A Gathering Of Stones

12

The Chuttar Palami Kumindri sat in the largest armchair in the suite’s salon with a velvet wrapped bundle in her lap, Cammam Call= behind her, arms crossed, lively as a rock.

Palami Kumindri raised an elegant brow as Brann walked from the bedroom followed by Tak WakKerrcarr. “Are you interfering in this, WakKerrcarr?”

“Only to see the Truce is kept.” He moved to the suite’s main door, stood leaning on his staff, his face blank.

The Chuttar looked skeptical but didn’t question what he said; she turned to Brann. “You wrote you had the ransom.”

“We do. You have our friend?”

Palami Kumindri unfolded the black velvet, exposing the fractured crystal. “As you see.”

“Give her to me.”

“Give me the talisman.”

“I’ll let you see it.” She went to the window, swung the shutters wide. “Jay, come in.”

The great homed owl dropped like a missile through the unglazed window; he spread his talons, snapped his wings out and landed on the braided rug. As soon as he touched down, he changed and was a slender handsome youth. Eyes fixed on the Yaril crystal, he reached inside his shirt and brought out the little glass frog. “Churrikyoo,” he said.

“Bring it here.”

“Give my sister to the Drinker of Souls first.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Tak WakKerrcarr’s Truce. I would rather not face his anger.” She shrugged. “Why not. Come here, woman.” She indicated the crystal without touching it. “Take it.”

As soon as Brann touched the crystal, she knew that it was Yaril and that the changer was still alive. “Give her the talisman, Jay.”

Jaril flung Churrikyoo at Palami Kumindri and rushed to Brann’s side; he took the crystal from her and fed sunfire into it until it throbbed with light; he crooned at it in a high keening that rose beyond Brann’s hearing threshold. The pulsing grew fiercer, the edges of the stone melted into light and air. Silently but so suddenly Brann later swore she heard a pop!, the stone was gone and a glowsphere floated in front of Jaril. It darted at him, merged with him. He changed and there were two spheres dashing about the room in a wild dance of joy and celebration.

Brann laughed and spread her arms. A moment later she was hugging two slender forms, one a pale gold boy, the other a moonsilver girl.

And then darkness swallowed her. Swallowed them all. Swallowed Brann, Yaril, Jaril-and Tak WakKerrcarr. She heard Tak WakKerrcarr scream with rage.

She heard Palami Kumindri laugh.

And then there was nothing.

II: Korimenei/Danny Blue

After her long journey, Korimenei has finally caught up with the Rushgaramuv and is waiting for a chance to steal Frunzacoache from the shaman. After that she can race south along the Mountains to the Cheonene peninsula and at last-at long, long last-can release her brother from the spell and put the Talisman in his hands.

Korimenei lay on her stomach at the edge of the cliff, her chin resting on her crossed forearms; she watched the rites and revelry below and felt exhausted; the autumnal fertility celebrations had been going on all day and all night for a week now. It’s enough to put one off sex, beer and food for years, she thought. Maybe forever. It was boring. And it was frustrating. Until the Rushgaramuv settled and started sleeping at night, there was no way she could get at the shaman.

She watched until sunset, sighed when she saw the bonfires and torches lit once more, new white sand strewn about the dance floor. How they can, she thought. She wriggled back from the cliff edge, got to her feet, and brushed the grit off her front. She shivered. The wind had teeth in it. Any day now those fattening clouds were going to drop a load of snow on her; she was surprised it’d held off this long. She pulled the blanket tighter about her and went trudging back to the camp, thinking she hadn’t been warm in days.

Nine days ago, before the Rushgaramuv reached the wintering grounds with their diminished herds, she’d come up here on the mountain and found a hollow in a nest of boulders. She’d caulked the holes between the stones with mud and leaves to shut out the icy drafts and stretched her tent canvas over the top, covered that with more mud and twigs and sods she’d cut from patches of tough mountain grass. A man could walk by a bodylength away and not suspect what he was passing.

Ailiki had killed and dressed some squirrels for her and nosed out some tubers. Korimenei smiled as she saw the neat little carcasses laid out on a platter of overlapping leaves. The first time she’d seen the mahsar dressing meat, she’d gaped like a fool, unable to believe what her eyes were showing her-Ailiki using a small sharp knife, its hilt molded to fit her hand, the blade a sliver of steel shaped like a crescent moon. Where Ailiki got it, how she knew how to use it…

Korimenei looked down at the squirrel carcasses, shook her head and went to gather wood to cook them.