“Twins,” Lambkill whispered huskily.
“What?”
The silver gleam of evening sheathed Lambkill’s hand as he reached down to pick up two umbilical cords. Desiccated,
they barely looked human. Lambkill clutched them tightly in his left fist. “She had twins,” he repeated and squeezed his eyes closed. “Just like she said she would.” For a long time, he didn’t move.
Hesitantly, Tannin knelt and touched the pool of dried blood that caked the floor. Ridges of congealed tissue veined the mass. It felt icy cold. He quickly drew back his hand and wiped it on his dirty pant leg. Why had nothing disturbed the blood? Hungry animals should have already lapped up every trace. He glanced up at the ceiling again and a chill settled in his stomach. “Lambkill, let’s go. I—”
“No. Not yet. Look.”
Lambkill leaned sideways and picked up a strip of antelope hide dress. He carefully plucked a length of long black hair from the leather. “Yes,” Lambkill whispered. “Kestrel was here.”
Tannin looked around. More strands of hair were glued in the blood, and on the far right-hand side of the cave, a calf tapir hide rested. It had been rolled up and shoved against the wall, as though for the next person who might happen by and need it as a shield against the cold. The pack rats had already gnawed it. A scatter of bristly hair surrounded the hide. Why had the rats eaten the hide but stayed away from Kestrel’s blood?
Did they sense the taint… the odor of incest about it?
“Twins run in our family, Tannin,” Lambkill murmured. His eyes lifted to meet Tannin’s, and a curious fire shone in their depths. Fumbling, Lambkill tucked the umbilicals into his shirt pocket, then crawled past Tannin to get outside.
Tannin followed him down onto the sandy shore, past several clots of reeds. Bats darted over their heads as they walked. To block the bite of the night wind, Tannin folded his arms across his chest. He wished for the camp fire that he knew had burned down to red coals on the bluff above. When would Lambkill see fit to return? What could he be thinking? Did he fear that the children were his after all? That Iceplant
had lied to him? Tannin shook his head. Iceplant hadn’t lied. He’d had no reason to. Why would Lambkill stopped suddenly. A cry tore from his throat as he sprinted toward a gnarled juniper tree, his gray hair flying. The tree hugged the base of the bluff.
“What is it?” Tannin called after him. “Where are you going?”
Far to the west, the crescent moon poked through a thin layer of clouds, and its light cast a milky veil over the beach. Tannin saw Lambkill put his foot on the lowest limb of the juniper and climb up into the branches to pull something down. It looked like a small, dead animal.
“Lambkill?” Tannin bit his lip, his legs gone suddenly weak as he stepped cautiously forward. “Lambkill, what did you find?” Moonlight coated Lambkill’s tormented face as he drew a deep breath, then let it go. The wrinkles around his mouth pulled taut. He held the dead animal to his chest and made a wrenching sound. Tears traced lines down his withered cheeks as he carried his bundle out to the water’s edge and knelt in the wet sand. Tannin followed, calling, “Lambkill?”
“She killed my son!” he wailed as he rocked back and forth. “My son. My little boy. She murdered him!”
Tannin crouched and saw the tiny body that Lambkill held to his breast. His knees buckled. He braced a hand and eased down to the sand. The corpse had shriveled and turned brown. Worse, the birds had been at it. The boy’s eyes had beea pecked to empty sockets. One foot had been chewed off, leaving a ragged stump. So many raccoons hunted the shore, or maybe a hungry cat had carried the child into the tree.
Gently, Tannin put a hand on Lambkill’s shoulder. “It wasn’t your son, Lambkill. It was Iceplant’s. It’s better that the boy’s dead. If he had lived—”
Lambkill threw his head back and a horrible shriek tore from his throat. Like a short-faced bear in rage, he dropped the baby on the beach and dove for Tannin, knocking him
backward into the river. Icy liquid flooded over Tannin’s face and into his lungs. Before he could rise, Lambkill’s fingers tightened around his throat, holding him down.
Panicked, Tannin gripped his brother’s wrists and tried to break his hold. He bucked and twisted, but Lambkill straddled him and threw all of his weight into the effort, roaring like a madman.
Tannin didn’t want to hurt his brother, but when Lambkill bashed a knee into Tannin’s stomach, trying to force him to release the breath he held in his lungs, Tannin had no choice. Ruthlessly, he kicked out, twisting onto his side so he could repeatedly slam a knee into Lambkill’s groin. When Lambkill gasped and loosened his hold, Tannin shoved him backward into the river.