked his head, his gaze full of subtle light. “Ah, forgive me again. I wander in thought and forget the important things. Has anyone told you? Likimeya has decreed that you will go.”

“Go? Leave Jao é-Tinukai'i?” The rush of joy was accompanied by an unexpected current of regret and anger. “Why now?”

“Because it was Amerasu's last wish. She told my parents before the gathering began. But why do you sound so unsettled? You will go back to your own people. It is for the best, in any case. We Zida'ya must mourn the loss of our eldest, our best. This is no place for mortals, now—and it is what you wanted, is it not? To go back to your folk?”

“But you can't just close yourselves off and turn away! Not this time! Didn't you hear Amerasu? We all have to fight the Storm King! It is cowardice not to!” Her stern, soft face was suddenly before him again, at least in memory. Her magnificently knowing eyes ...

“Calm yourself, young friend,” Jiriki said with a tight, angry smile. “You are full of good intentions, but you do not know enough to speak so forcefully.” His expression softened. “Fear not, Seoman. Things are changing. The Hikeda‘ya have killed our eldest, struck her down in our own sacred house. They have crossed a line that cannot be recrossed. Perhaps they meant to, but that matters less than the fact that it has happened. That is another reason for you to leave, manchild. There is no place for you in the war councils of the Zida'ya.”

“Then you're going to fight?” Simon felt a sudden pinch of hope at his heart.

Jiriki shrugged. “Yes, I think so—but how or when is not for me to say.”

“It's all so much,” Simon murmured. “So fast.”

“You must go, young friend. Aditu will return soon from attending my parents. She will take you to where you can find your folk. It is best done swiftly, since it is not usual for Shima'onari or Likimeya to undo their own Words of Decree. Go. My sister will come to you at my house by the river.” Jiriki leaned down and lifted something from the mossy floor. “And do not forget to take your mirror, my friend.” He smiled slyly. “You may need to call me again, and I still owe you a life.”

Simon took the gleaming thing and slid it into his pocket. He hesitated, then leaned forward and carefully wrapped his arms around Jiriki, trying not to touch his burns as he gently embraced him. The Sithi prince touched Simon's cheek with his cool lips.

“Go in peace, Seoman Snowlock. We will meet again. That is a promise.”

“Farewell, Jiriki.” He turned and marched swiftly away without looking back. He slowed his pace after he stumbled once in the winding hallway, a long, wind-rippled tunnel the color of sand.

Outside, immersed in a swirl of confused thoughts, Simon suddenly realized that he was feeling a curious chill. Looking up, he saw that the summery skies over Jao é-Tinukai'i had darkened, taking on a more somber hue. The breeze was colder than any he had ever felt there before.

The summer is fading,
he thought, and was frightened again.
I don't think they'll ever get it back.

Suddenly all his petty anger toward the Sithi evaporated and a great, heavy sorrow for them overtook him. Whatever else was here, there was also beauty unseen since the world was young, long preserved against the killing frosts of time. Now the walls were tumbling down before a great, wintery wind. Many exquisite things might be ravaged beyond reclaiming.

He hurried along the riverbank toward Jiriki's house.

The journey out of Jao é-Tinukai'i passed swiftly for Simon, dim and slippery as a dream. Aditu sang in her family's tongue and Simon held her hand tightly as the forest shimmered and changed around them. They walked out of cool grayish-blue skies into the very jaws of winter, which had lain in wait like a stalking beast.