Osha’s eyes wandered. “It happened so quickly ... mere breaths ... and they were both dead.”
Dänvârfij fought an urge to interrupt, wanting to go at Osha for loyalty to his jeóin’s oath over their caste. She waited in silence.
Father knew most of their separate stories of a combat that had taken a great greimasg’äh and one of the most honored of their caste. But he wanted more concerning what that pale-skinned monster, her half-blood mate, and the deviant majay-hì had found. Father needed to know about the unknown artifact that none among them but Osha had seen.
And Osha must have seen it.
When Dänvârfij had followed Hkuan’duv in trailing their quarry into the Pock Peaks, he had told her all that Most Aged Father knew was that Magiere sought an unknown artifact. It was reasoned by Father to be something once wielded by the Ancient Enemy in the ancient forgotten war that was said to have covered the world. Such a device could never remain in human hands.
Then there was Osha’s secretly carried journal. Father expected many answers, and Dänvârfij waited for the questioning to begin.
It did not.
Father was quiet for so long, simply regarding Osha. He shuddered as his gaze suddenly wandered. Those old eyes, which had watched over their people from their beginning in this land, began to slowly close. Of all the things Dänvârfij had ever seen, what she witnessed almost broke her.
Tears rolled from the patriarch’s old eyes and would not stop. They trailed in streams down his withered face.
Dänvârfij breathed slowly so as not to shed a tear herself. She knew how much Father cherished Sgäilsheilleache, though he held all of his caste close to his heart.
Osha dropped, his knees sinking into a cushion. He slumped until his hood hid his face from view. Dänvârfij would not let emotion take her likewise.
“All because of that woman,” Father whispered. “Because of that half-living thing!”
It was clear he spoke of the monster, Magiere.
With great effort, he raised one frail hand from his mossy bed and reached out toward Osha—and Osha looked up at him.
“Leave us, Daughter,” Father whispered. “Stay near until I call for you.”
Dänvârfij started slightly in confusion.
It had been her understanding that she was bringing Osha for questioning, that her testimony would be compared to his. Aside from what needed to be learned concerning what had been taken from the six-towered castle ...
If she left, Osha could say anything for Sgäilsheilleache, and not a word would be spoken for Hkuan’duv.
“We will speak later,” Father whispered. “Go now.”
And he still held out a hand to only Osha.
It was unthinkable to question a request from Father. Confused, hurt, and shunned, Dänvârfij left the heart-root chamber, passing Juan’yâre without a word as she rushed up the stairs.
She was breathing too hard, her head spinning, as she slapped aside the entryway cloth and stepped out of the great tree. She did not acknowledge the startled glances and tension of the anmaglâhk sentries as she rushed past them.
As yet no one else knew that Hkuan’duv and Sgäilsheilleache were dead, but the sentries must know something of great importance had happened. She would not be the one to tell them more. Even if she would have been, her throat burned too much from her racing breaths.
A shift of shadow near one of the oaks ringing the clearing made her breath stop altogether.
Out of the shadow came Brot’ân’duivé.
“A greimasg’äh ... here?” she whispered to herself.
Never glancing her way, one of the remaining few shadow-grippers like Hkuan’duv strode toward the great oak. Brot’ân’duivé was the tallest man she had ever seen, but he looked travel worn. His forest gray cloak was dusty and marred, with tree needles clinging here and there.
Dänvârfij was only a dozen paces beyond the oak’s entrance. As the greimasg’äh neared Father’s oak, she saw those well-known scars that skipped over his right eye. But his dark face glistened with sweat that caught in the fine creases around his eyes and mouth. Wherever he had come from, it had been a long, hard, and fast journey.
Brot’ân’duivé might still be the greatest among their caste, but he was old for an anmaglâhk. Most of them were counted fortunate to see more than seventy years. He was beyond that, though she did not know his true age.
His expression appeared fixed, cold, and purposeful. She had seen him only a few times in her life but had never spoken to him. It was well-known that the relationship between this greimasg’äh and Father was deeply strained, and Brot’ân’duivé was rarely seen in Crijheäiche anymore.
Dänvârfij turned back as he approached the three sentries. Two of them closed together, blocking the entrance, and the greimasg’äh halted, not blinking as he faced them.
“Move aside,” he ordered.
“Forgive us, Greimasg’äh,” said the left one with a quick bow of his head. “Father is counseling a recently returned caste member, and no one may interrupt.”
Brot’ân’duivé answered in a half whisper, “I know full well who he is ... counseling.”
The right sentry visibly stiffened.
Even among the caste, not all was known about the Greimasg’äh—the Shadow-Grippers. They had skills that could be learned but never taught. Some claimed that shadow and silence became their very armor and weapons. And if their chosen target ever lost sight of them—if such ever saw a greimasg’äh coming in the first place—that one was quickly dead.
Dänvârfij had more than once asked Hkuan’duv about this. She received only a sad smile and shake of his head for an answer.
“I told you to move,” Brot’ân’duivé said again.
“Please, Greimasg’äh,” said the sentry on the left. “We cannot allow—”
“It is the right and responsibility of a caste elder to look in on those who return without their team. I will not instruct you a third time.”
Dänvârfij did not approve of Brot’ân’duivé’s using his authority in this manner, but he had earned his place among them long ago. All present knew his great deeds for the sake of the people.
The left sentinel stepped aside with a quick nod of respect, but the one on the right did not. In a snapping motion, his left hand darted toward his other sleeve. It never landed.
The path to the door was suddenly clear before the left sentinel back-stepped into a ready position. The other one lay on the ground, gasping for air as he clutched his throat.
Dänvârfij had not even seen the greimasg’äh’s strike. But no one moved into Brot’ân’duivé’s way as he swept through the curtained opening and vanished into the great oak. She stood there helpless, knowing she could not follow without Father summoning her.
An anmaglâhk had tried to draw a weapon upon a revered elder of their caste. And Tosân’leag’s words reverberated in Dänvârfij’s head.
I see churning waters ahead for your caste ... that may drown us all.
“Dänvârfij?”
Eywodan’s voice cut through her memories, and she found herself staring at the river running into the ocean. She turned to see him walking toward her, still looking somewhat unfamiliar in his human clothing.
If only she had known back then all that she knew now. With those sentries, she or one of them might have lived long enough to kill the traitor at Father’s entrance.