Exile's Children Read Online Free PDF Page A

tiswin.
    â€œNemeth and Zeil are settled?” he asked.
    Racharran nodded, his face a moment dark.
    Yazte chuckled and said, “Chakthi watched their going like some bile-ridden buffalo, then announced them banished from the Tachyn. Ach, it was a sight to savor, his black face.”
    Morrhyn essayed a smile, not wishing to offend.
    â€œWe spoke of the Grannach,” Racharran said.
    Yazte said, “Of their absence.”
    Morrhyn felt a fresh prickling of doubt. The Stone Folk attended the Matakwa each year, coming down from their high caves and secret tunnels to trade their metalwork with the People—had since first the clans came to Ket-Ta-Witko—but the Meeting Ground had been filled for three days now and usually the Grannach would have appeared on the first. That they had not seemed to the wakanisha a further confirmation that all was not well. Lacking any explanation of their absence, he only shrugged.
    â€œWhen shall you hold Dream Council?” Racharran asked.
    â€œOnce Rannach and Arrhyna are wed,” Morrhyn replied. “When shall that be?”
    â€œI’d see her parents’ horses safe,” Racharran said, “and then announce the wedding. The horses tomorrow, the wedding the next day?”
    â€œYes.” Morrhyn stifled a sigh and took the pitcher, filling his cup. Perhaps tiswin would still his fear a little. “You’ll feast them?”
    â€œModestly,” Racharran said. “I’d not see my son’s pride too swollen, nor seem to flaunt the thing in Chakthi’s face.”
    â€œThat’s wise,” the wakanisha said. “And perhaps the Grannach shall be here by then.”
    â€œI’d throw a great feast,” Yazte declared, laughing, “and make a point of inviting Chakthi and Vachyr.” He paused, still laughing. “Or perhaps a point of
not
inviting them.”
    Morrhyn thought the akaman had taken his fair share and more of the tiswin. Racharran said, “I shall invite Chakthi and Hadduth—it should be insult otherwise.”
    Yazte snorted, but Kahteney nodded approvingly. Morrhyn said, “Might you not ask Juh to arrange it? Will Chakthi listen to anyone, it must be him. And does Chakthi accept, then it must surely be a step toward settling these differences.”
    â€œThat should be a wise move, I think—if it works,” Racharran said soberly.
    â€œI am outvoted, then,” said Yazte, reaching for the pitcher. “But I tell you, that sour face will spoil my appetite.”
    Racharran reached out to grasp the Lakanti’s wrist. “Does he accept, my friend, then I ask that you bear that spoiling. I charge you to curb your tongue and not give him cause for further offence.”
    â€œMe?” Yazte’s eyes rounded and he slapped a hand to his chest in mockery of innocence. “Offend Chakthi, me?”
    â€œYes,” Racharran said. “Have I your word?”
    Yazte’s lips pursed as if he contemplated the matter, then he shrugged. “It shall be hard, but yes. I’d not see your son’s wedding feast spoiled. Though …” His smile grew broader. “I think Chakthi’s presence shall not improve it much.”
    Racharran said, “Perhaps not; but peace between us shall.”
    The morning of the wedding dawned fine. The sun lit the pinnacle of the Maker’s Mountain as if in blessing, and when Morrhyn emerged from his lodge he perceived no ill omens—save, perhaps, that he had again dreamed of the fire-footed horse and its blank-eyed rider. Nor was he comforted by the continued absence of the Grannach, and as he bathed he cast his eyes toward the mountains, hoping all the time to see the Stone Folk coming.
    He was disappointed, and struggled to shake off pessimism as he returned to his tent to dress in his finest buckskins, readying for the ceremony.
    Such affairs were conducted simply by the People, thought the Commacht lodges