Renegade's Magic

He seemed for the moment to obey her. He lifted the mug to his mouth and drained it dry. Then, heedless of its fate, he let it fall to the floor. He ignored the food that was offered to him as one of his other feeders hastily picked up the fallen cup. Instead, he stood, letting the blanket fall to the floor. Without a word, he turned away from them all. He walked to the bed, lay down on it, and pulled the covers up over himself. He closed his eyes and was still. I was probably the only one who knew that although he retreated deeply into himself, he did not sleep.

There was a stillness to Soldier’s Boy that spoke of something dead or dying. I could not bear to consider it too deeply. Just as isolated as he was, I listened instead to the quiet bustle within the lodge. Olikea had spoken truly. Searching for him had interrupted the work of the feeders, and now they toiled into the night, making all ready for the morning’s journey. Everything that would not be taken with them was carefully cleaned and packed for the summer’s storage. Cedar shavings were tucked in among winter blankets and furs before they were packed away in cedar chests. Pots were scrubbed and hung on hooks, dishes were put away, and all food was carefully packed up for the journey. Tomorrow they would break their fasts with a simple meal before begi

Within an hour, the last of the chores were done. The other feeders retired, some to their own lodges, doubtless to finish their own preparations there, and three to pallets at the end of the lodge. Olikea came, by habit I think, to Soldier’s Boy’s bed. She sat down on the edge of it and bent down to loosen her shoes. Then she stood up and dragged her woolen shift off over her head. She moved silently and wearily. When she lifted the edge of the blankets and got into the bed, she took exaggerated care that no part of her body should so much as brush against his. She faced away from me, and from her breathing, I knew she was no closer to sleep than Soldier’s Boy was. I hoped with the strength of a prayer that one of them would have the sense to touch the other. I believed that was all it would take to break down the barrier rising between them. They did not have to be in love or even to be lovers tonight. I believed that if one so much as reached out to the other, they could have found each other and recognized the other’s misery and loneliness. There would have been some comfort, I think, in that. Instead, Olikea stared unsleeping into the darkened lodge, and Soldier’s Boy, just as restive, remained perfectly still, staring into the darkness inside his own eyelids. And I, I was the trapped witness to how pain could make two people incapable of giving each other even the smallest measure of comfort. As much as I disliked Soldier’s Boy and distrusted Olikea, that night I pitied both of them. Life had not dealt fairly with any of us.

No one rose early. Everyone had worked too late the night before. But eventually the others began to stir. Olikea rose before Soldier’s Boy moved and began the final packing up while other feeders came and went, preparing food and drink for Soldier’s Boy’s breakfast and laying out his clothing for the day. I was aware of all this from behind his closed eyelids. The feeders chatted of inconsequential things, reminded one another to close the trunks tightly, and sent someone to be sure that there would be both firewood and kindling waiting by the door when they returned in the autumn. They nudged one another along, apparently eager to leave soon in the hopes of catching up with the rest of the kin-clan so that they might travel through the pass as a group. Someone said that Kinrove and his feeders, clan, and dancers had already departed ten days ago. Someone else grumbled that Kinrove and his dancers would have emptied the fish traps and eaten the best of whatever grew along the route.

And Olikea came to wake Soldier’s Boy. “It is time to be up! We must feed you and get you dressed, and pack or store all the bedding before we go. Here is a cup of hot tea for you. Are you waking up?”

She spoke in an absolutely neutral voice. If I had not witnessed their quarrel the night before, I would have believed that all was amicable, even affectionate, between them. The unsleeping Soldier’s Boy opened his eyes and slowly sat up in bed. As he took the cup of steaming tea from Olikea, I saw several of the feeders exchange relieved glances. The storm was over. All would be well again. He drank from the cup and then held it, idly watching the steam rise.

“We must be on our way soon,” Olikea reminded him.

“So you must,” he agreed. He looked over at Sempayli. “You should leave now. I wish you to take my horse and not wait for us. See that he gets grazing along the way, and when you reach our place on the other side of the mountains, find him a su

“You wish me to leave right away?” The man looked puzzled.

“I do.”

“Very well.” Obviously, there was no quibbling with a Great Man. He rose and walked out of the lodge, pausing only to hoist his personal pack to his shoulder.

When he was out of sight, Olikea gave a small sigh. “Well. I had thought the horse could carry some of our things. But we shall manage. It is time for you to get out of your bed, so we can finish storing the bedding and be on our way. We are already late leaving.”

He pursed his lips, the Speck signal for denial. “No. I won’t be going with you.”

One of his feeders sighed aloud. Olikea looked at him for a moment in disbelief. Then, as if humoring a child, she said, “We will talk about it as we walk. But we must have your blankets to pack or store.”

“I mean it,” he said mildly. There was no anger in his voice, only a terrible tiredness and resignation. “I am not going with the People. It is as you said last night. I am useless to you, only a burden. I can think of no way to save Likari. All night long I have pondered it, and still there is no answer. Kinrove maintains his magical barrier around his encampment; I ca

Olikea narrowed her eyes at him. “You sent Sempayli away first so he wouldn’t argue with you, didn’t you?” Soldier’s Boy gave her a small smile. Olikea responded with an exasperated sigh. She spoke bitterly. “Enough of this sulkiness. We ca

But even as she spoke, one of the feeders glanced at the others, and then quietly slipped out of the door. After a moment, a second one followed her. Soldier’s Boy glanced after them and then back at Olikea. “I’m not going. You should leave.”

She had been holding her laden pack. Now she flung it down angrily. “And what are you going to do if I leave you here? You know I can’t do that!”

“You can and you should. Leave now.” He spoke to the sole remaining feeder. The man seemed relieved to receive such a direct command. He nodded gravely and departed. Soldier’s Boy swung his gaze to Olikea. “You, too. Go.”