Something changed in me at that moment. I had not realized that I had still held the People apart from myself, still regarded the ancestor trees as other than what they were, bodies for spirits of the ancestors to inhabit. The remorse and sorrow I felt over their deaths vibrated through me, suddenly in tune with what Soldier’s Boy felt. For that moment, we were closer to accord. For the blink of an eye, we were one. And then apart again. He let out a pent breath.

“Nevare,” Soldier’s Boy said to me quietly, “separately or together, we must bear the guilt and the remorse for the things we have done. Separately or together, we cannot change the past. But together, we might be able to change the future.”

“But change it how?” I asked him bitterly. “Annihilate those who remain at Gettys? If I merge with you, you gain the knowledge that the magic will finally be able to work its will. But what do I gain? Only the knowledge that people I love may be slaughtered. I can see every reason why I should resist this, and none for why I should concede.”

For a time, he was silent. I looked with him out of our eyes at the world around us. Nearby, the stream spoke softly, rippling over stone, and overhead a slight morning wind stirred the treetops. There was peace here. Peace and solitude. Perhaps the only peace I’d ever know again was in solitude. I tried to imagine what I’d do if Soldier’s Boy and I merged, and I became the dominant one. I’d still be trapped in this body, now marked by him as a Speck. I couldn’t go back to Gettys. Could never go back to Amzil. Would I continue as a Speck Great One, with Olikea to attend to my comforts by day and Lisana to visit by night? I doubted it. I’d dismissed my feeders. With Likari lost to Kinrove’s dance, Olikea would never take me back, even if I had been able to bear the idea of going to her with the spectre of her lost son looming between us always. So what was there for me?

“If we became one, and you were dominant, what would you do?”

He answered me honestly, but for all that, his words chilled me. “Whatever the magic demanded of me. Because I think if we were one, it would speak clearly to us, and we, or I, would know what to do.”

“No.” It was the only possible decision I could make.

He sighed. “I feared that would be your answer.” He stood, and then stretched cautiously. His lower back ached. It almost always ached now, except when a feeder was massaging it. I suspected it was part of the price of being a Great One. An aching back. Sore, swollen feet. Knees that complained. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Nevare. Lisana asked me to give you the chance to accede to my request. She loves you, as you are part of me, and she did not wish to imagine you distressed by what must be done. So. I asked. I’ve done all I can. I’ve tried to force you to be one with me. I’ve tried to silence you and absorb you. I’ve tried to trick you into being part of me. All has failed. But until you join me, I cannot do what I am meant to do. And I cannot be with Lisana.” He paused and then informed me, “You had the chance to say yes, to join me willingly. I gave you that, as I promised Lisana I would. You said no. You are certain that is your decision?”

“I am certain.”

The thought was scarcely formed before he attacked me. Or tried. I felt his attempt. He seized me and held me tightly. I could not flee from his awareness of me, nor escape my awareness of him. I was held prisoner.

But it was all he could do. I spoke to him. “You can box me. You can take my senses away. You can ignore me. But you cannot destroy me. And you cannot force me to be part of you any more than I could force that on you.”

For a time longer he held me. And then he threw back his head and gave a great roar of frustration. “I hate you, Nevare! Hate you, hate you, hate you! I hate all you are, and still I must make you a part of me. I must!” The last words he bellowed at the sky.

“You cannot,” I said resolutely.

He began to make his way back through the forest toward the stream and the bridge that crossed it. He strode up the hill toward Lisana’s lodge.

“What now?” I asked him.

He gave a small, dismissive sigh. “I do what I must do. I humiliate myself. I go to Kinrove, to strike the best bargain I am capable of making.” He scratched his cheek and added thoughtfully, “And perhaps to keep a promise.”

Before I could ask any more of him, he cut me off from his thoughts again. Once more I rode in the body, unknowing of his intentions, bound for a fate I could not control.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

DECISIONS

He did not hurry. I think he had sent the others on so that he could be alone to speak with me. Perhaps he had believed that there would be some great struggle between us, a confrontation of his two selves that no one should witness. Now he moved with purpose, as if treading a road he had foreseen and dreaded. He returned to the lodge and went directly to the new hiding place that Olikea had devised. In a heavy cedar storage trunk, beneath the layers of wool blankets and fur coverings that he removed and carelessly piled on the earth floor, there was a false bottom. It was not easy to get it open, for it had no obvious handle or catch. But eventually he pried it up and sat for a moment, staring at what remained of Lisana’s treasure hoard. I imagined that he felt regret or reluctance, but could not be sure, for I was no longer privy to his feelings or emotions.

He spread one of the smaller blankets on the floor and loaded the treasure into the center. For some small time, he sat holding the ivory baby in his hands. With a fingertip, he traced the indistinct features of its face, the round cheeks, the closed eyes; then he returned it to the soft bag that Olikea always kept it in and added it resolutely to the pile. Once that was done, he tied up the four corners of the blanket to make it into a carry sack, tossed it over his shoulder, and left the lodge. He left the blankets scattered on the floor and the door wide open. Either he thought he’d never return, or he’d become so accustomed to having feeders pick up after him that he no longer noticed the messes he left.

The sun was already low, and soon the light would be lost to us. “You’re a fool, starting a journey at this time of day,” I said to him, but he paid me no heed. I doubt he even noticed the thought. For a time, he simply walked, following the well-trodden trail. I think he enjoyed the end of the spring day. Despite my trepidation, I did. There is nothing that smells quite like a forest in spring. The air was cool enough that walking was pleasant. Even for a heavy man, the first part of a walk can be a pleasant thing. But all too soon, my feet and knees began to complain, and my back reminded us that we’d spent far too much time sitting on a rock the night before. The blanket of swag on my shoulder began to seem heavy, and sweat began to trickle and chafe.

He took a deep breath, blew it out, and then with his next step began a quick-walk. It took me off guard and I did not enjoy the lurch from one place to another as he stepped. He had not fed as well that day as he was accustomed to, and soon he was using magic he had stored. I thought I sensed him grumbling to himself about that, but could not be sure. He strode quickly as well as quick-walked, so that the countryside flew past us. Night came on, and still we walked. He was very tired and his stomach roared with hunger before he saw fire ahead of us in the distance. He stopped his quick-walking then, and despite his aching back and muttering knees, forced himself to walk normally as he approached the campfires.

The trail ahead of us led uphill. To either side of it, firelight winked through the sheltering cover of the newly budded trees, like a string of glistening jewels scattered up the side of the mountain. As he approached, the cooking smells nearly made his knees buckle with hunger. Music floated on the night, drums and strings and the voices of the People upraised in shared song. Lisana’s memories of the westbound migration surfaced in his mind. The younger folk had always loved the trek back to the western side of the mountains. During the firelit nights of the migrations, they moved freely among the kin-clans, discovering friends new and old, taking lovers, trading with one another and comparing the trade goods that they were carrying west. It was a time as eagerly anticipated as the social season in Old Thares. The best storytellers of all the People would be performing, and there would be singing and shared food and shared blankets. A good time. Up ahead, someone gave a sudden whoop. Perhaps it was a storyteller ending a rendition of a favorite, for his cry was echoed with laughter and applause. If I had been a Speck child, I would have been racing up the trail to see what wonderful event was going on.