People of the Sea(57)

The thought of dragging his brother home frightened Tannin. The very act would humiliate Lambkill beyond speaking terms, beyond any repair of their relationship. And Tannin had come to believe that Lambkill, this magical brother he loved so much, would murder him if he so much as raised a hand to interfere with the search for Kestrel.

He shook his head. Bank swallows swooped and fluttered above him as he forded the trickle of water in the bottom of the draw and headed up the slope. He followed the trickle until he reached the place where spring floods had undercut the bank, creating a small shelter. Lambkill had a fire going. It lit the shelter with a warm glow. He could see his brother moving, bent over to avoid the low ceiling. His shadow roved the back wall.

Tannin called, “Lambkill, I’m back,” before he climbed the trail and ducked into the shelter.

Lambkill turned and peered at Tannin with unexpected calm. His faded eyes shimmered golden in the firelight. He moved differently, the stiffness of hard days on the trail gone. “I was almost ready to look for you. Did one measly grouse take you so long?”

“She was a clever grouse. Kept ducking behind brush so I couldn’t get a good shot at her.” Tannin knelt beside the fire and skewered the bird on a long stick. He glanced at Lambkill. What had happened to bring about this odd serenity? Lambkill acted as if a weight had been lifted from his soul. Had he come to some decision? About Kestrel?

Tannin laid the skewered grouse across the two forked branches that thrust up on either side of the fire pit. The feathers caught and quickly burned off in a cloud of foul smelling smoke. If he’d been home, Calling Crane would have sealed the grouse in a thick layer of clay and buried it deep in the coals, to cook slowly in its own juices. Here, there wasn’t time for such luxuries. But thinking about them made Tannin miss his wife.

She’s probably out laughing and talking with the other



women around the central fire in the plaza … and thinking about me. Worrying. Fearing for my safety.

Before he’d left, she’d said: “My heart goes with you. Come back to me. And… and remember that Kestrel is your sister-in-law. Don’t forget the times she came to our lodge begging to be taken in because of what your brother had done to her.”

At the time, he had merely nodded and hugged her goodbye. Only now could he hear the undercurrents in her voice-the resentment of Lambkill, the love for Kestrel. As always, she’d said more to him than her words conveyed.

He glanced at Lambkill, who had gone to the rear of the shelter. Shells rattled, and something thudded when Lambkill dropped it. Tannin couldn’t see what occupied him.

Tannin stretched out on his side before the fire and sniffed the heavenly scent of roasting grouse. Fat dripped onto the hearthstones, where it sizzled and popped. Down the draw, the moon peeked over the horizon as though hesitant, fearful of what it might see. A corner of silver glimmered through the gnarled branches of a copse of juniper.

Tannin smiled. With the darkness, the wind had cooled and died down to a faint whisper. It fanned their fire gently, turning the coals crimson. Bravely, he said, “Lambkill, I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should just let Kestrel go. Her trail has vanished and we—”

“We’ll find it again.”

“Well, maybe, but don’t you think—”

“Oh, you can believe me. We will. Because I know where she’s going.” “Where?”

“To the seacoast. Iceplant’s mother came from there. I don’t remember her clan’s name, but their village was right on the water. I remember hearing Wind Shadow talk about it twenty cycles ago. She’d been stolen by her husband at a young age, ten summers I think, and in her memories, that village was as glorious as the Land of the Dead.”

Lambkill sat down heavily across the fire from him and



opened the pack he propped in his lap. He drew out the dead baby.

Tannin gasped. Lambkill had disemboweled the child! A long slit ran from the baby’s throat all the way to its pubis. The internal organs and windpipe had been removed. The flesh had shriveled and blackened like a berry left in the sun too long. A prickle ran up Tannin’s spine.

Lambkill stared down at the dead baby. “Did you know that I loved Kestrel, Tannin?”

“D-did you?”

“Oh, yes. Very much. More than I can tell you. I only beat her for her own good. You know, when she did things that I knew were bad for her. You understand.”

“… I understand.”

Lambkill lifted his head and smiled. “We’ll find Kestrel. I just have to bring my son to life again. That’s all. Then he’ll be able to see her path.”