“Why?” Wynn gasped.
“Because of Brot’ân’duivé! I did not know at the time, but a small team of the loyalists had murdered Gleannéohkân’thva. In retribution the greimasg’äh made an attempt on Most Aged Father’s life. This sent the loyalists into madness. They were going to take Leanâlhâm hostage and use her against Brot’ân’duivé.”
Wynn’s mouth fell open. “Anmaglâhk murdered Gleann? Oh, poor Leanâlhâm. Why would they do such a thing?”
There Osha paused. He could not bring himself to tell her that the old healer was killed over a journal that Wynn herself had sent—a journal that Most Aged Father had desperately wanted, as he believed it contained information about the first orb.
“Gleannéohkân’thva was a dissident,” he answered flatly, instead of giving her the whole truth. He hoped she would stop questioning him. He had questions of his own that she needed to answer.
“So Leanâlhâm was attacked there on the shore?”
“I went to rescue her, and ... I had to accept help from the greimasg’äh, for I could not take three of them alone without my weapons. The greimasg’äh had wounded all three before I went for Leanâlhâm’s captor. Once I had her, Brot’ân’duivé drove off the trio. But by then ... it did not matter.”
Every scar upon Osha stung anew, as if burned by the memory, as he turned his eyes again on Wynn. “Leanâlhâm is now seen as an enemy of Most Aged Father, and, through his lies, an enemy of the people. I marked myself the same in attacking my ... the anmaglâhk ... in company with the greimasg’äh.”
“So you had to run,” Wynn whispered, “from your own caste, your people.”
“Because of Brot’ân’duivé! He had a new purpose—to hunt those who hunted Magiere and Léshil, and to kill them. I joined the greimasg’äh on his journey and later ... had no choice but to join in his purpose, for I had to protect Leanâlhâm from his obsession.”
Osha fell silent, idly turning the fish on the skewer—and still Wynn would not relent.
“What happened on the voyage ... to my homeland?”
He could not even bring himself to look at her; it was a moment before he said another word, and finally he began to speak....
Osha, along with Leanâlhâm, followed Brot’ân’duivé, who somehow gained them passage on a civilian an’Cróan vessel willing to sail into human waters. If that crew had only known what the greimasg’äh had done, would do ... but they did not. And who among the people would deny aid to an anmaglâhk, let alone the great Brot’ân’duivé, greimasg’äh and master of silence and shadow?
The people were grateful, for the Anmaglâhk served them, protected them. So it was said and believed. The ship took them around the point and south toward the Outward Bay and Bela, capital city of the human nation of Belaski. That voyage unto itself was painful.
For all that Osha had suffered, he stayed inside a cabin on board as much as he could, for Leanâlhâm would not leave the place, even for meals. Whenever he left to seek out food and water, when he brought such back, he saw panic in her eyes, as if she feared he might not return. Also, he noticed that she flinched every time he said her name.
It was longer still before Osha suspected there was more to this than Leanâlhâm’s loss of home, Sgäilsheilleache, and then Gleannéohkân’thva, but he did not press her.
There were some things one did not demand—or take. So Osha cared only for her needs and did what he could for her suffering. Yet even amid this, Brot’ân’duivé insisted upon examining Osha’s “gifts”—as he called them—from the Chein’âs and the black séyilf.
As Leanâlhâm looked anxiously between her companions, Brot’ân’duivé demanded that Osha tell him what happened in the fire caves.
Osha said nothing. And so the greimasg’äh took the sword only and left the cabin that all three of them shared. Osha did not care whether he ever again saw that human thing that had severed him from the life he had wanted in service to his people.
Brot’ân’duivé came back without the sword ... until the fifth following day, when it was in his hand again. He thrust it at Osha.
The hilt strut had been fitted with tawny, smooth, and shimmering wood like that of the living ship of their people that carried them—a Päirvänean. The same wood was used for the hilts of Anmaglâhk blades, though it was not always grown out of a ship. Those hilts were also wrapped tightly in straps of leather, obscuring what was beneath the wrap, for a sure grip.
“It is yours,” the greimasg’äh declared, “made for you by the Chein’âs. You must learn to use it ... though I cannot be your teacher for this.”
Osha wanted nothing to do with that cursed thing. He touched it only long enough to wrap and hide it from his sight. More than once he thought to cast it overboard, but each time he faltered, unable to do so.
Once the ship reached Bela, Brot’ân’duivé learned that the team hunting Magiere and Léshil had already set sail.
It took two days to arrange passage and board a human ship sailing to the central continent. Osha balked at that, though the thought of Leanâlhâm alone in some foreign land with only the tainted greimasg’äh was more than he could tolerate. Even if he had not cared for her as if she were of his own blood, she was the last kin of his jeóin, his teacher.
He tried to consider any option besides forcing her onto a ship bound for another continent.
“She cannot stay here among humans,” Brot’ân’duivé stated flatly, “and you cannot take her home. You would both be seized for treason.”
And why? Because they both had ties to the greimasg’äh, and thereby they were both of use to Most Aged Father.
So they boarded the human vessel and crossed the ocean.
That journey over seemingly endless water felt like a lifetime. Osha found some comfort in caring for Leanâlhâm and in the fact that Brot’ân’duivé often left them alone. It gave Osha a reason—a purpose—not to think on all that had happened to him.
When they landed in a stinking and teeming human city on the central continent’s eastern coast, Brot’ân’duivé’s demeanor changed. He settled Osha and Leanâlhâm in an inn and vanished for a while that night. The following dawn he returned ... with a longbow, a number of bare arrow shafts, black crow feathers, other odd materials, and even some steel arrowheads.
“The loyalists head west, across land,” he said. “We will track them.”
Osha did not know or care how Brot’ân’duivé learned this. But he could not help thinking that if the loyalists hunted Magiere and Léshil, they might also hunt any of the pair’s past companions ... such as Wynn. She had written the journal via which the greimasg’äh and Most Aged Father had started open war among the people.
That fear goaded Osha into obedience to the greimasg’äh. The next day began another long journey, this time overland. And Brot’ân’duivé would not leave Osha in peace.
As they made camp at the end of their first day, the shadow-gripper stood over him and demanded, “Give me the white metal bow handle.”
Osha was confused, not knowing what the greimasg’äh meant. When he did not respond, Brot’ân’duivé went to Osha’s belongings and began searching. Osha was on his feet in an instant, for he had had enough meddling for a lifetime.
The greimasg’äh rose, and in his hand was the split tube of white metal that was slightly curved.