Chapter 8
EIGHT
Swearing, I smack a bug away from my bare stomach. In defense against the heat, I’ve stripped down to my breastband and exchanged trousers for a knee length wrap of cloth around my waist. The boys stripped down days ago, and Maezii claims it’s colder up in the air so she’s comfortable enough. The tradeoff is insects.
One buzzes too close and I huff.
Rath closes his fist around it in a snap of movement, crushing the pest then flicking it away. He glances at me with a look that says, see how helpful I am?
I pat his thigh. Yes, very helpful. Such a good boy.
He kisses my temple, pleased, and remains alert for more insects that come too close.
What we get, instead, is Iloni.
She drops out of a tree right as the sun begins to sink below the horizon. There’d been signs of scouts for several miles now as we approached, the plan to swerve around town and head to my cabin first .
“You’re late,” she says, her expression aggravated as we pull the horses up. “Ma sent scouts after you.”
“I know.” Two curt words, the cut in them digging deep.
Iloni grimaces. “What happened?”
“She tried to assassinate my wife.”
She eyes me. “Didn’t try hard.”
“That’s what I keep telling him,” I interject. “We need to handle this carefully or the entire female’s circle?—”
“You’re not handling anything,” Rath cuts me off. “I’ll deal with?—”
“Shit,” Iloni says. “You’ll deal with shit. Female’s circle business.”
He bares his teeth and hisses at her. “Don’t pull female’s circle horseshit on me. I have a right to defend my wife.”
“You also have a right to piss off the entire male’s circle when their wives, mothers, daughters, sisters and even the cows punish them for your actions.”
“She has a point,” Hatthar drawls. “Let the girls hash it out.”
“You really were planning on taking the clan,” I say quietly to Rath.
His arm tightens around me, his voice grim. “I don’t want to, but they force my hand.”
The bright roar of the bonfire, the shouts of laughter and good-natured cursing, the brawls that break out and the young running around all hit me. Even though I always existed on the periphery, these sights and scents are familiar.
They’re home.
I recognize the faces and the voices, some slightly changed, most not at all. I glance at Maezii but I’m not worried about her with Ya?onar at her side, his arm draped loosely across her shoulders. His posture is subtly possessive, but unchallenging. No one will insult her in his presence. Most people know how far they can push an Icarian warrior before he responds.
Fiuthen draws close and slaps Rathhur on the shoulder. “You made it back! In one piece. I bet Kyona would murder you before you managed to bring her home.”
“A bet with who?” I ask.
“Me,” Iloni says. “I bet that you'd grown some ovaries in the last twenty years. I suppose I bet wrong.” She looks me up and down. “So. . .you let him contract you? A bit lowering, but whatever works.”
“Incoming,” Lathhan says. “Be ready.”
Idunna is a handsome Orcess, taller than Iloni, her eyes sharper. She’s cut her hair to her shoulders, rare for a Uthilsen.
She stops in front of me, her lips twisted in contempt, her dark eyes cold. “You're not welcome here, vermin.”
Next to me, Rath is as relaxed and calm as an Icarian. Neither of us speak. He promised he would take the clan, but he won't aggress on his own mother.
Idunna sneers after it's obvious I'm not going to respond. “Still hiding behind my son like a coward.”
“I'm standing at his side, Matriarch,” I say, keeping my voice low and neutral. “Not behind.”
“My wife is welcome,” Rathhur says.
I widen my eyes to keep from closing them. So that's the tactic he's going to take.
There's no surprise in Idunna’s stare though, and it's a long, cold stare as she regards her son. “Wife. The circle gave you no permission to wed.”
“And yet I did. It was witnessed.”
“By who?”
Fiuthen lifts a hand. “I was there.”
“And me.” Hatthar wiggles his fingers.
Iloni shrugs. “I was there too, Ma. They took the oath and blooded the blades. It's not like you don't know, you see the wedding scars on his shoulders whenever he takes his shirt off.”
Idunna chuckles. “Fine. Then I'll make you a widower, son.” Her stare pins me. “I challenge you, vermin. For taking my son to husband without permission. The insult must be alleviated.”
Rathhur steps in front of me. “We have a contract. If I allow her to come to harm, I'll suffer the consequences.”
“A contract?” Anger seethes in her voice. “Who will enforce it?” She spits on the ground. “That's what I think of your weak contract.”
“I am here,” Ya?onar says. “I stand witness, if I may.”
Idunna rounds on him.
“Guest right,” Ya?onar adds coolly, eyeing her.
Idunna gives him her back. “ If you have a contract, then she's mine to command, since you are my son.” There's a gleam in her eyes now.
Rathhur shakes his head. “You misunderstand. I’m indentured to her. She is master, I servant. A year and a day and if I keep my word, she'll take me to husband again, this time in front of the entire clan. I will kneel, and I will accept her blade against my throat.”
Idunna roars and lunges, but not before Iloni shoves Rathhur away and meets her mother chest to chest.
“I accept the challenge on Kyona’s behalf,” Iloni snaps. “She's my brother’s wife. I have the right.”
There's a feminine roar of approval as it seems as if every throat that belongs to the female’s circle agrees. The Uthilsen give them room, onlookers silent as mother and daughter square off.
“You dare stand against your own mother?” Idunna circles Iloni.
Iloni mirrors her movements. “I didn’t want to, Ma, but you’ve gone too far.”
Idunna lunges. Iloni ducks, the blow whistling over her head as she counters with a swift uppercut to Idunna's ribs, eliciting a grunt from the Matriarch.
They clash, green skin glistening with sweat in the bonfire's light. Rath grabs my upper arm when I take a step forward. “Don’t.”
Blowing out a breath, I wait, tense at his side. This isn’t to the death. Idunna's experience shows, but Iloni is fast and vicious and calm. Idunna charges, and Iloni uses her mother's momentum, hurling Idunna over her shoulder.
The Matriarch hits the ground with a resounding thud but rolls quickly to her feet and charges again, tackling Iloni to the ground. They grapple, and Iloni lifts her feet and pushes the older Orcess off.
Idunna launches into a series of punches, her fists battering rams. Iloni staggers back, momentarily dazed. Idunna presses forward. Iloni ducks low and drives her shoulder into Idunna's midsection, lifting Idunna off her feet, and slamming her to the ground.
Iloni is on her, pinning her arms and straddling her chest.
“Yield, Ma,” Iloni demands, her voice hoarse but firm.
Idunna struggles, her face contorted.
“Yield,” the females call out.
Idunna's body goes limp. “Traitors,” she growls. Iloni waits, then stands, backing up a wary step as if braced for another charge.
Idunna flips to her feet then spits blood and a loose tooth out of her mouth. “This is just a reprieve,” she tells me. “The clan has no use for dead Human weight.”
She stalks off, but I don't let myself relax.
“She got off light,” Rath mutters, then sighs.
“She threw the fight,” I say, pitching my voice low. “Iloni is good, but. . .”
I think she did it because she’s dug herself so far into a hole that she couldn’t publicly change her mind and still save face. But losing to her daughter is a point of pride.
“She tried to kill you.”
“She had to punish me. I married her son without permission. She was within her rights. Let it go, Rath.”
Iloni returns to us and glances at Rathhur, grabbing my hand. “Go with the males. I'll stay with her tonight.”
“But—”
She glares. “Ky’a don’t need you underfoot. Don't be unseemly.”
He closes his mouth, scowling, but obeys. Being home and watching the dynamics reminds me how twisted Human cultures are. Communities run much better when the males know their place.
Iloni drags me to a bench several feet away from the bonfire and we sit. She's moving a little stiffly, and a female approaches with a medical kit. Iloni endures the ministrations with a stoic expression, unflinching when a needle pierces her skin to sew up the various lacerations.
The female pats her shoulder. “You did well. It was a good fight.”
A little Uthilsen boy strides up, an adorable swagger to his steps. He holds out his hands and there's a string of polished beads draped across his wrists.
“My beloved's eyes are brighter than the moon.”
I blink. Hearing those words comes so solemnly in a high, piping voice is odd. He shoves the strand of beads at me and I take them.
“Thank you.”
All right. Maybe his mother wanted to welcome me back home. I'm about to ask, but he leaves. I slip the beads over my head with a smile for whoever gave them to me.
A tall young male, about the age Rath was when I left him, stomps forward with a scowl on his face. His cheeks are dark with color.
I lift an eyebrow.
He clears his throat. “My beloved’s ax drips with the blood of my enemies.”
Each word sounds like he's embarrassed, but he hands me a sheathed dagger with surprising grace, then scrambles backwards. I free the dagger and admire it. It's beautifully done, the sheathe tooled leather.
I must be tired to be so slow but it clicks what he said, and the words of the little boy before him. I frown.
“Were they spouting ancient Uthilsen poetry at me?”
Iloni snorts. She's sprawled with her back against the table, arms crossed over her chest.
An older female walks up, her long thick hair gray, lines at the corners of her eyes.
She waits until I give her a respectful nod, then smiles at me, her voice rich and deep. “My beloved's courage is praised by the Mother.”
When she hands me the gift, I uncover the cloth wrapping it to see a small leather-bound book. Skimming a few pages, I realize it's a journal of Aeddannari herb lore.
I think I know now what's going on, and tears prick my eyes.
“Don't cry,” Iloni says out of the side of her mouth. “He’ll gloat.”
I laugh .
This time Hatthar strolls up to me, his expression uncharacteristically serious. Iloni stretches out a leg likes she’s hoping he’s blind and will trip over it.
But then he ruins his uncharacteristic soberness by kneeling at my feet.
His voice rings out. “My beloved’s womb will bring me life; I worship at her garden.”
I remember the poem now, it's one of the long ones we pass down through generations. He reaches inside his vest and brings out a small brown square package. I already know what it is. Seeds.
A Uthilsen traditional courtship gift, though they all are. Rathhur is saying with this packet of seeds that he'll be with no other, no matter the circumstances, for the rest of his life. That his children will be mine or no one’s.
“Steady,” Hatthar whispers, smiling at me. He holds out the packet, and I take it slowly.
“I can’t accept my beloved's gifts, until he fulfills his oath,” I say. “But on the day he does, and not one day sooner, I will blood him as mine.”
He rises, then bends down and kisses me on the cheek. “I'm glad you're home, Ky’a.”
Once I blink the tears out of my eyes I turn my head, searching for Rath. When I find him standing just beyond the edge of the bonfire, his arms crossed over his chest, our gazes meet. He gives me a slow half smile, the look on his face gentle.
I start to return the smile, but he straightens abruptly, scowling, and a moment later my sightline is cut off as a male steps in front of me.